The Leaves 03 (Nico) (14 page)

“To what?”

I stopped us, out there in the canyon, darkness and fog, a light breeze, and, believe it or not, thunder in the distance. “Listen…” She did. She stood with me, our breathing calm while the symphony around us came alive.

“You hear it?” I whispered.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered back.

“Hey!” Pop yelled only ten feet in front us.

“I’m hungry.” He laughed.

“Does he do that a lot?” she asked.

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“I’m telling you, you get used to it.”

“It’ll keep me on my toes, that’s for sure.”

***

Lark got a phone call from her cousin, Dee, and apologized all around. Mom told her to go into the family room for some privacy while I led Mom into the kitchen to help her… and to get her on my side to trick Pop with the pie. I knew she would be a good sport and she seemed genuinely impressed.

The table was set, the food was ready to serve, and all we were missing was Lark when she came in, eyes watery with emotion, but I didn’t want to embarrass her in front of my folks. She had no idea how easygoing they were, but she’d learn.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, jutting her hand out to my pop. “My cousin and I are close.

We grew up together, and she lives in England now. Anyway, I’m Lark Andrews. Your 237/510

wife has been so good to me, and I think you know my aunt and uncle?” I watched my pop’s smile fall then go right back into place as he took her offered hand.

“The last time I saw you, you were just a little girl. How are Hank and Ramona?” He pulled out her chair, stealing my job as Mom passed dishes around the table.

“They’re really good. Hank is retiring this year. He didn’t have to, but he and Ro want to do this road trip with a group of friends.

They bought this huge motorhome. I guess they’re going to be a kind of support vehicle for other friends that are taking only motor-cycles. Someone else has a car with a trailer for the bikes. Anyway, they have maps everywhere. By the time they go, I think Dee will be back stateside, so she’s going to look after their house. Wow this looks delicious!” She put a huge scoop of mashed potatoes on her plate. “I’m sorry. I could probably live on 238/510

mashed potatoes… and cake. It’s kind of a miracle I’m not four-hundred pounds.”

“You never eat crap,” I stated, engaging her in a mashed potato/gravy boat exchange.

“I try to be really good for three-and-a-half weeks. Then for two days, I eat whatever the hell I want.”

“Why three and a half weeks?” I naïvely asked.

“Nicolas!” My mother scolded.

“What?” I asked liked an idiot.

Pop laughed.

Lark leaned over the table, and, of course, everyone could hear her, but she meant for that to happen. “Nico… let me tell you something about women,” she started.

“Here we go.” Pop chuckled.

She grinned at him, “A woman is like a car, and every so many miles, she needs her oill changed, a little tune-up, and while that’s happening, she… and the car… are out of commission for a few days while they get 239/510

themselves ready for the next three-and-a-half weeks. This car,” she said, waving her hand around her face, “prepares for her tune-up with mashed potatoes and gravy, sometimes cake and sometimes pie.” Pop was laughing so hard, he had tears coming out of his eyes.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I said flatly.

“Oh, son, you have no idea how much.” He laughed and slapped my back. “Lark, you are welcome at this table any time. In fact, don’t bring him. He’s no fun anymore. You just bring yourself.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking a bite of potatoes. She turned to him and said, “Oh, I’ll be seeing you in approximately three-and-a-half weeks, my friend,” and winked.

The conversation moved easily between my folks, Lark, and me. It was something I had never experienced… another first… and it was perfect.

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Lark and Mom went into the kitchen to make coffee and dessert. Pop scooted his chair next to me and said, “Listen, Nicolas. I need to tell you something—”

“Tom,” Mom said abruptly. “Not now. Not yet.”

The two identical slices of cherry pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side were set down in front of my pop. Lark put down the tray with the coffee pot and mugs and poured everyone a cup except for Mom. She said chemo changed her taste buds and now she drank tea.

“I thought I was supposed to be watching what I eat, Rach? You told me I was getting a little tubby, and yet, I see two slices of cherry pie before me, and, I think… no, I know, I might love you even more for your generosity this fine evening spent with my son and this pretty girl, and of course, you, my beautiful wife, the love of my life, the apple of my—“ 241/510

“Tom!” ahe interrupted and laughed. “I want you to have a bite of each one of those pieces and tell me which one is my pie and which one is Lark’s?”

The women stood side-by-side, and I swear, my pop almost broke out into a sweat.

I leaned back in my chair, folded my hands behind my neck, and started to laugh.

“Yeah, I see what you did there, son. Well played. Right.” I knew they had marked the plates on the bottom. The two of them giggling together, enjoying every minute of my pop’s tension. He took a bite from one, then the other, and repeated the process until he finished both pieces.

“Well, Tom?” Mom asked with a smile.

“Which is which?”

“Honey… you know how much I love you?”

“Answer the damn question, Tom!” She laughed and sipped her tea.

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“Honestly? They taste exactly the same. I had to finish both to be sure, but they’re the same pie… aren’t they?”

“Nope,” Lark and Mom said in unison.

Mom gave an explanation. “We compared notes in the kitchen and our recipes are exactly the same.”

“Well, I approve, especially since I got two pieces of pie, pot roast, mashed potatoes and gravy, peas, pearl onions, and spinach cas-serole. Like I said, Lark, forget about my boy.

You come over whenever you like.”

***

“That seemed to go well,” she said, sitting right next to me, my arm around her shoulders on the drive home.

“You could say that,” I said with a chuckle.

“Jealous?” she teased.

“Let’s just say, I think they’d prefer to adopt you than keep me.” I laughed and felt her body go rigid. She never moved from me, but 243/510

I knew I’d said something wrong. We’d never spoken about her parents. I had no idea how she came to live with Hank and Ramona, but whatever it was, I’d opened up an old wound, and boy, did I regret it.

About ten minutes later, I was pulling off the highway to make our way home. “Lark?

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything.”

“No, please, Nico. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m missing Dee, and I just get a little sad this time of year, that’s all. This was about the time I went to live with Hank and Ramona.”

“You can use your white flag for this, babe.

You don’t have to tell me.” I had just pulled up alongside the garage and turned off the truck.

“Let me just say that Hank and Ramona are not my blood. They adopted me. Dee was only a baby at the time, but I was older, and I don’t know if you noticed, but we look nothing alike.”

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She had shown me a photo of her and Dee taken a few years ago, and they were like night and day. Where she had naturally tan skin, blonde hair, brown eyes, and curves, Dee was fair with bright blue eyes and dark hair.

“It didn’t matter; they always treated me like I was theirs, always, and they asked me what I was more comfortable calling them, Mom and Dad or Hank and Ramona? I chose their names. I was young, but, even then, I thought people would be more likely to believe I was their niece rather than their daughter.”

“You didn’t want people to know you were adopted?” I asked, rubbing the palm of her hand with my thumb.

“I didn’t want people to ask questions.” 245/510

That seemed like my cue to stop asking them. I kissed her on the forehead and squeezed her hand. “Thanks for telling me that, babe.”

***

We got ready for bed, too tired to do anything else. I brushed my teeth standing next to her in this routine we just kinda fell into.

She had her side of the bed, and I had mine.

I pulled her back into my stomach when she asked, “Nico?”

“Yeah,” I answered, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.

“Who’s Dish?”

“A memory.”

For now, that was my white flag, and she knew it, too. Just like she knew I’d tell her everything, and she’d tell me everything. But this was the beginning. The foundation. It wasn’t that we were keeping secrets, we were 246/510

keeping a balance for ourselves, and ultimately, for us.

Chapter 11

The next morning, we woke in each other’s arms. And the morning after that, and the morning after that. Aside from the fact we hadn’t had sex yet, there wasn’t much I had to complain about concerning Lark. She never asked me about my birds, and I let her lead any conversation that touched on family or her personal history.

February

came

and

everything

was

covered in red; fucking hearts and flowers were everywhere, and it was making me crazy trying to guess if I should do something traditional for Lark. I hated that shit. But for her, I’d do it. I was learning I would do pretty much anything for her.

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February thirteenth, I had a day filled with names across arms and even a fat cupid on this chick’s ass aiming
her
arrow at her other ass-cheek. I say her, because the cupid she handed me a picture of was a chubby baby with big tits and blonde curly hair; just like the chick I was giving the tattoo. The other cheek now had a Raggedy Andy doll. I concentrated on the fact I hadn’t seen one of those since I was a kid. Andy was holding his chest like he’d been hit.

Poor guy.

I sure hoped “Andy” liked it.

After her, I saw Angelica, who came in and got more hearts, but she wasn’t alone. Rich, who had since become her husband, stood proudly, if not possessively by and held her hand while I added three more hearts. When I was done he shook my hand and thanked me for taking care of his girl when he couldn’t. I left them alone in the back booth area for some privacy while she wept in his 249/510

arms. When she went to the bathroom, Rich told me she’d had another miscarriage only a few months before, but the doctor assured them, there was nothing wrong with either one of them. I probably shouldn’t have done it in hindsight, but when she returned, holding the hand of her husband, I kissed her cheek and told her to take care. Thankfully, Rich looked at me with what appeared to be respect.

It was unusual for my birds to have the support of a partner. A friend or relative, yes, a husband or boyfriend, no.

I left work and climbed the stairs, thinking tomorrow would be much of the same; marriage proposals at fancy local restaurants would give all those lovers of love the balls to do something radical… like get matching tattoos. I chuckled at some of the Valentine’s Day Massacres I had to cover up over the years, sometimes only days, sometimes 250/510

months, but they both seemed to come back to me. Never together, of course.

Becca said, for her, being a tattoo artist was like being a hairdresser; people tell you every last detail of their lives and they leave absolutely nothing out. They assume, if you have tattoos or piercings, you’re more open minded, and while this may be true to some extent… dude, that does not mean I want to know about your dick, your rash on your dick, or how your girlfriend feels about your dick… Jesus. The regrettable tattoos of love gone wrong always came with a story and nothing was left out.

My boot hit the bottom step of my place, and how I missed it before then, I had no idea. Lark had lined the steps with little red glass votives. I had to say, my girl had style.

The door opened for me, and there she was, dressed in a red, long satin robe with feathers at the cuffs and all around the 251/510

bottom. Not only was I speechless, I wanted to laugh my fuckin’ head off.

“Took you long enough!” She giggled and welcomed me into my own place.

“Babe.” I joined her laughter and threw my backpack and keys on the floor and pulled her into me, my hands wrapped around her waist.

“I usually hate Valentine’s Day, but I’ve never had someone I thought would appreciate it before.”

“So far…” I looked around my home, fire burning in the fireplace, little tea-lights flick-ering, the coffee table set up like a buffet with little bowls of food, “I’m liking the holiday a whole lot more than I used to.”

“Come on.” She led me to my chair and pushed me back to sit down, pulled off my boots, and carried them to sit by the front door. She continued with my jacket, made sure the door was locked, and double checked the blinds.

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She came back and sat down on the floor.

Her over the top robe was a total fire hazard, but she seemed to have complete control over it, making everything she did look ef-fortless and graceful.

The music began, a mix of every good Beatles song ever made. I only prayed

“Octopus’s Garden” wasn’t on it. I hated that fuckin’ song.

“Babe?” I asked as she handed me a plate of what looked to be Thai food.

“Yeah? Is Thai okay? I got it because you suggested it a couple of times, but we haven’t had a chance to go there yet. I can make you a sandwich or something. It’s not like I slaved over a hot stove or anything.” She laughed. “Really, it’s no trouble. I bought you ham…” she said, starting to get up, “… and there’s cheese—”

“Babe,” I cut her off.

“Yeah,” she answered.

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“Did you do this shit for him?” I looked over the coffee table, everything nicely displayed there. How thoughtful she had been to take off my boots of all things. I let my elbows rest on my knees as I leaned forward and waited for her response.

“Yeah,” she said in that small voice I fuckin’ hated because it meant she remembered something about him.

“He was out of his fucking mind to let you go.”

She stood up, only the coffee table between us, her chest rising and falling with her quickened pulse.