Chapter 16
When they arrived back at The Dragon, Thora disappeared upstairs into her bedroom and Allison did the same. It was a relief to be completely alone again. She’d gotten used to spending her days by herself, and she’d probably talked more in the past twenty-four hours than she had in the last few weeks combined. She hadn’t asked Thora about the pepper spray. She’d never thought of coastal Oregon as a high crime area, but she couldn’t blame any woman for wanting to have a little protection on her. Still...it seemed odd that Deacon would want both his sisters to carry pepper spray. What was he afraid of around here?
The quiet and the solitude didn’t last long. Roland knocked on her door about an hour later, and by that time, she was ready for company again, especially tall, broad-shouldered, handsome company.
“Hey, you,” she said as she let him into her room. “How’s Dad?”
“Resting and reading,” Roland said. “You?”
“Reading and resting.” She sat on a white wicker rocking chair in the corner of the room. Roland sat across from her on the bed.
“You had fun with Thora and Deacon?” he asked.
She considered asking him about the pepper spray but decided to keep that to herself for now.
“Did they tell you I nearly killed myself today?” she asked.
“What made you think touching nine-hundred-degree molten glass was a good idea?” he asked.
“It was cute.”
“Third-degree burns, however, are not cute.”
“True,” she said, nodding sheepishly. “It was so odd, though. It looked like normal glass, but when it fell it was goo.”
“The first time Dad sculpted glass with Deacon, he said it felt like messing with the brain again because it’s not quite solid, not quite liquid and really dangerous.”
“I can see that,” she said, recalling how unnatural it felt to be able to pull and mold thick heavy glass like putty. “I promise to remain a spectator in the future.”
“Please. Deacon’s tattoos are half art, half covering up burn scars on his arms.”
“Thora saved me,” Allison said. “I owe her.”
“She’s a good kid,” Roland said. “So...are you freaked out?”
“About almost burning my hands off?”
“About last night.” He looked adorably young and uncomfortable sitting there on the bed, not quite meeting her eyes.
“Last night was lovely,” she said, and stretched out her legs and rested her feet on Roland’s thighs. “You freaked out by it?”
“I had a moment this morning when I woke up in bed with you. And you were there all naked and beautiful, and I thought, Yup, gotta go to confession today.”
She laughed. “Did you?”
“I’m keeping a list. When I have an even dozen, I’ll hit up Father Larry for absolution.”
“How many sins do you have on your list?”
“After last night, two more,” he said.
“Need a hand reaching a baker’s dozen?” she asked.
Roland raised his eyebrow at her.
“You’re bad,” he said, pointing his finger at her. “It’s the middle of the day.”
“Ever heard of a nooner? McQueen used to squeeze me in between his breakfast and lunch meetings. You can squeeze me in before dinner, can’t you?”
“I’d rather take my time.”
“You say such sweet things,” she said. “But I know how wicked you are.”
Roland’s eyes widened. “What did you hear?” he asked. “Do I want to know?”
“Deacon said you, him and Thora used to smoke pot up in the attic.”
Roland’s head fell back in annoyance.
“That was years ago. Years,” he said. “We haven’t done that since I was a teenager.”
“You sure about that?” she asked. “You’re being awfully defensive.”
“Not once in eleven years,” he said.
Allison tapped her foot on his leg.
“Okay, maybe once,” he said. “Right after I came home from the monastery. Deacon made me do it.”
“That better be on your sin list for Father Larry.”
“It is, promise.”
“What else is on your sin list?”
“That’s between me and Jesus.”
Allison took her feet off his lap and stood up in front of him. He put his hands on her waist and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
“Here,” she said. “One more for your list.”
She kissed him, a deep kiss but a quick one. When Roland returned the kiss, Allison pushed him onto his back.
It didn’t take much more than that to convince Roland to squeeze her in before dinner. She crawled on top of him, but Roland rolled her onto her back. He stripped her clothes from her quickly but not quick enough for her. She unzipped his jeans and guided him into her before he even had time to take his flannel shirt off. He slowly moved into her and she groaned with pleasure. Roland buried his face between her breasts and laughed softly.
“What?” she said.
He lifted his head and put a finger over his lips.
“Dad’s directly above us,” he whispered.
“Oops,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I’ll try to be quiet.”
“Thank you,” he mouthed, and started moving inside her again. She pressed her face to his chest, relishing the warmth of his body and the feel of his flannel shirt on her cheek, soft and well-worn with age and too many washings. But she wanted to feel his skin against her, so she quickly undid one button at a time while he braced himself over her, then pushed it down and off his arms.
He was good at being quiet while making love, and she wondered if that was simple discipline or embarrassment. McQueen had made her shameless, so it wasn’t easy for her to stifle her moans and gasps, especially when Roland touched her throat the way she loved. A groan escaped her lips and Roland pressed his hand over her mouth. She giggled behind his palm and felt his laughter rumbling through his body.
“Shh...” he breathed into her ear, and she couldn’t stop herself from giggling again. Roland pushed two fingers into her mouth and in an instant the room disappeared, transformed into another darker room. The blue bed was gone and she lay on a bare cot. The air was no longer light and cool and salt-scented from the open window, but hot and close and musty. And it wasn’t Roland’s fingers inside her mouth but something hard and cruel, shoved between her teeth.
Allison turned her head to gulp air and Roland rose up over her.
“You okay?” he asked, his eyes wide and worried.
“I’m fine,” she said, panting.
“You don’t seem fine.”
“I think...I think I gagged on your fingers.”
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“No, it’s okay,” she said. “I’m fine now.”
She kissed him to prove she was okay, but he didn’t kiss her back at first. Had he seen the truth—that she’d been on the verge of full-blown panic? That she’d suddenly disappeared into what felt like an incredibly vivid memory? Eventually he returned her kisses and she relaxed underneath him. But the magic was gone from the moment. He came a few minutes later but she couldn’t. Afterward she slipped on Roland’s flannel shirt and rested her head on his chest.
“Okay, time to tell me what happened there,” he said as he stroked her hair.
“I don’t know.”
“Something happened.”
“I...” She rested on her elbow and met his eyes. “I had some kind of flashback or something.”
“A flashback? Of what?”
“Nothing that makes sense,” she said. “I was on some kind of cot, like a hospital bed, and someone was pushing something in my mouth.”
“Do you remember what?” Roland asked. He searched her face as he spoke and she saw the concern in his eyes.
“It tasted kind of like...plastic?” she said, shaking her head as if she could dislodge a memory like shaking a Magic 8-Ball.
He took a moment to think. “You know, that could have been a memory of you being intubated in the ER after you fell,” he said. “I’ve seen it done. It’s horrible. It could traumatize anyone.”
“That makes sense,” she said. She closed her eyes and willed herself to remember it all again, but nothing new came back. Yet, it was undeniable that something about being in this house again was bringing memories to the surface she’d long ago forgotten or buried.
“It hit me when you pushed your fingers in my mouth. It’s gone again.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But you moaned, ‘Oh, fuck, Roland,’ and, well, you know...” He pointed at the ceiling.
“I think your dad knows about us,” she said in a stage whisper.
“True, but I’d like to be able to make eye contact with the man later.”
“You’re blushing,” she said. “It’s cute. Do all monks blush after sex?”
“Yes,” he said. “Although most of us skip the sex and get right to the blushing.” He kissed her forehead. “You okay now?”
“Better.”
“How much better?” he asked, kissing her neck under her ear.
“Are you trying to have sex with me again?” she asked.
“You didn’t come, did you?”
“You are trying to have sex with me again.”
“Yes? No? Maybe?” he asked, kissing her cheek, then her lips and her throat and her chest.
Yes. Definitely yes.
After they finished, Roland stole his flannel shirt back, left her grinning on the bed and went to make dinner while she cleaned herself up. Her shower cleared her head and she regretted that she couldn’t be more honest with Roland. She’d always played her cards close to the chest with McQueen but that was because of the nature of their relationship—the sex was professional, not personal. She didn’t want to have that sort of distance with Roland. But what could she do? Deacon had begged her not to ask Roland about his sister, Rachel. Dr. Capello had instructed her not to tell anyone he thought Oliver was the culprit behind her “accident” and the phone call to her aunt. And what was there to say about Thora forgetting where she was when Allison had her fall? Allison couldn’t even remember where she’d been when she fell—how could she expect anyone else to remember?
Still, she didn’t like how many topics of conversation were off-limits in this house. Too many. But she’d only been home for a day. Not like she had any right to barge in while Dr. Capello was dying and make everyone miserable by dredging up ancient history. But there were things she needed to know. Since she couldn’t ask, she would figure them out on her own. Luckily it seemed the house was on her side. So far she’d been here less than twenty-four hours and she already remembered more than she had in years. The kiss on the beach. The attic door. Roland’s fingers in her mouth. What memory would the house offer up to her next?
At six, they all convened in the kitchen for dinner. It should have made for a pleasant meal, the five of them together again, making small talk about the weather, happy memories and Thora and Deacon’s work at the gallery, but Allison sensed quiet tension. She was worried at first she was the cause of it, until she noticed that Dr. Capello wasn’t eating but merely pretending to. Food moved on his plate but didn’t disappear.
Allison said nothing, knowing it wasn’t her place, but then Roland said, “Dad, you have to eat something.”
“You know what they say,” Dr. Capello said. “I only have to pay taxes and die. And I’m all paid up for the year.”
“Dad,” Roland said.
“Allison, would you please take my son for a walk on the beach? Or anywhere? Off a cliff maybe.”
“Maybe I’ll go back to the monastery where I’m appreciated,” Roland said as he started to stand.
“And celibate.” Deacon muttered the words but everyone heard him.
Roland looked at Deacon, glared at him, in fact, then slowly sat back down. Thora laughed so hard she nearly shot water out of her nose. Meanwhile Allison blushed like a monk. Embarrassing as it was, Deacon’s snark was exactly what the dinner needed. The tension dissipated, and for the first time Allison felt truly back at home.
“Just for that,” Dr. Capello said, “I’ll try to eat something.”
After dinner she and Roland did go for their walk on the beach while Deacon and Thora washed and dried the dishes.
“I’m going to be laughing all night at you sitting back down at the table,” Allison said.
“When Deacon makes a good point,” Roland said, “he makes a good point.”
“Dad’s really sick, isn’t he?”
“I told you.”
“I guess it didn’t hit me until dinner.”
“He’s trying to act healthier than he is,” Roland said. “He’s good at pretending things are okay when they aren’t.”
“He seemed so...himself today when we were walking out here,” Allison said. “Like nothing had changed in thirteen years.” Roland took her hand in his and she was surprised by how much she liked it. She and McQueen had never done much in the way of hand-holding. There wasn’t much chance to as they rarely went out in public together.
“I’m glad you had a good day with him,” he said. “I hate to think how few good days are left.”
“How are you holding up?” she asked, squeezing his hand.
He stopped walking and turned to face the water.
“I’m fine until I think about it,” he said.
“I shouldn’t have asked. Now you’re thinking about it.”
“I would like to be able to be not fine in front of you.” Roland turned to her and she saw the tight line of his mouth, the hard set of his jaw, telltale signs of a man trying very hard to be strong when inside he was falling apart.
“You can be not fine with me all you want,” Allison said.
“Thank you,” he said, taking her face in his hands to kiss her.
She glanced up at the house and saw a face gazing down on them from a third-floor window.
“Wait—Dad’s watching.”
“Let him watch,” Roland said, and kissed her, a kiss she returned, unable to stop from wrapping her arms around his neck. Eventually they broke off the kiss and started ambling along the beach again. A mile from the house stood the basalt caves they used to play in as kids.
“So Dad seemed okay today?” Roland asked.
“Pretty good,” she said. “Tired, he said, but sharp as a tack. A little bit ornery, too.”
“Ornery?”
“Is a Southern word.”
“I like it. Ornery. I hope Dad stays ornery to the end.”
“I’m sure he will,” Allison said.
“What did you all talk about?”
“The past. The future. You.”
“Did you ask him about your fall?” Roland asked.
“I did.”
“And?” Roland asked.
“He made a very good point about why he didn’t tell you all about that phone call to my aunt. He said he didn’t want you all freaked out in the house, afraid of each other.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” Roland said. “With so many kids in one house...the fewer reasons to fight, the better. And if we thought one of the four of us was to blame for you leaving, it would have been a bloodbath.”
Allison furrowed her brow, stopped walking.
“The four of you? You, Deacon, Thora, Oliver and Kendra. That’s five.”
“You don’t remember? Oliver’s mom took him back home the day after our...you know. On the beach. And you fell or whatever a couple days later. By the time of your accident, there were just five of us.”
Allison went cold.
“Oliver’s mom took him back before I fell? You sure?”
“I helped him pack his stuff,” Roland said. “He was upset with me because I hadn’t gone to the park with them the day before. Your accident was after he left. I know because Oliver said he wanted to stay another week for my birthday, but his mom wouldn’t let him. I know he left before your fall. I remember thinking how insane it was we lost both of you in the same week.”
“That...that doesn’t make any sense,” Allison said.
“Why not?”
She didn’t answer.
“Allison, why doesn’t that make sense?” Roland asked again, his voice more demanding this time, almost scared.
“I...I’m not sure I should tell you,” she said. “Your dad asked me not to.”
“Tell me what?”
Roland looked so worried Allison knew she had to tell him. It wouldn’t have been fair to keep him in the dark after she’d already said so much.
“Today when Dad and I were talking about what happened to me, he said he thought Oliver was the one who called my aunt and told her someone was trying to kill me. He said Oliver was jealous of how close you and I were.”
“Dad said that?”
“He did. He said he couldn’t swear it was Oliver, he didn’t know for sure, but that if anyone was responsible for my fall, it was him. But...why—How would Oliver call my aunt or push me down those stairs when he wasn’t even here?”
“He could have called her from his house, maybe?” Roland offered.
“True, but why try to get rid of me when he was already gone?” she asked, to him, to herself. “And even if he did call from his own house, he wouldn’t have been there the day that I fell.”
“Dad really mentioned Oliver by name?” Roland asked.
“He did. He said knowing what he knew about Oliver’s background...that was his theory.”
“Bizarre,” Roland said, shaking his head. “This is not good.”
“Because he lied to me?”
“Dad wouldn’t lie about something like that. What scares me is that he’s slipping. Mental confusion is a symptom of end-stage renal failure,” Roland said. “But...he hasn’t acted confused at all.”
“It was thirteen years ago. People forget things, get dates mixed up.” She thought of the conflicting stories from Thora and Deacon, realizing how hard it would be to determine whose version of events was closest to the truth.
“True,” Roland said. “I mean, maybe I’m the one remembering it wrong. But still...”
“Maybe we could talk to Oliver. Ask him what he remembers. He might ’fess up if we make it clear I’m not trying to get him arrested for something he did when he was a kid.”
Roland exhaled hard. “I have no idea where he is. We lost touch when his mother took him back. I think we got one letter from him and that was it. Parents don’t want their kids confused about what family they belong to.”
Allison understood that. Her aunt had been the same way.
“Do you remember his last name?” Allison asked. “Collins, I think?”
“Yeah, Oliver Collins.”
“Come on,” Allison said, turning to head back to the house.
“Where are we going?”
“To ask Mr. Internet where Oliver is.”
“What if Mr. Internet doesn’t know?” Roland asked as they walked as briskly as they could across the sand.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I have a backup plan.”