Part 39 (1/2)

She didn't say anything. But she put her hand on my shoulder. And she was shaking when she did it. Which was the craziest thing. I mean-this was my mom. My mom, who I'd barely spoken with in years. It was like we'd been taking baby steps toward each other. And this conversation went way beyond baby steps.

She was shaking because she thought I might reject her. Like I had so many times in the last years.

And that made me think of the past. Past Christmases, long ago. My mother, the concert pianist. Teaching me to play piano from the time I was a toddler.

Abruptly, I stood up. ”Come on,” I said. I walked over to the piano and sat down on one side of the bench.

She tilted her head and looked at me.

”Just watch,” I said. ”Sean will come running. I mean ... you remember what we used to do on Christmas Eve.”

She nodded and blinked back tears, while she stood and came over to sit next to me on the piano bench.

As she sat down, I put my hands on the keyboard and played the opening chords of ”Carol of the Bells”. I could play this in my sleep. When I was four, she'd done a special four-hand arrangement, based off of George Winston's version. The opening was haunting, and she joined in immediately, the waves of sound resonating through the house.

With each note, each measure, each stanza, I felt myself swept up, lost in memories. Memories of this house when I was younger. Happy memories. The four of us, sitting in the living room drinking hot chocolate and playing board games long into the night on Christmas Eve. My mother laughing and blus.h.i.+ng as Dad whispered something in her ear, while Sean and I pretended not to notice. Sean sneaking in my room and climbing in the bed with me, as we speculated what morning would be like. Then the call, usually around seven A.M. on Christmas morning, when my dad would shout up the stairs, ”All right, you kids, get down here!” Already awake, we'd run down the stairs and be greeted with hugs and laughter, and then we'd open presents. Each year, Dad made a huge breakfast of bacon and eggs and pancakes right after presents, and then Sean and I would play until afternoon when family and friends drifted in.

I felt a tear running down my face. This music was so d.a.m.n haunting. I was in middle school when it started to fall apart. I remembered Christmas my sixth grade year. It was a slim one for us, because my parents had spent just about all of their savings on hospital and doctor visits for Sean. And I was awful. I blamed him and threw a tantrum more suited for a five-year-old than a sixth grader. Dad told me to shut up, and Mom burst into tears.

As our hands moved together on the keyboard, my thoughts rolled over all those memories. I'd never realized how hard it must have been on her.

To watch her younger son, unable to cope with people, and her older son, unwilling to.

When Christmas of my eighth grade year rolled around, it was about a month after I'd pulled my f.u.c.k the police stunt at the play. Dad was picking up a lot of overtime to pay the medical bills, and Mom was so stressed that she had too much to drink that night, and that was the first Christmas Eve I can remember without us playing piano together. It was silent and lonely. Desperately lonely. I missed my mom so much that year.

I swayed in my seat as I played, and then I heard Sean say, in a sad tone, ”Don't cry, Mommy. Dad will come home.”

When he said the words, she sobbed out loud.

I looked up at him, and realized I was crying too, and so was Sean. I faltered in the playing, and then I said, my voice cracking, ”Mom, I'm so sorry I was such an a.s.shole to you. I never meant to drive you away.”

She stopped playing, very suddenly, and threw her arms around me.

”Don't ever say that,” she said, her voice urgent. ”You didn't drive me away, I did it to myself. And for whatever you did do, I forgive you. I'll always forgive you.”

She grabbed Sean and pulled him over to us, and we put our arms around each other and cried for the years we lost.

My big brother (Julia) At noon on Christmas Eve my phone rang, and I almost didn't answer it. The phone number displayed was a long string of numbers, more than made any sense. International call. I picked it up, much to my mother's annoyance. Just a few minutes prior, she had gathered me, Carrie and Alexandra at the table in the family room to play cards.

”h.e.l.lo?”

”Hey, I'm trying to reach Julia Thompson.” The voice sounded familiar but far away. Bad connection.

”This is she.”

”Julia? It's Barry Lewis.”

I gasped, my eyes going wide, hand flying up to my chest. ”Oh, my G.o.d, really?” I s.h.i.+fted the phone away from my mouth. ”I'm sorry, I have to take this call. I'll be back.” I walked out of the family room, down the hall and sat down on the stairs. I could feel my heart beating.

”Barry ... I can't believe it's you! What ... where are you?”

”Before you say anything else ... there's about a thousand guys in line behind me to use the phones, too. So, let me get your email address.”

I gave it to him and then he said, ”I got your message a couple days ago. But this is the first time we've been able to get to the phones. I'm in some G.o.dforsaken place in Kuwait.”

I swallowed. ”Kuwait, really?”

”Yeah, I'm in Recon these days. It's no big deal. Just lots of freaking sand. What about you? I couldn't believe it when I got the message. What's it been, almost ten years?”

”Almost ... I, um ... I live in Boston now. But I'm in San Francisco visiting my family.”

”Oh yeah? You all finished with school?”

”I'm in my last year at Harvard.”

He chuckled. ”That's what I'm talking about. I always knew you were one smart kid. You going into the Foreign Service like your dad?”

”No,” I said. ”I've ... believe it or not, I've gotten in managing a rock band. And I really love it. It's going to be the music industry for me.”

This conversation was so strange. After so long, I didn't even know what to say to him. I asked, ”What happened with you? I was so upset back then that I never got to say goodbye. This is going to sound silly, but I always thought of you like a ... a big brother. Family.”

There was a pause, and he said, ”It doesn't sound silly at all, kid. I'd have been honored to have you as a sister. I always thought of you the same. G.o.d knows my sister wouldn't have ever helped me rebuild an engine.” He laughed. ”You remember the day you pulled the drain plug out while you were right underneath it? I thought your mother was going to kill me.”

My eyes p.r.i.c.ked with tears, and I crossed my arms over my chest as I laughed. ”Yes, I remember. That was a mess.”

”When this stupid war's over, I'm thinking about getting out, starting my own restoration shop back home in Houston. If this music gig doesn't work out for you, you can always come down and work for me.”

I sniffled and blinked my eyes. ”I might take you up on that.”

”It's funny,” he said. ”I was telling Dea about you not long ago. You know I got married, right?”

I was stunned. Barry had been notorious for chasing every girl in the emba.s.sy.

”No!”

”Yeah. Settled down, I got two little girls. The oldest kind of reminds me of you. She's a complete smart a.s.s.”

I laughed. ”That's not nice.”

”Sure it is. And you always were. I worried about you, you know. You were such a lonely kid. But brave as h.e.l.l. I'm glad you've found a place for yourself. What are you, twenty-one now? Twenty-two?”

”Twenty-two.”

”Dating anyone?”

”There's a guy ... I'm not sure dating's the word.”

”Well, tell this guy, if he ever does anything to hurt you? There's gonna be one very p.i.s.sed off Recon Gunnery Sergeant coming after him.”

I said, hesitantly, ”I think I love him.” As I said the words, I heard my voice break a little. It was the first time I'd said it out loud.