Credence

by Penelope Douglas

  I glance at him, the aggravation on his face suddenly gone. I roll my eyes.

  “So, are you happy?” she asks.

  Noah turns on music upstairs, and Jake lifts the lid of my stew, dipping his spoon in for a sample. Tonight, they’re making me watch Starship Troopers for the first time. I’m warm, well-fed, and loved.

  There’s nothing I need that’s missing.

  But still, I drop my eyes. “Almost,” I murmur.

  We talk for a bit, and she lets me know that Mr. Eusola contacted her about the gossip rag and they got the newspaper to print a retraction, as well as fire the reporter. Hopefully, it sets an example that I’m not interested in tolerating rumors about my parents for the rest of my life.

  After we hang up, I check on the dinner, adding the potatoes in I peeled this morning.

  Washing my hands, I stare out the window, seeing how the snow around the driveway has started to slush. We still have more storms coming, but the past few days have been a nice reprieve from the bitter temperatures.

  I lean in, peering up at what I can see of the sky. The clouds look heavy. More snow on the way.

  I feel Jake behind me, and I look back, seeing him gazing out the window, as well.

  He looks down, something intimate in how his eyes drop to my mouth.

  He takes a step back. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  We haven’t been together since before the fire. I’ve been sleeping alone since Kaleb left.

  I dry my hands as he takes a sip of coffee.

  “Another storm’s coming,” he says.

  I nod, staring past the trees. It’s starting to get dark.

  “Has he ever been gone this long?”

  I hate that I asked, but I’ve wanted to ask every day. It’s been over two months. Has he ever missed Christmas? Does he ever stay in this long?

  “No,” Jake finally answers.

  “Aren’t you worried?”

  He pauses, his voice quiet as he explains. “I’m not taking you that deep into the woods in the winter. And we can’t leave you here alone. If he isn’t back by the time you leave, then I’ll go in.”

  By the time I leave…

  For the first time, it hits me. I may not see Kaleb again.

  “Tiernan, I want you to take Noah with you when you leave here,” Jake says.

  I turn. “What about you?”

  He’s relenting? Noah’s desperate to leave. When did he finally come to terms with it?

  And Kaleb’s gone. If I take Noah, then Jake will be alone.

  He simply looks down at me, a resigned half-smile playing on his lips. “I’ll be okay.”

  I blink away the burn in my eyes. I don’t want Jake to be alone here. If Kaleb has survived in there this long, he may never return. Picturing Jake alone this time next winter… It aches.

  I reach up on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around him, feeling his hands reach around me, too.

  Holding his head, I bury my nose in his cheek, a sob lodged in my throat. I open my mouth, nearly going for his. I want to kiss him. I want to take care of him and give him love, because he’s going to die up here, never sharing his life with anyone.

  I can make him feel good.

  His mouth hovers over mine, and I know he wants it. His fingers dig into my waist.

  But the hair at the back of his scalp is too short. It scratches my hand, not like Kaleb’s soft black hair.

  Slowly, I drop my arms, and he pulls me in, hugging me instead.

  I wrap my arms around him and close my eyes. I can’t leave him alone. Either, Noah stays, or Jake comes, too, or…

  I don’t know.

  I wander back upstairs alone. What’s going to happen when the roads open in eight or so weeks? It’s not much time. Is this how it ends?

  Standing at the bottom of Kaleb’s stairs, I look up at his door. I haven’t opened it since December. No one has, but nothing has changed, I’m sure. Still cold, but probably a little dustier.

  I climb the stairs.

  The faint light out of the window casts the room in twilight, and I close the door behind me, rubbing my arms against the chill. I walk over to the fireplace and take a couple logs, laying them inside with some kindling. Swiping a match on the mantel, I light the fire and watch as the flames grow, warmth and light immediately drifting toward me.

  The soft glow flickers across the floor, and I take the match, lighting a few candles he has set on the mantel and one by his bed.

  Kaleb has candles. Heh.

  I flip on his old iPod dock, an Amber Run song starting to play as I walk over to the bed and fan out the blanket and sheet, freshening them up. I fall on top, lying down and staring up at the ceiling as I reach around and caress my cheek.

  Like he did when he carried me to his bed.

  My heart aches.

  I close my eyes, tears hanging at the corners. Mine. He’s mine. He should’ve stayed and fought with me.

  I lie for a while, staring off and letting my mind wander. The room darkens as the sun sets, but it warms with the fire, and I don’t know where the time goes, but finally, I hear a knock on the door.

  “Tiernan?”

  I blink, wanting to be left alone. But I sit up. “Yes?”

  “Dinnertime,” Noah says.

  He must’ve searched everywhere before finally realizing where I was.

  “I’ll be down later,” I tell him. “I’m tired.”

  I don’t even look at the clock, but it has to be around six. I don’t feel like a movie tonight.

  There’s silence on the other side of the door, but after a few moments, the stairs creak with Noah’s footsteps.

  I roll over and bury my face in the pillow.

  But I feel something hard and move my hand, gripping the object inside the case. What is that? I lift my head up and reach inside, pulling it out.

  I hold a worn, brown hardback book and peer at it in the dim candlelight, flipping it over to read the spine.

  Don Quixote Vol. II

  I smile and sit up, shaking my head. He’s such a surprise. He reads.

  Of course, his shelves to my right are filled with books, but I kind of thought they might’ve been stored here, and he was too lazy to move them over the years.

  Sitting cross-legged, I pull the book into my lap and fan through it, the smell of the old paper, tinged yellow, wafting over me.

  I open it to the middle, hearing the spine crack.

  I almost laugh. I thought so.

  Although aged, it’s not broken-in. He’s not reading this.

  So why is it in his bed?

  I let the pages fan closed but spot something right as the book goes to close. I catch it, opening up the cover again and bringing it closer to read the black writing.

  It’s funny how women come to me so easily now, it reads. They used to say that I was stupid in school.

  Stupid.

  Stoooopid.

  Stoopid.

  I narrow my eyes, making out the scratchy handwriting inside the cover.

  I am stoopid.

  But they sure like to fuck me.

  A lump lodges in my throat, and my breathing turns shallow.

  Kaleb?

  Hurriedly, I flip through the pages again, checking inside the back cover, but I don’t see any more writing, and I sit there, excited and shocked. Are these Kaleb’s words?

  I jerk my head to the bookshelf, the mountain of texts strewn about, stacked in the shelves, and overflowing. Jumping out of bed, I rush over, picking up a book. Any book.

  Drawings of a cabin line the flyleaf at the beginning of the book, and I flip to the back, my heart about stopping when I see more handwriting.

  Deep. I always want to be there. I hate it here. I want to be there. In the valley, where the river creeps and the wind rushes me. Surrounded by the creaks. It smells like deep. Tastes like deep. I want the world to be smaller.

  I hate it here.

  I barely notice the tears spilling as I
pull books from the shelves, frantically searching for more.

  He doesn’t read the books. He’s writing in them.

  After sifting through a few empty ones, I find another with scribbles and markings carved into the paper so deep, it’s like he sliced the page with his pen.

  Fuck, he writes.

  FUCK.

  And more scribbles, violent and dark as if the page is hemorrhaging ink. When did he write this? What had happened?

  I open another text.

  Saw her smile today. I like having a girl around.

  I read it five more times, searching for more on the pages, but there’s nothing else. No dates. Is he talking about me or…?

  You only yell at me now, he writes in another. I know it’s my fault. I know I can’t speak. I can. I just can’t. I… I’m not here. This is all I have and all I am. I can’t. I’m not here.

  I notice the bookmark he’d placed there. I flip it over and see a picture of Jake with the boys. Noah can’t be more than five as he sits on a dirt bike, his dad behind him.

  Kaleb is around six, his hair much longer as he stands off to the side, staring off. He’s always somewhere else.

  I dig more books from the shelf, finding one with scratched-out marks over most of the writing, but I can still read it.

  Mr. Robson asked us what we wanted to be today. I had so many answers.

  Was Robson a teacher?

  I want to be outside, he goes on. I want to be in a tree. I want to be wet. I want to be on the forest floor as the rain hits the leaves above. I like that sound.

  I want to be warm. I want to hold something. I want to talk to my dad. I want to be tired, so I can sleep more, and I want to walk.

  I want to be in love. I want to be safe.

  I want to be over.

  I want things in my head to be gone.

  But then all of that is scribbled over, leaving one simple line.

  I want to be everything she sees.

  I stare at the handwriting. She? I shake my head, more to myself. There’s no dates on any of these? Nothing is filed in a discernible order. Some things are printed in block letters, others in cursive. Some of the cursive is third grade, some comes from a man. There’re years of musings on these flyleafs, and he hid them here, because he knew no one would open these old, tattered books.

  He writes everything he couldn’t say.

  You knew me a long time ago. You know you don’t know me now. Trying to teach me signing, like I can’t talk. I stay silent because I want you to leave me alone. Signing won’t help.

  I grab another book, separating the ones I already read in a pile.

  Saw some wolves take down a doe today. I should’ve shot the fawn. It won’t last the winter without her. It’s out there fucking starving now. I should’ve fucking…

  I’ll find it tomorrow and shoot it.

  Noah doesn’t say anything, does he? When I always need the windows down in the car, even in the winter, because it’s so hard to breathe. I like Noah. He lets me be. He lets everyone be and doesn’t need to understand everything. He doesn’t have questions all the time. He can just let it be.

  I dry my eyes and wet my dry lips, snatching up another book. Noah knows why he needs the windows down in the car.

  Saw her smile again today. She turned her face toward the sky and closed her eyes. I kind of get it. Like I don’t need to fucking talk all the time, she doesn’t need to open her eyes to see the peak. She likes it here. I can tell by her smile when she doesn’t know anyone sees her. Needles prick my throat and my vision blurs again. She always exhales when she does that, like she’s been holding her breath.

  That’s me. I know he’s talking about me.

  Found candy in the trash and kale on my pizza. She’s fucking weird.

  I laugh through my tears.

  God, she feels good. She looks like she’d be pudding in your fist. Soft. Too soft. It was so good, though. Those seconds on the car that she let me bury my face in her body. Her skin is like water. I want her smell in my bed. And in my hair. And never far away from me.

  I envision him up here all those nights alone. Scribbling away in the books. All those nights wasted. Maybe he wrote this before he saw me come out of his father’s room. We both could’ve done things so much differently.

  Slut. Why can’t I fucking leave? It’s time to go in. I’ve been here too long. That fucking slut. That stupid slut.

  Go in. Deeper into the mountains, he means. It’s where he runs when everything hurts.

  Tiernan… another book reads. But that’s it. Just my name.

  I flip to the back and take a breath, seeing more.

  They’re such deep sleepers, they don’t hear you at night. Just me. When I touched your face, you quieted. When I tried to leave, the nightmare started again. So I stayed. I come in every night. You tuck your cold feet between my legs, and I hug you to me, resting my hand on your back and feeling your body calm as it nestles into me. Do I make you feel safe? I like taking care of you.

  I stare at the text. How did I not know that? How long was he coming in? Even when we fought?

  I know you’re scared of me, and I know it’s my fault. Cici trying to slap me in the cave that day, because I didn’t want her, and instead, falling into my shoulder and bloodying her own damn nose ended up being the least of your worries. I did horrible things to you all on my own. I hate that I never did anything to get you to love me. You’ll never love me.

  I clench my teeth, struggling to see past the tears.

  You make me shake. My hands shook at the tree with you today, and I don’t understand what it is or why it’s happening. I just feel it. I never want you to walk too far away from me.

  The tree. In December when we cut branches for the decorations. He wrote this after we made love in the barn.

  You scare me. I scare you. Don’t let me hurt you anymore. Why can’t I stop wanting to hurt you? Just fuck them, okay? Keep fucking them, so I won’t want you so damn much. I’m a mess, because wanting you feels good, and I don’t know what to do when things feel good. Everything is a mess, and I’ll make a mess of all of it, but…

  I’m going to miss you.

  I’ll miss you.

  I exhale what little air I’m holding.

  He’s killing me.

  All this time I pushed it away, trying to survive and act like I could win, but he’s right. It’s a mess, and we’re a mess, but I always knew that if he walked through the door and said anything to me—or communicated in any way—I’d melt. All I’ve ever wanted was one glimpse into his head.

  I stand back, taking in the shelves and the dozens of books still waiting for me. Not once, so far, has he mentioned his mother.

  He doesn’t care.

  The pages are filled with what he loves.

  I’m not leaving Jake here alone. I’m not leaving without Kaleb and me having it out. I’m not taking Noah without them saying goodbye.

  I want him home.

  I don’t know how much time I spend looking through more books and rereading parts I loved, but the house is dark and silent when I finally leave his room and come down the stairs. I missed the movie, but it’s okay. I’m glad Jake is asleep.

  I slip into Noah’s room, hearing the faint sound of his music, and walk over to his bed, jostling him awake.

  “What?” he groans and turns over, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

  I lean down. “Let’s go get Kaleb.”

  Tiernan

  “It’s eighteen degrees,” I tell Noah, exhaling inside my jacket to soak up the warmth. I look up at the overcast sky. “Those clouds are less than six-thousand feet. We’ve gotta move.”

  Snow swirls in the wind around us, but it’s only the beginning. A storm is coming.

  I slip on my goggles and tighten the hood of my coat, following him through the snow in my boots and waterproof pants as he heads north.

  After I got him out of bed last night, we loaded up the snowmobiles, packed on our g
ear, and headed out while the weather was still good. Once the sun rose, the chill was bearable, but now the clouds are rolling in, and I fucking misjudged that the storm wouldn’t turn.

  It did.

  Jake will be pissed. I left him a note on the table, letting him know we were heading deeper into the woods to the fishing cabin. Of course, there’s no guarantee Kaleb is there, but it’s the likeliest choice. I don’t care if Jake follows us. I only refrained from waking him, because I knew he’d stop us.

  Noah pulls to a stop ahead of me, the flakes growing thicker as they whip across our faces.

  He looks at the map, removing his goggles and wiping his eyes.

  “I thought you knew the way,” I tell him, stopping at his side.

  “Just gimme a break.” He turns the map around and searches the terrain. “I’ve been up here five times in my life, all before the age of twelve. Kaleb and Dad like it up here, not me.”

  “Great.” I shake my head.

  Taking the laminated document from him, I scan Jake’s sketch. He mapped the area years ago, marking his own landmarks—ponds, streams, caves. Things that were recognizable to him.

  To me, it’s Chinese, though. The mountains and trees on the map all look the same as I scan the area around us.

  I shove it back at Noah, letting out a hard sigh. Don’t we have GPS thingies now? Something that taps into a satellite? I curl my toes in my boots, my legs shaking a little. I take a step, sinking knee deep into the snow as I do a three-sixty and look around me.

  The tree boughs sparkle in white, bunches of pine cones hanging from the branches, and I spot a narrow ravine to the left. I pull out my water bottle from my pack, both of us loaded down with everything we could carry when we finally had to abandon the snow mobiles due to the terrain. We’ve been on foot since eight this morning, our rifles strapped to our bags.