Chapter: 6

I put the phone to my ear and coughed nervously, preparing my thoughts, my words, and my attitude.

At the same time as I longed to hear Tanya’s voice again, I dreaded it. Certainly there was tension between us – emotional, sexual, and physical – and there was also regret. Our relationship was irreparable, after all: all we could hope to do now was contain the damage. But regardless of where we stood as a couple, Tanya was still a huge part of my life – even if we had grown distant during our time apart – and I desperately wanted to talk with her.

After all, she was the only woman who had ever understood me.

Against my better judgment, I allowed myself to wonder how her relationship with that lawyer was going. Despite the fact that it was none of my business, I was bound to ask anyway, and that would spark an argument. In addition, I’d probably get flak for even asking casually about Wilentz Goldman & Spitzer – the company where Tanya and I had worked together for years. Its main building was located on 42nd in the Big Apple, directly across the street from the Chrysler building. On the thirty-third floor, where Tanya still kept her office, there was a spectacular view.

I suppose such routine questions were like a well–wishing plague, and Tanya had never been one to waste her breath. But was it really such a sin for me to care about my ex’s well–being? I mean, sure there was more to it than just that – more selfish reasons than mere curiosity – but I did genuinely want to see her happy. Besides, I worried about her, even if it wasn’t rightly my place anymore: lawyer types can be controlling. And, more likely than not, addicts of some type or another.

I should know firsthand, I thought with a grimace.

Thankfully, Tanya and I had managed to put most of our differences aside as the years passed, although arguments sometimes erupted from long–forgotten things – primarily unresolved issues. But both of us tried our best to avoid those types of discussions. It was better to just get along.

Her cell phone went straight to voicemail, which meant she was probably in a meeting. That was a small relief in and of itself, because I’d never been a good conversation starter – especially not with something as serious as Jim’s suicide weighing heavily on my mind.

Her voice said: “You’ve reached Tanya Suddya, Attorney at Law. Leave me a message and I will call you back.”

As I waited for the beep, I felt a familiar pang – the one I’d experienced ever since she’d started using her maiden name again. I guess going by the formal title of “Mrs. Jack Hudson” reminded her too much of all we’d gone through, although for Derek’s sake, I would have kept it.

But I wasn’t exactly in her position.

In my ear: *beep*

“Hey, Tanya,” I began in a falsely cheery voice, sitting forward in my chair – as though better posture would help me think. “It’s Jack.” And that was completely unnecessary: she would know who it was. Wincing, I continued. “Listen, I’ve got something I need to talk to you about. Um, if you could call me back sometime… It’s, it’s serious. Thanks.”

I hesitated, then added: “Love you. Bye.”

I clicked off the cordless and slumped back in the chair, drained. As our fights had cooled and our relationship had become cordial again – if icy at times – I’d resumed telling her that I loved her. Not just out of lingering attachment, although that was there too, but simply because I meant it.

Bleakly, I wondered why it was so hard all of a sudden to say it. As a matter of fact, now that I’d had plenty of time to reminisce in the wake of Jimmy’s suicide, I found that resentment and guilt were clawing at my heart constantly, making me second–guess everything. I wondered whether I really did love her at all, if I ever had, and whether or not I even deserved the opportunity to say the words to her.

Sure, I love her, I mused, stroking my unshaven jaw absently. Love is sacrifice, after all… I just love myself more.

And wasn’t that the bitter truth? Reality was a hard pill to swallow, but at least the fact that Derek and I were still somewhat close eased the passage. I guess if I couldn’t have them both, one would have to suffice.

I groaned, then smeared weariness from my eyes with the heels of my hands. I was still having a hard time sleeping, and that didn’t exactly help my mood. Sue and Jessie were having a worse time of things, though, and that fact made me feel guilty for complaining. After all, it was their husband and father who had passed, yet they weren’t the ones complaining. On top of that, my sitting room got chilly at night, but if they still wanted to stay there, that was fine with me. Accommodating them was the very least I could do.

And what else could I do? It was still raining, so I couldn’t mow the lawn or take care of the hedges. Sue had said nothing as yet about planning the funeral, so I couldn’t distract myself with that either – not that I’d want to. I also tended to be uncommonly anal about cleanliness, so the house didn’t need any real work done. Which left me sitting at the kitchen table, silent cordless in hand, chewing my lips, feeling lost and spent.

Presently, my thoughts drifted back upstairs, to the little black notebook tucked in the top drawer of my bedside table. The title of which read: For Jack Only.

But why for Jack only?

Of course, if I actually opened the notebook and read it, I might get some answers. But that was currently out of the question. For reasons unknown, I’d simply been too afraid to even take the rubber bands off of Jimmy’s notebook. I wondered whether I was afraid of discovering the truth or if I just didn’t want to mar the perfect image I had of my best friend. Or maybe I was just being foolish, worrying about invading my dead brother’s privacy.

Thankfully, Sue had not enquired about it. I figured it would be disheartening to tell her I’d been denying her husband’s final wish for two days based solely on cowardice.

I scoffed at myself, shifting in my seat. Was it really cowardice, or was it just emotional weakness? It was a good question, I thought – after all, they could have been one and the same, divorced entirely from one another, or perhaps even joined to form a singular knot of anxiety in my chest. Whatever the case, I was drained, even though I should have been stronger.

The sounds of laughter met my ears, somehow alien in context with my thoughts. I hadn’t heard laughter – real laughter – since before Jimmy had died. For a moment, I sat at the table, listening in surprise, and then – as the laughter continued – I scooted back my chair and followed them.

In the sitting room, Sue was dozing in an armchair, with both legs curled beneath her and her arms wrapped around a pillow. Whatever she had been reading had slipped from her fingers and splayed on the carpet like an intellectual spider.

If it was law jargon like the kind Tanya read, it could have packed some serious venom.

I smiled thinly at Sue even though she couldn’t see me, and passed through to the den. The patio doors were cracked open, although the gauzy curtains concealed the interior. Gently, I pushed them apart and stepped down into the sun porch, which was full of the muted afternoon light.

It was cool, because white curtains and blinds blocked out the intense rays of sunlight, and the air conditioning was on. The room was a pleasant place to curl up and read or to get work accomplished, and that was why Tanya and I had initially made it into the office.

Across the way, on the floor beside the love seat, Derek and Jessie sat together – almost on top of each other. Derek had brought the old N-64 down from his room and hooked it up to the TV, and was trying to show Jessie how to play properly. At least, that was what I gathered from the way his hands were overtop of hers, guiding her fingers over the buttons.

Their backs were to me, so my presence went unnoticed. And those few seconds were enough to bring a smile to my own face, the kind you can’t keep in even though you try. I had no idea what they were playing, because I’d never gotten into videogames myself – even though I’d bought Derek every game and accessory he’d ever asked for. Yet all of a sudden, I found myself thankful that I’d spent the money.

“This is stupid!” Jessie said, laughing.

“No, it’s not!” Derek contradicted, putting his chin on her shoulder. “You’re just saying that ’cause you’re no good.”

“Meanie,” she shot back. “I did better earlier!”

“Beginner’s luck,” Derek returned.

“Meanie,” Jessie said again, laughing.

And then there was silence, save for the ridiculous sounds of zany action and the uproarious soundtrack coming from the TV. Their closeness might have seemed awkward to an onlooker – such as myself – but Derek and Jessie were undoubtedly comfortable with themselves and each other, snuggled close and both watching the TV screen in silence.

Mere company can be just as comforting as words, after all.

I think it took Jessie about five minutes to realize that Derek was looking at her and no longer paying attention to the game. Obviously, I noticed before she did, and I immediately wanted to retreat out of the room – to give them the privacy they deserved – but something kept me rooted to the spot.

“Hey,” Derek murmured into Jessie’s shoulder as she finally met his gaze. “How are you doing?”

She closed her eyes and blew out a sigh. “I’m getting better. Each day helps. And spending time with you really brings me back to old times. I’m fine, Derek – thanks.”

I think she was surprised when Derek lifted his chin to plant a gentle kiss on her cheek; I certainly was. Granted, they’d always been close – up until Derek had gone away to school – but I’d never been overly big on intimacy, and I’d presumed my son to be the same way.

Jessie smiled at him, and I heard her whisper, “Thanks.”

I watched my son search her eyes for a moment, looking for something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. And then, he grinned. “You should pay more attention to what you’re doing,” he said, indicating the TV screen with a jerk of his head.

Splashed there in goopy letters were the words: “You are dead”.

Jessie laughed, and I left the room. The smile still splitting my face was real and genuine.

I opened Jim’s diary that night as I lay in bed, unable to sleep.

I’m not sure exactly why, because I still had no real desire to read it. However, I found myself staring at the ceiling somewhere around one in the morning, feeling lost and exhausted, yet wide awake. And the next thing I knew, I was hurling away the covers in vindictive fury – like they’d done something to cause my restlessness.

Jim’s diary was exactly where I’d left it: in the drawer of the nightstand, on top of an ancient Gideon Bible. For a long moment after taking it out, I held the Marble notebook in my hands, staring down at the black and white cover uncertainly. And then I gritted my teeth and made up my mind. Carefully, I slid off the rubber bands binding it shut and opened to the first page.

I started there, at the beginning, because any story worth reading has a beginning. And almost like I’d planned to be disappointed, I found myself groaning as I beheld the first page of the journal. There were no chapter headings, no real organized thought to the journal, and there was no confession in the opening statement.

No “if you’re reading this, I’m dead” opening.

It seemed that Jim had left me an actual journal, a “dear diary” type of life letter through which I would actually have to wade through in order to interpret anything. Of course, I knew the truth was in there, but it would only be through reading my best friend’s fond memories and interpreting his doodles that I would get that message.

And that was why I was disappointed. Maybe I’d wanted an easy answer, or maybe I’d wanted something magical to happen when I’d reverently opened the ancient Marble tome – like in that fucking Harry Potter story.

The journal began in 1979, the year Jim and I had graduated high school and Zeppelin had released All My Love. In fact, Jim noted on the first page that he was writing during senior orientation, our first day back to school. That simple statement brought a smile to my lips, because I instantly remembered how dry and long Dr. Murkow’s presentation had been. Our class had been seated alphabetically, so Jim and I had been separated by a good three rows.

Without someone to talk to, he’d begun writing. I guess it was a good thing, considering I now had all of his memories on paper – all the things he’d never gotten a chance to tell me in person. Considering the fact that we’d been best friends since childhood, he and I had always been relatively open with one another, but there are just some things you can’t share with anyone – not even your closest brother.

But a notebook will never judge you.

Jim’s diary, as ordinary as it seemed at first glance, began like no diary I’d ever read before. “This may sound silly,” he’d written in his chicken–scratch freestyle, “because I’ve only been alive for seventeen years, but I already feel like I’ve accomplished so much.”

I frowned as I reread that first sentence. It certainly wasn’t surprising that he’d felt that way; it certainly didn’t surprise me, at any rate.

Jim had always been an A student. He’d participated in two academic societies, received honors for three consecutive years in high school, and been valedictorian for the class of 1979. And there had been other things outside of school that he’d accomplished, such as working for and purchasing his own car without the help of his parents. No one else our age had done that. Jim had also remained aloof while the rest of us had been experimenting with LSD and marijuana, so he could call himself temperate too.

But the journal didn’t end there, so I kept reading.

“Obviously I still have so much to do in life, and I know what I want to do with my future, but I don’t exactly know how far life can really take me. I guess no one really has any idea about what the future holds, but I find myself questioning why it really has to be that way. I mean, I knew exactly what was going to happen in middle school and high school. Yet, now I’m facing career choices, and college strikes me as an unknown, whereas life has previously been predictable.”

I snorted a laugh, propping myself up on the bed with an elbow. He was waxing philosophic already. I might need a beer to get through all of this. Hopefully Derek hadn’t finished what I’d left in the ’fridge.

Jimmy continued: “I guess what I’m trying to say is this: I’m doubting. And maybe I’m making this more complicated than it needs to be; maybe everyone goes through this uncertainty and I’m nothing special. But I simply can’t fathom what more I could possibly do with my life. Sure, I have yet to begin a career and find that special girl, but is that all that’s really left to my life? Is my future reduced to two elements – work and family? That’s the norm of society, I supposed, but is that really all there is?

“I’m almost depressing myself by putting it that way. But that’s the root of my thinking right now. Again, I guess that sounds silly. I mean, it’s only senior orientation – I’m barely three hours into my senior year. For all I know, I’ll become President someday. Maybe I should just write about the weather instead.”

“Maybe, Jim,” I murmured, tracing the words with my eyes.

It was a depressing way to look at life, perhaps overly simplistic, but definitely true. Yet, it didn’t strike me as real motivation for suicide. Besides, it had been twenty–nine years since he’d written these words, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jim had been happy throughout those years. His family life was evidence enough, not to mention his unwavering optimism and contented air.

He wouldn’t have traded his life for any other. And that was what made this mystery all the more intriguing.

I grimaced. And painful.

Despite the fact that I hadn’t even made it through half of a page, I shut the diary anyway. It was strong evidence of ADD, I suppose, but I think it had more to do with my weighing exhaustion and the hollow ache of grief in my chest.

It was just like what Jim had said in that conversation we’d held in that coffee house: we can’t go back. We only get one shot at this thing we call life, and we can only hope to avoid screwing it up with the choices we make. But God, I missed ’79. It had been a good year, and reading the diary transported me back to those memorable days of youth.

Maybe the grief I was feeling wasn’t just for Jim.

I tucked the notebook back into the bedside table and reached up to click off the lamp. Maybe I would finally be able to sleep. I certainly felt like it all of a sudden.

Before I could find the light switch, the phone on the night stand rang.

Frowning, I slid my eyes over to the alarm clock to check the time. It was already 1:46 in the morning, which was certainly an odd time for anyone to call, except in case of an emergency. I sat up again and looked this time at the caller ID, where the number for a mobile phone was scrolling back and forth on the tiny screen – like Pong with numerals.

At first, I didn’t recognize the number. But a second later, when I did, I felt my chest tighten.

It was Tanya.