Tumble & Fall

by Alexandra Coutts

Zan sighs. “Yeah,” she says. “Sort of.”

  She did find something. She found out how little she knew how to trust, even the one person who had never given her anything but reasons to do so. She found out how easily she could forget everything that ever mattered. She found out that she was right to love Leo as hard as she had. As hard as she still does, and always will.

  It doesn’t much feel like it, but she found Joni, too. Or, she got close. Closer than any of them had been in seven years. She’s tempted to tell Miranda. At least it would be something. Something to make Zan feel important, worthwhile.

  But she knows it wouldn’t do any good. It would be only out of spite, a way to say, Remember Leo? Who was never good enough? Look what he did. Look what he did for me. And somewhere, even though there’s a part of Zan that wants to make Miranda hurt, wants to make her feel the way she feels, she knows it wouldn’t be fair. Ever since Joni left, Miranda has been trying to forget her, forget the daughter who wouldn’t be boxed in. The daughter who was strong enough to choose the life that she wanted, instead of the one Miranda had decided would be hers.

  Why remind her of all that now? Why remind her that somewhere, not so very far from where they are sitting, Joni is out there. Just a few phone calls away. Leo had found her. And who knows what happened, who knows if they ever really met, but considering that she hasn’t turned up, it’s safe to assume that still, even now, Joni doesn’t want to be found.

  Miranda takes one final sip of her tea and stands, carefully tucking her chair back beneath the lip of the table. “I don’t know if your father told you, but we’ve planned a gathering at the beach tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow night?” Zan asks with a bitter chuckle. Tomorrow night. Sunset. The asteroid. Leave it to Miranda to insist on planning even the end of the world.

  “Yes.” Miranda brings her mug to the sink. “It’s important for everyone in the neighborhood to be together. To have a place to go, and not be alone. I realize you might not care about this community, but I do. We do. Your father will bring his new installation. We’ll have a picnic. It will be…”

  Zan holds her breath. If her mother says nice, or lovely, or anything complimentary and meaningless, she is going to scream. Literally scream, until her body shakes in silent, empty spasms, until there is no sound in her left.

  “I hope you’ll join us,” Miranda says instead. She rests her cup in the sink and passes through the kitchen to her bedroom, where Daniel has been asleep. He sleeps through everything. Miranda, on the other hand, is an insomniac. Zan has spent countless nights lying awake in bed, listening to her mother puttering in the kitchen, making tea, flipping through the pages of the local paper. Sleeplessness was the one thing they’d always had in common, though, naturally, it had never been discussed.

  Zan sits in the quiet, listening to the relentless plink plunk of the dripping faucet behind her. She’s no longer hungry but roots around in the pantry anyway. She takes an open bag of trail mix back to the table and begins picking out the Brazil nuts, to be discarded into the trash. She smiles sadly, thinking of Gretchen, who finally found her soul mate. At least something worked out for someone, she thinks.

  She stares at the old grandfather clock in the living room—11:53. In just a few minutes, tomorrow will be here. A sudden, cold fear shocks her inside, all the way down to the smallest bones in her feet. They’d had so many warnings. So much time to prepare. And where had it left them? Was anything better? The world was still ending, and nothing made sense. Nobody had been able to tell her why Leo had to die. Or where Joni was. Or why she and her mother could never have an actual conversation. These were the things she’d always imagined she’d know, somehow, before it was her turn to stop living.

  She sits with a handful of sunflower seeds in her palm, a new, anxious tightening at the base of her throat. She hasn’t cried much since the news came, the news that nobody knew how to process. How do you think about the end of the world? Where do you file it away? It never seemed to settle anywhere near the place where the tears were hiding. Or maybe it was her. Maybe she’d run out of tears, having spent months and months crying for Leo, and for herself without him.

  There’s a shuffle outside. At first, she thinks it’s an animal. The slow, steady crackle of dirt and gravel. Steps. But bigger than a skunk. Or raccoon. As they near the front door, Zan looks up. The handle, a rusted brass swirl, is turning. Nobody’s doors are ever locked on the island, and suddenly, Zan wonders why not.

  She hops quickly to her feet and stands behind her chair, as if to use it as a weapon. The door creaks slowly open. In the dark, Zan can only make out the boots, tall black leather with glinting silver buckles.

  “Hello?” a voice whispers. “Zan, is that you?”

  Zan drops the handful of seeds and nuts in a scattered pile on the table. She runs to the living room and turns on the lamp by the couch. Standing in the door, her long dark hair tangled beneath the thin straps of her flowing dress, is her sister.

  Joni, who wouldn’t be found, had found her.

  CADEN

  Caden asked to be dropped at the beach.

  He couldn’t go home, not yet. It didn’t feel right to wake them up in the middle of the night, bombard Ramona and Carly with the news of where he’d been, and what he knew.

  He slept on the beach, by the boulder, where he’d slept so many nights before. The steady thumping of the waves on the shore had lulled him quickly to sleep, and he woke as the first rays of misty sunlight glowed from behind the dunes.

  Now, he takes a deep breath as he starts up the unpaved driveway. He still doesn’t feel ready, but he has no choice. He can’t put it off any longer.

  The first thing he notices is the trash. Or, more accurately, the lack of trash scattered across the overgrown lawn, usually tumbled from the overturned rubber barrels, listing at one side of the house.

  The barrels, now, stand tall, empty, and almost proud—if trash can be proud—at the bottom of the steps, complete with matching lids. Lids that Caden is pretty sure he’s never seen before in his life.

  As he looks closer, he sees that the lawn, which he hadn’t before considered much of a lawn at all, is no longer overgrown. The grass has been cut back and actually glistens, green and healthy. Even the squat ceramic pots that usually serve as ashtrays have been cleaned out and planted with tiny pink and purple flowers.

  Caden looks back at the road, and then up to the house, disoriented. The house is his house, there’s no doubt about that. The cracked asphalt on the flat roof is still cracked; the busted heating vent that sags near the basement is still both sagging and busted. But the overall vibe as he approaches the front door is definitely, substantially, better.

  Carly must have been on some kind of home-improvement rampage, he figures, fueled by grief and denial. He shakes his head and starts up the back deck. The glare of the sun off the sliding glass doors is bright and blinding, and the piercing shrill of Ramona’s scream seems to reach him from everywhere at once.

  There’s a discombobulated clatter as Caden turns to see his mother, falling from a rusted chaise lounge. She’s barefoot, in a red-gold nightgown that matches her hair, and her skin is sun-kissed and shiny. She runs to him across the plywood decking, throwing her arms around him and burying her head under his chin.

  “Thank you thank you thank you,” she’s muttering, more to the air than to him. Caden wants to hug her back, but his arms are pinned to his sides, and he’s still trying to make sense of it all—the healthy yard, the flowers, the clean, fruity scent of shampoo in Ramona’s soft, wavy hair.

  When she finally releases him, she pushes him back to study his face. He looks into her eyes and is shocked by what isn’t there: no heavy lids, no sick, glassy sheen, no red at the corners. Just the startling blue of her irises, and the subtle shine of real tears around them.

  “Hi, Mom,” he says.

  She shakes his elbows and the tears spill over onto the tops of her cheeks. She falls into his che
st again, but this time he wrestles free and hugs her close, the sharp points of her shoulders tucked under his arms.

  “I knew you’d come back,” she breathes. “I knew it.”

  Caden runs his hands through his own hair, greasy and thick. He catches his reflection in the glass. It’s been days since he’s showered, and his clothes, though still stiff and new, hang on him in a way that looks unnatural.

  He takes a deep breath, steadying himself for the wrath that is sure to come. For all Ramona knows, he’s been at some nonstop rave, high off of whatever he could get his hands on, with no plans to ever return.

  But she doesn’t yell. She doesn’t accuse. She wipes her eyes carefully with the insides of two fingers and smiles.

  “Are you hungry?” she asks. She pulls open the slider and Caden follows her into the house, his eyes splotchy from the sun. Even in the dark he can feel that it’s spotless, the kitchen counters glistening, no dirty dishes in the sink. “There are leftovers from dinner last night. The Lowes brought us over some more veggies. I made a stir-fry.”

  “You cooked?”

  Ramona pulls her hair back and ropes it into a bun. She smiles from behind the open fridge. “We’ve had a big week around here.”

  “I can tell,” Caden says. Is she really not going to ask where he’s been? “Where’s Carly?”

  “She’s at the Center, one of her meetings…” Ramona pulls out a Tupperware container and spoons the contents into a bowl. “I told her to skip it. Such a gorgeous day. But you know how she is…”

  She moves quickly, sticking the bowl in the microwave and jabbing at some buttons. The yellow light flickers on as the tray inside vibrates and spins.

  “Mom,” Caden starts. There must be a tell in his voice, a small signal that he has something serious to say. Before he can take another breath she’s rushing across the kitchen to his side.

  “Caden, no.” She pushes him into one of the mismatched chairs at the dining room table and sits in another, gripping his forearms with both hands. “You don’t have to say anything, okay? We don’t have to do this. I know why you left.”

  “You do?”

  Ramona nods. She’s stopped looking him in the eye, staring instead at the insides of his wrists, the palms of his slender hands. “Of course,” she says. “I probably would have done the same. You didn’t deserve this. You never did, either of you, but especially not at a time like this. You were scared, and confused, and I wasn’t here for you at all. I was the one who ran away first, you know? Without ever getting off that couch, I left you both. And I’ll never forgive myself for that. Okay?”

  “Mom…”

  “I know that. And I know you can’t forgive me, either. There isn’t enough time. There would never be enough time. But the second night you didn’t come home, Carly was here with me, and something just snapped inside. I couldn’t keep doing it, Caden. I made you leave, and I had no idea if you were coming back, but I knew I had to change. No matter what happened, I knew I couldn’t spend whatever time we had left the way I’d been living. I know it sounds stupid, and, maybe not like very much, but…” She looks up at him and works on a smile, weak and careful and heartbreaking. “I haven’t had a drink in four days.”

  Caden swallows and peels her fingers from around his wrists, holding them together in his palms. “It doesn’t sound stupid,” he says gently. “It’s really great, Mom.”

  The smile gets stronger and she squeezes his fingers. She looks happier than he’s ever seen her look in his life.

  “But you’re wrong,” he continues softly. “I didn’t leave because of you.”

  Ramona turns her head and the makeshift bun falls out, long tangled strands of her hair falling to her elbows on the table. “You didn’t?”

  Caden shakes his head. “Actually, I didn’t leave at all,” he says. “I was taken.”

  “Taken?” Ramona asks. There’s a wild glint in her eyes all of a sudden, like she already knows, like somewhere, deep down, she’s always known it would happen someday. “What do you mean you were taken?”

  “Dad,” Caden says simply. “He had these guys come get me at the beach one night. They knocked me out with something and brought me to his beach house on the Cape. He’s got this whole bunker thing, he thinks he’s going to survive the asteroid down there, and he wanted me with him, I guess.”

  Ramona stares at him blankly. Caden hadn’t given much thought to what she’d look like when he told her, but now that the moment is here, he’s surprised. She doesn’t look shocked, or scared, or outraged. She looks, mostly, sad. Sad and sorry. Like she was the one who threw him in the back of a car and locked him up.

  “He had all these crazy ideas.” Caden almost laughs. “He thought we were gonna, like, bond, or whatever. I think he really, truly, believed it, like he wanted me to be all grateful and, I don’t know, happy to be there.”

  Ramona nods quickly. “Were you?”

  Caden scoffs. “No,” he says. “I mean, I guess there were a couple times when I was, like, curious, maybe. He took me to his lodge, trying to show off, and we played catch in Fenway Park…”

  “You did?” Ramona asks. Her eyes are teary again and she’s pursing her lips together, so hard that the color in them drains to a clear, pale white. All of a sudden, Caden knows what the sorry face is about. She’s sorry he was kidnapped, sure, but she’s also sorry he had to wait so long. Sorry it’s the first time he’s spent with his father, the first time they cooked a meal together, the first time they played catch. Sorry, because she knows it’s mostly her fault.

  “Mom.” Caden holds her hands tighter and looks her hard in the eyes. “He told me what happened. He told me about Carly.”

  Ramona hangs her head. There’s a patch of faded gray spread out along her center part. “Shit,” she says quietly, to the speckled linoleum floor.

  “Is it true?” he asks. It’s not like there’s a part of him that believes, or even hopes, that it isn’t. He wants, he needs, to hear her say it out loud.

  Ramona stares at the floor for a long moment. “Yes,” she whispers. “It’s true.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell us?” Caden asks. “Did you really think it would make a difference? Carly is my sister.”

  “I know,” Ramona says. “I didn’t do it for you. Or Carly. I did it for me. As long as you didn’t know the truth, I had an excuse. I could be broken, and useless, because I got left behind. I didn’t do anything wrong. It doesn’t make sense, but in a way I guess it did to me.”

  Caden takes a deep breath. He wishes this could be the end of it, but he knows it’s not. “It’s not fair, Mom,” he says. “She deserves to know the truth.”

  Ramona nods. She untangles her fingers from Caden’s and grips the tops of her knees. She still hasn’t looked up. “You’re right,” she sighs. “I’ll tell her.”

  “Tell who what?”

  Caden looks over Ramona’s head to the deck. Carly stands with her hands cupped over her eyes, her face tight and squinting as she tries to identify the dark shadows on the other side of the screen door.

  “Hey, Carly,” Caden says, clearing his throat as she steps inside the room.

  At the sound of his voice she flings herself toward him. He opens his arms, as if to catch her in a hug. But she’s not interested in hugging, and he quickly realizes he’ll need his hands to block the fast, sharp blows she’s delivering to his shoulders and face.

  “You stupid, fucking asshole,” she screeches, battering him with slaps and closed-fist jabs. Caden dodges her as best he can, folding her arms together and pinning them across her chest.

  Ramona stands off to the side, holding her face in her hands. “Carly,” she says. “Carly, stop.”

  “Stop?” she shouts. “Why should I stop? He has no idea what he put us through. He doesn’t care about anybody but himself. He’s selfish. You’re so fucking selfish, Caden, you know that? You’re a selfish little baby who doesn’t care about his family. And you know what? We don�
�t care about you. We don’t need you. This week has been … incredible. Right, Mom? Tell him how much better everything has been since he left.”

  Ramona shakes her head and covers her face with her hands. Carly struggles to catch her breath, and Caden holds her, feeling her small lungs fill and empty, her shoulders heaving up and down.

  “Carly,” he says finally. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my fault.”

  Carly sniffles, something between an angry chuckle and a sob. She wrestles free from his hold and slaps his hands away. “Of course it wasn’t,” she spits.

  “It wasn’t,” Caden insists. “I was with Dad. He took me and he wouldn’t let me leave. I had no choice.”

  Carly freezes. “What?”

  “I know.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asks, falling into a chair behind her.

  Caden shakes his head. “That’s what happened, I promise,” he says. “I wanted to come back. I wanted to call. But…”

  Carly waits for more. Caden glances at Ramona, standing with her back to them, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling above the electric stove.

  “Mom?” Caden prompts. What’s the use in dragging it out?

  Ramona leans against the countertop and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, okay,” she says. She steps one bare foot on top of the other and presses down, knees bent, as if she’s trying to jump out of her own skin.

  “Yeah, okay, what?” Carly asks. She eyes Caden searchingly. “What is this?”

  “Mom has something to tell you,” Caden says. He tries not to sound like a brat. It’s not his secret, not his place. But all of a sudden he feels in control, like his family is something in need of attention and safekeeping and he’s the only one able to provide it.

  Ramona joins them at the table. She sits across the table from Carly and looks her in the eyes. “Carly,” she says. “You know how much I love you, right?”

  Carly rolls her eyes. “Jesus, Mom, yes,” she sighs. “Please just tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “Okay, okay.” Ramona wipes at imaginary crumbs on the table, scooping them into her open palm. “So. When your father left … Arthur, when Arthur left … he didn’t just, you know, up and leave us. For no reason.”