by Marie Landry
“C-Chris,” she stammered. “It was Chris…he tried to…oh Charlotte, it was so awful,” she wailed.
The anger that had been simmering in me the past week bubbled over. I pushed Ella away gently so I could look into her eyes. “What did Chris do?” Was that my voice? It was so hard and flat I barely recognized it. “What did he do, Gabriella?”
“H-He tried to…to force himself on me,” she said. “We were fooling around, and I’ve told him I wasn’t ready to go all the way with him. I like him, but I didn’t want to have sex with him. I’ve heard things, you know?” She sniffled and wiped her face, smearing her makeup even worse. “But he said he was tired of waiting. He was high, and he got so mad. He pinned me down, and he…he…”
She started to cry again, and I pulled her back to me, murmuring soothing, meaningless words. When she finally calmed down again, I asked the question I didn’t want to ask. “Did he rape you, Gabriella?”
She shook her head against my shoulder. “No,” she whispered. “I was able to get away from him, and I ran home.”
“Okay. Do you want me to call the police? Take you to the hospital?”
“No, no,” she pleaded, clinging to me the way she used to cling to Mom when she had to leave us with the babysitter to go to work. “He just roughed me up a bit and ripped my dress, he didn’t rape me. I don’t want anyone else to know. Please, Charlotte. Not even Dad.”
For some reason my mind went to Ezra. Maybe it was the fact Ella wanted me to keep a secret, or maybe I was remembering him telling me he’d take care of Chris if he needed to. Even though I didn’t condone violence, I wouldn’t mind seeing Chris get his ass kicked for what he’d done to my sister.
“Whatever you want,” I told Ella. “Let me take you inside, okay?” I helped her to her feet and supported most of her weight as we walked awkwardly toward the house. I prayed Dad would be asleep so he wouldn’t see us and ask questions. Although with the way he’d been acting lately, he could watch us walk by and not even notice anything was wrong.
We went up to Ella’s room, and she told me she wanted to take a shower. I hated to ask her again, and I was worried she’d get angry, but I had to know for sure that Chris hadn’t raped her before I let her take a shower. She assured me he hadn’t, so I helped her strip and get under the hot spray. I looked down at my formerly white t-shirt, which was now covered in streaks of Ella’s concealer, mascara, and eye shadow. I hurried to my room to change into my nightgown before returning to sit on the closed toilet seat and wait.
When Ella turned the water off ten minutes later, I slid a towel into the stall with her, and she emerged a moment later with it wrapped around her body. I followed her into her bedroom with a second towel, and dried her hair. I felt tense, waiting for her to tell me to stop babying her and get lost, but she closed her eyes and let me work away.
I got her brush and sat on the edge of the bed, turning her to face away from me. I gently brushed the knots from her hair, then braided it. Mom used to do this for both us after bath time when we were little; Ella had always loved having her hair played with, and sometimes Mom would undo the braid and redo it just because she knew Ella loved it so much.
The sudden flood of memories, along with the fury simmering inside me made me feel like I was about to explode. I desperately tried to keep it together for Ella. She hadn’t needed me in so long; the fact that she hadn’t pushed me away was the only thing keeping me from screaming until I couldn’t scream anymore.
When I was finished braiding her hair, Ella put her pajamas on and climbed into bed. I stood awkwardly at the side of her bed, and she scooted over toward the wall, holding the sheet back. “Stay with me?”
I swallowed convulsively around the lump in my throat, and nodded my head. I lay down next to her on my back and she rolled onto her side facing me with her arm across my stomach.
I wondered briefly if I was dreaming. I thought I must be for Ella to be acting this way. I glanced over at her, and her eyes were closed. She looked so young and innocent, the way I remembered her before Mom got sick.
I sighed and looked up at the ceiling. When several minutes passed, I thought Ella must have fallen asleep, so she startled me when she said, “I’m sorry, Charlotte.”
Again, I wondered if I was dreaming. Those were three words I never thought I’d hear out of my sister’s mouth as long as I lived.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Ella whispered. “I’ve been horrible to you. I don’t know how you stand it.” I didn’t know what to say, but she continued after a short pause anyway. “I’ve always been jealous of you,” she confessed. “Everything always seemed so easy for you. In the back of my mind I know it wasn’t, but I tried to convince myself it was because it made me feel better when things didn’t come easy for me.”
She raised herself up on her elbow so she could look at me. “One time I went to visit Mom while you were at the store.” I blinked up at her, confused by the sudden change in topic. “I sat with her and held her hand, and she…she thought I was you, Charlotte. She called me by your name, told me how much she loved me, and how grateful she was that I was taking such good care of her.” Her voice hitched and she lay back down, putting a hand over her eyes. “She told me she missed me—me, Ella—and said she wished I’d come visit her. But I was there, and she thought I was you.”
I could almost see the light bulb of understanding go off in my head. That was why Ella thought Mom loved me more, or at least that was part of it. The doctor had explained that the tumour would leave Mom confused at times—sometimes she garbled her speech, other times she got names mixed up, and there were even times when she hallucinated. It was scary, and it got progressively worse closer to her death, but because Ella hadn’t been around, she wouldn’t have known that.
“She called me Ella more than once,” I told her. “I would walk into the room and her face would light up and she’d say how happy she was I came to visit. She’d tell me how much she missed me—you—and want me to stay and hold her hand and tell her what was going on in my life. She t-told me…” My voice broke, and I choked back a sob. “She told me we needed to take care of each other. She said how lucky we were to have each other, and that life would be hard once she was gone, but it would be a little easier if we leaned on each other.”
Tears streamed steadily down my face now, and I let them. Ella let out a stifled sob, and buried her face in my shoulder. “I never told you because I didn’t think you’d want to hear it. I thought maybe you’d think I was making it up as a way to get closer to you.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ella said into my shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.”
We turned to each other and held on tightly, both of us weeping. That old emptiness opened up inside and threatened to consume me. There was so much sadness, so much anger and pain, I didn’t know how it was possible for one person to carry that many emotions. But I knew now I wasn’t alone. Ella had done a good job of hiding it, but she felt the same way.
Lying with our arms wrapped around each other, we both cried ourselves to sleep.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A low, insistent rumbling tore me from a deep sleep. I opened my eyes and gazed around, unsure where I was. A boom of thunder made me jolt, and Ella murmured in her sleep before rolling away from me to face the wall.
Emotions rushed in all around me, tightening my lungs as I remembered where I was and what had happened.
Lightning slashed across the sky, illuminating the room. I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the window. Rain poured down, hitting the dry earth with a sound that made me think of a thousand drums beating at once.
I looked over my shoulder at Ella, who had fallen back to sleep. I slipped from the room, closing the door quietly behind me. The house was dark and silent as I made my way downstairs, and I had no idea what time it was, but I knew sunrise couldn’t be far off. In a daze, I crossed the living room and let myself out the back door.
I was soaked in an inst
ant, but I didn’t care. With my nightgown clinging to my torso and legs, I walked across the beach. The storm raged around me, thunder rumbling and crashing so hard I could feel it reverberate in the walls of my chest. The lightning was wicked, forking across the sky so fast it left jagged white-hot imprints burned on my retinas.
Unaware of what I was doing, I wandered closer to the edge of the lake. The dark water churned like some evil witch’s poisonous brew, and waves crashed inches from where I stood. Normally I would be terrified, but I didn’t feel anything. I was completely numb.
It was just like the night Mom died. The weather was reflecting everything I felt inside. The sheer force of it filled me with a sense of power, and I became light-headed as if drunk on the sensation.
Stepping forward, I barely felt the water when I stepped in. My feet suctioned to the wet sand and kept me steady, preventing me from being swept away in the roiling water. I stood, face upturned, rain like sharp needles on my raw skin.
Lightning flashed so close it took my breath away. I staggered back and braced myself to fall into the water, but strong arms caught me and I screamed.
“Are you insane?!” Ezra yelled, his mouth close to my ear so I could hear him over the raging storm. “Do you have a death wish? Are you trying to be a human lightning rod?”
I blinked at him, my mind emptying of the few thoughts it held. His expression was a mixture of anger, worry, and fear. Three emotions I knew well. When I stood rooted to the spot, he sighed—I couldn’t hear him over the sound of the storm, but I saw his shoulders heave. He bent and lifted me into his arms, tucking me against his body as he walked quickly toward his house.
Once inside, he set me on my feet and turned on a lamp, casting the room in pale yellow light. He stood and stared at me like I was some strange creature he’d never seen before, and my muddled brain conjured up images of mermaids washed ashore. His eyes shifted from my face, and I suddenly remembered what I was wearing—a thin white nightgown that was now dripping wet, plastered to my body, and—I glanced down at myself—see-through.
Ezra’s cheeks flushed and he averted his eyes as I crossed my arms over my chest. He mumbled something and disappeared further into the house, returning a second later and draping a large towel around my shoulders. I murmured my thanks and watched him quickly dry himself with a second, smaller towel.
“What were you doing out there, Charlotte?”
I shook my head and shifted to look out the window. The storm carried on, Mother Nature’s personal light and sound show. “I don’t really know,” I told him. “I shouldn’t be here though. Your mother…”
“She’s sleeping,” Ezra said. “She hardly ever leaves her room anyway.” I heard him move behind me and he laid his hands gently on my shoulders before chafing the towel to dry my arms. “You can’t go back out there. Why don’t you sit and we’ll wait until it dies down. I’ll make some tea.”
It all sounded so normal. He was being so rational, but all rational thought seemed to have left me the minute I stepped into the storm. “I shouldn’t be here,” I repeated, my voice a whisper.
“Sit down.” Ezra steered me to a worn couch and I sank down onto the sagging cushions. It was more comfortable than it looked, and it smelled like Ezra. I watched him walk toward the kitchen, which had a pass-through so I could see him filling a kettle with water and setting it on the stove.
I glanced around the room, nothing really registering in my tired brain. I laid a hand on my chest over the hollow ache, and left it there. Being around Ezra made it worse. Seeing him, being this close to him, looking into his eyes, and smelling his familiar scent left me exhausted. I didn’t know how to feel anymore.
My eyelids grew heavy and I listed involuntarily to the side. One minute I was watching Ezra pull mugs from a cupboard, and the next I was toppling over on his couch, fast asleep.
*****
When I opened my eyes, I had a sense of déjà vu. Thunder still rumbled outside, and I felt disoriented, but it only took a minute to remember where I was.
I sat up on the couch and looked around for Ezra. The lamp was still on across the room, but the kitchen was dark except for a nightlight. I was covered in a soft blanket, and there was a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of me. I reached for it and drank thirstily, not caring that it was cold.
A soft sound drew my attention, and after straining my ears for a few moments, I realized it was music. I stood up, abandoning the towel, but wrapping the blanket around me to cover myself. I padded down the hallway, my feet silent on the cool tile floor. I followed the sound to a room at the end of the hallway, where a door was open and a faint light shone inside.
I peered around the door and when my eyes adjusted, I saw Ezra sitting in a chair beside a big bed. He was playing an acoustic guitar and singing softly to the woman in the bed. His voice was low and even, and he looked so peaceful as he gazed at his mother. I hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t the small, ancient-looking woman whose eyes were open but staring blankly at Ezra. Her mousy brown hair was streaked with grey, and hung limply around her head and shoulders. Her pale skin was so thin I could see the blue veins underneath.
I stepped back and leaned against the wall in the hallway. Ezra played and sang beautifully, and after a second I realized the song was ‘Electrical Storm’ by U2. A ghost of a smile tugged at my lips, but was gone as quickly as it came.
As he played the final chords, I hurried back to the living room and sank onto the couch. Ezra came out a few minutes later and sat in the armchair beside the couch.
“You’re really good,” I said.
He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Thanks. I don’t play much anymore unless she asks me to. It’s rare that she asks for anything, so I figure I can at least give her that.”
I nodded, unsure how to respond.
“I just mastered that song,” he told me. “When I found out you like U2, I decided to learn a couple of their songs. I only ever play for Mom, but I was hoping to play for you someday.”
I swallowed hard and dropped my head into my hands. “Don’t say stuff like that,” I begged him. “This is hard enough without you making me remember why I…”
“I’m sorry.” Two words, but they were so full of anguish I couldn’t bear to look at him. The springs of his chair creaked, and a moment later he was sitting beside me, his hand on my back. His touch was light, but it scorched me through the blanket and the thin material of my nightgown. “I’m sorry, Charlotte,” he repeated, more emphatically. “You’re the last person in the world I want to hurt or disappoint. Knowing that I’ve upset you this much is killing me.”
He touched my chin gently, urging my face up to meet his eyes. “This last month has been the best of my life,” he told me. “You make me happy when I didn’t think I’d ever be happy again. You’ve even somehow made me feel normal for the first time in…well, ever.”
I stared into his eyes, so earnest and hopeful. “That’s pretty sad then, because I’m far from normal.”
His lips twisted into an ironic smile. “Maybe. But isn’t that why we’re so perfect together? Tortured souls, damaged goods…”
“Two peas in a pod,” I finished for him, my voice barely louder than a whisper.
“Exactly.” He leaned his forehead against mine and I closed my eyes, breathing him in.
When he touched my face, I jerked back. He looked hurt, and then resigned.
“I’m still mad at you,” I said, but I couldn’t muster up much fire to go with my words. “You betrayed my trust, and I don’t take that lightly.”
“So let me earn your trust back,” Ezra pleaded, taking my hand in both of his. “I know I was wrong not to tell you, and I know you have every right to be angry and hurt and disappointed, but…I need you to forgive me, Charlotte. I’ve been miserable without you the last week.”
“You know I’m not staying, right? I’ll be going home in a few weeks. What then?”
Ezra closed hi
s eyes and inhaled deeply before meeting my gaze again. “I don’t want to think about that. We’ll figure something out. I’ll come visit you, or you can come visit me when you get your license. You’re getting better at driving, more confident. Or there’s the bus, train…hell, I’ll hitchhike if I have to. We’ll figure it out.”
I wanted to say what if that’s not what I want? But of course it was what I wanted. I never imagined I’d be one of those girls who got scorned by the guy she cared about and then forgave him so quickly, but…this was Ezra. Ezra, who had listened to me talk for hours; Ezra, who had made me feel something other than pain; Ezra, who was helping me get over my fears and helping me learn to live again. Regular rules didn’t seem to apply where he was concerned.
“It won’t be easy to earn back my trust,” I said. “I can’t just forgive you and move on like nothing happened. But…I can’t not forgive you.” I shrugged helplessly.
Ezra’s relieved smile lit his entire face and made my lips curve in response.
“Tell me more about your mom.”
He did, starting with what his mom was like before his dad died, then telling me how the signs of depression started soon after his death. He told me when he realized something was really wrong—when his mom had a panic attack one day when Ezra tried to take her to the grocery store—and how with Lilah’s help he’d finally managed to get her to the doctor and on medication.
“It’s helped a little bit, but she really needs professional care now,” he said, his eyes sad. “She needs more than I can give her here at home.”
I couldn’t imagine the weight of responsibility on Ezra’s shoulders. I’d taken care of my mom while she was sick, but she’d also had a team of doctors looking after her, a nurse who came in a few times a week, and Dad. Ezra was on his own except for Lilah. He was too young to have to deal with this. He deserved a life, freedom, fun. It confirmed in my mind that I’d made the right decision to forgive him; he didn’t need that extra burden to bear.