What Holds Us Together

by Sandi Ward

  “I don’t know. Honestly.” Delilah spreads her hands out in front of her. “Maybe they’re just friends. Neighbors. I think that’s all it is. Maybe she’s just trying to show everyone that she doesn’t care what Steve told everyone, and it doesn’t bother her. Or maybe she’s trying to make you jealous. It’s possible she’s trying to get you worked up. I don’t know.”

  I sense Peter beside me. He’s right beside me, hands on his hips. His brow furrows with concern. I look up at him. What is happening?

  Love is never easy, Luna. There’s always drama. Highs and lows. Peter shakes his head, casting a sympathetic eye on his children. Remember when Donovan was little, and he thought a love story was going to be dull? But love stories are never boring. When he got older, he enjoyed the stories I told him as much as Delilah did.

  I remember. I flick my tail.

  She’s going to send the kids away, Peter. To a school your mom recommended. Is that a good idea?

  Peter turns his head and looks at me. I heard. But I can feel she’s torn about it. The problem is that Annika thinks I’m the one who held all of us together. She thinks the family has lost its center.

  He crouches down. I have the sensation of him laying his hand on my head.

  Peter, weren’t you the one who held us together? You were the one who kept everything running at home. You fed me and put the children to bed at night.

  No, that’s not the whole story. Because Annika held me together. I couldn’t have done it without her. She was the one who gave me a reason to keep going through the pain. This family is what gave my life meaning.

  I start to purr. I agree with him.

  Luna, she’s not going to read the novel right now. Do you know where my journal is? Do you think you could bring it to her?

  My heart nearly skips a beat.

  Because yes, I do know exactly where Donovan has hidden it.

  Trip Down Memory Lane

  ANNIKA

  While I cook him another grilled cheese, Donovan paces in the kitchen, ranting to Delilah, who eggs him on and doesn’t seem to appreciate that if she’d just talk some sense to him, she could have a calming effect. As his twin, she has a powerful influence on him that sometimes I think she doesn’t understand. Donovan would certainly listen to her just as well as—no, definitely more than—he would listen to me. He’s being irrational, of course; he can’t go anywhere. He’ll have to call the girl to get this straightened out. But Donovan and Delilah are both passionate people, and they can’t seem to decide whether or not Lexi has broken some unspoken rule. I remember what it was like to be a teenager, when the importance of a look, word, or gesture could be greatly exaggerated.

  “Just call her,” Delilah suggests.

  Donovan gives a curt shake of his head. “And say what?”

  Maybe it’s the snowstorm that has them agitated. I know we’re getting a little stir-crazy with this full house and no heat. We’re all wearing sweatshirts and down vests and fleece jackets, hopping from foot to foot to stay warm.

  I glance over at the twins as they fill their water bottles at the sink. It sounds like Donovan’s new girlfriend might have a little more experience with the opposite sex than he does. Well, who cares? Good for her. I hope Peter talked to Donovan about the birds and the bees. I prodded Peter about it several times, but he always waved me away, implying that he had it covered. I hope he actually did, because I’m quite certain that if I bring up anything to do with sex to Donovan, he’ll walk right out the door into the snowstorm and not come back.

  I make the twins more hot sandwiches and order them to go sit by the fireplace to keep warm, but instead they take their plates and disappear upstairs again. It’s maddening. It must be freezing up there, but they insist on going. I’m sure it’s because they want to huddle under their quilts and plan how they’re going to sneak Donovan out so he can get to Lexi’s house. Or it could be that they want to read more of Peter’s journal, although the immediate Lexi crisis is probably taking precedence.

  “I’ll give Danny a few minutes before I go find him,” Sam offers. “Let him cool off.”

  Lisa takes one look at me, and the way Sam is hovering near me by the sink, and sighs. She picks up the large stack of papers on the kitchen counter and straightens them. “I guess I’ll read a chapter of this novel by the fire. I’d like to hear a little more about this quest.”

  I glance at Sam. “You know, when we moved here, I had to pack everything up and found our old yearbook. Do you want to take a trip down memory lane?”

  He breaks into a nervous smile. “I don’t know, do I?”

  “Sure you do. Maybe you can see if the woodstove in the front room needs to be stoked up. I’ll meet you in there in one minute.”

  “All right.”

  Once he’s gone, I turn to Lisa. “What am I going to do about Donovan?”

  She reaches out and taps my arm in solidarity. “He’ll be fine. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.” A wistful look comes over her. “Ah, to be sixteen again. He’s got it bad, doesn’t he?”

  I nod. “I suppose it’s a good thing that Donovan is allowing himself to be vulnerable. He’s been very guarded since Peter died. At the same time, I don’t want him to get hurt.”

  “Of course you don’t.” Lisa plays with the blue stones of her necklace. “But our boy is in love. Remember Sam, senior year of high school? No one could have predicted half the stuff he did—least of all us, and we knew him best. You’d better be prepared for a little craziness.”

  She’s right. I just have no idea how to get ready for it, especially without Peter here.

  “Plus,” she adds, “you told him you’re shipping him down to Connecticut. He’s going to have to leave his new girlfriend. No wonder he’s freaking out.”

  She’s right. I rub my forehead.

  As I turn to go, she says, “Wait.” I turn back. “What are you doing with Sam?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She purses her lips and lowers her voice. “I see something is going on, Annika.”

  “Nothing is going on.”

  She grinds her teeth and glares at me. “Look, you’re vulnerable right now. Let’s be realistic, okay? Sam will always be the one who got away—while he still could. You always talked about him like he was some hero, but the truth is that he did nothing to support you after he caused a horrific accident. Are you under the impression he’s come to save the day? Or is he just going to run away when things get difficult, like he did last time?”

  “Stop,” I hiss at her. “That’s awful. That’s not what Sam’s all about, and you know it. You know it better than anyone. Be nice and knock it off.”

  I march out to find Sam waiting for me in the sitting room at the front of the house. While I dig out the yearbook from a cabinet, Sam pushes the couch closer to the burning woodstove. We sit side by side in the middle of the couch and begin to flip through the pages, the book spread out so it’s half on my lap and half on his, looking at the photos. The heat being thrown off feels amazing, toasty warm. The afternoon sun doesn’t provide a lot of light, but we can still find the flaws in everyone’s appearance.

  “Look at Margaret’s hair.” It makes me laugh.

  Sam chuckles. “You think that’s bad? Look at the collar on Craig’s shirt.”

  At one point, I notice Lisa hovering in the doorway, checking on us. She doesn’t get farther than the entrance to the room and doesn’t say a word. The next time I look up, she’s gone.

  Luna jumps up on the couch. She pushes her nose into my thigh, almost as if she wants me to get up and feed her, but it’s not dinnertime. Or maybe she wants me to move so she can sprawl out. I can’t tell.

  When we come to the page with Peter’s senior photo, I stop for a moment, surprised. For some reason, I forgot I’d be confronted with his eighteen-year-old face. My heart seizes up. I love looking at his photo, but it’s hard now that he’s gone.

  Peter was lightness and fresh air, quick to smi
le with an easy laugh. He was confident and open. He could be intense when he was teasing someone and when he earnestly wanted something. With Peter, everything was now, now, now. He enjoyed life to its fullest.

  Next, we get to the page with Sam’s photo. Whereas Peter smiled with his teeth, Sam smiles with his eyes. He looks mischievous, as if something about the photographer amuses him. I rub my fingertips over the page. “So handsome,” I say, and he snorts.

  In high school, Sam moved with caution. He thought before he spoke, considering his next move. His voice was gruff and serious. Sam didn’t make many demands of others; he was more about giving.

  Peter and Sam were very different people, but I loved both of them.

  Luna bats at my leg with her paw. It’s strange. I still get the feeling she wants me to get up. But why? She often bugs me at bedtime to let me know it’s time to go upstairs, but it’s still early afternoon. So what could she want?

  Sam nods toward the window, pulling my attention away from Luna. “Who knew we’d be stuck here, right? What do you think? It’s kind of romantic, isn’t it?”

  Oh, boy. He’s right. It is.

  When I turn to look at him, my stomach clenches. He has the kindest way of looking at me, fully attentive, as if he can’t wait to hear what I’m about to say.

  “Sam.” I bump my shoulder against his. “Why aren’t you mad at me?”

  “What?” He seems genuinely surprised. “What do you mean? You mean . . . because you married Peter?”

  “Not that.” I flip the yearbook closed. “Why aren’t you mad about what happened back in high school? I let you take credit and get in trouble for so much you didn’t do. It wasn’t fair. I was a terrible girlfriend. I always worried that I ruined your life after you were sent away.”

  “Annie.” He takes the book from me and places it on the coffee table in front of us. “Annika. You didn’t ask me to do any of it. That was all me. And we were both eighteen. I was young and stupid, right? Look . . . whatever mistakes I made in the past aren’t your fault. I’m okay with my life the way it is right now.”

  “I’m not trying to say anything is wrong with your life—”

  “Good. Because I know it’s not perfect. But it’s mine, and I’m comfortable with it. You know how you said you’re always trying to be a better person? Well, I am, too. And it’s taken a long time.” He gives me a look. “But you know me. I’m slow about everything, right?”

  He’s right. I remember how long it took him to kiss me the first time—I waited for months—and I smile with the memory.

  The woodstove crackles. There’s a thump as a log on the fire breaks up and falls apart.

  “I wish you’d tell me how I could help you. You must need help with something right now.” Sam’s voice is quiet and he sounds a little sleepy.

  “Thank you for offering. But the truth is, I need to get my own act together.” I play with the thin gold necklace around my neck, twirling it in my fingers. “I know Peter’s gone, but I don’t know how to move on, and I’m not even sure I want to. Even now that we’ve moved to this new house, Peter follows me everywhere, like a ghost.”

  Luna, who is sitting on the rug a few feet away from us, picks her head up. She gets up on all four paws and stares at me, wide-eyed, pupils round and black.

  And suddenly, I can almost see Peter. In my mind’s eye, he’s eighteen again. He’s sitting in the empty armchair, lanky and tall. He leans forward, with his elbows on his thighs. Tipping his head to gaze at me, his blond hair falls across his forehead. And he’s wearing shorts, so I can see his good leg on the left and the stump on the right. He looks like he did when he’d just lost his leg. A young man, still traumatized from the recent accident.

  It gives me a terrible chill.

  At the same time, I’m happy to have such a clear vision of him. My eyes start to tear up.

  Sam rubs his eyes with the palm of his hand. “Did you and Peter ever talk about prom night? Did he forgive us?”

  Just then, the lamps flicker on. The room is bathed in a warm glow. Sam and I both startle, and I feel my face brightening with relief.

  But the power goes out again immediately, and the room is thrown into shadow.

  Prom Night, 1987

  ANNIKA

  Did Peter ever forgive us?

  That’s a question I have no answer to. The answer may lie in the journal, or it may not.

  * * *

  Everything about prom unfolds exactly as I expect it to, at least at first. Sam and Mark arrive at our house at almost the same time. Lisa and I welcome them in, and we’re all smiles as our mom helps us pin corsages onto the boys. I can’t help but notice that Sam looks nice. But I have no intention of telling him that in front of Mark. That seems rude.

  “Your sleeves are too long,” I point out to him, tugging at them. “Didn’t your mom help you rent this tux?”

  “My mom couldn’t go, so my brother Danny went with me. I think it’s supposed to be like that.” He shrugs, all bravado. “Why’d you put your hair up?”

  “Why?” My hand flies up to the bun on top of my head. “Because it’s prom! That’s why. Why are you asking?”

  “I dunno.” Sam takes a step back to make room for me, because my mom is asking us all to get together for a photo. The four of us gather closer together. “I guess I just imagined you were going to wear it down,” he says quietly into my ear.

  “Sorry if you imagined it wrong.” I lean in and smile at the camera. I really don’t care what he imagined. Honestly.

  But then I wonder if I should, in fact, take my hair down. Even though I spent an hour at the salon getting it to look perfect.

  “Do I look like James Bond?” Mark jokes.

  “Maybe . . . if he were shorter. And wore glasses,” Sam offers.

  “I’ve never worn a tux before. I seriously think I look like James Bond.”

  Lisa laughs loudly at everything the boys say, which makes me roll my eyes. Honestly, I think she’s way too eager to please everyone. Maybe she’s just nervous. I don’t think boys expect you to be delighted about every word that comes out of their mouths.

  As we’re about to head out the door, Lisa grabs my arm and pulls me aside.

  “Promise me one thing,” she says, searching my eyes to make sure I’m listening.

  “What?”

  “Don’t get overly mushy with Sam in front of everyone, okay? He’s my date tonight. I want everyone in the class to know that. My date. For just one night. Got it?”

  I frown and shake my head slightly. “Everyone knows that he’s going out with me, Lisa.”

  She clenches her jaw. “You can’t give me one night? You’re really selfish, you know that?”

  “Hey! I don’t think that’s fair—”

  “Listen. I’m just saying, don’t get all lovey-dovey. PLEASE. It would be humiliating. He’s my friend, too. Promise me.”

  I sigh, but I also feel bad. “Okay, okay. Whatever you want. We’re not lovey-dovey anyway. We’re not like that at all.”

  “Yeah, right.” She lets go of my arm and strides past me. I follow.

  We drive over to the school in two cars, since the boys came separately. Mark borrowed his dad’s car, and I feel very fancy riding over in it. It has a nice tan leather interior and a cool stereo that plays cassette tapes. We blast a pop song and sing on the ride over. I’m so excited I’m practically dancing in my seat. When we arrive at the school I’m so hyped up that I want to run inside, so I grab Mark’s hand and drag him in.

  The dinner is okay—a bland chicken in lemon sauce that I push around my plate—but I’m too busy chatting to eat much. When that’s over, everyone starts dancing like crazy, until we’re all in a sweat.

  When “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” comes on, the song we voted on to be our class song for some God-unknown reason, Sam asks me to dance. It’s the first slow dance of the night, and I’ve never slow danced with a boy before, but I get through it okay. The sleeve of Sam’s tux fee
ls scratchy and I wonder how he can stand it. I rest my hands up on his shoulders, and he puts his hands on my waist, and he sings the words of the song to me to make me laugh. It’s awkward but very nice all the same. I’m happy Sam asked me to dance to the first slow song. I hope that someone else has asked Lisa to dance, but I don’t see her anywhere. At least Mark is dancing with someone, and he gives me a wink. I blush but smile back.

  I did promise Lisa that Sam and I wouldn’t get “lovey-dovey.” I hope this doesn’t count. But he is my boyfriend, after all.

  We’re all having a good time until Mrs. Evans arrives. She’s the gym teacher who Sam “confessed” to about spray-painting the basketball court back in the fall, and she’s made him feel bad about it all year. She thinks he defaced her precious gym and can’t let it go. She seems to make a point of seeking out Sam, glaring at us and shaking her head with disgust.

  I can see Sam’s mood starting to deteriorate, from the way he rubs his forehead to the fact that he stops socializing and sits back down at the dinner table by himself. He goes from happy to troubled in a matter of minutes.

  Dana and I are laughing about something when I spot Sam, and I tell her I’ll be right back. Not that it’s my job to entertain Sam, but I am the one who told him to take my sister to the prom, so I feel a little responsible if he’s not having a good time. “Hey,” I say to him as I approach the table. “You’re not going to let Mrs. Evans ruin your night, are you?” I kick his foot with mine. “Come on.”

  “Jesus, you’d think she could leave me alone for just one night. I didn’t know she’d be here chaperoning, did you?” He pushes his chair away from the table and leans forward, elbows on his knees, as if he’s afraid he might be sick. “Ever since the graffiti thing, she’s given me a hard time. All year. I can’t lose my scholarship, Annie. Why’d she have to come here and remind me how miserable my life is?”

  “Your life’s not miserable. And you won’t lose your scholarship. It’s going to be fine. This will all blow over. They’re not going to forget about four years of hard work over a few . . . mistakes.”