Letters to Nowhere

by Julie Cross

  I practically ran through the front door, tossed my stuff onto the couch, and made myself a turkey pita sandwich before heading to the garage. There were boxes everywhere, and since Grandma had hired movers to move my room here, I couldn’t tell my boxes from what was already here.

  I spent a couple hours digging through my old items—pictures and trophies and birthday cards and ribbons and scrapbooks—all while taking trips to the kitchen to grab a banana or another bottle of water. Eventually, I opened a giant box that had three thick photo albums, all the same shade of gray–blue. Curiosity took over; this was either something of Bentley’s or something of my parents’. Both options intrigued me.

  After removing the first album, I opened it up and scanned the pages. They were full of pictures starring a girl with white–blond hair and a toddler boy with sandy blond hair. The girl looked about seven or eight, maybe.

  Eloise and Jordan.

  The first several pages were filled with fall leaves and Halloween costumes. An entire row of little Jordan dressed as a giant pumpkin. My gaze stopped on a photo of a woman holding Jordan, dark blond hair just like his and an identical nose. She looked so young and pretty and tall. She might even have been taller than Bentley. It occurred to me right then that I’d never asked Jordan his mom’s name.

  “He hated that costume.”

  I jumped, gasping and clutching my chest when I heard Bentley’s voice, and saw his feet firmly planted right behind me. I didn’t know what to say, so I kept my mouth shut, the album still stretched across my lap.

  Coach Bentley crouched down beside me and eventually sat down on the floor. “He wasn’t a tortured child, I promise. He just hated that costume. That’s why he’s crying in nearly every picture.”

  I held my breath as Bentley reached across me and removed the second album from the box. “You might like this one.”

  I leaned closer, examining the spread of pictures of Bentley in his Team USA apparel. In one photo he held a tiny blond toddler girl with stick–straight pigtails coming out of the sides of her head. “That was my last competition. World Championships in France. We had Eloise pretty young.” He laughed under his breath. “It was a little unexpected, so money was tight while I was still training and Anna was at Juilliard.”

  Anna. So that’s her name.

  He flipped through more photos of himself smiling with his teammates. “Her parents bought tickets to France for Anna and Eloise as a graduation gift. That was the only competition they got to travel to until I started coaching.”

  “But didn’t you—”

  “Tear my bicep during a training session in France?” Bentley finished, flashing me a tiny smile, maybe so I wouldn’t think he was upset with me for bringing it up. “Yes, I did. That was the end of my career.”

  “Did you have surgery in France?”

  He shook his head, flipping through some more pages. “They packed my arm in ice and put me on a plane to London. We stayed with Anna’s family for a few weeks, and she was offered a part with the London Symphony and I was offered a coaching job with the British men’s junior national team. Eloise grew up in the gym with a bunch of sweaty boys. She learned swear words before proper English. Symphony rehearsals weren’t exactly the best place for a little one, so Eloise and I were coworkers early on.”

  Maybe that’s why he never seems to mind that Stacey’s got Olivia with her at every practice.

  “And what happened when Jordan came along?” I asked. “Did you raise him in the gym, too?”

  Bentley laughed again. “Jordan was the one we planned. Anna did everything in advance, from putting Jordan’s name on every early admissions list for preschool to college funds and interviewing nannies, to picking the best month to conceive.” Bentley coughed and cleared his throat. I could feel my face heating and I hoped we weren’t going to get into any conception details today. Preferably never. “Anyway, she just knew we were going to have a boy. Everything in his room was blue and green before the end of the first trimester.”

  There was nothing shaky or emotional about Bentley’s storytelling and recollection of the past. His tone was identical to the one he used in the gym every day, but I could see the ghosts swarming him like he hadn’t spoken about these two people for a very long time, not to mention his parents being gone, too.

  “Green and blue, huh?”

  Bentley and I turned around quickly and saw Jordan leaning against the door, arms folded across his chest, his school tie still knotted perfectly like he’d just walked through the door. His eyes stormed with something I hadn’t seen on Jordan before…anger? Maybe rage?

  Bentley got to his feet and I stayed on the floor, the first album still on my lap.

  “I seem to recall a conversation a couple months ago…” Jordan walked closer to his dad, his arms dropping to his sides, hands balling into fists and then opening again. He was pissed. Really pissed. “Where you told me that you would have my head—literally—if you caught me looking through those albums or messing with any of your stuff.”

  Bentley rubbed his hands over his face and then looked at Jordan. “I thought it would be easier for both of us, with you living at home again. I know how you used to spend so much time looking at those pictures—”

  “When I was a bad, trouble–making kid, right?”

  This was like a horrible train wreck, and I couldn’t bring myself to look away. And both Bentley and Jordan were blocking my way to the door. I was stuck here witnessing this domestic battle.

  “That’s what you think, isn’t it?” Jordan challenged. “You think looking at pictures of my dead mom and my dead sister are going to make me fall apart and…and what? Rob a bank? Do drugs?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Bentley snapped.

  “You’re going to hold me accountable for stuff I did when I was fucking thirteen? And you were such a loving, devoted father…I don’t see how I could have gone to the dark side.”

  Oh boy…I need out of here. Now.

  Bentley folded his arms across his chest, his face set and tense, but he didn’t move. He was going to let Jordan finish speaking or throwing his teenage tantrum.

  Jordan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, like he was using some anger management technique. This was not the sweet, lighthearted Jordan I knew.

  “You know what really kills me,” Jordan said, anger and emotion spilling from his voice. “You’ve got all those memories locked up, and I’ve accepted that maybe you just can’t fill in the blanks for me, and then you go and tell Karen stuff I’ve never heard you talk about before.”

  Bentley’s face turned from stiff to sympathetic. “Jordan, listen—”

  “Maybe you don’t want to remember them, but I do.” He turned around and strode toward the door. “I’ll be at Tony’s.”

  Bentley let out a breath and stormed after Jordan. I figured I could sneak upstairs, but only made it to the landing before their yelling stopped me.

  “Don’t fucking touch me!” Jordan said.

  I glanced down for a second and saw Jordan shove his dad back. I held my breath, waiting for somebody to throw a punch. Did relatives do that? But that was the end of their fight. Jordan walked out the door and slammed it hard. Then Bentley stomped through the house, heading out the back and slamming that door.

  I let out a breath and felt my hands and legs shaking. Then I went into my room and shut the door before I could get caught in the middle of more of their drama if they returned anytime soon. I had seen the tension, of course I’d seen it, but I had had no idea how bad it was.

  And poor Jordan. He must hate me. I thought back to everything he’d said to me over the past few months, and it wasn’t just his mom and his sister he wanted to learn about. It was his dad, too. That awkward day at the store when we had shopped for tampons, he’d looked so nervous before he finally asked me what his dad was like.

  And Bentley, he probably ached inside every time he thought about Jordan being here without his mom and si
ster and grandparents. If it hurt for me to think about, I couldn’t imagine what it did to Bentley. No wonder he didn’t like to talk about them with Jordan. Talking to me about them was different. I was a neutral party, because I didn’t know the people he’d lost.

  But Jordan needed him, and it was Bentley’s job to figure out how to connect with his son. He’s the adult. Jordan’s the kid. In the gym, coaching us girls, Bentley always got that right. Why couldn’t he get it right with his own kid?

  It didn’t help that they both appeared to be extremely stubborn.

  March 30

  Jordan,

  We haven’t done the thing where you’re upset and I’m supposed to help you through it, so please tell me what to do? Should I call you? Should I leave you alone? I really wish I knew. And I’m afraid that you’re mad at me. I should have shut the album and not messed with it. I’m sorry.

  Love, Karen

  ***

  “God, I love tumbling!” Blair said after practice while we were in the locker room.

  I started to respond to her, but my phone rang and Jordan’s name came up on the screen. I had eventually gotten brave and tried to call him right before practice, but he hadn’t answered, and I’d been distracted and worried ever since.

  “Hey,” I said right away. “Are you okay?”

  “Karen, it’s Tony,” Tony said, his voice muffled like he was trying not to let anyone listen in. “We got a problem…”

  My eyes darted around the locker room, resting on Stevie, who seemed to be paying close attention. “What happened? Where’s Jordan?” I whispered.

  “Everything okay?” Blair mouthed after tossing her bag over her shoulder.

  I nodded and waved her away, knowing her mom was probably waiting, and I didn’t want her involved in this family feud.

  “He’s okay,” Tony said. “We’re at the hospital. In the emergency room. He’s a little drunk. Kind of high, too. And bloody.”

  “Tony!”

  “Do NOT tell his dad, Karen,” Tony said. “Swear to me.”

  “I swear.”

  “Can you grab some clean clothes from his house and that big wad of cash in the green shoebox in the bottom of his closet and then come to the Barnes emergency room?”

  “Okay, yeah, I can do that.” I shut the phone, tossed it into my bag, and scrambled to get my shoes and coat on.

  “What happened to Jordan?” Stevie whispered, though we appeared to be alone.

  “Apparently he’s drunk, high, and bleeding in the emergency room without money.” I shook my head, hardly able to believe this story myself. “He had a really big fight with Bentley earlier today.”

  Stevie’s eyes were huge. “Not about you guys, right?”

  “No.” I looked at her, trying to decide what to tell her. “Just family stuff.”

  “I’ll go with you, okay?”

  I felt like hugging her, I was so relieved to not have to do this alone. “Thank you.”

  I drove, so Bentley wouldn’t worry if he saw my car still in the parking lot. It took us a full forty–five minutes to get Jordan’s clothes and money and get to the hospital. Tony was standing near the doors, pacing back and forth. He sighed with relief when he saw us. “Just don’t say anything about the weed. I don’t think anyone has guessed.”

  I shook off his words and followed behind him. “What is bleeding, Tony? You can’t just say he’s bleeding and then—”

  “His head. He cut his head.”

  “On what?” Stevie asked.

  “My neighbor’s metal swing set,” Tony said, as if this was normal. Maybe it was, given the sledding incident.

  Jordan was sitting sideways on a hospital bed, his feet dangling off the edge. His white shirt was half untucked and had a mix of dirt and blood splattered all over it. His khaki pants were pretty roughed up, too. A whole strip of dried blood ran down the side of his face.

  I slowed down when I saw him, not sure if he was mad at me or not. Then as soon as he looked up and saw the three of us, I blurted out those exact words. “Are you mad at me?”

  “Why would I be mad at you?” His words slurred together a little.

  “Oh God, he is drunk,” I mumbled.

  Tony rocked back on his heels. “Yep.”

  Stevie lifted her purse and smacked Tony with it. “I thought you were his friend! What the hell were you doing while he was drinking—”

  Tony clapped a hand over Stevie’s mouth. “Keep your voice down. He didn’t drive and I stayed sober. He’s allowed to let off steam every once in a while.”

  I ignored them and moved closer to Jordan and stood on tiptoes to examine his head. He had a giant gash several inches above his ear.

  The doctor shuffled into the room then, and I scooted to Jordan’s other side.

  “Okay, Mr. Jordan Bentley…” The doctor whistled under his breath. “I’m going to give you two choices, given your blood alcohol level and the fact that you’re only seventeen. We can call a parent or we can call the police.”

  I took his hand and squeezed it. “Jordan…?”

  He stared at the wall in front of us, then finally said with a heavy sigh, “Call my dad.”

  “I’ll do it.” Stevie whipped out her phone and headed for the hall.

  The doctor seemed satisfied with this answer and started poking at Jordan’s cut. Eventually he squeezed water over it. “This is a big one, probably sixteen or seventeen stitches I’d guess. Want to tell me how it happened?”

  Tony held up his phone. “I got a video!”

  I must have channeled the ghost of my lawyer father right then, because I grabbed Tony’s hand, the one with the phone, and leaned close to whisper, “Delete that video, now.”

  “Never mind,” Tony said.

  Jordan looked up at the doctor and forced a grin. “Just a minor backyard accident.”

  I watched the doctor pull out a giant needle and I squeezed Jordan’s hand tighter. He gave me a weary smile but didn’t even flinch. Probably because he was drunk. “I can’t believe I was so stupid,” he said. “I’m proving my dad’s theory right. A hundred bucks says he tells me that within five minutes of his arrival.”

  “You were right to be mad, Jordan,” I said. “He’s shutting you out, and it doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I just wanted to drink a little, calm myself down, and then I was going to let it go, head back home and tell him I’m sorry and to forget about it.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure why it set me off. Maybe because talking about parent issues is our thing. Me and you. And then he was telling you stuff…”

  “How long were you listening?”

  “A while.” He looked at me again, his face weary. “I’m sorry. I’m not really like this. If I hadn’t nearly bled to death, I would have just slept it off and come home after school tomorrow and you’d never know the difference.”

  I leaned forward and hugged him around the waist, pressing my face into his shirt. “I know what you’re like—”

  “Oh God,” Tony moaned.

  I let go of Jordan and turned around to look at Tony. He was swaying back and forth, color draining from his face.

  “Dude?” Jordan said. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “That’s a big fucking needle,” Tony managed to say.

  The doctor barely glanced over at us. “You’d better have him sit down before he passes out.”

  Me? Tony could crush me with one leg. He blinked rapidly, like he was trying to hold on to consciousness. I grabbed a metal chair and slid it under him and poked him in the chest with one finger. That was all it took to make him fall into the seat.

  “Have him put his head between his knees,” the doctor said.

  I pressed on the back of Tony’s neck until his upper body slumped over. “I don’t feel so good,” he moaned.

  All I could think to do was pat his back awkwardly. Fifteen minutes later, after Jordan was good and numbed up in preparation for the stitches he needed, Stevie returned with Bentley
behind her. He stomped right in and scanned the room, taking everything in.

  “Mr. Bentley?” the doctor asked. “Your son is going to be just fine. A few stitches and he’ll be good as new. We see this kind of shenanigans all the time. Nothing to worry about, unless it happens again, of course.”

  Bentley’s eyes zoomed in on Jordan’s left arm, and he moved closer and picked it up.

  “Ow!” Jordan said. “Shit!”

  Bentley yanked up his sleeve and I immediately slapped my hands over my eyes. “Oh my God,” I said into my fingers.

  The doctor jumped back. “Whoa! Well, I can safely say that’s dislocated.”

  “Yeah, it is,” Bentley snapped. “Glad you gave him a thorough examination.”

  Tony started to raise his head. “What’s going on?”

  I uncovered my face and pressed a hand on Tony’s back again. “Keep your head down for a while. Trust me.”

  The doctor dropped his tools into the plastic bin and backed up toward the door. “I’ll get someone from orthopedics.”

  “Get a plastic surgeon, too,” Bentley said. “I’m not letting an intern stitch up my kid’s head.”

  This guy’s an intern? How could he tell?

  Stevie and I were both too curious to not get a closer look at Jordan’s deformed arm. Bentley ran his fingers along Jordan’s forearm and then his face scrunched up in concentration. Before anyone realized what he was doing, he grasped Jordan’s upper arm and yanked his wrist at the same time.

  “Jesus Christ!” Jordan practically leapt off the bed, then he flipped his hand over and opened and closed it several times. “Damn…that’s much better.”

  “Better now than when you’re sobered up.” Bentley rolled Jordan’s sleeve up the rest of the way. Then he backed away, allowing Stevie and me to move in closer.

  “It’s straight again,” Stevie said, picking up his hand. “How did you do that, Coach?”