by James, Clare
I settle in and the countdown begins: two days left of freedom. Then it’s back to the real world. On the coffee table next to me a stack of magazines wait to be read. I wade through Photography, Ms. Magazine, and Psychology Today—courtesy of Dad and Amy. Idle minds, you know. But the quiet is unsettling so I turn on the TV for background noise.
I’m flipping through the pictures in Photography, when I start to doze. Not sleeping exactly, more like daydreaming. Or remembering.
The memories never stay put, and when they surface, I feel the hole in my chest expand. Just like that, I’m back there at the house on Fawn Hill. They’re all there: Thomas, his friends, and Megan. I hear their laughter ringing in my ears. I want to leave, run away, and never look back.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
I blink awake, my heart pounding. I’ve been here so many times before. I pick up the magazine and try to ignore what’s going on inside of me. The pages blur and wave. Even when I refocus, they continue to move. Closing my eyes, I go to my peaceful place: my grandmother’s garden. It’s a trick I learned from my shrink to keep from slipping into a full-blown panic attack.
I feel better for a minute.
It doesn’t last.
I’m hot and sweaty. My bangs are matted to my forehead and my stomach churns. I stay in that frozen state for minutes, hours, maybe. I have no idea. An alarm is going off and I can’t seem to make sense of it until I identify the source. My phone. It reads: 11:00 a.m. Campus Tour.
Shit!
I forgot all about it in my hung-over state this morning. Dad’s taking me around the campus today in…fifteen minutes.
The hardwood floors of my apartment creak as I race to my room. At the door, I bend over and try to catch my breath. This time it’s not because of a panic attack, it’s because I’m completely out of shape. My heart is ready to jump out of my chest. Pathetic. My old dance instructor would be disgusted with my current state of health.
I get dressed without collapsing, reminding myself to breathe along the way. I’m slow and sore. My muscles are now mush, much like my brain.
I make my bed and something on the table catches my eye. It’s a necklace. I lift it and a silver cross dangles from the bottom.
Holden.
He must’ve taken it off last night.
Dad announces his arrival with his signature five knocks. I’m not sure why, but I throw the necklace over my head, hiding it under my shirt, and run to the door.
When I open it, there is no evidence of my shaky physical—or mental—state. I look like any other twenty-one-year-old college student with my skinny jeans, ballet flats, and messenger bag.
“There she is,” Dad says, making his way in to plant a kiss on my forehead. Always the professor, he peers at me over his glasses. He is perfectly disheveled with his shaggy hair, wearing a cotton blazer that only partially covers his Tom Petty t-shirt.
“Hi, Dad.” I raise my voice a full octave and give him a warm hug.
“Big day. You ready?”
“More than ready,” I lie.
Gotta fake it, ’til you make it.
Chapter 6
Dad shows me around campus and I feign interest in the history of the university. It’s a small liberal arts college with almost a small-town feel in the middle of the city—polar opposite of my old school. Dad’s brought me here over the years to show me where he works and to pick up things from time to time during my visits, but I never realized how beautiful it really is. The streets, canopied by the hundred-year-old oak trees, reveal meticulous gardens and pristine stone buildings. I’d give anything to have started my college career here, under the watchful eye of my father, instead of Illinois where too much freedom and too little intellect sent me into a complete free fall.
We take my schedule and check out the locations for all of my classes. Then we tour the cafeteria, commons area, resource center, and the Center for the Arts—where Dad is sure to mention all the upcoming dance productions. Yes, he’s been checking for me. I want to tell him we went over all of this at orientation, but I can’t burst his bubble. He’s having too much fun playing tour guide.
The day goes by in a blur and I’m so emotionally spent by the time we’re done (not to mention still sick from my massive hangover), I fall asleep in my old bedroom at Dad and Amy’s house after our celebratory lunch.
It seems like only minutes later when Amy comes to get me up. Her long hair tickles my face as she leans over me.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” she sings.
“What time is it?” I ask her when she sits on my bed. Over the past few months, it hasn’t been unusual for me to sleep the days away.
“Six o’clock,” she says. “I just came up to tell you that dinner will be ready soon.”
She flips on the lamp and the room glows soft amber. Amy passes me a mug of tea, her answer to everything. Tired? Ginseng tea. Sick? Green tea with rose hips. Trying to lose weight? Peppermint. Trouble sleeping? Chamomile.
I take a sip. Ginseng. In other words, no more laying around like a slug.
When I get downstairs, the house is filled with scents from Amy’s edible arsenal: garlic, lemon, cream. She’s made some sort of linguine concoction, but it doesn’t really matter what she serves. I’ll sit and eat like I always do. Most of the time I eat too much because my body’s sensors aren’t working and I have no idea when I’m hungry or full, or tired or sick. I feel the same at all times. I’m a robot, simply going through the motions.
Therapy has taught me I have PTSD from the events of that night at Thomas’ house. And checking out, making myself numb, is one way I’ve learned to cope. Drinking and trying to pick up random guys is another.
Amy dishes up the food and Dad sets the table. It’s a scene I can’t get used to. At home with Mom, mealtime was more formal and Mom ran the show. She worked tirelessly to impress my stepfather Stephen and his son, Michael. But fancy and gourmet was not the ticket to winning over a guy like Michael. I smile at the thought of my stepbrother. He’s really the only one I miss from home.
Dad puts a carton of milk on the table and flashes a smile at me. He’s back in his usual garb—jeans and a t-shirt. His blazer hangs on the back of the chair.
Being back here makes me feel like a kid again. This scene was supposed to be so different. I shouldn’t be here now. I should be going back to college in Illinois after a summer abroad with Dad. We were supposed to go to Costa Rica to help build a new school in a small village off the coast. I couldn’t wait to go, to do something that meant so much to him. I was even working ahead in Spanish, hoping it’d help. Dad had it all planned, I would even be back in plenty of time for the summer ballet clinic. Instead, I ruined everything and ended up at New Beginnings, a temporary residence for the seriously fucked up.
We all sit down to dinner and Dad starts with a bang, firing off question after question. There is no covering up the fact Dad is a journalist. He could be dean of the J program but he loves teaching too much.
“So you were pretty beat after the tour. What do you think on the campus?” he asks.
“It’s beautiful, Dad.”
“You know there’s a state-of-the-art technology lab and the resource center is amazing. I know you’re a little behind now, but wait until you’re locked into your major. The psych program is one of the best in the country.”
The irony of my major isn’t lost on me. I only hope that I can heal myself before I work to heal others. That is really what this summer was about, taking control of my body and taking control of a sexual situation to undo what happened in Illinois.
“Geez.” Amy laughs at Dad. “She’s already registered, honey. You don’t need to give her the hard sell.”
“I’m sure I’m going to be really happy there, Dad. Really,” I say.
That seems to assure him and he’s able to stop grilling me for the rest of dinner.
“So,” I say as our meal comes to an end. “I was thinking…there’s a modern dan
ce performance downtown that I was hoping to catch tonight.” This is my chance to get a night to myself. If I don’t do something fast, they’ll talk me into an evening of old movies and popcorn.
“You sure?” Dad asks. “You’ve had a long day already. I thought we could—“
I interrupt, knowing where he’s going. “I want to go, Dad. Once classes start, I’ll be too busy to catch a show. And I kinda miss it.”
There. That should do it.
Looking at my plate, I can feel their questioning eyes on me, but instead of filling the silence with my blubbering, I shovel in the rest of Amy’s pasta. Anytime I mention anything related to dance, Dad and Amy are thrilled. I feel a little guilty leading them on; I have no intention of making ballet part of my life again. But, you gotta do what you gotta do.
“That’s great, Tab,” Dad says. “Maybe we could all go.” He looks to Amy.
“That sounds fun.” Amy jumps on board. “It’s been forever since we’ve been to a production and plus, we don’t want you walking around alone down there.”
I didn’t even think of the safety issue. Great. Got out of movie night, but now I have deal with two chaperones.
***
Surprisingly, spending the evening with Dad and Amy isn’t too bad. It’s already the end of the second act. The company is performing a beautiful lyrical number that is captivating. Before I know it, the music fills me. And as the tempo picks up, my muscles contract. A man and woman move together on stage and I feel a breeze on my face every time he picks her up. After a minute or two, the harsh reality hits. It’s not me out there on the stage. I’m in the audience, with my parents.
It’s painful to realize that I’ll never be out there again and nobody in my new life will know I was the lead in the last five dance productions at my university. Or that I could’ve easily done that lift that had the crowd cheering and even added a few more turns to that dancer’s amazing pirouettes. But, being invisible is why I’m here. A new beginning and a safe place to finish school. A place where I can stay in the shadows. A place where suffocating loneliness is so much better than the alternative.
Still, I miss dancing so much it hurts.
The music fades away and the dancers take their final bows. Once we’re out of the auditorium, Dad and Amy run into some friends. The crowd makes me itchy so I excuse myself to the bathroom and tell them I’ll wait outside.
As I shove through the crowd to the doors, my program falls to the floor. I lean over to pick it up between the moving legs and feet. Once I snag it, I bounce up, smashing my nose into a massive chest and the intoxicating scent of woods and spice. Like winter.
Oh no, not here.
I look up and there’s Noah in all his beauty, complete with his mussed hair hanging in his eyes.
He looks at me and smiles.
“Tabitha?”
“Oh.” I try to act casual. “Hello.”
“That’s odd.” He bites his lip. “I was just thinking about you.”
My insides warm but my brain warns, danger, danger.
“Uh, yeah, about last night,” I start.
Noah takes a step closer. “Yes?”
“Sorry that it didn’t work out, but that was a one-time thing. I’m not in the habit of picking up guys in bars.”
“Good to hear.” He grins.
“Yeah, that was more of an experiment.”
Shut up, Tabitha!
“Interesting,” he says. “What kind of experiment?”
“Long story. I’m a psych major—”
Disengage!
“Never mind. Point is, that type of thing won’t happen again.”
“Well, since I was a part of this so-called experiment. I think I have a right to know more about it. Don’t you?”
“No, I don’t.” I try giving him my coldest stare, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. “Just forget I said anything.”
“That’s the problem.” His lips are at my ear. “I can’t seem to forget anything about you.”
I take a step back and Noah guides me away from the crowd.
“So, how did you sleep?” he asks with the most devilish look in his eyes.
I ignore him. This is so not what I needed tonight. Or ever.
“What are you doing here anyway?” I ask, suddenly creeped out. “Omigod! Are you stalking me now?”
He laughs and the sound of it does the same thing to me that it did the first time. I immediately want to take him home and have an encore of last night. Without stopping.
“I like a girl with a healthy ego,” he says.
“Well, don’t take this the wrong way.” I smile through gritted teeth. “You don’t seem like the type of guy who enjoys modern dance.”
Noah looks me over and his eyes stop at my neck before they go all soft.
Oh no. The cross. He knows I’m wearing his cross and now he’s getting all misty. I reach for his necklace. I have to give it back before he gets the wrong idea.
“Don’t let first impressions fool you, Tabitha,” he says. “Despite my soft spot for girls who want to take me home and do unspeakable things, I’m actually quite cultured. I’m also—”
Noah stops and before I can take off the necklace, I feel a large hand rest on my shoulder.
Dad.
“Noah Adler?” Dad questions. “What are you doing here?”
I freeze, unable to say a word.
“Hey, Mr. Kelly,” Noah says, not at all flustered by the development that he knows the father of his almost one-night stand. “I’m doing a feature on one of the dancers for a community paper.”
“Great.” Dad beams. “Happy to hear you’ve been keeping up on your writing over the summer.” Then Dad looks at me.
“How do you two know each other?” he asks.
“I met Tabby at orientation,” Noah says, not missing a beat.
He’s good.
“I was taking pictures for our back-to-school edition. I didn’t know she was your daughter though.”
So not only does he know Dad, he works with him on the newspaper.
“Well, let me do the formal introductions,” Dad says. “Tabby, this is Noah Adler, a budding journalist and my most trusted TA.”
And the hits just keep on coming.
“Noah,” Dad continues. “This is my brilliant, talented, one and only daughter, Tabitha Kelly.”
Noah’s dimple winks and I want to smack him. He offers a hand so I do the same, and when he grabs it I warm instantly.
“Nice to officially meet you, Tabitha Kelly.”
I nod, feeling my face turning red. I need to make a graceful exit. Now. All of this is just too much.
“Well, we better get moving,” I say to nobody in particular. “I still have a lot of work to get to before Monday.”
Noah raises an eyebrow and I resist the urge to flip him off.
“Oh, okay, Tab. Let me go get Amy. She’s still talking to the Petersons. Meet me at the car.”
“Nice to meet you, again,” I tell Noah, for my dad’s benefit only.
He says something, but I don’t hear him in my rush out to the parking lot.
“Nice ride,” someone says from behind, commenting on Dad’s classic Saab convertible. I turn around and he’s there once again.
Silence.
“I thought we said our goodbyes,” I finally say.
“I just wanted to be sure you got to your car okay. From what I remember, you’re not the most cautious person.”
“Well, thank you for that, but I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Completely,” I say, knowing it’s time to take care of this awkward situation. “Look, I appreciate you trying to be all cordial with me, especially after realizing who my dad is. But don’t worry. Last night was fun, but as I said before, no strings. We’re cool.”
“Great. Then maybe we could come to another show together some time. This modern dance really grows on a guy.”
“I don’t think so, Noah.
I’m not into dating or anything like that.”
“No?” he asks in his nice easy way. “That doesn’t sound very healthy to me, to deny yourself such a thing. Especially with a specimen as fine as myself.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I smile and open the car door.
Healthy is exactly what it is.
“Well, alright, Tabitha,” Noah says as he shuffles his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “Have a good weekend.”
“Uh, yeah,” I stammer, reaching for Noah’s cross resting on my chest. I take the chain and slide it over his head, placing it back where it belongs. And I pretend I don’t feel the current that runs through me when I touch him.
“Enjoy the weekend.” I quickly jump into the car and give Noah a lame wave.
Dad and Amy drop me by my apartment. After Dad parks in front of my building, he leans across the seat. “Are you coming for dinner tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so,” I tell him. “I have a lot to get done before classes start.”
“Okay, honey,” Amy says, squeezing Dad’s thigh.
“Goodnight, Tab,” they say in unison.
“Night, guys.”
Inside my sanctuary, I fall in a heap on my bed, utterly exhausted from the day. Still, I feel thankful, almost optimistic, like maybe I really will get a second chance here. I don’t know if it was the performance, or my parents, or—I don’t even want to go there—Noah, but I decide it might just be time to start living again.
Chapter 7
Dad and Amy pretty much leave me alone over the weekend. I use the time to get a jump-start on my coursework and before I know it, it’s Monday.
D-Day.
Dad waits for me in front of my apartment. He insists on driving me even though I only live two blocks away. We drive in silence, though his mouth opens a few times and I catch him stealing several looks at me. We pull up to a big brick building. Dad pats my legs and pulls me in to kiss my forehead.
“It’s going to be okay, Tabby,” he says in a strong voice, but his shaky hands give him away. I want to comfort him.
“Yes, it will Dad,” I mimic his tone. “I’ll be fine.” I force a smile, it’s the best I can do.