Chapter 11 Layers of Worry
layers of worry
Cian
She doesn’t answer.
I can’t say I blame her. But I can say her end of the conversation felt pretty chilly comparatively. She wasn’t this removed when I saw her Thursday night at the wine bar. And since then, I thought we’d begun repairing what had previously been broken.
Breakfast was eye opening. Lunch was less dramatic.
Neither were filling since water was my drink of choice and a smoothie was my meal.
Twice. Maybe in a day or two I’ll venture into eggs if they’re fluffy enough or something else that I can crush enough with my tongue against the roof of my mouth.
Missing teeth means the others are shifting toward the gaps.
Everything in my face and jaw hurts. It’s like having braces again, but if my orthodontist was an evil villain.
At least the drugs are good. The downside is they knock me out. So my choices are less pain but dozing, or I can be awake, hurting, hungry, and worried.
At least Eleanor is with me. Or with me in spirit. She fell asleep before I did but is no longer here, and the door to my room is cracked. When I’m foolish enough to whistle, I’m quickly reminded why I shouldn’t have.
The good thing is that the clicking of my girl’s nails making her way up the stairs notifies me she’s heading my way. The bad thing is when she sees me, she leaps from the floor straight for me as I turn and collapse, protecting my vulnerable side in the pillows.
“Hello, gorgeous.” My voice is low and scratchy as I rub behind her ears. The chocolate-brown fluffball wriggles and attempts to lick my chin.
“You’ve been rationing your words, yet you choose those with her?”
I nod at my sister and sit with my back to the headboard. She’s right. Everything hurts when I talk so I haven’t been doing it.
“You got my texts?”
I viewed them through shards of glass distorting the characters like a wonky kaleidoscope, but yes, I read them. I nod again as she comes in and sits at the foot of the bed, gingerly as if the movement might jostle me.
“Later, when you’re up for it, we need to talk about what went down.”
I shrug.
She stares at me as if gauging a vista that she’s going to shoot and deciding how she wants to display it for the rest of the world to see. “You came for me. You put me first when you offered to be sacrificed so I wouldn’t feel guilt. But the guilt would’ve been over losing you.”
I lift my chin, but she continues on as if I have nothing to interject.
“I said it already. Be prepared for the fact that I’ll say it again.
I’m working on sorting my head out and usually that’s better out than in.
But”—she lifts a hand and as if having a voilà moment—“there’s more going on with you.
I don’t know how I know, but I do. It’s not pain or relief or anger or disappointment that’s eating at you, is it? ”
I shrug again.
“Clarification… It’s not just that.”
I hold her gaze until the look on her face morphs into one I’ve not seen in years. Certainly not one I’ve seen since before her accident. She looks smug and humored.
“You’re worried. And that hasn’t lifted even after deaths and arrests and being safely ensconced here.” She looks up as if the house has a secret protective bubble surrounding it. “Cian Murphy, are you keeping a secret?”
I lift my hand from Eleanor and point at my mouth.
“You have a phone. And it was important enough you spoke to Ellie.”
“Eleanor.”
“Dude, I could rile you up so bad right now.”
Remnants of the girl I knew shine through. She’s so her, only with layers of worry and discomfort.
I force a little smile and push through the swelling that makes the left side of my face resist its own movement.
“I know that’s a smile, even if it comes off like a grimace. I like the spirit of the gesture, but the execution is terrifying.”
I swipe my phone from the nightstand and gingerly tap out a note, turning it to face her. “Not helping.”
“I’m telling you like it is. Would you rather I sugar coat?”
I start again, but slice my thumb on the glass. “Ouch.” I give up. Can’t speak. Can’t text. Maybe sleep is the answer.
“Give me that.” Ayla extends a hand. “What’s your passcode?”
I study her.
“I’m going to get a new one for you. It’s not like this one is functional. But I need to be able to unlock it to set it up.”
I lift my shoulders and drop them in the universal sign of whatever and lift my fingers to tell her the code.
Her face is curious, but she repeats the numbers and then voice texts them to herself from my phone.
Super secure.
“Dinner is not for a while. Corinne is making several things. Her mashed potatoes are divine. There will be things there you can eat, though I know it’ll be crazy challenging. I mean, what do the doctors really know about liquid diets? That’s got to be miserable. We’ll find a way.”
I lift my hand to give her a thumbs-up.
“Want me to grab anything for you before I head out?”
I shake my head but point at my pup. She’s enough. She’s more than enough.
“Water? Painkillers? Yogurt?”
I make a face on the last one and regret it immediately. The pinching near my temples with the muscle movement surprises me, making me wince.
“Okay, fine. I’m just trying to help. I’ll be back before dinner. You know I love you, because cell phone crap is worse than buying a car. It takes forever.” She stretches out the word as if it’s two.
I make a heart with my hands and would laugh if I didn’t know better. It’s a gesture that’s younger than my baby sister would use and way too feminine, but I do it nonetheless.
What am I becoming?
Sariah
I head home on the dot of four. It’s not like me, but my mind has been spinning all day. I need to lay eyes on my daughter and dig in on my personal computer.
My work computer is fine, but the VPN and protections I have on my laptop at home prevent my searches from being tracked. I have enough info about yesterday to know I don’t need any more focus on me, any more attention on my family or my home.
Rosie and Renée have just gotten in when I arrive. I smooth the look on my face to something benign as I start dinner for the three of us. “How was your day?”
My daughter grunts and sits at the dining room table doing homework, headphones firmly in place, surely muting out everything but whatever teen or former teen star has her attention currently. Rosie moves with me in the kitchen prepping the bowls for our meal. Taco bowls will have to do.
Rosie chit chats as we move around each other in the narrow kitchen. “We’re expecting snow overnight. A heavy, wet dump. You need anything? I can run to the store.”
I want her with me, under my roof. I want a bazooka, even though I don’t know the first thing about them. I want the gnawing in my gut to go away and be replaced with peace and security.
The heavy gray skies when I drove home mirrored my mood. They were ominous, a warning.
“I think we’re good. Even for a few days. Want to stay here?”
“Nah.” She swipes the air. “Something about being in your own home on days like these that I crave. You’d say the same if I asked you to come with.”
You’d be surprised. I think it but I don’t say it. Right now, I’d run like hell. Any change in scenery would be a better option than being a sitting duck.
I set a bowl in front of Renée with all the goodies, minus the meat, but with tofu and extra black beans. Rosie and I plop down with ours, and we all dig in.
My daughter laments the incoming snow as if it’s life’s greatest tragedy. That and the nearly imperceptible lone blemish on her perfect skin. Chicken Little, meet my resident drama queen.
“Why do we live where it always snows?”
It doesn’t always snow, but engaging in this argument will wear me down before it does her.
“Every place has its challenges. Which weather would you prefer?”
“Sunny. I want to live at the beach. When I go to college, I’m moving to the beach.”
“I love that idea,” I reply with equally as much enthusiasm. “I could use a free place to stay to walk in the sand and hear the waves roll in, especially if I’m surrounded by all this snow.” I gesture around me. “So where are you thinking about?”
“California. Most likely, anyway. They have the best surfing.”
My girl has never been on a surfboard. She’s never been on a skateboard. Choosing a university based around nearby sports you don’t engage in is so reasonable. My inner monologue is sarcastic perfection.
“Well, we should start looking at degree programs and costs then. Out of state tuition is steep and scholarships will be the only way to make that happen. You probably should be thinking about the next few years academically, so you’re positioned for it.”
“Mo-om.” The two syllables that greet my ears might as well be twenty it goes on so long. “You got to choose where you went and didn’t have to do it all.”
Little does she know.
Rosie interjects, “You’re right. And you’re wrong, bug.
Your mom did get to choose, but she had to make her own way.
I wish we’d been able to give her that gift, but Pops and I couldn’t.
We did everything we could, but that ‘everything’ wasn’t much.
” She turns to me, placing her hand on the table.
“It’s one of my biggest regrets in life.
I wish you hadn’t had to work so much in college. ”
She knows. She knows the hell that came with getting caught. She knows the path that was laid out before me and the instant, permanent change in trajectory that being found caused.
I rest my hand atop hers. “You gave me everything.” I don’t want her to feel guilt for not being prepared for a child that randomly showed at her house. I look at my daughter and my Rosie around the table. “I have everything.”
When I look back to Renée, my snark is gone. “If you want California beaches and surfing, it will take some stellar grades to earn those scholarships, but we’ll find a way. Deal?”
“Deal.”
When I was thirteen, I wanted to be free of a cult. I didn’t know what surfing was or what California beaches looked like. I knew fear. So long as my daughter doesn’t live in fear, everything else is doable.
“The neighbor mentioned a prank involving food delivery and wanted to know if we saw anything. Did you, by chance?” The question is directed at my beautiful, dark-haired daughter.
I’m straight-up lying to her. Something I promised myself I would never do, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
“No. What happened?”
“Food he didn’t order was delivered, but it was his name on the sticker. You haven’t seen any cars or anything that seem out of place?”
She shrugs. Yay for no fear, but fuck my life. “Not really. I don’t spend time staring out windows though.” With that, she digs back into her taco bowl.
All the while I’m in the same position I was when I came in.
Worried, with no intel.
And nothing to go on.