by Laura Brown
Maybe yes. Maybe no. But today I was going to be a better Carli. Even if my heart ached more than my head. An ache even the tempting pills wouldn’t help. I pulled the hair back behind my left ear and fastened a clip, exposing my silent left ear. New look. New Carli.
Single Carli. I had learned my lesson. No more dating. Not now. Not ever.
“You ready?” D asked as I grabbed my coat.
“No.”
She grasped my shoulders in a mini hug. “You’ve got this.” I absorbed her support and her confidence, since I had next to none. Failure followed me like a shadow, but unlike Peter Pan, I didn’t want to keep this particular shadow attached.
Heidi waited for me in the classroom, as she had since things spiraled out of control. I patted my bag and willed myself to have the confidence I once had in abundance.
“I have a plan. With any luck it will at least be a step in the right direction.”
“Good.” She couldn’t hide the smile. Then she studied my face. “Your bruises are almost healed.”
My hands flew to my face on instinct.
“I was looking for it, Carli. It wasn’t noticeable. Feeling better?”
I let the cool morning air fill my lungs. “About to find out.”
My first class was more awake than they had been in two weeks, which I took as the boost of confidence I needed. Once they left I had five minutes to prep for the troublesome class.
No time for any fears or worries. Only time for action.
From my bag I pulled out two sets of note cards and a spool of yellow caution tape. On each desk I placed a single card before roping off the entire area with the tape. On the whiteboard I set up the second set of cards, sporting each student’s name.
Heidi entered before my students and took in the scene. “Has there been a murder?”
I laughed. “Not yet. I’m trying something new.”
She investigated a card by the board, and then by the desks, the corner of her mouth tipping upward at the very ends. She moved to the back of the class, ducking under my yellow divider. My students were very confused when they arrived, but I gave nothing away until they were all crowding the front of the class.
“Your seats have been changed. In order to find your new seat you will need to solve an equation.” I pointed to the row of note cards on the board. “This game is simple. Find your name, solve your problem, and find your new seat.”
My students gathered the cards and set themselves up on the floor, or standing, or over by the windows. Heck, some of them took over my desk. I removed the yellow tape blocking off the desks.
Since the equations involved what we were working on, I learned who was good with the material and who wasn’t. Slowly the students moved to their newly assigned seats. As each one moved, I checked my chart to ensure they did the math correctly. Most got it right. A few made mistakes, but I worked with them on correcting them.
Zachary and Max were not pleased with their new desks apart from each other, but I wouldn’t allow any deviation from the plan. Either they sat in their new seats or the principal would be waiting for them. They eyed Heidi for the truth to my statement, and she backed me up.
Max mumbled something from his spot near the front, by my left ear.
“Care to repeat that?” I asked, hands on my hips.
“You can’t hear nothing,” he grumbled. Since I was facing him I heard him.
I leaned against my desk and crossed my ankles. “Not true. My right ear hears a decent amount. My left ear, on the other hand, can hear certain loud, deep sounds, like a motor running. How about raising your hand when you need to ask a question? My eyes work fine.”
“Why don’t you get a new hearing aid and fix your ear?”
“Because a hearing aid won’t fix my ear. Hearing aids are not like glasses. They only magnify sound. Ever have a bad connection on a phone and making the sound louder doesn’t help? That’s hearing aids.”
We talked about hearing loss for a little longer. I even took off my right hearing aid to show my students what it looked like.
By the end of the day, I was exhausted. My head wanted to scream but remained screwed on, one small victory. A better victory was the praise I received from Heidi. I had a lot of work ahead of me, but for the first time since the attack, I had hope.
THE DAYS WERE long and painful. Pain from my head. Pain from my heart. The head was getting better. If I kept ibuprofen in my system, I could manage. I knew this. Didn’t stop my daily battle with the pills.
Ten minutes a day I looked at them. Held them, even went so far as to put one in my mouth. Each time Reed’s face would come to mind. The pain from his image was caused by the pills. Could not be solved by the pills.
Therefore I continued to exist, even if I was a shell of myself.
One Tuesday I planned to head straight home after work and lock myself in my bedroom, an action D called frustrating. I called it survival. Otherwise I’d become her first counseling patient, and I needed to do this on my own. Win or lose.
Willow wanted me to join the ASL dinner. I bit my lip as my fingers hovered over my phone.
Me: I don’t think that’s a good idea.
Willow: You’re still our friend.
Somehow I didn’t think this “our” included Reed.
Me: It will be awkward.
Willow: I can tell him to stay home.
I shook my head and blinked to clear my eyes.
Me: No, don’t do that. I’ll come.
Because I wanted to see him.
I was the last to arrive. The group was easy to spot, several tables pushed together and full of signers. I homed in on Reed. He faced one of his friends, a tight smile on his face, bags under his eyes, and it appeared as though he hadn’t shaved since I last saw him. He looked like the man I first met, only without the good humor. I wanted to reach out and touch him, feel those bristles against my skin, against my lips. I wanted what I could never have.
His back stiffened, and he looked my way. Our eyes held. He lured me more than the pills. But I could give in to neither. I swallowed my heart, and a bit of my pride, and pulled the most flippant thing I could find out of my ass.
“See, still alive,” I signed, even as I wanted to say, “Take me back.”
His face hardened, and he turned away without a word. I had half a mind to go home and swallow the entire bottle, but my name rang in my ear. I scanned the table until I found Willow waving. Val, meanwhile, gave me a look I couldn’t read before turning to her roommate.
I took the vacant seat across from them, at the opposite end of the table from Reed. It was weird. We’d always sat together, and now there wasn’t even an empty chair anywhere near him. “Hi,” I said and signed.
“You look good,” Willow said, hands moving with her words.
I laughed. “I most certainly do not.” I needed to start using my makeup again for my drooping eyes.
“I meant your bruises.”
I shrugged. “External heals. Internal doesn’t.”
Willow frowned, and I shook my head. The waitress interrupted, and I ordered myself a drink. I was going to need a large one to make it through dinner.
I tried to get lost in the conversation, but Reed was right there, so close and yet so far away. I didn’t know if I could make it through another dinner. Not until I managed to move on from him. If that was even an option. I snuck a glance. And found the back of his head.
Message received. Move on, Carli. You made your bed; now lie in it. Yet I was never good at listening to my own advice. Or any advice, it seemed.
“How’s he doing?” I asked Val and Willow.
They shared a look, and that was all the answer I needed. My drink landed in front of me, and I took a healthy swallow. Tonight, this would be my vice.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Reed
WHY’D SHE HAVE to show up? It was one thing for Willow to invite her, claiming Carli was part of the group. Ignoring the fact she was part
of the group because of me, and she’d ripped my damn heart out. I didn’t want to see her. Not yet. Not ever.
And here she was, drinking alcohol, probably floating the pills in her system. I tried to ignore her. After the end result of my father’s self-destruction, I didn’t need to watch Carli go through the same. But she’d always been a magnet. I kept checking her face, searching in vain for something, anything, to prove she wasn’t heading for her own tree.
Her eyes weren’t quite right. Her face pained. I didn’t know how to read her, not anymore. I wondered if I ever could.
At one point she rested her elbow on the table, rubbing at her temple. The same place I had held, rubbed, and kissed countless times. And each time, she would smile. Each time would help her.
I clenched my hands and stayed where I was, fighting against every part of me that wanted to take her into my arms. Stupid, really. She had her own pain meds now.
“You finished drooling over her?” Tanner asked, pulling me away from tracking the pain crossing Carli’s face.
Yes. No. Neither worked. “Fuck off.”
Tanner shook his head and took a swig of his beer. “Going to let your dick shrivel up and fall off again?”
I took his beer away. “No.”
Tanner ignored the beer. His eyebrows shot straight up. “No? Beth I understood; she de-balled you. But Carli”—he shook his head—“you de-balled yourself.”
I chugged on his beer, slapping his hand away when he tried to claim it back. “Asshole,” he signed once I finished.
I wasn’t sure when I’d start dating again. It wasn’t going to be years, that was for damn sure.
Tanner tapped the table. “What’s the plan? You going to close yourself off, not accept anyone new into your world?”
I glared at him.
“That’s what you did. After Beth. Carli was the first person you accepted into your world. And that shit ended badly.”
I reached for my own beer and took a healthy swallow. In truth, I had no answers. I hadn’t thought beyond the pain and fear. But Carli sat apart from me. Carli chose her vice. I had no choice but to move on.
A FEW WEEKS later, I shifted my beer as the woman across the table signed. Long brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a coloring more similar to mine. Jill was the first Deaf person I had dated in a long, long time.
If only I felt something for her. Instead of nothing.
I took a sip of my beer, laughing at the right parts of the story. Jill was good-looking, funny, and easy to talk to. So why the hell did I want to be anywhere but here?
The answer was the deaf/hard of hearing woman I couldn’t get out of my mind. She was stuck on loop. Even when I envisioned her with those damn pills, it didn’t diminish my desire for her.
But she wanted the pills more. And that was the final straw. The end. It had been over a month. Shouldn’t that make a difference by now?
I let my gaze drop down to Jill’s cleavage. A nice view, the way her shirt gapped and gave a hint of something lacy underneath. Only I felt like a cheating creep rather than an interested partner.
I took another swig of my beer as something purple caught my attention. Over at the bar, a woman with purple hair glared at me. Matti.
I stiffened and dragged my eyes back to my date. “I’m sorry, I see someone I haven’t seen in a while. Do you mind if I say hi?”
Jill glanced in the direction I’d been staring. “Purple hair?”
“Yes.” Then I gave in and opted for the truth. “My ex’s sister.”
“Oh.” Jill glanced back and forth. “Go ahead.” Then she flipped her phone over and started tapping at it.
I made my way across the bar, typing on my phone before Matti had any other ideas.
Me: How is she?
I had to know. Carli hadn’t come to any more ASL dinners. Val and Willow were tight-lipped as hell. A simple she’s alive would have been sufficient. But nothing. Cut off like I was the bad guy here and not acting out of self-preservation.
Matti: You could have texted that from your date.
Me: Not really.
That would’ve been rude to everyone involved.
I stood in front of Matti. She must’ve said something to the group she was with, as they gave us some space. She eyed me carefully, mouth set in a thin line. She didn’t often remind me of Carli, not with her hair and attitude. Now she did.
Either I hadn’t been looking carefully enough, or I was a starved man.
Matti: If you really wanted to know, you could have texted her.
Me: She never responded to my last texts. Why would she respond to this one?
That awarded me a shocked look from Matti. I was tired of ignoring the obvious. I had one question I wanted answered.
Me: Is she still taking OxyContin?
Matti stared at her phone, and the little flame of hope I kept kindled—hope that Carli would open up her eyes and take care of herself—vanished.
Matti: I don’t know.
I wasn’t expecting that as an answer.
Me: What do you mean, you don’t know? Carli was popping more pills than she needed to take in a day. She chose those damn pills over me. And you don’t know if she’s in trouble?
Matti read my message, then pushed me in the shoulder. Mouth flapping, hand flapping, neither making any sense.
Matti: You idiot. The Reynolds clan doesn’t share shit like that. We keep things buried inside. Which means you should take a good long look at yourself in the mirror. YOU know this. What did you do with this information?
I ran a hand over the back of my neck. Damned either way I handled anything.
Me: How is she doing?
Matti: Good. Off but good.
That could be mean anything. I was about to respond when I noticed Matti typing more on her phone.
Matti: You have some nerve, you know that? You saw her after the attack. You stood by her side. You were there for her in ways the rest of us couldn’t be, giving her everything she needed. And now you cut out, like she’s the damaged goods she was beat into being. One day you were gone, and Carli is struggling on her own. You almost convinced her there was more to life and love than we were taught. But in the end, like everyone else in our lives, you failed.
I tried to swallow, but there was no longer any moisture left in my mouth. I had no excuse, and only one way to explain myself.
Me: My father overdosed on pills and killed himself.
Matti looked up at me after she read, the first hint of compassion in her face.
Matti: That’s not Carli.
Me: You didn’t see what I saw. She chose the pills. Not me.
Matti: She’s hurting. She’s struggling. And if I know that, that shows you just how much she’s hurting and struggling. Every small piece of information she gave you about herself was and is huge. She opened up to you in ways none of us have with others.
I looked up at the wall, over Matti’s head. Emotions battled and conflicted inside. Was Matti right? Was I right? Was there even a right answer here?
Matti: You gave me hope, after the attack, you know that? You showed me that not all men were like Dad, and some even had the balls to deal with the shit he left behind. But you don’t have any balls at all.
By the time I finished reading, she had turned away from me, back to her friends, leaving me more confused than ever.
I returned to my date and unceremoniously called for its end. She pegged me on not being over the ex. Truth. I’d never be over Carli. She was still under my skin. Where she belonged. Where I didn’t want her. I knew from Dad, from Juan, that time healed wounds.
There was no recovery from Carli.
In the outside air, I debated turning right instead of left and going to her dorm. I didn’t. Not yet. Not until I dragged some information out of Val. Not until I had an actual plan for letting her deal with all this on her own.
Matti was right—I should have stuck by Carli. But watching her hurt herself was out of the question.
I stopped on the street and looked up at the sky. What would Dad say about this? I already knew Mom supported me even as she wanted to support Carli. But Dad was the culprit of both of our fears. He had initiated these thoughts, these feelings, when he took his own life.
What I would give for a little cosmic advice from a dead man.
I made it to my car and fiddled with my phone, thumbing through, not paying much attention to what I was doing. I ended up staring at the unplayed video message from Dad.
The two-year-old message from a dead man.
Did he really plan to crash into a tree fifteen minutes later?
Before I convinced myself otherwise, I hit Play.
Dad sat in the kitchen. The sight of him made my eyes tear. He looked . . . not good. Bags under his eyes, though it was late at night. His color off. A shiftiness to him. A look in his eyes that . . .
Crap. I’d seen that look in Carli’s eyes. He’d already taken the pills.
“Hi. I guess you’re out. Or asleep. No, out, doing everything I told you not to do. So I’m going to come out and say it: I’m full of shit. You’re an adult. A good man. Mom and I raised you well. But parental nurture is only part of the story. I’ve spent your life in fear of that nature, of what you would pick up from your friends. I should’ve been looking at you and who you are. But then I’d have nothing to fear, nothing to parent you on. I’d have to accept you as an adult, and I wasn’t ready for that.”
He ran a hand over his head. “I’m not making sense. I haven’t made sense for a long time. I failed. I taught you well, and I ignored it all myself. So I’m telling you this: fuck it all. Every last bit. Follow your gut. See where it takes you. Just remember one thing: I love you, and I’m proud of you. I’m sorry.”
I rubbed the heels of my hands over my eye sockets. Dad sent inspirational text after inspirational text and then told me to fuck it all.
What kind of closure was that?
It wasn’t. But in some odd way, I did exactly as he asked in the past two years when I refused to watch the message. Hadn’t I stepped out of my bounds with Carli? Not that it led anywhere good, but I had. Because at the end of it all, Dad didn’t control me. He raised me. I respected his words. His words shaped me into the man I became.