Quabbin - 20. Chapter 20

Which is how Saturday night snuck up on me. That afternoon I did my dutiful trip to Waldron, to have lunch with Kevin and his ex. Getting myself there was like visiting my really old great aunt when I was a kid -- “Mom, do I have to go?” Still, once we all talked for a while, I realized that, just as Cameron had said, Steve was a perfectly nice guy, and I tried not to give off any I’ve-been-sleeping-with-your-guy vibes. He might not have noticed, anyhow. He didn’t seem stupid, but he and Kevin practically held hands through the whole meal, and I could tell this was a break-up that wasn’t gonna happen. I sure hoped I didn’t have the same effect on Dane’s husband. When Steve was finally gone for a minute, I asked Kevin, “Didn’t you say he was leaving on Monday?” Kevin just grinned.

“He is,” he told me, then added, “But he’s coming back as soon as he packs our apartment.”

“It looked that way,” I joked.

“You could tell, huh?”

“Just a little.” And we both laughed.

“I’m really happy about it,” he admitted. “I didn’t think it could possibly work, and we’re still not completely sure. But we’re going to try.”

“Can he find a job?” I asked. If he couldn’t, it could wreck everything.

“He already has an offer -- from Mercedes. For great money. Isn’t that luck?”

“Nah, people love their damned cars.”

And then I was at Carrie’s, which is to say the Kohlers’, for dinner. That’s how Saturday zipped by. Bob and his girlfriend were there, but Eileen had insisted, “No talk about business. Tonight, we’re just going to think about Drew.” I knew I was standing-in for Mark.

And Dane -- Dane, who wasn’t even supposed to be on a plane till the next morning -- showed up for dessert.

“Will you get that, Jim?” Eileen asked, when the doorbell rang. “Be polite, but just explain that it’s only family tonight.”

Well, Dane was family.

“I’ll only stay a minute,” he promised.

Stay the rest of my life.

He was even better looking than I remembered. Different, but the same, and I didn’t want to speak.

As soon as Eileen saw him, she called, “Come on! Come in!” And Dane and Carrie hugged, and both immediately started to cry. Dane could do that where I never could. Then they disappeared into Carrie’s bedroom. Eileen went into the kitchen, to do dishes. Bob’s girlfriend followed her, and I looked at Bob. “How about a cigar?” I asked.

He didn’t get it. None of the Kohlers have that sense of humor, so we started clearing the table, while, all the time, my mind raced. Dane and Carrie stayed gone for a very long time and only came back after Eileen had set up coffee.

“You’re staying?” she asked Dane.

“No… really. I’m not even awake,” he insisted. “I need to go.”

I’d already checked that Craig wasn’t waiting for Dane in his car. Dane’s old Volvo stood empty at the curb.

“I’ll walk you outside,” I said, not giving him the choice. I’d trapped him, unfairly, and we both knew it, but it wasn’t the time to make a fuss. As soon as the door closed behind us, he started crying again.

“That was so hard,” he said. “I don’t know what I’d do if my father died.”

I held him, loosely. I knew what I was allowed.

“When did you hear?” I asked.

“When Mom picked us up, at the airport. It was all I could do to get home. I wish someone had called.”

“No one was going to ruin your trip.” I couldn’t say ‘honeymoon.’

“We can always take another. I should’ve been here.”

“It’s OK. It’s OK.”

When he stopped crying, we stood on the porch. “You look great,” I said, after stupidly staring.

He turned away. “How could I possibly?” But he smiled.

“You do.”

“Thanks.” He looked at me, then kissed me lightly, on the lips. I knew to back off.

“How was Italy?” I asked, rather than kissing him for real. “Everything you expected?”

“It was beautiful.”

“Any favorites?” A completely idiotic question, but I just wanted him to stay.

He didn’t seem to be in a hurry. He sat on the porch rail and looked at me. “You’re bigger,” he said. “I’d heard.” I posed. I flexed. We laughed. “How’s your leg?” he went on. It had taken the worst of the car wreck.

I stood on one toe and kicked the other to the tips of my fingers.

“Very nice,” he said, smiling. “You should take up ballet.”

“Oh, yeah. Just what I want to do.” And we laughed again.

“When are you going back to school?” he asked, running straight through my heart.

“End of August,” I lied. But I could make it true with a phone call.

“Tulane?”

“They said they’d have me.”

“Good. You’ll make a great doctor.”

You’d make a better husband, I wanted to say. Though he already was one. “Nice ring,” I admired instead.

He showed it off. “It’s my granddad’s. Craig wanted something new, but I wanted this. Have since I was a kid.”

“I remember.” And I did. The ring had not only been his grandfather’s. It had also been his great-grandfather’s. Each new groom in his family wore it till the next wedding.

“I told Craig he can buy me another one when my cousin gets married.”

I wondered if I could buy Dane a ring for a different wedding first.

“About your journal, Jim…” he suddenly went on.

“Don’t worry about that.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you… I really meant what I wrote… The book is for you.”

“I’m not going to fight you. I’ll get you something else.” I smiled, but I suddenly realized how I could give him the journal.

“I read it,” he admitted.

“Every page.”

He laughed. “How did you know? Did my sister…” He started to frown.

“No… Relax… I was afraid you give it back, so I stuck certain pages together.”

“It was a lousy trick.” But he wasn’t talking about the glue.

“I had to take the chance.”

“You know we’re over.”

Something I wasn’t going to admit.

“And you know I love you.”

He’d said it that simply.

“I’m just selfish, Jim. I can’t wait fifteen years, till you’re out of school and starting to make money. I know about doctors, and their lives, and their wives or husbands and children… I didn’t want to raise kids practically on my own. And I didn’t want you always being somewhere else, for perfectly good reasons. I didn’t want to put off having everything I wanted for twenty years.”

That was selfish, and I should’ve been angry. But I couldn’t be -- this was Dane. “It will be a long time,” I told him, “till I get what I want.” But I wasn’t going to say I understand.

“Thanks,” he said, as if I had. And he stood and kissed me again, again lightly.

“Let’s go back to the part where you said you love me,” I joked.

“I always will, Jim, you know that.” He said it so seriously, looking right into my eyes. I just wanted to hold him, tightly, but he would’ve been out of there in seconds. “I know things will change,” he went on. “And I’ll have a family, and think about other things… worry about other things. And things will change with Craig, and I hope I’ll always love him. But I’ll also always love you, in a way that won’t change, until I can no longer remember.”

That was so sweet I wanted to hurt myself for what I was thinking -- that Craig would somehow change too much, and Dane would come tearing back to me. He had at least ten years, till I finished training.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, the words I didn’t want to hear.

“I’ve started playing again,” I stalled him. “For a long time I couldn’t touch a guitar… and definitely not the one you gave me.”

“You still have it?” He seemed surprised. “I thought maybe you sold it… when you sold everything else.”

“You knew about that?”

“You told me the night before you left.”

“How could I sell that guitar?”

“But I knew you wouldn’t play.”

“Still, I couldn’t sell it. You had it made for me. It might’ve sat in my father’s house for the rest of my life. But it would always be mine.”

He smiled at that, but looked like he was going to cry. “And you’ve started playing again?” he asked.

“Out by the reservoir... Scared the hell out of myself.” That confused him, and I knew I’d gone in the wrong direction. “That’s something else,” I assured him, easing back. “But I started playing again, last week, and I haven’t stopped.”

“I always liked your playing,” he admitted. “It hurt me, knowing you’d given it up.” He hesitated. “Are you still as good?”

“That’ll take some time,” I said, laughing. “But I’m getting better. When I’m good again, I’ll play for you.” He said nothing to that, and I remembered how often I’d played, just lying against him, his fingers lost in my hair. “I wasn’t even thinking about you when I started again,” I lied, skipping the dumb Italian dream. “I just wanted to play.”

That might’ve been true. I’d grabbed the guitar on impulse, but there must’ve been some real reason. And it might not have been Dane.

“You know my favorite song?” he asked. I thought I did. “You’re gonna laugh,” he went on. “It’s nothing you’ve ever played, just something I heard in the last few years and had to learn the words.” He sang quietly, still standing on the porch. At first, I thought the words were Spanish, then French. Then I gave up. “It’s Portuguese,” he told me. “You don’t want to know what it means. I cracked up when I found out. But it sounds so pretty.”

It was very short, no more than five or six lines. I asked him to sing it again, and he did.

“Want to take a walk?” I asked. “Just down the block.”

He looked at my watch. “For a couple minutes,” he allowed.

We walked to my Dad’s. I wanted, so badly, to put my arm around Dane. Instead, I hummed his melody. He sang along, correcting. At the house, we went out back, where my guitar was still on the porch. It wasn’t even nine, so I knew Dad was awake.

Dane sat, on a chair. I played, picking out the tune. Again, he sang quietly, and it wasn’t long before I knew Dad was behind Dane, at the dining room window. Dad was just a shadow, and we were in the dark. Even if he’d known who Dane was, he wouldn’t have interrupted. When he went away, I doubt Dane had even noticed.

The melody was easy, but the harmony had some tricks, and, without practice, I didn’t even try. Dane sang, and I matched him, until we had it down.

“Nice,” he said. “Really.”

And there, except for the ring that I couldn’t even see, I would’ve kissed him for real. But this was as far as we were going. I drifted onto some other songs, again stalling, knowing there was one I couldn’t go near. It didn’t matter which was his favorite. I knew mine. Finally, he needed to go. “One minute,” I said, and I ducked into the house.

Dad just looked at me as I raced through the living room. Maybe he’d realized who Dane was and was as stunned. I took the stairs two and three at a time, stumbling, recovering, grabbing the journal and box from my desk, and rushing back downstairs before Dane could’ve thought to leave. I’d worked out the speech almost the moment I thought of it, but I’d thought it would be another couple of days.

In only the light coming through the window, I handed Dane the carved box, and he must’ve known almost instantly what was in it. “If I can play the guitar,” I began,” if I can play this guitar -- the one you had made for me -- you can keep what I made for you.”

He looked at me, and I wished I could’ve seen his face clearly. I don’t think there were tears, but his eyes seemed shiny.

“You’re right,” he said. Then he kissed me, and I knew he was crying. “I’m so sorry, Jim. I love you so much.” Then he took the journal and ran, and I knew not to go after him.

I played for a long time, sitting out on the porch. Dad never said “goodnight,” but I could tell when the light went out behind me, so I knew it was past eleven. I played almost every song I knew but kept working back to Dane’s. Then I set down the guitar and headed out to the reservoir. Halfway there, I realized I’d never said “goodnight” to the Kohlers.