Ramona was staring at him, but her expression was soft. She was listening, taking it all in, and letting herself try to compute the severity of his story. She was starting to see it now, the bigger picture, everything coming slowly into focus the more he talked. It was all making sense, from his moodiness to his absences from school, and now that she was seeing it she felt ridiculous for not understanding before. It was all so glaringly obvious, but the truth was she just hadn’t wanted to see it for what it really was.
Alec took another deep breath, staring down at his hands now as he got to the hardest part of the story. “It was almost the end of my first term of freshman year. I was going home soon for Christmas break, and I was really looking forward to it. Mom had told me already that after the holiday was over that we were going to go on a ski trip and that she was going to buy lessons for me and Bryson. It was going to be perfect, and I actually had something to look forward to for the first time in a long time. Just a couple of days after she told me though my father called and asked how soon I could return to the dorms. He had taken a case that was going to trial just after Christmas, so he canceled all of our plans. Even worse was he didn’t want me around the house, he said I caused too many distractions and that I just got Bryson riled up and that things always got out of hand. So his plan was to ship me back to Colorado the day after Christmas if the dean would approve it.”
Alec continued to talk, his voice unsteady when he got the hardest part. It turned out that his roommate found him that night, and more or less saved his life. He had tried to hang himself with a leather belt from an exposed beam in their dormitory. The roommate had gotten beneath him and had held him up while he screamed for help. They had taken him down and an ambulance had then rushed him to a nearby hospital. From there it had been, as he called it, the whole nine yards. Suicide watch, a psychiatrist, his parents flying down to Colorado Springs to make sure he was going to make it. It had only been less than sixty seconds before the guy found him, so he was more or less alright. Except, of course, for the very obvious issues that had led up to that incredibly bleak moment. That was why he came back to Rust halfway through the school year. His mother had put her foot down, and so had the dean. They both though it was in his best interest to be at home with his family, and so that’s what happened. He had tried to kill himself, and that had been the only way his father let him come back home.
Ramona felt stunned at that point, the information overload almost too much for her to handle. She managed though, somehow, forcing herself not to cry though her eyes had already welled up with tears. It was an awful thing, what had happened to Alec, and the resentment she now felt for his father was palpable. She still thought often about the bruises on his face, and it enraged her to know that her instincts had probably been right.
“I wish I knew what to say,” she whispered after a long moment of silence, chewing on her bottom lip with her teeth. It hurt, but it at least kept her grounded in the moment. “I mean obviously there’s nothing I could say or do to make this any better, but I do have some questions. I mean the medication doesn’t help? Do you still see a therapist? Do these episodes like this happen very often? It’s scary to think that you just go from happy to sad just like that.”
“It’s not really like that, because I’m never really happy,” Alec told her, frowning hard at that particular omission. He knew it sounded horrible, especially to someone who you considered a friend. What friend liked to know that they couldn't make you happy?
“I mean there are good days, sure. Days when things are going great even, those are the best. There’s always this underlying current of sadness though, and sometimes it’s crushing. Like today, I just woke up and couldn’t make myself get out of bed. I take medicine, but medicine isn’t a fix-all. It doesn’t always help, it isn’t a cure. I see my therapist once a month in Fort Benton, that’s where I go when I say I have a regular checkup. It’s technically the truth, but it’s not with a sports medicine doctor or anything like that. It’s with Doctor Linn, and she’s really good. We talk things out, she helps me try to understand why I feel things the way I do. But that’s not a cure either; it’s just a temporary fixer. I mean I guess it's possible that someday I'll get better, that this might go away or at least become less of a struggle, but there's just no guarantee at all.”
It all sounded so terrifying, and Ramona's heart ached as she leaned forward to grab his hand. She held it tightly in her own, squeezing his fingers to show that she was there, that she was listening, and that she cared. “I wish that there was something I could do to help, but all I can really do is tell you that I'm here. If you want to talk to someone who isn't Doctor Linn, or if you're having a bad day and just want to vent things out. I mean I'm not sure if that helps, I've never felt that way myself, but it's what I can offer.”
She paused then, her heartbeat picking up as she considered what was weighing so heavily on her mind. She finally worked up the nerve to ask, her voice soft and unsteady. “Alec? The day you came to school with the bruises on your face...was that him? Your father, I mean? I was worried it might be something like that, but I didn't want to upset you by asking. Just knowing what he did when you tried to hurt yourself and everything, it just sort of backs up the thoughts I was having.”
Alec had a sort of deer in the headlights look then, and his first instinct was to pull away from her. He didn't though, and instead he squeezed her hand very firmly in return. “Yeah, it was. It was over Bryson, I was trying to defend him, and father doesn't like it when you stand up to him. That's only the second or third time in my life he's laid on a hand on me, but that's no excuse for it. Believe me, I know that, and I know I shouldn't keep defending him when he does this kind of shit. I just never know what else to do, and I know I could have told Doctor Linn but that would open a can of worms I'm not prepared for. My mother would be dragged into it, and my brother. At this point it isn't really worth it, because I'll be gone soon. I'll have college and my own life, where he can't interfere anymore. I just have to make it in Rust a few more months.”
Ramona only looked partially convinced, but she nodded her head a little and rubbed her thumb weakly over the soft underside of his wrist. It hurt to imagine him so down, so lost, that he wanted to die rather than try and push through. She couldn't fathom being so sad or feeling so lonely, and that achy feeling inside of her only grew. She blinked back more tears that were trying hard to come, refusing to let herself break down in front of him. He didn't deserve that, not at all, not when this was his story to tell. “You're a strong guy, Alec Davis. These next few months will fly by, and then you'll be free. Maybe that will even help with how you're feeling, maybe things will get better once you're on your own and doing things your way.”
“Maybe,” Alec whispered, leaning his head back into the pillows again, studying her in the fading light. Outside the world was still a snow globe, swirling and whirling with abandon. The snow heavy clouds filtered out the dying winter sun, so what shone through the windows was muted and softer than it would have been on a clearer evening. It cast Ramona partially in shadow, illuminating only the side of her face that was nearer to the window. She looked washed out, like a painting in the negative, but he liked it. He liked a lot of things about Ramona Sanders that he couldn't explain, and really he didn't want to. Some things, really, were better left as they were.
Chapter Seventeen: The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows
The morning of Thanksgiving dawned cold and cloudy, a couple inches of snow already blanketing the ground. Most people who had traveling to do had left a day or two before, to avoid both traffic and the weather, and so Rust was even quieter and more isolated feeling than usual. Alec only knew this because he had gotten up early to head to the store for his mother, who needed a few last minute things. Every year since he had been small she had bought the turkey pre-cooked and instant mashed potatoes, and every year she forgot about half the things that were required for a proper Thanksgiving meal. So
that was how he found himself buying canned cranberry sauce and Stove Top stuffing in the box, dropping items into the basket draped over his arm. He grabbed a few essentials that he knew they were low on, like salt, dragging himself to the checkout counter where a lonely looking older woman was tiredly scanning purchases.
It was pretty obvious to him that nobody wanted to be out on Thanksgiving Day, not even the people who were getting paid for it. He and the cashier were both silent as she dropped his items into paper bags, only speaking to give him the total. He swiped his father’s credit card, signed the receipt, and trudged back to the car with his arms full of groceries. He drove slowly back to Route Four, taking his time in getting back to the house. His mother had put the turkey in already so it could slowly warm up and be ready for dinner at around 2 pm, but there was still a lot to be done. He knew he'd get wrangled into things, he always did, while Bryson watched the Macy's Parade and their father loudly complained about football. Alec wasn't particularly in the mood for any of it, but he didn't want to let his mother down and so he put up with it.
Alec parked behind the Range Rover and hurried into the warm house with the bags, wiping his shoes before he trekked on through the house. Normally he would have just slipped off his shoes, but the idea of having potentially wet socks was about as appealing as eating dirt, so he didn't risk it. Instead he slipped and slid his way into the kitchen to deliver the goods, emptying the bags onto the island. He folded them up and stored them under the sink for a potential future use, peering into the oven at the turkey. He adjusted the heat settings, slyly because his mother was out of the room, and then began the process of peeling potatoes. She had protested vehemently, insisting they could have instant, but if they had one thing that was actually properly made in their home he would make sure it was the potatoes.
For that first ten or fifteen minutes, things were gloriously peaceful. His mother made her way back into the kitchen to start mixing up the boxed stuffing, preparing it to go into the pot closer to dinner time. She put the frozen rolls out to thaw, and watched with interest as he began to boil the sliced up potatoes in a pot of hot water. He was looking up ways to improve canned cranberry sauce online when his father came barreling into the kitchen, looking irritated and a little wild eyed. Alec knew that look, so did his mother, and they both took a step back. Dear old Alec II was looking for a fight, and he had assumed the kitchen was the best place to find one.
“Who in the hell tracked mud and snow through the damn house? HUH? The rule in this house has always been to take your shoes off by the front door, and now somebody has made a mess! Not only that, but they didn't even have the decency to clean up after themselves! Now I want to know which one of you it was,” he snarled, glancing between his wife and his son.
Alec was suspended in a state of utter disbelief then, trying to sort out of this was actually real life or not. It was Thanksgiving, and his father was picking a fight over water being on the floor. It was something easily fixable, a mop would do the trick, but not in their family. No, in the Davis family you had to rage about petty things or it just wasn't a normal day. It certainly wasn't a holiday, that was for sure and certain. For a moment he considered saying nothing, just seeing what might happen, but he didn't want his mother to take the blame. So he shrugged a little, crossing his arms cockily in front of his chest.
“It was me, and it seriously isn't that big of a deal. I'll clean it up, so just go back to whatever you were doing in your office. Live streaming football games, playing Mahjong, whatever. We're just trying to get this dinner finished so we can eat at the designated serving time,” he told his father with a hint of arrogance in his voice, figuring if they were going to fight he could at least make it good.
His tone only set his father off more, and before either Alec or his mother could move his father had reached the island, and had hit the crystal bowl of cranberry sauce so hard it sailed onto the floor where it shattered into a million shiny pieces. Glass and cranberry sauce was everywhere, rich purple-red staining the white tile, the white cabinet doors, and the bottom half of the stainless steel fridge. Alec II watched them with narrowed eyes, as if daring either of them to do anything. He had a smugly satisfied look on his face now too, as though he had somehow won something in doing the nasty thing he had just done.
Alec finally broke the lingering silence, crunching over broken glass as he went to get the broom, clutching it so hard his knuckles were white. “That's great,” he announced, Bryson appearing in the doorway to see what the commotion was about. “We don't have cranberry sauce now because you wanted to throw a piss baby fit over some mud on the floor. I'm really starting to think that you're the one who needs therapy. Somebody in this room is actually crazy and guess what pal? It isn't me.”
The noise that came out of his father was practically a roar, and it might have been comical if the situation hadn't been so serious in nature. He came charging around the island toward Alec, his fist clenched and raised above his shoulder. He made to swing it, but when he did Alec reacted. He swung the broom around hard and fast, connecting it hard to his father's fist. The next sound he heard after the loud crack of wood on bone was a howl of pain, Alec II stumbling backward.
“You know what?” Alec asked, tossing the broom aside. “I think we'll eat somewhere else. Mom, are you staying?”
His mother looked nervous, her eyes going from her husband to her son. She said nothing though, and she didn't make to move, so Alec merely nodded. He headed out of the room, taking Bryson by the arm as he went. “Come on, get your shoes on. We're leaving, and we aren't coming back until tonight.”
Bryson was clearly upset, walking unsteadily in the cast that covered his still broken ankle. He put on one sneaker and got his crutches, finding his coat in the closet. He followed Alec outside, a little worried now as they headed for the SUV. “What about Thanksgiving, Alec? What about mom? What about dinner?”
“Don't worry about mom. She's a big girl who makes her own choices. Don't worry about dinner either, I know somewhere to go. We just need to run back to the store first, okay?” Alec asked him, giving him a nod of reassurance. “I'll handle it, I promise.”
Chapter Eighteen: Blessings
Down the road the Sanders house was in chaos, but it was the kind of chaos that generally makes the holidays loud but also memorable. Ramona was in the kitchen with her mother, helping her finish up the traditional stuffing that they put together using her grandmothers recipe. The turkey was already out of the oven and resting in its pan, ready to be carved once everything else was on the table. It was the one of only two times a year when they got out the heavy dishes and all the serving bowls and plates, which spent the other 363 days in a China cabinet in a corner of the living room. They weren't super fancy, but they were nicer than the everyday dishes which were chipped up and starting to show their wear and tear.
In the dining room Ramona's dad was helping the little kids set the table, making sure that nobody dropped or broke anything. They had spent the morning watching the parade and making little place cards for everyone, wanting to make the table look more festive. As they worked Ramona carried serving dishes and bowls out to the table, situating things down the center. They had mashed potatoes, fresh cranberry sauce, their homemade stuffing, and a green bean casserole. Their mother came in last with the turkey, sitting it in front of the spot at the head of the table. It all smelled delicious and her mouth began to water, hurrying back to the kitchen to grab the water pitcher to fill glasses and to leave her apron on the hook by the back door.
By the time she got back everyone was in a seat, and she slid into hers. Her father had them bow their heads to say grace, and they were just in the middle of thanking the Lord for their meal when someone knocked on the door. Everyone froze, nobody quite sure what to do. Normally they went out of town for Thanksgiving, but money had kept them home this year. They hadn't planned any visitors, and they weren't even sure that they had told local friends that they
wouldn't be going away except for old man Webb, who always came over to feed the animals if they were gone.
Janet rose from her seat and made her way into the front hall, where there was a small commotion and a blast of cold air. She returned a moment later with two rosy cheeked, dark haired boys trailing her, each holding a shopping bag. She smiled at the kids as they all took in that Alec Davis was there with his younger brother, Bryson, and then she spoke.
“Kids, we have some visitors for dinner! They even brought us some pies! That was mighty thoughtful, boys! You two grab a seat, here, honey, take my chair,” she told Bryson, pulling it over toward the corner of the table. She went to put the pies in the kitchen and to get a lawn chair off the back porch, wiping it dry with a towel she found in the kitchen.
Alec and Bryson took off their coats and one of Ramona's brothers took them to put them in the living room while the boys arranged themselves at the table. Bryson took the offered chair and Ramona scooted down, making room for Alec to sit beside her on the bench. Margie, her youngest sister, jumped up then and ran off, declaring that she would be right back.
In all the chaos and fuss Ramona leaned over, whispering into Alec's ear. “What happened?” She asked gently, her voice thick with concern.
“I'll explain later. It was bad though,” he whispered back, not wanting to get into it very deeply while they were sitting at the table.
A Crooked Mile (Rust Book 1) Page 14