Jennifer was barely able to say hello as Nate bounded into her guest house, gathered her up in his arms, and carried her into her bedroom. Cody pranced after them.
“What are you doing?” she giddily exclaimed, legs dangling in the air.
“Sweeping you off your feet!” he just as giddily answered.
And those were the last words they spoke before engaging in a noisy and unusually athletic session of, call it what it was: a lot of sex.
Afterward, happily spent, Nate and Jennifer were gazing at the ceiling from her tornado-struck bed. She was huddled into his shoulder as he wrapped her in his arms. He glanced around the warm, inviting room, noticing several details as if new: the ever-present blown-glass vase of fresh flowers from her landlord’s garden; her late grandma’s vintage, brocade settee that rested regally against one wall; the whimsical, art-deco ballet poster simply titled “The Dance;” the soft mauve walls and accordion-shuttered windows. It reminded Nate once again how much was still left to do to make his own house a home. He’d fallen behind on that front and, with the Fresno trip and the Amy angst now hopefully behind him, he could jump back into it.
Nate had dropped Amy off in Toluca Woods before heading straight over to Jennifer’s. Traffic had been surprisingly light on the freeways back into L.A. and he and Amy, after she woke refreshed from her extended nap, listened to music (she admitted to a contradictory love of country and classical; Nate indulged her) and kept their chatter safe and surfacy. It made for a pleasant second half of the drive and Nate could feel his optimism returning to pre-Fresno levels. And, it seemed, so could Amy. They shared an easy hug goodbye and promised to be in touch in the next few days.
“I really missed you,” Nate told Jennifer, breaking the post-coital quiet.
“I could tell,” she answered with a sly glance and a kiss to his stubbly cheek.
Nate returned the kiss, slowly moving south until she clapped a hand on his roving head.
“Okay, tiger,” she said with a smile, “enough fun. I have questions.”
“What kind of questions?” he murmured, nose still buried in her chest.
Jennifer pulled herself away and sat up. “C’mon—how did it go?”
Nate lay on his side looking up at her. He’d promised himself he would leave the gory details behind, hadn’t he? He wanted the good without the bad, even if he had to pretend to others—and himself—that all was right with the world now. Hadn’t he been through enough? Didn’t he owe this to himself? Did anyone else really need to hear what his father had done? What his grandparents had accepted? What the mother he was finally coming to terms with had held back for so long?
Jennifer’s eyes were locked on Nate. “Nate, did something bad happen since we spoke yesterday?” His silence brought panic to her voice. “Was there a fight?” Jennifer’s eyes widened. She pulled the top sheet around her and up to her neck. There was something defensive about her pose, as if shielding herself from whatever may—or may not—be said next.
Nate rolled away and left the bed. She didn’t budge as he hunted around for his boxers. Ah—there they were. How did they end up under her grandma’s little couch?
“Why are you ignoring me?”
“I’m not ignoring you,” he said as he pulled on his underwear. Halfway up, he realized they were backward. “There was no fight,” he more or less lied, as he reversed his shorts and tried again. Cody trotted in from the living room.
“Then what?” Jen asked, rising, still wrapped in the sheet.
Nate indicated her covering. “Cody’s seen you naked, you know.” Poor time for a joke, but he was stalling. Trying to keep his word—to himself.
Jennifer moved in front of Nate as he slipped on his jeans. They’d landed in a corner atop his “Landscapers Make It Better” T-shirt. “What are you hiding from me?”
“I’m not hiding anything.” He zipped his jeans, then grabbed his shirt.
“Yesterday, on the phone, you told me everything. And now? I’m back to playing guessing games.” She dropped onto the settee, the sheet draping around her. Cody sat next to her, head raised for petting. She did something she rarely did: ignored him. Jennifer kept her glare fixed on Nate.
This was a shitty way to end a fantastic few hours and Nate knew it. He had to make it better again and somehow couldn’t. “Everything was fine,” he finally said. “Like I told you yesterday, it was strange, that’s all. I’d really just love to leave it there.”
Cody pawed at her. She gave in and absently massaged his scruff but remained focused on Nate.
As open and loving as she’d been just a few short minutes ago, he could now see her shutting down in real time, the light going out in her eyes. Nate knelt on the oval throw rug in front of her and tried to take her free hand, her other one still buried in Cody’s fur. But she resisted and Nate backed away. “Please trust me,” he said.
“Nate, I will not take two giant steps back,” Jennifer insisted. “If something’s bothering you, I want you to talk about it.” She bolted away from him and Cody, the bedsheet slipping off and trailing behind her. Nate followed as she swiped her bra and panties off the vanity stool, where she’d flung them en route to the bed. Day had since turned to dusk.
“Jen, I swear, it’s all good,” he said. “There’s nothing more to talk about.” He knew he shouldn’t have sworn, was trying to prove a point—but was probably digging a hole for himself instead.
She turned to face him as she stepped one leg at a time into her lacey undies. Nate could watch her do that all day long, he thought, preferably in slow motion. His appreciative reaction to that simple act seemed to register with Jennifer, whose expression softened a bit. “Fine, have it your way,” she said with a sigh as she pulled on her bra. “But I’ll be asking again.”
“Babe, I think you’re overreacting.”
“Don’t ‘babe’ me. And please—don’t ever tell a woman she’s overreacting. My God, haven’t you learned anything in thirty years of life?”
Nate flinched. That was harsh, especially for Jennifer. Okay, maybe he’d back down and tell her about the twenty grand—after all, it was only as big a deal as he made it out to be, right? Instead, he decided to switch gears and ask her out for a bite. He hadn’t eaten since the Mr. Pickles sandwich, and it seemed like a safer segue. But, poor judge of a moment as he sometimes was, she declined—which Nate figured maybe he deserved. As he left, he said he’d talk to her tomorrow. But her lack of a response spoke volumes.
Gloomily driving back to Eagle Rock, Cody perched regally next to him, Nate thought of the phrase “snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.” He’d never fully understood what it meant until now—it’s exactly what he’d just done with his beautiful girlfriend. He recalled the parting words of Lena the psychic: “It doesn’t have to be so hard.” It had sounded so obvious, so simple. At the time.
“So why is it so difficult?” Nate asked Cody, half expecting an answer. The dog gazed at him with devotion, his dark eyes inquisitive pools, then turned and stared out at the passing cars.
That night, mind racing, unable to sleep, Nate padded into the office to grab a book—reading was bound to put him to sleep. He turned on the overhead light and skimmed the shelves, noticing no small amount of dust on the familiar volumes. He needed some help on the cleaning front, that was for sure. He came upon Wuthering Heights, pulled it out, and started flicking through the old book. Naturally, it reminded him of Amy and his dad. And, while there might have been something eerily fitting about digging into it, Nate knew it would trigger too many of the thoughts he was trying to forget, at least at this midnight hour. So back it went.
He scanned past a couple of the Gatsbys, a Didion he didn’t remember being there, a pair of John le Carré thrillers, and a beat-up copy of The Sun Also Rises, which had clearly seen its fair share of lecture halls. None of them interested Nate. He then plucked To Kill a Mockingbird off the shelf. It was one of the few books he had to read in high school (or was it middle school?) that he liked though he didn’t recall this version, a worn, yellowing hardcover with the classic leafy oak tree art on its faded dust jacket. Something about the novel had spoken to Nate back in the day and maybe it would again.
Back in bed, Cody sawing logs on the floor beside him, Nate flipped on his bedside lamp and started to read. When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow. Damn if Nate didn’t remember those exact words. The memory sent a little shiver through him. He kept going, page after page, the lyrical prose engaging rather than exhausting him.
As he was about to start a new chapter, a matte color snapshot fell out of the book. At first, Nate thought it was just a bookmark of sorts. But when he turned the photo right-side up his eyes bugged open. It was of a teenage Amy at her high school graduation—cap and gown, diploma, joyful smile. Her expression read “Ready to take on the world!” Without the worry of a baby to hold her back, Nate thought darkly as he gazed at the old photograph.
Then he realized: What was it doing lodged between the pages of To Kill a Mockingbird? And what were the chances that this was the book he’d choose tonight? Nate turned over the snapshot. There was an inscription: Dear Jim—Wanted to share my graduation with you. You will always be a part of me. Love, Amy.
“What the fuck?” Nate asked the dark.
He did a quick mental computation: According to Amy, Jim had left Fresno shortly after Nate was born, the semester before she graduated. This meant that when Amy mailed this photo to Jim he was already living in L.A. Yet she also told Nate that his dad had left no forwarding address. No nothing, if he remembered correctly. Which, aside from the “pact,” was allegedly why Amy never tried to find him. That and the twenty grand—let’s not forget about that. Was there a part of her that thought sending Jim that snapshot, however it got there, might inspire him to break the agreement and reunite? And baby makes three?
It was all more than Nate could handle at what was now well past 1 a.m. Especially since he had to be up extra early to stop by the Russos’ for a final inspection before meeting Danny to start their new job. He tucked the picture back into the book, shut the light—and his mind—and slept fitfully until his six o’clock alarm.