Burning September

by Melissa Simonson

  “I need to see you,” Caroline said after my hello. “It’s important.”

  Sure it was, everything she needed and wanted was always of vital importance. “I don’t know if I’m free.”

  “You’re free,” she said flatly. “It’s something you’ll want to hear. Come today. Leave now, okay?”

  There was something urgent and almost scared hiding behind her lack of affect, like she had to work hard to keep her voice in a monotone.

  “Okay,” I told her. “Give me an hour.”

  ***

  I met her in her bedroom and found her sitting in a chair by the window, staring off into space, the sun setting the ends of her hair on fire.

  She jutted her chin at the mattress, where the painted canvas I’d sent her lay. The palest flicker of her old humor glimmered behind her eyes. “I asked them for thumbtacks so I could hang it, but they said they couldn’t give me anything sharp. I should have known. If they won’t let me shave my legs, they sure as hell wouldn’t give me any pushpins.”

  I sat across from her on the bed. “So you’re going au natural these days?”

  “I don’t know how French women can do it. I feel like an ape.”

  A soft smile tugged at my lips. “So. What’s up?”

  “Not to put a damper on the mood or anything, but are you wearing a wire?”

  “Are you serious?”

  She didn’t answer, just blinked at me, one eyebrow shooting up on her forehead.

  “No. God. Why would I do that?”

  “Just wanted to make sure.” Her gaze strayed away from mine as she sucked in a long breath. “You asked me for the truth last time you were here. I feel like I should give it to you. I suppose it’s time.” She nodded like she was talking to herself. “I had a speech all planned and everything, but I forgot most of it.” Something between a snort and a laugh twisted her mouth. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

  “Just tell me,” I said, fighting back the swelling urge to go to her, hug her, do something to wipe that quasi-frightened look off her face. Caroline wasn’t afraid of anything; how could talking to me cause any distress? “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

  “I did push him,” she said, after a long bout of silence. “But I need to explain.” She glanced at me like she’d expected an interruption, but I gave none. “I was around ten years old when our dad started acting funny around me. Making up excuses to come into the bathroom when I was in the tub, walking into my bedroom when he knew I was changing clothes. I guess I didn’t think a whole lot about it at the time. Even then I knew he was a drunk, I figured he kept getting lost in his own apartment. Thought my room was his, or something.”

  It was right about then that the world tipped on its axis.

  My stomach felt queasy, bile roiling around, creeping up into my throat. I could imagine it so easily, him peeking through keyholes and creeping around corners, trying to get a glimpse of my beautiful sister—his beautiful daughter. A fine mist of hair rose on my arms the longer the silence stretched.

  “I don’t need to paint you a picture, do I? You get the gist.”

  I nodded mechanically, squeezing my hands together so hard my knuckles looked bleached. “Who knew? Did Mom know? Is that why she killed herself?”

  She gave me a noncommittal half shrug. “I didn’t tell anyone. She never asked me about it, so I have a feeling she had no idea. She was off in her own world most of the time anyway.” She sighed, swung one leg over the other. Ran her fingers through her hair, untangling a snarl. “So, yeah, whatever, that went on for a few years. I think he stopped when I was fourteen. I must have gotten too old for his tastes, I guess. I was relieved, you know? Thank God this is over. The funny thing is, that kind of stuff is never over. The past is never gone, even though he stopped eventually. But I thought maybe things would get easier, since the physical stuff had ended.”

  “So he stopped, or he didn’t?”

  “He…stopped,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “He stopped with me.”

  “Caroline,” I started, catching hold of her clue, “he didn’t do anything to me. Trust me, I’d remember if he did.”

  “No,” she agreed. “But he would have.” She held up a hand to quell my questions. “You didn’t know what the signs were. You wouldn’t have known what to look for. I knew what was coming, though. I could see, feel it.” She blew out a huge horse sigh, her lips flapping together. “You were just turning ten when he…died. I was ten when he started with me. And I couldn’t be home all the time, you know? I couldn’t keep watch over you twenty-four seven. I wouldn’t know anything had happened until it was too late. I just kept thinking about what he’d done to me, how it affected me. Even now, it affects me. And I couldn’t let that happen to you. I wouldn’t let it happen to you. And so ends the saga of Caroline and Viktor Smirnov.” She pursed her lips, looking me dead in the eye. “I don’t regret it, either. He had it coming. I should have done it earlier than I did. So. You can think what you will about it. You can think I’m a liar, or that I’m exaggerating. But I had to do it. And I’m not sorry I did.”

  I wanted to believe her acts couldn’t work on me any longer, that she couldn’t possibly fool me again, but I wasn’t entirely sure if I could believe her, or that look on her face. She lied like she breathed, effortlessly. I could so easily imagine her at the top of those stairs, her hatred for this bumbling, drunken fool roiling over, her shoving him down. He was worthless, and she’d grown tired of him. I could picture her killing him with no more provocation than his inebriated idiocy. After eighteen years, she’d had enough. It could have happened, it was more than plausible.

  I stared at her for a long time, feeling deflated in both body and spirit, hardly able to process her new story and unsure if I’d ever be able to. She didn’t look too far from what I felt. She reminded me of Jenga, how you’d remove just one plank and the whole structure came crashing down.

  I flipped through every conversation she and I had ever had about our father as I stared down at my knees. How she’d have to close her eyes sometimes when she spoke about him, the way she vacillated from loathing and something near grief. The grief had always confused me—she had no qualms telling me she was happy he died. Maybe it was grief over something he’d stolen from her.

  “I’m not with Kyle anymore,” I told her, once I’d finally found my voice.

  She didn’t ask me what happened, just exhaled loudly. “I’m sorry, babe. Men fucking suck.”

  “I considered killing him, but then I changed my mind.”

  “A wise woman learns from the mistakes of others.” She got up from her chair to join me on her bed. “Just for the record, I’m deeply disturbed by this makeup you gave yourself.” She traced the edges of the painting I’d given her. “It makes you look like a baby prostitute.”

  “That’s kind of the look I was going for.”

  She blinded me with her smile, tucking back a few wisps of hair the sunlight had turned red. “Ah. Well. A-plus, then.”

  ***

  The hills were alive with fire in early August. Helicopters flying low, carrying loads of water became the norm; I hardly noticed their noise after a while. Only wildfires thrived in the crescendo of summer. The flowers lining the condo complex had turned crispy and brown, the grass grew bleach blonde yet again, and the whole of Southern California sank into a heat stupor, a fever it didn’t seem likely to sweat out. Even Nicholas felt the weakening effects of the heat wave. He no longer asked to go outside and harass the birds, just moped on the window seat, giving the outside world bleak stares of longing.

  “At least you have A/C here,” I griped to Caroline last time I’d visited her, after she’d baffled me by complaining about the soaring temperatures. They’d finally let her go outside with the other well-behaved lunatics. She’d said their basketball games and tetherball skills left a lot to be desired. One guy tried chewing the rim of a Frisbee. “Being in the condo is like being boiled a
live. I’m about to fake some synaptic misfiring just to commit myself. Maybe I’ll start chewing a Frisbee.” The heat seemed to have cooked my brain, turned it into a hardboiled egg. Even my thoughts had grown sluggish, partially paralyzed from heat exhaustion.

  “So dramatic,” she’d answered, flinging the back of her hand across her forehead like Scarlett O’Hara. “I guess you learned that from me.”

  Eventually I’d had to check my email to register for fall semester. I needn’t have dreaded logging in quite so much, I found when I launched Gmail. He hadn’t written. Asshole, a part of my brain piped up. How quickly he’s forgotten you.

  The logical part of my mind sighed heavily. What about all those texts he left you, hmm?

  It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to answer his voicemails and texts, but I didn’t think I could handle the disappointment of getting no response.

  There was one interesting email, though, sent from Gemma@SingerHarrison.com.

  Hello Katya,

  I’m writing to inform you about an upcoming taping Mr. Cavanaugh has arranged with Karen Stone. She’s doing another segment on your sister’s case, but the footage won’t air until after the verdict comes. Kyle wanted me to ask if you’re free Friday at 1 p.m., and he mentioned that you wouldn’t have to speak on camera, he’s going to be handling that, but he thinks it’s necessary you’re there beside him during filming. Please let me know if that would work for you at your earliest convenience.

  Best regards,

  Gemma Anders

  Poor Gemma, yet again doing his dirty work. The woman was a saint.

  He couldn’t even be bothered to email me himself. Caroline would deem this a great personal wrong; cowardice was unforgiveable in her book, and the punishment was permanent exile.

  I realized I’d overreacted on my part. It wasn’t his fault he had to be the bearer of horrible news, but it seemed like he’d taken those sour lemons and made lemonade, cavorting with the brunette bombshell in his living room who sipped her port much more daintily—and legally—than I ever could.

  Once again, I wanted Caroline back. I wanted to tell her all about what had happened, get her take on this mess. But I hadn’t given her the slightest detail on all things me and Kyle, and she’d never asked, sensing the delicate nature of the topic, unwilling to rock the boat when we’d finally hit calm waters. Nobody had known about us, not even Gemma. It went without saying that the law firm’s partners probably wouldn’t have been jazzed about the situation.

  I emailed Gemma an affirmative response, poking the send key a little harder than was necessary.

  I was sure he’d been too embarrassed to let his friends know about us, and I didn’t have any friends to tell. A frivolous affair with a barely-legal child would only net him mockery and raised eyebrows, they might make jokes about him picking up girls at the elementary school. She’s too young for you, bro. But I didn’t think Kyle had ever watched Jersey Shore. Probably not sophisticated enough for his tastes.

  How could I be around him without crumbling? I couldn’t trust myself to be Zen about it, and I’d never dealt with a breakup before. Breakups were Caroline’s forte. She was the Breakup Queen, her shelves held thousands of dusty shards of broken hearts.

  ***

  “Just fake it,” Caroline said, crisscrossing her legs beneath her on the couch in Breakthrough’s lobby. “I know it’s easier said than done, but try. Don’t avoid his eyes or anything, but don’t look at him for too long if you can help it. If I were you I’d show up with only a few minutes to spare, just so I didn’t have to be alone with him for more than a minute or two.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?” It seemed amazing that’s all her advice would amount to, especially from the woman who broke a million hearts, dumping guys left, right, and center, walking away from their apartments in a sheer dress and sunglasses, not a care in the world. Where were the cutting remarks, bitingly clever, that could knock someone down to size? “What, no eloquent way to say hey, fuck you?”

  She wagged a prim finger in my face. “A hey, fuck you would only hammer in the point that you do, in fact, care. If you’re trying to portray the opposite, you want to stay away from lines like that. People who don’t care anymore don’t lash out irrationally. They just…don’t care.”

  I slumped into the cushions, feeling the beginnings of a scowl crop up. “I can’t believe that’s all you’ve got.”

  She snorted. “I don’t know what to tell you, babe. You want to borrow my gas can?”

  I gave her a sideways glare. “You never told anyone where you’d dumped it.”

  “And wasn’t that smart of me?” She sighed, having failed to coax a smile out of me. “Listen, I don’t know what to tell you. Men are pigs, that’s just a fact. It’s a lesson for next time. Never get too invested. God knows it turned out badly for me.”

  “Don’t you worry about getting lonely?” I’d never known what a relationship felt like until Kyle, I’d never realized what I was missing. It had been easy for me to discount the idea of love before I’d ever felt it. Colorblind people probably didn’t care what green looked like.

  But if this feeling was at the end of the relationship tunnel, I had my doubts on ever falling through that rabbit hole again. I wouldn’t sign up for this feeling in the future. I couldn’t believe other people did.

  “I’m never lonely.” She squeezed my kneecap. “I’ll always have you.”

  ***

  I wished I had a Valium as I walked into Karen Stone’s hot, bright studio. Something to slow the flow of blood shunting through my veins. I’d expected to calm down after thirty minutes in wardrobe, but it hadn’t happened, I kept fidgeting and got pricked with a battalion of pins. In makeup, the woman who had painted on my TV face told me off for jittering, groaning every time she had to clean up a black smudge of eyeliner. It was with a sigh of relief that she waved me out of her room.

  Someone fell into step beside me, holding a clipboard, directing me to a chair. I followed the path of her pointed finger and sat, wishing I had something to do with my hands other than pulling at my clothes, picking off nonexistent lint. For the first time during one of these tapings, I wished someone would talk to me. I craved idle conversation, anything to make me look busy. I could have discussed soap scum, Afghanistan, photosynthesis.

  I didn’t look around, but I felt Kyle’s presence somewhere in the room. I kept my eyes trained on my knees until Caroline’s voice gave me a nudge.

  Don’t stare at the floor, it’ll make you look self-conscious, like you’re about to crumble into a thousand pieces. Fake it till you make it, babe.

  So I did what she would have, lifting my eyes, slowly scanning the room, pretending I didn’t care about anything, let alone Kyle, when Karen Stone clicked over on high heels, silver pins scattered in her hair, a few hot rollers around the crown of her head.

  She clasped both my hands in hers like she always did. “It’s nice to see you again. I hope you’ve been well?”

  You couldn’t give anything but an affirmative answer when Karen Stone asked you that, so I bobbed my head yes like a good girl. “Yes, thank you.”

  “We’re going to get started in a few minutes. Jason needs to give you a mic, and I’ve got to get these things out of my hair.”

  “I thought I wouldn’t be speaking? Why do I need a mic?”

  It wasn’t Karen who answered me, though. Kyle dropped into the seat beside mine. “It’s just in case.”

  I ignored the pull of my peripheral vision and kept my gaze on Karen. “I’m sorry, I was told I’d be seen and not heard. I guess I got faulty instructions. That happens when tasks get delegated, I suppose.”

  Karen’s professionally groomed brow rose a millimeter.

  “Sometimes you have to delegate tasks when the person you’re trying to reach has suddenly gone MIA,” Kyle said, resting his left foot on his right knee.

  “And sometimes people have a good reason for going MIA for a
little while,” I answered, keeping my eyes on Karen’s slightly bewildered ones. “That doesn’t mean they should be forgotten quite so quickly.” His face flushed dark with anger, I saw it harden into a stony mask out of the corner of my eye. I was glad I’d made him mad. That was nothing compared to dry swallowing that huge bitter pill of finding him with some other woman who made me look like a toothless hillbilly. He was lucky I hadn’t taken Caroline up on the gas can offer.

  “I’ll just call Jason over.” Karen stood a step backward. “He needs to mic both of you.”

  I turned my head away, feigning interest in the fake ficus in the corner. I’d actually never seen a real ficus before. I wondered if they even existed or if they were just something IKEA invented.

  I sensed movement in Kyle’s direction, felt him turning in his chair so he faced me directly. I flinched like he’d burned me when he slipped his hand on my shoulder. I shook it off.

  “Kat, I—”

  Thankfully Jason swooped in then, a harassed look on his face and two mics in hand. He pinned one on Kyle’s collar and then did the same for me. “You guys are all set.”

  Suddenly I was glad they’d given me a mic. We couldn’t talk without being overheard. The whole studio would be privy to our squabble.

  So we sat there, surrounded by bustling assistants and chatter in our own little bubble of silence. I wondered if he was experiencing the same physical ache I had, like a giant fist had yanked out my intestines through my belly button. Probably not, it hadn’t taken him any time at all to move on. Asshole. How outrageous was it that two people who’d had so much to say to each other in the past couldn’t be on civil speaking terms now?

  I thought of Caroline, how she’d always been my constant anchor, how I never thought she’d leave me. Even when I couldn’t count on my parents, I could count on her. It was one hell of a wakeup call when she left. Nothing is permanent. Anything could rip those links away, life wasn’t one of those expensive diamond bracelets double knotted between stones so if you lost one, you wouldn’t lose them all.