The Weight of Glass

by Stuart Heatherington

  “You forget these?” She didn’t even look at the urn.

  “Maybe,” I said. “I suppose I did.”

  Her head nodded to the beach as she collapsed the robe around her neck tighter. “Don’t leave me out. She was my sister, too.”

  I looked down at my feet and tried not to concentrate on the untied shoelaces there. “You don’t have to. We already buried her once. This is just…finishing it,” I said without thinking much about it.

  “I can go with you, you know.”

  “And do what, take the lid off?” I joked. “Besides, it’s a nonsmoking cruise.”

  Amy smiled then, still not handing me the urn, and I saw tears at the edges of her eyes and she quickly shrugged them away on her sleeve. “God, I’m so damn tired of crying this weekend.”

  “Kind of hard not to, I reckon.” I looked off toward the ocean.

  After a moment she said, “I worry for you, Lee.”

  I wanted to be out on the beach away from here for a while, but I just stared at the floor. “You shouldn’t do that.”

  “You’re my brother.” She exclaimed. “You drink too much. You really do. And I want you to stop.”

  That hit me wrong and I pointed at the urn, not caring for the direction of the conversation. “Can I have that now?”

  “What are you going to do with her?”

  I looked away, wondering what I did have in mind, which was nothing when I thought about it. “What does it matter?”

  “It’s not that hard a question.”

  I stood staring at her face. She looked tired. I wondered how late she stayed up last night, the soft sounds of her computer keypad clicking through the wall until my eyes tumbled closed in the dark. “I don’t know. Throw them in the ocean—”

  “I want you to stop drinking. For a month anyway.”

  I stepped in front of my sister and took hold of the top of the urn in one hand and made her let go, arms readjusting in the absence. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “What about Charlie?”

  “Don’t make it about her, either.”

  “Come on.”

  “Look, Amy, we’re not the same people. I don’t do change; we don’t get along. You choose to self-medicate. And I drink. We still both live in the shadows of who we once were. Both of us. So don’t tell me how to live.” I wagged my finger back and forth, like I was scolding a dog. “It ain’t pretty, it’s just what we do.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Just move on. Nobody’s ever gonna fix us. We’re not little wooden toys with strings—you don’t break it and tie another one on.” I shook my head. “I don’t wanna understand why and how. I don’t care anymore.”

  “Are you finished, yet?”

  I sighed. “If I have to be, sure.”

  “Because I learned a long time ago to let you get it all out, Lee. Your mouth is like the Grand Canyon—it just keeps running even though it’s empty.” Amy’s backlash of sarcasm was funny in a heated way.

  “You’re so damn clever.”

  “I am. And you know what else? I think you’re right.” Her eyebrows perked up.

  I knew that with my sister, everything was a trick. She loved baiting me the way a fisherman laid out livers on a hook. She appealed to my love of being right, and like an idiot, I played along. “About what?”

  “About what you said. Trying to understand what happened to us can’t change who we are. Even I’m not so naive as to think that. So there, I said it.”

  “It hurts having to admit you’re wrong, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t have that problem.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest to keep my distance. “You don’t say.”

  “No, it’s because I think you’re wrong about the rest of it. We used to be really close growing up. But things did change. And the world we lived in went a little crazy—”

  “Only a little?”

  “A little, a lot. We grew distant after that. And nothing stayed the same.”

  “Nothing ever stays the same.” I tried to invoke a picture of what we were like as children, but I couldn’t bridge the gaps in my mind. “I just knew we didn’t talk like we used to.”

  “Not just that. There used to be something special between us when we were little.” Her voice was solemn and she expressed a mournful smile, one that seemed to long for something else, something both painful and sweet. “I fell in love with our friendship. We were these two beautifully damaged children whose hearts were so much stronger than they had a right to be, and I think that kept us alive in the end, I really do. And I miss that. Because I close my eyes, and there are these places in me, these unbearably lifeless places I find myself going to, where the doors never close. And you know what? I’m compelled to watch. I try to make myself walk by them, but they’re the only ones I know, and I live them everyday. Life’s more than that right?”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “We’re the same, you and I.”

  “Are we?” Cool air slipped through the screen and covered my legs in chill bumps.

  “I know we can’t change the past, but we can learn to be better people because of it. You know that’s true.”

  She rose out of the rocker and walked over to me, taking my hand in hers.

  “Doesn’t your heart ache when you look at me? It can’t be just me feeling this way,” she said.

  I grabbed her and pulled her in tight, holding her against me. Almost instantly, the feeling was like the weight of the world slipping down off my back. Emotionally, it seemed as if the roller coaster of life had finally pulled back into the station and the seat belt bar had ratcheted up. But part of me couldn’t move. I had become so acclimated to the misery and the hate that I didn’t want to get off the ride. Inside, I didn’t know if I was coming or going, but there was a feeling of time running away. Like my sister, part of me was ready to leave the ride I’d been on almost all my life. The problem was that I wasn’t sure how.

  She whispered against my ear and her voice came as a shower inside my head, “Tell me part of you feels broken inside without me. We hardly know each other anymore. This thing that we do, it’s like the same slow dance, only the steps have us drifting away every year.”

  “Am I that bad of a partner?”

  “No,” she said gently. “What you are is…perfect.”

  “I don’t think perfect fits what I am.”

  “You’re the perfect partner for me. And let me tell you why.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “I really think we were meant to be wonderful people inside, but we ended up as these two tragic figures and when the music of memory plays for us, it’s this completely different thing, all damaged inside. And a long time ago, we taught ourselves to dance around the terrible sound of our youth, because it kept us alive, it gave us a chance at something,” she said softly. “And don’t ask me how I know this—call it a sister’s intuition—but I do. If we make an effort, if we really try hard enough, we can stop hiding from each other. Because I’m tired of dancing with the ghosts in this life. Let’s make some new music.”

  I couldn’t say anything at first. Having survived the brutality of our stepfather was enough to warrant field medals in my mind. And if purple hearts had been given out for bravery in the face of childhood, we would both have suffered shadowboxes filled with metals of honor and courageous stars quietly sleeping in their crumbling ribbons.

  “You know I love you, right?” I said, nodding.

  Light broke through the darkness in her eyes. “I do.”

  “Then understand that’s all I can give you right now. I’m sorry, I can’t make you any promises, Amy. I’m not the man I used to be, I don’t even know what I am at this point,” I said, trying to explain what I could barely understand myself. “I just know that it’s not who I am anymore that holds me together, but the pieces I carry that make me whole.”

  She reached up and took my face in her hand and the warm caress of he
r skin caused me to close my eyes. There was a sudden desire to turn back the clock, to feel like I did when we were children, even though I knew it wasn’t possible. Beyond the effort of my chest rising and falling, I relished my sister’s touch and it was something that came over me like a current, one that reached out and filled the gaps and bridged the emptiness steadying my heart. But if there was a way to hold on to the moment it was lost to me. Sadness was a disease and my heart its reluctant carrier.

  “You don’t have to bear it all,” my sister said. “I’ll help you. When you’re down, I’ll be there for you. That’s what I’m here for. And when that’s not good enough, Lee, you remember something.” Amy’s finger slammed into my chest hard to drive home her point. “You are your father’s son and I know he would want you to be happy.”

  “I don’t know how to do that.”

  “We learn to forgive ourselves. Stop carrying the burden when the choice was never ours to own. I know you blame yourself for what happened to me, but you shouldn’t. You couldn’t be there all the time. And I didn’t ask to be molested. No one ever does, but it happens. I gave Warren the choice of Darla or me. He could have said no to us both, but he didn’t. You did what you needed to do to survive. We all do.”

  I grabbed her hand and turned toward the screen door and led us both down the stairs. She didn’t speak as I turned out through the dunes and crossed over onto the beach. Waves pushed out across the glinting sand. The smell of the ocean was intoxicating. Wilting strands of seaweed washed out around our feet as we stepped through a bed of shattered mollusk shells, broken and strewn in the morning tide like breadcrumbs for children.

  I took the cap off the urn I carried as we both stepped into the water. There was a sensation of my shoes filling in the surf, both cool and electric in the early morning. Off in the distance, to the north of us, was Hunting Island. Its lighthouse poked proudly out above the trees like a weathered crown, shining in the sun.

  “Would you like to?” I extended the urn out for her to take.

  Amy looked across the water. Waves coursed between her bare legs, lapping at the bottom of her robe.

  “Real estate agent called me this morning,” she said suddenly. “I let it go to voice mail. Seems you haven’t been answering your phone. She’d like an answer today.”

  I didn’t say anything, but pulled the urn back to me and guarded the lid against my chest.

  She laughed as the waves rushed at us, thin scoop-neck shirt molding into her breast. “I don’t think this is deep enough.” She shed her robe and dropped it into the water and it blossomed like a giant white lily pad until it was pulled behind us in a graceful arch toward the beach. I stood still and watched my sister wade out deeper, long legs lifting through the air like some beautiful rare crane. Her arms struggled for balance as she adjusted to the waves rising around her waist with each step.

  I followed her deeper into the water, the cold striking my thighs. A heavy wave sucked at my shorts and belted my hips, nearly knocking me down. “What’s deep enough?” I yelled out in front of me.

  She turned back around and the lavender shirt she wore was plastered to her skin except at the collarbones. “We should keep it, the beach house. Make it somewhere to come to and start over. New family,” she said above the lapping water. “New baby.” Water exploded around her back and foam splashed into her hair, soaking her shirt completely. “Are you coming?”

  “Any deeper and I may drown,” I yelled out, holding the urn high in the air out to where she waited. “Sharks aren’t attracted to ashes are they?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  When I reached her, the waves were lapping at our chests. Thin rivulets of water ran out of her hair and slipped across her face in graceful clear threads. Out to her sides her arms carefully floated in circles. “Here’s good.”

  “I’ve got snorkel gear up there somewhere. We can go deeper.”

  She smiled, salt water dribbling out of her mouth as she used her hand to wipe her face and hair back. “No, this is good.”

  I brought down the urn to eye level and thrust the lid in her direction. “Hold this.”

  She took the lid in one hand and pulled it into the water. “I want you to do this.”

  Turning my back to the waves I curled my arms and slung Darla’s ashes outward toward the beach, a swirling gray cloud hung fleetingly on the wind and then disappeared across the water. Seagull cries pierced the sky and a flock of birds flew by us toward land. Out in front, just over the edge of the meandering dunes, was Rabbit’s Hole. I focused on the windows, absorbed its graceless lines and fell in love with it all over again.

  Amy took the urn from my hand, capped it closed, all the while her legs smacking into mine as she chose to purposely float instead of standing in the sand. She looked in my eyes, and I felt her legs and feet brace, planting in the rich ocean floor next to mine, then spinning and throwing the urn out into deeper water where it bobbed and eventually disappeared.

  “That’s probably a ticketing offense,” I said.

  “I’ll never tell.”

  She clung onto my back and jerked me sideways, ocean drifting up into my face, first smooth and flawless, and then over my head in a surge of pounding waves. Sounds of the water came deep in my ears like sweet joy, breathlessly forgiving. Amy’s hands tugged at my face and I felt her mouth gently kiss mine for an instant, arms wrap themselves around my neck, the warmth of her body spreading across my chest as she held me tight in the water. I felt the peace of letting go, of putting aside a story that had controlled me far too long, and I let the pull of my sister guide me. The water was black, but her hands were strong.

  The End

  THE WEIGHT OF GLASS

  A Novel

  by

  Stuart Heatherington

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Copyright 2010 by Stuart Heatherington

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book or portions thereof may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  ISBN 978-1-4524-2336-4

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book could not have been possible without the unending support of so many people. I’d like to especially offer my thanks to Gina, my wife and greatest advocate, who without her trust and tolerance, this may never have been completed. This book is dedicated to you most of all.

  Also, I want to say thank you to my children, Elijah and Ethan, whose time was stolen at points during two summers, when I felt I could not leave behind the characters on the screen of my computer. I owe you beyond words all of my love.

  To Mom and Dad, much can be said, but your belief in me offered a strength that made the road much easier to walk.

  Finally, to the supporting cast of readers, who I asked to stumble across my words more than once, thank you. Lynn Schachte, you are the bomb, Dawn Knuth and Knicole Allen, I am grateful for your gentle feedback. And to those of you in The Preserve BookClub, I appreciate all of your help in guiding me through the process. To Devi Shorashi, your editing suggestions were brilliant.