ECHO // #Wattys2017

CHAPTER 8 ~ I CAN'T SEE YOU, BUT I KNOW YOU'RE THERE

After several silent minutes curled up on the sofa together, David spoke again. But this time his tone was flat and detached from emotion.

"Do us both a favor and keep as far as you can from that Hamlin kid." David's eyebrows knitted together and he looked as if he just ate or smelled something unsavory.      "He's not right." I froze for a second, worried what he might know. "He watches you. Watches you like you're his property."

  I lay with my head in David's lap, avoiding any discussion Hamlin related. We stared together at the pendulum hanging motionless behind the etched glass of my dad's grandfather clock.

"Dad used to say you could set your heart by that clock," David reminisced. 

When you grieve, time doesn't seem to pass in regular increments. It lurches forward. Each hand stumbling ineptly after the last in search of a meaningful rhythm.    Looking up at him. "So what do we set our hearts by now?"

He shook his head slowly, pursing his lips.

"I don't know." 

The ice clinked against the edges of his glass as he swirled his whiskey. Of course David didn't know, he was as broken and lost as I was.

I'm not sure what made me think of it, but I remembered the photo in Miles's office of my mom and dad on the sail boat.

            "Do you think they're together now, mom and dad?"

He breathed deeply through his nose and exhaled, thinking through his response. He looked down to me.

            "Sure, I do," he said, but I could tell he was just saying that to make me feel better.

            "Do you think he ever regretted not getting remarried?"

            "I think he thought there was only one person he could ever love that way, and was willing wait an eternity to see her again."

            David wasn't the romantic of our trio. He was engaged once though–two years ago, until he learned his fiancé lacked the necessary fortitude needed of a military spouse. It was his polite way of saying, 'she cheated on me'. So, he traded in her ring for a new car.

            We sat quietly for several more minutes. When I was sure he was asleep, I carefully slipped out from under his arm resting over my shoulder, and placed the empty glass next to the others on the table.

I hadn't been in my dad's office since just before I left for Camden. I smiled as I entered. The spacious room was exactly as he left it. This was my favorite place in the whole house. The semi-sweet aroma of dried fig and maple leaves still hung in the air. He kept pipe tobacco from his smoking days in a jar on his desk. The scent reminded me of my favorite season, autumn.

This is where I came to find peace; where I played my cello. It rested gracefully in its stand, waiting patiently for me to bring it back to life. I stood next to it, tempted to pluck the lonely strings, but instantly recoiled my fingers when I caught myself reaching. I didn't want to touch anything or take anything from its place, afraid it would somehow change my memories.

Cello was our thing, mine and my dad's. He bought my first one when he was stationed in Okinawa, Japan, where I was born. I found the gentle giant sitting alone in the corner of a music shop where we went in search of a guitar for David's sixteenth birthday.  The old man who owned the shop watched me plucking the strings as I pretended to perform for an audience. He placed a bow in my hand and showed me a few notes. I've been addicted since.

My dad didn't buy it that day, but it was waiting for me on the morning of my eighth birthday. He was always my biggest fan. I don't know if I could ever play for anyone else. I sighed, thinking that David should just pack the thing away.