Page 86 of Nothing Less than Magic
“Why didn’t you ever talk to us again?” My voice is small, like I’m twelve again.
He palms his face. I’ve never seen Big Al cry, so I don’t know what it looks like when he does but think this is probably it.
“I didn’t know what to say to you girls. He was my best friend, and I was so angry at him for what he did to your mom, to you girls, to me . . . to himself.” He trails off and stares out the window. He’s in his own world now, far away.
“It was wrong of me.” He releases a breath. “You and your sister meant everything to me. But you’ve got to understand that for so long, I couldn’t make sense of it. I couldn’t make sense of any of it. The way he betrayed us, all of us. He wasn’t the man I knew. He wasn’t the man I loved like my own brother. It took me a long time to see clear of it. And when I finally did, you girls were in Los Angeles, living your own lives. I didn’t want to bring any of it back to you. It was better that you moved on. And I knew your uncle loved you, that he’d take good care of you.”
“He does and he did,” I say. “But we loved you, too.”
“I know, honey. I can’t tell you how my heart ached losing the two of you. But you’re a big girl now, a successful young woman, so you have to understand how much what happened messed me up. I lost the three most important people in my life that day.”
Three? And then I realize he means Gloria, too.
“What happened to her, Al?” I don’t even have to say her name.
“Last I heard, she married a chiropractor and moved to Tucson. That’s all I know.”
“I’m so sorry.” I close my eyes, wishing I had something more constructive to say.
“It was a terrible situation. But this I can tell you with certainty, your father worshipped the ground you and Lolly walked on. Nothing made him happier than you two. He used to pass your pictures around the West Valley Division, brag about how smart you were, how you got straight As in school. No father was ever prouder of his kids.”
I nod. Uncle Sylvester said the same thing in so many words. I have no reason to doubt it. I always felt my father’s love. Growing up, it was all around me, pure and constant. I’m evolved enough to understand that my mother’s murder, my father’s suicide, had nothing to do with Lolly and me. We were just collateral damage.
“Have you forgiven him?” Al asks.
“I don’t know.” Because how do you forgive someone who took everything that ever mattered from you? “Have you?”
“I don’t know thatforgivenessis the right word.” He sips his coffee, which until now neither of us has touched. “But I’ve made peace with it. It took a long time, but I have. Ultimately, I came to the conclusion that what happened couldn’t diminish how much he loved us and how much we loved him.”
“He did love you, Al. I may have only been a kid, but we all knew that you were everything to him.” I turn to my coffee, which has already gone cold and take a drink anyway.
“I wish it wasn’t so complicated,” I say.
“Don’t we all, kiddo. Hang on a sec, I want to show you something.” He gets up, goes to one of the built-in bookcases, plucks out a photo album, and motions for me to join him on the sofa while he flips through the pages. Pages and pages of pictures.
Dad and him leaning against their patrol car, laughing at the big box of donuts on the roof. Him and Dad in our old driveway, posing next to Al’s new motorcycle. Mom sitting on Dad’s lap in Al and Gloria’s backyard. Lolly and me in a kiddie pool, splashing water at each other.
Gloria in a bikini, smiling at the person behind the camera. Probably Al.
I can’t believe he kept this.
“It’s part of my history,” he says, sensing my surprise. “All of our history. The good history. I don’t want to erase that.”
He turns the page to a picture of my parents and Lolly and me, sitting around a cake on the dining room table at the house in Porter Ranch. “Was this my eighth birthday party?” I remember the dress. A frothy white confection that itched worse than poison ivy, but Mom made me wear it anyway, because it was a gift from Uncle Sylvester.
“Yep. I picked up the cake from that bakery on Ventura Boulevard. Went twenty minutes out of my way because you wanted their strawberry ice cream cake.”
I don’t remember the cake, but I smile, because I was picky like that.
In the next picture, it’s Halloween, I’m dressed up like a fairy princess, holding Dad’s hand. I trace the outline of his handsome face with my finger.
“Oh God.” I tilt my head back in a useless attempt to keep the tears from dripping down my cheeks.
Al gets a box of tissues and pushes a wad into my hands. “These are the things I try to remember every time I think of him.”
“I miss them so much.” My voice trembles, and Al pulls me against him and lets me cry into his chest. “I’m sorry. I really need to pull myself together.”
“I get a little misty myself when I look at them. Not a day goes by when I don’t miss them, too, Chelsea.”
