He + She

by Michelle Warren

  Once inside the foyer, I see no one has noticed that I’m here. I pick up Beanie and settle her on my hip. It’s a crappy move, I know. As if she’s the armor that could save me from the ammunition bound to come my way when they see me.

  I walk through the hall, stepping into the living area where I can clearly see the dining room. Across the open room, everyone in my family sits around the dinner table, carrying on and laughing the way families should.

  Ashley sees me first. “You came!” She stands and pushes her chair back. As she moves to hug me, everyone in the room quiets. The awkward pressure that builds is so thick, it’s hard to breathe. They know what my being here will mean—drama.

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” Ashley hugs me and Beanie giggles.

  “Who’s here?” my dad says as he steps into the dining room from the adjoining kitchen, carrying a casserole dish. His head turns in my direction. When he sees me, his mouth immediately draws down at the corners and his jaw tightens. “What’d you come back for—your girl?” He slams the dish on the tabletop.

  “Robert!” My mom stands and sends an admonishing look to my dad.

  “Well, you know he didn’t come back to see his family. Never puts his damn family first.” He swings a pointed finger.

  “You told them?” In horror I look down at Ashley, and she casts her gaze away. She never could keep a secret. Damn it!

  Ashley reaches for Beanie, picks her up and tucks her into her side, probably for the same reason I did earlier.

  “I trusted you,” I whisper with an edge of anger. I may have been drunk and lonely when I told her everything over the phone from California, but still.

  “Sorry,” she says and steps back. “They asked how you were and it just kinda slipped.”

  Ashley is the only person that I’ve confided in during the last two months. She knows about Shea, our time together in San Francisco, and who she is. The problem is that my parents and my oldest sister, Layne, blame me for Beth’s death. None of my family, not even Ashley, believed that their sweet little Beth could be that bad of a person—to steal a car and kill someone under the influence.

  Feeling guilty for everything, I had lied and told them I was the one who stole the car when I didn’t, that I was the one who introduced Beth to drugs when it was really the other way around. That everything was my fault. After the accident, I didn’t want the memory of Beth’s short life to be marred by our bad decisions. Somehow it was easy for them to believe that I was the bad one, and that hurt me deeply. But being the one who survived, I could do what Beth couldn’t. Take the punishment that I knew I deserved, go to jail, try to improve my life, and make amends for both of us. But I’ve never told them or anyone else the entire truth—only Shea knows the complete truth now, and she still hates me as much as they do.

  Why did you save a stranger over your own sister? This was the one question they repeatedly asked me after the accident, and every time they’ve seen me since. I can’t answer them. Being so messed up at the time, I don’t know exactly why things played out the way they did, but I know I did all that I could under the circumstances. They make me question this. They hate me for this. And I hate myself for not doing more—for even being there.

  The sad thing is that they even hate Shea for this.

  If there were ever a future for Shea and me, it wouldn’t include my family. They hate her because she lived and Beth didn’t, even though Beth and I were to blame for the accident. They are the kind of people who can’t see that Shea was innocent from the beginning. They are those asshole neighbors you hate because of their backward thinking, and no one will change their minds. They’re unreasonable and selfish, and that’s why they will never forgive me.

  “I shouldn’t have come.” I let my gaze roam the room, jumping from one face to the next, searching for anyone who will protest and insist I stay, but there is no one here. Apparently not even Ashley. Even if she does want me here, she’s too timid to speak up for me, and probably unwilling to tick off our dad.

  I turn and walk back through the house to leave. Right as I grab for the front door handle, I stop. I need to say something and stop running from them. With determination, I stride back into the dining room with my fists balled at my sides.

  “All of you suck!” I aggressively swing my arm over the group. “I’ve said that I’m sorry over and over again. I made a mistake. A huge fucking mistake! And I hate myself for it more than you do. None you have to live with this kind of guilt.” I bang my chest with my fist. “But you certainly will never let me move on, will you? How is it right for you to steal my life away when I’m trying to get back on track and make amends? How are you helping me by hating me? You aren’t! So now you have two children who are dead to you. But one is still gasping for air, struggling to survive and make things as right as he can. Yet you still sit there, watching me drown!”

  It isn’t much of a speech, but it’s enough. Instead of letting them beat me down like Sollie Winters, like I always believed I deserved, or letting them pound the guilt into my skin like rusted nails, infecting my body and mind, I’ve finally said my piece and stood up for myself.

  As I leave, racing out the front door, I hear Beanie crying. I feel horrible for scaring her, but I don’t regret what I said.

  Chapter 54

  She

  A week after I see Hew, I come clean with Dr. Leevy. Since he appeared at my house, I haven’t slept or eaten. My clothes are hanging off me, and dark circles line my eyes.

  “I lied,” I say to start out. “I did scream for someone named Hew when I was in the hospital in California.” I chew the inside of my cheek, waiting for her reaction.

  Dr. Leevy readjusts in her seat and leans into her desk, rolling her pen between two fingers. “Why did you lie?”

  The tears fall before I can even attempt to control them. “Because I didn’t know if he was real.”

  “Is he?”

  “He is, but I wish he wasn’t.”

  At her urging, I let the truth spill out, starting in San Francisco and ending with him telling me how he was responsible for my accident, Bren’s death, and how he saved me from the water. It sounds ridiculous to my ears when I say it out loud. Though I admit that even still, I long for those easy moments in California when he was just some guy I didn’t know, who I could have fun with and be myself with, free of any problems. And I know how messed up that sounds.

  “Shea, are you absolutely certain that this Hew did not seek you out? Look for you for some reason?”

  “He didn’t.”

  “How can you be certain?”

  “Because I was the one who talked to him first. He never approached me, not once.”

  She nods, taking notes. “So how do you feel about all that’s happened?”

  “How do I feel? How do I feel?” My words rise into a high-pitched shriek. I hate this question. Why must shrinks always ask it? I stand and pace the room, throwing my arms out in wild gestures. “How do you think I feel?” I turn to face her. The scene I make causes Ray, who acts like more of a bouncer than a nurse, to open the door and check on us, but Dr. Leevy waves him away.

  “I feel like crap! I feel confused. More confused that I’ve ever been. I ask myself every second of the day why I’m being put through this torture. What kind of sick game of life would send Hew to ruin everything, let him save me, and then send him back for another round years later so that I would fall in love with him? How could this happen? It’s impossible. I want him to be a hallucination.”

  Dr. Leevy rises from her desk and comes to my side, where I’m slumped over the back of a chair heaving ragged breaths as I sob. It’s as though my heart had been ripped out, stomped on, put back in, and allowed to heal so that I could feel the blood of life pump through my veins once more before my heart is ripped out again and eaten.

  She hands me a tissue. “Why don’t you rest on the couch?” With gentle hands, she guides me until I lie down, settling on my side. She brings me a
glass of water and sets it on the table in front of me, and then seats herself on the nearby chair.

  “You’ve been holding back on me,” she says but she doesn’t seem angry. “And I can see that this is all confusing for you. There’s no doubt that you’ve been dealt a very bad hand here.”

  She crosses her legs and continues. “I suppose I’ve experienced strange coincidences, myself. My husband and I met in another state, even though we were from the same town and lived a block apart. As young people, we had the same friends, probably even went to the same birthday parties as children, but never met. Not until we were twenty-five and fifteen hundred miles from home.”

  I look up at her. “Really?”

  “Yes. In fact, it’s one of our favorite stories to tell because it seems absolutely impossible, but it’s true.” With that glimmer in her eyes, it must be. “But with that said, I want to give you something to ponder.” She becomes serious. “What’s happened to you is awful. And I don’t know if you believe in God, Buddha, Allah, the universe, life, or whatever, we haven’t gotten to discuss that in our sessions. But I believe this—whoever you pray to, or whatever you believe in will provide you with what you need in this life to survive, to learn the lessons that need to be learned, and sometimes supply you with the tools to heal.”

  Slightly confused, I sit up. This bit of insight is unusual for our sessions. It’s a personal thought, a friendly one, not a doctor-patient one. Something she rarely, if ever, shares.

  “The world has moved in extraordinary ways to force you two together on so many occasions that I find it hard to believe it’s random. There may be something in him that you need, and something in you that he needs. A yin and a yang. An ebb and flow. You see?”

  I shake my head.

  “Well, sometimes these things don’t make sense until they do.” She laughs at herself.

  I fold my hands in my lap, trying to figure out if her words are plausible, if Hew was thrown into my world for a reason. “That doesn’t sound very—” I pause, searching for the word, “scientific.”

  She harrumphs and steadies her cheek on her palm, staring at me with a smirk. “I suppose it doesn’t, but not all answers can be found in science. Some things aren’t tangible. Sometimes they’re built on faith, and decided by your heart and soul.”

  Chapter 55

  He

  I know I’m dreaming, but it’s the nightmare that I can never escape. It repeats, tormenting me. Everything is quick flashes, sharp angles, blasts of colors, and confusing memories.

  • • •

  Beth smiles. She’s gripping the steering wheel of the stolen silver Porsche. She swears it belongs to a friend. I want to believe her, but I’m not sure. Her boyfriend, Mike, is in the backseat. They reek of weed; we probably all do. She’s a mini version of me, grown up into a tomboy with her dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She’s my best friend.

  I focus my attention back to the road and shriek, “Red light!”

  Beth jerks the wheel. The car swerves, just missing people in the crosswalk. The front wheels jump the curb, and the car jolts violently. I bang my head and shoulders against the door and ceiling. We’re on the harbor pathway when we ram a couple. Their impact on our windshield shatters it and makes us scream. Then we’re gliding through the air and land on the surface of the harbor water, which is much harder than you’d think. I fly forward, smashing my head on the dashboard.

  My next lucid thought is about how freezing cold the water is as it rushes around my chest. My muscles constrict, my breathing intensifies, and I scream but my voice goes nowhere. It’s trapped with me in a sinking box. I’m disoriented and confused. Everything is blurry. I remember I’m with Beth. She’s not moving. Mike’s not moving. He’s dead; I can just tell. His mouth gapes open, head tilted back, and there’s a gash across his face. Blood’s everywhere. Beth’s head and body are slumped below the water.

  I reach for her, and pull her head back. She’s injured like Mike. I haven’t put my seat belt on but she has. I fight to release the buckle, pulling at it with all my strength.

  I need to save her.

  I need to save her!

  I’m losing the battle fast. I gulp my last breath of air. The water rushing in fills to the roof of the car. I’m going to die.

  The doors won’t open, and I don’t know how to unlock them. I lean back and kick the windshield with my feet. It cracks further and finally releases. I don’t want to leave Beth, but if I don’t my lungs will explode.

  I swim through the opening to the surface and pop above the water, violently gasping for air. Freezing sharp pains shoot through my lungs. Using my arms, I beat the water to keep myself from sinking.

  “Help,” a low voice says. I look around, thinking it’s Beth, but it’s not. It’s a man holding a girl’s head above water. “Help, please.”

  My head still muddled, I splash over to them.

  “Save her, please.”

  I don’t think; I just do. Despite my panic, I reach out to take the girl’s limp body and drag her through the water. Eventually I knock up against the edge of a floating pier and somehow maneuver her and myself onto the decking. Out of breath. Freezing. I collapse. Is she alive? Am I alive? There’s so much blood. On her. On me. Wet red hair fans over her destroyed face and broken body.

  I roll back into the water, looking for the guy. He’s not there. Sirens. People scream at me from a pier.

  Then I remember—Beth is somewhere below, alone in this coldness. Guilt. Dread. Sadness. I wish I were with her. I give up, wanting to make the feeling a reality. I allow myself to sink into the murk. It’s freezing. My muscles seize and when I finally gulp the water, sending rushing stabs of pain into my lungs, I allow myself to drown.

  • • •

  That’s when I awake from my nightmare, gasping for air and lying tangled in sweat-covered sheets and pillows. I roll and sit up, lingering in a half dream state, reliving the rest of the night. I did give up in that water, inviting death like a long-lost friend. It greeted me with chilled open arms, pulling me with the slow current, flooding my lungs and sending me off into the quiet and painless blackness. If only the medics hadn’t fished me out of the water and resuscitated me, I would be with Beth.

  Looking back, I realize I was the one who gave Shea the scars that cover her body. The ones I hated that other man for when really, all my hate should have focused on myself. I was a coward the night I gave up in the water, and every night I’ve given in and drank. But I won’t allow myself to be that coward anymore. Not ever again.

  The clock flashes three a.m. I rub my face, stand, and walk across the small apartment. In a few steps, I flip on the desk lamp. Under the single beam sits a project I’ve been working on, a present for Shea, or maybe it’s simply therapy for me. Either way, it’s something to do to fill my time outside of work, a project that means something to me.

  I seat myself on the stool and start where I left off last night after the last nightmare. Methodically, I glue pressed pennies into place on a piece of wood. Each of the hundreds I have pressed for this project have the second renewed life I long for. Many pieces are scattered around the desk and floor. They don’t look like much now, but they will soon when they are glued together.

  As I’m working, I remember it’s Christmas Day, and I’m thankful that I don’t have to work today but sad that I’m alone. Ashley hasn’t even called, but I don’t blame her. I know she’s controlled by our dad, like everyone else in the family. Though last week I found the perfect gift for Beanie, a princess tea set. I wrapped it up in Cinderella Christmas paper and mailed it. Who knows if Layne will actually give it to her, or tell her it’s from me.

  I wonder what Shea is doing. I wonder if she even gives me a thought anymore, if she’ll ever forgive me, but I hope she will because everything about her is stuck in my head on permanent replay.

  Chapter 56

  She

  Weeks later, I still don’t speak about anything th
at’s happened in the last few months, especially not during Christmas. It’s swept under the rug like my illness, ignored as we carry on with holiday festivities, hosting family and friends at our farm. Everyone is happy to see me healthier, and though I’m pretending to be gracious and thrilled to see them, too, I’m still somehow hating but missing Hew at the same time.

  For a little while, I think I’ve lost too much of my spirit in this fight—at least the little that I had stored up. But as the days go by and I see no hallucinations and feel stronger, I vow to move on and improve myself. Be a better person every day. I remember that I said that once to Hew and decide it’s a respectable goal—a New Year’s resolution. And though I feel ill at the thought of how Hew’s life intertwines with mine, I liked who I was when we were together, even if I only want to remember it as a dream.

  To pass the time, I take a cooking class and just try to live and be normal. Whatever normal is for someone like me. Like all things in time, I think I begin to heal.

  Dr. Leevy says my unique case study could help others, that her colleagues are intrigued. She’s even writing a paper about me for some medical journal, like I’m some messed-up guinea pig. I try not to think about it too much. I do have some confusion from time to time, but each day I do feel better.

  More and more I fill my time with activities that interest me. They are the good minutes of my day. If I give myself one second of free time, I’m afraid I may slip back to that place where Luke may find me. For the first time since the accident, I think about my future. Once upon a time, when I was in college, I wanted to be an artist. But now I decide there is something to the idea of the wine and fortune cookie company, so I buy a book on starting a business, and spend all of winter and into early spring writing my business proposal, becoming consumed with the idea.