Where We Fall: A Novel

by Rochelle B. Weinstein

  There was no use trying to make sense of Lauren’s absence—no understanding why she hadn’t written or called. I forbade myself the pain that thinking about her would induce. Instead, my guilt convinced me that it was my fault she was gone and my fault she stayed away. Maybe the town chatter reached the peaks abroad, and Lauren knew what I had done and what was to come. My contrition kept me from reaching out to her. My losses prevented me from reason. I knew there was no way I could fix things.

  Slowly—and I mean slowly—I did come to love Abby. The pregnancy looked good on her, and we drifted into a pattern of spending time together that turned into dating. She was glowing in that way people say someone filled with budding life should. She was all belly and boobs, and something about her smile had changed. Her pregnancy was the healthiest time of her life. The doctors and her family had their theories about it, though I was spending enough time with Abby and her belly to know that this baby filled her with expectation. However it came to be, this child gave Abby something to latch on to. Life was no longer about her and her moods. Or maybe it was because she was properly nourished, eating all the right foods, not worrying about staying skinnier than the other girls. Or maybe it was because she had complete control over me.

  I was fully devoted to the baby, which made me entirely devoted to Abby. She moved through each trimester seamlessly and with glimmers of complete calm. Lauren had always loved Abby, and I found myself loving the aspects of her that Lauren used to praise. She could be flirtatious: “I’d tell you to kiss my ass, but you might like it too much.” Or sarcastic: “That’s funny, but I don’t like you so I’m not going to laugh.” She had great taste and style. When she mellowed out on the makeup, she was less dramatic looking and cuddlier. She was affectionate. She spoiled me with gifts and playful notes and cards. And I loved the way she made the holes in my heart feel full again.

  We never discussed marriage. Like two young kids starting our futures, hers in motherhood and mine in coaching, we coasted through the days, waiting for things to happen around us. When Juliana arrived, that changed.

  “I think we should talk about moving in together,” I said.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she replied.

  And though I was starting to feel again, and even love again, I think I was mixed up about whom I had fallen in love with. Juliana was intoxicating. I couldn’t get enough of her. Going home to my parents’ house with its painful memories depressed me, and soon Abby, Juliana, and I were closing on Reacroft Drive in South Charlotte. It was a sturdy brick ranch house with three bedrooms and a sprawling deck for my grill. The street was lined with birch trees and young families. I loved waking up in the morning and seeing Juliana’s face, training with my other kids during the day, and coming home to Juliana at night.

  At first, it worked. Abby’s postpartum depression was mild. Statistically she should have been a magnet for the affliction, with all her crossed wires. “Maybe I’m cured,” she said to me one night after we put Juliana to bed. “Maybe having a baby was all my body needed to heal itself. Maybe loving her is enough. Loving you.”

  Indeed, two people who shared a home and a child together have to discuss the subject of love. Things like waking up in bed together and bathing your baby together elicit strong emotions that should translate into sentences like “I love you.” Not so with us.

  It took me a while to say those words again.

  It was the first game of the season, and she was swaddled in a thick scarf when I found her in what would become her spot in the bleachers. She was staring back at me with a smile. Juliana was in her arms, about six months old. From that distance, my wife was striking. The dark hair and eyes, the beautiful baby in her arms. Momentum scattered across the sky. My players were pumped. I was pumped. Friday-night fever poured off the sidelines and filled up the field. My heart beat to the sounds of the drums in the marching band. My whole body was awake and alive and ready. Everything I needed was right there under the silvery lights. I smiled back at her and mouthed the words, “I love you.” And she mouthed back, “I love you too.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  JULIANA

  When I open the door to Mama’s room, the first thing I see is my father lying in bed very close to my mother. I should probably close the door, as I was trained as a young girl to do. Yet when I step in for a closer look, the two of them look serenely at peace and connected. Mama’s cheeks are brushed with color, and she appears to be dreaming of something that has her looking peaceful and happy. Daddy looks like a young boy, as though wherever his mind has gone has erased recent events. I take a picture of them with my phone.

  The click of the flash startles my mom awake, and the calm turns into fear, as if I caught her doing something wrong. Dad comes alive next and makes room for me to sit beside the two of them.

  Mama reaches for my hair and attempts to untangle the golden brown knots that fall down my shoulders. I know by the way my mama is lovingly touching me that my daddy has told her everything except the part about the bruise. Still, E.J. was arrested and neither of them can be happy.

  The shrill of the phone interrupts the silence, and before I can get another lecture on the perils of dating someone with dangerous ties, Daddy is talking into his iPhone, careful to hold it a few inches away from his head, which is funny to me since everyone knows football causes more brain injuries than the phone. He steps out of the room, and we both know the call is about E.J.

  I didn’t want to come to Cold Creek and meet with Jeannie, and I certainly didn’t want to be left alone with my mother. Neither of us knows who should start first, so the ticks of the clock allow us to study one another. She looks better, less creepy, though her moods have always been temporary and fleeting. I finally ask her how she’s doing, and she shocks me with a “better.” “That’s good,” I say. She seems as nervous as I am, and the feelings collide in a stream of quiet we can’t come out of.

  “Do you really think he had nothing to do with it?” she asks me cautiously.

  My body tenses. There’s a part of me that wants to share E.J. with her. It would feel like I was having the conversation with Sophie and Nicole’s mom, or Marlee’s, and the words would slip from my tongue with a friendly ease. Talking would help us find a way back to each other, but I don’t trust what we’ve never had. I am exhausted and guarded.

  “You don’t know him like I do.”

  “You can tell me,” she says. “We don’t always have to be pitted against each other. I love you, Jules. I want to know you and your life . . .”

  I close my eyes and hear E.J. telling me I’m his ever, how he’s going to take care of me, like Drake sang to Rihanna. Someone who says things like this to you doesn’t have the ability to steal or intentionally lie or push you down stairs. He’s innocent.

  “He didn’t do it, Mama. You’ll see.”

  Dad returns, and the crack of the door pushes away the unrest. His concerned voice says, “That was Ruby. They’re coming after E.J. aggressively. Seems he’s the scapegoat for the rest of the family.”

  My earlier assurances weaken. “I don’t understand.”

  My mama tries to comfort me, though I have moved away from her. Her hands can’t quite reach me.

  “The charges are serious. E.J. told them where to find the jewelry. And now the state doesn’t want to release him into Ruby’s custody. She provides him with more stability than Ellis, but with two jobs there’s little supervision.”

  “Is he in jail? Like in an actual cell?” I ask, clearly not understanding the criminal justice system. “E.J. hates closed spaces, Daddy. He’s gotta be out of his mind.”

  “Then your boyfriend should start talking.”

  Daddy mentions bail being set and I become frantic. “Daddy! They have no money! You can’t leave him there!”

  “He’s okay, Jules. I saw him. He’s hangin’ in there.”

  I am jamming myself in his face, thinking the tears in my eyes and the insistence in my voice will
jerk him into action. “You said he wouldn’t have to spend the night there!”

  My dad is being evasive and quiet. The next thing he says must cause him a great deal of apprehension. “If he makes bail, there’s the issue of where he’ll stay. I’m petitioning the court to release him to my custody.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask, my voice trembling, and Mama says, “Ryan, do you really think that’s necessary? Now?”

  “The evidence is strong. Real strong. At least he can be with us at the house with proper supervision. It’s the only answer.”

  “E.J.’s going to live with us?!” I blurt out. I don’t know what more to add. I’m shocked, and grateful. Daddy looks my way and says, “Juliana, I’m not happy about this decision, but E.J. is running out of options.”

  I am shivering all over. Once I had admired E.J.’s loyalty and ability to detach from his family without cutting them off completely, but now I am incensed at the faithfulness that is going to ruin him. My daddy wraps his arms around me, and my mama tries to do the same. I am terrified. The bruise on my side no longer aches, but it may as well. I have to talk to him. We have to fix this.

  The first night E.J. sleeps in our house, it takes me less than five minutes to get up the nerve to sneak into his room. My daddy is snoring madly. I can hear it through the floorboards, and I am desperate to talk some sense into E.J. He’s not asleep when I tiptoe through the doorway. “Jules?” he whispers into the darkness. “Oh, man, Coach is gonna fillet me.”

  He is in our guest room, though we never have any guests. The room is dressed in gray and black with hints of yellow. The touch of color gives me a sense of hope, as if there is light at the end of this long, dark tunnel. He is holding the covers up for me to slide next to him. I can’t make out his face or his hands, though his body against mine feels a lot like home.

  E.J. starts talking at once. It’s as though he has saved his words for me. When people say he is quiet and shy, I smile, knowing that I spark the valve in him that makes him want to share. But tonight he needs to stop yapping and listen to what I’m saying.

  “You’re making a mistake, E.J. If you’d just tell the truth, we can help. Daddy will help you.”

  He stiffens and says he can’t.

  “This whole thing is ass backward. You shouldn’t be taking the blame. It’s just plain stupid. Why are you doing this?”

  He is tickling my shoulder, trying to distract me. Even in our disagreement, we fit together just right. “You do things for people you love, Jules. No matter how pitiful they are.”

  The words swing at me like a pendulum, back and forth, and I’m not fast enough to catch them. Or my resistance won’t let me.

  “I don’t know if I can ever be that forgiving,” I say, and he mistakes that to mean how he hurt me.

  “I’m sorry about the stairs,” he whispers into my hair.

  “I know you didn’t mean it,” I say. And after he’s had a chance to think about it, I ask, “How come you didn’t call me?”

  His arms come tighter around my waist when he says he was ashamed about what he’d done. “I thought I’d hurt you. I never want to hurt you, Jules. I was scared you’d hate me. I didn’t want you involved. The less you know about this stuff the better.”

  “The only thing that hurt was not hearing from you. It was an accident. You know that, don’t you? I missed you so much.”

  “I missed you, too, but I thought if I got out of here you’d be safe.”

  “You’re always trying to protect me, but the person who needs protecting is you. Why would you run from the cops like that? Buford could have shot you. Then what would I do?”

  “I was in a safe place. You don’t need to think about it.”

  I tell him he’s crazy, fitting my head against his chest and running my fingers along his warm skin. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  He lets this idea sit between us and then I pry. “What was it like in there?”

  “Terrible.” He nuzzles me closer so as to show me how much.

  “At least you turned yourself in. That’s gotta mean something. Please think about telling the truth. The only person you’re hurting is yourself.” I stop myself because I sound a lot like Mama’s therapist. E.J. asks about our session and it rolls over in my brain.

  Sharing with her and hearing about Mama’s progress made me aware of newer, more uncomfortable feelings. I didn’t even know that was possible. Mama hasn’t always been the easiest person to live with, but she is my mother. By fault of birth, I am required to hate her and treat her cruelly, while excuses like moodiness and being a brooding teenager prevent me from permanent punishment. But now I miss her. Seeing her at Cold Creek gave me a deeper appreciation of the hell she’s lived in. I say it out loud, rolling it off my tongue. I miss that crazy woman who makes me love her with her many-sidedness.

  “It’s like whiplash, E.J. Every time I think we have a chance to be close, something happens and it stretches us further apart.” Once I slip through this door, I’m off. “I miss her. I hate her. I love her. I want what I didn’t get for all those years. It’s so unfair.”

  E.J. doesn’t have to say anything. His hands and his fingers give me all the comfort I need.

  “She’s my mother! How can she be so selfish?”

  “I don’t think she does it on purpose, Jules. I don’t think she can help herself.”

  I abruptly sit up and stare down at him on the pillows. “That should make it all right? My mama’s limited, so I should fend for myself? You know how long I’ve bought into that crap? And now this Jeannie lady tells me I need to accept Mama’s limitations, too? What if I don’t want to accept them? What if I want my mama back? The one who was pregnant with me and loved me so much she wasn’t sick! Maybe it’s me. Maybe I made her sicker.”

  “That’s impossible,” he says, trying to calm me down, reaching for my arms to bring me back down in his. “Your mama loves you and that’s why she checked herself into Cold Creek. My daddy has no chance. But your mama does. She’s not a bad lady, Jules. She just needs help. You got Coach, and I got Ruby. I’d say we’re pretty darn lucky.”

  “Why is it that what we don’t have can overshadow what we do?”

  He gathers me in his arms and soon he is curled around me. Talking to Jeannie lessened some of my anger toward Mama, but the coils were still warm, and they brought forth a real sadness, which E.J.’s body wrapped around me could temporarily block. I think about all the people in the world who could have found each other, and I know it is no coincidence I found E.J., and that he found me. I see how Daddy has changed both of us.

  Before my daddy came into his life, E.J. had a difficult time with trust. Soon he was worshipping him just like I had always done. E.J. was always telling stories about Coach and the team, things I’d always known about my father but that seemed brand new when I heard them come out of someone else’s mouth. My daddy gave the players chances. He treated them with a respect that helped them respect themselves. It was Daddy who went to the office to speak with the principal when one of his boys got in trouble. It was Daddy who visited the family when there was a problem with a teacher or an unsatisfactory grade. He wasn’t just a coach on the field. He was a life coach, guiding and steering and laying down rules.

  Knowing this should have stopped me from letting E.J. spoon me in the dark. We were inching closer and closer to breaking one of Daddy’s biggest rules: no sex.

  E.J. and I have talked a lot about sex. It’s hard not to, considering how excited we make each other when we’re together. It’s maddening to be handed these overpowering feelings without a way to release them. Sure, we listen to our parents’ advice about abstaining or using condoms, but when you’re trapped in a heated moment, it’s hard to get out without being scorched. E.J. hasn’t pushed me at all. We sometimes talk about sex as though we’re swimming toward an island. Neither of us knows how far out we are, but we see it in the distance.

  Until tonight. When it’s rig
ht in front of me.

  I’m ready.

  When I touch E.J., I can tell he’s ready too.

  He is kissing my neck and running his fingers through my hair. I arch my back into him and let him kiss me, while I close my eyes and imagine where those kisses will take us. His hands are inside my pajama bottoms, and his breath is coming out in deep, long gasps.

  I wouldn’t be his first, but I would be the first. The first one he loved. I’m surprised he has withstood the wait. The knuckleheads on the team are always teasing him, and he doesn’t care. His self-control always impresses me. Especially now.

  Maybe because we aren’t looking at each other, it makes it easier for me to tell him I want to do it. “Please,” I say.

  His body stiffens. Warm breath slithers down my neck. I think our hearts are pounding in the same measure.

  “We can’t,” he says.

  “Why not?”

  “You’re crazy, Jules. No. We’re not having sex in your house with your dad down the hall.”

  I turn to face him. E.J. He is fire and light. My ever.

  He kisses my cheeks, and I close my eyes while he dots my face with his lips. He always says my timing is terrible. I figure I am a girl and can get him to do what I want, so I touch him again.

  He takes my hand and moves it away. “That’s not going to work.”

  “You love him more than you love me.”

  “Not possible,” he says, holding my hands in his so they can’t move, while he traces the line of my collarbone with his mouth.

  I think I may scream. I’m on the cusp of womanhood. I’m ready, willing, and able, and the boy who’s supposed to make it all come true rejects me. The wave passes through me and numbs my body. It collides with the earlier upset, and I am at first kissing E.J., and then I am pulling away, fighting back frustration. He feels me go tense and hugs me close. I fight harder. He pulls me tighter. “Why’s everything so messed up?” I ask. I don’t want to fight E.J. I want to be swallowed up in his arms. I want to peel back his chest and take his heart in my hands because mine feels frail and tired.