Pulling Me Under

by Rebecca Berto

  Before this conversation, I didn’t know what Liam had just told me. Why hadn’t he told me this? Why? I think once more, but it isn’t his fault.

  As if he would have fallen apart on me when I was broken myself.

  I’ve shut him off, thinking the whole time it was the other way around. It turns out he cares about Ella and me more than I gave him credit for.

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t be supportive for each other like this before.”

  “This Liam,” I say, pressing my finger to his chest, “is a whole lot different to . . . you.”

  “This is me, Kates.” He peels my finger from his chest and wraps his fingers around my hand, squeezing.

  “I like this.”

  “I don’t want things to change,” I say.

  Rather, I’ll try harder. Liam’s been in this, through fights and my pushing him away, because of us. I know that I can never let anything happen to harm Liam. He’s my life now, him and Ella, and I couldn’t have picked a better best friend.

  I owe him.

  Today Ella and I go to my parents’ place after school. I don’t mind coming here nowadays for no particular reason. Although the weather should be heating up I haven’t felt much of a change, and the nights still darken early.

  Weather aside, Ella’s park ritual never wavers. A couple of weeks ago we finished the last coloring book I had at home, so now we’re onto ponies and dolls. So much so that I have a favorite outfit for my favorite doll.

  Walking to the park near Tim’s place, so close to the trees, shrubs and grass where Marco and I had been alone together made me anxious last week. I gripped Ella’s hand too tight, not realizing until she shook free. And suddenly I was out of breath—even when we walked at a sluggish pace.

  Today, as we walk out of the house for a play at the park, I block thinking of Marco’s comments, my false belief of causing Paul’s death, and being responsible for my rape. I hum a song from one of Nickelback’s albums I’ve been listening to. A month after my intake session with Leena, Liam was right. My recovery is as he described. “Riding a bike”, in my case facing my issues, is easier with increased exposure to triggers.

  As we walk, I maneuver the air in and out of my lungs in the same manner with which I’d handle one-hundred-year-old parchment. I loosen muscles around my shoulders.

  “Mommy,” Ella says when we arrive at the path leading to the park equipment, “I’m running to the monkey bars!”

  While I sit on the steps at one side of the monkey bars, Ella shows off her tricks: swinging all the way across and lying horizontal over the top. “Hey, look at this!”

  The way Ella swings, and the words she says, trigger a memory. The images are like a random delivery to my house. Like I need to examine the package, open it and sniff around, before I understand why it’s arrived for me.

  My mind is at the other side of the park with Marco. Cooper loops his hands over every other bar, just like my daughter.

  Both Cooper’s and Ella’s arms swing to me. They keep the same rhythm.

  I gasp. It’s my first flashback from Tim’s party in a month. More than that. This far, where Marco and I returned from our walk was meant to be lost. I’d accepted that I’d never remember more.

  “Hey, come back here for a second, Kates,” Cooper said.

  That old me is relieved because he gave me the chance to pull away from Marco. I see things in pieces, and all I feel is that this old me wants to stop being alone with Marco.

  Why do I leave Marco to join a grown man swinging on the monkey bars? Has my relief pushed me from one trouble into another?

  Bringing me back for a moment, Ella swings her arm again. She zooms closer to my end of the monkey bars where I’m sitting. One more pole and she’ll be hanging over me. Which again reminds me—

  Hanging.

  Why does a grown man hang from play equipment like that? If Cooper liked coke, then who am I to rule out that as the reasoning behind his whacky behavior? And if he was that high on the stuff, he’d have no concept or understanding.

  Cooper hopped down to the ground by me, tumbling, then picking himself back up. Before he hooks an arm around my waist and thrusts his lips toward mine, Ella swings again and links onto the last bar.

  My time at this spot one month ago in my memory, dissolves. I pluck Ella’s arms off the bars and cuddle her into the best ball-like formation I’m still able to manage with her growing body these days. She squeals in delight.

  Ella’s arms flail, so I hold them back. Her squealing makes my heart feel like it has wings—an urge to take off and fly with her. She tells me to stop, giggling so hard I almost can’t decipher her words.

  I tickle her all over and when her squeal is sure to burst my eardrums, I say, “Shh, shh. Okay, enough.”

  I’m lucky I get to do this.

  I push away the past like it’s decomposing rubbish, afraid it’ll destroy this moment with my heart and its wings pulsing to propel my daughter and I into the sky. The future.

  Still, a part of me is weighed down. Great, I remembered that bit of the night, but how the hell is it going to save or change anything?

  It’s not, so focus on what you can change.

  I kiss Ella’s forehead, her nose—and although she pushes me back by my face because she knows what I’ll do—I force myself down anyway to kiss the four points around her lips.

  At 8.59 am—actually, I can’t be sure if the minute hand on the wall clock is on or before twelve—I’m still squeegeeing my shower door, looking through the misty glass. Almost simultaneously, Liam rings the doorbell for our visit with Ella to the zoo. Grabbing my towel, I shake my hair upside down and twist it into a tight bunch.

  “Yep, coming,” I say, as I tighten the waist-cord from my bathrobe, hand grabbing for the front door.

  Instead, Liam opens the unlocked door himself and we thwack into each other, hands grabbing at something to stop a fall. Turns out I palm his chest and he grabs my shoulder.

  The starchy shirt he wears crinkles over his shoulder and sticks to his chest. It’s hard to stiffen my fingers so they don’t run down his breastbone. The pale dress shoes that taper to a point magnificently make my gaze travel up his body again, taking in his bright eyes.

  “Um,” Liam says, wiggling a finger over his chest.

  My face stiffens. A whole split second, it takes. Thinking, backtracking, what I’ve done . . . then my stomach drops. I snatch up the gaping material of my bathrobe and tuck it in tight to the waistband. My cheeks have never flushed so fast.

  “I, er . . . won’t be long,” I say, rushing back up the stairs.

  I arrive downstairs for the second time, properly covered in a summer dress. I pick up Ella’s backpack with more goodies than my handbag can carry and walk with her to Liam’s car without another word.

  During my silence, I’m aware that I’m only embarrassing myself more by reminding him of my exposure, but I can’t, can’t, bring myself to say anything.

  Eventually, Liam clears his throat and says, “I had to lend a hand to Brent.”

  “Oh?”

  “Apparently he’s pretty busy at the moment with the café. It isn’t going so well, by the way, so I’ve thrown in my weight to help. He dragged in another mate to help, too.”

  “Brent.” I say his name quietly, more to myself because he’s like my brother and I haven’t spoken to him properly for almost a year—discounting the party I barely remember. Out loud, I say, “The last time I saw him was with his mates at Tim’s party.”

  It’s silent again. I still don’t have the courage to speak out, to ask why Liam ignored me.

  “Liiiam!” Ella screeches from behind us. Her finger points ahead at the SUV’s brake lights in front.

  “Brake!” I shriek, taking on the same panicked
tone as Ella. Our car screeches and manages to stop centimeters from the vehicle in front.

  “No more talking,” is all Liam says.

  • • •

  It’s only once we are in line that the tension stops fluttering in my stomach. This morning has been a rollercoaster ride of excitement and silence, the latter highlighting the rest of the drive to the zoo.

  Liam still hasn’t said anything, but there’s enough noise from screaming children and noisy animals inside the enclosures ahead that it’s hard to concentrate on my issues anyway.

  The last thing I said in the car was about Tim’s party. What problem could he suddenly have about that? Oh. How silly of me. While Liam had helped me through my therapy about Paul and his death, I somewhat left him in the dark about the rape. No matter how close anyone was to me, I couldn’t go and tell him what happened, so I said I’m not quite sure what happened. It’s true.

  I woke up with my pills. Who was to say that I didn’t almost OD from that? I know my mom would agree with that thought.

  I won’t jump to conclusions. I don’t know what happened, so I’ll stop guessing. Liam has a stubborn head, and that’s all I need to remember to keep the chats regarding Tim’s party between Leena and me. He’d get hot-headed in a protective rage over nothing.

  While Ella is watching the meerkats, Liam says, “I found something.”

  “Found . . . ?” I begin, wondering what this thing is that’s terrible enough to make him act this way. “Found what?”

  “I can’t say much. I don’t know the details of it.”

  “You know I’m not a fan of poorly written crime novels, so stop being so vague. Details of what, Liam?”

  He’s blank. It looks like a wave of fear crawls up over his face and crashes over the length of it, as if taking away all the joy.

  He pulls me back, out of the parents and children gawping over the cuteness of the little mammals before them. “I was in Brent’s mate’s car last weekend and we needed a torch so we could look through some boxes of things. He and Brent had their hands full at the time, so I went for him. Only I stumbled across something I shouldn’t have.”

  “Oh no,” I say, reactively bringing my fingers over the base of my throat. “What happened?”

  “His friend is a mess, always has been. I was there for minutes searching for a damn torch. It should have been in the glove box. After rummaging around, I found a package.”

  “A package . . . ” I laugh, relieved from the terrible things I had been thinking. “Yeah, so?”

  “How much do you remember about those friends of his?”

  “Is this another question I answer and don’t receive any explanation about?”

  My question answers itself. Liam fingers a knot in the wooden railing and furrows his brows whilst concentrating.

  “Liam!” I say, as if I’m breathing the word. It’s almost at too low a pitch to hear.

  “All I’m saying is, I know things. They aren’t good for you.”

  “‘Aren’t good?’” I ask, feeling the urgency in his strained tone. “You’re scaring me,” I admit. “What’s this about? I told you, I don’t remember many parts of it, none about others. I think I had too much—”

  “No, no,” he cuts in. He immediately ceases fingering the log. He hovers his fingers in mid-air before snatching them back. I can tell he’s thinking. If I knew what of, though, my mind wouldn’t be so crazy with possibilities.

  “I need you to answer another question.”

  I think about telling him to stop acting so silly, but realize that’ll have the opposite effect.

  “Did they give you anything?” he says.

  All this time of changing subject, and darting around answers, it’s now I have to say something specific. Yes, I think I was drugged. I also thought my husband died every other night, and couldn’t visit a pool or say Paul’s name without a panic attack. I could have gone along with my fantasy that they drugged me, but the only concrete proof I have is that I drank alcohol and might have had my sleeping pills at the same time. It’s a wonder nothing worse happened to me.

  “Fuck. Oh, fuck,” Liam mutters. If he said anything else, I would have had to ask him to repeat himself, however the curses were distinct enough to hear, even at what I guess was thirty decibels.

  “Relax. I’m fine.”

  I’m about to say something else but Liam does as well and in the end, all I hear is us both saying, “Ple—” and “Why—” before we both wait for each other to speak separately.

  “Ella’s happy,” I say, “and that’s because I’m acting like her mother again. We’ve all stuffed up. I don’t try to deny that. You’ve already been an amazing support for us and that’s all we need. We’re already at happy.”

  His lips pull in and out, bending with whatever he is thinking. As per usual, it feels like forever before he spits his words out. “You’re right.” He laughs a little, his shirt relaxing from his skin. “I’ve got all these theories. All these things I planned to say to you. It’s probably nothing.”

  • • •

  By afternoon, Ella stops telling stories about what she’s learned about the animals and running off lists of everything we visited. She sits on top of Liam wordlessly. She laps up her ice cream and offers him a lick, too. When he says It’s fine, I don’t feel like it she insists until he licks. Ella snuggles under his chin while she finishes the rest. Drops of sweat form and slide down Liam’s face but he doesn’t move her.

  “I’m proud of your improvement. I really am,” Liam says.

  I nod at first, unsure of what is appropriate to admit to, then find a word: “Thanks.”

  “Hey,” Liam says. His chin still tucks Ella’s head to his chest while his eyes seem half-closed. “Do you wonder what it’d be like if you and Paul had another baby?”

  “Yes,” is all I say. Because to tell him what it’s like to have been trying for a baby with my husband and he died before we conceived seems impossible to explain.

  “Do you wish you had a sibling?” he asks me.

  I nod, kicking stones under my seat. I arrange them into a line.

  “Can I watch the birdies?” Ella asks, pointing to the massive enclosure ahead of us.

  After I agree she runs off, rubbing her hands along her skirt.

  Liam gestures at Ella. “She looks like a penguin when she waddles like that.”

  “Yes, I wish she had a sister and a brother. One to talk to, one to rough her up a bit.”

  I think Liam is looking at me, and when I check, our eyes lock. No matter how many times I stare at his eyes, I still discover something new. Today, there are pale blue flecks surrounding the inner circle. It’s only when I stop thinking of the flecks that I feel naked and caught out. His smile has faded and all we’re doing is staring. Feeding the connection.

  “The roughing up sibling may be more of a con than a pro.” Brent.

  “But you love him. You’d take a bullet for him, right?”

  “Take a bullet from the packet and load a gun to shoot him?”

  “Tsk,” I say, slapping his arm. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So? Would you?”

  “It’s not a question. It’s my instinct to protect him whether that means I’m hurt or otherwise.”

  “Wow,” I choke.

  “What about you?”

  “I don’t have that opportunity. I’m the spoilt only child,” I say.

  What I don’t say is I’m not sure. I’m not sure I could muster the courage to move in front of someone’s body for a bullet. Is there a word to describe someone more cowardly than a coward? That’s me.

  “Well, it happened this way for a reason. Ella being an only child,” I say, suddenly remembering our original co
nversation. “The girl is a child genius. A sister or brother may have excited her mind too much.”

  “Hum,” Liam mutters. “You have changed.” He slides toward me on our long seat, and props his weight on his palm, which rests behind me. As he half-hovers over me, the coolness from his shadow reminds me how hot it is and how cool it is when his shadow covers me. Our arms rest against each other, and his touch makes my skin tingle. We’re sharing a moment and, when I gather the courage to turn to him, a rush of his cologne arrests my thoughts.

  “In a good or bad way?” I blurt, because this loud zoo is too, too quiet all of a sudden.

  “In a good,” he twists the angle of his head off-kilter so his nose is no longer in the way, “good way.”

  I suck in a breath, but it’s soaked in his smell, and he’s filling my mind, my body, my words. “Really . . . ”

  “Mm.” He licks his lips and leans closer still, until his shadow engulfs the heat and I shiver, almost causing us to touch.

  I turn away, and am so close that the back of my hair swishes his face in response. Burrowing in my handbag, I scurry amongst the junk in there. Now I only have to find something I can seem to be looking for.

  Perhaps I uncovered something that surpasses any lip-gloss or mint that I might be able to find from my bag. Maybe Brent and his friends are never going to be good enough for me because my best friend sitting next to me doesn’t want me to belong to anyone else but him.

  Sometime during February, I stumble across my diary from last year. Most of the dates blur—1 January, 3 January, 11 February—until one date snags my attention. 17 March. It’s Paul’s anniversary in a month’s time.

  Cold burns scald my spine as I hold the page open in my diary. My neck is stiff when I roll it, so I get up to feed the goldfish that are gawping at their reflections in the glass.