• CHAPTER FORTY-THREE •
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Eliot drove Marc and I home.
I could tell he wasn't impressed by our humble abode and later suggested he take us to his house to stay the week. It was something my brother and I needed, just to hit pause on the present and set some other priorities. I told Kendra about our journey, though I had seen disappointment in her eyes, all she wanted for me was to find happiness. I was glad about that.
The things my father owned were expensive. It was obvious he didn't have limits when it came to laying down cash. When I was five years old, I hadn't enjoyed his wealth whereas mom might have had the chance to experience a more lavish lifestyle. Most children didn't have the capacity to understand money as Eliot had it rolling in every week, but after the life I've had for twelve years, it's easy to develop a newfound appreciation for it. And Eliot certainly didn't hold back.
We arrived at his house – my childhood home – in the middle of the night and after a day spent within its walls, I started debating going back home. Sure, there was Kendra waiting for my return, but I really didn't want to lose what I had just found.
My father and my home.
If I walked away now, who knew when I'd be getting either of them back again?
And so, an afternoon passed and once more, I'm in the present.
While Marc tails Eliot and has his own fun exploring the house, I lie in bed in one of the guest bedrooms. Eliot hadn't touched my old room since mom and I left. I've outgrown most of my belongings including the race car bed, but it's memorabilia. It's also comforting to know that there are still traces of my previous life thriving in this home and my father's heart.
Clutching my phone tightly, I consider calling Kendra. Being here implies a decision I have to make. Do I go or do I stay? Do I give up on our love or can I nurture it from this distance? Those are things I have yet to ask my girlfriend, and I fear what her answer might be.
I call her number and bring the phone to my ear, listening to the sound of the dial tone. I breathe in and out, rearranging my thoughts so they make sense, then think of the things I should tell her. I love you and I want to be with you, but is it still possible? I hope she's willing to make it possible. I can't lose again – I won't lose someone I love.
"Hello?"
Her meek voice shatters my silence. "Hey, Kendra. It's me."
"Beau, I miss you," she says, and I pick up on the sound of her soft breathing. "It's only been two days but...I wish you'd come home."
"I know, Ken. I wanna be there with you, but we're staying for the next week or so. I won't be back till maybe after New Year. Think you can wait it out a little longer?"
"For you, yeah. I just want you to be happy, that's all."
There's nothing she hasn't done to make me feel otherwise. That's why no matter how selfish I feel for keeping her here, I can never let her go. You love something and you set it free right? Not Kendra. If I don't have her, I have nothing.
Rolling onto my back, I gape at the ceiling. The bedspread if cool and crisp under my body, the room temperature is warm, warmer than I've ever experienced in our other house, and truthfully, it's soothing.
"How's Marc? How are things with your dad?" she asks.
"Good, actually. It's been such a long time, so things are kind of awkward," I let a smile curl my lips. "But we're getting there. At least Marc likes him."
For a few minutes, neither of us speak. We bask in the mental presence of each other. That is until I pick up on the first sob she emits.
"Baby, what's wrong?"
"I don't really know. I want you to do what's best for you, and if that's staying with your dad then I don't mind. But that doesn't mean it won't hurt if you go."
"I'm not going anywhere," I murmur, though I'm not quite sure of the answer myself.
"Yes, you are, Beau." Kendra's sobs soften. "You say you're not going to, but I feel that you will. Eliot is your dad after all. Your mom is...what's really left for you here?"
"You."
I roll on my side again and gaze out the window at the grey afternoon sky. "I'll come back because I can't just leave you there. I love you, Kendra. I won't let you go."
"I feel selfish," she whispers, "for being the reason you can't move on from this place."
"Who said I wanted to move on?"
I think months ago moving on would have been a dream. No Ethan, no mom at one point, no Marc, no Presley, no Kendra, no Eliot. Just me and myself left to the world alone. The solitude offered me peace at that time, but now peace is people. It's the people I cherish and love more than anything, and I wish I had spent more time appreciating it rather than running away from my predicament.
"Don't you want to be with your dad?" I sense her smile through the phone. "He's your family."
"He's not my real family, Kendra. He hasn't been with me since I was five. I bet he only showed up to the funeral because he felt guilty." Eliot might pretend to be the good guy, but he's as rotten as they come. He'll abandon me when given the chance again, I know it. "Once he gets over it, I'll be tossed aside and it'll be like he never knew me."
"I don't think so, Beau. I saw the way he spoke to you that day. He loves you."
"I love him. I guess I'm scared of getting hurt again."
"He won't hurt you. He's your father."
"Doesn't mean he can't do messed up shit," I retort, sitting up on the mattress. Behind the closed door, I hear approaching footsteps. It's likely Eliot here to check in on me the way he'd been doing since we arrived as if he's worried I'll suddenly change my mind about him.
"I have to go, beautiful. There's something I gotta take care of. I'll call you back soon, okay?"
Kendra sighs, "Okay. I love you, Beau."
"I love you too."
"Bye."
I hang up and toss my phone next to me. Just as I predicted, Eliot opens the door and stands hesitantly in the doorway. He's dressed casually today – there's no suit to intimidate me – as we share a brief glance before I look away.
"Beau."
"Yeah?" Eliot invites himself inside the room and strolls to my bedside. The mattress dips with his weight when he sits at the edge, fixing me with an illegible stare. "What is it?"
"Je veux que tu rencontres ma femme et mes enfants."
Once upon a time ago, I would have understood every word he said. Now it just irks me whenever he speaks in French around me knowing full well, I can't decipher a word he's saying. But that doesn't seem to stop him. He goes on, "Je ne veux plus te cacher. Tu es mon fils et ils doivent savoir."
"I can't understand a damn word you're saying," I tell him. "Speak to me in English or not at all."
My father has become accustomed to my tone in such a short amount of time. He takes no offence to it. In fact, my little spurts of frustration amuse him more than anything. Eliot smiles and reaches for my hand. I let him hold it and he does that weird thing where he touches his cheeks to mine twice like he used to do back when I was younger.
"I speak French in my own house, Beau. And if you don't like it," Eliot ruffles my hair. "I suggest you learn."
"I haven't spoken it in a long time. I forgot everything." I blush much to my dismay. I stare at my hands for fear that perhaps he's disappointed in me, or maybe I'm just disappointed in myself for letting him down.
"That's what you think. It's in there somewhere. I know you can learn it again if you put your mind to it." Eliot's cerulean blue eyes glow, affection bringing them to light. "Speaking to you...it reminds me of old times. I missed so much of your life, Beau. I'll never get them back, and I regret not being with you and your mother."
"I know, papa."
"Je suis tellement désolé de te décevoir."
Something tells me he's apologizing. From the way his gaze lowers and shoulders slump, he's guilt-ridden. So am I.
"Je veux tellement être dans ta vie, Beau. Je renoncerais à tout ce que je devais être avec vous."
I've witnessed enough sorrow to last me a lifetime and sorrow from Eliot isn't what I want anymore. In the beginning, I might have wanted him to suffer for all he put us through, but it pains my heart to watch him break so desolately in front of me. This man is my father, I'm half him, I'm his son. His hurt is mine.
"You know I love you, right, papa?"
He looks at me, blinking slowly as if pushing back tears. "Je sais."
"So stop crying about it," I say, nodding. "Yeah, I'm pissed as hell that you left me all those years, but that doesn't mean I hate you. I don't. I was angry and none of that was hate, I think. Just frustration. I wish you were with mom and I; I really do. But I can't change the past and neither can you, papa. It's over and it's done."
"Je ne mérite pas un fils comme toi, Beau."
I smile at my father. "I'm gonna guess that you're calling me the best person in the world."
"Close," he muses. "But I love you, son. And that brother of yours, he makes me happy too."
"Marc?"
I shift closer to him and wait for the moment he pulls away. He doesn't. Instead, he encapsulates me with both arms and I feel the soft press of his lips on my forehead. "Oui, Marceau." It sounds better in his accent.
"Mom named him that because it reminded her of you."
"We wanted to have a second child," Eliot elaborates, gently rubbing my back as we both gaze out the window. "If we had another boy, I insisted we name him Marceau – my little warrior."
"I guess mom never forgot." And she kept it so well hidden from all of us. I never knew his name had so much meaning.
"I suppose he is the son we both wanted. He looks just like your mother."
"I really love you, papa."
He smiles like he knows how much. He doesn't. Neither do I. But it runs deeper than an ocean.
"What happens now though?"
"Nous avançons."
I nod, pretending to understand his words. All I'm aware of is that there's only forward from here on out. Me, Marc and my father.I wish mom could be here to see us grow together. At least she's now in a better place, resting, free from the turmoil of this world.
Over the horizon, the sky looks clear.