ELEVEN

THE NEXT two weeks were a blur. I managed to perform normal tasks, such as get dressed, brush my teeth, take showers, eat meals, and respond when people spoke to me. Anything other than routine activities, however, were of no interest to me, and I could hardly handle them. If I tried, I went spinning out of control and had to go lie down.

John and Fred kept vigil over me the entire time, supposedly to make sure I wasn’t going to make my mother’s death a family affair. The thought never crossed my mind, but I did sort of give up the will to live, I suppose. I wasn’t going to kill myself, but if I had died, it wouldn’t have mattered to me. Death seemed imminent to me anyway, now that my mother was gone and I had no connections to my past save Sallie and Ellen. At first, they asked me questions, attempted to get me to emerge from my catatonic state, but after a few days they realized it wasn’t helping. Still, neither would let me out of his sight. I didn’t even have the presence of mind to be uncomfortable about two males watching over me. It was as if I’d surrendered everything, even trying to hide from Henry.

On the fifteenth day of this, on one of Fred’s days off, John and I were sitting watching television (as usual), and I wasn’t saying a word (which had also become usual) about anything. The program - a special about religion - would normally have been interesting, but I watched it with detachment. Even John, uncharacteristically, wasn’t making comments. His eyes would be on the screen one moment, on me the next, then just as quickly go back to the television.

At last, he reached it over and turned it off. ``You weren’t watching, were you?’’

I shook my head. ``No,’’ was all I said. Most of my responses had been monosyllables lately.

John returned to the sofa, this time sitting closer to me than he had been. "Alida, look. You’ve got to decide what you’re going to do."

I looked at him, still feeling devoid of emotion. "Do?'' I repeated flatly. ''What do you mean?'' I was just waiting for the next big thing to happen, waiting for something to either end my life or continue it.

''I mean you can’t keep on like this forever. You have to decide whether you’re gonna live or die. Do one or the other, but you’ve gotta do something,'' he told me bluntly. His tone was abrupt and serious.

Still, I shrugged. ''It doesn’t matter to me. It’s not up to me.''

John looked at me; looked into me. ''It is, you know. When I was a kid, my mother was hit by a car driven by a drunk off-duty policeman. She died that same night, and I didn’t think I could forgive myself. I thought, ''Fuck it, I don’t owe anything to anybody now.'''

This provoked more of a response in me. Now I felt confused. ''Forgive yourself? You didn’t kill her.''

''That’s right. I realized that later, but it took me a long time. I wasn’t responsible any more than you were responsible for your mum’s death.'' He sounded pensive and sad now. When I looked at him I saw pain and grief haunting his features. I even thought I saw tears in his eyes. His mother’s death still affected him horribly.

I turned away; looking into his eyes was becoming unbearable. Pain, anger and grief were welling inside me now. I tried to push them away, but they persisted. ''I don’t feel responsible for her death.'' I was lying; I did. Completely responsible. I should have stayed with her. Well, no, I shouldn’t have! What the fuck had she ever done for me, besides try to protect me from Henry one fucking time? I didn’t owe her one damn thing. Still, I felt that I could have prevented it somehow. That I could have done something to stop her murder, though I wasn’t sure I would have risked my life for her.

John kept his steady gaze on me, his eyes boring holes through my soul. ''Rubbish. I know you do. And you weren’t. Not at all. But you are responsible for what happens next. This one isn’t written in the stars. You either live or you die with M--your mum.''

I didn’t catch on to his slip of the tongue at the time. All the emotions I thought I could no longer feel were rising rapidly inside me. ''I don’t care what happens next. If someone decides for me, I don’t give a shit,'' I said, making one last attempt to brush my feelings aside.

He put his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it. ''The thing is, no one’s going to decide for you, Alida. With the exception of your father, no one can make that decision. And I don’t think he’s going to, either,'' John said gently. ''So you’ve got to make up your mind.''

My emotions came to a head then, bursting forth all at once. "Goddammit, John! Can’t you see I don’t fucking know what I want to do? There’s not one fucking thing left for me!" I exploded, then collapsed in loud, torrential sobs. I was crying over everything that had happened over the past fifteen plus years, unleashing pain that I’d hidden deep within myself, shedding a decade and a half of unshed tears.

John looked taken aback by this sudden explosion, but only for a moment. He moved closer to me and took me into his arms, letting me cry as loudly and deeply as I needed, never once attempting to silence me. He knew exactly what I was going through, and though his situation hadn’t been exactly like mine, he knew all about burying pain.

When my sobs had become sniffles, I wiped my swollen eyes on my sleeve. The tears, along with John’s words, had rejuvenated me. He was right. I did have to decide one way or the other, and I’d made the split-second decision to go on. With my father still lurking, my life was as good as gone, but there was still the hope that I could actually survive. But I would have to fight for it; I’d have to stay tough and focused, or risk being killed. Before my mother had died, when I’d first come to stay with John, I hadn’t really been focused. I’d been in a blind panic. Now I was still just as desperate, but determined to clear my mind of panic and keep looking forward.

I pulled away from John, feeling a bit awkward about what had just happened. When I looked up at him and saw his expression was not a bit awkward, I realized that something had formed between us. I wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it had knocked down some walls between us. I now felt more connected to him than ever. Alida, you are crazy. This is someone you hardly know, and you think you have some kind of cosmic connection already? He can’t possibly think the same thing, I sternly reminded myself. Yet I knew that things were different, and that despite the lack of time we’d had to get to know each other, we did.

John looked down at me, a smile suddenly appearing on his face. The smile turned into a giggle, and before I knew it he was laughing aloud at something that was unobvious to me. Whatever it was, it was probably sick.

''What?" I asked him suspiciously. "Just because I have circles under my eyes the size of watermelons--"

"It’s not that, though that’s funny too," John said, smirking. "Two minutes ago you were completely stiff, and then you collapsed into my arms crying! I always knew I could make people cry, but never just by saying half a dozen sentences."

"Used to having girls cry at your mere presence?" I dryly remarked. That familiar gleam was in his eyes, the one I’d come to identify as a warning of him "taking the piss." Or possibly it signified sheer delight in having that kind of power. It was the former.

"Yeah, but they usually didn’t scream at me first, y’know. Well," he added with another giggle when he saw my raised eyebrows, "not the way you did just now." He winced when he heard those double-edged words come out of his mouth, and we both burst into maniacal laughter. "All right, all right, I’m just gonna shut me big fat gob," John added once he could speak again.

"Then do it," I teased, feeling oddly high-spirited considering what had just happened. Being around John seemed to have that effect on me. Anyone else would have blanched at the thought of laughing over that kind of outburst; it would be considered heartless. John was far from heartless, as I’d already figured out. One just had to know (and in most cases, share) his sense of humor.

"I will, I will. As soon as I can stop making people cry." He flashed me a cheeky grin.

Yoko entered the room then, looking confused. "Is everything all right? I thought I heard yelling." I was surprised she was so observant about what went on in the apartment; I had thought she didn’t really regard it. Then again, I hadn’t been too observant myself in the past couple of weeks. John sent me a wink.

"Yeah, Mother, it was just something on the telly getting her all worked up. Looks as though she’s finally come out of her shell, doesn’t it?"

Yoko’s face relaxed, and she smiled and nodded. "Yes, it does. Sean will be very happy about that. He’s been wondering why you won’t play with him anymore."

This made me feel horrible. Sean was another thing that had brought me some happiness and a semblance of family life. The thought of him wandering around, confused as to why I’d suddenly stopped spending time with him, pierced my conscience. "Oh, no! I... I haven’t even noticed him lately."

She realized her mistake, and was quick to correct it. "No, no, of course not. We just explained why you were feeling so badly. Don’t worry about it, Alida."

Now I was impressed. Either this was one of her good days, or she was different than I’d originally thought. Not only had she smiled and spoken more than a couple of words to me, she’d tried to reassure me and called me by name. Definitely an improvement. "I won’t. I mean, thanks."

It was her turn to look surprised. "No problem." She turned to John and, smiling, announced, ``John, I’ve been working on some pieces lately. I want you to see them when they’re finished.’’ I figured this was a roundabout way of explaining why she’d been unavailable for awhile. Not that I didn’t believe her about the pieces; I just assumed that, like me, she didn’t feel the need to explain such a thing outright. That, or, also like me, she didn’t want to admit she was sorry for being unavailable.

John’s brightened even more. ``Great! Can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with now. You haven’t shown me anything in a long time.’’

Yoko gave an uncharacteristically girlish giggle. (Or maybe it wasn’t uncharacteristic. I was so confused about her I didn’t know what to think.) ``Yes, well, that will all change soon. I’ve got to go now; I’m meeting some people for lunch.’’ She bent down and the two of them embraced. I noticed that this time she didn’t go stiff or look as if she wanted to break out of John’s grasp. John embraced her as if he’d never see her again. In light of my initial thoughts about their relationship, it was almost surreal to see this display of affection pass between them. It was yet another reminder to me that things are rarely what they seem.

Once Yoko had gone, John leaned over and turned the TV back on. He looked at me as if to ask whether I minded. Which was absurd, seeing as it was his apartment. Nevertheless, I merely nodded. He left the sound off, which was quite an experience. For some reason, every action set us off laughing. (Maybe it was due to the obvious fact that, without the sound on, nothing made sense!)

Sean wandered into the room somewhere in the middle of all this, sucking his thumb and pouting. When he saw John and I were both laughing, his face brightened. ``Hi, Alida!’’ he exclaimed, climbing up onto the sofa between John and me and cuddling up to me.

I couldn’t help but grin at him and put my arm around his little shoulders. ``Hey, Sean. How’s it going?’’

``Good. I missed you! Can we play again now?’’ he asked me, looking hopeful.

``Yeah, we can. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to play with you lately.’’ I felt oddly maternal. Well, not quite maternal, but at least like a big sister. I’d never cared much for kids before, but Sean was so ingratiating it was impossible not to like him.

``It’s okay. I know you’re sad about your mommy.’’ He stood on my lap and wrapped his arms around my neck. ``I’m sorry she died.’’ His brown eyes looked as sober as John’s had, as if he realized the full implications of her death. It was very possible he sensed what it meant for me. Since then I’ve seen just how in tune with certain things kids are as far as their instincts go. They haven’t learned logic yet, so their instincts are all they have.

I sighed, trying not to let fear overcome me again. ``Me, too, Sean. Me, too.’’ I hugged him back, relishing the warmth and comfort his little arms gave me. I’d never admit it, but I loved the kid like he was my own. My, how sappy I’d become lately.

John gently pried him off me after a couple of minutes of him clinging to me (and my air supply dangerously depleting). Pulling him into his lap, he said, ``She’ll be okay now, Sean. She’s better than she was, and she’s gonna be fine.’’ I couldn’t tell if he was trying to convince Sean or himself. Probably a little of both.

Sean nodded, looking relieved. ``Good. Are you gonna tell Fred that when he comes here tomorrow?’’

John suddenly became a gibbering fool. ``Well...uh...he...Sean, Fred’s not...what do you mean?’’ he asked feebly.

Sean giggled. ``Daddy, you know what I mean! Fred was worried about her, and he--’’

``Yes, yes, all right, I remember now,’’ John cut in quickly. ``Fred will see for himself when he gets here.’’

I was trying not to laugh. Sounded as if Fred had been a bit more concerned than usual. I decided to use Sean’s presence to my advantage. ``What’s going on?’’ I asked innocently.

Sean turned to me. ``He’s been calling and asking about you!’’ he told me excitedly.

John now looked irritated. ``Only a couple of times, Sean.’’

``No, it hasn’t been! Helen said--’’

``Helen was mistaken,’’ John interrupted, oh-so-convincingly. ``He wouldn’t call here that much on his days off.’’

``But he calls when he gets home from here at night, too!’’ Sean protested.

At this point I burst out laughing. Certainly seemed as if Fred was concerned. To my surprise and dismay, I felt my face go hot at the thought of Fred calling up asking about me. Trying to rationalize it, I told myself that he was only worried because he knew I was in danger. Any person who knew someone in my situation would be concerned about his or her...friend. Yes, that was the best description for it. A friend. ``Really,’’ I remarked wryly. ``And what does he say?’’

``Oh, come on, this is silly,’’ John snorted. That in itself was odd; he wasn’t using the opportunity to make fun of me about Fred or even to comment on my red face. This was becoming very suspicious indeed. ``He’s just worried about ya, Alida. He knows your--Henry’s on the loose, so to speak.’’

``Right,’’ I said skeptically. I could tell John was lying. Unless he was pulling a trick on someone, he was a terrible liar. He wouldn’t make eye contact with me, and he kept his head slightly bent, as if afraid I’d look at him and discover one of his dark secrets. ``Just worried about me.’’ Somehow, I desperately wanted to believe him. I didn’t want any complicated events or subplots at the moment. I just wanted to end this nightmare as soon as possible and try to build some kind of life for myself. Was that too much to ask for?

Sean was shaking his head vehemently. ``No, he’s not! He’s--’’ John clapped his hand over his son’s mouth and smiled apologetically at me. Sean was making muffled protests, but John ignored him.

``Sorry, you know him and his imagination,’’ he hastily told me.

``Yes,’’ I said absently, hardly hearing his words. I had begun to think of Sallie and our apartment. I assumed she was still there; she could always draw out of Henry’s account and pay the bills. Still, she couldn’t be too happy there, practically alone. Well...maybe she could. After what had happened, a big, posh apartment nearly all to myself wouldn’t seem so bad. Even so, I found myself missing her and wanting to see her again. That, and to find out exactly what she’d seen the day my mother had died. A thought suddenly occurred to me; why had she been out of the apartment in the first place? Yes, Ellen had been there to watch over my mother, but Ellen is not nearly as good in a crisis as Sallie...and why hadn’t Ellen tried to stop anything from happening? Surely they hadn’t both gone out. And how could Sallie have called the Lennons’, anyway? I distinctly remembered Fred writing his number down and telling her she could reach him on weekends and holidays.

``Uh, Alida? You still with us?’’ John’s voice cut into my thoughts.

I shook myself from my reverie and answered, ``Of course. I was just thinking...John, Helen talked to Sallie when she called about my mother, right?’’

He looked taken aback at this question. Well, naturally. I hadn’t mentioned a word about it of my own free will since I’d found out about it. ``Yeah, I think so. Why?’’

``Well, that’s one thing that’s bothering me. How the hell did she get this number? Fred only gave her his when we went back to get my stuff.’’

John didn’t quite know what to do with this bit of information. ``Hmm. Maybe he gave her one of ours later on? Anyway, what brought that up?’’

``Well, I was wondering how my mother could have been murdered, or even committed suicide, with everyone home, and I remembered that you said Sallie had come home and found her. Even if Sallie had gone out, Ellen, one of our maids, would have been there with my mother. I know they both couldn’t have gone out. So I’m thinking that maybe it wasn’t Sallie who called here. Don’t ask me who it was, or why, because I don’t know, but I don’t think it was Sallie.’’ I took a deep breath, waiting to see John’s response.

He didn’t respond right away. He merely sat, looking as if he were thinking everything over. ``You’ve got a point. Christ, I never really thought about it. I thought it was a bit funny that Sallie would ring us up, but I didn’t have a chance to think about any of it. But even if it wasn’t Sallie, how would whoever it was know how to reach us?’’

I shrugged, not having thought that one out myself. ``I don’t know. I do know that my father has cronies who could probably find out anything about anyone, though.’’ I’d known from the start that my father had to be involved in her death. In fact, I was convinced he, or someone close to him, had actually killed her.

John nodded, seeming to understand my train of thought. ``I see. You think it was Henry who did it, then.’’ He sighed wearily. ``Not a suicide. I agree.’’

Sean was wide-eyed. ``Her daddy killed her mommy?’’ he asked, sounding a bit apprehensive. The sound of his voice shocked me. I think both of us had forgotten Sean was even present.

``Maybe, sweetheart,’’ John told him, shaking his head. ``We don’t know.’’

The little boy looked even more apprehensive. ``Are you gonna find out if he did? He might try to hurt her!’’ He once again wrapped his arms around my neck, almost protectively this time.

I patted his back gently. ``We’re going to try and find out, Sean. Don’t worry. I’ll try not to get hurt.’’ It was the truth; I’d try not to let myself get hurt or killed, but there were no guarantees. Especially when it came to dealing with Henry. Even his colleagues were terrified of him. He’d shown me just how terrifying he could be; how the hell was I going to keep from being killed? Whatever I did, I would have to be very careful about how I did it and when I did it. Provided I could ever get Fred and John to stop sheltering me, I thought, suppressing a sigh.

Sean pulled back and put his tiny hands around my face. ``I want you to be okay, Alida. Will you?’’

``I’ll do my best, Sean,’’ I said, feeling my heart melt. God, these maternal feelings were impeding my judgment. Why did he have to be so damned cute? And why did he have to latch on to me? Why not someone else? Alida, he is just a three-year-old kid. He’d probably latch on to anyone who paid attention to him. Yet I knew that wasn’t quite right. Sean, even at three, was smart enough to know the difference between good attention and bad attention. He would know when he was being treated badly. Uda-san didn’t always treat him wonderfully, and he knew it. He stayed out of her way when she got in one of her moods. Still, why did he have to get so attached to me, and I to him?

John chuckled and yet again pulled Sean off me. ``Sean, it’ll be all right. Don’t worry about her.’’ He mumbled something else. To me it sounded like, ``Fred’s doing enough for two people himself.’’

I laughed at this. ``You’re right about that, if what you say is true.’’ I smirked at his surprised expression. ``You forget, I have great hearing.’’

``Yeah, unfortunately,’’ he teased. Then, with a sigh, he added, ``Alida, I’ve no idea what the fuck’s going on, but maybe I can help ya.’’

``John, you’ve done enough already,’’ I protested. I didn’t want John or Fred trying to help out. It would make everything even more complicated. Everything seemed to become complicated when I was with them. Up until I’d met them, my life hadn’t been crazy and unpredictable. Well, to be more precise, up until I’d met John. Even our meeting had been strange; the elevator had gone to the main lobby instead of the seventh floor. While it was true that my life certainly hadn’t been ordinary, I had been able to predict what would happen from day to day with amazing accuracy. Except, I realized, for the day my mother told me we were moving. John hadn’t had anything to do with that. So maybe it was unfair to say that things had started to go awry when I’d met him. In fact, maybe it was meant to be. Why the hell else, I thought, laughing to myself, would an elevator make such an error? Perhaps someone (or something) knew I needed help, and help had been sent in the form of a middle-aged ex-rock star and his personal assistant! I wanted to roar with laughter at the thought.

John, meanwhile, was insisting he was going to help me. ``No, I haven’t. I’ve hardly helped you at all.’’

I stared at him. ``You taking me in like this isn’t helping me?’’

``Well, somewhat, but Fred’s been the only one who’s actually done anything,’’ he impatiently replied. ``Come `ead, just let me help you out a bit. I want to.’’

``Fine, you can help, but I don’t see what you can do,’’ I reluctantly agreed. ``Other than what you’ve already done. In fact, I’m not so sure I should even be here anymore now that things have come to a head. Like you said, I can’t stay here forever.’’

He looked at me seriously. ``Alida, it’s true you can’t stay here forever, but you can at least stay until everything’s been taken care of.’’

``Why can’t she stay forever?’’ Sean whined. ``I want her to.’’

``You’ve only known me a little over two weeks, Sean,’’ I laughed. ``You’d get pretty tired of me.’’

He looked as if I’d suggested he’d one day tire of ice cream. ``No, I wouldn’t!’’ he said, almost offended.

``Well, I’m already tired of her,’’ John said, deadpan. His eyes, however, were gleaming. ``Bloody sick of her. You’d end up that way, too.’’

Sean giggled, picking up on his dad’s teasing. ``Noooo,’’ he said, almost reprimanding John. ``You’re not. I’m not either, and I won’t be.’’

``That’s what you think,’’ he shot back, grinning now. ``You’d be crying and asking us to get rid of her.’’

I couldn’t help but laugh, even though I immediately began to remember that Henry and my mother had always treated me that way. Trying to push away the memory, I rolled my eyes. ``Of course he wouldn’t, John. He’d just push me out the door.’’ The two of us laughed uproariously. I knew John could picture Sean doing that as easily as I could. Well, he’d try, anyway.

Sean stuck out his tongue at me. ``You’re wrong. I’m not going to.’’

After we’d finished laughing over Sean’s reaction, John patted my arm and said seriously, ``I promise I’ll do what I can.’’

I nodded. ``I know you will.’’

We went back to watching the television with no sound on. I knew John was telling the truth. He was, oddly enough, one of two people in the world I could trust. And I did.

C.J. © 2003

Twelve

Manhattan Memories

Jigger