Swimming Through Clouds (A YA Contemporary Novel)

by Paulus, Rajdeep

  “Do you have any reason not to? And, Talia...” Lagan holds my face in his hands. “Whatever Jesse says, whether he agrees or not, promise me you won’t go back. Ever. You have to promise me that you will never go back to your dad or that house.”

  I gulp. Because I have never so happily agreed to something my whole life. “I promise.” A tear slips down my cheek into his palm. “Jesse, too. Make Jesse promise.”

  “I’ll try. And I’ll show him the site on my phone where you’ll be. Assure him he can talk to you. Heck, I’ll have him call over there so he can hear it from you himself. It’s gonna work out. I really believe it’s all gonna work out.” With a lifting scoop, Lagan picks me off the cement, and I squeal with hope I’ve never tasted before.

  “Wait! Wait! Put me down!”

  “Never.” Lagan’s dimple returns, and I feel like I’m falling. All over again.

  “Come on. I just have to do one thing.” I wiggle enough that Lagan lets me slide down to where my toes touch the pavement.

  “I’ll LYG on one condition.” And the tables are turned on me! How does he do that?

  “Yes.” I’ll agree to anything at this point.

  “You’ll find me when the time is right. And not before. You’ll put your safety above my need for you. Because, Talia, I need you like I need...peppermint-flavored Trident. More. Much more. Promise me that. And I’ll let you go.”

  “That’s technically two promises.” For the record. “But, yes, I get the sense that they won’t exactly let me just leave whenever I feel like I want some fresh air. That’s the point of a shelter, after all. I promise to stay put until the time is right. Now LMG!”

  As my feet find firm footing on the ground, Lagan still holds me close to him. So close. Too close. “The Post-it.” I fill the space between our lips with a request. “I need it back.”

  “Oh, that ol’ thang. I threw it away.”

  “I was gonna rewrite it.” SUS for See You Soon. Because any possibility of a possibility counts as soon in my books.

  “We will. You and I.” Lagan leans in and our noses touch. “The future awaits. Bit by bit. We’ll write it together. Apart and then together again. Okay?” As he nods, searching for my approval, his lips draw dangerously close to mine.

  “Now?” Lagan asks, a word packed with possibility.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just...” And I’m embarrassed to admit it. Deep breath. “I just always hoped my lips would be perfectly healed before my first kiss.”

  “You are. Perfect for me.” Lagan’s hands brush my hair back, his fingertips swirling a trail to the back of my neck. I’m shaking my head no when he stills me, closes the gap, and rests his lips on mine. “Now?” he mumbles, exhaling the wish into me.

  A giggle, a tiny nod, and we’re swimming through clouds to our first kiss. So sweet, so sweet, I can hardly breathe—my heart wide open, because I don’t want to miss a thing. The prickle of his goatee on my skin, the scent of peppermint on his breath, the softness of his lips pressing on mine.

  The cool breeze of Jesse’s words, “Take nothing with you,” nudges me to slow down and step back. Lagan steps back too, his hands finding mine.

  Grinning, he asks, “Well?”

  “Pretty perfect. Yeah.” We both chuckle, and I would love to stay in this place.

  “Alrighty, then. I guess we don’t have to practice.” Lagan’s eyes dance with mischief. “Unless...well. There’ll be plenty of time to practice.”

  I laugh more, realizing I’m still out of breath from the kiss. My first kiss. Wow.

  “I’m gonna stop by the garden to say my goodbyes.” Time to shift focus. Away from gush and mush to cards and ducks. Have no choice but to get everything in order. “Then take the subway to the shelter office. By then, you and Jess will have had enough time to talk, I’m hoping. And Lagan...thanks. For everything.”

  Nodding, his dimple-lit smile says of course while his worry-flooded eyes remind me we haven’t crossed the finish line.

  “Oh, here’s my key.” I give him the front door key before I change my mind. “You don’t have to break any doors down. If Jess doesn’t agree... What if?” And I can’t breathe the words of failure. How will I live if the two men I love fail to return to me?

  “No what if’s. I’m just gonna pick up your brother and roll outta there MJ-style.”

  “I’m...”

  “Scared.” Lagan finishes my sentence for me. “I’m scared, too.”

  “You should be.” I’m shivering. “Dad’s a freakin’ lunatic. What if he’s home already? I don’t know how I feel about him knowing your face and meeting you for the first time. It’ll be the guillotine first, questions later.”

  “Later is not our problem. Look at me.” Lagan waits for my eyes to meet his, urgency coating his every word. “I can’t have it. There’s no more room in your eyes for more clouds. I won’t have it.” Lagan shakes his head and looks at the sidewalk.

  “What are you saying?”

  He inhales and speaks slowly. “What I need is for you to wait for me at the shelter.”

  “What! Why?” Only Jesse and I truly know the playing field, and I’m more confused than ever.

  “I can’t explain it clearly, but something in my gut tells me you need to get far away from your house. Somewhere your dad can’t find you. He’s hurt you enough. For once, let me fight for you.”

  Time is ticking. I’ve never had someone fight for me. “How will I know you’re okay?”

  “Let’s just face this, one battle at a time. We agree that the number one priority is to get both you and Jesse away from your dad. Somewhere safe.” Lagan releases a big sigh and takes my hands again. “God, I’m just glad you told me everything. You did, right? Tell me everything?”

  Lagan squeezes my hands, and when I don’t answer, he says, “Look, if your Dad tries to hurt—”

  “Not try.” I correct him. “He will.”

  “Fine. If your dad happens to be there or he tries to hurt Jesse or me, how do you know his rage won’t spill over to you for keeping Jess’s legs a secret? No matter what happens, I want you nowhere near the house. I need to know you’re safe.”

  “I don’t know anything for sure. I just know that somehow we always got through it.” There it is again. That word. Through.

  I wonder if Lagan is thinking what I’m thinking? What if this storm turns into a hurricane that leaves no survivors? Lagan knows enough now to suspect correctly. If Dad could find a way to kill Mom without a gun...

  “Well, then it’s settled.” Lagan breaks my train of thought. “If anything goes down, I’ll have a text message reporting gunshots and violence already set to send to 911 with one press of a button.” Lagan punches in the drafted text with his head down for a moment.

  “Speaking of gunshots…,” I swallow a picture of the shiny weapon in Dad’s drawer. “Lagan, my dad owns a gun.”

  Defeat seems inevitable if Jesse doesn’t get out before Dad comes home. We hurry to the subway station and step over the gap into the “L” just as the conductor closes the doors. Fairly empty save a few passengers with their heads buried behind newspapers, the afternoon rush hour won’t happen for several hours. Sitting on the bench nearest an exit, I silently read the Zipcar ads that stretch across the top border, my right leg bouncing involuntarily. One arm around my shoulders, Lagan’s free hand tops my kneecap, stilling my leg. My heart races on.

  Can’t believe I’ve waited this long to try again. When Dad foiled our escape with Mom, for years, Jesse and I were too young and scared to try again. Lagan’s right. Why go home to misery for one more night? Why not run away now? While we all still have our legs.

  Lagan tries calling the house from his cell again to let Jesse know he’s on the way. But he still doesn’t pick up. Why isn’t Jesse answering the phone?

  “Should I call my parents?” Lagan asks after the train picks up speed. “Ask them if I can borrow the car.”

  I lower my voice even if
no one sits near enough to us to hear. “If some neighbor sees your car in the driveway, the plates will make Dad think you helped us get away. And that could help him trace our whereabouts.” Plus how will Lagan quickly explain all this to his parents? “Just talk to Jesse. I’m pretty sure he’ll listen to you.”

  Lagan’s hand feels like a wet ice cube in mine. I stare at our hands when Lagan pulls me to my feet. The stop closest to the house remains two away. I’ll stay on the train and backtrack to the city, transfer trains, and head out to the garden.

  Lagan takes a step toward the doors, moving me with him. Perhaps edging toward the exit helps him to assume the battle position. I imagine his armor full of bullet holes. Strange how I’ve never felt more safe than in this place. His arms wrapped around me.

  “I’ll see you at the shelter, okay? The office. You know what I mean. Wait for me,” he says.

  It’s my turn to W4U. I see that now.

  “For us.” Lagan corrects himself. “I’ll bring Jesse. And we’ll get through this. I love you, okay? Don’t forget that.” Lagan’s lips rest on my forehead till the train comes to a jarring halt. A tight squeeze. A slip of a Post-it note into my palm with a whispered, “Read it later.” A peppermint-filled kiss, and it’s my turn. To let him go.

  I stuff the Sticky Note into my jeans pocket and watch the subway doors open. Then start to close. As the love of my life moves forward and walks through, I rush to the window, wanting to hold on to the sight of Lagan as long as I can. He turns and looks for me. Finding my gaze, he raises his hand. I think he’s waving, at first. As the train rolls forward, he lifts four fingers. And then points to me. I nod as my palm kisses the window. With four fingers up, my thumb curled under.

  For what? For you...? Forever.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  As the afternoon hustle and bustle of commuters bumps me to and fro in the Metra train car headed uptown, the crowd cushions my resurging breakdowns. I’ve second-guessed my decision to let Lagan get Jesse a million times before I exit at my stop in Glenco. Walking the last mile to the garden entrance always clears my head, but today I jog the entire route like a fugitive escaping the police. I almost laugh out loud at the absurd suspense story my life has turned out to be. Once contained in the walls of what some call “home,” my simple life has moved from a girl’s quest to endure her abusive father to a group effort to feign death and escape this monster once and for all.

  Shivers race down my sweaty neck as the image of the silver gun in Dad’s desk drawer returns to the forefront of my thoughts. Oh, how I hope Dad moved it! Really praying Jesse doesn’t try and take it with him when he shuts the prison doors behind him, once and for all.

  I haven’t even begun to think about what it will take to remove Dad’s invisible handcuffs. As I rub my wrists instinctively, I imagine the cuffs transforming into a charm bracelet with miniature clocks, tea kettles, and hair clippers on it. The bracelet melts into my skin, burning a tattoo around my flesh. Because the truth is, visible or not, I will never forget.

  I wonder if I’ll ever know what true freedom feels like. I do know that I’m not done wanting. And I will wait for the hands that held mine only hours ago to hold me once more. I need to empty my locker, say my goodbyes and head to the shelter office. Start up the interview process before I chicken out. And wait it out.

  The garden office is empty. Everyone must be on break or on the grounds right now. Perfect. As I turn the dial on the combination lock, I think about those first days when I first met Lagan, and how he used to leave me Sticky Notes on my school locker. Seems like forever ago. I never saved them for fear of Dad using them as ammunition. Additional ammo, that is.

  When Jason first showed me my locker, I never put anything in it. For months I took everything with me and kept it under the willow where I spent most of my time. Then one day it rained while I was on the job. Everything got muddy.

  “You do have a locker,” Jason reminded me that evening when I walked past him wearing my mud-splattered coat and backpack.

  That was the first time I realized Jason was in cahoots with Lagan. Because I would often open up my locker and find something fun on work days that didn’t fall on the seventeenth. Usually something to eat. Something untraceable. Lemon-flavored cough drops. An apple. A ziplock with cucumber slices. Once I found an empty water bottle with a Post-it that read, “Fill it up with your dreams today.” I tossed the note and refilled it at the water fountain before I started digging that day.

  The locker should be empty, save one book and my most prized possession—Mom’s strand of beautiful hair. I left Lagan’s book in here weeks ago when winter slowed down the work day. I retrieve The Beautiful Fight from the top shelf and slip it into my backpack.

  I’m also here to leave a small note. A small Post-it note telling Jason goodbye. Thanks, really. I write only one word on it: Thanks. Because I’m afraid if I say it to his face, I might start crying.

  He’s been the big brother I never had, giving me my space but showing me the ropes and giving me the freedom I needed by the willow to find my way. I’m sure he knew I was lost. But he also seemed to know there were some answers I had to find on my own. Lessons learned from a waterfall willow, once weeping. Thoughts of my own personal tree of life remind me that I have one last goodbye to say before I leave.

  Jason catches me racing past the garden office, headed straight for the willow. “Hey! Wait up!”

  “Jason! Sorry. I didn’t see you. Sorry, I can’t stay today.”

  “No worries. Just wanted to make sure everything’s okay with you. Everything’s okay with you, right?”

  “Everything is…fine.” That sounded convincing.

  Jason looks me over and asks again. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look a little...distracted. Or something?”

  The thought that has burned in my mind since I left Lagan slips off the tip of my tongue, one word at a time. “I’ll be...back.”

  “Excuse me?” Jason’s eyes widen like I spoke in Swahili or something. “You okay? Going on a trip or something? You said that like you’re not even sure.”

  My silence speaks for itself. I can’t speak if I want to. I’m not okay. And I’m not okay talking about it.

  “Whatever it is, I’m sorry, T.” Jason shuffles his feet and makes his way back toward the office, talking to me over his shoulder. “Didn’t mean to pry. Back to work I go.”

  And just like that, my window of opportunity to say more dissipates like a popped soap bubble.

  I lift my feet and move slowly to my waterfall cave, accepting more and more that the only safe place until I see Lagan and Jesse is a secret shelter.

  Before I move under my willow, my silent friend speaks inexplicable peace as the wind dances among her branches. I run my fingers along the outside of her flowing arms, little pink and yellow blossoms sailing to the floor with my touch. I only wish her arms were human and could wrap around me with the strength of Lagan’s arms. An embrace I wish I were more familiar with now. Sigh.

  The gardener is here. I know. But I can’t lie. I need arms I can feel right now. I need heat, and pulse, and unmistakable squeeze. I’m alone. Waiting and wanting.

  I keel over to my knees, now under the willow. My fists hit the dirt floor, and I beg the invisible voice once more for arms that will hold me again. And Jess’s legs to run, and run free. And for the first time, I think about Dad. And it’s not for his death, for once. Just tears. I weep with my willow for the man in my life who has probably never shed even a single tear for me.

  My promise to Lagan to never go back to the man or my house rings like an alarm to remind me I can’t stay here. Reluctantly, I shake my shoulders and rise to my feet. It’s time to move on. To walk away. Through the garden. And keep my promise.

  The train ride back to the city is packed. Everyone’s getting off of work and heading home. Home. There’s a word that’s about to undergo an address change. I look down at my watch, then out the window as the sun begins to
set behind the bustling train. The sun falls below the horizon, leaving dark red streaks across the darkening sky. Even the sky bleeds tonight.

  As the train draws me closer and closer to my destination, I rehearse my story. Lagan is the first person I ever told. The only person.

  “Who will believe me?” I wanted a way out.

  “I believe you.” He never failed to remind me.

  And that’s why I’ll wait for you. And SUS.

  Soon, come already.

  The address appears just as the Google map I memorized earlier had it laid out. Caddy corner to the Starbucks, next to the Rite Aid on Wacker Drive. The front door appears as any other office suite, with numbers and names on a chart behind a glass-encased frame. I double check the suite number and begin my trek up the stairs. The elevator will take me to the sixth floor too quickly. Still not sure I know what to say.

  Opening the stairwell door, I’m greeted with the name, Hope Now, painted in simple, solid blue letters across the door. I push, but the door doesn’t budge. An intercom system buzzes, and a female voice sounds from the small speaker built into the wall to the right of the entrance. “Hope Now. This is Diana speaking. How may I help you?”

  Deep breath. “My name is Talia. I’m hurt. My dad hurts me. I need help. I, uh, I was wondering—”

  A click sounds the release of the locked door. I turn the handle as the voice on the intercom welcomes me. “We’re so glad you came, hon. Come on through.”

  EPILOGUE

  My mind refuses to stay anchored, always wandering, like a hot air balloon cut from its tether. The invisible winds of what if lift me from what is now. I frequently float away to cloud ten—cloud nine is for traditionalists—and find myself looking past his eyes while nodding my head. He thought I heard him. In the beginning, I did. Just not totally. Not selectively either, because that would imply choice. And I’m more convinced than ever that if I had a choice, I would never have chosen this divided existence. It is simply exhausting.