JOHN BIEBE

June 22, 2010. June 22. June.

It’s how I’ve started every day for the past twelve days, thinking hard, stating the date inside my addled brain. Over and over and over again. I guess it’s my way of making sure I don’t lose myself, drop deeper. Forget that time and life and living is supposed to fucking go on.

Even with my eyes still closed, I know exactly where I am and who’s with me. On the sofa … all night. My nearly four year old son, Nathan, asleep with his head on my lap. The baby, eight month old Michael, is in my aching arms, his little face on my shoulder, his breath whispering in my ear.

Behind me I can hear movement in the kitchen. No doubt Natalie. She’s been here, non-stop since it happened and won’t leave no matter what I say or do, no matter how stupid and crazy or emotional I get. She’s a rock. Cooking, cleaning, dealing with the boys, me … everything else. She even does a great job as gatekeeper, sending visitors away ‘cause fuck knows, I sure as hell don’t want to see anyone. I don’t talk to her. Don’t talk to Jack either when he pops by to give her a break. Why the fuck don’t they just leave us alone?

You know, a man walks through his days thinking everything he gets or loses is his own damn fault. That the choices and decisions he makes brew in some cosmic soup pot and make the final product his whole life represents. I thought that. For the first thirty-some years of my damn life I thought that. I believed in God and the church. In the government. Family. Community. The job. Gave what I had to hockey and Donna and the kids.

Then bam!

There I was, living a great – well, almost great – life in Mystery Alaska. It was life, nothing more, nothing less. I had three great kids, a job I liked. I had hockey and friends to have a beer with. It was good, you know. Granted the wife and I were not always on the same page, but it was okay. Really. It was my life. Mine. Then suddenly it was all gone.

I mean really, what the fuck? Gone. Like it was never really there. I felt like John Nash probably felt his whole life, sort of in limbo, a place where you never really know what’s real and what isn’t. And it wasn’t tough enough, discovering that it was just a stupid movie and not real life at all … I had to kinda start all over again, like starting life from the middle

Granted, it was a sweet deal. Each one of us Crowe dudes woke up here in a completely different world, in some cases a completely different time too, and what did we find? Women. I mean beautiful, amazing women to take care of us, help us figure the shit out, protected us from how fucked up everything could’ve really gotten if we didn’t keep quiet about where we came from … oh, and they loved us. Really loved us, up and down and every which way imaginable.

Even heaven can get dull, and we all started looking for our one and only. Our soul mate. While I was searching though, I kept thinking about Donna and the boys. If they were real, what were they doing? Did they miss me? Did they think I just ran off? Deserted them? Maybe died somewhere? Polar bear chow? Were they worried, hurt, pissed off, sad … lost without me? Granted, it’s way easier to accept the common theory that they weren’t real, just characters in a piece of fiction. That I was the only one from that little performance piece who got to cross through and breathe like a real, living being beyond the celluloid.

None of it was fair. How was I to know things could get even stranger, huh? Gullible, that’s me. Fucking gullible.

A tap at the door. I don’t move a muscle so the kids, obviously oblivious to anything when they’re asleep, don’t move either. In our little slumber safety, nothing outside the cocoon can touch us. Period.

“How are you fairing, my dear?”

That’s Jack, he never quite got over the Regency language thing. I listened to see if Natalie’s response would play into it, but she must have shrugged or sighed silently. Maybe she shook her head or gave a frustrated scowl. Well hell, if she doesn’t wanna be here, just fucking leave. No one asked for a babysitter.

“And how are they?”

Again, she said nothing but I heard it. Clear as a bell. A sniffle. Enough.

I grunted, slowly stood, carefully gathering up Nathan in one arm and holding Michael snuggly in the other. Not sure what kind of look I gave Nat and Jack as I left the living room, but I can guess it wasn’t sociable. There’s one thing Riley never really taught me … how to always be perfectly correct in social situations. Without even a pause to snort or swear at the intruders, I simply took my boys into the bedroom and pushed the door closed with my heel. We situated ourselves calmly on the big bed.

***

The 23rd of June. Wednesday. June 23, 2010. The 23rd. The 23rd.

I wonder into the shower, noticing the empty plate on the bedside table. Guess I ate last night.  Don’t remember. Another thing I don’t remember … when was the last time I showered? Maybe it’s this all new sense of disjointed confusion, the oddball disorientation I keep brushing away but ... were the towels always blue in here? Doesn’t Riley use burgundy towels in this bathroom? What the fuck does it matter?

I find the toothpaste right where it was supposed to be, shampoo still on the counter. But it’s not until I open the bottle that my nose rebels against the memories that I leap from the shower, dry off on unfamiliar blue towels then do something real dumb. Looking in the mirror I just take out my electric shaver and cut every inch of hair off my head. For a moment I wonder if it will all grow back grey as an old man’s. But I don’t want to be an old man. I wasn’t supposed to grow old like this. That was the deal.

All afternoon I sit at the bedroom window. It rains all day, one never ending downpour accented with an occasional flash of lightening but the thunder is too afraid to speak. Maybe I just don’t want to hear it. Lightening is good all alone, isn’t it?

Natalie walks in, takes one look at me and starts to cry … again. The damn woman does nothing but cry. Can’t she go home and cry there? Nathan doesn’t recognize me at all but warms up after I talk to him a few minutes. Michael keeps touching my head and smiling. Baby Mikey likes daddy bald.

***

Sunset. Thursday, June 24th, 2010. Already June 24th. The 24th of June.

Haven’t left this room. Probably losing my job. Being mayor of a town means you kinda gotta check in once in a while. I think there was a regular town meeting last night. Usually they’re on the third Wednesday of the month but I could be wrong about that … like a million other things these days.

The boys are gone. Natalie took them to her place to play with her kids. Nice. I guess. I’d rather have them here but I sure as hell don’t have much patience, and Nathan has never been good in closed in areas. Gets bored way too fast. I feel myself grin. See, I’m a good father. I know stuff.

A pain tightens my chest and I stretch out on the bed. I listen to the Inn all around me. It lives. It breathes. It pulses. Now just how’s that fucking possible? I want to go over to the left tower and tear the fucking walls down. I want to smash all the French doors, maybe leap off the fourth story and see how far I bounce. Truth?

I’m fucking terrified of that left tower room. There. I said it. The damn Portals are there. Dead people hang out there. There’s even the ghost of a dead grizzly up there. They can fucking stay up there. I want nothing to do with any of them.

I’m off again, onto one of those convoluted thought patterns that will take me hours and hours to get out of. It’s a fucking maze of insane thoughts and ideas, the kind that make no sense, even to me. Today, Thursday, June 24th, 2010, I’m blaming the Portals for everything. Absolutely every-fucking-thing wrong in my life is because of the goddamn motherfucking Portals. Period. Personal Portals. Time Portals. Slippery, slimy Portals that have the unfair power to suck us into hell and beyond. Portals that bring vampires and Roman soldiers from other dimensions into my Inn. My Inn. Mine! Who the fuck invited all these people? Why the hell are they here? Coming and going as they please while I’m stuck like a barnacle to the bottom of a rotting old boat.

Portals are the root of everything ugly and dangerous and bad and … no. That’s wrong. Isn’t it? Isn’t it?

***

June 25, 2010. June 25. June. Can it really be Friday, June 25th?

I glance at my wrist watch. It is really Friday, June 25th. How long has this been going on? Sixteen days. Is that possible?

Today I feel like shit. Like my head is about to explode. I’m hot and cold at the same time. I feel crowded. Today I chose to send the boys with Natalie. I chose. This may have been the first good choice I’ve made in a long time. I’m obviously sick and sick kids are not something I think I can handle. Help or not. Riley would kill my sorry ass if I insisted on keeping them close and giving them this … cold? Flu? Pneumonia maybe?

I down aspirins and curl under the blankets. I eat chicken soup and gulp Nyquil, probably way more than I should but at least I sleep away another day. I figure getting through each day is more important than how I get through it. At least that logic makes sense to me.

In my drug induces stupor I dream. I don’t see ghosts. Other people around here do. Family, guests, even ghost hunters see the ghosts but I never see them, don’t hear them or even feel them. Was always secretly a little jealous. They see ghosts.

I dream them.

When I was almost dead in an avalanche, the old man we called Uncle Luc came in a dream and talked to me. He took me to the Badlands and showed me his home. That old bastard taught me a lot. I could use him now, but he didn’t visit the dream I was having.

Of all people, it was my brother Bud who decided to show his face. I grinned.

“You old coot! Where the hell you been?” I laughed. We were in my office down in Stowe. He dropped into my guest chair and flipped opened his ever present notebook. Fuck, I never realized how much like Bud his grandson Cory really is. Same attitude, same swagger. Same notebook fetish.

“Not a social call, Hockey Puck. Got some information you need. Listen and listen good.”

I listened, marveling at how good his voice sounded to me. Bud slipped through his time Portal and lived out his life fifty years earlier than the rest of us. He had kids and grandkids, died and got buried and I miss him more than I want to admit.

“First, you gotta contact the school.” He grunted, flipping a page.

“What’re you talking about?”

“Just fucking do what I say. Contact the goddamn school. Check that grey file folder in the desk. After that …” he looked into my eyes and I felt my guts wrench. For a minute, I thought I puke all over my desk. The pity in his eyes was so thick, I felt like I’d slip away on it. Disappear. “John … I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

I forced myself to wake up. There’s no place in my life right now for dreams like that. Period.

***

Saturday, the 26th of June. June 26th. Saturday.

Saturday.

Saturday. Saturday is weekly guest check out day. Saturdays are real crazy, guests leaving, guests coming. The inevitable repairs to weird damage left behind. Those things used to make me laugh. Today, I sit, locked in my bedroom and rub the stubble on my head, happy other people are dealing with a Saturday.

Today I feel better but sound worse. My nose is stuffed and I’m coughing, but the fever is gone. I stand and move quietly. No doubt my kids are still at the Aubreys, but is anyone out in my apartment? I listen at the door for several moments before deciding … hell, finally I’m alone.

On stocking feet I leave the bedroom and stroll across my living room. Not even the smell of fresh brewed coffee, so I brew some myself. I actually feel myself smile. I can do anything I want. I can watch TV. I can watch porn on TV if I feel like it. I can hang off the balcony. I can paint the walls purple if I want. What do I want to do?

A whisper of madness teases at the edge of my brain. It wants to go back to blaming the Portals. It suggests I burn the whole fucking Inn down to make sure the Portals are destroyed. Ah, but there is a spark of logic and I already know that won’t work. I already know the Portals were here before the Inn was here. How I know is the curiosity.

My eyes avoid the desk at the corner of the dining room. In that desk is the school information and grey folder Bud told me to check. I dump out my coffee in the sink and grab a cold beer. I’m not yet fucked up enough to follow the instructions of my dead brother in a stupid Nyquil dream.

The beer is smooth; the cold fizzle feels good on my sore throat. Halfway through the bottle I decide I’ve done enough for one day and go back to bed.

***

Sunday. June 27th. The 27th day of June. How is that possible? June 27th? Really?

Today I was far from alone. The boys were back and Natalie somehow got it into her head that more kids is a good thing. In the living room with Nathan and Michael played Hando’s noisy daughter, Ruthie, Nat’s little girl Chelsea, both of Lachlan’s kids and a delicate little girl with dark curls I didn’t recognize.

“That’s little Lucy Meridius. Can you believe how big she’s gotten?” Nat smiled wide but I could see her eyes were tired and red rimmed. She held a dish rag in her hand like she always seemed to, then dispensed juice boxes to the entire daycare. “Oh John, aren’t they all so beautiful?”

I have no clue what look I gave her but it was wrong. It had to be. Tears welled in her eyes but Nat’s a tough bird. She squared her shoulders and smiled then bustled off to do whatever it is she does in the kitchen all day. I sat on the sofa.

“Uncle John?”

It was little Lucy. Two years old, tops, but just like her daddy, looking like she carries the world on her shoulders. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

She reached out her arms and wrapped them around my neck. Time seemed to slip away and when I grasped it again, all those kids were at my feet, on my lap, petting my fuzzy head or … in Ruthie’s case, drawing on my sock with a sharpie. I carefully got myself free and went in search of nourishment. Nat was really off her game if I had actually gotten hungry.

But she wasn’t in the kitchen, she was sitting at the desk and looking into the dreaded grey folder. I thought I’d blow a gasket. “What the fuck are you doing?” I hissed but she never got nervous, just glanced over her shoulder and continued flipping through the documents.

“Nathan needs to be registered for preschool, John. I was just looking for the number so I can make an appointment.”

I reached over her shoulder and ripped the folder from her hands.

“John, your son has to be registered for preschool, I was –”

“Why? Why the fuck are you doing anything? This is none of your business!”

Three kids started to whimper and I dropped my face into my hands. I wasn’t yelling anymore, was sobbing like a fucking pussy. I dropped to my ass on the floor and leaned back against a dining room chair. “Why are you doing this?” I gasped.

Natalie calmly hushed the kids who went back to their play while she sat, cross-legged on the floor across from me. I couldn’t look at her. I swear, that moment, I fucking hated her. “Why are you doing this?” I growled.

“Because … it’s time John. Oh God, John. It’s time.” Tears streamed down her face and it felt like someone had tossed a bucket of ice water over my head.

June 27th. Eighteen days had passed. Eighteen fucking days. She was right. It was time. I just can’t do this anymore. I can’t.

On June 9th I buried my wife, my best friend … my soul mate and the mother of my boys. It’s time to face this. Time to face it all.

It happened on a Wednesday just like any other Wednesday in Vermont. Summertime and fairly quiet at the Inn, we were only at forty percent capacity which meant Riles and I could take some personal time. Maybe not a whole week, but at least a few days, at least until Sunday.

Man I was stoked. Four days away from work and the kids, away from family and responsibilities. Our anniversary was coming up, so it seemed like a good idea to finally take that honeymoon. The Inn was everything, our future, our past, what we’d leave behind to prove to the world that we were there. It represented a good education for our boys and a decent retirement someday when we’d simply had enough of taking care of everyone else. But four days of sand and sun and making love. Four days in Key West. Now that’s just what the doctor ordered.

We’d carefully packed everything for the kids that morning. I’d taken care of everything at the office the night before, so I was set. Riles, of course, had a few loose ends to tie up in town so she headed out at nine to drop the boys off at Natalie’s then hit the store – my hope was a lingerie shop but knowing my wife, it was probably something more practical, like the pharmacy for Dramamine in case we wanted to take a boat ride. Riles and boats never mixed. All I had to do was fold the laundry in the dryer and pack my own bag. When she got home, we’d hit the road for Burlington and our plane to paradise. I can’t remember the last time I looked forward to a trip so much.

I folded baby clothes and dish towels, visions of sexy sugarplums and kissing every inch of Riley’s sunburned body floating through my head when she called. I will never forget the call, although there was absolutely nothing remarkable or special about it.

“Hey,” she said and I heard the engine start in the car. “All done. Should be home in fifteen. Listen, can you please check my carryon and make sure I put my laptop in there?”

“You ain’t working, Riles. No laptop. You promised.”

“Oh, it’s not for work. I taught Nathan how to type ‘I love you’ and our email address, so I’m betting we’re going to get a few emails while we’re gone.”

“Cool. Hey, did you pack the sunscreen?” I zipped my bag and grunted it to the floor, walking to the desk to tuck Riley’s laptop into her bag.

“Sunscreen. Got it. You got your libido, John? ‘Cause I’m looking forward to one hot honeymoon.” She giggled. “No pressure though.”

I remember laughing. I remember closing my eyes and thinking of her while I laughed. And I remember that the next few words so clearly. They were the last I’d ever hear from her.

“I love you, John Biebe.”

“Love you too. Get your sweet ass home so we can go, will ya.”

I sat in the living room and waited. And waited. And waited. I paced, checking my watched every ten minutes. It wasn’t unlike my wife to run into someone in town and go off into a chatting fit. That’s just how it is in Stowe. Everybody loves Riley.

Three times I dialed her cell, but no answer. No biggie. I knew she wouldn’t answer until she pulled over. We had a plane to catch at four. If she didn’t get back soon, we were gonna miss our flight, and God sakes, the last thing I wanted to do was put off the vacation we so badly deserved. I dialed again. This time the damn phone didn’t even ring. Then I heard a knock at the door.

“Ben? What the fuck are you doing here?”

He stood there, all official and crisp. Sheriff Wade at my door and playing some stupid joke, no doubt.

“John. I’m … I’m sorry John, but there’s been an accident. Riley … Riley …”

I grabbed my keys. “Where is she?”

He didn’t move, just blocked the door.

“Where the fuck is she?” Still he didn’t move. His hands clamped tight on my shoulders and I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Where the fuck is she?”

“John, she’s in the morgue. A drunk driver. She’s gone, John. She’s gone.”

He talked on and on but I didn’t hear another word. The family came in from everywhere and I don’t recall talking to any of them. They cried and did what they could but I had nothing to say. What was there to say?

I remember the funeral parlor. I remember the casket. Closed. The drunk fucker did his job real good. I remember deciding that it didn’t really happen, that the Portals came and sucked her away from me. That I was having a goddamn motherfucking nightmare. I remember the boys crying so hard and all I could do was hold them. I remember watching them bury her.

That was eighteen days ago. A mere split second ago. A lifetime ago. The hurt in me is so harsh. Empty hurt. There’s no other way to describe it. Empty hurt.

“Daddy?”

I looked into Nathan’s eyes, then Natalie’s tear filled eyes.

It’s time to deal with this. It’s time.

“Nat, would you mind doing the school registering thing for me?”

She nodded.

“And, I wanna … I just need … a little time. Maybe an hour. I need to go over to, ya know, the left tower and think.”

***

I crossed the porch, climbed the steps and closed myself in. The left tower room was always special to Riles. Maybe it was stupid, but I wanted to think she was still there somehow. She wasn’t. I sat there and cried like a baby until it was dark. Then I stood and walked to the center, to the place we made love the day I brought her there. The day I gave her the Inn she always wanted. I looked down and closed my eyes.

“I love you, baby. Don’t forget us. I kinda need your guidance.”

I went back to my apartment and sat with Nat and Jack and talked … and talked … and talked. Tomorrow I’ll sit with everyone else. I’m not the only one who lost her.

Tomorrow I’ll start the clock again.

Tomorrow I’ll go back to work and deal with my life.

Tomorrow.

Tonight I’ll just hurt for a little while longer.