Be Not Afraid

by Cecilia Galante

  I lay back down and stared up at Johnny Depp. All right, so maybe I would just spend the day here like this, doing nothing, thinking nothing. Was it possible not to feel anything, either? Could I do that? Just for today? Above me, Johnny smiled, his smug, almost sardonic expression strung across his face like an uneven necklace.

  I leapt up suddenly and tore the poster down. It came off in pieces, tearing at the bottom where it was still hinged with tape, and I swung furiously, yanking and shredding it to bits. Panting, I threw it in the trash, each piece crumpled into tight balls, and kicked the trash can over, just for good measure. Then I got back into bed and pulled the covers over my head.

  I must have slept, because the sun was bright in my room when I heard Nan knocking.

  “Marin?” She opened the door, knotting a clean kerchief around her neck. “Didn’t you hear me calling you? There’s someone here to see you.”

  “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

  “It’s a boy.” Her eyebrows were up high on her forehead. “I think he’s from your school. He says his name is Dominic.”

  My heart rose and fell again. My stupid bike. The perfect excuse for him to come back over, just so he could find some reason to keep talking. Oh, he’d talk. Prod, was more like it. He’d find some way to get into it now as far as he could, probably. But why was I surprised? Had I really thought he wouldn’t come back? There were too many unanswered questions. Too much at stake here. For both of us.

  “Get up, angel!” Nan’s voice drifted down the hall. “He didn’t want to come inside, so don’t make him wait out there on the porch all by his lonesome. It’s bad manners.”

  I threw on some jeans and a white T-shirt, grabbed an old black cardigan and my blue scarf with the little bits of gold threaded throughout, and brushed my teeth. A few fingers through my hair, a settling of my sunglasses on my face, and I was set. I tested my breath, exhaling once into my cupped hands, and headed for the front door.

  “Hey.” He looked different. Cleaned up. Khaki pants, a white T-shirt, the same leather jacket. Brown shoes with leather laces instead of his running sneakers. His hair had been combed and was parted on one side. A map of lines spread itself across his forehead, and the blue disk inside his wrist quivered. “How are you?”

  “I’m all right.”

  “I was a little worried.” His eyes roved over me, as if looking for battle scars. “You know, watching you walk off like that. It was pretty dark.”

  “It was fine.” I stared at his shoes—tan nubucks with scuffed toes. “I went to my friend Lucy’s house.”

  “Oh. Well, good.” He nodded, as if he understood. Which he didn’t, not really. He turned, gesturing outside with his hand. “Do you think we could go for a walk?”

  “Do you have my bike?” I asked instead of answering.

  “I do!” He seemed startled. “Yeah, I do. It’s still in the back of my Jeep. Come on. I’ll get it for you.”

  I followed him out the door, inhaling the pine-salty scent of him, and leaned back inside again. “I’m going for a walk, Nan! I’ll be back!”

  “Take your time!” Her voice was a singsong.

  I waited as Dominic lifted my bike out of the car. He set it down on the ground, moving the handlebars in my direction. “You obviously got home without this last night.”

  “I used my second speed.” I wheeled the bike to the side of the porch and dropped the kickstand down. I could feel him smiling a little behind me.

  “This way okay?” he asked, pointing to the dirt road.

  “For what?”

  “A walk.” He pulled on one of his earlobes. “I asked you if we could go for a walk, remember?”

  I inhaled and then let it out again, a balloon releasing air. “I really—”

  “I promise I won’t grab your arm,” he said, cutting me off. “Or any other part of you.” He bit his lip, realizing maybe how that sounded, and I forced myself not to smile. “We don’t even have to talk about Cassie. We can just walk. And talk about whatever.”

  I looked at him suspiciously. He’d already returned my bike. And if he wasn’t here to talk about his sister, then there was no reason for him to be here. Like, at all.

  “Come on.” He leaned toward the road, took a long step sideways. “It’s just a walk, Marin. I’m not asking you to give blood or anything.”

  I fell into step beside him, keeping my gaze on the ground in front of me. Every few seconds, his hand would brush the side of mine, and he would apologize and then scoot over a little as if he had done something wrong. We were practically the same height; he had me only by an inch or so, and for a split second, I wondered what might happen if I turned my head and looked up a little, and he turned his head and looked down a little. The thought made me dizzy.

  “You know, I’ve never really been out this way,” Dominic said after another moment or two of silence. “It’s sort of … off the beaten path a little.”

  I stared straight ahead, not sure what to say to such a thing. I guessed he was referring to the fields that stretched out on either side of us, or the road itself, which after another mile gave way to the scattered outskirts of town and eventually, downtown Fairfield with its multitude of stores and coffee shops. How had he known I lived here? I’d forgotten to ask him yesterday. Who gave him my address?

  “I like it,” he offered. “It’s … quiet.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “We like it too.”

  “You’re not from around here, right? I mean originally?”

  “No. We moved last year from Maine.”

  “Maine,” he said, nodding. “I’ve never been that far north. I’ve heard it’s nice. Lots of lobster, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “You like it here?”

  “It’s all right.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek, scratched his forearm. The blue shape inside his wrist moved with him, a tiny spaceship getting ready for liftoff. “How about your parents? Do they like it here?”

  “We live with my grandmother. She’s been here all her life. My dad likes it, I think.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “Oh.” He winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “It’s fine.”

  Except that it wasn’t fine. Aside from Lucy and a few of the wacky psychiatrists I’d been forced to talk to, I’d never told anyone here about Mom. It wasn’t like I was in any kind of denial about her death or that I couldn’t talk about it. I knew she was gone. And I knew she was never coming back. Still, saying the words out loud—she’s dead—did something to me inside, shifting the pain to a place that hurt again. There was no telling what might happen or what I might say if he pressed the issue.

  “How about siblings?” he asked. “You got any brothers or sisters?”

  “No.” I let the air stream out of my chest again. “Just me.”

  The sky was a pale blue, mottled with cottony clouds, and the tops of the trees swayed lightly under a breeze. A flock of geese trailed overhead for a few minutes, almost as if studying us from afar, and then, with a series of honks and shouts, moved on again. Maybe it was the sibling question, or maybe a part of me knew that he was restraining himself, forcing down the questions he really wanted to ask.

  “How’s Cassie doing?” I heard myself say.

  He paused. “She’s been better.”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s home.” He looked at me, waiting for me to turn my head. “We brought her home this morning. She’s on some medicine called Risperdal, and my mom and dad hired two nurses to stay with her around the clock.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Marin.” He glanced back at the house, as if he had needed to get a certain distance from it before he said what he really wanted to say. “I know I said we didn’t have to talk about Cassie, but since you brought her up, I really need to tell you something.”

  My heart flip-flopped. “Okay.”

  “Las
t night, Cassie told my mother that when she saw you in the hospital, the pain in her head went away.” He said the words in a rush, as if I might cut him off if he didn’t get them out fast enough. “That might not mean a whole lot to you, but my sister has been in constant pain for almost six months now. Six months. She said it feels like someone is stabbing her with knives in the back of her skull and that it never lets up, not even when she goes to sleep. Can you imagine what that must be like?”

  I raised my eyes the slightest bit until I could see just the edge of the silver zipper that lined his jacket.

  “I can’t imagine it,” he went on, “and it’s happening to my little sister less than ten feet away from me. Inside my house. At our school. Every single day. I don’t know how she concentrates. I don’t know how she’s been doing anything. So do you know how big a deal it is, do you have any idea what it means that the pain went away—even just for a few minutes—when you came?”

  “I’m glad she’s feeling better,” I said. “But I’m sure it doesn’t have anything to do with me being there. She must’ve imagined it.”

  “She didn’t imagine it.” Dominic’s voice was tight. “I’m telling you, she didn’t. By the time I got back to the hospital, she was all tearful again, begging us to bring you back. But she wasn’t crazed about it the way she had been. I don’t know how to describe it. That weirdness in her eyes was gone, those constant jittery movements that she does with her hands and feet had stopped. We all noticed it. My mom, my dad, and me. It was like she had a little bit of hope inside again because you had come. And because the pain had left. Even just temporarily.”

  “Her pain didn’t leave because of me,” I said again. “I mean, I didn’t do anything. Seriously. It must’ve just been a coincidence.”

  Dominic stopped walking and pulled something out of his pocket. My heart lurched at the sight of the dark green book in his hands, no larger than a deck of cards. The edges were embossed in a gold-tipped leaf pattern and an ornate drawing of a triangle inside a circle stared out from the front cover. A blue silk string dangled from the bottom, bookmarking a page. “What about this?” Dominic held the book out to me. “Is this a coincidence?”

  I leaned back, as if he were holding a lit match under my chin. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Dominic made no move to pull the book back. “I found it in Cassie’s room the other night. It’s filled with all these weird words and writings and shit. I looked through it—there were a few things written in English, but I couldn’t make anything else out.” He moved the book another inch in my direction. “You don’t know what it is?”

  “How would I know what it is? I’ve never even seen it before.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.” Lie number three, just in the past two minutes.

  “Okay.” He dropped his arm and then put the book back inside his pocket.

  We walked on, the sun beating down relentlessly along the tops of our shoulders. The scarf around my neck felt too warm. I pulled it off and stuck it in my pocket. A ring of sweat dampened the neck of my T-shirt, and I rubbed my fingers under it. They were trembling.

  “Here’s the thing, Marin.” Dominic’s voice was low, ominous. “I don’t think my sister has epilepsy.”

  “What do you mean? Your mother told us yesterday that the doctor said he was ninety-nine percent certain that was what she had.”

  “Marin.” His eyes were steady, locked on mine.

  “What?” My voice was rising and trembling at the same time. “I saw her have a seizure right in front of me. You saw it!”

  “She did have a seizure. But I don’t think it’s because she has epilepsy.”

  “Oh, you’re a doctor now? You know what’s going on with her?”

  “I don’t know what the hell’s going on with her. I just don’t think it’s epilepsy. All that shit she’s been saying … the things she screamed out at Mass yesterday? The number she carved into her face? I mean, come on. Some people with epilepsy scream during seizures, but it’s really rare. And they just … scream. You know, aaaarrrgggghhh, because their bodies are all out of whack. I looked it up on the Internet. I mean, I must’ve read fifty different sites, including the Mayo Clinic. People with epilepsy don’t cut their faces up or yell stuff about Mass. About religion.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  Dominic stopped walking. “I think something’s been going on. Or something went on. Between the two of you. Maybe when you came to the house? Back in October?” He pulled the book out of his pocket again when I didn’t answer and held it up. “Is this some kind of witchcraft manual or something? Did you guys get involved in some spirit thing that day she locked you in the closet?”

  I could feel the blood draining from my face. “You can’t be serious.”

  Dominic bit his lower lip, as if the movement might quell some of his frustration. He stared down at the book, thumbing slowly through the pages before closing it again. “For the last two days, my sister has been repeating your name over and over again. All she wants is to see you. And then you came and stood in the same room as her, and in less than ten minutes, she said the pain in her head left for a little while.” His fingers closed around the book. “Why? Why you?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Screw you.” I whirled around, heading back the way we’d come.

  He grabbed me by the wrist and I shook him off hard, furious now. Leaning in as close as I dared, I stuck my finger inches from his face. “You said you wouldn’t grab me, and you said we didn’t have to talk about Cassie. Who’s the liar now?” He didn’t move, regarding me with wary eyes, and I moved forward another inch, my finger still under his nose. “I’ve been over to your house once. And if you remember, it was one time too many. You have the wrong person if you think Cassie’s … condition … or whatever’s wrong with her has anything to do with me. I barely even know her. And after what she did to me, I don’t ever want to know her!” My voice rose to a shout, if only to force back the tears rising in my throat. “And the same thing goes for you! Now leave me alone! I mean it! Just leave me the hell alone!”

  My flip-flops smacked against my heels as I continued walking back to my house. Or maybe it was the sound of my heart beating beneath my shirt. I was holding my breath for some reason, and the taste of vomit lingered in my throat.

  “Marin!” Dominic called. “Come on, wait!”

  But I didn’t wait. I kept walking, staring straight ahead at the oak tree alongside the pond. Its enormous limbs jutted out from either side, the ends flush with wide leaves. From this distance, the top of it looked like hair. Green, leafy hair. A few hundred more yards, and I could turn into the driveway, walk up the steps, and shut the door.

  He caught up to me and then surged ahead, turning around and jogging backward so that he could look at me as he talked. “Marin, please. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. And I shouldn’t have said you were lying. I’m sorry. Please. It’s just … God, there’s been so much going on. I’m just trying to put the pieces together. I gotta start somewhere.” His knees were moving too high, and his elbows flapped up and down as he tried to maintain the awkward gait. “The only thing we have—I have—to go on right now is Cassie’s connection to you. And maybe it’s not even a connection. Maybe she just thinks it is. I’m just trying to get things to add up here, all right?”

  I strode on ahead, pretending to ignore him. Behind my sunglasses, I could see the blue shape lodged in his wrist, like a piece of sea glass.

  “Please,” he persisted. “I didn’t mean to jump all over you. You’ve got to believe me.” He made a gesture over my shoulder, toward our previous destination. “Can we at least turn around and keep walking? And can you please stop walking so fast so I can stop running backward? I feel nauseous.”

  “Good,” I said, but I didn’t mean it.

  “Good?” The side of his mouth lifted into a little grin.
“You know what happens when people get nauseous while they’re moving, don’t you? This weird feeling starts in their belly, and then they—” He stopped, puffing his cheeks with air, pretending to gag. “That T-shirt you have on looks pretty clean. I’m sure you don’t want to get anything on it.” He heaved again, clapping a hand over his mouth.

  “Bite me.” I suppressed a smile and shoved past him.

  “Marin, please.” I could hear him stop and then a soft clapping sound as he lifted his arms and let them fall against the sides of his pants. “I’ve got nowhere else to turn. It’s you or nothing.”

  I slowed at his words and then stopped altogether. It’s you or nothing. Under any other circumstances, those four words would have meant something entirely different. But we weren’t under any other circumstances. Still, I closed my eyes, let the weight of them drape over my shoulders.

  “I don’t have anything to tell you.” My voice rang out over the dusty road. “I swear. I’m not involved in anything having to do with Cassie.”

  “Okay.” Dominic trotted up next to me, took a deep breath. He sounded resigned, but I could hear a fragment of hope somewhere in there too. “So maybe I’m jumping to conclusions here. Or maybe it’s just something you and Cassie have to work out.”

  “There’s nothing Cassie and I have to work out.” I turned around, heading back down the road again toward town. My voice was fierce. “I don’t even talk to your sister. I haven’t said a word to her in over six months, and that’s not going to change any time soon.”

  “Okay. Then just tell me this.” He raised both his arms and draped them over the top of his head, surrender-style. “What really happened the day I found you in that closet?”

  I bit down hard on my lip, stared out at the traffic up ahead as it rushed by, the spin of metal, the blur of color. It was here. The moment I’d been waiting for, without realizing it, since the day it had happened.

  And yet.

  “Nothing.” It came out in a whisper.