Page 80 of Holding On

My brain isn’t as agile as I thought. It takes a second. “What do you mean he’s here? He came up from Boston?”

“Yeah. He drove up here just to see you.”

I feel the headache trying to break through.

***

In a few minutes, I’m sporting Claire’s sunglasses, a tall glass of orange juice in hand, trying to seem casual on the balcony overlooking the water. After receiving a fast summary of my health and mood, George eases himself into a chair just as Claire excuses herself to head down the stairs to the clinic. Lunch break is nearly over. Devon left minutes ago after giving George a kiss on the cheek.

He takes a long sip of juice and sets his glass down. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better. I telephoned your dad to tell him what’s going on, and I had to talk him down from getting on an airplane.”

“Well, thank God you did. I don’t want him here right now, that’s for sure.”

A gull cries above.

“Maya, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” His direct approach quickly makes me forget why exactly I’m still upset with him.

“I thought Claire told you what happened—”

There’s a sterilized version floating around right now, with few details and fewer promises.

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t mean that.” He sighs. “Here’s the thing. You don’t talk to me. You get all stiff when I try to hug you. I was worried sick about you when Claire called to tell me what was going on, but then you never returned my calls.”

I shrug. “I haven’t replaced my phone.” A lame excuse, even to my own ears.

“You’re a lot like your dad. In good ways,” he adds quickly.

I’m not so sure I want to know, but I still ask, “How so?”

George sighs and looks out at the water. “You know, these kids changed my life, Maya.”

“Oh, I know,” I say, feeling suddenly small and petty.

“When Beverly died—”

“Wait. Who’s Beverly?” There’s something firing in my battered brain. I should know who this is. The name is familiar.

“My wife. She died a few years after we married. You never met her.” He sits for a moment and quarter-turns the sweating glass. Just like Travis. “Anyway, when Beverly died, I was a mess. Tony and Maggie Russo, and Beverly and I—we were a team. First, I lost Bev, and then Maggie and Tony ten years later.”

“I know.”

He shakes his head slightly. “But you really don’t.” He lets this sit for a moment before he goes on. “I know you felt like I was ignoring you and your sister. But I couldn’t be in two places at once. I made a promise. I took an oath to care for those five kids, and I fulfilled that oath. And that changed my life.”

“I’m glad for you, and I’m glad for them,” I say.

“Did you know I was adopted?”

George isn’t adopted. He looks exactly like a younger version of my father.

“Don’t look so disgusted.” He nods, smiling. “I was adopted. I was adopted by this white family called the Russos at a time in my life when I wanted to die, Maya. I didn’t believe I could live without Beverly, but Maggie and Tony helped me. And then I lost them, and that lifeline was also cut. I wanted to die all over again, but I never had time to moan and groan. It turns out, I could live. But it took a lot of Russos to make that happen.”

He presented the truth in such a way that he makes it easy for me to say, “But I wanted to be the one be there for that. I wanted my family to—”

“To what?”

I remove the sunglasses and look down at my lap. “Love you. So you could love us the way you love them.”

His dark chocolate eyes are bright when I glance up.

“Oh, Maya. I always have,” he says. And suddenly my face is wet, and a sob so slow and deep and far away wells up. In a small moment, I let go. I’m free. I’ve said what I needed to say and he heard me.

After first moving to sit next to me, George holds me for a long time. We don’t speak much, but my heart, which has remained so tight and hard, is suddenly soft and lumpy again in this part of my life.

Wiping a tear from my cheek, he says, “You know what the real problem is? There’s too much love around here that needs to find a home.”

My laugh is caught between sobs, and I straighten and wipe my own eyes.

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s it. It’s kind of a nice problem to have.”

He nods and kisses me on the forehead.

I realize I’m agonizing over Travis and I being separated for a year or more. This man lost a wife, and then a few years later, his best friends.

It’s time to get over myself.