CHAPTER NINE

The next few days blur into each other. Andrew comes in and goes straight to the office once occupied by his parents then leaves without saying a word to anyone. At night, I see him leave in the Hummer only to return in the middle of the night, coming and going without a trace except for the ruckus that ensues during the early morning hours.

The one occasion in which we arrived home at the same time left me feeling sad and uncomfortable when he ignored my attempts to converse. I’d called his name several times, but his legs continued to carry him away. Frustrated and fed up, I’d jogged over and blocked his path. “Andrew! Why are you ignoring me? What the hell did I do to you?”

The look on his face hidden beneath the low brim of his hat was lethal. I shivered and took a step back when the hair on my arms stood up. Feeling more worried than afraid, I planted my feet and looked up.

“What’s wrong? Please talk to me. Let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” he’s said abruptly as his eyes fell to my lips. “I don’t need anything from you.”

“Fine. Can you at least be quieter at night?”

♦♦♦

Having lost count of the time spent lying awake, I have no choice but to take matters into my own hands. During the early morning hours when the only sound should be bats flying through the air, flapping their wings in search of nourishment, my sleep is again interrupted by loud noises coming from the main house. I toss and turn then stomp over to shut the window.

Hoping the closed window will provide a sound barrier, I return to bed and lie there, thankful for the quiet reprieve in noise. When the banging starts again, I bury my head beneath the pillows and groan then add in the fervent kicking of my heels against the mattress.

When exhaustion and stress merge, rendering me furious and frustrated, I jump to my feet, unable to contain myself anymore, and pull on my long plush bathrobe, grab my father’s yellow flashlight and trek across the yard to the main house. He needs to know how much this is disturbing me, clearly, Andrew Darling is a selfish man who isn’t very considerate of others.

My closed fist pounds mightily on the back door to no avail so I twist the handle and step into the house through the kitchen. The house is completely dark with only the light from the microwave giving an ounce of light. I call out his name and look down the hall then roll my eyes. A quick flash of memory reminds me of the time I walked in on him having sex with some woman. Another blink of my eyes imagines his nakedness on full display before me right here in the kitchen. That gleam of mischief and confidence in his blue eyes should’ve been enough for me to know that Andrew Darling was trouble.

A loud, rhythmic pattern of banging again ensues and disturbs the stillness throughout the entire dwelling. Determined to put an end to the noise which I now realize sounds like the beating of a drum, I follow the clatter up the stairs, down the hall and finally stop at the door where a young boy’s baseball cap once hung. Bright light seeps through from the bottom and shines on the hardwood floor, illuminating the moisture on my toes from the sprinkler system.

I call his name when I knock, but the pounding of percussion seems to be louder and even more pronounced than earlier. Filling my lungs with air, I muster up some bravery and turn the door knob. Facing the wall, Andrew sits shirtless and beats frantically on a huge drum set. A thin sheen of moisture covers his back as beads of sweat fall like rolling teardrops and disappear into the band of his black boxers. His broad shoulders move, following the beat he’s creating with the sticks in his hand. Moisture soaks his unkempt hair, making it appear even darker and wavier than normal. Bobbing his head to the tempo, Andrew continues to assault the instrument, his right foot stepping on a pedal to create a loud interjection of bass.

Exhaling forcefully followed by a loud groan, Andrew suddenly stops drumming. I freeze, my body becoming a statue as ice fills the veins leading to my heart. I gulp and wait for him to turn around and berate me with his angry wrath. Instead, he raises his arm with the drumsticks still in his hand and swipes it across his forehead. His head drops, giving the appearance of solemnness as if in the state of prayer. I am mesmerized, hypnotized by the sight of him when his strong back curls and he drapes his body over the drum set. With the room filled only with silence and the sound of my thundering pulse, a violent and unmistakable sound slices across my chest and pierces my heart. My hand reaches up to cover the hole I feel in my chest, preventing my shattered heart from exploding when the sound again echoes against the four walls.

The cry of a grown man. The anguish with which he sobs decimates my heart, splintering it into a million tiny shards. I cover my mouth to prevent my gasps from being heard. Sorrowful tears fill my eyes and stream down my face when I hear his desperate appeal to God, asking Him to bring them all back followed by his uttered words of apology and promises to do better if given the chance. Eventually his pleas fall silent and he stammers a final, whispered request for forgiveness.

A broken heart lies within Andrew Darling.

Instinct tells me to rush to him, but my feet are cemented to the floor, preventing them from carrying me over to him and wrapping my arms around him in solace. Suppressing the words of comfort I want to offer, I swallow the silent sobs that nearly rival his. Never in my life have I seen someone so distraught. So tormented. So remorseful. So broken.

Indecisive about what to do, I take a small step back and exit the room, careful to go unnoticed, leaving Andrew to grieve and mourn privately.

Just before I close the door completely, Andrew uncurls his body and sits up, looking around the room before turning in my direction. With less than a fraction of a second before his tear-filled eyes land on mine, the door closes.

Please God, don’t let him have seen me. I didn’t mean to invade his privacy.

Bolting down the front stairs, I offer a prayer of gratitude that I made it out undetected, having not disturbed Andrew’s private moment.

Then it happens.

I sneeze horrifically and drop the flashlight.

Daring not to look back, I run blindly, letting my legs carry me as fast as they can across the yard and into my house. With a pounding heart and damp feet, I stand with my back pressed against the closed door and pant, struggling to catch my breath.

Jesus, Morgan. Mind your own business I chastise myself.

♦♦♦

Andrew doesn’t show up to work for the rest of the week. Because I am overcome with an inexplicable need to protect him, I spin a deceitful tale and tell the staff that he had to return to Colorado to tie up some loose ends but should return within a few days. I hate lying to these people; they’re like family to me, but the truth is that he is holed up in the house and won’t answer the door. I hear him at night when the rest of the world is quiet and still. I see him leave and return in the middle of the night. While the stars twinkle, a heavy cloak of restless torments plagues Andrew Darling.

I scour my desk, searching for the small rectangular card. “Where is it?” I grit as I look through the stack of sealed envelopes and manila folders housing new projects. “There you are!” I pick up the business card, reach for my cell phone and dial the number listed. After several rings, I’m sent to voicemail where Andrew’s voice suggests the caller leave a brief message or not.

Andrew doesn’t want to talk to me on the phone? Fine! He’ll have to face me in person then.

That afternoon, I bang my fist on the back door and even walk around to the front of the house.

“I know you’re in there! Open up the door!”

Peering in through the living room window, I can tell that Andrew is alive and eating based on the boxes of takeout food from various local restaurants.

“I’m looking for a place so you won’t have to see me anymore!” I scream as I trudge across the yard to the pool house.

Another week goes by with no sign of Andrew Darling.