A Song For Julia Part 19

"It's not necessary."

"I want to," he replied.

"I don't think it's a good idea."

He opened his mouth to speak again and stopped. Then he shook his head and gave in. "All right. Whatever you want."

So I walked around the table to the doorway and stopped cold.

Jack and Margot stood together at the front door. She wore her coat and scarf. His hands held her arms and their foreheads were touching. It was as intimate a pose as I'd ever seen two people. She had such an expression of longing and grief on her face that I almost burst into tears. He was whispering something, I don't know what, but tears rolled down her cheeks as he said it. She nodded at his whisper and put her hands on his shoulders.

I stepped back instinctively, not wanting to violate such a private moment, and Crank did too, so we ended up standing next to each other in the doorway, arms touching, both of us unable to watch, but unable to turn away.

Jack whispered something else, and she replied, but they were too quiet, too private for me to hear. Watching them, I didn't know what to think. What happened between them? How could two people so obviously, painfully in love with each other, be separated?

Finally, Jack took her face between his hands, and slowly, gently, lovingly kissed her on the forehead.

"Go," he said, still whispering, but loudly enough I could just barely hear him, "I love you, Margot."

I swallowed, trying to keep my eyes from watering. Never, at least not since I was fourteen, had I wanted someone to say those words, to look at me like that, to hold me like that, to kiss me like that. But seeing this threw me all out of whack, all over again.

Her shoulders started to convulse in silent grief, and she pulled away. He opened the front door for her, and she slipped out into the darkness, alone.

Jack stood there, watching her go, one hand on the doorframe, and the other limp by his side, powerless to do anything to stop her from going. He looked defeated.

I sniffed again and wiped my hand furiously across my watering eyes. Then I pictured myself, sitting alone on the red line on my way back to Cambridge, and I ... I couldn't do it. Right now I couldn't face that ride alone. I didn't want to be alone. I whispered to Crank, "I've changed my mind. If you're still willing to take me all the way home, I'd be grateful."

He turned to me, giving me a look I couldn't read. "No problem, Julia. Whatever you want."

Take. Me. Home. (Crank) "Why did your parents separate?" Julia asked me, a few minutes after we left my dad's house. It had taken a few minutes to get ourselves together, bundled into coats and hats, and then I couldn't find my car keys, but finally we made it out, and rode the first several minutes in complete silence. I was just about to turn on the stereo when she asked the question.

Instead of turning it on, I dropped my hand back to the wheel.

I thought about her question. There were no answers to it. There were a hundred answers to it. And I didn't know all of them. All I had was guesses and suppositions and blame. And it was obvious what prompted the question. That scene at the door. My parents were nothing if not dramatic, and it was obvious to even the most hardheaded punk rocker that they loved each other, which left exactly two clear reasons for her to leave. Me and Sean.

Finally I said, "I only know part of it. And it doesn't reflect very well on me."

She leaned against the door, huddled in her coat, arms wrapped across her chest.

"Why do you ask?" I said.

"Because it's obvious they love each other. That the separation is killing them."

I sighed. "I don't really understand, either. I don't see her very often. Holidays, sometimes."

"Are they always like that?"

I nodded. I think I understood what she was getting at. Were they always so tragic? "Yeah. Always. And it drives Dad insane that Sean and I are so angry with her."

"My parents make appointments to see each other, I think," she said. "Even though they live in the same house, and he's retired now. I don't know if they ever felt that way."

I shrugged. "I don't know that kids ever know what's really going on with their parents. I sure as h.e.l.l didn't. I mean, your parents touched each other often enough to have you and your sisters."

She grimaced. "I didn't need that image in my head."

"Your parents must have been s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g like rabbits for years. I bet it was never quiet in your house."

She shook her head, her expression irritated. Okay, yeah, I was pus.h.i.+ng it. It's who I am. "Since I'm the oldest, by a lot of years, my sisters ... they weren't around much when I was little." She paused a moment, then turned the subject back to my mother. "There was no warning? That she was leaving?"

I shook my head. "I came home one day, and she was gone. No explanation."

What I didn't say-the day I came home and my mother was gone? The upstairs bathroom door had been broken off its hinges, the wood frame shattered. The violence of the act was a shock; unheard of in a house my parents took painstakingly good care of. I'd been gone for three days at that point, drinking and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g and getting in trouble, so I didn't have a clue what had occurred in my absence, and Sean refused to say anything. In fact, he hardly said a word for the next three months. This, from the kid who could rattle on for an hour about the internal workings of an electric toothbrush.

"It was partly my fault," I said.

She looked at me, confused. "How?" she asked, very frankly.

"I think she left because she just couldn't take us anymore. Sean was having ma.s.sive freak-outs, he was always at the doctor, and I was getting in major trouble all the time. If my dad wasn't a cop, I'd probably have gone to jail for a good long time. As it was, I got a couple misdemeanors that should have been felonies and got brought home more than once when I should have spent the night in jail. I was ... trouble."

Julia listened carefully, as always, and didn't come back with a knee-jerk response. Finally, she said, "That's stupid. Get mad at your kid because he acts like an idiot? That I can see. But leave your husband because of your kid? I don't buy it. There's a lot more to that story."

I don't know why this irritated me so much, but it did. I responded in an angry tone, "You sure do have an opinion about everything, don't you? You meet my family twice, and you've got us all diagnosed."

She gave me a skeptical, irritated look. "Don't be such an a.s.s."

"It's who I am," I said, smug.

"It's your mask, maybe."

"What's the difference?" I asked. "You wear a mask long enough, no one can tell the difference any more. Not even me."

"Not even for your friends? Your dad, or your brother?"

I snorted. "I don't know what you're talking about. And what about you? What kind of mask do you wear?"

"None of your d.a.m.n business," she said.

"For someone with so many opinions about me, you sure are sensitive about yourself."

"I'm off limits."

Jesus Christ. Like I didn't know that. She had to rub it in. Sarcastically, I replied, "I know. You already told my brother that." She flinched a little at the bitterness of my tone.

I was driving so fast, I went right by the exit for Cambridge.

"That's my exit," she said.

"I know."

She was silent for almost thirty seconds, which was a minor miracle. "So-are we not getting off the highway?"

"Not there," I replied. She was silent.

Three minutes later, I got off at the next exit. A left turn would have taken me into Cambridge. I turned right, driving across Charlestown toward Route 1.

A few moments later, she said, "I don't recognize this."

"It's Charlestown," I replied.

"Um ..."

"Just frickin' relax for a change, all right?"

She stared at me and quietly said, "Just to make things very clear. In case you're taking me off to the woods to kill me or something, I've taken self-defense cla.s.ses, and I carry mace and a very sharp knife. And I wouldn't hesitate to use either one."

Holy s.h.i.+t. "Did you just threaten me?" I asked. I could feel my face twisting into a grin.

"Just making sure everything is clear."

"Good," I said. "You're not gonna need that s.h.i.+t. Not with me."

I took a left turn onto Route 1. Traffic wasn't bad for a Sat.u.r.day night, and a few minutes later, in the silent car, I saw the sign for Revere Beach.

"Isn't it a little cold for swimming?" she asked.

I snorted. "Wasn't planning on swimming."

"Then why are we here?"

"You haven't been to Revere Beach, have you?"

"No," she replied.

"You've seriously lived in Boston, what, three years? And you haven't been to Revere Beach?"

"I live in Cambridge."

"Christ, whatever. Was coming to my dad's house the first time you've ever left campus? Hanging out at Revere Beach is like a rite of pa.s.sage here. Relax, you'll enjoy this. Then I'll take you home."

She looked over at me, her expression seeming to indicate that I was nuts. Which I will freely admit, I was. I glanced at her purse, which presumably contained the sharp knife. Wonder if she was telling the truth about that?

"You're aware that it's something like 20 degrees outside?"

"Oh, yeah? Good, the ocean won't be frozen."

She rolled her eyes, crossed her arms across her chest, and then looked out the window. But the thing is, my brother has Asperger's. I'm used to people looking away from me.

So I drove, while she ignored me, and a little while later I was threading my way down Revere Beach Boulevard. On our left were houses, occasional businesses and bars, and further down, larger buildings. On our right, the wall, about three feet high, and beyond it, the ocean. Even in the cold, there were occasional groupings of teenagers and college students hanging out, mostly sitting on the wall. No alcohol visible, but it was almost certainly there somewhere.

I parallel parked on the beach side of the road and turned off the engine. Julia still wasn't talking or looking at me.

"Come on. You'll thank me later."

Without a word, she opened the car door and stepped out.

I caught my breath when I got out of the car. A biting, icy cold wind was blowing in off the ocean. If Julia didn't kill me first, that wind would. I zipped my jacket up all the way and turned up the collar, and jammed my hands deep in the pockets. Julia wrapped her scarf around her neck, and walked toward the wall between us and the beach. It was a popular place to sit and watch the water.

Julia was already standing at the wall. She was hunched over a little, arms wrapped around her chest, trying to stay warm.

"Okay," she said, "so ... why are we here?"

Because I'm impulsive? I didn't have a clear answer for that question. I looked out at the water. The waves were high, coming in with heavy whitecaps and cras.h.i.+ng up the beach. The sound of it was nearly overpowering, even in this awful wind. The sky was shadowed with roiling black clouds coming in from the northeast. Nor'easter coming in. It was exhilarating, fantastically beautiful, like something you'd see in a fantasy movie. The nearest teenagers were far enough down the beach that while facing the water, we had absolute seclusion. I finally answered her.

"You didn't mean to ... but you accidentally shared something about yourself earlier. And I wanted to tell you something about me. This is where I used to come at night ... when I was in trouble, or got in fights with my dad, or just couldn't take the pressure and craziness at home any more. My parents weren't bad-they were doing their best, but the situation couldn't be fixed, and it was making them crazy. So I'd come here. Look out at the waves. I feel grounded here."

She s.h.i.+vered and I said, "Let me block some of the wind." I put an arm around her. She didn't move, didn't respond ... didn't lean into me or away from me. It was as if she were frozen. A few snowflakes had fallen, and I could see more coming down over the beach.

"Something about the water, the waves, the wind, the sheer hugeness of it all ... it makes me feel like I have a place in this world. A small place, but it's mine."

She slowly shook her head. "I don't like the way it feels. It's wild, out of control."

That made me pause. I hadn't thoroughly examined my own motives in bringing her here. But it certainly hadn't been to make her uncomfortable.

I sighed. "I'm sorry. If you want to go, let's go."

"What do you want from me, Crank?" Her voice was raw, desperate.

I looked at her. She was so close, but might as well have been a thousand miles away. I said, "I want you to love me."

"I don't even know you."

"Then I'll settle for a date. Bowling?"

She rolled her eyes. "Did you really just say that?"

"I meant every word of it."

"I don't understand you. Is this how you get girls in bed?"

I shook my head. "No."

"So what's different?" She was starting to s.h.i.+ver.

"I'm not trying to get you in bed. Well ... I am. But not just temporarily."

She shook her head, then looked out toward the ocean, her eyes wide as she watched the waves coming in. "I like you, Crank. But I can't be involved with you."

"One date. That's all I'm asking. Surely you've dated since you've been in college. I know you went out with that English putz."