The Promise Between Us

by White, Barbara Claypole

  “Hey, yourself,” she said, and used her bottom to push off the truck.

  He gave a hesitant smile, and for a long, empty moment they watched each other. Abandoning her baby would always eclipse a lifetime of bad decisions, but standing an arm’s length away was proof that she had also run from the man she loved. Katie shoved her hands deep inside her pockets and put on her outside face, the one she showed to the world. “How’s Maisie?”

  “I don’t know. She won’t talk to me, and I’m living in a motel. Lilah kicked me out.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” Katie squinted at him in the bright sunlight. Behind his glasses, his eyes were red and watery; his hair looked unbrushed and unwashed. His body was slightly rank. “So it was Lilah, not you, who pulled Maisie from the docent program?”

  Cal frowned at her.

  “You didn’t know?”

  He shook his head. “Would you mind if we followed one of the trails? I need fresh air and exercise.”

  “I’m not sure eighty-five degrees counts as fresh, but sure. Why not?” A mosquito landed on the back of her arm. She swatted and missed. The OCD warned her about tainted blood and disease; Katie didn’t counter.

  Cal slipped back into his car and retrieved a can of bug spray. “You need some?”

  She nodded and held out her hand. He watched as she rubbed DEET onto her arms, her legs, and the back of her neck. Then he did the same, and it was her turn to watch him. Was his body also remembering what his mind longed to forget?

  He tossed the can inside his car and grabbed a map and a baseball cap. She should have brought a cap, too, as protection against ticks dropping from low-hanging branches. Later she would ask Ben to check her scalp.

  “Shall we?” he said, as he shoved on the cap.

  They passed under the arch Ben had admired, and she paused to look up at the huge rusted leaves curled into an embrace. Cal consulted the map and took the lead. Without talking, they headed toward the wire gates, behind the back of the Education Center, and along the gravel path of the Streamside Trail. The forest rang with high-pitched squeals. A school group, no doubt. They passed a wooden information kiosk, crossed a meadow, and still Cal said nothing, which was fine. Her thoughts kept her busy enough.

  What if I’d never run away? What if I’d come back? Would we still be together? Would Maisie be happy? What if she didn’t have OCD until she met me? What if hearing her parents argue about me was the trigger?

  The kids’ voices faded and so did the rumble of traffic. A helicopter flew overhead and cicadas buzzed. Squirrels rustled through the undergrowth; pea gravel crunched under their footsteps. Cal stepped onto a small wooden bridge and paused to look into the water below, clear to the sandy bottom.

  “I hate myself,” he said.

  “You get used to it.”

  He glanced at her and started walking again. His stride was long, his pace determined. Sweating hard, she struggled to keep up, but kept quiet. Katie understood the need to keep moving.

  Passing a sign that warned them to watch their step, they entered deep shade and the sloping forest of hardwoods. The relief from the sun was short-lived as the path curved steeply over exposed tree roots and wooden steps built into the hillside. Katie slipped, and Cal grabbed her elbow.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” She brushed him off and kept her eyes lowered. “Should have paid more attention to the sign. I won’t move away, you should know that’s nonnegotiable. Even if Maisie never wants to see me again, she needs to know where I am. I’m done hiding.”

  “Katelyn, I wouldn’t ask you to leave. I think we can both agree I’ve caused you enough pain. The only thing I want to do is make amends.” He hesitated. “I might be the one who stayed, but I’m the one who’s been running away.”

  Ten days ago she would have asked for an explanation, but her lifeboat was sinking fast enough without his baggage. “I have a silly question that’s bugged me for years: What happened to my wedding dress?”

  “I kept it for Maisie, but I learned about moth protection the hard way.”

  “And my books and the clothes Delaney didn’t take?”

  A hawk cried above them; the buzz of cicadas intensified.

  “The PTA thrift store in Carrboro. I figured you’d approve.”

  The first Mrs. MacDonald had been packed away and recycled. At least she’d been donated to a good cause. “How did it go so wrong for us?”

  Cal shoved his hands into his shorts’ pockets. “I lost my footing in sleep deprivation and that ear infection that wouldn’t quit.”

  “The pink antibiotic. What was it called?”

  “Amoxicillin. Not a name I can easily forget,” Cal said. “She had a lot of ear infections during those first three years.”

  A hiker came down the path and greeted them. He probably mistook them for a normal couple sharing a conversation about family life. Off to the right, the tail of a black snake disappeared into the undergrowth. They continued to climb, and Katie listened to her ragged breaths. He might be in prime physical shape, thanks to the religion of biking he presumably still practiced with Jake, but she wasn’t. Up ahead, the path widened between two benches facing each other from concrete slabs.

  “I need to sit,” she said.

  Cal joined her on the bench, but positioned himself as far away as possible.

  “Want to put me out of my misery and tell me what this hike is really about?” she said.

  He exhaled slowly, crossed his legs, and then placed his hands on his thigh. Folded one hand on top of the other as his fingers strummed in constant movement. “It’s time you heard my side of the story. There are two different components, but . . . God, that sounded so clinical.” His legs started jiggling a compulsive rhythm.

  “Cal, why’re you so anxious?”

  “I need you to understand why I behaved the way I did, and this is fucking hard.”

  Cal never swore. Turning slightly, Katie watched the forest below. After nine years of waiting, she no longer wanted his explanation. Didn’t want to make room for pity. Couldn’t.

  Shouts and giggles grew closer again. The school group must be on a lower trail. Were the children collecting leaves, identifying native ferns, hunting for salamanders under rocks? Hopefully the chaperones were watchful. Copperheads were out there, dozing in the midday heat, and if a kid should accidentally—she jerked up. Rustling surrounded them. Squirrels, please let it be squirrels, not venomous snakes, not while there were children on the trails.

  “I want my family back,” he said.

  She didn’t need to ask which one.

  “And I’m hoping that we can reach a détente and present a united front to Lilah.”

  “I only want one thing, Cal. If you’ll agree to take Maisie to a child psychologist who specializes in OCD, I’ll stay away from both of you. For good. A bomb is waiting to detonate inside her brain, if it hasn’t already. I’m not sure you get the urgency in all this.”

  “I’m trying to, Katelyn. But Lilah’s shut me out.”

  A breeze rippled through the leaves.

  “Was it bad for you,” she said, “after I left?”

  “I was devastated.” He paused. “One year out, I was convinced you were dead. I couldn’t imagine how you’d stayed away from Maisie for that long if you were alive. I wanted to grieve, but there was no closure. And I needed to protect Maisie. That was necessity, not choice.”

  “Getting Maisie help is also a necessity. You don’t want her to keep hurting the way I do.”

  “You mean OCD doesn’t go away?”

  “It’s a chronic illness. You learn to manage it, but it’s always there, waiting to pounce when you’re tired or overwhelmed.” She looked at him. “It’s flared up since our paths crossed.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “My OCD isn’t your problem, but Maisie’s is, and thanks to us, she’s had a whopping trigger. So tell me what I need to know, and I’ll promise not to freak out.”

>   “I’m not going to hold you to that promise. You might want to slap me in a few minutes.”

  “In that case, bring it on.”

  He shot her a coy sideways smile that she remembered way too much. “Do you mind if we keep walking on the Oak Hickory Trail?” He pointed up to the crest of the hill.

  “Please tell me it’s not a ten-mile hike. I haven’t so much as been on a treadmill in years.”

  Cal consulted his map. “We can take a connector route and cut back down to the creek. It wouldn’t be as strenuous.”

  “Less strenuous gets my vote,” she said.

  Once again, they started walking. She nodded at an information sign. “Never knew we had flying squirrels. Did you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Are the local squirrels still digging up my old flower beds?”

  “Yes, sorry. I gave up on the garden, and Lilah has no interest.”

  “My neglected garden,” she said quietly. “Guess it’ll never be finished.”

  They kept walking uphill through the forest, through the birdsong and the cicadas’ buzz, and then down onto the connector trail. Without warning, the path flattened out, and they emerged in glaring sunlight. She blinked. Two long shadows led their way.

  “Delaney was frantic after you left,” he said. “When the police gave up looking, she persuaded me to hire a PI. He wasn’t much help, either. Told us you’d gone off the grid.”

  “I know all this, Cal.”

  “Nothing for seventeen long months and then a suicide letter from a homeless shelter.”

  “I used the last of my panhandling coins to pay for the stamp.”

  He flinched. Had he never wondered what she’d done for money?

  “My parents and Jake were at the house when the letter arrived. They were there for Maisie’s second birthday.”

  She stopped; so did Cal. A partially submerged boulder rose out of the path ahead, threatening to block their way. Forest climbed sharply on one side; on the other, a steep slope disappeared toward the stream. Water trickled and ebbed. The sun beat down through every break in the canopy of green leaves.

  “Silence for all that time. No word, no hope, but that letter proved you were alive. Or rather you had been a week earlier. Alive and four hours away. Mom agreed to stay with Maisie, so Jake and I drove to the mountains. I went to every ER with your photo, and we found you.”

  “You were in Asheville?” Her voice rose. “You saw me?”

  “Not exactly. I knew you were being transported from the ER to the psych crisis unit. Instead of following, I called Delaney and told her where you were. And left.”

  “Without attempting to see me.”

  “I couldn’t. You’d talked about killing our daughter, your mother stabbed your father. And I was—”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do this, Cal. It’s too painful.” She started walking, following the tired descant of the stream, then stopped. “Was it real?” she said. “Was any of it real?”

  “You know it was.” Cal pulled alongside her. “I can’t undo what happened after Maisie was born, but I can help you understand why I—”

  “No, Cal. I’m going back to the parking lot.”

  “Katelyn, please. This is hard for me.” He put a hand on her arm, and his eyes locked on hers. “Because of what happened when I was Maisie’s age. When I was ten years old. And I’ve never spoken about it to anyone other than Jake.”

  A dog barked, leaves rustled, the creek gurgled. Run, Katie. Run and don’t stop. But her legs wouldn’t obey.

  “I was raped.”

  She gasped. Unwanted images, sadistic images, crashed over her. “No.” She waved her hands, kept waving them. “No.” Her jaw was moving, but the scream refused to leave her mouth. Why couldn’t she scream? “I can’t have this in my head, Cal. Please, no.” She screwed her eyes shut, squeezed hard, so hard. But the tears wouldn’t stop. They rolled down her face, into her mouth. Her open mouth. She stumbled, he grabbed her. Helped her onto a bench.

  “No, Cal, no.”

  He squatted in front of her, and she almost said, Don’t crouch, you’ll get chiggers.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She gulped for air. “Why are you apologizing?”

  “Jake worked hard to teach me to say that phrase, I was raped. But I never realized how it would sound to someone who had loved me.”

  “No, you have nothing to be sorry for. You tell me this huge thing, and I—I fall apart. But I can see it, in my mind. And it’s real. Oh, Cal. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” She rubbed her arms frantically. “Who? Who did it?”

  “I was on a regional swim team.”

  She knew that; she knew that. “One of the older swimmers?”

  “The coach.”

  She panted. “I’m a bit light-headed.”

  “It’s the shock.” He sat next to her. “You might want to put your head between your legs.”

  She slowed down her breath. “No. I’ve got this.”

  “Can you handle the rest?”

  She nodded.

  “The memories come back at weird times. The guilt. The disgust.” He held his right palm in front of his face, and his fingers curled into a claw. “The shame.”

  Gently, she lowered his hand and held it in her lap. They were both shaking.

  “It’s the reason I lost it. That night, the night you left.” His right foot started tapping the ground, and so did his left. He pulled his hand free, crumpled around the middle, and folded in half. She rubbed his back, her hand moving in ever-decreasing circles. Keeping his head down, he stayed motionless for several minutes and then slowly sat back upright.

  “He threatened to set our house on fire if I ever told anyone. At night, while we were asleep.” He swallowed. “He threatened my family, and I believed him—”

  “Because you were a child and he was an adult you trusted.”

  “On the flight home from the conference”—he leaned against her—“I’d decided to tell you the truth. I’d been reading up about PTSD to help you, but I saw so much of myself, and I thought we could figure out everything together. How, I don’t know, but I was hopeful. And then you talked about burning the house down, and I snapped. That’s why I locked the door. Even now I don’t know whether I was protecting me or Maisie, and it didn’t matter. I could smell his breath, hear him whisper, ‘You’re mine.’” Cal slammed back against the bench. “During the attack, I had an out-of-body experience. Jake insists it was survival instinct, but I don’t know. What if I secretly wanted it? What if I deserved it? Why didn’t I fight back? Why didn’t I tell my parents? Why me? Why? When the memories hit they’re so—”

  “Intrusive?”

  “Yes. Intrusive. That’s exactly the right word.”

  Like OCD, but worse. How could you out-reason reality?

  “My mind goes in circles. Sometimes I feel as if the memories will kill me. Other times I feel utterly worthless.” Cal took off his glasses, wiped the lenses on his T-shirt, slipped them back on. “I shut down after you left. Did what I had to do to look after Maisie and keep my job, but I was still glancing over my shoulder. My moods were unstable; I was easily provoked. Your sister and my mom assumed I was wired from lack of sleep. I started doing better and then your letter arrived, and the nightmares and panic attacks returned. I saw danger everywhere. If Jake hadn’t come with me, I would never have made the drive to Asheville. I was falling apart, and all I could think about was what would happen to Maisie with two unfit parents. Would she end up in child protective services?”

  He’d mentioned shame. They had both been defeated by shame. Birds kept singing, and a woodpecker hammered into a tree. Her mind showed her uncensored images of a beautiful boy trapped with a predator. The images played, and the sun continued to shine.

  “Do you still think about suicide?” he said.

  “I’m not sure I ever did. I wanted to come home, and I didn’t know how. I think that’s why I wrote the letter and waited a
week before going to the overpass. But I was so screwed up back then. I guess we both were.” She stiffened. “Why? Do you think about suicide?”

  “Heavens, no. I often feel as if I don’t deserve to be alive, but I would never take my own life. Now that you’re back in Maisie’s world, however, I needed to ask the question. I’m sorry.”

  A man and a German shepherd walked past. “Afternoon!” he said.

  They both ignored him.

  “When you were pregnant,” Cal said, “I was terrified. And I’m terrified now. The whole idea of therapy . . . I can’t go there. I don’t want some stranger to say, ‘You’re not fit to be her dad.’ Or to decide that between us we’ve screwed up our daughter. Worse, call social services.”

  In a branch above, a pair of cardinals sang to each other. She looked up through the leaves, through the dappled light. Turkey vultures circled, searching for a fresh kill. “Do you think there were other boys?”

  “Definitely. He disappeared right after my assault. We were told it was a family emergency, and the assistant coach took over. We never saw him again.”

  Cal stood up and paced back and forth. “I’m wrecked. I need to walk.”

  She nodded and they started off downhill. The sounds of the kids returned as they wove back down and came close to the road that led to the UNC Hospitals. Sirens roared toward them and then disappeared. A fallen tree that should have blocked their path had been sliced perfectly with a chain saw.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “that I didn’t ask the right questions. That I wasn’t strong enough to help you.”

  “I’m sorry that we weren’t honest with each other.”

  At the top of the slope, against a vibrant backdrop of green and blue, black tree trunks stood out like iron bars in a prison cell.

  “We both made poor decisions that night, but given the context, they make sense. And I know what you have to do next,” she said.

  “You do?” He didn’t attempt to hide the eagerness in his voice. The eagerness to get his family back. His new family.

  “Tell Lilah what you just told me.”

  “She’s twenty-nine weeks pregnant with our son. She thinks I don’t know our baby’s sex, but I knew from the start. And knowing that I’ll watch him grow up while remembering what happened to me? I had the same fears when you were pregnant, but this feels as if I’m watching myself in one of those distortion mirrors at a carnival.”