A Midnight Sun Read online

  “Me? Cut myself? No, I don’t think so.”

  “Yes, you did. Right there.” I touch his chin and he whips his head away wincing.

  There is a sudden silence in the elevator. A thick and uncomfortable mass of cold air passes between us, and I feel I may have overstepped some kind of boundary. He looks serious and stony. “Forgive me,” I manage to say and recoil to the other side of the elevator hugging the bag with the tapioca dessert for comfort.

  “It’s perfectly fine, Mirim. It’s only…it stings a little. I guess I’d forgotten about it.” He reaches across to take my hand and brings it to his lips. When he gently kisses my fingertips, a surge of deliriously good waves make their way up my hand and flow upstream the length of my arm, and flows through me until it reaches the back of my neck. This newfound sensation I would have never associated with Braff, hits me like a bolt of lightning, cool and refreshing yet somehow also hot and paralyzing. The elevator doors open and he lets go of my hand.

  “So, he’s coming to pick you up this afternoon?” He says as if nothing has transgressed.

  “Yes…uh, Braff?”

  “I think you should talk to him, let him tell you his side of things at least.” He stops walking to face me, “I think you’re being an obdurate fool, and you never really know what the other person feels or wants until a line of open communication is established. It sounds like he cares about you.”

  I stand glued to the floor as I watch him walk away and wonder what has just happened.

  I look at my fingers where he has just kissed them. I am lost in thought for a moment and every moment with Braff passes through my mind like the reels of Parker and her work. It ends an eon later with a perfectly clear image of chin dimple standing in front of me, a hand on her hip before she winks at me.

  “Damn, he is smooth.”

  The rest of the afternoon crawls by without so much as a phone call. There is an absoluteness in the last few minutes of the workday that makes me feel somehow unable to move or to say a word. The rest of my work goes undone and I barely register the conversations between Amistad and Syth. I don’t explain the reason but I keep looking at my fingertips and stare at the blank screen of my computer.

  I decide to leave early, knowing I’ll have more work the next day, but completely aware that I am not going to focus on anything else. I grab the letters and tell Amistad to cover for me. While passing Braff’s office, I peer inside and see him on the phone, so I decide not to bother him and leave.

  When I reach the lobby of the building, I recall the name of the restaurant where Scotty said he might spend the afternoon. Praying he’ll be there. I make a run for the door.

  Chapter 33

  Marquee

  No Good Friend Goes Unpunished, or The Way We Were Before The Box

  Seattle, January 30th, 1990

  My living room is cold and small. I hate the way it feels right now. I hate the fact I haven’t said the right things to Scotty, how much my feet hurt from walking around all day, but mostly, that Scott sits looking out the window in silence. I hate his silence.

  The cold drink in my hand has now watered down. I swirl it lightly, expecting it to somehow talk to me, but it doesn’t tell me what I want to hear. I’m slightly dizzy with its inebriating effects, but it doesn’t tell me why Scotty is being so quiet. I tell myself, it’s only impermanent, he’ll get over it, but I know well enough that I have hurt him. I see on his serious profile the look of a man who trying to collect thoughts which will amount to something meaningful, because he doesn’t understand, or has decided he doesn’t want to.

  “Scotty?” I call to him, but his reply is only a hummed yes. “Please, look at me.”

  “I can’t cheeks. I don’t feel right this very moment.” His gaze is fixed on whatever he sees outside my window.

  “Would you just talk to me…Scotty, I only need a small thing from you. I know it’s selfish, you know, considering…” I stand and go to his side, kneeling with my head on his lap and my hands over his thighs. “I need to know something.”

  He looks at me and I worry because his expression is a mix of sadness and bitterness. “You are correct. It is selfish.”

  “But wait, listen…” He stands and I fumble with my footing to go after him. “I only need to ask you, to know, that you don’t hate me. Scott?”

  “I don’t hate you, Chipmunk.” He says slowly, like he’s afraid of using the wrong words. “How, how could I hate you?” Scott wipes the tears and hair off my face. “Chipmunk, you are my angel, my light, and my love, ever since I can remember. My childhood and the many, many years later are filled with you, the memories of your smile and how you made me feel when you knocked at my door and I was a mess after my first breakup, the bad grades, or the times I was grounded and you were with me every day, despite risking getting in trouble yourself. You were the first person I spoke to about intimate details of my life, the last phone call of my days at times, and the only woman I could ever be with and not have to follow around in my life to explain things. Mirim, my Chipmunk, I could never, ever, hate you. Even if I say it in anger, it would not be true. Don’t believe it if I do. I’m a liar if I say it.”

  “Scotty, the fight earlier today and the ride here…I’ve had some terrible few days. I’m not sleeping well, this thing with Parker and at work.”

  “I’m aware. It’s difficult for me to see you in this light, Mirim. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m such an idiot for saying those things to you. I’m an insensitive ass and you deserve my friendship first and foremost. I shouldn’t have sprung this on you at this time. And the bracelet…”

  “I want the bracelet, Scotty. I think it’s lovely and I couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful present, but it is sudden and possibly just bad timing.”

  The next thing I feel is his lips on mine. The world shakes beneath me and him. His kiss is soft and innocent, like he’s been holding onto it since we were children. It is the kiss of a little boy kissing his best girl at the park on a swing set, or after having ice cream on a hot day you have both been riding bicycles and playing outdoors with friends, or while he’s walking you home just before your curfew. He kisses me with the gentleness of an angel’s wing, and it lasts little, but enough for me to suddenly comprehend the kind of love we share.

  “I love you, Mirim.” He says and hugs me.

  This is a love that has been with me and Scotty from the day he offered me to build a sandcastle in grade school. He knew it then like I know it now. With Scotty, my life is filled with ease and softness. It has been that way ever since. He’s my Scotty like I’m his Chipmunk and he’s right, no matter how angry we are with each other, Scotty is my love because I don’t have to be with him to know this.

  Loving him is in my blood by now. He is in my nature.

  I love him like I love rainy days and the way my muffins taste after a particularly good batch. I love Scotty like I love a long shower and the feel of my skin after I slather on really expensive creams or oils. I love him like I love autumn leaves and the smell of new books in a bookstore. I love him like children fall in love with each other when they are young and without judgment. Loving him feels like a walk in the park on a cool day or how like looking at the colors in the bay when the light is gentle and almost unreal, like I love sand as it spreads around my feet at the beach when I sink my feet in the sand, but I also love him like cheesy love ballads and the freckles on my shoulders. His love is as unique as a snowflake falling on my tongue in winter.

  I love Scotty because he is a part of me, the part of me that is simple, uncomplicated, and true, like everything else I love. Scotty is the person that knows what makes me who I am, But, despite this, knowing how much I love him, I know I love him as we are and nothing more, and we will be who we are to each other until and after we die, and yet, even though I know this and its importance, the only thing I can say to him is, “Scotty, I love you, too. But…”

  “But?” He reflects a mixture of feelings I kno
w I’ll have to brace myself for, another wave of anger and indignation perhaps.

  Instead… it’s not what I say which makes him smile and caress my hair before he completely lets go of me, it’s not the fact I’m not saying what he wants to hear which makes him go away and say, “I’ll go pack my bags.”

  It’s not what I say, but rather, how I say it, because I know he is well aware of what I really mean when I say it. He sees my thoughts, the thoughts of a little girl who will always love him dearly but never the love of a woman.

  Scotty walks away and I stand a long moment thinking about what has just passed between us and understand our relationship may survive, but it will take some time before he and I get to be the way we were.

  I stand near the window feeling the night falling through the shades. My fingers touch my lips, feeling what is left from the sweetest kiss I have ever received in my life, when suddenly, I realize the fingers touching my lips are the same Braff kissed before. I stare at my hand and feel a remote sense of understanding of what is rising at the back of my throat, making its way to the realm of existence where Scotty and I have just kissed for the first and last time.

  My senses lift me. I perk up with the departing of a sadness I know I don’t need to feel. I’m filled with the light of understanding.

  On the one hand, Scotty will be my beloved friend and will be present in my life as long as we both want to.

  On the other hand… “I’m in love with Braff.” I say under my breath in disbelief and look up at Scotty, as he closes the bathroom door behind him.

  I jump when the phone rings. My heart is a team of horses galloping in various directions across my chest. I know it’s coming from somewhere inside the couch, but I don’t see it. It’s beneath the cushions, somewhere ringing madly. I scramble to find it and answer just before –I feel- it’s the last ring. “Hello, yes, who is calling?” I yell this string of words into the receiver. The antenna gets tangled in my hair. “Hold on please, I…this thing. Wait…yes…who is this?”

  “Mirim, don’t shout for the love of Jesus Christ, child! I’m nearly deafened.”

  “Oh, mother. It’s you.”

  “Don’t pretend to be so happy to hear me.”

  “Sorry, momma. I’ve been having, well, a crazy day.”

  “Nice to hear dear. I’m calling,” she says without skipping a beat, “Because I seem to have lost something. I thought it’d be impossible but my heart beat faster than it had before. Here it is. The moment of truth.

  “Mirim, are you there? In the linen closet, there was a mess in there, and I thought perhaps you saw it when you were here. Did you take it?”

  “Take it? Take what momma?”

  “Don’t play the fool with me, young lady. The box Mirim. With the old papers and the wrapping?”

  “Mommy, listen, here’s the thing,” I laugh a jittery cough filled with nerves, “It was, phew, it was an accident.”

  “Mirim Teasdale, taking what doesn’t belong to you isn’t an accident, especially if it is a large box. How was that an accident?”

  “The part I refer to as an accident is that it fell on me. And, actually momma, I beg to differ. I think it does belong to me. I can’t go into full details now, but it has to do with my visions after what happened when I was in Oahu.”

  “I want it back, Mirim, Send it by courier immediately.”

  “Momma, I can’t explain but –and don’t get angry- I won’t.”

  “Mirim!”

  “Momma, I need to know something about it, it’s important, so I’m incredibly glad you called.” I sit on the couch and hear her scolding me until I know it’s safe to talk back without irritating her further, “Momma, where did you find it?”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “The box momma. Who is Parker McNamara?”

  I hear the clicks on the phone, thinking but not telling her about how much this long-distance call is costing her. “So, you opened it.” She says flatly.

  “So, I did. “

  “Did you read the letters?” She became so calm so quickly I was scared.

  “Yes, and the rest of the things, but– “

  “All of them, all of the letters?”

  “Well, no. Not yet, I still have a few to read, where did you find it?”

  I sit quietly with the phone pressed to my ears. She speaks fast and in a low voice to tell me the details of how she found it, or rather, how it was given to her for safekeeping and the reasons why it was so important.

  Listening intently, I take notes with a pencil and a notepad, trying to take in every detail. When she is finished, I ask about Agnes and the strange phone call regarding the glasses. I also tell her about the junipers and the rest of the dreams about Parker and Fitch, as well as the objects in the box. She is silent so long, I almost hang up thinking the phone call has ended.

  “Mirim,” She says finally, “Finish what you are doing and find out what you can. I’ll tell you more when I get there.”

  “What? Come over?” I couldn’t possibly have my mother visit at this time.

  “I’m coming over on the next flight, but I’ll tell you this much. Your father and I knew this couple. They worked with your father during the rallies against the Vietnam War. You were too young then to remember them, but he and I became friends with them, Jay and Eloisa. They’re long gone now, but before passing, Eloisa left me the box. I never understood why, but in her final wishes, she left instructions that I’d have it for a while. Maybe it makes more sense now, that I should have it, until you did, because you sound so sure about it.”

  “It might, but seriously, you don’t need to come right now. Scotty is here and it’s bad timing.”

  “Scotty? What? Why is Scotty there?”

  “Yes, he’s here but he’s leaving tomorrow. The why he’s here is too long and complicated for the time being. Everything else in my life seems to be too. Please, just tell me everything you can about this. I really need to know, momma.”

  When I finally convince her, after lots of pleading, she tells me everything she remembers. I was overcome with wonder and emotion but kept taking notes until she finished. Just before I hang up, Scotty comes out of the bathroom wearing pajamas and looking seriously tired

  He lies on the couch and lays his head on my lap. I give him the blanket I keep on the couch and gently comb his damp hair with my fingers.

  “Who was that?” He says.

  “Momma. It was about the box. She realized it was missing.” I know telling Scott about the extent of it now is not a good thing.

  “Mirim,” he says, with the gravity of the care from a longtime friend, “Don’t ever stop.”

  “Running my fingers through your hair?” He looks at me with feigned scorn. Despite my sidestepping the matter, I knew what he meant. “Loving you? I don’t think I can Scotty.”

  Scotty and I talk well into the night. I tell him stories from when we were kids, playing in the neighbor’s yards and feeding each other food and candy. We laugh and recount the days of worriless fun and the way our friendship blossomed into what it was now. When I see he’s getting drowsy, I stop talking and he looks straight at me with sleepy eyes. “I’m glad you came, Scotty.”

  His hand graces my cheek a few seconds and he falls asleep. The bracelet falls from his hand onto the carpet. Careful not to wake him, I slide from under him and put his hand on the cushion. His cheek is soft and warm under my lips when I kiss him goodnight.

  I pick up the bracelet with the new charm on it before I walk into my room and close the door.

  Chapter 34

  Marquee

  Not Until The Break Of Dawn…Sometimes, You Have To Wait Past Noon

  Seattle, February 2nd, 1990

  Not until Friday evening did I have time to sit with a glass of cold wine to unwind after a busy week.

  I’d seen Braff only between meals in the hallways and during our usual Thursday morning meeting, where the senior and junior editors brin
g those in training for a junior position into the boardroom. The table in the boardroom is almost too large to fit in the room He doesn’t sit next to me and rarely looks in my direction. I doubt that he is actually avoiding me but see it only for what it is –he is busy and so am I. But it nagged me. I wanted to talk to him to clear up my feelings.

  When Scott and I part ways, he seems in better shape than I had expected. It was perfectly normal to sit at breakfast like the friends we’d always been, as if nothing had happened. After he called to say he had arrived in San Francisco, I spoke to Amistad and told her what had ensued after he had given me the charm. She was aghast that I had refused him, expressing in earnest her concern for my ability to know a good guy and potential good partner when he was in front of me. It took an entire afternoon of talks between tasks that finally convinced her I’d done the right thing. She had met Scotty on a trip to San Francisco and they’d become instant pals. It was no surprise, really. Scotty had that way with people.

  Syth drove me home today and told me he was dating a new guy. A handsome twenty-something lawyer with the face of a dark angel, as he put it. Syth had not exactly come out to too many people, only to Taddy and me. Braff suspected but knew not much more than the surreptitious comment on burly men in tight shirts who sweat and still look good. He lifted an eyebrow at these comments and laughed it off, knowingly, but ignoring it nonetheless. I listened to his exciting description of their first date and looked at traffic in the dark night. A cold drizzle blanketed the mid-town area of the city and I sat there with my hand on the glass, wondering if Braff was at work still. Parker and Fitch have been absent from my dreams these past few days, and I blame it partly on not having enough sleep, or simply having too much work. I debate whether it is supposed to be this way, if I’m simply to resort to other means for information into their lives. But I also decide that it is possible I’ve been too self-involved and emotional to have a mind for them.