CHAPTER TWENTY
He Took It With Him
SERENITY
Jimena swipes her pointer finger across my coffee table. She lifts her hand into the air, rubbing her thumb up and down her finger. She whistles, angling her head in my direction. “Your house has never been this clean.”
I roll my eyes.
She’s right, though. I don’t think my house was this clean the day I bought it. Everything that shines is shining. Even things that aren’t shiny are glistening under the lights. There isn’t a lick of dust floating in my homey air, and that’s thanks to Lake. He has taken a ton off my plate. In ways he’s not even aware of.
Like the first sum of money Brooks forked over. It wasn’t much, but Lake spent it on the snacks Jimena is currently shoving into her mouth, and with that covered, I could pay my mortgage on time. For the first time in months.
Without Lake, my house would still be a mess, as would my stress levels.
Of course, I’m still overwhelmed. I’m holding my secrets close to my chest because I’m petrified to confess anything, especially with the entanglement of confusing details in Mr. Mancini’s case. I wasn’t born the eldest daughter, but I became her the moment I entered this world. It’s a burden that is mired in every vessel of my brain, and I’m not capable of altering my fate.
Jimena chews on a cheese puff. “Where is the lover boy now?”
I drop my can of soda on the coffee table. Then I lift it back up and grab one of the new coasters Lake insisted on buying after his rehab meeting. He refused to go into the store alone, so I at least got to choose cute coasters.
I slide the coaster underneath my drink. “There’s no lover boy.” That sounds like a question leaving my tongue.
“Quick on the defense.” She swallows. “He is your husband.”
That word sends a chill up my spine, but it wraps around the lengthy bone like a vine and begins to bud, threatening to bloom.
Lake makes my heart flutter. It’s driving my confusion into becoming a permanent condition. He’s always idle in my space, and each morning, he predicts what I want for breakfast. Before he cooks, I can hear him attempting to be as quiet as possible. I swear, he’s learned which floorboards creak and which ones don’t.
I know we’re friends. Friends care for one another, but to be honest, I was expecting to witness the Lake I’m used to; always keeping himself just out of everyone’s reach.
Instead, he’s somewhere between those two realities. Lately, I spend more time with him than I do with anyone. He doesn’t fight his smiles when I make him laugh, and I crave making him reach that point more and more. To see that smile and feel my heart skip.
“Serenity?”
I almost spring up from the sofa. “What?”
Jimena glares at me with wide eyes, slowly placing another cheese puff in her mouth. She chews and savors the processed puff before speaking. “I asked where Lake was.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “He’s at a meeting.”
She squishes her lips into a circle and hums. “Are you sure?” Jimena’s trying to be supportive of my rash decisions. This is her trying.
“Well, he seems okay. He’s nothing like Delilah and her poor attempts to hide her relapses.”
Jimena giggles. “I think Lake is smarter than Delilah, no offense.”
“Yeah he is,” I laugh. “Maggie’s still not-mad-mad at me.”
My best friend unbuttons her jeans and sinks deeper into my sofa. “You got married behind her back. To a guy nobody knows.” She stuffs her face full of cheese puffs.
It’s nice to see her at ease around me, considering she struts around in public like an untouched doll. I love her both ways, but this way is much sweeter.
I steal a cheese puff from the container. “You always say I don’t need anyone’s approval.”
Jimena gives me a look. “The second Maggie takes a liking to you, her approval is a must. We know this. That’s why she’s usually furious at me.”
Always. Maggie is always mad at Jimena.
“She’s not mad, Serenity. Don’t stress it. She’s only worried about us. Mags spent most of her life in a heterosexual marriage despite being a full-blown lesbian,” she adds.
I nod my head. “That’s true.”
“Come on.” She pats my cheek. “Let’s watch one of your old DVDs on the horrifying player that’s one-hundred percent going to blow up any day now.”
I sink into her palm. “You know exactly how to fix my problems.” I peer at my organized DVDS, but my gaze transitions to my book stack. Unread and forgotten.
Jimena leaves her pants unfolded as she struts over to my movies. With her back to me, I look away from my books to the kitchen. From here, I can only see a sliver of the locked cabinet, but it causes me to ache.
All of those secrets—my burdens—are the reason I’ve lost the strength to read at all. It’s the reason I no longer fight Jimena over what movie to watch, and I let her pick each time. I’ve lost the energy to love my hobbies, and I’m too tired, too busy to find that power again.
***
I roll over on the sofa, stretching my arms above my head and groaning. I make a noise that has definitely only come from the depths of a gremlin’s cave. In my defense, my shift last night at the ER made me believe I hadn’t slept in years. When Jimena showed up a few hours ago for one of her surprise visits, I thought my plans for a nap were toast.
She left over three hours ago.
I examine my arms, covered in sleep lines that stretch around my skin like stripes. I wipe my eyes clean of any evidence of my blissful sleep. Then I let my feet guide me upstairs to the bathroom. I need to be aware of any damage my nap caused.
My hair looks as though three rodents ran through it and buried their nuts for winter. Half of my face is squished, and I was sweating the entire nap. Why do I sweat when I nap but never when I sleep at night? There has to be a medical explanation.
I squint for a few seconds at the nest in my hair, dangling my head and nearly crashing into the sink when tiredness attempts to take over. I shouldn’t have gotten up, but I need to prioritize functioning like a regular societal member, and shower instead.
I turn the knob and adjust the temperature. A warm shower, but not intense enough to trick me back to sleep. I slide my underwear down with my shorts and let them both drop to my ankles. I lift my t-shirt above my head, and at the same time, I try to step out of the pool of fabric at my feet. Then I almost topple. Again.
“No concussions,” I mumble.
One of my biggest fears is injuring myself and being transported to Boston Hope. I can’t imagine the amount of endless fun my co-workers would have if they had to treat me for a head injury.
Thankfully, I make it into the shower, and that minor accident leaves my mind the moment the water touches my skin. Showers are always a spell of comfort. A shower reminds me of my humanity. That I should care for myself like I’m human, because I am.
I move Lake’s cedar scented body wash and grab my cocoa butter one. There’s a deep plunge in the pit of my stomach as I pour the liquid onto my loofah.
Did I forget something?
I haven’t cooked, so the stove is off.
I purse my lips and scrub the scent into my skin. Maybe I forgot to the lock the front door after Jimena left. Lake always huffs as loud as possible when locking the door slips my mind.
Lake.
Where the hell is Lake? His meeting ended hours ago.
I rinse off my skin and loofah, discarding the loofah back onto its hook. The running water screeches to a halt, and I wrap my body up in a towel while scraping my feet on the bath mat.
The first place I check is Lake’s room. I pound on the door with more force than I mean to, but he doesn’t respond to me, anyway.
“Lake?” I grind my knuckles harder into his door. Nothing.
I open the door, and there’s no Lake to be seen. Jimena’s voice rings around the passage of my ears, as if every twist and turn is a connected train station.
Those trains crash into one another. What if he has been lying? What if he’s dead in his truck somewhere, with a band strapped around his arm? And I’ve been asleep this entire time?
I swipe water off of my chin, and I race to the stairs.
“Lake?” I slide down each step and trip at the bottom. “Crap. Phoenix?”
I swing open the front door, and my driveway is empty other than the melting snow. My heart throbs and the brittle wind doesn’t soothe me. I tighten my towel around my soaked skin and slam the front door. My eyes fall to my wet footprints, staining the hardwood. So much for polished floors.
There’s no time to stress about stains. “Where in the world is my phone?” I dart to the parlor room, grasping pillows and chucking them off of the sofa. I toss the throw over blanket into oblivion and dig my hands deep into the couch cushions.
“What the hell?” I spin, and my eyes land on my phone, resting on the coffee table. “Oh, screw you.”
No texts from Lake. I dial Brooks’ number, hoisting my towel back up my chest.
“Hey,” he greets. “Is everything okay?”
“Is Lake with you?”
There’s a deafening silence that only lasts a few seconds, but it feels like forever. “Brooks. He went to rehab today. He’s not home.”
Brooks stomps somewhere and quickly shushes two yapping dogs. “He never came home?”
“No. No, and he hasn’t texted me.” I lay my hand flat on my chest, and I press a little too harshly.
The last time I saw my sister, we got into a serious fight. She threw pots at me from the kitchen, because I got rid of the stash I found taped to the bottom of her mattress. I was so tired of her sneaking behind my back.
Maybe I did it all wrong. Maybe I never did enough. I’m still not doing enough.
“Okay. I’ll go find him,” Brooks says.
He calls for one of his dogs, and his keys clink as he grabs them. It reminds me of my first phone call with Brooks, and that shoots another twinge into my chest. He’s gone through this countless times, but the shake in his voice remains the same.
No matter how hard we try, it’s impossible to free our hearts from someone who has lost their own. I admire people who can let go, because it’s true, someone can’t be saved if they don’t want saving, and nobody is responsible for anyone but themselves.
That is a concept I unfortunately cannot grasp. I don’t think I ever will.
“Serenity, take a breath.” Brooks reminds me, though I don’t think he’s breathing much himself. “If anything, nothing is your fault.”
I pull my lips between my teeth to stop from bursting into tears. “Nor is it yours.”
***
Brooks has been searching for Lake around Boston. He told me he would text me when he found him.
I dropped my towel somewhere in the house and threw on a sweater and jeans. I was prepared to venture out and search for Lake myself, but then I remembered I don’t own a car, and if Lake comes back only to discover I’m on a bus somewhere in Central Boston, that’ll only make things worse.
So, now my butt is numb from sitting on the bottom step of my stairs. My phone is right beside me, ringer on, volume maxed, and I stare at my front door, waiting. I pray my husband is alive and well. He’s a man I don’t fully know, but he’s still a human, so I hope he walks through that door safe and sound.
Then he does.
He sighs at the unlocked door. His eyebrows furrowed and pinched as close together as possible. He flicks on the light switch and takes off his coat. A long-sleeve crewneck still covers his arms. And because I can’t immediately assess him, I lose any hold I have over my tongue.
“Where the hell have you been?” I snap.
He jumps and looks around to spot me. He’s pissed off, because he says nothing sarcastic, nor does he offer an apology for dropping off the fucking earth. Instead, he stays silent. He takes his jacket and hangs it on the rack.
He only pipes up when he catches me still staring at him. “Had something to take care of.”
My throat tightens fast enough to stop me from screaming. That’s it? That’s all he plans to say?
“Why didn’t you text me?”
He exhales. “My phone died.”
“Well, that’s convenient.” I pat my hands on my thighs and stand up. My ass burns from the numbness of the stairs.
“I’m a grown man, Serenity.” Lake chucks his keys into the dish next to the door. “I don’t need to share everything with you.”
I clutch my hands together at the sides of my body. “No, but you have a responsibility, Lake, like all grown men do.”
“And what is that?” He swings his arms outward. “To report back to my wife?”
Why is he speaking in that tone? I stare at him, attempting to unmask anything he might be keeping from me. I check for lock-jaw, if he’s shivering—I check for a runny nose and watery eyes.
Nothing.
I shove my hair out of my face. “So not saying a word is a better choice?”
“We’re not together.” He laughs. He has the sheer audacity to laugh.
I bite my tongue, slowing my words. “What is going on with you? Why are you acting like this?”
This isn’t the Lake I’ve known. He’s being even more reserved than he was when we first met. I hate it. I want the sweetness back. “I am your wife, but if I wasn’t, even if you were staying with Brooks, you’d owe him the same responsibility.”
My feet inch closer. I can’t help but examine his covered arms, hoping I can peer through the fabric. So I could know my next steps, I could help. Just in case he needs me.
Lake follows my eyes, looking at his arms.
“Do you think I shot up?” He raises his voice, and my eyes cut back to his face.
“I don’t know,” I yell back. “Did you?”
He scoffs and rears his head to the side. The room is still for a moment. That tiny curve of his lips drops. Lake takes one heavy stride in my direction. “I am not a child, Serenity.”
He leans to meet my stare, and a moment of inferiority swells inside of me. In that moment, I recall the man that swooped me into his arms and smiled the entire drive to his first rehab meeting. I think about him curling close and watching movies with me. I think about the ring he picked out for me, and how different he’s being from that man.
“You’re a heroin addict!”
Any light left in his eyes vanishes, but I just don’t care. I am too tired to think correctly. I know that. I’m also too drained to take a step back and collect myself. There’s no telling what our next steps are. I need to figure out what happened, and the way he’s speaking to me isn’t making it any easier.
“Show me your arms.” I reach forward, but he pulls away.
“No, Serenity.”
I try again. “Lake.” I can hear the desperation leaving my tongue.
He pulls his arms up until his elbows are bent, like a motion of surrender, even though he’s doing the opposite. “No!”
“Just let me help you!”
There’s an absence of a flatline or any beeping monitors. Just intensity in a new, uncertain direction, and nuclear clouded air. I’m unsure where to turn.
Lake lowers his arms back to his sides. His chest rises and collapses in heavy whirls of air. Mine is doing the same. We stand in one bubble, consuming the thick, smothering oxygen.
“Please.” I break our silence, my voice snapping as I do.
Lake bears my expression for only a few seconds. Then he murmurs and yanks his sleeves until his arms are exposed. He grabs onto my hand and brings my fingers to his skin. I graze along with the old bumps and scars.
“See. Nothing new.” He takes my chin and forces me to look up. “Are my pupils too big? Too thin? Do I sound like I just escaped the back of an alley?”
I slowly shake my head, and I sniffle in another shaky breath as tears break free from my eyes and roll away.
Lake’s lips press into a thin line, and something flickers across his features. He takes his thumb to my cheek and lets his skin absorb my tears. “Nobody relapsed. Capeesh?”
Capeesh. After all that worry. I’m just supposed to say capeesh and move on.
I thought Lake and I were getting closer and moving past his coldness.
My arms fall back to my sides. “Where were you?”
He rocks his head. “I’m fine, Serenity.”
I attempt to hold him where he is with a side-step, but he shifts around me. I can’t let him use his secretive demeanor to escape this conversation. Not after all the worry I tumbled through.
“Answer my question,” I demand and turn around.
Maybe he hasn’t relapsed, but he very well could’ve been near it. He could’ve met with someone and bought himself something. It’s possible he’s about to sneak upstairs to his room and get fucked out of his head, to forget the shit he doesn’t tell me.
“Damnit.” He stops at the stairs. “Getting my mother food, alright?”
I just stand there. That isn’t enough for me and he knows it. Lake and I have an agreement to help one another. He can either elaborate or I’ll keep bothering him. I’ll call his brother and make sure Brooks bugs him, too.
“She has nobody to look after her. She needed food.” He pulls out the interior of his front pockets, somehow knowing what I’m contemplating. “Nothing.”
“I went to get her groceries after my meeting.” He stuffs his pockets back into place. “My phone died. She asked for help with things.”
My lip quivers. “Why didn’t you just say that?”
Is it that hard to explain? I’m not trying to treat him like a child. I’m trying to support him, and be close like we have been.
“My life is not your concern,” he grits his teeth. “None of your business.”
That’s when I tear in two. The man I’ve spent almost every day with, he crunches those moments under his feet. He wears a band on his finger to show his trust. It represents the promise we made to care for each other. That vow is already slipping away.
Lake doesn’t say another word. He storms upstairs, and I am left alone, with a massive hole carved into my chest. I think he took that chunk with him.
But that’s none of his business, anyway.