Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Carter
Abandoned? Oh, I think I know quite a bit about that…
My words, and the sound of my laughter, hang in the air. And, even if there were a way to take them back…I don’t think I could. I meant what I said. And, much as I hate the idea of causing Jo pain, even unintentionally, it needed to be said.
All the same, it hurts to see the look of devastation on her face, and to know that I’m the one who put it there.
I did this. I hurt her. And I don’t know how to fix it.
“C’mere,” I say, moving towards her, arms held wide. She doesn’t move away, or protest as I pull her into what’s very much a one-sided embrace. She’s like a statue in my arms. A warm, soft, living statue; but a statue all the same. “It’s okay, you know?” I tell her. “It is what it is.”
“You said that already,” she mumbles, words muffled against my chest.
“Did I?” I mean…probably I did. I said a lot of things. And it’s like déjà vu all over again. Right now, I feel like we’ve said and done all of this before. It needs to stop; we can’t keep doing this to each other. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs after a moment.
I lean back far enough to look at her. “You’re sorry for being right?” I tease. “Wow. That’s a first.”
I was hoping to lighten the mood, but that’s a no go. She shakes her head. “No. For everything. For hurting you. For not… For not doing better, not being a better person.”
“Stop it,” I say. “You’re already the best person I know.”
“I’m not,” she says sternly. “I can’t be. Or if I am then…shit, that’s really pathetic, Carter.”
I shrug. She isn’t wrong. Then I press her head back against my chest. It felt good there and it seems to me that very little about tonight has felt that way. I don’t say, ‘it is what it is’ again, but you can be sure I’m thinking it.
“I think I could do better,” Jo says after a minute. “I know I said I wouldn’t ask this but… Maybe, if I had the chance…”
She pulls in a deep breath, and I feel her body tense—like she’s about to shift away from me. And I’m just not ready to let that happen. So, I snuggle her close and stroke her hair and tell her, “I’m sorry, too.”
“Why?” Jo’s tone is wary. “What are you sorry for?”
“Pretty much all the same things you said,” I tell her. “I’m sorry about what I said. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. I—” I break off when I realize what I’m about to say—that I hadn’t meant to hurt her. But that’s a lie, and I don’t want to go there. I’m already up to my ears in lies of omission; actively lying, though? That has to be the place where I draw the line. “Actually, I did mean to hurt you; and that is… That is so fucked up. I think that’s what I’m most sorry for.”
“It’s true though, isn’t it? What you said—that’s how you feel?”
I want to deny it, but I can’t. So, I shrug and say nothing. This time, when she pulls away, I have no choice but to let her go.
“So. I guess that’s it then.” She takes a step back and jams her hands into her pockets. She’s breathing too fast and blinking back tears; but all the same, she fixes a smile on her lips and says, “I guess we’ll just…write it off, give it up as a lost cause. Or, you know, something like that.”
I frown as I mentally review the last few minutes of our conversation. What in the hell are we talking about? I feel like I missed a step somewhere along the way. I’m not sure how we got onto the subject of lost causes, but I know I can’t leave it there. A lost cause was how everyone in Heartwood used to view me, before Jo and Vi took me in. I remember how that felt and I can’t be the reason someone else feels that way. I especially can’t do it when that person is her.
And I know it’s not the best way to ask for what I need, but I’m triggered. The words tumble out of my mouth, sounding harsh and angry. “What do you want from me, Jo?”
She blinks, and for a moment, I’m not sure she’s going to answer. But she takes a quick breath and says, “I just told you, didn’t I? I’d like the chance to… to be a better person, a better partner. To try again… And maybe… Maybe this time I could not fuck things up?”
I take a breath and let it out. I want to say yes. Of course, we can . Because I always want to say yes to Jo—no matter what the question is. But, in this case… I’m not sure I can. I’m not sure my heart can take it.
My parents weren’t happy when I told them that Jo and I had made the decision to move to California, but I’d made my choice, and I wasn’t backing down. The night before we were set to leave, Jo decided she should spend the night with Vi—to pack up her stuff and say good-bye. And I accepted an invitation to join my parents for dinner.
I was relieved to be going there on my own. I suspected my parents would make a last-ditch effort to change my mind, and I really didn’t want Jo to have to deal with that.
My mom was just finishing up in the kitchen when I got to their house. My siblings were milling about. None of us thought it was strange that my father was still out in the barn, that he hadn’t come in yet, or that he wasn’t answering his phone. He always had to keep busy, always had to be doing something, frequently lost track of time, and categorically refused to accept the fact (though it was obvious to everyone) that, thanks to a lifetime of dealing with noisy machinery, his hearing had absolutely diminished.
I volunteered to track him down, which turned out not to be that hard at all. He was in the first barn I looked in, unconscious on the floor.
I immediately called 911. I set my phone to speaker. I put it down on the floor beside me, because I needed my hands free to do CPR. And then I forgot it there. It lay on the floor of the barn for days while my family and I were at the hospital. And yes, I’m sure I could have borrowed someone else’s phone, or asked one of my siblings if they could call Jo for me. But I didn’t.
There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that my father’s heart attack was due to stress. And there was no doubt in my mind that a big part of that stress was due to my obsessive need to always go against his wishes.
And yes, I know I was overreacting. I know my thought processes were irrational. But there was no way that I could have left Heartwood at that point. My family needed me. And I needed to not let them down again.
I spent hours rehearsing what I was going to say to Jo when I saw her. I was sure she’d volunteer to stay, to try and stick it out here, for my sake. But a dream differed is all too often a dream denied. And I wanted more for her than that.
Of course, when I learned she’d already left town, without even bothering to say goodbye, it all hit a little different. I’d spent hours agonizing over my decision to let her go—for her sake. Meanwhile, she hadn’t even waited around to find out where I was, what I was doing, whether or not I was even alive…
“I don’t think I can go through that again,” I say, not even realizing that I’ve spoken aloud until I see the look on Jo’s face. And by then, of course, it’s too late to take them back. “Look, Jo, I?—"
“No,” she says quickly, stopping me. “It’s okay. I get it. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“That’s not it, either,” I say. I’m actually glad she asked. It gives me a reason to hope that maybe, just maybe, we can work things out. I just don’t know how to get there yet. “Maybe we should sleep on it,” I suggest. “We can talk about it tomorrow, okay?”
“Yes.” Jo nods, a little too eagerly. “Of course. Good idea.” Her voice is brittle, her tone is clipped, her body language screams avoidance. And that faint sense of hope, the one I was just congratulating myself on feeling dissipates into nothingness If I were a betting man, right now I’d be putting good money on her being gone by morning. And there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop her.
My instinct is to grab her, to hold her, to make her promise not to go. But that’s not fair to either of us. So, I just lean in and press a kiss on her cheek. “Bye, Jo,” I tell her. “Take care of yourself.” Then I turn around and make myself leave.
I consider it a major fucking accomplishment that I’m able to make it all the way home before I fall apart.
Jocelyn
The door swings shut behind Carter, firm and final. But not loud. He doesn’t slam it shut. Of course he doesn’t. This is Carter; he would never. Not when he knows Vi is upstairs, asleep.
And knowing that, knowing who he is, how wonderful he can be, just makes me more desperate to run after him, to change his mind. But I can’t. I’m frozen in place, unable to move, just stuck here, listening and listening, to the sound of his steps as they cross the porch and then the gravel of the drive. Listening to the sound of his car door as it opens and closes. To the hum of his engine turning over. Then it’s wheels on gravel and a soft, persistent whine disappearing into the distance.
Only then, when even the neighbors’ dogs have fallen silent once again, do I realize that I’m shaking, that the panic that has never yet failed to seize me whenever I’ve been abandoned, or whenever I think I’m about to be, has struck again.
You need to go , my lizard brain insists. It’s not safe here. Run.
I can’t, I remind myself. I have obligations, responsibilities; people are counting on me to stay. The thought is surprisingly calming. I have people. I’m not alone. If I hadn’t sent the nurse home, then maybe I could leave. But I can’t now. I’m just going to have to wait until morning.
Fine! the lizard snarls with feral fury . But at least you can pack your bags. You can get your stuff together. Maybe even grab a quick nap. That way you’ll be ready to go as soon as the next nurse gets here .
Except…except I can’t do that either. I can’t abandon Vi when she needs me. I can’t go back on my word to Carter. I couldn’t live with myself if I did either of those things. And…and I don’t even want to! I want to stay here. I need to stay here.
But…
A noise from the hallway upstairs has me turning around, looking up at the landing. The lizard retreats, melting back into the shadows at the back of my mind, into the imaginary cave in which it lurks. I can still feel it though, claws extended, fangs exposed, watchful and waiting.
“Everything okay?” I call up to my aunt who’s hovering at the top of the stairs.
“Jo? Is that you?” Vi asks in a voice that wavers slightly. She sounds so uncertain. So helpless. So scared.
Panic washes through me—not the fear of abandonment. This is terror of a different sort. How do I deal with this? What do I do? And how did I not even notice this was happening?
“It’s called Sundowners Syndrome,” Evelyn had explained, kindly, sympathetically. Right before I kicked her out of the house. “You’ll notice that her symptoms definitely get worse at night. So that’s something you’ll need to be aware of. But, just remember, if you stay calm, so will she.”
I plaster a smile on my face and move toward the bottom of the stairs. “Yes, Auntie. It’s me. Do you need something?”
“I… I didn’t realize you’d gotten in,” Vi says. “H-how was the drive?”
“It was good,” I reply as I climb the stairs to meet her. “Are you hungry? Did you want me to make you something to eat?”
“Oh, no thank you, dear.” She looks down at herself. A frown furrows her brow, her fingers pluck restlessly at her nightgown. “I was just on my way to bed?”
I nod, bright and cheerful. As though everything she’s saying is reasonable. As though she hasn’t already been in bed, hasn’t already been sleeping, for several hours. “Sure. Good idea. Would you like me to help you get settled?”
“Yes,” Vi says. And there’s no disguising the relief in her voice. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Me, too,” I tell her, as I guide her back toward her room.
“I suppose you’ll be going back to school soon though, won’t you?”
“No. Not for awhile. I’m going to stay here with you. We’ll have time for a nice, long visit.”
Somehow, I manage to keep a smile on my face, despite the panicked pounding of my heart, despite the screaming anguish in my mind. How is this possible? How is it happening? How can I stop it?
I can’t stop it—even I know that. And I already know that that will be the hardest part. The inevitability. Like tree limbs cracking under the weight of too much ice. Like a river overflowing its banks. Like the sound of a car’s engine, receding into the distance.
As I help Vi back into bed, she peppers me with questions. About school. About friends I haven’t thought about in years. About activities that used to occupy so much of my time—time that I now wish I’d spent with her, instead.
“I suppose you have to go back to school soon?” Vi asks. Yet again. As I tuck her in—just like she used to do for me.
I shake my head. “No. Not too soon. We’re on break, remember.”
“Oh, yes, of course. You told me that, didn’t you?” she gazes at me uncertainly.
I make myself smile. “Yes. That’s okay isn’t it? You don’t mind if I stay here for awhile, do you?”
“Of course. Of course.” Vi pats my hand. “Stay as long as you want. You always have a home here. I’ve told you that, haven’t I?”
“Many times.”
Unexpectedly, Vi frowns. “No. Wait. I’m forgetting something. You have a husband now. Don’t you?”
Pain blossoms in my chest at the unexpected reminder. Still, I manage to answer calmly. “Yes. Carter.”
“Carter, of course.” Vi sighs. She sounds relieved, which I find amusing. I thought I was the only one who reacted to him like that.
“I do like that boy,” Vi tells me. “I always have, you know.”
I nod in agreement. “I know. Me, too.”
“I know that he acts impulsively sometimes. And he doesn’t always think things through. But his heart is in the right place. That’s what’s important. You remember that.”
“I know. I will,” I promise.
“Okay well, I’m tired now,” Vi says as she tugs the bedclothes closer, as she curls up on her side, as her eyes slide shut. “I’m just going to take a little nap. You’ll still be here when I wake up, won’t you?”
“Yes,” I tell her, as I turn off the light. “I will. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”
I don’t think she means it literally. I don’t think she’s actually expecting me to be here, in her room, when she wakes up. But, then again, what the hell do I know about any of this?
There’s an armchair on the other side of the room and I settle into it. And no, I don’t plan on staying here all night, either. But for a little while, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
As the silence deepens, my fears begin to reemerge. I’m not sure if I can do this. The lizard pokes his head back out of the shadows.
Time to go , he whispers viciously. Time to go. Time to go. Time to go. go. go. go. go.
My mouth grows dry. My palms begin to sweat. My chest tightens… I roll a metaphorical rock in front of the cave entrance, cutting off the chant, the panic, the flood of adrenaline.
Or, at least, that’s how it feels.
I pull a deep breath into my lungs, and then slowly let it out. I can do this. I know the lizard will probably always be with me, and always looking for ways to escape. But for now, I’m the one in control. It feels surprisingly good.
But then, a little while later, when I consider what the future will likely hold—for me, for Vi, for Carter—I feel it start to scrabble again at the edges of my consciousness.
“Fuck you,” I mumble, clenching my fists, clearing my throat, blinking back the tears of grief that have clouded my eyes. “I’m not listening. I’m not going anywhere. I’m digging in. So you can just fuck off. Fuck all the way off.”
And for a little while, it does. And that feels even better.