Lost Cause

by Callie Sparks

  “I’m studying to be one. SUNY Binghamton,” she announces with a smile as she glides into the room and sits next to him on the bench. She crosses her legs and plants an elbow on his back, so familiar, using her hand to play with her hair. She says conversationally, “So, you live next door, huh?’

  I nod, taking another step up the staircase, another step towards freedom.

  “Wait . . .” she says suddenly, her mouth dropping open. “Are you . . . ?” She claps her hands. Then she grabs Noah from behind. “Is she the one you talked about? In the interview?”

  He doesn’t say anything. I shake my head, even though . . . what would he tell the entire nation about me?

  “Yes it is!” she squeals. “Oh my God. Am I right?” She looks between the two of us, but Noah’s just leaning on his elbows, staring at the ground. “He said she was his neighbor. It was so cute! He said he was desperately in love with you, that you were all he thought of, while he was away.”

  I just stand there, wobbling until I fall back on the railing to steady myself. He’s not looking at me, so maybe this girl just misheard the interview. Finally, he mumbles, “Yeah, that’s her.”

  “Aw, that’s sweet,” she says, like we’re puppies, and meanwhile all I can think is that he talked about me.

  Me, on national television. Before he’d even seen me again. I was all he thought of while he was away. He was desperately in love with me.

  And yet, asshole that he is, he wants to throw it away.

  “I’m in love with him, too,” I say, before I can even think whether I should.

  He looks up at me, and our eyes lock. I’ve looked into them a thousand times before, but when did he become so incredible, so hypnotizing? The girl, Candace, says, “Well, total third wheel! Maybe I should leave you guys alone, then?”

  We’re still staring at each other, but as I say, “Yes,” Noah says, “No.”

  He grabs for her hand, but she stands up quickly and says, “You know what? This is a little too complicated for me. I think I’ll just get my stuff and see myself out. “

  “Who’s going to drive you, Can?” he calls gruffly, still looking at me.

  “I’ll walk.” She starts to climb the stairs. “Text me, No, if you ever figure out whatever this is.”

  When she’s gone, I take another step into the room. “Noah, I—“

  He stands up and backs away like I’m contagious. “I told you.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I shout at him. “Why? You love me. And I love you. I don’t care what happened in the past. Nothing about it will shock me or make me hate you. Do you hear me? Nothing.”

  He looks down at the ground, but doesn’t say anything.

  “And I don’t know what you’re doing, drinking and getting with all these girls, but do you really think it’s going to help you? I don’t think you really want this. And I hate seeing it, Noah. I hate it.”

  Something’s turning around in his head. He grabs the towel from the bench and tosses it by a pile of dirty clothes near the washing machine. Then he comes up close to me, so close I can smell that sweet scent of fresh sweat mingling with cigarettes, and says, “That’s too bad. It’s all I’m good at.”

  “No, it’s not. You got a full scholarship to St. Bonaventure, Noah. You . . . you and I can—“

  He lets out a short laugh. “They’ve been coming in from all over the country. Full ride scholarship to the pathetic charity case. That’s all I am—a worthless piece of shit that doesn’t belong in your life. And I’m sure as hell not college material, Ari.”

  I can’t stop the tears that crowd my eyes, threatening to spill over. I want to shake sense into him. But I can’t touch him. If I touch him, I’ll only want to touch him more, and then I’ll be a goner.

  Instead, he touches my cheek, gazing at my lips, and the mere touch of his finger is like a lightning bolt, causing me to tremble with feeling all over. He says, really slow, “You want to come again, my door’s open. Otherwise, I don’t want you here.”

  I stare at him, trying to comprehend. When realization floods in, my eyes widen and my breath catches in my throat. I push myself against the wall as he climbs the stairs, not looking back at me. “Is that all I mean to you?” I call after him, desperate to have the Noah I knew only a few days ago. The one who called me his medicine, the one who said I was all he needed.

  He stops at the top of the stairs and shrugs, not looking back at me. “That’s all anybody means to me.”

  The words hit me like a hammer, straight to the chest.

  Damn him. Anger boils over. “You don’t understand. You were never just a ‘stupid little dork’ to me. You think it was so easy for me, when you were gone? I thought about you every day. I cried for you . . . God, I cried so many tears for you. Everyone just moved on, and I couldn’t. I was stuck for years, Noah. I couldn’t get past it. Everything I did or thought tied me right back you. And then when I thought you were dead, I wanted to die, too.” I’m sobbing now, so hard I can barely get the words out. “I love you, Noah. I loved you then, and I love you now. I’m not just saying it because I feel sorry for you or because I don’t want to see you with other girls. I’m saying it because you mean so much to me that when I think about not being with you again, I can’t breathe. I know what it’s like to have my heart torn out by you, and I really don’t think I’m going to survive if you do it to me again.”

  He’s still standing there, motionless, at the top of the steps. He hangs his head, and his back muscles tense. “I’m sorry, Ari,” he mumbles. And then he walks away.

  #

  After Gabe told me that they’d switched the investigation to looking for Noah’s body, my mind changed in a significant way.

  Where I once used to constantly look out my window, waiting for the day that shade would finally be drawn up, suddenly, I could barely look at his house.

  I went out to the treehouse, tracing my fingers over the words he’d written and I’d outlined in faded Sharpie. I brought a sharp nail file of my mom’s and carefully carved the words into the wood, accidentally holding the instrument too hard and bloodying up my hands in the process. I stared at the blank wall, the wall we’d fill with our story of after, and imagined what it would say. If he was dead, I’d only put one thing there—the date of his funeral. But I still hoped that I’d be able to write, “One day Noah came back. And everything was perfect.” Or better yet, he could write it. He could write a poem using his beautiful words.

  But that was wishful thinking.

  And oh, just about everything made me cry now. I lost my appetite. I had to hide every little thing he’d ever given me, everything that reminded me of him, under my bed or else I’d burst into tears if I so much as looked at it.

  Everything inside me said he wasn’t dead.

  But when I turned on the news, sure enough, I learned Gabe was right. Nancy Grace was on the television, saying that he was indeed a suspect in their murder. They had a bunch of Annie’s old friends, Luisa, their housekeeper and a couple of model-types, saying that she wasn’t the type to just leave with a kid. Annie’d talked to them about getting back into modeling; in fact, she seemed desperate to do it. They suspected Mr. Templeton was the controlling, belligerent sort, because Annie was clearly afraid of him and had shown them bruises. He could’ve killed them.

  But I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know Mr. Templeton well, but I couldn’t imagine that the man who sat crying in my living room would murder his family.

  One day, I was sitting in the treehouse as a police officer with a dog came lumbering through the woods. I tried to hide up there, because I knew from the way the dog had its nose on the ground, sniffing for something. But the branches were bare and I was obvious in my red puffer coat.

  The man said, “Hey you, little girl.”

  I stood up, annoyed at that. I was thirteen, and not little, at least, in my mind.

  He said, “You out here a lot?”

  I nodded.

 
“You were friends with the Templeton boy?”

  I nodded again. “But you’re barking up the wrong tree. You won’t find what you’re looking for, here.”

  “Oh yeah?” He asked me, while the dog pulled on the leash. He was young, probably a rookie officer. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because nobody comes out here,” I said, which was a silly thing to say. Obviously, that would make it the perfect place to bury a body. But the real reason I thought it was impossible was simple.

  If his body was here, I thought I would feel something of his presence. Everything inside me told me that this was wrong. Maybe he was dead and buried, somewhere. But not here. Not in these fairytale woods, where our pretty story was etched carefully into treehouse walls. Not on my watch.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  And so, then what happened?

  He wanted me to come with him. I said I couldn’t. I told him if I didn’t get back to the commune right away, there’d be hell to pay when I got back. I was scared the feds would check me out, realize I was not the guy this dude they thought I was, and send me back.

  What would they have done to you, if you didn’t show up on time?

  Well, a couple of times, when John thought Jay was making too many excuses for me, he would get pissed. And he’d punish me.

  How?

  Well, they’d tie me up and . . .

  He’d rape you?

  Yeah. It was not something I could help. I was still sore because they’d just punished me for not going through with the Peony thing. I didn’t think I’d live through it again, didn’t want to.

  But he convinced you somehow to come with him?

  Yeah. He pulled out his phone and showed me all the articles that had been written about me over the years.

  And what did you think?

  I couldn’t fucking believe it.

  #

  The next Sunday, my father asks if Noah’s coming with us to church, and I have to tell him the truth. “No,” I tell him. “I think he’s decided to do things his own way.”

  He wheels himself behind his desk, removes his spectacles, and sighs. “That’s a shame.”

  My brilliant father always expected this. After all, I can’t help but think of how he’d tried to help Noah’s dad. It was much the same as this: my mom making and delivering meals, inviting him over so he wouldn’t be alone, offering to take him to church. That hadn’t ended well.

  I think of the way Noah’d talked about his father. That’s where they found him. Like he was a lost sock. The thought makes me cringe.

  I want my father to say something, like, we’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he finds his way. But I know what he’ll say, what he said when he learned Mr. Templeton had killed himself. “If a person’s intent on digging their own grave, there’s little we can do to stop them.”

  I move to leave, then stop. “Dad,” I say. “I’m really worried.”

  He nods. “It doesn’t seem good, does it?”

  I shake my head, then walk into the office and perch on the edge of the chair across from him. “He doesn’t want our help. I know we can’t force him. But,” I take a deep breath. “He hurt me so much the first time he left. If I lose him again . . .”

  He replaces his glasses and laces his fingers in front of him. “What do you propose we do?”

  “I don’t know. Something. If he’s going to bury himself, let’s take away the shovel.”

  “The shovel? So we lock him up in a room so he can’t do any more harm to himself? That’s a little far-fetched, Ari.”

  “I know. But there has to be something we can do.”

  “I seem to remember a month ago, you didn’t want anything to do with him.” He’s studying me intently, and so I know his next question before he asks it. “You two have gotten a lot closer these past few weeks?”

  I nod.

  “I’m starting to get the feeling you’ve fallen for him.”

  I inhale sharply. “Dad. You were the one who suggested I help him. You know we were close before. If you didn’t want me getting close to him again, it was a recipe for disaster, and you know it. He and I . . .” I pause, blushing as I think of the way he’d kissed me by the river. “It’s complicated. But I cared about him then, and I care about him now. That won’t change.”

  He studies me, eyes not leaking any emotion.

  “Please, Dad,” I whisper.

  He shakes his head and pushes away from his desk. “Honestly, Ari. I don’t know what else we can do.”

  He pats my hand gently before I walk out of his office, but all the while, dread builds inside me. I get a text from Jacy that makes things worse: Saw Noah out last night in New Hope. He was drunk off his ass, making out with two different girls in the parking lot. What’s up wit dat?

  Rage builds inside me. I stab the phone with my thumbs, typing out the words, No clue.

  She comes back a few seconds later. Aw, honey. I’m sorry. But he’s like a local celebrity around here, and you know how girls go for that. Not to mention, he’s smoking hot.

  Thanks for the reminder, I think, throwing my dress over my head for church. I know I won’t see him because it’s morning, and recently, he’s never been spotted outside in the daylight hours before noon.

  But I want to.

  God, despite everything he’s done, I still want to see him. Touch him. Be with him.

  What was it he had said? You want to come again, the door’s open. What if I did? What if I showed up at his front door and told him that’s all I wanted?

  He knows me too well. He’d never believe that.

  And maybe I don’t know him half as well as he knows me, but I don’t think he’d be able to fuck me, like one of those girls. Despite what he thinks, that’s not all he is.

  I don’t see him until he leaves in his truck, late at night, while I’m getting ready for bed. He has his shirt open and is tucking it into the waist of his jeans. His hair is wet from the shower, like he’s readying for a night on the town.

  I don’t fall asleep until much later, and when I wake, I’m surprised to see orange sunlight streaming through my window. I groan, feeling like I hardly got any sleep at all.

  Then I hear the noise, something rustling through the trees and popping. I turn over on my back and stare at the light streaking across the ceiling. It’s different, wavy and dangerous. There’s a thick, suffocating smell in the air.

  I sit up and hear frantic voices as I grab for my phone. I have a text waiting for me. It’s from Noah, and is only three words long. I’m so sorry.

  I look out the window. That’s not sunlight.

  Blinking back the hazy smoke that’s settling over my bed, I throw myself onto my feet and nearly fall over at the sight out my window. Noah’s beautiful log home, nearly every window engulfed in flames. “Oh, my God,” I mumble, still half-convinced this is a dream. I don’t bother to throw anything over my camisole and boxers as I explode out the door and race downstairs as the first fire engines scream down the driveway.

  My parents and Mr. Pollock are already outside. My father is shaking his head. My mother is hugging a woman, comforting her. She’s wearing my father’s robe and sobbing as the firemen start to assemble their equipment. I look around, frantic. “Noah,” I whisper, thinking of what he’d said before.

  Home shit home.

  The world is tearing apart. The fire’s roar deafens me, and I’m both shivering and sweating in the heat. Flames lick up the log walls; there is no saving the home. Even so, I take three running steps toward it, screaming his name, until I feel my father’s hand on my arm. “Ari, stop.”

  “Noah! Is he in there?” I shout over him, until I realize my father is shaking his head. I look around more. Then I look at the girl. She’s beautiful, like all the others. “Is he okay? Where did he go?”

  Her stare is vacant. “Hell if I know,” she mumbles, teeth chattering. “He was out here a second ago, ranting about how much he hates this place. Crazy fuck.”
/>   Crazy fuck.

  Horrible realization floods over me. I know. One of the firemen starts to talk to my father, and Mr. Pollock is taking video on his phone, for what purpose, I don’t know. I turn into the darkness, away from the drifting embers, start to tear off into the woods. Smoke heavy in the air, burning my nostrils, I’m gasping for air by the time I get to the treehouse. I climb the rungs quickly, then grab onto the rope and hoist myself in, breathless.

  I smell the gasoline before I see him. He’s crouched in the corner, wearing only his boxer briefs, looking so small.

  “Noah,” I whisper, creeping closer to him. “Why?”

  He doesn’t answer. I kneel in front of him, so my knees are next to his. I can’t see his face because his head is buried in his hands. He’s rocking back and forth, but I can’t tell more because the only light is a sliver of moonlight cast down through the leaves and the slats of the roof, and the dull, far-off glow from the fire.

  But I’m scared. I’m really scared.

  “Noah?”

  He’s not rocking, he’s trembling. Panting. And his face isn’t buried in his hands. He’s vising his head between them. “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe anymore. It hurts,” he mumbles.

  He’s injured. I lean forward, straining to see more in the dimness. All I can see is the sleek, elegant curve of his muscled back, the way his parts and tendons seem to come together in perfect harmony, like a work of art. “Where are you hurt?” I ask him.

  “Everywhere,” he moans, his voice so fragile and child-like. He’s been drinking; I can smell the alcohol. “Everywhere. I can’t get rid of it. It’s eating me up. I can’t breathe. God!”

  Tears spring to my eyes. I want to touch him but I’m afraid he doesn’t want that. So I sit in front of him, drowning in helplessness. “You’re okay,” I say dumbly.

  He shakes his head violently. “I’m not. Oh, God, I’m not. Ari,” He looks up suddenly and sees me, really looks at me for the first time. “I need you. I’m so sorry. But I need you.”

  Then I know it’s okay. I get up the courage to reach for him, touch him, and then he falls forward, laying his head in my lap like a little boy. He’s shaking uncontrollably as I wrap my arms protectively around him, thinking what he’d say, if he wasn’t so consumed. Ari-Bari, my little savior.