Page 28 of King of Guilt

“Sounds wise.” I thought back to the time he had taken me to the dance floor to keep my father from ruining my evening and wondered what he’d felt while he did it.

“She was.” He nodded. “And I know how Freudian it all sounds, but she raised the bar so high.” Looking into my eyes, he grinned. “You’ll have a field day with that, won’t you?”

My grin reflected his. “Depends what you’ll say next.”

“Well, to hell with it, right?” Raising his glass, he challenged me to do the same, so I did. And then we both took large sips before he said, “I don’t think I’ve met any woman who made me think, ‘Yes! This is the woman I can live with and fear nothing.’ Fear, you see, acts like a God in most of our heads, even though we may not know it.”

Fear… a God. My eyes grew narrower. That was a disturbing thought, although it sounded about right. Feeling slightly exposed, I decided to shift the dynamic, as if to defend my own sanity. “What are you afraid of?” I knew he had all the right to throw my question in my face, refusing to answer.

But then, he surprised me. “Actually finding her.” He looked away, busying himself with feeling the paper cover of the book. “Having the chance to experience the kind of love my mother had described to me. To love someone so purely that all you want is for them to be happy.”

“Are you afraid of giving it? Or having it?”

“I find both possibilities disheartening.”

“Why?”

A sad smile painted itself on his lips, while his eyes remained on the book. “Because nothing lasts forever. Especially the things you delude yourself into believing.” He paused. “Don’t you realize that every fire ends in ashes? And every dream ends in waking up? And every life ends in death?”

Looking at the fireplace, I murmured, “But every fire serves its purpose. And dreams give us joy. And lives matter, don’t they?”

“That’s lasting in your book?”

“You’ll never forget Pearl, will you? Wasn’t her life and her love worth it while they lasted?”

He scoffed. “You speak like her… again.” He gave me a look laden with meaning, as if he knew about the conversation between me and his mom in the hospital before she had died.

Had he overheard us? Had he spent all this time carrying that knowledge without confronting me? And what did it matter now? I remained loyal to my promise, whether he liked it or not. The bottom line was that he was opening up to me more than ever before. Was his grief taking on a different form?

Deciding to change the subject, I eyed the book with which his fingers fiddled. “So, who wrote this, anyway?”

Catching my drift, he smiled and nodded. “Some new author here in New York. Her dad was a friend of my dad’s. He gave us copies when it came out, and I never got around to reading it.”

“Aside from the anticlimactic dance scene, is she any good?”

“If I’m being honest, she would never make it to my top ten.”

“Care to share? I could use something new to read.”

“You’ll be disappointed. All my heroes are long gone.”

“Such as?”

“Albert Camus, Vladimir Nabokov, Martin Heidegger.”

I sighed deeply. “I can’t claim to be familiar with all their works, but I’ve read Camus’ The Stranger; Nabokov’s Lolita, and Heidegger’s Being and Time.”

His eyes lit up. “Yeah? What did you think?”

“Well, they all have something in common. They’re all pretty dark, even when they address happy subjects.”

“Everyone has a dark side, even those who won’t admit it.”

“I agree.” I paused, examining the drink in my hand as I gently shook the glass. “But we all have to find a silver lining somewhere. Otherwise, why don’t we just lay down and die, and get it over with?”

After a moment of silence, he asked, “Have you ever gone sailing?” prompting me to look at his face.

“Never had the chance, no. Why?”

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