The Ruining

by Anna Collomore

  I watched as he pressed his hand to the glass. Then both hands were there, and his face receded as his fingertips met to form an image. He bent his fingers together and I squinted, trying to read his message through the ever-present fog that decorated the island. Finally it was clear. A heart. He’d formed a heart with his hands, just for me. I laughed, and then his face was back, and I could see that he was laughing, too. I motioned for him to come down, but he held up a finger: one minute. I was starting to get cold from the wet, so I decided to head back toward the pool terrace. The pool was heated, and I could control the temperature of the stone tiles around it too. At least if someone woke up, it wouldn’t look like we were trying to hide anything. It crossed my mind that Libby would be mad at me for inviting someone over . . . but this was different. This was Owen. She knew him now.

  I turned slowly from the fence and moved toward the pool, focusing on the reflection of the sunrise on the bay as I went. When I reached the gate, I reluctantly tore my eyes from the gorgeous vision I still hadn’t gotten used to. I hoped I never would. I never wanted to take something so beautiful for granted. I unlatched the gate, my heart wild with anticipation. I started counting down from sixty to mark Owen’s arrival.

  That’s when I noticed the figure in the pool.

  It was dark and small. At first I thought maybe it was a raft left out from the day before; it was hard to tell, because it bobbed under the overhang of the floor above, and the sun hadn’t come up enough to illuminate that end of the pool yet. I moved closer, feeling my heart accelerate as it did whenever I was near swimming pools.

  My palms began to sweat. The form looked more solid than it had from the other side of the deck.

  I took another step, and realization washed over me in a cold wave.

  And with it came memories.

  A gate unlatched. I was fourteen. I’d forgotten to lock it.

  A tiny form in a pink bathing suit bobbing near the surface.

  Lissa begging me to take her swimming just an hour before, but I’d grumbled and turned away, wanting to read a while longer.

  “Lissa!” I called, laughing too hard, pretending she was playing dead. But she hadn’t stood up and laughed, hadn’t told me, “Fooled you!” in her little baby voice. She was supposed to turn seven that summer.

  I sank to my knees at the edge of the pool, staring at Zoe’s floating form. The same thing was happening again: my curse, my nightmare, the thing I’d tried to run away from. The thing that had driven my mother mad. I wanted to curl up and sleep right there, but I willed myself to get up, strip off my jacket, jump into the pool.

  “Zoe,” I heard myself shriek over and over as I paddled toward her, the icy water lapping at my tank top and shoulders, slowing me down, mocking my attempts to save her. “Zoe!” I screamed it over and over, making my way closer. I prayed there was still time. My tears mixed with the water, blending together until I wasn’t sure whether I was crying at all.

  I felt a supreme aching in the back of my skull. An emptiness in my chest. I wasn’t going to make it. I wasn’t going to reach her.

  Then the back door swung open and I met Walker’s eyes, saw Libby standing behind him. I watched the expression on Libby’s face morph from confusion to alarm to horror. I barely had time to wonder why she was wearing a bathing suit under her robe—had she slept in it?—before I felt my panic overwhelm me.

  Time stood still.

  I gave in to the blackness.

  I felt the world slip away.

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  AS IT TURNED OUT, Zoe wasn’t dead. Not even close. Her body had hung there, just under the surface of the water in that curious way bodies with a little extra baby fat do, but her mind was alert as ever. And to her, my screams had sounded muted, as though I was playing along. It was only when I jumped in the water that Zoe pulled herself up and saw my face and the way I grasped at her. And then her screams matched mine, her shriller voice twisting with my mature one in a discordant harmony.

  But I didn’t remember any of that. After I saw Zoe’s floating form—after I felt panic consume me—I blacked out. I awoke to the sounds of tense murmurings.

  “. . . had quite a shock.”

  “. . . to the hospital?”

  “. . . go then.”

  I waited a beat before allowing my eyes to flutter open, to face the reality of whatever had happened to me.

  “She’s awake.” The pronouncement came from the tanned face of a boy about my age, his ruddy skin framed by a mass of wavy, sandy-brown hair. I saw him first because he was bent over me, his eyes lit with concern. It took me what seemed like an eternity to register him as Owen. I allowed myself to look around then and saw Walker standing to my left, wearing sopping wet pajamas and looking more strained than I’d thought his normally tranquil visage capable of.

  “Where’s Zoe?” I asked, sitting bolt upright, overcome by one of the many waves of nausea I’d become accustomed to. I’d just had a flashback to little Zoe’s body, floating prone and lifeless in the pool.

  “She’s fine,” Walker replied tensely. “She’s inside the house.”

  “But—”

  “She was just playing, Annie,” Owen said gently. “She was fine the whole time. But man, you’ve got some killer maternal instincts. Looks like you hired the right girl for the job, Mr. C.”

  “Thanks, Owen,” Walker managed stiffly. “We were lucky to have you around.”

  “I was happy to be,” he said.

  “Owen, you can leave now,” Libby told him in a terse voice.

  “Yeah,” Walker agreed, putting a palm on Owen’s shoulder. “We’ve got it from here.” Owen looked at me, reluctant. He didn’t move his hand from where it rested on mine. But one look at Libby convinced me it would be better for him to leave.

  “I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I said.

  “You’re sure you’re fine?” At that, Libby rolled her eyes.

  “I’m fine,” I assured him, forcing out a small smile for his benefit.

  “Okay. See you later on then. I’ll check in.” He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before walking off. When he reached the fence that separated our houses, he leaped over it like a pole-vaulter.

  “Sorry, Mr. Cohen,” he called behind him. “Way faster this way.”

  “Hopefully that won’t become a habit,” said Walker under his breath. “Apparently he heard you screaming and was over here pulling you out of the pool before I even made it out of the house. Good thing, too, because you were out cold, Annie. What happened to you?” Walker squinted at me suspiciously. “You look so wan. Are you using drugs? I know college can be crazy, but you know how we feel about that. . . .”

  “No, no.” I shook my head firmly. “I just . . . I thought . . .”

  “Zoe was playing, that’s all. She and her mom were up early this morning for a swim.”

  “I’m sorry.” I struggled to my feet, and it was only then that I realized how awful I must look to them. My clothing was drenched and clinging to my body, my shirt nearly see-through. I wrapped my towel tighter. I was blowing it. At this rate, I would never last the year.

  “Sit, Annie,” Libby commanded.

  “I’m talking to her,” Walker said. Some unseen communication passed between them: a desire on Walk’s behalf to take control. “I’m handling it.”

  “It’s fine, Walker,” Libby said calmly, firmly. She gave him a long glare, and I watched his shoulders slump in acquiescence before he even bothered to speak.

  “I’m just not sure—”

  “It’s fine. Don’t you have to leave for the gym, anyway? It’s already seven-thirty. If you don’t go now, you won’t make it before work.” Libby sat down without waiting for a response. The conversation was over, as far as Libby was concerned. I both sympathized with Walker and admired the way Libby carried herself, the way she took control. It was so rare to see that kind of balance. If my mother had been that way, my life might have turned out differ
ently. Besides, I was glad to talk to Libby. She’d understand why I’d been so freaked out. She’d stood up for me in the past. She knew what haunted my nightmares. Walker stooped to kiss her cheek and waved goodbye to me as he made his way through the back terrace toward the driveway.

  Libby patted the empty space next to where she sat on one of the several taupe lounge chairs that decorated the terrace. “It’s better for us to talk with Walk gone,” she told me. “Woman to woman. I’m guessing this is hard for you.” I nodded, sensing it was the right response, but I was too tired and overwhelmed to feel much of anything. I just wanted it to be over. “I didn’t realize you were still so sensitive to scenarios that involve pools, Annie, but I should have known,” Libby’s voice was gentle, caring. She wasn’t angry. She was concerned.

  “I’m not, I just—” But she raised one hand to quiet me. “It’s totally normal, hon, and something we should have anticipated. And we understand if . . .” She trailed off as though searching for the right words. “I’m only saying that you shouldn’t feel pressured to stay with us anymore if it really is too much for you.” I felt overcome by a wave of nausea; she was telling me to leave. I must have looked stricken, because Libby was quick to finish. “We want you to stay, Annie! I see this as a good thing, in a way. You were quick to react . . . even if you did wind up passing out. But if this had been the real deal, your screaming would have alerted us, and I guess a watchful eye is better than the alternative. And as I said previously, you are in our debt.”

  “I’d really like to stay,” I said tentatively. “You have to understand that this kind of thing never happens, I—”

  “You don’t have to explain it to me.” Libby said. “And I don’t mean to suggest that you should go home. I was just thinking . . . with a trauma like this, maybe you’d be better off getting professional help. I’ve mentioned it before, and I need to know your thoughts.” There was a long pause. Was she suggesting that I see a doctor?

  “I’m fine,” I repeated.

  “Okay then,” Libby said with a resolute smile. “As far as we’re concerned, this never happened. And I’ll make sure I’m available if Zoe ever wants to go swimming, so you never have to worry about taking her. You two can just steer clear of the pool area.” Maybe it was for the best to avoid the pool. As much as I wanted to feel capable, to feel like I’d gotten past that day with Lissa, apparently I hadn’t. And the sight of Zoe . . . I shuddered. It was the kind of thing I didn’t want to experience again. “I think I’m going to go upstairs and nap for a few hours, if it’s okay.”

  “Sure. Don’t forget, I have a call at noon, and my yoga trainer’s coming after that. I really need you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by noon sharp.”

  “No problem.”

  I slept for a few hours, and the rest of the day passed by in a blur. I had a few texts from Owen of the “R u ok?” variety, but there was no return to the intimacy we’d had before my freak-out by the pool. I hoped I hadn’t scared him away. I hoped he’d understand why I’d panicked the way I had. But when I called him later that night after my babysitting duties were over, I couldn’t get in touch with him. I didn’t want to be paranoid, but his silence made me anxious. That night, I slept restlessly, and the yellow wallpaper entered my dreams, blending my waking and sleeping states into some kind of suspended, nightmarish haze.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  LIBBY AND WALKER GAVE ME Friday night off to go to the pom squad party—which meant they let me leave the house once Zoe was in bed. The rationale was that (after the pool incident) I should get out and have some fun.

  “She’s a kid, Libs,” Walker had told Libby the previous afternoon. “Let her get out, it’ll do her some good. Things have been so tense around here lately.” Then he tickled her neck, making her laugh. “Plus, we could use a little alone time,” he said in a voice that was low, but not so low that I couldn’t still hear it from where I was cutting Zoe’s ravioli into bite-sized pieces.

  Libby pretended to think it over, but I knew she’d say yes. Even though she ordered Walker around, she was like Jell-O when he got all romantic. She liked the attention, I had begun to realize. But not just attention from her husband—any kind of attention. It was obvious by the way she lit up whenever I asked her exactly how she wanted her coffee fixed or what sort of pattern she wanted for the kitchen tiles or what kind of food I should use to feed the baby.

  I’d made Owen promise to come to the party with me. I still didn’t know Morgan all that well, and I didn’t want to stand there alone like the last time.

  “Seriously,” he groaned. “I can’t believe I agreed to this. I thought I was getting out of lame social events when I decided not to go to college. That was kind of one of the perks.”

  “You never miss having a social life?”

  “I’ve got friends, babe. You just haven’t met them. And you know I’m not really into partying.”

  I knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but his words stung. We were sitting in the sunroom playing Memory with Zoe.

  “Ha!” I said, “Friends? A likely story.” I was trying to make light of it so I wouldn’t dwell on why exactly I hadn’t met anyone in his life and why we hung out at his place only when his parents were gone. I turned over a bunch of cherries and reached for the third card down in the far left-hand row. More cherries.

  “You got a match!” Zoe exclaimed, bouncing up and down a little. She got more adorable every day. She was a funny kid—always happy to see other people happy, if a little serious. She’d had her moments, sure, but I’d seen how other kids screamed at their parents in public, lied to get what they wanted, demanded constant attention.

  “Zoes, I’ve only got two more than you,” I said.

  “Yeah, you’re about to kick our butts,” offered Owen.

  “We got butts,” said Zoe.

  “Thanks. Really mature, Owen. Zoe, it’s not nice to say ‘butt.’” Zoe just looked up at us from under her long eyelashes and smiled.

  “Butt wait, there’s more!” Owen reached over to pinch my butt, sending Zoe into a fit of giggles. I swatted his hand away, but I couldn’t help smiling. Being around Owen restored my equilibrium—I was feeling more myself than I had in days. I was even getting excited about the party. This little dose of normalcy gave me hope.

  “Time for bed, Zoes,” I told her. “Let’s get this cleaned up.” She hummed under her breath as she gathered her tiles. The nursery rhyme had become so familiar to me by then that I thought it as much a part of Zoe as her glossy brown ringlets.

  I tucked her into bed reluctantly—I worried about being away, even for just a few hours. She’d woken up in hysterics two more times since that first awful night. Once Walker had come to her, and the other time I’d waited five minutes before going myself. Five minutes of hearing her piercing cries split her in two, of wondering what could possess a little girl so painfully. It had been almost as awful for me as it was for her.

  “Sweet dreams, little one.” I kissed her on the cheek and ran back down the corridor, giving Libby a quick wave as I passed the great room. She smiled at me from the sofa, where she sat playing with Jackson. Things between us had normalized since the pool incident, and I had reason to believe the difficult period might be over.

  “She’s asleep,” I called out, even though Libby hadn’t asked.

  Then we set off in Owen’s Jeep, twisting our way down the hills of the island, over the Golden Gate Bridge to San Francisco and toward campus. Owen reached over and clasped my hand in his, rubbing my fingertips with his thumb. I looked out my window at the twinkling city reflecting over the water and felt something like peace. I had had a rough start, but things were going to get better, I was certain of it.

  “Remind me again who these people are?”

  “Person. It’s Morgan, this girl I have some classes with.”

  “Morgan. What’s her last name?”

  “I don’t know, why?”

  “No reason. Just
curious.” He squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Sorry about complaining. It’ll be fun.”

  But as soon as we walked in, I knew it wouldn’t be fun. It was packed. I didn’t step more than two feet into the dilapidated house before my drunk classmates were spilling beer on my shoes and jeans from both sides of my body. The music was deafening. Owen yelled something in my ear, his hot breath lacing my neck. I felt sticky, hot, overwhelmed. I couldn’t hear him.

  “What?” I yelled.

  “Where do you want to go?” he shouted again. I shrugged in response, and he took my hand and led me back through the house and out through the kitchen to the backyard.

  “Where’s your friend?” he asked once we got out back. One of the four purported kegs loomed a few feet to our right, and people swarmed around it like flies around a dead animal. I shuddered; it was cold outside, and ever since we’d arrived I’d had a strange, anxious feeling.

  “Not sure,” I told him. “We’ll be lucky to find her at all in this crowd.”

  “I’m guessing it’ll actually be pretty easy,” remarked Owen wryly. He pointed none too discreetly toward a girl nestled up against the shoulder of a huge, brawny guy who leaned against the front porch railings. She was wearing a short blue skirt and a tummy-bearing top. His hand rested against the bare skin of her waist. “Think they’re all in uniform,” Owen asked, “or is this one just extra spirited?”