A Cold and Quiet Place

by Alison DeLuca

  She still can’t move. Lily hears the quick patter of his footsteps, a door opening and closing with a crash. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I’m alone. Getting it out now.”

  Lily shuts off her phone, throws it onto the floor, and covers her face.

  The carpet, when she comes back to reality, is rough against her cheek. Lily lies on the ground of her bedroom. She’s run away from everyone – Pete, Maria, her family. Now it’s just her and the carpet, soaked with tears she can’t seem to stop.

  Because none of them, not even Vincent, are what she wants. Her desire for Tyler is a fist in her gut that overwhelms school, friends, family, even her sport. It’s all meaningless without him. Pete’s betrayal is the final seal in her despair.

  Tyler may have been hard to deal with, but he never called and expected Lily to show off in front of a crowd. It was the opposite with him – Lily was precious, sealed away from the world in a glass case. He told her she was his future. They were going to get married one day. He gave her a ring. So she had to text him a lot – what was the big deal?

  Why did she ever break up with him?

  Lily crawls over to her closet and finds a box she hid from herself after the break-up. The flaps are duct-taped shut, and she breaks a nail as she rips open the carton.

  Inside are the precious souvenirs left over from a relationship. A valentine he wrote: Hey, idiot. Guess I gotta give this to my dumbass girlfriend. Later, when she complained, he told her, “It’s just a joke. Jesus Christ. I thought you would understand. Give me a fucking break, guess you don’t have a sense of humor. What, you’re so in love with me one little insult makes you sad?”

  “No.” At the time, Lily had forced herself to smile. “No, of course not. I’m fine.”

  At the bottom of the box, under his college sweatshirt, Lily finds a tiny, velvet box. She picks it up and holds it against her cheek. For a moment she’s back at Prescot, warmed by the sun as Tyler handed her the ring.

  She’d give anything to feel his smooth skin against hers, taste his rough kisses, hear his husky voice over the phone. It’s the sound she misses, not his words: “You’re too sensitive. Any girl would be happy to go out with me, and I chose you. And you’re gonna to give me shit about what I do? Or don’t do? Cut it out. You have no idea what you sound like. What you look like. So ugly when you yell, your face turns this weird color, it’s disgusting.”

  She has to see him. Lily sobs as she scrambles for her phone where it’s landed in a pile of her sneakers and scrolls to Facebook.

  The picture with Bree is gone. Tyler’s profile is a publicity shot of him in the water mid-butterfly. Long, powerful arms propel his body down the lane.

  Lily sits up, frowns, and scrolls back until she finds a link to Bree’s page. Single again, the girl has written. Guys are such players! So sick of bullshit! Her friends have added messages of encouragement under the post: You don’t need him, His loss, You tell him what’s what or I’ll make him stop talking shit.

  So Tyler and Bree have broken up. His feed, when Lily scrolls back to the page, says nothing about it. Instead, there are posts about how much practice sucks and how there’s not enough time to do all the damn homework the profs pile onto athletes. He’ll be an Olympic swimmer one day. Why the hell should he worry about crap like physics?

  Before she can think, Lily has typed out a text. It’s simple, friendly, no more than a question: How r u doing? The words float on the screen as her finger hovers over Send.

  Should she? It would be so easy to return to the way things were, to have a direction. Go to school, text Tyler, go to class, text Tyler. Tell him how great he is. Agree she needs to work on her athletics, her looks, and her study habits. It would mean a return to being inferior, sub-human… Sobs rip out of her throat, and all Lily can think about is Tyler. She wants – no, she needs – him back in her life.

  “Hello?” Mom stands at the door. Lily looks up, and her mother’s face crumples. “Oh, my God. What – what happened? Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. I should have been here…” Her words die out, and she comes into the room.

  “I’m fine.” Lily’s words burn her throat. “Just leave me alone. Get out.”

  “I can’t. Sorry, but I just can’t do that.” Mom’s voice comes out as a strangled whisper, and she slumps onto the bed. “You’re so pale. How long have you been crying?”

  Lily’s mouth quivers. “For the past six months, I think.”

  “Oh.” Mom collapses onto the bed and hides her eyes in one sleeve of her turquoise sweater. For a minute they stay in silence: Lily on the floor, her mother coiled on the quilt.

  She has to say something, anything, to make Mom get out so she can be alone and send the text to Tyler. If she makes contact with him and wins him back, everything will be fine again. “I’ll be okay. Promise. I just have to work harder, you know, try to fit in at school.”

  “No. You can’t do this alone.” She covers her face with both hands and mutters something about needing a full glass.

  “A full glass of what, mom?” Lily feels fresh tears on her lashes. “Vodka? That’s how you handle everything, right?”

  “I thought we could help you through this by being a good family, but it’s not working.” Mom sits up, thrusts fingers through her thick hair, and twists the dark mass over one shoulder.

  “It’s all my fault. Right? Dad curses all the time, you drink too much, poor Vincent burst into tears the other day, and it’s all because I brought this poison into our house. Just say it – this is all because of me.” Lily’s forgotten the fallout from her relationship, how months of catering to Tyler’s demands made everyone in the house, not just her, go south. Lily’s chin trembles as she holds up the phone so her mom can see the unsent text. It’s the last attempt at reclaiming a system of torture so old and familiar it’s almost become comfortable.

  Mom breathes out as Lily erases the words on the screen, brings up the list of Contacts, and blocks Tyler’s name. He’s no longer her jailor or her refuge. With slow, careful movements, she gets off the bed, crouches close to Lily, and puts one arm around her shoulders.

  “I love you so much,” her mom murmurs into Lily’s hair. “Too much to sit by any longer and watch you crumble into pieces. You’re staying in our room tonight, and tomorrow I’m taking you to a doctor.”

  Lily starts to protest, but her mom shakes her head. “No, Lily. Baby, I can’t lose you. We have to go and find you real help.”

  19

  “I guess Tyler just wanted more than I can give.” Lily pulls her knees to her chest, uncomfortable even on the padded leather sofa. Across a low table, Dr. Nnamani nods. “He was never satisfied. I tried to support him as much as possible – tweet the meet results, Like all his Facebook posts, and always be there with a supportive comment on Instagram. But it was hard. I was tired from staying up all night…”

  Dr. Nnamani raises one finger. “Could you just tell me more about why you were up all night?”

  Lily attempts a light-hearted laugh. It comes out as a miserable squawk. “Oh, you know. Boyfriends, right? They always want to know where you are, or what you’re doing. Tyler used to Facetime me all night. We’d put our iPads on our pillows and fall asleep together. But,” she adds, “he got mad at me for things I’d done. Often I didn’t know what they were. He wouldn’t answer when I asked him. I’d have to Facetime him and say his name, over and over, until he forgave me and he’d talk. Then we were fine again.”

  “Did you ever discover what he thought you had done wrong?”

  The sofa is cold against her neck as Lily slumps back. There’s no real answer.

  “Let me ask you another question, if you don’t mind?” Lily shrugs, and Dr. Nnamani writes a few words on a legal pad. “Can you go back and tell me Tyler’s demands, but from your viewpoint?”

  The questions are too difficult. How can she find the right words to describe such a slippery situation? “I tried to support him the way he wanted,” she repeats. “Once, over the
summer, I decided it was time to break up. But it felt like he could read my mind. As soon as I made my decision, he showed up at our house. It was – freaky. Scary.”

  “It’s true some people are very good at predicting others,” the therapist comments, “and often abusers have that ability. They concentrate on their victims and look for any little sign of strength. In their minds, personal growth is extremely threatening. We’ll go over this in-depth, but I’d still like to concentrate on you. You changed your mind when he appeared on your doorstep?”

  Lily nods. She was so weak. All it took was one little visit and she gave up any idea of leaving Tyler.

  “Your viewpoint.” Dr. Nnamani repeats.

  Lily bows over her knees so the therapist can’t see her expression. Her palms are slick with sweat, even in the chilly office. “I was tired,” she mumbles. “Got exhausted. I’d try and try, and it was never enough. Told him he was the greatest boyfriend ever, the best swimmer I ever met, and it didn’t make any difference. He wanted sex but not to kiss me unless it was making out and a blowjob. I felt disgusting. If I had been prettier, or older, or a better athlete, he would have wanted me. We could have gone back to the way it was in the beginning.

  “Things were perfect back then.” Lily’s eyes are starting to fill with tears as she talks. “He was so supportive, so sweet at the start. I’d never met anyone like him. But when he went to college, it all changed. If I didn’t text him before and after my classes, he’d go ballistic. Knew my schedule, too. One day I forgot to charge my phone, and he didn’t talk to me for six and a half hours afterwards. Said it was my fault. I had to keep sending him messages all the time until he agreed to answer. It was a constant test, and I didn’t know the right answers. Like a horrible nightmare when you go into a class and there’s a big exam, and you realize you haven’t cracked a book all semester? You ever dream that? Because I lived it.”

  Overhead, a distant machine hums. Maybe it’s the heat, kicking into action. Lily feels wiped out, drowning under the weight of her words. Until they are spoken, she’s had no idea how lost she felt.

  “Thank you for telling me this.” Dr. Nnamani makes a few more notes and rests her chin on one index finger. “Do you mind if I ask how these events made you feel?”

  The breath in Lily’s chest stutters. “Feel right now? Like I’m in the ocean and there’s a tidal wave coming at me. No way to escape.”

  “That’s helpful, but can you tell me more about the past when you felt you had to text Tyler all the time and Facetime with him all night? What were your reactions? It might be easier to start with your physical response.”

  Lily feels numb, a limp balloon filled with sadness.

  “Nothing?” Dr. Nnamani clears her throat. “Any sickness, pains, trouble sleeping, eating…”

  “My stomach.” The words punch out of her from a place Lily almost forgot. “My stomach. It hurts. All the time.”

  “I see.” The therapist’s voice is gentle. “For how long has this gone on?”

  Lily knows exactly when it started, but it’s difficult to say. Once Mom read her The Little Mermaid. In order to be with the prince, the mermaid had to turn her tail into legs. Each time her foot touched the floor it seemed as if she trod on sharp knives, or so the story went.

  “Tyler,” she whispers. “It started the night I met Tyler.”

  ◆◆◆

  Therapy has to fit between school, homework, and practice. There’s no time for anything else, so perhaps it’s better Lily doesn’t have a social life. A good day is when she makes it through a couple of hours without crying. A really good day means a phone call from Erica or a few words with swimmers at the Y.

  At practice, Maria insists again on breaking down Lily’s stroke. As a result, swimming is a gray flow of worsening times and constant repetition. When Lily complains, Maria brushes her off and says the times are exactly where they should be, tells Lily not to be worried.

  Each day Lily gets up at 5 AM, looks through the window at a black sky, and dresses in her suit to go and practice. She can barely remember why she does it.

  The sets Maria has on the practice sheets are intense and make Lily ache right down to the bone. When she reaches the edge of the pool, she has to grasp the edge with slippery arms and fight for air. Her breathing sounds like death, and she wonders if she’s about to puke up her breakfast.

  Again.

  Maria squats between two of the practice boards, pristine in a white cotton shirt and khaki pants. Lily can see the creases on the coach’s knees. “You have a visitor,” she says.

  Is it Tyler? Lily can feel panic in her chest. Before she loses it, a large shape blots out the watery light from the neon tubes above. Dark skin, even teeth, grizzled black hair threaded with gray.

  “Your stroke looks good.” It’s Robert. He grins at her and steps back as she climbs out of the water. “Don’t look so shocked – I’m in Jersey for a clinic.”

  “Oh.”

  Water slides down Lily’s skin when she climbs out of the pool to shake his hand. When she shivers he pulls a squashed, lumpy object out of a bag. “Here. Brought you this as a reminder.” It’s a big orange and black towel: Prescot colors. The school crest floats in the center.

  Lily pulls it around herself and relaxes in warm, dry terrycloth. “Thanks. The new stroke looks okay, huh? My times are crap, though. Sorry – I mean they’re not good.”

  His deep, rich chuckle echoes through the open space. “Of course your times are crap. I’d be kinda worried if they weren’t. I see you’ve got a new, longer reach, especially in that last set. In a year you’ll be at the top of the pack.” Robert nods when she frowns. “Now, I’m not talking smack here. Next year you’ll win state championships. Two years, on a college team. Six or seven out, you’ll be at the Olympics.”

  Warm salt tears mix with pool water on her face, and Lily blinks. “You really think so?” Her voice is a whisper. To make the Olympics is a hidden dream, one she’s kept secret from everyone.

  Not even Erica suspects how much Lily wants it.

  “Yeah. I do. Plus, your stroke isn’t the only problem. Right?” Robert’s brown eyes are focused on her so completely it’s as if no one else exists. “You’re working on freestyle, but it’s not the most important thing right now. ‘Fact, you could walk away from this pool right now, never come back, and I’d still think you were the strongest athlete I ever met.”

  The towel slips. Absently Lily hitches it up. “What?”

  “Your stroke is slower because you’re starting from scratch. Same with you. Things are tough right now, but in the end you’ll emerge stronger.” Robert’s laugh is short, as though he’s just surprised himself. “You know, like a butterfly.”

  ◆◆◆

  In the Y showers, Lily bends her head under water not hot enough to warm chilled skin. Her phone rattles on the ledge and brings her out of a dream about the Olympic Village.

  Quickly she turns off her shower so the phone won’t vibrate into a pool of water. It slides in her palm, and she steadies it with one finger. At first Lily doesn’t recognize the name on the misty screen. She blinks away drops of water from her eyelashes and peers at the screen.

  There’s an email from Nolan, Erica’s cousin. She hasn’t thought about him for months. Lily loops the Prescot towel around her and holds the corners with her teeth. She opens the email, praying he’s not about to ask her out on a date. It’s the last thing she needs in her life at the moment.

  He doesn’t mention possible dinners, movies, or hangouts. Instead Nolan has written a single question: Have you ever seen these?

  There are several attached docs.

  Lily wipes her hand on the towel and looks at the docs. They are copy-and-paste texts of two emails with an added note from Nolan at the top. Received them today. Know anything about it?

  The first is far too familiar. Hey, bitch. Remember me? Couldn’t cut it at your fancy school, right? And your swim times keep going up – at fif
teen you’re already done. Do us all a favor and quit.

  Lily wipes her eyes and sucks in air through her nose before she reads the message below it. It’s an email addressed to Nolan. So sorry about the last message! Total mistake – could you delete it, please? And don’t forget to stop by for dinner, soon. I have a big birthday present with your name on it!

  The message is signed Aunt Betsy.

  Coach Robert’s orange and black towel slips to the wet floor. Lily flings it over one shoulder and runs to her locker, rotates the combo lock and lets the door slam open. Sweatshirt and sweatpants hang from the hook in the back. Lily wrenches on her clothes, head shaking.

  It can’t be, it simply can’t be. Why would…?

  As soon as she’s dressed, Lily grabs her bag and marches out of the locker room. Dad is on the bleachers, hunched over his laptop and barking into his phone, “Third quarter’s gonna be shit. I’ve got to go to Cleveland right after our meeting…”

  “Dad, you have to take me to Erica’s house. Now.” He looks up, mouth open and eyes unfocused. “I know, I’m sorry. But I have to talk to her mom. It’s important.”

  Dad’s glance darts between her face and his laptop. Perhaps what he sees in her eyes convinces him, and his face creases into his usual grin. “If you say so, Sunshine.”

  He hasn’t called her the old pet name in years.

  ◆◆◆

  The Winslow home is as lovely as ever. When she presses the doorbell, a deep tone sounds in the belly of the large foyer. Instantly Diamond, the terrier, starts barking.

  There’s a sound of footsteps. “Hush, you silly dog,” a woman says. Lily knows whose voice it is, and her palms grow slippery.

  When the front door opens, Mrs. Winslow has Diamond tucked under one arm. “Lily!” She raises perfectly groomed brows. “I didn’t expect to see you until – how nice. Please come in.”