Reclaimed

by Sarah Guillory

  Jenna stared at me for a minute, then leaned in and pressed her head to my chest. I put my arm around her, running my fingers through her hair and pressing her closer to me. I didn’t want to let go.

  JENNA

  Dawn dark felt different from night dark. For a moment, before the sun came up, everything was muffled and still, like the world was waiting for something. Patient, the air was hushed and full of possibility. Then everything exploded in color and sound as the sun popped up over the horizon and the birds started calling back and forth to one another.

  Luke’s eyes took on all the colors of sky and water and reflected them back. And the longer I stared at him, the less he looked like Ian. Luke held his head differently. He slouched. He had a half-smile that was part smirk, part grimace, and I had no idea if he was being serious, or making fun of me, or hiding something really bad.

  But I could talk to Luke—without saying much at all. Stabs of desire cut through me as I stared at the back of his neck, the curve of his shoulder. I didn’t have adequate words and only knew it was pure feeling, emotion completely free of reason. It felt like it was going to swallow me whole. I didn’t believe people could own one another, but I suddenly felt very possessive of Luke. I didn’t want to share him with the rest of the world.

  “Thanks,” I told him.

  “For what?”

  “For being here.” I reached up and pulled him down to me, trying to tell him without words everything I couldn’t say. The kiss was long and lingering and made me ache.

  He pulled away and looked at me. “Does this mean you’ve picked me?”

  I smiled. “It was never really a competition to begin with.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  JENNA

  The curtain twitched as Luke pulled into the driveway, and I caught a flash of Mom’s robe. No amount of fireworks or sunrises or synchronized heartbeats was going to keep the world out forever.

  “Do you want me to walk you in?” Luke offered.

  “I think that would make it worse,” I told him, although I was too angry at my mother to worry about how much trouble I was in. I leaned over and kissed him before he could argue. “Go home. I’ll call you later.” I hopped out of the truck. “On second thought,” I said, turning back to him, “she’ll probably take my phone.”

  “I really am sorry,” he said.

  “I’m not.” I wanted to jump back in Luke’s truck and tell him to drive forever. I didn’t care where we went, as long as it was away. But I went inside instead.

  Mom had positioned a chair so that it faced the front door. Her back was straight and her legs crossed, the top one swinging manically. She clung to her huge mug of coffee like a drowning man grips a life preserver. Or a wino holds his bottle. Her lips were thin, almost nonexistent. “You stupid, stupid girl,” she said.

  “I’m sorry.” Which was a lie. The only part about last night that I was sorry about was her behavior.

  “‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it. Do you know how worried I’ve been?”

  I started to climb the stairs. I was too tired to go into it.

  “I’m talking to you, young lady!”

  I wanted to tell her that talking involved a two-way conversation; what she was doing was yelling. “And I’m listening,” I said instead, turning to face her.

  “You’re out all night with some boy you barely know, then you come slinking in with the sun, acting like it’s no big deal.”

  “That’s some serious bullshit you’ve got there.” She was in no position to start pointing fingers at inappropriate behavior. Especially if she couldn’t even remember hers.

  “Don’t you dare talk to me like that!” she shouted, marching across the room and glaring up at me from the bottom of the staircase. She looked older.

  “Like what, Mom? Honestly? God forbid we talk honestly about anything. The truth was you were passed out in your own puke last night and I was here to take care of it. So don’t try and make me feel guilty, like you paced the floors, wringing your hands and praying I would turn up alive. You didn’t even know I was gone.”

  “You’re grounded.”

  “Classic. You get drunk and act like an irresponsible jerk, and I clean up your mess and get punished for it. That really sucks.”

  “Life isn’t fair. It’s best you learn that little lesson right now.”

  She had to be joking. “Really? Because life has been completely fair with me, Mom. It’s been handing out roses and kittens lately. I’m working two jobs so I’ll have money for college. And what are you doing?”

  “Working,” she snapped.

  “Oh, that’s right. You’re never here because you’re ‘working,’ which apparently means being out with your friends getting trashed. And now you want to waltz in here and pretend like you have some sort of control over what I do. You can’t just be a parent when it’s convenient for you.”

  Mom climbed the steps and stuck her finger in my face. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are.”

  “I’ll tell you exactly who I am. I’m the girl who always does what she’s told. I get good grades. I take care of you when you’ve had too much to drink. I worry that I can’t ever leave here because someone has to make sure you don’t pass out and choke on your own vomit.” Shattering the alcohol earlier had broken a dam, and the words poured out so fast I couldn’t stop them. I didn’t really want to anyway. “I’m a teenager with adult worries and problems. I should be allowed to have fun. I should be allowed to make mistakes and be a kid and not have to worry all the damn time. But I’ll also tell you who I’m not.” I was shouting. “I’m not you! I wasn’t out last night getting drunk and knocked up. So spare me the lecture.”

  Mom’s hand flashed out so fast that I felt the sting across my cheek well before I realized she’d slapped me. She’d never hit me before.

  “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again. Do you hear me?” Mom wasn’t yelling anymore. Her voice was taut, a stretched rope between us.

  I should have felt guilt. I wanted to regret what I’d said. But I didn’t. I was sick of pretending our life wasn’t eroding. I was sick of trying to hold it together while it ran through my hands. “I’ll be in my room,” I said.

  “Phone.” She held her hand out.

  I handed her my phone and headed upstairs. I was suddenly exhausted.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t see Ian again,” Mom called after me. “Any boy who would keep you out all night doesn’t respect you.”

  “You would know.” I slammed the door behind me.

  IAN

  I was drowning in sleep and it felt as if I would never find the surface. Every time I thought I was close to waking up, something would grab me and pull me back under. I dreamt of the tree house again, and then shrinking walls. They pressed against my skull all night, and when I was finally able to wake up, my head was sore.

  The house was quiet. Luke’s door was shut, and I could hear his faint snore on the other side. I stopped, my hand resting on the doorknob. I missed Luke. I missed our pranks and always knowing what he was thinking. I hated the doors that had shut between us. I turned the knob. He had locked me out, or Mom, or both, and I didn’t want to wake him and make him open up. Not yet.

  I went downstairs to the kitchen to fix myself a bowl of cereal and walked into a room I barely recognized. The broken kitchen had been fixed, and not just pieced back together. It was a completely different room, all warm and golden. Luke had always had a talent for building, which was lucky, since he was equally talented at tearing things apart.

  I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck. If Luke could reassemble this kitchen, I could do the same with everything else. I was more than halfway there anyway. Mom had smiled, Dad had called twice, and Jenna was the normal that would camouflage our dysfunction. If I could just get Luke to buy in, maybe I could save him, too. Save myself. Reestablish that connection and find whatever it was that my brain, my mom, and Dr. Benson were hiding from me. Dr. Benson said I would remember
when I was ready, and sometimes I thought I almost had it. But every time I tried to remember exactly what had happened, my mind skittered away from it. It was like I was in a maze. I saw the corner, knew I had to turn and go that way if I wanted to get out, but as soon as I did, there was another corner. There was a door somewhere in that maze. I’d caught a glimpse of it once or twice before losing it again. It seemed to move. And while the maze was dark everywhere else, a small strip of light shone from underneath that door. But I couldn’t get it open—it was locked tight. I knew my memories were somewhere in there. I just had to find the key.

  Jenna’s phone went straight to voicemail. I had to see her. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind me stopping by. We’d had a great time together on Friday, even though she’d had to drive her mom home and I’d had to ride back with Steven and Steph. I’d wanted to go with Jenna, but she’d needed some time alone with her mom.

  It was late afternoon as I drove through town, quiet and sleepy, most people enjoying an extended holiday. I went by the store, thinking Jenna might be at work, but it was closed. I drove to her house.

  Her mom answered the door. She didn’t look happy. “She’s grounded, Ian.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. I had no idea why she was looking at me that way.

  “You should have thought about that when you brought her home at seven in the morning. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

  I hadn’t seen Jenna since Friday night. And only Luke would have brought her home at dawn. I suddenly remembered looking up from the ground at an angry Luke, and I had an overwhelming sense that this was all just a replay. Somewhere in my memory, I heard the door unlock. I was suddenly afraid to try and find what was behind it.

  “Give him a break.” Jenna walked into the living room and stood behind her mother. I hadn’t moved.

  “Don’t sass me,” Vivian said. “He’s half the reason you’re grounded.”

  “Mom, we’ve been over this.” Jenna sounded calm, bored even.

  Vivian looked like she wanted to slap Jenna, but she didn’t. I didn’t think she knew what to say. She just stood there.

  “I need to talk to Ian for a few minutes, please. We’ll stand right here on the porch. You can even watch us at all times.”

  I thought Jenna’s mom might argue or start yelling and kick me off the porch. She looked like she wanted to. But Jenna was giving her such an intense glare that I don’t think she dared. “Two minutes,” Vivian said.

  Jenna stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind her. “Um, let’s sit.”

  She sat down on the top porch step. I didn’t. I walked down the steps to stand in front of her instead.

  “I’m sorry,” Jenna said.

  I didn’t believe her. “Luke.” It was all I needed to say.

  She nodded. There were dark stars at the edge of my vision—another headache. “Behind my back?” I asked.

  There were two spots of color on her cheeks, making her eyes seem even greener. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I really like you.” I hated the way she was looking at me.

  “But?” I was having a hard time staying still.

  She rushed through her words. “Just not that way.”

  “Really?” I asked. “You kiss all your friends like that?”

  She looked really uncomfortable. Good. She had no idea what she was doing. I needed everything to lay flat. I needed my mom to be happy and my dad to be proud. I wanted my life back. And none of that was going to happen if she was with Luke. I wouldn’t have it. I had done everything right. Luke didn’t deserve her.

  Her mom beat on the window. “In a minute!” Jenna shouted. She rolled her eyes. “I’ve got to go. Can we talk about this later?”

  I nodded. I had to be careful, and I wasn’t sure I could keep things in perspective if I opened my mouth.

  Jenna went inside, shutting me out. Tiny dots of color swam in front of me. It wasn’t going to hold after all.

  JENNA

  I usually enjoyed silence. Distance running normally required being alone, just my feet and my thoughts. I loved the quiet of the woods and the stillness of the house at night and the comfortable whisper of rain. But this silence was torture. It left me alone with myself, and right then, I wasn’t someone I enjoyed spending time with. That person hurt people. My mother wasn’t speaking to me, which was fine, because I wasn’t ready to back down either. She had earned at least some of my anger, and she sure wasn’t apologizing for her own behavior, past or present.

  But Ian hadn’t deserved what I’d done to him. I’d hurt him—I’d seen it in his eyes.

  My grounding was still fresh enough for Mom to enforce. She took away my keys and drove me to work on Wednesday. It wouldn’t last—she couldn’t be inconvenienced for long. Not even the radio could drown out the silence as we rode to town. I slammed the door when I got out just to make sure it would make a noise. It did.

  Mops left me alone and let me work. She didn’t mention Mom, and she didn’t lecture me on behavior or responsibility. I loved her for that.

  I stayed late at the shop, eating dinner with Mops and then playing cards until nine. After Mops had beaten me twice in a row, I stood up and stretched. “I’d better call Mom.” I hated being dependent on others for a ride. I hated being dependent on others, period.

  Mops stacked the cards in the center of the table. “Why don’t you just spend the night? I can make up the couch.”

  I shook my head. “That’s okay. I can call Mom.”

  Mops sighed and got to her feet. “I’ll take you.” She grabbed her keys and purse, then came to stand right in front of me. Her face was full of worry and care. “You know you can stay with me any time.”

  “I know. And thanks.” But as mad as I was at Mom, she needed me.

  The house was dark when we pulled up, just a flicker of the TV shining through the living room window. Mops shut off the engine and started to get out.

  “I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” I told her. She ignored me. I followed her inside.

  Mom was curled up on the couch watching a movie. She’d found a new tumbler. “You didn’t have to walk her in,” Mom said, not even looking at Mops.

  That did it. I was tired of her being so damn self-centered. The world did not revolve around her and her pain. The rest of us were hurting too, and she was to blame for at least some of that.

  “It’s not Mops’s job to chauffeur me around,” I said. “Besides, the Bronco isn’t yours to take. Pops gave it to me.”

  “I’m your mother. I can do any damn thing I want.”

  “How convenient,” I said. “I think it’s unbelievably selfish that you don’t have anything to do with Mops unless you need something from her.”

  “Jenna,” Mops jumped in, “that’s not fair.”

  “Fair?” I was really sick of all the dysfunctional adults in my life talking about fair. “She was so wasted when I got home last night that she’d passed out, puke everywhere. I had to clean everything up and put her to bed. Do you know how ridiculously unfair that is?”

  Mops paled. “Is that true?” she asked Mom.

  Mom held up her hand, dismissing her concern. She always reduced everyone else to nothing. “Don’t start. You have no room to talk.”

  Mops wasn’t backing down. “You’re right,” she said. “Take it from someone who’s been there.” She lowered her voice. “You know, you’re not the only one who lost Pops.”

  Mom’s eyes popped wide as she jumped to her feet and whirled on Mops. “And you think you were the only one who lost Billy? I was just a kid!” She pointed her finger at Mops. “You turned to the bottle and left me to deal with it as best as I could. And I couldn’t. I didn’t know how. Even once you’d stopped drinking, it was all about your sobriety. You were always too busy being too damn selfish. I got pregnant because I was glad someone was finally paying me some attention.”

  I stood silently in the middle of the room as years of bitterness shot to the surface
.

  “Don’t you dare blame that on me,” Mops shouted. “Your daddy was just as drunk as I was, just as absent.”

  Mom crossed her arms across her chest, as if she could shield herself from the pain of his absence. “Don’t drag him into this—he’s not here to defend himself.”

  He couldn’t defend himself, but he was here, in every drink Mom took.

  “No,” Mops said, “you are. You always were. Your daddy could do whatever he wanted, but I was always the one you judged.”

  “You weren’t there for Daddy.”

  Mops looked at Mom. “Maybe your daddy wasn’t there for me,” she said.

  But I could tell Mom wasn’t listening. She’d already decided how she felt about Mops, and that wasn’t going to change. Both of them were so intent on making their points that they weren’t willing to try and see the other side. “Daddy started drinking because of you,” she told Mops. “He joined you. And then, when you got sober and he couldn’t, you left.”

  “Not couldn’t, Vi--wouldn’t. And what about taking some of the responsibility? He stayed drunk for three days when you told him you were pregnant.” Mops ran her hand across her face. “I did everything I could to help him. But I had to start thinking about myself. I couldn’t stay sober when he was always drinking.”

  Mom’s laugh was bitter. “You had to start thinking about yourself? That’s all you ever thought about.”

  And I couldn’t keep sane if I had to stay here and try to patch things together. I loved them both, but I was afraid that, if I sacrificed what I wanted to babysit my mom, I’d resent her forever. Mops did what she thought was best, but Pops never got better. Would he still be here if he had?

  “You little hypocrite,” Mops said. Her voice shook with fury. This wasn’t the Mops I knew. “You can’t forgive me for my drinking, but you’re walking down the exact same path I did. And you think you’re better? Don’t you remember the things you said to me? Do you want Jenna to feel the same way about you?”