Hydraulic Level Five

by Sarah Latchaw

  My jaw dropped. “You spent Alonso and Sofia’s money on drugs?”

  “No. My other parents.”

  I blinked in surprise. He very rarely mentioned his birth parents, unless he couldn’t avoid it. “Oh. I forgot about the trust fund.”

  He smiled bitterly. “I wouldn’t touch it for anything else. Wasting my mother’s money on my own self-destruction seemed fitting.” Samuel’s eyes iced over, chilling me with their strangeness. One, then two tears spilled over my cheeks and I wiped them away beneath my sunglasses. Samuel dug around in my glove compartment and handed me a paper napkin.

  “So you left,” I sniffed, angrily rubbing at my eyes with the scratchy napkin. “You chose it over me.”

  The frost left Samuel’s pleading eyes. “I didn’t see it that way—my head was all screwed up. Right before I left, I tried to stop, so many times. And each time I tried, I failed. You have to understand how my mind worked. The very thought of dragging you into my hell was repulsive.”

  “But you just left. You didn’t even give me a choice—you took that away from me.”

  “How would you have chosen?” he asked quietly.

  “I would have stayed and fought, of course. We would have got you better, together.”

  “No. You would have sacrificed yourself for me, and you would have lost.”

  “I guess we’ll never know, will we?”

  “I know. You were twenty, Kaye. I would have destroyed you, along with myself. You just don’t do that to someone you love.”

  “So you left to keep me from being a casualty to your destructive behavior, only you destroyed me, anyway. Being two years younger didn’t make me naïve or weak.” Anger pressed against my chest. I straightened my back. “Samuel, you have to get it into your head that when you shield people—me, Danita—from the big bad world, you cause more harm than good. I’m not even going to start stewing over the implications of this, because all I want to do is dig out your old baseball bat and beat you with it.”

  He fell silent, allowing me some peace. After a while, he exited the Jeep and carried the crates of welcome baskets into the hotel to give me space.

  He said he left because he didn’t want to drag me down with him. But he didn’t let me choose. What in Tom’s name had he been thinking?

  Sure, Colorado had its pot-heavy air. Heck, my dad used to light up when he thought I was napping. But I had to admit, I knew next to nothing about hard drugs. The only knowledge I’d gleaned was from articles I’d read online months after my trip to New York as I tried to make sense of Samuel’s behavior. They had explained the physical implications but not the cognitive. Why was he so sad, and why had he hidden that sadness? Had he believed I was so fragile, he couldn’t rely upon me?

  I could only understand if I asked. When he finally returned to the Jeep twenty minutes later, I pounced before I chickened out. “Samuel, I’m ready to ask my one question.”

  “Go ahead.” His blue eyes warily skimmed my face.

  “Did you really want to leave me?”

  Please say no, please say no…I squeezed my eyes shut, braced for his answer. So I felt, rather than saw, his fingertips brush my damp hairline, slowly coming to rest under my chin. His warm breath hit my cheek, then my mouth. For a frightening, fleeting moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. I held my breath, my fingernails digging into my thighs.

  “No.” His voice was soft on my ear.

  My eyes popped open. He was right there, bright blues inches from mine. My heart pounded wildly, echoed in my ears, and I couldn’t think with him so close. I backed away and asked him to repeat it.

  He must have sensed my distress because he also leaned back, his hand falling from my chin to his lap. I suddenly felt like an idiot for panicking.

  “Of course I didn’t want to leave you, Kaye,” he sighed. “How could you possibly think I’d ever want to leave you after I spent years doing everything I could to keep you next to me?”

  I frowned. “Um…because you told me you didn’t want to be married to me anymore? Was there any other way to interpret that?”

  “No, I said I couldn’t be married to you anymore. Never once did I tell you I didn’t want you.” His frown mirrored mine.

  “The whole ‘leaving’ thing kind of implied the ‘want’ aspect, don’t you think?”

  Samuel held up a calming hand. “Let’s not argue semantics. Truly, the only thing I understood that summer afternoon was I had to get as far from you as possible.”

  I shook my head, unable to wrap my brain around what he told me. “Once you got clean, why didn’t you explain any of this to me?”

  “It’s a rather convoluted story,” he said, trying miserably to lighten the mood. “It’s also a third question, which I’ll answer next week if you ask. That furrow between your eyebrows tells me I’ve given you more than enough to ponder.”

  “You’re wicked.”

  “So you’ve written.” He grinned that stellar grin and tapped his forehead. Charmer. I conceded, knowing he was right about needing time. His story was a field of prairie dog holes to stumble through.

  As we delivered the rest of the baskets, I struggled to reconcile the Sam I thought I’d known with the Samuel he’d just introduced.

  He had loved me, but how had he loved me? He obviously valued our friendship, very much, and wrote to remember because he felt its loss so keenly. He told me he wanted it back. But there was a difference between romantic love and friendship love…more and more, I wondered if Samuel had confused the two. Perhaps the drugs simply quickened the destruction of a marriage already doomed to fail. Perhaps that was why, once he got clean, he never came back.

  Samuel sat silent beside me, arms folded over his chest. The late afternoon sun bounced off of his dark head as he watched the hazy outskirts of Lyons through the window. The hairs on his olive arms shone. I used to smooth my hands over them, tug them when he teased me. I used to clutch his bicep and lean against his solid shoulder while we watched movies, his other hand weaving into my hair, pulling me to him. A dull ache flared within me, a longing particularly painful on quiet nights alone in my apartment. Despite my anger, right now I wanted nothing more than to feel the warm lines of his long, lean body tucked against me on my sofa, complications be damned.

  “Do you have plans tonight? The extended family descends tomorrow, so you might like a quiet evening before then. The ghost hunting show is still on the table, and I can whip up a taco salad.”

  His smile was all apology. “I’d really love to, but Caroline’s flying in tonight and I need to pick her up in Denver. She decided to return a day early.”

  Oh, right. His girlfriend. “Why didn’t you say anything? We could have gone on to Denver and saved you the backtrack.”

  “I’d rather pick her up by myself, Kaye. We have some issues to sort through as well, and it would be easier with just the two of us. I’m sorry.”

  My face fell, his rejection stinging. Of course Samuel didn’t want a third wheel. He reminded me he’d fly back to Lyons any time I wanted—even if it was just to watch TV and eat taco salad—and that appeased me, slightly. But my stomach still twisted at the thought of Samuel and Caroline working through their issues…kissing each other, whispering apologies, holding each other tightly. Jaime had better be digging up dirt on her. I needed a distraction from the revelations swirling through my head.

  He hadn’t wanted to leave me, but in that warped, protective way of his, he’d thought leaving was for the best…

  Every inch of me felt lighter…and heavier. How much of our marriage’s disintegration could be blamed on the sadness and drugs, and how much on plain dysfunction? This bothered me as much as the idea that he didn’t want me because, in the end, it still meant we had failed each other.

  It was eleven o’clock when I crawled into my father’s basement guest room in Lyons. A bizarre idea flitted around, blocking me from sleep…as much as Sam rationalized and reasoned, did he organize his thoughts or ma
ke lists of the lies he’d told, the things he kept hidden? The idea was funny in a horrible sort of way, but it was so Samuel. I could see him feverishly typing away on his laptop, creating a spreadsheet.

  I wondered what such a list would look like…

  He’d hidden the drug use, first and foremost.

  Also, Samuel had hidden his unhappiness under the guise of stress, at least until he left.

  Ice raced up my spine at the thought of him deliberately lying to me. I wondered what other lies he’d told. And then, with shame, it occurred to me that he wasn’t the only one. I should be keeping my own list.

  That wasn’t such a bad idea.

  Opening my laptop, I took a page from Samuel’s anal-retentive book and began to type out a list:

  My Lies (forthright and by omission)

  1. LIE: I’m a lesbian.

  TRUTH: Lie told in rash decision to stick it to floozy and ex-husband.

  STATUS: Continued because of strong dislike for floozy and success in her retreat. However, Jaime thinks floozy knows truth. Agree.

  2. LIE: I had nothing to do with Mickey-gate.

  TRUTH: Prank conducted to embarrass ex-hubby and throw wrench in floozy’s publicity plan.

  STATUS: While PETA still causes problems, fervor has died down and both floozy and ex are aware of lie.

  3. LIE: I had nothing to do with drag picture.

  TRUTH: Obtained picture from Danita.

  STATUS: While ex (presumably) does not know of picture, floozy claims to have squelched media exposure.

  While I was being honest, I might as well acknowledge I did each of those pranks because I enjoyed getting a rise out of Samuel.

  4. LIE: I hate Samuel’s books.

  Hmm, gray territory. This lie hadn’t been told so much to Samuel, friends, and family, but to myself.

  TRUTH: Not hatred, per se. The Last Other is actually really good. And while I’m confessing, I’ve had time to finish Samuel’s book, I just don’t want to—not sure why.

  Along those lines…

  5. LIE: I didn’t have time to change my name back to Trilby.

  TRUTH: I had nearly seven years, enough said. Why didn’t I? Was it the finality? Giving up a claim to the Cabral family? May require further introspection.

  6. LIE: I didn’t think Samuel was perfect.

  TRUTH: Uncertain about this. However, Mom and Samuel claim I thought he was. Also may require further introspection.

  7. LIE: I’m glad Samuel has moved on.

  Wow. Could I truly be happy if he was with another woman, given the woman was a good match for him?

  TRUTH: I might be glad if the woman he moved on with wasn’t such a harpy.

  8. LIE: I’m not angry anymore.

  TRUTH: I like to believe I’ve moved on, but every time I think of New York, I want to claw out Samuel’s eyes. If that’s not anger…

  Ah, and then there was the New York “lie by omission.” Amazing, how the list grew.

  9. LIE: I never traveled to New York to see Samuel.

  TRUTH: Told Dani and Molly I hid it because I was embarrassed and hurt—truth? I think so.

  And the last one. I almost couldn’t write it, because making it more than a hurriedly-answered question under Danita’s pressure meant I’d have to face it, eventually. And facing it meant facing Samuel. Yet it flowed from my fingers:

  10. LIE: I don’t love Samuel anymore.

  TRUTH: Is it possible to stop?

  There it was: my list of confessions. Now what to do with it?

  The bottom few made me heart-heavy. A part of me almost hoped Danita or Molly would tell him the truth so I wouldn’t have to. Another part wanted to fall out of love with Samuel and move on before I ever had to face it.

  A little past midnight, I locked my laptop and snuggled under my blankets in the black, windowless room, glad to have exorcised so much on “paper.” I was on fire. Unstoppable, solving the world’s problems as puzzle pieces fell into place. I began to believe that maybe Samuel was wrong—that we really could just sit down and hash out all of our issues in one go, rather than this plodding one-question-at-a-time method. So when Jaime called at nearly one a.m., I stumbled for my phone and answered with passion, ready to uproot the Manhattan yuppie once and for all.

  “What have you got for me on Caroline?”

  Silence.

  “Jaime?”

  “Wow, Trilby, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re coming down from some mind-blowing sex. What the hell have you been doing…Cabral? You both need to get laid so badly, it’s painful to watch.”

  I choked, reining in my exhilaration. “Just sorting stuff I’d stuck on the backburner. What did you find on Caroline?”

  “Do you have your dossier handy? I ran across something in there tonight that I’m kicking myself for missing. It’s your fault, you know. If you hadn’t gone after me at the café like I was plotting to rip off your teddy bear’s head, I would have noticed it earlier.”

  The dossier? Not what I expected. “It’s in my apartment in Boulder.”

  “Hold on, I’ll send you a picture of my copy. Call me back once you look it over.”

  My phone blipped. I opened the file to see the top of Samuel’s drug arrest record glowing in my screen. I scanned it several times, but nothing jumped out. I called Jaime back.

  “Okay, I give up. Tell me.”

  “Well, I puzzled over this one for a while—how Samuel managed to stay out of prison for this drug arrest—the one right after your divorce went through? New York State has extremely tough drug laws, which almost always carry mandatory prison time as part of sentencing. And yet unconnected ol’ Cabral gets away with a slap on the wrist and community service. So I perused the file again. Lo and behold, what did I find?” Jaime paused dramatically.

  “Just spit it out, Jaime.”

  “Fine, caray. Samuel wasn’t arrested in New York. He was arrested in North Carolina. Which means that, after he signed the divorce papers, he barely returned to NYC before scooting down to Raleigh—if he even returned at all. I can’t believe I missed this!”

  I sucked in my breath, only to find I had never exhaled. I patted behind me. When I couldn’t find my bed, I sank to the ground, stared at my wall in disbelief. No. No. Please not her. It had to be a coincidence.

  “And you know who’s from North Carolina?”

  “Caroline?” I rasped.

  “Caroline.”

  Chapter 17: Horizon Line

  When looking ahead for potential waterfalls,

  paddlers will notice a line where the river falls away.

  The harder it is to see the bottom of the drop,

  the steeper the drop will be.

  THERE ARE KEY EVENTS in our lives which mark imminent change. Accepting a diploma. Attending the funeral of a loved one. Witnessing a friend walk down the aisle. Suffering through a divorce. It’s expected. But there are little, everyday events that whittle away at who we are, steadily shaping us into someone different, for better or for worse. Things that cause our perceptions to shift.

  I thought it might be one of those days when, for the first time, I downed strong, black coffee without the fixings…and didn’t flinch.

  When I pulled into the Cabrals’ driveway bright and early Friday morning, workmen already swarmed around the extensive lawn like bees, manicuring and pruning hedges, scrubbing siding, making way for tomorrow’s onslaught of reception vendors and guests. I wove around them, careful not to stumble over my already awkward, sleep-deprived feet. Danita would kill me for being half-dead during bridesmaid spa time, a.k.a., Connie’s Nail Salon on Lyons’ Main Street. I’d have to sneak in a nap before Hector picked me up for the wedding rehearsal.

  But now I needed to see Samuel before the bridal buzz engulfed the day.

  Samuel left me just before fall semester of college began. I went to New York in September, then filed for divorce. According to Jaime’s dossier, his NYU grades slipped all of that semester, even with Al
onso and Sofia there. Given his drug history, the poor grades were understandable.

  At some point during the semester, he met Caroline Ortega—an associate editor with Berkshire House Publishing. Or had he known her before he moved to New York? Did she help him get an eleventh hour NYU admission?

  He ignored Jaime’s repeated phone calls, letters, and emails to discuss divorce proceedings. Finally, he contacted her after New Year’s and said he wanted to sign the papers in person.

  We divorced late January. Samuel was arrested in North Carolina for drug possession in mid-February. Why was he in North Carolina when spring semester should have been in full swing? Was it because his associate editor was from Raleigh?

  Next logical question: Why ditch classes just to visit your associate editor, and right after a nasty divorce? But if said associate editor was more than an associate editor…

  I kicked a rock that had escaped a flowerbed, sending it skipping across the driveway. Attacking a rock was better than attacking husband-seducing debutante tripe. In the light of day, I told myself that Samuel needed friends, too. But why did it have to be her? Had he been attracted to her from the moment he met her, and ran to her when he was free to pursue a relationship? I couldn’t see him doing that, but I also hadn’t believed Samuel was amped up on coke lines.

  I spotted Queen Bee Sofia up to her elbows in dirt. White columbine and delicate blue flax encompassed Mamá Cabral as she pushed back her floppy straw hat and waved to me with a gloved hand and spade. Her wavy black hair was loosely braided over her shoulder, her curvy frame swam in denim overalls.