What Holds Us Together

by Sandi Ward

  I cleared my throat. “Well. What about my other wrist? You know, my left hand is doing all the work over here.”

  Peter turned around completely to face me—not an easy task in those early days, as he was still relearning his balance—but he was highly motivated. His face was excited and he kissed the inside of my other wrist. “Küssen. That’s how you say kiss in German.” There was a pause where we both stared at each other. “Okay, so . . .” He looked me over. “Where should I kiss next?”

  I was shocked—okay, maybe not that shocked—and I had to try hard to calm my heartbeat. Arching my brow, I looked up to the ceiling as if thinking about it. “Well, I have a list.” I tossed my head as nonchalantly as I could. “Of ten potentially good kissing sites.”

  His mouth dropped open,just a bit. I grinned as I got the reaction I wanted.

  “Fine,” he said with a big sigh, as if I was putting him out. “You’re very demanding. I can appreciate that. Besides, I owe you one for the back rub.” He took a quick glance at the doorway to make sure his parents hadn’t come back inside and then rolled his tongue in his cheek. “Okay, come on, I’m waiting. Where should I start?”

  I leaned back until I was lying down on the couch, propped up on my elbows. “Hmmm.” I slung a leg onto his lap. “My ankle next, maybe?”

  Peter took my foot in both hands and pushed my jeans up a bit to reveal my ankle. But his shoulders slumped, and he paused.

  A grandfather clock in the hallway began to chime. I waited as he played with the shoelace on my sneaker and didn’t look at me. All of the earlier bravado and confidence drained out of him, and he looked younger in that moment.

  Peter frowned.

  “What’s the matter?” I whispered, worrying that he’d changed his mind.

  “Uh . . .” He gave my foot a light squeeze. “Look, Annika. I need to say something first. I’ve got to be honest with you.”

  “Okay. Sure. What is it?”

  He shut his eyes and briefly pressed a flat palm over his forehead. “I don’t know how easily I’m going to be able to get around in the future. Or how this is all going to work out. I don’t know if I’m going to need help and care my whole life, and if I’m going to be able to do the things I want to do. I feel like a burden right now. Do you know what I’m saying?” He dropped his hand and squinted open one eye to see if I understood.

  I looked him over. As far as I concerned, he was the same boy he was before the accident.

  “Peter, don’t be silly,” I scolded him, making my voice intense so he’d get it through his thick skull. “Don’t talk like that. You can do anything you want to do.”

  He inhaled quickly. “I don’t know that yet,” he snapped at me, putting my foot down on his lap. He rubbed his hands together, then gestured toward his missing leg.

  “I don’t know what I’m capable of. Not yet, I don’t. I keep having moments of panic where I think I’m going to lose my balance and fall over. Or I wake up and think my leg is still there, and it’s only when I try to get up that I realize it’s not. I feel achy all the time—my body hates having this leg gone. And my parents are driving me insane, hovering over me constantly. My mom won’t leave me the hell alone. Thank God you’re here helping, but I wish I knew if you really wanted to be here, or if you just feel sorry for me.”

  I was alarmed. He didn’t usually talk like this.

  “Are you still meeting with your therapist?”

  “Therapist?” He winced. “Yes, but . . . my therapist can’t fix this.”

  I sat up. I wasn’t sure if I should comfort him or reprimand him. So I went with my gut. “Stop making excuses. You can do everything, Peter.” I stared at him, but he wouldn’t look at me. “It’s okay to be scared. But you can handle it. I know you can. I told you—you can do anything you want to. Starting today. Starting right now.”

  He tipped his head. The sun streaming in from the window made his hair shine and emphasized the angles of his face. I knew he was listening to me. And, just as he did in the street on prom night when I told him It’ll be fine, I could see he believed me.

  At least, he wanted very badly to believe me.

  So I pressed on, trying to think fast.

  “Look, you said it yourself—you owe me küssen. I told you I have a list of ten kissing sites, so you need to get started before your parents come back in.” When he finally turned to look at me, I started to unbutton my blouse, for emphasis. “And you’re going to like what I have in mind, believe me.” My fingers flew faster as I undid one more button, seeing that I had his full attention. “Feel sorry for you? Give me a break. Are you gonna figure out a way to make it work, or not?”

  Something in his face changed, and he sat up straighter. Peter shook his head slightly and sighed dramatically, for my benefit. “Fräulein, why do you torture me like this?” In a softer voice he said something to me in German, and while I had no idea what he was saying, I knew exactly what he was saying. I bit my lip to try to keep a straight face but couldn’t do it.

  “Come on,” I whispered, leaning back on the couch again. “First, my ankle. Get to work.”

  So he did.

  By the time he was done with ten kisses, I was in love.

  I didn’t mean for it to happen. It just did.

  * * *

  All that time, all of those months, all of those years, Peter knew I’d been the one who not only invited him to ride along, but also drove the car after drinking, the night he lost his leg. And he still called me to ask if I’d take him to therapy, took me home to meet his parents, grew to love me and wanted to marry me, gave me two children, and died in our bed.

  And now, I want to read his journal. I need to know more about Peter’s perspective. He loved me, despite my faults. If I find any disappointment or regret as part of his story, I can handle it. I’m going to have to learn how to handle it, just as he did when he lost his leg.

  Peter and I were thrown together in a traumatic, life-changing accident. The fact that we had a wonderful marriage and two amazing children is the lucky part.

  I have many happy memories. Getting married in a garden, surrounded by red roses. Peter kissed me in the coat closet for privacy; we smiled when we heard Peter’s cousins calling for him, but they couldn’t find him. Years after that, I remember Peter laughing when I tried to build a gingerbread house with the kids, and we ended up eating the gumdrops because the house fell apart. And years after that, Peter made me a hot cup of peppermint tea every Sunday night when it was time for my favorite TV show. There were big things and little things that added up to our great love story.

  Peter always told me we had the best love story going. That’s what he would whisper to me late at night if I was feeling melancholy; then he’d kiss the inside of my wrist. The only thing is, no one actually knew the whole story.

  Until now. Because I’m ready to share it.

  Fire

  LUNA

  The snow tapers off; then the storm is over. The beauty of the deep new-fallen snow is deceiving. Despite the magical way the sun twinkles as it glances off the edges of snowdrifts, it’s still cold outside. And the humans have work to do if Annika ever wants to get her car out of that long driveway.

  Delilah disappears upstairs. I imagine she has joined her brother, and they’re racing through the journal to find out more about Peter’s accident. The adults sit in the front room, quiet and contemplative. I clean my paws with my rough tongue, perched on an arm of the couch.

  “This day has not gone the way I expected it to. Not at all,” Danny announces, despondent. He is slumped down in an armchair and holds the big glass bottle of whiskey with both hands between his legs. He has consumed quite a bit after the last conversation. “Sam, you’re a crazier bastard than I realized.”

  Sam smiles mildly. “Aw, c’mon. Don’t flatter me.”

  Lisa is sitting on the floor near the woodstove, legs crossed, still reading through Peter’s novel one page at a time. She’s pulled a soft, f
uzzy ski hat on; it’s the color of milk. “I’m getting hungry. Are you guys hungry?”

  “Nah. I’m going to call Trung to check in.” Danny gets up. He stares despondently out the picture window for a moment before leaving the room.

  Lisa glances up at Annika, who is still seated on the couch, staring down at her lap. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll go see if there’s anything we can snack on until dinner.” She leaves Sam and Annika alone in the room. I remain with them, wanting to stay close to Annika in case she needs a warm cat to cuddle with.

  The wind has died down, and the house is still. Three white candles flicker on the coffee table. A small, battery-operated clock on a sideboard counts off at a steady pace: click-click-click.

  “Annika, can I tell you something?”

  “Sure.” She waits.

  And waits.

  “Is everything all right?”

  Sam gets up and walks to the window. He throws an arm out to the left. “The house in this direction—” There’s a thumping noise as he taps on the glass with one finger. “Do you know the one I mean? The one that my dad is building, on the other side of the creek?”

  “The house across the creek? The big one?” Annika stands up, grabbing a blanket from the couch to throw over her shoulders, and walks over to Sam’s side. She peers out the window with eyes narrowed, hugging the blanket around her. “I’ve seen trucks sometimes on the road, but I had no idea your dad was building that house. I haven’t been paying any attention. What about it?”

  “Well, it’s just that . . . that house needs to come down.”

  “What?”

  “Something’s wrong with it. So it’s gotta come down.” He lowers his voice. “Danny wants to burn it down.”

  Annika turns to face him. “Did you just say burn it down?”

  “Yeah.” Sam presses on. “Danny wants to burn it down so the insurance company will pay our dad some cash now, and they can start over and build it cheaper in the summer. My dad cut some corners and made some mistakes, and now he can’t afford to fix it out of his own pocket. The costs just got away from him, you know? And he can’t sell it to another builder this time of year. He’s tried.” He takes in a deep breath.

  I know the house Sam is talking about. It’s past the old garage. I don’t usually walk in that direction, because I can’t cross the stream. But I can see that they cut down some beautiful old trees to make room for that monstrosity. There was a big, fat owl that lost his home and I was sorry to see that happen.

  Annika pushes the curtain aside and peers out the window again. “You can’t let him do that, Sam,” she whispers.

  “I know. I know. But I haven’t been able to talk him out of it. He’s got gasoline, firewood, and kindling.”

  “But . . . won’t someone call nine-one-one, and they’ll come put out the fire?”

  “The fire trucks won’t be able to get up here because the streets aren’t plowed.”

  “I think they’ll try to get up here—”

  Sam shakes his head as if he’s just walked into a cobweb. “Sure, they’ll try. But the trucks won’t be able to get all the way up the hill. Besides, the hydrants are covered in snow drifts. They’d have trouble finding them and digging them out. And they can’t pull water from the creek, because it’s frozen and buried in snow. By the time anyone got to the house with any amount of water, it’d be all over.”

  Annika studies Sam. “Sam, I don’t know what to say. You’ve got to talk him out of it.” She winces. “It’s a terrible idea. Danny can’t do that. You know that, right?”

  I’m not sure what Sam is talking about exactly. Fires belong in the fireplace. Anywhere else? They’re dangerous.

  He nods. “Yeah, I agree. And I’ve tried to talk him out of it. But it’s just that—”

  “No, stop. You told me you’re trying to be a better person, remember? I am, too. So tell Danny no.”

  “Sweetheart, Danny is really sick, and it’s going to cost a lot of money for treatment. And my parents could lose their house.” Sam’s eyes tear up.

  “I know you want to help them. Believe me, I remember how all you ever wanted to do was fix things.” Annika puts a hand on his arm. “If there’s one thing I know in my heart about you, Sam, it’s that you want to help people who need it. But this is the wrong way to go about it. Please, Sam.”

  “But . . . just hear me out. Maybe it would be okay. Our dad can just rebuild it. He can do what he wants with his own property, can’t he?”

  Annika tips her head. “I don’t think he can. Wouldn’t Danny be committing insurance fraud? Wouldn’t they charge him with arson, if they found out? Besides . . .” She takes both of his hands in hers. “What if one of the firefighters got hurt? Or the whole woods caught fire and it spread to more houses, like this one?”

  And that’s when something changes in the room. I can feel the transfer of energy.

  As I’ve observed, Sam is like a dog and Danny is the alpha of his pack. Until now, Sam has been focused on pleasing his older brother. But I think the prospect of gaining Annika’s respect and admiration is a greater pull.

  Sam’s alliance shifts to her. I can sense it in the air. He looks down at her hands holding his and he seems amazed to find himself in this lucky circumstance. Her touch diminishes his distress and gives him hope.

  And when he looks into her eyes—that’s when I see he loves her.

  “You’re right,” Sam says with confidence. His shoulders relax. “Yeah, I know you’re right. Okay. I’ll talk to him again. But what am I going to do about my dad? He’s going bankrupt. And Danny needs treatment. I do want to help them, and I don’t know how.”

  “Sell the new truck.”

  “Our business depends on those trucks.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe you will lose your house, then.” Annika’s face is pink from the warmth from the fire and, I suspect, from standing so close to Sam. “I hate to say that. But, Sam, there’s got to be another way. It’s terrible to go bankrupt, but it’s better than letting Danny do something completely stupid. I’ll try and help you, if I can.”

  He sighs. “Yeah, okay. We’ll figure something out.” Sam holds her hands tight. “I’m worried my dad asked me to come back here because he wants me to take over the business, since we don’t know what’s going to happen with Danny. But I really don’t want to do that. Maybe for a while, but . . .”

  “Sam. Don’t do it if you don’t want to. Maybe the other men who work for him would be willing to help out more.”

  Sam nods. “To tell you the truth, I always thought Trung would make a great manager. He could buy the business if Dad wants to retire. As long as Trung keeps the Parsons name on the trucks, people in Manchester will still hire him.” He starts to tear up. “I feel bad for Trung. He’s saving our asses. He’s been working this whole time on almost no sleep. This is all my fault.”

  The house is strangely quiet. But it’s more than just the lack of electricity humming through the lamps and heat swooshing through the vents.

  What happened to the twins? Hmm. They’re very quiet all of a sudden.

  “Sweetheart,” Annika says quietly to Sam, who hangs his head. “It’s stopped snowing. Look . . . the sun is out, right? But you don’t have much daylight left. You should go outside and change that tire and get some fresh air. Lisa and I will come, too.”

  Sam takes in a deep but shaky breath and then lets it out. He looks up, defeated, but still searches Annika’s face as if she has an answer for him.

  She does. She leans forward and gently kisses him right on the mouth. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll help you. I promise.”

  Well! I didn’t see that coming. I don’t think Sam did either, from the look on his face.

  Sam’s eyes perk up immediately and his face glows. He begins to breathe a little faster.

  “Annie,” he says, and I start to purr.

  “You just have to give me a little time, okay? There’s no rush.”

  “Sweetheart
. If you still love Peter, it’s okay.” He stands up straighter. “It’s fine. I understand. I know you still love him. I can tell.”

  “I do, Sam, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any room in my heart for anyone else. I just need to take everything slow.”

  Sam nods. “Does this mean—Are you thinking about staying in Manchester?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s take it one day at a time.”

  Sam squares his shoulders and shifts his weight. Letting go of her hands to stretch, he reminds me of a bear coming out of hibernation, shaking off sleep. He swallows and takes in a deep breath, his expression radiant as he gathers his thoughts. “I’m gonna go change that tire. Right now.” Walking to the front door with renewed energy, he pulls on his snow pants and winter coat before shoving his feet in his boots. He doesn’t bother to lace his boots or zip up the coat, and starts pulling his gloves on.

  Annika walks up to Sam and fits the zipper of his coat together at the bottom before pulling up the tab and then fastening the snaps. She palms his cheek while he takes one of her braids in his hand. He gazes at her a moment before gathering her in his arms in a hug. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his face buried in her hair. “I’m sorry I ever—”

  “Shhh.” She pats his shoulder. “It’s okay. You go ahead. I’ll find Lisa and we’ll be out in a minute,” Annika says. And so Sam heads out into the cold, sparkling snow.

  Danny comes down the hall. He stops and looks at Annika.

  “Where’s Sam?”

  “He went out to change the tire.”

  “He did?” Danny scowls and walks to the window to see it for his own eyes.

  “Yes, Lisa and I are going to go out and shovel.”

  Danny tips his head. “You are? I thought you were all going to stay inside and keep warm.”

  She walks up to him, pulling on her mittens. “Sam told me you’re sick. I’m sorry about the cancer, Danny, I really am.”

  His head snaps back. “He told you about that? I didn’t mean for him to go tell everyone about that.” His eyes dart away. “Although . . . I guess you’re different. I guess that’s okay, since it’s you.”