He reached out to stop me. “Zoe—”
“There’s a lot going on right now, Jake.” I knew the longer I stood there, the harder it would be to walk away. “We’re both treading water, just trying to stay afloat, and I think we need to take a step back for a while. Get some clarity.” The words tasted sour and wrong, but needed to be said all the same.
Without giving him a chance to respond, I patted the gun attached to my thigh, ensuring it was there, and hurried down the stairs, calling for Cooper to accompany me outside as added protection. We made our way out of the old house, and I took a much-needed, deep, calming breath.
Pulling my hair up into a ponytail, I plodded down the four wooden steps on the porch and stepped onto the dirt road that ran through the center of town. Main Street, I supposed…but then, as far as I could tell, it was the only street.
The weather was warmer than it had been in a while, but a little gusty, causing mini dust devils to whirl here and there along the abandoned street and the hanging signs to clack and clang against the Old West storefronts. The smell of wood and dust reminded me a little of the barn at our old camp. I liked it.
Standing in front of the Sackett House afforded me a decent view of the town. Two surprisingly well-maintained rows of antique buildings stretched out before me. Upon noticing the saloon sign at the end of the road advertising “a good time,” I smiled. The church to the left of it resembled a log cabin, and the general store to the right was rickety enough to believe it might have been completely authentic.
If I were Jason, where would I be? I figured he wasn’t morbid enough to hang out at the undertaker’s, so I continued on and headed quickly toward a log structure quite a bit smaller than the church—the sheriff’s office a few buildings down from the boarding house. That seemed a little more like a spot Jason would choose to hang out in. Pausing on the road in front of the sheriff’s, I studied the building. It looked like the door hadn’t been opened in a while, but I assumed there was a back entrance, so that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
Quietly, I walked up onto the front porch to the door and stilled, listening closely. I could hear a muted scraping sound—like metal on wood, a sound that reminded me of my woodsmith dad—and I placed my hand on the hilt of my pistol. The repetitive scratching continued, broken only by the sound of someone clearing their throat behind the sun-bleached wooden door.
I crept toward the window set off to the right, careful not to alert whoever was inside in case it wasn’t one of my companions, and peered through the dusty glass. I let out a relieved breath; it was Jason. He was sitting near the window in an old wooden chair by a simple oak desk, hunched over, with his back to me.
I moved back to the door and opened it.
Jason jumped in his seat, then turned his head to glare at me. Even Jack started from his curled position in a patch of sunlight streaming through the window.
“Sorry,” I said, trying not to enjoy his surprise too much. “What are you doing in here?” I glanced over at the single jail cell and the sign above it that read, Take Your Picture Here!
“Nothing.”
My eyebrow rose in question, but I didn’t push the issue. Jason wasn’t one for sharing, and like me, he had a lot to deal with, so I tried to respect his privacy by pretending I didn’t care. I approached the chair on the other side of the desk and plopped down, slouching like I was back in high school and had so many better places to be.
“What do you want?” He shifted in his seat, hunching his shoulders even more. His combat knife was in his hand, and it made me think of the rolled-up carving tool kit I’d spotted when I’d been rummaging through his bag in search of a sweatshirt. “You’re carving again?”
Jason looked down at the desk, where an “R” and an “E” were carved into its surface. He covered the letters with his palm.
“Not that,” I said, rolling my eyes. “The kit. I saw it in your bag. I also stole one of your sweatshirts,” I added in case he cared.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Jason work with wood. For years, he and Dad had been nearly inseparable, spending hours upon hours out in Dad’s workshop. But that changed when Jason left for the Army. He’d left his tools behind, and everything fell apart after that. Dad hadn’t worked in the shop as much, and his constant state of distraction had worsened, especially when Jason stopped calling or coming home when he was on leave.
Like Jason, my dad was the epitome of “emotionally unavailable.” When I was younger it hadn’t seemed so bad, but as I grew older they both became more withdrawn. If it hadn’t been for Dani, I would have been utterly alone. It was like Jason had been the glue keeping our fractured family together.
“I miss the smell of his shop,” I said absently. Jason only stared at me. I also missed the smell of Dad’s aftershave and the smoky barbeque scent that clung to the house whenever Jason was making dinner.
“Why can’t I remember things like that more often instead of having those stupid dreams all the time?” I asked, not expecting him to answer.
“Of Mom? You’re still having them?” He set down his knife and leaned back in his chair.
Surprised by his interest, I nodded. Jason hadn’t seemed interested in my dreams of the faceless woman since I was a little girl. When I was five years old, I’d run crying into his room across the hall after one of my nightmares, as I’d done countless times before. But unlike all the times before, he’d refused to let me crawl into bed beside him. “Grow up, Zoe,” he’d said. Was that the night everything changed between us? I couldn’t help but wonder what had caused the change. Was it Dad? Was it something I did? Maybe it had nothing to do with me at all.
“I stopped having them for a while, before the shit hit the fan, but they’re back. They’ve changed a little, but they’re the same basic thing as before.”
Jason glanced out the window, and I wished I knew what he was thinking.
“I’m tired of it, Jason.” I fiddled with my fingers, nervous what his reaction might be. “I want the dreams to stop.”
He looked back at me expectantly.
“Dani told me you have the box…and the key.”
Jason said nothing, simply reclaiming his knife and twisting it point-first on the desk.
“I want to open it,” I said without hesitation. I wanted to open our dad’s box to rid myself of the looming burden of the unknown. “What if whatever’s in it could fix…could stop the dreams?”
My brother’s eyes met mine—really met them for the first time in days—and for an instant I saw a reflection of my own curiosity flicker in their blue depths. It only lasted a moment. Jason narrowed his eyes and shook his head, disappointed. “Dani’s still with them, and you’re worried about the fucking box?” His voice was cold, everything I should’ve expected but hadn’t been prepared for.
I stood up, resentment surmounting my weariness. “Like I could forget,” I snapped. “Opening the box isn’t only up to you, Jason.”
While my brother was currently living in a world devoid of any emotions other than anger and despair, I was haunted by fear and an acute loneliness that I didn’t understand. I wanted to open the damn box and finally gain some resolution.
“I’m the one who has nightmares almost every night. I’m the one who can’t remember Mom. Jesus, Jason, I’ve never even seen a picture of her,” I screeched. Desperation bubbled in my voice. “I’m sick of being in the dark!” I’m sick of feeling like an outcast in my own family!
My brother just watched me, emotionless, still twirling the knife on its point.
“I don’t know why I expected you to care. You never have before,” I spit out and rushed to the door. I needed to distance myself from him before I said something worse, something I would regret.
Sensing no alarming emotions, I fled, Cooper trotting beside me. I cared little where my feet landed as I tromped across the dirt road, between two unmarked buildings, and into the woods beyond. Why does he have to make everything s
o damn difficult? Ever since Dani’s kidnapping, all Jason did was rage and brood and act like he’d lost everything. Part of me understood him, could relate to the anger and turmoil that blazed in his eyes. But he wasn’t the only one hurting. I’d lost Dani, too. And our dad. I’d lost my friends and family, and I was somehow coping with it.
Stumbling out into a clearing of moss-covered boulders and fallen trees, I sat down on the thick trunk of a pine that had toppled over long ago. It was smothered in lichen, and I began adamantly picking the orange and green fungus from its defenseless host, each pick and gouge of my thumb and index finger more determined than the last. I barely noticed Cooper loping off to explore the surrounding woods.
After all that’s changed…after everything, Jason is still…Jason. His stubborn, closed-off attitude seemed like the only thing in the world that hadn’t changed. It had been too much to hope that he would really talk to me. For the first time in…ever, I felt like we actually had something to talk about—the end of the world, him sleeping with my best friend, him knowing Sanchez from before—but he clearly didn’t agree.
I’m opening that fucking box.
You’re frowning again, Zo, Dani’s voice echoed in my head. It’s not pretty. You should really stop. It wasn’t really her, but the imaginary version of her I’d come to rely on over the past few months. Sometimes I wondered if I might be going a little bit crazy.
I leaned forward, my elbows resting on my knees as my fingertips found their way to my temples, massaging in an attempt to loosen the pressure wrapping itself around my brain. I thought about never finding Dani and of my brother’s infuriating…everything. I thought about Jake and his sister and losing him for good.
“Nothing is okay anymore,” I whispered as I let out a much-needed breath. I exhaled again, my eyes stinging.
“One day at a time, Zo,” I said after exhaling another deep breath.
A gray squirrel scurried from boulder to boulder, stopping momentarily to sniff the air. His beady eyes met mine before he bounded away, his scraggly tail undulating behind him.
Slow, heavy footsteps interrupted my musings. I didn’t bother looking back. The complete void of any emotion settling in my mind told me it was Jason.
He stopped behind me but said nothing.
I didn’t turn around. “What do you want?”
I heard a long, deep exhale. “Once we open the box, there’ll be nothing left,” he said. He’d obviously thought about opening it, even if he was opposed to doing it at the moment. I understood his hesitancy. Part of me was nervous to discover what was inside, to open it and examine the last remaining pieces we had left of our parents. But the burden of not knowing what was in the box outweighed my reluctance.
“I need to know, Jason.” My voice was only a whisper among the sound of chirping finches jumping from branch to branch and woodpeckers hammering on a nearby tree.
“Know what? What the hell do you think’s in there? Mom and Dad won’t come back to life just because you—”
“Answers!” I shouted and stood to face him. “I think there’ll be answers!”
Jason looked at me like I was nuts. “Answers to what?”
“Umm, I don’t know. Let me think—what happened to us, maybe,” I said, laying on sarcasm as thickly as possible. “Or what the hell is so damn secret that Dad would hide the box in the first place.”
“What do you mean, ‘what happened to us’?” he asked, and his obliviousness pissed me off even more.
“This…” I gestured between us.
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on.”
“This isn’t normal, Jason. We can barely stand to be around each other, and half the time I don’t even know why.”
He scowled.
“Look, it doesn’t even matter. You don’t have to look in the box, okay? But I deserve to know what’s in it. Dad left us the key; he must’ve wanted us to know what’s inside. I have so many questions, and there could be answers in there—”
“Or not,” he said calmly.
I turned away from him and started pacing. “Isn’t it weird that I don’t know anything about Mom? Would it really hurt to know who the hell she was or what she even looked like? Why wouldn’t Dad ever talk about her? Shouldn’t he have gotten over her death—”
“Gotten over it?” Jason sounded offended.
“You know what I mean. Don’t you think she’d want her own daughter to know who she was? I am her daughter, right? Or is that the big secret? Are we not really siblings? Is that why you hate me?” My voice was more scornful than I’d meant it to be, but letting out my frustration felt like finally taking a breath after holding it for years.
“Don’t be stupid—”
“Stupid? You and Dad have always walked on eggshells around me, and neither of you ever tell me anything. Dad always looked at me with sadness and I have no idea why. You can barely stand the sight of me!” Saying the last bit out loud hurt more than I’d expected.
Confusion flashed across Jason’s face, but he said nothing.
“I’m tired of being in the dark just because I was too fucking young to remember anything. I’m tired of you looking at me like I did something wrong.”
“Knock it off, Zoe. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” His tone was cold and flat, which only ignited my anger more.
“Would you stop being an asshole for once in your life? I barely know you because you always stop a conversation before it starts or you’re too busy or you’re in a bad mood or you’re off with some girl…take your pick! The way you glare at me all the time, like you’re judging me, is getting old. You’ve never been around or cared what the hell happened to me. There has to be a reason. It’s the end of the fucking world and you still can’t stand the sight of me—or is that just second nature from all the years of practice?”
“God, you can be such a bitch,” he replied, shaking his head in disbelief.
I glared at him, using my frustration to keep the tears at bay. “Yeah, maybe, but you know what I’m talking about. I’m not blind, and it hurts. I—”
“You want to know why I hate looking at you?” he interrupted, taking a step closer to me. His intense eyes fixed on mine.
You want to know why I hate looking at you? Hearing him say it stung, and I took a cowering step back.
“You look exactly like her. The older you get…” He shook his head. “You think I want to remember Mom every time I look at you? Remember her accident…that she’s dead?” His eyes searched mine, hostility burning in their blue depths, and resentment dripped from his tone. But in an instant, his expression blanked. I wasn’t sure if I’d really seen remorse flicker across his face, or if he was even capable of remorse. Either way, the truth was finally out.
I felt my face fall, and another lump swelled in my throat. “Oh,” was all I could manage to say. Jason’s eyes thawed momentarily, considering something, but I turned away from him. In a strange way, I understood him…empathized with him.
My mind was reeling. I was embarrassed but also relieved. I finally knew the cause of Jason’s distance—I looked like our mom. The fact that I resembled her filled me with joy, but it was a bittersweet joy. Jason had known our mom, had been nurtured by her most of his childhood. He remembered what it felt like to be around her every day—and what it felt like when she was suddenly torn away.
I heard Jason walk away behind me, leaving me alone with my thoughts. A sense of helplessness settled over me. Even though I understood why Jason distanced himself, there was nothing I could do about it, about the way I looked. I sat back down on the log. There were still unanswered questions. Why didn’t Dad ever talk to me about her?
Only a few moments passed before, again, I heard footsteps approaching. I turned around to find Jason standing there with Dad’s small, cedar box gripped in his hands. The key swung from a chain wrapped around his thumb.
My heart sputtered to a halt as he stepped over the fallen log to sit down beside me, se
tting the box between us. We looked at each other with silent understanding, and then he handed me the old-fashioned iron key. The moment we’ve both been waiting for…and dreading. We were finally going to know what was in the stupid box. For a long time, all I could do was stare at it.
“Just open the damn thing, Zoe,” Jason said impatiently.
Biting the inside of my cheek to avoid smiling at his mounting curiosity, I placed the tiny, ornate key into the lock. With a click, the box was unlocked. I scooted closer to Jason, still balancing the box on the log between us. Running my fingers over the intricately carved scrollwork on the lid, I slowly lifted it open.
A cedar scent escaped its stuffy confines, and I wondered when it had last been opened. The wood’s grain was rainbowed with coppers, reds, and browns, and the initials “TJC” were etched in the bottom right corner on the inside of the lid—confirmation that the box had been handcrafted by my dad.
Peering inside, I examined its contents. A folded newspaper clipping lay on top. I carefully lifted it out, revealing what I assumed was my mom’s gold wedding band resting on the box’s black velvet lining. Beside it lay a lock of long, black hair tied with a white lace ribbon. Beneath that was a small envelope.
My eyes flicked to Jason’s, and when I realized his attention was focused solely on the items inside, I painstakingly picked up the gold ring and studied it. It was delicate and dainty. I checked the inside of the band for an inscription before slipping it onto my left ring finger, imagining what it might have looked like on my mom’s hand. It fit perfectly. I glanced at Jason again, and his eyes darted to mine. He nodded for me to continue.
I turned my attention to the lock of hair. Picking it up, I examined the long, thick black strands, wondering how old our mom had been when she’d given it to our dad. It made sense that she had black hair like us—our dad’s was much lighter, though it had been mostly gray all my life. I let the silky wisps fan across my fingers before setting the black tresses back inside the box. I lifted out the folded newspaper clipping. It was yellowed, and the black print was so faded I struggled to read it.
The Ending Series: The Complete Series Page 68