Aftershock

by Alison Taylor

  Then David did arrive, stumbled his way dazedly out of the parking garage elevator, looking something far beyond exhausted: shell-shocked.

  Which she understood now as totally expected, given the circumstances.

  But at that time, she had sought in him a bastion, a sturdy structure to cling to when she thought she was drowning. When she needed to keep breathing.

  And what she found, when they embraced, what she felt between her arms, was nothing. A fragile shell that crumpled under pressure, the pressure of her arms, the pressure of her need. Because he had his own grief, she knew, in her logical brain at least. The problem was perhaps less David’s weakness and more her expectation in the first place that he be solid and strong, a brick house of sanctuary rather than a feeling, grieving, flesh-and-blood human.

  As they leaned over a half wall and watched the runways that sprawled for miles, Jules had filled him in, blow by blow, with all the details of what had happened. What arrangements she’d been making, the nightmares Chloe was having, already, and the radiating disapproval of his mother every time she called. As she gave him the most detailed, detached account she could manage, trying to step up in the moment, trying to keep the debilitating heartbreak momentarily at arm’s length, where it struggled, kicking, against her hold, she could sense, beside her, David coming apart. Which wasn’t fair, and it made her hate him, in that instant and for a long time after, for not getting there sooner and, having finally arrived, being nothing but another vector of need.

  They were broken, then. Both of them, separately and together.

  NOW, HERE SHE was again, sitting behind the wheel of Drew’s car as she waited to be met on P3 of the short-term garage at Pearson Airport. Only this time she was the one leaving.

  She’d waited until she was on the way there to call Drew at work, to minimize the possibility that he would talk her out of it. And when she’d told him he might want to come pick up his car, there’d been a silence on the line and she could hear the million reasonable objections loaded into it. But he’d said only, Fine, and she knew he’d be saving his reaction for the face-to-face.

  All four of them came, piling out of Declan’s Fiat with their intervention faces on. Drew, Declan, Farzan and Marc.

  Marc, the lawyer.

  Nothing like making it easy.

  They wanted explanations, so she told them her plan, which they received about as badly as expected.

  Drew was furious. He’d vouched for her, with the partners as well as the judge. He couldn’t believe she was going on the lam.

  Jules did something she hadn’t done much in her life but sensed was going to loom large in her future: she apologized.

  I’ve been an asshole. I really fucked things up. I’m so sorry.

  Drew looked conflicted, like he liked what he was hearing but wasn’t sure if he believed it.

  But it’s over. I’m done. I have fourteen days to start treatment. I’ll be back, and I’ll leave all the bullshit behind me, I promise.

  But Marc cleared his throat and said that, technically, she was not supposed to leave the country. And by technically, he meant legally.

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  Marc looked away, looked back. Well, you’re on probation. You could go to jail.

  By the time they figure out I’ve even left, I’ll be done rehab—acting like a fully functioning member of society. They’re gonna put me in jail then?

  They could, yes, for violating your terms. Marc looked apologetic. They might.

  Even though she’d known that, the words gave her pause. Hers wasn’t the kind of life that could easily accommodate a prison sentence without things really falling apart. More than they already had, which was saying something. But her eyes followed the unwavering line of half wall as a plane lifted off in the distance, and she knew nothing else mattered.

  I gotta find my kid, she told them.

  I get it, said Farzan. I just hope you know what you’re doing.

  I’m cleaning up my act. She believed it as she said it.

  Drew studied her for a long moment. Jules shrugged, uncomfortable but resolved.

  However he chose to interpret this, he seemed to accept it, shook his head, and sighed. I’ll try to cover for you, Jules, but you had better be back in time for treatment, or I swear to god I’ll come and get you, and you will not like me after a twenty-four-hour flight.

  I’ll be back, she promised again.

  I’ll set it up for you at Greenvalley.

  She thanked them all for helping her, which was a surreal moment, more testing out of words she wasn’t used to saying.

  You saved my life, she told them. I don’t deserve you, any of you.

  We know, Farzan said.

  You can pay me back somehow, Declan said, and they all laughed.

  Well, I know it too, Jules told them. Don’t think I don’t.

  There followed a litany of advice from each of them—stay sober, stay clean, stay safe, stay calm—and when Drew asked if she had enough money, she said, Enough.

  You still need to buy your ticket?

  He wrapped her in a smothering hug.

  Watch the neck. She rubbed at the knot that shot along a nerve into her shoulder.

  Farzan put an arm around her and kissed her temple like a proud dad. You’ll find her, he said.

  He and Drew and Marc piled into Drew’s car and instantly became rowdy teenagers, laughing and waving and honking as they toured around the half-empty parking garage a couple times before finding the exit ramp.

  Which left Jules alone with Declan, who leaned back against his car and gave her a funny look.

  Well, Julie. Seems to me you’re at a real crossroads.

  Am I? Jules felt like between the trip to find Chloe, coming back to do rehab and then getting her career and her house back together, her immediate future was a clearer and more direct line than she’d had in years. Or maybe she could just see it better.

  I hope you don’t give up on yourself, Declan said, which made her understand:

  You don’t think I can do it?

  Do you think you can do it?

  All I can do is try, right?

  At this he laughed, and said maybe there was hope for her after all.

  What he did next gave her something to think about over the following weeks. He reached out and took her hand and said, I hope I’ll see you when you’re back.

  She assumed he meant at his clinic for more flotation therapy, so she said, Yes, I don’t feel like I’m done with it either.

  A slow smile travelled from his eyes to his lips. He hugged her, and she thought he held on just a bit longer than necessary. She felt something in her belly, maybe a small flame of hope, that she wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge. She had other things she had to do first.

  Jules shouldered her handbag and extended the handle on her suitcase. I have to go.

  Good luck with your search, Declan said.

  She turned and headed for the walkway. She hadn’t bought a ticket yet and wanted to make that happen before she could chicken out.

  IT WAS ONLY after she had cleared security and was waiting in the departure lounge that she realized her airport ghosts had vanished when her friends arrived. She wondered if they had just gone ahead without her, to lie in wait with David, a dreadful welcoming committee. Or if her forward motion had finally vanquished them.

  Voices.

  Are you serious? I asked.

  Aw, it looks worse than it is. Lee took a seat on a rock. Go on, get it over with.

  I hadn’t been in the water since my accident, and Lee had convinced me I had to get back on the horse, so to speak. I’d agreed, as long as there weren’t a couple hundred surfers around. So we had walked down a gravel road and pushed through some bushes to emerge on a rocky inlet, foaming and crashing, spiked and treacherous. The water had actual teeth.

  It looks pretty bad, I said.

  blue light, white shadows

  an underwater
voice

  I had a vivid memory of walking home from the pool with Mo-mo. Plastic bag dragging in my mittened hand, heavy with my rolled wet towel and bathing suit. A frozen lock of hair bouncing on my cheek. I almost drowned at the pool, I told Mo-mo. How could you drown in the shallow end? she asked, and I didn’t have an answer, was working hard to keep up with her long strides. But actually, Mo-mo said a moment later, you can drown in an inch of water. She’d heard about a guy who’d fallen unconscious in a puddle, inhaled enough water to fill his lungs, and that was that.

  The raging cove brought back her words: Death is easy.

  There was a bathtub-sized pool of stillness right in front of me that was partly sheltered by a natural breakwater. I peeled down to boxers and bra, walked up to the water’s edge and prodded it with my big toe.

  A wave smashed against rocks, and I flinched.

  This is a test, I said under my breath.

  You got this, said Lee.

  I heard Jules’s overly cautious voice clearing its throat, and I shut it down. Not every unknown represented imminent danger. The only thing holding me back was my own fear.

  I forced myself to take a step forward, coolness up to my ankles.

  I waded in a little farther. I crouched down behind the row of rocks, submerged up to the bottoms of my thighs, cupped some water in my hands and splashed it over my shoulders. It wasn’t very satisfactory.

  You missed a spot.

  Ha ha, thanks.

  I took three short steps forward, sat right down on the ocean bed, lay back and got my torso and shoulders and head wet, and stood up again. I saw a wave looming behind the closest row of rocks, and I lunged for the shred of beach, tripped and skinned my knee as I landed on sand and pebbles.

  Lee was trying hard not to laugh, but failing. Good job, she said.

  I wiped my face with my towel, half laughing, half mortified. I turned and looked back at the water I’d just braved as another wave roared in.

  I felt like I’d slayed a dragon.

  AS WE CAME down the beach towards the surf bar, Sean peeled away from the bonfire out front and jogged up to us. I faltered at the look on his face.

  Another quake in Christchurch, he said, and Lee grabbed my hand, pulled me into the bar, to the old TV in the back. To complaints around us, she changed it from a surfing show to an all-news channel.

  Few days ago, I think, said Sean, who’d followed us in. The scroll along the bottom said six. And then eleven.

  Six days. Eleven people dead.

  The tingle of dread and the bile of guilt. The picture of the rescue dog I never drew.

  Oh, fuck.

  Six days and I hadn’t heard. But, of course, I wouldn’t have heard. I’d been avoiding hearing. I hadn’t even tried to call in—well, more than six days, apparently. Beach life had transported me, let me forget to be worried.

  Fuck, I said again.

  Six days ago I’d left Picton to come find Lee.

  Can she use your phone? Lee asked the guy who owned the bar.

  WE SAT AROUND the bonfire smoking joints as a beacon moon rose.

  What now, then? Lee stared at the fire as she asked.

  Well, I have to go to Christchurch. Check in with my dad and my little sister. I know they’re okay, but . . . I need to see them.

  We were holding hands and she gave mine a little squeeze. I rolled my eyes and told her the other thing I’d learned from the call to David.

  And my mother is flying in.

  Aw, yeah?

  What I didn’t say was that I’d just met one demon head-on and felt like I was ready for more. Having Jules and David in the same room was too rare a chance to pass up. Of course, it might be a disaster. But at least it would be something.

  I was just thinking, Lee said, that SCAB has work going on down there. Cleaning up the sewage spills from all the quakes. Thought I might go help out. Volunteer, like.

  What’s SCAB—oh, wait, that clean beach thing, right?

  Lee didn’t answer, and a moment later I clicked into the rest of what she’d said.

  Ha, ha, sucker. You get to meet my parents.

  Arrivals.

  Three airports, thirty-four hours and several glasses of wine later, Jules greeted her ex-husband in the Christchurch airport. They hadn’t seen each other in five years, and she barely recognized him: he looked even smaller than she remembered.

  Before she could speak, he rushed to tell her that Chloe had called and was making her way back to Christchurch. She would be there in a few days.

  Ohthankgod! Exhausted, slightly tipsy and emotionally wrung out, Jules gave in to some decades-suppressed body memory and threw her arms around David. She wasn’t quite weeping, but she was pretty close. David held his body rigid for a moment, then hugged her back tentatively. Mortified, Jules pulled away. A smile twitched under David’s beard. The rest of his face looked surprised.

  You look great, Jules. He took her bag and led her through the airport.

  You still look like a rumpled grad student, David. She squeezed his arm to make sure he knew she was teasing. It was a funny thing to see him after all this time. She had so many levels of response, the most surprising a closeness and a sense of comfort she had long forgotten. Because no matter what she could say about David, he knew her as no one else ever had or probably ever would.

  Less hair, he said. More— And he rubbed his belly like he was pregnant. They were joking around in a way they hadn’t done since they were first married, but she saw the wary glances he kept darting her way, like she might transform into a lunatic with a chainsaw at any moment.

  I GOT YOU a room in my hotel, David said. Down the hall. I think we’ll be back at the house in a couple days, but right now the street’s flooded, and there’s no power or water or anything. When we do get in, it’ll be a mess. But I don’t know how long you’re here.

  I have to fly out on the twenty-eighth. A week.

  His eyebrows wriggled. Quick trip.

  As they drove to the hotel, Jules wondered if she’d even last that long. She’d never seen anything like it, except on TV. Emergency vehicles everywhere, people loading supplies off trucks, houses and streets askew like someone had knocked around pieces on a game board. Cars tilted sideways into rips in roads, rows of porta-potties blocked off wounded residential avenues. But they had it down to a science, David explained. They were used to it; they were organized. And a lot of the city was already empty because the last couple weeks of aftershocks had been so bad. There was rubble everywhere, no surface was clear of it, grit and dust and smoke coated everything, filled everything, gnawed at her eyeballs and nose and throat even through the car window.

  Don’t worry, we’re not staying too close to the fault line. You should see downtown.

  As in: this is nothing.

  LATER, AT THE hotel, after checking in and passing out for twelve hours, Jules woke up in time for cocktail hour at the hotel bar. She had remembered halfway through her flight the court-ordered sobriety and decided it didn’t apply once she was out of Canadian airspace.

  She knew she shouldn’t drink. She didn’t even want to. Not really. She knew it wasn’t good for her in multiple ways. The problem was, she still wanted Oxy. She still wanted to use. She was still thinking about using. She would’ve if she could’ve. She was just on the cusp. She was hanging on to a vibrating steel cord of unpleasantness—shame? disgust?—just hanging on to it, or rather grabbing it and letting it go, like touching a live wire repeatedly to remind herself just how badly it hurt.

  She’d thought, recently, about how much of her life she’d spent in one state or another of intoxication. How close she’d been to a point of no return. She knew it was time to stop. She did. And she would.

  But just one, she thought. What’s the harm?

  David joined her, saying he was kind of at loose ends without Amanda, who’d taken their daughter and gone down to work in her firm’s Dunedin offices and stay with friends until they could piece
things back together up in Christchurch. They might stay down there for a few months, he said. For the summer holidays, anyway. Christmas and whatnot.

  I’m sorry to hear that, Jules said, surprised at her own genuine empathy. That can’t be easy.

  David ducked his head in a nod of thanks. The important thing is that they’re safe. If something happened to Char . . .

  Jules couldn’t speak and didn’t want him to go anywhere near the end of that sentence. What? she thought. It would be devastating? It would tear your life apart? You would want to shut down all feeling because letting any of it surface would feel like the end of everything? Try not to be a bitch, she heard Drew telling her. She slugged back half her Scotch, savouring the burn in her throat.

  David took a swallow of beer and stared into an abyss behind the bar only he could see.

  This past couple years, with all the quakes, you start to feel like . . . at any moment the ground could open up and swallow you. And it might, that’s the thing.

  Jules snorted. Bring it on.

  David didn’t seem to hear her.

  Do you know we’ve had something like thirty thousand aftershocks? Well . . . they call them aftershocks, but what’s the difference, really. It’s just a quake that comes after another quake. More than half of them are four-point-fives and fives, so . . . You just end up . . .

  Waiting for something bad to happen? Jules finished for him as she drained her drink. Sounds a lot like trying to stay clean. Or like, you know. Life. She pictured her own house, sitting empty, the only changes while she was away the accumulation of dust and mould.

  Anyway, David said. Really forces you to live in the moment.

  OVER LUNCH THE next day, trying to be nonchalant like they were just old friends catching up and not two people who’d spent fifteen years in a marriage, Jules let drop the reason her trip was so short. How else to say it?