“I’m sorry, ‘we’?”
“Yes, I have advised Ms. Hutton and she agrees that it would be best, just for the ensuing days and weeks, that his contact with others be limited.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Pardon?” She smiles, raising her eyebrows.
“You came up to my room, personally, to tell me this. My parents could have done that, so why are you here?”
Her smile remains in position, as if it’s a permanent fixture on her face. “I was informed that you and Reed had a special connection. You might remind him of things that we are trying to help him through.”
“This is about me, isn’t it? All of this, about limited contact with others, that’s all just to keep me away from Reed.”
“Of course not, Leah. We are just trying to do what’s best for him.”
“Did the sheriff put you up to this?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sheriff Hanson. Is he the one who wants me to stay away? He has no right to tell me anything. He’s the reason we’re here to begin with.”
“What are you talking about?” She leans forward, nudging her glasses higher up on her nose.
I hesitate. She wouldn’t know any of that, not if Reed’s not talking, because I know the sheriff and my parents won’t say anything about what’s really going on.
“Leah, if this is about—”
Another knock. It’s the nurse, here to collect my discharge papers. Mom and Dad follow her in, keeping their distance as the shrink looks back at them. “If you feel the need to talk to someone, anyone, here’s my card. You’ve been through a lot the past few days, and I know you’ll have a lot to think about when you get home.” She holds out a cream card on thick, textured paper. I make no move to accept it, so Mom hurries forward with a “thank you,” takes the card, and retreats back to the wall.
“Well, Leah, take care of yourself.” Doctor Clark walks steadily out of my room, leaving it cracked enough that I can hear her talking to someone waiting outside. I walk quickly to the door, listening.
“Yes, I informed her,” she says quietly. The other voice is muffled, too soft for me to recognize. When Doctor Clark leaves, passing the window between my room and the hallway, another person follows her. Through the partially closed blinds I see Ashley walking away, without even a glance toward the glass between us.
It wasn’t Sheriff Hanson who wanted to keep me from Reed.
I don’t see how I can feel more pain than I already do, but it comes anyway, like a knife in my heart. My best friend is the one who wants me to stay away.
After that I know I sat in a wheelchair to be taken to our car. I know I climbed the stairs to my room with Matt’s arm around me. Then, nothing.
When I finally wake, it’s dark through my bedroom window, and the bedside clock says three in the morning. Rain is falling outside, growing louder like the rush of waves with each gust of wind. The cold is pressing in, and it’s likely all this water will freeze by morning.
I feel like the forest is screaming at me through the downpour. It’s too easy to imagine I hear Bee calling through the wind for the brother I took away from her, mourning the father she could have already lost.
The morning comes swiftly, the sun catching on the frost and lighting up the world like a landscape of diamonds. It’s the kind of beauty that should make my heart lighter, but it’s never felt so dark. There is brightness all around me, but I am blind to it.
I could stay in bed all day. I’ve got the reasons, just not the temperament. Anxiety rolls through me, calling out for me to act, to do something. The drive is there, just not the way. There’s a likely chance that anything I do right now will only make things worse, but the thought of doing nothing, of accepting this, is terrifying.
Whenever I change thoughts, Reed always sneaks in first before anything else. He’s everywhere; standing at the foot of my bed, crouched outside my window, hiding in the magnolia tree, and running through the pasture from the woods.
I can’t escape my thoughts. I can’t pretend he should mean nothing now that I can’t have him.
He’s the one thing I can’t lie about, even to myself.
The door opens quietly, and Mom pauses when our eyes lock. “I didn’t know you were awake.”
“Will you leave since I am?” She doesn’t blink, but I know that hurt her. I’m just mad enough that I don’t care.
She comes all the way in and pushes the door closed behind her. “I know you don’t want to talk.”
“You’re right, I want to scream.”
“But we can’t keep doing this.”
“You should have thought about that before you fired that gun.”
“Can you even imagine what it feels like?”
“To be shot?” I hold up my arm. “I have a decent idea.”
“No.” Mom sits on the edge of my bed. “To lose a child.”
I glare at her, unable to find a suitable retort that won’t make me sound like a monster. We are talking about Sam, after all.
“I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be angry. About everything.” She places a hand on my cast. “But we did what we believed was best for you and Matt.”
“How can lying to us be best?” I’m proud that I don’t shriek like I want to.
“You had closure, Leah, however painful it might have been. I’ve never had that. All these years, the agony of not knowing has slowly eaten away at me, until I’ve become someone I don’t even know anymore. There have been times . . . There have been times when I’ve wished he was dead, that we had found a body, and it all could have been over with.”
My eyes widen at her confession. But I also see her, this open honesty, and I can’t look away.
“It’s torture, Leah, of the most awful kind. It has brought out the worst in your father and me. I know it has, because I see how you and Matt look at us, how you hide things from us, and I don’t blame you. And now that Sam is really gone, it all seems for nothing. We’ve devoted our lives to finding him, sacrificed everything, even the both of you. I thought if we could just get him back, it would fix everything, and we could go back to being us.” She runs her hands through her hair, eyes wild. “Now it’s over. And what do we have to show for it? Nothing. Nothing but a family that is still broken after all these years.”
“Was it worth the closure?”
Mom stares through me, a ghost of the person she was in the woods. “I don’t know. I can’t undo any of it, so I don’t know if it even matters. And we’re done with Bigfoot. The hunts and the late nights, all of it. There have been so many times over the years when we’ve gotten close to them but they would disappear, and it was like losing Sam all over again. Those were the hardest times, when I would lash out at your father. It was never his fault, but I needed someone to blame.”
“But he let Sam go with Reed and Mr. Hutton. You never blamed him for that?”
Mom smiles, her face full of bitter irony. “That’s what’s so terrible. Your father told him no.”
“But Sam didn’t sneak out. I stood in the yard with you and Matt and watched him go.”
“No, he didn’t sneak out.”
I watch the agony pass over her face and realize the truth. Tears streak down her cheeks, and her hand starts to quiver on my cast. I can’t help myself. I reach out with my good hand and take hers. Mom sobs, placing a hand over her mouth as the tears start in earnest.
“I let Sam go.” Her body doubles over. “It is all my fault, Leah. He wanted to go so badly and I couldn’t tell him no. I did it behind your father’s back, and he never got to tell Sam good-bye.”
“Mom, I’m . . .” I don’t know what to say, because “sorry” doesn’t even begin to cover it. As suddenly as her racking sobs began, they suddenly stop.
“I didn’t shoot the Sasquatch because he’s a monster, Leah.” She grips my hand so hard it scares me. “I shot him because I’m the monster.”
chapter thirty-one
> When I finally find the nerve to drag myself downstairs, I’m surprised to find Matt, Mom, and Dad sitting around the kitchen table. I guess some habits are hard to break or maybe the only thing we have left.
A platter of bacon, eggs, and toast sits in the middle, looking very untouched. I slide into my chair, glancing at each of them in turn. Mom looks broken and hollow, her eyes as red as I’ve ever seen them.
Matt gives me a halfhearted smile, slowly dragging a piece of bacon across the table. He’s already got enough to build a miniature log cabin on his plate, but he doesn’t seem to be eating any of it.
Dad sits staring down at his cup of coffee, hair in disarray, T-shirt and shorts rumpled from sleep. I don’t remember the last time I saw him in his pajamas. He never leaves his bedroom unless he’s fully dressed. He even has his glasses on, the ones he uses only when his contacts are out. It must be Saturday for him to even consider looking like this.
“What day is it?” I’d like to know for sure that I’ve still got two more days before I have to show my face in school. I’m sure there’s some story I’ve got to learn, to recite to whoever asks about Reed. But it’s the questions about Sam I’ll hate the most, why one boy returned and not the other.
“Sunday,” Matt answers. My wide eyes move from the clock on the wall that says nine thirty back to Dad, who hasn’t even acknowledged that he heard Matt speak.
“But . . . Dad, why aren’t you at church?”
Dad blinks and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. He sighs, peering down into his coffee cup again, like it might have the answers he’s looking for. “What’s the point?”
I know my jaw just dropped. “I’m . . . what?” I glance to Matt for an explanation, but he shrugs and goes back to building his bacon empire. Mom must have cooked everything we had left.
“What do you mean, ‘what’s the point’? Dad, you’re the preacher. I don’t think church is optional for you.”
“I called Kevin.”
I’m sure the associate pastor was thrilled to get that phone call, right after he picked himself up off the floor from shock.
“So, what, you’re depressed? You and Mom didn’t get to kill the monster so you’re just going to live in your pj’s?”
“It’s not that,” Dad whispers, his unblinking gaze zeroed in on that coffee cup.
“Then. What?” I say loudly, getting very close to completely losing it. And if Matt drags one more piece of bacon . . .
“How can I stand there and preach to a congregation about truths that I don’t even know if I believe anymore?”
“So since you’ve lost your son for real this time, you’ve lost your faith as well? I think you’re missing the point of all that, Dad.”
“You don’t understand,” Dad says, like I’m missing a simple concept.
The resounding crunch when I slam my fist onto Matt’s bacon tower is so satisfying I wish I could do it again. Dad’s coffee sloshes over the side of his cup, breaking his concentrated gaze as the dark liquid runs for the edge of the table. Adrenaline courses through my body when I find I have everyone’s undivided attention.
“What I understand is that you’ve spent the last ten years searching for the son you lost, instead of giving a damn about the two children you still had. You messed up, Dad. And maybe this is what you get, justice instead of mercy.”
Dad blinks, looking up at me, like he’s seeing me for the first time.
“Maybe if you’d started with the truth, you’d never have lost the rest.” I should feel guilty, but all I feel is unholy anger that will not be silenced until this is done. We’re already broken; the worse thing now is that we will just splinter.
I stare at Mom and Dad, wishing I could stop myself, wishing their tears made me feel remorse. “You’ve done this, both of you. You have destroyed us.” I head for the door, not caring where I go, just as long as I get out of this house.
“It’s not their fault.”
Matt’s voice stops me cold. I let my hand drop from the doorknob. “What?”
Matt is silent.
“What are you talking about, Matt?”
“It’s my fault.”
“Matt?” Mom says in a small voice.
“Sam knew you wouldn’t let him go camping, Dad, because he’d miss church on Sunday. He was the one who told Reed no when he asked us. But . . . but I knew why he really said no.” Matt crosses his arms, looking like he’d rather be facing the Sasquatch than sitting at this table. “He was afraid. He told me he was scared of going camping, that he saw something big in the woods that day at Aldridge. A monster covered in fur.”
Matt pulls his knees up and puts his elbows on them, his hands locked tightly in his hair, the shadows of demons in his eyes.
“Son?” Dad leans toward him, but Matt flinches away.
“I called him a sissy, or something like that. I . . .” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I dared him to go alone. I told him he would never be brave unless he went camping with Reed without me.”
Matt’s words are met with shocked silence. Even I didn’t see this coming.
“He begged me to come. He was crying when I helped him pack his clothes. I laughed at him, told him the monsters in the woods were going to get him if he didn’t stop crying, that he would never be my brother again if he didn’t do it.”
I watch in detached horror as the perfect facade that is Matthew Roberts crumbles like a riverbank in a flash flood.
Matt’s voice breaks, his eyes full of tears. “I’m his twin, for God’s sake. I should have been there with him!” The last grip Matt has on his control slips away, and he curls in on himself, anguished sobs racking his body. “Sam is dead, again, because of me, and all I can think about every day is how I’m living the life that he deserved, and I don’t.”
It’s like Mom and Dad suddenly wake up, after ten years, instincts finally kicking in as they wrap themselves around the broken remnants of a golden boy.
I thought I knew the truth of Matt, but I knew nothing.
My anger seeps away, leaving me deflated. It feels like someone else who walks to the table, someone else who kneels beside Matt and gets pulled into the circle of tears.
Dad gets to his knees in front of Matt, prying his arms down from his face. “Son, listen to me. Matt.” He waits until Matt lifts his eyes. “You didn’t do this, you hear me? None of this—me, your mother, even Samuel—is your fault. We all made our choices. It . . .” Dad’s voice shakes. “It was an accident. I know it now, and you can’t hold on to this guilt anymore, son. It will consume you, just as it has consumed us.” He holds on to Matt’s face, waiting until Matt finally shakes his head.
Dad reaches for Mom’s hand. “The time has come for us to let this go, to start over and try to fix this family.”
Next he reaches for me. “And we can’t do any of this without you. I know how I’ve been with you. I know you’ve grown up in a cage without bars, and I thought that if I could keep you safe, keep you this image of the little girl I have in my mind, it would be enough to fill the hole that Sam left. But nothing we do, any of us, will ever replace him. The hole is always going to be there, but accepting that has been my greatest fear, next to losing either of you.
“Leah, I’m so sorry. Your mother and I, we still live in that day, still try to undo what was done. You two were so young then, but you’ve managed to live your lives and move on.” He takes both my hands. “You’re angry. I see it in you, because I see it in myself. But you’ve done the one thing we haven’t been able to. You’ve brought us closure. If Sam is at peace, then maybe we can find our way back to one another.”
“You can’t just snap your fingers and fix this.”
“I know that. And I know there’s a lot that we may never be able to fix, but isn’t it at least worth trying?”
I haven’t seen my father cry since that day long ago. And seeing it now, it’s a reminder that he’s human, broken and lost like the rest of us. “No more lies.”
“No more lies,” Mom whispers, holding my gaze. Dad nods in agreement, pulling Matt to his chest.
“Okay.” Somewhere inside, a dam breaks, and it’s like I’m a child again, and the only thing in the world that can make the pain go away is my parents’ arms. The wounds are long from healed, but as I sit there, wrapped in love, hope seeps in, and for the first time a light waits at the end of this dark tunnel.
The phone rings for a while before I pull away to answer it, hoping whoever is on the other line doesn’t hear the crying in the kitchen behind me.
“Hello?”
Silence.
“Hello?”
“Leah?” The voice is gruff, but I know it’s Ashley.
“Ashley . . . Hi.” I wonder if she expects me to be excited to hear from her or if she suspects I know the truth.
“Leah, I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask, but I probably can guess.
“I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have kept you away from him, and now it’s too late.”
“Ashley, what are you talking about?” It’s an effort not to scream at her to explain.
“He’s gone. He left last night and no one saw him. The sheriff had two deputies around the house and he got by them.”
I can’t help the hint of a smile. Of course he got by them. He’s the wild boy from the woods.
“What time did he leave?”
“We don’t know, sometime after midnight.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know. Just stay there? I think if he goes anywhere, it will be to you.” She pauses. “Leah, I’m so sorry. I was angry.”
“I know, Ash. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not, but we can do this later. We have to find him.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you. Sheriff Hanson’s here now to pick us up, so I’ll be there soon.”
She hangs up with a click. I slowly put the phone back on the receiver. Mom and Dad are talking quietly to Matt, who has yet to lift his head. I head upstairs without a word.
The Shadows We Know by Heart Page 22
