We awake naked, tangled in a sea of blankets and each other. As if our bodies synced in the night, I open my eyes a mere moment before Piren. I roll onto my elbow and gaze down at him.
“Morning, boyfriend.” It’s a struggle to conceal my growing grin.
“Morning,” he grunts.
Today’s the day we make the decision.
“Sleep well?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Did you…wake up with anything on your mind?”
“Not really.”
Damn it.
“Oh.”
Will Piren say something to solidify our plans? Something about our treehouse cabin or dancing at The Lighthouse? Something to show he’s made a decision? Has he made a decision?
My heart somersaults in my chest.
Say something!
He doesn’t speak, so I do. “So…should we shower?”
“Okay.”
I untangle myself from the sheets and lean over the bed, waiting for him to follow.
It’d be fun to wash my hot boyfriend in the shower…
He stares straight ahead, not meeting my eyes.
“So—”
I’m interrupted by the buzz of a cell phone. I expect it to be mine, as usual, but it isn’t.
Piren’s telephone vibrates, buried in a pile clothes in the corner. He leaps from the bed to answer it, and the bundle of sheets tumbles to the floor.
Interesting, I didn’t even know we got cell service out here.
He presses the phone to his ear. “Hey, Mom.”
I slip on my nightgown for cover and indicate I’m heading to the bathroom to shower. He nods, turning his back to me.
I scratch my arm. Odd.
The hall closet is packed with fluffy white towels. I grab one and head to the bathroom.
He’ll join me when he’s done. He only gets a few more chances to talk to his mom, what am I so upset about?
Just chill out, Tracy! Stop worrying! Last night was amazing.
Scrubbing shampoo through my hair, I let the warm water cascade down my body.
Do I love him? Does un-Assigned love even exist?
Can we survive here? Forever?
Will Veronica be all right with Oliver?
Loretta’s voice chimes in my brain: When you love someone, nothing else matters.
A soapy smile bursts across my dripping face as the bar soap thuds to the shower floor.
Everything will be all right.
As if a million puzzle pieces slide together, my decision erupts from the fog inside me. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. I want to shout my decision from the rooftops: I choose Piren! I choose Lornstown! I choose Banishment, and I don’t care!
Laughter overcomes me. Crazy, convulsing, bubbling laughter, as if someone shot a confetti cannon through my heart.
My decision is simple, and it is made: I vote we move to Lornstown, permanently. If Piren won’t admit it first, I will.
I pat myself dry and wrap my hair in the towel. I saunter through the hall in my nightgown and back into the bedroom, dancing to an imaginary beat.
I take a deep breath.
“Piren, I—”
“We’ve got to go back. Mason’s in the hospital.”
Piren Allston
Mason was in a car crash. He’s in critical condition in the ER back home. Mom talked and talked, but I just froze. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Couldn’t hear a single damn thing she said.
“I abandoned him,” I whisper to the air.
“You didn’t…” Trace says.
“My own brother. My blood.” The words choke in my throat. “I wasn’t there.”
She pats my shoulder, but I pull away.
What have I done?
A stranger at Mason’s First Kiss Ceremony said Ashley Wyman’s lover was an insect. A coward. A snake.
Is that me now? Am I the cowardly, traitorous insect?
I collapse on the edge of the bed, head in my hands.
It’s too much. Too fast.
I’ll never be there for Mason again. I’ll never meet my future niece or nephew. I’ll never help my parents grow old, or even see them again. They could grow sick, or die, and I wouldn’t even fucking know. They’ll spit on my tombstone, erected as a permanent tribute to my deceitfulness, my dishonor. Mom will cry herself to sleep at night knowing her own son is an evil, deserting piece of shit.
Tears streak down my cheeks; I let them fall, dripping down my face and into the sheets. Trace rests her hand on my back, but my body tenses at her touch.
Stop looking at me that way.
Tremors tear through my body, shaking my core with intermittent sobs.
This is my fault.
What if Lara was the one in an accident? Aren’t I supposed to love and protect her? Does she deserve to be alone forever because I selfishly desire the wrong person? She didn’t ask to be stuck with me, and yet here I am, jilting the poor girl.
Cramps dig through my stomach.
I made a promise to Lara. Does that mean nothing to me?
Tracy Bailey
I shimmy into my jeans and a shirt, but Piren’s already out the door. I throw my stuff in my bag and race after him. He speeds down the stairs and into the deserted street. The morning sun peeks over the horizon, barely a sliver in the sky.
I reach for his hand, but he rips it away and hurries onward, practically jogging up the hill toward the arch. I struggle to keep up, mouth drying with each panting breath.
“Piren! Hey! What the hell? Wait up!”
He doesn’t answer.
“Stop! Hey!”
We blaze under the arch, through the wall, back onto the rocky trail. He dashes several paces in front of me, agilely slaloming around protruding rocks and roots. My lungs burn as I push them past my limit, but I press on, closing the gap between us.
“Wait! Slow down! Piren! We never said good-bye to Loretta! Mikey, Constance, no one!”
His pace quickens. I trip and stumble over the terrain, wincing as sticks and roots scratch my ankles.
“Wait up! Hey!”
He doesn’t falter, but strides ahead as if I’m invisible.
What the hell? What’d I do?
“Shouldn’t we tell them to hold a room for us…tonight? They don’t…know our plan.” I pant. “Piren?”
He presses further ahead, further away from me.
What’s wrong? Did we go too far? Was it me? Did I move too quick?
We jump onto the first morning bus seconds before it pulls away. I collapse onto the seat beside him, shallow breaths ripping through my sore throat.
He faces the window, knee bouncing against the seat.
We don’t speak.
An hour later, we’re on the train. Piren hasn’t said two words to me since we left Lornstown.
“Are you okay?” I rest my hand on his leg. “Will you say something? Talk to me?”
Blurry fields zip past as the train chugs onward, carting us back to town. I reach for his hand, but he recoils.
“Piren, are you—”
“What’s Veronica supposed to do without you?”
My forehead wrinkles. “She’s fine; she has Oliver. She’s a big girl. I mean, I can’t protect her forever. What are you insinuating?”
“Listen.” He closes his eyes, inhaling a deep breath. “Oh God, this is so hard.”
“Wh…what? What is?” I touch his arm.
“I…I…can’t do it. I just can’t. I know you want me to move here, and part of me wants that too, but I have my family. My whole life is back home.”
“Where did this come from?”
“Mason was in a car accident.” His voice cracks. “And I wasn’t fucking there.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“But it is my fault. And I can’t do that to them.” His words blurt out harsh and assertive; the blunt voice of the man beside me is not the calming voice of my best friend.
“But, Piren—”
> “No. He could’ve died.”
“Piren, I—”
“Trace. Listen.” He grabs my hand, but this time I retract. “Our childhood was the best time I ever had, up until this weekend. But it was childhood.”
“Don’t do this.” Don’t hurt me.
“This decision, this stupid, rash decision to come here was childish. And I know it was my idea, my fucking fault.”
“Stop.”
“I promised Lara I wouldn’t leave her, and I’m accountable for that promise, Trace.”
“Stop.”
“What I had with you, I mean, I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything. You’re amazing. Last night was incredible, and I’ll never forget that. But I have responsibilities.”
“Stop.”
“And so do you, to your family, to Veronica, to Sam—”
“Stop.”
“I don’t want a memorial people spit on. I can’t do—”
“Stop!”
He meets my gaze. “A part of me will always be linked to you.” He blinks back water welling in his eyes. “But we need to move on.”
No. I can’t absorb.
“We didn’t think this through, Trace. It was an impulse. Didn’t think about what we were really doing, who we’d hurt. I need to go home. I need to be with my family, with Lara.”
My lungs contract, crushing my chest under the weight of his words that pierce my heart like a knife.
How could he?
The churning sorrow in my stomach morphs into hot rage, searing through my veins.
He wants to hurt me? Fine. I can hurt him too.
“Tracy, I—”
“So, this whole weekend was meaningless to you.”
“No, Trace! That’s not…I just…”
“You fuck me and leave me, huh? Wham-bam-thank-you-Tracy? That what I am to you? A good fuck?” I snort, curling my lips into a sneer. “Oh, wait, a practice fuck. You used me. That it, best friend?”
“No, I swear, you don’t under—”
“No, I get it. It’s crystal clear.” Tears cloud my vision, and I don’t care.
“Tracy, this choice we made to come here yesterday, it was a bad choice.”
He called this a choice.
“No.” My body stiffens. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
“I—”
“Shut up.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. “It may have been what you call a bad choice. Maybe it was. Maybe it was a stupid fucking choice. But it was a choice. I haven’t made a choice about a damn thing in my entire fucking life, and I’ll be damned if I’m about to regret this one.”
“Trace, I—”
“You are just like all the others. Just another scumbag asshole.”
“Trace—”
“Fuck you, Piren. I hate you. I wish I never even met you.”
“Trace, please.”
“I wish my mom never dragged me to your stupid house. I wish none of these past seventeen years ever happened.”
“Trace—”
“I hate you!” I jump into the aisle. Several passengers jerk their heads.
Piren flinches, his eyes growing wide with pain. I watch him squirm, fighting back the growing agony inside.
I hope you hurt.
“I hate you,” I repeat, softer than a whisper. Stinging water streams down my face, but I don’t care; I open the floodgates and let it rain.
His mouth hangs open. “Trace…”
The train squeaks to a stop halfway in town, several miles from home. I bolt off, into the humid summer air.
He hasn’t followed. I’m alone.
For the rest of my life, I’m alone.
It’s over.
Part Six: Twenty-Four Years Old
Piren Allston
Thirteen days ago, I said good-bye to Trace. Her parting words struck me like a machete to the jugular, but I did the right thing. I made a promise to Lara long ago, and I don’t break promises. Not to my family. Not to my Partner.
I come home from work, and Lara’s on the couch, knitting.
“I love you, Lara Goodren.”
“I love you, Piren Allston.”
She flips on the TV, and I flop down beside her.
“Hey. Mason’s being discharged tomorrow. I’m going to his place for dinner. You want to come?”
“Mmm.” She keeps her glazed eyes fixed straight ahead, her fingers nimbly working through a scarf.
“Did you hear me?”
“Mmm.”
“So, I take it as a no?”
She doesn’t respond.
This is how it’s supposed to be. This is who I’m supposed to love.
Five hours later, we retreat to bed. This is our pattern. This is my life now.
I can go through the motions. I can pretend.
I arrive at Mason’s dripping in sweat from the sweltering summer air. My brother limps over on his crutches to answer the door.
“Welcome to our humble abode,” he mumbles, crutches clicking as he walks.
“Nice stilts. How you feeling, cripple?”
He grumbles, hobbling into the kitchen. “Been better.”
Last time I visited this place, my brother was a newlywed. The cold silence inside sends a shiver down my spine. Lined in gray-papered walls, the house permeates an eerie stillness akin to a cemetery.
I take a seat in the living room. My leg bounces against the gray armchair to the beat of the ticking pendulum clock.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“How’s your leg?” I call into the kitchen.
Pans clatter. “Gone to shit.”
“Sorry.”
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“You want help with dinner? You probably shouldn’t be lifting—”
“Nah, I’m good. Just hang out in there for a bit.”
My feet grow antsy, planted on the gray carpet. After an eternity, a tantalizing savory aroma wafts into the room. Mason sets heaping plates of prime rib and beans on the table.
“Steph! Food!”
Stephanie emerges from their bedroom cave and slogs to the table. She passes me without a glance, sinking into her chair with a grimace. I take my seat, keeping my eyes on my plate.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Mason slumps over, his head wrapped in a thick bandage, shoveling forkfuls into his mouth. His wife rests her cheek on her hand, pushing beans around her plate with her utensils. She releases a lofty sigh.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“Pass the salt?” Mason asks. Stephanie hands it down to him. Forks scrape against my brother’s fine china.
“So, uh, kinda warm out today, huh?” I ask.
Mason grunts. Stephanie gives a curt nod.
I nudge my brother. “You see the beard on that dude who wheeled you out to the car? He looked like a wooly mammoth.”
“Yeah.” Mason’s lids hang heavy over corpse-like eyes. Blank. Completely defeated, but not by the accident.
Awkward.
I stuff a spoonful of beans into my mouth, crossing my legs to thwart the shakes.
This guy isn’t my brother. Where’s the kid who made me laugh? Who tormented me with bad advice?
He reaches for his cup with the passion of a vacant shell. It’s as if someone sucked the life from his eyes.
He might as well be a stranger.
Gray walls envelope us, suffocating me under a veil of gray silence. I inhale gray. I exhale gray.
This whole damn house is gray. It even feels gray. How can they live like this?
It’s hot outside, but this house is stone cold. I cross my arms over my chest to fight the shivering gray chills.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Someone talk. Please. Anyone.
Stephanie pushes back from the table, chair legs screeching against the tiles.
She pats her mouth with her gray napkin. “Excuse me.”
She struts from the kitchen, abandoning the remains of her half-finished meal. Moments later, somewhere in
the house, a door thuds shut.
Mason sprinkles salt onto his meat and chomps a large bite.
I squint, craning my neck toward The Ice Queen’s path. “Is she…okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s just so…quiet.”
His mouth bulges with food. “Yeah, so?”
“Is she always this quiet?”
“Yep. Always.” His monotone doesn’t falter.
People live here, but they don’t live.
I fiddle my napkin in my lap. My stomach churns.
Mason and Stephanie: perfect Partners, together forever.
Just like Lara and me, together forever.
Lara and I sit in silence in a cold gray house.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Following a monotonous routine for years.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
We exist until we die.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Is this me? Is this my future? Am I destined to be a ghost in my own home? Will I go crazy from the silence? Will a ticking metronome clock be all that separates me from insanity? Will my desires simplify to merely craving another person’s voice?
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“Hey,” Mason says. I jerk my head up. “Isn’t our old neighbor Tracy Bailey’s wedding the day after tomorrow?”
My chest tightens.
“Oh, yeah. That.” I force a smile. “I’ll be there.”
And it will be the death of me.
Tracy Bailey
“Four hundred twenty-four guests,” my mother says, thumbing through RSVPs in the front seat. “That’s at least a few dozen more than the Byers’ girl’s wedding.”
“Did you include the Martins?” Dad asks. “Got their reply yesterday.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t. Four more. Excellent,” she says. “That’s three hundred sixteen for the filet, and one hundred twelve for the trout. I’ll submit that to the caterer tonight.”
I gaze out the car window, eyes half-closed, as the world passes outside. My hands lie limp in my lap.
“Tracy—” Mom cranes her neck toward the back seat “—for a young woman on the eve of her wedding, you could try to be a little more cheerful.” Her nose crinkles. “And for God’s sake, put on some mascara before we go inside. You look horrible.”
I am a ghost. I am not real.
“You know,” Dad says, “your mother and I spent a lotta fuckin’ money on this event. It wouldn’t kill you to smile.”
Missing Pieces Page 28
