Knight (An Impossible Novel)

by Sykes, Julia

  She speared me with a significant look.

  “After everything you’ve been through, don’t you think you deserve happiness, Lydia? It seems to me that you’ve been chronically concerned with pleasing the people around you for your entire adult life. You need to live for yourself. Your loved ones will be happy to see you happy, even if they aren’t entirely comfortable with your choices.”

  I bit my lip, unsure.

  “So you think I should divorce Tuck and try to work things out with Smith?”

  “Even now you’re more concerned with how your actions will affect other people than you are with doing what you want to do. What I think doesn’t matter, Lydia. What matters is that you do whatever will make you happiest. You said you feel like your marriage has kept you from having the life you wanted for yourself. Now that you have your life back, don’t you think you owe it to yourself to live it as you want to?”

  “I… Don’t I owe it to the people I love to ensure their happiness after I’ve caused them so much grief?”

  “You can’t ensure anyone’s happiness but your own,” Dr. Stanger said firmly. “You can’t allow your own happiness to hinge upon theirs, because it’s not within your power to change the people around you. It’s time for you to live for yourself, Lydia.”

  I was still turning Dr. Stanger’s words over in my mind that afternoon as I pulled the cherry pie that my mom and I had baked out of the oven. She was seated at the island countertop in the center of the kitchen, knitting a scarf for me while watching me all too perceptively. I could sense some motherly advice coming, and I decided to duck out before the barrage of questioning could begin.

  “Is Dad in his office?” I asked quickly as I removed the oven mitts from my hands. “I should let him know that the pie will be cool enough to eat soon.”

  Mom snorted. “If you tell him, good luck getting a piece for yourself. You know he’ll devour the whole thing if you don’t fight him off with a fork.”

  My grin was genuine. Dad could put away pastries. I had no idea how he stayed as trim as he did. I had always lamented the fact that I hadn’t inherited his metabolism, but now I was glad of it. Thanks to the copious amounts of baked goods I had been consuming, I was putting some weight back on. My clothes still didn’t fit quite right, but they weren’t hanging off of me either.

  “Well, you’d better go ahead and arm yourself, then,” I warned my mom as I headed towards Dad’s office. “I’m telling him it’s ready.”

  As was typical, I found Dad frowning at his computer screen, his brow creased with concentration as he worked on his latest article for the Chicago Tribune.

  “What are we working on today?” I asked, a teasing note in my voice. “A serious critique of our corrupt politicians or a snappy piece on a local art fair?”

  I knew it was likely more in the vein of the latter. Dad didn’t do serious. He took great pride in peppering his articles on cultural events with groan-inducing puns.

  “Neither,” he replied, his tone a touch embarrassed. “I’m working on Flip Words.”

  “Well, I caught you at a good time then. You can come eat some cherry pie while you’re taking a break.”

  He sighed heavily, and his eyes were sad when they found mine.

  “I’m not taking a break, Di. I’m retired now.”

  “Retired?” I was shocked. “You’ve always said you would probably die at your keyboard. What about your last words being a truly amazing pun?”

  His gaze dropped from mine.

  “I haven’t felt much like joking over the past year,” he said quietly.

  A lump instantly formed in my throat as grief swelled within me. What had happened to me had caused so much damage.

  Dr. Stanger had been right: I wasn’t responsible for their unhappiness. It wasn’t my fault that I had been abducted. But I wasn’t about to let that Bastard keep pieces of the people I loved. If I was going to take back my own life from him, then they would reclaim what they had lost as well.

  I skirted around Dad’s desk and wrapped my arm around his shoulders.

  “It’s over now, Dad,” I reassured him softly. “I’m back, and I’m rebuilding my life. I’m not going to let what he did to me ruin me. And I won’t let him hurt you, either. Not anymore. You should go back to work, Dad. You love what you do.”

  He stood, pulling me into a tight embrace. His tears wet my hair as he leaned into me.

  “Di,” he said hoarsely. “It’s so good to hear you bossing me around again.”

  A shaky laugh escaped me. “I guess I really am getting better. I just want you to be happy, Dad.”

  He pulled back from me slightly, but he still kept his hands around my shoulders. His eyes searched my face.

  “That’s all I want for you, too, honey. That’s all any of us want for you. Your mother and I, Tucker…”

  He paused at the sight of my pained expression.

  “Your mother told me how you feel about Tuck,” he said quietly. “I know she convinced you to stay with him. But is that what you want?”

  It was the same question Dr. Stanger had asked me. And I knew my answer all too well.

  “It’s the right thing to do,” I said, but I couldn’t fully conceal the resignation, the regret, in my tone.

  “Honey, the only ‘right’ thing to do is the thing that makes you happiest. If you want to move to Nebraska and dig ditches, I’ll support you. Of course, I would follow you to make sure you didn’t dig yourself into too deep a hole.”

  I couldn’t hold back my laugh. “That was terrible, Dad. One of the weakest puns I’ve ever heard from you. In fact, I’m not sure if that even qualifies as a pun. You’ll have to step up your game if you’re going to start writing again.”

  He chuckled at me. “I guess I’ll just have to get in some practice.”

  I gave a dramatic groan. “Practice on your keyboard, please, and save the rest of us the pain. I’ll make you a deal: you can eat the entire cherry pie if I don’t have to hear one pun for the rest of the afternoon.”

  His lips pursed in mock-consideration. “You drive a hard bargain, Di. I suppose I could do that, if you can keep your mother from pestering me about it.”

  “Agreed,” I said quickly. “Once I tell her the terms, I’m sure you won’t hear a peep out of her.”

  He clapped me on the shoulder, smiling.

  Then his eyes turned serious again.

  “I meant what I said, Di. Do what makes you happy. I’ll deal with your mother if she flies off the handle. She’ll come around eventually.”

  I hugged him again, breathing in his peppermint and tweed scent as I rested my head on his shoulder.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I whispered. “I needed to hear that.”

  Tears of wonder and sentiment welled in my eyes as I stared hungrily at Georges Seurat’s Seated Woman with a Parasol. It was my favorite work of art housed at the Art Institute of Chicago. The century-old black Conté crayon-on-ivory paper drawing had been a conceptual effort in preparation for Seurat’s A Sunday on La Grande Jatte, but for me it held every bit as much majesty as that famous work.

  Granny had brought me to the Institute to study it when she was teaching me about shading. I was eleven years old at the time. After her death four years later, I had come here often to visit the drawing, to remember her.

  Tucker’s fingers touched my hand tentatively, closing around mine when I didn’t flinch away.

  I turned my watering eyes on him. “Tuck…” I swallowed against the tightness in my throat and squeezed his hand. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

  As soon as I had returned to his townhouse that evening, he had insisted that we come here. He knew me so well. He knew how much this place meant to me.

  “I have something I want to tell you, baby,” he said seriously, his own eyes clouded with emotion. “I want you to go to Notre Dame and get your BFA. After what happened… You should have everything you’ve always wanted. You should pursue your art.”

 
; My heart swelled with affection even as it ached to recognize that what he was saying was impossible. “You know we can’t afford that, Tuck. You must have cut into a lot of your savings covering the rent on the townhouse by yourself. In a few weeks, I’m going to see if I can get my job at Real Listings back.”

  “No, Lydia,” he said firmly. “You hated it there. I’ve put out some applications for a second job. You can go to school full time, and we’ll be able to squeak by without having to take out any loans.” He gave me a small smile. “Then, when you’re a famous artist, you can share your millions with me.”

  “I can’t let you do that, Tuck. I won’t let you do that.”

  I took a deep breath. It was time to stop Tucker before he gave up even more of his life, more of his self, for me.

  “I know about you and Becs,” I said quietly.

  Panic flashed across his features.

  “Lydia, I… We spent so much time together after you… It just sort of happened.” His eyes were tight with desperation, with anguish. “But it’s over now. You and I are going to be together. I promised you forever, and -”

  I pressed two fingers to his lips, stopping him short.

  “It’s okay, Tuck. I’m not angry. I… I want you to be happy. You said I should have everything I’ve ever wanted. I want the same for you.” I regarded him seriously. “Do you love me, Tucker?”

  “Of course,” he breathed. “Always.”

  “Are you in love with me?”

  His soft blue eyes searched my face. They were filled with both longing and regret. He wanted so badly to be able to answer in the affirmative. But we both knew it would be a lie.

  “No.”

  He blinked, as though surprised to hear the word fall from his lips.

  “So, I guess that’s it, then,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “This is the end of us.”

  I touched my hand to his cheek. “No, Tuck. There’ll never be an end for us. We’ll always be a part of each other. But this is the beginning of our lives. The lives we never got to have together.”

  He leaned into me, and his mouth softly touched mine. We poured the last of our love into the kiss. Every tug of our lips pulled the pain of years wasted from our souls, purging the bitterness that had weighed us down for so long.

  When we went back to the townhouse for the night, we had a long talk about our respective futures. It was the most comfortable, genuine conversation we had shared since my return. The eager excitement that pulsed around us filled the living room with a shared joy that had been absent for years.

  I was going to find a part time job and take out student loans so I could finally get my BFA. My parents had always told me it was irresponsible to have debts, but I was following my own heart now. My father had given me his blessing. Even if I never made a dime off my drawings, I would have achieved one of my biggest dreams. A dream that had seemed unattainable only that morning.

  And I was going to go back to Smith. I didn’t tell Tucker that part of my plan, though. There was a chance – a very big one – that Smith would reject me. He was obviously deeply disturbed by what had happened between us. I wasn’t going to tell anyone in my life about Smith until I was sure of his response.

  I spoke openly with Tucker about his romantic life. I gave him my blessing to be with Becs. It would be awkward to see them together, but I wanted both of them in my life, no matter what.

  Tucker was going to start writing music again. Like me with my art, he wasn’t sure if anything would come of it, but success didn’t matter. Music was at the core of Tuck’s being, and he had shut that part of himself off for far too long.

  We shared a bed that night, for the first time in years and for the last time ever. There was nothing sexual about the way we held one another; it was an expression of intimacy that was deeper than physical passion.

  Our joy was undiminished in the morning. There was no sense of reluctance or regret over our decision.

  I grinned when Tucker met me in the living room for breakfast. He was wearing a red flannel shirt and light-wash jeans. The shirt was unbuttoned, hanging open to reveal his green Jimmy Eat World t-shirt. Everything clashed horribly.

  “What are you smiling about?” He asked suspiciously.

  I stepped towards him, meeting him in the center of the room so I could smooth out his rumpled collar.

  “You look like Tucker.”

  He laughed. “Thanks?”

  “Don’t worry. It’s definitely a compliment. You don’t look like a nondescript cog in the corporate wheel anymore.”

  Tuck was reclaiming his identity, just as I had reclaimed my own. We were ready to go our own ways, but we would never truly be parted from one another.

  I took his left hand in my right, lifting it up between us. My fingers touched his wedding band. I gave him a soft smile as I said my loving goodbye.

  “I, Lydia Chase, take you, Tucker Chase, to be my constant friend. I offer you my solemn vow to be your faithful partner in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, and in joy as well as in sorrow. I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals, to honor and respect you, to laugh with you and cry with you, and to cherish you for as long as we both shall live.”

  Tucker mirrored my movements, taking my other hand in his and echoing my altered recitation of our wedding vows. He smiled down at me gently as we both removed the gold bands from each other’s fingers at the same time. He pressed his own into my palm and closed my hand around it, raising my fist to softly brush his lips over my knuckles.

  A gratingly familiar scream tore through our tender moment. We both jumped, our attention whipping to the TV, which had suddenly turned on of its own accord.

  For a few seconds, my mind rejected the horror of what I was seeing.

  A thin, wasted version of me filled the screen, her face contorted in pain as her tormentor ruthlessly held her down, tearing her unwilling body as he pounded into her.

  Then his voice, clear and matter-of-fact, overrode the sounds of my agony.

  “I don’t share my toys.”

  The screen went black.

  The sounds of glass shattering and Tucker’s grunt were almost simultaneous.

  Tucker looked down at his own chest, a shocked expression on his face. A crimson stain was blooming on his t-shirt.

  He collapsed to the floor, and I followed him down.

  “Tucker!”

  My hands fluttered around him uselessly as the gory stain grew, widening outward from a neatly circular little hole in the center of his chest.

  His body jerked. Once. Twice.

  He drew in a shuddering breath. His eyes stared in abject terror at something I couldn’t see.

  The air left his lungs with a horrible rattle.

  The taut lines of his face eased, his eyes drooping half-closed.

  “Tuck!” I shrieked his name as I gripped his shoulders, shaking him hard.

  He didn’t respond.

  I threw my body atop his, hugging him to me with the same fierce desperation that we had held each other on the night he had proposed to me. If I just held him tightly enough, everything would be okay. Everything would work out.

  There were loud voices behind me. The wails of sirens screeched their way into the townhouse through the broken window.

  I ignored them. I couldn’t let go of Tuck.

  Hands closed around my shoulders, prying me away from him. I screamed and twisted and fought.

  Didn’t they understand that I couldn’t let Tuck go? I had to hold him. If I didn’t, everything would fall apart.

  Something sharp pierced my upper arm. Darkness swirled at the edges of my vision, and my muscles turned watery.

  No!

  I couldn’t lose sight of Tucker.

  My fingers loosened as I lost control of my limbs, and Tucker’s ring bounced against the hardwood floor.

  I struggled against my darkening vision, willing my eyes to remain focused on Tucker. His face
– oddly slack, but his mouth still open in a silent scream of shocked protest – was the last thing I saw before I was pulled under.

  It was the last time I would ever see him.

  Chapter 21

  Agent Byrd’s face was fuzzy when it appeared above me. I blinked several times to clear the fog from my eyes, but it still lingered in my mind. I glanced around, gauging my surroundings. I was lying on a bed in a small, sparsely decorated bedroom. Frowning, I returned my gaze to Kate.

  The lines of her face were concerned, sympathetic.

  I didn’t understand what was happening.

  “Where am I?” My voice was little more than a croak. Why did my throat feel so raw?

  “You’re at a safe house,” she told me gently. “The medics had to sedate you. You were very… distressed.”

  Sedate me?

  I just blinked at her, nonplussed.

  “We’re looking for the sniper now,” she continued carefully. “Can you tell me what happened from your perspective? The more time passes, the harder it will be for us to track the guy who shot Tucker.”

  Glass shattering. Tuck’s soft blue eyes, wide and terrified. A gory red stain spreading across his t-shirt.

  I shook my head sharply, shoving the memories away. It was a practice with which I was all too familiar. My mind couldn’t acknowledge the full horror of what had happened.

  Tucker and I were going to be happy. We had vowed to love and support one another for the rest of our lives.

  The rest of our lives.

  “Lydia?” Kate prompted me.

  No. It hadn’t happened. I couldn’t exist if Tucker didn’t. I didn’t know how to exist in a world without him.

  I turned away from Kate, curling up on my side as I hugged my knees to my chest.

  “If you get upset, I want you to go to your positive memory.”

  This time my mind didn’t select the recollection of being held by Master after we had joined for the first and only time. I turned to the memory of kneeling at his feet instead, his fingers brushing the top of my head as I clung to his leg.

  Safe. Calm.

  I didn’t have to worry about anything, because I wasn’t in control. My wishes, my thoughts, didn’t matter.