by Patty Blount
“I repeat, you have had too many years. Sit down.” Cass ordered.
“I have to pee.” Elena practically ran to the bathroom, locked herself in, trying hard to calm her shattered nerves. She could hear all of the girls whispering about her. When she heard Bree ask if there were razor blades in the bathroom, she flung the door open and stepped out, concluding it was easier to just rip off the bandage and get it over with.
“Okay. Say what you need to.” She walked to Kara’s kitchen, sat on a stool and faced her executioners.
“Honey, what do you think we’re gonna do—beat you?” A voice said from the phone in Bree’s hand.
Elena jerked. “Damn it, you called Jade, too?”
“Of course we did.” Cassandra folded her arms. “When one of us is hurt, all of us bleed.”
Kara put up a hand. Jade’s question deserved an answer. “Is that why you never said anything?” she asked quietly, her eyes as red and swollen as Elena’s. “Because you thought we’d slap at you?” Her tone held pain. “Is that what you really think of us?”
“Kara.” Bree shook her head, a warning. “Laney, when I found out I was pregnant, do you remember what happened?”
Elena nodded, unable to look at her.
“Did anybody make me feel like crap? Did anybody say any of the things I was so afraid they’d say?”
“No,” Cassandra cut in. “I’d have kicked their butts if they’d tried.”
Elena looked from face to face. They didn’t understand. They didn’t get it. Getting pregnant was a beginning, not an end. It resulted in something happy—Charlie, Bree’s daughter.
What Elena had done was permanent.
Irrevocable.
Unforgivable.
“Show of hands.” Elena thrust her own into the air. “How many of you told your mom you hated her before she died?” When no hands joined hers, she nodded bitterly. “So please don’t tell me you understand.”
Bree looked away, pressed a hand to her mouth. But Jade voiced her opinion, her anger loud and clear through the tiny speaker on the cell phone. “You’re wrong. You’re so wrong, Laney. We know you. We know you. We know you loved your mom. We know and so did she.”
Slowly, robotically, Elena shook her head, pressed her hands over that dark and cold hole in her chest, but it grew and expanded and spread and she knew she couldn’t hold it in, couldn’t hold it back. “But she didn’t!” The words exploded from her on a sob that scraped her raw. “I never got to tell her, to apologize for all my stupid tantrums and rudeness and disobeying.”
The girls folded her into their arms, stroked her hair until she quieted. Bree pressed a box of tissues into her lap and then fetched her a bottle of water, while Cass covered her with a blanket. But Kara crossed her arms over her round belly and sat in the farthest corner of the sofa.
“I’m so mad at you, Laney. All these years, you stayed away. All this time, wasted. Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you trust us?”
Elena lifted her heavy head. “Trust? You think I didn’t trust you?”
“You obviously didn’t.” Kara rubbed her belly, avoiding Elena’s eyes.
“No. No, that’s not why I didn’t tell any of you.”
“Then why?” Kara demanded, her voice thick.
It took her a long moment, but Elena finally found the words—or maybe, just the courage to say them out loud. “The look on your face is burned into my brain—it haunts me, Kara. It tortures me.”
“My face?” Kara repeated.
Elena nodded. “Mom and I never got along but you and Mom were best friends. I saw the same look on your face every time something happened in your life—graduation, moving here, the baby—you miss her and it’s my fault she’s not here with you right now. If she hadn’t been so upset with me, maybe she wouldn’t have left for work so early—” Elena pressed both hands over her ears.
When she raised her eyes, she found all of the girls were crying.
“Oh, Elena, you poor kid.” Bree opened her arms, but Elena only shook her head. She didn’t deserve their kindness now. But Bree folded her up in a hug anyway.
“Elena, you’re wrong.” Kara struggled to her feet, turned her sister to face her. “I love you. I don’t blame you for any of it. Do you understand?”
Elena managed a nod, though Kara’s words did little to lighten her burden.
“Mommy adored you, Laney. Yes, you argued a lot, but you were a kid. That’s what kids do. Look at me and Daddy. He’s mad I got pregnant, mad I moved back to New York, mad I went to NYU instead of Bucknell. I’ve said a ton of things to him when I was angry that I didn’t mean.”
At that, Elena lifted her head. Kara and Dad didn’t get along at all. Why had she never noticed that before? “Yeah, but he didn’t die the day after you said them.” Elena slipped from her sister’s arms and fell back to the sofa.
Kara angled her head. “No. No, he didn’t. But he loves me, Laney. Even if I do press his buttons, I know he loves me just like I know Mom loves you.”
Elena shook her head. “No. She died hating me and still hates me, if all of these signs are real.”
“Laney, the only one who hates you is you.” Jade’s voice on the speaker phone made her jump. “Nobody else. You need to put that aside. Everyone in this room loves you. You told us Lucas loves you. All these signs you told us about—Elena, I think you’re right and they’re real—”
Elena folded her arms over her middle and gasped.
“Let me finish,” Jade continued. “I think they’re real and tell me your mother loves you and forgives you. She can’t be here, but she found a way to connect you with someone who will love you, Elena. Someone who can understand exactly what you feel. Why aren’t you all over that?”
“Because—because he’s the best man I know.” She flung out her arms, let them fall. “And me? I’m nothing but a black hole who sucks the happiness out of everybody around me. I can’t—I won’t do that to him.” She stood up, headed to the second bedroom. “I’m going to pack.”
Kara’s head snapped up. “Are you serious? I have a week left and you’re just gonna walk out on me, too?”
Elena paused, but never turned around. “You’re both better off without me around—all of you are.”
In the baby’s room, Elena gasped when her words punched her. She’d just said the same thing to her sister that Steve had when he left Kara.
Oh, hell. She really was heartless.
Chapter Twelve
‡
Another storm hit New York on Sunday night, dumping a foot of snow over the city and canceling all flights out of town. The SFG holiday Remembrance was in five days and though Elena had no intention of going, she’d hoped to be out of the city well before the event. She was still getting emails about last-minute finishing touches and couldn’t face the committee. Couldn’t face Lucas. And damn well couldn’t face her sister.
They’d shared the apartment in a silence colder than the December weather. On auto-pilot, Elena made Kara meals, did her laundry, fetched her mail, and cleaned her home around conference calls with her project teams and her manager. She couldn’t get Lucas off her mind and she couldn’t talk about him without someone willing to talk to her.
None of the girls were speaking to her at the moment. She’d hoped to stay with Cassandra, but Cass had left before she’d finished packing. Even Jade, the friend who knew her the best, wasn’t responding to her texts.
On Tuesday, Kara had another appointment with her doctor. Elena accompanied her but might as well have been invisible. Kara ignored her, refused to let her come inside the examination room, said not a word on the way home. Elena got her settled with her baby name book and escaped to the cold gray streets for some alone time.
She shoved her hands in her pockets and walked down West Street with no particular destination in mind. She ignored the biting cold, stepping over mounds of snow. No matter how long she walked, Lucas haunted her. A man huddled in a doorway, his fingers al
most blue. She peeled off her gloves for him. A woman slipped and fell on ice and she hurried over to help her up. She’d never noticed before, never noticed the people around her suffering. She’d been too focused on her own suffering to care. Close to tears, Elena suddenly found herself walking through the September 11th Memorial grounds.
“Oh!” The gaping hole in her heart twinged and though the pain took her breath away, she couldn’t turn away. She walked toward the fountains, something she couldn’t name pulling her closer and closer to the bronze plaques that surrounded the holes left behind when the towers fell. On the North pool, she found it two panels over from the corner.
Marie Elise Larsen
She pulled her gloveless hands out of her pockets, traced her mother’s name in the icy metal, and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mom.” She reached out both arms, stretched herself over the bronze plaque and cried until a hand on her back made her jolt around in fear.
“Miss, I’m sorry to bother you, but um, well, here. I thought you could use these.”
Elena blinked hot tears from her eyes and found a man standing behind her, clutching a wad of tissues. She narrowed her eyes, examined the dark face, the scar that marred it from cheek to temple.
“Al?”
“Elena!” Luke’s friend smiled at her. “I didn’t realize it was you. But please, take them anyway.
“Oh. Um. Thank you. Thank you very much.”
Al smiled and shook his head. “It’s no trouble, believe me. I always bring a pile when I visit.”
Frowning, Elena asked, “You come here a lot?”
“Oh, sure. I come all the time. It makes me feel closer to him.” Al stared out over the pool. “My dad.”
“I’m sorry.” She stared into the pool, where ice hung from the sides.
“Which one is yours?”
Sniffling, Elena pointed. “This one. She was my mom.” Her voice cracked.
“I’m sorry, too,” he said, and then pointed to another name about a yard away. “This one’s mine.” The name read Fahran Suliman.
“I’m sorry,” Elena returned the sentiment with a gulp. Hollow words to match the hollow feeling in her chest, but what else was there? “Al, can I ask you something?”
When he nodded, she waved her numb hands over the memorial grounds. “How do you stand it? Doesn’t it make you remember? Doesn’t it make you sad?”
He studied her for a long moment and finally said, “You’re shivering. Let me buy you a cup of coffee and I’ll tell you.”
Elena considered his offer for a moment. She wasn’t ready to face Kara—not yet. And she didn’t want to be alone, either. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Here.” He stripped off his gloves and handed them to her. “Put them on,” he ordered when she started to refuse.
She tucked her hands into the warm leather and managed a smile. “Thanks.”
Al led her to a small coffee shop right outside the Memorial, where a small sofa sat near one window, Christmas songs filled the air, and a smiling barista greeted them from behind a counter. Half a dozen people sat around the shop, wrapped presents in shopping bags at their feet. “Hot cocoa?” he asked with a wink and her face fell.
No. No hot cocoa. Not ever again.
“Tea, please. Honey and cream.”
His smile evaporated. Nodding, he got in line while she found an empty table. She put his gloves neatly on the table and used the tissues he’d given her to blow her nose, mop her eyes.
“Here you go.” He put a steaming cup of water on the table and handed her a small plate that held her tea bag, a few thimbles of cream and packets of honey. She fussed over the drink, her numb fingers making her fumble.
“My dad,” Al began and Elena’s movements went still, “worked as a trader. They found his wristwatch and his briefcase, but not him,” he revealed and Elena gasped. At least, her family had been able to bury her mother.
“What did you do?”
“Eventually, we buried those things.” He sipped his coffee. “The truth is, he’s buried somewhere under those pools and when I come here, I feel him with me.”
She played with her empty cream cap. “Do you really believe that stuff?”
“What stuff?”
“Life after death. Heaven. All those signs.” She spread her hands.
“I do. It all helps me cope.” He took another sip. “You should talk to Luke.”
At the mention of his name, Elena’s eyes welled with fresh tears. Al gave her hand a squeeze.
“Elena, you’re asking me if there’s a God, if there’s a Heaven, if there’s a life after this one, and I can’t answer that. Nobody can. It’s either something you believe in or you don’t.” He played with his cup. “I’m not very religious. I was raised Muslim and there are some things that even I—with my lack of faith—believe.”
At her blank look, he elaborated. “I believe in people, Elena.” He turned to stare out the window, at the Memorial just a block away. “Hundreds—thousands of people worked incredibly hard through unimaginable conditions to make sure those who are still here are honored and respected and never forgotten. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that. I believe in the people who believe that.”
She stared at him. “Martin Luther King.”
“You know it?” He smiled, pleased. “When I come here, that’s what I remember. It helps erase the images of horror I used to see every time I shut my eyes.”
At her look of disbelief, he laughed once. “Every time I come here, somebody smiles at me or gives me a hug or stuffs tissues into my hand. Every time I come here, I feel connected, Elena. I feel like I’m part of something that’s bigger than the hate that almost killed me.” He tapped the scar that rode the side of his face.
“Killed you?” She frowned, raised her cup and then froze when the truth smacked her across the face. I fractured his skull, Elena. I beat him almost to death…
She shook her head. Lucas couldn’t have done that, he was good and kind. You look at me like I’m some sort of perfect being, but I’m not. I’m no hero, Elena. I just believe in trying, that’s all.
“Oh, Al, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She pointed to his scar. “You’re the one he almost killed.”
Al blinked. “He told you.”
“Most of it,” she admitted. “He never said it was you, though.”
“Don’t be mad at him for that. That’s my fault. I hate talking about it, remembering it.”
She continued to stare at Al. “You…you forgave him,” she said with a shake of her head.
“Because I can’t stand the alternative, Elena. He was consumed by guilt and pain and I had the power to end that for him.”
“But you’re friends, aren’t you?”
“The best.”
“How? How do you look at him and not hate him?”
“Because I know him.” He grinned, a brilliant flash of white teeth. Al’s smile was almost as beautiful as Luke’s, she thought with a pang of guilt. “He devotes himself completely to leaving the world a better place than he found it. It’s not just lip service, you know? Most of us, we go through life oblivious to the people around us—their needs, their sorrows. But not him. He sees what the rest of us don’t.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. Hadn’t she just told herself the same thing?
“He’s a good man, Elena,” Al said quietly. “The best I know.”
She squeezed her eyes harder, but the tears fell anyway. “I know,” she whispered. “Too good for me. I won’t ever—” She bit her lip, shook her head.
Al angled his head. “Ever what?”
“Be good enough for him,” she admitted.
He snorted, put his cup down, and laughed out loud. Elena lifted wounded eyes to his.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but you just said the same thing he said to me not even a week ago. Damn, you two are the perfect match.”
A tiny wisp of hope caught,
held.
Soberly, Al angled his head. “Elena, what happened that has you both so miserable? He’s not talking.”
She lifted a shoulder, sipped the tea she didn’t want. “He…he said he’s in love with me.”
“And why don’t you think you deserve that love?” he asked without hesitation and she fumbled her cup, spilling some tea. She grabbed napkins, blotted up the spill.
Al covered her hand. “Elena. Tell me.”
“I’m…I’m not…a good person.” When he said nothing, she felt a dam burst inside her and everything rushed out—all the pain and sorrow and guilt. “I was horrible to my mother, Al. I said unforgivable things to her and never got a chance to tell her I was sorry. She died believing I hated her.”
His chair scraped the floor when he left it to come around to her, fold her up in his arms. “I’m so sorry—all the times I told you about signs—you think it means she’s punishing you?”
She shook, determined to stop the flood of tears—would she ever dry up? She nodded against his shoulder. “The playing cards. The candy wrappers. The stupid snowflake! It’s her, Al. I didn’t believe it, not at first, but how can I not? She grounded me the night before she died and she’s still punishing me now. Every day of my life, I remember what I did, what I said and Lucas? He’s just more punishment.”
Al was quiet for so long, Elena wondered if she’d upset him, too. She picked up her heavy head, turned bloodshot eyes to his and shrugged. “So, thanks for the tea. I should probably get going.” To where? She had no idea. She stood up but he shot out a hand, stopped her.
“What if you’re wrong?”
She blinked. “What?”
“I said, what if you’re wrong? What if everything that happened—your sister’s baby, meeting Luke, the snowflake, all of it—what if it’s not punishment, but pardon? What if your mother’s trying to tell you she knows you’re sorry and that it’s okay, she forgives you? Doesn’t that change anything?”
