"As Fate Would Have It": Chapter 11

How I cried when the sky let go

Sometimes when I’m lonely … I remember she can see

= Thursday 09 March 2000 =

"It just seems not to be coming together," Taylor seemed to be mildly frustrated with the lack of progress the song was having. "Even the instrumentals don’t fit entirely right."

"I have an idea," Laurel offered. "Try playing what you have, but slow it down just slightly, and I’m going to accent it with something else. You can play alright if I play on the same keyboard, and our hands overlap?"

"No problem. Let’s hear what you’ve got." Taylor slid further to his left along the piano bench, but Laurel refused the unspoken invitation to sit beside him.

She stood behind the bench and placed her hands on the keyboard, two octaves higher than his, as he commenced playing. Within a few notes, she began also, with a part that wove in and out of harmony with what he played. Laurel was grateful for her reliable memory as she began to make the part up as she played it, correcting minor things as she went along, trying ideas that worked and ideas that didn’t fit as well as she would have hoped.

"That sounds really good, Laurel. Would you mind if we used it?"

"Not at all. I’m glad it sounds okay."

"I don’t suppose you have lyrics for it, do you? I mean, I hate to ask, but lyrics have been worse in coming than the instrumentals…"

"It’s alright. Actually, I did have a set of lyrics. But they’re not really your style…"

"It’s okay. I’d like to hear what you have. And anyway, we’re always open to new ideas and stuff. I mean, a song with two separate main piano parts is not something we normally do, but it sounds good. Really good, in fact. You’ve got some great talent."

"Thanks." Laurel still looked hesitant to share what she had in mind.

Misinterpreting the reluctance as shyness, Taylor repeated, "I would like to hear the lyrics you’ve written. Really, it’s okay. You can trust me. Before anything else, I’m your friend. …At least I hope I am. Please?" Taylor couldn’t believe himself; he was resorting to the puppy-dog routine he normally saved for getting his way with his family. There was something about her that made Taylor want to befriend Laurel. Something deep within told him that she was someone well worth befriending. And if she would just open up to Isaac, he was certain that she would be a good match for his older brother.

"Laurel… you can trust me, you have my word." Without waiting for her consent, Taylor began to play again, knowing that she would instinctively join in with the part she’d just written. Ike was like that, and if Taylor knew Laurel as well as he thought he did, she was the same way. He was correct in this, and also in his assumption that she would provide her lyrics as well as the accompaniment.

Isaac was right; to hear Laurel sing was an experience and a half. The unusual-but-becoming tenor swell of her voice was amazing. It was far from difficult to tell that she put a great deal of her own heart into the music. And the lyrics themselves, also. They held so much depth of soul that even Taylor, who’d sung his fair share of heart-wrenching ballads over the past three years, was deeply moved by the words Laurel had chosen and assembled.

There were a few times when, as the parts overlapped and called for the same note to be played at the same time, their hands would touch, just for a moment. Every time it happened, Taylor felt something course through him. It wasn’t electricity; he wasn’t attracted to her that way. It wasn’t guilt; from what he could surmise, Isaac had been unsuccessful in cracking the isolative emotional shell Laurel had constructed around herself, and so he wasn't really backstabbing his brother. But there was something. After it happened a few times in succession, Taylor realized what it was. Pain.

Laurel was feeling something deeply in this music. Her hands were trembling every time they made contact with his, but Taylor knew that it wasn’t because of his heartthrob identity in the public eye. He stopped playing, and she did the same a few moments later. Taylor turned to her, amazed when he saw the expression in her eyes …it looked as though Laurel might break down at any moment, as the last word of the chorus died on her lips.

He reached for her hands, hovering purposelessly above the piano keyboard. Gripping them gently, he pulled her down to sit on the bench as he simultaneously stood so that she wouldn’t feel awkward. Releasing her hands, he knelt in front of her and asked, "Laurel, what’s wrong? It’s the lyrics and whoever they’re for, isn’t it?"

Laurel said nothing, just stared past him vacantly, a few tears tumbling down her cheeks. After a few minutes, Taylor began to worry, and asked, "What happened Laurel? Did someone hurt you? You can tell me."

Her rampantly running emotions had brought Laurel’s guard down. The gentleness and earnest friendship were too familiar still, even after all this time. "Jo — Joelle… She was my sister." These few words brought the perspective into clear focus for Taylor.

"Mac told me and Ike what you’d told him about her. I’m really sorry. I could never begin to imagine what that must be like. It must be terrible." Then he stopped. These were the things people had said to him when his grandmother had died; the words were empty and meaningless and had only hurt him more, but here he was doing the same to Laurel. "Forgive me. I know how empty and shallow those words are. I didn’t mean to use them on you."

Laurel swiped the back of her hand across her eyes and answered his apology with one of her own. "Don’t worry about it. It’s my fault. I don’t usually get like this, but today’s her — her birthday. It was supposed to be her due date, too. She and her husband Mark were expecting twins. She wanted so badly to be a mother. And she would have been a great one, too. But a — a drunk driver took that all away from her. He — he took away her unborn son and daughter, and — and her life… I’m sorry." A small cry escaped her lips.

Abruptly she stood and rushed out of the room and past Isaac, who’d paused around the corner when he heard her singing and playing with the song his brother had begun writing the previous day. Unthinkingly, he followed Laurel down the hall to her room, where the door had not closed completely when she’d swung it shut behind her. Suddenly shy, Isaac knocked softly on the door as he peeked inside to find Laurel stretched across her bed, weeping openly in her presumed privacy. "Laurel…?"

At the verbalization of her name, she sat bolt upright. Gasping with the sobs that racked through her core, Laurel looked like a startled animal caught and paralyzed with fear in the headlights of an oncoming car.

Not wanting to scare her, but wanting even less to walk away without reaching out to her, Isaac stepped timidly into the room and sat beside her on the bed. Reaching for her hand as he spoke, he kept his voice low. "I — I heard. I wasn’t eavesdropping; I was on my way into the lounge when I heard you talking to Tay and I didn’t want to interrupt. Laurel, I wish I knew what to say to help you hurt less."

"I — I —"

Succumbing to the impulsive desires of his heart, Isaac reached out and took her in his arms. "Shh, it’s okay. Just let out what you’re feeling. Let me do what I can. I can’t say that I understand how you feel and I won’t pretend that I do. But I can give you a shoulder to cry on, so let me do that much for you."

Nonetheless, Laurel shrugged his hands off of her back and stood. "I need some time alone. Can you just let me have that much, just a little time to myself on my sister’s birthday? Do you let people bother you on your grandmother’s birthday, or the anniversary of her death?"

The reaction this comment received told Laurel that it had hit home. When he didn’t move immediately to leave, she did. Laurel found herself in the living room, where Zoë was occupied with some toys. The little girl looked up when she heard someone enter the room. "La-La sad?"

The simple innocent inquisition sent Laurel reeling. My niece and nephew would be her age if they and Joelle had lived. Laurel crumpled to the floor not far from the little girl. Hugging herself and rocking back and forth, she was oblivious to Zoë’s approach until the child wrapped her little arms around Laurel’s neck. "La-La no hurt. Be okay."

"Thank you, Zoë. I needed a little hug right now. I miss my sister."

"Sissy go bye-bye?"

"Yeah, Angel. She went bye-bye forever. She’s with your grandma that you never got to meet." Then, as Joelle had taught Laurel to do whenever she couldn’t express or vent her feelings, she began to sing, a mournful song the two sisters had learned together when their own grandmother had passed away.

In her own way, Zoë began to sing along, in her little voice which Laurel thought would have exactly matched that of the niece she would never have. "And there’s holes in the floor of Heaven / And her tears are pouring down / That’s how I know she’s watching / Wishing she could be here now / Sometimes when I’m lonely / I remember she can see / ‘Cause there’s holes in the floor of Heaven / And she’s watching over you and me…"

Laurel’s tears were not the only ones shed; Isaac and Taylor, both familiar with the song, listened from the next room to the young woman who’d shut them both out and cried not only for her loss but also for the love and caring she refused to let them give. They knew that the first verse of the song referred to a grandmother who passed away just before her grandson’s eighth birthday, which was familiar to them; their own grandmother had passed away when Zac was eight. This loss also came back to them.

Losing a grandmother had been bad enough. Neither could imagine losing one of their siblings, much less comprehend the pain that Laurel was enduring. Isaac was languishing in her refusal of the affection he had extended, as well.

"Why won’t she let me in? I would never hurt her; she has to be able to see that. What am I doing wrong, Tay?"

"I don’t know, and I wish I knew what to tell you. But if you care that deeply, don’t let her go. Not without at least saying something to her about how you feel. You’ll regret it forever if you let your chance go by without taking it." He walked away, into the lounge. Moments later, Isaac heard him playing "Holes in the Floor of Heaven" on the piano. He wasn’t as much of an avid country music fan as his younger brother, but Isaac had to admit that this particular song was excellent.

Isaac let several minutes pass before entering the room where Laurel still sat on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and staring vacantly out at the falling rain. Zoë, meanwhile, had resumed playing with her stuffed Winnie-the-Pooh characters, a few feet away. He let himself down slowly onto the coffee table, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands dangling aimlessly. He said nothing, just watched Laurel’s expressionless face and her eyes, no longer tearing, but far from dry. Please, God, help me let her see that I don’t want to hurt her. She’s obviously been hurt by someone; that must be why she shies away from me every time we start to get close. Please, just let me not blow this opportunity. I love her too much to let her walk away now.

His thoughts were interrupted by his baby sister, who was waving her Tigger at him. "La-La’s sissy go bye-bye." Laurel’s shoulders drooped and began to shake. She bowed her head, knowing who else was in the room and wishing he would leave her alone.

"Who?"

"La-La." Zoë pointed in Laurel’s direction.

"Okay, Kiddo, why don’t you go find Mommy? It’s almost your naptime. Take Pooh Bear with you," he instructed as he handed the little girl the stuffed bear and directed her out of the room. Then he returned his attention to the young woman who was huddled an arm’s length away from him. "Laurel? Is there something I can do to help you? Or would you rather that I leave?" He could not keep the wounded tone out of his voice with his final question.

"Hmm?" he asked when she replied; he hadn’t been able to make out Laurel’s mumbled response.

"I said that what I need you to do is forgive me. This is hard for me to deal with. I should be celebrating three lives today, not mourning them." She lifted her tearstained face to Isaac as he sat beside her, but not too near, and tentatively rested a hand on her shoulder.

"I know how hard those days are," he told her, full of compassionate understanding.

"At least you have family to be with on those days. I haven’t heard from Mark since the funeral. I needed him to lean on, but he just disappeared and left us all behind. Joelle was my sister for a lot longer than she was his wife. But he left me to deal with the deaths of my only sister and niece and nephew; I’ve dealt with this on my own for three years; I don’t need your help now."

Once again, her sharp tongue caused Isaac to retreat physically and withdraw emotionally. This time, he got up to leave before Laurel had a chance to. But she stopped him. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be spiteful. It — it’s just that no one has ever even offered to — to" —she tried to swallow around the lump of emotion that had grown in her throat— "to even be sympathetic to me. I’ve dealt with it alone because I had no other choice. And now I don’t know of any other way to cope than to shut out everyone around me. Forgive me, please." Her voice was now just barely above a whisper.

"You don’t ever have to ask for my forgiveness. I still remember how angry I was when we lost our grandma. Taylor and I got into some pretty fierce fights, for no reason at all, for a long time afterward. Anger is just part of the grieving process. Especially when the death you’re grieving isn’t a fair one, like cancer, or being in a car accident caused by a drunk driver." Isaac sat on the couch, while Laurel had crawled into an armchair across from him. He made no physical movement toward her this time. "It may not seem like it now, but things will get easier. Eventually you’ll even be able to smile at happy memories. It just takes time. There are still times, when we’re rehearsing ‘With You In Your Dreams’, that I have to stop and take a break because it’s too much for me. And it’s been almost six years now."

"I’m really sorry." It was now Laurel’s turn to give the sympathy, rather than receive it. The anguish on Isaac’s face made him look as though his grandmother had died that morning, instead of six years ago. This time, when the screaming voice inside her head told her that it was unsafe to be making any kind of connection with this man, Laurel was able to exit the room calmly without running as though she was being pursued.