October

by J. Grace Pennington

  She only pulled her knees up again and hugged them to her chest.

  I still felt sick. More than anything I wanted to remain with her and comfort her, but I knew I was going to break down if I stayed much longer.

  “I... I have to go home. It’s late.”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  I pushed myself up off the ground, swaying with nausea. I stood looking down at her for a moment—a pale, silver fairy in the moonlight. “I love you, Tobi,” I whispered hoarsely, then turned and fled towards home.

  Chapter Twelve

  I could hardly see where I was going as blinding tears obscured even the moonlight. I stumbled along, trying to blink the tears out of my eyes, because I had to see. I had to get home. They rolled down my cheeks, hot and fast. I felt sick and numb, and I couldn’t think.

  I just had to get home.

  When I reached the house, I jumped up the steps, fumbled with the doorknob, and went inside. I called “I’m home” into my parents’ lighted bedroom as I passed. Then I ran upstairs, slipped into pajamas, and got in bed.

  I breathed, face still wet.

  I was too scared to tell my parents. It would be wrong—like betraying Tobi. And I certainly couldn’t tell Jax. But—I couldn’t keep it to myself, either. I pulled the blankets all the way up to my chin and softly gripped the edge of the comforter, still sick at the memory of the red lines all down my Tobi’s arm.

  Now I knew why she hadn’t wanted to tell me.

  I had to tell someone. I had to. But who?

  “Tobi...” I choked in the dark. Why? Wonderful, wonderful Tobi, so sweet and kind and beloved—why would she hurt herself? I tried to understand, and gave it up. I wasn’t half as wonderful, and the thought of doing something like that had never entered my mind.

  Still shaking, I prayed a short, silent, broken prayer. God, help Tobi. I didn’t know what else to say. I just kept saying it in my mind. I had no other words.

  I was drifting off to sleep from the sheer exhaustion of emotion when the answer came to me.

  Pastor Ulrich.

  I remembered how kind he’d been to Tobi about the books for the choir. I remembered realizing he wasn’t as nervous as he’d seemed, only quiet. And Daddy had always liked him.

  If anyone would know what to do, or how I could help Tobi—he would.

  I felt awkward rapping on the door of his house the next day. I knew where he lived, because he always told people there was an open invitation to come to him with any questions or concerns—but that was for grown-up people with grown-up problems that were worth his time. I was only a child in his eyes.

  And yet—Tobi was worth it. And when I remembered his words to her the time she’d looked at the stained glass, I thought he would agree with me.

  He opened the door after the second knock and raised his eyebrows. “Emily Baxter?” he half-questioned.

  I bobbed my head. “Yes sir.”

  He stood with his hand resting on the doorknob. I tried to think what to say.

  At last he gestured inside and said, “Won’t you come in?”

  “Thanks.” I walked inside and he closed the door and led me to his kitchen.

  “Coffee?” he asked as I slid into one of the chairs around his small, square breakfast table.

  I shook my head. “No thank you.”

  He sat opposite me, rested his elbows on the table, and folded his hands. “How can I help you, Emily?”

  I took a deep breath, trying in vain to quell the unrest in my stomach that was becoming customary. “I need to talk to you about something.”

  He listened as I told him about October and how she’d been so confusing lately. When I told him about the scars, he frowned, and his blue-gray eyes looked as worried as my heart felt.

  When I finished, he reached over and put his hand over mine. I breathed again and waited for him to say something.

  “Thank you for coming to me, Emily.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” I asked.

  He looked past me, out the window. “Do the Rivers know?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  He looked me in the eyes. “Do your parents know?”

  My face warmed. “No. I mean... I didn’t say anything to them.”

  His warm fingers squeezed the back of my hand. “That’s the first thing for you to do. Tell them. They need to know.”

  I swallowed, hard. “Why?”

  “Because they’re your parents. They care about you. They’re the ones God has given to protect you.”

  “But... but it isn’t about me. It’s about Tobi.”

  He shook his head and slid his hand away. “It is about you now. It’s weighing on you.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “I can tell it’s burdening you. October shouldn’t have showed you.”

  “But I wanted her to!” I cried, sitting back.

  “Is what we want always best?”

  I stood up and walked a few feet away, heart beating rapidly. When I turned around again, he was still watching me.

  “But... but Pastor... she needs me. She needs me—and I need her.”

  He stood up and rested the tips of his fingers on the table. “She needs someone older—someone to counsel her.”

  Tears sprang into my eyes, and I turned away again. “Will you help her?”

  “I’m going to try.” I heard his shoes slide across the carpet, approaching me, and I felt his hand on my shoulder. “Tell your parents.”

  “But it’s not my secret.”

  “Would October want you burdened with it?”

  I closed my eyes and let the tears squeeze out, trying to squeeze the memory out with it.

  He squeezed my shoulder. “Talk to them. Tell them about it. Please.”

  I opened my eyes and looked out the window at the small vegetable garden in the back of the house. Ripe tomatoes climbed up wooden stalks, overshadowing plants closer to the ground. “I’ll think about it.” I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand and turned to face him. “You said you’ll help her?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  I closed my eyes and nodded, and he let his hand drop off of my shoulder.

  “Thank you.” Slowly, I turned and walked towards the door.

  “Emily?”

  I faced him again.

  “You’re a wonderful friend to her.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut again and left.

  *****

  All that day and all the next I went about my school and chores with the same queasy feeling in my stomach. When I wasn’t working or at school, I looked for something, anything to do to occupy my mind so that the feeling wouldn’t get worse. I avoided Jax. I didn’t contact October. I stayed close to Melissa during lunch, knowing that her prattle would help distract me. I played games with Patrick Charles.

  Pastor Ulrich was right, and I knew it. But I didn’t know how to follow his advice. What to say. How to begin.

  First I said that Daddy was at work and I didn’t want to have to tell it twice, so I should wait until he came home. Then he came back, and they were watching their show, and I didn’t want to bother them. And then it was bedtime.

  Deep down, I knew that they would have put off watching their show if I wanted to talk to them. But—I needed time to think about it. To plan what I would say.

  Then the next day, Daddy was gone all day again. I kept working, busying myself any way I could. When I washed the lunch dishes, Mom set out some chicken to thaw and looked at me sideways. I could tell she was watching me, even though I didn’t turn my head. I swallowed.

  “You okay, sweetheart?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  She kept looking at me, but I didn’t say anything else. I should tell her. Now. She’s not busy. She’s asking. But I kept quiet, and at last she left to do other things.

  While she and Patrick Charles took their naps, I slipped out of the house, writing a note that I’d be at Tobi’s if
anyone was looking for me.

  I walked the mile there, and was tired when I arrived. I stood for a minute before knocking on the door, catching my breath and steeling myself for whatever might come.

  It was answered by Mr. Rivers, and he looked at me, eyes almost on a level with mine, gray hair tousled and wet from a shower.

  “Is October home?” I asked.

  He nodded. “She’s sick today.”

  Tobi sick? Or was she just mad at me? Did she know I’d talked to the pastor, and—if so, was she upset about it?

  “Can I talk to her anyway?”

  He stepped aside, expressionless. “It’s up to you.”

  I slipped past him into the dark living room. The drabness rested on my soul, prompting a brief shudder. It was all so unlike Tobi. No wonder she preferred to be outside.

  I stepped up the stairs, slowly, the feeling in my stomach getting heavier and more unbearable. Nausea gripped my entire body, and I clutched my stomach with one hand. I was going to be sick. I was.

  I breathed deeply.

  When I reached her door at the top of the stairs, I started to knock, then drew my hand back.

  I breathed again, then knocked.

  “Who is it?” came Tobi’s voice.

  “Emily.”

  “I’m sick.”

  “Can I come in anyway?”

  A moment, then, “I guess so.”

  I turned the knob and pushed the door open.

  She lay on the bed, nestled under the covers, head propped up on too many pillows. She was dressed in the same mint pajamas she’d worn the night Patrick Charles had appendicitis, though her hair was brushed and braided as smoothly as ever. She didn’t look up as I stepped into the room and closed the door softly behind me.

  “Hi, Em,” she almost whispered.

  I took a few steps closer. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m just not feeling well.” She kept her eyes on the window.

  I slipped closer and reached for a chair a couple feet away from her bed, pulled it close, and sat in it.

  We were silent for a long time, just sitting, looking, her at the window, me at her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said at last.

  I sat up straighter. “For what?”

  “For everything.” She turned to me and I saw tears reddening her crystal green eyes. “For dragging you and Jax along on this... this roller coaster, for upsetting your life, for everything I’ve... oh, for everything. For this.” She pulled up her sleeve and revealed the fading scars.

  “Tobi!” I protested. I opened my mouth to correct her, but she shook her head almost violently.

  “No, Em. No lectures today.”

  “You can’t expect me to keep quiet when you say things like...”

  “Em!”

  I stopped and stared.

  “Emily.” Her voice softened, causing tears to rise to my eyes again.

  I got up off the chair and moved over to her bed, settling myself on the edge of it. “Yes, October?”

  She reached out and laid a hand over mine, tears flowing down her cheeks. Her lips trembled and she shook her head, face very pale, then turned back to the window again.

  “Tobi? October, please. What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Please...”

  Her hand gripped mine too tightly. “I’m just... sorry. So sorry.”

  Fear mingled with the nausea inside me. “Tobi, please...” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Please.” I hardly knew what I was even asking. But it was all too awful. It had to stop. My stomach itself was lead now.

  “Em... you don’t know... just... how things were.” She pressed one wrist to her forehead and winced, seeming to squeeze her face shut.

  “Tell me, then.”

  She squeezed my hand tighter still. “You don’t know... why I came.”

  I caught my breath. No, I didn’t. “Why?” I choked.

  “Oh, Em.” Her shoulders began to shake, and she pulled her hand away from mine and covered her face. “Sweet Em.”

  I watched as she sobbed, feeling so very helpless. I’d give anything to make her stop—to get her up and back to being my October again. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything at all.

  I climbed closer to her on the bed and slipped my arms around her. She pressed her hands on my shoulders and laid her head on my chest and cried.

  I felt my heart break and heard my voice tremble as I whispered, “I love you.”

  She cried harder. “I know. I do.”

  I was glad she knew. So very glad. But I still longed to know what was wrong. What could be so terrible? I thought I’d known the worst the other night. What else was there? I felt hot all over, fearing what I might hear next. “Please, Tobi,” I whispered.

  For a long bit she was quiet, and the only sound was her ceiling fan, spinning around as she kept resting her head against me.

  “I thought I could be different here,” she whispered. “I thought that... where nobody knew me, and where I was away from everything, and out in the country—especially with you, and Jax, and everyone being so kind... I thought... maybe I could change.”

  My fear increased with every word. I wanted to scream for her to tell me what she was talking about, but instead I just kept listening.

  She took a shuddering breath and pulled out of my arms. At first she looked down at the blanket, tears staining her pale cheeks. Then she forced her eyes to meet mine, glassy with tears and as frightened as a child.

  “I came here for that. To try to change. Because...” Her voice quivered. “This isn’t the first time I’ve done it.” She pulled up her sleeve again.

  Sickness rose again in my stomach. I forced myself not to look, to keep looking into her eyes, meeting the fear and despair that flowed from them.

  “I was diagnosed with chronic depression and borderline personality disorder three years ago. I just can’t handle my emotions. When it gets bad, I get afraid, I can’t breathe—I feel like no one will ever love me and I’ll always be alone. Like I’m an island separated from everything else in the world, with no way to build a bridge. And I can’t stop. I just keep panicking until I’m... frenzied.”

  I opened my mouth but she held up a hand.

  “Let me finish!”

  For a moment we just kept staring at each other, then she breathed and started again.

  “I started cutting when it got so bad I couldn’t stand it. I had nightmares about being killed, raped, hurt, about people I loved dying, about being lost in a maze and never finding my way out—everything you can imagine. I’d wake up crying and not able to get back to sleep. Some nights I forced myself to stay awake all night. Dad knew about all of it, but he—couldn’t help me. I went to psychologists, counselors, I took medicine—everything. We sat down and talked about me coming out here when it was so bad there was nothing else to try.” She breathed heavily, lowered her voice, and finally looked down. “When I tried to kill myself.”

  I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even cry. I only felt horror, and shock, and disbelief.

  “I just... couldn’t take it, and I got one of my scarves, and I...”

  “Tobi!” I cried.

  She looked down. “Anyway. Dad found me. I was in the hospital for a week. He thought being out here for the summer would help, and so did my doctor. Jon—Pastor Ulrich says I was wrong to tell you. And maybe I was. But... I feel like such a liar! Living here, with everybody caring for me so much, and nobody knowing what a mess I am, because I hide it. I always hide it. They asked me to teach Sunday School, you know. After that one time. But if I accepted, I knew that meant a background check... and that meant everyone knowing about what happened. And sweet Emily... I never wanted you to know any of it. I never wanted to hurt you.” She covered her face again and dropped back onto the pillow.

  I was speechless. Tobi—dear, wonderful, beautiful Tobi. Everything she had just said was such a lie. Everyone did love her. The magic and the joy and the smi
les were somehow as much truly her as all the darkness and the insecurity.

  I lowered my head and again prayed inwardly. God. God, help my Tobi. Help my sister. Please help me know what to say, what to do.

  And please don’t let me throw up.

  She kept sobbing. “I’m so sorry,” she said again.

  I spoke firmly, though it came out more tremblingly than I’d intended. “Stop saying that. You haven’t done anything wrong!” A tear spilled onto my cheek. I hadn’t even realized I was crying.

  “I shouldn’t have burdened you. I should have never come here... brought you and Jax down! I should have stayed where I was. You’d all be better off if I were gone...”

  “October!” I cried, and went on talking without giving her time to stop me. “You stop that right this minute. I won’t hear it. You must never say such a thing again. I love you! Don’t you know that? Don’t you understand. I love you. Jax loves you. Pastor Ulrich loves you, and I know your aunt and uncle and your father love you. But even if you don’t believe any of them, believe it of me—I love you. So don’t say that. Ever.” I spoke passionately, not caring that my tears came out in my voice. “It’s a lie. All of it. You are worth anything you might have put us through—and you aren’t a liar, we really do know you. I know you. Oh Tobi...” I began to sob, and we both cried in silence for awhile.

  When I had calmed my sobs enough to speak again, I grabbed her hand and brought my prayers to my voice. “Dear God, I know you love Tobi more than even I could. I know you do. Please, please help her. You know she’s not—believing the truth, how beautiful she is, how wonderful you made her, how much we love her. Show her that, please. Just... oh God, please help her. I love her so much.” I was crying too hard to say amen, and Tobi was crying too hard to say anything at all. She squeezed my hand.