The Space Between Us(75)
An hour later, I checked out of my motel, had my one suitcase in my hand, and I was staring at the front door of my father’s house. It was still early in the day, not yet noon, but I knew I had to go in because there was a lot to do. I put the key in the door, a key I hadn’t used in years, and pushed the door open. I stood on the porch looking in, trying to decide if I was going to freak out or not.
The house was quiet and empty, the only light flooding in from the windows. My father never bothered with blinds or curtains, claiming that if the neighbors could see into his house at all times it forced him to keep it clean. And it always was. He had been one of those ‘A place for everything and everything in its place’ kind of people, very organized. He was even organized in death apparently. I chastised myself for thinking something so insensitive and crass about my own father’s death. I was still trying to deal with the fact that my father planned his death, planned everything about it, right down to having pre-ordered the flowers that he wanted at his memorial service. And yet, he couldn’t call and tell me about it – wouldn’t allow me to be there for him. Angrily, I walked into the house. When had I let other people start making decisions for me? When had I given up that control over myself?
I closed the door behind me and headed towards the laundry room. Everything I’d brought with me to Willow Falls was dirty and if I was going to go through with my plan to go it alone, I would at least need some clean clothes. Just as I plopped my suitcase up on the dryer, I heard that damned doorbell ring. I froze, knowing exactly who was ringing it, but hoping I was wrong – kind of. It went on and on forever, just like I remembered. I stood incredibly still, trying not to make a sound. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to melt away. I wanted to hide. It rang again and I rolled my eyes at his persistence. In reality I knew that Asher wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted, I was just afraid to find out what that was exactly. I waited for a minute or two after the doorbell ended its chiming, and I relaxed a little, feeling like I could breathe a little easier. I unzipped my suitcase and started sorting clothes into the washer when I heard the front door open.
“Charlie?” His voice floated through the house. “Charlie, I know you’re here. I saw you go in.”
My hand came up to cover my mouth. I didn’t know if I was planning on screaming or crying, but the sound of his voice hurt and soothed me at the same time. I craved it; his voice was like a salve. But it was impossible for him to heal the wound he inflicted himself. Wasn’t it? I heard footsteps and the door latching closed. He was coming to find me. I had a choice. I could confront him and be strong, or hide and let my lack of strength make another decision for me. I took a deep breath and swept my hair from behind my neck to the side, cascading down the front of my chest. I had been pretending for thirteen years that everything was fine; I could do that for another five minutes, surely. I took one last moment to make sure that my necklace was hidden beneath my shirt and then stepped into the kitchen.
We stood, for one eternal moment, in a darkened kitchen, and stared at each other.
He wasn’t wearing the three-piece suit from the other day, but he still looked good – jeans and a sweater. The blue sweater made his gray eyes shine. His hands were in his pockets and he seemed to be waiting for me to say something.
“Hello, Asher,” I managed. The words stung my throat. My body wanted to cry at the mention of his name. For so long I tried not to say his name, tried not to think of him, or picture his perfect face. In that moment, standing in my father’s kitchen, everything I had been avoiding all those years was being thrust at me and I was drowning in the need to push it all away. I couldn’t see his face without imagining how my baby might have looked with his freckles. Had either of my babies been a boy? Would he have looked like Asher? What would we have named him? Them? It was taking everything in me not to run out the door, get in my car, and drive away forever. There were days I was sure that in some other dimension Asher and I were happy with our 12-year-old twins. Perhaps a boy and a girl, they were happy and healthy. Asher and I were happily married. Everything worked out perfectly for us. It was a tough road at first, but our love got us through. I, however, was stuck in this reality where everything I had ever loved was taken from me.
“Charlie.” He paused, looking like he wasn’t entirely sure what he came here to say to me. “How are you?”
His question struck me as funny so I laughed, not a real laugh but an ‘I can’t believe you just asked me that’ laugh. “I’m great. You?” He ran his hand through his hair.
“I’m so sorry about your father, Charlie.”
“What part are you sorry about? The part where he got sick? The part where he didn’t tell me? The part where he died? Or the part where you knew all along and still kept it to yourself?”
“I understand why you’re upset. But, Charlie, he didn’t want me to tell anyone. As his lawyer, I couldn’t.”
“Did you want to?”
“Did I want to what?”
“Did you want to tell me? Did you try to convince him to call me and tell me?” I don’t know why all of a sudden I had so much to say, but part of me wanted to figure out what happened that brought us both to this point.
“Until the very end, until it was clear he wasn’t going to make it, we never discussed you. I never brought you up and neither did he.”