Tumble & Fall

by Alexandra Coutts

  “I know that,” Carly says. “He left because he’s an asshole and he had more important things to do with his life. Do we have to talk about this again?”

  Caden shakes his head and Carly glares at him. “What?” she asks. “Are you guys best friends or something now? You got that kidnapping disease where you fall in love with your captor?”

  Caden sits back in his seat. “Can you let her finish, please?” He looks at Ramona and gives her an encouraging nod.

  “We do have to talk about it,” Ramona starts again, with difficulty. “Because it’s not the truth. And Caden thinks, we both think, that the truth is important, now. Just like I don’t want to go up against, whatever we have to go up against, tonight, as a pathetic, miserable drunk, I don’t want to be there as a liar, either.” She bites her lower lip and traces the pale lines of a water stain on the table with her finger. “So, here goes. After Caden was born, things with me and Arthur got really … messy. We were both unhappy, all of the time. I loved my son, we both did, but it didn’t make us a family. At least, not a real one. And instead of trying to fix anything, I ran away. I ran away, and I started … seeing … other people. I was a wreck. And then…” Ramona forces herself to look up at Carly. “And then I got pregnant.”

  Carly stares back at Ramona, frozen in her seat. She doesn’t say a word.

  “I didn’t know what to do,” Ramona says quietly. “I came back. I came home, and I told him everything. He knew the baby … he knew you weren’t his daughter, but he stayed anyway. He stayed as long as he could,” she says, a thick, phlegmy bubble caught in her throat. “And when he couldn’t do it anymore, he left. But it wasn’t his fault. Because I left first. And then I lied to you. To both of you. And I’m sorry.”

  Carly looks at her small hands in her lap. She picks at the frayed bottom of her short jean skirt. Caden watches as the skin around her lips gets splotchy and red, the way it used to when she was little and on the verge of a tantrum. “Why?” she says softly, and coughs. “Why did you lie?”

  Ramona sniffs and sits back, resting her head against the wall behind her, beneath the spots of chipped paint where a poster was long ago torn down. It was a copy of a painting, Monet, or Manet, Caden could never remember which, the kind you’d buy in a museum gift shop. Ramona and Arthur had bought it together. It managed to survive years of screaming insults, as if it were somehow to blame for all that had gone wrong.

  Then one night, when Caden was eleven or twelve, during one of her infamous, drunken fits, Ramona had ripped the poster from the wall and stormed onto the deck, holding a match to one curled end. Caden watched the growing flames from his bedroom. He remembers thinking he should do something. But there was something about Ramona, waving a flag of fire, her eyes wild and her hair a tangle of moonlit curls as she tossed it into the soggy grass … he couldn’t move. She was beautiful.

  Ramona’s eyes are wet and cloudy. “I lied because I couldn’t give you another reason to hate me,” she says. “I couldn’t be the bad guy all of the time. It was wrong. It was disgusting. And I’m sorry,” she says, a single tear trailing down her rosy cheek. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  Caden reaches for his mother’s hand across the table. Her fingers twitch and tremble and she hides them in her lap.

  He looks sideways at Carly, who is still studying the tops of her knees. Her lower lip quivers slightly but her eyes are dry and steady.

  There’s a sharp drop in his gut. The silence is too much. What has he done? All of his life, Carly and Ramona have been a team. A dysfunctional team, where one carried the other almost every step of the way, but they were together. They were a family. And in one moment, with one demanded confession, he’s screwed it all up.

  Carly pushes her hands into her thighs and stands. She trips over the leg of her chair and it makes a sharp squealing sound against the floor. Caden wants to move, wants to stop her from leaving, but he can’t. He’s done enough already.

  But Carly doesn’t leave. She walks slowly around the table and stands over Ramona’s shoulders. She puts a hand on the top of her mother’s head. Ramona looks up, her eyes hopeful saucers. Carly pats her hair in short, gentle strokes, and she smiles.

  “You’re not a bad guy, Mom.”

  Ramona wraps her arms around Carly’s tiny waist, pulling her onto her lap. Caden coughs and looks away. He feels like he’s eavesdropping on a conversation he started and abandoned.

  “And you’re not so bad either,” Carly says to him from across the table. “We’re all okay. Okay?”

  Caden looks at his sister. He wonders how something so small can be so resilient, so indestructible. “You’re not mad?” he asks.

  Carly smiles and shrugs. “Mad?” she repeats. “Why would I be mad? Nothing’s different. You can’t lose something you never had,” she says. “And to be honest, I’m kinda psyched about it.”

  Ramona raises an eyebrow and looks at Carly with suspicion.

  “You are?” Caden asks.

  “Yeah.” Carly nods, twirling a long strand of Ramona’s hair in her fingers. “No offense, Cade. But your dad sounds like kind of a dick.”

  SIENNA

  The day starts, hot and humid.

  Sienna sits out back with Denny, the patio table covered in piles of wildflowers, picked on the long beach walks she and Dad had been taking all week long. They’ve been hard at work for an hour, creating bouquets and arrangements for an arbor, the as-yet-to-be-built structure beneath which the wedding ceremony will be performed, later that night on the beach.

  They’ve been working mostly in quiet. In fact, the whole house has been shockingly calm since Sienna’s arrival. When she walked in, late last night, trembling and exhausted from her trek across the island, Dad got up from the couch where he was sleeping and wrapped her in a hug. No words. There was nothing left to say. She was home.

  Ryan was in his room. As soon as he’d heard the squeal of the screen door, he bounded down the steps and into the living room. But even their reunion was understated. He hugged her shyly around the waist, told her three important facts about rattlesnakes, and shuffled back upstairs. As if he never doubted she’d make it home in time.

  “What about these?” Denny asks, holding up long stalks of wild lavender and beach grass. Sienna is surprised to find Denny so calm, almost peaceful-looking. She remembers back to that first dinner, when even the mention of the asteroid was enough to send Denny running off in tears. Dad was right: a project of some kind was exactly what they’d needed, all of them, to stay busy, to keep from thinking too much.

  Just like Owen. Sienna feels a sharp pain piercing her ribs. She can’t even think his name without suffering some bodily ache, a physical reminder of his absence. But every time she feels a pang of missing him, she takes a breath and remembers the truth. It’s not Owen, not really. The power of her feelings has less to do with anything real between them and more to do with the strange and terrifying chemistry of her brain.

  “Nice.” Sienna nods at the flowers, forcing herself to snap out of it. She reaches for some of the long-stemmed Queen Anne’s lace. “Maybe with a few of these?” she suggests. The delicate white heads of the flowers poke sturdily through the thin green stalks, adding the perfect matrimonial touch.

  “I love it.” Denny beams. She sets one bouquet aside and begins work on another. Sienna wipes a fine layer of sweat from the back of her neck. It’s not even noon and already her skin feels like it’s roasting. A thick, fluttering panic settles in around her heart as she imagines the rest of the day. She closes her eyes and tries another deep breath. There’s a hand on her shoulder and she feels the cool of Dad’s shadow fall over her face.

  “How’s it coming out here?” he asks, eyeing the messy floral spread.

  “It’s coming,” Denny sighs. “But I think I need a break. Who wants lunch?”

  Denny wraps a slender arm around Dad’s waist and leans in for a quick hug. Dad kisses the top of her blond hair tenderly and holds her close bene
ath his chin. Sienna tries not to look, but somehow the display doesn’t bother her. This is what love should look like, she thinks. Quiet, practical, serene.

  Dad pulls up one of the heavy patio chairs and sits down, his long legs stretching out into the grass. “Thanks for doing this,” he says, folding his hands in his lap and leaning back. Sometimes Sienna wonders what Dad must look like to people who don’t know him, his tall frame, long neck, the almost absurdly perfect waves at the front of his sand-colored hair. They probably think he’s a politician, or an actor. She’s seen people visibly reassess him when he starts to speak. He looks like his voice should be bigger.

  “Sure,” Sienna says. She watches Denny through the window, starting a salad. “She seems to be doing a lot better.”

  Dad follows Sienna’s eyes and smiles. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It was tough for a while there, but she’s really been great. Even with Ryan.”

  Sienna nods and Dad takes a deep breath, sadly shaking his head. “It’s hard, you know. We want to be there for you guys, we want to pretend like we’re not afraid, like we know what the hell is going on…” He sighs with a shaky half smile. “But the truth is we have no idea.”

  Sienna tears a few long leaves from a flower stalk and wraps them around her fingers. “I know,” she says. “I never should have left, Dad. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  Dad sits forward and palms the cap of her knee with one wide hand. “You’re here now,” he says, a grateful smile lighting up the corners of his blue eyes.

  Sienna nods. She already feels the lump in her throat, but she pushes it away, determined not to be distracted by tears or emotion. “I want you to know,” she says quietly. “I think you were right.”

  “Right about what?” Dad asks.

  “About me,” she says. “I wasn’t thinking straight. If I had been, I never would have left you and Ryan.”

  Dad clasps his hands together and leans forward in his chair. “Goose…”

  “Dad, I’m just like her,” Sienna interrupts him, her voice cracking. “I know it. You know it. And, as much as I hope that nothing happens today, that the whole thing was some gigantic mistake and we just get skipped over, or passed by … part of me is kind of relieved it might be the end. Because I know what would happen. I know who I’d be.”

  Dad clears his throat. She can see the beginnings of tears in his eyes, and she knows she should stop, she knows the last thing he wants to think about is Mom, or either of them being sick, but she can’t. “It’s just scary, you know. I was doing everything I could to get better. The House, and the meds … and I thought things were changing, and then all of a sudden, it’s like I had no control over anything again. Like I was just taken over by this thing, this thing that was so much bigger than I was, and bigger than anything I could ever think my way through, or talk myself out of. And no matter what I do, that thing always wins.”

  Sienna sighs unevenly, desperately trying to steady her voice, to keep herself calm and stable. She looks at the patio stones, wishing she hadn’t said anything at all. Soon, it will all be over. What’s the use of talking about a future she probably won’t ever get to have?

  “Goose,” Dad says again. Sienna looks up. It takes her a few seconds to make sense of what she sees on his face. He’s not crying. He’s smiling. And not a sad, helpless smile, or a smile because he doesn’t know what else to do. A real smile. He shakes his head and makes a strange noise. Sienna can’t be sure, but she thinks it’s in the family of laughter.

  “Dad?” she asks. “Are you okay?”

  Dad nods and covers his mouth with one hand, like he’s afraid of getting caught. He takes a long, deep breath and rubs his hands on his knees. “You know the story of how I met your mom, right?” he asks.

  Sienna raises an eyebrow. Of course she knows the story. It’s her favorite. She used to make Mom tell it at least every other night. “Yeah,” she says uncertainly. “You were in law school and she was working in the library. You asked for a book that didn’t exist.”

  “Right,” he says. She wonders if he’s going to retell it anyway. How he spent weeks inventing an amalgam of various textbook titles and contributor names, something that sounded realistic and would keep Mom busy, keep them busy together, for as long as it took for him to work up the courage to ask her out. “But I don’t think you know what happened afterward.”

  “What do you mean?” Sienna asks. “You asked her out and she said yes. You dated for a while. You got married. You had kids.”

  Dad squints into the sun and rolls up the thin sleeves of his button-down shirt. “Sort of,” he says. “I mean, that’s all technically true, but there was a whole other phase there in the beginning that was really, and I mean, really, intense.”

  “Intense?”

  Dad nods seriously. “It was awful. The loss of appetite, the endless nights of not sleeping a wink. The last-minute scheming and planning, anything for us to spend more time together. It was the first time I’d seen anything like it, this all-consuming, totally unpredictable, totally irrational obsession. It was … well, I didn’t know it at the time, but it was a sickness. I had no idea what to do. I was terrified.”

  Sienna looks back at the ground, her eyes now wet and threatening to overflow. “I know,” she says, almost whispering. “That’s what I’m saying. I’m just like her.”

  “Goose,” he says again, still smiling. “I’m not talking about your mother. I’m talking about me.”

  Sienna looks up quickly. “You?”

  Dad nods. “I was sick. We were both sick. We were crazy. We were in love,” he says. “And sometimes, that’s what it looks like. When you’re young, or even just out of practice, it can hit you like that. It feels like you’re going insane.”

  Sienna thinks back to their fight in the front hall. She imagines Dad on her bed, counting her pills in his hand. “But … you thought I…”

  “I know I did,” he says. “I was wrong. I was worried. I was afraid of losing you again, before I had to. But the more I think about it, the way you’ve been since you’ve been back, the way you just described how you feel … you’re not manic, Sienna. You’re not sick. You’re in love.”

  Sienna looks at Dad closely. She tries to imagine him twenty years younger, following Mom in the library like a puppy dog, staying up all night wondering when he’d see her next. It’s hard, but if she really tries, she can see it. She remembers the way her parents used to bump into each other in the hallway, or on the stairs, far too often for it to be an accident. They’d always stay locked together, swaying for a moment, like they were dancing to music only they could hear.

  “I’m not saying you’re not like her,” Dad says quietly. “You’re a lot like her. She was the most passionate, hard-loving, loyal person I’ve ever known. You’re all of those things.”

  Sienna crosses her arms. “What about … what happened to me? What about what I did?”

  Dad’s smile fades and he looks at her, strong and steady. “What happened to you is that your mother got sick. You lived with things that nobody should have to live with, saw things that nobody should see, at any age. It nearly killed me, Sienna, watching her go through all that. And I was a grown man, a grown man who knew what I was getting into. You were a little girl. If it hadn’t affected you in some horrible way, if it hadn’t made you question absolutely everything around you…”

  Sienna doesn’t have time to stop the tears anymore. They’re falling fast, her nose wet and runny. Dad reaches across and pulls her head toward his. “You’re the strongest person I know. You kept this family a family, all by yourself. And when you needed me, when you needed somebody to take care of you, I wasn’t there. That’s my fault, Sienna. That’s where I went wrong. And it had nothing to do with you,” he whispers into her ear. “Okay?”

  Sienna buries her face in her father’s shoulder, unable to speak. She doesn’t know if she believes him, but she almost doesn’t care.

  Sienna wipes her e
yes as Dad gets up to help Denny at the door. She’s struggling with a platter of sandwiches and fruit salad. Even Sienna is impressed at how appetizing she’s managed to make the rations and few staples they have left in the fridge look on one of Mom’s shiny silver trays.

  Dad calls for Ryan and Denny sets the platter on the table. As she’s pouring the lemonade, Sienna’s gaze drifts over her shoulder to the muted blue of the hydrangea bushes that line the stone path.

  She hops up with the scissors, crouching in front of the thickest blooms and snipping a handful of full, blue globes.

  Ryan races to the table, bug book in hand, and Dad follows closely behind. Sienna joins them with an armful of flowers, adding them to the pile of delicate grasses and herbs on the table.

  “These, too,” she says to Denny. She takes a tangy sip of lemonade and helps herself to a sandwich.

  ZAN

  Zan climbs barefoot to the cliffs, settling into her spot against the boulder.

  From up here, she can see the long stretch of beach below, and the preparations already under way. At the inlet, Dad and a few former students are digging a pit in the sand where his Forgiving Wheel will soon sit on display. Mom and Joni are walking to Split Rock, already two tiny figures against the shiny backdrop of ocean and cloudless sky.

  Mom and Joni are walking to Split Rock. She squints harder to make out their shapes, identically tall, dark, and lean, as if maybe the whole thing has been a dream. No part of her had even dared to hope that Joni would actually come home, let alone suggest some time alone with Miranda. An afternoon mother-daughter stroll. Zan laughs. It’s nothing short of a miracle.

  “Of course you can be dead and still pull off something like this,” she says quietly, to Leo’s empty rock beside her. She stares at the horizon, remembering how she used to imagine his face on the water, or try to redraw, in her mind, the way his body felt, slouched into the cliff against hers. Now she doesn’t see him at all. She feels him somewhere else, somewhere far away, but she knows that he can hear her. That he’s been waiting for her to come back.