by Norah Wilson
“And good to see you looking so well,” Skip Hemlock said. “We’ve been worried, Maryanne. Very worried.” He stood by his wife, leaning against the wall. They both waited now, expectantly.
She was sure it hadn’t been her father’s intention, but Maryanne felt more than a nudge of guilt with his words.
She’d called them the very next day after the fire, and after so long with the silence between them, her mother had actually cried on the phone to finally hear her voice. Her father had come pretty close to crying himself. Maryanne had called, or at least emailed, every day since, and answered every one of the phone calls from home. As the weeks had passed by, the relief in her parents’ voices became more and more obvious. They’d wanted to come see her right away, and then at Easter, or fly her home to Ontario for the March Break, but Maryanne hadn’t been quite ready then. And in truth, she hadn’t wanted to leave Brooke and Alex. They were that close. Then there was the casting…
And yeah, she’d been enjoying Bryce’s company too.
They were getting close again, she and Bryce. No, things weren’t back to the way they were before. ‘Normal’ would probably never be an adjective to describe their relationship. Things were…different. But a good different.
Bryce had ‘wooed’ her back with his grandmother’s crystals. She had to smile when she thought about it. It had been pretty quiet on the romance front for weeks after the fire at the shed—and Maryanne had really thought that all had been lost between them. That maybe it should be. Had to be. Then Bryce called her one day in early March.
“Grandmother’s crystals,” he said. “I thought you might like to come over and check them out sometime like we talked about before. I mean, really look them over. If you still want to?”
Maryanne definitely still wanted to. She’d found a little crystal and candle shop—called The Beach of Everything—across the border in Maine and she loved going there. She was becoming close to the ancient owner, who insisted Maryanne call her Grandmother Beach, and already had a growing collection of her own stones. But still, she’d jumped at Bryce’s invitation.
Their friendship had grown from there, and recently, a little more than friendship had rekindled too. It took time. It was taking time. But some things did.
“You guys look great too,” Maryanne said to her parents. She drew a deep breath. “And I’m so glad to see you both. Glad you could come.”
Her mother smiled. “You’re our daughter. We’d cross the planet if you needed us. Twice.”
“To the moon and back,” her father said.
Maryanne hadn’t said she ‘needed’ them this visit, but her parents were perceptive—almost to a fault. If she could feel places, maybe they could feel people. Or at least their children. On that, Maryanne drew a deeper breath. One that she hoped would get her through what she had to do.
She sat down on the edge of her bed.
“What is it, Angel?” her father said, his tone gentle. “What’s going on?”
Angel…he hadn’t called her that in ages. Not since before Jason had died.
“I want…I need to talk about Jason,” Maryanne said. She could feel her parents’ tension. Her father set a hand on her mother’s shoulder, one that Kelly Hemlock reached up and grasped. “About the night that J-bug died.”
“Go on, sweetie.” Her mother nodded. “We’re listening.”
Me-anne, Me-anne, Me-anne.
It wasn’t Jason’s voice in Maryanne’s head now. She truly felt—truly knew—he’d crossed over. Moved into the light. But the encouraging echo of his voice was playing in her mind. Maybe in her soul.
Maybe it always would.
Maryanne looked down at her hands as she began. “There’s something I haven’t told you about the night that Jason died. He…he’d been crying. A lot. All evening long, actually. Not for any reason that I could tell. Just fussing…teething. I didn’t want to call you two and have you think I couldn’t handle it. That I was too young to look after him. But I…I got so frustrated and finally decided to just let him cry it out.” She swallowed hard, swallowed back the tears. Brooke had heard these words; so had Alex. Now she had to say them to her parents. For all of their sakes.
“So I stopped going to him. At one point, I had this…bad feeling. But I ignored it. I figured if I broke down and went in there, we’d be back to square one and he’d never go to sleep. So I pushed it back. I pushed that hollow, bad feeling down. But I didn’t know…I swear I didn’t know that Jason was choking. I honestly didn’t. He’s dead because I didn’t go to him. He’s dead because I didn’t come when he cried out for help. Mom, Dad, I—”
“Oh my poor baby,” her mother sobbed out the words. “How…awful!”
Maryanne closed her eyes at the pain in her mother’s voice. Her father choked back a sob of his own.
“I…I’m so sorry,” Maryanne said, letting the tears fall. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I know there’s nothing I can do to change it now, but—”
She felt arms come around her, as all at once her parents sat—one on either side of her—and hugged her close.
“My poor baby girl,” her mother said, stroking her hair like she used to do when Maryanne was little. “How awful for you! What you’ve gone through all alone! Carrying this around with you so long. It wasn’t your fault. You were the best sister in the world to your little J-bug.”
“But if I’d only—”
“You couldn’t have known he was in danger,” her father said. “I’m the one who forgot to set the brakes. You couldn’t have known he’d wiggle the bed all the way over to the window.”
“I’d have known if I’d checked on him.”
“Oh no, baby. It was so not your fault. If you’d truly realized Jason was in danger,” her father said, “you would have been there in an instant, Angel, we know it. You know it. And Jason would have known it.”
Maryanne believed that now. Jason did know she would have been there.
“But you had no idea he was in trouble,” her father said. “His death… You didn’t want it to happen; you didn’t mean for it to happen. You’re not to blame.”
Alex had said those exact words to her, so many times.
“We’re sorry,” Kelly Hemlock whispered.
Maryanne couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re sorry? It was me—”
“Oh, sweetheart, no.” Her mother’s eyes darkened with mascara as she let her own tears fall. “We should have been there for you. We…we were so wrapped up in our own grief, our own loss, we didn’t see your pain. Your needs. Oh, Maryanne, can you ever forgive us?”
Her heart was full to bursting with emotion. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she whispered as her parents held her even closer. “There’s nothing to forgive at all.”
And though there was one missing, they felt like a family again.
Chapter 43
Lift me Up
Brooke
(June, Mansbridge)
Brooke couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t freaking believe it.
She’d screwed her courage up and phoned her mother to invite her to the graduation ceremonies in two weeks’ time.
Okay, yeah, she’d always said she never even planned to attend her own graduation. What was the big deal, she used to say, about accomplishing something virtually every teenager did? You didn’t have a big party when you got your license or had sex for the first time, did you? What was so damned special about this particular milestone? But now that the event was upon her, she found she did want to mark it with Brooke and Maryanne. And she wanted her mother to be here to see her do it. To see how much her daughter had grown and changed.
It had cost Brooke so damned much to risk asking, and now here was her mother explaining how she would be in court prosecuting a huge financial fraud case on that date and there was no way she could leave it. She was lead counsel; she just couldn’t pull out and stick her associates with that kind of burden.
“It’s okay. No b
ig deal. Like I always said, Mom, anyone can graduate high school. I’ll send you a picture.”
Brooke squeezed the bridge of her nose while her mother gushed on about how sorry she was and how she’d make it up to her. Right. Pull out your pocketbook, Mom.
“Look, Mom, I gotta go.”
More apologies from her mother. More assurances from Brooke that it was okay.
“Okay, I really have to go now. Bye, Mom.” Brooke hung up before her mother could prolong the conversation any further. And before the tears started falling.
Thank God she’d known enough to go outside to make the call. Even though Harvell House was quiet on Saturday night with most of the girls out on dates, she’d wanted total privacy. So she’d put on her jacket and walked to the park and made her call while sitting on a child’s swing. Now she shoved her phone in her coat pocket and hunched down.
She should have known. She should have goddamned known!
They’d stuck her here for Thanksgiving, and virtually the moment she arrived home for Christmas holidays, they’d done a hurried gift exchange, then flown off to take their delayed honeymoon. She had made it home for Easter, and had actually made an effort not to cross swords with Herr Kommandant. Not that she’d entirely succeeded, but her mother had seemed to appreciate the effort.
Just not enough to change her plans to see her daughter graduate.
Brooke pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose.
Well, at least she had her friends. Alex and Maryanne would be there for her. The thought warmed her, consoled her as nothing else could.
She’d been so pissed to get stuck in the same room with those two way back in September. Especially Maryanne, who wouldn’t say shit if she had a mouth full of it. Now…now Brooke didn’t know what she was going to do without them. They were like sisters to her. Closer than sisters.
She smiled as she remembered their second trip to the tattoo parlor only two days ago. Maryanne had gone to get the tiny bug over her heart redone. Now that Jason—her little J-Bug—had helped her forgive herself, she’d gone back to the same tattoo artist to have her transform the tiny bug into a beautiful butterfly. They’d all cried over it.
And Brooke had finally revealed her tattoo to the others.
It was much simpler than Maryanne’s butterfly, much less ornate than Alex’s rose with all the twining vines. Brooke’s tattoo was just three interlinking stars, representing the three of them. The soaring sisters. Back then, it had been more of a wish than a reality that they could be that close. But after all that had transpired over the winter, they really were that tight.
Needless to say, they’d all shed some tears again when she’d explained what the stars signified. The crusty tattoo artist had passed over his box of tissues.
And soon they would go their own ways. Maybe that was why she was so stirred up about this graduation thing. Whatever it took, she would stay in touch. The bond they’d forged these past months couldn’t be broken by time or distance. They would always be her friends.
Brooke stood. She’d go to them now. Tell them how much they meant to her.
And as she headed back to Harvell House, the bounce was back in her step.
Chapter 44
The Word on the Page
Alex
Alex pulled in a deep, deep breath as she sat on the edge of her bed. Held it. And pushed it out slowly again. Just as she’d been practicing all winter long.
It was that old claustrophobic feeling she battled against. She’d been fighting it since the rape. No, not just fighting it. Kicking its ass.
Okay, slowly kicking its ass. But she was working through it nonetheless. Most situations were back to ‘normal’ for her, or getting there, and Alex felt a little stir of pride over that. She didn’t have to always choose the seats by the door in case she needed to make a hasty escape from the room. When she woke from the nightmares gasping for breath, she could get her breathing under control more quickly all the time. And Alex could walk through the mall and not check out each and every exit. Yet there was one thing before her—one thing she had yet to do—that still gave her that tight feeling in her chest.
Deep, deep breath. Hold it. Let it out slowly again.
She pried up the loosened floorboard, moved aside the little doll, and pulled out Connie’s diary. Alex held it on her lap.
“It’s not just Connie’s diary,” Alex whispered as if to the yellowed pages. “It’s mine too.” And her words on these pages were no less than brutally honest.
Alex had written about the rape, and not just the physical terror she’d endured. She’d written of her rage, shame, and pain. The guilt she felt, the half crazed ‘why me?’ feelings that had assaulted her again and again. She’d put her broken heart and battered soul into words on the page. And she’d done it quite well. As hard as it always was to read those lines, more and more she could. More and more she realized how adeptly she’d captured her feelings.
“You’re a very good writer, Alex.” Alex repeated the words to herself that Mrs. Fredericks, her advanced level English teacher, had said to her when she’d handed back her last assignment. It was another short story, this one about a girl lost in the woods, one who wouldn’t cry out for fear the other lost children would find her and hurt her if she did.
She’d stood there by Mrs. Fredericks’s, waiting for the gray-haired, soon-to-retire, older-than-God teacher to say, “Just kidding” or add, “for a tattooed, pierced freak”. But she hadn’t. Instead Mrs. Fredericks elaborated, “You should consider a degree in English for your future studies. I’ve taught for over four decades, Alexandra. I know a true writer when I see one. And I see one in you. Most definitely. Maybe the best one I’ve ever come across.”
Alex had walked away dumbfounded. Elated. Oh shit—with tears in her eyes! And she had walked away committed.
And that day, as Alex read over again the pages of the diary that she’d written, she knew that Mrs. Fredericks was right. There was captured emotion here—raw and painful, angry as hell. She’d gone into a pretty damn dark time and she’d not held back as she’d written about it. Told it. Screamed it out upon the yellowed pages. Clawed around down in the bottom of the unholy abyss, until she could claw her way back up again.
Rip the pages out now?
She couldn’t imagine it. The diary—Connie’s account and her own—was sacred. Connected—old testament and new. A book about survival.
“Okay, then,” she coached herself. “Today it is.”
Her chest tightened, just like it always did when she contemplated showing her friends what she’d written. But today—today—she could do it. Today she wouldn’t let the anxiety win.
She guessed they both knew anyway, or suspected that Connie’s diary still existed. Truthfully, the guilt had been too heavy for too long. They’d made a pact—no more secrets. Well, there would be no more after today. At least not about the diary and the doll.
“And I’ll show them what I found on Lily Michelle,” she said. It hadn’t exactly slipped her mind. Neither Brooke nor Maryanne knew that Alex had retrieved Connie’s doll. More of that guilt pulled in. She hadn’t wanted to remove the copper doll from its hiding place and leave the diary there. The two were connected.
Alex glanced at her watch. Eleven-eleven on a Saturday night, the last one before final exams. Maryanne had gone out to a movie with Bryce and Brooke was…who knew where.
She’d wait until they both came back. They would no doubt be pissed that she’d lied. Alex was prepared for a cold shoulder, even after she’d explained why she’d waited so long. They’d forgive her, though.
The door opened.
But Alex wasn’t quick enough.
The smile Maryanne walked into the room with slowly faded, and her eyes grew accusingly wide as she looked at the diary in Alex’s rushing hands.
“Don’t even try to hide that behind your back, Alex,” Maryanne snapped.
Oh crap.
Maryanne tossed her pur
se on her own bed, and then walked over and sat down beside Alex. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”
“Yeah, I know.” she said, pulling a hand through her hair. “But we have to wait for Brooke.”
“Fine.”
Still, as if to make a point, Maryanne gently pulled the diary from Alex’s hands and opened it between them. Just to the inside cover. And they read again that pretty name, Connie Edwina Harvell, they’d read so often before.
Alex took a deep, deep breath. Held it. Let it out slowly.
Then she did it all over again.
She could do this.
Chapter 45
Heartbreaker
Brooke
Brooke smiled as she turned the doorknob and pushed the bedroom door inward. It opened silently on well-oiled hinges, thanks to the job Alex had done with the ancient can of 3-In-One oil she’d found under the sink in the kitchen. Of course, she’d oiled the attic door too. Couldn’t have doors creaking in the night.
As she stepped soundlessly into the room, her smile froze.
There on Alex’s bed sat Alex and Maryanne, their heads bent over Connie’s diary.
Connie’s diary! The one that Alex had sworn up and down she’d destroyed.
The diary she obviously saw fit to share with Maryanne, but not her.
The pain just about knocked the wind out of her. Literally. She felt like she’d just been punched in the midsection. Then she started to tremble.
Stupid.
Stupid, stupid Brooke. How many times did she have to learn the lesson before it stuck? Lower your guard for one goddamned minute and they kicked you in the teeth. She should have known better. Dammit, she did know better! Belonging doesn’t work for you.
But oh, God, it hurt. For a while there, she’d actually thought she’d fit somewhere. That they were truly sisters. But she’d been wrong. So damned wrong. She was destined to be on the outside. Always. Good enough to screw and screw over, but never good enough to belong.
