//2// Can You Put The Past Away

“Zac? Earth to Zac!”

The sound of my brother’s voice startled me, the jolt sending my coffee cup tumbling from my hands.  I prepared myself to be scalded, but the liquid that sloshed on to my hand was cold.  Frowning, I realized I must have zoned out for a while.  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

Isaac looked at me with a mix of concern and disdain.  “Do you have any input?”

“Not especially,” I replied, mopping up the spill with some napkins that were sitting in the center of the conference table.

If only all messes were so easy to clean, I thought to myself.

Once I had gotten all remaining droplets of coffee off the table, I turned my attention back to my brothers, slumping against the uncomfortable desk chair.  I was still getting that look from Isaac, and it made me squirm.  When I lifted my eyes to meet my other brother’s, I shrank back even more in tot he chair–Taylor’s look lacked all the concern of Isaac while holding all the disdain.

Three weeks had passed since I had snapped at Taylor in my parking lot, and so far he had indeed kept up his end of the bargain.  I did not get any phone calls, texts, or e-mails unless they pertained to work.  No invites to family gatherings, no one knocking on my door.  The only person who was in contact with me was my estranged wife, if only to keep me involved with the kids.  Even when it was her calling, I sometimes let it slip to voice mail.

Taylor sighed heavily.  “Why don’t we call it a day?  We’re not getting anywhere and my coffee ran out an hour ago.”  His voice was not as sharp as his expression, and for that I was thankful; the last thing I needed was to hear Taylor, or Isaac, for that matter, attempt some kind of confrontational intervention.  Not that it was really Taylor’s style to be confrontational.  Mr. Passive-Aggressive would never call you out to your face.

“Fine by me,” Isaac muttered, gathering his notebook.

I stuffed my laptop in to my messenger bag, along with a bunch of paper that was supposed to have been notes about tour schedules but really turned out to be a bunch of doodles of my brothers beating each other up.  I turned quickly and darted from the conference room, lazily throwing my bag over my shoulder.

As I swished out the door, I thought I heard our tour manager, Leigh, call out to me, but I wasn’t interested in hearing what she had to say.  I kept going straight to my newly-purchased Honda Rebel parked outside, slung my leg over the side and kicked her in to gear.

I had intended on heading straight home, but something about the early-Spring Tulsa air hitting my face made me want to drive around longer, and faster.  I edged my way on to the interstate, keeping pace with the cars for a while before tiring of the monotony.  The body of the bike tilted left, then right, as I wove between the cars, itching to go faster.

Readying myself for another quick lane change, I caught a flash of light out of the corner of my eye, followed shortly after by a siren.  “Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, easing the bike to the side of the road.  I threw the break on, dropped the kickstand, and pulled my helmet off my head.

The officer approached, asking for my license and registration.  I complied, providing my papers to him, and sat on the bike patiently while the office ran me through the system.  I wondered if I could or should play the “Don’t you know who I am?” card, but based on the fact that this guy looked like he could bench-press twice my weight, I thought better of it.  He returned a moment later with my ID and registration, and another long piece of paper that looked suspiciously like a ticket.

“Mr. Hanson,” he gave my papers back, then held up the long sheet of paper.  “This is a ticket for speeding, as well as reckless driving.  I could take you downtown right now for how fast you were going, but since it looks like this is your first ticket in the last five years, I’ll reduce the charge.  You can plead guilty by mail and pay a fine or appear in court on the date listed here,” he pointed to a spot on the ticket.  “Failure to appear or plea will result in a warrant for your arrest.  Do you understand?”

I nodded, taking the ticket and folding it in to my messenger bag.  After he gave me the permission to go, I started the bike up and took off, keeping my speed just under the limit.

**

There was a hard pounding on my door the next morning.  I shuffled out of the bedroom, clad in just a pair of boxer shorts, and made my way to the front door.  I looked through the peephole to find my wife—albeit estranged—standing on the other side looking rather impatient.  I sighed, seeing my daughter on her hip, and opened the door, immediately flooding her with an apology as Shepherd bolted in to the apartment.  “I’m sorry, Katie, I forgot,”

“Save it, Zac.  I don’t need any more of your excuses.  I’m late, and I have to catch this flight or else I’m going to miss this job interview.”  My stomach tightened as she thrust Junia into my arms.  Job interview.  The words spun in my head momentarily as I thought about what she was saying.  Before I had a chance to say anything in response, she was picking up the diaper bag and handing it, along with a duffle bag of the kids’ things, to me.  “Shep, I’m leaving!” she called over my shoulder.  Shepherd ran back to the door, allowing Kate to lean over and give him a hug and a kiss.  She leaned over and pressed her lips to Junia’s forehead, then looked back at me.  “I’ll be back in two days.  You can handle them for two days, can’t you?”

I groaned inwardly at her accosting tone.  “Yes, Kate, I can handle my own damn children for two days.”  Kate didn’t say anything else to me, just waved to Junia once more before turning and marching back toward the stairwell.   I closed the door to the apartment and turned around, bouncing Junia in my arms.  A giggly smile spread across her face, and she reached her tiny fingers out to tangle in my hair.  I smiled back at her, walking her to the playpen in the living room, and setting her down in it.  “Shep, did Mommy give you breakfast?”

Shep didn’t move his eyes from his the game he was playing while he answered.  “No, Uncle Robert did.”

I paused, turning toward the couch and sitting down next to my son.  “Shep…who’s Uncle Robert?”

“Mommy’s friend,” he shrugged.

I cleared my throat a little.  “Shepherd…does Uncle Robert have sleep overs with Mommy?”

“Sometimes.”

“OK.”  I calmly got up from the couch and walked in to the bedroom, closing the door behind me.  I stood in the center of the barren room for a few minutes before letting out a low, frustrated growl.  It was bad enough Kate was trying to get a job in Georgia; to take the kids away from me to be near her parents.  But…now she was seeing someone?  I wanted to call her, to yell at her, to demand that she just let me come home so we could work through it.

I realized two things then that I think maybe I hadn’t before:  First, yelling at her wouldn’t solve anything—it would only make matters worse.  Second, I didn’t want to go home and work through things with Kate.

Once the silent confession had time to settle, I walked back out of the room and started to get ready in the bathroom.  Despite having a five year old with the attention span of a gnat and a two and half year old who was potty training, I needed to go to the studio.  We were still planning the second leg of the tour, to kick off just after Shepherd’s sixth birthday, nearly ten weeks after our last show.  Our fans were getting antsy, our tour manager was getting antsy, and to be quite frank, I was getting antsy.  I was sick of this dingy little apartment and sick of Tulsa.

I was just worried about whether or not I’d come home from this tour to find my kids in a different state.

My mind drifted over these thoughts as I went through my morning routine, checking in on the kids between each task that I did: Check the kids. Shower.  Check the kids.  Shave.  Check the kids.  Make coffee and some toast.  Check the kids.  Get dressed.  Each time I checked on them, not much had changed.  Junia sat in her playpen, Sippy cup in one hand and her favorite stuffed bunny in the other, while Shepherd sat on the couch engrossed in his handheld game.  Maybe I was being paranoid, or maybe I just wanted to see them as much as I could while I had the chance, but I couldn’t stop myself from taking a few more minutes each time I stopped to check on them.

Finally, I had both kids locked securely in their car seats, diaper bag and backpack of toys, coloring books, and various other activities in the back seat of the Tacoma, and we were on our way to the studio.  The drive was quick, and Taylor was outside smoking a cigarette when I pulled up.  I almost asked if he’d help with the kids, but knew after our last real conversation over a month ago, that he’d probably just scoff and walk away.

To my surprise, I didn’t have to ask—Taylor was at my side as soon as I stepped out of the truck, unbuckling Junia from her seat and pulling her, and the diaper bag, out.  I worked on getting Shepherd free, handing him his backpack as her raced toward the door.  “Uncle Tay, Uncle Tay, is Viggo here?”

“Not right now, Shep.  But maybe I’ll call Aunt Natalie in a little bit and you and Junia can go over and play with everyone.”  Taylor patted his head, and Shepherd ran in to the studio, finding the couch in the office and flopping down.

“Thanks,” I muttered to Taylor, taking Junia in to the office and setting her down on the couch next to Shepherd.  Taylor was talking about something work-related as I put together Junia’s portable playpen, then gently placed her inside with her bunny and Sippy cup.  She began dancing to the music that was playing in the other room, a smile on her face as she heard a recording of vocal tracks I put down a few days ago for the member’s EP.  I smiled as I watched her, her tiny legs bending and stretching to the beat.

A few minutes later, I heard a soft laugh from behind me and turned to see my sister-in-law, Natalie, standing with a hand on her hip and a smile on her face.  “Someone likes to hear her daddy sing!” she announced.

“She’s got good taste in music already; she gets it from her daddy,” I replied nonchalantly, shrugging.

Natalie walked in to the small office and embraced me in an uncomfortably tight hug.  “I’m worried about you,” she said, pulling away.  “From all that I’m hearing from Taylor and Kate, I just…no one seems to be considering you in all of this, is all.”

I pulled a tight, forced smile.  “Thanks…I guess someone’s got to think of me.  Who better than the best friend of my wife, who wants to make things work so much, she’s sleeping with some dumb fuck already.”  I couldn’t help the bitterness from seeping in to my voice.

“Zachary!” Natalie scolded, eyeing the children behind me.  She lowered her voice.  “Need I remind you that you cheated first?”

“That is something you know isn’t actually true,” I spat.  “She slept with my brother long before I slept with Ryland…and I forgave them!  Both of them, I said ‘you know what? It’s not worth it.  Despite feeling betrayed, I love this woman and I want to marry her, even though my brother deflowered her.’  So don’t you dare go and make me the bad guy, just because it took me seven fucking years to realize I shouldn’t have forgiven either one of them.”

Without another word, I handed her Junia’s diaper bag.  I disassembled the pop-up pen, silently cursing the fact that I had literally just put it up.  When it was flat, I slid it in to the pocket of the diaper bag, got Shepherd packed up, and walked Natalie out to the car with the kids.

After both kid’s seats were transferred from my car to Natalie’s Mazda CX-9, kids firmly strapped in, Natalie placed her hand on my arm, a nervous twitch to her smile.  “Listen, Zac…I should be on Kate’s side; she’s my best friend and has been since I was six years old.  But…you’re right.  I know what Kate did, and I know things that you probably don’t and shouldn’t about it…and some of those things are things I can’t forgive her for, best friend or not.  I can’t blame you for what you did, after all that she put you through.  And, I guess…if you need someone to talk to, because Lord knows, your brother’s aren’t very good listeners most of the time, I’m here.”

I narrowed my eyes at her.  “How do I know this isn’t some kind of sly reconnaissance for Kate?”

Natalie rolled her eyes, sighing.  “Seriously, Zac…I’m not trying to play you, or get dirt for Kate.  There’s no conspiracy, I promise.  Scout’s honor,” she added, giving me the Girl Scout salute.

“Doesn’t that only count if you were actually a girl scout?”

Her face turned in to a pout.  “I was in Brownies for one whole month when I was in third grade, thank you very much.”  Despite my desire to stay in a sour mood, the way her eyebrows knitted together in what appeared to be genuine offense caused me to laugh against my better judgment.

 

 

 

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