Chapter 29
Allison went downstairs with Roland to the sunroom to wait for the others. They didn’t speak, but they did lean on each other. Allison leaned into Roland and he leaned into her. Between the two of them, maybe they could hold each other up just a little bit longer.
Deacon joined them and Thora arrived shortly after, holding something red in her arms.
“What’s that?” Roland asked.
“I know it’s dumb, but I thought Dad would like it,” Thora said. She held up red hooded sweatshirts.
“What? No way,” Deacon said, laughing. “He used to make us wear red on the beach so he could spot us easier. He was such a nag. I hope this fits.”
“I got them yesterday,” Thora said. “It’ll fit.”
Deacon pulled on the sweatshirt and Thora put on hers. Roland wormed his way into the sweatshirt. Thora put the hood up on his and nodded. “Now you’re a red monk,” she said.
Thora held out one last sweatshirt, a size small. Allison looked at it a second before taking it from Thora and pulling it on.
“We’re wearing these in the picture I have of us,” Allison said. “The one with the sparklers.”
“That was a good day,” Deacon said. “Any day when I get to play with fireworks is a good day.”
“It was a very good day,” Allison said. “Any day when I got to play with you all was a good day.”
Roland kissed her on the forehead.
Once they were all in their red sweatshirts, Allison removed the shroud from the urns. Each of them chose one. They were pretty urns, leaded glass, and all different colors with lids to hide the contents. Walking from the house down to the beach as the last feeble rays of autumn sunlight faded and died was the hardest, longest walk Allison had ever taken. They set the urns down in the sand, took off their shoes and socks and removed the lids from the urns. Inside were white and gray ashes, and Allison studied them in wonder. All that was left of a man, his knowledge and his dreams, his nightmares and his hopes and his love for his children, looked like something you’d sweep out of the bottom of a cold fireplace.
They picked up their urns again. There was a pause, a long one, as all of them waited together for someone to say something. Allison feared they were waiting on her but she had no more to say.
Then Roland began to sing.
He sang in the way of the monks, in the ancient way of the Benedictines. He sang a Psalm to his father and to the ocean and to his Lord.
“Praise the Lord—
Praise the Lord from the Heavens;
Praise him in the heights!
Praise him, all his angels;
Praise him all his host!
Praise the Lord from the earth,
You sea monsters and all deeps,
Fire and hail, snow and frost,
Stormy wind fulfilling his command!
Praise the Lord...”
In her weeks at The Dragon she’d never once heard Roland sing or pray. If his Psalm of praise wasn’t lovely enough to make her believe in gods and sea monsters, it was enough to make her believe in Roland.
In the holy quiet that fell after his Psalm, Roland finally took the first step into the ocean. Allison watched slippery silver water rush over his naked toes and his feet sink deep into brown sand.
They followed him.
The water was cool, not cold, but from the paleness of all their faces and the shaking of their bodies as they waded ankle-deep and then knee-deep and then hip-deep into the ocean, one might have thought they’d submerged themselves into ice water. In unison they tipped their urns and let the ashes fall into the sea. And when the urns were almost empty they dipped them into the waves to wash them clean.
Thora wept and Deacon’s eyes were bloodred from trying to hold back his tears. Roland looked deceptively calm. How Allison looked she didn’t know, but probably tired and probably cold and probably sad.
They turned and trudged out of the water quickly before a wave could catch them and knock them under. Deacon collapsed onto the beach. Thora sat at his side and then Roland at hers. Allison stood behind them, near them, and together they all watched the water scattering the mortal remains of their father.
“Once upon a time,” Deacon began and Allison couldn’t say if he was speaking to them or himself or maybe even his father. “A Roman glassmaker figured out how to make glass that could never break. Even if you dropped it on the ground, it would dent, not shatter. This Roman glassmaker knew the emperor Tiberius would want to see his amazing invention. He got an audience with the emperor and presented him with a vase made of this unbreakable glass. Tiberius immediately threw it on the ground. It didn’t break and the emperor was astonished. He asked the glassmaker if he’d shared the secret of unbreakable glass with anyone else. The glassmaker swore he didn’t. The emperor pulled out his sword right there and cut the glassmaker’s head off. You see, the emperor knew that if you could make glass that couldn’t break, that could be worked by metal and that was as plentiful as sand, all his gold and silver and other precious metals would be worthless. Tiberius knew there were some secrets too dangerous for the world to know.”
None of them spoke. And none of them asked Deacon what he meant. They didn’t have to. They knew. They knew what their father had done. And they knew the secret of how it was done was now safely buried in the Graveyard of the Pacific.
Thora kissed Deacon’s cheek and rested her head against his shoulder. Roland leaned back against Allison’s legs and Allison stroked his hair. The four them watched the water and listened to the wind and the waves. And with her family right there all around her, together, Allison knew one thing: they were all very, very lucky.
“Stay here,” Deacon said.
“What?” Allison said.
“Just stay. I’ll be right back. One more tribute to Dad.”
Deacon ran across the sand and into the house. He emerged a few minutes later with a slim box in his hand. He held it up and it rattled when he shook it.
“Sparklers,” he said. “And my phone. Picture time.”
“This is ridiculous,” Allison said. “It’s October.”
“Then they’re Halloween sparklers,” Deacon said. “Come on. It would make Dad happy.”
Deacon pulled a lighter out of his hoodie pouch as Thora distributed the sparklers. With a flick of his thumb, Deacon set a flame to blazing and the four of them brought the tips of their sparklers together until they were all brightly dancing in the twilight. The ocean breeze threatened to blow them out so they turned their backs to the beach and huddled together.
“Ready?” Deacon said as he held out his phone to take the picture.
“Not yet,” Roland said. “We have to do this right. And it won’t be easy. Allison doesn’t weigh sixty pounds anymore.”
“I weigh sixty-mumble,” Allison said. She held her sparkler in her right hand. Roland held his in his left. Then with his strong right arm he hoisted her up, holding her against him, her legs wrapped around his waist. It was so awkward, so ludicrous and precarious, she started to laugh at the absurd pose of a grown woman being held like a child on the hip of a grown man. And that was the picture the camera captured, her openmouthed laugh, Roland’s somewhat pained grin, Thora rolling her eyes at them in adoring disgust and Deacon sticking his tongue out because that’s what Deacon did.
Roland set her down hard and she ended up falling onto her back in the sand. She stuck her sparkler in the sand to put it out and lay back.
“What are you doing down there?” Roland asked.
“Making sand angels,” she said, waving her arms.
“That’s not a thing,” Roland said.
“It is now.” Allison wallowed in the sand a moment longer, to get Roland to smile for her just once. And what a smile it was. A kind and loving smile. A good man’s smile.
Roland held out a hand and she took it. He pulled her up and onto her feet.
“See?” she said, pointing at the shape her body had left in the sand.
“Goddamn,” Roland said. “It is a sand angel.”
“You shouldn’t swear like that. You’re still a monk, right?” Deacon asked.
“I am for now,” he said. “I’d have to tell them I was leaving if...”
“Are you?” Thora asked. “Please?”
Allison tensed. Roland glanced at her as if waiting for her to speak up and answer the question for him. But she couldn’t.
“We’ll see,” Roland said.
“What about you, sis?” Deacon asked. “You staying? Please?”
Allison glanced at Roland. He could no more answer the question than she could. She looked at Deacon and she looked at Thora. Up in her bedroom window, Brien sat perched looking down at his silly humans playing in what he must have thought of as the largest litter box in creation.
“We’ll see.”
They drifted back to the house and found a large white box on the porch. Roland took it inside and set it on the dining room table. It was addressed simply to “The Capellos” and they all gathered around as Roland opened it.
Inside were flowers. Dozens of flowers, all white. Roses, lilies, monte casino and carnations, but it was mostly one flower Allison didn’t recognize.
“What are those?” she asked.
Thora grinned. “Snapdragons. Very fitting.”
“Who are they from?” Deacon asked.
“I can guess,” Allison said.
“You guessed right,” Roland said. He opened the card, which contained a one-hundred-dollar bill, and read it aloud.
“I lost a part of myself the day I lost my father. Luckily I found it again when I looked in the eyes of my children. Your father lives on in the love you all have for each other. Thank you for taking good care of Allison.
My deepest condolences,
Cooper McQueen.
P.S. Use the hundred to buy bourbon—Bulleit Barrel Strength if you can find it. It’s what we call ‘drowning your sorrows’ bourbon.”
No one spoke at first. Allison blushed a little as Roland put the card back in the envelope.
“Flowers and booze money?” Deacon said, nosing through the massive bouquet. “You must be a fantastic lay, sis.”
“Deacon, I swear to God,” Thora said.
“He’s not wrong,” Roland said. Allison elbowed him in the ribs.
“I’ll take these,” Thora said. “They’re going on the mantel out of the way of Brien’s reach.”
“What about the booze money?” Deacon asked.
“I’m keeping that out of your reach,” she said.
Thora walked away with the flowers, scolding Deacon all the while and leaving Allison and Roland alone in the dining room.
“That was nice of him,” Roland said. She didn’t argue—it was very nice of McQueen. She hadn’t told him anything about what she’d learned other than that Dr. Capello had died and she was certain now she was safe. He hadn’t pressed her for more. She had a good feeling these flowers would be the last time she heard from him. And that was okay. It really was.
“Once or twice every year he remembers he has a conscience.” Allison picked up a loose carnation from the bottom of the florist’s box and twirled it in her fingers. “Today’s our lucky day.”
“The day you came home was my lucky day. The first time and the second time.” Roland took the flower out of her hand and tucked it behind her ear. “And it’ll be my lucky day again when you come back for the third time. If and when you come back.”
She looked up at him.
“What?” he said. “I can read you pretty well by now. You are leaving, aren’t you?”
She smiled weakly.
“I was thinking of doing what I told myself I came out here to do. See the coast. All of it. Drive down the 101 until I hit the ocean or Mexico.” She hadn’t given away all of McQueen’s money. She had plenty left for a long trip.
“Sounds like a nice drive,” Roland said. “Want some company?”
She’d been afraid of that question.
“Yes,” she said. “But...”
“Right,” he said.
“I think I need to be alone,” she said. “I’ve always been afraid of that, you know. I should get over it.”
“Why?” he asked. “Seems like being alone is something worth being afraid of.”
“You were a monk, remember?”
“And I lived with forty other monks. Monks aren’t hermits. I’m scared of being alone, too. We can be scared of being alone together if you want.”
“I signed up for six years of McQueen last time I got scared I was going to be alone in the world.”
“Didn’t turn out that bad, did it?”
“You’re defending my ex?” she asked.
“He sent us flowers and bourbon money,” Roland said.
“I guess he’s not so bad,” she said. “And we did have fun those sex years.”
“Six years?”
“You heard me,” she said.
Roland laughed. The laugh didn’t last long, but it was a good laugh while it lasted.
“So...” he said, perching himself on top of the dining room table. A no-no in the old days but the old days were over. “You’re leaving tomorrow morning?”
“That’s the plan,” she said.
He sighed. He didn’t look surprised but he didn’t look happy, either. Simply resigned.
“And you?” she asked. “Back to the monastery?”
“I suppose,” he said. “But not right away. I don’t want to leave Deac and Thor alone to clean up all the messes. Dad had money, lots of it. Lots of paperwork when there’s lots of money.”
Allison wondered what they would find when they went through the paperwork. Would he find out about the dead kids? The kids who hadn’t been so lucky? Not likely. Dr. Capello had burned all the evidence.
“You all rich now?” Allison asked.
“We have trust funds,” he said, and the tone implied they were substantial but not enormous. “But Dad’s also donating a big chunk of his money to a few children’s charities. He left a separate trust fund just for upkeep on the house, which is nice. I’ll have more than enough money to buy your bookstore if that’ll keep you here.”
“Nice try,” she said.
“Had to do it. Dad would have wanted me to.”
“You want to,” she said, raising a hand to his face. “Because you are the nicest boy in the world.”
It was a teasing compliment but Roland took it hard. He lowered his head and stared at his hands clasped across his lap.
“Am I?” he asked.
“I think you are,” she said.
“I didn’t used to be.”
“You used to be a kid. Now you aren’t. Now you’re a grown man, and a very handsome one at that.”
She stepped between his knees and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and she sensed him flinch.
“What?” she asked.
“You hit my sore shoulder,” he said. “See?”
He pulled the collar of his shirt down and Allison saw the black bruise that mottled his entire shoulder. She stared at it, long and hard, and realized she hadn’t seen him shirtless since the night before Dr. Capello died. And this was why.
“I thought you used the ax.”
“I tried, but it was taking too long,” he said. “Brute force did the trick.”
“You plowed through a locked door with your shoulder.”
“I heard you scream,” he said. “What else was I going to do?”
Far more gently this time, Allison put her arms around Roland and held him to her.
“Thank you for saving my life,” she whispered.
“Don’t go,” he said into her ear. “Tomorrow, I mean.”
“Roland...”
“I know I’m making it harder for you. But I let you go the first time without a fight, and I’m not going to do that again. So let me fight.”
Allison pulled back to face him and gave him a weak smile. “Okay, fight me then.”
“I lied to you about one last thing.”
“Huge surprise,” she said. “What about?”
“Chopping wood. I told you I was chopping so much wood because it was relieving my stress about Dad. That’s not why. I couldn’t stop thinking about you being here this winter, and winter in Arrow Cape is why fireplaces were invented. I wanted to keep you warm all winter. I pictured you and me on the sofa in the living room with the fireplace going. I was dreaming about how I was going to read to you every night before bed, the fireplace roaring in front of us and you’d be lying in my lap half asleep. And I was dreaming about how you would hide with me under the covers when it rains. And it rains a lot out here so that’s a lot of hiding. And I know you’re leaving because we had to lie to you and you had to lie to us...but you lie when you love someone and you don’t want to hurt them. Maybe those lies don’t have to be a wall between us. Maybe they can be a bridge. Anyway, the truth is I chopped so much wood because I want to keep you warm forever.”
It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to her. How could she say anything back that was worthy of his confession?
“I...” she began.
“It’s okay,” Roland said. “I know you’re still going. I just wanted to get it off my chest.”
“I love you,” she said.
His eyes widened.
“You can’t say stuff like that to a monk,” he said.
“Let’s go have sex all night long.”
“You really can’t say stuff like that to a monk.”
“I guess I can’t,” she said. “Too bad.”
She started to drop his hand and found that she couldn’t because a monk with a ponytail was hanging on to it.
“Maybe you can,” he said.
“No, you were right. You’re a monk and you’re going back to the monastery.”
He pulled her a little closer to him, a little closer still. He took the flower from her hair, McQueen’s flower, and tossed it on the table.
“But not tonight.”