The Goddesses

by Swan Huntley

  “But it is kinda my fault,” Jed said. “I mean…yeah.”

  “No.” I was adamant. “It’s not your fault.”

  There was a spot on the doorframe where the paint had chipped, and he was picking at it. I wouldn’t ask him to stop. A fragile white chip of paint fluttered to the floor. “Are you gonna tell Dad?”

  “No,” I said. “You’re an adult. You choose what you want to tell your dad.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” he said, relieved.

  “Is Mom in there?” Cam said.

  Jed looked at his brother. His nose in profile reminded me of Chuck’s.

  Cam peered over Jed’s shoulder. “Hi, Mom,” he said, cautious, which meant that Jed had told him.

  “Come in here, babies,” I said.

  They sat cross-legged on the floor under the blue Waverider flag Cam had tacked to the wall. I didn’t move from the bed.

  “Are you okay, Mom?” Cam asked.

  “I’m fine, honey,” I said. “I will be fine.” I rolled onto my back, touched my forehead. I blinked at the popcorn ceiling. I waited for a piece of it to fall. “So much has happened in the last few months.”

  “Dude,” Jed sighed, “so much.”

  I turned to face them. My twins. My innocent little baby men. How Cam used to have this dark freckle by his nose when he was young, and how now you could barely see it.

  “Was school okay?” I asked.

  Cam looked at Jed. Jed tugged his shirt.

  “Liko told everyone on the team Tom and I are gay,” Cam said, “so no one wants to change in front of us now. And he told everyone Jed—”

  “Don’t tell her.” Jed slapped his brother’s leg.

  “Tell me what?”

  “It’s stupid,” Jed said, his shorn head hanging low.

  “He told everyone Jed’s gay, too,” Cam said fast, and held up his hands to shield himself from Jed, but Jed didn’t hit him again.

  “I hate that guy,” Jed said, and hit his fist on the carpet a few times.

  “I want to quit the team,” Cam said.

  “We’re not going to get scholarships if we quit though,” Jed said. Hand on the back of his head, rubbing against the grain, feeling this new landscape. It reminded me of when he’d gotten braces and he couldn’t stop licking his teeth. Cam had done the same thing.

  “I assume you didn’t tell your coach,” I said.

  “Nah, Mom, we can’t.” Jed was pulling at the carpet now. “I miss Clairemont,” he mumbled, as though he didn’t want it to be true.

  “Do you miss it, Cam?” I asked.

  “Yes and no,” Cam said.

  “You have a boyfriend here, dude, that’s why you like it,” Jed said.

  “True,” Cam said.

  “Whatever, Mom, we can handle it,” Jed said. “The season’s almost over anyway.”

  “Only six more weeks till Christmas break,” Cam said.

  “Five and a half actually,” Jed corrected.

  “Oh good,” Cam said, looking too relieved.

  The front door clapped shut. “Boys?” Chuck called.

  Their worried faces. They didn’t know the details, but knowing their parents were sleeping in separate houses was enough.

  “Boys?” Chuck said again, and then he was there in the doorway, rubbing the chipped spot on the frame.

  “Hi, Nancy,” he said, solemn. He took off his hat, ran a hand through his hair. He looked good.

  “Hi,” I said. I rubbed the fabric of the pillowcase between my fingers. I curled my legs into what I hoped was a more attractive position. I wanted Chuck to love me again. I wanted him to love me more. “Will you join us?” I sat up to make room for him on the bed.

  “No, don’t move, it’s fine. I’ll sit on the floor,” he said, and sat next to Cam so it was the three of them, all my family, sitting cross-legged in front of me in a row.

  Jed was rubbing his head again, and Chuck asked, “How does it feel?”

  “Like I’m exposed,” he said, and I wondered if that’s what she had told him. You will be exposed to the world now.

  Chuck slid his hand across the top of Jed’s head and said, “I like it.”

  “I like it, too,” Cam agreed.

  “You should shave yours, Cam,” Jed said.

  “No,” Cam said. “I don’t think it’s my thing.”

  “Fine,” Jed laughed, “it’ll be my thing.”

  I could tell this made him uncomfortable—the idea that they would have their own “things.”

  “So, boys,” Chuck patted his knees, “can we discuss the shed?”

  “Dad,” Cam groaned.

  Jed’s head slumped forward.

  Chuck laughed. “I was actually coming to tell you we should abandon that project.”

  Jed’s head shot back up. “Yes!”

  “Yes,” Cam echoed.

  Jed hit his fist on the floor. “Let’s burn it,” he said.

  Was he kidding?

  Chuck let that sink in. And then he hit his fist on the floor. “Good idea,” he said, “let’s burn it.” He never could resist the opportunity to be Cool Dad. “Wait, Nancy, is that okay with you?”

  “I don’t care,” I said.

  “Seriously, Mom?” Cam asked.

  “Burn it down,” I said.

  “Mom, you’re a boss,” Jed said.

  All three of them had their eyes on me. This is when, Nancy. This is when you tell them. “I have to tell you all something,” I said before I had time to think.

  Their expectant faces. All of their eyes that bright unfiltered blue. They waited. And waited. And then Jed couldn’t wait anymore. “What is it?”

  I was touching something. Something in my hand. The necklace. I pressed the yin or the yang or whatever it was between my fingers. Hard and then harder, until the point of the apostrophe dug into my thumb, until I was in pain.

  I am your projection, she had said.

  “Nancy?” Chuck asked.

  There was an accident.

  We—

  She—

  It was in this moment that I knew I’d never tell them. I’d never tell anyone. It would become one more thing to carry. But I was strong. And everyone thought I was so nice. I knew I could do it.

  Finally, I spoke. “Ana’s gone,” I said.

  Chuck tried to sound concerned when he said, “Are you good with that?” Or maybe he really was concerned.

  I sighed. “I am.”

  “Where’d she go?” Cam asked.

  “The hospital.”

  “Is she dead?” Jed’s bewildered eyes.

  “No,” I said, “and she doesn’t have cancer.”

  “What?” the twins said at the same time.

  “What?” Chuck echoed.

  “She lied about that.” I unclasped the necklace. It came off easily. I looked at it in my palm. The cheap fake silver had turned green in blotches.

  “What?” Jed’s fist on the floor. “Why would she lie about that though? That makes no sense! What a psycho!”

  “I thought she was kind of crazy,” Cam said. “But I liked her, too.”

  Then Chuck surprised me by saying the right thing. “I’m sorry, Nancy. I know she meant a lot to you.”

  I wanted to wrap my arms around him, but we weren’t there yet. “Thank you, Chuck.”

  “Dude, Hawaii is full of crazies,” Jed said.

  “Word,” Cam said.

  “The boys are having some issues at school,” I told Chuck.

  “What issues?” Chuck asked, concerned.

  “I’ll let them tell you,” I said, “if they want to.”

  Jed winced. “It’s bad.”

  “Especially at practice,” Cam said.

  “We miss Clairemont,” Jed said.

  “I do, too,” Chuck said. “But things weren’t perfect at Clairemont either. Remember number nine? Steve?”

  Cam recoiled. “Steve.”

  “Steve sucked,” Jed said, “but this sucks worse.”

&nbs
p; “And it sucks you guys have been fighting,” Cam said, not looking up.

  We all let that sink in. It felt like our collective sadness made the whole house sag on its beams.

  “Boys,” Chuck said, “can you give your mom and me a minute?”

  On their way out, Chuck gave them each a hug. “I love you, Jed.” “I love you, Cam.”

  Chuck closed the door and sat back down on the carpet. Why didn’t he sit next to me?

  “Hi, Nancy,” Chuck said.

  “Hi, Chuck.”

  “Ana’s gone,” he confirmed.

  “Gone,” I said, like I was still getting used to it myself.

  “She’s not coming back?”

  “No,” I said, “she’s not coming back.”

  “Okay,” Chuck said. And that was it. He didn’t say, I was right. He didn’t remind me of how she’d put a snake in his car. He just left it. Which astonished me. It was so kind.

  I looked at my fingers. Green from the necklace. “Chuck,” I said, “do you think you’ll stay sober this time?”

  “I hope so,” Chuck said. “It feels different this time.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. It was impossible to tell, because I don’t think he knew either.

  “How do you know when it feels different? Doesn’t every time feel different in the beginning?”

  “This might sound ridiculous,” he said, picking at the carpet like Jed had, “but the other night, I saw you and Ana sneaking off to go somewhere, and I had no idea where you were going. And I just had this feeling that I had lost you, or that I was losing you. That you were about to be gone.”

  My hand covering my mouth. Tears in my eyes. He had seen us leave that night. If he hadn’t been drunk, maybe he would have figured it out.

  Chuck stood up. He took my hand. I was still holding the necklace. “Oh,” he said, “did it fall off ? I can put it back on for you.”

  “No.” I slipped it into his pocket. “You can get rid of it.”

  “No problemo,” he said. Oh, Chuck.

  I wrapped my arms around his body like my arms belonged there. He smelled like the soap they used at Tyke’s, and I still didn’t know where that was. I squeezed him. I squeezed him so hard.

  How the elements needed each other, she had said. How the sky needs the earth, how fire needs water, how wind needs stillness. How the two halves of the necklace fit together perfectly to make one whole. How I had always needed that other piece to feel like I was surviving.

  What it was like to hug Chuck. He was so much taller than I was. My head didn’t reach high enough to settle on his shoulder. His belt pressed into my ribs. But it was fine. Because I knew how to make it work. I knew that if we held on tight enough, we could keep going.

  40

  In the morning I went back to her.

  I followed the nurse to her room. She didn’t see me at first. She was talking to the old woman parked in a wheelchair by her bed. She’d somehow rigged the hospital gown to give her more cleavage, and she was saying, “If you don’t have a Jacuzzi, deep tissue massage is your new best friend,” and the old woman, wide eyes, was tilting her head so her hearing aid could pick up Ana’s voice more clearly.

  I set her duffel bags on the floor. The Buddhas clanked. Their conversation stopped.

  “Nan,” she said. The flicker of blue light in her eyes. She smiled. All those sparkling white teeth. Her pink cheeks, her alabaster skin. Even without the wig, she looked healthy. I could see now that she’d looked this healthy the whole time. “I didn’t know if you’d come,” she said.

  “I brought you your things,” I said, looking at the old woman.

  The woman pointed at me with a shaky finger. “Is this—”

  “Yes,” Ana told her.

  “Oh,” the old woman said, “I’m sorry about your house. To lose everything in a fire. It must have been devastating.”

  “I told Glenda about how your house burned down,” Ana said. “And how I have nowhere to live now that you’re moving back to San Diego.”

  “Aaah,” I said, amused.

  “So we’ve decided”—Glenda set her trembling hand on Ana’s leg—“that Ana will move into my house.”

  “Glenda’s my new best friend,” Ana explained.

  “Ohhhhh,” Glenda said, and blew Ana a wobbly kiss.

  “You are!” Ana told her.

  “This woman,” Glenda said to me, “has been through so much. It’s incredible. Isn’t it incredible?”

  “Incredible, yes,” I said. “Beyond credible.”

  “You’re a survivor, Ana,” Glenda told her.

  Ana smoothed her palm up the side of her head. All those tiny black hairs. Even since yesterday, it seemed they had grown. Soon it would be a buzz cut, and people would think she was edgy. “I am a survivor,” Ana said. When she looked at me, her eyes were alive and glimmering and totally empty.

  The nurse appeared in the doorway. “Glenda, time for your appointment.”

  Glenda looked for a clock on the wall but didn’t find one. “Already?” she asked.

  The nurse, in a rush, took the handles of Glenda’s wheelchair and popped the brake. “Nice to meet you, Nan,” Glenda said.

  “It’s Nancy, actually,” I said. “My name is Nancy.”

  Glenda smiled as though she hadn’t heard me, and then the nurse wheeled her away.

  Ana leaned back into her pillows. “Nan,” she cooed.

  I folded my arms across my chest. “You look well.”

  “I feel great here. They have the best food and—”

  “You look well because you’re not dying of pancreatic cancer.”

  She stared straight at me, looking bored, and said, “A miracle it went away.”

  “And you never had breast cancer either.”

  She said nothing.

  “How could you lie about cancer?”

  “I didn’t want you to leave me.”

  “I wasn’t going to leave you.”

  “Everyone leaves,” she said, and flicked something off the sheets.

  “Everyone leaves because you lie to them,” I said. “You’re a liar.”

  She chuckled. “So are you.”

  I sounded like a child when I said, “No I’m not.”

  She tapped her IV. “I expected you to turn us in.” Her eyes flashed. “But you didn’t.”

  “Because I don’t deserve to be punished for you.”

  “Yeah, Nan.” That sly smile. “Whatever gets you to sleep at night.” She kept tapping the IV. “But don’t walk out of here thinking you’re better than me. You’re not. We are the same.”

  “We are not the same.”

  “Oh but we are. You might have a cute mountain house and a sweet, troubled husband and two beautiful—beautiful—children. Sorry about Jed, by the way, that was not nice of me. But your little family and your little house on the prairie—none of that means you’re better than me. You’ve just had more luck.”

  I laughed. “You believe in luck now?”

  “Who doesn’t believe in luck?” she said.

  I looked out the window. The palm trees. The blue morning light. It was a perfect sunny day. I didn’t know why it felt necessary to ask. “How long have you been taking antidepressants?”

  The way she looked at me, the way her hooded eyelids blinked so slowly. What she had just understood about me. Why I still cared. “Oh, Nan,” she said.

  I shifted my weight. “What?”

  “If I tell you, it will hurt.”

  I tightened my arms across my chest. “What will hurt, Ana?”

  “No,” she said, snuggling her shoulder blades back into the pillows. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Tell me,” I said.

  She shrugged. “Fine. Here it is. Ready?” She left a healthy pause, and then she said, “You are not who you think you are.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “You are not who you think you are.” Her whole body was
still. Only her mouth moved. “I might have lied to you, Nan, but I don’t lie to myself. I know who I am.”

  “So do I,” I said because it was the only thing to say.

  Ana didn’t move, didn’t blink.

  And that’s when I realized that this—her silence—was her power. It was Ana’s most powerful card, and she played it all the time. Doing absolutely nothing made her seem smart when she didn’t know what to say. It made her seem strong when she was lost. It was a way to intimidate with zero effort—if you were scared. If you were in awe, her silence made her wise. These blank spaces were Ana’s genius. You filled them in with your favorite obsessions, never noticing you had done all the work. When she said nothing, you assumed there were a million interesting thoughts in her head, and that she was holding them back for a reason, a reason that you were too blind or too dumb to understand, when in reality she was probably thinking about what she’d have for lunch.

  We were staring each other down, neither of us moving, neither of us blinking. Looking into her eyes like that, I thought I saw so many emotions pass across her face. She was angry. She was sad. She was deeply depressed. She was hideous. She was beautiful, especially in this light. She was lost. But she was right. She was nothing. She was a mirror. She was me.

  I blinked first.

  The smile that spread across her face so slowly. All those sparkling fake teeth.

  “I know you hate me now, Nan. I get it,” she said. She was speaking in her wise yoga teacher voice, the one that made you want to trust her. “And I’m sorry.” She sighed. “I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you.”

  I said nothing. I stayed still.

  “Do you forgive me?”

  Nothing.

  “Can you forgive me?”

  Stay still.

  “Which brings me to a bigger question.” She lifted her finger.

  “What?” I blurted out.

  She pointed to her heart. She laid her palm across it. “Can we be forgiven?”

  “I don’t know, Ana, can we be forgiven?” I said this like she was taunting me at the playground. Why I became such a child around her, I’m still not sure.

  “I’m asking you,” she said.

  I went from child at the playground to child in the classroom. I was buying time. “By who? Who are we asking to forgive us?”

  “Everyone. For everything. Can we wipe the slate clean? Can we wash our sins away? Can we be forgiven?”