The Dark Light of Day (The Dark Light of Day 1)

I went downstairs to use the phone and called the sheriff’s station. I waited upstairs, sitting on the bathroom rug on the floor next to Frank. He’d been alone for such a long time. I didn’t want him to be alone anymore.

It felt wrong to have them come pick him up with the bottle in his hand so I worked it out of his grip and set it on the counter. For a few minutes, I troubled over what I should do with the picture frame resting on his chest, clutched in his other hand. I finally decided not to take a chance with whatever it was getting lost when they moved him. I promised him then that I would make sure the frame would be buried with him.

I lifted his elbow just slightly and wiggled the frame free. I sat back on the fuzzy rug and flipped the frame over. It was one of those split frames that held three pictures. The first was of Jake, it looked to be right after high school. He looked a little younger than I remembered him and his hair was cropped close to his head. With a carefree smile on his face he held a fishing pole in one hand, and in the other he held up the end of his fishing line with a huge sail-cat dangling from the hook. I had touched the picture and smiled to myself. I loved seeing that he’d been happy once with his family. His life hadn’t always revolved around the bad; there seemed to have been plenty of good in that house once too.

The middle picture was of Marlena and Mason, I had seen the same picture on the desk in Frank’s office.

The last picture took me by surprise.

It was me.

I was sitting on the worn leather couch of the apartment, holding a very new born Georgia. I was smiling, but you could see the genuine fear in my eyes. Frank had taken the picture with my camera on the day I brought Georgia home from the hospital. I had it printed and hung it on the refrigerator of the apartment. I had no clue Frank had a copy, or how he went about getting it. It told me all I needed to know about how important we’d been to him.

I hoped he died knowing how important he was to us.

Frank had all three pictures tucked in his suit jacket when he was buried, along with a picture Georgia drew for him. I made sure of it.

I turned on the small radio I kept on the patio to my favorite country station, keeping the volume low so I wouldn’t wake Georgia. I collapsed onto one of my new-old chairs and packed a bowl. I sat back, lit it up, and inhaled the smoke, savoring the familiar heat in my lungs. I held it inside as long as I could before exhaling it through both my nose and mouth.

I enjoyed my high, and allowed my mind to drift to the one person I tried so hard not to think about. I traced the design of the metal pendant around my neck. I’d never been able to bring myself to take the damn thing off.

I couldn’t help but think about how great a father Jake would have been to Georgia. If he’d stayed that day, I doubt I’d have decided to keep her after all. The thought caused my heart to seize in my chest. I was definitely not going to let myself go there. Georgia was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I refused to think about a world without her in it.

I was lifted out of the comfort of my high by the sound of heavy steps in the grass beside the house. The small patio light only lit the immediate space I occupied, but it cast shadows over everything else.

“Who’s there?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew the answer.

He stood as still as stone, just a few steps from the patio. I heard the familiar sound of his Zippo lighter and saw the red glow from the end of his cigarette. I was frozen in my chair. I opened my mouth to speak and nothing came out.

“Hey,” he said. His familiar voice washing over me like comfort I hadn’t known since he left.

I breathed deeply and gathered enough brain power to speak. “Hey,” I responded, trying my best to keep my voice level. “You don’t have to creep up on me in the dark, you know. You could get yourself hurt.” I mustered as much false confidence as I could, but inside I was shaking like a paint mixer.

Jake stepped out of the dark shadows and into the light. The picture above Georgia’s wall was nothing compared to the real thing. He was still dressed all in black, but the muscles beneath his tight t-shirt were larger than I remembered. They strained against the thin material. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “How you gonna hurt me?”

He flinched when he realized what he’d said. I pretended not to notice.

“With this,” I said as I pulled my .22 from my beach bag.

“Wow. You’re packing now?” He looked amused. “Let me see that thing.” I handed it over to him, and he inspected it carefully, turning it over in his hand. “Nice. You do know you shouldn’t hand your pistol over to someone just because they ask, right? You could be the one who gets hurt.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, using his words. “How you gonna hurt me?”

He laughed.

His hair was longer than it had been when he left. His face was harder and looked older than four years should have made it. But his eyes were as blue and amazing as ever. I had to squeeze my legs together to rid myself of the tingle that was happening all over me. “Maybe handing over my gun is part of my whole plan of defense. I just give it to people and ask them to hold it for me. It distracts them while I run away.”

For the first time in over four years, the smile I’d been seeing in my dreams was now right in front of me.

I almost fell over.

I was seventeen all over again.

“I would probably come up with a plan B if I were you,” he said, pushing his hair behind his ear.

I liked the longer hair. It was hot... and I was getting hot. Too hot. I took off my hoodie and threw it on the chair next to me. The night breeze kissed my skin, and I sighed in relief. “That’s better,” I muttered.

“Bee!” Jake exclaimed. His eyes went wide.

My heart fluttered when I heard him say my nickname again.

“What?” I asked, hoping I hadn’t dropped my pipe.

“Your arm. Holy shit, you did it.” He reached out to me and right before he was about to touch me he pulled back. “It’s fucking amazing,” he said softly.

My tattoos. He was gawking at my tattoos. After Georgia was born, I’d decided to get the sleeve Jake and I had talked about. It started at my shoulder and went down my right arm, ending at my wrist. I’d spent endless hours in the tattoo chair, starting with a recreation of one of my favorite sunset pictures I’d taken myself on my shoulder, followed by the angel of death riding a motorcycle down my bicep. Underneath that was the scar painting I loved so much, and on my forearm was The Hellen Keller quote I’d used to describe how I felt about Jake. Its winding script stopped just short of my wrist. Each line and mark offered by my scars had been used as part of the design. When people looked at me, they were looking at the marks I’d chosen for myself, not the marks others had forced upon me. It’d been liberating.

I wished Jake had been there to see what I’d done.

“Why didn’t you ring the bell?” I asked as he handed me my gun. I checked to make sure the safety was on before placing it back in the pocket of my bag.

He was still gawking at my ink. “You’re just…fuck.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth and goatee, glancing toward the house and turning serious. “Oh, I didn’t want to wake up…”

“Georgia,” I finished for him.

“Georgia,” he repeated. “Like your Nan.” I nodded, happy he remembered Nan’s name. “She’s cute.” He didn’t look mad or angry when he said it. He just looked tired.

“Yeah, she sure is,” I said proudly. It was thoughtful of him not to ring the bell and wake her up. I was surprised his bike hadn’t already done that, though I hadn’t heard it, either. “Did you ride here?”

“Nah,” he said. “Bike’s at the apartment. I walked.”

“You walked all that way?”

Jake shrugged his shoulders and took a long drag of his cigarette. He shifted from one foot to the other, blowing the smoke out through his nose.

“Sit.” I patted the empty chair next to me. “You wanna hit?” I handed him the pipe as he sat down. He hesitated at first, searching my face for something. I had no doubt he was wondering how civil we could be. The man had just lost his father, after all. It was the least we could be to each other.

Jake dropped into the chair, lit the bowl, and took a hit. I reached over to the mini-fridge and pulled out two Coronas, handing him one.

And just like that, it was back.

The silence.

I can’t say it was as comfortable as it’d always been. But it was as close to comfortable as it could be under the circumstances. His face softened after a few minutes, and I knew he could feel it, too.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” I said, taking the pipe from him and lighting it for my next hit. My hands shook. I was almost as nervous as the first time we were alone. I needed to be much higher to be this close to him.

Jake shook his head. “Seems like I should be saying that to you about him. Your words gave me a closure I didn’t think I’d be finding. Ever.”

I guess he’d heard my eulogy.

“Yeah, well... he helped me out when no one else would, and I honestly don’t know where I would be now without him.” I heard myself and hoped he wouldn’t take that as an insult. I certainly hadn’t meant it that way.