So Many Kinds of Love

Layla frowned. "I wish I could remember any of that. I feel like I'm missing a piece of me because I can't."

"Understandable. On the plus side, you don't have to remember him in the hospital."

The morning sun lit half her face, and I thought once more about good my sister looked now. The soft lines of her jaw and cheeks seemed right out of a Monet.

"Tell me," she asked.

I leaned back, wishing I hadn't mentioned it, as this particular memory lived in the "do not open" locker in my brain. As I opened my mouth to refuse, I looked at Layla's intent face, and something inside me melted.

"Uh, OK. I only went a few times. You probably don't remember, but the cancer came on very fast, and it was brutal. Pancreatic cancer always is." I hesitated. "The first few times I went, I took my guitar so we could sing some Beatles together. That always cheered him up. But soon, he couldn't sing, only whisper."

Tears prickled in my eyes, and I wiped them away. "Then one day, I came in and he couldn't even whisper anymore, only grunt and wheeze. And he was so thin, with these dark smudges under his eyes." I inhaled deeply and let it out bit by bit, trying to collect myself. "I played Hey Jude for him. I'll never forget how he lay there, staring at me while I sang, lips moving, but unable to do anything but wheeze and rasp. It scared me and I started to cry after I finished the song. He opened his arms to hug me like he always did, but I didn't want to go to him. He wasn't really Dad anymore, he was a stranger, and I was so afraid..."

Suddenly, I was no longer a strong and tough sailor, but a frightened little boy having to face death far too soon. Layla's arms enfolded me as I wept at the breakfast table, chest tight with grief, unable to stop the deluge of emotion I hadn't suspected remained within me. She didn't say a word, just held me and rocked me gently as I cried.

"Mom t-t-took me out of the room, and I was glad to l-leave," I stuttered, still crying. "And I n-never saw him again."

I wiped my eyes again. "My father needed me, and I was glad to leave him. How could I have been such a selfish little prick?"

Layla pushed me back into my chair and regarded me steadily. Her own eyes had turned red and tears glistened on her cheeks. "Gary, listen to me. You were a little kid. Dad understood. He had to."

"I left him lying there. I left him alone."

"You were ten. He was, what, thirty-five? An adult. An adult who adored you and who had shared so much with you. He knew you loved him."

"Not enough to stay with him," I said bitterly.

Her voice toughened. "Now you're talking crazy. You were just a little child, but you went and sat with a dying man and gave him the gifts of music and love. That was enough. I bet when he passed, he was still hearing you singing Hey Jude."

"Maybe, but..."

She put a finger on my lips. "Stop it. You're a grown man. It's time to reframe what happened all those years ago. Look at it as an adult, with compassion and understanding."

The knot in my chest softened. My little sister was still the smartest person I had ever met. I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "I'll try."

"Do, or do not. There is no try," she said, quoting one of our favorite childhood films.

I smiled at her. "Some big brother I am. You're protecting me now."

She kissed my forehead and stood up. "We protect each other, silly. That's how family works."

**

After breakfast, I headed back upstairs, intending to study for my job interview, but I couldn't focus. I kept replaying our conversation in my head, seeing my father lying on his deathbed and hearing the Beatles in the background. With a sigh, I unzipped my duffel bag and fished out my gym gear. A long, hard run would help clear my head.

The bedroom door silently opened as I changed, and after a moment's panic, I smiled, remembering my sister's words from the night before. Well, older houses had character, and if the occasional door opened when I didn't expect it, I figured it was a small price to pay.

I poked my head into the living room to tell Layla to expect me back in an hour or so, but her chair was empty and I didn't hear her anywhere. I shrugged and trotted down the stairs to the front door, already feeling better. After that endless plane ride, half-day of sleep and emotional outburst, exercise was the best possible medicine.

As the storm door slammed behind me, I took in a lungful of clean, cool air, then walked a block or two, swinging my arms and heading towards the park. I had a fair idea of the city's layout and decided to run the loop from one end of town to the other, passing through downtown and a few neighborhoods and business districts.

It didn't take long to fall into a nice, easy rhythm. All those workouts with Smitty had taken about 10 pounds off my frame, and I liked how springy my knees felt with the lighter load. A light wind swirled the crisp golden and orange leaves above my head, and made their fallen siblings dance with the trash on the sidewalk. I could even smell traces of smoke from the chimneys of people eager to start fireplace season. The morning mist had cleared, leaving a blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds. All in all, a splendid day to spend outside.

Everywhere, churches were letting out, and I couldn't help but smile at the joyous kids darting around to burn off their energy as their mothers yelled at them to stay out of the street. A lot of the moms wore dresses that showcased the handiwork of God. I grinned to myself. The world overflowed with beauty if you knew where to look for it.

Turning east, I settled into a faster pace, pushing myself now that I had warmed up. The scenery flowed past and I noted the new stores and spruced-up older buildings. It seemed the city had turned the corner from the depressed place I remembered and had found new life. I nodded once or twice as I passed Market Street's particularly attractive and well-kept architecture. I could find a new life here too, I thought, and have a happy existence, maybe get married in a few years and have a couple of kids once I had established my new career.

Sweating freely at this point, I thought once more about my own parents. Layla was right about Dad. I needed to let that go. I had done the best I was capable of, and no one could expect more. Mom, however... I still had work to do there. After Dad died, she had given up, drinking more and more. She had passively accepted Donald Dumbass's proposal when it came and remained passive while he abused her and us. Even now, just thinking about it made my fists clench. I could imagine all too well the scene with the photos and the fireplace. How could she just take it and not fight back, not fight for us?

My heart thumped as I ran faster, almost sprinting now, as if I could outrun my past. I pumped my arms, gunning it for all I was worth, wishing that putting the past behind me could be simple as running fast. That might make an interesting song, I thought, and gradually slowed to a more sustainable pace as I considered rhymes for "past" and how they might fit in a song.

Now wet with sweat but in much better spirits, I entered another residential area, my shirt plastered to my body. About a block in, I spotted a dark-haired woman about my age wearing a fitted blue dress and walking a small spaniel. Probably just got home from church and needed to let the dog out, I diagnosed. She watched me approach, her mouth open as she touched a cross on a chain around her neck. Our eyes met and she straightened and smiled, no doubt reading the appreciation in my glance.

"Que guapo," she muttered as I passed.

"Gracias!" I called over my shoulder, and heard her laugh.

Perspiration trickling down my face and back, I turned to the south and slowed to a jog as I wound through the streets back to Layla's house. Feeling the blood coursing through every part of my body, from my scalp to my toes, I lifted my hands above my head and laughed out loud. I felt twice as alive as usual: magnificent!

I walked the last couple of blocks to complete my cooldown and found Layla seated on the stoop out front, reading a book.

"There you are," she observed. "I was wondering where you got to."

"Needed a run after all that breakfast."

She nodded, accepting the partial truth. "Well, like I said earlier, some of my friends are coming over soon to meet you, so you need to get cleaned up. I just baked some cookies, and a couple of pizzas are on the way, but they're for the party, so stay out of them for now."

"Sure thing, sis."

The smell of fresh-baked cookies hit me as soon as I walked in the door, and it took all my strength not to run to the kitchen and shove half a dozen into my mouth. Instead, I ran upstairs, shucked off my salt-stained clothes and dashed into the head for another shower. I meant to keep it short, but the vision of the lady in blue intruded. Closing my eyes as the streams of water hit my body, I imagined her grabbing my hand and leading me into her house. She'd slam the door and flip up her skirt, revealing nothing but sweet flesh and a perfect, round ass. I'd drop my sweats and pull her against me, easing into that slick, hot pussy. I'd start slowly, but pick up the pace as she moved with me. She'd moan as my hands found their way to her full breasts, encouraging me to touch her everywhere, needing me to fill her again and again... This orgasm felt more intense than the morning's, and I shuddered at each new burst of pleasure, continuing to pump until the last drops dribbled out.

I would definitely need to contribute towards Layla's water bill if I kept this up, I thought as I dried off and smoothed down my hair. Checking my look in the mirror, I decided to do a quick shave in honor of my sister's friends. Maybe one of them would catch my eye. Humming, I carefully shaved, managing not to cut myself.

Back in my room, I shut the door and pulled out a pad of paper to write down the thoughts and lines about outrunning the past that had come to me during the run. One thing you learn as a lyricist is to write everything down as quickly as you can, because you won't remember it later, even if you think you will. It felt so comfortable to sit naked on the bed and work out the lines -- commanding officers, and shipmates, tended to take a dim view of such activities. When the door quietly opened on its own, I barely noticed.

The sound of the doorbell jolted me back to the present. Shit! The party! I jumped off the bed and rooted through my duffel once more, this time extracting a pair of jeans and a grey wool sweater I had bought in England. Pulling on my socks and shoes, I wondered idly if my hair would turn that shade of grey one day. My dad never had a chance to go grey, and I had no way of knowing what color my mother's hair was now. I kind of looked forward to seeing what mine would do.

Thundering down the stairs into the wood-paneled living room, I heard female voices in the kitchen.

"Why two large pizzas?" someone asked. "It's not like we eat that much!"

"You don't know my brother," Layla replied. "He definitely eats that much!"

I entered the kitchen on a wave of laughter that died down as they caught sight of me.

"Hi, ladies," I said pleasantly, making eye contact with each one in turn.

Layla stood and walked over to me, curling her arm through mine. "Everyone, this is Gary. Gary, these are my friends I was telling you about. This is Kara," and a serious, cerebral-looking blonde leaned forward to shake my hand.

"And this is Nicole." A redhead this time, with the pale skin and freckles that often go with that shade of hair. The corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled, and I got the distinct impression of a mischievous sprite when we shook hands.

"And Gwyneth." Another blonde, no doubt named for the actress, and equally regal. Her touch felt cool and I couldn't read her at all.

"Jessica." A smiling brunette, chubby, sweet face, but the deep green eyes warned me not to underestimate her.

"And..." Layla looked around. "Where's Gabriela?"

"Still in the bathroom," Nicole said.

"No, here I am!" said a voice behind me. I turned and found myself lost in a pair of sparkling brown eyes. My polite smile widened into a genuine grin as recognition kicked in for us both.

The lady in blue winked at me, and her hand, when I shook it, felt like heat and electricity and life itself.

**

"I hope you like acoustic guitar," I said, feeling anxious as I guided Gabriela into the brick-walled coffee house the following night. I knew I would feel at home here, but I wasn't at all sure of her feelings. Somehow, it mattered a lot to me that she would like it too.

She smiled up at me. "Why wouldn't I? I love music, period. I even sing a little, but nothing serious."

"I want you to have a good time, that's all."

"Quit fussing. It'll be great."

The place had plenty of open seats, and we made our way to a table near the back so we could talk. I helped her out of her jacket, then held her chair as she sat down, noting the sexy swish of fabric against flesh as she did so.

The self-possessed smile returned. "Such a gentleman. I like that about you."

I gave her a little bow before sitting down opposite her. "Manners courtesy of the U.S. Navy, ma'am."

She laughed, the sound bouncing off the old brick walls. "I had no idea sailors had a reputation for good manners."

"Depends on the sailor. Most of us know how to behave ourselves, even if we usually don't act like it."

A waiter appeared, took our order for nachos and a couple of beers and scurried off, looking down at his phone all the while.

I sighed. "Does anyone in this country not stare at their phone all day long?"

Rummaging through her purse, Gabriela took out her phone and stared at it. "No."

We both laughed, and my anxiety eased. I liked Gabriela more and more. Unlike me, she seemed to have a gift for being at home wherever she was. Whereas I had felt slightly adrift ever since my last day in the navy, a sensation that seemed to be growing, not subsiding, as time passed.

"So tell me how you and Layla met."

She shifted in her chair and leaned against the old brick wall, settling in for the tale. "It was four years ago. We had just started classes -- me in med school and her second semester of undergrad, I think. Anyway, we were both at the library one night when this weirdo dressed like some kind of European prince walked in and started doing monologues from Shakespeare -- Hamlet, Macbeth, you know. 'Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow...' He was actually pretty good, but it was totally bizarre. While he was intoning, she and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. After security removed him, we started talking, and we've been friends ever since."

She stopped for a second, gathering her thoughts. "I liked Layla right away. She's so smart, and such a good person."

I nodded. "She's the smartest person I know. And a wonderful sister. Our mother and stepfather aren't anything to brag about, but Layla -- she's special."

"Yeah. You know, she and my brother went out a few times, but that never seemed to catch fire. A shame."

"Really? She never tells me about her boyfriends."

Gabriela frowned, but her expression brightened when the waiter slid our order in front of us. Taking a large sip from her mug, she licked the foam off her lips as I watched, enchanted. "I don't know that she's ever had a real boyfriend."

"Why is that, do you think?"

Shrugging, she dragged a chip through the sauce and crunched it delicately. "Good queso! And good question. I can't imagine that guys aren't hitting on her all the time, so it must be something within her."

We ate for a minute or so, enjoying the hot spicy cheese and corn tortilla chips with our beer. I sighed with happiness. To my eyes, Gabriela sparkled like a jewelry story window, but she seemed at home with our low-maintenance date.

Wrapped up in my pleasant fog, I didn't anticipate her next question. "Did that stepfather of yours abuse her, do you think?"

The chip turned to sawdust in my mouth as I considered all the angles. "I hope not. If he did, she never said anything to me." I paused again. "I mean, he was an absolute prick to us both, and he did slap us, but if you mean what I think you mean, I don't think so."

I closed my eyes, thinking back to the year Layla had gained all that weight. It had seemed to me then that she wanted to erect a wall between herself and the world, but I hadn't really thought about her motives. I would never forgive myself if he had violated her.

Gabriela's voice brought me back to reality. "She told me he never touched her, but I wanted your opinion."

Closing my eyes, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Muscle by muscle, I consciously unclenched and tried to relax.

"You carry the weight of the world on you." It was a statement, not a question, but I nodded.

Her voice was gentle. "You should see someone about that."

"We sailors don't talk to shrinks."

"You sailors are dumbasses, then. And I don't believe you."

My eyes flew open, and Gabriela's face, straight out of an El Greco painting, softened with compassion.

"The sooner you get help, the more of your life you get to spend as a healed person."

I gulped. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm usually pretty steady, but I've been really emotional ever since I got home."

She gave a little shrug. "A big transition can trigger stuff."

"Is that the terminology you psychiatrists use?"

"Yeah, right out of the textbook. And I'm not a psychiatrist -- yet." She cocked her head, studying me. "But that won't stop me from offering some unsolicited advice."

"You're a smart lady. I welcome your guidance."

"Go ahead and book an appointment with a good counselor. You might ask Layla for the name of hers. He was really good."

I tried not to sound offended. "You think I'm that bad off?"

She shook her head. "Not at all. I just want you healthy and happy. And like I said, the sooner you get to it..."

The emcee took the stage, interrupting us. "And now, let's give a big hand to our first performer tonight, Miss Cassie Nakamura!"

Around us, people applauded but I felt a warm hand on my own trembling one. Taking hold of her hand, I looked into Gabriela's deep brown eyes. The music started just as I fell utterly, helplessly in love.

Two hours later, we left the coffee shop holding hands. Music swirled through my head and I hummed the refrain of one of the songs we had heard.

"Layla told me you liked music, but I think she underplayed it. It's more than that. You really love it, don't you?"

I took a deep breath and looked down at Gabriela. "It's a big part of my life. I mean, I'm hoping for the hospital job because, you know, I'm fond of regular meals and not living in a cardboard box. Plus, I think it'll be a good fit for my skill set. But music is where my passion is."

She nodded, and we walked for a while, swinging our joined hands, silent but companionable.

"What's your passion in life?" I finally asked.

She didn't hesitate. "Helping others. Serving my community. Healing broken people so they can go on and live happy lives."

"I don't know if I could do that. Listen to people's problems all day, every day, I mean. I think it would depress me."

"A lot of people say that, but I don't see it that way at all. Anyone coming to a psychiatrist generally has significant issues that prevent them from living a normal emotional life. I see my role -- my future role -- as helping them find that place where they can live as a functioning human being." She gave another of her little shrugs and cocked her head, considering. "Not always happy, because nobody outside of a theme park is happy all the time, but not always sad, or angry, or despairing, either. More like, able to access the full range of the emotional spectrum. Just -- normal."