What's a Soulmate?

by Lindsey Ouimet

  “Libby, hi.” She wipes her hands on the side of her pants and it’s like she can’t decide what else to do with them so she settles them onto her hips. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

  Ouch. Well, that hurts like a bitch.

  “So soon. I meant I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

  “Yeah. No, I get it,” I stumble over my words before making my way to the top step. I realize how much taller I am than her, and wonder if Drew gets his height from his father. The thought he gets anything from him, even though I know he must, makes me feel a little sick to my stomach. “I figured you might need some help today. That’s all.”

  She smiles warily, nods, and generally seems at a lost as to what to say. I admit, I don’t really know myself. So I make the decision to throw myself head first into the moving process. Hell, I’ll just throw myself out there period. If she thought she wouldn’t be seeing me again, well… She would probably know better than me, right? No sense in beating around the bush and being some timid, nervous little girl around her now.

  I’ll help, and then I’ll leave her with what will hopefully be a decent impression. A memory of the girl who helped change her life.

  God, I can be so melodramatic. That’s a normal seventeen-year-old thing though, right? Being melodramatic? At least I can check that box off the list.

  “Where can I start?” I ask, nodding toward the open door where I can see boxes lining the entryway. “Please… Just put me to work, okay? I want to help. That’s all I want to do.”

  Her eyes soften in that way I’m pretty sure they teach a woman as soon as she become a mom and she smiles. A real one this time.

  “If you want to help, Blake can show you some of the heavier boxes that need to be moved from the back rooms. He can’t”—she stops and clears her throat—“he can’t really help with the lifting because of his sling, but if you can slide them into the entryway, that would be great. We’ll have to carry them out together.”

  “I can do that,” I say and step into the foyer. The younger McCormack boy is sitting on top of a box marked ‘kitchen’, and looks up at me shyly. He has the same straight, dark brows Drew does. I almost go to lean down or bend my knees or something so I don’t seem so tall… so big to him, but then remember he’s spent plenty of time around Drew, who’s nearly half a head taller than me. I cock my head a little to the side instead. “You must be Blake. I’m Libby.”

  “I know,” he says, swinging his feet back and forth, putting a nice dent in the side of the box. It makes me wince a little. “You came over before. Mama said you’re Drew’s friend.”

  “I am,” I say, not knowing whether or not it’s a lie.

  “Cool. Do you play soccer, too? When Drew comes home, he’s supposed to show me how to do the backward scissors.”

  He jumps off the box and hits the ground running. My heart nearly leaps into my throat as I lurch forward with my arms out to make sure he doesn’t fall or lose his balance, but he simply rounds the corner. He comes back seconds later, dribbling a blue and white soccer ball from one foot to the other.

  “Sorry, bud. Afraid I’m pretty hopeless at soccer. Maybe after we move some of these boxes and get the truck loaded, you can teach me some stuff?”

  He shrugs without looking up and tries to bounce the ball into the air with his knee. It’s a little hard without being able to use both arms out to balance though.

  “Drew’s a lot better than me. I bet he’ll show you.”

  Yeah, okay. That’s something I’m sure will totally happen.

  “Maybe he will,” I offer. “I bet you can still teach me a trick or two though.”

  Once I throw myself into the task at hand, it seems like no time at all passes before we’re finishing up.

  I’ve gone all day without asking for details, which I think is pretty damn impressive considering how many times I wanted to open my big mouth and demand to know what happened. What happened at her visit with Drew. What happened when she spoke to Chief Watson. Just what happened.

  I knew coming into this though that if I’m going to get answers, they have to come from her and she has to actively choose to share them with me. I don’t expect much, to be honest. I don’t really expect anything. Even if I have spent most of the day banging my shins into boxes and furniture and bruising my toes kicking the soccer ball back and forth with Blake. I only thought my shoes were sturdy.

  “You’re sure you don’t need any help with the other stuff?” I look at her over my shoulder as I place the last of the boxes in the truck.

  She glances toward the house to where Blake’s dribbling the ball up and down the driveway.

  “No, that’s fine. A couple of men I work with at the hospital are coming over later to help with the bigger pieces.” She seems distracted, looking at Blake and pointedly not looking at me. “Couches, appliances… You know.”

  I’m not sure if I should say anything or not, so I just stand here. The youngest McCormack finally gets frustrated when he can’t bounce the ball from one knee to the other without his immobilized arm getting in the way. We’re silent as he slinks up to the front porch, grabs his game console from the railing and sinks down to sit on the top step. It’s an awkward standstill we’re at until she finally turns to face me.

  “Thank you, though.”

  I’m not sure if she means for offering to help with the couches, or for something more.

  “No problem,” I say, clearing my throat. “I just wanted to help.”

  “You have,” she says as she goes to lean against the side of the truck. She crosses her arms over her ribcage and sighs. “I know what you must think of me.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but she raises a hand to stop me.

  “No, it’s fine. I’m sure I deserve it. And I knew deep down letting Drew talk me into keeping things quiet was the wrong choice. I knew it, and I let it happen anyway. He’s… He’s such a good kid and he… My God, is it ridiculous for me to say he was trying to protect me in a way I’ve never been protected before?”

  She shakes her head sadly. I know she doesn’t expect an actual response, so I take a step forward and sit on the edge of the truck bed, waiting for her to continue.

  “It took a lot for me to realize it wasn’t his call to make. He’s been so good to me, and to Blake, and I wanted to respect his wishes. But it wasn’t his responsibility, I know that now. I knew that.”

  “How was he?” I ask. Surely she knows he’s refused to see me, but I elaborate anyway. “When you saw him this week?”

  She lets out a humorless laugh that lets me know it probably wasn’t the easiest conversation they’ve ever had.

  “Drew is very … headstrong.”

  I snort, because yeah.

  “I had to convince him this was the right thing to do. Not only for him, but for all of us.” A soft smile crosses her face. “Telling him it was the best choice for all of us was the only way I could get him to agree. He was so mad when I told him I was going to the authorities. So mad. And God, that’s probably the most normal, age-appropriate reaction he’s had to anything in a long time. It makes me so upset. So… It makes me sad.”

  Me, too.

  “Funny thing,” she starts, tilting her chin toward the end of the driveway. “I suppose I didn’t have to tell the authorities anything about my … history with Benjamin. There was a package in my mailbox late last Saturday evening. There was a DVD inside—the security footage from Benjamin’s apartment complex.”

  What? How?

  “Did you… Did you watch it?”

  She simply shakes her head.

  “I couldn’t bring myself to. And I know Drew wouldn’t want me to.”

  She’s probably right about that. He’d be happiest if the footage was burned and gone forever.

  “But who…?”

  “Blake told me he saw a woman in a black car drop it off.”

  She pauses and watches my shoulders stiffen.

  “An SUV?” />
  “Yes, it was an SUV.”

  “Did she have wavy, really pale-blonde hair?”

  “Yes, Libby. It was Benjamin’s wife.” She looks uneasy for a second, and I wonder if this is the first time she’s acknowledged the other woman out loud.

  Then I forget about what she’s thinking completely, because what? And oh, thank God. I’d halfway convinced myself Jordan had taken out a hit on me or something.

  I wonder if it’s what she was doing at the library that day? If she was planning on giving the footage to me instead? It would have been easier for her… If I wasn’t so busy acting like a crazy person. I mean, a normal, distressed teenage girl… Which can sometimes be scarier, now that I think about it.

  I wonder what it means for her. If she knew about what was going on well before all of this happened, or if this was her eyes being opened to the ugliness living inside her husband. At any rate, I’m glad she decided to do something about it. That’s all I really can be. Glad. I’ve stuck my nose in enough places it doesn’t belong and worrying over this woman won’t help a thing now.

  “I handed it over to Chief Watson and told him I didn’t want to press charges against Benjamin. That I could if I wanted to, but I wouldn’t unless it was necessary.”

  She keeps her eyes straight forward, arms still crossed and watching her son. I study her profile and only look away when her chin starts to wobble the tiniest bit.

  “I told him if they needed to take disciplinary action, fire him, press their own charges, to go ahead. I just want the ones against Drew to go away. And I want us to move on with our lives.”

  It’s easy for me to imagine how Drew took all of this. I’m sure he fought tooth and nail to have his way. To continue to protect his family in the only way he knows how. I wonder if he’s more relieved or if he’s still afraid something will happen that he can’t prevent. Some new hurt brought on by acknowledging all of the pain they’ve been through.

  It’s not as easy to understand how his mother feels. She sounds so sure of herself, but looks so … lost.

  “How are you? I mean, will you… Are you okay?”

  “I’m coming to terms with the fact Benjamin will never be the man I want him to be.” She gulps down a knot in her throat and turns to face me, even as her eyes stay on the boy with his arm in a sling. “And I’m accepting the fact I no longer want anything to do with the man he is.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wednesday is cold and windy and the sun is so bright the light slipping between the cracks in my blinds makes it hard to sleep in. By the time my first period class should be starting, I’m already sitting up in bed, groggy but awake nonetheless.

  Ms. McCormack—Angela, she insisted I call her—got in touch with me late Monday afternoon to let me know Drew’s being released today. I tried to tell her how me showing up wasn’t the best idea. She went on assuring me I should come as if I hadn’t spoken at all. I tried telling my mother and father the same thing, but my dad only asked if I needed a ride or wanted to drive myself.

  It’s just like parents to think they know what’s best for their children. And maybe, for the most part, they do. Drew’s mother maybe not so much when it comes to the big picture and how she’s handled things so far, but it didn’t stop her from thinking she knew what was best when we spoke. It didn’t stop her from also telling Blake maybe he and Drew could show me some of their soccer moves.

  I think my showing up to help them move might have caused her to underestimate exactly how much I still resent pretty much every choice she’s made up until recently.

  Drew doesn’t want me there. I’m pretty solid in that opinion. Would he have denied visitation if he wanted to see me? No. And I’m pretty sure the last words he said to me were not indicative of someone enthralled with life’s choices for themselves and eager to forge a “real” connection. Here in the “real” world.

  So why am I still skipping school today? And why am I sitting here, wondering what I’ll wear and what I’ll say, and how he’ll react?

  Because I’m a glutton for punishment, I guess. Or because I’m the cat curiosity is scheduled to kill in approximately six hours.

  At least I know, no matter what does or doesn’t happen between the two of us, Drew won’t be walking back into the same situation he’s lived with for years.

  ****

  I go through about fifteen different outfits before finally settling on one, even though I know it won’t make a bit of difference. Boys don’t pay attention to things like clothes. And, when it comes to me, this boy probably won’t be able to pay attention to anything other than the fact I’m present when obviously uninvited. At least he already knows how stubborn I can be. Maybe it won’t come as such a shock after all.

  I’ve tossed so many black, white, and gray dresses on top of my bed in a big pile of rejection it’s a little ridiculous. Black sweaters, white button-downs, gray cardigans, all paired with equally drab bottoms.

  The final choice though, well, it’s been staring me in the face the entire time. Well, it’s been hanging, finished and waiting to be presented to my mother from its spot on my dress form, anyway. And it’s a bit of gamble. It’s stupid how something as simple as a dress is a gamble at all. The new, and still slightly stiff, wool material will only peek out an inch or two from the bottom of my gray—of course!—peacoat, and the color is light—really no more intense than all of the dove-gray pieces scattered across my bed, but it’s just that. Color. Periwinkle, apparently. The palest blue, almost like the sky when seen through a cloud. It will be the first thing I’ve worn, other than the beaded bracelet, that has any real color in it at all.

  It’s terrifying.

  So I wait until the last possible minute to get dressed. It’s a good fit, a little shorter than it will be on my mom, but still. I want to take a moment to admire the lines and one particularly tricky seam that took hours to figure out, but there’s no time. I somehow forget my hair is a ratty mess and do my best to tame the curls before I rush out the door. I check myself over again once I pull into a parking space, flipping the sun-visor down and rolling my eyes as soon as I remember there’s no way my entire head of hair is going to fit into the tiny mirror on the back of it.

  As soon as I step out of the car the wind will destroy any attempts made to conquer it anyway.

  I see Ms. McCormack’s—Angela’s car parked near the front of the lot and wonder briefly if she kept Blake out of school today to reunite with his brother. He let her know the other day, in front of me in the kind of embarrassing display only an eight-year-old can, he knew exactly where Drew’s been. The kids at school let him know even if his own mother didn’t. Oddly enough, it felt like he’d been the one protecting his mother by feigning ignorance for the last few months.

  I’m still stuck on that image, the way he rolled his dark brown eyes and looked at me as if to say ‘did she really not think I knew?’, when the very same little boy darts out the door of the Center and into the parking lot. One look at the clock tells me I’ve been sitting here a lot longer than I realized.

  Through the rolled-up windows I can hear a low, muffled voice yelling for Blake to be careful and something deep inside my stomach clenches. And whatever is now clenched decides it’s best to gather itself into a ball and try to escape by making its way up my throat. It makes climbing out of the car and moving in general a bit difficult, but I somehow manage. I really manage before I even know I’m doing it. One second I’m watching him through a streaky windshield and the next the wind is blasting my hair back from my face and I’m waiting for him to notice me.

  And I can feel the exact second he does.

  It’s like every single cell in my body somehow reaches for him. It’s dumb. Cells don’t reach for anything, and it’s decidedly obvious my body is staying put. And he… Well, he doesn’t make a move to come closer either, but his eyes don’t waver.

  There’s nearly an entire parking lot between us, but I can still feel the burn of his
eyes on my face. Seeing them, even from a distance, in the sunlight and watching the way the light reflects off them and the shadows his lashes leave on the sharp cut of his cheekbones… Seeing those things leaves little room for doubt when it comes to how beautiful this boy really is.

  The knot in my throat grows larger as we both fail to take a single step forward.

  I did my part though, right? I came here. I came here—against my better judgment, maybe—knowing he might not want to see me. That he most likely didn’t. I knew he might not have forgiven me for sticking my nose where it didn’t belong, if he’s even actually mad at me to begin with. I can’t tell with him. The thing is, I think he likes it that way. People can’t be upset with me if they don’t understand why, or if they’re angry in the first place. Or something. I don’t know.

  I know he’s looking at me, but he’s not moving. And it’s something I can be upset about no matter what because it hurts.

  But I can’t say that it hurts, can I? Not out loud. Because then someone would ask me why it hurts, and I would have nothing to tell them because I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s rejection, or disappointment, or even heartbreak. It kind of feels like all three.

  Something in his expression changes and I think my heart actually stops beating for a second. His gaze sweeps downward and I see his shoulders tense when he comes to where my skirt peeks out from the bottom of my coat. I watch his hands open and close—into fists, out of fists—several times before he drags his eyes back up to mine.

  And then I watch as he turns away.

  He nods to his mom, who I can tell is trying her best not to look at me because even she can tell this whole plan has gone horribly wrong, and she calls for her younger son to get in the car. They all climb into the vehicle, Angela in the driver’s seat, and the sound of each door closing echoes through the lot.