True Places

by Sonja Yoerg

  She had given herself away. If she wanted herself back, there had to be pieces of her, sacred and proprietary, that no one else could ever have.

  CHAPTER 39

  Reid walked home from school practically dragging his feet. He had hoped to go to Alex’s, but his friend had a therapy appointment, and Reid couldn’t exactly tag along to that. Since his mother had left with Iris, Reid had avoided being home. He didn’t want to see his father, afraid of exploding and telling him exactly what he thought. Not that his father didn’t get the picture. But so far they’d dodged a big confrontation. The only thing they talked about was whether his mom had called or texted. She had sent Reid exactly one text. She had bailed.

  He busied himself with speculation about what his mom could possibly be doing. Watching movies in a hotel room with Iris didn’t sound right. Maybe she was looking for a new place to live. He hadn’t wanted to ask his dad about that. Reid pulled out his phone and texted his mom.

  REID: I miss you.

  He frowned and hit delete.

  REID: When are you coming back?

  That was incredibly whiny, or aggressive, depending. He deleted it.

  REID: Hope you’re okay.

  He searched the emojis for one that expressed how it felt to have your mother leave. He considered the sad face. He was definitely sad. He was also angry. And worried. And absolutely sick of parents, adults in general. That was a lot of emojis for one text. He sighed, hit send, and put his phone in his pocket.

  Reid found himself on his street, nearly home. Eventually a tortoise gets where it’s going; wasn’t there a Buddhist story about that? Maybe he’d skip homework tonight (rebel!), do a long meditation session, and read something escapist, like A Game of Thrones . Talk about messed-up families.

  Brynn had been suspended and had no choice but to stay home, so Reid wasn’t surprised to find the door unlocked. He expected to find her watching TV, but the house was quiet. She was probably sulking in her room. He hadn’t spoken a word to her since the morning after the party. What was there to say?

  He left his backpack at the bottom of the stairs and headed for the kitchen, taking the living room route in case his dad had left the paper there. Instead of the paper, he found his dad, sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees, rocking back and forth. He couldn’t read his father’s face.

  “Hey, Reid.” His dad didn’t look up, just rubbed his hands together like he had something sticky on his palms.

  “Hey.”

  Reid waited, figuring his dad would explain what was going on, why he was home in the middle of the afternoon. Instead his father’s shoulders trembled, then collapsed. He covered his face with his hands and started twitching. Reid was confused for a second, but when his father sniffed, Reid realized he was crying.

  Reid stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Dad? Are you okay?”

  He shook his head and sobbed for real this time, his shoulders jerking up and down. Reid didn’t know what to do, what to do physically or with the massive block of resentment and anger that was crushing him. But he wasn’t such an asshole that he would walk away and get something to eat while his father sat there crying, so he just stood there.

  After what seemed like an eternity, his father wiped his eyes with his hands, lifted his head, and ran his hands through his hair. He looked at Reid’s knees at first, then stole a glance at his face. He was embarrassed, and scared.

  Reid realized something might have happened to his mom. He took a seat across from his father. “Dad. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “It’s Brynn.” His face twisted up. “She’s gone.”

  Reid hadn’t even thought about Brynn. “Gone? Gone where?”

  “To your grandparents’. She’s with Tinsley.”

  “Jesus, Dad! Is that all?” Reid had been expecting something tragic, not news that his sister was being pampered by Grammy in her mansion.

  His father seemed shocked by his response, like it really was tragic. “Yes. That’s it.” He pursed his lips. “No. Of course not just that.” He lowered his head like he was moving something heavy around in his mind and couldn’t look at anything other than his hands while he worked on it. “It’s Brynn. It’s your mother.” He glanced at Reid. “It’s you.” His face crumpled and he began to cry again.

  Reid was about to ask what he meant, but of course he already knew. His dad had fucked up. “It’s okay, Dad.” It wasn’t, but Reid didn’t know how to handle the crying.

  His father pulled himself together a little, wiping his nose and adjusting his shoulders. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked old and desperate. “I don’t know what to do, Reid. I don’t know how to fix what’s broken. I’m not even sure how it all happened. I thought I was doing the right thing, the right thing for me, sure, but for the family, too. I thought I was making something big, something that was for all of us. That was the idea.”

  “I know, Dad.” Reid hadn’t quite seen it this way before. His father was trying to do the right thing, like he said. Problem was, he was gunning so hard he’d blown right past all the other stuff—the harder stuff, the tricky stuff.

  His father’s expression was intense now. “Do you know? Do you really? Because I thought you of all people didn’t get me.” He had his edge back, and the tears weren’t even dry on his cheeks. Figured.

  “Oh, I get you, Dad. I get you.” Reid hesitated, unsure of how much to say. He felt the anger flare in his gut. Fuck it. “You’re successful. You bring home the money. And you’re proud of it.” His dad flinched. Pride was a double-edged sword. “But there’s everything you are not seeing, all the stuff that passes you by, that you wave away because you have your eye on the real prize and the rest is fluff.”

  “You guys aren’t fluff to me. Don’t say that.”

  “You’re pretty damn oblivious.”

  “Well, I’m busy. I work a lot. I can’t pay attention to everything.”

  Reid leaned closer. “Do you really think it’s okay to tell your kids you were too busy getting money to give a damn about them?”

  “Now, Reid. Don’t be like that.”

  “Be like what? Like what?” He threw his arms out wide. “How should I be, Dad? You know, right? You know exactly what I should want and what choices I ought to make and which friends I should have, right? Right?”

  His father put his hands up in defense. “Hey, whatever I was doing, it was for you.”

  Reid jumped to his feet. “That is such bullshit! So I could be a success, huh? Not just any success, but your idea of success. You want me to be you.” Reid spit out the words, filling the word you with all the disgust and betrayal he felt.

  His father had been watching him. Now he looked away and became very still. A long moment passed before he turned to Reid, looked him in the eye, and nodded.

  “You’re right. I wanted you to be me.” A simple admission delivered in a boardroom tone.

  Reid felt his face burning. “I’m not a deal, Dad. I’m not something you can take credit for.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?” Reid’s throat clogged. He was losing control and fought to get it back. “It’s not like I’m a failure. I’m good at things. I care about stuff.”

  His father’s bluster dissolved; his eyes filled with tears. “I know you do. You’re a good kid, Reid.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “I’m paying attention now. I really am.”

  Reid nodded and wiped his nose. A wave of exhaustion came over him.

  His father stood and grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug. Reid didn’t resist. It was awkward—he couldn’t remember the last time his father had held him—but that didn’t mean it wasn’t good. His father was holding him and Reid was holding his father, who was half crying, half laughing in relief, or in regret. Probably both. Reid knew because he was doing the same, for the same reasons.

  CHAPTER 40

  Iris ran blindly through the woods, her mind spinning. Ash was gone, truly gone. A hill r
ose before her and she dug in to climb it, pressing hard, pushing away branches in her path. Her vision blurred. She rubbed her forearm across her face and swallowed hard, her throat raw. She crested the hill and careened down to a stream, splashed across and became entangled in a stand of willows on the bank. Iris thrashed her arms and screamed in frustration until the branches released her. She sprinted away. Stout twigs broke against her shins. Brambles caught her clothing and backpack. Her exhausted panting became hiccups. Unable to catch her breath, she was forced to stop.

  She lowered herself onto a downed log and waited for her lungs to stop burning. She looked around, took in the terrain, the light, the trees. She knew where she was. After she had discovered the patch of wake-robin, she would not be able to run away from the familiar. A comfort as a child but now a curse. Ash was everywhere and nowhere. She could never outrun her longing for him.

  After several moments she rose and continued on, walking now, because there was no reason to run. Her skin prickled as if layers had been rubbed off. Her stomach was sour. Iris walked, eyes to the ground, her thumbs looped into the straps of the pack. She wandered, but here, in these particular woods, she could never be lost, not even when she most wanted to be.

  Hours later, Iris sat leaning against a tree on a mountainside above the cabin. Her eyes were sore from crying and her legs ached. She had zipped herself inside her sleeping bag up to her waist. It wasn’t cold, but she’d gotten used to being comfortable in the last couple of months. Maybe she had gone soft, but she hadn’t forgotten how much it meant to feel the rough bark against her back, to taste the spring water she’d filled her bottle with, to have night falling down all around her like a heavy snowstorm, flakes of black instead of white. It didn’t feel good—she was too sad for that—but it felt right, especially now.

  Ash was dead. He’d been dead a long time, but not to her. She’d kept him going inside her, her memories of him so plentiful and strong and sharp they didn’t seem like memories at all. That was the best she could figure. She had needed him that much. He’d been her family when Mama wouldn’t talk, and company when she was all alone. He’d been there, when she could find him, in the frightening and confusing time after Suzanne pulled her out of the woods. If I had died then , Iris thought, I’d never have had to lose Ash. It wasn’t the sort of thing someone could choose, though. She was the one here, the one left behind. She could sit against this tree, long into the night, with an ache pulling along the whole length of her. She’d done it before, three years ago, at the edge of the hole.

  The forest became quiet, a thick quiet like a sleeping bear with no worries and no conscience. Iris did not feel tired. Her thoughts drifted from the windmill beside the old house to the blanket of white wake-robin, and to the familiar streams she’d crossed several times that day, always expecting to hear Ash laughing or see him darting away, teasing. Her memories encircled her. In the end she slept.

  Dawn came for her quietly. Clouds covered the sun, and the birds were tentative despite the urgency of the season. Iris sat up, untangled herself from the sleeping bag, and stood. She couldn’t spend another day, every day, wandering through the woods. It wouldn’t make her happy as it once had done. Nothing would. She had to move on and find out what was next. Suzanne would be waiting for her, she was certain about that, either in the car or at the cabin.

  Iris drank the last of her water, packed up her belongings, and set off. It felt good to have somewhere to go, to have someone waiting. It didn’t fix the hole in her heart, but it was all she had.

  The cabin looked different from what she remembered, smaller and less solid somehow, like she might be able to put her hand straight through the log walls. Iris spotted Suzanne on the porch step, facing the other way, and hadn’t realized how much she had wanted Suzanne to be here. She couldn’t cope with venturing inside on her own. Suzanne would help Iris stay attached to what was, instead of what had been.

  Iris was halfway across the field before Suzanne saw her, got to her feet, and hurried to meet her. Iris started crying as soon as Suzanne put her hands on Iris’s cheeks. Her mother had often done the same. Mama was everywhere here, like Ash was scattered through the woods.

  “Are you all right?” Suzanne asked.

  Iris nodded and more tears spilled. She glanced toward the seep where the irises grew, to see if they were blooming. Suzanne followed her gaze and must have understood, because she pulled Iris close.

  “There’s something inside you need to see.”

  Iris loosened herself from Suzanne’s arms so she could see her face. “Is it bad?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Iris followed Suzanne to the porch and left her pack there. The door was open. Suzanne stepped aside so Iris could go in first, but Iris shook her head. She wanted to be shown. Suzanne went in and Iris stepped in after her and looked around. So much dust and dirt. Mama would have been furious.

  Suzanne went to the table and brought her a piece of paper. “A note from your father. From the summer before last.”

  Iris accepted the paper, her eyes on Suzanne’s face. “What do you mean?”

  “From your father. He was here.”

  The letter shook in Iris’s hand. She tried to read it, but the words wouldn’t stay still. She drew a deep breath, started at the top, and read it through. Her mouth went dry. Daddy had been here. He might not be dead. Iris touched her fingers to the writing as if it were linked to her father’s hand. She spoke, her eyes fixed on the letter. “Why didn’t he come back sooner? Why didn’t he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Iris looked up. Something in Suzanne’s voice made Iris think maybe Suzanne knew more than she admitted. “My father said it was his fault. What does that mean?”

  “I guess he didn’t want to write out the explanation. He didn’t expect anyone to even read it.” Suzanne pointed to the bench. “Do you want to sit down, Iris? Have you eaten anything?”

  Iris took a seat and read the letter again, hoping to find more words this time. “I didn’t even think about who made that marker.”

  “You were too upset.” Suzanne sat on the opposite bench and leaned across the table. “Iris, who was Ash? Was he your brother?”

  Sadness rolled over Iris. “Yes.” She closed her eyes to stop the tears from coming. A flood of images streamed before her like a TV show on fast forward. Ash burning with fever. Iris in the upper bunk because he was too weak to climb up top. Mama making compresses, mixing up medicines she gave to Ash drop by drop. Daddy going in and out of the cabin a hundred times, working outside on something, then coming in again, pacing. Iris stayed out of the way, but always where she could see Ash, on the top bunk, or on the porch looking through the window. It was the middle of summer, as sweet a time of year as they ever had, but as long as the days were and as gentle as the weather was, the days and nights were black and damp. Finally, after a night when no one slept and Ash lay white faced and quiet, too quiet, Daddy packed a few things and scooped Ash into his arms. Iris followed them out the door, would’ve followed them all the way to where they were going if Mama hadn’t stopped her.

  Suzanne’s voice was a whisper. “Tell me, Iris.”

  “Ash, he got sick.” She wiped her nose with her sleeve. “Mama’s medicines didn’t work. Daddy took him away.”

  “And you thought Ash was still alive?”

  Iris covered her face with her hands. She couldn’t explain it, how Ash had been with her, how she had carried him inside her like she carried these woods: the smooth river stones under her feet, the trill of a wood thrush, the smell of rain in April. It had felt as real as anything she could taste or touch.

  Suzanne said, “I’m so sorry, Iris. I can’t imagine how you feel.” She paused for a long while. “But it’s good news about your father, right? I can help you find him.”

  The letter was in front of her. Iris fingered the corner of it. It was good news, wasn’t it? Daddy was alive, more than likely. But Iris wasn’t sure how
to feel. It was like she had been given her father in exchange for Ash. If it was a bargain, it wasn’t necessarily one she wanted, not without knowing where Daddy had been and why he thought he’d failed all of them. Iris knew she had to find the answers, had to find her father, but there was no telling what she would do once she did.

  Suzanne told her they could stay at the cabin for the night, or for as long as Iris wished, but she didn’t want to stay. Sadness and regret clung to the walls and beams and windows like spiderwebs, and Iris didn’t know how to clear them out or see past them. For the first time, she missed her room at the Blakemores’, where her life might have begun the day she walked inside. She didn’t exactly want to go back there; she simply wanted to be somewhere, anywhere she didn’t have to be reminded of what she no longer had. Of course, that place didn’t exist. Iris didn’t wonder that her mind had stoked the memory of her brother into existence and snuffed out the reason for her father’s leaving. She only wished she could find a way to keep lying to herself.

  “Let’s go back.” Iris got up from the table, folded the letter, and slipped it into her pocket.

  “Okay.” Suzanne sounded unsure, and Iris realized Suzanne didn’t know where they were going any more than she did. “I think we need to tell the police about the letter.”

  Iris nodded.

  “Is there anything you want to take with you?” Suzanne said.

  Iris scanned the room. Nearly two years ago, after the intruders had left, she had done the same thing, deciding what she could and could not live without. The answer was the same now. She shrugged. “No.”