Echoes Between Us

by Katie McGarry

  “Not like you deserve. He’s chasing after you because you’re fun, exciting and different. Living in the world he has, he’s been told what to do and what line to follow his entire life. Meeting someone like you is like seeing the sunrise for the first time.”

  Leo swears under his breath as he lowers his head. “He’s not going to treat you right. He’s going to hurt you, and I don’t want that for you. That’s what guys like him do. Once his hands get slapped for stepping out of line, he’ll hurt you in order to appease the people in his life.”

  His words cut me so deep that I feel as if I’m bleeding from my chest. “Why are you saying this?”

  “Because I care for you. It takes a strong person to be with you and he’s not strong enough.”

  Leo’s type of care is causing my eyes to burn with tears. “Maybe he is strong enough to be with me.”

  His sharp glare flickers to my head, and I’m sick. I’ve seen that look thousands of times over the years. My brain tumor. Leo doesn’t think anyone will ever be strong enough to love me past the tumor.

  “Oh,” I say so softly that it is barely audible, and I hate how Leo’s shoulders relax as if he’s relieved. Like it was a burden for him that I wasn’t catching on to what he was trying to say. A part of me wants to ask him if it’s just Sawyer I should avoid or love altogether, but I don’t. Hearing his answer might very well crush me.

  “Listen … V. The reason I came home this weekend is because I can’t come home next weekend.”

  My forehead furrows. “But that’s when I’m planning Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “I know.”

  “You’ve never missed Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “I know,” he says again. “But there’s something real important I need to do next weekend.”

  “And this is important to me. I scheduled it for next weekend because you said that date worked best for you.”

  “I know.”

  “You promised.”

  “I know.”

  “Are we even friends anymore?”

  His cell pings then. A text.

  Leo stares at me, I stare at him. I will him not to check his phone. In fact, every cell inside me is reaching out and begging him to ignore whoever it is that’s trying to reach him and answer me.

  His phone rings. A ringtone I’m unfamiliar with and when Leo digs out his cell I catch sight of a picture of a girl. A beautiful girl, and a lump forms in my throat. He’s dating someone and it’s not me. He’s making new friends and I’m no longer one of them.

  He accepts the call and it’s like he’s impaled me in the heart with a sword.

  “Hey,” he says with a gentle voice into the phone. “Can you give me a second?”

  He means a second to deal with me, but I don’t need to be dealt with. I force myself to my feet even though my knees are weak. A tug on my hand and Leo’s expression is pained repentance. “It’s just a friend going through a tough time.”

  “Is that what it is?” I demand.

  The way his eyebrows draw together tells me it isn’t.

  “I guess I got my answer on if we’re friends anymore.”

  “That’s stupid. You’re my best friend. You always will be. I came home to see you.” His thumb swipes across my hand, but I don’t feel anything.

  “Give me a few minutes and we’ll talk. Really talk. You’re my best friend, V,” he says again. “That’s why I came home. I don’t want that to change.”

  “Sure.” But I don’t want to be here anymore, and I definitely don’t want to listen to him talk to another girl. He walks off into the night, and I wish for the first time in my life that I had a car and could drive. Pain crashes through my brain. A jackhammer to the skull. I stumble, and as I put my hands on my knees to keep myself upright, there’s a hand on my elbow.

  “V?” It’s Jesse, and I hate how scared he sounds. “You okay?”

  No. “I want to go home.”

  “Do you want to lie down?” he asks. “You can crash here tonight.”

  “No.” A sharp slicing pain that causes dizziness. The swirling overtakes me, and I grip Jesse’s arm so hard that I’m concerned I’m drawing blood. “I want to go home. Now, Jesse. Just take me home.”

  “Okay. We’ll get you home.”

  * * *

  Jesse pulls into my driveway and sighs heavily as he shifts his truck into park. His cell rings again, and we both glance over at its spot in the cup holder. Leo’s face is on the screen. Jesse reaches for his cell, and I’m thankful he ignores the call as he checks the slew of texts. With an even deeper sigh, he powers off his cell.

  Ten minutes into our way home, my cell had started pinging with texts from Leo, and when I ignored those, the calls had begun. I turned off my cell, then Jesse’s cell had started in on the avalanche.

  “Leo wants to talk to you,” Jesse says.

  “We’ve talked.” It’s weird how empty I sound. “Whoever this girl is, is he in love with her? You aren’t breaking some bro-code if you answer. I know about her. At least enough.” Enough for it to hurt.

  Jesse’s head falls back and hits the headrest with a thump. “I don’t know. He came home because he’s confused.”

  I snort and it’s all bitter. I try to find something funny to say, but there’s nothing funny in me. I’m heavy, all over, as if I did sink into the muddy river, and I drowned.

  “He met her at his camp this summer and they’ve been talking since then. She wants things to be more serious between them.” Jesse readjusts as if uncomfortable, and I hurt for him because it has to be tough to be caught between two friends. “He doesn’t want to hurt you, and he doesn’t want this to affect your friendship. I know he cares for you, more than a friend, but he’s struggling with his feelings for you. He’s always struggled with them and—”

  Heat rushes along my neck and I want to vomit. “Stop.”

  “V,” Jesse starts, but I don’t want to hear any more. I want life as it was six months ago. I want my life before my mother died. I want any type of life other than the one I have right now.

  My head is pounding so badly and my stomach is churning so quickly that I bolt out of the truck and focus on getting up the stairs of the porch. Jesse’s door groans open and tears well up in my eyes.

  “Go home, Jesse.” I hate how my voice breaks. My hands shake as I push in the code for the lock of the main door. I don’t want to cry and I don’t want to cry in front of Jesse.

  The door to the foyer opens, and I’m briefly blinded by the bright lights. I blink, and when my vision focuses, I watch as my father races down the stairs. His face is as hard as steel, and he’s barreling toward me like a freight train. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you for the past half hour. You said when I called from the road earlier that you’d would be home by one. I bust my ass to get home and I roll in and find the house empty! Do you know how worried I’ve been? Do you—”

  It’s my dad, and he’s angry, and he’s still yelling and that should bother me, but the pure relief of seeing him causes me to finally let go of the sob I’ve been shoving down since walking away from Leo. I force my feet forward, and Dad stops yelling as I stumble into him and bury my head into his chest.

  “I’ve lost him,” I sob. “I’ve lost my best friend.”

  The migraine becomes overwhelming and I cry, shoulders shaking and tears soaking his T-shirt.

  SAWYER

  Thursday March 21: Cured almost all day. Weight 121 ½ lb.

  One more beautiful day. Oh, I do hope this weather lasts, tho I’m afraid it won’t.

  I was examined by Dr. Ryan today. Some encouragement, I got. I’m still positive and he doesn’t know if I can go home in September or not. Oh Diary, sometimes I don’t believe the game is worth the candle. I’m not improving in lung condition, so I can’t see what good it does me here.

  Don’t believe the game is worth the candle—I had no idea what that meant and looked it up. It means whatever the situation is, it’s not
worth the work put into it. Evelyn felt that way about staying at the TB hospital. That’s how I feel about taking care of Mom on the weekends, and I especially feel that way about our current conversation.

  “Sylvia doesn’t have a date to the homecoming dance yet,” Mom says. “Hannah and I think you two should go together—as friends, of course. It’s time you two get over whatever silly little feud you have going on.”

  “Homecoming’s still over a month away. I’m not her type and she’ll find a date.” I tuck Evelyn’s diary into a notebook and return to the sink. Because this place doesn’t have a dishwasher, I’m elbow-deep in suds. I got creative tonight and made lasagna with Lucy. It was good, she had fun, but I won’t do it again. Too many damn pots to clean.

  “That’s not the point.” Mom’s at the kitchen table. Frustrated with me, she rubs her temples as if I’m giving her a headache, but she woke up with it and it’s made her a witch. “You haven’t joined us at Hannah’s in forever, and it’s noticeable you’re avoiding Sylvia. You’re breaking her heart and that’s not acceptable. I’m still shocked that you chose that Veronica girl over her. You need to get over yourself and apologize. I raised you better than this.”

  “Sylvia’s not an angel in any of this.” Like how she talked about Veronica with her friends in English last week. Loud enough that Veronica had to hear.

  The gossip isn’t just reserved to that one moment in English or limited to Sylvia. It’s everywhere, incessant, and I hear my name being discussed in hushed conversations. The latest gossip I’ve been waiting for Mom to jump all over me about—I must be hanging with Veronica because I’m using drugs.

  “But you probably said worse things and I bet you deserved whatever she said to you. I’m not asking. I’m telling. Make up with Sylvia.”

  My response is the sound of me dropping more dishes into the sink. They clank together and Mom winces with the sound.

  It’s Sunday evening, Lucy’s two doors down with a friend from school and Mom’s at the kitchen table taking a break from working to check my grades online. Since elementary school, this has been my least favorite day of the week.

  “How is it possible for you to have a D in photography? Are you even bothering to take photos and turn them in?”

  “I’m taking photos and I’m turning them in.”

  “Then why do you have a D?” Mom pushes.

  “Because my teacher doesn’t like my pictures.” Irritation leaks into my veins. I take a hundred pictures a week, pore through them and find three that I think she’ll like. Each time she sighs heavily like I’m a toddler that missed the toilet bowl when taking a piss. They aren’t capturing emotion. Translation—she doesn’t like me and we’re both screwed because it’s too late to drop the class.

  “Try harder,” Mom says. “I put you in that class because it was supposed to help your GPA. You’re lucky you’re pulling a low C in English, otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to swim.”

  I have a low C thanks to my project work with Veronica, but I’ve been screwed over by a book we’re reading in class. The audiobook was checked out of the public library and Mom refused to spend the money for the one I could buy online. I’m reading, but I’m behind, which has made the quizzes impossible. Pride’s been keeping me from talking with Mrs. Garcia. If my grade drops to a D, though, I’ll be begging for her to give me more time to read.

  “Your first meet is this week.” Mom’s voice has hit an annoying high-pitched tone that must be used for dog whistles. “How would you feel if you missed it because of your grades?”

  Bad. She knows this, and her being on me isn’t helping.

  “You know the school’s rules. Two D’s in a class and you can’t participate in athletics.”

  I have the entire school policy memorized.

  “Sylvia has had a tough time dating since coming out.” Mom switches the subject, and I can hardly keep up. “She should have great memories of her senior year. Who better to go to homecoming with than you?”

  I scrub the hell out of the pan I cooked the hamburger meat in. “How about a girl?”

  Mom sighs heavily like I’m stupid and not getting the point. “You know what I mean—as friends. You two are close and she’d have a good time with you. Be a good boy and ask her. While you’re at it, be a great boy and get me the other bottle of wine from the fridge.”

  I pick up the empty bottle of wine from the dinner table and toss it into the trash can, but ignore her request. If she wants to drink until she’s so drunk that I have to carry her to bed, then she’s going to have to get up and do it herself. First it was Friday nights, then Saturdays and now Sundays seem to be moving from a two-drink limit to three or four.

  “Sawyer,” Mom says. “The wine.”

  The scowl on my face speaks more than any words could.

  “What? You’re punishing me because I had a bit too much to drink last night?”

  She said it. Not me. I rinse a plate and put it in the drying rack.

  “I work hard, and I work constantly,” Mom continues. “You were gone and so was Lucy so I made a sandwich for dinner. Excuse me for making the mistake of having a low alcohol tolerance and committing the crime of not having enough in my stomach. I didn’t realize I raised you to be so judgmental.”

  “Funny, I thought you did.”

  “You need to get over yourself. Your attitude is awful.”

  I agree. It is.

  “You treat me terribly, you’re treating Sylvia terribly, and I’m betting you’re treating others the same. It will be a wonder if you have any friends left when you graduate.”

  She pulls herself away from her laptop, opens the fridge, and gets the wine out herself.

  “Will you please set up a weekend to see your father?” As soon as Mom sits, her cell pings and she immediately taps a response. “He’s accusing me of keeping you and Lucy from him, and he’s threatening to take me to court. I already have enough things to worry about, and you’re making my life more difficult by not taking care of this for me.”

  “Maybe he’ll pay child support if I don’t go.”

  “Maybe he’s holding the child support because you haven’t gone. I do very well for myself, but you and your sister’s extracurricular activities are expensive. That money from him would be helpful. Plus, if you don’t go, then I have to drive Lucy myself, which means time away from work for me. Do you want me to attend your swim meets? Do you think Lucy would like me to watch her at ballet practices, and then be at her monthly Girl Scout meetings? Don’t you think I’d like to be here for dinner more often?”

  I mash my lips together because she knows the answer. Yes, we do want her with us.

  “Then I have to work so I can take that time off. You realize you haven’t seen your father since this past spring, which means Lucy hasn’t seen him. I’ve got too much going on between work and the two of you to stop everything I’m doing to drive Lucy the two hours to see him. If I have to rearrange my schedule to take her, that means I can’t make it to the important events, so do us both a favor and arrange a time and go see him.”

  “Why can’t the bastard come see us?” I pick up the lasagna pan from the table.

  “Because your dad doesn’t want to see me.”

  I throw the pan onto the counter and it clanks loudly against the wall.

  Dad

  Mom

  Lucy

  Visitation

  Money

  A click I’m unfamiliar with. I turn to see Mom has shut her laptop and her cell is on the table. Her full attention is on me. “What’s going on, Sawyer? This isn’t like you.”

  Only it is me. I’m typically better at hiding it. Jumping would feel damn good right now. The adrenaline rush like last night. The tingles I had from that jump with Veronica stayed with me through the night, but I woke up this morning weighed down after feeling high and I now crave more. “I’m fine.”

  “I know you and your dad aren’t close, and I know how he treats you and Lucy l
ike you’re houseplants that need to be watered on occasion is upsetting, but he’s still your father and that money he sends is helpful. I can’t make a case against him on the money if he can make a case against me that I’m withholding visitation.”

  I try to focus on cleaning the dishes, but my thoughts are so scattered I can’t concentrate.

  “Tell me you’ll take Lucy and you’ll visit him,” Mom insists.

  There’s a huge abandoned quarry a half hour from town. It’s got a drop the size of Manhattan. It’s the kind where I lose my breath before the impact with the water.

  “Tell me.”

  “I’ll take her.”

  “Good. Now that’s resolved, I want to finish our conversation about your choice of partners for the English project. I understand you probably said yes to this girl because she did us a favor with our rent check, but Sylvia is so hurt over this, and with your photography grade in the gutter, I think we should rethink the situation. It’s a yearlong project and I’m betting most groups haven’t gotten that far. Plus, I’m hearing rumors. I’ve heard that the only reason anyone hangs out with this group of people is to do drugs. Should I be concerned about this? Should I take you to have a drug test done?”

  “I’m not doing drugs.”

  “But you’re acting so erratically. Maybe that’s the problem.”

  “I guess you trust Sylvia more than you do me. If that’s the case, tell me where to get tested and I’ll go and prove you wrong.”

  “Maybe I should,” she pushes. “All of your problems are because of this girl. Can’t you see this? She’s hurting you, changing you, and it’s destroying all that’s good in you. I had a long talk with Hannah about this, and I think she’s right. I’m going to contact the school and demand that you be switched into Sylvia and Miguel’s group.”

  I spin, not caring as suds fly across the room. “Can you leave one damn thing in my life alone? Or do you enjoy treating me like a puppet?”