Never Said
Page 10
angry bullied frustrated annoyed isolated broken-
hearted abused anxious overworked
the same as anyone else.
We aren’t allowed to show pain.
If you complain
you’re made fun of.
If you say you’re too tired
too bored
too far behind
someone will say “Suck it up.”
annie
Making a change now
could be
dangerous.
Could be bad
for my health.
Losing weight.
fewer doughnuts
less candy
no nighttime snacks
empty drawers
I think of that thin girl
in the reflection
at school,
the thin me.
Then I think of Tommy
and
others
the
Other
and I’m scared. Scared.
Today
I don’t want to be with anyone
except Sarah.
annie
“Tell me how this all
started with Tommy,” she says.
Tell me.
sarah
We’re sipping tea. Eating the last of our doughnuts. Annie speaks. The kind of monologue where I can tell she’s not saying everything.
First it’s, “We’re not going to Dad’s dumb party.”
She sounds eight years old and I laugh, relief flooding through me. No violin! No duet! No people to push through, be introduced to, to try to talk to.
“If you don’t,” I say, “I won’t either.” I sit back in the seat. Close my eyes. Taste sugar on my lips.
Wait.
“Guys,” Annie says. “They’re so dumb. Even Garret.”
Even Alex? I almost want to ask Annie what she thinks but this is her time. Her story. And for once I don’t mind hiding my own from view.
“Yes, Sarah,” Annie says. Her eyes are so green in this gray world. She’s finished that second doughnut. She swirls her tea around in the cup. There’s a dark red lipstick print on the lid. “Garret was a fool. Is a fool. He doesn’t deserve you. To dump you because his mom said so. You two had a great thing.”
My heart has moved into my throat.
“I’m sorry it happened.”
An older lady pulls up next to us in the parking lot. She has on a cream-colored coat (is cream even a color?) and she seems like the only bright bit out there today. She walks into Dillard’s.
I’m so grateful to hear Annie say this about Garret. How I didn’t do anything wrong, I don’t know whether to bawl or laugh.
“Jared had a crush on me.” Annie looks out the window like she’s driving. Hands on the steering wheel and everything. “The guy from your sign language class?”
“Okay.”
“And Ben was always there. Whenever Jared talked to me, there was Ben. It was strange.”
It’s snowing now. Icy sleet, really. A truck sails out of the parking lot and to the red light, almost rolling into traffic.
“Guys,” Annie says. “They can be real jerks. Young and old. All of them.”
And our talk is done.
annie
They were Dumb and
Dumber
Bumbling around
And I shouted no
shouted at Jared to leave me alone
And he did.
sarah
Girls,” Dad says late that night. He slaps his hands together, rubs them like he can create a fire. “We’re expecting a crowd.”
“No children this time,” Mom says. She looks beautiful today. Relieved. Like the Tommy knowledge has freed her. “Thank goodness. No one ever watches their kids.”
I look up from my laptop at Annie. Mom is exhilarated. At her best. She’s had the cleaning ladies over, ordered all the food and wine.
Dad folds the New York Times, picks up his phone that’s beeped at him. It runs his life, that phone.
“And you too, Sarah,” Dad says. “No more of this shy stuff. I need you to push through and be your best self. This is important to me. Executives are coming in from Florida. We all need to shine. Okay?”
“Dad,” I say. There’s a fist where my heart used to be.
“Didn’t I tell you?” Annie says, “We’re not going to be here.” She’s in her jammies. Showered already. No one knows, but she was in the basement on the treadmill.
“I’m out of shape, Sarah,” she’d said earlier when I let myself in to chat with her. She grinned when she spoke, sweat dripping off her face.
Now our father looks at both of us. For a moment I envision him before success, before shy and overweight daughters. In my memory he looks like he used to. Like he did when we were more important than money. Gosh, he used to laugh with us. I’d forgotten that.
He says, “You’ll be here.” He glances at me. Eyes Annie. “Both of you.” He’s pointing. Emphasizing the words. “This is a family affair.”
Dad doesn’t wait for an answer. Just leaves. Where’s he going this late? I hear the door to the garage open then close.
Annie and I look at Mom. That fist is pounding in my chest. Pounding at my ribs. This is all too much for me.
“Sometimes . . . ,” Mom says and then she stops herself. The tired mom I’m used to shows up again.
Then Dad is back. Standing in the doorway of the front room.
“Daddy,” I say. I don’t mean to sound scared.
“Annie. Sarah,” Dad says.
We all stare at him. “Look. I’m sorry. I’ve lost myself.”
He steps closer then backs up.
“This crap you’ve been dealing with at school, Annie. Your mother told me about it last night and I should have been there for it. For you.” He stops talking. “I should have known. Stopped it.”
I glance at Annie, who stands there with her mouth hanging open.
“But I’ve let work get in the way. I’m so sorry.”
He opens his hands to us, palms out. I’m too surprised to answer.
“You don’t have to do it. You don’t have to do anything. But if you’ll forgive me, both of you, for not being here for the last little while . . .”
Mom makes this sad sound in her throat.
It’s our old father standing there. The one who used to spend time with us. Took off work and insisted we stay home from school so we could do things with him.
A hush goes over the room. Annie looks at me. I nod at her.
“Daddy,” Annie says, “you’re forgiven. And of course we’ll play for you and Mom. It’s our tradition.”
She runs to him. Throws her arms around his neck. He rests his head on hers.
“I’ll try,” I say. “I’ll try.” I’m welcomed into the hug.
annie
He expected more,
Wanted more,
Asked for more,
And I gave it.
annie
Hands
grab
pull
want
ask
demand.
“If you loved me. If you loved me.”
I wake, a scream tearing out of me.
In the dark I can see a slice of my face in the mirror.
I don’t want to be alone.
Not anymore.
The club.
My parents?
For sure, my sister.
Can I make these choices?
sarah
That night, after the doughnuts and time with Annie, the hugs from Dad and then Mom, all of us together, I dream of snow. Too much. Fast-falling. Blinding. It fills my mouth. I’m freezing to death.
Annie pokes me awake. At first I’m not sure if this is part of my dreaming. I squint at her.
“What?” I’m trembling from cold.
“Let me in bed with you,” Annie says.
Her voice is low and I wonder if steam comes from
her lips or if that’s my imagination still in this room.
“Okay.” I slide over, and Annie gets into bed.
She’s a heater. She warms my cold feet, cold hands, snuggles against my back.
I’m almost asleep, positioned the way we used to scrooch up to each other. In fact, I’m dreaming of snow again. And a black tree that grows tiny buds of leaves.
Annie whispers, “Sarah, I’m afraid.”
I jerk awake.
“What?” I ask.
But there’s no answer.
friday
sarah
When we get into the car (warmed already!), I’m surprised at a handwritten note.
“Look at this,” I say. “It’s a thank you. From Dad.”
Annie stares at me, the car idling. She tilts her head a little, like she can’t believe what I’ve just said. “What?” She grabs the paper from my hand. Reads the words I’ve seen, “Thank you, girls. I love you both,” then stares at me again.
“What is going on with them?” Annie says. She’s whispering. Reverent. “Did you notice Mom was civil? More than civil?”
I nod.
There is something strange about what’s happening in our family. This change in Dad just as Annie decides to lose weight and I decide to no longer think of Garret. All of us shifting at once. Is it in the air?
“Sometimes,” Annie says, still looking at me, the card in her fingers. I can barely hear her over the heater. “Sometimes I think everything will be okay if . . .” She pauses, “. . . If they would just be okay with who we are.”
I nod. Yes. I know that feeling. That please-let-me-be-who-I-am-and-love-me-still feeling.
We’re backing out of the garage. She’s handed me the card and I hold it against my chest. It’s like warm weather has filled the car.
“He was human last night.”
Last night.
Annie coming into my room. That dream. This card from Dad. All strange.
We head off down the road. The sun is bright, the sky clear. The snow reflects the light and is blinding.
“I’m glad,” I say. “We’ve all been so . . .” I can’t think of the word.
“Off?” Annie says.
“Broken.”
“Yes,” Annie says. “That’s it.”
I tuck the message from Dad into my backpack.
Mr. Freeman stands in the driveway, looking in the direction of the sun.
“Why doesn’t he go inside?” Annie says.
“He’s so old.”
I glance at Annie as we drive past Mr. Freeman, who doesn’t look in our direction. Something about him makes me feel sad. His loneliness maybe? My loneliness?
“Does he have dementia?” I ask.
“Who cares?” Annie says. Then we’re racing to school again.
annie
Today, after classes, we’ll meet.
There are nine people so far.
Kids I’ve spoken to about this
who might need it.
Nine without any real advertising.
How’s that?
I know for a fact everyone at school could come here.
But they won’t.
They’re too good to admit
we’re all the same.
They are like I used to be.
annie
I peek in at Sarah
during Sign class,
watch my sister.
I can see she’s a natural.
She looks
happy.
Unafraid.
Like she did yesterday
when we were in the car
together.
There’s a difference in her face.
A calm.
A thought floors me.
What it would be like to be afraid
every
minute?
Not only at night?
sarah
I get a text from Dad, asking me to work for him that afternoon. He even comes to school to pick me up after classes are over.
“I need you to do some last-minute filing before people arrive tonight,” he messages. “We’ll be taking them through the office to see everything. You can make a couple extra bucks. What do you say?”
“Sure.” I’m nervous, but if I’m in the back, things will be fine.
“Let Annie know I’ve taken you so she doesn’t sit around and wait.”
“I’ll tell her,” I say.
When we drive to the office, Dad talks about the people coming in from out of state. And how this deal is going to grow the business. And thank you, Sarah, thank you for helping me.
“Listen,” he says. “When this is done, we’re doing something as a family. Just the four of us. A vacation. No phones. Just our family.”
Tears form in Dad’s eyes.
“I owe you an apology too, Sarah.”
Then he pulls me close in a hug.
I don’t speak. Just feel the warmth of his arms.
“Will you be okay?” he asks, releasing me.
“Sure,” I say.
“I’ll come back to pick you up later,” he says.
I nod and take the box of paperwork from his car and into the building.
Paul is behind glass walls with a young couple who have a baby in a car seat. Has he sold them a house already? They all look pretty thrilled.
I can smell coffee and someone, somewhere, has made popcorn.
I’m working away not thinking of anything really, except the violin piece that I can’t get out of my head. My fingering, bow strokes, timing all play over and over in my brain. I have to admit, it sounds pretty good. Both in real life and in my mind.
I’ve been working at least an hour when Emma Jean stops in the room.
“Hey, Sarah,” she says. “Have you seen your father?” She languishes against the doorjamb, her long blonde hair (extensions, I’m sure) falling forward and says, “I’ve been searching for him all day.”
Just like that, with the way she asks, I wonder if more is going on with Emma Jean and Dad than selling houses. I think of the times I’ve seen them together here in the office: Her smiling when he comes in the room. Her hand on his arm when they’re together. All the times he’s left the house late at night. All the phone calls. All the messages.
Were they to Emma Jean?
A family vacation.
Family time.
My fingers tremble, and the paper in my hands shakes.
Is she having an affair with my father? I think of that card. His apology last night. The promises now. Could this be?
Does Mom know?
Would Dad do that?
And what about Annie?
Does Annie know something I don’t?
“Sarah?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I mean. The airport.” I can’t look at her without thinking . . . without thinking icky things.
“That’s right. The possible merger.”
How could she forget that? It’s all Dad’s been talking about. I bet the rest of the office has been talking as well. It means big things for everyone. Expansion. More money.
“Gotta go,” I say. I push past Emma Jean.
There’s really no place to go with my handful of papers, so I hurry to the bathroom. My father with this woman? It bothers me so much that I hurry into a stall and do all I can to calm my stomach. Then I pull on my coat and leave the building. I realize those papers are still on the counter in the restroom. Not good. Though I was nearly done filing.
I’m going to get fired, but I don’t care.
I gotta go.
I walk down Main, climbing over snowbanks as the wind tears at me, wishing the sidewalks were clearer. Wishing I didn’t know what I think I know. Wondering how Mom will feel. Something has grabbed my guts, and maybe our lives will never be the same again, hugs and promises and whatever. And just when I thought they were getting better.
The traffic is horrible. A car beeps as it zooms past. Already my cheeks are numb and my ears bu
rn. I should have called Annie. Asked her to give me a ride home.
Everything, everything whirring through my mind points to an affair.
I try to calm the vomit feel in my stomach.
Is this why Annie hates working there?
I breathe deep the air that might freeze my lungs, the air that smells of exhaust.
A red BMW pulls up next to a snowbank and I walk like I can’t see it. The window rolls down and there’s David. He’s smiling. Wasn’t he in the office?
“Hey, Sarah,” David says. “What are you doing out here? The weather’s awful.”
That’s a good question. I have no idea why I’ve left. I just know I have to get home. I’m sick with worry. Or just plain sick.
“Are you headed to your place?”
I nod.
“And there’s no one here to take you?”
I shrug.
A semi passes, splashing slush in my direction. There’s a baby seat in the back of David’s car.
“I can take you home if you want. I have to go pick up my kids from the sitter anyway — Lisa has to work late. Do you want me to take you?”
I don’t answer. A moment later I hear the door unlock. I climb into the car. He turns the heat on high and we drive off.
annie
When I get home from school
the house is quiet.
The perfect kind of
quiet.
Mom is gone
(finalizing things? Picking up
last-minute items?) and Sarah
must still be at work.
I go into the kitchen and
do what I do best.
Make myself
salmon,
couscous,
I even steam carrots and Brussels sprouts.
I pile the food onto my plate, go into the living room,