Waking Rory

by Elizabeth Jeannel

  “I know what you’re doing, Even, and it’s not going to work anymore.”

  I sighed.

  “I will get through to you,” Nash continued, but he knew he’d already lost my attention again.

  I turned away from Nash to count the parking meters again, but there weren’t any. We were heading out of town. I looked to Nash, who had finally gone quiet. Sure, now he didn’t want to talk. Now that I was wide eyed and curious, he was all done.

  Gordon pulled into Chance and Coy Airport a few moments later, and my stomach tied in knots.

  Oh, shit. He was shipping me off to boarding school. Or military school. I couldn’t decide which was a better option.

  A few turns later, and we were under a rather large awning, with Autumn, Nash’s assistant, beeming at me through the car window.

  Autumn was rather underdressed that day, or as underdressed as Autumn ever was. Her hair was up in a messy bun, and she was wearing a t-shirt and dark wash jeans with her four-inch heels. Her makeup was done, but I could still see her freckles poking through on her nose, and the hairs falling out of her bun were a vibrant red.

  She gave a swift wave. Why was she always in such a good mood? It was only 4AM. Who was in a good mood that early? Autumn, and the other Autumns of the world, that’s who.

  Gordon came around, and Autumn stepped back as Nash climbed out of the car. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to move. Maybe if I was quiet enough, I could hide in the trunk.

  “Everything is set,” Autumn said to Nash, as she checked something off the clipboard in her hands. “Anything else you need me to handle before we head out?”

  “Just the luggage.” Nash gestured to the suitcases and garment bag Gordon was grabbing from the trunk.

  “And you already packed some things for Even?”

  “We did what now?” I asked, looking between the two of them. They turned toward me like they might have forgotten I was there.

  “You didn’t tell her.” Autumn sighed, reaching for the garment bag and suitcase Gordon had just set down next to Nash. “You handle that, and I’ll have Gordon load these up on a cart for us.”

  Nash nodded, eyeing Autumn as she left. When his attention turned toward me, he cleared his throat and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He leaned his arm against the top of the door frame, looming over me. I hated how small that made me feel.

  “I am headed to France for the summer to assist our branch there with their charity gala, and to work on a few other things.” He let out a sigh. “And you’re coming with me.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but Nash held up his hand.

  “You will be interning with the company for the next three months, and if you do well, we can discuss our plans for you in the fall. If you step out of line, you’ll be attending boarding school in the fall.”

  I swallowed hard.

  “And, if you get into any trouble while in France,” He sighed. “You’ll be headed right back here, spending the rest of the summer in juvi. Sound good?”

  I looked down.

  “Answer.” He snapped. It wasn’t angry, really. He was just tired. I think in his own way, he was trying to teach me something about respect, but he was going about it wrong.

  “Okay.” I muttered.

  He scoffed. “’Okay.’”

  “What?” I asked. “That not a good enough answer for you?”

  His jaw tensed, but he dropped his voice down almost to a whisper. Too many business types around, maybe. “You think I get away with ‘okay’ to my colleagues?”

  I shrugged. I wasn’t his colleague. I noticed his knuckles were whitening with the grip he had on the door. I really needed to quit the Nash button-pushing game.

  “So we are clear, ‘okay’ is not an acceptable answer.”

  I let out a sigh. I didn’t even mean to, it just slipped out.

  “You’re pushing it, Even.” he growled. “You need to wise up. The way you act is disgraceful, not only to me, but to your parents and their memory. Do you know how absolutely disappointed they’d be knowing all the trouble you’ve been in, drinking, doing drugs—”

  “It was just weed. It was one time.”

  “I know about the pills, Even. I’m not stupid.”

  I looked down at my chipped, black nail polish and clenched my teeth. The pills. Depression medication that I bought from someone at school. My one attempt at a healthier form of self-care, and he was pretending he didn’t know I wasn’t popping pain killers or Xanax.

  “Your parents didn’t raise a criminal or a druggie. Is that what you want? To be a homeless addict, living on the streets, selling themselves for a hit? Because hanging out with the people you do, that’s where you’re headed.”

  “I’m not a druggie.”

  “What do you call someone who does illegal substances?”

  It was like talking to a brick wall. I shrugged. He fumed.

  “Disappointed doesn’t even begin to cover it at this point.” He sighed, apparently letting the anger dissipate. “I’m surprised at you, drinking. With what happened to your parents, I’m surprised you touch the stuff.”

  He had a lot of room to talk. He had whiskey everywhere, including the car. I eyed it, he followed my gaze and let out a sigh. When I looked back up at him his face had softened slightly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small device, tossing it my way.

  I examined it. “This is a kid’s phone.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” He nodded, grinning wide. “I’m going to treat you like a child until you start acting your age. It only makes calls to me, your boss, and emergency numbers. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 3

  If you’ve never been to a private airport, there’s a few things you should know. It’s not super fancy, lavish, or overly decorated, and most of the benefits of using them are for pilots. The only real benefit is the lack of line, lack of baggage checking, lack of, well much of any major security. From the moment Gordon pulled into Coy and Chance Airstrip, to the moment I was buckling in across from Nash, it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes.

  There wasn’t a lot of waiting in line, no TSA searches, and I’m pretty sure they didn’t even check our bags. Which was good because I’d put my cigarettes in my guitar case, and my fake ID was tucked into my bra.

  Nash handed some paperwork to the desk clerk, and we were sent to our terminal. The McCoy terminal, only used by the McCoy plane. I couldn’t even imagine how much it cost to keep his name on that parking space. If I was honest, I didn’t want to know.

  As we made our way across toward the white and maroon vessel, our tiny crew seemed already to take off. A single attendant took my bags, but I insisted the guitar and backpack stay with me. Nash didn’t notice. Our pilot was speaking with some of the staff from the airstrip outside. Nash and Autumn headed right toward the stairs and onto the plane.

  I looked up at it for a moment. The Miranda. Conveniently named after my mother, but I’m pretty sure this wasn’t the original McCoy plane. My dad, a rather skilled pilot, had loved to take my mom out for fun. But his plane had been smaller than this, or so I thought. I’d only ever seen photos.

  “Even?” I heard Nash call from inside, a slight hint of worry in his voice, though I couldn’t be sure. I don’t think he’d ever been worried about me.

  “Coming,” I called.

  I climbed into the plane behind them, holding tightly to my backpack and guitar. Inside, the seats were maroon to match the exterior lettering, as was the carpet floor, and the exterior of the compartments.

  With a large amount of effort, I choked down a scoff at Nash, who already had a glass in his hand full of dark brown liquid. Whiskey? Brandy? Couldn’t be sure, but I didn’t really care. He was always drinking, which only made his anger at my drinking seem misplaced.

  “What?” he asked, as if I’d said the words aloud.

  “Nothing.” I shrugged. “Where do I sit?”

  The plane had a total of twelve seats,
all placed well apart with the ability to turn and face the group for better conversation. I only hoped Nash didn’t expect me to speak to him on this flight. Twelve hours. I had twelve hours in a confined space with my uncle, with whom I’d long ago run out of things to talk about. Safe topics anyway.

  “Wherever you’d like.” He gestured. “It’s just us.”

  Perfect.

  Autumn sat toward the back, her computer already out, along with some files she was working on. I chose a spot in the middle, knowing he’d likely choose one close to me. Of course, I was right. Once I’d made myself comfortable and the pilot stepped onto the plane, Nash took a seat directly across from me.

  Something about the way he was sitting, his jacket unbuttoned, his tie nowhere in sight, and his posture less rigid, gave me hope that maybe, just maybe, this flight wouldn’t be so bad. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but sighed and closed it again, leaning back in his chair.

  “You’d best buckle in,” he said, pulling out his computer. Typical.

  The pilot gave the usual spiel, and within a few minutes we were prepping to take off.

  Planes were the worst. As we began lining up with the runway, I started my grounding ritual, but I had to do it a total of twelve times before we were in the air. What could I see? What could I smell? What could I hear? What could I taste? What could I feel?

  The last thing I needed was to have a panic attack on a plane with Nash.

  Take-off was smooth, despite all the fear I had about it. It was quick, but it still made my ears pop and gave me a pressure headache. Nash didn’t seem bothered at all; he kept typing on his computer like nothing had even happened. I guess when you fly twice a week you get used to it. I didn’t feel like I’d ever be used to it.

  The silence on the plane was deafening. The only sound was that of Nash and Autumn typing away on their computers. I didn’t know either of them well enough to know if it was safe to watch a movie while they worked. So, I pulled out a book instead.

  This grabbed Nash’s attention. He looked over with a raised eyebrow as I pulled the book from my backpack. As if someone who causes trouble on a daily basis can’t make time to read. Joke was on him, I read stories that taught me how to cause trouble.

  I didn’t feel safe getting out my sketchbook here. It was mostly sad sketches and poetry, but that didn’t mean I wanted him reading any of it.

  At some point, I dozed off. It had been a long night, after all, and we were headed to an entirely different time zone. I wasn’t prepared for Nash or Autumn to see just why I stayed out at night—why I got so little sleep and needed to drink to numb the pain.

  The thing about trauma is that no matter how far you are from it, no matter how much you try to move on, it’s still buried deep in your subconscious. You know where you go when you dream? Your subconscious. And, as it turns out, mine liked to take me back to the worst night of my entire life, over and over.

  I was in the car—my parents’ car. I could feel the metal crushing in around me. Through the tiny hole near the window, I could scarcely see anything. All around me was silence.

  In the distance, I caught a glimpse of something—something moving. It had an orange glow about it. It was something near the size of a coconut, and it was buzzing through the air. It zipped about, like a bug might do.

  I blinked a few times. The orb was getting closer to the car now. There was something faintly familiar about it.

  As it grew closer, the tightness of the metal around me seemed to intensify. It felt like a giant had taken ahold of the car and was squeezing it tight. I couldn’t move my arms anymore. I could barely breathe.

  I was going to die.

  I writhed against the grip on my arm shaking me awake as I looked up at Nash standing over me. My face was wet. Hell, my whole body was wet. I was breathing really fast. I looked around.

  I could see the maroon seats, feel the blanket around me, smell Nash’s cologne, taste the sweat from my upper lip, and hear the roar of the wind outside the plane windows. My breath slowed. I swallowed hard.

  “Even, it’s only a dream, you okay?” Nash’s face was twisted with concern. He almost looked like he was going to hug me. Nash didn’t hug.

  “I’m fine.” I shrugged, standing up, forcing him to step back. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “Toward the back,” he said numbly, “Even, if you need to t—”

  “I’m fine.” I snapped, rushing toward the back of the plane, passing Autumn, who looked up with wide eyes but didn’t say anything.

  I would not let them see me cry.

  “Even,” Nash called after me, softly, a tone of voice that didn’t even sound like him. “That wasn’t fine, but I think you know that.”

  I did, but I wasn’t going to admit that to him.

  “Can you please talk to me?”

  I stopped, just shy of the bathroom door, and turned. I knew there were tears in my eyes, and I wasn’t sure if I cared anymore. He’d already seen me crying anyway. “I guess now you get why I do the drinking, huh?”

  I stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind me.

  Chapter 4

  “Even, you can’t stay in there the rest of the flight. We still have four hours left.” Nash’s muffled voice echoed through the cracks in the door of the small plane bathroom.

  For a while, Nash had given me some space, but he was back. From the sound of his voice, he was standing across the small hallway. I’d been sobbing for the better part of an hour. Partly out of embarrassment and partly from the emotions that always came when I had that dream.

  I knew both Nash and Autumn could hear me. It’s not like we were in a huge plane, and the walls were paper thin. The only saving grace was the endless sound of the wind outside, but even that wasn’t as loud as I’d remembered it as a kid. I had just reached a very specific form of mental exhaustion where the embarrassed side of me lost to the side of me that needed to fall apart.

  “Don’t you have something better to do?” I replied, wiping the mascara that had been rubbed all the way up to my left eyebrow ring. “Go take a phone call or answer an email.”

  I heard an exaggerated sigh. “The calls can wait.”

  That was a first. I opened the door to the bathroom before I thought better of it. “Why?”

  Nash was standing in front of me, jacket removed, leaning against the wall across from the bathroom, looking more casual than I’d seen him in years. He didn’t look angry, but more importantly, he didn’t look drunk. It was, most likely, the first time Nash had ever looked concerned.

  “Because…” He paused, letting out the nervous hitch in his breath. “I feel like we need to talk.”

  “About the nightmares?” I asked. “Because I’ve had them for years. It’s always the same, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “When? You weren’t ever home.”

  He stiffened. That hurt, clearly.

  “If I’d known you were dealing with trauma after the accident, I would have—”

  “What, Nash?” I scoffed. “You would have tucked me in every night, made me breakfast each morning, been a dad?”

  “Even—”

  “No, you know, what? I get it. I’m a burden on you, and you can’t wait to be rid of me.”

  “No, that’s not—”

  “Do you even know what happened in the accident?” I was eyeing him, for a hint of recognition.

  He shook his head.

  “I was pinned in the backseat floorboard for over six hours before anyone drove down that road.” He looked up, eyeing me intently. “Mom died instantly, but Dad could’ve—they said he was—and I could hear him. He couldn’t move, but he was looking for me, Nash. And I couldn’t—”

  Nash reached to me, and I let him. I let him wrap me up in a hug that made me feel at home again. He was so much like my dad in so many ways despite how much he wasn’t. And I just sobbed like that, Nash holding o
nto me for dear life.

  When we landed in Lyon, France, it was 1AM. Which was perfect for me, because I was exhausted. Gordon had stayed behind in Seattle, which meant we had a temporary driver in France. I hated new drivers. I could barely stand it when Gordon took a day off, much less dealing with someone entirely new for the summer.

  He wasn’t a bad driver, though. And he was quiet, didn’t take his eyes off the road.

  He dropped Autumn off at a hotel, but Nash wouldn’t let me out of the car. Instead, he insisted I stay, and the driver took us toward the house we’d be staying in.

  It was raining, coming down in fits. Nash talked briefly in the car about getting a quick nap in before we had to be up for work. With how wet it was, I could have been fooled into believing we’d never left Seattle at all. Except for the architecture, which was much too beautiful even in the dark to have possibly been in Seattle.

  He seemed different after the plane. Not once from the moment I woke up from that nightmare to the time I was climbing into the car with him did Nash take a phone call. He was watching me. For once, he was the concerned uncle he should have been all along, and I hated it. I’d grown accustomed to loneliness.

  Inside the house was beautiful in that modern way. Everything was white or black, tall ceilings, sleek lines. It was like Nash had brought his apartment with him. There was a small kitchen, three bedrooms, and two bathrooms, much more than the average vacationer could hope for. The living room was filled with practically brand-new furniture, and at the center, a large piano. I rolled my eyes.

  Nash loved putting me around pianos. He’d even taken the liberty of buying one for his own apartment, so that I might use it if I wanted. If I had my way, I’d never touch the piano again.

  I scoffed and heaved my bag and guitar past the piano toward the hall. I left the biggest room for Nash. It had it’s own bathroom and a massive king sized bed. I settled for the smaller one up the hall, closer to the front door, with a whole bedroom between me and him to grant me at least one ounce of privacy.