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The Book of Essie

Page 12

by Meghan MacLean Weir


  I stayed long after I had finished eating and Mike did too. His friends were engaged in some good-natured sparring about Second Amendment rights and I watched in bewilderment as they volleyed back and forth without the exchange devolving into a shouting match. What’s more, they actually listened to what the other person had to say. When the two girls across from us, whose names I had already forgotten, stood to leave, they kissed each other on the lips before walking out separate doors. Instinctively my body stiffened, but I didn’t look away.

  Beneath the table Mike pressed his knee against mine and whispered, “It’s shocking, I know. They look like actual human beings, but they’re lesbians in disguise.”

  He was laughing at me and this time, in person, I did get angry.

  “Stop looking at me like that!” I yelled.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you think you know me. You don’t know anything about me, anything at all.”

  I was running then, weaving past the other students trickling out of the dining hall. My sandals slapped the damp flagstones and I headed for an arch at the other end of the courtyard, simultaneously wanting to hide and at the same time hoping that Mike was following. I had not quite reached the arch when he caught up with me, grabbing my hand and spinning me around. His face fell as he took in my tears.

  “Libby, I’m sorry. I thought that was what we did: poke fun. You’ve never gotten upset before.”

  “It feels different in person, that’s all.”

  I heard him sigh. “Of course it does. That’s always been my point.”

  And I knew that Mike wasn’t just talking about the two of us or even about his lesbian friends, who are now married and have a baby. He was talking about all of it, about everything I’d ever said, every person in every group I’d ever targeted and tried to hurt in the name of that same God who said “Do not repay evil for evil or reviling for reviling, but on the contrary, bless, for to this you were called, that you may obtain a blessing.”

  Mike didn’t kiss me then. That would have been too easy and my transformation was anything but that.

  Instead I said, “I have to go.”

  My skin felt hot and I was dizzy as I stumbled back to my dorm. There was a buzzing in my ears that I knew was Mama’s voice. Before then it had always been so clear, but at that moment I couldn’t make out a single word she was saying. Mike followed a few steps behind me until I barged through the door to my building. I could feel him even without looking back, but he didn’t come any closer. He had just followed me to make sure I was safe.

  I took down my blog later that week, deleted everything, and canceled my Twitter account. I barely went to class. It was a miracle that I didn’t flunk out of school entirely, but I rallied toward the end of the semester and managed to pull through finals, though at the time it didn’t feel like much of a success. The seasons had changed again by the time I caught sight of Mike walking across the quad; summer had come and gone. I had been home as well, a painful few months during which I began to see my parents, our family, and our church as Mike might see them, as anyone who was not us would see them. I still loved my parents, very much, but I was also deeply ashamed. I began to wonder what would have happened if I had seen it earlier. I began to wonder if Justice would still be alive. I decided that I would not go home again.

  * * *

  —————

  Roarke and Essie tell me they’ll see me in Havana and then Margot and I drive home. I don’t say much during the ride and eventually Margot falls asleep, slumped against her door. I keep my eyes on the ribbons of white reflective paint on the highway and let each slide into the edges of my vision, blur, and disappear into the night. Margot comes up when we get back to my apartment and we eat the dinner that Mike cooked and watch the interview when it comes on. The editing team has done a good job. I open my laptop and watch the internet explode. Within an hour the story is trending on social media under the hashtag #Essie&Roarke4Ever. By the time I go to bed, Google suggests Essie and Roarke Wedding when I begin to type in her name.

  * * *

  —————

  The next day I track down Carter as promised. He does not look happy to see me, but I tell him that Essie has asked me to give Lissa the list of interview times and locations so that she can come and talk with Essie in private if she changes her mind.

  “No one else from the family or staff will be there. It’s my people only. Essie gets dropped off. That was part of the deal.”

  Carter nods. “I’ll let her know. But tell Essie not to get her hopes up.”

  “Why shouldn’t she? You don’t think her own sister wants to talk to her?”

  “I’m not saying anything. This is totally off the record. But that entire family is a special kind of fucked-up.”

  “All except for Lissa, you mean.”

  Carter blows his breath out of his mouth in a quick puff of air and says, “Lissa’s probably the most fucked-up of them all. I love her, but that girl has problems. How could she not? But you didn’t hear that from me.”

  “Well, tell her it’s important. Essie seems to think Lissa can help her make some sort of decision.”

  “What decision?”

  “No idea. But she needs to make it before the wedding, or so I gather. Remind her that Essie was just a kid when Elizabeth left home. She’s still a kid as far as I’m concerned. Whatever happened inside that house, none of it is Essie’s fault.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell her.”

  “And if she changes her mind about me, I’ll be in the library every day this week between ten and one until I leave town on Friday. I’m meeting Essie in Havana for an interview on Saturday. Lissa is welcome to join us at that one too, but I figure one of the studios on that list would work better.”

  Carter nods and as he walks away, I see him take out his phone and dial.

  * * *

  —————

  On Monday and Tuesday nothing happens. I spend the hours in the library working on my laptop, churning out the print pieces to go with this last interview and then revising an article on feminism in evangelical communities that will likely never see the light of day. Tuesday afternoon Margot and I go shopping for sunscreen for the trip and then stop into the office to meet with Sid. He talks about the number of hits the video has received, the number of times my articles have been shared. He’s pleased, his face plethoric, and he wheezes as he walks around the room outlining his vision for what the approach should be when we are in Cuba.

  Wednesday is disappointing as well. As I’m packing up to leave the library, I think I see a girl who could be Lissa sitting across the reading room, watching me. I notice her just out of the corner of my eye, but when I turn, there’s no one there.

  I almost skip the library on Thursday. Sid has given me another, unrelated interview, and though it won’t take long, I still need to pack. But when I walk into the reading room, Elizabeth is sitting at my usual table, waiting. I slow down for the staff to check my photo ID and then cross to where she’s sitting. She looks nothing like the girl who was pasted into her family’s holiday card only a few months ago, though it is hard to put a finger on exactly what has changed. Her hair is different: shorter, darker, with a streak of crimson on each side that neatly frames her face. But it’s not just the hair—even her face itself is changed somehow, though each individual feature is just the same. I wonder if this is what she always looked like when the cameras were off, like someone I would have wanted as a friend.

  She greets me with an ironic smile but does not stand. Her chair is pulled out from the table and her legs are crossed. She is slumped back to give the impression that she is at ease, but I can see even as I am walking toward her that every muscle is wound tight.

  “You found me,” I say as I sit.

  “More like you found me,” she counters.

  “I
hope Carter passed along the other piece of my message as well.”

  “I have the interview times, if that’s what you mean.”

  “It is. Essie is really hoping that you’ll come.”

  Elizabeth looks down and changes the subject. “This boy that she’s marrying, do you think he’s good for her?”

  “If you’re asking whether I think he’s a good person, then the answer is yes, though I only met him once. But he was kind to her, respectful. She says she’s happy that this wedding is happening and she said it without any cameras rolling, so I have no reason not to believe her. But if you’re asking if I think she loves him, if he loves her, then no. I don’t. Not even a little.”

  “So my parents have staged it, then,” Lissa says. “Typical.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe it’s Essie who’s pulling the strings.”

  Elizabeth shakes her head. “You clearly have no idea how things work in our family.”

  “No, I don’t. But Essie does. She seems to think she’s running this show, and from what I’ve seen, she’s a smart kid. Who’s to say she hasn’t figured out how to get her way despite everything?”

  “Mother would never allow it.”

  “Maybe your mother doesn’t know.”

  Elizabeth considers this for a moment and pulls her chair forward slightly. When she speaks, her voice is bitter. “Nothing in that house happens without her knowing.”

  “Like what? What happened? What did your mother know?”

  Elizabeth tilts her head to the side and practically sneers, “You think this is when I open up to you, bare my soul, tell you all my secrets? Believe me, I wouldn’t even if I could. You are exactly like them, a hypocrite. I don’t trust you, no matter what my sister says.”

  “I’m not asking you to trust me. If you don’t want to talk with me, that’s fine. But at least talk with Essie. She trusts me, for some reason of her own that I don’t think I’ll ever really understand. I want to make good on that trust. The only thing she has asked of me is to find you and to bring her sister back to her.”

  Elizabeth shakes her head. “The sister Essie thinks she remembers, that girl doesn’t exist. Maybe she never did.”

  “I don’t think that’s true,” I say, leaning partway across the table. “I’m sitting right across from her.”

  “It only looks that way because you haven’t been paying attention. Elizabeth Hicks was a fictional character I walked away from a long time ago.”

  “We have something in common, then, whether you want to admit it or not.”

  “Do we now?”

  “You may not believe me, but I’m not the person you think I am. I know what people think when they hear my name. I even thought about changing it. But that wouldn’t have solved the problem. Just because I want to leave the old Liberty Bell behind doesn’t mean she ceased to exist. She’s still inside of me. But she’s trying to be better. Every day, she’s trying. I’m sure you can relate to that.”

  “Maybe,” Lissa says grudgingly.

  I watch her fidget. I can practically feel how much she wants to leave. I know that we have gotten closer, but it is still not close enough.

  “As much as I don’t like to think about the person I used to be, the place I’ve come from, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to be able to talk to my sister again.”

  This is a desperate move and I know that Elizabeth sees it for what it is, but despite this, something inside her loosens and she says, “Okay. Tell Essie that I’ll come.”

  She stands and picks up the woven bag hung across the back of her chair and slings it over her chest, then pulls out the piece of paper that Carter delivered to her for me. She points.

  “I’ll come to this one,” she says and nods once as she turns to go.

  On a hunch I ask, “How much did they give you? How much not to talk?”

  “I really can’t say.”

  She is looking at her shoes. They are scuffed, but they are also expensive.

  “Of course you can’t.”

  “But if I could, I would tell you that I don’t exactly need to work for a living. Not unless I want to, that is.”

  “You do want to, though, don’t you? You don’t strike me as someone who would want to sit around for the rest of your life.”

  Elizabeth tilts her head slightly. “Actually, I’ve already got the perfect job lined up. I start right after graduation.”

  “Congratulations,” I tell her. “Where will you be working?”

  She smiles as if genuinely amused and answers, “Planned Parenthood.”

  Then she walks away.

  Roarke

  Around the third or fourth time the plane hits turbulence, I begin to seriously rethink my life choices. It’d seemed like a good deal, this whole thing with Essie. Crazy, of course, but once I moved past that and accepted the crazy, I knew there was really no way that I could say no. I know why I was taken in. It’s not just the money itself but also everything that it represents, the opportunities and what it made me feel I was worth. Yes, I was really that shallow. But I hadn’t realized that until now. Once we boarded and stowed our things, though, there was nothing to do but sit and wonder how I got here.

  The plane lurches again and I think about how if I die now, my parents won’t get a penny of what they were promised. I have to legally marry Essie for the deal to take effect.

  “Just relax,” Essie urges.

  I look out the window, but we’re deep within a bank of clouds and there’s nothing to see. In the aisle seat beside me, Essie drops her eyes back to her book and lifts one hand to cover mine where it grips the armrest between us. She gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and then withdraws it to turn her page. I close my eyes and try to loosen the knots in my shoulders and the back of my neck.

  Yesterday, while I was packing, Blake appeared suddenly in my doorway. I was halfway under my bed, reaching for my duffel bag, and when I straightened, he was standing there, watching me. Naturally I jumped.

  “You’re a little on edge for someone who’s blissfully in love, aren’t you?” he asked sarcastically.

  I finished pulling the bag from underneath the bed frame and then sat on the narrow chair in front of my desk. Blake threw himself belly-down on my bed as he had so many times before.

  “What gives?” he asked. “I had to find out that my best friend is engaged by watching him on TV?”

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  I should’ve had more of an explanation ready, but in truth I was hoping I could slip away without having to talk to anyone before I left. I even turned off my phone shortly after the interview, afraid that what made sense when I was sitting next to Essie would start to unravel once my friends started picking at the threads. I didn’t want to have to explain something that I only half believed in myself.

  “I don’t understand,” Blake told me. “You hate them.”

  “I never said that,” I protested.

  “You didn’t have to. Why do you think I teased you about Esther coming to practice that day? I did it because I knew it would bug you.”

  “The actions of a true friend.”

  “Damn straight, I’m a true friend, which is why I’m here to tell you that you can’t go through with this. I don’t know what she has on you, but it can’t be enough for you to throw your life away.”

  I started tossing clothes into my bag, not wanting to look Blake in the eye. “She doesn’t have anything on me. She’s not like that. Maybe her parents are, but not Essie. We understand each other. That’s as good a place to start as anything. Listen, I think you should go. I really have to pack.”

  “So you love her? That’s the story you’re sticking to? Really?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Blake replied and stood to leave, but he stopped in the do
orway and turned back and said, “There were some reporters down at the diner asking about you.”

  I felt my stomach drop. “What did you tell them?”

  “I didn’t tell them anything. But they talked to Lily and to One-Eared Pete and some of the underclassmen.”

  I stood facing Blake with the unmade bed between us.

  “Don’t ruin this for me,” I said quietly with what I imagined was just a hint of menace in my voice.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that. After all, who am I to stand in the way of true love? I just hope you understand that we’re not finished here. Someday you’ll tell me what’s really going on.”

  “Someday,” I echoed, “I may actually figure it out enough to be able to explain.”

  That seemed to appease Blake and he left then. I didn’t say anything to Essie about Blake’s visit when we met at the airport this morning. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to worry her while we were away. It was more that I didn’t want her to think of Blake as her problem, or any sort of problem at all. As my friend, he deserves the truth—maybe not right away, but eventually. Until then, there’s no reason for Essie to be thinking about Blake at all.

  So I keep my eyes closed because even if I did want to talk with Essie about what I should tell my friends, the plane is not the place to do it. I feel like I have to shout to be heard over the engines and this isn’t the sort of conversation either of us would want witnesses to. There are about fifty others on board. We flew commercial to Miami and then changed planes to this chartered jet that will take us on to Havana. There are real flights now that the embargo has been lifted, but not that many and it can be hard to get enough seats together. At least that’s what Essie said.

  Some of the people are from home, like the young woman named Gretchen who’s sitting across the aisle from us. She works for Essie’s mom, something to do with production of the show, but it’s clear that she has also been assigned to be our babysitter. There are a handful of others from New Light, but no one I know particularly well. Everyone else on the plane converged in Miami from their own hometowns, with some coming from as far away as the Pacific Northwest. This trip is an annual event, ever since the border opened, and I’m one of only a few who are going for the first time.

 

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