Confessions in the Dark

by Jeanette Grey

  Wetly, Serena asked, “What kind of thing?”

  “When you have a child who has these kinds of problems, they remind you over and over again to never forget that the other one has needs, too. I listened, and I looked for them so hard. But you...you never seemed to need anything. You were my sweet, strong little trouper. Always chipping in, always helping out.”

  “It was my job.”

  “You were a child.” She drew away by a fraction, just enough to look her in the eye. “I put too much on you. And I’m sorry.” Her throat bobbed. “You’ve taken such good care of your sister and your nephew. Of me, even. Now will you please, please tell me how we can take care of you?” She shifted to rub her hands up and down Serena’s arms. “Serena, sweetie. I know you’re worried about your sister. But what’s this really about?”

  The instinct was there to pretend it was nothing. She was just emotional or hormonal or something. Except that wasn’t it at all. Her lip wobbled, and God, why couldn’t she stop crying today? She sniffed, shaking her head and trying to turn away, but her mom caught her, one soft palm pressing gently to her cheek to keep her gaze on hers.

  “Nothing,” she managed to creak out. “Just. Just a boy.”

  And that was all it took. In fits and starts, the story of her whole affair with Cole poured out of her, how she’d found him sitting at the top of the stairs, barely able to walk and so darn stubborn he was still intent on taking the train. How she wouldn’t let him, and she’d convinced him to let her help him by making it out like he was doing her a favor, and he was. He spotted Max’s bullying and got him caught up on a year’s worth of math in a handful of weeks.

  He’d been so beautiful and so broken, and he’d sucked her in from the very first moment. And when he touched her—when he told her about the pain that had shaped his life—she’d been helpless but to fall.

  “And I knew,” she said, swiping furiously at her eyes, “he was terrified of kids. He knows he has a temper. But when Penny needed someone to take care of Max and I was stuck at work, I asked him to help, and he didn’t want to.” He’d told her as much, basically, hadn’t he? “I never should have asked him to.”

  “That’s not your fault.” Her mother had guided them both to sit on the edge of the tub as Serena had rambled on and on, and she curled an arm around Serena’s shoulders, holding her pressed against her side.

  “He’s so good with Max, though.” It was so easy to imagine him with a boy of his own, all dark hair and gangly limbs, snuggled up with him reading or learning how to ride a bike or who even knew.

  No one would ever know, because it was an impossibility. It was the last argument he’d ever had with his wife; it was one he wouldn’t be willing to have again.

  Her heart throbbed. Even if he did, it wouldn’t be with her.

  “He got mad, and he left Max all alone. I think he thought he’d actually hurt him, and I know he’d...he’d never.”

  Cole had a temper, sure, but he was the most protective, the most kind. Beneath all that gruffness, he was this lost, lonely man, loyal and true. He’d rather hurt himself than hurt anyone else.

  And that was the problem.

  “He thinks he’ll hurt me,” she said, voice cracking. “And he did. He said he didn’t need me anymore. He’s off his crutches, and...”

  She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t say another word against the hole torn anew in her heart.

  Her mother hesitated for a moment, as if waiting, but when Serena held her tongue, she let out a long sigh.

  “And you believed him.”

  Serena shook her head. She didn’t know what to believe.

  Her mother squeezed her tighter, pressing their temples together. “It’s one lesson I never managed to get through to you, isn’t it?”

  “What’s that?”

  “You don’t need to do things for people for them to love you.” She said it fiercely, voice bright and crackling. “You don’t have to earn it. You don’t need to make people need you. They’ll love you for you. For the sweet, kind, generous girl that I love more than the entire world.”

  It didn’t make any sense, how much it hurt to hear those words spoken aloud and in that tone. The brutal honesty of it pierced clear into the space between her ribs.

  “You’ve done so much for us, Rena. For me and for Max and for your sister, and we appreciate it. But we love you for you. Don’t you dare accept anyone who gives you anything less than that.”

  The pain of it pressed harder against her ribs, because all those times with Cole, in her bed and in his kitchen and crammed together at a pottery wheel, she’d thought he was giving her exactly that.

  But maybe she’d been wrong.

  They got another minute or so together there, huddled up in that tiny space, jockeying for room with her mother’s shaving cream and Max’s shampoo. But they couldn’t stay holed up like that forever.

  The knock, when it came, was tentative. Max’s voice called out. “So did you guys fall in, or...?”

  Serena laughed and swabbed at her eyes. “No. We’re fine.” Her heart still hurt, but she was closer to meaning it than she had been in weeks.

  The door cracked open, and Penny’s and Max’s faces both appeared in the gap. “Can we come in?”

  Before Serena could offer to come out instead, her mom waved them in. “Yes, yes, of course. The more the merrier, right?”

  The next thing Serena knew, she was crowded in and surrounded by her family, her mom on one side and her sister on the other, Max hugging tightly to her legs, and a part of her wanted to wave them all away. There wasn’t any need to make a fuss over her.

  But she’d been doing that for too long, hadn’t she? They were here, offering to buoy her up. To be here for her the way she was always there for them. And so she let them, soaking in all the love and support she’d kept at bay for so damn long.

  Eventually, Max must have gotten bored, because he started rambling on about something he’d learned in science class about recycling and the water cycle. Serena’s mom encouraged him, maybe knowing they could use the distraction. Serena listened with half of her attention, but after a few minutes, the guilt gnawing at her stomach had her turning her head.

  “Penny?”

  Penny hooked her chin over Serena’s shoulder. “Yeah?”

  “I really am happy for you. About your job. I’m sorry I blew up about it.”

  “It’s okay.” Penny shrugged. “It was actually kind of nice that someone finally said what they were thinking for once instead of tiptoeing around.”

  “I should’ve been more supportive, though. If you think you’re ready, then I believe you.”

  “Thanks.”

  And they could have left it at that, but although the words Penny had hurled at Serena might not have fully registered with her in the moment, they were sure as heck haunting her now. “You know we’re not really better off without you, right? Everything is better when you’re here.”

  Penny hugged her tighter. “I might know it in my head, but believing it...”

  “I know.”

  “I’m trying, though. And, Rena?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I mean it. I’m staying this time. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Serena wasn’t entirely sure she believed that, either, but it felt really, really good to hear. “Okay. I’m gonna hold you to that.”

  She might not have everything she wanted, and the happiness in this tiny room might be too fragile for the wider world.

  She might still miss Cole so much it hurt.

  But this, right here...it was something. And at least for now, it was hers.

  Three days in a row, Cole talked himself out of it. He made it as far as his back door and once all the way to the base of the fire escape before turning around. That he was even entertaining the idea was ridiculous. He was inviting disaster, setting himself up for failure and rejection and quite possibly a fistfight. But how much more of a disaster could he really become?
r />   The fourth day, he put on his suit again and tied the tie that Helen had given him on their anniversary. Her voice in his head urged him on, but it wasn’t the only one. If he’d ever asked, Serena would have told him to do this, too. He straightened his tie, and grabbed his briefcase and his keys. At the door and at the base of the stairs, hollow pangs of dread made his stomach twist, but he kept his head held high. He kept walking.

  It wasn’t until the train station loomed that he faltered.

  A flickering phantom pain shot through his knee. The last time he’d been here, he’d tried to do something good, and he’d nearly done something terrible instead. He’d paid the price in any case—eight weeks of immobility and a heartache he didn’t think he’d ever recover from.

  With his ribs tight and his leg dully aching, he passed through the turnstile and climbed the stairs. At the top of the platform, he had to close his eyes. All he could see was the place by the timetable where those men had stood, crowding around a boy who looked like easy prey. His whole body shook with the memory of getting his hands on one of them. For just a fraction of an instant, he’d let the angry, awful thing inside his chest have the chance to run free.

  After, weak and crumpled on the ground, nearly sick with himself, he’d wished that it would stop, but it never did. He never changed.

  But maybe he could. Not enough to deserve what he wanted, but enough to at least be able to bear the life he had left in her wake.

  A train roared into the station, and he opened his eyes.

  It was strange enough, just getting on the outbound train. He’d had so little occasion to go much of anywhere these past few years, his pilgrimages to the downtown library aside. The whole ride north, he kept his gaze on the window, watching the city churn past, all red brick and graffiti and newly blooming trees. Rehearsing what he was going to say—if he even managed to make it into the building.

  One transfer and half an hour later, his stop came up, and he was this close to just standing there, letting the train carry him off to the end of the line. But he’d come this far. With his heart in his throat, he disembarked, melting into the crowd of people stalking off with purpose in their lives, his hand curled into a fist so tight his nails bit into his palm.

  It was strange, really, how little the campus had changed. The twisted dread inside his gut grew stronger with every ivy-covered building he passed until he was standing before the one that once had been his second home. Inside, the halls were dimly lit, and every door was a memory. They threatened to swamp him, leaving him off balance and jittery. None of the students recognized him, of course, and he refused to make eye contact with the people in their offices. But stares burned into him, and he could almost hear the whispers that had followed him out as he had left this place in shame.

  By the time he made it to Barry’s—Dean Meyers’s—office, Cole’s chest had constricted to the point where he could scarcely breathe. His legs felt like jelly, and the back of his neck was damp with sweat. Panic crashed over him. What was he thinking? He’d be laughed out of here; this was a disaster.

  The door was open.

  Barry had aged in the time since Cole had last seen him, but then again, Cole had, too. The reddish blond of his hair had gone white at the temples, and there were more fine lines around his mouth and eyes. He had a bit more of a paunch than he had had before. But at his essence, it was still him, and the family resemblance still brought Cole to his knees.

  He looked so much like his sister. Like Helen.

  Numb, the whole world tilting on its axis, Cole raised the claw of his fist and rapped his knuckles against the wood.

  “Come in.” Barry’s gaze darted away from his computer for half a second, flitting toward Cole almost absently. Then he blinked, visibly startling. In a double take that would have been comical if Cole had air in him to laugh, he looked up again, eyes widening. “Cole.”

  Everything inside Cole ached, regret and fear and a loss so deep it had derailed his entire life for years.

  “Just tell me to go,” he ground out. He tightened his grip around the handle of his briefcase. “If you don’t want to see me. I won’t blame you. I won’t make a scene.” Unlike the last time.

  “What?” Barry managed to look honestly confused. “Jesus Christ. No. What are you saying? Come in.” He rose to his feet, and there was nothing doubtful in his expression at all. Cole didn’t deserve this.

  He crossed the space, held together with spit and glue, like with every step he was set to fly apart at the seams.

  Barry moved out from behind his desk, raising a hand, and for a fleeting moment, Cole braced himself for a blow he probably deserved. Instead, his brother-in-law reached out, clasping Cole by the hand and holding on, and the warmth of his smile was almost too much.

  “God, Cole, what has it been? Years.”

  “Too many,” Cole agreed.

  “I tried to call.” He had. So many times, but...

  “I never picked up.” Cole’s throat bobbed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready.”

  He wasn’t sure he was ready now either, but what choice did he have? The irony made him want to laugh or cry or fall into a bottle again, but none of those were on the table right now. Losing Helen had driven him off the rails, and gaining Serena—having to let Serena go—it had led him here. Back to the place he’d fled so long ago.

  Serena had opened his life again after Helen’s death had slammed it closed. And so he was here. Now. Not ready, necessarily, but he had to try.

  Too fervently, Barry grasped Cole’s hand in both of his. “Damn, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  The sheer generosity of it made Cole’s head spin. “I thought you’d never want to see me again.”

  After everything he’d done. After Helen, after he’d made a mockery of his career and of the department—of the university itself. After he’d forced his own brother-in-law to show him the door.

  But Barry just shook his head. “You don’t know how many times we’ve thought of you over the years.”

  Cole’s attempt to smile came out wobbly and awful, but it was the closest he’d come in weeks.

  Their handshake had dragged on for ages now. With one last squeeze, Barry let go, then held his hand out toward the chair in front of his desk. “Sit. Please. Stay. Tell me how you’ve been.”

  As Barry retreated to his own seat on the other side of the desk, Cole dropped into the one Barry had pointed to, arranging himself. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Shite. I don’t know where to start. You saw...”

  Barry had seen the worst of it, honestly. He’d seen Cole a mangled mess and a wreck of a man.

  He nodded gravely, folding his hands together in front of him. “I wanted to help. I wish I could have done more.”

  “There was nothing anyone could have done.” All Cole’s will had been bent on destroying himself back then, and no one could have talked him out of it.

  In all that time, no one had. Except Serena. His heart clenched hard at the thought.

  An uncomfortable moment of silence passed before Cole cleared his throat. “And you? The kids? Jan?”

  “All great.” Barry ticked off children, half grown now. Told Cole about his life and his job and his wife.

  “I’m happy for you,” Cole said, and he meant it.

  “You should come round for dinner sometime. Everyone would love to see you. The kids still ask about their uncle all the time.”

  Nodding, Cole managed, “I’d like that.”

  Barry’s face went serious. “But you didn’t just come here to ask me about my family.”

  “No. I didn’t.” He forced his fingers to unclench. His pride was a white-hot force inside him that he had to push away. Because he’d never asked for this before. He’d been offered it—had been all but forced to accept it by kind, beautiful women who’d had his best interests at heart. But he’d never asked. “Barry—Dean Meyers—I—” He cut himself off. Took a breath and licked his lips, but his throat was a des
ert. His life was.

  How many times had he told Serena that she had the right to request things for herself? How sweetly had she tried to show him that he had that same right?

  “Please,” he rasped out. “I need help.”

  The words hung on the air, heavy and impossible.

  And the instant they made it out of his mouth, Barry leaned forward. “Anything. If it’s in my power...”

  The rest of it came so easily.

  “I need a job. I know I fucked up here. I burned my bridges, and I’ll take my lumps, but if you have anything, or if you’ve heard of anything.” He fumbled with the clasp of his briefcase, pulling out the papers he’d brought and handing them over. “I’ve been working. Three articles written and ready to go out, but no one will look at them without an institution next to my name, and I...” Fuck, this hurt. “I want to teach again.”

  Barry accepted the papers Cole passed over and began flipping through them, his brows rising higher with every page. But at that last bit, the space between his eyes scrunched up, and he jerked his gaze away from the lines of figures. “I thought you didn’t care for teaching.”

  “No, I just...I didn’t know how to do it back then.” He couldn’t pretend he was that much better now, but his afternoons with Max had reminded him of why it was worth it to try. Serena—all those times she talked about her profession with this warmth in her voice. It had reignited a spark in him he’d thought had died.

  All these empty years had passed him by, and he wanted his life to be different now. He wanted to be worthy of the love he’d been given and that he’d had no choice but to throw away.

  “But I’ve changed,” Cole said. Serena had changed him. She’d woken him from his stupor. She’d made him better, with just a word. With the softest of touches of her hand. “I’ve been working at it.” He grasped at the closest available straw. “Tutoring. Conferring with other teachers.” One other teacher, but it wasn’t a lie. “I’m willing to give it my all this time. Just let me try, and I’ll prove it to you.”