Waiting for the Storm

by Marie Landry

  I slipped from his arms and gave him a small, grateful smile. “Let me just change my clothes and then we can go.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The drive seemed endless. It was nothing like our night drives—no joking back and forth, no talking about silly or mundane things. Ezra talked to me, and I knew he was trying to distract me, get my thoughts off going home, but my mind was already in Toronto. He finally gave up and turned the radio on. I was vaguely aware of him shooting me concerned glances every few minutes, and when he reached over and took my hand, I held on tight. He entwined our fingers and rested our joined hands on his thigh.

  When we passed the signs for Belleville, Ezra turned off the first exit. I remained silent, assuming he was stopping for gas, but he pulled into the parking lot of a Denny’s.

  I looked over at him, confused. Including the ferry time, we’d been on the road for about an hour and a half, and still had two hours to go.

  “I’m sure the last thing you want to do is stop and eat, but you’ve got to have something. Your dad told me to take care of you, and I take that seriously.” His mouth lifted slightly, his eyes soft and pleading.

  Nobody had taken care of me in…how long? Months? I couldn’t even really remember the last time. I attempted a smile, and Ezra mirrored it, looking relieved.

  We went inside and asked the hostess for a quiet table. The place was busy and loud, but she took us to the back and gave us a table that didn’t have anyone near it.

  “I know this isn’t what we had in mind for our first dinner date, but…” Ezra shrugged, smiling wryly.

  “At least we’re together.”

  After the waitress came to take our order, I reached across the table and took Ezra’s hand. “Part of me wants to just get there and get it over with, but the other part of me wants to stall as long as possible. I think it’s good we stopped so I have some time to get my head together. It’s going to be a long two hours if I can’t carry on a conversation.”

  Ezra gave me a crooked smile. “I know this isn’t easy, so you deal with it however you deal with it. Whether that’s talking non-stop or not talking at all or blasting the radio and belting out rock tunes Adam-style…” He paused, cocking his head to the side and looking pleased when I laughed. “Whatever you need.”

  I squeezed his hand in both of mine. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

  *****

  The rest of the drive wasn’t quite as bad as the first hour and a half. Thanks to Ezra, I had time to calm down and collect my thoughts in the restaurant, and although I was still nervous about going home, I was feeling marginally better.

  As the highway started to spread out into more and more lanes of traffic, I knew we were getting close to home. I directed Ezra where to go, and was incredibly impressed with how calm he remained. Not everyone can drive in Toronto—the traffic and all the lanes are pretty intense. Luckily it was past rush hour, so the worst of the traffic was gone, but it was still an odd sensation to see all those cars and buildings and businesses after being on Angel Island for a few weeks.

  We passed the CN Tower, and Ezra told me he’d always wanted to visit it. He was shocked when I told him I’d never been up.

  “Nobody ever wanted to do it with me,” I told him. “My friends thought it was cheesy since we’re from Toronto, but I said all the more reason we should do it.”

  “You and I will go together someday.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the road, so he reached over and squeezed my leg instead.

  Someday. I liked the sound of that.

  We pulled off the highway and wound our way through the busy streets of Toronto. I could tell Ezra wanted to look around, but he kept his eyes on the road, gripping the steering wheel firmly and turning where I instructed him. We finally came to the High Park area and turned onto my street.

  “This is really nice,” Ezra commented, his hands finally relaxing on the wheel.

  “It is.” I scanned the familiar properties with their giant oak trees. “That’s mine there. Two-twelve.” I pointed to my two-story red brick house and felt a pang of longing and sadness in my chest.

  Ezra pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. I sat with my hands clasped in my lap, staring up at the house. It was dark inside and bathed in twilight shadows. Dad had hired a neighbourhood kid to keep the lawn mowed and the gardens tended, so it didn’t look much different than it had when we’d left for Angel Island.

  I felt paralyzed. I knew I should open the door, get out my keys, and let myself into the house, but I couldn’t seem to move. I thought I’d have at least another month to learn to cope with my feelings before having to return to this house—the house I now hated as much as I loved. I’d grown up here, had so many good times here with my family, but it now also represented the worst time of my life.

  I glanced at Ezra, who was watching me patiently. His expression was pained, like he didn’t know what to do or say to make this easier, but I knew he’d give me as much time as I needed.

  I tried to give him a reassuring smile as I reached to open the car door.

  “Charlotte.” Ezra stopped me with a warm hand on my arm. “Do you want me to…should I come with you or do you want to go alone?”

  “Come with me, please.” I’d had enough of being alone. I couldn’t imagine ever choosing to be alone when I could have Ezra by my side. He nodded, looking relieved.

  We slowly made our way up the stone walkway to the front steps. I paused again, thinking of all the times I’d run up those stairs, eager to get home to tell Mom and Dad something, or play with Ella, or grab something before running out again to meet Alexis and Bianca.

  I took a deep breath and pulled my keys from my purse. Unlocking the door, I stopped and waited on the threshold. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for—maybe to wake up and have this all be a really long, elaborate nightmare, and discover that Mom wasn’t actually gone. Whatever I was waiting for didn’t come, so I stepped inside and motioned for Ezra to follow.

  The house was quiet and dark and smelled musty. I flicked on the hall light; everything still looked the same. I reached blindly for Ezra’s hand and he grasped it, holding on tightly.

  Without a word, we walked through the house, and I looked for anything out of place or missing. We’d only been gone a few weeks, but there was already a fairly thick coat of dust on everything. I opened a few windows in the living room to air it out, asking Ezra to remind me to close them before we left.

  We moved through the dining room, Dad’s office, and on to the kitchen, but I couldn’t see anything that might be missing. I hoped Mrs. Lyle was right, and that whoever had broken in hadn’t had time to grab anything before the police arrived.

  I hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. I really didn’t want to go up there. The sun had set completely now, and the second floor had been swallowed by darkness. I stood on the bottom step for what felt like an eternity before Ezra reached around me and turned on the light.

  The sudden brightness snapped me out of my daze, and I climbed the steps quickly, pulling him along with me. I started at the opposite end of the hall from my parents’ room, and did a quick sweep of the bathroom, Ella’s room, and the spare room.

  “This is my room,” I told Ezra when we reached it. I turned on the light and stood in the doorway. He gave me a small smile and stepped past me to stand in the middle of the room. It seemed smaller somehow with him in there, looking at my double bed with its vintage white and tea rose comforter, my antique furniture, and all my old stuffed animals. The room hadn’t changed much since I was a little girl. It was old-fashioned and beautiful, and I’d always loved it.

  “I don’t know what I was picturing, but this wasn’t it.” Ezra fingered my lacy curtains. He looked over his shoulder and smiled before picking up Hoots, the stuffed owl I’d had since I was a baby. “But I can picture you in here…sitting on your bed with your friends, curled up in the chair reading, working at your desk.”

  I smiled even th
ough the urge to cry was suddenly overwhelming. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll…I’d like to be alone when I go into my parents’ room.”

  Ezra’s expression turned serious, and he nodded. “Of course. Whatever you want. I’ll just sit here and…hang out with my new friend.” He held up Hoots and lowered himself into my armchair.

  We stared at each other from across the room, and when he cocked his head, I nodded resolutely. I couldn’t put this off forever. I walked the few feet to my parents’ bedroom door. It was the only one that was closed, and I had a vague memory of Dad closing it before we left. He’d slept in the spare room from the night Mom died until the day we left for the island.

  I opened the door and was hit instantly with the smell of her. I closed my eyes and breathed it in, fighting tears and the sudden lump in my throat that threatened to choke me. It was her herbal shampoo and her lily of the valley body wash and her sweet smelling perfume mixed with that same underlying hint of lilacs I’d smelled the night we arrived on the island. I questioned how the scent could possibly still be so strong after all these weeks, and then wondered if it was all in my head.

  I pictured the months I’d spent in this very room taking care of my mother. We would curl up in her bed and talk or read or watch TV, and when she slept I’d sit in the easy chair by her bed and watch her. I brought almost all her meals to her here, and we’d eat together—her encouraging me to eat while I pretended I didn’t notice that she hardly ate at all. On days when she felt alert and playful, I’d bring up board games or a deck of cards, and we’d spread them out on her bed and play until she was too tired to continue.

  This room had been a refuge and a prison for both of us.

  I stepped inside and ran my fingers over the comforter on Mom’s side of the bed. Only half aware of what I was doing, I crawled onto the bed and laid my head on her pillow, inhaling the lingering scent of her shampoo. In the back of my mind, I knew I should be horrified—she died right where I was lying.

  I closed my eyes and buried my face in her pillow, and before I knew it my body was shaking with sobs. I gasped for air, barely getting it into my lungs before my breath hitched and the tears came harder. There was no stopping it, no controlling it. This grief was coming from the deepest part of me—the part of me that was angry that Mom was gone, and that missed her like an amputee missed a vital limb.

  I cried and cried, unable to stop the tears, and powerless to fight the feelings of loneliness and emptiness inside me.

  I was only vaguely aware of strong arms wrapping around me and lifting me from the bed. The light turned off, and a minute later I was sitting on my own bed with Ezra holding me and rocking me back and forth, murmuring words I couldn’t hear, while smoothing my hair back from my face. The scent of my mom’s shampoo, body wash, and perfume was slowly replaced with the smell of Ezra—beach and cologne and sunscreen and a smell that was uniquely his.

  The tears slowed, but my body continued to shake. That feeling of emptiness remained, but I knew I wasn’t alone. I clung to Ezra, my hands fisted in his shirt, which was damp from my tears. I was suddenly so exhausted I could hardly hold up my own weight, but when I slumped over, he moved with me and continued to rock me.

  My heart ached with something new, something fresh, and almost…sweet. Before I could explore that strange oxymoron, my eyes closed, and as I drifted to sleep I could have sworn Ezra’s soft murmurings turned into a song.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It smelled like home. I think everyone probably knows that smell, but perhaps can’t describe it. It’s a million little things that get the synapses of your brain firing and invoke countless memories. It’s laundry soap and perfume and furniture polish and your favourite meals eaten around the dinner table and so many, many other things.

  That’s what I smelled as my brain returned to consciousness. That, and cologne. Ezra’s cologne.

  My eyes flew open, and I was suddenly wide awake. I blinked in the darkness, trying to orient myself. I was at home, in Toronto, in my bed, and…I was lying with my head on Ezra’s chest.

  I tilted my head so I could see his face, and his eyes fluttered open and came into focus. We were lying on top of my comforter covered by the old, worn afghan my grandma knit for me when I was baby.

  “W-what time is it?” My voice was hoarse from sleep, and, I imagined, from bawling my eyes out not long ago.

  Ezra lifted his arm and squinted at his watch. “Almost six.”

  “In the morning?” I asked stupidly. I bolted up and started to scramble out of bed, but the room tilted slightly, and I sat back down. “My dad. I have to call my dad. He’s going to be so worried.”

  “Charlotte, calm down.” Ezra’s voice was firm, snapping me out of my panic. He gripped my shoulders and pulled me back down beside him. “I called your dad and told him you fell asleep when we got here, and that we were going to spend the night. I said I’d take you back to the island tomorrow…well, today.”

  “Oh god, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Ezra looked so surprised, I clapped a hand over my mouth. I hadn’t meant to say the words out loud; I’d just been so relieved. They were innocent enough, but somehow in the quiet darkness of my room, lying there on my bed, it felt more intimate.

  “I mean…you know what I mean,” I said quickly.

  Ezra gave me a slow, somewhat sleepy smile. “I know what you mean.” He brushed his lips over my forehead and into my hair, giving me a little squeeze. “Do you realize you slept through the entire night?”

  “I did,” I breathed. “I can’t believe it.” I’d slept through the night. I hadn’t done that since early in Mom’s illness. “Did you?”

  “Mm-hmm,” Ezra murmured. “Maybe there’s something to be said for sleeping together.”

  Now he looked like he wanted to clap his hand over his own mouth. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do,” I assured him, trying to keep the smile from my face. I sobered quickly, remembering last night. “I’m sorry I broke down. It must have been so uncomfortable for you—being in a strange place, having me act weird all day, and then having to deal with a hysterically sobbing girl.”

  Ezra shook his head, his chin brushing the top of my hair. “Don’t apologize. I promised I’d take care of you, and that includes the bad stuff, too.”

  I realized I was clutching his shirt tightly in my fist, and I released it, smoothing out the material. “Still…I knew it was going to be hard, but I didn’t realize it would be that hard. It was like losing her all over again. I felt like I was being swallowed up by a giant black hole of emptiness that I just narrowly escaped falling into right after she died.”

  Silence stretched, and I stared blindly across my room, which was beginning to lighten from the rising sun. “But then you were there,” I said quietly. “And you saved me from losing myself completely.”

  Ezra swallowed audibly. He didn’t say anything, but he held me a little tighter and pressed his lips to the top of my head, leaving them there. I would have given anything to know what he was thinking in that moment.

  *****

  Ezra and I decided to stick around for a while. He told me we could do whatever I wanted—we could leave right then, or we could take our time and head back to the island later. I was torn at first, but decided I wanted to stay.

  It was hard being there, but it made me feel closer to Mom. Plus it wasn’t often I had Ezra all to myself for a long period of time.

  I felt calmer than I had last night. I wouldn’t say I was exactly at peace, but that giant, yawning emptiness inside me was quiet for now, and I could breathe again.

  After taking turns showering and getting dressed—I found something of Dad’s for Ezra to wear so he wouldn’t have to put his wrinkled clothes back on—we drove around for a bit before settling on a small café for breakfast.

  “Is there anything you want to do while we’re here?” Ezra asked after our food arrived. We’d both ordered the Big Breakf
ast: eggs, bacon, sausage, home fries, and toast. Ezra didn’t believe me when I told him I was famished and would be able to eat the whole thing. I was determined to prove him wrong.

  “Such as?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Any friends you want to see? Family you should visit?”

  “Dad and Ella are pretty much my only family,” I told him. “And you’re about it in the friend department these days.”

  He paused with an enormous forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. “Come on,” he said. “You told me your friends made a bit of an effort at your mom’s funeral and that they said they wanted to see you this summer. Don’t you think they’d want to see you if they knew you were in town?”

  I took a bite of sausage, buying myself time while I thought about his question. The simple answer was yes, they would want to see me. But it wasn’t really simple. “I think they would,” I said slowly, “but…I don’t really see a point. It’s not that I’m even all that angry with them anymore. I moved past the anger and the hurt, and now I don’t really feel anything.”

  I gazed out the window at the familiar neighbourhood. The sidewalks were clogged with people heading to work or running errands, and there were a few people with cameras around their necks and wide-eyed stares that labeled them instantly as tourists. I’d always thought of this place as home—I knew it inside and out, could navigate these streets blindfolded—but right then I felt more like a tourist than a native. That feeling of home was missing.

  “Alexis and Bianca were my best friends for almost my whole life, and when things got rough, they bailed. I never ever would have thought that would be the case, but it was, and nothing will change that. I could see them, put a smile on my face, and tell them how my summer’s been so far, but it’s all just…bullshit. You know?”