Reverb

  “No thanks, little buddy. You go ahead.”

  Cameron pops the blueberry in his mouth. “Mmmm. Yum, yum.” He smiles this delightful grin and I’m pulled into his lightness, smile back at him.

  “Thank you for the guitar.” I watch her cook the eggs, flip the bacon. “I know it meant a lot to you. I’m really touched. It was very kind.”

  She flashes a shy smile. “Did you play it?” She tucks a fine, loose wisp of hair behind her ear.

  “A little. Hurt like hell. Been awhile. My fingers aren’t ready.”

  “Your fingers or your heart?”

  “Both, probably.” She goes straight for the truth. No holds barred. It’s unnerving. And humbling because she nails me so much of the time. She puts a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me, sits down with a plate of her own, and starts feeding Cameron. We eat in silence for a while, but I feel her tension mounting.

  “I know I apologized about last night in the note, but I want to let you know face-to-face that you were absolutely right. I was taking my anger at Jack out on you. It was uncalled for, you didn’t deserve it, and I’m sorry.”

  “And a lot of what you said is right. Again.”

  She gives me a temperate smile. “Either you missed your calling as a diplomat, or you’re mocking me, James.”

  “I’m not, ‘Lisbeth. Love is costly. The pain of loss is almost intolerable, so I’ve deftly avoided emotional commitments by burying myself in an abstraction. And you called me on it last night.” Stay fixed on her with my confession. “I don’t want to ever go there again.”

  She watches me for a minute. She goes back to feeding Cameron, then changes her mind and hands him his fork. She grasps his tiny hand and helps him scoop the eggs, then guides him lifting the fork to his mouth without losing them. Her unwavering patience and tenacity as Cam misses or plays with bite after bite belies their incredible bond, the unconditional love she feels for him. ‘You’re safe here,’ she’d said a while back, and right now I believe her. I’m sated, grounded, glad to be a part of the scene.

  A mischievous smile appears on her face.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “Because you are.” She stares at me. “What are you thinking about?”

  “That foundation can be found in many things.”

  Her smile softens. “You’re coming along.”

  I laugh, take another bite of eggs. Warm, rich and salty. Every mouthful tasted better than the last. I want more. Need more. I’m starving.

  She rubs her nose against Cameron’s. They exchange Eskimo kisses. Laugh. She helps him with another bite, congratulates him when he gets it right, then looks back at me. “How were your parents killed?”

  She rarely asks personal questions off-the-wall, out of any context, so I feel obliged to answer. “Plane crash, along with nine others, in a private jet on the way back from a benefit concert. Why?”

  “I’m sorry.” She stares into me, like she feels my sudden rush of sadness. “My parents are still alive, alive and vital and still living in the same house where I grew up in North Hollywood.” She gives me a quirky grin. “I need the distance between us right now, but life without them seems fantastically alone. Does it feel that way to you?”

  “Yes. Sometimes...A lot, actually.”

  “You mentioned you have a ‘real’ father. I assume you meant a biological father?”

  My breath catches in my throat. “Yes.” She watches me. I look away.

  “Family is a big part of my foundation. Always thought when my parents died, I’d still have Jack. But now, when my parents and in-laws are gone, Cam and I’ll have no one. And where do orphans go for Thanksgiving?”

  I catch the laugh in my throat and it comes out more like a cough. Can’t tell if she’s serious. Her expression seems genuinely sad. “I’ll make Thanksgiving dinner, ‘Lizbeth. Don’t worry about it.”

  A surprised smile sweeps across her face, eyes more green than brown this morning sparkling with delight. “So… what are you making for this Thanksgiving feast?”

  “Whatever you desire, my lady.”

  “You think you’re that good?”

  “I was taught by a master, and I learn quickly with things I want to know.”

  Her smile takes on a Cheshire grin, mimicking mine perhaps. “And will the guest list include your father to this holiday dinner?”

  I stop breathing, force myself to start again when I realize I’m not. “I have no relationship with my father, and have no intention of having one in the future.” I put my fork down, push my plate away. She studies me. I feel the wave coming. “And I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Okay.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Okay.”

  I stand, push the chair to the table and hold on to the back of it. “My father was the one who had me set up for dealing.” Everything starts to spin, and I grip the chair and close my eyes and words fall out of my mouth. “And I hate him. I really hate him. I want him dead, gone, off the face of the earth for the hell he put me through.” I try to control my trembling, open my eyes to stop the spinning. She’s staring at me. Cameron is, too. I try to laugh off my anger but it clings—chokes. “You don’t understand. The controlling fuck set me up, ripped my life apart. He had no right, and I’m justified in hating him.” I feel warm tears spill down my face and look down, wipe them away with my shirtsleeve.

  I feel Elisabeth fixed on me. “James, I’m not your judge,” she says softly. “You are.”

  “‘Ames sad. Ah. Make awl beta, Mama,” Cameron instructs.

  I laugh off my tears, comb my hand through my hair and smile at Cam. “No worries, little dude. Your mama’s already helping me get better.” I finally look at her.

  She studies me, trying to get inside my head.

  “Up. Up. Up, Ames.” Cameron lifts his tiny arms to me to lift him from the high chair. I do, thinking he wants to get down, but then he hugs me, throws his arms around my neck and pulls himself into me, wrapping his legs around my side, pushing his face into my neck. There are no words to describe the feeling that overwhelms me with his tender-hearted action. I wrap my arms around him, holding him to my chest, my hand on the back of his head; soft, fine wisps of his hair caressing my fingertips. It takes every bit of my will not to break down again.

  Cameron pulls back, put his tiny hands to my jaw and holds my face. “Awl beta, Ames?”

  I smile from the inside out. “All better, Cam. Thanks.”

  Ear-to-ear grin across his angelic face, then he looks at his mama.

  Misty eyed, but no tears, she gives us her beautiful, soft white smile, but it fades when she focuses on me. “I’m sorry for what you’ve been through, James, for whatever you’re going through now. But I believe things happen for a reason, even if we can’t see it at the time. Maybe the road you’ve traveled was the only way to enlighten you.” She says it gently, simply assessing the possible, but it still irritates. “And, as harsh as it sounds, whatever led you here, well, for that I’m grateful.”

  I glare at her. “You shouldn’t be.” She stays fixed on me, waiting, and I want to hate her right then, but I can’t. I give her Cameron, start clearing the dishes from the table. Feel them watching me, finally I turn on her. “Whatever you see when you look at me is an illusion. I killed a man ‘Lisabeth. What you said last night is right. I’m not nothing without music. I’m a killer. Look at me. See me.” Her clear hazel eyes become clouded with my confession, and I feel her withdraw. And it feels like she’s knifed me.

  “It was self-defense.” She whispers. “Tell me it was self-defense and I’ll believe you.”

  I hesitate. “It’s complicated.”

  “No. It’s not.” Her eyes are liquid amber. “I see you, James. And I know it was self-defense.” She stares at me with certainty.

  I’m instantly humbled, sated. Sigh. “Thank you.” I want to kiss her right then, imagine reaching for her, drawing her in, but I don’t. I wait for her to probe further,
but she just stands there with Cameron on her hip fixed on me. His little legs wrap around her waist; he holds onto her neck, their soft faces right next to each other, and I’m momentarily awestruck by their radiant beauty.

  “I don’t need to know what happened,” she says, her eyes still fixed on mine. “But you’re going to need to talk about it—put it out in front of you to move past it. You know that, don’t you?”

  I hesitate to proclaim my ignorance then shrug.

  “Well, just to let you know, I’m here, and available.” She flashes a shy smile.

  I smile. Nod.

  Cameron yanks at her sparkling diamond stud, and she yelps and grabs his hand from her ear. “Ouch! Stop that! Let go.” Elisabeth holds his hand. Cameron pouts but she sticks his knuckles in her mouth and sucks on his small hand with a big, wet kiss. His ear-to-ear grin is infectious. “I’m going to change him. Be right back.”

  I finish putting the dishes in the sink and wash them. I’d confessed. She knows now. Beyond her initial confusion, there was no fear in her eyes or change in her demeanor when I told her what I’d done. She exonerated me. Absolved me. Saved me.

  Elisabeth comes back in the kitchen without Cameron, her cottony dress flowing with her graceful movement revealing her soft, sensual curves. She stands next to me, picks up the dishtowel and starts drying the dishes. “Cam decided he’d rather play with Thomas than be with us.” She falls silent, but I feel her curiosity—her unspoken questions between us.

  Regardless of what she said, I know she wants details of what happened. I would. Trust is a thin line, and borders belief without the knowledge to make your own assessment. I’m gonna have to cop to, I know. But the twisted ugliness of it is in such sharp contrast to the present, that for right now, I’ll dare to rely on her faith in me.

  The sun streams through the kitchen windows. Turquoise to twilight Mediterranean sparkles lazily beyond the shoreline and out to horizon, promising a spectacular day, which beckons.

  “Thanks for breakfast. Delicious as always.” It’s my usual cue I’m leaving. Done it every morning for months now. But I don’t want to leave today. I feel safe here, privileged to be with them. Alone in my house reading, or blowing one more morning playing Tavli will not do. “Ever been up to Sidari?”

  “No. Why?” Her shy smile reappears.

  “Want to go? It’s only about an hour away, and I hear the tide pools up there are spectacular.”

  Her smile broadens and she nods, and the room fills with her lightness, displacing the darkness within.

  Chapter Nine

  First really hot day since I’ve been here hints at the coming heat of summer. I take the top off the Jeep, go into Agios Gordios, get a baby seat for Cameron and secure it in the center of the backseat while Elisabeth gets him, and his many accoutrements ready for the short trip.

  Cameron laughs for the first fifteen minutes straight, with the wind blowing all around him, raises his little arms up in the air and lets the wind sway them about. His unadulterated joy is infectious and spreads to me and Elisabeth, and we laugh along with him, and then together at the duration of his amusement.

  The roads are narrow and winding. I take them slowly and with care. We get to Sidari in the early afternoon, stop in town for some bread, cheese and fruit, and bring it out to the sandstone cliffs overlooking the crystal sea where we lunch. After eating, we scurry down to explore the sandy cove inlets created from the eroding hills. The water is shallow and warm, perfect for Cameron to wade in and be amazed by the small fish swimming around his feet.

  The three of us play for an hour or so, then find an isolated cove and set the blanket on the warm sand near the base of the hills so Cameron can take his afternoon nap. He’s asleep within moments of breastfeeding, his little head falling back away from Elisabeth’s breast, his mouth still in the motion of suckling even in sleep. She covers herself quickly, then lays Cam between us in the baby carrier and loops her arm through one of the straps. Finally, she lays beside her son and snuggles her body next to his, spooning him.

  “I love the way he feels. Love how his warm little body fits perfectly along mine. I love the way he smells.” She presses her nose into the base of Cameron’s neck and inhales his scent. “I feel so unbelievably lucky to have him.”

  I lay on my side, lean on my elbow and look at them. Cam’s curled into her, his pouty lips slightly parted, his fine hair just over the top of his brow, his full face peaceful in blissful sleep. His tiny hand grips his mama’s finger. Elisabeth’s cheek rests on the top of his head. Soft wisps of his hair brush her naturally ruby lips. She’s exquisite. Her sheer cottony dress and the maroon leotard she wears under it reveals her curvaceous form. Her hair is loose, cascades around her shoulders in soft waves. Her hazel eyes against her suntanned skin.

  “Don’t stare at me like that. You’re embarrassing me.”

  “Sorry. It’s just…you’re stunning. A Rubens masterpiece— ‘Mother with Child.’”

  “First, Rubens is not a compliment. Rubin, and his fat women.”

  “Voluptuous. Not fat.” My eyes keep drifting to her ample cleavage.

  “Whatever. Besides, look who’s talking. It’s ninety degrees out here and you’re wearing a long sleeve shirt. I’m not the only one with body image issues.”

  “I’ll stop if you will.”

  “What?”

  “Hiding. Take off your dress.”

  Her eyes narrow but there’s humor in them. She sits up and very slowly begins unbuttoning the tiny row of beads down the middle of her dress. With each button the smile on her face broadens. “Come on, James. It’s your challenge. Are you going to pick up the gauntlet?”

  I sit up and start unbuttoning my shirt. No one around. She’s already seen my wrists and had her say about them, but my heart beats hard, reverberates in my throat. I want to stop the game, but I keep unbuttoning. Because she is. I can tell she’s feeling the same way I am. Her eyes dart to the edges of our inlet checking for intruders.

  When our clothing is unbuttoned all the way we both freeze, and then smile. Her eyes are fixed on mine—we’re connected, inside each other’s heads. Feel her trepidation, know she feels mine.

  “All the way.” She leans over Cameron and unbuttons my shirtsleeves. When they’re loose, I let her pull my sleeves off me. The shirt falls off of my shoulders. I cross my arms over my chest and tuck my hand against my sides, hiding my scars.

  “No. Let me see.”

  “No. Not until you finish. Dress off.”

  She slides her dress off of her shoulders and lets it fall to her waist, the skin tight, spaghetti-strapped leotard essentially exposing her form. She doesn’t look away. She holds my stare, her eyes pleading with me to stay with hers and not scan her body. So I don’t. We keep our eyes locked on each other even while she reaches for my wrists, pulls my hands from my sides and turns them upward. I look down at the jagged red lines extending down the middle of my forearms. There was so much blood. Lunch rises in my throat.

  “Talk to me. Don’t let it swallow you up. Tell me.” She whispers.

  “I couldn’t feel it,” I hear myself say. “I couldn’t feel anything by that point. Used a broken shower tile—took six months to scratch it out with my fingernail. Blood was everywhere, instantly, the water splattered it. I didn’t make a sound. Stood there and let the water run down my arms and watched my blood go down the drain. It turned the water red, the tiles red, gathered in the grout as it ran down the walls. But it was like watching it on TV because I couldn’t feel it. There was no pain. Don’t even remember thinking anything, except that I didn’t want the orderly to wake before the blood loss killed me. I have no clue how long I stood there blanked out like that before I passed out.”

  She runs her fingers lightly over my forearm. “Feel this?”

  The scar’s numb, but around it tingles, touches pain as she strokes. “Yeah.”

  “Good.” She smiles, and then releases my hands. Elisabeth lies back down, fl
at on her back and closes her eyes. After a moment I do, too, and we both fall asleep until Cameron wakes us, crying to be fed an hour or so later.

  I put back on my shirt, button only my shirtsleeves then lay on the blanket and watch her son suckle her. First thing she does after breastfeeding is put on her dress. I smile, shake my head knowingly.

  She catches it. “Stop mocking me.”

  “I’m not. I’m empathizing.”

  She glances at me with her soft smile. “Then stop staring.”

  “Sorry. You’re really quite alluring under your rather loose wardrobe.”

  I can tell she’s taken aback. She looks away, out to the sea, but she’s smiling. Cameron starts toddling towards the water’s edge. She follows him down, and I do, too, and we play in the tide pools for another hour or so, and then head for home.

  We stop in Ermones for supper. The small tourist town is virtually empty. Still off-season, though in just weeks from now it’s sure to be packed here. The sun is setting over the spectacular beach of golden sand. We sit on the patio of Café Odysseus, and watch the sunset after finishing the best grilled snapper I’ve ever tasted. We linger over our Espresso, mostly quiet, occasionally laughing at Cameron’s antics chasing and roaring at the seagulls until he’s finally worn out. He crawls onto me and grips my shirt firmly, sticks his thumb in his mouth and sucks contentedly.

  Feels fantastic—warm, connected, valued the way Cameron nestles his sun-drenched body into me; his soft, fine mass of hair a pillow under my chin. Elisabeth is unbelievably lucky. I nuzzle my nose into Cameron’s hair and breathe him in as she had done. Clean. Fresh. New. I feel her watching and look at her. I smile. So does she. And the three of us are one. Connected. And I am complete.