Even If I Fall

by Abigail Johnson

  A stranger might not even see the faint impression that marks the turnoff for Hackman’s Road, but I’d know it in my sleep. Soon I’m driving up the hill above the pond and wondering at the erratic beating of my heart. Heath’s not waiting for me by the massive live oak tree, and I tell myself he never was. It seems ridiculous to think we had a conversation, however vaguely, about meeting here, much less either of us actually showing up. Yet here I am, and I can’t say that a part of me isn’t disappointed that he’s not here too.

  As I pull off the road at the top of the hill and lower my hands to my lap as the engine idles, I force my gaze to roam beyond the tree. This stretch of road doesn’t even have a name anymore. There’s a rusted pole several miles back, but if there ever was an actual sign on it, no one remembers what it was. It’s the road by Hackman’s Pond, and how the pond got that name is as big a mystery as the unnamed road. There isn’t a house or structure for miles. The verdant grasses grow high and wild and so thick on either side of the road that when the wind blows it looks like waves on a sea splashed with sprays of golden yellow wildflowers.

  The sun is still high in the sky, making the smooth surface of the pond glow amber and gold. The sun-bleached white dock jutting from the pond’s edge is empty, but I know how smooth the worn planks would feel beneath my feet. This is exactly the kind of summer afternoon that would have seen me and Jason and Laura here, leaping off our bikes and kicking off our shoes—when we bothered to wear them—as we raced to see who would reach the end of the dock first. No matter how big our head start was, Jason always beat us. He usually had time to spin backward so that he could grin in triumph at us as he cannonballed into the water, drenching Laura and me before we even left the dock.

  We didn’t come here as much once Jason turned sixteen and got his license, but there were always a few days each summer—the sweltering sticky ones—when Jason would look at Laura or me and without a word we’d all just know. We’d drive to the pond instead of biking, but still race like little kids to see who could reach the water first. My heart clenches tighter and tighter as I look at the empty dock, imagining the three of us running across it. It hurts to hold on to the memory, but I’ll never let go.

  There’s nothing feigned about the relief I feel at being alone. It’s different than the kind of alone I feel surrounded by other people, even my family. I can cry here if I want, or scream, or both. I can think about the dreams I had for my life, the ones a tiny part of me still hopes will come true, and how not even my mom wants them for me anymore.

  I can think about my brother and feel however I want to about the fact that he’s not with me and that we’ll never again be the kids who leap laughing off the dock at Hackman’s Pond. If I wasn’t alone, there’d still be no one I could talk to about Jason anyway, least of all Heath.

  A few dozen yards from the road is the massive tree Heath mentioned, with its gnarled, tentacle-like branches that rise and dip like they truly were once moving. Even from this distance I can see lighter patches against the gray bark, the names and initials carved by people in this town going back generations, back when this road was the only road. I watched Mark Keller, the first and last boy I ever kissed, immortalize our initials onto the trunk some twenty feet above the heart Jason painstakingly carved around his and Allison’s—the girl he’d openly talked about marrying after college.

  Jason claimed he broke up with Allison in the wake of his arrest and wouldn’t let her come to the courthouse or visit him in prison. He said he didn’t want to ruin her life any more than he already had, but that never sat well with me. I know Cal was her friend in addition to Jason’s, but Jason was supposed to be her soul mate. If she loved him a fraction as much as he loved her, she’d have been there even if it hurt, even if it was only to say goodbye. But she wasn’t. The girl who was at our house so often that Dad made her her own chair vanished, practically overnight. She didn’t come to the arraignment or show up at our house to cry with Mom. She never once sought solace from the only people who understood what she was supposedly losing. As far as I know, she still hasn’t said a word to him. I don’t know if Jason would have told her what drove him to...do what he did that night, but I do know that she made it impossible for him to even try.

  Daphne’s engine dies before I’m conscious of turning the key. A warm breeze ripples across the tall grasses lining the road and surrounding the pond. I shade my eyes from the sun and keep the loose strands of my hair from blowing into my face as I scan the ground for a rock sharp enough to suit my needs. A few more steps take me under the canopy shade of the tree, and instantly the temperature feels a good twenty degrees cooler on top of the sudden ice in my veins. Someone has already beaten me to the task of severing Allison’s initials from my brother’s. Where Jason’s initials used to be, there’s a jagged hole as deep as my fist, as though someone took an ax to that one part of the tree and made sure not a single line remained. It was such a violent assault that not even Allison’s initials escaped the attack. My fingers reach for the gouge and press against the splintered wood as I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back the tears building in my eyes.

  I turn my back to the tree and to the memories that have grown more bitter than they ever were sweet, and that’s when I see what the pounding in my ears didn’t let me hear: a red truck pulling up behind Daphne.

  CHAPTER 13

  I take a step to slide in front of the hacked part of the tree only to stop when the realization hits me that Heath might have been the one who did it. The entire town down to the smallest child would like nothing more than to see the blighted memory of my brother cut out of this tree and every other thing that proves he was ever here, possibly none more so than the guy staring at me through his windshield. Something sharper than the rock I scooped up slices at my heart, and I let the stone tumble from my fingers. Understanding how Heath could hate my brother doesn’t dull the bleeding pain I feel when confronted by it; if anything the pain feels magnified, because reality no longer makes sense. It’s like there are two different people—my brother, and the person who killed Cal.

  I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have given him any indication that I would be. The whisper of disappointment I felt earlier when I thought he hadn’t come is shouted down by the dread locking my joints. It feels like the time I let Laura and Jason talk me into jumping off the train tracks over the Wilcox River.

  Kids in Telford had been jumping off the tracks for decades despite the warning signs. It didn’t look very high from the ground, and even I could admit it wasn’t dangerously high. The worst thing I’d heard happened to a jumper was a split lip, and that was because a couple had tried to jump together midkiss. My siblings had both made the jump before and were relentless in taunting me about being a coward. So one day I caved. I followed them to the middle of the bridge when the morning sun was bright and warm on my skin, watched my then fearless eleven-year-old sister step backward off the edge like she’d done it a million times and had to swallow back a scream as she fell. Not even Laura’s smiling wave from the water below could quell the tremors racking my body. Jason tried to give me a pep talk, pointing out that the drop wasn’t high enough to hurt anything even if I belly flopped. But it was too late. My toes were curled around the rail as I looked down from the dizzying height—in reality no more than forty feet but it felt like forty miles.

  “I can’t do it,” I told Jason.

  “You can,” he said. “I’ll even jump with you.”

  I tore my gaze away from the river to the hand my brother offered me, but only shook my head. I was up too high and the water was down too far. My heart was jackhammering in my chest, fear flooding my mouth with saliva that forced me to swallow endlessly.

  “Don’t be such a baby, Brooke!” Laura shouted up.

  “Give her a sec!” Jason called back, and then met my wild, frightened gaze with his steady one. He inclined his head in Laura’s direction. “She�
�s gonna hold it over your head for a really long time. I’ve seen you get more height at the rink than this, and water is a lot more forgiving than ice.” He smiled at me, but my lips stayed thin and pressed taut. He sighed. “You can’t do one jump? You can say it wasn’t fun or whatever and you won’t ever have to do it again. Come on, let’s go on three?”

  My answer was a violent no that shook my whole body. I was so petrified by then I was sure I’d have to crawl off the tracks.

  “Okay, okay,” Jason had said, wrapping me in a hug I needed more than my next breath. “You don’t have to jump—”

  I’d instantly calmed when my brother rested his chin on my forehead.

  “—all you have to do is hold on.” His hands had locked around my back as he flung himself over the edge, taking me with him.

  One second, two? That’s how long I was airborne. Fear has a way of freezing time, spinning it into an eternity that the body remembers long after the fact. I remember the endless scream ripping from my throat, the wind trying to tear my hair from my scalp, the air punching against my skin. I remember my brother’s arms, once strong and protective, turning hard and binding as I fought to free myself. I want to shake the memory away, but it just burrows deeper.

  I barely remember hitting the water or Jason’s grinning face when I finally surfaced. He’d tried to pump me up, tried to get me to admit that it hadn’t been that bad, but it had. I didn’t talk to him for a week, during which time I tried to convince myself that Jason made me jump only because he thought he was helping me face a fear that he didn’t understand and had therefore minimized. Once he saw how very real that fear had been—and still was—he’d been the picture of contrition. He’d even offered to jump off one of the bridges in Lufkin that was easily five times as high so he could understand what I’d felt if that’s what it took to earn my forgiveness.

  So I forgave him. But I didn’t forget.

  Heath turns off his engine, and countless little eternities fade away before he gets out and walks around the front of his truck. He stops at the edge of the road, standing in the bright sun and squinting at me through eyes he doesn’t bother shading. We’re far enough away from each other that I can’t be sure if I see his mouth moving, saying words he doesn’t mean for me to hear. He starts walking toward me, each step kicking my pulse higher. I tell myself I’m not standing on the train tracks above the Wilcox River, that no one is lying in wait to force me over the edge the moment I lower my guard, but the vertigo ringing in my ears is louder.

  He stops a few yards away, just inches from the shade, seemingly incapable of moving closer.

  “I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” he says.

  “I was sure you weren’t.”

  He might have narrowed his eyes at that; it’s hard to tell when he’s still squinting from the sun.

  Minutes ago I was grateful for the solitude I’d found here and the emotional freedom it afforded me. I can feel my eyes shining and still so perilously close to overflowing, and I want it back now more than ever. I don’t know what Heath would do if I did cry in front of him, true tears, not just the promise of them that he’s seen before. Maybe it would harden him enough that’d he’d be able to walk away for good. Maybe they’d fuel yet another accusation that I’m trying to manipulate him. Worse, maybe they’d rouse his pity. That last thought is so abhorrent to me that my eyes dry and the dizziness along with all memory from the train tracks vanishes in a single shaky breath.

  I take a step toward Heath only to prove to myself that I can, that I’m not that same fearful, shaking girl I used to be, but I slow when he tenses. For some reason, I’m relieved to see that he’s as unsettled as I am.

  When I make no further move, he exhales. “Is that why you came? To make sure I didn’t?” There’s the barest hint of a taunt in his tone, and it makes my chin lift.

  “Does it matter? I’m here, you’re here, exactly where neither of us should be.”

  Heath shifts his weight. The slight movement triggers an impulse to back up, only the tree is behind me, blocking any real retreat. “Why’d you come, Brooke?”

  I feel a flash of hatred for my own name when he says it. “Why did you?”

  His expression makes it clear he’s not going to answer first.

  “I don’t know,” I say, and it’s only a slight lie. I came because I told my brother I would, and because there was a tiny nagging scrap of doubt in my mind that said if Heath did come, I’d feel worse for standing him up than I would confirming he was a no-show. Only now, with the bark behind me digging into my back and memories I don’t want mingling with the ones I do, I stiffen. If the reason he wanted me here was so I could see what was done to Jason’s name—by his hand or another’s—then I was dead wrong.

  “I’m surprised you even know about this place. I’m not used to seeing anyone else out here anymore.”

  “I only live on the end of Mulberry, and I used to fish here with my granddad before his hip started acting up. I guess it’s been a while though.”

  “Was this you?” I ask, reaching behind me to place my hand over the hacked part of the tree.

  His stare follows my hand and I lower it, exposing the gouge marks. Heath doesn’t say anything for a long, long time. Whether he knows Jason’s name was once there or not, it’s obvious now. At last his gaze returns to my face. There’s no triumph at seeing the pain I’m not trying to hide, but neither is there true compassion.

  “No,” he says, the word followed by an audible click of his jaw. Forcing it open again, he adds, “I wouldn’t have picked this place if I had.” Which isn’t the same as saying he wouldn’t have done it.

  The sound of the cicadas clicking swells in the ensuing silence. All I can think is Why did you pick any place? Why put us together when you know it feels like this? What can we possibly gain from each other besides more of this? I can’t blame anyone else for what Jason did, but that doesn’t stop that pain of what I’ve lost from surfacing when Heath is near any more than my presence rouses more for him. The only thing left is for him to go. He doesn’t have to say anything else; I know I won’t.

  His gaze sweeps over me. The movement is swift and seemingly involuntary, based on the way he jerks his gaze back to my face.

  My cheeks flush. That isn’t the kind of scrutiny I expect from him or anyone anymore. I find myself frowning at him, like he betrayed some unspoken rule by looking at me.

  “You’re wearing blue again.”

  I blink at the random comment.

  “You wear it a lot.”

  I nod, wondering if he’s asking a question or stating a fact, and then deciding it doesn’t matter. I do wear blue a lot. Maggie thinks it’s my favorite color.

  It’s on my nails, my shirt, even my car.

  My brother isn’t perfect. He can be overbearing and judgmental, and he always thinks he’s right even when he’s not. Forcing me to jump off those train tracks wasn’t the first less-than-perfect thing he’s done and it wasn’t the last either. There were times growing up when I hated him and he hated me. I used to try to block out those memories, push them to the background of my mind and let only the good ones rise to the front. That’s what I did when Jason was first arrested. I acted like people do at funerals, making saints out of even the most wretched people as though the involuntary act of death erased all the bad things they’d ever done. That’s harder to do when the person isn’t dead but in prison. Jason killed someone, yet I still surround myself with his favorite color because he’s my brother and I miss him. But that isn’t fair to confess to Heath. My brother is alive, but gone; his brother is dead, but everywhere.

  Because of Jason.

  I can’t look away from Heath, even as my staring approaches an uncomfortable line and then barrels past it. I’m thinking about Jason and Laura and whether or not I’d be able to stand here with him if our situations were reversed a
nd his brother was responsible for either of their deaths. The answer is swift and sure. No. I’d have gouged his name from the tree. I’d have chosen the rain over a ride. I’d have done more than yell when I threw Heath’s money back at him. I wouldn’t have been able to hold on to my composure in front of him, not for a single second. It bothers me that he can stay calm, even though I can see that the effort is costing him.

  “I don’t hate you.” Heath’s face is as expressionless as his voice. “I thought I would, that the sight of you, any of you, would be like seeing him.” Jason. Heath’s weight shifts forward as though he’s considering taking another step, one that would bring him under the shade with me. “It hurts, but it’s not hate.” After a moment he nods like we’ve just settled something, only I can’t begin to fathom what it is. He turns toward his truck.

  But then he stops. He doesn’t look at me when he says, “I’ll be here again after it rains.”

  CHAPTER 14

  The murder of Calvin Gaines was the worst crime to ever hit our town. It briefly made national news and locally it was broadcast around the clock for months. TV crews lived in our yard, shoving cameras and microphones into our faces the second we stepped outside. They followed me and Laura to school, chased Mom down at the library where she worked and bombarded Dad at every possible opportunity. One even pretended to be a nurse at my doctor’s office. And it was always different versions of the same questions: