I lifted my head, my hand lingering upon my mother’s cheek as I turned to him. I wanted to take strength in his gaze but I was lost, adrift, and terrified that I had just lost the only parent I had left. “What do we do?” I asked quietly.
“We survive.” They were cold words, and yet the tone that issued them was not cold. It was sad, understanding, and sympathetic. It was also resilient and unwavering. “Because we have to, because it is what she would want you to do.”
“I can’t leave her here.”
“I know.” I turned away from him, unable to form words or opinions at the moment. “We won’t. I have to go somewhere right now though.”
My head snapped around, my mouth dropped. I released my mom’s still hand as I slid limply off the bed and took a step toward him. “Where?” I managed to choke out.
“I have to go to my house. There are some things I need to do.”
I was confused by this sudden turn of events. I hadn’t expected him to leave us here, but of course there would be things that he would need to do. Things that he would have to check on, or want. I didn’t know where he lived now, or who he lived with, if anyone. He was most likely on his own now, he was eighteen after all. “Of course.”
“I’ll be back.” I barely managed a nod. I could only manage to keep breathing through the tightness in my chest. “Soon.”
“We… we could come with you.”
He shook his head. “No, I’ll move faster by myself and Aiden could still return. You have to stay here.”
“But…”
He broke off my protest. “You have to stay with your mother Bethany, and you have to see if your brother returns. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t. My place is only half a mile from here. I’ll be safe in the woods.”
I was surprised to learn he lived so close. Cade had bounced around so much over the years that it had been hard to keep track of where he was living at any given time. “What if you don’t come back?” I whispered. “What if something happens to you and I could have helped to stop it? Abby can wait for Aiden.” Even as I said the words I knew that Abby wouldn’t want to be alone here anymore, and I couldn’t leave her again.
“There are more of those things out there than there is of us now Bethany. Their technology is better, they planned this, and they have the upper hand. I don’t think there’s anything either of us could do to stop them right now. Besides, you don’t want to leave your sister again.”
“You’re not safe out there Cade, you can’t go alone.”
He was before me now, having moved steadily closer throughout the conversation. I had to tilt my head back to take all of him in. His eyes and hair blended in with the night, giving the eerie impression that he was a part of the darkness that he relished in it, and was far more at home in it than any other person would be. His handsome features were half hidden in shadow, his full mouth pinched tight. I was breathless as he reached out to push the hair gently back from my shoulders. His fingers stroked lightly over my cheek, leaving a trail of heat in their wake as he lingered upon my skin. My mouth parted slightly in wonder, my face tilted instinctively into his soft caress. I didn’t know what was going on, what he intended, until his mouth was against mine.
And then, I just didn’t care anymore.
In the beginning his lips were warm, soft yet firm, as they pressed lightly against mine. And then his mouth was more demanding, and his hand was harder upon me as he pulled me closer to him. I was caught up in the warmth and pleasure of his kiss, ensnared within the whirlwind of emotions and desire that sprang forth. I was engulfed by the tempest his exquisite, desperate kiss created.
I didn’t know what he was desperate for, but I sensed the full force of that desperation beneath the rolling wonder, joy, and passion that swirled rapidly between us, escalating higher and higher until I was certain that it was going to consume us both. I found I didn’t care if it did. I only wanted to ease the intense need I sensed simmering so fiercely beneath his calm facade.
Why he would need or want me, I didn’t know and I didn’t care. Not right now. I was too entangled in the wonderful sensations encompassing me to care. He pressed tighter against me. His arm encircled my waist as he lifted me against him, holding me firm. I was lost, adrift in him. I had never felt like this before, never experienced something so fantastic, and joyous, and right. And it was so very right; it was as if everything in the world, no matter how awful and horrible it was, would be ok. I had found a place to belong, a place of safety within his arms. As long as I was here, and he was here, I would survive. We would survive.
Then something else began to happen. Something within my mind began to unravel, opening slowly before me like a morning glory to the light of daybreak. Memories spilled forth, engulfing me as they spiraled rapidly beyond my control. Memories that I had long ago buried because that was where I preferred them. Memories of that horrible day. A day that, until this one, I had never thought could be topped as far as fear and devastation went.
I had been trapped, upside down, pinned by the twisted metal of the car. Stuck within the backseat I could do nothing more than stare at the broken body of my father in front of me. In the beginning he had been awake, he had asked about me, he had worried about me, but as time dragged on, and more blood was lost, he’d grown silent.
It had been awful, horrendous. So awful in fact that I had been too numb to cry, too engulfed by misery to fully understand what was going on. I was only nine, the most I knew of death was the small ceremonies we’d held to bury our pets in the backyard. I didn’t know much of death, but I knew the exact moment when my father left me. I knew the man I loved more than anything was not coming back to me, and I still did not cry. I had been trapped within that wreck for hours, unable to break free no matter how hard I tried before they found us.
It had taking another hour for the rescuers to free me from the car. For that hour they had draped a sheet over my father, not to protect me from seeing him, it was too late for that. They had done it because they were unable to handle the sight of his ruined body, especially in front of his oddly silent, eerily calm, and somewhat unnerving young daughter.
I didn’t cry that day, or the three that followed it. I didn’t speak either. I did not talk about what I had seen, what it had been like to be imprisoned, unable to break free, while I listened to the sound of my father’s blood dripping against the roof. I did not talk about the fact that his small moans of agony, moans that he had tried to stifle from me, haunted my every moment. I did not mention the awful silence and agony that had engulfed me when those moans had stopped. I was left with only the endlessly dripping blood, and the horrifying realization that my father was gone. I had been unable to tell him that I loved him just once more before he left me. I told no one about any of it, not even my mother, who even through her own grief and anguish was more concerned about my wellbeing, than her own.
That was the main reason I didn’t cry. I did not want her to know how badly I was hurt, how haunted and tormented I was. I wanted her to believe that I was strong, that I would be ok. I wanted her to believe that no matter what had happened she wouldn’t have to worry about me too. I was fine. I was brave. I would survive, no matter how distraught, terrified, and broken I really was.
It wasn’t until the day of the funeral that I finally cried, and thankfully my mother had not been there to see it. But Cade had.
The funeral had been over. I was still wearing the small black dress my mother had picked out for me. Abby and Aiden, also dressed in black, had not been as stoic as me throughout the ceremony. They had wept openly. It was a fact that was not missed by most people and at the reception after I was the main topic of conversation. Though they whispered, and thought they were keeping their words from me, I was not as gone as they seemed to think I was. I did not catch it all, but I caught enough to know that their hushed words, and fearful tones were not truly heartfelt, but merely more gossip for them to banter about. Was there somethi
ng wrong with me? Had the accident ruined me? Had I always been a cold child? Had they somehow managed to miss my oddness until now, when it was so blatantly obvious?
I’d slipped out of the house, eager to escape the oppressive heat of the house and their phony concern. There was a large, beautiful garden to the right of the house that my mom had been forced to sell the following year. The garden had been my mother’s pride and joy, filled with flowers, strange plants, and wonderful smells. In the far back corner there had been a wooden bench tucked beneath the boughs of a giant willow. It was that bench that I made my way to.
I sat there for a long time, my hands folded before me as I watched bees buzzing lazily about, and butterflies flitting from here to there. I tried not to think about anything, struggled not to break under the weight of my mourning as it threatened to consume me. I don’t know how long I sat there before I felt the presence of someone else. I lifted my head, blinking against the bright light of the sun that had drifted lower in the sky. It took a few moments to make out the young boy that had wandered into the garden; surprise filled me as I recognized Cade.
Up until a couple of years ago Cade had been good friends with Aiden. I had always liked him. Unlike Aiden’s other friends he had never tried to push me away, never called me names, and had not found me annoying, or tried to ditch me. He’d always invited me to play with them, always been kind and gentle. He exhibited endless patience with me, even when he’d taught me how to fish and I had insisted on throwing them all back. Aiden had vehemently protested it. Cade had simply done as I’d asked without a word of complaint and an understanding smile that had melted my young heart.
Then, when I was seven and Cade was eight, his parent’s were killed in a home robbery gone wrong. Cade had been fortunate enough to be at a friend’s house when the murders occurred. He was placed into foster care after, and though he still lived in our town he had no longer lived near us. His friendship with Aiden ended abruptly after, and he’d stopped coming to our house nearly every day. He became distant and unfriendly toward us as he took to moving coldly, and methodically, through his life. At his parent’s funeral the caring friend I’d known, and loved, had ignored me when I tried to convey my sympathy over his awful loss. I’d tried to speak to him twice after that, but he’d walked right past me. Wounded and confused, I had given up trying after that.
And then, two years later, Cade with two parents gone and me with one, was suddenly standing before me again. He was taller than the last time he’d been at my house, lankier, and already becoming one of the most handsome and sought after boys in school. And yet, that was not the person standing before me in the garden. This person was different. This person was not just a mere boy, not anymore. For the first time I understood that though Cade still looked like a boy, he had long ago stopped being one. He had, in fact, become a man two years ago when his parents were so cruelly ripped away from him. Fate had seen fit to spare him, but longing and pain lingered within his surprisingly wise eyes.
For the first time I understood why Cade no longer smiled and laughed and talked and played with us anymore. For the first time I understood that though I may do those things again someday, I would never do them in the same way that I had done them just four days ago. For the first time, I understood that though Abby and Aiden had also lost a parent, they did not share what Cade and I did. They did not have to live with the burden of having been spared, when they should have died. My siblings would never wish that they had been home too, so maybe they could have done something to stop it like Cade did. They would never wish that they had been able to warn our dad about the deer sooner, before it had been too late to stop the car. They would never feel guilt over being the ones to survive, when they shouldn’t have. When we shouldn’t have. They did not share what Cade and I did, they never would. They never could, and I was immensely grateful for that fact as I would never want them to.
Cade sat beside me, silent in the fading light of what had been a beautiful early summer day. We did not speak as an hour, and then two, slipped by. The sunset lit up the sky with a myriad of beautiful colors that should have been uplifting, but somehow only made me sadder. My father would never see such a beautiful sunset again. I should not be here to see it, but I was.
Seeming to sense my growing distress, Cade’s long fingers slid into mine. His strong, young hand clasped upon mine, holding me tight. Something began to ease inside of me. I felt at home, I did not feel so ashamed and devastated with him beside me, holding me. For the first time in days I did not feel guilty, was not consumed by self-hatred, did not close my eyes and see the broken body of my father. The nightmares that caused me to wake, screaming soundlessly every night, did not even seem so bad at the moment. With him holding my hand I did not feel like I was going to fall apart, shattering like a dropped piece of glass if I moved the wrong way. For the first time, I almost felt a small measure of peace again.
“It’s ok to cry.” His voice was soft as the remains of the sun slipped over the horizon.
And for the first and last time, I did. I did not sob loudly, did not fall completely apart. Did not scream and rail against the heavens, or fate, as I had feared every second of the past few days I would. Instead I wept silently as all the pain and shame poured steadily from me. He wrapped his arm around me, pulling me against his side. Cradling my head gently he did not tell me to stop, did not tell me that it would all be alright, did not offer me the same false words that everyone else had over the past few days. He simply held and comforted me in a way that I had never been held, or comforted, before.
It was dark before my tears finally subsided and I lay spent against him. I could feel the hard press of his ribs against my cheek; hear the hard knock of his heart. The crickets were out, an owl hooted somewhere in the distance, and though it was growing cooler neither of us moved. I needed him, needed his understanding, needed to know that I was not as hated as I felt. In those moments, I needed him more than I had ever needed anything in my life. I was not going to be the first one to pull away.
It was another hour before my front door opened and light spilled across the large front porch. People had been steadily leaving all day, but no one had noticed us under the gentle branches of the willow tree. There were still a few cars in the drive, but I knew that it was not one of their owners stepping outside now.
“Bethany! Bethy are you out here!?” I wanted to stay hidden away, wanted to remain secure in Cade’s arms all night. The last thing I wanted was to return to that house, with all of its loving memories, reminders of things lost, and enclosed spaces. “Bethany where are you!?”
It was the edge of hysteria in her voice that slowly roused me from my gentle cocoon of understanding and support. She had just lost her husband, and she was terrified that she was losing me. I hadn’t understood it at the time, but my mother had known I was standing on a thin precipice that was about to crumble from beneath me. She had feared she would lose me forever, and she hadn’t known how to stop it from happening. Only Cade had.
“Bethany!” Her voice broke, the ‘any’ part of my name came out as more of a sob then a shout.
“Here mom!” I called, unable to bear the thought of her crying again, at least not over me. Though, she had already cried plenty of times for me. “I’m right here!”
“Where?”
“The garden. I’ll be right in!”
She didn’t call for me again, but she didn’t go inside either. She stood in the doorway, waiting patiently for her wayward, broken child. Cade squeezed my hand gently; I sensed the loss that filled him, the regret and sorrow that captured him. He wrapped his hand around the back of my head. Pulling me to him, he kissed my forehead lightly, and with a note of goodbye that caused the last of my tears to fall.
“One day Bethany the nightmares will not plague you, the hurt will not be all encompassing, and you will be able to breathe again. It does get better, I can promise you that much.”
I nodded; he was the first
person that had told me this that I actually believed. I put faith in his words because he knew, he understood more than anyone else could how I felt. And over time, through the therapy my mom forced me into, and because of the enduring love of my family, friends, and my own growing understanding of the world and myself, things had gotten better. Just as he had promised they would. But back then, his promise was the only thing I had to count on in those early hours, days, and weeks. The only thing I had to cling to in order to keep some grip on the world surrounding me, in order to keep on breathing.
“Bethany!” my mom called again, impatience and worry evident in her voice.
“I have to go.” He nodded, pulled me close to him and kissing me ever so softly again but this time on the mouth. I stared at him in awe, my lips trembling as I was jolted by the impact of his warm lips upon mine. I had just received my first kiss, and it had been so wonderfully sweet and uplifting. It had been everything I had ever dreamed it would be, even on that hideously dark night. “Goodnight Cade.”
He managed a small smile; his dark eyes gleamed in the rising moonlight as he released me. My legs were shaking from his lingering effect upon me as I made my way out from under the tree. “Goodbye Bethany,” I thought I heard him whisper.
When I glanced back I could just barely make him out upon the bench, watching me as I walked to the house. Over the next few weeks I kept expecting him to reappear, I would even go to the garden and wait for him, but he never did. I would see him in school, but I was too shy to approach him after being rebuked before, and he did not approach me. Then, as time slipped by, and the normal routine of life once again took hold, I stopped waiting for him to reappear, and eventually forgot about that night.
Until now.
And now I was swarmed by the memory, the feelings, the emotions, the loss, and the peace that he had given me on that long ago night. And I was once again crying.
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