I wasn’t running away. I was doing the exact opposite. I was going back to the place where it had all begun. Because Albee had a twenty-four-hour bus depot, I bought a ticket to Underwood and hopped on a three-hour bus ride that would take me back home. Again, I was doing it alone. No one knew. I didn’t even wake Arielle to tell her. I left her with a kiss to her cheek and made my way through the snow.
Three hours to reflect, to store more memories, to remember not only the past, but the here and now.
Then the ride came to an end. I disembarked with a handful of exhausted passengers to an overcast sky and snow-covered ground. I trekked the two miles in the cold, keeping to the side streets that were so familiar to me, intent on getting home.
The streets were empty. No cars drove by. It must have been the cold and the snow and the time keeping people indoors. Should I have been worried someone might come along and harass me? For some reason it didn’t concern me. Maybe the pepper spray in my coat pocket helped.
The walk didn’t take long, or maybe I tricked myself into thinking that because of my resolve to reach my house. The cold didn’t bother me either, although my toes started to go numb. That’s what I got for wearing sneakers and not snow boots.
I finally reached my old street, glancing up at the blue rusted street sign. I walked down the familiar sidewalk. Nothing had changed since the summer. The majority of the houses had lights on or holiday decorations for Christmas. They and the streetlamps guided me to my house, the only one totally dark, without any lights or decorations. The only one with a For Sale sign on the front lawn.
I stared at the front of my house even as a light combination of rain and snow started. The sign said Under Contract on it. I rocked back on my heels. It wasn’t because of the wind—Dad had never told me someone had bid on the house.
And the hits kept on coming. I kicked the wooden post. Anger at Dad for keeping such important information from me blocked the chill. I was tempted to call him and give him a piece of my mind. But then my trip down memory lane would end too soon. Instead I studied my house and the trellis next to my bedroom window. I had once tried to climb down it just to see if I could, especially if I ever wanted to sneak out at night. I almost broke my neck doing it.
From the outside, everything about my house was the same. It hadn’t changed, even though I had.
Since I didn’t have my house key on me, I had two other options to get inside. The back window was faulty. I could easily lift the screen open and then the window. Using the ladder in the garage, I could climb in the open window. But the garage door was way too loud to open. Someone might hear and think a burglar was breaking in. The other option was the spare key hidden under a brick near the grill on the deck. Hopefully it was still there.
I walked around the side, clomping through the six inches of snow and sleet, intent on getting out of the cold. I went up the deck and to the covered grill, finding the loose brick on top of some others. They had been there for years. Dad had never removed them. Lucky for me, the key to the side door was hidden under them.
Now chilled to the bone with feet like stones, I hobbled to the side door, pushing the key into the lock. When the lock turned and the door opened, I sighed in relief.
The house was warmer than outside, but not by much. I made my way through the dark. I entered the kitchen and turned on the small light over the cabinets. When it came on, I started to relax. It would have been rough without electricity. Then I turned up the heat at the thermostat on the wall.
I went upstairs and straight to the bathroom. I didn’t bother to turn on the lights, but I did turn on the shower. As it warmed up, I waited until steam filled the room. Taking off all my clothes, I climbed into the shower and sat in the tub with my knees tucked to my chest, trying to defrost. Suddenly the reason I was here crashed over me. All my doubts and anguish took over. I trembled while I sobbed, squeezing my eyes tight in the hopes it would stop my crying. But it didn’t.
I stayed in the shower a long time, confused and lost, wondering what the hell I was doing and if I would ever find the peace I desperately wanted.
Chapter NINETEEN
MY SNEEZE rattled me awake. I rolled over on my back, the covers falling over my head as I sniffed. Great, now I had a cold. It made sense, since I’d trekked outside in below-freezing temperatures. And my crying probably hadn’t helped either. But I didn’t have to go anywhere. I could stay here in my bed all day and sleep if I wanted to. Or until someone discovered me missing.
Then my cell phone pinged, and again. I didn’t turn it off or silence it before I fell asleep. Lowering the sheet and blankets, I squinted at the window. Morning had arrived, a much brighter one than yesterday.
Stretching, I winced at the tightness in my muscles and my clogged head. My cell continued to annoy me with its beeping. Scooping it up from the bedside table, I wiped my nose, scrolling through the text and numbers on the screen. Most of the texts were from Arielle asking me to call her. A few were from my cousins, and one from Aunt Eloise wanting to know where I was. I imagined their voice messages frantic with worry. Eventually I would call to say I was safe, but for now I wanted to be alone.
I laughed. Now I was fine alone, when so many times before I would have complained to myself about how I hated it. I was so messed up.
My cell phone pinged with an incoming call from Matilda. I didn’t answer. I set my phone aside and lay back down, but I didn’t get far. The doorbell rang, interrupting my solitude.
The ringing didn’t stop. I didn’t expect it to. Matilda was tenacious.
Pushing aside the covers as I grumbled, I walked downstairs to the front door. Peering through the peephole, a phlegmy chuckle filled my mouth. Matilda held up a box with the name of my favorite bakery.
I unlocked the door and motioned her inside.
“ONE OF the things I miss is our Saturday morning doughnuts together.” I finished off my jelly doughnut and snatched another one. I was starving, and I didn’t care if I was a pig for eating seconds.
Matilda sipped the tea she’d brought with her. It was a good thing she didn’t drink it with milk, since I didn’t have any. She didn’t complain. But while I scarfed down the sweet fried dough, she ate her blueberry muffin more slowly.
“I’m surprised you answered the door. But you wouldn’t turn away Sweet Hearts. They’re one of your biggest food weaknesses.” She broke off a piece of her muffin and nibbled on it.
I took a huge bite of my doughnut and chewed. “You got me there. I expected you to show up at my door sometime today since I didn’t come see you at yours.”
“I came over right after your aunt called me. You just left and didn’t tell anyone where you were going?” She shook her head and tapped her fingers on the table, showing her disappointment.
“I’ll call my aunt later. Right now I just want to hang out with you and pretend we’re—”
“Charlie, you have to stop pretending, or whatever it is you’re doing.” Matilda took off her glasses and pinched the middle of her nose. “At least you’re here to confront the past, which will help you in many ways.”
“Help me?” I dropped my doughnut on my plate. “Sometimes I think I’m beyond all help.”
“Don’t think that.” She set her glasses on the table and claimed my hand, sticky and grainy with sugar. “If you were beyond all help, you wouldn’t be here with me. You’d be back in some hospital refusing to move from your bed, or under the ground like Byron.”
Ouch. I flinched, but my body felt numb. I wasn’t sure how to respond. I was here because I just needed to be. I had to do something, because if I didn’t, I would obsess about Byron’s death and the questions surrounding it, including my part in it, even if I wasn’t directly responsible.
“I can always count on you to give me a swift kick in the ass.” I squeezed her hand. “You were the one who got me to leave my room after the rape. You were the one who visited me in the hospital after my suicide attempt. You were so pissed
at me. I couldn’t believe how loud we screamed at each other, and me telling you to fuck off.”
Her lips tilted up in a sly smile. “The highlight was that security guard coming in with one of the nurses, ready to throw me out, but I refused to leave.”
Laughs sputtered from my mouth. “You actually climbed on my bed and held me. But then my dad arrived before they separated us.”
Matilda nodded, her smile still in place. “He was totally shocked by us.” She widened her eyes dramatically and dropped her jaw.
I laughed harder. His reaction had been priceless.
She let go of my hand and traced the rim of her cup. “I never told you, but as I left the hospital, your dad stopped me. He hugged me and thanked me for making you laugh and standing by you. I… I….” She blinked a few times and stared past my shoulder. “Later I sat in my car and broke down in tears. If I had lost you—”
“You won’t lose me. I promise you I won’t be stupid again and harm myself.”
“You better not.” She sniffed and studied the table. It took a lot for Matilda to get angry or become overly emotional. I should count myself lucky I had her in my life, and as such a good friend.
“I owe it to you and so many others to get better. My aunt Eloise and my cousins, Tris and Jo, have done so much for me.” I inspected the table, looking for the imperfections there. “There’s also someone new in my life I want you to meet when you come to visit me. I mentioned her a few times. Arielle a new friend of mine.”
“Just a friend?”
I peered up at Matilda, who was putting her glasses back in place. “She’s more than just a friend.”
“Please tell me you’re careful with her,” she said with restraint, almost a politeness I’d never heard from her.
“I’m not going to throw my heart and trust so willingly to her like I did with Larissa.”
“Larissa didn’t deserve your blind trust and loyalty. I never understood why you gave so much to her.” She frowned.
“I can’t explain it either. She was a bad decision.”
“One that stole so much away from you and almost got you killed.” She started tapping the table again.
“You can’t blame her for what her brother did to me. She also lost something special that night.”
“Like what? Her precious reputation?” She huffed and shook her head.
“Not only did she lose me but the hero worship she had for her brother. He robbed from her, almost like how he stole my virginity and tore me in two. Now that he’s killed himself, he’s ripped his family apart even more. His actions took him away from her forever.”
“Are you forgiving him for what he did to you now that he’s dead?” Her voice rose in disbelief.
“I’m not sure if I’m ready to forgive him, even though he’s dead. But his death is a reason I’m here.”
“Why are you here, Charlie?” she asked in a much softer tone.
I rubbed the scar on the inside of my wrist, wishing, always wishing it wasn’t there. “I want to visit his grave and hopefully find peace.”
“YOU DIDN’T have to come with me.”
“Shut up. You thought I’d let you come to the cemetery alone to visit your rapist’s grave?” Matilda hunched down in her peacoat beside me as we walked on the main path leading to the middle of the cemetery.
“A block of marble can’t hurt me. I just hope his family doesn’t visit. It would be really awkward.” Knowing my luck, his parents would visit. That was one interaction I didn’t want for all parties involved.
“That’s why I came. I’ll keep watch.” Matilda blew into her mitten-encased hands.
I could count the number of times I had been to a cemetery on one hand. The first time was for my mom. After was for both sets of grandparents, who died within ten years of one another all of various illnesses or perhaps of broken hearts, especially my maternal grandparents, who never recovered after the death of their only child.
That familiar wave of grief and depression spread inside me. I paused, shutting my eyes and concentrating on my breathing. I made my mind go blank and rested my arms at my sides, my hands going limp.
“Charlie, are you okay?” Matilda brushed my arm, bringing me out of my meditating state.
“Just finding my balance,” I whispered, keeping my eyes closed.
“We don’t have to do—”
“I stopped because I’m thinking of all the death in my life.” I opened my eyes and blinked, bringing my awareness back.
She stepped back, breaking our connection. “Huh?”
“I’m not trying to be morbid, considering where we are, but I’m just thinking of the people I loved who died, like my mom and grandparents. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a cemetery.” I wiped under my stuffy nose. “The sad thing is, I didn’t think of my mom until now, or want to visit her grave.”
“You’re at peace with your mom and don’t have unfinished business with her,” she said with confidence, taking my hand again and tugging me ahead.
“You’re sure of that?” I tightened my grip around her.
“When you mentioned your mom, the strain lines in your face disappeared.”
“It’s taken me a long time to think of her and not get upset.” I lifted my scarf higher to block the chill.
“If you want, we can visit her grave,” she said with a question in her voice. She left the decision up to me.
“Let’s see how I feel after being here.” I let her guide me in the right direction.
We kept to the right side of the walkway, passing rows of various-sized graves, some with flowers, some not. When we got to the end of the row, she stopped. The last gravestone had a small mound of dirt and snow. Various types of flowers and plants encircled the area.
I moved forward until I stood in front of the marker. It was like any other gravestone. It had Byron’s full name, dates of birth and death, and an inscription below it: Beloved Son and Brother.
I stared at the square slab of gray marble for a long time, until my eyes watered. Soon my feet and nose grew numb. Then my throat and head started to ache.
“Why did he do this to himself?”
“Straight-up guilt for what he did to you,” Matilda said.
I hung my head to my chest. “He had so much to live for, even after what he did to me. If I can live, why couldn’t he do the same?”
“But the outcome was different for you.” She slid her arm around my waist. “What would have happened if your father hadn’t found you in the bathroom when he did? What if he found you too late? Would I be here, standing in front of your grave instead?”
“I would have stopped even if Dad hadn’t found me. I-I wasn’t strong enough to go further.”
“You are strong because you didn’t slash your other wrist!” Matilda jostled me.
“But it doesn’t stop the disgust and hate I have for myself.” I lifted my face up to the sky, rolling my head across my shoulders. “I blamed myself for being in that situation.” I broke away from Matilda, rubbing the sides of my head. “They must blame me for his death.”
“No one blames you for what Byron did, including me.”
Larissa’s voice rang out behind me, a sound I had once cherished but hadn’t heard in over a year.
LARISSA PUFFED away on her cigarette while she jiggled her foot. Previously she had smoked here and there, more when she drank. Now she sucked on the cigarette like someone who smoked every day. I’d never been a fan of smoking, including the harder stuff. But the way she smoked, I wanted to join her because she looked so good doing it.
Pain and suffering had made her even more beautiful. You could never tell she had suffered a tragedy or the death of a sibling. She was as perfect as the last time we’d talked, which had been filled with angry words and accusations. She still had the summer tan, even in the dead of winter, and healthy, highlighted blonde hair framing her face and shoulders.
We sat on the bench a few feet from Byron’s grave. Matilda
stayed close, watching us from under a tree. All I had to do was call for her and she would come running, ready to protect me from Larissa. Not that I thought Larissa would physically touch me, but she might use her words to cause me grief.
“Is this the first time you’ve been back since… what? August?” She exhaled a plume of smoke.
“I never meant to come back here, but Matilda told me what happened to your brother.” “Sorry for your loss” was on the tip of my tongue, but it was a reflex, a subconscious impulse to express sympathy. I didn’t feel right saying it.
“What if I called you to tell you Byron killed himself, and I wanted to see you? Would you have come?” She flicked away the ash from her cigarette.
“Matilda told me back in September you wanted to speak to me about your brother. We couldn’t talk because of the settle—”
“Fuck the settlement. It’s a moot point now, with Byron dead.” Her voice was like whiplash, a crack that put me on edge.
I sunk my hands deeper into my coat pockets and breathed behind my scarf instead of speaking. I let her finish her cigarette, keeping my mouth shut even when she threw her cigarette butt to the ground.
She kept glancing at Byron’s grave. Before she’d asked me to sit with her, she had replaced the dried flowers with a bouquet of yellow ones.
“Why did you want to speak to me back in September?” I asked.
“Would you believe me if I said I missed hearing your voice?” She tucked both her hands under her arms and crossed one leg over the other.
“Is that a trick question?”
Snorting, she lowered her face, allowing her hair to make a curtain and hide her expression. “I did want to hear you again, but I had another reason for wanting to talk to you. Byron was never the same after he… hurt you. He barely passed freshman year and stopped playing baseball. He lost weight and became antisocial. Before he left for his sophomore year, I found him one night in the pool house, drunk. He said he hated himself and didn’t know how to keep on living.” She hunched down farther in her seat, her face practically swallowed up by her coat. “A few weeks later he drove drunk and crashed into a tree.”
Rage to Live Page 20