Clearer in the Night

by Rebecca Croteau

  I started onto my old running route without thinking about it. Down the street, past all the other stuck-up Victorians, then turning into the trails, running a long circle around to another neighborhood, and then back. When I’d been in good form, it had been a decent half hour run, enough to keep me in shape during the off season.

  Two minutes in, I wanted to quit. My body had utterly forgotten how to do this. There was none of the peace that I remembered, none of the quiet meditation of one foot in front of the other; I was caught up with remembering pacing and form and to breathe at all, never mind breathing well. An embarrassing three minutes in, before the first song on my old playlist had even ended, I shuffled to a walk, heaving air like an elephant. I’d been good at this once, but it turned out it was one more thing I failed at now.

  Turning around seemed like the logical thing to do, and I almost did it. But something was stirring somewhere in me now, something that wanted to move more than it wanted to be still, something that knew it could run all day, if it just found the right pace. Cross-country had been my skill, back in the day; I couldn’t sprint, couldn’t leap, but I could run forever, once I got my feet and my heartbeat in the right pattern. Once I shut my brain off and started listening to my body. And that had been the magic of running, after all, right? Moving meditation, or something.

  So I walked until the crick in my side worked itself out, and then I pushed my feet into a jog again. Slower than I’d tried the first time. I’d have to start out slow, but I could do this. I could. I’d done it before, and I’d remember how.

  I kept my gaze low, focusing on the step in front of me, and then the one after that, and then the one after that. Just the next step, Cait. Don’t worry about what happens when your lungs tighten up again, and just run. Just keep moving.

  That’s probably why I ran straight into someone. When running, remember to keep your eyes up. At least every once in a while. When you stare at your own feet, you smack straight into someone, hitting them with a huge oof of force, and the both of you go down in an unattractive and painful tangle of limbs and elbows. He must have seen me coming, though; he wrapped his arms around me, and managed to roll us both towards the grass, instead of landing on the sidewalk, and take the worst of the fall. We ended up side by side, and I looked up as I caught my breath—then lost it again as I met Eli’s deep blue eyes and slight, almost teasing, smile.

  “Well,” he said, without loosening the circle of his arms. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  I almost relaxed. For no reason, for no sane reason, I almost let him hold me. And then I forced a laugh and pushed myself away. “Hey, sorry about that, I was—”

  He let me go, still smiling that secret smile. “It happens.”

  I sat up, collecting my arms and legs and detangling them from his. “Do you regularly get knocked over by girls who can’t be bothered to see where they’re going?”

  “Okay, it’s not an everyday occurrence.”

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” My tone was more accusatory than I’d meant it to be, but I let it stand. Because I was curious.

  He lied so smoothly that I almost didn’t notice. But the tightness around his eyes and the change in the tension of his smile were unmistakable. Plus, I knew. Trying to think too hard about it—trying to understand what he was thinking the way I’d study the pattern of his shirt—made my head hurt, and it felt like trying to climb a sheer cliff made out of glass, but still. I knew in the way that meant I wasn’t wrong. “I was just going for a walk.”

  “So you live nearby, then?”

  “It was a long walk.” The smile was fading, and fast. Why was he lying about this? Had he been watching me? Following me? And then the smile came back, all in a rush. “There’s really no point, is there?”

  “In what?”

  “Lying to you.”

  “I don’t appreciate it, that’s for sure.”

  He stretched out on the grass, his arms behind his head, like a surfer stretching out to catch some rays in a bad movie. “Of course not, no one likes to be lied to. But that’s not what I mean. I’m never going to fool you, am I? Do you always know when people are lying to you?”

  Right. Now I remembered why I didn’t like him. “I don’t read minds,” I snapped. Because admitting it was a one-way trip to the looney bin. It wasn’t possible. No way.

  He was flat out grinning now, but his eyes—they were the color of the ocean, deep blue and very cold—were serious. “I didn’t say that you did.”

  “You keep saying things about me. They’re not true. I don’t know why you’re saying them.” I hugged my knees to my chest. If I was going to sound like I was five years old, I might as well play the part.

  His smile faded, slowly, and he reached out and touched my knee with three soft fingers. I didn’t flinch away from him, but holding still took more effort than I’d expected when he moved forward. “I don’t know who convinced you that your gift is a curse, Cait. It isn’t. It needs to be honed, trained, so that you don’t do things you don’t mean to—but it’s a gift, all the same.”

  “I’m—I’m good at reading people. At understanding why they’re saying the things they are. I understand people. That’s all.”

  “Sure,” he said, but that sideways smile was back, and he was lying again. No—humoring me. Which was worse. “So did you get a chance to try out the book?”

  The book? Oh. “No. Mom had pizza and movie plans last night, and then I passed out.”

  “So you’re staying with her for now. That’s good.”

  Everyone sure seemed to think so. “I suppose.” He raised his eyebrows and waited. The silence stretched, until the words filled it up. “Mom and I have never been especially tight. But maybe we can fix that, this time.”

  “I know that the church prays for you on a regular basis.” My turn to raise an eyebrow, and he shrugged. “When your grandmother is a deacon, it’s hard not to attend on a regular basis. We’ve been worried about you and your mom for a long time. Things have been hard for the both of you for longer than is fair.”

  And that was the understatement of the year. There was something refreshing about being here, about knowing that he already knew the whole story, and that I would never watch as he absorbed the truth of my life, watch as his expression turned from interest to pity. Or, worse than that, fear that a tragedy like that could happen to him, too. And yet, people wondered why I opted for anonymous connections. It was so much easier not to have to explain. To just be a beautiful girl who loved to dance. To never watch that change happen.

  There was no pity in Eli’s eyes, though, no overwhelming urge to comfort. He just watched me, waiting. It was…nice. Safe. “Whatever,” I said. “It’s life. I’m just staying with her for a few days, until she believes I’m not about to die on her, and then it’s back to normal.”

  “Okay,” he said, in the kind of quiet, neutral voice that you use on suicide hotlines and people about to jump off bridges. “Try the book, when you get a chance. I think you’ll find it interesting.” He stood up, brushed himself off, and offered me a hand up.

  “You keep giving me reading assignments,” I said, but I took his hand and let him pull me up. Somehow, I ended up very close to him, and it would have been the most natural thing in the world for him to put a hand on my waist and close the distance, pressing his lips against mine. He didn’t, though, just smiled softly, and this time, his eyes warmed up, just a little.

  “Hard habit to break,” he said. I quirked my head sideways, not quite trusting myself to speak. “I teach. High school math.”

  I was still holding his hand. I was holding his hand, and there was something, passing back and forth between us. My heart was climbing up into my throat, my belly bursting with little sparkles. I took a deep breath, imagined kissing him, hard and hot, and then I let his hand go. I tried to keep the sorrow off my face as the connection faded, and I took a step back. There was no zing. He was not a guy I was allowed to zing for. He a
lready knew too much about me. And there was no point in pretending I was worth caring about, if you knew everything there was to know.

  “I guess I’ll see you around,” I said.

  He nodded. “At church.” It was an invitation and a statement.

  “Sure,” I said. I hadn’t been in years, not since I’d gone to college, and stopped teaching the little kids’ Sunday school class. They said they were open to everyone, but even that had to have limits. I was sure of it.

  I didn’t want to run anymore. But I didn’t want to go home. I walked past him, smiling, and headed down the road. I’d catch a bus into town, and head in to work. I’d explain to Sarah, my boss, what was going on, and beg for a few days off. She’d understand. Probably.

  A dozen steps along the road, I glanced back. I thought he’d still be there, watching me, but no. He was gone to wherever perfect men go when the women who don’t deserve them walk away.

  The barista job I’d come by the usual way, but the job at Rainbow Playschool had been a complete favor, and I’d gotten it through church. When I’d gone to our pastor, Pam, to let her know that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with teaching Sunday School because of my course load at school, she’d given me a sad look that was about way more than Sunday School.

  “Are you sure, Cait?” she’d asked, and I’d forced a smile.

  “Yeah. The kids aren’t getting enough of my attention, and neither is my school work. I need to work to be able to have some spending money, and there just aren’t enough hours in the day.”

  I was lying, and we both knew it, but she was good at her job, and didn’t call me on it. “You get a lot of joy from working with kids,” she said. “And you’re good at it. You know what they need almost before they do. That’s a gift, and—lights under bushels. We’re called to share our gifts.”

  I nodded. “I wish I could make it work. There’s nothing like being with the kids, and helping them turn such big things into understandable concepts. But I need to pick up another shift at the coffee shop, and I won’t have time to prepare for the class. The kids deserve better than that.”

  She’d studied me for a moment, and then smiled. “What if I can find a way for you to use this gift, and get paid, too?”

  “The church can’t afford to pay a salary, I understand that, I wouldn’t want them to.”

  “That’s not what I have in mind. Let me make some phone calls, okay? Check in next week.”

  I’d agreed, because I doubted it would come to anything. But when the pastor put her mind to it, she could move mountains, and three days later, Sarah Mitchell called me. She was another woman at church, but not one of the group that Mom was friends with. I liked her right away. She ran a preschool in town, and had been looking for a substitute teacher. Between my experience, and the recommendation from our pastor, Sarah not only decided to pay me to do something I loved, she also paid for the required coursework hours for me to get certified.

  And, most importantly, I still had two jobs where, if I just up and disappeared one day, it would be okay. There were people there to fill in the empty spaces. No one was relying on me. That was important.

  I called my pastor to say thank you, and she’d smiled right through the phone. “You just keep using that gift,” she said. “That’s the most important thing.”

  My phone told me that it was six forty-five. Parents wouldn’t start dropping their kids off for another half hour, at least, but I knew Sarah would be there already. I caught the next bus into town, and was at the door fifteen minutes later. I let myself in, and went back to the office.

  As expected, she was there, bent over paperwork, but she looked up when I came in. Her eyes lit up, and she wrapped me up in a hug before I could warn her that I was sweaty. She gripped me so tightly that she probably wouldn’t have cared anyway. “I’m so glad to see you. You look alive.”

  I laughed. “At last count, anyway.”

  “Sit down.” She gestured at the chairs in front of her desk; I took one, and she took the other, instead of going back behind the big, wooden monstrosity. It had been her dad’s, she said. She felt connected to him when she sat at it. He’d died when she was a teenager; she didn’t give me pity eyes when she talked to me. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I was out for a run—”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  She looked at me knowingly. I hated knowing eyes even more than pity eyes. No one had said it, out loud, ever, but it was common knowledge that Sarah was ten years sober, and I didn’t doubt for one second that that was one reason why my pastor had put us together. Sarah knew my life, and she never once told me I had to change, or do things differently, or anything. But she sat and listened a lot. I didn’t tell her much, but she listened anyway. Listened closely to what I didn’t have to say out loud.

  “I was out,” I said. Out was a kind of shorthand, one she’d figured out quickly. She’d gone out, too, before. For different things, but with the same result. “I decided to walk home. And then things got fuzzy. I don’t remember. I was out for days, I guess. The doctors think I was sick and didn’t know it. But I’m okay now.”

  “Were you drinking?”

  “No, of course not. I don’t drink.”

  “Drugs?”

  “Sarah. Come on.”

  “People don’t black out for no reason, Cait.”

  “There was a reason. I had a virus.” If you tell the same story, over and over, it starts to stick in your brain. It starts to feel real. Maybe, if I told this one over and over, I would forget about the monster that had torn me up. That would be good. Very good.

  “Were you safe?”

  “Always am.”

  Sarah raised an eyebrow, and I tried not to squirm. I’d been perfectly safe, after all. No sex, just groping. You didn’t need condoms for groping.

  “Apparently not.” She leveled a long look at me, and I met it. I wanted to drop my eyes more than anything, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. “I want you to take some time off.”

  “What? No way, Sarah, I’m fine. The doctors said I’m fine. I went for a run this morning and everything.”

  “Take a week,” she said. “Get yourself together.”

  “I’m together. I’m fine.”

  Another of those long moments, and then she smiled, so kindly. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Caitie.”

  “Don’t call me that.” She flinched at my tone, and I took a deep breath. “No one calls me that anymore.”

  “Sorry,” she said, and she honestly meant it. She laid her hand over mine, and the pressure behind my eyes increased exponentially. “I want you to take a week off, Cait. I have been where you are, and when you start blacking out, things can go downhill fast. Take a week, think about where you are, and where you want to be. If there is anything in the world that I can do to help, I will. You know that, right? Day or night.”

  “I don’t need any help,” I said, and she was graceful enough to just smile and let it go, instead of pointing out how incredibly fucked I was in that moment. “I’m staying with my mom,” I said, in my patented ‘changing the topic’ voice.

  “How’s that going?”

  “She’s really messed up, Sarah. Something’s seriously wrong.”

  She nodded. “I’ve heard some worrying things.”

  “I’ll help her get things straightened out. Okay? And then I’ll be back.”

  “Ever hear of securing your own oxygen mask first?”

  I rolled my eyes like a kid. “Good-bye, Sarah. Love you, take care, and call me if there’s an emergency, okay?”

  “No,” she said, as she stood up and hugged me. “See you in a week.”

  The bus ride home was awful. That twisting and turning had resurfaced, and I tried to ignore it. It was like ignoring the sun. I was going to shake right out of my skin. I curled up into myself and tried not to look any more like a drunk needing a fix than I had to.

  There were things that Sarah and I didn’t
talk about, not exactly. She never told me to stop dancing, stop sleeping with strangers. I never felt like she disapproved, or looked down her nose at me. I did feel like she knew where I’d been, and that she had somehow gotten past it. I thought that was awesome, and sometimes, I wished I could do the same. It wasn’t that the sex was bad. The need for it, though. The sense that I was only myself when I had some stranger throbbing into me. The truth that, more and more, I couldn’t feel anything unless I felt someone else all around me. I’d think of how Sarah had gotten free of it all, somehow, and I’d tell myself that I could do the same thing. I could think of myself as worthwhile.

  And then I’d have a night where I was itching out of my skin with thoughts that I wasn’t allowed to have—about my mother, my father, my sister, my life—and what the hell else was I going to do to numb myself? Because it wasn’t possible to co-exist with my mind sometimes. I’d shatter into glass fragments, and no one would be able to put me back together again.

  But the way she’d looked at me in her office, with those sad, soft eyes. It made me nauseated and scared. And like I might burst. Or collapse.

  The ride into town had been short; the ride back took ages longer, it seemed. When I got off the bus and walked back to the house, my legs were cold, and my joints were full of ground glass. All I wanted was to crawl back into bed and sleep until tomorrow. Or the next millennium. Either would be fine.

  At home, I pulled open the front door, and Mom descended like a whirlwind. Her sharp hands clutched my shoulders and shook me, hard, twice. “Where have you been? Where did you go?”

  “Hey,” I shouted, pushing her away. She must have been off balance again, because she stumbled into the opposite wall of the hallway, rattling the perfect pictures that had been perfectly square. “What the hell, Mom?”