Only a Breath Apart

by Katie McGarry

  “No.”

  “They do. That’s because our choices change. Whatever lines I see, whatever my guides tell me, that’s a possible future based on the person’s current choices. If I tell someone something horrible, like an impending heart attack and death, I can create a self-fulfilling prophecy, so instead I tell them that they need to watch what they eat, to exercise and to see a doctor. What I do for a living is considered good fun for people, but it’s a terrible burden on me.”

  “Are you a real psychic?”

  “Not all the time,” she says. “There are times when I’m performing a reading and the angel guiding me finishes everything my client needs to know before their half hour is up. Sometimes my clients have questions my guides don’t think are important to answer, so that’s when I watch body language. I have to figure out what is really bothering my clients. Once I get to the root of the real problems, my guides will typically help me.”

  “So you are psychic.”

  “I believe I am. I see my job as one where people come for insight in their lives, insight that they need. My clients are so wrapped up in their problems that they can’t see a true path. I show people a way to go, and sometimes that’s all we need in life—a push in the right direction.”

  I glance out the window, and my stomach twists with how broken Jesse looks as he stares out onto the woods. “Does Jesse need a push?”

  “Yes.”

  “In what direction?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question right there, and that’s what I need you to figure out. So stay focused on your studies.”

  “Besides voting to help Jesse keep his land, there’s nothing else I can do to help him.”

  “As long as you continue to limit yourself, then that’s all you’ll be able to do, but I believe you’re capable of more,” she says. “You ask if I’m psychic. I know that I am. That’s the thing about life, Ms. Copeland. You’re going to have plenty of people telling you what they believe you to be. I’m confident enough to know who I am, and I know that I’m strong enough to change the lines on my right hand if I so choose. Since you asked a question, I’ll ask a question, too: Are you strong enough to change the lines on your hand?”

  JESSE

  Space and time have become two of my favorite words. Space means Scarlett’s family has left, and I get to spend more time with her. Time means talking, whispering, holding hands, lazily lying together and kissing. I could kiss Scarlett for the rest of my life.

  Scarlett’s family went to the movies and dinner this evening, meaning we have had a few precious hours to ourselves. We’re in the recliner leaned back, and she’s cuddled close to me. We’re half watching the movie and more absorbed in enjoying each other. There’s a hunger to our kisses, yet a shyness. Scarlett explores, then will retreat, then will explore again and I allow her the space she needs. As I said, space is a beautiful word.

  “We should stop,” Scarlett whispers against my neck, but she kisses me there again. An open-mouth kiss that is driving me insane. “We should fill out college applications.”

  She needs to fill out college applications. I, on the other hand, have no intention of going, but she’s insistent that I at least apply. “I’m staying on my land.”

  “Yes, but you can take online courses,” she says softly in my ear, and she could possibly convince me of anything if she continues to speak to me in that slow way. Her hot breath caresses my skin and I have the urge to roll her underneath me and kiss her until we both forget who we are. “And you should really apply for financial aid.”

  I could have started applying for financial aid on October first, but I didn’t because I have no intentions of going to college. Scarlett has been at me nonstop because the aid is awarded until the money is depleted. A lot of her pestering has been due to her own sorrow. Her father refuses to fill out the financial aid forms so that limits her ability to receive any help. Then she found out that because she’s a dependent of her father, she can’t apply on her own.

  And people in power wonder why the powerless think the system is broken.

  “If we’re going to do anything,” I run my hand along her back, and liking the caress, she further curls into me, “we should take a look at those apartments near UK.”

  She pulls back, not a lot, but enough that her lips are no longer on my neck, which is a damn shame. “They’re cheaper than living in the dorms.”

  I think there’s a reason for that. Scarlett’s smart, and while she hasn’t had it easy at home, she hasn’t had to pay a bill. I gently hug her as I rest my forehead against hers. “You don’t need your dad’s permission to apply for scholarships so you need to focus on that. The money you’re making with Glory is going to help, but it’s not enough to pay for tuition and living expenses.”

  She frowns. “I know, but those apartments are a lot cheaper than the dorms, and if I live in the dorms I think I might have to have the meal plan and that’s a ton of money and…”

  If she’s going to make it after graduation without her father’s help, she’s going to need solid answers. “Maybe we should visit.”

  Her surprise and joy are hesitant. “Visit what?”

  “The apartments and UK. If you’re going to do this on your own, you need to know exactly how much it costs so you can be prepared to pay for it.”

  “Really?”

  To get her to smile like that regularly, we’ll visit every weekend. “Sure. If you want, that’s what we can do when your family goes away for the weekend.”

  My cell buzzes, and I gently kiss Scarlett’s lips before reaching over to the end table to find a text from V: On our way. You better be there when we get there or else. You owe me dinner.

  I groan. So much for time and space. “My friends are coming over.”

  Her lips squish to the side, and I understand why. We’re still mainly a secret. Her friends watch us, no doubt sensing the changes between us. Even though we aren’t flaunting our relationship in the hallways, they’ve been slowly shutting Scarlett out. She doesn’t say much about it, but I can tell it bothers her. I hate how I’m slowly cursing her.

  A part of me screams I should let her go, but I can’t. I’ve fallen too far down this hole to be saved now. Glory has some big idea that through Scarlett I can somehow break the curse, but unless Glory can give me step-by-step instructions, I’m sticking with my original plan. The blueprint Mom laid out for me years ago: keep and stay on the land.

  She stretches, and places space between us. “I’ll head home.”

  I draw her closer. “Stay.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I promise they won’t say anything to anyone about us, and if you stay, then I’ll fill out a college application.”

  Scarlett tilts her head as if my proposal surprises her. “Two college applications.”

  “Don’t go getting crazy, now.”

  “Two.” She stands firm, and the way her lower lip protrudes entices me to kiss her again.

  As if I could say no to her. “Fine.”

  SCARLETT

  Staying true to his word, my father has allowed me space. Not a ton, several hours here and there on the weekends, but that time is mine. Soon, I’ll be alone for an entire weekend, and I’m so excited. The only requirement Dad has for me being left alone for the weekend is to meet with Pastor Hughes. I could think of worst hoops of fire to dive through, so I agreed. He and I meet tomorrow.

  Since Dad has given me space, I decided to dip my toe into being a part of the family again. My Friday nights are full of pizza, movie watching and then later, after my parents go to bed, spending time with Jesse.

  Last Friday night, we watched the last movie in our Harry Potter marathon. Tonight is the start of the Star Wars marathon. Before starting the movie, Dad and I shared a long discussion as to whether we should start with Episode I or Episode IV. The entire time we debated, I knew we’d start with Episode IV because that’s how the story should be told, but I found it oddly fun to tease
Dad with the idea that Episode I should be the first.

  To be honest, it was a test to see if he would lose his temper if I disagreed. He didn’t. Instead he laughed, and that returned my lost sense of safety in my home.

  The credits on the movie roll, and my sister is sound asleep beside me in the recliner. She’s that sticky-skinned hot that happens when two people have been under the same covers for too long. My arm is numb, my leg aches, but I hate the idea of waking her up.

  Mom giggles, and I glance over at her and Dad. They’re on the couch, cuddled together like they are two teenagers on a date. Mom is settled on Dad’s lap, and they have this expression of pure love as they look in each other’s eyes.

  The sight is a hug and a pinch. This is what I want for my family, and I’m scared to have faith in what I see. Can it be like this forever?

  This looks good and it feels slightly good, but Dad still wants me to stay in town for college. He still doesn’t want me to have a job. He still checks my cell every night. He’s changing, but how far does change go? Will it ever be enough?

  Mom glances over at me, and she wears her real smile. My lips lift in return and that causes her to beam.

  “Isabelle fell asleep,” I say in a soft tone so as not to awaken Sleeping Beauty. “I’m afraid if I stand with her, I’ll fall over.”

  “I’ll put her to bed.” Dad kisses Mom’s lips, and I don’t look away like most teens would. Instead, seeing this is like rain on parched land.

  Mom slips off Dad’s lap, he stands and he’s so gentle as he lifts Isabelle off of me. My sister rests her head on Dad’s shoulder as if that’s the place she is meant to be.

  “You’re a good sister, Scarlett.” Dad readjusts Isabelle’s floppy arm.

  “She makes it easy,” I say. Dad’s response is a smile of agreement, and I feel a softening toward him. He crosses the carpet of the finished basement then goes up the stairs.

  “Tonight was fun,” Mom says.

  “Yeah.” It was, and I hate the conflicted feelings that creates. I draw my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. How is it possible to equal parts resent and love Dad? Will life ever be less confusing?

  “I’m so happy you’re forgiving him, Scarlett. We’re becoming a normal family again.”

  Mom uses the remote to find the next Star Wars movie so she misses how I flinch. I haven’t forgiven him. I’m still angry and sad and does that make me a horrible person because I’m not ready? I want to ask Mom, but I don’t. She’s happy, and I’m tired of being the person who brings this entire family down.

  * * *

  So far the conversation between me and the good pastor has been harmless. We discovered that we both love Netflix binging, and that’s led to a serious plot discussion.

  “How are things with your dad?” Pastor Hughes asks.

  I find myself taking a deep breath to answer, but then pause. “That was impressive.”

  “What?” His feigned innocence act is awful.

  “You got me talking, and then I almost answered a question I don’t want to answer.”

  He chuckles then leans back in his chair. “I try. So let me ask a different question. Why don’t you want to answer the question?”

  I pick lint from my blue sweater. “Can I ask you something instead?”

  “Sure.”

  “When people talk to you about what’s happening in their home, and bad stuff has happened, do you call the police?”

  There’s an understanding that flashes over Pastor Hughes’s face that is sad yet comforting. As if he comprehends what’s going on in my mind, even if I don’t. “I’m what’s called a mandatory reporter. If there is abuse with a minor, I’m obligated to report it. Period. For an adult, I’m obligated to report it if the abuse is currently happening or if there is a credible threat of impending violence. Other than that, it’s confidential.”

  Dad is no longer hitting Mom, and he’s not a current threat. I chip away at the pink paint my sister put on my pinkie yesterday. It’s odd and welcoming how Pastor Hughes allows me this silence to process this new information.

  I have so many questions about my dad, and I do need someone to talk to—an adult who maybe has answers, but what if Dad is changing and then I go and say something that screws things up for us? What if Dad isn’t changing and Dad finds out I told? Either way, it seems better to talk in circles. “Can we talk about the hypothetical family like we did last time?”

  “Sure. Hypothetically,” Pastor Hughes says, “what’s the dynamics of this family like?”

  I shrug one shoulder. “I don’t know. I guess there’s a daughter and her dad can get angry.”

  “In this family, does the dad hit the daughter?”

  “No.”

  “Does he hit the mom?”

  I don’t answer and after a few beats he continues, “How does the daughter feel about the father?”

  “She doesn’t want to talk about him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because while he’s changing, she’s not ready to forgive. Then you’re going to tell me that she should forgive him and that’s going to make me angry. I’m not in the mood for angry so why have the conversation?”

  Pastor Hughes links his hands over his stomach. “Who do you think forgiveness is for?”

  “The person who wants to be forgiven. They feel bad and they want to stop feeling bad so you forgive them to make them feel better. If I don’t forgive, then everyone else is mad at me for not forgiving because then I’m dragging out the issues. Then they blame me that no one can pretend the problem didn’t happen and they can’t move on in their pretend little lives.”

  He subtly nods as if he somehow can commiserate with me, but I seriously don’t think that’s true. If he could understand, we wouldn’t be talking forgiveness.

  “What if I told you forgiveness can be beneficial to the other person, but forgiveness exists to benefit you?”

  “I’d ask if you’ve recently experienced a hard hit to the head or if you’ve taken part in recreational drug use in the past twenty-four hours. Not sure if they covered this in pastor school, but you should say no to meth.”

  He chuckles and my lips twitch along with him.

  “Let me tell you a story,” he says. “There was this young man named Jacob and he stole something very important from his brother, Esau. Esau was very angry and Jacob feared for his life so he ran away. He was gone for several years. Long enough that he had married and started a family, but one day God told Jacob to return home. Jacob was hesitant. He thought for sure if he returned that his brother would kill him.

  “Listening to God, Jacob took his entire family and all his livestock and started on the long journey for his hometown. Jacob was fearful, though. He sent ahead messengers with lavish gifts to inform Esau of his homecoming.

  “Finally, Jacob met Esau face-to-face. Jacob thought Esau meant to harm him, but instead Esau embraced his brother and welcomed Jacob and his family to live with him. God put it on both of their hearts to forgive, but God told Jacob to not live with his brother, but instead to live on the other side of town from him.”

  “No offense,” I say, “but I’m not understanding the moral to the story.”

  “Jacob spent years in fear of his brother. Could you imagine how that fear ate at him? I’m sure Esau spent many years in anger toward his brother, and I’m sure that anger ate at him, too. But when the two finally met, they were able to forgive each other for the terrible things that they had done to each other and were able to start new, fresh lives without that fear and anger.”

  “Once again, all I’m hearing is you saying I have to forgive so everyone can live happily ever after, and I’m not feeling happily-ever-after-ish at the moment.”

  “True, but you’re missing the important part. God didn’t force them to have a relationship. He didn’t force two puzzle pieces that don’t fit together. He allowed space and time between the brothers before the forgiveness happened, and once they d
id forgive, He didn’t say they had to be friends again. In fact, He put much-needed space between the two brothers.”

  Pastor Hughes gives me an opportunity to speak, but I’m a prisoner of the town of Mute.

  He leans forward on his desk. “If abuse happens in your home, I’m not telling you to accept the abuse. I’m telling you the opposite. Abuse of any type is wrong. If your father or your mother hit each other or if they were to hit you or your sister, you call the police. If you don’t feel like you can, then put it on me, and I will.”

  “We’re talking hypotheticals,” I whisper.

  “And I’m not. This is advice everyone, regardless of who they are, should know.”

  I grab the arms of my chair as anger rushes through me. “But the mom will lie to the police.”

  “Let her. That’s her choice, but it will put the family on the authorities’ radar. God does not want anyone in any situation that causes harm.”

  “Then why this push to forgive?”

  “Because you shouldn’t be consumed with anger and sadness, and a father’s sins shouldn’t destroy a child. Anger and sadness make it difficult to let love and joy into your life.

  “Scarlett, hypothetical family or not, you’re sitting here today because your relationship with your father is complicated. Anyone could pick up on the tension between the two of you when you were sitting in my office together. I want to help you and I need you to listen to me.

  “What I want you to take away from Jacob’s story is that forgiveness is possible, but forgiveness does not mean that you have to let that person back in your life. Forgiveness does not mean you condone or accept abuse. Forgiveness means that you’re going to be turning eighteen soon, graduating from high school, making choices for your own life. When you start fresh with a brand-new life, do you want to start that life full of anger, or do you want to focus on joy?”

  What type of question is that? “Of course I want joy.”

  “Then find a way to look at your father as someone who is broken and needs counseling and prayer. Forgiveness removes yourself from inside the situation and gives you the ability to look upon it with different eyes. God gave us free will. He does not like it when we choose to harm others, but that’s still a choice we can make. God teaches us forgiveness to help us realize that you aren’t responsible for someone else’s bad choices. That your father’s mistakes are his fault, not yours. That the anger only keeps you tied to the harm, not setting you free from it.