Winter Break #3
She drank to cope with agony on New Year’s Eve, joining Mick for the same party as she had the year before.
Jill drove in to join them. They lamented Kate’s absence, but Abby secretly shattered.
She tried to immerse herself in the party, promising a midnight kiss to more than one person, but when the clock struck twelve, she called Kate.
Mick ripped the phone from her before she could leave a drunk message.
She considered another call the next morning, lounging in the McMechan basement while they nursed hangovers. Abby half-heartedly flicked her video game controller for Mario Kart, wincing whenever Jill and Mick shrieked.
“You guys are giving me a migraine.” She grumbled, but when her phone buzzed, she sat up, cured by Kate’s name flashing across the screen. “Hey, hi. Happy New Year.”
Mick rolled her eyes, and Abby chucked a pillow at her.
“Happy New Year,” Kate said through static.
“I’m with Mick and Shupe.” Abby dodged an incoming pillow. “I’m sorry I called last night. I know you’re with your family. I guess I just wanted you with us.”
“It’s all right.”
“Oh, and guess what? When I was leaving Isla’s yesterday, Luca pulled up. I think they spent New Year’s Eve together. Can you believe it?”
“That’s great.”
Abby furrowed her brow at Kate’s flat affect. “How are you? How’s your family?”
“I need you to come get me,” Kate said.
“What?”
“I need to leave. I can’t be here anymore.”
Abby stood. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“Abby, please.”
The strain, the sniffle on the other line, set Abby’s nerves aflame. It launched a flood of adrenaline that had her twitching to strike whoever made Kate whimper.
“I’ll leave right now,” Abby said. Kate hung up before she could ask for details, texted her the address and nothing else. “Shit.”
“What’s going on?” Mick asked.
“I don’t know. Kate asked me to get her.”
“From Deer Park?” Jill asked. “That’s like a six-hour drive. Seven in this weather.”
Mick wrung her hands together. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know.” Abby zipped up her coat and grabbed her boots. “I’ll tell you when I get there.”
“Hey wait.” Jill stopped her. “Have you driven in snow before?”
“No, but I’ll be fine.”
“Not in your piece of shit car.” Jill tossed her keys to Abby. “Take mine. I have four-wheel drive and snow tires. Just go slow.”
Abby squeezed Jill into a hug. Mick joined the embrace, the trio securing arms around each other’s shoulders.
“Take care of our girl,” Mick said.
“I will.” Abby nodded. She gave Jill the keys to her own inferior car, sprinted out of the McMechan house, and sped off.
Abby spent the journey spiraling at the possibilities.
She thought maybe someone died, but knowing Kate, she’d stay with her family.
Maybe she’d had a fight with her parents, but she wasn’t the type to run away from an argument.
She wasn’t the type to run away at all. But since she was, it pointed to a possibility that terrified Abby.
Kate had said something about her. The night in the tent, the constant near misses, the letters, caresses, forehead touches.
With what little Abby knew about Kate’s parents, such confusion wouldn’t be met with understanding.
After a six-hour drive, in which she only stopped for gas and a shitty cup of coffee, determined to make sure Kate didn’t wait an extra second, the car rumbled up the dirt path to a modest home nestled in acreage.
A floodlight flipped on as Abby parked. By the time she got out, Kate exited, bags in hand, the front door slamming behind her.
“Let’s go,” she said, throwing her belongings in the back.
“Hey wait. What’s going on?” Abby asked.
A group of men stepped onto the front porch, shadows with arms folded across their chests.
“Abby!” Kate hissed.
She fumbled into the car, cranked it into reverse, and flew back down the driveway. It wasn’t until they reached the main road that she could assess Kate in the dim light. Her shoulders hunched, cheeks tear streaked as she twisted around to peer through the back window.
“Are you okay?” Abby rested a hand on her arm.
“Yeah.” Kate shivered. “Thanks for getting me.”
“Who were those people?”
“They’re from our church.” Kate’s voice sounded smaller than Abby had ever heard it.
“What’s going on?”
Kate hugged her knees and rested her chin on them. “Blake asked me to marry him.”
Abby throttled the wheel so tight that her arms trembled.
“He showed up yesterday to surprise me. He had a ring and everything. Got down on a knee at midnight,” Kate whispered. “I said no.”
Abby’s mouth fell, and she quickly snapped it up. If she wasn’t driving, if Kate wasn’t shaking next to her, she might have grinned. But relief didn’t come. Not in the wake of her despair.
“My parents don’t understand why.”
Abby gulped. “Did you tell them because of law school?”
Kate peered over, inconsistent patches of light streaming over her frown. “Yeah. Because of law school,” she said flatly. “They think that I should marry him and since I won’t, there must be something wrong with me. I’ve turned away from God, become selfish, forgotten my place.”
“They can’t force you to marry someone. If you don’t want to, that’s enough.”
“Not for them. I think my dad—” Kate stopped and Abby thought she might cry. “I think my dad suspects something isn’t right with me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Abby.” Kate’s tears shone through the dark. “You know what I mean. It’s not just law school,” she said with a crack. “It’s you.”
Abby’s heart sputtered. “Kate, I—” She wanted to say that it was Kate for her too.
Wanted to say what she always felt, what sent her charging into the snow, a six-hour drive behind her and another six hours ahead.
But Kate’s revelation lacked love. It slapped like an accusation.
Like Abby had done something wrong, just as she feared. “I’m sorry.”
“They said if I left, I couldn’t come back.” Kate’s breathing picked up.
“Hey, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I left, knowing they’d forsake me. Knowing God’s forsaken me.” She rubbed her throat and inhaled desperately.
“That’s not true.”
“I can’t.” Kate pulled at the locked door handle. “I can’t breathe.”
“Hold on.”
“I can’t breathe! Just let me out!”
“Wait!”
She yanked at the door and Abby swerved to the side of the road before Kate hurled herself out. Abby bounded after her, chasing her down the snowy shoulder.
“Kate! Just stop!” Abby caught her after fifty yards, seized her arm, and refused to let her trek further.
“Let go!”
“No!” Abby forced her to turn.
Kate released a feeble whimper and collapsed into her.
Abby held her up in the snow, Jill’s headlights and the stars the only twinkle in nothingness.
She hushed Kate as she moaned into her chest. When her wailing subsided, she drew back.
She didn’t look like the Kate that Abby knew, staring off, damaged by something she couldn’t protect her from.
“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.
Kate shook her head. “No.”
Abby leaned in to kiss her forehead, but Kate turned away. They were the only people on the road, but Abby swore a truck plowed into her at the subtle pivot. When they returned to the car, Kate curled up in the passenger seat, rested her head on the window, and sniveled.
Kate slept on the journey back to Insley, and while they were right next to each other, while Kate was safe, Abby had never felt further from her.
She relentlessly considered her part in Kate’s torment, which at least guarded against drowsiness on the drive.
But as Abby passed hours and miles on the dark highway, she arrived at the same bitter conclusion each time.
She should’ve left Kate alone. Should’ve never leaned on her in the first place.
They reached the blue house just before two in the morning.
While exhausted, Abby watched Kate for a few stolen seconds.
The same way she did during road games when she couldn’t sleep and required an undisturbed look—an assurance that she existed in the world.
Now though, the sight of Kate’s swollen eyes, frowning even in slumber, shattered her.
Abby swept the hair off Kate’s cheek. “Hey,” she said.
She blinked awake and shifted to see where they were. “You drove all the way back?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you.” Kate’s gaze softened, less accusatory than before, but still wary.
“I wouldn’t leave you.”
“I know.”
She helped Kate carry her bags in. The house was as frigid as outside after being empty for two weeks. Kate flipped on the small heater in her bedroom and rubbed her hands together.
“I’m going to try to sleep,” she said. “You should too. I don’t know how you’re still standing.”
Abby nodded. “You’re good here?”
“Yeah. I think I just need some time by myself. But thank you. For everything.”
She lingered in the doorway while her stomach twisted into itself. “Is this my fault?”
“No. I just—” Kate shook her head, the tears restarting. “I just can’t. I hope you won’t hate me for it.”
“Of course not,” Abby whispered. She resisted reaching out to touch her. Instead, they said a staid good night.
She descended the stairs, so tired that dark spots clouded her vision. Rather than risk crashing on the way home, Abby flopped to the couch and shut her eyes, sickened by the certainty that nothing would ever be the same.