“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Are you okay?”
I move my arms and legs, my head and torso, and other than a bruised bottom I am fine, but I’m not telling Ted that. It would be letting him off the hook.
“What were you thinking?” I push him in the chest. “You have two sons! You’re not allowed to make crazy moves, Ted!! You of all people should understand what it’s like to lose a parent! God, what would Mom think?”
When I mention Mom, Ted’s face crumbles. “I don’t know,” he says with a sniff. “I wasn’t thinking about Miles or Mason.” Tears moisten Ted’s cheeks but he swats them away. “I wasn’t thinking at all. My life is kind of screwed up right now, and I just. . .” he buries his head in hands, and when he continues to speak, his voice is muffled. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
My brother is broken and I have no idea why. I put my hand on his shoulder and move in for a hug. Surprisingly, he hugs me back. “After we talk to the police, we’re taking the train back to Philly,” I tell him. “I won’t tell Tina what happened, but only on the condition that you do.”
I feel his ribcage move up and down as he takes a deep breath. We just hold each other, closer than we’ve been since I was a little girl. “I wasn’t actually going to jump.” Ted speaks into the top of my head. “I’m not saying that standing up there was a smart thing to do. It wasn’t, but I liked how free I felt. I never feel free anymore.”
Simultaneously, we let each other go and I look into his glistening eyes. They’re naked with honesty, just like each line and crease that his face has earned over the years. “I know you have a lot of responsibilities now,” I tell him.
“I’ve always had a lot of responsibilities,” he answers. “I’m not complaining; that’s just how it had to be, so you and Ian could. . .” he breaks off, thinking and scratching his chin. “I won’t say it’s what I chose, but I never tried to choose anything else, either. I guess I felt important, being in charge when Dad needed me. But now. . .” he rubs the back of his neck, “. . .now, if you took all my responsibilities away, I wouldn’t even know who I am. There’s just nothing left.”
“That’s not true.” A picture pops into my mind: a teenaged Ted as my babysitter, following a treasure map I drew of the backyard, humoring me, trying to find the bubble gum I had planted as the prize. How many more moments have I stored away and lost? “You are more than just your to-do list, Ted. Maybe you just need a vacation, or something.”
“Like what?” he asks wryly. “A Carnival cruise?” His laughter at my lame suggestion sounds cynical, but at least he’s laughing.
The moment is broken when the police come through the rooftop door, followed by Yuri, Zelda, and the building manager.
Hours later, after we finish giving our statements to the police, Ted and I take the train to his home in Philadelphia. It’s past 3:00 AM when our taxi from the station pulls up to his house, and he leads me around to the back, where he pulls a spare key from the nozzle of their garden hose. “I keep the spare key at our house in an almost identical spot!” I say.
“I know.”
We walk in through the back door and Ted punches in the security code. Then he quietly leads me to the guest room that I stayed in before. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so exhausted,” I say.
“Yeah, me too.” But instead of wishing me goodnight, Ted goes to our mother’s first run print and gazes at it. “Robin, do you believe in ghosts?”
I have to force myself not to collapse into the soft mattress by my side. “I don’t know,” I answer. “I think they’re possible. Why?”
“The other day I found a piece of paper in Mom’s handwriting. It fell from behind the Mats Gustafson.”
“Okay. . .”
“It said: Get yourself together, don’t be afraid, and jump.” He rubs the back of his neck as he veers himself towards me. “I know it wasn’t there before. I hung that picture myself.”
It’s a struggle to process my unformed thoughts. “Are you sure Mom wrote it?”
Ted shakes his head. “Of course not. We can’t be sure of anything, right? But I kept every birthday card and every Valentine Mom ever gave me. That note was in her writing.”
“And you think Mom was telling you to jump from the ledge? Why would she do that?”
“No. . . I don’t know.” He scratches his head and breathes through his nose. “Maybe she somehow knows that I’m lost, and she’s trying to help me. . .” he shakes the thought off. “Forget it. It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”
Get yourself together, don’t be afraid, and jump. That could apply to all sorts of situations and I have no doubt that Ted needs guidance. I’d also love to believe that Mom is capable of writing us notes, but if so, where is mine? I’d certainly like to hear from her.
I don’t say any of this and Ted sinks to the bed. The quiet settles around us, beautiful and precarious. Ted sighs. “I don’t know how Tina will react, once she knows that I’m home.”
“You have to talk to her, Ted.”
“Like you’ll do with Nick?” He asks gently.
I close my eyes and my head finds its way down to a pillow. “I can’t think about that right now. I need sleep.”
A moment passes before I feel Ted’s hand briefly rest on top of my head. “Good night, Robin.”
Then things fade to black, like the end of a scary movie that I hope won’t give me nightmares.
Chapter 67: Ted
I find Tina’s skinny form in the twisted blankets on our bed. I sit on the edge of the mattress and tenderly touch her shoulder. “Tina,” I whisper. “Hey, wake up for a minute.”
Her eyes flicker open. She’s always been a light sleeper. “What are you doing here?” The question isn’t exactly angry but her voice holds no elasticity.
“Tina, I’m so sorry.”
She rolls over, away from me. “Whatever, Ted. I want to go back to sleep.”
I inch closer and put my hand on her back. “No, not whatever; I have something important to say.” She doesn’t respond so I just hope that my words reach her. “Tina, I had this moment tonight, where I was so close to. . . to jumping off a building. A really high building.”
My confession is a mild temperature change, an excuse for her to shiver, to wrap that blanket more tightly across her body. But she sits up abruptly, shedding the covers and exposing her skin to the cool air. “You’re not serious.”
In the dark I can still make out her features that I know so well. I can still see the girl I fell in love with. “I wouldn’t joke about something like that.”
“Because you never joke about anything.”
My ears had been ringing but her comment stops the annoying sound. I’m reminded of a conversation long ago:
“Of course your family likes you,” she’d said. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“They think I’m no fun. Seriously, I’m not joking.”
“Because you never joke about anything?”
For years afterwards, every time I told her I was serious, she would laugh and reply, “Because you never joke about anything.” Then I’d laugh and somehow she taught me to have a sense of humor about myself.
But she stopped using that line on me years ago, which probably was when she also stopped loving me. So I can’t laugh now, but I offer her half a smile. “Do you ever have moments when you just want to let go?”
“Only two or three times a day.” She says softly, but loud enough for me to recognize that her unhappiness mirrors my own.
“You can’t let go. I. . . I don’t know how to let go of you. So what do we do about it?” I’m desperately hoping she’ll have an answer, or at the very least, that she won’t flinch at my assumptive use of “we.”
“I don’t know, Ted.”
Dejection threatens to settle over me, but then my crappy expectations explode through the roof, because Tina leans in, presses her warm, skinny body against mine and her lips find my lips in the dark. “But it’s going to be okay,” she whi
spers in my ear, “because I’m not ready to let go of you either.”
I grab onto her like she’s that railing along the rooftop. Then I’m crying and my tears land in the balmy curve of her neck, but instead of pulling away she only holds me tighter.
Chapter 68: Zelda
Please pick up, I pray as I call my mother. There's a ring and another ring and I lose hope after the third ring, but on the fourth ring, a split second before voicemail is about to pick up, she answers.
"Yes?" is all she says.
"Mom, I need you." My whisper is a shout. "Julie died and it's my fault."
She takes three deep breaths before answering. “Where are you, Zelda?”
"At the police station. I just got done making my statement."
Another deep breath. "You should have called me right away—before you gave a statement."
I don't respond. What's there to say? I could write volumes about all the "should haves" I've left unfulfilled recently, but it wouldn't change anything. Julie would still be dead.
"Do you want me to come to the station to get you or would you rather just come home?"
"I just want to come home.”
Yuri insists on taking my train and walking me to my building. When we get to my door it's so late, or so early, that the doorman isn't there, so it's just Yuri and me and the stillness of the night. Yuri was silent for the entire journey, from the police station to my front door.
"Are you going to be okay? I ask.
He flicks his head ever so slightly. "I worry they think I kill Julie on purpose."
"No." I shake my head adamantly. "You were trying to save her. I know what I saw." I take his hand. "You did everything you could. This is not your fault, and I'll swear it up and down if I have to."
"You always see best in people, Zelda."
My only answer is a trembling sigh. Yuri just looks at me, blinking away tears but unafraid to meet my eyes. And for the first time ever, I feel like someone is looking at me and seeing what's really there.
"I call tomorrow," he says, right before he gives me a chaste kiss on the forehead. Then we say goodnight.
When I get inside Mom is waiting in the living room, wearing an old sweatshirt of Dad’s. "Tell me what happened to Julie,” she says, her flat voice rising to my ears.
There's a lump of regret swelling my throat shut. "I wish I didn't have to," I struggle out. "Mom, I really messed up and there's no way to fix it."
She stands and leads me to the couch so we're sitting side by side. "Tell me what happened to Julie." The second time she says this is a gentle, insistent nudge towards something I must do.
I try to breathe normally but I can't, not if I have to think about this. "She was so angry at me, Mom. The ballet and the modeling jobs and I sort of stole her boyfriend. . .and she wanted to go up to the roof, but. . .she'd. . . I couldn't stop her from. . ." I can't finish the thought because I'm crying too hard, but Mom lets it go.
"It's not your fault, Zelda." She hands me a tissue which is way too thin to absorb all my tears.
"You can't say that," I moan. "You weren't there. You don't know."
"But I know you," she insists. "So whatever happened, I know without a doubt, that it simply wasn't your fault." Mom sounds like she's going to cry too.
"I thought you hated me," I tell her.
"No." Mom tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I could never hate you, Zelda. I love you, more than anyone, but I just get so angry and hurt sometimes. That's on me, I guess." She rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. "There should be a personal standard that parents are forced to meet, but I always fall short."
"I feel like I'm always falling short too."
"No, Zelda. Don’t feel that way.”
She takes me in her arms and as we hug I become her little girl again. It's not everything, and it's probably not permanent, but this regression feels like a start.
Chapter 69: Robin
The next morning I wake to Ted urgently tugging on my shoulder. “I can prove that your phone was spoofed!”
“Huh?”
Ted explains that he got up early and snooped around on my phone until he figured out at least part of the mystery. He shows me my phone’s history, something to do with the settings and downloads, and says it’s enough that we can contact Jim Giles. “But we still don’t know who’s behind the bribe,” I say.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ted insists. “This proves that it wasn’t you.”
That, and Julie’s taped confession about Kyla’s stupid pair of scissors, gets me an invitation from Jim Giles to come in for “a little chat.”
I have to take the first train to NYC, and I’m assuming it’s so I can take part in the next challenge. I try calling Nick, over and over, but he never picks up. Finally I just leave a message, detailing what happened last night.
"Nick,” I say, after my long explanation, “I still don’t know who is running that website, but I do know she’s not going to stop until we break up. So look, I'm probably going to be unreachable again, and obviously we have to talk, but. . ." I sigh, procrastinating and not wanting to say this next part. "I think we should go on a break, say that we're no longer engaged, because I'm kind of at a loss and I think you are too. I love you. You know that. . .." but you won't even answer my calls, "but it's probably better if we take some time to think."
There's a knock on the guest room door. Ted's standing in the entrance, tapping his watch. "Are you ready?" he mouths.
I nod and gulp back some tears. "I have to go, Nick. I'll call you as soon as I'm done with the show."
Chapter 70: Zelda
Yuri is given one of those terrible choices that’s not a choice at all. He can leave now, go back to Russia and enjoy his supposed freedom, or stay in the U.S. and face involuntary manslaughter charges.
“But that’s so unfair! You were trying to save her!” I pace around my living room while Yuri just sits still, his feet propped up on our marble slab coffee table. Good thing my mother is out meeting with a divorce lawyer. The feet on the coffee table would be an instant deal breaker.
“Julie’s parents decide to press charge,” he answers.
“Just on you? Not on me?”
“You were not in video like me.”
“But that video is all the proof they need. . .” I gnaw on my knuckle and think. “I’ll call and explain. They will listen to me.”
“No.” He is calm as he lowers his feet from the table, gets up, and takes me by my shoulders. “Some fights we cannot win. They lost only daughter. If I must go back to Moscow so they do not mourn so much, then I go.”
“But you got cast as Albrecht in Giselle. I thought you wanted to stay and be a big star.”
His lips part so that he’s almost smiling. “I wish to stay for many reasons,” he says softly, “but I will still be big star. And I come back someday.” Yuri’s hands drop from my shoulders down to my waist. “When I return, I will look for you, yes? I will not forget.”
It’s probably just some line he’s feeding me; that’s what my mom would say. I shouldn’t believe him, especially since he’ll soon be half a world away.
But life is short.
Chapter 71: Robin
“Robin, I hope you will accept my whole-hearted apology.” Jim sniffs emotionally. We’re surrounded by all the remaining contestants on The Standout and of course, a bunch of cameramen, though Gabe is conspicuously absent. The workroom clock is ticking away and time is running out before the next runway show. Jim looks at me but his words are meant for a much larger audience. “After last night’s tragedy involving two of our models, some truths have come to light, and we know now that you’re innocent.” He places his palms against the lapels of his double-breasted suit and takes a deep breath. “Will you please return to the show?”
My reply is choked with emotion. “I’d be honored.” Everyone claps, even Kyla, but when no cameras are on her she squints and makes that I’m watching you sign, pointing to her eyes and t
hen to me.
At first I’m stepping into another role. Tonight, the wronged reality show contestant will be played by Robin Bricker. I finish up my plaid tutu dress in record time, and it miraculously scores in the middle, even though I have a substitute model and my crafting was super-rushed.
But during the next challenge I know I won’t get a free pass. I just keep my head down while I sew pleats into a sheer Wili-inspired camisole. The Wilis are this crazy gang of dancing phantom girls from the ballet Giselle. Since they’re all abandoned brides who died from heartache, I create this alternative sort of wedding dress, with tulle and wire, giving the image of constant, weightless movement.
“It’s certainly ambitious,” Jim places his finger against his chin. When it becomes clear he can think of nothing else to say, he pats me on the shoulder. “Keep working.” Then he moves on to Amos.
Jim and Amos confer over Amos’s dress which has golden embroidery and bugle beads. I overhear Jim’s effusive praise and wish I could work like Amos, unencumbered by emotional baggage. But I’m glued to this wedding dress, unable to detach from everything it represents.
Oh well.
I’d rather create a wedding dress for a dead, heartbroken bride than talk about my feelings.
Chapter 72: Zelda
On his last night in New York, I come to Yuri’s apartment, and by some miracle he is alone when I get there.
“What do you want to do?” I ask. “We could go out dancing, or to some touristy place that you haven’t seen yet? Maybe ice skating at Rockefeller Center?” I purposefully don’t bring up the Empire State Building. No more rooftops.
He shrugs. “I wish to spend time with you.”
His grey T-shirt clings to his broad shoulders, his jeans have a slight rip in the knee, and just looking at him makes me warm. If I were to touch him, it would be the strongest, most delicious warmth I’d ever feel.
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