Scratch

by Rhonda Helms

  When I returned, Daniel wasn’t sitting. He was hovering near the doorway, and his face looked like he was torn about something. “Casey,” he said. “Can we get out of here? I want to talk.”

  A waft of his ocean scent hit me, and I was filled with a sudden ache of missing him. God, I’d missed him this week. I had tried my best to not think about it, but he’d etched himself deep into my heart. Our fight hadn’t made that fade, despite how much I’d tried to tell myself it had.

  With a steadying breath, I grabbed my purse, then nodded and followed him out the door.

  We got in his car and pulled out of the parking lot, then made our way to the highway. Silence was thick and tense between us. Daniel’s hands gripped the steering wheel, and twice he rubbed his palms on his thighs. When I dared to glance at his stern profile, I could see a muscle twitch along the edge of his jaw.

  Was he nervous about talking to me? I twisted my fingers in my lap. While I was glad I wasn’t the only one filled with anxiety, it kind of broke my heart to see him so tangled up inside. Whatever he was thinking about was eating him apart; I could tell that much.

  Maybe he was taking me out somewhere to tell me he didn’t want to see me anymore. My heart gave a painful thud. But why not just do that back out at the apartment? Why drag me into his car then?

  Daniel huffed a sigh. “I’m really nervous,” he admitted. “Things went badly on Sunday. I have so many things I want to say, but I’m afraid to.”

  I gripped my fingers tighter. “You should just spit it out, whatever it is.” If he was officially dumping me, I didn’t want to sit in this car, wondering when the ax was going to fall. I wanted to go back home and scrape together whatever semblance of pride I could muster. To not fall apart until I was safely back in my room.

  “I keep thinking about the things you told me. And a lot of things make sense now,” he said. His tone was quiet, and it was almost hard to hear him over the soft rumble of the highway around us. “Why you keep yourself covered up. Why you’re so self-reliant, so closed off sometimes. I don’t mean that in a bad way,” he rushed to say, shooting me a quick sidelong glance. “Just that you don’t want to get hurt.”

  I sat in silence, listening.

  “I’m sorry I pushed you so hard. I can’t imagine the things you’ve gone through. My family life wasn’t like that at all. But . . . Casey, I’ve seen how you’ve changed since we’ve been together, even if you don’t realize it. You laugh and smile a lot more. You’ve been dropping your guard. And while I know it’s hard for you to trust me, I think it’s that trust that has been helping you start to heal. You’re allowing yourself to open up and care about people.”

  Tears stung my eyes. I blinked, swallowed. He was right.

  “It took a lot of courage for you to tell me all of that. And I don’t want you to keep running away from me. I’m trying to help you, not hurt you. But you’re still so raw. It’s killing me to see you in this pain. Once you’re able to let it go, I think you’ll be amazed at how good you feel.”

  “Easier said than done,” I replied. My pulse thrummed in my veins. “I don’t know how to . . . stop feeling this way.” I paused, surprised at myself. Despite the way things had gone, I was still confessing my secrets to him. Still opening up.

  I could sense his hesitancy as he removed his right hand from the steering wheel and reached over to mine, curled in my lap. He rested his hand on top. My stomach fluttered in response to the soft, comforting sensation. Those damn tears welled back up again.

  “I know. I’m proud of you for how hard you’ve worked. And . . . I think I have some ideas that might help you.” He removed his hand to steer off the highway.

  I peered around. Where were we going?

  A few minutes later, my stomach tightened so badly I thought I was going to be sick. No, he couldn’t possibly have known about this place we were about to drive right by. It was just a sick coincidence.

  Daniel slowed the car, keeping his gaze steadily fixed ahead. He drove through the wide-open cemetery gates.

  Into the place that held the bodies of my mother, sister and father.

  “No,” I said. Desperation made my tone wild. I hadn’t been here since that one visit right after I got out of the hospital. They’d been buried for weeks by then. Grandma and Grandpa had held me up as I’d cried and begged to go to their home. It was a horrible experience.

  I clawed for the door blindly, looking for a way to get out.

  Daniel stopped the car, put a hand on my shoulder. “Stop. Stop. Listen to me,” he said. “You have to trust me, okay? Just . . . hear me out, and if you want to go after that, we can go. But just listen.”

  Tears slid down my face. My stomach burned with anger and intense fear. I turned accusing eyes toward him. “I can’t believe you. After what we went through, this is where you take me? Seriously?”

  “You won’t be able to heal until you let this go,” he said. I could see the steel in his eyes, hear the determination in his voice. “You need to face your father, Casey. Tell him you hate him, you’re angry—whatever. Get it out of you before it poisons you.”

  “What, so you’re my therapist now?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. I struggled to suck in breaths. “Am I a pet project for you to fix?”

  “I care about you!” He clenched his jaw, ran a hand through his hair, leaving messy waves everywhere. “God, why can’t you see that? It’s not you against the world, Casey. I’m here for you! Let me help you, please!”

  A swell of betrayal hit me as I took in once again where we were. Where he’d taken me. He’d obviously looked me up online, found all the articles blaring about it. Knew where my family was dead and rotting.

  “I can’t believe you.” The car felt too small. I unlocked the door and escaped, breathing in the brisk air. It was getting colder outside as fall finally made its appearance; goose bumps scattered across my arms, peppered my torso. I kept my back to the car when I heard him get out and close his door. “I don’t need healing. I’m doing fine.”

  “Yes, you’re doing fine, Casey. You’re making it through each day.” His voice dropped, and the breeze carried his next words to my ears. “But when you face your father and purge all of these feelings, you’ll be more than just ‘fine.’ You’ll be able to start healing for real.”

  I knew he fervently believed what he was telling me. I also knew he crossed a line bringing me here—surprising me with this. My scoff rang out into the quiet cemetery. If he’d told me, he’d have known my answer would be no. Hence the secrecy. How could I trust him?

  A layer of ice formed over my heart. My words were cold as I spat them out. “I’m going home. Either you’re going to take me or I’ll find a bus or hitchhike. But I’m not doing this here, and I’m not doing this with you.”

  “Casey—”

  “No. I’m done listening to you. I’m done with you trying to fix me, change me, make things be the way you want them to be. If you cared about me, you’d accept me for who I am.” And stop trying to cram my past in my face.

  There was silence. A few birds chirped in a tree in the distance. I kept my gaze squarely on the ground, refusing to even look at my surroundings. Sunlight danced along the grit and rocks under my feet.

  “I’ll take you home,” he finally said. I could tell he was frustrated. I so didn’t care right now.

  We got back in the car. The tension was almost unbearable. I kept my eyes straight ahead, watching to make sure he was taking me home as he’d promised.

  When the car pulled into my parking lot, Daniel put it in park. “I was just trying to help,” he said. “Not hurt you. I wish you could see that and believe in it.”

  My throat was so tight by now that I didn’t think I could respond even if I wanted to. If I opened my mouth, I’d start bawling and never stop. With shaky fingers I fumbled for the door. I got out, closed it behind me, walked toward my apartment. Not looking back.

  We were done. I knew that now. Done for good
. The realization brought both pain and relief from pain, strangely enough. I couldn’t deal with someone trying to fix me, with all the pushing. I didn’t want to be fixed. I wanted to make it through life on my terms.

  I keyed the door. The apartment was still empty. I sat down on the edge of the couch, and all emotions leeched out of my body, leaving me cold and numb.

  In that moment, I wanted my life back the way it was. Before Daniel had come along and changed me forever, had shifted my expectations. Had made me fall for him, drop all my protective walls. Trust him.

  Love him.

  I wanted things to be safe and careful. Steady.

  And I wasn’t sure I was ever going to have that again.

  Chapter 20

  I spent that afternoon zoning out in front of the TV, trying my best to not think, not feel. If I gave myself even a minute to mull over everything that had happened, I was afraid I would go so far into the dark that I’d never come back out. It had taken everything I had to claw my way out of that blackness when I was thirteen. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to go through it again.

  My phone buzzed. My heart gave a sick thud, and with trembling fingers I dug the cell out of my pocket. But it wasn’t Daniel.

  Hope work went well last night. Love you! Grandma (yes, I signed it) :-P

  That one simple message from her shattered my numb walls. My soul ached with an almost physical throb of pain. I needed to go home, absorb the safety and comfort of the people who were there for me when everything was bleak.

  Can I come over? I sent the text.

  My phone immediately buzzed back. Granddad’s helping a friend with house repairs, but I’m home. Meatloaf’s in the oven and should be ready soon. Come over, honey. Love, Grandma

  She knew, even without me saying anything about what was bothering me, had instinctively known I was craving her comfort. Appreciation and love filled my chest and bolstered me enough to get off the couch, grab my purse and head out the door.

  The whole ride there, I held my focus on whatever song was on the radio station. Not listening to all those whirring thoughts in my brain. I needed to keep my shit together for a little while longer. Though Grandma was tiny, her thin arms had been strong enough to hold me through many rounds of tears. She and Granddad were my rocks.

  When I got to her house, I knocked on the door. Grandma answered, her face filled with such warmth and love that my chest tightened in response. There was a knot of tension right under the center of my rib cage that almost hurt with its intensity. My shoulders ached with the effort of keeping myself stiff.

  “Hey, honey,” she said as she reached out to take my hand, drawing me into the living room. From the kitchen I could smell the meatloaf and the scent of freshly baked bread, probably warmed in a basket on top of the stove. “Come in. Can I get you something to drink?”

  I shook my head. Suddenly I couldn’t talk, though words ached to spill out of me.

  Her brows knitted. She sat down on the couch beside me, her hand still holding mine. “I don’t want to push you, but I can tell there’s something wrong. And I’m worried about you. You’ve been very quiet this week, even a little off at dinner on Friday.”

  Guess I hadn’t fooled her as well as I’d thought. A choked sob ripped out, and I popped my free hand over my mouth. Control. Get yourself under control. You can’t talk if you’re a total mess. The harsh words helped; the tightness in my chest eased up a fraction so I could at least speak. “It’s been . . . a hard week,” I finally managed to say. My eyes burned, though I tried to blink back the tears. I didn’t want to get lost in my misery.

  In halting words and phrases, I told Grandma the truth about everything. How I was falling for Daniel, how he’d made me open up, laugh, smile. Fall in love. The fight where I’d showed him my stomach scars and confessed about my past. Cutting classes this week, and then him showing up this morning. The cemetery.

  As I talked, the emotions I’d been suppressing flooded me in hot waves of pain, and hot tears streaked down my face.

  “I can’t believe he did that to me,” I said, knowing my voice was weak and thready but unable to keep my calm any longer. My palms throbbed; at some point, I must have released her hands because now my nails had dug so hard into the fleshy pads that there were angry imprints on them. I unclenched my fingers and pressed my open hands to my jean-clad thighs. “I trusted him, and he betrayed me.”

  “What makes you feel that was betrayal?” she asked. There wasn’t a challenge in her voice, just genuine curiosity.

  I cleared my throat, wiped my face. “He knew this was something that I struggle with, and he snuck me there without telling me that was where we were going.” That anger rose again as I thought about it. Anger and hurt.

  How could Daniel not have known it would kill me to go there?

  “Oh, Casey. I know that had to be hard for you. I’m sorry.” She reached over and hugged me. Her tiny hand stroked my hair, and I rested my head on her shoulder. “Sweetheart, what he did wasn’t right—it wasn’t fair to spring that on you out of the blue. I don’t blame you for being upset about it.” Her grip on me tightened a bit, like she knew her next words would hit me hard. “But he was right in one big thing: you have to let your past go if you’re going to heal.”

  I froze; her grip tightened just a touch more. Not pinning me to her, but her silent way of asking me to not retreat from her. “If he cared about me,” I whispered hotly, “he wouldn’t be trying to change me. I can’t help who I am.”

  She pressed a soft kiss to my brow. “I don’t think he’s trying to change you. He just wants you to be happy.” She pulled me back and looked deep into my eyes. “I saw the way that boy was with you when he came to dinner. He cares about you. A lot. Yes, his method was wrong, but the core idea is worth thinking over anyway.” She sighed. “I know this has to be hard for you. Facing a past like ours isn’t easy for anyone.”

  Her eyes welled with her own sadness, and my heart about broke. Suddenly I felt selfish. Here I was, wrapped up in my own issues once again. Whining to her about how dejected and scared I was. But I knew she’d had her own sleepless nights over the years. That my father’s madness had crushed a part of her heart too.

  Sometimes as a teen, I would lie in bed, unable to sleep, and I’d hear her quiet sobs from their bedroom beside mine. Yes, I’d lost my family, but she had also lost hers. Had lost her son, her daughter-in-law, her beautiful granddaughter. Yet she didn’t let it cripple her, hadn’t hidden in bed forever or swallowed a bottle of pills or booze. She’d pulled it together and helped me through the worst period of my life.

  “How did you do it?” I asked.

  “Do what?” She tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear.

  “How did you forgive him and stop feeling so . . . angry about it?” Pain thickened in my chest. “I just can’t, Grandma. Every time I even think about him, I want to scream. It’s been eight years, and I still hate him just as much. He doesn’t deserve my forgiveness.” That old familiar emotion, bitter loathing, came rushing back to the surface.

  Really, I didn’t want to forgive him. Why should I? After all, he wasn’t around to explain to me why he’d snapped. What had gone through his mind when he’d picked up a rifle and blew away his family, then himself. There was no possible way for me to understand that.

  Nor did I want to. After all, if I could understand a murderer, what did that make me?

  She gave me an understanding nod. “I know. It took me a long time of talking to the therapist and your granddad to let go of my anger and hurt. Even longer to start the process of forgiving him. I still work on it every day.” Her sigh of pain shredded me. “I’ll be honest. I still hurt, though. There’s nothing like knowing your own son was in such horrible emotional pain that he’d go to those lengths to escape it. I couldn’t help or save him.”

  I reached over and took her hand in mine. Our hurt swam between us, wrapped us in a thick layer. I wasn’t alone in this—I never ha
d been, though it had felt that way sometimes. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “I had to learn how to start forgiving your father,” she continued, and her wizened eyes fixed on me. “Not because he deserved it. Not because I was supposed to. But because if I didn’t, I’d be bitter and angry all the time. And how could I move forward, take care of you and your granddad, if I was filled with so many negative emotions?”

  I thought back on my past. How I’d shoved all of those overwhelming feelings about my family’s death into a tiny box in the corner of my heart, not wanting to experience it ever again. Trying so hard to pretend I wasn’t still deeply damaged from it. “I don’t know how to forgive him,” I admitted.

  “It is a struggle.” She nodded. “But I know you, Casey. This resonant sadness, it isn’t the core of who you are, though it may feel like it sometimes. You were a happy child before this happened. And that incident swallowed up who you were, smothered that happiness down. But I’m seeing it in you again, honey. You smile and laugh so much more freely than you have in years, since you’ve met Daniel.”

  Those damn tears filled my eyes again. I squeezed her hand. “I’m trying,” I whispered around a tight throat.

  “I know you are—I can tell. And I know this will be hard for you to hear, but I’m going to say it anyway. Because if you’re going to move forward, find real happiness, you need to remember a few things. Things I have to make myself remember too.” Grandma paused and drew in a breath. “Your father did love you, in his own way. He loved Lila and your mom too. But he struggled with his demons, and they took over. He was too mentally ill to cope with them, but he refused to get help.” Her eyes grew sad. “My personal burden to bear is that I saw this happening to him over the last several years of his life, saw him fighting off that darkness, but in the end it won. Maybe I could have stopped this from happening if I’d fought harder, had pushed him to check into a facility where he could have gotten the help he’d needed.”

  Wow, she’d never told me that before. I wasn’t the only one with survivor’s guilt. My heart hurt for her. “No,” I said, my voice determined. “None of us could have. Dad was stubborn and he wouldn’t have listened anyway.” I paused, blinked, startled to realize it was true.