What Holds Us Together

by Sandi Ward

  “Cod with a little butter, Luna? You’re going to help us eat it?”

  She blinks at me. That’s a yes.

  In the late afternoon, I look out the picture window in the front room. A thick layer of snow covers everything. The flakes are smaller, and the wind is beginning to pick up, making the snow swirl. It forms hills like sand dunes as it drifts.

  I try standing on tiptoes. The sky is growing dark, and I can’t see the street anymore. We’re located on one of the several private roads in town, and it’s not paved. It’s just a winding dirt path through the woods, wide enough for a car.

  “Should we be worried, Luna?”

  She stares back at me. A sphinx. Hard to read.

  I realize this would be a great time to talk to the kids about The President’s Academy, because we’re not busy. But once again, I chicken out and put it off until tomorrow.

  Delilah helps me with dinner by snapping the green beans, setting the table, and pouring the drinks. Donovan arrives at the last minute and slinks into his seat, not contributing to the conversation except for the occasional grunt or shrug.

  I’ve just finished loading the dishwasher when Luna suddenly jumps up onto four paws. I hear it, too, in the distance: a truck engine. The harsh sound of a blade scraping the driveway. The steady beep of a vehicle in reverse.

  I’m surprised to find I’m actually excited. “Let’s go, Luna!” We both dash down the hall to look out the front window. But there’s nothing much to see.

  The light post by the driveway doesn’t illuminate very far, and the rest of the world is in darkness. I watch headlights flash and sway, shining against the falling snow and the garage. The plow moves slowly, forward and back. At one point, it stops. I hear men yelling against the wind. I suppose they’ve gotten out to shovel the walkway. Good.

  I’m just about to walk away from the window when I see shapes against the white, and it slowly dawns on me that it’s two men, up to their knees in snow. Up to their knees! And, inexplicably, they’re slowly moving down the walkway toward my front door. Large, hulking figures, all wrapped up like mummies in dark clothes, with just the eyes peeking out.

  Even though I know they’re coming, I startle when there’s a sharp knock. I run to answer, and the wind pushes against the door with such force that I must throw my weight against it to stop it from flying open.

  “Annika,” croaks Sam, although the two men are dressed in so many layers it’s hard to tell them apart at first. “Can we come in for a minute?”

  I hesitate, because I’m alone here with the kids and I’m not sure who the man is with Sam. But it’s ridiculously cold out there. I can’t stand here with the door open another minute. “Of course, come in.”

  I glance back to see if either of the twins are coming down the stairs to see who’s at the door, but neither appears. I imagine them both huddled on Donovan’s bed, paging through their father’s journal. It makes me shudder, thinking of Donovan looking for more ways I let Peter down—and let him down. If that’s the case, Donovan will find what he’s looking for. I’d like to get the diary back before he reaches that point.

  The men step inside and start to pull off their scarves and gloves. Sam removes his face mask. With every move they make, small pieces of ice scatter like glitter. Luna bats at a chunk of snow with her paw.

  Both men are red in the face. Their hands, ears, and cheeks are raw. In contrast, it’s toasty in the house because I’ve got the heat cranked up.

  “Thanks, Annie. We have a small problem.”

  Annie. That’s what Sam called me in high school, even though the A in Ann-ie is different from the A in Ahh-nika.

  I look from one to the other. The man to the right of Sam looks like him, with the same thick dark hair and broad shoulders, but he’s an inch taller with a more angular face. I can tell he’s Danny, Sam’s brother, the one I saw in the supermarket. He was three years ahead of us in school.

  I wait for Sam to continue, but he doesn’t. He looks down, as if baffled by his coat and uncertain how to take it off. I watch his swollen, frozen fingers try to unfasten each snap, a slow process.

  My curiosity is killing me. “What’s the matter?”

  He slowly looks up. “It’s the truck. The snow is coming down faster than we can keep up with. And we’re stuck. The wheels are spinning, but the truck’s not moving.” When he sees the look on my face, he quickly continues. “It’ll be okay, Annie. I don’t know what happened. We’ll get ourselves out.”

  Luna bellows a loud meow! I don’t think she likes all this company, but I ignore her.

  Danny unzips his coat with a quick motion. “You ran right into a snow bank because you were cutting at a weird angle. That’s when you lost traction.” The criticism in his voice confirms for me that he’s Sam’s older brother. He’s got a thicker Boston accent than Sam, which means he probably has lived here in town his whole life. “You’ve gotta just shovel and let me do the driving. I’m sorry if you’re tired of shoveling, buddy, but that’s the job.”

  “Danny,” Sam says, raising his voice, “I’m not tired of—Come on. STOP. The way the driveway curves coming down that steep slope? It’s not that easy.”

  “That’s why you should’ve let me drive.”

  “No, anyone could have made the same mistake. There’s no visibility. And I think the driver’s side front corner of the truck looks low. I think the tire is going flat.”

  I bite my lip as I feel my heart starting to race. This situation isn’t okay. It’s pitch-black outside. A raging storm is enveloping us and sealing us in like in a tomb. I can hear the wind rattling gutters and windows. Their truck is stuck in my driveway, so I can’t get my car out? We’re all trapped here?

  Me and Sam, stuck here together?

  When I saw him two days ago, I practically ran out of the supermarket. I don’t know how much I can handle all at once.

  “Call someone to come help you out. You’ve got to move that truck.”

  They just look at me.

  “Call someone. To come help you.” Do these guys not understand what I’m saying?

  Sam looks at me with regret, like he’s breaking bad news to a toddler. “I don’t think we can. It’s late, and the roads are terrible. There’s a state of emergency in six counties. All the town plows are busy with the main roads. No other vehicles are allowed out, and I wouldn’t want anyone trying to drive up the hill right now anyway.”

  “We’ll get ourselves out. Don’t worry. We’re pros. We can handle it. We just need a short break. It’s freezing out there and the wind chill is wicked bad.” The taller man sticks out his hand. “I’m Danny Parsons. We’ve met before, haven’t we? You look kinda familiar. You’re Rich’s daughter?”

  I shake his hand. His skin is freezing cold despite the fact that he had on waterproof gloves. “We met a long time ago. I’m Annika. I remember you from the bus stop.”

  Sam gestures at me with a hand out and his face lights up, as if he’s proudly showing off a new car. “You remember her, for sure. Annika grew up right here, in this house, back in high school. She was in my grade. She’s Annika Something-else now,” Sam says, raising his eyebrows and glancing at me. “Right? But she used to be Annie Karlsson.”

  Danny tips his head and looks quizzically at his younger brother for a moment. I can see that something unspoken is communicated between them.

  “Ohhh, you’re that Annika. Karlsson. It’s all coming back to me now.” He nods in recognition. “Wow. Annie Karlsson. You’re that girl.”

  I don’t like the sound of this. “Excuse me?”

  “Sam’s partner in crime. You’re a troublemaker. You got my baby brother in some serious hot water.” Danny puts his hands on his hips, looking pleased. “In more ways than one. Ah, yeah, now I remember who you are. The girlfriend. The bad influence, as my dad used to say. I thought your name sounded familiar.”

  “The bad influence?” I feel my hands clench into fists. “Me?”

  Sam
immediately steps up. “Wait, no. No. Nothing that happened was her fault. I mean, every time I got in trouble, it was my own fault, believe me—”

  “Yes,” I jump in, “it wasn’t all me. Don’t make me out to be some criminal mastermind.”

  Danny waves at me. “Nah, I’m just kidding around. I’m sure it was all Sam’s doing. I seem to remember Sam was the one who got arrested a couple of times, right?”

  Sam shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck.

  My head starts to hurt. This could be a long night.

  “Would it be okay if we get a glass of water?” Sam finally asks.

  “I can do better than that. I’ll make you some hot coffee. Let me hang up your coats.”

  I walk past them to slide open the closet door. I catch a glimpse of Peter’s silver crutches, which are propped up in the back corner of the closet. Peter’s crutches are one of those things I wasn’t ready to give away, so they traveled with us to this house. The twins sometimes still take turns trying to walk around the house with them, just for fun. I reach into the closet and touch one of the black handgrips for good luck before turning around to take Danny’s winter jacket.

  After I get Danny’s coat hung up, I grab a hanger and turn to Sam. When he hands me his jacket, it’s cold and wet on the outside, but I can feel warmth soaked into the soft fleece lining. I linger with it for a moment, feeling the heaviness of it in my hands. It feels solid. Safe.

  Sam watches the way I hesitate. “Can I help you?” he asks so quietly I doubt Danny even hears him.

  I nod, and we get the coat onto the hanger together. And it all comes back to me in a rush: Here we go. Hang on, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Words that Sam said to me years ago when I needed him. It startles me, a memory I hadn’t thought of in a long time.

  I take the coat and stick it in the closet as fast as I can, like it’s a hot potato I can no longer stand to touch. “Wipe your wet boots on the mat,” I say, distracted, and hurry down the hall to the kitchen.

  October 1986

  ANNIKA

  I head down to the kitchen to start the coffee. I’m more of a tea drinker but happen to have a bag of ground hazelnut coffee that Delilah sometimes brews before school. As I fill the pot with water, I think about what Danny just said, because he’s right: Sam got in trouble repeatedly senior year of high school, and it was always for my benefit.

  I don’t like to dwell on my memories of Sam because of how it all ended. But as my mind drifts back, I recognize that there were moments when Sam took my breath away. Days when he revealed how much he loved me, or when I realized that I felt the same way. Those are days that deserve to be remembered.

  For example, the first time Sam got arrested, it was for a crime he didn’t commit. He turned himself in and confessed, even though he knew I’d done it.

  The irony is, I didn’t commit the crime either.

  * * *

  I snap my gum, loud, and Dana giggles. Dana Mazzanti is my best friend, and we’re inseparable. It’s 6:45 a.m. and still dark out, but we’re fully primped with our hair feathered, lashes coated in black mascara, tight jeans securely buttoned, toes dusted with baby powder, and feet tucked into high-heeled boots. The only exception to my otherwise supercool outfit is my bright blue and yellow pair of mittens. They don’t match what I’m wearing, but my grandmother loves to knit winter accessories for me and my sister, Lisa.

  Sam sits in the seat across from Dana and I on the bus, headphones on, half asleep as he looks glassy-eyed out the window at the darkness. He’s wearing his varsity football jacket and rests his head on one hand until the bus hits a pothole and his head bounces back and hits the seat. He’s one of the most popular boys in our grade, but the truth is, he doesn’t seem to have many close friends. Sam always sits by himself on the bus.

  “We’re going to die.”

  I grip the seat in front of me as best I can with my mittens on. We’re in the back of the bus, which is our privilege as seniors, but it’s actually the worst place to sit. We feel every bump in the road, and when the bus swerves around a corner, gravity throws us to the side and we crash into each other. There are no seat belts. “This bus driver is a maniac,” I continue. “He goes way too fast down Meadows Hill Road. It’s criminal.”

  Our bus driver, Mr. O’Shea, has a strong Scottish accent and a heavy foot on the gas pedal. We always get the sense he’s way behind schedule.

  Dana nods. “Can you believe that hairpin turn? We’re going to go flying off the road one day to our DEATHS.” She sits up straighter. She has sleek black hair cut in a bob, and it swings when she turns her head. “What the hell? Let’s stage a protest.”

  “Yeah!” I love this idea. Our favorite history teacher has been talking to us lately about the 1960s and student demonstrations. She’s gotten me all fired up. “What if, after school this afternoon, we all just refused to get off the bus at our stops? Then Mr. O’Shea would be forced to take us back to school, and we could march in to the principal’s office and demand a change.”

  “You think kids would really do it?” Dana asks, wrinkling up her nose.

  I shrug. “SAM,” I call out, leaning into the aisle.

  He slowly turns and pulls off his headphones. “Yeah?”

  “You wanna help us with a student protest after school? If you do it, everyone will do it.”

  He frowns. “I’ve got football practice every day. Like, every single day, after school. You never noticed that before?” Shaking his head in disgust, he turns away and sticks his headphones back on.

  Hmm. I forgot about that. I don’t care about football. I’ve been to a few Friday night games, but only for the bland hot dogs, stale popcorn, and the chance to hang out with Dana. We spend most of each game complaining about how cold and uncomfortable the metal bleachers are under our butts. And we ignore the game, preferring to cheer like crazy for the amusingly terrible marching band.

  “Give me a break. He’s not going to help.” I turn to Dana. “Forget him. He’s being an asshole.”

  “Me Sam. Me play football,” she calls over in his direction. “Me big football player.” She taps her head. “Cannot think for myself and help the humans.”

  “Hey.” He turns back. “I heard that.” He pulls the headphones back off and leans toward us. “What’s the problem?”

  “Well.” I lean over the aisle as if I’m going to whisper and impart a great secret, but I still have to speak loudly to be heard over the noise of the bus. “We want to protest because Mr. O’Shea is a horrible driver. My mom’s already called the school to complain twice, but nothing changes. Remember when he stopped on the train tracks that one time?”

  Sam looks at me warily. “Yeah.”

  Dana leans over me, outraged. “We could’ve been killed!”

  He glances at her and then back to me. “But there wasn’t a train coming.”

  “That’s not the point.” I roll my eyes dramatically. “We could have been. Killed. If a train did come.” I get up, cross the aisle, and slide into the seat next to him. “Can you imagine? All the little freshmen, smashed to smithereens? Wouldn’t that be sad?”

  Something in his face softens once I settle next to him. I make gestures when talking, and he watches the way my hands move around. I assume he’s getting my point, even with my big mittens on. At least I know he’s amused, because I can see it in his face.

  “Okay, okay. Calm down, Karlsson.” He squints at me. “So what do I have to do with all this?”

  “You have to help protest!” Dana says, leaning toward us and opening her eyes wide. “If you have football after school every day, let’s do it tomorrow morning.”

  “YES!” I point at her with my mitten. “That’s even better. When we get to school, we’ll refuse to get off the bus. It’ll disrupt first period classes. That’s perfect.” I turn around, back to Sam. “So, you’re in?”

  He chews on the inside of his mouth a minute. “Sure. Why not?”

  “Yay!” I throw my hands in
the air in victory.

  He laughs in response. Which is rare. Sam is usually too zoned out to talk to us on the way into school in the morning. He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a pack of grape gum. “You need more? Or are you already chewing, like, three pieces?”

  “I’ve got plenty, but thanks.” I stick out my tongue to show him.

  “Gross. Your tongue is bright green.”

  “Watermelon.”

  I used to think Sam was being stuck-up when he ignored everyone and didn’t chat, like he was too cool for the rest of us. But lately I’ve started to think that maybe he’s just tired from sports and homework and college applications. He’s been nice to me, and I would even say we’re friends, despite the fact that he clearly thinks I’m weird. Which I kind of am.

  The bus jerks to a halt at Mill Street, the last stop before we drive the last mile to school. Mill Street is a nice development of five new houses, all big and beautiful, embedded up on a rocky cliff. Dana immediately runs a hand over her hair and straightens her shirt. Only two kids get on at Mill Street, and one of them is a new senior, Peter Kuhn.

  Peter is tall and blond and grabs our attention like a shiny new toy. He’s American, but told us he moved here from Germany, where his dad was working for the family business for several years. You can tell Peter is a little different because he wears things that seem slightly out of place in New England, like a headband, or a shirt with bright stripes.

  “Ciao, Peter!” Dana calls to him as he comes down the aisle, giving him a friendly wave as if he might not see her—although she’s two feet away from him—and he smiles at that.

  “Hey, Dana.” He turns to look at Sam and I. “Hi, guys. Was geht ab?”

  We have absolutely no idea what he’s said, but Dana and I can’t help bursting into giggles. We love it when he speaks German. Peter has gotten used to our inane behavior and just smiles again. I’m sure he thinks we’re hopeless. He sits in the row ahead of us and gets out a textbook to study on the way in to school.

  When I get off the bus, my sister, Lisa, is waiting for me. She locks my arm in hers so we can walk together. On the bus, she always sits by herself and sleeps her way to school. “Why were you talking to Sam? What are you gals scheming?”