Tumble & Fall

by Alexandra Coutts

  “I have a feeling she’ll find us if she wants to.” Zan shrugs. She brings the bottle to her lips and takes a long, thirsty sip, sharp bubbles stinging the back of her throat.

  “Easy there,” Nick says with a gentle smile. He reaches for the bottle but Zan tucks it under her arm protectively.

  “Come on,” Zan says, grabbing on to the soft, worn fabric of Nick’s T-shirt and guiding him through the crowd.

  They move deeper into the action, stepping over outstretched legs and blankets and half-ravaged baskets of food. “What’s happening there?” Zan leans forward to shout in Nick’s ear. She points to a big white tent with hundreds of people stuffed inside, clapping and swaying in unison. As they get closer, it becomes clear that it’s some sort of religious sermon, with a man in a long white robe leading a choir, and gospel music booming from a pair of tall speakers up front. Hippies, acrobats … and God.

  They make their way down one of the narrow paved paths to the stage, where hordes of people are pumping their fists to the pulsing rhythm of a local indie band. Zan takes another sip from the heavy green bottle and offers it to Nick. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he shouts over the music.

  Zan feels herself being jostled by bodies packing in around her. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, the tingling bubbles reaching her head. Okay. Is she okay? She feels light, like something inside her, something heavy and dark, has been cut free. She feels unattached. Brand-new.

  She opens her eyes and takes another deep breath, as if she could harness the energy around them. She looks out at the sea of heads, the hundreds of people who are here, now, together. She thinks of who each of them may have been, before this moment. People with problems, fears, disappointments, broken hearts. Where else should they be, today? Should they be locked in their rooms, alone, crying, afraid? What’s the point?

  The only thing that matters, she thinks, is that she’s alive. Right now, she’s alive, and she wants to be here. She wants to be with all of these people she doesn’t know. She wants to be with Nick. Even if it doesn’t make any sense. If ever there was a time to push boundaries, to be someone she’s never been able to be, to stop making sense, this would have to be it.

  “Yeah.” She smiles. “I’m okay.” A stranger knocks her sideways and she steps on the tops of Nick’s feet. He puts out a hand to steady her, catching her on the side of her ribs and setting her straight beside him. “Thanks,” she yells. He smiles. She hopes he knows that she means it.

  CADEN

  Arthur is still asleep when they pass back over the bridge.

  The highway is all but deserted and the moon flashes in and out, low and orange between a quick series of green exit signs. Joe has the radio on soft, and every so often Caden can make out the hushed intonations of a sermon. Religious leaders of all denominations have taken over the airwaves, reading from sacred texts or preaching words of hope and consolation.

  He regrets it already.

  Not Camille. Not running away. He regrets letting Arthur find him. He regrets getting into the car.

  He’d seen the headlights from his hiding place, which, if he was being honest, wasn’t all that hidden. He’d camped out around the far side of the barn, just inside the beginning of the trail they’d taken to go hunting. There was a big cluster of rocks and he’d perched on top of the tallest one. He didn’t have a plan, other than never to go back.

  He’d heard voices in the driveway, heard the car rumbling down the dirt road. The lights cut across a section of brush and he saw the silhouettes of little creatures ducking for cover. His stomach was twisted in knots. He thought of the little boy he used to be, the prince, hiding from the dragon in the woods. Back then, he’d wanted to be found. Now, he would have given anything to truly disappear.

  The car stopped at the barn and he heard a door slam, then Arthur’s voice as he tramped across the field. “Caden!” He called for him for a good long while, over and over and into the darkness. “Caden!” After a while, Caden began to think how bizarre his own name sounded out loud.

  Eventually, Arthur began to get angry. He kicked a pile of dirt. He squeezed the sides of his misshapen head with his hands. “Caden,” he said. “If you can hear me, I need you to know that I’m leaving. I’m leaving, right now, and I need you to come with me. I can’t come back for you. This is it. I’m getting in the car, I’m waiting three minutes, and I’m driving away. All right?”

  He stood, frozen in the glare of the high beams, before climbing back into the SUV and shutting the heavy door.

  Caden weighed his options. There was something uniquely no-nonsense about his father’s voice, as if none of what had happened even registered as worthwhile anymore. He knew he could find his own way off the mountain—how hard would it be to find down—but what would he do once he got there?

  Reluctantly, he slid down the slippery side of the rock. He walked along the trail, the crunch of leaves and twigs a chorus of defeat underfoot. He avoided looking at Joe, who sat with his hands on the wheel, patiently awaiting Arthur’s next instruction. He pulled open the door and sat inside, preparing himself for a deluge of questions, a barrage of mortifying curiosity.

  But there were no questions. And if Arthur was curious about anything, he did a bang-up job of not letting on. He acknowledged Caden with a slight, courteous nod, tapped Joe on the shoulder, and they were off, winding down the sharp mountain road and back toward civilization.

  Now, as they near the coast, the star-studded sky stretching out before them, Arthur snores gently and his chin lolls deeper toward his chest. Caden looks back out the window. There’s a weird pulling in his stomach. He thinks it might be disappointment. Why couldn’t he be normal, for once? No, Camille wasn’t what, or who, he’d imagined, when he’d imagined his first time. But so what? What is he waiting for, now?

  It’s not like he didn’t want to. And it’s not like he was totally clueless, either. There had been a few girls at home. One actual girlfriend, even, the summer after freshman year. Ashley Hall. She had been in his advanced English class, before he got bumped off the honors track. They’d done a couple group projects together, and he could tell she thought he was smarter than he was. He tried to play along.

  She taught horseback riding to disabled kids that summer, and he would meet her at the stables to help clean up. They fooled around a lot, but she always stopped him when things got too close. She knew it was ridiculous, she said, but her older sister was a sophomore when she first had sex. She always thought she would be, too. She asked if he could wait a few months. Of course, he said. No problem. And it wasn’t.

  Until she cheated on him with a summer kid, one of the lifeguards at their favorite beach. He didn’t have proof, but word travels fast on an island. And the word was that Ashley and the lifeguard had done pretty much everything. Apparently, waiting just wasn’t her game.

  Everyone assumed that they’d slept together, Caden and Ashley, and, maybe because she felt like she owed him something, she let them believe it was true. Once it was out of the way, at least in theory, he could go back to holing up in his room, playing video games, or loitering on the docks with the stoner crew. He knew, or at least he hoped, that he would get back on track someday. He just wasn’t sure how, or when.

  And now he’s blown it. Twice. First, there was Eliza, on the beach. And now, his dad sets him up with a foolproof plan. All he had to do was show up. Show up, and not freak out.

  But he couldn’t even do that.

  The car slows as they pull into the driveway of Arthur’s estate, crunching over the seashell gravel. Arthur stirs. Maybe he won’t remember right away, Caden thinks. Maybe they can go back to the way things had been, back before Camille showed up, back when Arthur still thought Caden was worth getting to know. Before he discovered what a helpless, hopeless loser he had for a son.

  Maybe, just maybe, they could pretend it hadn’t happened.

  That it was all just another bad dream.

  * * *

/>   Inside, the house feels different.

  The big open rooms are dark and quiet, but there’s a lingering energy, like all of the furniture has been moved around and put back.

  “Luisa!” Arthur calls into the kitchen, as Joe shuffles their bags upstairs.

  Luisa scurries out from the living room, a confused look in her eyes. “Everyone is already outside,” she says in a whisper. “I didn’t know they were coming. Should I cook something?”

  Arthur shakes his head and unbuttons the sleeves of his shirt. “No, that’s all right. It’s late,” he allows. “Caden, come with me.”

  Caden follows his father through the foyer and into the kitchen. The pool is lit up, neon blue, and hanging lanterns cast a pale yellow glow around the yard. The sculpted hedges lurk in the shadows like frozen demons, waiting to pounce.

  As soon as Arthur swings open the patio doors, Caden hears the voices. Children’s voices, first. High-pitched squeals and splashes. Then other voices, boisterous chatter, the clinking of glasses in the dark.

  Arthur and Caden stand at the edge of the pool. All around them, men and women are drinking, laughing. A few are swimming, the pale glow of arms and legs squirming in the artificial light. “What is this?” Caden asks.

  Arthur puts an arm loosely around Caden’s shoulder. “This is your family,” he says.

  Caden feels a cool hand on the side of his face and turns to see a woman standing beside them. “Is that who I think it is?” she asks. She has dark, tanned skin like Arthur’s, and warm green eyes. Two little girls, wrapped in towels, run up alongside her, swinging her hands back and forth like she’s a machine. “Girls, he’s here!”

  Arthur bends down and picks the girls up, balancing one on each hip. “Would you ladies like to say hello to your cousin?”

  Suddenly, the splashing stops. There are no more squeals. The men stand frozen, drinks in hand.

  Everyone has turned to look at Caden. He feels like he should say something, but he can’t imagine what.

  “Hello!” the girls yell abruptly, in happy unison. The silence is broken and the crowd laughs, descending on him from all directions.

  The woman, their mother, is first. “Hi, Caden,” she says, holding out her hand. “I’m sure you don’t remember me. Aunt Sarah. Arthur’s sister?”

  Caden manages a smile and shakes her hand. “Hi,” he says. “I’m Caden.”

  He’s swallowed in another burst of laughter and his cheeks start to burn. Of course they know who he is. He was part of the family, once, smaller than the little girls, wriggling in his father’s tickling grasp just as they are now.

  Arthur passes through the crowd and continues the introductions. He guides Caden around by his elbow, his grasp warm and protective. One after another, new family members are paraded before him. Arthur’s brother, Louis, a dentist in Pittsburgh. Louis’s wife, Irene, and their heavily orthodontured preteen sons, Max and Liam. A couple of second cousins whose names Caden forgets before they’ve finished shaking hands. The little girls are twins, it turns out, Ella and Mae. Sarah’s husband is a bear of a man named Tobias. He sits ceremoniously at the head of the long patio table, like the Godfather.

  Seated beside Tobias is an older woman with thick black hair heavily streaked with silver. A shiny gold crucifix dangles around her neck, twinkling in the moonlight. “Hi, Mom,” Arthur greets her, bending to kiss her cheek. “Look who I found.”

  Arthur nudges Caden forward. The old lady grabs his wrists and shakes them gently. Her eyes are blue and watery and Caden worries for a second that she’s crying. “Caden,” she says. “Look at you.”

  Caden smiles, because that’s what you do when an old person is holding your hands. At least, he imagines it’s what you do. He doesn’t have much experience with the elderly. Ramona’s father died when Caden was six and her mother lives in Key West. She sends Christmas presents and calls on their birthdays, but he usually pretends not to be home.

  “The kids call me Nana,” she whispers to him, as if it’s top-secret information. “But you call me whatever you want.”

  Caden nods. “Okay,” he says. There’s something dreamlike about her, about all of them, he realizes. Like he’s seeing a glimpse of the life he could have had, the people who would have surrounded him on holidays, special occasions. The people who would have seen him grow up. Now, he’s just an older version of the little boy they barely remember. He finds himself holding on to the old woman’s hands longer than he’d planned, as if she might disappear. As if they all might disappear, this family he never knew he had, like a fading hallucination, a mirage.

  “Mom says we can go in, if you swim with us.” One of the girls is tugging on Caden’s wrist. He looks down and the other twin appears from behind his leg.

  “Will you swim with us?” she begs.

  Caden looks to Arthur, who lifts an eyebrow at the glassy water, egging him on. He doesn’t have a suit, but who cares. This time, Caden thinks, he won’t screw it up.

  “Why not?”

  He takes the girls’ hands in his own and leads them to the edge. Together, they jump in.

  SIENNA

  Sienna helps Owen gather splintered pieces of wood, adding them to the growing pile of kindling set back from the brickyard in the sand. All day long, people have been hauling enormous stacks of leftover materials and chucking them into the pit, preparing for the biggest bonfire the island has ever seen.

  It starts with a mellow crackle, but by the time Sienna has made her third or fourth trip down from the cluster of tents the fire roars, wild and hungry. The heat comes off in cautionary waves, and Sienna blocks her face from the grayish clouds of floating ash. She passes her offerings over to Owen and hurries back up the sandy cliff, back to where his friends have gathered.

  “Something’s wrong with your hands,” she hears a voice behind her. It’s Ted, and he’s pointing at her with a sloppy grin. “They’re empty!” He leans into one of the many cases of beer piled up beside his tent and tosses her two slippery cans.

  She catches them, one in each hand, and smiles. “Thanks.”

  Ted leans into his tent and grabs his guitar before heading off toward a clearing in the trees. Maggie is already up there, Sienna can see, playing drums on a makeshift set of overturned boxes and empty bottles, and a handful of other musicians—a banjo, it looks like, and a hulking upright bass, which Sienna can’t imagine was easy to hike with—are starting to warm up.

  Owen tugs at her hair, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Hey,” he says, warily eyeing her double-fisted drinks.

  “Here you go.” She offers him one. She doesn’t really feel like drinking. At home, she drank at parties when she was bored, or when there were things she wanted to forget, and she never much enjoyed it. Tonight, there’s an electric buzzing inside her, and she can’t imagine needing anything else to feel so alive. But she figures she’ll hang on to something, if only to avoid more attention from concerned onlookers, like Ted.

  Owen takes the beer and rests it back on the top of the crates. “No thanks,” he says. “But you go ahead.”

  Sienna smiles and adds her can to the pile. “No.” She shrugs. “I’m good.”

  Owen grabs her by the hand and they start toward the music, which has grown from quiet plucking to a sudden, raucous performance, like magic. People are up and dancing, and they have no choice but to join in.

  Sienna feels an anxious bubble in her chest. She hates dancing. She never knows quite what to do. But Owen makes the decision for her, placing one hand around her waist, and holding the other up to his chest, her fingers clenched tightly inside. They are the only people swaying like an old married couple, but somehow, it feels just right.

  “Why aren’t you up there?” she asks him, nodding at the impromptu stage.

  Owen laughs. “Some people think hiking with eighty pounds of musical gear on your back is a good time,” he says. “I’m not one of those people.”

  Sienna smiles, her head falling easily in
to the space beneath his chin.

  “And besides,” he says, his voice humming against her hair. “It’s sort of hard to play and dance at the same time. And I’d rather be dancing, with you.”

  Sienna tilts her head up to his, leaning in for a quick kiss. Suddenly, she feels a sharp elbow in her back and is thrust forward, nearly knocking Owen into a tree.

  “Watch it, Len,” Owen calls over Sienna’s head. Sienna turns to see a small group of guys, red-faced and wild-eyed, shoving each other on the edge of the cliff. Playful pushing has turned into angry shouting, and before Sienna knows what’s happening, Owen is at the center of the fray, holding his arms wide in an attempt to break the fighters up.

  The scuffle continues, and Sienna watches as Owen gets knocked down. Her chest feels warm and achy, as if she had been pushed herself. The music comes to an abrupt end, and Maggie is by her side, clutching her by the elbow.

  “Stand back here.” Maggie guides her, as the brawl intensifies and spreads out along the crater’s edge.

  “What are they fighting about?” Sienna asks, searching the faces, some now bloodied and covered in sand, for a sign that Owen is all right.

  “Who knows.” Maggie shakes her head. “They’ve probably been drinking all day. Everybody’s trying so hard not to feel things, you know? But really, we’re all scared. And it has to come out, one way or another…”

  “Knock it off!”

  Sienna turns to see a couple of older men, Rex and some of the other dads, sprinting up from the bonfire. They shove their way into the heart of the action and drag a few of the more aggressive fighters away by their elbows.

  Sienna feels her pulse racing, her breath short and fast. Where is Owen? There’s a hand on her waist and she nearly jumps.