by Jessica Park
“And then I heard this weird sound; even as I was drowning and dying, the sound came through to me. Suddenly his hands were off me, but it still took me a second to push myself out of the water. Then I understood what the sound was. His fucking volunteer’s pager was going off. That always trumped everything. So he turned it off, and he just left me there while he drove away.”
“I was coughing and trying to get air. I just wanted to get back to bed, so I crawled out of the bathroom to the bottom of the staircase. I reached up for the railing and walked about five or six steps up. Then I got too dizzy. I just couldn’t stand. I still couldn’t breathe.”
I inhale deeply again, reminding him that right now he does have air. “Of course you couldn’t. Nobody could have.”
He is still talking in a whisper, so softly that I have to strain to hear him. Like a little kid telling a secret that he isn’t supposed to. “I started to fall backward down the stairs. I managed to stay upright, but I couldn’t really figure out my footing … So when I hit the landing I just stumbled hard across the floor. Because I couldn’t see, and I couldn’t get my balance … I was so disoriented. That’s when I crashed into the glass display case. It was this giant floor-to-ceiling monstrosity that my father had built to keep a bunch of my mother’s things in. She had china and these silly little glass animals that she loved. That’s what I fell into, and the entire thing shattered around me.
“It must have made a hell of a noise because Sabin woke up, and you know how nothing wakes him. Apparently I passed out for a few minutes, not long. When I came to, the lights were on, and he was crying and fishing me out of the glass. I kept telling him that I was going to be okay. But I didn’t know how much blood there was yet. He got me upstairs to our bathroom and pulled out glass from me for half an hour. When I fell, I must have … ripped open my back on something. Maybe glass, maybe one of the metal shelves. I don’t know. Sabin wanted to take me to the emergency room, but I wouldn’t let him. Because you know what was crazy? There was something good about what happened. I mean, really, really good. I knew that it was over. Nothing would happen again. My father didn’t want to get caught, and he’d get caught. This had gone too far. It was too … visible. I just suddenly wasn’t afraid anymore.
“Sabin stopped the bleeding by putting pressure on my back like I asked him. He bandaged me up with piles of gauze and tape. And we left the mess of glass and blood on the floor for my father to clean up. Sabin stayed in my room that night. He stayed up all night, sitting up against my door just to make sure. But I knew it was over, and I knew what to do.
“The week before, I’d found out that when I turned twenty-one I’d be in charge of most of my mother’s estate, including the house. I don’t like to think that she knew what he was like, but … her will gave everything to us. So maybe she knew, and that’s why she left me in charge. So I threatened him. If he stayed the hell away from my family—my family—I’d let him keep that fucking palatial house that he loved so much. He could keep working, he could keep being the Goddamn local volunteer hero, he could keep his image that he valued so much. But he wasn’t going to touch any of us again, or I would take it all. Every bit of it.
“That night, after Sabin patched me up, I had him leave a note on top of the broken glass and my blood. It read, No more. Or I take it all. When we got up the next day, everything had been cleaned up. My father never said anything about it, of course. But after that, all the shit stopped. He wouldn’t give up that house, or the studio in it, or my mother’s money.
“I went to college nearby for my freshman and sophomore years, and so did Sabin for his freshman year. We didn’t want to risk leaving the twins alone with him. Then we all went to Matthews together.”
“So that’s the night that my father tried to kill me. He would have, too. I’d be dead if it weren’t for his pager going off. So there’s no God, no divine intervention. Just a page that happened to come through when I needed it the most.”
Chris holds me tightly, still not looking at me. “Now you know. Now you know how completely and irreparably broken I am. I may have lived, but I am too damaged for you. I am not the person you think I am or the one you deserve.”
Before I can protest, he kisses me. And the longer he kisses me, the more I know that he is trying to say good-bye to me and good-bye to us. Eventually he pulls away.
“I was afraid this would happen. Being with you? It brought everything back just like you said it would. It makes all of it worse. No, don’t look at me like that, Blythe. This is not like what you went through. I told you not to fight your past and to let it into your life because I knew it was something you could deal with. This is different. I can see now that we will never escape this. It was better before when I could hide and just stay with the future. We can’t pretend that you don’t know this truth, and we can’t pretend that this will work between us. I wish that I could be somebody else, but what’s happened to me is inextricably part of who I am. Who I will always be. It made me the person who you think you love. And so you love me either because of that or in spite of it. Both of which are unbearable.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Once Before
Zach and I are alone at the house all night. Both of us are numb. The others have taken Sabin to the emergency room. The minute that Chris finished trying to tell me that we are over, Sabin vomited and started to choke. Chris rolled him over, and when Sabe stopped heaving, he was still unconscious. Chris wouldn’t look at me, but adamantly refused to let me go with them. My hope is that Sabin will have his stomach pumped to all hell or something, and he’ll be okay. So I stare at my phone waiting to hear something.
Outside, an earsplitting clap of thunder announces that the storm that’s been on the way has arrived, and a hard rain starts to fall. Zach has lit a fire to try to take away the chill, but neither of us can stop shivering. We haven’t talked about the implosion of either of our relationships. The devastation and confusion are too great. Also, the anger. We fall asleep together on the couch.
Zach wakes me early in the morning. He’s showered, his hair still wet, and he shakes me hard until I growl at him. I don’t want to be awake. I want to disappear. He tells me to get dressed and to meet him in the car.
“What is it? Wait, is it Sabin?” I sit up.
“No. He’s okay. I got a text from Estelle. He’s going to be fine. Get dressed.” He hands me a travel mug of coffee. “We’re taking a trip.”
“Where are we going?”
“Just get ready.”
Thirty minutes later, we are driving out of Bar Harbor. Zach’s aviator shades hide his eyes, but I can see determination in his posture and his grip on the steering wheel. He has been unusually curt with me today, but I don’t like being kidnapped.
“Zach.” I touch his shoulder softly. “Where are we going?”
He clamps his mouth shut and doesn’t answer me right away. “You know what I know now, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“In fact, you know more. I didn’t mean to listen in, but yesterday I heard a bit of a conversation between James and Chris. Estelle? She’s … There’s a lot more isn’t there? They’re all in deep shit.”
“Yes.” My voice splinters. “Yes.”
“It’s much worse than I understood. So much worse.”
“I know. I had no idea. Zach, where are we going?”
“I don’t want to talk. Just let me drive.”
I’m exhausted, but I can’t rest. I shut my eyes, and I am haunted by Chris’s stories. The repeated trauma they faced … It’s too much. I know how markedly I fell apart after the fire, and this is so much worse. How they have functioned at all, seemingly so well until now, is impossible to understand. They are tough, all of them, but as Chris pointed out, they have been damaged profoundly. What Chris had to go through, what he endured … What has been done to his body and mind … I have graphic images of his childhood that I cannot stop seeing.
I am deeply in love wi
th Chris. He is everything to me. He saved me, and he’s not going to let me save him. I don’t even know how to process that. I don’t know what to do.
“Zach, pull over.” I’ve started to cry now, immediately choking on my sobs. “Pull over.”
Zach veers the car off to the side of the highway, and I can barely see as I get the door open and lean against the guardrail. I vomit repeatedly. Zach gets out and comes to stand next to me with his hand on my back while I empty my stomach, coughing and crying.
“I know, Blythe. I know.”
“Oh, Zach. No, no, no! Please tell me this didn’t happen. Please, I can’t stand this. Please, make it go away. Not them. Not Chris. Not Eric and Estelle. God, not Sabin. Not my Sabin. Oh please. I don’t want to lose Chris, I don’t want to lose him. None of them. We can’t let them go.”
He hands me a tissue from the car and then takes me in his arms. “I know, sweetheart. They can’t … they can’t tolerate relationships. That’s why Chris and Eric are trying to leave us. Our love is too much, and they don’t think they deserve it. Or they’re afraid it won’t last. Or … any number of things. Their attachment issues are wholly fucked up. It’s not their fault.”
We cry together, both of us on the verge of losing the people we are madly in love with and both of us filled with immeasurable anger and heartbreak.
Zach gets me back into the car and buckles my seat belt for me, as I am too hysterical to do anything but fall apart.
“We need to keep going, Blythe. Let’s just keep going.”
I can’t imagine where Zach is taking us, but at this point, it hardly matters. I cry until I have no tears left.
It takes about two hours of driving, but finally I calm down. I can feel that I am shutting off, as if the depression that Chris helped me chase away is reappearing. It’s going to take hold of me, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to fight it this time. Not without Chris.
I realize that Zach has stopped the car. We are parked on a gravel driveway in a tree-filled area that overlooks a huge contemporary house. The hard angles and sleek design feel cold and stiff. It looks to be three floors and the view to the ocean must be extraordinary. Even from the car, I can hear the waves hitting the shore. The house is isolated on what appears to be a huge piece of property. There are no other houses in sight.
I wipe my eyes. “Where are we?”
“This is where it all happened.”
That’s when I understand. We are at their father’s house.
“I wish he were dead.” His eyes flash. “They wish he were dead. He deserves to be dead.”
I watch as he seems to shudder with a rage I’ve never seen in him before. His face is flushed. I know I’m watching a transformation and that it’s out of my power to reason with him. I watch as he reaches around to the backseat, his hand fumbling as if for something he’s just remembered. Then I see that he’s got a hold of a baseball bat.
I stare at Zach and feel all my senses come alive. I grab the arm that’s not holding the bat with both of my hands.
“Oh Jesus. Fuck, no, Zach! You’re out of your mind. This is not the answer.”
“It is. You know it is. This son of a bitch is out of his mind. You heard what he did to them! You heard it! He fucking terrorized them. This sick fuck is not going to take anything else from those kids. They all want him gone; you know they do.” He pulls his arm from me and gets out of the car, leaving it running. He is gone before I have time to think. I sit unmoving in my seat. I understand what Zach is feeling. Their father’s death would bring a degree of peace and justice that nothing else can. But this is crazy. There’s some part of me that doesn’t believe it is happening. I force myself to breathe. I know I have to move. I should stop this. Or I could let this be over in a few minutes. It’s hard to think, and I struggle for too long before I get out of the car.
But the moment I open the door, I start to run down the driveway. Zach has parked a good distance from the house. My feet are pounding, and my heart is racing, but I don’t know that I’m going to be in time to stop him. I run hard. This is not the answer, and it’s not what Chris would want. As I run, I am overwhelmed with a sense of familiarity. The smell, the sound of the water here …
I find Zach standing outside the front of the house. An Adirondack chair on the deck faces the ocean, and a man is sleeping in it. A plaid wool blanket covers his lap. I don’t even want to look, so I keep my back to the deck. Zach is still holding the bat, but his arm is slack by his side. Thankfully, he can’t do it, because I wouldn’t be able to stop him.
“Zach, let’s go. Now.”
“That’s him. Look how big he is. How powerful he must have been before he got sick.” Tears stream down his face. “How could he have done what he did? How?”
I can’t stop myself, and I turn to get a good look. I suddenly want to see the person who has inflicted so much pain. Who does this? Who terrorizes and belittles and scares the shit out of kids? That’s not how the world should work.
So I focus on this man who has so viciously tormented people I nearly worship. When I see his face, the shock threatens to drop me to my knees. I walk closer until I am only a few feet from him, and I am sure. I know this man.
The man asleep in the chair in front of me, I have seen him once before. He is a bit grayer now, but I know his strong jawline and the scar above his eyebrow. I know his strength and his heroism. I know how I have idealized him for years, and I know how his image has gotten me though countless nights of my own pain. I know the sound of his voice. You are safe, you are safe, you are safe, sweet girl.
I know all of this because the man who tortured the love of my life is the same man who pulled me from the ladder just before it collapsed into the burning house.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Saving Graces
Zach and I don’t talk for most of the ride home. I haven’t told him about Chris’s father. I just can’t. The devastation and confusion are too great. For now, this knowledge is solely mine, and I’m not ready to change that yet. One of the things that I love about Zach is that he respects boundaries the way that I do, so he does not press me despite the obvious fact that I am in shock. I do, however, say firmly, “I can fix this. I can get them back. I just need to think.” He doesn’t question me, but just nods, continuing to hide behind his sunglasses as we drive. We stop at a convenience store for gas and something to eat. Both of us are sick to our stomachs, but we agree that some food might help. I scan the drink cases, unable to decide—nothing could possibly sit well. Then I smile and reach for an orange soda.
At the house, I walk through the living room past James, Estelle, and Chris, who have returned from the hospital, and go up to my bedroom. I need quiet. I sit on the side of the bed, the bed that I share with Chris, and stare at my reflection in the dresser-top mirror. I can’t decide if I still look like a kid or if I look like a woman. I’m at a funny in-between stage. Perhaps I should see myself as younger simply due to my age, but what I’ve been through makes me feel older. It’s not an uncomfortable thought being totally grown up. I like who I am, who I’ve grown into. Had I not lived through the fire and through the aftermath, I might like myself less. I am affected by my past, just as everyone is, and being able to embrace that centers me. That strength and stability is going to help me today.
What am I going to say to Chris? I’ve had a long drive to process things, but I’m still missing a piece of our story. I know it. The quilt is cool against my skin when I lie down on the bed, and I tuck my knees up into my chest while I try to digest all that has happened over the past twenty-four hours. Too much. A massive storm of information has engulfed me, as I knew it would. That’s how a storm with such power happens; you sense the build and darkness, you prepare as much as possible, you do what you can to get through it even as it devastates your entire world. Whatever you do, however much you brace yourself, you will still be caught up in forces that you cannot control. So the question is how to navigate through the
chaos. It takes thought and trust and serenity.
Later I get up and pace. I’m close. I have the answer right here, if I could just … I sit up slowly and look to my dresser. The sea urchin that Chris gave me so long ago sits in the center. I pick it up gently and rub my fingers over it. He said this belonged to me, and I felt that to be true also. Neither of us had a reason, but it simply felt so right that questioning it was not a priority. That’s how it has always been with him. The natural, instinctual flow between us has always felt so right. Now I am sensing that our connection is even deeper than I have previously imagined. I start to roll the sea urchin back and forth from one hand to the other. Think. Think.
As it turns upside down in my palm, I stop. I’d never noticed that there is a small circular disc on the bottom of the sea urchin. After some gentle prodding, I get it off. The porcelain figure is hollow, and something is stuffed inside, presumably to protect the fragile piece from breaking. I remove a wad of faded red fabric. I put down the sea urchin and hold up the scrap of cotton. I have flashes of memory, sensory input from this small bit of old fabric that triggers emotion and, minutes later, images. Then I know what it is. I know the color and texture very well.
My heart nearly stops.
I squeeze my hand around it as I walk from my room into Chris’s. Ignoring my general high regard for privacy, especially Christopher’s, I begin frantically rooting through his dresser and his closet. It’s got to be here. He must have it.
It is an hour later that Chris appears in the doorway to my room. “Blythe?”
I am sitting on the floor while tears cascade down my cheeks. I am not sad; I am just overwhelmed. I don’t know how to explain this to him because I cannot explain it to myself. I look up at the person whom I love more than anything in the world.