The reason Lulu stopped by, the reason she gives anyway, is simply a worry about how we were getting on. She knew that in my past I've been known to be, less that sensitive… She wasn't sure if Julian Rose would use me as a crying pillow or punching bag. I wasn't about to tell her Julian Rose's cutting remark in the Abbott kitchen.
Julian Rose went up to her room, and, as a new parent of a preteen, I figured it best not to ask what she'd be doing. When I heard her door slam I turned to Lulu, who was cleaning up the dishes. I shook my head.
"Now when do I pay you to clean up after me?" I asked her.
"Every check. You make me write them out, remember? If I need a raise I give it to myself," she replied. I shook my head, a small smile lifting the corners of my mouth. Lulu had an odd quirkiness to her. She was forty; dark brown eyes, and brown hair. Once last month I noticed a gray hair at her temple, but I didn't mention it to her. She acted like a responsible kid most of the time; she made it kind of contagious.
"Isn't that illegal?" I asked her. She turned to me, the look on her face showed she knew I was kidding.
"Do you mind?"
"No."
"Well than it's not a crime. Things are only considered crimes when they piss somebody off," she explained. I nodded and walked into the living room.
One wall of the three walls the made up the living room was made of glass. It over looked the New York City skyline at a good angle, I thought. I looked down at my coffee cup. The liquid was still so warm I could feel the waves of coffee flavored heat rising up to me. My other had was in one of the pockets of my green bathrobe, my fingers had found a loose thread and was playing with it. I sighed and looked out the window again and the dankness of the skyline.
Sometimes, that view can be beautiful, and not just at night. Sometimes the size of it and the fact that it goes as far as the eye can see, almost makes it seem like a view of a forest from a mountaintop. A true concrete jungle. Though, on other days, the grays and blues of it, that smell of smoke, well, other things, can just become so depressing. Like a ship in a bottle. I've always found those depressing. So much work, so much time, and the only thing that comes from it is this untouchable object that was designed to move, but never can, something where every part was made to cut through waves and almost fly, never able to move. Never getting to do what you were made for, I find that very depressing.
I heard Lulu walk up behind me and to my side. She said nothing, just stared out the window with me. I did have to wonder if she thought it was beautiful or depressing. I like to think of Lulu as having no sad thoughts, but being in a constant state of joy. I know it's unlikely, or, impossible, but it's still a thought I like to hang on to. I sighed again.
"How am I going to raise a child?" I asked her.
"With a wing and a prayer…" she replied. I knew that was a joke. She knows I'm an atheist, and I know she's one too.
"Seriously…" I urged her. She raised an eyebrow.
"Seriously? She's twelve; all of the hard work is over. You just have to make sure she doesn't pierce anything or do anyone," she told me. I sighed and cracked my neck by turning my head sharply to the side.
"Why do you have to say things like that?"
"Because I'm the devil's assistant.…"
Since it had been a good amount of years since Julian Rose's last time in New York City, I took her sight seeing. It is true; the only time people who live in NYC go to the Statue of Liberty and so on is when they have company over. She had asked to be seen the sights, but while we were out she didn't seem to enjoy it very well. And, it's odd, I think I know the reason why. When we were staring out the top of the Statue of Liberty, I could read her thoughts very well. 'I wish Mom was here.' That's what she thought. And, while I saw that look on her face, I wished Amy was here too, if only to make Julian Rose complete again.
When we got home she rushed up to her room and closed the door. If I didn't do something I knew I'd just imagine her on her bed, crying. So, I called my Dad. Maybe if I talk shop I'd stop thinking about Julian Rose's tears. After three rings he finally picked up. He must have been cooking. Ever since my mom died, my father has tried to improve his chef skills. They were quite good by the time I left for college, that was 26 years ago, and he's still getting better.
"Hello, Andy speaking…" he said. I bit my lower lip as a mannerism built over a lifetime.
"Hi, Dad. It's Ephram…."
"Well I'd hope so. Wouldn't want some other man calling me 'dad.' How can I help you?" he asked me in the way Andy Brown always asks it. Even for his son it doesn't change. I'm not sure if that is bad for me or good for other people….
"I just… wanted to tell you that I took Julian Rose sight seeing today."
"Oh? Did she enjoy it?"
"Not really…" I confessed as I sat down on the couch, with a quick glance out the window at the now depressing skyline.
"Amy?" Dad asked in his newly formed, understanding way. I let out a loud sigh he could hear a thousand miles away.
"Yeah…. I have no idea what to do. I ask her if there's anything I can do, I try to get her mind off it the best I can, but mostly I just leave her alone…."
"That's about all you can do. Losing a parent isn't easy; you know that as well as she does. But whatever you do, don't move to a small town in Montana or something, she probably wouldn't enjoy that," Dad told me. I chuckled slightly.
"Yeah, that probably wouldn't be appreciated. Though, it doesn't always turn out badly…" I reminded him. I could tell, even though I couldn't see him, that he was smiling.
Some twenty years ago, my father and I had a talk. It was a long talk, an all through the night kind of talk. And, among the many discussions, I forgave him for making us move to Everwood. I had forgiven him long before that, I knew, but, there was just something in actually saying it, something in letting him know. It's hard to explain, it's a father/son kind of thing. I thought it was odd then and I continue to do so, how one sentence, one, simple sentence, said only once, by one person, can relive so many years of pain and pressure. One sentence can make everything good again. Hell, it made everything better then it was before!