“Wrong?” I echo with disbelief. “You have no idea what you did! I felt punished! And you took him from me. You stole his things; sold the house. I was devastated!”
“Zoey—”
“I've spent three years numbing myself from the pain!” I yell as angry tears spill over my cheeks. “I've done so many stupid things to escape it. You have no idea what your rejection did to me. I needed you! I needed help to grieve! Someone to hold me, to assure me that I'd survive it. You abandoned me!”
My dad's shoulders begin to shake, and I realize he's crying. “We know—”
“Do something about it then!” I scream as my entire body begins to shake with emotional and physical exhaustion.
One second he's standing there, and then the next he's taking two steps forward and folding me into his arms, holding me tightly. My crutch drops to the floor, and I'm not sure what to do.
My mom comes up and hugs me from behind. “We love you, Zoey. We never blamed you, and we certainly weren't punishing you. Never,” she says fiercely. “That night was gut wrenching but also bittersweet. God took one child and saved another.”
“We knew we messed up,” my dad says, speaking up. “We've tried to fix it, but you've kept us out. We hoped someday you'd find a way to forgive us,” he says as he rubs my back like he used to when I was a little girl and upset.
Everything has been unleashed within me, and I start to cry into his shoulder as my arms tentatively wrap around him.
My mom chokes back a sob. “I love you so much, Zoey. I've missed my baby girl, and I'll do whatever it takes to fix the damage that has been done,” she promises.
I sniffle and fight back more tears, and we all cautiously separate a moment later. I look at my parents, taking in their red-rimmed eyes, and the anguish within their depths. Yet, there's a hint of hope as they gaze at me. We are a broken family, but as I stand here, I realize for the first time that we are a family desperate to mend. The heaviness that's always been in my chest eases slightly.
“You always leave,” my mom says with uncertainty. “Are you...will you stay through Monday? Give us time to talk more?”
I look at them and see hope burning in their gazes. Before our family meltdown, I would have bolted, even if I'd had to crawl out the door on my hands and knees. “I can stay until Monday as long as you're not burning dinner every night,” I say quietly.
My mom frowns and sniffs the air. Her eyes widen. “Shoot!” she rushes to the oven.
Dad bends down and grabs my crutch, holding it out to me, his eyes hesitant as his lips form a cautious smile. “Sit. I'll set the table.”
I hobble to the table and sink down into a chair. I watch silently as my parents move around the kitchen as they prepare dinner. The scene brings a sense of peace to me. Nothing has been fixed, but we've taken the first step.
The most important step.
~*~
After dinner, I gingerly make my way back to the guest room on my own. Dinner was nice—a little awkward—but nice all the same. We’d talked a little more about the past, but we didn’t delve into it very long, because things started getting too emotional. Now I need some time to pull myself together and process this new turn of events. My parents seem to understand this, because they allow me to leave on my own, and neither of them come after me to hover.
I take care to awkwardly shut the door behind me with my elbow before hobbling with my crutch to the bed. I need some privacy and a little alone time without worrying that they'll simply walk through the door when I am desperate for some space. With the door shut, they'll respect the boundary I just put up.
After collapsing on the bed, I awkwardly move my still aching body until I feel some semblance of comfort. I breathe in deeply, close my eyes, and allow my thoughts to take over. When I'd gone to the kitchen, I'd had no intention of confronting my mom. It had been the farthest thing from my mind. I don't even know what triggered it. Had it been my conversation with Caleb last night? I guess it doesn't matter how it happened, because it did, and it's out there now.
I'm not sure how I feel about it. I guess it had felt good to get it off my chest, but that doesn't mean anything has really changed. And no, that's not me being a bitter bitch. I just mean that one conversation isn't going to fix all that's broken. I still have all this anger built up. Yes, it's eased a little, but this isn't something I'm going to get over simply because they admitted they were wrong with what they did. I have three years of issues and emotions to contend with. I'm not quite sure how to break it down and start storing it away permanently.
I feel confused.
The need to call Caleb has me reaching for my cell phone. Talking to him always helps me sort out my thoughts.
He picks up on the second ring. “Sparky,” he greets warmly.
A smile curves my lips, and I glance at the clock beside the bed. It's seven in the evening. “Hey, what are you up to?”
“Right now I'm in the elevator. I was at Ace's when you called, but I'm heading up to my place for privacy.”
“Ah, hoping for some phone sex, were you?” I can't resist teasing.
I hear the elevator ding in the background, and Caleb murmurs in a low voice, “Is that a possibility?”
My eyes flicker to the closed bedroom door. “My door is closed for once,” I say truthfully.
Caleb groans in my ear, and I hear a door shut. “Quit playing with me.”
“But it's so fun,” I laugh.
“You sound like you're in a good mood.”
“I do?” I ask, slightly taken aback by his comment.
“You do,” he confirms.
This has me falling silent briefly, because a few minutes ago I'd been brooding and confused. “I guess I'm just happy to hear your voice.”
“Or something happened, because the tone of your voice has changed drastically.”
“I hate it when you do that,” I mutter.
“Do what?”
“Sometimes I swear you can read my mind.”
“I wish. It sure as hell would make life easier,” he says dryly.
“No, it would make it a hell of a lot more complicating.”
“Talk to me,” he says simply.
“I am.”
“About whatever is on your mind. I can tell you need to talk about something, Zoey.”
This has my eyebrows drawing together. “I haven't said anything.”
“You don't have to. Now quit dodging,” he orders.
A sigh of exasperation escapes me. “I confronted my parents tonight.”
Caleb is silent for a long moment. “About everything?” he eventually asks.
“Well, about as much as I could in one conversation. There's so much inside me...”
“How did they take it?”
I pick at some lint on the sheet near my waist. “Um, good, I guess. They said that they never meant to hurt me. I learned some new things tonight, things they hadn’t told me before,” I say quietly.
“Like what?”
“My mom was dealing with severe depression after Micah died. I had no idea,” I say softly. The fact that my mom and I have depression in common is almost a relief to me. I don’t feel as alone as before, but yet I still blame her for shutting me out three years ago.
“I can hear the confusion in your voice,” he says quietly. “How do you feel about it?”
“I’m still angry,” I confess. “I mean, my dad pretty much chose her over me. I know she was…breaking down, even a bit suicidal, but he concentrated all his attention on her, making me go through my own grief all by myself. I guess I’m glad I have answers, because it makes sense. Sort of. But they want to fix things with me, and I don’t know if it can be…”
“Do you want to fix it? Do you want a better relationship with them than what you have now?”
“Of course, I want things to be better. They're my parents. But Caleb, what if it's not possible to repair our relationship?” I ask, and even I can hear the uncertainty in my t
one.
“If you want them in your life, it's repairable.”
“But I'm still so mad and angry. I don't think I can just simply forgive and forget,” I say softly.
“No one's asking you to, Zoey. It's been three years, and all that damage isn't going to be repaired with only a few conversations. It's going to take a while.”
“What if I can't ever forgive them?” I whisper.
There's a long pause on the other end of the line. “You can't forgive them then,” he says. “There's no point in worrying about it unless you get to that point. Don't stress yourself out needlessly. Take it one day at a time. You know how you consider yourself to be a work in progress?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, your relationship with your parents will be a work in progress, as well. No one's expecting miracles in one day.”
“Okay,” I say quietly, and I realize that he's easing my fears, and I'm beginning to accept the outcome of this evening. I can't predict what will happen with my parents, but I can't control it, either. It's best to simply go slow and not over analyze every little thing.
“How do you feel now that you've told them everything you’ve been holding in for so long?”
I think about it for a second. “Relieved,” I confess.
“Good. The hardest part is over. Things will still be tough, but at least now the three of you are working on it. Just don't shut them out, and I think you guys will eventually get to where you want to be.”
“You really think so?”
“You love them, right?” he asks.
“Well, yeah.”
“And they love you?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly.
“Then anything is possible. I think you're going to be just fine, Zoey.”
One month later...
I can't help but study Caleb as he drives. He's been oddly silent, and it's all my fault. I'd done the very thing he'd asked me not to. I'd secretly taken a detour to Micaela's house after my last class of the day. I hadn't been able to take hearing Micaela yearn for her mother's attention one more minute. I'd text messaged Caleb to tell him I'd be a little late for our plans at four, and that I had something to do but would meet him at his place when I was finished.
I don't regret going to the Runde residence. Micaela's mother had been surprised to find me standing there on her doorstep when she'd answered the door. I claimed to have met Micaela at the beach a while back, and that we'd grown to be close friends. I'd left Caleb out completely, and I am hoping Micaela will too when her mother confronts her when she comes home from school.
I think I finally got through to Micaela's mother. It probably helped that I hadn't sugar coated a damn thing. I told her the whole ugly story of my past. I admitted to my obsession with alcohol, and my need for sex with random guys. I told her everything. Oddly enough, it had been a bit cathartic knowing that my story might just save what's left of the Runde family. I feel good about my decision to talk to Micaela's mother, because I think I opened her eyes to what she's been doing to her own daughter. I guess only time would tell.
I do feel bad that I did it behind Caleb's back. I have every faith in Micaela, and I'm sure her mother will never find out about the hotline. But, I still should have told him what I had planned before the fact. I hadn't, though, because I'd been afraid he'd talk me out of it. He has that effect on me. He talks and I listen. The man can talk me into anything.
“You've been staring at me since we left Long Beach,” Caleb comments, cutting into my thoughts.
I gaze at him. “That's because I think you're secretly mad at me.”
He glances at me, frowning. “I told you I'm not mad. You felt that this situation with Micaela has gone on long enough, and you did something about it. I respect that. You've been in her shoes, and if you felt it was time to get involved, then I'm thinking you're right. You've got great instincts when it comes to that girl. She really looks up to you.”
I can't help but snort. “She shouldn't. My life's been a mess for three years.”
Caleb reaches out a hand, palm up. I slip my hand in his and he squeezes it. “You're working on it, and that's the most important thing.” He glances briefly at the road before meeting my gaze again. “It's easy for someone like myself to suggest what they think might help someone else, but you've lived it, and Micaela knows that. Whether you think so or not, you are a good role model for her,” he says before he fixes his attention on the road.
“We'll see,” I say dryly.
He squeezes my hand again. “Sparky, you've taken all your issues and faced them. I'm more proud of you than you'll ever know.”
“I haven't faced all of them,” I murmur as I stare out my window. I've began counseling, I've adjusted to my medication, and my parents and I had our first family therapy session last week. Things are slowly falling into place. I can even talk about Micah now, and we're on our way to the mini-storage unit in Pasadena where my brother's things have been stored. I have the key, and I feel that I am ready to go through his personal belongings. The one thing I haven't done is visit his grave. I know I'll work up the courage to do it eventually, but for now, I'll just take things one step at a time as I feel I am ready for them.
“You'll visit him when you're ready. Don't rush it,” Caleb says lightly as he focuses on his driving.
I nod and look down at the key clutched in my hand. Life still seems difficult without Micah in it, but I'm beginning to move on. Caleb's become a permanent fixture in my life, and he's slowly filling the void that had been in my heart. When things get to be too much for me, he's always there. He's completely honest with me, and I never have to doubt where I fit in with his life. He makes it clear on a daily basis that I come first, and I am floored that a man like Caleb is mine. Life has definitely become worth living.
Surprisingly enough, things are getting better with my parents. They are trying so hard. I'm still bitter, but that bitterness is beginning to fade. Every time I see them, I can feel myself beginning to forgive, one little piece at a time.
“Zoey?” Caleb questions, as if sensing that I have more on my mind than I'd let on.
I draw in a deep breath and exhale before looking at him sadly. “He hasn't appeared. I kind of wish he would. Even if he's not really there, I think I'd be grateful to see him and talk to him one more time.”
He glances at me and his expression softens. “You're healing.”
“I miss him.”
“You'll always miss him. He's gone, but he'll never be forgotten.”
“Never forgotten,” I echo in agreement.
“You sure you want to do this today?” Caleb asks as he pulls into the entrance of the mini-storage unit lot.
“I want to feel close to him.”
Caleb nods and parks the car near storage unit number twenty-seven. I open my car door, and Caleb is out of the car and leaning in my doorway to grab my crutches for me before I can try to climb out. Then he helps me gingerly ease out of the seat, and I hand him the key as I steady the crutches under my arms. We walk over to the unit and Caleb unlocks it. He glances at me questioningly.
I nod.
He leans down and easily pulls the door up and secures it overhead.
I stare at the familiar furniture and the boxes stacked in neat, orderly piles. I spy Micah's dresser, and a box sits on top of it. I use my crutches and hobble over. The word 'pictures' is written across the top in my mom's handwriting. I can feel Caleb's eyes on me as I carefully set the crutches aside. With shaky hands, I cautiously open the box.
My breath catches as I pull out the framed five by seven photo on the top. It's a picture of me and Micah before our junior homecoming dance. Mom had wanted a picture of just us, while Ashley and Alex had stood on the other side of the room, patiently waiting for pictures to be finished. I'm smiling—no, I'm beaming in my short white dress, and Micah is mugging for the camera. Tears fill my eyes as my finger runs over the glass above Micah's face. Siblings were supposed to fight, b
ut not me and Micah. We'd been best friends.
“You okay?” Caleb asks softly.
I swallow the lump in my throat and hold the picture frame out to him. “Meet Micah,” I say with a watery smile.
Caleb carefully accepts the picture frame and he stares at it, frowns, looks confused, and then eventually pales.
“What's wrong?”
His blue eyes lift to mine, and they look shocked. “I've seen him before.”
“Micah?” I ask with puzzlement.
“Holy shit.”
“What?”
“This is going to sound crazy, but he was in my dream a while back,” Caleb says with disbelief. “The night before I found you choking on your vomit, I dreamed of him. He...” Caleb frowns. “I'm trying to remember what he said. Something along the lines that things are not always what they seem, and that I have to look below the surface and not give up on you. That you needed me. More than ever before, and that I would be the one to save you. He was so adamant...so...real.” His eyes hold mine. “I remembered the dream the next morning and was a little weirded out by it. I just had this bad feeling all day, this insistent need to check up on you. I think it's that dream that had me worrying over you more than usual, and that's why I insisted on using the spare key. I remember being bothered by the dream later that night while you were resting, but then I got distracted, because I was focusing on you. It just seemed to fade, and I haven't thought about that dream for a while. Until now.”
“Maybe you saw his picture and then dreamed of him,” I offer.
He shakes his head, his eyes on mine. “When would I have seen his picture, Zoey? You don't have any at your apartment.”
“At my parents...” my voice trails off. My parents don't have any of Micah's pictures up. They've been talking about it lately, but haven't come out to the storage unit yet. I'm the first to go through his things.
Caleb watches the emotions flicker over my face. “I never researched the accident or anything, so this is the first time I've seen his face.”
“You're serious, aren't you?” I whisper.
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