Everything You Are(86)
“That woman doesn’t bend,” he told Braden the first time he brought Lilian home. “Hard frost and a bit of wind, and she’ll go right over like a tree without roots.”
His mother’s complaints were different. “She doesn’t understand your music. She won’t help your career.”
They’d both been right, but so was Lilian. He had to be honest about that.
Managing a toddler at the cabin wasn’t easy. Allie was forever crawling around in the dirt or toddling out onto the dock. Braden’s parents were endlessly practical about that, just as Jo and Mitch were with their son, Jimmy.
“Put a life jacket on her and let her be. If she falls in, she’ll float.”
By the time Trey was born, Lilian refused to visit at all. “There is no way I’m going to try to wrangle two kids in that nightmare,” she said. They started taking separate vacations. Braden off to the cabin while she watched the kids, and then Lilian somewhere warm and relaxing while he took his turn.
Over time, his visits grew increasingly infrequent. It was easy to find excuses, but the truth was that, between his mother’s awe of his musical talent and his father’s complete disregard of it, even as an adult he’d felt like a bone at the mercy of two very determined dogs.
“Are you much of a fisherman?” Dennis asks, trying to make conversation despite the nearly deafening music.
“Never had much chance,” Braden shouts back. “My sister did the hunting and fishing. My mother was always too worried about my hands.”
An irony, that. His mother had fussed about them endlessly.
“His hands, Frank. You can’t risk his hands.”
“It’s just a fishing trip, for God’s sake. We’re not rock climbing or learning how to skin a bear. Do you think a fish is going to eat his precious hands? They’re trout, Min. Not piranhas.”
“Fishing hooks, fires, falls. He has a concert this weekend. It’s an important one. There will be a professor from the music conservatory there.”
“He’s ten!” Dad’s voice booms louder now. “You’ve got him so wrapped in cotton wool, he’ll think he’s a girl.”
“I’m not a girl,” Braden says. “I want to go fishing.”
Neither one of them hears him. They are squared off, aware of nothing outside of each other and this war they are fighting. Even at ten, he’s dimly aware that it isn’t really about him but about something deeper that is broken between them.
It doesn’t matter, or change anything, any more than his questions about God and the universe change the color of the sky or the temperature outdoors.
“What does a professor of some music conservatory have to do with the kid?”
“He’s gifted!” his mother says. “Maybe even a prodigy. This could open doors for him. Scholarships. Opportunities.”
“I don’t care if he’s a prodigy or a potato. I just want to take my son on a fishing trip. One weekend out of the summer.”
“Maybe next weekend, then, if you’re so set on it.”
“Summer’s almost over. He’ll be back to school in a couple of weeks. What’s wrong with this weekend?”
“He’s committed. You want to teach him it’s okay to be irresponsible? That he doesn’t have to honor commitments? Be my guest.”
“How committed can he be? He’s ten.”
“A ten-year-old genius. How do you not keep hearing this? The music, Frank. How can you not understand how important the music is?”
“What about being a man? What about me? All I ask for is a son.”
“You have a son.”
“No, I have a fucking prodigy. Never mind. I’ll take Jo fishing. Is that okay with you? She hasn’t turned into a genius lately, has she?”
Braden feels sweat cold on the back of his neck. His mother is dead and buried, five years ago, maybe six. He’d been drinking hard at the time. Jo had managed to track him down, tried to reel him in for the funeral, but he’d been unable to face it. Or at least that’s what he’d told himself. In truth, he’d do pretty much anything to avoid the memories that are waiting for him here.
Bits and pieces surface as Phee drives him inexorably toward the last place in the world he wants to be.
Most of the drive is through nowhere, intercepted by a series of small towns. Darkness falls. Most of the occupants of the car drift into sleep. Allie’s head leans on Steph’s shoulder. Braden marks the landmarks, each town bringing him closer to his fate. They pass through Colville, and then onto Williams Lake Road. The headlights offer glimpses of dirty snowbanks and evergreen trees.
Not the cabin, then, or at least not yet. Dread crowds the car, an unwelcome passenger, and all the while the cello plays in his head.
Chapter Thirty-Three
PHEE
It has to be done, it has to be done, it has to be done.
Phee runs the words over and over in her head, her new mantra. Sometime during the long hours of the drive, they’ve meshed themselves with the haunting music and become a never-ending melody: The Song That Never Ends, arranged for cello, with variations.
All the same, her heart misgives her.
She feels like there’s an invisible wire connecting her and Braden, and every shock of emotion that hits him travels directly from his heart to hers. Bringing him here, ambushing him, really, is something he’s never going to forgive her for.