When Tru finally set the drawings aside, his father cleared his throat.
“I thought she was good enough to open a studio, but she wasn’t interested in that. She said that she drew because she wanted to lose herself in the process. At the time, I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I spent many afternoons watching as she sketched. She had a charming habit of licking her lips whenever she was working, and she was never completely satisfied with the results. In her mind, none of the drawings were ever finished.”
Tru took a sip of water, thinking. “Was she happy?” he finally asked.
His father held Tru’s gaze. “I don’t know how to answer that. I like to think she was happy when we were together. But…”
His father trailed off and Tru mulled the implications of what his father had told him earlier, the words still left unspoken. About what had really happened in that house when his mother was growing up.
“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to ask you a question,” his father said.
“Yes?”
“Is there anything you want from me?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“Would you like to keep a line of communication open? Or would you prefer that I vanish after I leave here today? I’ve already told you that I don’t have much time left, but after all these years, I thought it best for you to be able to make the decision.”
Tru stared at the old man seated next to him, considering it.
“Yes,” he finally answered, surprising himself. “I’d like to be able to speak with you again.”
“All right.” His father nodded. “How about my other kids?” he asked. “Or my wife? Would you like to speak with them?”
Tru thought about it before finally shaking his head. “No,” he said. “Unless they’d like to speak with me. We’re strangers, and like you, I suppose I have no desire to add further complications to any of our lives.”
His father offered a half smile at that. “Fair enough. But I do have a favor to ask of you. Feel free to say no, of course.”
“What is it?”
“Do you happen to have a photograph of my grandson that I could see?”
His father stayed for another forty minutes. He said that his wife and children supported his decision to make contact with Tru—despite their confusion about a relation they’d never met, someone sprung from a past that predated any of them. When he added that the drive back to Charlotte was a long one and that he had no desire to worry them further, Tru knew it was his father’s way of saying that it was time for him to go. Tru toted the briefcase and held the umbrella over his father as they descended the stairs to the car that had been waiting in the driveway.
Tru watched the car as it pulled away, then walked to the cottage to let Scottie out. Despite the storm, he wanted to walk the beach, needing open space and time to think.
It had been a surprising encounter, to say the least. Never had he imagined his father as a family man, someone married to the same woman for decades. Or that he’d fled the country in fear for his life because of Tru’s grandfather. As he pushed through the sand, Tru couldn’t shake a mounting feeling of revulsion for the most dominant male figure of his childhood.
There was also the family he’d never known about—half siblings, three of them—and though he’d declined to meet them, he did wonder about them. Who were they? What were they like? He doubted that any of them had felt the need to leave home the moment they’d turned eighteen as he had; their lives had surely been nothing like his. For a while he tried to picture what his own life would have looked like had his mother and father found a way to be together, but it felt too far-fetched and he soon gave up.
Staring out at the churning surf, he thought to himself that there were still too many unanswered questions, too many things he would never learn. Even about his mother. All he knew was that her short life had been even more tragic than he’d imagined, and if his father had brought her any joy at all, he was glad for that.
Tru found himself wishing that this meeting with his father had happened years earlier, when they would have had more time to get to know each other. But some things were not meant to be, and as the sun began to set, he turned back toward the house. He walked slowly, absently keeping his eye on Scottie, weighed down by the afternoon’s revelations and an ineffable sense of regret. It was nearly dark by the time he got back to the house. He left Scottie on the back porch while he showered and put on some dry clothing, then gathered up the photographs and drawings that his father had left.
At Hope’s place, he took a seat at the kitchen table, examining the images. He wished that Hope were with him; she would know how to help him make sense of things, and without her, he felt on edge. To soothe himself, he returned to work on the drawing of the two of them while the rain continued to fall. Beyond the windows, lightning flickered, mirroring his own roiling emotions, and he thought of the odd parallels between himself and his father.
Harry had left his mother in Africa and returned to America; in a couple of days, Tru would return to Africa, leaving Hope here in the States. His father and mother couldn’t find a way to be together, but Tru wanted to believe that he and Hope could be different. He wanted the two of them to make a life together, and as he continued to sketch, he wondered how to make that happen.
Exhausted, Tru didn’t realize Hope had returned from the wedding until he felt her slip into the bed beside him. It was past midnight and she’d already undressed, her skin hot to the touch. Without a word, she began to kiss him. He responded with caresses of his own, and when they began to make love, he tasted the salty tang of her tears. But he said nothing. It was all he could do to not cry himself at the thought of what the next day might bring. Afterward, she curled into him, and he held her as she fell asleep with her head on his chest.
Tru listened to the sound of her breathing, hoping it would settle him, but it didn’t. Instead, he lay in the dark and stared at the ceiling, feeling strangely and entirely alone.
NO MORE TOMORROWS
Tru woke at dawn, just as the morning light began to stream through the window, and reached for Hope, only to realize that the bed was empty. Propping himself up on his elbow, he wiped the sleep from his eyes, surprised and a little disappointed. He’d wanted to spend the morning lingering in bed with Hope, whispering and making love, staving off the reality that this would be their final day together.
Rising from the bed, Tru threw on the jeans and shirt he’d been wearing the day before. On the pillowcase he saw smudges of mascara, a remnant of last night’s tears, and felt a wave of panic at the thought of losing Hope. He wanted another day, another week, another year with her. He wanted a lifetime of years, and he was willing to do whatever she needed so they could stay together forever.
He mentally rehearsed what he would say to Hope as he headed toward the kitchen. He smelled coffee, but to his surprise Hope wasn’t there. He poured himself a cup and continued his search, poking his head into the dining room and family room to no avail. He finally traced her whereabouts to the back porch, where he could see her beyond the window, sitting in a rocker. The rain had stopped, and as she stared toward the ocean, Tru thought again that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
He paused only slightly before pushing the door open.
Hope turned at the sound. Though she offered up a tentative smile, her eyes were rimmed with red. The exquisite sadness of her expression made him wonder how long she’d been alone with her thoughts, replaying the impossibilities of their situation.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft.
“Good morning.”
When they kissed, he felt a hesitancy from her he hadn’t expected, and it suddenly rendered moot all the speeches he had rehearsed. He had the sense that even if he said the words, she was no longer ready to hear them. Something had shifted, he realized with foreboding, even if he wasn’t sure what.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” she asked.
“No,” he answered. “I didn’t hear you leave the bedroom.”
“I tried to be quiet.” The words sounded rote.
“I’m surprised you’re even awake, since you got in so late.”
“I thought she was good enough to open a studio, but she wasn’t interested in that. She said that she drew because she wanted to lose herself in the process. At the time, I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I spent many afternoons watching as she sketched. She had a charming habit of licking her lips whenever she was working, and she was never completely satisfied with the results. In her mind, none of the drawings were ever finished.”
Tru took a sip of water, thinking. “Was she happy?” he finally asked.
His father held Tru’s gaze. “I don’t know how to answer that. I like to think she was happy when we were together. But…”
His father trailed off and Tru mulled the implications of what his father had told him earlier, the words still left unspoken. About what had really happened in that house when his mother was growing up.
“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to ask you a question,” his father said.
“Yes?”
“Is there anything you want from me?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“Would you like to keep a line of communication open? Or would you prefer that I vanish after I leave here today? I’ve already told you that I don’t have much time left, but after all these years, I thought it best for you to be able to make the decision.”
Tru stared at the old man seated next to him, considering it.
“Yes,” he finally answered, surprising himself. “I’d like to be able to speak with you again.”
“All right.” His father nodded. “How about my other kids?” he asked. “Or my wife? Would you like to speak with them?”
Tru thought about it before finally shaking his head. “No,” he said. “Unless they’d like to speak with me. We’re strangers, and like you, I suppose I have no desire to add further complications to any of our lives.”
His father offered a half smile at that. “Fair enough. But I do have a favor to ask of you. Feel free to say no, of course.”
“What is it?”
“Do you happen to have a photograph of my grandson that I could see?”
His father stayed for another forty minutes. He said that his wife and children supported his decision to make contact with Tru—despite their confusion about a relation they’d never met, someone sprung from a past that predated any of them. When he added that the drive back to Charlotte was a long one and that he had no desire to worry them further, Tru knew it was his father’s way of saying that it was time for him to go. Tru toted the briefcase and held the umbrella over his father as they descended the stairs to the car that had been waiting in the driveway.
Tru watched the car as it pulled away, then walked to the cottage to let Scottie out. Despite the storm, he wanted to walk the beach, needing open space and time to think.
It had been a surprising encounter, to say the least. Never had he imagined his father as a family man, someone married to the same woman for decades. Or that he’d fled the country in fear for his life because of Tru’s grandfather. As he pushed through the sand, Tru couldn’t shake a mounting feeling of revulsion for the most dominant male figure of his childhood.
There was also the family he’d never known about—half siblings, three of them—and though he’d declined to meet them, he did wonder about them. Who were they? What were they like? He doubted that any of them had felt the need to leave home the moment they’d turned eighteen as he had; their lives had surely been nothing like his. For a while he tried to picture what his own life would have looked like had his mother and father found a way to be together, but it felt too far-fetched and he soon gave up.
Staring out at the churning surf, he thought to himself that there were still too many unanswered questions, too many things he would never learn. Even about his mother. All he knew was that her short life had been even more tragic than he’d imagined, and if his father had brought her any joy at all, he was glad for that.
Tru found himself wishing that this meeting with his father had happened years earlier, when they would have had more time to get to know each other. But some things were not meant to be, and as the sun began to set, he turned back toward the house. He walked slowly, absently keeping his eye on Scottie, weighed down by the afternoon’s revelations and an ineffable sense of regret. It was nearly dark by the time he got back to the house. He left Scottie on the back porch while he showered and put on some dry clothing, then gathered up the photographs and drawings that his father had left.
At Hope’s place, he took a seat at the kitchen table, examining the images. He wished that Hope were with him; she would know how to help him make sense of things, and without her, he felt on edge. To soothe himself, he returned to work on the drawing of the two of them while the rain continued to fall. Beyond the windows, lightning flickered, mirroring his own roiling emotions, and he thought of the odd parallels between himself and his father.
Harry had left his mother in Africa and returned to America; in a couple of days, Tru would return to Africa, leaving Hope here in the States. His father and mother couldn’t find a way to be together, but Tru wanted to believe that he and Hope could be different. He wanted the two of them to make a life together, and as he continued to sketch, he wondered how to make that happen.
Exhausted, Tru didn’t realize Hope had returned from the wedding until he felt her slip into the bed beside him. It was past midnight and she’d already undressed, her skin hot to the touch. Without a word, she began to kiss him. He responded with caresses of his own, and when they began to make love, he tasted the salty tang of her tears. But he said nothing. It was all he could do to not cry himself at the thought of what the next day might bring. Afterward, she curled into him, and he held her as she fell asleep with her head on his chest.
Tru listened to the sound of her breathing, hoping it would settle him, but it didn’t. Instead, he lay in the dark and stared at the ceiling, feeling strangely and entirely alone.
NO MORE TOMORROWS
Tru woke at dawn, just as the morning light began to stream through the window, and reached for Hope, only to realize that the bed was empty. Propping himself up on his elbow, he wiped the sleep from his eyes, surprised and a little disappointed. He’d wanted to spend the morning lingering in bed with Hope, whispering and making love, staving off the reality that this would be their final day together.
Rising from the bed, Tru threw on the jeans and shirt he’d been wearing the day before. On the pillowcase he saw smudges of mascara, a remnant of last night’s tears, and felt a wave of panic at the thought of losing Hope. He wanted another day, another week, another year with her. He wanted a lifetime of years, and he was willing to do whatever she needed so they could stay together forever.
He mentally rehearsed what he would say to Hope as he headed toward the kitchen. He smelled coffee, but to his surprise Hope wasn’t there. He poured himself a cup and continued his search, poking his head into the dining room and family room to no avail. He finally traced her whereabouts to the back porch, where he could see her beyond the window, sitting in a rocker. The rain had stopped, and as she stared toward the ocean, Tru thought again that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
He paused only slightly before pushing the door open.
Hope turned at the sound. Though she offered up a tentative smile, her eyes were rimmed with red. The exquisite sadness of her expression made him wonder how long she’d been alone with her thoughts, replaying the impossibilities of their situation.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft.
“Good morning.”
When they kissed, he felt a hesitancy from her he hadn’t expected, and it suddenly rendered moot all the speeches he had rehearsed. He had the sense that even if he said the words, she was no longer ready to hear them. Something had shifted, he realized with foreboding, even if he wasn’t sure what.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” she asked.
“No,” he answered. “I didn’t hear you leave the bedroom.”
“I tried to be quiet.” The words sounded rote.
“I’m surprised you’re even awake, since you got in so late.”
