Where Hope Begins

by Catherine West

  “You’re right, Savannah. I don’t understand. God knows, I tried.” Kevin’s eyes grow stormy. “But I don’t think you understand either. Did you ever think about what it was like for me? Coming home that day, finding you in the bathroom, blood everywhere? Have you ever thought about what I went through, having to explain to our kids why you were in the hospital, why you weren’t coming home? Keeping the truth from them? You want to know what it still feels like, every single time I look at you, knowing I let you down, knowing I wasn’t enough for you? Don’t stand there and talk to me about choices! Yes, I am fully aware you have suffered. But so have I. You have no idea what I’ve dealt with all these years. Because you never asked.”

  I fold my arms against his harsh words, grip my elbows tight, and bite back tears.

  He’s right.

  I never asked.

  I stopped asking when he stopped answering.

  “We both made mistakes.” I’ll give him that much. “But why bring it all up now? I don’t see the point.”

  Kevin shrugs. “The point is that we never did talk about it. Not really. We gave up on counseling. You said it hurt too much to relive it all. At the time, I had to agree. So I never talked about Shelby because I figured that was how you wanted it. I thought it was easier on you.” Kevin swipes the back of his hand across his face. “Maybe if we’d tried to talk things through instead of ignoring each other all these years, our relationship might have grown stronger, not fallen apart.”

  “And maybe if you’d kept your . . .” I swallow the sarcasm and slide my hands up to grip the back of my neck. “I really don’t want to do this now. It’s Christmas.” And I’m in tears. I let out a long breath and stare at him. “I still don’t understand what you’re doing here.” My voice is barely above a whisper, but I have to know. “Where is she?”

  CHAPTER 16

  “Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them.”

  —OSCAR WILDE

  The tension in the house was suffocating. Zoe needed air.

  She shut the front door behind her, zipped up her coat, and trudged around the back of the house to the lake. The moon lit her way, and as she rounded the corner toward the dock, she spied Adam in one of the Adirondack chairs, huddled under a thick plaid blanket.

  “Hey.” She slid into the chair beside him, pulled the chenille throw she’d brought out with her around her shoulders, and stared at the frozen body of water.

  “I hate it when they yell.” Adam slugged from a large bottle. Tequila.

  “Where’d you get that?” Zoe worked to keep judgment out of her voice. In the silver light, her brother’s eyes shone with sorrows she was all too familiar with.

  “Gramps’s liquor cabinet. Way in back. He won’t notice.”

  “You’d better hope not.”

  He took another swig and held the bottle toward her.

  Oh, why not? “Sheesh.” She took the bottle, took a small sip, and felt the liquid fire burn all the way down her throat. It sent her into a fit of coughing.

  Adam took back the bottle and laughed. “Wuss.”

  “Adam, don’t drink any more of that. You’ll be sick, honestly.”

  “Whatever. I can sleep all day. Mom’s too busy yelling at Dad to worry about me.” But he set the bottle down in the snow. There wasn’t much left, and Zoe wondered how full it’d been to begin with.

  “You didn’t call Dad, did you, Adam? Ask him to come?” She was pretty sure her brother had been as surprised as she was to see Dad drive up, but still, it was bizarre.

  “No way. I still can’t really stand to be in the same room with him, Zo. I don’t know what to say. It’s awkward as heck.”

  “I know.” She sighed and leaned over her knees. “I told you he came out to Princeton to see me.”

  “Yeah. And when he picked me up after my ski trip, he said he was working stuff out. Told me he wasn’t with Alison anymore. Do you think that’s true?”

  “If he says it is . . .”

  “Dad’s a liar, Zoe. He cheated on Mom with that bimbo for how long? Seriously, he’s an a—”

  “Adam. Don’t.” Zoe’s eyes smarted. For some strange reason, she felt the need to defend her father. It was still so hard to talk about. She’d tried not to think about it but couldn’t help replaying that conversation in the coffee shop. Couldn’t help holding on to a little hope. And there wasn’t much of that going around lately. “What if it is true? What if he wants to work things out with Mom? What if that’s why he’s here?”

  “Good luck to him, then,” Adam growled. “Did you hear them in there? That didn’t sound like anything’s getting worked out to me.”

  “Maybe not.” She leaned her head back and looked up at the stars. Thousands of tiny bright lights dotted the dark sky. Every summer, before they stopped coming a few years back, she and Dad would come down here or sit up in the widow’s walk with the telescope, name the stars, and talk. Discuss all sorts of things from the big bang theory and the existence of God to boys. She missed that. The last time she’d really talked to Dad without watching every word had been well over a year ago. “But if they do want to try to get past this, we have to support them.”

  “I don’t think it’ll happen.” Adam kicked at the snow. “How do you get past the fact that your husband cheated on you? Every time I look at him I want to barf. What kind of man does that to his wife?”

  Zoe clenched her gloved hands and inhaled. “I don’t know what made him do it, but he did and it’s done. And he’s still our dad.”

  Adam picked up the bottle again. “I’m pretty sure I flunked most of my finals. I’ll be put on probation if I did.”

  “Oh, Adam.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I’m not doing so hot either. I’m going to have to work like crazy this semester if I want to keep my 4.0.”

  “You’ll do fine.” He shot her a sidelong glance and a grin. “You were always the smart one.”

  “Not always.” She shook her head and huddled under the blanket. “Shelby would have been the star of the family.”

  “You think she isn’t?” Sudden unbridled anger laced his tone and his eyes flashed under the moon’s glow. “She’s been dead ten years but I feel like she’s still here, still with us. Everything we do, Zo, every birthday, every first, everything gets measured against their precious Shelby.”

  “Adam, come on . . .”

  “No. You’ve lived your whole life trying to be as good as you think she would have been, and don’t tell me that’s not the truth because I’m not stupid.”

  Slow tears slipped down Zoe’s cheeks. Her brother’s words rang in her ears, twisted her heart, and piled on another layer of guilt. Because, no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t disagree with him. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

  “Probably.” Adam let out a shuddering sigh and a cough that came pretty close to sounding like a muffled sob. “The thing is, I hardly remember her. And I feel guilty because I think I should. I think I should miss her like they do. Mourn for her like they do. But I don’t. And . . . sometimes I wish to God they could just get over it.”

  She didn’t know how long they sat in silence.

  “When do you think it all went so wrong?” Zoe frowned at him, thinking back. “Do you think it was because she died? Or was it after that? Was it when Mom—”

  She caught herself. As far as she knew, Adam had never learned the truth about that summer.

  She’d been fourteen, Adam ten. They were both away at summer camp, which was probably why it happened when it did. Zoe had never really been sure what went on. Why Mom wasn’t there when they came home from camp. Dad told them she was sick, needed some time away, that she’d had some kind of breakdown and needed to be cared for in a safe place. A place that wouldn’t remind her of Shelby every time she turned around. But Zoe always suspected there was more to it. A few years later she sat with Dad and begged him to tell her the truth.

>   When he did, she wished she’d never asked.

  “When Mom what?” Adam yawned and leaned against the back of the chair.

  Zoe bit her lip, retied her ponytail, and shook her head. “Nothing.”

  Across the lake, a few flickering lights could just be seen through the trees. Zoe tilted her head toward the sky again. A bright light burst from the darkness, arced a thin line, then disappeared into blackness.

  “Shooting star,” Adam whispered and pulled the hood of his coat over his head. Zoe smiled and nodded and watched her brother watch the stars.

  “Remember how we used to do this with Dad?”

  “Yeah.” Adam sniffed and rubbed his nose. A few minutes later he spoke again. “Do you still believe, Zo?”

  “Believe? In what? Santa Claus? The tooth fairy?”

  Adam snorted and nudged her elbow. “C’mon. You know what I mean. Do you believe we’re all here for a reason? That there’s some higher purpose, some big dude in the sky watching over us, looking out for us?”

  Did she? Zoe pressed her back against the wooden slats, tempted to take another swig of tequila. “I used to. I mean, I still believe in God intrinsically . . .”

  “English, please.”

  She laughed and dug the tip of her boot in the snow. “I believe because I’ve been taught to. And on some level, it’s basic instinct. Everyone needs to believe in something. Even atheists. They believe in their unbelief, I suppose. So, I believe God exists and I believe he created us, but . . .”

  “But you don’t believe he has some grand plan, that he’s plotting our every move and just waiting for us to screw up?”

  “Plotting?” A shiver of warning slipped down her spine and she shifted to look at him. “No, I don’t believe that. God gives us free will. He doesn’t make us do anything; we get to choose. The choices we make can either please him or not. If we’re lucky enough, we’ll make good ones. You know what they say, life is what you make it.”

  “My life pretty much sucks then.” He pushed his fingers through his hair and let out a curse. “Nothing makes sense anymore. If God is there, if he is good and he loves us so much, then why is this so hard? Why are Mom and Dad getting a divorce? Why did Shelby get hit by a car and die? Why do we have to live with that overshadowing our every move?” He took a breath and rubbed his hands over his face. “That doesn’t sound like a wonderful plan to me, Zo. That plan sucks. Every time I see Mom I’m reminded of that. She’s just so . . . so broken up. You know?”

  “You can’t take care of her, Adam. You can’t fix this.”

  “Then who can? God?”

  Zoe swiped a hand across her face. “I guess. I don’t know. I hope so. And we don’t know everything. Things could change. Things might get better.”

  “But you’re not convinced.”

  “No,” she whispered, hating the truth of it. “No, I’m not convinced.”

  “I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Zo. What if I get kicked out?”

  “Are you really flunking that bad?” Fear pricked her as she stared at her brother through the darkness.

  “Probably. And there’s other stuff too. I’m just not good, Zo.”

  “What do you mean you’re not good? What are you doing?” Zoe pulled in a long breath of cold air as her pulse kicked up a notch. “Please don’t tell me you’re doing drugs.”

  “Nah.” He laughed, picked up a handful of snow, rounded it into a ball, and hurled it across the lawn. “I mean, I smoked a joint once . . . it made me puke. But . . . me and some of the guys sneak out on weekends, get pretty trashed, and—”

  “Drinking? You’ll get expelled, Adam. You know your school has zero tolerance.”

  “I’m not telling you for the lecture.”

  “Then why are you telling me?”

  “I don’t know.” He crossed his arms, and Zoe caught his scowl as the moon inched out again. Clouds moved toward the west and she shivered.

  “Okay, listen. I know you’re upset about Mom and Dad. I get that. But you’re only sixteen. It’s a big risk, Adam. If you get caught drinking, even if you’re at a friend’s . . . I’m not stupid, I know everyone breaks the rules. All I’m saying is use your brain. Mom doesn’t need any more stress. Please be careful. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

  “Whatever.” His sullen look returned. Zoe’s heart ached for him. Adam was the oversensitive one in the family. Probably got it from Mom. And she didn’t know what else to say or how to make it better.

  “We should go in. It’s getting too cold out here.”

  “You won’t tell them? About my grades?” He shuffled out of his seat, tripped over the blanket, and fell face-first in the snow. “Aw, crap.”

  Zoe got up and helped him to his feet, slipped an arm around her brother’s shoulders. She’d have to get him inside and into bed, and hope Mom and Dad were still in the kitchen and wouldn’t notice.

  “I won’t tell them.” She smiled, but his expression was more serious than she’d ever seen it. “Just try not to take all this on yourself, okay, bro? We can’t change it.”

  Adam looked at her for a long moment before his handsome face crumpled. “I don’t want it to be like this, Zo,” he said hoarsely. “I want it to end. I want things to be like they were before. I’m so tired of hurting.”

  “I know. Me too.” She pulled him into her arms, held him, and let her own tears come. “Me too.”

  CHAPTER 17

  “When angry, count to four; when very angry, swear.”

  —MARK TWAIN

  Time seems to stop with the question I asked.

  The question Kevin still has not answered.

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me.” My voice is ice cold. “Where. Is. She?”

  Kevin takes a backward step and shoves his hands in his pockets. Gives a shrug that tells me nothing. I grip the back of a chair at the kitchen table and train my gaze on him.

  “Kevin. Answer me. What are you doing up here on Christmas Day by yourself? Why aren’t you with Alison?” Do I really want to know? Do I want to hear him tell me she’s visiting her family and he’s going to meet up with her tomorrow?

  “I ended it.”

  Three words. They fly around the kitchen like swallows circling, looking for a safe place to land. When? Why? Why now? My unspoken questions hover over his words like vultures, waiting for the opportune moment to clutch them up in sharp talons and carry them off before I can accept them.

  I don’t understand. Why start something so destructive in the first place if you’re only going to end it? And what does he want from me?

  Multiple answers and possible scenarios scramble in my brain until I cannot think or speak. So I sit.

  Kevin sits too, and we stare at each other through painful silence, set like a rusty trap open on the table between us, ready to catch us in a viselike grip of cutting words and condemnation.

  “Say something, Savannah.”

  “Oh . . .” I let the word out in a long, shaky breath, lean forward, and pull my fingers through my hair. At last I look into his searching eyes. And honestly, I don’t know what I feel. “What do you want me to say? Congratulations?”

  “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

  He seriously said that.

  “Wow.” I shoot out of my chair, grab a glass and one of the bottles of wine we didn’t finish at dinner, pour, and drink quickly. My chest heaves as I blink back sharp, hot tears that tell me I am still not strong enough. Not strong enough to deal with the complexities that have crowded into my life, tied up clarity, and banished reason for the interim. “Walter says you haven’t signed the papers.” Unable to sit so close to him right now, I stand against the counter about five feet away. And I’m still too close.

  “No. I haven’t. I wanted to talk to you.” Kevin spreads his palms on the table, and I watch his chest rise and fall. His chest is solid, broad, warm, and safe. The place I would rest my head, listen to the steady beating of his heart, close my eyes, and cry
silent tears through long, lonely nights. And all he could do was hold me.

  “So talk. I’m listening.” This ought to be good.

  Kevin takes a deep breath. “The past few weeks I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. A lot of soul-searching. And praying, believe it or not. I don’t have any clear answers yet. I’m not sure what to do, Savannah. I don’t know what you want. I don’t know if we can get past this or if you even want to, but I’m willing to do what it takes to find out. So, I guess the question is, are you?”

  Am I?

  I can only stare mutely at him. Words won’t come. The last several days weigh heavy on me. Press in like the stifling heat of a sauna somebody has set too high. I finish the wine I poured and grip the crystal stem a little too tightly.

  “Please don’t throw that at me.” His grin comes and goes in a flash of hope, a brief glimmer of light through this oppressive darkness that swells around us. I make a feeble attempt to reach for that hope, grab hold, and hang on tight. But it’s gone before I can.

  “I kissed Brock.” The confession wrenches free from the confines of my conscience and catches both of us off guard. I put down the glass and breathe deeply.

  “You what?” He pushes his chair back a bit, eyes wide, unbelieving.

  I shrug. There’s nothing else to say. It’s out there and he has to deal with it. I’ve never lied to my husband, and I’m not about to start now.

  “Brock Chandler? You’ve having an affair with Brock Chandler?”

  “I’m not having an affair with anyone.” Indignation flares. “I didn’t sleep with him, Kevin. We kissed. Once. That’s all. It happened, it’s over, I didn’t plan it, but there it is.”

  Kevin’s eyes narrow and his jaw begins to shift the way it does when he’s upset. “Is this your way of getting back at me?”

  I lean over my knees and cover my face, exhale, and emit a laugh that chokes me. I shake my head and stare at him again. “No. Actually, I wasn’t thinking about you at all when it happened. I’m sure you can relate to that.”