Page 77 of Before We Say Goodbye
He slept for two days, barely coming out of the room. Rebecca finally came in and peeled back the blinds. It was July; the last few months were a blur.
“Okay, that’s enough, Otis. Get out of bed and get back to reality.”
He wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Come climb in with me.”
She shook her head.
He realized then that he was in the guest bedroom. “Bec, we haven’t slept together in months.” He felt himself swelling under the sheets, his libido in desperate need.
“I wonder why.” Of course he knew why.
She opened the rest of the curtains and walked to the door. “Mike has trumpet lessons at eleven. You’re taking him. Later, we need to go into town for school supplies and some new clothes. Camden has nothing to wear.”
“Can you buy me a couple of more days?”
She didn’t even respond and turned to leave the room. Otis rolled over and closed his eyes again. He kept an eye on the clock, and at ten thirty he stepped into the shower, then found himself in the mirror.
It felt like the first time he’d seen himself that year. He hadn’t shaved in a few days. Black rings collected under his eyes. New wrinkles ran across his forehead. Damn, forty was coming on him quickly.
“Let’s go, Dad!” Otis heard from down the hall.
He slapped himself and then raced to the closet to find something to wear.
Once he and Mike were in the BMW, Otis asked, “Since when did you start playing trumpet?”
Mike was almost eleven now, almost a bloody teenager, and Otis had seen firsthand with Camden what it was like to raise a boy going through puberty. Click the seat belt and close your eyes! Michael’s voice hadn’t dropped, but pimples had collected on his brow. He was a handsome little devil, thick dark hair and bright-blue eyes. If only a shadow didn’t follow him around.
“I got tired of the trombone,” he said in a monotone voice.
“You look good, son. Tell me what else is new. I’m so sorry I’ve been gone, but I’m done for a while now.”
“You look strung out.”
Otis’s eyebrows curled. “Strung out? What do you know about strung out?”
His son shrugged. Kids knew way too much for their own good.
“Have you talked to Joe Montana lately?” he asked.
Otis was glad that Mike was willing to speak with him. It wasn’t always that way. “Not in a while.”
“I think they’re going to win it all this year.”
“Yeah, they’re looking good, aren’t they?” Otis had no idea how they were looking, but he’d pretended that he knew when folks around the country had brought it up. He’d caught himself more than once bragging about his budding friendship with Joe, even mentioning a time or two that they’d considered a project together.
Which was true. Nothing had been set in stone, but Joe kept pushing. Otis kind of liked stringing the quarterback along a little bit, staying on equal footing, as it were.
Otis spent the afternoon with his family in Santa Rosa. They ate tacos at their favorite Mexican place, then dropped into the drugstore for school supplies and stepped into a couple of clothing shops for the boys. Then, while the kids went into Sound Control, the CD store, Bec and Otis got a chance to talk.
Otis sat on a bench and motioned for her to join him. She sat a good three feet away. She would turn forty in the next few years, but no one would have known it. While Otis had been digging his grave with red meat and drugs, she’d been living off the land, meditating, and doing everything she could to take care of herself. The only sign of her age and of her weariness with Otis and raising children and taking care of her extended family was in her eyes, in the way the bright light that had always glowed deep in the galaxies of her pupils had slightly dimmed.
Though she dressed with more sophistication, she was still a hippie at heart, still barefooted and braless most of the time, still listening to the latest music and insisting that vinyl was better than CDs, still fine with taking an evening toke—but only once the kids were asleep.
“I know you’re not happy with me.”
She let out a staccato laugh that she’d been holding back for years. “What makes you think that?”
“Hey, it’s not been easy. I’m coming back. I’m here.” He reached for her hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
