“You know there were circumstances. We were in the jungle!”
“And what about when you returned? You finished out your trip!”
“I don't have to listen to these cruel accusations. The flights were booked.”
“Then don't. But don't lie to me. I've been through too much. I've seen too much of the truth to be lied to like some idiot.”
She shakes her head for a moment, her mouth curled into a deep frown. “You know you've always seen things in such simple terms. Not everyone is an angel like you. Not everyone is capable of giving that kind of constant sacrificial love. We all aren't wired like you.”
“I'm no angel, mom.”
“Then what gives you the right to sit there so smugly and judge me? I've done my best. I was alone with you. And I think I did a pretty decent job of raising you. And with Johnny, I just—I can't handle him. When you were taken, I couldn't handle it all.”
“So you ran away, like you always do—” The lump in my throat returns unexpectedly. Not because of her, but because of Sam. He left me just like she did.
“I don't know what you want, Vesper. Was the world supposed to stop moving because you were gone? Was I supposed to stop living?”
“You said I was dead a few weeks in. You didn't even give me a chance,” I scold. “You can justify it all you want. But just be honest with yourself. You were glad to be relieved of the burden for the first time in decades. To be that woman in the commune fucking every dick she could find.”
Tears fill her eyes and she shoots up from her seat, marches over to me and slaps me across the face.
I stand tall. “You think that hurts? You think that's pain?” I grab the steak knife and hold it to my forearm.
“Vesper!” she shouts.
“I could do this and I wouldn't even feel a thing!”
I hear the suction sound of the sliding door to the backyard opening. Hands grab for my arms. I wasn't going to do it. I was making a point. But the way they all look at me, it's like they finally see I'm not me.
I'm not the girl put here to make them all feel better. To make their lives easier. Not anymore. I am difficult. I am unwieldy. Nothing fits and I am always uncomfortable, tugging on odds and ends, trying to get things to fall into place. I've seen and felt things that make pleasantries seem trivial.
They see the trouble I have become and I can tell they don't want this. They want their sweet, compliant Vesper back. Now they feel obligated. Just like my mother always has. But they don't want this.
I don't want this.
I wake up with what feels like a hangover. Except I didn't drink. I trudge out of the bedroom and see Carter pouring himself a cup of coffee.
I moan to myself, everything aching with the recollection of the ugliness of the night before.
“Well, that was a disaster,” I say.
Carter’s face is tense. “Vesper, I think you should see someone.”
“See someone?”
“Yes. A therapist. You have been through an ordeal and I think you are having a hard time adjusting.”
“Carter, it's been hardly two weeks, give me some time.”
“I understand, and that's my point, now is the time to get help. The sooner, the better.”
“I don't need help.”
Carter puts his coffee on the counter and releases all the tension in the room with an exhale. “Look,” he starts before taking a few steps to me and cradling my shoulders in his hands, “I understand there are things you may not be comfortable discussing with me, or your mother, or anyone you know. That's why an objective person would be ideal. They won't tell and you can just sort out the things you are feeling.”
“I know how a therapist works, Carter. I was a semester away from being a nurse.”
“I know you do, I'm just trying to make things clear for you. I feel like you think we're all against you. You've been defensive. And I wonder if it's because you've got all this stuff inside you are trying to protect. Like a shell. It's made you hard. And I understand these things do. I just want you to have someone you don't have to be hard with, a safe space, and then you can get back to living your life. Maybe finish school.”
“I'll think about it,” I say. I don't know if I want any of that. Nursing was once this trophy on a pedestal I was climbing towards. But as of late, that goal seems unappealing.
He gives me a tight-lipped smile. Hope.
The phone rings.
Carter, rubs the top of my head, gazing at me wistfully, before turning to grab the receiver.
“Yee-ello.”
He scrunches his brow. “Hello? Hello?” He grunts and hangs up the phone. “Wrong number or a bad connection,” he informs me.
“Oh,” I respond casually as I pour myself some coffee, my stomach rolling with disappointment at the missed opportunity to scold Sam.
“Why don't you get me some recommendations from your colleagues and I'll see about setting an appointment?” I'm not sure how truthful I'm being, but I don't want Carter to worry about me. He lingers when he does.
“Okay, I'll do that. I gotta run.” He kisses me on the top of my head and spins to make it towards the door. “Oh, and I do want to say, not that I am condoning the whole angry bit you had going on last night, but it was nice to see you stand up to your mother for once. I'm just thinking it could be more productive and less scary.”
I laugh, rising my mug to him for an air toast. He leaves. I wait a few seconds, putting the mug down quietly and tiptoeing towards the door to listen for footsteps. Silence. I link the chain on the door. Then I go back to the phone and dial 0.
“Hello, operator. I just received a call on this line and I was wondering if you could tell me where it came from? I think it was a friend and I lost her number.”
“Ma'am, I can’t trace the call, do you have a name and city?”
“I…no, she moved, I’m not sure where.”
“You don’t have your friend’s name, Ma’am?”
The impulse fades with her inquiries and I hang up, realizing how dangerously close I was to opening up something I shouldn't. But I have another idea, I don't know what it'll bring me, but I know it'll satisfy this hollowness, at least temporarily. I grab the keys to my car that I retrieved from my mother's yesterday. I told Carter I wasn't interested in using it any time soon, but it was wise to have it around in case of emergency. I lied.
My first stop is Las Palmas House. The edifice does not have the sterile appearance of a nursing home like I had imagined. My plan was to make a trip this weekend to visit Johnny with my mother and stepfather, a grand reunion of sorts. I’m not on the permitted list of visitors yet so I needed to wait for her to return. I think it’s safe to say based on our dinner, my mother and I won’t be spending time together this weekend, so I hope that today I can at least catch a glimpse of him, and maybe if I’m lucky, they’ll let me see him. I can’t wait any longer. I just need to see that he’s alright.
It’s a pretty brick three-story house. Carter had gotten a pamphlet for me from the hospital. It’s small, housing no more than twenty children at a time. They have access to physical, occupational, and behavioral therapy. I refused to believe anything strangers had to offer could be more than what I had to give, but as I stand in front of this peaceful abode, rose bushes flanking the front door, amidst the sounds of children playing, it appears like a fine place for a child.
I follow the sounds to the back yard, surrounded by chain-linked fence like a school yard. There’s a playground; kids of various levels of physical ability play. Some sitting in wheelchairs, some zig zagging about. Then I see him. He’s holding a ball between his arms, tossing it to another boy in a wheelchair. He misses. It’s hard to aim without the full use of his hands. A woman smiles and mouths words of encouragement as she picks up the ball. The boy in the wheelchair tosses it back to Johnny and he flings his arms together and catches it. I cover my mouth, stifling a tearful gasp, celebrating with tiny hops of joy as I link my fingers t
hrough the fence. I’ve never seen him catch a ball like that before. His smile beams. He looks taller, and his face has changed, already showing signs of the angles his jawline will take someday.
“Hello,” another woman greets with polite suspicion.
“Oh, hi,” I answer, straightening myself out.
“Are you a family member?” she asks.
“Yes. I’m Johnny Rivers’ older sister. I’m sorry, I’m sure this seems odd. I don’t think my name is on the list for visitation. My mother was out of the country and I know you have certain hours to visit. I’ve been—gone—for a long time. I just couldn’t wait any longer.”
A look of realization appears on her face. Her skin has a flawless mocha sheen that almost sparkles in the sun, and her bright hazel eyes warm towards me.
“Actually, I spoke to your mother this morning. You’re Vesper, right? That’s a nice name. She made sure you could visit him.”
The knot of anger in my stomach I had been holding towards my mother unravels a bit. We’re all a little good and a little bad. We’re all just trying to figure out this life.
“He has therapy in about fifteen minutes. You can come play with him if you’d like.”
She motions over to the entrance to the playground, we meet at the gate and she lets me in. I don’t know how to approach him. He was told the man took me and I went to sleep. Will he be confused? Or will this whole thing have been a small blip in time for a child who seems to have had so much going on while I was gone?
I take a breath, trying to keep the tears down before approaching him from behind and gently tapping his shoulder. He spins, the ball still in his arms. We he looks up at me, he freezes and he drops it. It bounces in the small space between us. His blank expression becomes a frown and he begins to cry, burying his face into my stomach as he grips me.
“Johnny,” I whisper. “It’s okay. I’m back.”
He holds me tight, only loosening so I can kneel and look him in the eye.
“Are you sad?” he shakes his head.
“Happy?” he nods, wiping a tear with his forearm.
“I’m happy to see you too.” I’ve already forgotten about holding in my emotions as my tears match his. “I’m sorry I went away.”
Johnny nods.
“Do you like it here?”
He smiles and nods many times. I can tell he’s doing so well. He has other kids to play with and even his balance and strength have improved. It’s humbling to accept that maybe I needed him around more than he needed me. He drags me to his friend, Thomas, who also seems to have cerebral palsy, but can still speak. He has a best friend. Someone like him. Someone who understands what he goes through every day in a way I can’t.
I toss the ball with Johnny and Thomas until it’s time for him to go to therapy. When I leave him with promises to return, he’s smiling. He’s safe. It was all worth it. No matter what happens to me, he’ll be okay.
The library is nearly empty during this time of day, so the librarian seems happy to help me when I tell her I am doing some research for a real estate class I am taking.
She is all too eager to assist me in pulling records, bound together into books several inches thick. My search begins for property owned by the Hunter or Ridgefield family. It would have to be large, possibly designated as farmland. Somewhere quiet. Isolated. It turns out there is a lot of land to go around in that family. There are many Hunters and Ridgefields and many generations of land ownership.
Hours later, I am able to narrow the field down to less than a dozen properties according to size and distance. But I need more detail. My stomach rumbles as I look up at the clock. I have to get back soon, Carter usually comes home late, but sometimes he arrives early and surprises me.
But I can sense how close I am to finding where I was held. Where I began to form a new life. Finally, I have an idea. The librarian points me to the maps section and I begin to scout the addresses. My idea is to see if any of them indicate bodies of water. I am a complete novice at this, and while the pond seemed enormous to me, maybe it doesn't register large enough to be depicted on a map. About five properties in, and my ingenious idea seems to be worthless.
I gnaw the tip of my pencil, and stretch my shoulders, which had gone tight and sore from hunching over maps and books with the coiled tension of a predator.
I search the map for the next location, 1021 Redwood Lane, Villa Buena, CA. I squeeze my eyes shut a few times, tired and blurry from scanning maps and real estate records, and as they refocus, I find it. I trace my fingers along the paper, and even though it's just flat shades of ink, it all feels so familiar. I try to figure out its boundaries, coordinating with the land ownership records, and that's when I see it, a pale blue irregularly shaped ellipse. Water. According to the scale on the map, it's about the size of what I recall my pond to be.
I don't even have to look at the other locations. I know. Suddenly I can see the layout. Using the weeks and months I counted the steps between my shed and the water, I can narrow down where I stayed, where the house likely is. Where the barn is. My heart punches against my chest, stealing my breath away.
It's real. This place is real. It had almost begun to feel like it had only existed in my mind. Even in this short time, parts had faded the way a dream does if you don't recall it instantly upon waking. With shaky hands, I pile all the books and documents in a messy heap, crumpling the map and sliding it into my bag.
I look up at the clock and gasp. It’s already eight o'clock. Carter's probably called the house twenty times and he's probably back. I run out of the library and speed home.
I open the door quietly, pretending my absence is nothing out of the ordinary.
Carter is on the phone, pacing back and forth, he whips around and pinches the bridge of his nose in relief when he sees me. “Never mind, she just walked through the door. Yeah. Okay. Okay. Bye.”
“Who was that?” I ask.
“Your mother.”
“Why would you call her?” I snap.
“I've been calling all day. The first day they pull the patrol car off this place and you take off. It took everything I had to wait and not call the cops before I could get home. And you're gone. No note, nothing!”
“I'm sorry, I lost track of time,” I say, tossing my bag, heavy with secrets, beside the door.
“Where were you?” he asks. The question annoys me more than I would expect. Ever since I returned, he's been more of a babysitter than a boyfriend and it's starting to wear on me.
“Do I have to report everything to you? I am an adult you know.”
“Last night, you held a knife to your arm and threatened to cut yourself. Then you disappear today. What am I supposed to think?”
“I wasn't going to cut myself,” I exclaim.
“That's not normal behavior.”
I snigger. Normal. Is he expecting me to be normal? “You're right. It's not normal. I'm sorry that my return is so inconvenient for you and everyone else. I am sorry I came back and upturned your lives. I'm sorry everyone has to accommodate my strange and unusual behavior. I am sorry this has all been so hard on you,” I lament sarcastically.
“Don't be like that, Vesp.”
“I wasn't ready for this. For any of this. I thought I would never see any of you again. I didn't know I was going back home until the moment it happened. So forgive me if I need a little bit of an adjustment period. And that includes some time to clear my head and not be looked at like I'm some unhinged person. I am not the one who did this!”
“That's not what I meant.”
“What have you sacrificed? What did you tell him when he asked you?”
“Asked me? Who? What are you talking about?”
“You know, when he gave you a choice…” I hint, not wanting to unleash the elephant in the room that sits beside us, quietly, taunting us.
I shouldn't do this. It's not fair, but it's always been at the back of my mind, eating away at my resolve from the very beginnin
g. When I was given a choice, I put my body on the line. I wouldn't let Sam hurt Carter, so I told him he could have me.
“When he asked if you'd take the punches or let him—” I can't say it. There's so much shame weaved into those words.
“Let him what? What are you talking about?!” Carter snaps.
“Let him fuck me!” I shout. It's cathartic, spilling out the hidden sickness inside of me like that. I've tried to protect Carter, but it wasn’t working.
Carter braces and for a moment it looks like he'll be sick. I watch him search his memories. “I don't know what you're talking about Vesp. You mean that night?” His eyes glaze over with tears and now I'm going to be sick. “You think I would have let him…” he chokes up, “do that to you? You think I would have given him permission like it was mine to give?”
The hurt on his face is so vivid, I can't bear to look at it. I can tolerate my own pain better than his.
“He told me—”
“He's a liar!” Carter shouts. “I'm sorry. I need—I need air,” he says between heavy breaths.
“Carter—” I call to him apologetically. But he's already heading for the door.
“I just need to take a walk,” he says.
He leaves and I stare at the door in silence. I didn't believe Sam when he told me. Of course, Carter wouldn't have done that. But part of me wishes he had. It would be easier somehow. I stare at the door for forty some odd minutes, perking up when I hear the key unlocking the door.
I stand at attention when Carter enters. He doesn't look well. He's pale and his eyes are pink and puffed. What I asked was cruel.
“I'm sorry for what I implied earlier. I had some elaborate speech in my head, but really I'm just sorry, Carter.”
Carter dips his head back, running his fingers through his hair, messy from a long day. We're both already so tired. His chest and shoulders drop as he rubs his hands over his face.
“I'm sorry I didn't protect you, Vesp. I'm sorry if I'm smothering you. I just—I feel like I failed you and—”
Take Me With You Page 31