What Holds Us Together

by Sandi Ward

  She pulls something out from under Donovan’s pillow—his sketchpad. Annika pauses, curious, and I think she might open it and look at the drawings. But she’s also in a rush, so she shoves it back under the pillow.

  I trot over to my woman and rub my head against her calf. As soon as she looks down at me, I dive under the bed and crawl to the far corner.

  ROWR! Come get me!

  Soon she’s kneeling on the floor. I wiggle back, until I’m right against Peter’s typewriter case. Annika leans down, sees me, and frowns. “Watch out,” she warns, then reaches for the handle, pulling the case out from under the bed. I follow the case, dragging clumps of dust in my fur. No matter. I’ll clean it later.

  She clicks open the case. “Hmmm,” she hums softly, looking at the old typewriter. “Do you think anything’s in here, Luna?” There is a thick roll of paper held together with a rubber band that she takes out of the case and sets on the rug. I step forward gingerly to touch my nose to the papers.

  Peter.

  There’s a feeling—a presence—hovering near us.

  I crane my head to look up at him. Peter’s ghost hovers, looking down at the typewriter. He smiles.

  I’ve been waiting for her to find this.

  Annika presses down one key, then the next. It makes a clack! Click! Clack!

  I remember Peter using this thing. He liked to play with it on lazy days off, when he would sit in a chair, lean back with his arms folded, and think. His fingers did the work to make it go. He pressed the buttons and zipped the paper out when it was ready.

  She carefully pulls the rubber band off the roll of papers and unfurls them. I watch her eyes go back and forth as she reads. Suddenly her face bursts into an expression of shock at something she has found there.

  Annika reads the paper for a few minutes, unable to tear her eyes away, but then puts it down. The typewriter case is closed and slid under the bed, but Annika takes the roll of papers with her and heads downstairs.

  What is that? I ask Peter. I know that’s not your journal.

  No, it’s not my journal. He grins at me, wrinkles forming around his eyes. But it’s something I’d been hoping she’d find. Thanks for leading her to it. Maybe it will ease her pain, just a little. Let’s see.

  I walk up to his leg, trying to brush my scent against him, but stumble and fall right through him.

  Oh! How embarrassing.

  Go on, he says to me. Go see for yourself what she found.

  So I go.

  March 1987

  ANNIKA

  I walk to the picture window, clutching the heavy stack of Peter’s papers to my chest. I feel like I’m carrying a living thing, Peter’s thoughts and feelings, and it feels appropriate to hold them close to my heart. I close my eyes and I can almost feel Peter here with me.

  But when I open my eyes, I see Sam, Danny, and Donovan in the driveway. I watch Sam coach Donovan on how to jump down from the truck roof into the snow, and Danny says something that makes all three laugh.

  As I wait for them to come inside, I remember the third time the police questioned Sam. It was yet again for something he didn’t do. But the pattern of his behavior was becoming clear. I didn’t know what to make of it—or how to stop it.

  * * *

  I’m the only one still awake when I hear the front door swoosh open. It’s late. Lisa went out with a friend to the mall, and our parents are already asleep.

  I almost don’t bother to get up and go say hello to Lisa, because I’m enjoying a funny movie on TV in the back room. But at the last minute I decide to let Lisa know that she should come join me, rather than go straight up to bed.

  When I enter the hallway, I’m confused for a moment when I realize there are two figures huddled together in the shadows by the front door. I startle when someone looks over at me and I see it’s Sam, his face lit up only by the amber glow of a lamp from the living room. He’s with Lisa.

  “Annika!” He calls to me in a loud whisper. “Help me out.”

  But I don’t move.

  Sam and Lisa were somewhere together? It’s one in the morning. He just gave her a ride home in his car? He has his arm around her, and he’s holding her up?

  I feel my stomach start to churn.

  “Sam,” Lisa slurs, “I feel sick.”

  I snap to attention and hurry over. “Is she drunk?”

  Sam has one arm around her waist and holds her other arm around his neck. “Quick, where’s the bathroom?”

  “This way.” I lead them down the hall, and the three of us can barely squeeze into the bathroom together. Lisa falls on her knees and hovers over the toilet.

  “Hold my hair back,” she commands. I wince, but with two hands I gather her hair and gently pull it back out of the way.

  We wait. I feel awkward. Sam puts his hands in his coat pockets.

  “Where were you guys?” I finally ask Sam.

  “At a party. Craig’s parents are away tonight. When I arrived, your sister was already playing beer pong. Then she did shots in the kitchen. She’s totally wasted.”

  When I hear retching sounds begin, I cringe. Lisa starts to heave violently, and I hear the water splash. When the smell of vomit hits my nostrils, I gag and turn my head. Sam begins to make some really funny faces; it breaks the ice and I can’t help but smile. This is completely disgusting, but Sam isn’t the kind of guy to judge—or run away, leaving me to deal with this myself—which I appreciate.

  I desperately want to ask Sam how the party was, and why I never knew about it, although my sister certainly did, and what exactly was going on there. But I don’t. I tell myself to preserve my dignity and pretend I don’t care.

  It takes a few minutes, but then Lisa flushes and declares she’s done. “I feel ill.”

  “Do you want to lay her down on a couch somewhere?” Sam asks me.

  I look down at my sister, still on her hands and knees on the floor. “No, I’d rather get her into bed so she can just stay there until morning.”

  “Your parents are asleep?”

  “Yeah, they went up a while ago.”

  So Sam and I help Lisa stand up and walk back down the hall. “I’ll wait for you,” Sam offers, as Lisa begins to miserably shuffle upstairs and I start to follow her.

  “You don’t have to do that, Sam. But thanks for bringing her home. I guess I’ll have to go get my mom’s car in the morning.”

  “I’ll just stay to make sure she’s okay. And to see if you need anything.”

  I stare at him a moment. He has such a sweet face, and I do want to talk to him. “Okay.” I turn to catch up to Lisa.

  I ask Lisa if she wants to wash her face or brush her teeth, but she shakes her head no. The most she’ll let me do is help her get under her sheet and blanket, and lie down. She is quickly asleep—or maybe passed out. I go get a little paper cup of water and leave it on her bedside table.

  I slink back down the stairs. Sam is standing by the front door, waiting for me.

  I slow down once I get close to him. “Thanks.”

  He just shrugs. “I figured I’d better give her a ride so she didn’t try to drive or end up . . . I don’t know. Somewhere else. Somewhere bad.”

  The house is quiet, other than the murmur from the television set I left on in the back room. There aren’t any lights on but that one lamp.

  “Were you drinking, too?” I just want to know. I’m curious. I’ve never been to a party where kids are drinking. And I don’t know what Sam does outside of school, other than work a lot.

  “I had one beer. I’m not drunk. Your sister takes drinking to a whole new level.”

  I play with the hem of my T-shirt. “You’ve seen her drunk before?”

  “Yeah, a few times.” Sam steps slightly closer to me. “And I hear things. But I know you’ll take care of her.”

  Why is he so sure I’ll take care of her, when I’m not? I have no idea what to do about my sister.

  When Sam doesn’t speak, and doesn’t t
urn to leave, I start to get a funny feeling. I wonder if Sam volunteered to bring Lisa home not only because he’s a good guy, but also because he hoped he might run into me. I think he’s waiting for me to say something, but I have no idea what to say.

  “Lisa wants to go to prom with you,” I suddenly blurt out.

  I can’t believe I just said that. Is that the best I can do? How mortifying.

  Sam nods, as if he already knew that. “You know, she mentioned in the car that you were going to prom with Mark. Why’d you make plans so early?”

  Good question. “Oh, I don’t know. I just thought I’d get it buttoned up now rather than wait. One less thing to worry about, you know?” I can hear myself talking way too fast. “And Lisa thought someone would have asked her by now, but no one has, and she mentioned you. I mean, that is, if you don’t already have a date. If you’re not going with Patty.”

  “Patty? No. Why did you want to go with Mark? Are you guys going out now?” He tips his head to one side, as if genuinely puzzled; it’s similar to the way he looked at a long, impossible math equation that Mr. Jones wrote on the chalkboard last week. But there’s also something else in his voice. Maybe disappointment.

  Oh, God. Is he upset?

  Have I messed everything up?

  “Oh! No, Mark and I are just friends. It’s not that I had some great desire to go with him. I just wanted to make plans ahead of time so I didn’t have to worry about it.”

  I didn’t want to suffer with anxiety wondering if you were going to ask me, is what I don’t say. Because whether you did ask me—or you didn’t—it would have been painful and terrifying waiting to find out. Because I love you.

  “Okay,” he says quietly, resigned. “I’ll take Lisa. We could all go together, I guess.”

  I have the most intense sensation of wanting desperately to reach out and touch Sam, to hug him, to kiss him, to tell him I’m sorry for lining up another date. It’s so powerful it unnerves me. I can’t believe he’s here, in my house, in my dark hallway, bundled up in his peacoat—the same one he was wearing on Valentine’s Day.

  Sam is like one of those black holes we studied in science, sucking me in to the point where I can focus on nothing else.

  “Yeah, let’s do that.” I give him a bit of smile, the most I can handle in my nervous state. “Maybe you and I can even dance to ‘Hotel California,’ or something equally horrendous.”

  He searches my face, looking for something I don’t know how to give him. “Okay, Karlsson, it’s a date. Don’t forget. ‘Hotel California.’ You have to promise not to roll your eyes during the song, though.”

  “I promise.” I wring my hands together down by my belly button and feel my insides all tie up in knots. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “No, wait,” he says, starting to smile. “I changed my mind. ‘Stairway to Heaven.’ That should be our song. I’m gonna request it. Although I’m sure they’ll play it anyway.”

  “Why ‘Stairway to Heaven’?”

  He glances down at the floor for a minute. “Because it’s, like, eight minutes long. It’s longer than ‘Hotel California.’ ” He takes in a deep breath and looks back up at me.

  I have no reply. I’m useless. Dumbfounded.

  Sam reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys. He licks his lips and hesitates. “I guess I should go. Bye.” He suddenly reaches over and gives me a hug, and as soon as his arms envelop me, I feel tremendous relief.

  I’m so grateful I squeeze him extra hard. “Bye. Thanks, Sam. Thanks for bringing Lisa home.”

  “Sure.” He rests his head on my shoulder. When he doesn’t make any motion to move away, I start to smile. “Is this okay?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I laugh. I cling to him like he’s the last human on earth. He feels warm and solid. I press up against him and just breathe. In and out. I don’t want him to go.

  It’s definitely way too long to be just a friendly embrace. We stand there for ages. Yet it’s absolutely not long enough.

  This time, when he pulls back, I put my hand on his face. I am not letting him get away this time. “Sam,” I beg. He knows how I feel about him, doesn’t he? He must know. I don’t have the right words to tell him.

  He gathers me back into him again. I feel him bury his face in my hair, and it tickles. He smells like cotton sheets right out of the dryer. “Sweetheart.”

  Finally! I know it’s not a kiss, but—God, just to hear that one word makes my heart soar. “Sam,” I sigh, and he squeezes me tight.

  “I wish you were going to prom with me and not Mark. I wanted to ask you. I thought we could go together.”

  I sigh.

  “It’ll be fine,” I whisper. “It’ll be good. We’ll all be there together, just like you said. I promise.”

  I don’t let go. I know we only have three months until graduation, and about five months until we leave for college. But on a teenage clock, that’s a lifetime. And I’m ready to dedicate every remaining moment to Sam. I put my hand on his head. His hair is soft and his breath is warm on my neck. I feel more alive than I ever have before, like I could do something crazy.

  When we finally separate, he clings to my waist with one hand. “Do you want me to pick you up on Monday morning so you don’t have to ride the bus to school?”

  “Yes, of course!”

  “Okay. Seven fifteen. I’ll be in the driveway. Bye,” he calls out a little too energetically as he walks out the door.

  “Shhh,” I remind him, and shut the door.

  I go back into the living room and lie on the couch. I can’t possibly get back into watching the movie at this point. I’ve missed a bunch of scenes, and frankly, I don’t care anymore. I hug a pillow and close my eyes, wondering at the strangeness of it all. If Sam doesn’t kiss me soon, I am going to die. My heart is going to stop and I am going to literally die. I am quite sure of it.

  Finally, I go upstairs to check on Lisa. She’s breathing in a funny way, as if she’s wheezing. She cannot possibly be comfortable lying on her stomach like that. I take a hairbrush and gently stroke her hair away and out of her face. There’s a bottle of baby lotion on the floor, and I rub a little on her hands, which feel dry and scaly, and it takes a little of the bad smell away. I turn her onto her side and hope that makes her more comfortable. Then I go down and spray the bathroom with lemon-scented disinfectant, flushing the toilet again.

  I’m not sure what’s wrong with Lisa. My parents seem oblivious. My dad is busy with work and hasn’t said much about her. My mom seems to assume she’s just “being Lisa” and a “typical teenager,” by which she means a little ornery, a little difficult, a little obnoxious. Is that all it is, though?

  I wonder.

  * * *

  Two weeks later, Sam and I stay after school for a few minutes talking in the hallway. Sam plays lacrosse in the spring, but practice is cancelled for the day because the coaches have a meeting to attend. I don’t run for the bus, assuming Sam can give me a ride home.

  Sam has been giving me a ride to school every morning in the truck, and it’s been great not to have to wait out at the bus stop anymore. We spend every minute fighting about what type of music we should play on the radio. He advocates for classic rock, while I argue for alternative or pop songs. The rides are fun, but the best part is walking into school with Sam and having everyone milling around the parking lot or the front door see us together. It makes me feel special, to be honest. It makes it official—Sam is my boyfriend, although it’s not like there was a big announcement or anything—at least, I think he is, although we haven’t talked about it and we haven’t kissed or anything.

  But still.

  The hallway is almost empty of students when Craig comes running up to us and hesitates a moment. “Uh . . . guys. Maybe you should come outside. Annika, your sister is on the roof.”

  “What?” I’m not sure what he means. Our school doesn’t have a balcony or deck or anything.

  “The roof. Come on.”


  Sam and I look at each other, then follow Craig down the hall, through the gym, and outside. The sun is shining bright, and I shield my eyes. It’s a nice spring day, starting to warm up. Massachusetts is usually cold most of the month of April.

  Members of the girls’ softball team file past in their uniforms and gear. Craig points up at the gutter at the corner of the school. “She’s up there,” he says. “I saw her go up the ladder with a bottle. She invited me to go up with her, but . . .” He glances up, squinting. “I dunno. I’m a little afraid of your sister, Karlsson,” he admits with a nervous laugh. “I’m worried she’s going to try to jump off and break her ankle or something.”

  Sam nods at the custodian’s ladder, which is propped up against the brick wall. “Come on,” he says to me. Craig stands as a lookout while we climb up quickly.

  There’s nothing on the roof of the school. This wing of the school is just one story tall, and the roof is flat and black and boring. But there’s Lisa, sitting with her legs spread out, drinking from a big bottle.

  “Hey, Lisa,” Sam says casually, and goes to stand next to her, as if this is all perfectly normal.

  “Go away, SAM,” she says, taking a swig and swallowing. “Freakin’ gross lovebirds. You drive me crazy.”

  “What are you drinking?” I ask her, but I can probably guess.

  “Shut up. You left me alone on the bus. Both of you. You stink.”

  I can’t help but scoff. “You’re not alone on the bus. You can sit with Dana.”

  She shakes her head in an exaggerated motion. “She’s your best friend, not mine. By the way, you left Dana, too. Now she sits with no one.”

  I frown. I guess I never really thought about what Dana and Lisa would do on the bus without me. Usually when Sam arrives in my driveway in the morning, I run out the door to meet him. I’ve never invited Lisa to tag along. And I’ve never asked him to pick up Dana, either, because I like having a few minutes alone with Sam.

  It’s true that Sam and I have retreated into our own little world. Isn’t that okay, though? Aren’t I allowed to do that, just for a little while? Do I have to be responsible for everyone’s happiness?