“Not here.” Shaking his head, he took my hand again and moved to go out the door. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
Leading me back into the party, he crossed to the coat collection and gathered my things for me, helping me into the clothes before guiding me outside. “We’re going to my place,” he said, hailing a cab.
Chapter Fifteen
The loft was across the river in Brooklyn, on the second to last floor of a small high rise with ten floors. There wasn’t much to it, to be honest. The walls were all red brick, bare and empty, the floor a warm brown hardwood. A dining chair sat in one corner, a TV tray folded up next to it. Across from it, on the right, was a small kitchen with a fridge and microwave. A closed door sat just to the left of that. Beside it was a wardrobe, shut up. The only other thing was a bed sitting on the ground, a white sheet and comforter spread across the low lying mattress. The true beauty in the apartment was in the view—a beautiful, citywide sight across the river displayed through three floor to ceiling length windows. Only a few buildings blocked the entire scene, but it was still breathtaking.
“It’s not much,” Sir—Eric—said sheepishly. “But it’s enough for me. Can I take your coat?”
Nodding, I undid the buttons in the front, letting him pull it from my shoulders as we stood in the doorway, the entrance closed behind us.
“Here.” Taking my hand, he led me to the bed, motioning for me to sit down as he moved to the closet and hung up my jacket. “Sorry, there’s not many places to sit. I don’t ever have company.”
“Obviously.” Laughing, I sat on the edge of the bed, crossing my legs and watching him retrieve the kitchen chair and set it in front of me. “I’m not bothered by it, though. I didn’t come to look at your house.”
Who was he? Why did he live such a secluded and bare life?
“Yeah.” Rubbing his gloved hands together, he sat down, only to stand right back up again, moving behind the chair and grabbing the top of it. His eyes closed behind his mask for a moment as he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
Sensing that he needed a little help starting, I smiled, knowing just how to get him going. “Where were you born?”
“What?” Eyes opening, he looked at me in surprise.
“Where were you born?” I repeated, leaning back and resting on my forearms. “Was it here in New York?”
“Yes, it was. My mother had me in the cab on the way to the hospital.” Sighing, he sat down gingerly, rubbing his hands down his thighs.
“When?” I prompted.
“Twenty-five years ago. She’d been having pains all day, but she ignored them because she thought there was still a few weeks before we would arrive.” His voice was quiet, sad as he spoke.
“We?”
“I’m a twin. My brother—Adam—was born in the ER waiting room while the nurse tried to get Mom to sit down in a wheelchair.”
Chuckling at the imagery that created, I adjusted myself some, moving to my side and curling my legs up onto the bed as well, my shoes left on the floor at the foot. My dress spread out across the blankets, shimmering slightly in the bland light above us. “That sounds like quite the start to a life.”
“It was,” he agreed, smiling. “It seemed like we were continuously doing things we weren’t supposed to and making her mad at us. Dad was always more easy going. She blamed him for not helping to reign us in.”
Slowly, he told me more about his family, about their traditions and favorite pastimes. They spent the summers on the coast, their springs at the baseball diamond, and winters in the city. Eventually, they reached the sixth grade, when he and Adam had been taken to their first ballet.
“Mom always loved the theatre and anything involved with it. She wanted us to take drama and to learn the piano. You know, be artistic. It wasn’t really sticking with her two rowdy boys, though.” Amused, he leaned back in the chair, reliving the memory.
The school had sent home a permission slip for a field trip to the United Dance Company performance of Swan Lake. Immediately, their mom had signed it, getting them to agree to go by pointing out that they got to skip school if they did. From the first movement, Eric had been captivated. He couldn’t believe how strong the dancers had to be, or how well they memorized everything and executed it.
“Adam was sold as well, after he heard the girls in class talking about how much they’d loved it.” His laugh was only a breath out of his nose this time. “If Adam ever did anything, there was a good chance that it was because of a girl.”
“Did that cause a lot of problems?” Hearing about him and his brother was wonderful, but I couldn’t help the feeling in my stomach that said something very bad had happened.
“Yes and no,” he answered carefully. “When we were accepted to the program at UD he was a skirt chaser, for sure. But he worked hard and earned his keep. He deserved to be there just as much as anyone else.”
“But you were fighting.” I could tell from the way that he was talking, the way his body moved ever so slightly, that he was remembering something he wished to forget but couldn’t.
“He was cast in the part I wanted for the final showcase. With the girl that I had a crush on.” Falling silent, he hung his head in what appeared to be shame. “It was such a stupid thing to be angry about, but I was. We fought over it all the time, especially when he asked the girl out after practice. By the time the season was done, we weren’t even hardly speaking to each other.”
Taking a deep breath, he looked up at me and continued.
The car flew down the highway with the others fleeing the city for their own reasons. Adam was still steadily ignoring me from the driver’s seat, fiddling with the radio until he found a song that he liked.
Fine, I thought. Let him be a class “A” dick hole. He knows he was being a prick, rubbing all that in my face. And asking Jen out! He doesn’t even like her!
Fuming, I watched the outside world pass by, arms folded across my chest. Maybe only one of us would get cast in the company. Then I wouldn’t have to see his stupid face anymore.
Except for when I looked in a mirror.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I sighed, pulling it out to read the message. “Mom and Dad left for Maine this morning. They’re staying at that crab place they like.” The information was delivered flatly, myself groaning on the inside at the thought of having to be alone with him for longer than needed. At least we had our own rooms.
“Hmph.”
What a shocking and moving reply from my barely younger, younger brother.
“It’s their anniversary, remember?” I added, feeling smug.
“Of course I remember, Eric. I’m not stupid,” he snapped back. “I don’t need you to tell me everything about everything.”
“I don’t do that,” I replied defensively, feeling a reprisal of our earlier fight coming on.
“Yes, you do! ‘Adam, you’re doing that move wrong! Adam you’re acting like a dick! Adam! Adam! Adam!’ God, do you ever shut up about anything? I swear, it’s like having the mirror constantly shout derogatory things at me!”
“Do you wanna go?” I asked, my hands balling into fists. “Because I’m sick of your shit. Pull the car over right now. Let’s get it over with.”
“Why? So you can tell me that I’m not throwing my punches right either? We can’t all be perfect like you, Eric!” His fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly, the vein above his right eye pumping furiously, as it did whenever he got really mad.
“What the hell does that mean?” I asked, offended.
“You were the golden boy of the entire program,” he spat out bitterly. “The perfect dancer, the perfect student. The only reason they even cast me in a solo role was because they got the two of us mixed up. I’ve been second to you my whole damn life. Even Mom complains that I was the harder son to deliver, because she was already so sore from having you!”
“That’s not true,” I growled, defenses bristling. “E
veryone loves you. You’re the fun one, the laid back one. The one that gets all the girls.”
“Back to the girls.” He laughed humorlessly. “Seriously?”
“It’s true!” I hurled back at him. “Everyone immediately knows the two of us from each other because you exude confidence and . . . I don’t know . . . sex appeal. They practically throw themselves at your feet!”
“I can’t believe we’re even having a conversation that you used the words sex appeal in.” His anger broke for a moment, a smile crossing his face, before a scowl replaced it. “But even now, Mom only sent that text to you. Not to me.”
“She probably remembered that you were going to drive. Why is it even a big deal? What does any of this matter?” I snorted, rolling my eyes as I looked away.
“It matters because for the first time in my life I was over you in something. And it killed you, didn’t it? You couldn’t stand that you were in the chorus and I was the lead. Typical.”
“Screw you,” I muttered, turning away from him.
“No thanks, I’d rather use my hand,” he replied sourly.
The rest of the ride passed in silence. When we finally arrived at the house, we both grabbed our things and went to our rooms. Locking the door behind me, I flopped over onto the bed and punched my pillow a few times. It would have felt like a better release if Adam’s stupid face was on it.
Two days later, we still hadn’t spoken to each other. I was cooking chicken breasts in the kitchen while Adam watched a loud, explosion riddled movie in the living room beside me. Sighing, I pushed the browning meat around the pan, enjoying the smell that it put off.
“Your phone is ringing,” Adam called from the couch, holding the device up in the air. “Number is from the city.”
Instantly, my pulse quickened and I reached down, turning the dial on the burner all the way over.
“Thanks,” I muttered, hurrying over and taking the phone from him. The movie was too loud to hear anyone on the other end, though, so I stepped outside onto the porch. “Hello?”
“Eric Parish?”
“Yeah, this is him.”
“This is Connie from contracts here at UD. Is now a good time to talk?”
Glancing through the window into the living room, I watched Adam pick up his own phone and inspect it, a number appearing on his screen. “Yeah! It’s great!” Moving out into the yard, I walked toward the beach, my heart pounding as I listened to her.
“So, the director has reviewed your tapes and your evaluations from your time in the program here,” she started. “He wanted me to apologize for not calling you himself, but he wanted to get everyone squared away today and there were too many calls for him to make alone.”
“That’s fine,” I assured her, wishing she would just get to the point.
“Well, it’s my great honor to offer you a position in the company here at UD for next season.”
“Are you serious?” I butted in, my free hand going to the top of my head in excitement.
“I am,” she laughed. “Do you accept?”
“Yes! Yes, of course I do!” Grinning widely, I turned back to the house, immediately spotting Adam in the window holding his thumbs up and nodding furiously; he’d been accepted as well.
“We’ll need you to come in next week and sign your contract,” Connie continued.
“I’ll see you then,” I promised her, holding a thumb up to him as well, much to his delight.
“Thank you, Mr. Parish.”
“Thank you!” Hanging up the phone, I pumped my fist in the air once, so excited that I could hardly contain it.
In the window, Adam held up two cigars, motioning for me to join him. He pulled the lighter out of his front pocket, rolling his thumb over the wheel.
The explosion that answered immediately knocked me off my feet, the glass from the windows shattering out as flames licked at the walls greedily. Ears ringing, I rolled to my feet, blinking hard as I tried to understand what was happening.
Adam wasn’t in the window any more.
“Adam!” I screamed, running toward the inferno.
The neighbors a little ways down the beach were rushing from their house, screaming as they watched ours go up in flame.
“Adam!” I cried again, climbing onto the porch and through one of the windows, screaming as the flames licked me. They burned my clothes, charred my skin, and I’d only made it a few steps into the house.
He was lying on the living room floor, the cigars next to him, his entire head on fire. There was nothing to grab to throw over him, to put the flames out; the whole house was falling down around us.
Fire pulled at my hair and at my eyes. My hands were melting away in front of me as I grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him along the floor. The door was so close and still so far away, hanging open slightly from the blast. Finally, I felt it against my back, burning into me, and I shoved it aside, the two of us tumbling outside.
There was screaming. So much screaming. And all I could see was my brother’s face, his eyes already appearing lifeless.
“I’d turned the burner to light,” he gasped, tears running out from under his mask, “and filled the whole house with gas while I was on the phone outside.” His shoulders were shaking with massive sobs, his breath heaving from him as he whispered to me. “I killed my brother.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Eric,” I whispered, tears washing my face. “It was an accident, not your fault.”
“He was in a coma,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard me. “A few days later he died.” Dropping his head into his hands, he sobbed brokenly, a sound that spoke of years of torment and guilt. “The last thing I said to him, really said to him, was “screw you.” It’s been six years and all I can think is how much I regret everything.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I repeated, reaching a hand out and touching his knee. “You couldn’t have known or done anything to change it.”
“If we hadn’t been fighting, I would have answered the phone inside. We would have been doing something together—there never would have been any gas.” He sounded so thoroughly convinced that I suddenly wondered how many times he’d thought these things to himself. “If they would have called him first . . .” Trailing off, he finally sat up, leaning against the back of the chair and looking at the ceiling.
“There are a lot of ifs,” I agreed quietly, pondering what to say. “But beating yourself up over it isn’t going to change what happened, or make you feel any better. Have you ever talked to anyone about it?”
“You mean like a psychiatrist? No. You’re the first.” Sighing, he looked at me again, his breath catching as another tear rolled down his face. “There was never anyone else to talk to.”
“What about your parents?” I asked, confused.
“I couldn’t tell them.” He spoke so quietly that I almost didn’t hear him. “Every time they looked at me . . . I could see that they were hurting over him. We looked so much alike. Mom would burst into tears every time I came into the room. What would it be like when she knew I was the one responsible? All she knew was that there had been a gas explosion. So, eventually, I moved out and didn’t ever go back.”
“You don’t talk to them at all?” Shocked was an understatement to how I was feeling. He was confessing to me how he’d lost his entire family, the people he loved more than anything or anyone in the world. Had he been alone these entire six years?
“I call every once in a while. I don’t want them to worry I’m dead, too.”
“Eric!” It sounded like I was scolding him, but I couldn’t believe what he was telling me. “I really think that no one is blaming you for Adam’s death. Why would you isolate yourself from everyone?”
Swallowing hard, he nodded, looking at the floor as he stood. “There’s more to the story.”
“You’re doing really great, Eric. Just like that.” The physical therapist continued to watch as I curled my hands into fists, squishing the foam ball I h
eld in each palm. The action didn’t hurt so much anymore, not like it had three months ago. “How does it feel?” he asked, watching carefully.
“A little sore,” I grumbled. “I can close my hand all the way now, though.”
“Good, good. You keep working on this for a second, I’m going to go talk with your parents.” Rising, he took his clipboard with him, marking something in pen before walking out of the room and into the hall where my parents had been watching.
“Mr. and Mrs. Parish,” the doctor said, his voice floating in to me. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“How is he doing, doctor?” Mom asked anxiously. “Will he be able to come home soon?”
“Probably by the end of the week.” He sounded very cheerful as he spoke, like I was some wonder child. “Eric is doing very, very well. The skin grafts are taking wonderfully and he’s gained back the full range of motion in his hands. I think if we can keep him up and walking, or doing some exercises with his arms every day, he’s going to make a full recovery.”
Mom started sobbing and I stole a glance out the window. She had buried her face in Dad’s chest, her shoulders shaking. He was also crying, rubbing a hand up and down her back as he held her.
“He’ll be able to do everything? Even dance?” he asked, choking on his emotions.
“If what I’m seeing continues, yes.” The doctor paused for a moment here, turning and seeing me watching them. “I don’t want to give you false hope, though.” Turning back to my parents, he cleared his throat. “Once Eric leaves the hospital, he’ll still have a long recovery ahead of him. I wouldn’t expect a total healing for a year or two. His muscles were very badly damaged. He’s had to learn how to walk correctly again. Things like holding a pencil won’t come easily for some time. The grafts have helped him along, but the rest will be up to him. He’ll need to come back for therapy several times a week at first. The surgeons have been discussing bringing him back in six months for a hair transplant to help improve his quality of life after this terrible tragedy. We can do everything we can, but he’s the one that needs to decide he wants it all.”
Watching Over Me: A Dreams Novel Page 11
