Since We Last Spoke

by Brenda Rufener

  Aggi digs into her pocket for her phone and swipes the screen frantically. Her eyes flutter. “Shit! Grace wanted to come home. I missed a message from Dr. N and five million from my dad. I need to get home now!”

  42

  Aggi

  I HATE LEAVING MAX IN the parking lot—alone—but Grace can’t be home without someone looking out for her. Max insisted he stay, even made it sound like it was his idea. “I need to be here when Henry and Jen show up.”

  The drive home drags as Abigail and Umé feel the heaviness weighing me down in the back seat. Umé pulls into the driveway and says, “Are you sure we can’t come with you?”

  I promise everything will be fine, and Umé insists I text later. As soon as I hit the bottom step of my porch, voices boom. Loud shouts followed by my mother’s shrill cry. The front door is locked, so I dig into my pocket for my keys, but before I retrieve them, a voice calls from behind me. “Aggi? Is everything okay?” Max’s dad.

  The door swings open, and my dad fills the space in front of me.

  “Where in the hell have you been?” he shouts, and the door across the driveway slams. I wish Mr. Granger had waited longer for an answer.

  I push by Dad, scanning the living room for Grace. Mom stands by the unlit fireplace, one hand on her hip, the other bracing against the brick. “Mom?” She doesn’t turn around as I pass. That’s when I catch a glimpse of Grace, huddled against the wall near the table with my buds in her ears. She’s hugging Cirrus to her heart while the cat squirms and tries to escape. One of Kate’s old scarves wraps Grace’s neck. I wave to get Grace’s attention, but her eyes are glued to the back of the cat.

  “Gracie!” I shout. “Let’s go!”

  Dad meets me toe-to-toe. “You didn’t answer me,” he says. “Where have you been all night? I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “With friends,” I mumble, grabbing Grace’s arm and pulling her toward me. She plants herself on the hardwood, drawing lines in the dust with her feet as I desperately urge her to stand.

  “Your phone is worthless if you’re not going to answer it.”

  Dad’s harsh words pierce my heart. This is where the fights always end up: blaming me for not picking up the phone the night of the accident. News flash, Dad. You didn’t pick up either.

  Grace jerks her arm from me and scoots under the table. “Grace,” I say, “we’re staying at Dr. Nelson’s tonight.”

  Dad stomps forward. “You’re not going anywhere! Grace wanted to come home, and we want her here with us.”

  The anger bubbles inside me. Why? To fight in front of her? Avoid giving her the attention she needs? Become the perfect little stick family we believed we once were?

  I point an accusatory finger at my father. “All you do is fight.” My voice echoes. “I heard you in the driveway! Why would you do that in front of Grace? She’s under the table wearing earbuds.”

  My father mumbles, and I smell tonight’s beer on his breath. His eyes are red, but I can’t tell if it’s alcohol induced or if he’s been crying. Probably both.

  “Dad.” I try to steady my voice and keep it calm. “Please stop fighting in front of her. She’s hardly ever at home anymore. Why would you waste precious time?”

  Dad shakes his head like he’s trying to remove the words I’ve spoken from his memory. He orders me to my room.

  “No!” I shout, pushing past him. He grabs my elbow, and the tight grip on my funny bone jolts my arm with pain. “Stop it!” I shout, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Just stop! Dad, please!”

  “Let her go!” a voice rings out, high-pitched and full of rage. “Let her go now!” I expect to see my mother but instead see Grace charging us. She pounds her fists into Dad’s back. He turns, wobbling from the beer, and before I can dive in front of him to protect my sister, his arm flies up and accidentally knocks Grace onto the floor. At least I hope it was accidental. Grace lands on her bottom with eyes the size of saucers, teeth shivering in fear.

  “See what you made me do?” Dad shouts, spittle hitting my face.

  “Made who?” Mom steps forward, and for a minute I think maybe she’s going to scoop Grace into her arms and protect us from who my father has become since Kate died, but she starts yelling about what’s wrong with him, how he’s turned into someone unrecognizable.

  I run over to Grace and wrap my arms around her. “Are you okay?” I whisper, crawling beneath the table. She rocks quietly, hugging her knees, and I promise her things will get better. As I’m whispering to Grace, I realize I’m promising myself, too.

  More shouts. Fingers pointed, cocked with guilt.

  My head pounds with chaos, but I shield my hands over Grace’s earbuds and hold my sister as tight as she’ll allow.

  Before long, Dad’s back in my face slinging accusations. “You were with him! That’s why you didn’t call me back. Just like you were with him the night his brother died. If you hadn’t been with him . . .”

  I refuse to scream; I can do that later in the woods.

  I refuse to run; Grace needs her big sister.

  I refuse to cry, but my tears ignore my pleading.

  “It wasn’t our fault,” I murmur under my breath. “It wasn’t anybody’s fault.”

  I stare blankly at my father, and as he continues to rant, I block his words with mine. “You’re wrong,” I say. “It was an accident.” When I look at Dad’s face, the lines running parallel on his forehead, etches spilling from the corners of his mouth and plummeting toward his chin, the truth surfaces. It’s been visible for months, but tonight it’s under a spotlight. Dad, afraid of what will happen if Max and I find each other again. Dad, afraid of losing control like Kate lost control of the car that spun on the ice. He believes he won’t lose me if I’m under his restraint, but the more he tries, the more unreasonable, uncontrollable he becomes.

  I crawl out from beneath the table and call to him calmly. “Dad.” I don’t know how to continue or even if I should, but I have to explain that what he’s doing is destroying his family. “Dad.”

  He turns toward me as a fist pounds on the front door. “Aggi! Mr. Frank! Open up!”

  Max.

  43

  Max

  HENRY INSISTED THIS WAS a bad idea, and I reminded him that we spent the better half of the night running from the choice he made to take the truck keys belonging to his brothers. Henry’s response: “Well, I did lose my virginity tonight, so there’s that.” I’m afraid Henry’s going to be using that line for the remainder of the year.

  “Max,” Henry says as we’re climbing out of Jen’s car. “Your dad and your mom are on the front porch.”

  I glance over at my house. “Max!” my dad shouts, and I ignore him like he’s ignored this situation for too long.

  I march up Aggi’s front steps, Henry following behind me. Mr. Frank’s voice blasts as I raise my fist and hover it over the door.

  “You sure?” Henry asks.

  “Max!” my dad shouts. If he wants to stop me, he’s going to have to confront his own fears.

  I nod at Henry, my heart revving in my chest, and pound on the door, shouting, “Aggi! Mr. Frank! Open up!”

  By my sixth knock, the door swings open and Mr. Frank’s bloodshot eyes pierce mine. Across the driveway, my dad shouts my name again, but I force myself to hold Mr. Frank’s gaze.

  Words I should have spoken a year ago fly from my mouth. “I came to see if Aggi’s okay.”

  Mr. Frank’s glazed eyes. My father’s shouts. Henry, breathing hard from the steps. Grace’s whimpers from somewhere inside the house. An engine growing louder on the lake road. My dad, again. Cal, Kate, Aggi.

  My hands squeeze into fists.

  “I am here to see Aggi!”

  44

  Aggi

  WHEN GRACE HEARS MAX’S VOICE, she jumps to her feet and Cirrus leaps from her arms, zigzagging across the living room floor, scrambling for the door. Grace shouts for Cirrus, and Mom squats to block the cat from darting outside.<
br />
  Dad turns, witnessing the commotion, and I catch a glimpse of Max at the door. “What the hell is he doing here?” Dad asks me, pointing accusingly.

  “I told you why I was here,” Max answers.

  Cirrus cries and hisses. Mom lets the cat go, and Cirrus zips between Dad’s legs.

  “Goddamn cat!” Dad shouts, kicking Cirrus onto the porch.

  Grace screams and rushes for the cat, but Cirrus leaps from the steps and disappears into the darkness.

  Dad yells, “You get off my property or I’m calling the police,” but Max won’t back down.

  “I’m not going anywhere, sir. . . . I need to see if Aggi’s okay.”

  “Nobody’s okay,” I snap as I stare at my dad. He’s surprisingly calm now, so I continue. “I was at a party tonight on the lake. Grace fell into the water—or maybe she jumped—I don’t know, but Max dived in and saved her.” My dad shoulders the wall, and I inch toward Max. “If Max hadn’t been there . . .” I hesitate, watching my dad’s face contort. All the lines I saw earlier now blending together. His eyes water.

  “Get out of my house!” he shouts, and his shoulders and body slump, as if the words have drained his energy.

  For a second, I’m unsure whom Dad is ordering out of the house, and when I look at Max, he nudges toward the door with his head. The urge to run swallows me.

  I glance back at the living room, searching for Grace. Mom sits stiff on the couch, hands clutched in her lap, mumbling how sorry she is. Mom—similar to Dad—only has energy enough to focus on one daughter at a time: the one she lost.

  How I miss my mother. Her hugs. The scent of her flowery perfume rubbing against my face, lingering long after I fall asleep. I walk to her and kneel, whispering, “I know you’re sorry, but you don’t need to be. We just need you. I need you. Grace needs you.” Her eyes unlock from her hands, and I clutch her bony fingers. “I love you, Mom.”

  Dad’s crying hard now. A hand spread across his face. I call Grace’s name, but there’s no answer.

  “Let’s go, Gracie! Get your coat! Time to head back to Dr. Nelson’s!” I have no intention of driving to Dr. Nelson’s house at this hour of the night. I plan to drive around the lake until Grace falls asleep in the car. Then I’ll text Umé and see if she’d mind houseguests for the night. But I need to find Grace so we can leave this house.

  As I pass the front door, the orange Chevy flares in the drive and the twins spill out, flanking Henry. He towers above them. “Max?” I say, and signal with my thumb.

  Then I scan the room again for Grace and race up the stairs, leaving my dad slumped against the wall, holding his head in his hands. I won’t let him stop me this time. I should have done this months ago.

  When I reach Grace’s bedroom, the door’s shut and locked. “Grace?” I call, knocking on the door. “Open up. Time to go.”

  Nothing.

  “Come on, Grace! Get your coat! We’re leaving!”

  Silence, followed by Dad’s boots on the stairs.

  “Aggi!”

  I draw a deep breath, turn, and face Dad leaning against the railing at the top of the stairs. “I’m taking Grace back to Dr. Nelson’s. We’re both going to stay there awhile. You and Mom need time alone. Time to sort things out.” My voice is steady, even, the truth stuffed inside me. I want to beg him to go back to counseling and get the help he needs processing the suffering he feels. My parents can’t do it alone. My dad has alienated himself, and my mother, from everyone who might help ease their pain. But Grace and I can’t stay here and hope they’ll one day improve. I’ve lived their limitations for a year. Tonight, I’m leaving, but not without my little sister.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Dad says, walking down the hallway toward me. “His family wants to hurt us. They keep hurting us. Don’t you see that?”

  Dad’s dangerously close but his voice surprisingly flat.

  Feeling encouraged, not by his words but that he’s speaking instead of yelling, I reply, “Max has nothing to do with your war against his dad.”

  Dad winces and I recoil. “Max is part of that family!” Dad shouts, and the way he spits “that” sounds like a hard-hitting expletive.

  “Remember at the hospital, Dad? You told Kate it wasn’t her fault. You said Cal didn’t die because of her. And Kate didn’t die because of Max, his family, or anyone else!”

  Dad groans, spins around, and smacks the wall. As he turns, I see Max at the bottom of the stairs. Dad sees him, too. Then my mother joins.

  Dad stares at their faces, then back at mine. He shouts, “I miss her! I want her back!” and raises his fist. Max misreads Dad’s clenched hand and charges the stairs, as my father punches the wall next to me, his fist digging deep into plaster, spraying dust into my face.

  “James!” my mother shouts.

  The impact stuns Dad, and he falls onto his knees, shaking, crying. Max grabs me. “Are you okay?” I nod, but I’m unsure I am.

  Max says, “Where’s Grace?”

  I kick at the bottom of Grace’s door, shouting her name, but she won’t answer.

  Max jumps up and wiggles the handle, pounds on the door. “Grace! Baby girl! We need you to open up!”

  My mother stares at my dad balled up on the floor. Her face is sunken, eyes gray. She hasn’t slept a full night since the accident, but it’s only now that I see how frail she’s gotten these past few months. Instead of crumpling to the floor like my father, my mother tightens her lips, and her chest expands as she draws a breath and turns her head toward me. For a second, we connect. Her eyes fixate on my face, then move quickly to Grace’s door as she marches to Grace’s bedroom, kicking the box of nails that explodes on impact. She slams her body against the wood.

  “We need something to open the door with,” I say as Mom slams her shoulder and hip against the door.

  Mom shouts, “There’s a crowbar in the kitchen!”

  Max flies down the stairs as Mom steps back and kicks Grace’s door handle, trying to break it from the wood.

  Dad, huddled against the wall, glances up at us, lifeless, the color drained from his face. “Maybe she’s not there,” he whispers, and I’m certain it’s his way of offering words to comfort me, Mom, himself.

  Dad’s the one who found Kate that horrible morning in her room. It took three minutes for him to bust down the door. Three minutes that will haunt him the rest of his life. One hundred and eighty seconds. Were they the difference between life and death? If Dad had shown up earlier, would Kate still be alive? We’ve all given much thought to those three minutes, but we’ve never talked about them since they passed.

  Grace and I were only a few seconds behind Dad when he stormed Kate’s door. Mom blocked the doorway, preventing us from going in, when Dad shouted on repeat, “Oh my God, no, oh my God, no!” All color from Mom’s face drained, and I knew it was bad, but didn’t know how much until I heard Kate’s body spill onto the floor. The thud plays like a drum in my head, like Dad’s repeated words of shock. Thud. Thud. Thud. When I’m in bed. Thud. Thud. Thud. When I’m walking in the woods. Thud. Thud. Thud. When I’m trying to study. I never want to hear that sound again, or the screams that followed.

  Max flies up the stairs with the crowbar. My mother shouts, “Here!” and yanks the tool from his hands. She wedges the metal shaft into the door, and within seconds, it pops open. “Oh, God!” Mom yells, and my dad scrambles to his feet.

  I peek into Grace’s empty room. Her window is propped open, the cold air rippling her blinds. Dad races for the window, pops his head out, and stares into darkness. The only light beams from Max’s front porch.

  “Grace!” Dad shouts out the window, and Mom orders us downstairs.

  We race toward the front door. On the porch, Henry stands at the railing while his twin brothers sit on the top step like they’ve been ordered not to move.

  Max shouts, “I have to get a pair of boots,” and Henry shoots off the porch, yelling, “I’m on it!”

  I walk bet
ween the twins and check the rockers, expecting Grace to be sitting in one of them, but no such luck.

  Dad says, “Here,” and hands me a flashlight, then turns to my mother. “Emmy, call me if Grace shows up.”

  Mom, slipping into her coat, snaps, “I’m going with you to find my baby and bring her back home where she belongs.”

  Dad’s right, though: we need someone at home in case Grace returns. Max reads my mind and says, “My mom. I’ll get my mom. She’ll come over and wait for Grace.”

  I expect my father to shout, “Over my dead body,” but Dad nods and waves us into the driveway, saying, “We’ll find her. She’s going to be okay.”

  Dad’s words slam into me like a wall of snow. Why wouldn’t Grace be okay? The lake, Grace falling, or maybe jumping, into the water, how she screamed when Dad grabbed my elbow and later kicked Cirrus. I wrap my arms around my head. Even the finest threads holding my family together now fray and unravel. Max steps beside me. “She’s going to be fine. She just didn’t want to hear them fight anymore.”

  Dad stomps to the back of the house, and Max and I follow. Henry jogs across the driveway with a pair of Max’s boots. Once they’re on, Max jogs into the field heading toward the barn.

  The snow sprays a light dusting, and the moon plays hide-and-seek behind gray-and-black clouds. We’re all shouting Grace’s name. My mom, Dad, Henry, Max, and even the twins. We circle the house and split up in the driveway.

  I zigzag through the pine trees standing like giants near the mailbox. Their branches wide and trunks straight as spines. When we were little, Max and I pretended they were guardians of the forest. Giants sent from distant lands to protect our families from whatever imaginary creature lived in the woods. I wonder if Grace thinks about the trees as her protectors. I wonder what she thought before she ended up in the lake.

  “Grace!” I shout, but my voice sinks into the snow like a brick.

  “Grace!” Dad shouts from across the driveway, his voice causing the floodlights on Max’s garage to switch on.