Redemptive

by Jay McLean

  With an annoyed huff, I pulled my hand away and fell onto my back, my frustrated glare aimed at the ceiling.

  “Nathaniel!” she yelped, sitting up quickly. A flash of rage sparked in her eyes and for a moment, I was afraid. Then I remembered she was a hundred pounds soaking wet, and physically, I’d be fine. But emotionally…

  As quickly as she’d sat up, she moved to sit on top of me, her legs straddling mine. “You can’t tease me like that!” she whined, her fingers locking with mine as she pinned down my hands with hers. My cock wasn’t immune to how she was positioned and the way she moved on me. She leaned forward; her tits only inches from my mouth, and my dick throbbed. Her eyes drifted shut while she ground down on me. Just once. But they snapped open when she felt my hands attempt to break free from her so I could grab her waist, her ass, her tits, any part of her. With her jaw set, she pressed down on my hands, and I couldn’t help but smirk. “It’s kind of adorable that you think you can hold me down.”

  She moved on me again, her eyebrows raised, and I decided to quit challenging her. She smiled. “What was with you just now? Asking me about diamonds and perfume?”

  I was too uncomfortable (or maybe too ashamed) to face her so I looked away. She didn’t miss a beat, didn’t give me a chance to wallow in the depths of my pathetic insecurities. “Nate?”

  “I know you were disappointed about the leaves. It was dumb to think that you’d want them. Tiny compared them to diamonds and now that I think about it, it’s so fuckin’ stupid and of course you’re going to be disappointed. They’re fuckin’ leaves, Bai—”

  “You think I’m disappointed because I wanted more than leaves?” she asked, releasing my hands. Her shoulders dropped as she leaned back, her arms wrapped around her stomach.

  “I saw your face, Bailey. It’s kind of hard to deny.”

  She swallowed loudly as she looked down at me, an emotion on her face I couldn’t decipher. Then she sighed, shifted off me and laid next to me, her gaze on the ceiling. She reached for my hand under the covers, and I let her take it, a nervous silence blanketing the both of us.

  “It’s not what you think,” she said quietly, her head rolling to the side so she could face me. I was already watching her, waiting for her to speak. “And I’m sorry that you thought that.”

  “So what is it?” I asked, moving to my side. I waited for her to do the same and once she did, I pulled her by the waist until we were chest to chest, our legs a tangled mess.

  “You’re going to think it’s dumb,” she whispered, her gaze lowering.

  I held her tighter, my forehead against hers. “So tell me anyway.”

  She sucked in a breath and held it for a while as if doing so would give her the strength she needed. “I know it sounds stupid, but besides you, it was the only thing I had to look forward to every day… a stupid leaf… and now it’s gone.”

  33

  Bailey

  1,362.

  1,363.

  1,364.

  I’d started counting again. Obviously.

  I needed to.

  I needed to do something, and counting was the only thing that kept my attention long enough.

  I’d woken up with a headache. One caused by all the stupid crying I’d done last night. Nate had held me, not offering much as far as verbal support but then again, what could he say? I was crying because he’d given me too many leaves and no amount of hushes, or hair strokes could take away how pathetic I was, or the fact that, yes, I was still crying about it.

  I’d pretended to sleep in until the last possible minute, just enough for Nate to make sure I’d taken my meds and for him to get me my breakfast and then he was off, and I was left with a pile of leaves and two thousand and something tiles.

  I showered three times, shaved once, made the bed ten times after getting in and out nine times. I circled the room, did jumping jacks, and flushed my lunch down the toilet. That was all six thousand and something tiles ago.

  The sounds of the house alarm went off, and I sat in my spot in front of the wall, annoyed that the noise had interrupted my count, and listened to Nate and Tiny’s voices as they came closer, their footsteps thumping across the floor, stopping for a moment at the basement entry. A second later, the wooden stairs creaked, and a few seconds after that, Nate spoke behind me. “Tiny got that stuff you wanted,” he said, and I looked up at him leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. “Sorry.” He grimaced. “Did I make you lose count?” His tone was flat, his voice weary and I cocked my head as I took him in. Really took him in. His hair was a mess. Long, thick, dark strands sticking out all over the place and his eyes… his eyes were so tired. Still, he stood there, a smile on his face that was as sincere as any other he’d given me, and so I got to my feet, and made my way to him, my hand grasping his as soon as he was within reach.

  Of course he’d be tired… he spent the entire night taking care of me and my crazy, and he didn’t get the luxury of lying in bed nine times a day. I cupped his cheek and leaned up, kissing him softly, slowly, and he returned the kiss with the same passion, same need as always.

  “What was that for?” he asked, licking the taste of my kiss from his lips.

  I shrugged and gripped his hand tighter as I led him to the table where Tiny was emptying the bags of takeout. A few weeks back, Tiny and Nate had brought home something that hadn’t sat well with me and so I’d spent the next few days over the toilet bowl. Nate, being Nate, nixed the idea of fast-food style takeout, and now we all had to sit and eat food from some dairy-free, gluten-free, fat-free, happiness-free restaurant. I was almost positive Tiny went out afterward and bought the greasiest burger known to man, but he put up with it for me… and maybe because Nate made him.

  They offered to help with the leaf project, and when I told them I wanted to do it on my own, something to occupy my time while they were gone, Nate agreed.

  So, a month later, and with the help of Tiny running errands and getting supplies and Nate helping to hang the fairy lights, I stood at the bottom of the basement stairs with my hand on the light switch, a swell of pride coming over me at the idea of what I’d created. “Hurry up, babe. I want to see it,” Nate said, lying on the bed, one arm folded behind his head, the other out to his side, waiting for me.

  I flicked the switch, casting darkness across the room, an excited giggle pouring out of me as I blindly made my way to the bed. Once settled in Nate’s arms, he asked, “Ready, baby?”

  I nodded against his chest, hoping he’d feel it and a moment later, the fairy lights turned on, creating a glow directly above the bed. Trickles of light and reflections danced through the hanging strings of laminated fall leaves, and I exhaled slowly, a million emotions hitting me at once.

  “Holy shit,” Nate breathed out. “It’s beautiful, Bailey.”

  I tried to speak so I could agree with him but the knot in my throat prevented it. There was a burning behind my eyes, and as hard as I tried to fight back the tears, they came. They came fast and strong and just like that, I was crying. Not loud and ugly like I had the night I found out Nate had had a birthday without me, but quiet… calm… peaceful, almost. It was the moment realization set in and all my hopes and dreams lay lost in the darkness, and no amount of fall leaves or fake sunlight could save them.

  “I missed my mother the moment she left me,” I said, maybe to him, or maybe just to get it out of my system. “I was lying in the backyard surrounded by leaves, looking up at the ones still hanging on the tree, the sunlight behind them… then I heard her car door close and the engine start and by the time I ran out there she was gone. It was almost like we are attached by an invisible elastic band and the moment she was far enough, it snapped from the force of the tension, and I’d felt that snap right away. There was a sudden ache in my chest, a twist in my gut, and I knew she wasn’t coming back. I couldn’t tell you how I knew, I just knew…”

  Nate leaned up on his elbow, looking down on me as the backs of his fingers swi
ped at my tears.

  “But this—this is different. It’s like small flames burning a hole in my memory, one flicker at a time and I don’t actually realize I’m missing something, or longing for it until something sets it off. Like now, I guess,” I whispered, struggling to find my voice. “I miss the cold wind against my cheeks, the dewy grass beneath my feet. I miss the moon and the stars, the sun and the sky. And I miss air.” I sniffed back a sob, my hands fisted at my side as Nate sat up and looked down at me, but I couldn’t look at him. So instead of facing the truth—the hurt that I knew I’d be causing him (because he’d done everything, everything, so I didn’t feel this way) I kept talking, kept piercing another knife through his heart. “It’s so stupid that I miss air, but I do. I miss the sounds of the birds calling out every morning, and the trains and the cars, and the smell of the trains and the cars and the people. I miss people, and I didn’t even like people.”

  I inhaled a much-needed breath as I let my body catch up to my mind, and when my heart settled somewhere near my stomach, and my breaths had slowed, I looked up at Nate, eyes on mine, worried as always, and I wondered if he ever thought about it. If he even still cared? Or was this it now? Was this his plan?

  I’d heard nothing on the missing persons report. Nothing about PJ. Nothing about my freedom. I tried to convince myself that it was his way of protecting me.

  It’s better this way. The less you know, the less you’ll be accountable for if anything happens. Those were his words.

  And as my eyes drifted shut and he kissed away the tears, silent promises created with forgotten regrets, I wondered if this was his plan now.

  Me.

  Here.

  Trapped in the chaos of the silence.

  Nate lay back down beside me, his hand holding mine as we stared up at the leaves. “I get it,” he finally said. “You have leaves, and I have hickory. That’s the color of her eyes. My mother’s. I know because after she died, I tried to match the color from my memory to all the paint samples on the walls at the hardware store and months later, I finally settled on one. Hickory. But if fear had a distinct color, I’d definitely call it that. It’s strange… that you can be so young… so naive… but the moment there’s something wrong with the person who created your heartbeat… you know. At least, I knew. I knew she was down here and when she saw me… the fear wasn’t just in her eyes, it was in her entire body… and even when the man—a man I’d recognized—slammed her against the wall with his hand on her neck, she kept her eyes on mine. She was mouthing something. Something I couldn’t make out and all I could remember was when it happened a few years earlier, I’d sat in my closet, singing that stupid song while I listened to her cries from her bedroom. But I believed I was bigger and stronger then, and my dad had shown me the basics of a gun. He’d wanted to teach me, but I didn’t want to learn. I was ten. I didn’t like guns. I liked to read books and learn languages and do science experiments. I wasn’t a criminal.” Nate spat out the last word like it was poison on his tongue. Then he shifted his weight, his hand coming up to rub his eyes, and when he was done, he sniffed once and looked up at the ceiling again, his breathing even. He was the epitome of the perfect calm, right before the most dangerous storm. “I remember my mom’s eyes widening when I came back down with the gun. The guy had his hand over her mouth, his pants to his knees…” Nate choked on his words, while I choked on my broken, barely beating heart. He sniffed again, and then turned to me, eyes red and raw and filled with a lifetime of tears. “I wasn’t aiming for her, Bailey, but when the gun went off, she fell to the ground, and the guy ran out of the house. Blood poured from her stomach, pooling at my shoes, and leaked onto the tie of my catholic-school uniform when I lay down beside her. I didn’t say a word. I just moved into her chest and made her put her arms around me. Then I looked up and into her eyes and all I saw was Hickory.”

  34

  Nate

  “I bet she’s a real good fuckin’ whore for you.”

  “It shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, I guess… You are a DeLuca after all.”

  “And everyone knows your mother was a whore.”

  35

  Bailey

  Two thousand five hundred and sixty-eight. That was the number of tiles on the wall.

  One day I counted that exact number three times in a row. If I could explain in words my rise and fall, my success and demise, it would be two thousand five hundred and sixty-eight.

  “I’ll be back later tonight, okay?” Nate said, squatting down next to the bed, his worried eyes filled with pity.

  I nodded as I lay in bed, refusing to look at him, and pulled the covers closer to my chest.

  I’d woken up that morning, eaten breakfast, taken my meds and then pretended not to be surprised when Nate had told me what day it was. Valentine’s day.

  He’d handed me a little velvet bag as hopefulness replaced the pity in his eyes, just for a moment, but then returned when I’d given him a half-hearted thank you and took the bag from him. I’d set it on the nightstand, gotten back into bed, and had looked up at the fall leaves hanging from the ceiling. And that was how I stayed, all day, falling in and out of sleep, crying my silent cries, suffering my silent pain.

  Now, he was dressed in a suit, his tie bright red, matching the color of blood… just like the blood that led me here. “Do you want me to bring you back anything? I don’t know how long I’ll be so—”

  “Have a good time,” I cut in, my voice husky from lack of use.

  He nodded once, then looked over at my nightstand, at the unopened gift he’d given me this morning. “I’m sorry that I have to leave tonight. It’s one of the biggest nights of the year, and I need to be there, but I rearranged my schedule so I could stay home tomorrow and celebrate—”

  “Sure,” I cut in, but what I really wanted to say was celebrate what? Celebrate being forced to love someone? I almost said it. Almost. But then he smiled, and I swear the entire room lit up, as well all the empty spaces of my cold, dead, heart. He ran his hand through my hair and wet his lips before kissing my forehead.

  “Good,” he said, backing away so he could look at me again. “I know I’ve been working a lot, lately…”

  My eyes drifted shut when he placed his hand on my cheek. “It’s okay. I understand.”

  I didn’t understand.

  I wanted to.

  But I couldn’t.

  He kissed me again. “Ti amo, mia bella regazza.”

  *

  It was a gold-plated fall leaf.

  I thought the present would’ve been flashy jewelry of some kind, and that’s why I hadn’t opened it. I didn’t want jewelry. I had no need for it. To be honest, I didn’t even love the bracelet he got me anymore. One day he’d come home with a flower charm and all it had done was remind me of what was out there and all the things I’d been missing… all the things I missed.

  I wore it for him because there was only so much sadness and misery I could invoke on one person before I began to hate the person who created the misery.

  The leaf dug into my palms as I fisted it, holding it tight while I switched off all the lights, bar the fairy lights, and got back into bed. I closed my eyes, feeling the tears trickle down my temples, and then I let myself go back there, back to summers on a lake, bristles of a bright purple hairbrush combing through my hair, my mother’s fingers following after. I got lost in the sound of her voice as she sang to me, her words a declaration of her love for me. I was her sunshine. Her only sunshine. My heart tore in two as I sang the words aloud, and anger swept through my veins. How dare she tell me she loved me? How dare she sing that song? How dare she beg and plead with phrases meant for children, that nobody take me away from her, and then be the one to leave? The anger faded, replaced with sadness and longing, and I found myself crying, though it wasn’t really a surprise. I fell asleep that way, visions of my mother, of my freedom, of my life—all slipping away from me—and I awoke the same way, Nate’s light snoring br
inging a soundtrack to my downfall.

  For the next few days, I lived and breathed those same thoughts, same memories, same shattered hopes and dreams and so when Tuesday came around, and I watched Tiny unwrap his meal, I looked up from my own and asked him something that’d been on my mind since Nate slid a single fall leaf beneath the bathroom door; “Will you find my mother?”

  36

  Bailey

  I barely saw Nate. He was constantly working, or at the gym, or out late. He’d make sure I had my medication in the morning and that I had dinner at night and was there for all my check-up appointments with Doctor Polizi, but besides that, he was absent to the point where I felt like I was living with Tiny more than I was in a relationship with him… if you could even call it that.

  It’d been three Tuesday night dinners since I’d asked Tiny to find my mom, and I hadn’t heard anything back. Only that he was looking. I knew, deep down, that that’s why Nate was being distant. If he’d sat me down and asked me why… Why I wanted to know, and why I’d asked Tiny instead of him, I would’ve told him the truth.

  Put simply, I was curious, and Tiny would be able to give me whatever information I wanted without the emotional attachment, without the need to protect my feelings.

  The alarm at the front door sounded, and I paused mid laundry-fold, listening to the footsteps above me. I heard Tiny’s voice, followed by Nate’s, and I wondered if it was going to be another one of those nights where Nate would send Tiny down with my dinner and an excuse as to why he wasn’t there.

  It wasn’t, though, because they both came down the stairs, bottle of whiskey in Nate’s hand and a large yellow envelope in Tiny’s. I looked from the envelope to Nate, and the look on his face was enough to tell me that it was time for the truth.