Echoes Between Us

by Katie McGarry

  “I’m going to let you borrow the equipment you need to do your assignment.” Max slides to the edge of his recliner, and the chair tilts forward with his weight.

  He looks at me, and that stomach sinking goes to a whole other level as he gives me the sad, pathetic pity-eyes. Oh, God, he knows, and horror causes me to become paralyzed.

  “Max,” I try, but my tongue is twisted. My heart is beating too fast, and he either doesn’t hear me, understand my desperation or doesn’t care because he doesn’t stop.

  “V, your dad told me about your brain tumor, and I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am. Whenever I see you, you put a smile on my face with how you live life—full throttle. As if there isn’t something foreign in your brain. You give me courage, and I want you to enjoy this project to the fullest.”

  SAWYER

  Sunday Feb. 10: Didn’t cure at all today. Didn’t even have my blankets out.

  Oh Diary dear, I’m in the awfullest fix. Both Frank and Harry are at me. Harry wants me to sit with him, and only him. Frank doesn’t say anything, but he keeps up a “hurt silence” that makes me feel worse than if he’d get good and angry.

  I wish Veronica would have gotten angry with me. Really, I wish she would have stopped. But she didn’t stop. She walked home and that didn’t sit well with me.

  I had hauled the crate of Max’s equipment and the duffel bag to my car, placed it in my trunk, and there she was, leaving. I hurried, drove up beside her, but she told me to leave. I agreed with what she said to me, it wasn’t a far walk, but I’d brought her there and it seemed like the right thing to do to be the man who drove her back, but she asked me to leave, even adding a please.

  It was the way her blue eyes ached with the please that caused me to leave. She had said a total of six words to me, but I wanted more. Needed more. But her hurt expression told me to go so I did, and now I feel like an even bigger ass. I let a girl with a brain tumor walk home alone.

  Evelyn lived over a hundred years ago and I understand her completely. Sometimes silence hurts more than words.

  A shove of my shoulder and Sylvia sits in the patio chair beside mine. “Hey, stranger. What are you reading?”

  “Nothing.” I roll Evelyn’s diary into a tube again. I’ve done it so often that the sides are starting to curve on their own.

  We’re at Sylvia’s house, hanging in the backyard. Miguel does a front flip from the diving board into the in-ground pool. When he hits the water, there’s a round of shouts and cheers of approval from our group of friends who are either lounging by or in the pool.

  There’s about twelve people here. The combination of the group of guys I hang with and the group of girls she hangs with creates what my mom calls my tribe. At the grill, Sylvia’s dad cooks sliders, and through the open patio doors of the kitchen my mom, Miguel’s mom, and Sylvia’s mom are laughing as Mom pours all of them another glass of wine. Several other moms hover around the main three, jockeying for position to have their glasses filled and to be closer to the gossip.

  It’s late, probably nearing midnight, and the pool is lit up by multiple lights within and around the pool. In the shallow section of the water, Lucy jumps from the steps leading into the pool, but then quickly doggie paddles back to safety. She has water wings on her arms as she is equal parts fascinated with pools and terrified of them. Strange since the only love affair I have is with water and jumping.

  “I can’t wait for you to move into the neighborhood,” Sylvia says. “It’s going to be like this all the time instead of just on the weekends.”

  Mom’s laugh is so loud that several of my friends turn to look at her. Lucy frowns at the sound then sits on the stairs of the pool and plays with her mermaid doll.

  Sylvia grins ear to ear as she watches the commotion in the kitchen. “Your mom is the best. I want to be the life of the party, too, when I’m knocking on the door of fifty.”

  Sylvia told everyone our sophomore year that she’s a lesbian at a get-together just like this. I already knew the news, so did Miguel, and we told her in eighth grade it didn’t change our friendship. When she told everyone else, we stood beside her, shoulder to shoulder in support. But her declaration hit everyone else like a shockwave.

  The adults in the room were frozen, like we were all stuck in the Ice Age, but then my mom walked across the room and hugged her. That one hug woke everyone else up, including Sylvia’s parents, and ever since then, Sylvia’s been a loyal supporter of my mom. Oftentimes more friend to her than she is to me. I get it, but it can be annoying.

  It doesn’t help that while Sylvia’s parents love and support her, they still have conversations with her about whether she’s “sure about her choices” or if she’s “really given guys a chance.”

  I don’t tell her my mom tries to get me to go out with her on a biweekly basis. With the way she worships Mom, that’d break Sylvia’s heart.

  “I hope I have a body like hers, too,” she continues. “Your mom is ridic with how fit she is.”

  Sylvia looks over at the other girls in swimsuits and readjusts the spaghetti straps of her bikini like she’s unsure how her body compares, which is stupid. She’s on the girls’ swim team, could swim laps around my mom and is one of the few who can keep up with me in the pool. So she has muscles—that’s a good thing.

  “Your mom said she’s not going to put your pool in until next year,” Sylvia says.

  “Yeah.”

  “Now that you’re finally back to swimming again, I need someone to challenge me in my workout. Want to do laps together this week?”

  “Sure.”

  “You didn’t go to swim practice today. How come?”

  “I had things to do.” I was learning how to communicate with ghosts, and then I spent time driving around trying to wrap my head around life. Actually Veronica’s life. She has a brain tumor, and from the way that guy talked, at least talked around it, it sounds like it’s bad.

  “You’re quiet.”

  Brain tumor has a way of shutting me up.

  “Why aren’t you in the pool now?”

  I nod in Lucy’s direction and watch as she tries to put on goggles. I’m tempted to help as the straps need to be adjusted, but I give her space to see if she can figure it out on her own. “She needs a set of eyes.”

  “Yeah … but typically you swim with her.”

  I shrug. “Not in the mood.” Brain tumor. God, what is that like?

  Sylvia fiddles with the undone button of her jean cutoff short-shorts. Underneath is her bikini bottom and I wonder if this means she’s going to hit the water again. “I told your mom you’d be upset.”

  That causes my eyes to jerk away from Lucy to Sylvia. “What?”

  “Don’t play it off. We’ve been friends for too long for that. I told your mom and my mom that instead of making this big plan behind your back to make sure you’re in a good group for the senior project that we should have been up front. You’re aware you need good grades to stay on the swim team, and you know how tough this project is going to be. But your mom thought you’d be offended. That’s stupid, though. Why wouldn’t you want us to help? There was no reason for your mom to go behind your back. I told her you’d figure it out, and that she should have been honest from the start.”

  Not at all why I was quiet, yet my eye ticks. “Why didn’t you tell me the plan?”

  She fiddles with her button again. “Your mom asked me not to.”

  Once again, I wish there was separation in my life between my mom and my friends.

  “She didn’t want you to think she didn’t believe in you.”

  She doesn’t believe in me, and obviously, Sylvia doesn’t, either. “So you all had a big meeting about me and didn’t feel I should be invited?”

  “That made you sound whiny. Everyone was here, hanging out, and you weren’t. It’s not like we were sent a coded message and had to stay up late at night with our decoder rings figuring out when we could meet in private to discuss yo
u. Why you weren’t here? I don’t know, but don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been pulling back from everyone since you broke your arm. And neither Miguel nor I believe the whole you-broke-your-arm-on-the-pool-deck.”

  I bristle with the correct accusation. “I was lying in pain on the pool deck, wasn’t I?”

  “Miguel and I had been doing laps together all day and we never saw you there.”

  “I had just gotten there.”

  She levels her pissed-off glare on me. “You’re lying.”

  She’s right, I am, and I look away, back to my sister.

  “What’s going on with you, Sawyer? You used to be like your mom, the life of the party, and now it’s like you turned yourself off.”

  Grades, swim, Mom, Dad, Lucy, jumping, not jumping, AA, moving, money, brain tumors … “I can do the project.”

  “I never said you couldn’t. We expect you to take part of the project…” She trails off, and my skin twists around my bones. I shouldn’t have continued this conversation. There are some things better left unsaid. “It’s just that there are times that the project is going to move super fast. It’s better that you’re with me and Miguel so we can plow forward and do those parts of the project and then you can do the other parts.”

  The easy parts, she means. I work my jaw. Who wants to be told they’re a charity case? To have so many people talking behind my back makes me feel like crap.

  “Please don’t look like that, Sawyer. You have to admit that this is a huge project and that you struggled all year to keep your English grade up last year. None of us want to watch you go through that again. Your mom wants the best for you. We all do.”

  By not even letting me try to rise to the challenge. “This decision was never yours or my mom’s. It should have been mine.” I stand, put the diary in my back pocket and Lucy glances over at me with the movement. “Ready to go home?”

  Lucy takes off her water wings like that’s what she’s been praying for me to say and starts up the pool stairs. I grab a towel, but before I step toward my sister, Sylvia scurries to her feet and catches my arm. “Don’t be mad at me. I told them you’d be angry, and it’s the reason I’m talking to you about this now. If we would have talked to you about this from the start, you would have understood.”

  Would I have? “I’m not mad.”

  “You are, and I understand why, just don’t be mad at me, okay?”

  Hurt flashes over Sylvia’s face, and that makes the annoyance grow that I have to, once again, suck up my emotions to make someone else feel better. But she’s been my friend since I moved to this town, and she’s had to deal with enough people’s animosity and judgment so I swallow down my anger. “I’m not mad at you.”

  She nods like she’s accepting my answer even if she doesn’t believe it. “Mom said something about lighting the bonfire. Are you sure you don’t want to stay? We can roast marshmallows with Lucy. I know how much she likes that.”

  Mom laughs loudly again, and my skin crawls. I need to get out of here because I’m tempted to confront Mom about her lack of faith in me, but I know that’s the worst route to take. Yet Sylvia’s looking at me with expectation so I do my best to soften the blow. “It’s late, Lucy’s had a long week and she hasn’t slept well.” She’s woken up with a nightmare nearly every night. Not as bad as the first night, but she still wakes in tears.

  “Will you swim with me tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.” Because that will make her feel better, but it’s the last thing I want to do as I need space.

  Lucy’s dripping from head to toe so I wrap her like a burrito, then because it makes her laugh, I toss her over my shoulder. Friends shout good-byes as I go into the house, and Mom and Hannah, the moment they see me, stop their intense conversation that included lots of giggles.

  “Yes?” Mom asks like I’m a pest.

  “We should leave. Lucy’s tired.”

  “Lucy, do you want to go home?”

  I readjust Lucy so she’s on my hip. Her thin arms wrap around my neck, and she nods as she places her head on my shoulder.

  Mom sighs as if annoyed, but then Hannah reaches over and pats Mom’s hand. “Let them go. I’ll take you home later or you can sleep over in my guest room.” Hannah winks at Mom. “We have to finish our medication so we can make it through the week.”

  They cackle as if that was the best private joke in the world. About to tell them to go to hell, I snatch my backpack off the floor, spin on my toes and go for the bathroom in the hallway.

  “Don’t be like that,” Mom calls out. “Come back and at least stay for a hamburger.”

  “Yeah, come on, Sawyer, stay,” Hannah joins Mom in a singsong voice, and I feel like the butt of too many jokes. There’s whispers then more laughter.

  I hand Lucy her nightgown to change into, nudge her into the bathroom, and wait for what seems like a lifetime for her to change. She eventually emerges with her wet bathing suit in her fingers, her dry clothes on her body, and her arms held up to me in an unspoken plea.

  She’s getting too big for this, but she’s my little sister and she’s tired. I swing her up on my hip and she nuzzles into me as we head for the front door.

  “God, he’s been so moody,” Mom says as I step out into the night and away from her.

  VERONICA

  What a crappy day, and my English teacher’s response to my email isn’t making it better:

  Veronica,

  I’m sorry you’re having a difficult time finding a group to work with, but I am adamant about you being a part of one. I understand you have a topic that you’re passionate about, but maybe once you do join a group you could persuade them to switch to your topic.

  If you don’t have a group by Monday, I will assign you to one.

  I hate my life.

  It’s nearing midnight, and I’m sitting on the steps of the front porch. I put down my cell and take my first drag off my lit cigarette. It’s a nasty habit. One people like to tell me will kill me, but their words of wisdom make me chuckle. I’m going to die regardless.

  I don’t do it often—rarely really. As in close to never. Only when life has become a bit too much, Dad is gone and loneliness has gotten the better of me. The cigarettes are easy to find. Dad used to smoke like a chimney then quit when Mom was first diagnosed, but he still has one or two when he plays poker with friends.

  To be honest, I think that’s why I smoke them. At least just light them and then have one or two drags. I don’t like it enough to actually smoke the entire thing. The smell makes me think of Dad, and right now—I want my father. Really, I would love to hug my mom and have a good cry, but she’s not around tonight. Today flat-out sucked and the loneliness hurts.

  Yes, I’m having a pity party, for once. Tomorrow, I’ll pick myself back up, dust off the nastiness and start all over again.

  I look at the glowing cigarette then sigh heavily. This isn’t making me feel better. Nothing will, and smoking only creates guilt and will cause a headache later. I grind it out on the sidewalk then smash the rest out with my boot.

  Our street is dark, quiet. The moon creating a silver sheen over the old houses. Down the block, a car turns in my direction. It slows as it approaches, then parks. That’s Sawyer’s car, and in the backseat is the silhouette of a child in a car seat.

  Sawyer exits the car, gathers Lucy from the backseat and carries her up the walk. She’s sound asleep, her body dead weight in his arms and she rests her head on his shoulder. I stand, move ahead of him and open the main door.

  As he passes, our gazes briefly meet, but I quickly glance away. He knows my secret, and I’m not okay with that. His car keys jingle as he tries to shift his sister and punch in the code to his apartment. Taking pity upon him, I ease past and enter Dad’s code to unlock the door.

  Why he seems surprised, I don’t know. Technically, I’m more owner of this house than he is. Sawyer mumbles a thanks, and as I go to leave, he quietly says, “Will you stay?”

&nb
sp; Seriously? Stay? No, I really don’t want to, but I guess it’s better that we get this conversation out of the way. “I’ll wait on the porch.”

  “In here,” he whispers. “I can’t be far from Lucy. She’s been having nightmares.”

  “You need to invite me in,” I say as dread fills my stomach.

  “What?”

  “I won’t come in unless you invite me.”

  With an expression that screams he thinks I’m crazy, he says, “What are you? A vampire?”

  “Maybe.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You can come in, and when you do, hit a light for me?”

  I enter first, flick the switch on the wall and notice the mounds of boxes lining the walls. It’s not at all homey, and I can see why Lucy has knocked on my door twice this week. Her brother and mother, though, called her away before I could let her in.

  Sawyer goes into the front bedroom, the one with the turret, and I have no idea what to do with myself. The soft light flicks on in the room, and I’m drawn in by the pink tint. I bet Lucy’s room is cute yet instead of heading that way to find out, I peek into the kitchen in the back of the house. It, too, overflows with boxes, and then I wander to the other side of the house to where the bathroom and other bedroom is. That room is filled with lots of dress clothes hanging on portable racks and a huge sleigh bed with too many pillows. This must be where his mom is crashing.

  I return to the living room and make the conclusion that the narrow room that lines the side of the house, the one originally built for a small library or office, is Sawyer’s. Inside is a mattress on the floor and an open suitcase of folded clothes—like he doesn’t believe he’ll be here longer than a week.

  Murmurs from Lucy’s room, and I lean upon the arm of the couch, acting as if I’m not spying, but I am. A smile crosses my lips at the wonderland inside. Lucy has a canopy princess bed. The kind that nearly every little girl dreams of. Beautiful sheer and sparkly material hanging from pole to pole. Butterflies meander across her ceiling thanks to a rotating nightlight and there’s an entire zoo of stuffed animals in and surrounding Lucy’s bed.