Tumble & Fall

by Alexandra Coutts

  Arthur appears without his apron and places the bowls on the table. Caden peers into the brownish slosh. It looks like the result of some kind of industrial sewage overflow, but he has to admit, it doesn’t smell half bad.

  Outside, the wind has picked up and wheezes through the nearby pines, knocking the wooden shutters against the side of the house. Caden’s spoon clinks heavily in his bowl. The stew is surprisingly delicious, rich and savory with tender chunks of braised rabbit meat.

  “What do you think?” Arthur asks between bites.

  Caden feels a trickle of broth running down his chin, and is ready to wipe it away with his sleeve when he remembers the napkin. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’ve never had rabbit before.”

  Arthur smiles. They continue eating in silence. There’s something almost peaceful about eating this way, Caden thinks, especially when what you’re eating was once, and so very recently, witlessly bounding across an open field. He remembers, in a quick flash, the way the rabbit froze beneath the blueberry bush, almost as if he knew what was coming, and accepted it. There was no panic or frenzied scamper. Death was a certainty, and there was no use trying to pretend otherwise.

  In an unguarded moment, he lets his mind wander. How long can he keep this up? Pretending not to care that his life, the lives of everyone he knows and doesn’t know, hang on the fate of a single event. Something he is powerless to control. What will he be like, in those final minutes, should it come to that? Calm, like the rabbit, or a total, inconsolable mess?

  Arthur clears his throat, resting his spoon against the side of his bowl. “I feel uncomfortable about what I said,” he says. “What I told you, about your sister.”

  Caden swallows and reaches for his wine. There was a brief, confused moment when he woke up from his nap. Had it all been a dream? But, no. Carly is his half sister. Half of her came from somebody else. Half of her has nothing to do with him.

  “Does she know?” Caden asks, though he’s already sure of the answer. Every Christmas, over a special breakfast of banana pancakes and vegan sausage, Carly abruptly announced what she’d bought that year, before Caden or Ramona had even considered unwrapping their gifts. When she got her first period, she’d complained to Caden about cramps and tampons as they waited on the road for the bus. Carly doesn’t believe in secrets.

  “I hope not,” Arthur says.

  Caden looks up from his stew. “Why’s that?”

  Arthur tilts his bowl and scrapes around the corners with his spoon. “I’m an easy target.” He shrugs. “Why add another villain to the mix?”

  Caden considers this. Carly will always be his sister, no matter what. But Ramona. It was hardly the first time she’d lied, and he’d spent most of his life wishing she were somebody else, somebody capable and strong. But this felt like a different breed of betrayal. Who knows how Caden would have felt about Arthur all these years, if he’d known the truth? Maybe not much would have changed. But she hadn’t allowed him to decide for himself. She’d wanted him to be by her side, an ally in the invisible war against the bad guy who’d left them alone.

  It shouldn’t have been up to her.

  Caden takes a long sip of wine. He feels Arthur’s eyes on him. He wishes he could ask what Arthur thinks about how his son turned out. Is he proud? Surprised? Had he been hoping for somebody more like him? Does he regret all the time that he’s missed?

  A cascade of ringing bells echoes throughout the lodge. Arthur looks up with an almost mischievous gleam in his green eyes. “There she is,” he says, wiping at the corners of his mouth with his napkin and folding it carefully on the table.

  Caden watches as his father stands. “Who?”

  Arthur lays a hand on Caden’s shoulder as he passes. “Wait here,” he says.

  Arthur leaves him through the wide double doors. Caden feels a tingling in the spot on his shoulder where his father’s hand had been. It was a small gesture, but to Caden, it felt full of meaning. Full of all of the hundreds of thousands of times a hand might have rested there before, in a different life, where they’d been a real family, or he’d at least known the truth about what family he had left.

  SIENNA

  “It looks exactly the same.”

  Sienna and Owen stand at the bottom of her driveway, hidden behind the thick trunk of an oak tree. Their shadows fall long on the grass beside them. They’d packed a picnic at Owen’s house and spent the day on a quiet section of the beach, talking until the sun started to set. Sienna couldn’t believe how late it had gotten, so fast.

  Now, she looks up at her house and sees it, for a moment, as it was when she was little. Mom’s blue hydrangea bushes crowding the deck, the ones she lovingly tended to like extra, flowering children.

  “Almost,” Sienna says sadly. There’s only one bush left out front, the blossoms now fading gray.

  “So.” Owen puts a hand on her head. “Jeremy said he’ll pick us up around nine. Want to meet at the bus stop?”

  Sienna swallows. This morning, when they’d woken up on the docks, cozy and cuddled in the blankets Owen had brought, everything had seemed so simple. He wanted to work on the boat with his friends, and he wanted her to be there, too. She felt her heart swelling inside her. She didn’t care what they did, as long as they did it together.

  But now, standing in front of her house, she doesn’t know how it’s possible. Dad will never allow it, and even if he did, is it really what she wants? There’s a part of her that feels like she should stay home, even if it means pretending. A part of her that thinks Dad deserves his Happy Family, for once.

  “Sienna,” Owen says, looking deep into her eyes. “I know it’s asking a lot. But think about it. This is so much bigger than anything that’s ever happened before. It’s being a part of something huge. Something that might save us.”

  She feels the weight of his hands on her shoulders, the intensity in his brown eyes. She can’t possibly let him down.

  “See you at the bus stop,” she says, and stretches to give him a kiss.

  She avoids the gravel driveway and instead pads softly over the grass, hoping to make it back to her room unseen. But something catches her eye in the living room—the quick shifting of horizontal blinds. Her stomach twists into a knot.

  Dad is standing just inside the door when she opens it. “Where were you?” he asks. His eyes are red-rimmed and his hair is choppy and disheveled.

  Sienna takes a shaky breath. “Dad,” she starts.

  “I asked you a question, Sienna,” he says, his voice clipped and strange. There’s a stiffness in his posture, like it’s taking a lot of extra effort to stand upright.

  “I … I lost track of time. I went into town last night with some friends,” she says. “You were already asleep. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

  Dad stares at her as if he’s having trouble remembering who she is. “I was asleep because it was late,” he says flatly. “You’ve been gone all day. You didn’t think I would worry?”

  Sienna crosses her arms over her waist. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I figured you’d be busy.”

  “Who was that?” he asks, glancing out the window.

  Sienna feels a quick swarm of butterflies in her stomach. It feels, for a moment, like she’s watching herself from somewhere else. Or watching a movie about a girl and her dad, arguing in the foyer. Before she’d gone into the House, Sienna had been so lost in herself, so tangled up in her own anxieties, that she hadn’t had time to do anything normal, like sneak out, or get caught. However much of her wishes they could just put this all past them, there’s a part of her that’s almost enjoying it.

  “His name is Owen,” she says. “We used to play together on the beach. He lives a few streets over. Remember?”

  Dad looks up at the ceiling, and Sienna thinks for a moment that he’s really trying, trying to see Owen’s face. But then he runs a hand through his hair. He walks to the steps and sits with his back against the white paneled wall. “Goose, I know this place fe
els safe,” he says. “That’s what I love about it. It’s part of the reason I brought us here.”

  “Then what does it matter if I go out or not?” Sienna asks. There’s anger in her belly, like fire, but she swallows it down. Her voice is tight and unfamiliar. “Do you really still have to treat me like some messed-up little kid?” She watches as the words land and Dad’s face softens. “I’m better, Dad,” she says gently. “I promise.”

  Dad looks blankly at her before reaching into his pocket. He pulls out her pillbox and holds it between them.

  Sienna stares at it, hoping for a minute it might turn into something else.

  “You missed two doses,” he says. “Last night, and this morning. You didn’t think I would check for that, either?”

  Sienna swallows. She pulls her sweater tighter around her waist, as if she’s been suddenly exposed. She wishes she could close her eyes and be somewhere else. “It’s not a big deal,” she insists. “They make me fall asleep. And I was planning on taking them as soon as I got home…”

  “Goose, this isn’t like you,” Dad says. “I’m worried. You had plans with Denny. She spent the day waiting for you to come home, to pick flowers…”

  Sienna’s hands fly up to her forehead. She squeezes her temples like she’s trying to keep her head in one place. “Pick flowers?” She laughs, harsh and low. “Are you even listening to yourself? How can you possibly think that’s something I would actually want to do?”

  “You’re grounded, Sienna,” Dad interrupts. He says it fast and sudden, like he’s ripping off a bandage. The air between them buzzes, tender and raw.

  Sienna stands frozen, her hands tangled in her still-damp hair. The scene she’s been watching from outside of herself has suddenly taken an implausible turn. She’s never been grounded in her life.

  “Grounded?” she asks. “I’ve just spent six months locked up with doctors, getting tested and retested and talking about my feelings, and now, now that there’s an asteroid, I’m grounded?”

  “I’m sorry,” Dad says. “I wish I didn’t have to do it this way. I wish you’d want to be here, but—”

  “Why would I want to be here?” she asks. “All you care about is Denny, and the wedding.”

  Dad sighs. “These next few days…” His voice breaks, and he clears his throat. “I think we should spend them together. As a family.”

  Dad locks his fingers together, twisting against his knuckles. Sienna feels a sharp tug around her heart. He’s not asking for a lot. Part of her wants to want to be there, too. But she doesn’t. She wants to be with Owen, where she can be herself, and not worry about her every move being measured, being held up to some imaginary standard of Fine. Sane. Not Crazy.

  She swipes the pillbox from his hand and makes a show of emptying the morning’s dosage into her palm. She gulps the pills down without water.

  “Goose.” Dad stands as she brushes past him on the steps.

  “I’m going to my room,” she calls back over her shoulder. “Isn’t that the way this whole grounding-thing works?”

  Sienna stomps up the stairs. She doesn’t remember having many tantrums when she was little—she was usually too busy consoling everybody else. Now, as she reaches the step that creaks louder than the rest, she lays into it with extra oomph. It feels good, she thinks, to make noise.

  ZAN

  “Come on up!”

  Zan and Nick stand just inside the first set of doors, at the bottom of a crooked staircase. They squeeze through the hallway, between an overflowing pile of newspapers and magazines and a pair of rusted bicycles, pushed up against the scuffed white walls.

  Nick catches Zan by the elbow. “Hey,” he says. “You sure you want to do this?”

  Zan wriggles her arm free and forces a smile. She’s afraid if she stops moving, she’ll change her mind. “Of course,” she says. “It’s why we came.”

  Harsh footsteps clatter across the landing above and a shadow hangs over the stairwell. Zan keeps climbing, steadying her nerves with long, deliberate breaths. Whatever she finds, she reminds herself, she’ll know. And Leo wants her to know. The truth will set her free.

  “Hey!” A girl stands at the top of the stairs, waiting to greet them. Her hair is dyed white-blond and fried into small, wiry curls. Her thin, boyish frame is swaddled in a dramatic red dress, the collar a scandalously low-cut V, exposing a flat section of bony rib cage between two nearly nonexistent breasts. On her feet, she wears shiny gold platform heels, which appear to be three sizes too big. “Come in! Sorry, the place is a total mess.”

  The girl stumbles a bit as she leads them back into the apartment. Zan and Nick share a look as she closes the door behind them. The apartment isn’t so much a mess as it is a total and complete disaster, and probably in violation of a number of health and safety codes. They are standing in what seems to have been once used as a kitchen, but is now a glorified storage space, with clothes, shoes, hats and jackets, jewelry, books and DVDs—basically anything but food or cookware—strewn over every available surface.

  “That’s okay,” Nick finally manages. “Are you … are you Vanessa?”

  The girl totters unsteadily in her heels to the refrigerator. The shelves are completely bare, except for a large pitcher of something red with chunks of fruit floating inside. “I made sangria. Do you guys want some?” she asks, tossing a pile of sweaters from the counter to the floor. “I thought we had some cups here, somewhere…”

  “No thanks,” Zan interrupts. She’s feeling impatient, and more than a little weirded out. Up close, she sees that the girl’s eyebrows have been heavily drawn in liquid liner, over a layer of dark stubble. Her bright red lipstick is faded around the corners of her mouth, a blood-colored stain that looks permanent.

  “We’re looking for Vanessa,” Nick says again, this time a little bit louder, as if maybe she hadn’t heard him.

  The girl shrugs and takes a giant gulp of sangria, straight from the pitcher. Pink drool oozes down her chin. “She’s not here,” she says through a mouthful of soggy fruit.

  Zan feels a tingling in her hands and feet, a weight lifting. The idea of Leo having anything to do with this person was starting to make her feel sick. “So … you’re not Vanessa?” she asks. It seems important to confirm.

  “Nope.” The girl shakes her head. “I’m Gretchen. We’re roommates. Or, I guess, we were roommates. I’ll probably never see her again. She took off last week. Are you sure you guys aren’t hungry? There used to be trail mix in one of these cabinets…”

  Gretchen begins frantically opening and closing cabinet doors. Zan takes a few steps closer to the door. She has a feeling if they don’t make much noise they could leave without Gretchen even noticing, or remembering they were there.

  “Did she say anything about where she was going?” Nick asks. Zan feels torn. She knows he’s doing his job, doing his best to help her learn as much as she can while they’re there. But all she wants to do is go home. There’s no Vanessa. They tried. They tried, but it was too late.

  Gretchen finally gives up the trail-mix hunt and collapses onto a pile of winter coats on the floor. “No,” she huffs. “She didn’t really talk to me very much. Nobody did. I think it’s because I was always studying, you know?”

  She looks to Nick as if she’s waiting for an answer. He nods slowly. “Sure,” he says. “Okay, well, thanks for…”

  “I mean, I know that’s what it is,” Gretchen continues, waving her hand around in front of her face like she’s swatting a pesky bug. “Even my mom used to tell me to get out more. She’d say, ‘Gretchen, take a break. Live a little.’” Gretchen hiccups and gropes for the pitcher, bringing it back to her lips. “So that’s what I’m doing. Better late than never, right?”

  Zan fidgets behind her back for the doorknob, willing Nick to look her way, willing him to follow her outside. But she can see by the way that he’s holding his head, the serious look in his eyes, that he’s not going anywhere yet.

  “That�
�s right,” Nick says, ever the gentleman. “What were you studying?”

  “Molecular biology.” Gretchen laughs spitefully. “I was getting my doctorate. Doctor of Philosophy. How ridiculous is that? I mean, who even cares? What’s the point? What’s the point of anything, you know?”

  Zan’s eyes wander to a framed photo, hung at a disheveled angle on the wall. It’s a girl in a royal blue cap and gown, flanked by a sweet-looking, gray-haired couple. The girl has lifeless, mousy brown hair and wears big, unflattering glasses. Bright white tennis sneakers poke out from the bottom of the too-big gown.

  “Is this you?” Zan asks, leaning in for a better look.

  “Where?” Gretchen crawls on her hands and knees. “Oh. Yeah. A real bombshell, right?” She laughs drily. “I mean, the saddest part is I bought those shoes, special. My parents came all the way from Wisconsin, so I bought new sneakers. I wanted them to be clean.”

  Zan looks down at Gretchen on the floor. There’s a tug around her heart and all of a sudden she feels like crying again. Where are Gretchen’s parents now? Why didn’t she just go home?

  “Vanessa had the best shoes,” Gretchen continues, speaking to nobody in particular. “These are hers!” She stretches out one leg and flops her ankle up and down, the sparkly heel knocking against the floor. “Most of this stuff is hers, actually. I figured she wouldn’t mind if I tried some things on. She was always telling me to borrow whatever I wanted.”

  Zan looks to Nick. His eyebrows are lifted, and she almost expects to see his ears and nose twitch, like a dog after a scent. She glances behind him down a long hallway, a pile of skirts and dresses leading toward an open door.

  “She was so nice,” Gretchen continues. “And I was such a bitch! So she never did the dishes. So what? She always invited me places and I never went. Not once. And now she’s gone.”

  “Is that her room?” Zan asks, stepping over a tower of textbooks on the kitchen floor.

  Gretchen nods, and Nick follows Zan down the hall. “Take whatever you want,” Gretchen shouts. “She won’t be coming back. Why would she? She had tons of friends. I’m sure she’s with them all, now. Someplace awesome.”