Storms Over Secrets

by J. A. Derouen

  I refocus on the game just in time to see Gage kick the ball into the goal. Adam and I both jump out of our chairs, clapping and cheering for little man. His tiny fist pumps the air and he whips around to find us. When he realizes his dad saw the whole things, his smile nearly splits his face. That’s pure gold right there.

  We both take our seats as the cheering settles down. I grab a bottle of water from the ice chest behind me and get one for Adam as well.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing with her. I have a feeling someone’s gonna get hurt in this scenario, and I don’t mean Celia,” Adam warns as he twists the cap off his water.

  “I’m a big boy. I know what I’m doing.” I flick my bottle in his direction, splashing him with drops of freezing cold water.

  “Do you really? Because from where I’m sitting, I see a girl hung on a guy from her past. And when I say hung up, I mean in the truest sense of the word. And I don’t think he left for college, okay? I’m pretty fucking sure he died, and that shit isn’t gonna disappear because you want it to.” Adam’s voice is low, but there’s no mistaking his serious tone. Don’t get me wrong, it’s appreciated, but he’s not saying anything I haven’t thought of myself.

  “I hear you, Adam, loud and clear, all right?” He nods. “But from where I’m sitting, I see an amazing girl who deserves more than the shit hand she’s holding right now. I know the risks.”

  That seems to shut him up, and we watch the game in companionable silence. I’m not one to sit on the sidelines, so taking my cue from Adam, I wade in where I’m most definitely not wanted.

  “You know, I admire you, dude. You are a stellar dad,” I say, keeping my eyes trained to the soccer field. “Just saying, Sara would be great with them. No pressure or anything, I just know it’s got to be fucking hard to juggle two separate lives, which is essentially what you’re doing right now.”

  I know he hears me because I can see his jaw muscles tensing as he clenches his teeth. I resist the urge to tell him to calm the fuck down. Life’s too short to be that tense.

  “Within minutes of being born, those two children lost the most important person in their lives. No child should have to go through that. Forgive me if I’m not big on introducing anyone into the fold that may not want to stay around for the long haul,” Adam says quietly.

  “Look man, I get it. But nothing in this world is guaranteed, and you seem to be serious about this girl—”

  “But is she serious about me? Ah, no quick answer to that one, huh?” he says when I don’t answer immediately. He shakes his head and pulls down on the bill of his hat, hiding his eyes. “I’m not the only person to consider here. It takes two, and until I know she’s in this thing with me, no kids.”

  Before I can answer, Celia places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “I’m sorry, y’all. It looks like I’m going to have to take off after the first game today. One of my clinic patients needs me to make a home visit. So a play by play of the second game tonight—”

  “Hold on, Tink. Let me get this straight. You are going to the home of one of your mentally ill patients this afternoon?” I ask, willing myself to calm down.

  “Well … yes,” she answers.

  “You and what policeman?”

  “What? What are you talking about? It’s just me.”

  “I’ve told her, dude, and she won’t listen. I can’t go with her because I’ve got Lily and Gage, but I’ve warned her. She’s got a head as hard as a rock,” Adam says, shrugging at Celia when she shoots him the evil eye.

  “Celia...”

  “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, ya big oaf.” She crosses her arms and stamps her tiny foot.

  “I’m well aware of that, but you’re still not going by yourself. Just think of me as an added bonus—excellent company for an otherwise boring afternoon.”

  It’s clear she doesn’t agree, and I swear I can see a bit of smoke shooting out of her ears. She pivots on her foot and flips her hand under the bill of Adam’s baseball hat, and it flies backward into the grass.

  “And you … you traitor. You two are always ganging up on me now,” she says with a huff. “I wish…”

  “Go ahead, lay into me. You know you wanna,” Adam taunts.

  His lighthearted chuckle only spurs her on.

  “May the fleas of a thousand camels infest your armpits!” Celia spits out, garnering more attention than she bargained for.

  All of the parents in the near vicinity burst out laughing. One soccer dad claps Adam on the shoulder, saying, “That sounds serious, man.”

  Something catches Adam’s attention on the field, and he swats at Celia, pointing toward the pile of kids crowded around the goal. In the midst of the mayhem, the one and only butterfly soccer princess is lining up her shot for the goal. For the moment, Sara, home visits, fleas, and camels are forgotten.

  She looks determined. She looks sparkly. She looks fierce.

  With a swift kick and a tiny bit of luck, the ball soars past the goalie and hits the back of the net. All three of us shoot up out of our chairs and jump up and down, cheering.

  Lily swipes her unruly curls from her eyes and turns to the crowd, beaming. She searches until she finds Celia, lifting her hands and wiggling her fingers as she giggles.

  “Sparkle, sparkle, sparkle,” Celia whispers as she wiggles her fingers right back.

  “I See Fire” by Ed Sheeran

  The Past

  “AND MIZPAH; FOR he said, the Lord watch between me and thee when we are absent one from another,” Father Babineaux recites to the small crowd. His voice bellows over the chirping birds and passing cars.

  That was her favorite Bible reading. She’d read it to me countless times. Looking back, I think she tried to ink these words into my being, a reminder she would always be with me. Maybe she always planned for the day she would leave me. Sadly, this brings me no comfort. Inevitability is no consolation. My heart is heavy, sagging in my chest with this unimaginable loss.

  I sit in the front row of the cemetery service and grip Audrey’s hand to center me. I lay my head on her shoulder, and her cheek rubs my hair. Instead of a full church service, I opted to tell Grams goodbye with a short wake at the funeral home and a graveside service.

  The doctors say she died of a massive stroke. They told me over and over that no amount of time would change the outcome. An hour earlier, ten minutes sooner, it would’ve made no difference. But how could they know that? I see their assurances for what they are—empty words. Promises with no other purpose than to erase a stupid girl’s guilt.

  Why in the hell did I go to that meeting with Mr. Bernard? Those extra minutes could have made all the difference.

  Father Babineaux looks at me expectantly, and only then do I notice he’s no longer talking. Taking that as my cue, I stand on wobbly legs, clutching the white rose in my hand. The thorns bite into my flesh, and I grip even tighter. I wear her St. Jude pendant around my neck, the weight crushing my chest, making it hard to breathe.

  I approach the casket and place the rose on top. I stare at my reflection in the varnished wood and search for the words buried deep within me. How do you say goodbye to the only parent you’ve ever known?

  My heels sink into the softened ground as I press my forehead into the wood. I will myself to forget the sight of her on the bathroom floor. I want the image wiped from my brain, replaced with memories of her crocheting in her chair, lying in bed saying her rosary, leaning over my bed to kiss me goodnight. Those are the things I want to remember. She lived a life of strength and unconditional love—I refuse to remember her in a moment of helplessness.

  I open my mouth to speak, but my voice cracks from lack of use and days of crying. I clear my throat and try again.

  “Thank you, Grams. Thank you for being the perfect example of grace and strength. I could use your strength right now,” I say as a tear splashes onto my chapped cheeks. “If I’m half the woman you were, I’ll be amazing.”

  I g
rip St. Jude in my fist and pull, feeling the metal chain digging into the back of my neck. “Maybe one day, things won’t feel so hopeless. Maybe with you watching over me, I won’t need St. Jude after all. I’ll pray … I’ll wish … I’ll hope for that day."

  I feel Audrey’s presence behind me, and she squeezes my shoulder to let me know she’s there. I close my eyes and pretend we’re the only two people here. I try to forget her parents, who walked me through the process of planning the funeral. I erase Harold, Grams’s nurse, from my mind, as well as Grams’s bingo friends and their looks of pity.

  I don’t have to worry about dismissing Lucas from my thoughts, because he isn’t here.

  “Come on, Celia, just stay with us for at least a few days. I don’t want you in this house all alone. Besides, I’ll be leaving for summer session next week. I want to spend time with my best friend,” Audrey pleads.

  I shake my head and give her a tiny smile. “I appreciate it, but I need to be here. I feel closer to her in this house. Her things are here … it smells like her.”

  “How about I stay here with you? I’ll grab my pajamas and be right back.” Audrey is already in the process of standing when I nudge her knee to sit her back down.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Aud, but I’d like to be alone. Between the funeral and the bingo bitties bringing casseroles by all afternoon, I want to enjoy the silence tonight.”

  “Okay,” Audrey says, sounding defeated.

  “I’ll be fine.” I give her a tiny smile to reassure her, but I doubt I’m very convincing.

  “I love you, Celia.” She averts her eyes and breathes deep, warding off the tears building in her eyes. “You’re my family … my sister. You are not alone.”

  “I love you, too, Audrey. Always.”

  Her words are a balm to my soul. I can’t shake the emptiness I feel knowing Grams was my last living relative. My mother never confided in Grams about my father, so as far as I’m concerned, he’s dead, too. It’s sobering to know I’m all alone in the world. Audrey and the Landrys are the closest thing to family I have now.

  She makes no move to leave. She watches me closely, waiting for something. For what, I don’t know.

  I decide to stand and walk into the kitchen. Although I’m not hungry, I feel weak. It may be a good idea to shove something down before I pass out. Lord knows, I’ve got more than enough to choose from in the form of covered dishes.

  “Celia, wait,” Audrey says. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I’m so sorry Lucas wasn’t there for you today. It’s … it’s inexcusable, and I plan to march across the street right now and throat punch his sorry ass.”

  I try to wave her off, but I can see it’s only making her angrier. She takes my dismissal as a sign that I’m okay with his behavior, and it only further irritates her. She’s oblivious to Lucas’s problems, and without that knowledge, I’m not sure I can make her understand. The hard truth is I didn’t want Lucas there today.

  From the moment I told him about Grams, he spun a web of conspiracy that made Watergate seem like child’s play. No matter how much I tried to talk him down, he was convinced her death was a ploy to get him out in public. Without the safeguards of his house, his thoughts would surely be stolen. He swears the ‘reinforcements’ he’s built are keeping him safe—they look like strange sculptures crafted out of aluminum foil to me, but what do I know? Not much, according to him.

  I just couldn’t deal with it today. I wanted to say goodbye to Grams without worrying about how Lucas would handle things. I deserve that, and so does she. So when I suggested him staying home, a huge weight lifted off me when he readily agreed. I can’t bring myself to feel guilty about it.

  Trying my hardest to choose words that will placate Audrey, I smile and shrug. “He’s been so good with me the past few days, Audrey, but you know how he can be with crowds. He gets so nervous and pushes to leave—I couldn’t deal with that today. Him staying home today was for the best. Things are difficult with Lucas right now, but everything will be fine, I promise.”

  Audrey doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push. She opens the front door and steps across the threshold before turning to me. “If you say so, Celia, but I’ll kick his ass if you need me to. Hell, I’ll even enjoy it. Just say the word, and I’ll start the beat down.”

  I laugh, and it sounds forced, even to my own ears. “I promise.”

  As the door closes behind her, I close my eyes and accept the weight of another promise made.

  A rustling in the front of the house jolts me awake, and I stretch my stiff legs. I swing my nylon-covered legs over the side of the bed, having never changed from my funeral attire. I was too exhausted to change, much less shower, once Audrey left last night. I curled up on top of Grams’s bed with one of her crocheted blankets and fell into the darkness surrounded by her scents and her things.

  For a brief second, for a beautiful fleeting moment, I think Grams must be getting a midnight snack. Then reality sinks into my gut, reminding of the events of the last week.

  But if she isn’t in the kitchen, who is?

  I tiptoe to the bedroom door and peer around the corner. I see shadows on the living room floor of a person standing in the kitchen. The refrigerator door opens, and I hear a familiar mumble.

  “You’re right, it’s the only way to fix this. I have to end it all before I ruin everything,” he whispers frantically. “I know, I know.”

  I run my fingers through my hair and steel myself for a struggle. It’s always a struggle these days. I fight for patience, and he fights for understanding. I wish I had more to give him, but it’s so difficult.

  “Lucas, what are you—” As I round the corner into the kitchen, my words vanish and time stops as my eyes fall upon Lucas stabbing himself in the arm with a needle. My blood-curdling scream fills the house, every crack and dent of it, and thankfully diverts Lucas’s attention for a few life-saving seconds.

  I lurch forward, and his eyes widen in fear. I slap the needle from his arm, and it falls to the floor with a deafening clatter. We are both silent, as if waiting to see who will make the first move. My eyes dart to the counter behind him, and, in an instant, everything makes sense to me.

  “Did you push the plunger at all?” I whisper.

  “W-what?” His eyes keep following movement behind me, and I turn my head to see.

  Nothing.

  “Did you push any of the insulin into your arm?” My words are cold and purposeful.

  He looks away and shakes his head. I allow a moment of relief to wash over me. I let the silence settle in, staring at him, waiting for his eyes. Finally, after a lifetime, he meets my gaze. My hand slaps his cheek with such force, his head jerks to the side before coming back to look at me again. A sob racks through my body as I swing again, but he catches my wrist this time.

  “You son of a bitch!” I scream as I shove him back into the counter and beat my fists on his sagging chest. “How can you do this to me? How dare you?”

  My legs crumble underneath me, and I fall on my knees, rage coursing through my veins. Lucas comes to me, tries to wrap his arms around me, but I resist. I will not allow him to console me.

  I grab the syringe off the floor and depress the plunger, shooting the medicine onto the floor. I scramble to my feet and throw open a kitchen drawer and pull out the first thing that will work—a meat mallet. I slam the mallet on the counter three times, smashing each vial of insulin into crumbled pieces of glass and metal. I release my fingers, and the mallet clambers onto the counter. Hands spread on the counter and head lowered, I breathe. I try to erase the near memory of another person I love lying helpless on the floor.

  “I can’t live this way, Celia,” he whispers into the silence. “It’s for the best. I’m only hurting you this way.”

  I whip around and charge him, my finger digging into his chest. “For the best? Leaving me all alone, killing yourself on the day of my grandmother’s funeral is what is best for
me? For you? You and your family are all I have left in this world, and you’re trying to leave me?”

  His eyes lift through lowered lashes. “I’m nothing but a burden to you. They tell me how you look at me when my back is turned. The repulsion in your eyes, the hate written all over your face, and I can’t even blame you. I’m disgusted with myself, too. I’m tired of this life.”

  His lips twist in utter repulsion. He rakes his hands through his hair, and his head falls between his knees in defeat.

  “I love you,” I say simply. “More than you can know, I love you. I’m not disgusted, I promise you that. It hurts me to see you this way. That’s all.”

  I wait for some type of acknowledgment from him—a sign that my words penetrated his thoughts. I hope for his promise in return. What I wouldn’t give to hear him say he loves me, too. In these past few months, I’ve come to doubt his feelings. I’m unsure if he’s capable of love for me at this point. I think the fog may be too thick to navigate, and that hurts more than anything else.

  “Let me help you. Please, Lucas, let me help you. If you would just—” His head is shaking before I finish the sentence. I grab his shoulders, fully prepared to beg. “Yes, Lucas! There is help out there—doctors, medications, therapy. You can’t give up. You haven’t even really tried.”

  My head falls to his chest, and his hand grips my neck. “Remember your promise, Celia.”

  “I’ll only keep it if you can swear to me that you will never try to hurt yourself again.” My voice is a soft whisper, but when the grip on my neck tightens, I know he’s heard me. “Promise me you will never try anything like this again, Lucas, or you leave me no choice.”

  He releases a resigned sigh. I lift my head so I can see his admission. “Okay, Celia. I promise I won’t hurt myself again.”

  “Okay.”

  As I walk Lucas back to the safety of his room, I’m overwhelmed by an impending sense of dread. His volatile mood swings as of late make me question his ability to keep good on his promise. I may have smashed his weapon of choice tonight, but there are no shortages of methods to choose from. I’m drowning, and the surface is nowhere in sight.