WYATT
It was hard to stand within the house and not hear his boisterous voice boom across the tiles. He would run out to see a new car or bike, or even just to see us, and we loved that. His love for life was infectious.
I guess his optimism, and the way he was able to make each of us feel worthy of his praise and love is what I miss the most about him. Maybe that’s what drew me to Circe in the first place; she has that same shine.
The hallways are deserted, and rightfully so. Jamieson isn’t due in from Banff until later tonight, after Circe lands. It’s not a far drive to the airport, so I’m picking him up because I promised. No way would I let them send a car to ‘fetch him.’ Plus, I need the fuck out of here before I lose my shit further. Mother doesn’t want me near the track, and sitting here, with it in range, is making me murderous.
Doll has been smart enough to take off shopping with her girls pretty much every day. Me, I’ve been here since the funeral, and I don’t blame Doll. Fuck, I would if I could. Mother’s tirades have been abusive, and I’ve tried to avoid her at all costs. The last thing I want is to be sedated. I hate it.
“Wyatt?” Hearing mother loudly pronounce my name with every syllable strains my ears. She does it daily, and I’m sick of her calling me. Plastering on a fake smile, I venture off to see what she wants. Every time she calls, it makes my skin crawl, wondering what she’ll want this time. When she called me last, it was to clear out Dad’s clothes from the bedroom.
“Wyatt!” she hollers again, and it makes my bones ache.
“I’m on the way, Mother.” She’s in Dad’s study from the sounds of it this time, and I cringe, thinking of what she’ll need.
The layout of my parents’ house was decided by them. To the left, away from the rest of the house is Dad’s man cave, at the end closest to our track. I understood why as a kid, and I understand now. When we’d come off the track, or out of the shed, we’d smell like gear oil, fuel, and sweat. It wasn’t something that mother wanted us to track into the main house, so Dad had the bright idea of building this room with a shower, with more heads than necessary, a soaker tub, a closet full of spare clothes, and an area to hang your stinky attire. That kept Mom off his back about the whole sweaty, stinky bodies coming into her pristine living area, and why she’s in there now is beyond me. To be totally honest, I’m not really pleased with her for it.
Stepping into the room is like stepping into my father’s heart. Everything he loved was here.
When we were little, Whiskey and I would hide out in here. We’d seen a picture of John F. Kennedy JR., playing under his dad’s desk in the oval office, and we used to pretend we were there, hiding under the desk, watching history be made. To us, it was history in the making, watching Dad spoil over paperwork for paint and body designs. He’d be spilling himself over engine schematics, deciding how to tweak the cars for better performance, or watching old videos of his races, finding his weak spots, and understanding his own failures. He never wanted to repeat history.
For the time I’ve been here, I’ve avoided this room, feeling that coming in here would put a finality to it all. He should be here, but she is, and for some reason, she wants me to come in. If I don’t, I’ll have worse things to deal with than just being fearful of the ghost of my father.
Walking down the hall, getting closer and closer to the door, I can hear her lightly sobbing. She’s been stoic, dangerously hardened by the events, and standoffish with all of us, not showing the emotions that need to spill forth. Her dark side of the manic depressive has reared its head. Without Dad, the doctors have had to medicate her more and more over the weeks. At least, that’s what Cassidy, our housekeeper has told me.
Seeing the door to his office slightly ajar, I push the heavy mahogany door open, and find her sprawled out on the floor. Boxes of all sizes are strewn around the room in varied points of completion, with books and technical manuals, framed certificates, pictures of him with cars, us, his teammates, as well as some full to the brim with trophies. The one closest, to me, holds some of the best memories I have of him. There are pieces of busted pistons, twisted push rods, a mangled, hardly recognizable hood ornament that I remember from a Le Mans race two years ago. As I lift up the tiny and destroyed reminders of races gone awry, the weight of it hits me; these things remain. It’s hardly fair that they could make it when he could not.
“Mother,” I say quietly as I gently toss the messed-up ornament back into the box it was intended for.
“Careful with those, please, Wyatt.” Hmm. Sentiment.
“You wanted me?” I ask.
“Yes. I, um…wow. This is so difficult.”
This is the emotional side of her that I’ve never seen.
Stepping around to where she sits cross legged on the plush rug, sorting through stacks and stacks of pictures, she wipes her eyes with a handkerchief. It doesn’t seem to have been the first time, as the tiny piece of cloth is covered in stains of mascara and eye color. Sitting down beside her, picking up a stack of the photos, I flick through them with joy. There’s Jamieson with his first snowboard, and Doll with a plain white blanket —she’s only five or six, and holding her hand is me—with that first ratty dirt bike that had me hooked.
“You know, Wyatt, I remember this like it was yesterday.” She’s holding the picture, as if it’s a treasure. Laying it gently in the pile, I grab up another and laugh at what I see.
“That was a mess. I lost horribly, and it was a disaster of epic proportions. I was in the hospital for a week.” There’s nothing I hate more than traction. Her and Dad’s will is trying to place me in mental traction. Doing as the will was designed will be shackles and a boat anchor dragging me down. Firsthand, I’ve seen what this can do to people like me. Taking a wild animal and caging it, making it become hardened and sullen. My illness won’t allow that for me because it won’t tame me. It will cause further stress on my psyche.
Handing over the photo, I smile. “You brought me a magazine. The cover story was about Kimber Kilpatrick, the track star from school. If I remember, you were trying to help me understand that not everything needs to be about dangerous sports.”
For a moment, she’s still, saying nothing at all, then she breaks the silence with a light giggle. Truly, I can’t remember the last time I heard my mother laugh.
“Wyatt, my sweet boy.” Turning to me with a smile a mile wide, it lights up her eyes, and it’s lovely to say the least. Placing the picture into the pile with the rest, she touches my hand in a sweet way. This is not common in our relationship, and I’m a bit taken aback.
“This is harder than I thought it would be.” Wiping her eyes again, she turns to me with care in her eyes. “I was hoping you could help me sort through this. I want to separate things out to give to you, Jamieson, and China as mementos of your father.” Swiping another stray tear away from her face, looking heartfelt, she starts to relax, and so do I. Right now, in this moment, this is the closest I’ve ever felt towards my mother. I’m fearful to say anything that could change the interaction, so I nod slightly and move to stand.
Touching my arm, she halts me. “Wyatt, I know I’ve never been the most loving and caring mother in the world to you. I find it impossible to be close to you. Not that I don’t want to, truly I do, so much, but we’re too much alike, you and I.”
What she says is something I’ve always wanted to hear from her. That caring and loving motherly side has always been missing in my life. This may be short-lived, but I’ll accept it. Baring her soul is not something Marca Crown is known for.
Deciding there’s no time like the present, I ask, “Why?” I’ve always wanted to know, but fear has held me back.
A deep sigh escapes her as she considers her answer internally. “Of all my children, you and I are the most alike. Showing you in a way has been hard. I guess I’ve never dealt with things properly. Of that, with a heavy heart, I’m sorry.”
Taking my hand in hers, she looks at me with something akin to sorrow and regret. “I understand what you deal with every single day. The crushing weight of trying to be happy when you feel horribly and inexplicably—”
“Sad.”
Tears stream down her face as the realization of us dealing with the same issues; manic highs and depressive lows. How it creates a blanket of despair around your heart is indescribable to those that don’t suffer. She suffers as I suffer, and we’re a powder keg to each other’s sanity.
“As I sat here on the floor, trying to decide what was best to do with this room, what to do with things that made up the only man that understood and helped me escape the darkness, I realized that I would give anything to have him walk through that door with that infectious grin of his.” As the tears flow uncontrollably, she shudders, and I can’t help but feel her pain.
“I know the burden we’re placing on you will be dramatic and trying, but China is too young to deal with these things. And Jamieson has no part of it at all. You understand the race team. You understand the needs of the foundation, and I expect you’ll be fantastic at it.” Taking my hand in hers, she kisses the back. “Wyatt, I am so, so sorry, for never helping you deal with it. Please, forgive me for never being there for you.”
I wipe a stray tear away from my face. “Do you need help with all this?” I wave my hand around the room, pointing to nothing in particular, and she nods yes.
Understanding that I’m not forgiving her in this moment, or accepting my fate, mother kneels forward on her hands to rise. Looking her usual regal self, my mother’s facade is back in place. The Marca Crown I know is back.
“If you could box up the clothing in the spare closet, I’ll have it put into storage. And if there’s something there that is of use to you, or your brother and sister, then please, by all means, put it to the side. I’ll keep at it with these photos and memorabilia.”
Moving off towards the bathroom and his spare closet, I prepare to assist in closing off this part of my father’s life. “And Wyatt?” I turn. “Thank you.” She smiles, and I feel that we’ve had an understanding today that will change our relationship. Maybe for only a moment, maybe for good, but either way, I’m glad.
~~~~~~~~
Over the last few hours, we’d sorted, divvied, and boxed unnecessary parts of Dad’s life that we would never need, nor have reason to touch again. Mother and I were able to get along. There was nothing crass, no snide remarks, or evil barbs. It was cordial.
Sitting in the kitchen, having a bit of fruit and a drink after, my cell dances across the granite. It’s Circe. “Hey, gorgeous. What is my lovely lady doing today?”
“Oh, you know, saving the world from boring television programming. How’s it there today? Have you slayed any dragons or taken pictures of UFOs?”
“Only a small dragon, and he wasn’t very happy to be in the picture.” I haven’t told her, but everything about her makes my life easier. I love her. My Siren, my muse, my light. “So, are you packed? Ready for the flight?”
I hear her grunt and grumble in the background as she realizes how close she will be to her own family. I know what she’s dealing with, the pressure and unhappiness. Even though California is a large state, Malibu, Santa Monica, and the surrounding areas are an island all their own. We’ll have to land closer to them than us, and it might bring up memories that she’d rather not delve in to.
“So, I miss you.” Avoidance is a great tactic.
“I miss you too. I can’t wait to sink my teeth into you.”
“Hold off there, vampire. I don’t think it’ll be appropriate to sink anything into me while we’re in your mother’s home. Wouldn’t you agree?” I can hear the glee in her voice as she’s thinking of all the places we can hide out and act like giddy kids.
“I’ll be good. Well, as good as I can be with you around. We’ll just have to get creative.” Moving a couple grapes around on the plate, I pick up a piece of apple and pop it in my mouth as she talks.
“I was able to get an earlier flight. I’ll get in at seven thirty instead of nine thirty.”
“That’s awesome. I can’t wait to see you and show you some things here.” Yeah, I want to show her some new thoughts I’ve had for us to try out together, but also, I’m excited to show her my track. “I’ll be there waiting. Text me when you get through the checkpoints, yeah?”
“I’m hoping it’s a quick one. I don’t want to spend too much time in…” There’s a pregnant pause. Knowing Circe, she’s thinking about being close to home, to the place where everything in her life fell apart. To where an accident changed her life.
“I’ll be there with bells on and a route to avoid all and any memorable points in-between. How’s that, Siren?” Clamming up, realizing it’s the first time she’s this close to her family home, her voice fails.
“It’s been a long week. I can’t wait to see you, Wyatt.”
“Well, it’s closer now. Go pack some of the sexiest things you own. I’ll be showing you off and enjoying the thought that others are jealous of you on my arm.” I smile to myself, thinking of all the things she’s tossing in that bag.
“See you soon,” she says, and I smile.
“Go pack. I’ll see you in a few hours.” Hanging up, I grab my string of grapes and leave the kitchen with a lighter step than before.
My day started with further worry about being around my mother for more than a second. Instead, it changed and morphed into something fantastic. I hung out with her in the study, enjoying the time immensely. Circe will land early, and I get to have my way with her much sooner than I expected. I’m very pleased with this day.
“Was that Circe I heard you talking to in the kitchen?” Mother asks as I pass through the living room. She’d come out here earlier with a stack of old photo albums, thumb drives, and her computer. Her and Cassidy sat around, sorting it all and labelling it.
“Yeah. She got an earlier flight. She’ll be getting in at seven thirty instead.” Grabbing a seat on the sectional beside her, I select a stack of already picked through pictures, looking at days gone by.
Holding one up, she laughs. “Do you remember this one?” Turning it to me, I look and laugh. I do remember it.
I’m really liking this side of her.
“Yeah, Jamieson thought he could make a snowboard ramp from the shed and make it end at the pool. He was pissed when he realized he’d have to go too close to the track, and that Dad wouldn’t let him. He spent days on that, though. I didn’t realize you got a picture of it.” There was Whiskey, working away with the hammer, as his long dark hair fell around his face. He was so sure that his board would soar across it, allowing him to land in the water after a few flips.
Placing the picture in the pile, I rise to leave. “Wyatt?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you mind if I come with you? I’d like to.” She’s being sincere. “I’ve been having a great day with you. The medication is helping me more than I thought it ever would, and to be honest, I’d like to ride with you to get Circe. I’d like to spend some time with her before everything starts tomorrow. It’ll be hectic here, and I know she’s only staying a short while.” She pauses for a moment, stares down at her hands, then smiles.
“She’s important to you, and I want to start fresh with each of you. I want to repair the rifts in this family that I’ve let fester. It will be hard, but will you let me start with you and Circe?”
I think about it. With the will being read tomorrow, it’ll probably turn into an epic boxing match, but she and I will come to that bridge when we get there. “Yeah, sure. Circe would love that. I planned on leaving in an about an hour and a half. Can you be ready?” She nods, smiling as she steps around me towards her room with a hop in her step.
“That’s a new one to me, Wyatt.” Cassidy says, breaking my thoughts. “She’s happy, and the drugs might be helping, but I think it’s avoidance.”
“I can’t disagree. But it’s nice to see, right? I may not be able to find a way to deal with the changes coming, but I can try to find the bright side in all of this.”
“I hope so, for all your sake’s, sir.” Picking up the stacks of paperwork, I close the computer and pack up. “You all deserve a bit of happiness.”
“Ain’t that the truth, Cassidy.”
Walking away from the memories, I’m thinking the same as her, but I feel lighter too, knowing that it was a calm day. Dad may have left me in a world of hurt, but he may have given us a chance at finding a family without him in it.