Page 52 of Heartbreaker
“We all have issues, John.”
“Not the Williamses.”
“Trust me, stick around long enough and you’ll see that’s not true. Everyone has something.”
I could laugh just thinking about some of the antics that used to get my older brothers in trouble. Our parents still don’t know about the time I had to pick Crew up from the middle of nowhere because he and some friends almost got arrested a few towns over for a bar fight, and the kid who caused it left the rest of them to walk home. Or the time Papá kicked Nash out because they found weed in his room while he was still in high school. Or the times I heard my parents whispering in the middle of the night in the early stages of the ranch when they were close to going under water. Sure, it may seem like we’re perfect, but life comes for everyone at some point in time. I guess we do a better job at hiding it.
“I won’t ever push you to tell me, but when you’re ready to open up about it, preferably before I meet them…I’m here.” I pat his thigh and press a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’m going to take a shower and change. Then we can grab dinner because I’m starving.”
John disappears up the stairs and into his office without a word, the moment we walk through the door after dinner. I stand at the bottom of the stairs, debating whether I should follow, get the conversation over with—or wait.
Waiting sounds like a better idea.
Dinner was quiet, unusually so, but I’m not sure whether it’s because of John or me. We both seemed to be locked in our own minds, waging different wars on the same topic since the conversation this afternoon. Sitting across from him, twirling angel hair pasta onto my fork, I decided I shouldn’t join him for the birthday celebration in a few weeks.
I didn’t know what I’d be walking into, and I didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable when he already doesn’t see his family often. He should be free to be whoever he needs to be and enjoy his time, without worrying about me or what I might think. Sitting there, I made up my mind to tell him as soon as we got back to his house.
Opening the bottle of wine from last night, I take a sip…and hear the sound of his steps coming down the staircase. Less than a minute later, he joins me in the kitchen with a shoebox tucked under his arm. He slides it onto the counter before he removes the glass from my hand and pulls me into a crushing hug.
With eyes closed, his forehead against mine, he says, “I’m sorry, Savannah. I—I don’t want to keep things from you. I don’t mean to, but this has always been a…I guess it’s more of a sore spot than I realized. But I’m ready to talk about it, I’m ready to—”
“John, you don’t—”
“I want to, Sav. You have shown me all of you, and it’s time I do the same.” He kisses me gently before guiding me to the box on the counter. His fingers touch the lid before he gently lifts it. Inside are countless memorabilia: photos, ticket stubs, a trophy, ribbons, a broken action figure, a smashed snow globe, an old watch, letters, and drawings. Too many things to count, but I can tell each one holds significance to the man beside me, each one with a story to explain who he is. “I haven’t opened this in years,” John says, more to himself than me.
“How about we start at the beginning?” I say, handing him a glass of wine, before taking a sip of my own.
John pulls out an old photograph—a Polaroid—and his thumb traces over the smiling faces. A young boy with a toothy grin holds a trophy high above his head,Bobcatsacross his chest in white embroidered letters. His father, I assume, stands behind him, hand on the boy’s shoulder, with an equally bright smile, wearing a hoodie with the same team’s name on it. Both wear their hats backwards. John sets it down and pulls out another photo, this time of the same boy with his parents. Then another and another. Each one depicts different moments in time captured on film to be remembered—for better or worse, it would seem. Finally, he comes across a photo that stops him, and I notice his touch tighten ever so slightly. Rolling his lips between his teeth, he sets it down on the counter so I can see it, too.
“That’s my father,” he says, pointing to the same man I had seen in the earlier photos. This time, however, there is something different in the way his father smiles. His smile no longer reaches his eyes, no longer portrays the same love and light it did in the earlier moments. “This was taken at my sister’s second birthday party, the same day Mom found out about his first affair.”
Hisfirstaffair?
“They spent the entire morning in a screaming match right up until the first person showed up for Ari’s party.” John shakes his head, staring down at the man in the photo, but I can’t take my eyes off the one next to me. “Ari was clueless. They told us to go outside and play, but I heard them. I—I heard everything. Obviously, I didn’t understand it all. I was only ten, but I knew something bad had happened and I was scared shitless of what it meant.”
John puts the photo down, lifting out a thin, square children’s book. “They tried to hide the fighting, but they weren’t very good at it. Even Ari started to notice after a while. When it would get really bad, she’d sneak into my room, and I’d read her books or tell her stories to try and take her mind off it. Eventually, they moved into separate rooms, and then after a while, they just stopped talking altogether. That was the best thing they ever did because he refused to get a divorce.”
What the hell?
Next, John withdraws the base of what, I think, is supposed to be a snow globe. In what should be the inside of the globe, a black bear stands on a mountaintop in front of a serene mountainous background outfitted with a log cabin, pine trees, and a sign that readsGreat Smoky Mountains. There are dried sparkles cemented to different parts of the base, obviously from when the glass was broken.
“Then, one day, out of the blue…about six years after that first big fight, we came home from school, and they told us to pack a bag. We were going on a family road trip.” John runs his thumb over the bear’s head. “I could see right through him—them—but Ari…she thought it meant things were going back to normal. They were trying to act like things were normal, like they were happy, until Ari answered his phone and there was another woman on the other end of the line.”
The tears that brim in his eyes threaten to shatter my heart. Seeing the hurt—the heartbreak—pouring out of him is more than I ever imagined. This is not what I expected.
“Mom walked in, and Ari told her what happened…I watched that entire weekend implode in less than five minutes. He had just bought this for my sister maybe two hours before that, and amid his tirade, he picked it up and threw it across the room.”
“Did he hit you?” I can’t stop myself from asking, even though the thought of it makes me sick.
John shakes his head. “No, he never raised a hand to us. Sometimes, I used to wish he would have. I think that almost would’ve been better than some of the shit he used to say.”
I reach out to cradle his cheek, and he smiles, covering my hand with his. “Why do you keep all of this?”
John shrugs, picking up the watch. He runs his thumb over the face before he drops it back in its hiding place. “Everything in here is a reminder of the happy times, but also the not-so-great times. At some point, I stopped being able to differentiate, but it reminds me of where I came from and who I don’t want to be.” He finally looks up. “I don’t want to be like him, Savannah.”
“You’re not him, John.”
“My mother would’ve said the same when he told her that he didn’t want to be like his father.”
