Hush

by Jay Lang

  I wipe my eyes so that the people who are parked close can’t see that I am crying—another fucked-up lesson from my father. Never let people see you cry. They will think you’re weak. No wonder Denny turned out to be such a basket-case.

  At this point I think of my mother. How she walked around with her head down, completely submissive to my father’s bullshit. I wonder again, if it makes her exempt from responsibility. As much as I feel badly for everything she went through with Dad, I think of how she could have taken us kids and moved—anywhere. And how she didn’t. She just stuck it out and we had to stick it out with her.

  I wonder if Denny ever thinks about this. Does he feel anger towards my parents, or is he running so fast on his journey to destruction, he doesn’t think of it at all? But how could he not? Maybe he just grabs a bottle of anything strong when he has a memory flash.

  The one good thing my parents really did was let me have the cottage. I was on a fast train to nowhere before I came to Gabriola. Then, after landing a job at the hatchery and personalizing the cottage, I eventually came into my own. My head stopped racing and I didn’t have the urge to self-medicate or run from my problems anymore. Because of my physical job at the hatchery, my body was tired and my mind could process things at a slower pace.

  Not that I was cured, or that I wouldn’t fall back into my old headspace. Just going over to West Van for my dad’s service reminded me of the way I felt before—confused and over-stimulated and ready to run.

  Lost in thought, I don’t notice the cars moving in the lanes beside me. The truck behind me beeps. Shit! I start the engine and slowly drive onto the ferry.

  It doesn’t matter how sheltered any of the small islands may look on a map; in the Strait of Georgia, the wind can pick up and the sea can get choppy. This morning was a great example. Instead of going to the upper deck and risk getting stuck behind people in the stairwell, I decide to ride out the twenty-five minutes in my truck.

  The workers walk around the car deck ensuring everything is secured, making it impossible for me to smoke undetected. The penalty for lighting up is huge on the ferry and I don’t want to risk the embarrassment of landing a steep fine. I look around the car deck and wonder which vehicle Stinky is riding in. I bet his owner is all over him, giving him big shit for bolting. I open the window and get a huge whiff of sea air. I can hear the waves hitting the hull and I watch the sea foam splash onto the car deck and roll back out.

  I think of Annie and wonder why the hell she didn’t bother to text or call last night. I just pray it wasn’t because she couldn’t. I push it to the back of my mind, focusing instead on the upcoming land and ferry dock. I get out of the truck and walk to the front of the ship. Ever since I was a young girl, I’ve loved to watch the boats dock. I love the jolt when the ferry hits the pylons.

  An automated voice comes over the loudspeaker, informing passengers of the docking. After the jolt I walk back to the truck and hop in. People are clamoring into their vehicles, parents securing kids in car seats, engines rumbling to life. Then, a lane over and about three cars ahead, I see a blond tail wagging in the back of a station wagon. Then, the tail disappears as the animal sits up. He’s wearing a red harness. Yep, that’s my Stinky. I hope they have the windows open—the peanut butter sandwich I fed him generated some evil gas.

  * * *

  After a drive that seemed to take forever, I’m parking in front of the cottage. On my way to the door I grab a pretty purple flower from the long grass.

  The door is unlocked.

  I take a deep breath. Annie has forgotten to lock the door before. Not often—only a few times—but it has happened. I put my keys in my pocket and open the door.

  When it swings open, the day light shines on the living room and I see empty beer cans, chip bags and empty glasses on the coffee table. I clutch the flower so tightly the stem breaks. I drop it outside and close the door.

  “Annie?” I call, but no one answers.

  I feel sick. I walk slowly through the room, which is thick with the smell of stale booze. The bedroom door is open. I’m scared to go through, not sure what—or who—I’ll see. Or if I’ll see anyone at all. I get a vision of Denny forcing Annie onto his boat in the dead of night, and I push it away.

  Slowly, I open the door and peek in. Someone is lying under the covers in the bed, motionless. I cough loudly, hoping to stir the person, but the lump doesn’t move. “Hello?” I say loudly, shocking myself at the volume of my voice. Still, no movement. Slowly, I reach out to poke the lump, then I change my mind and grab the edge the blanket, peeling it back. The first thing I see is hair, blonde hair. I whip the covers off completely.

  She is lying in the fetal position. Her chest moves with each steady breath. I exhale and sit down on the edge of the bed. Putting my hand on her shoulder, I gently shake her, then I lean down and kiss her on the head. Like a shot, she sits up and stares at me, trying to focus.

  “Jade?”

  “Of course. Who else were you expecting?”

  She blinks, as though still muddled with sleep. “Why didn’t you come home when you were supposed to?” Her words wavering.

  “Annie, what are you talking about? What’s wrong?”

  I reach out to touch her shoulder, but she pulls away and puts her hands over her face. A bone-deep feeling that something terrible has happened comes over me. I sit silently, waiting for her to say something, she doesn’t. Instead, she moves past me, getting up and hurrying toward the bathroom. The lock clicks behind her.

  The shower starts, and I lay my head on my pillow. I catch a whiff of something foreign. Frowning, I grab a handful of the sheets and smell. Nothing. I turn and press my face into the pillow—there it is. Musky cologne, but not the cheap, dime-a-bucket shit.

  The water in the shower shuts off and Annie opens the door, wearing her thick terry cloth-robe and a towel around her head. She glances at me briefly before walking into the kitchen.

  Getting up, I follow her and take a seat at the table while she fiddles with tea canisters and adds water to the small silver kettle.

  “Talk to me, Annie. I want to know what the hell is going on. I can’t read your mind.”

  Again, she says nothing. The room is quiet for what feels like forever, until the kettle starts to boil and whistle.

  “Dammit, Annie. You’re scaring the shit out of me. Say something.”

  She slowly turns her focus away from the kettle and meets my gaze. “I can’t. I can’t remember everything, and the things I do remember, I wish I didn’t.” Her voice breaks again.

  I get up and walk to her. This time, she doesn’t avoid my embrace. This time, when I hold my arms out, she falls into me and buries her face into my neck.

  I gently lift her chin until our eyes meet. Her usually beautiful eyes are bloodshot and spaced out. I sit her down at the table and then fix the pot of tea and join her. I don’t want to come on too strong, as is my tendency. I can see how fragile she is. Gently, I ask if something happened last night.

  She nods and buries her face in the sleeve of her robe.

  “Did Denny do something to you, Annie?”

  I stare at her, hoping to God that she says no, but my intuition tells me otherwise.

  “Yes, and no.”

  I stare at her. What the hell does that mean? “Annie, did that son-of-a-bitch hurt you?”

  “No. Not with his own hands.”

  What the hell does that mean? I feel like screaming, but I stop myself. “How, then?”

  “He didn’t stop…” She pauses and closes her eyes hard.

  “What?”

  “He didn’t stop Robbie.”

  My body takes over before my mind can stop it. I reach out and grasp her shoulders. She flinches but doesn’t pull away. “Annie,” I say urgently. “Tell me. What happened.”

  Sniffing back tears, she slowly tells me the story—far too slowly. How Denny and Robbie had shown up and they all sat at the table for a beer. How Denny had said that
if she had a drink with them, they’d leave right after. That he only wanted to drop off some papers for me to sign. “I think they were about your dad’s will.”

  I couldn’t give less of a shit about papers, but I nod to let her know I’m following her and encourage her to keep going.

  “They were both being so nice, Jade. Completely the opposite from when they were here before. I felt safe with them. I remember getting up to go to the bathroom and then coming back and finishing my drink. After that, I only remember bits and pieces, like glimpses in a nightmare.”

  “Annie, they drugged you. They had to have. That piece of shit, Denny.”

  “It wasn’t Denny, Jade. It was Robbie, I’m sure of it.”

  I think of how Robbie had stopped Denny that night. I can’t wrap my mind around it. But I can see in her eyes that she’s certain. “What did Robbie do, Annie?” I know what’s coming. I can’t bear to hear any more, but I know I have to.

  She says the words, and the room gets smaller. I close my eyes for a long moment, fighting to stay calm. “Are you sure?”

  “Am I sure?” She looks at me, a spark of anger in her eyes. “I think I know when I’ve had sex, especially unwilling sex.”

  My mind spins and I have to remind myself to take a breath. “We have to go to the police.”

  “See.” She buries her face in her hands. “I knew that you would do this. Freak out and want to drag me to the cop shop or the hospital. I’m not going.”

  “That’s ridiculous—”

  “I won’t put myself through that, Jade.” Her voice is firm. “I’ve known girls from work that this happened to—they went to the cops, they were brought to the hospital for a rape kit. They said it was humiliating and painful, and that even after all of it, no charges were laid. Not one.”

  “How is that possible?”

  She looks at the ceiling. Her eyes are sparkling again. “Because, Jade, when you’ve been drugged, your body relaxes. At the hospital, they look for vaginal tears. I was so out of it that I wouldn’t have been able to tense up if I tried.”

  I feel tears well up. “We can’t just let him get away with this.”

  “What do you mean, we?” She has those sparks in her eyes again. “You weren’t there, Jade. This is my body. I’m not putting myself through anymore and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  I ignore the stab of pain I feel at ‘you weren’t there’. “Denny, what did he do? He didn’t…he didn’t…”

  “He didn’t participate.” She pauses. “But he didn’t help me either. I screamed for him to help me and he left.”

  I feel sick at the image. Annie screaming as Robbie forces himself on her, Denny turning and walking away. I can’t handle that the same blood runs through our veins. That fucking monster—he’s just as guilty as Robbie is. I wince at any thought of violence, but right now, I could end both of them with a smile on my face.

  I hesitate, then put a hand on hers. To my relief, she doesn’t pull away. “I’m so sorry. If only I didn’t miss the ferry, then—”

  “Then what?” Her voice is dull. “What could you have done? Gotten raped too?”

  No, because I would’ve never left my open beer in a room with two strange men, then drank it. Immediately I feel guilty for thinking this. Annie’s trust in people is one of the things I love most about her.

  “I need to get out of here for a while,” Annie says.

  I break out of my daze. “I’ll call my boss right now and take next week off, okay? Where should we go?”

  “Not, we, me!”

  Her words are sharp, and I quickly pull my hand from hers. “Oh. Okay.” I struggle for words. “You want to go alone?”

  She picks up her cup and swirls the tea, of which she hasn’t yet taken a drink . “What I want, Jade, is for none of this to have happened. But, since it has, I need to find my center again so I can function. I can only do that if I’m left alone and not worrying about what mood I’m in so that I don’t hurt your feelings.”

  Her words cut through me and leave me bleeding but they don’t stop me from arguing. “I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

  “Well, I shouldn’t have been alone last night, either.”

  “Annie, don’t do that.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. See? See why I have to go?”

  “Can you just listen to me for a moment?” I work to keep my voice steady. “If you still want to leave after I’m done talking, I’ll completely understand. I just need you to hear me out.”

  I hate the idea of her alone and confused; in my opinion, it’s the very last thing she needs. But the truth is, I loathe the idea of being alone and confused myself.

  I sit back in my chair and take a deep breath, then start. “Annie, listen. I know what you’re going through is horrible. But if you run away, you’ll just be avoiding it. You can’t do that. It’ll fuck your head up. Here, I can help you—we can keep the stimuli around you calm and peaceful, and you’ll have a much better chance of dealing with what happened.”

  She nods slowly, and for a moment I feel relief. “Jade,” she says evenly, “has anyone ever drugged and raped you?”

  “No.”

  “Right.” She looks up from her tea. “Then save your fucking speech.”

  I stare at her, and she stares back. Her eyes are steel blue and cold and her lips are thin. I don’t know this person.

  “Annie, please,” I say reaching out to her.

  She pulls away and gets up and walks into the bathroom.

  A few minutes later, I hear the shower turn on again.

  I cover my mouth and cry silently. I don’t want her to hear me. I’ve got to be her strength in all of this. But I have no idea how to help her.

  When I hear the water shut off, I wipe my eyes. Annie walks out with a towel around her. Her skin is covered in long red welts. “Annie, your skin.”

  “I used a pumice stone.”

  “Oh, sweetie. No.”

  “Stop it, Jade.”

  I want to say more, but I force the words back down my throat. She looks at me, and I know she can see my concern. She sighs. “It’s fine.”

  “Please don’t leave, Annie.”

  “I won’t.”

  Chapter Six

  I don’t leave her side over the next week. Though I hate lying, I call into work with ‘the flu’, explaining that I must have gotten it from Tim when he helped me with the tire. Considering the work I picked up for Tim in the past, I don’t feel too badly about not being there to help him.

  Annie and I spend most of our time indoors. I read poetry to her or help her with her shell mobiles. She never talks about that night, and when I try to, she shuts me down right away. At night, we drink wine, lots of it—it helps us keep our minds occupied long enough to fall asleep.

  That Friday, a week after that awful night, I talk Annie into coming on the boat with me for a couple hours to fish and take in the scenery. We pack a small lunch and a thermos of tea before heading down to the dock. As soon as I put my tackle box and rod into the boat, I notice that one of the seat floatation pads are gone. The cushions aren’t that buoyant, but they’re great padding for your ass when the sea gets choppy. I tell Annie to take a seat. She sits at the stern and waits quietly, her journal and pencil case in her lap.

  After untying the boat, I start the engine and slowly head towards the other side of the island, where the best fishing spots are as well as multiple campers and camping spots all along the shore. This is a prime vacation destination for tourists. Since Annie and I first met here, the place has grown in population some, but not as fast as other islands like Salt Spring have.

  What draws the visitors are the art studios, the bays, and fishing charters, but most of all, it’s the sense of community. A non-superficial vibe. It draws people in, and they probably don’t even realise why. There’s none of the West Van vanity, no desire to have the shinier car.

  After fifteen or so minutes
, we’re two bays over and I’m getting my rod ready for trolling. Annie brought a blanket and is lying with her back against the side of the boat, her legs crossed and her feet hanging out over the edge. Her flowery summer dress and the way she’s loosely pinned her hair on top of her head makes my heart ache. I’ve missed touching her, feeling her soft skin with my fingers, kissing her. Over the past week, she hasn’t wanted to be touched, and I don’t try.

  After letting some line out, I place my rod in the holder and slowly drive in a wide circle around the bay. I want to catch a red snapper and if I let the boat go too slowly, I’ll get a dogfish on the line. As we make another turn, I glance at Annie. She is scribbling in her journal, her eyebrows knitted in intense focus. “Annie.”