The Moment Between

by Nicole Baart

  Abigail was left with one small shred of self that seemed to be the final fragment that held her together: a clear and burning desire to bring Hailey’s incomplete life to some sort of understandable conclusion. Her impetuous decision to leave everything behind and do everything in her power to make that happen was both monumental and uncharacteristic.

  Remarkably, in addition to considering Abigail a surefire success, her classmates also nominated her least impulsive. For Abigail, impulsivity proved to be a learned trait.

  †

  Abby graduated high school with honors. She wasn’t valedictorian, nor was she nominated (or even given a second thought) for prom queen. But her name carried with it a certain respect, and her smile was readily returned by everyone she met, including teachers, classmates, her friends’ parents, even college reps.

  A GPA of 3.9 and an ACT score of 32 did much to pique the interest of many local and state colleges and universities. In the beginning, Abby applied indiscriminately, filling out application forms to each and every institute of higher learning with a nice campus, a good-looking recruiter, or a scholarship that seemed an appropriate match for her accomplishments. But when acceptance letters started pouring in, it was time to get serious. Time to make the decision that had plagued Abby for years: should she stay or should she go? Could she cut and run like she had hoped and planned for ages? Or did she have a responsibility to her family, to Hailey?

  The truth was, for the first time in longer than she could remember, Abby wasn’t completely bent on leaving. This unexpected change of heart was due primarily to the fact that Hailey had leveled off somewhat in the weeks after she was put on Ritalin. Abby had heard horror stories about kids becoming unrecognizable to their families when the medication began to leave its mark on the impressionable psyches of young patients. She had heard that the effects could be positively altering and certainly not worth the high toll they extracted. But just as Abby and Melody had tried to promise, Hailey did not seem to be responding to the meds in horrible ways. In fact, in the wake of the medication victory, life at the Bennetts’ became almost pleasant.

  Of course, there had been a couple weeks of storms as Dr. Madsen tinkered with her prescription, upping the dosage when it seemed ineffective and then cutting back when Hailey’s withdrawals became almost alarmingly severe. But they had found a happy medium at some point, and suddenly Hailey’s days seemed more or less normal with only a fifteen- or twenty-minute bratty, tear-filled crash in the evening when the Ritalin began to wear off.

  The ensuing sense of normalcy perpetuated a side effect that Abby could never have anticipated: a friendship started to cultivate between the reluctant sisters. For Abby, it was as if someone had chiseled the sharp edges off Hailey’s raw personality, and the subsequent softness of spirit was both refreshing and startling.

  In many ways the troubled girl began to appear happily reminiscent of the gently captivating woman Melody had been in her younger years. Though Abby couldn’t claim to remember the woman her mother had been when Lou had fallen so deeply in love with her, at times there was something nostalgic in the air, as if the new angles and depths now evident in Hailey were a reminder of simpler days. Lou would catch his aging bride in a sweet glance, his lips curled uncharacteristically heavenward and his delight a palpable thread in the room linking them all together, drawing them close.

  While Lou and Melody relished the fledgling harmony in their family, Abby found herself mesmerized by her sister. She became aware of the subtle motivations that had contributed to Hailey’s instability and which now made her seem complex and even thoughtful. All the posturing, anger, unpredictability, and violence were finally unveiled as a carefully constructed but poorly implemented defense mechanism. Abby realized that Hailey envied her and probably always had.

  Though she hated to admit it, Abby had spent the better part of her young life resentful of Hailey. The blonde pixie was—and always had been—like quicksand, clutching at and eventually claiming anyone who came near her. And yet learning that her sister harbored an inconceivable jealousy toward her lanced Abby with a double-edged blade of satisfaction and sorrow. She was strangely pleased that Hailey perceived her as someone to be envied, but she was also filled with sadness at the irony of their juxtaposition. At the tragic intersection of their shared fears, Abby felt a fierce sense of unity. It is us against the world, she thought. You and me: loving and hating, attacking and defending, but ultimately together. Sisters.

  In honor of her growing understanding of her sister, Abby went so far as to offer Hailey a ride to and from school for the month of May. It was the last month Abby would ever darken the halls of Newcastle, and she was feeling benevolent, maybe even somewhat euphoric. Hailey was a student at the middle school, and though the high school was in a separate building, they shared a campus. Driving Hailey to school was a small token, an offering that not only got her out of the long bus ride but also elevated her status from some unrecognizable junior high kid to Abby’s sister.

  That spring Abby had embarked on an unanticipated relationship with the senior class president, a boy whose allure was apparent to every single girl at Newcastle. With peace at home, a summer fling on the horizon, and the new, promise-filled life of college mere months away, Abby felt herself relax in a way that she had never been able to before. Life wasn’t just good; it bordered on extraordinary.

  Senior exams took place a full two weeks before the rest of the school wrote their finals, and on the day that Abby took her first test, she arranged for one of her friends to drive Hailey home after school. Abby knew her exam would stretch past the end of the school day, and she wanted to take advantage of the excuse to stick around and talk to the guidance counselor about a small liberal arts college she had discovered. She didn’t want to make Hailey wait, nor did she feel comfortable forcing her sister to take the bus after she had gotten used to a five-minute commute rather than an hour-long bus ride.

  But Abby also didn’t want Hailey waiting around for her. Danny, the boy she could almost truthfully call her boyfriend, had promised to take a walk with her when she was finished. The Newcastle Public School campus boasted a two-mile walking trail that meandered through several acres of unused property, and Abby knew of a little knoll off the beaten path that featured a high enough vantage point to survey the miniature rows of infant crops stitching patterns into the surrounding patchwork quilt of fields. She couldn’t wait to take Danny there.

  When Abby emerged from the high school just after four o’clock, the May sun was warm enough to make welcome the cool, southerly breeze. She jogged across the mostly empty parking lot, expecting to see Danny lounging on the hood of her car. But he wasn’t there. Nor was he napping on the backseat with the window rolled down. Abby tossed her backpack into the car and looked around. Shading her eyes from the afternoon sun as a frown plucked at her mouth, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had misunderstood Danny or if he had gotten sick of waiting and found another way home.

  Then she caught sight of his backpack abandoned in the grass at the edge of the parking lot. It bore a distinctive cluster of used ski-lift passes—mementos of Danny’s winter vacations spent at his grandparents’ home in Montana—so she was sure it was his. Abigail grinned and all but skipped over to the trailhead, convinced that Danny had instigated a playful game of hide-and-seek.

  Abby wandered for almost five minutes, sticking to the main trail as she plotted to overtake Danny by stealth. Rather than allowing herself to be hunted, she intended to turn his plan around on him: Abby would scare him half to death, and in the wake of their flirtatious laughter and mischievous teasing, he’d kiss her. She could almost feel his hand on her cheek.

  It was at the turnoff to the lookout where she had hoped to take him that she finally glimpsed Danny’s unmistakable navy and gold varsity jacket through the trees. As far as Abby was concerned, the team jackets were sort of silly, like some nostalgic throwback to an era when girls were called dolls and they pi
ned for the chance to wear their boyfriend’s oversize, number-laden coat. The jackets seemed emblematic somehow, though rather than making Abby feel a shudder of Newcastle Falcon pride, she felt like a hick girl from a small town. Which she was. But she didn’t care to be reminded of it.

  Yet, spotting Danny like she did, the desire to have his coat heavy across her shoulders and spiced with the scent of his cologne, his soap, even the hint of his sweat, surprised Abby. It was cool in the shade of the trees. Maybe he would offer it to her. The thought of it almost made Abby call out to him.

  Something stopped her. Or rather someone. It struck Abby that Danny was not alone. His head was inclined toward someone ahead of him on the trail, though his body blocked whoever it was from sight. Instinct made Abby stop, and while she didn’t go so far as to hide behind a tree, she also didn’t make any move to reveal herself.

  Danny was definitely talking to someone. The trees partially blocked him from view as he stood farther down the path and around an s-curve bend, but Abby could see that he was gesturing and nodding. She could hear the rise and fall of his voice even if she couldn’t make out the words.

  Then Danny laughed and the sound was so bright and happy that Abby’s hesitation withered. Whoever he was with was a friend, and though she considered three a crowd this lovely afternoon, she would make the best of it. There would be time to be alone later. Abby started toward Danny with an impulsive grin. He’s a summer fling, she reminded herself. But she also had to admit that she liked him more than enough to carry her through the summer.

  Knowing that Danny wasn’t alone ruined Abby’s plan to surprise him, so she raised her hand in salute and was about to call a cheerful greeting when Danny’s companion stepped into view. Abby stumbled, shocked to see Hailey’s distinct, blonde head lift to face her sister’s boyfriend. Confusion wrinkled Abby’s forehead, and for a second time she froze on the trail.

  What was Hailey doing here? Why hadn’t she taken the ride that Abby had arranged? And how had she convinced Danny to wander through the parkland with her? Abby shook her head, trying in vain to clear it. “It’s not what it looks like,” she whispered in an attempt to convince herself.

  But it was hard to deny what was right in front of her face. Hailey had shot up in her junior high years, and she was already a few inches taller than Abby. Her slim frame and unexpected height made her almost statuesque, and though she was only thirteen, she could have easily passed for seventeen. Completing the striking picture was Hailey’s golden wave of softly curled hair, her eyes the color of a spring thundercloud, and skin so smooth and perfect it rivaled some airbrushed makeup advertisement. Any boy alive would have found Hailey irresistible. And it was obvious that Hailey had Danny in her sights—especially when she placed her hand on the center of his chest.

  For a moment it looked like she was only feeling for his heartbeat. Even from a distance Abby could see that Hailey’s touch was light, almost hesitant. But then she rose slightly on her tiptoes, pressing Danny’s chest for balance, and brushed his cheek with her own. She didn’t kiss him; she just skimmed her cheek against his as if it was all she dared to do. Danny’s shoulders went rigid, but instead of backing away he stayed there with her against him.

  Abby didn’t gasp. She didn’t cry or scream. Her heart didn’t break in two. It was with a keen sense of futility, a resigned acknowledgment of the inevitable that she watched Hailey gain confidence and turn her head to attempt an awkward kiss. It didn’t matter that Danny sprang back as if Hailey had stung him. It didn’t matter that Hailey herself looked mortified, that she covered her face with her hands and groaned loud enough for Abby to hear.

  What mattered to Abby was the dark, viscous venom that betrayal was pumping through her veins. Not Danny’s betrayal. Hailey’s. It was the betrayal of all the things Abby had hoped for and was slowly starting to believe. It was the betrayal of the woman whom she had begun to love as a sister. It was unforgivable.

  Abby spun on her heel and ran.

  †

  That night Abby hauled out her acceptance letters and settled on South Seminole College in Florida. She had been granted a small scholarship, but she wasn’t going to South Seminole for the money or even for the beautiful Florida sunshine. She was going because her college of choice was nearly two thousand miles away from Newcastle, Minnesota.

  Nearly two thousand miles away from Hailey.

  Walking away from Hailey’s apartment was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I didn’t want to be around when they removed her from the building—I had seen her leave under different circumstances too many times before.

  Somehow it seemed cruel that this time she would not be floating down the two flights of stairs, sunglasses already in place across the bridge of her lightly freckled nose and long legs made even more slim and glamorous by a pair of heels. I didn’t have to close my eyes to imagine her perched almost precariously on top of those distinctive stilettos, looking as elegant and haughty as a Hollywood diva. And I didn’t have to wonder at how she would feel about being crammed in a black bag and rolled into the elevator by men who were incomparable to the handsome sort of men she usually kept company with.

  The whole thing began to feel illusory to me, like a staged production or a dream in the last moments of sleep, those final few realistic still frames of fantasy that take place only seconds before waking up. When I felt strong enough to push her robe off me and stand up from her bed, I actually pinched myself. Like some girl in a movie, I pinched my arm and felt the pain of it and knew that I wasn’t sleeping.

  So I left. A very nice police officer with russet hair and rosy cheeks to match held my arm just above the elbow and walked every step with me from the door of Hailey’s apartment to the door of my car. He didn’t make conversation, nor did he offer his condolences or try to be understanding. He just held my arm in his strong fingers as if it was enough, and for those few minutes it was. We arrived at the car and I wanted to hug him. But I didn’t. I clicked the door locks off and climbed into the sauna of my Passat. It was stifling and I gasped, but he didn’t even notice; he was already halfway across the parking lot with his back toward me.

  I turned the car on and cranked the air-conditioning but found it too cold almost immediately and switched it off to roll down the windows instead. The fresh

  air was oppressively pure in contrast to the suffocating closeness of her apartment, and I drank it in ragged little gulps.

  Though I didn’t want to admit it, it was a little frightening being alone. There was no one in the car but me, yet I felt assaulted by insubstantial ghosts and grim demons that picked at and plundered my soul. One of the responders had offered to call my priest (rabbi? guru? spiritual leader?), but I declined. Even if there were someone—maybe an older, kindly man whom I respected and admired—I wasn’t ready to talk. Certainly not now, maybe not ever. It came down to me and I knew it. I had to do this alone with no one for company but the phantoms of all I should have done.

  The crumpled envelope of the note she had left behind was poking into my lower back. I was well aware of it and had been from the moment I grabbed it off her nightstand, but it took me many long minutes to gather the courage to pull it out. Was I ready to know what she had to say? Would I ever be? The truth was, although I contemplated dropping it in the nearest Dumpster and forgetting that it even existed, I knew that I would not be able to leave the parking lot of the apartment complex until I had opened her letter.

  It was just a run-of-the-mill white envelope with my childhood nickname written across it in black pen. Hailey had never gotten used to calling me Abigail, even when I threatened her by tightening my purse strings. Was she taunting me with those four letters? Or was she hoping to remind me of a happier time? It didn’t matter. I tore into the envelope and discarded it on the floor of the car. Carefully unfolding the blue-lined paper, I squeezed my eyes closed for a second and then began to read.

  There was no address, no introduction. There we
re only two short lines in the center of the paper:

  I don’t blame you.

  I don’t blame Tyler.

  She may have intended her cryptic letter to acquit us before we had a chance to condemn ourselves. But it had the opposite effect on me. All I could think was, I do. And, I do.

  VIII

  Abigail tied up a few loose ends and did what she could to temporarily transplant herself in Revell. It wasn’t hard to do, and in some ways she couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone she knew had been holding their breath as they waited for this exact thing. They had been eager for her to take some time to herself, to grieve.

  After the news of Hailey’s suicide first came to light, Blake and Colton had been more than solicitous. They had sent Abigail bouquets of exotic flowers as if a pair of bright birds-of-paradise could lift her spirits and insisted that she take as much time off as she needed. But she didn’t want time off. At least, not at first. She wanted to work. She wanted to forget. Unfortunately her memory proved to be all too accurate, and by the time a plan solidified in her mind—a plan to find Tyler and put whatever small thing she could to right—her partners were all but begging her to leave.

  In the beginning, when Tyler was nothing more than a name connected with a vague and tenuous recognition, Abigail had tried to contact him. Her fingers trembled over the digits that comprised his cell phone number, and when the line rang twice, she froze in fear and anticipation. But then a recording beeped to life, and she learned that his number had been disconnected. It was the same with his e-mail address, or so she assumed. Abigail had tried to e-mail him; the note was short and imprecise, a generic one-line test to which he never responded. A few days later she tried again, but this message too was lost in cyberspace.

  Collecting Tyler’s contact information from Hailey’s phone signaled a major shift in Abigail’s priorities. With each failed attempt at communication, a small piece of her poise dissolved and fell away until her productivity and even her attention were vastly