On Thin Ice

by PJ Sharon

  I imagined myself sitting out on the dock, reading stories to my little one as we dangled our feet in the water, enjoying the sunsets here and watching the seasons change. I might even get to teach him how to skate in the very place my mother had taught me. I sighed. The empty place in my life that my mother’s death had left loomed before me. Thoughts of what I’d lost and gained these past few months hit me again. I missed Carter so suddenly and overwhelmingly that I shuddered with the pang of loneliness that thoughts of him evoked. Then it occurred to me as I stared out over the lake, touching the slight bump of my belly, that part of him would be mine forever.

  Two kayaks sat up on a rack and a small sail boat leaned against a tree next to the dock. The thought of kayaking or sailing with Bill brought a smile to my face. I had been to this lake a hundred times with my friends. He had been right here, and I didn’t know it. Thinking about how he had been in the shadows observing my life from a distance made me both profoundly sad and curiously happy. It was like having a guardian angel, but one who was missing out on knowing the real me. Or maybe he knew me better than most people because he had seen me in unguarded moments when I let the walls down thinking no one was looking. My heart ached thinking how hard it must have been for him to not bridge that distance.

  “Do you want to see your room?” Bill interrupted my wandering thoughts and I turned away from the view.

  “Yeah, sure,” I nodded, and followed him back down the hall to retrieve my suitcase at the foot of the stairs.

  Bill gave me the grand tour of the rest of the house, pointing out the amenities as if he were a real estate agent trying to sell me on the high ceilings with its exposed beams and skylights that brightened the place considerably. With all the dark, polished wood floors, antique furnishings, and knotty pine walls, I felt like I’d stepped onto a boat. The nautical theme carried throughout the house, with pictures of sail boats and seascapes on every wall. It was definitely in need of a woman’s touch. Maybe some bright throw pillows would be a nice contrast to the dark brown leather sofa set. I wondered how Bill would take to me making changes. He had never lived with a seventeen year old girl before. I’d have to introduce pink and purple in small doses—like I had to learn to ignore mirrors and eat real serving sizes.

  Upstairs, Bill showed me to a spare bedroom furnished with a queen sized bed covered in a beautiful multicolored quilt. On one wall, there was an antique dresser with an ornately decorated mirror above it, and an old sea trunk at the foot of the bed. A book case with vintage classics stood against another wall and another set of French doors led out to a balcony overlooking the still waters of Thompson Lake.

  The boat house was barely visible from there, a tiny cabin overgrown with weeds and vines, the roof barely visible. A well-tended herb and vegetable garden took up a large portion of the back yard, a compost bin standing off to the side. From where I stood I could see there wasn’t much left alive other than a few pumpkin vines and some cabbages. It must have been fruitful over the summer. I could still see remnants of the hardy herbs, not yet devastated by the frosty nights.

  Bill set my suitcase on the bed. “I could fix you something for dinner if you’d like.”

  “I’m not really hungry. I ate at Sami’s earlier,” I said, a new wave of fear seeping into my bones. Bill had no idea what he was signing on for with me and all of my problems.

  “Oh. Okay then. Feel free to help yourself to a snack later. I’ll go shopping tomorrow. If you want anything special, I keep the grocery list on the refrigerator. Add on whatever you need.”

  Like a boyfriend that was living a thousand miles away, I wanted to say. Or to turn the clock back to when I was twelve before my life turned inside out. Instead I smiled and nodded.

  “Well, you just rest. Let me know if you need anything at all.” When he walked out of the room, I took a deep breath and sat on the bed, not quite ready to unpack my things. I felt like a refugee who had fallen into the lap of luxury, not sure if I was dreaming or if this was truly my new life. I couldn’t have imagined a more beautiful home, even if it didn’t feel quite real. Everything seemed a little too tidy and perfect, something that should have made me feel comfortable but instead made me uneasy. I knew better than to trust perfection. I’d learned that perfection was an illusion and that real life was anything but perfect.

  I hoped Bill was aware of this fact and ready for his life to get messy.

  Chapter 36

  I spent the next several days putting out the five alarm fire I had started, and digging my way out of the avalanche of paperwork that had been created on my behalf. I no longer needed state assistance, food stamps, or housing, and wouldn’t need to worry about those dreaded, embarrassing WIC checks.

  Dr. Eaton and Mr. Barstow were ecstatic about the turn of events with my living arrangements, but nobody seemed as relieved as Sami’s mom, except me, maybe. I could tell she wanted nothing to do with having a pregnant teenager in the house, and I finally understood why Sami felt so strongly that she couldn’t go to her mom about her own pregnancy.

  With the new and vastly improved support system I’d fallen into, I could only imagine what it would have been like to go through it all alone. It made me think differently about people who were homeless or on welfare. It had always been so easy to judge them from a distance. Now I understood that unforeseen circumstances could put anyone in a desperate situation. I realized how lucky I truly was to have family who cared about me and who had resources to help me.

  “I spoke to Richard and told him you were staying with me.” Bill stood at the stove stirring a pot bubbling with pasta.

  “How did he take it?” I asked.

  “He didn’t say much.”

  I tore some lettuce, put it into a bowl, and reached for a cucumber. “Did he sound okay?” A gnawing sensation started in the pit of my stomach, making me dread sitting down to dinner.

  “I think he’s been through a lot. It’ll take some time for him to figure out how to handle the situation. He said you were welcome to come by the house and get anything you need.” He lifted the lid on the sauce, threw in a handful of oregano he’d picked from the garden and stirred it in with a big wooden spoon.

  I reached for a ripe tomato, pushing the slices of cucumber into a pile. “Did he say he wanted to see me?”

  Bill glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Do you want to see him?”

  “Not really. Not now, anyway. I don’t know.” I slid the veggies into the salad bowl and started tossing, bruising the tomatoes unnecessarily.

  “That’s understandable. It must have hurt to have him send you away like that.”

  “You don’t need to sugar-coat it. He threw me out,” I snapped.

  Bill added some basil to the sauce. “He said he regretted how things happened and that he wasn’t himself that night.”

  “Oh, you mean because he was drunk. Didn’t he tell you?” I slapped the salad bowl onto the table and headed for the refrigerator for dressing.

  “No, he didn’t mention that.” He turned off the stove and poured the pasta into a colander. “Richard did say that you’re still covered under his health insurance, so you and I can figure out what co-payments need to be made, and I’ll take care of those. I don’t want you to worry about anything, Penny. Just focus on your education and taking care of you and the baby, alright?”

  With my work at the daycare center and my counseling sessions, I’d been able to avoid meal times all week. We sat down across from each other for our first dinner together and the knot in my stomach intensified as he scooped a large portion of spaghetti onto my plate. I put my hand up to stop him from adding a second serving to the mound. He smiled and dumped the heap onto his own plate.

  “You don’t seem to have much appetite for a growing teenager. I remember when Derek was your age, he had a hollow leg.” He covered my pasta with sauce and set down the spoon, watching me carefully as I slowly spread the meaty, red sauce across the white noodles, staring at it
like it was a plate full of worms and brain matter.

  “Girls are different,” I mumbled.

  “Is there something wrong?” he asked as I twirled my fork around and around and let the pasta fall back onto the plate.

  Dr. Eaton had suggested that I tell Bill about my issues with food. She also wanted me to tell him about the rape, but that definitely wasn’t happening anytime soon. I took in a deep breath and tried to take a bite of the pasta, but couldn’t manage to get it to my mouth. I set the fork down.

  Dr. Eaton had said something in counseling that made a lot of sense to me. She said that I had stuffed so many emotions down, that I didn’t have enough room for food. If I wanted to be able to eat, I had to be willing to say out loud how I felt, or what I was thinking. Basically, I had to be honest with myself and with other people, and not worry what they might say or think about me.

  I took a sip of my water and looked squarely at Bill, who was still watching me and waiting patiently for me to answer his question. I’d been rehearsing all week. I let out a slow breath. “I have an eating disorder. I’ve been starving myself for the last two years, and eating a full meal is kind of hard for me.”

  Bill stared at me blankly for a long time. “Okay. Well, eat what you can, then.” He looked down at his full plate and smiled back up at me. “You don’t mind if I dig in, do you?”

  I shook my head, not knowing quite what to say. I’d expected some dramatic response, but he just twirled his pasta onto his fork and stuffed it into his mouth, ignoring me completely. I’d been so worried that he’d feel either sorry for me or be mad or disappointed in me somehow, that I hadn’t prepared myself for his indifference. But it didn’t feel like indifference. It felt like acceptance. He wasn’t going to try to force me to eat or make me feel guilty about it. The knot in my stomach loosened and I looked down at my plate.

  The smell of the herbs, the garlic bread, the salad dressing, wafted up to my nose. I slowly gathered a few strands of pasta on my fork and brought it to my mouth. By the third bite, the flavors had kicked my taste buds into overdrive and I stopped chewing and swallowing only when my plate was nearly empty.

  Bill grinned up at me as he sat back in his chair. “Not bad, huh?”

  I belched in response, and covered my mouth. “Excuse me.”

  He laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” His smile softened the lines around his eyes. “Don’t ever feel like you can’t tell me something, Penny. I can’t guarantee I’ll understand, but I’ll do my best, and I won’t ever tell you how to feel or think. We’ve all got our share of problems. It comes with being human. We have to deal with them the best way we know how.” He pushed a hand through his hair, and I noticed the flecks of brown mixed in with the gray. For a man his age—late fifties I had to guess—he was fit and handsome.

  “It wouldn’t be so bad if that was my only problem.” I glanced at him, and looked away, too embarrassed to admit I had other secrets I was keeping. “Sometimes it seems like my problems are ganging up on me.”

  “Whatever problems you have, we’ll tackle them together, one at a time if need be. With two against one, we’ve got the advantage.” He gave a one-two punch into the air, a goofy gesture that made me laugh.

  “I can see why my mom loved you.”

  “That’s nice of you to say.” A shadow crossed his face and his dark eyes clouded over. “In fact, that’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a very long time.”

  Chapter 37

  I made it through the next few weeks feeling lighter than I had in months despite my growing belly. With my sweet new digs, mid-terms behind me, and the holidays coming up, I could see a light beyond the darkness that had almost consumed me. Bill seemed determined to make my life stress free. He was semi-retired and only worked at the college in Amherst a couple of days a week. He spent most of his time at home, writing a novel he’d been working on for the last few years—a suspense thriller. We had agreed on a chore and cooking schedule only because I had insisted on helping out. I worked two shifts a week at the rink now and with Bill’s blessing, decided to give my notice after the first of the year so I could focus on preparing for the baby. Compared to the responsibilities of my old life, I felt like I was on vacation.

  Dr. Eaton was pleased with my progress, and I was gaining the right amount of weight for someone who was four-and-a half months pregnant, so there was no hospital stay in sight. I followed the prescribed diet the nutritionist gave me, thinking of it as the alternative to drugs and in-patient programs that terrified me. I still measured my food, counted calories, and cut things into tiny bite-sized units, but my baby enhanced taste buds made eating more enjoyable than it had been in a long time.

  Though I felt like most of my weight gain was settling into my thighs, I tried not to think about it. Every pound I gained, I willed it to go to the baby, who I re-named “wiggle worm,” since he was certainly bigger than a bean by now, but not as big as a full sized baby yet, and he was definitely starting to move around more. Sarah promised to take me shopping over the holidays so I could fit into something other than sweats and tee shirts. So far, I probably didn’t look pregnant to anyone who didn’t know me well. With the extra few pounds, most people commented on how “healthy” I looked. If I stayed away from the rink and all of the skinny obsessed girls there, I could maintain.

  I still hadn’t attended any of the Al-Anon meetings or the rape survivor’s groups that Dr. Eaton suggested. If I thought too much about everything I had been through, I would probably fall into a deep hole and not come out. I still felt a penetrating sadness from losing my mom, but I wanted to focus on the positive stuff that was happening in my life. I wasn’t ready to confront any more demons from the past than were absolutely necessary. It was hard enough carrying a part of Carter inside of me, knowing that I might have to face him with the truth someday.

  The ache in my heart at the thought of him didn’t make it any easier. They say that time heals all wounds, but I suspected that seeing his face in our baby every day would keep that wound open for a long time. The truth was I still loved him. At least it felt like love—a tortured bone deep emptiness that could only be filled by one person—the sense that everything in the world would be okay if I could just see his smile one more time or have him hold me and tell me he loved me and would never leave me. If I believed in miracles, that would be mine.

  ∞∞∞

  Thanksgiving Day dawned with bright sunshine and a cold wind, the promise of a long New England winter crisp in the air. Bill wanted to make the day special, so he invited Sarah and his son, Derek, the closest thing we each had to a family. This particular holiday hadn’t been my favorite in a long time, seeing how it mostly had to do with stuffing your face until you were about to bust. Today would be different. I’d adopted a new “attitude of gratitude,” courtesy of Dr. Eaton and all of the self-help books she had me reading.

  I had decided that Thanksgiving Day would be a new beginning for me. I was determined to think about all of the things I had to be thankful for. It would be good to be surrounded by family, even if Mom couldn’t be here with us. Although I was excited about meeting my half-brother for the first time, I couldn’t help but wonder what Dad...Richard would be doing. I shoved the thought away, sending it to the dark place reserved for feelings still too raw to confront. I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, preparing for my first holiday dinner with my new family.

  The smell of Turkey filled the house as I came down stairs to answer the door bell. “I’ll get it!” I yelled. Bill was probably busy basting the bird. I had never met a man who could cook so well, let alone one that watched cooking shows and wrote novels in his spare time. Bill was kind of different—in a good way.

  I answered the door smiling. There stood a tall, burly guy with light brown hair and dark eyes, a younger version of the man who came around the corner right then, turkey baster in hand and an Emeril apron on that said BAMM! across the front.

  “
Hi, Son.”

  A wide smile spread across the guy’s face and I stepped aside to watch the two men hug. “Hey, Dad. It’s good to see you. It feels like it’s been months.”

  “It has,” Bill said, releasing him and giving him a look of mock disapproval, and taking the pie out of his hands. “Did you bake this yourself or pick it up at the market on your way here?”

  “Like you have to ask.” He released the plastic encased, bakery perfect pie, ignored his father, and turned his eyes on me. “This must be Penny. I can see the family resemblance. I’m Derek, your...brother.” We studied each other for another second. “That sounds strange, doesn’t it?” he said.

  A moment of uncomfortable silence followed. I didn’t know what to say, so I just agreed. “Yeah, pretty weird.”

  But Derek wasn’t the least bit shy. “Well, I’m going to hug you, Penny, because that’s what us Tyler’s do. And I’m pretty sure it’s standard procedure for big brothers to hug their little sisters.” Before I could respond, I was engulfed in a set of big arms and squished against a broad, muscled chest. It took a second for me to relax, but when I did, it felt...great.

  “So Dad says you’re a figure skater.” He released me and wrapped a large arm around my shoulder, leading me down the hall toward the living room. “Can you do all those crazy jumps and spins?”

  Sometimes you meet people that you feel like you’ve known your whole life. It was like that with Derek and me. He looked more like me than any of my sisters did, and I suddenly felt a sense of belonging that I’d never known, as if I had found a connection to something that had always been just beyond my reach. I listened to stories of his college days, how he loved animals and had known since he was a little kid saving injured birds and rescuing squirrels that he’d be a vet someday. He wanted to know everything about me. If I liked school, what kind of classes I was taking, what I wanted to do with my life. Our mutual love of classic horror flicks and hot rod cars had us on comfortable ground in no time.