Pulling Me Under

by Rebecca Berto

  “But.”

  “Huh?”

  “But you didn’t mention anything about being jealous of them.”

  He doesn’t dare sneak a look at me. Not then. I have him, which only makes me more furious.

  “I bet,” I say, giving my thoughts a voice makes my neck stiffen in rage, “that you didn’t find any ‘gear’ in that car when you told me the story at the zoo.”

  “Gear?” The knowledge washes over him. It almost spells out Oh, drugs. “And? What about it?”

  “Tell me what kind they were.”

  If he had answered immediately, I’d have had to decipher the truth from his answer. But he doesn’t respond at all for a bit.

  He strokes the top of Ella’s hair. “I don’t know. I didn’t . . . look.”

  Just like that. An electric shock to my heart. Like he’s defibrillated me whilst my heart is still pumping. I gulp down my fears, which have suddenly been fed steroids and are thick, twisted vines up my throat. Out of everyone I’ve doubted, I never wavered from Liam. No matter what I forced myself to pretend.

  Did Liam plan this? I bet he didn’t expect me to see through his games. Why would he lie or assume about those drugs? It’s not the kind of thing you throw around accusations of lightly. All that manipulation to gain my trust and get closer to me as we bonded in my recovery from my PTSD. Got my daughter to get close to him like family. Well, he’s not family. Paul was family.

  I can’t like Liam because I was married to Paul, because he’s now dead, and because I’m Ella’s mother and that wouldn’t be right. All those tender moments? Manipulation. I can’t like him because it isn’t right.

  Oh, and I’m too mad at this revelation to think otherwise.

  Of course, Liam has done so much more than betray our friendship. He’s weaved his way into my therapy . . . my beliefs.

  What if this mate of Brent’s had no drugs? Why didn’t I ask for his name? What if it was green tea, or caster sugar?

  Cotton buds, maybe. Coffee.

  Oh, God. The possibilities are endless.

  Endless opportunities to create wrong assumptions. It’s too easy to trust my best friend. Liar. Too easy to trust my delusions. Tricks.

  Marco had been my rapist. Then I’d realized—perhaps decided is the right word—it was Cooper.

  Please tell me I still have five fingers on each hand.

  We walk onto the metal step of the elevator. The ground floor is too far; too close for what I want to say.

  “So what did you see?”

  He grips Ella closer against his hip when she tries to skip down. She twitches and he holds her tighter.

  I burn him with my eyes.

  “The package?” He does it again; strokes Ella’s hair. She winces. He stops then. Only now does he seem to process anything I’ve said. “I told you what I saw.”

  “Yes. Then you were sure. Now you claim you didn’t ‘look’.” I accentuate the quote with something that sounds like scorn.

  “It was a brown paper bag. So suss.”

  I step off the escalator and hold Ella against me where she seems looser. He stares at his hands, as if I’ve taken change from a beggar.

  “And that’s it? No tablets,” be conscious with my daughter here, “or visible anything?”

  That look again. “You’re kidding?”

  “Answer if you’re so sure.”

  He looks at a sign and flicks his head left. We turn, and after a while of thinking, he replies. “I’m telling you what I noticed. What I know from their ways and you still don’t believe me?”

  Look where a life built on assumptions got me. “No. I believe you.”

  I believe he trusts his assumptions. Liam would sit at a computer, Google keywords until he found webpages. He’s the type to sit hunched over his desk, ten tabs and five different windows open, flicking through each one while barely blinking, just wide, open eyes. He’d have stiff, cramped legs when he finally got up. He’s a homegrown detective, for sure.

  No one knows what happened but my mind, the keeper of secrets locked away that even I can’t access.

  It’s a small puzzle piece in an electronic game that won’t let you pass on until you’ve got it. I have so many resources and possibilities around me, but the one piece I need to make Tetris is my memory. I can’t count on it falling next. And it’s the most important piece.

  Although I’m pulling Ella along, she is the only thing keeping me from collapsing into a heap.

  “Your house?” I blink, but the image is still there. What on earth are we doing here?

  Liam rolls his eyes. “I’m getting my phone charger. Remember? The business calls I’ve got coming through?”

  Then you shouldn’t have rudely ignored me to play with your phone earlier. But, no. I had my headphones on loud and only increased the volume any time he tried to talk to me. Hm, woulda helped if I’d listened.

  I shrug, hopping out into the rain, Ella still glued to her game console inside the car. The rain has slowed to a thick drizzle, coating my hair and clothes. Just enough to stand it between the car and his house, not enough to plead with him for an umbrella. Phew.

  “El,” Liam says. He’s chatting in close to her ear, her contorted face gradually forming a pleasant nod. Something’s odd about this. On far and few occasions does Ella find reason to toss aside her game carelessly.

  Ella appears around the trunk of his car, skipping. “I’ve decided to come along!”

  “All right, but you do know he is only picking up his charger,” I remind her, worried that bribes may have opened up as a condition that she extend the stay.

  “I know.”

  I nod suspiciously, eyeing off Liam who is approaching. The rain has soaked through odd spots of his shirt; his left pec is outlined below the muscle, his shirt seems too small on one shoulder, and his body is streamlined beyond anything I remember seeing previously. Does he work out or something? This isn’t helping me hate him.

  I hate my next thought but it forms: I’m not sure how to feel anything but swoony whilst staring at that. So, I stomp off, clutching Ella a bit too tight.

  Footsteps jog behind us. “Slow up,” Liam says, shaking his hair out.

  He comes up behind me. Yes, I’m not mistaken. He’s holding me from behind. Hands on my hips.

  Ella, I think. “What are you doing?” I squeal, trying to push off his hands.

  “It’ll be pitch black inside,” he says, which I know is true, because his porch is made from wooden slats. “And my shades are down. I’ll help you.”

  Does that require his chest and legs plastered to the back of me?

  He’s right. Inside, the house is dark. The carpet far ahead in the living room is barely distinguishable from the floorboards.

  I think I hear counting, managing to decipher a “ . . . two, three,” then light floods everywhere.

  The eruption of voices chimes in sync, calling, “Surprise!”

  Everywhere, familiar faces cheer and hands punch in the air. The wooden veneers are open from guests who’ve pulled the cords down. Rays of light flood onto the cheerful crowd screaming jubilations, their faces poking around walls and furniture. There are rainbows of streaming colors from corner to corner of the ceiling. They stretch as far as my eye can see down the hall. Oblong- and oval-shaped balloons litter the ceiling. Other balloons are attached to sparkling weights with printed Happy 30th Birthday wishes, and flutters of color dust the air from the party poppers.

  “Happy birthday, Kates,” Liam breathes in my ear. Now his lips are on my cheek, or lips. I don’t know. It happens too quickly. Maybe he’s confused himself? His hands frame my jaw, still clasping me when he draws our faces apart. As he pulls away with a grin, he lets one of his hands trail down my body, to the side wh
ere part of him blocks me. So no one can see. His hot breath surges over the goose bumps on my skin. He’s a seamless combination of his scent and a fresh, woody cologne that tingles my skin.

  For the moment that our faces are together, close enough to smell the fresh mint of his breath, I imagine what could be. How I would wake up to his eyes undressing me, how my stomach would churn when I saw his face every morning. Then, the second passes and he continues through the rest of my friends and family.

  Everyone’s cheering. Most are family I haven’t seen in ages. When I find Brent’s face, I allow my forced smile to disappear into a confused question mark. Out of the crowd, he’s the only one who looks like what happened between Liam and I is odd.

  Pamela Anselin and Mom proceed, wishing birthday greetings before they arrive. Mom hugs me first, followed by Pamela.

  “Did we get you good?”

  “Certainly did.” My heart suddenly drops when I realize they have all been awaiting my arrival in silence. “All the people here didn’t overhear any of my bickering outside, did they?” I’m pleading to myself, or God, just please. It wasn’t my finest hour, yelling at Liam who put so much effort into making my birthday special.

  Pamela blushes. “Only a little.”

  I turn to Mom who translates. “Is everything okay?” she asks, patting my back. I want to wince away, hating the action of feeling like an obedient pet, but I realize her intentions and stay put.

  I produce a smile. “I was just startled. It’s fine, Mom.”

  Anna Dayle joins us and the three of us walk through the crowd, and out to the opposite side. “What part did Liam play in this?”

  After one monthly dinner dance, my parents, Anna and Craig discussed how the party would best work if they held it somewhere other than my house. Preparations could take the most of a day without having to worry about running into me. Liam graciously put up his hand to have it at his.

  “He volunteered himself to do the hardest job: getting you here unsuspected,” Anna describes as she sits down in a chair next to us. I wonder how much of today’s events are part of the celebration plans and how much are of his agenda.

  “Oh, Kates, if only you saw the chaos here before,” Pam laughs, holding her belly as she clutches her loose, sequined top. “We had food problems, so just as Liam was getting ready to bring you over, we had to tell him to stall.”

  “That’s why he spent half of the time at the shops on his phone!”

  “He did a great job,” Anna says, commending her son proudly.

  Ella and her second cousins have already invented a new game. It seems to involve grabbing as much food as a fist can hold and then waving it above their heads as they weave through the house at breakneck speed. Looking around my party, I wonder if anyone in the house looks as shabby as me.

  As if on cue, Nancy appears, resting her elbow on her hip with a red silk dress flowing from a hanger in her other hand. I look over her black, knee-length ensemble, which has a shiny ribbon tied neatly under her bust. It matches perfectly with her polished pumps. I soon gather that in her twirling fingers is my gorgeous lifesaver.

  I remember that I’m wearing my tracksuit pants and plain t-shirt, and shudder. The men around me wear shirts; some with jeans. Others, like my dad, wear ties too. The women around me make clicking noises as they tap stiletto heels along the floorboards. I leave scuffmarks from my dirty cotton tie-ups.

  Great.

  “Hi, stranger,” Nancy says, strutting the last few meters up to the sofa.

  I excuse myself from Anna, Mom and Pam, sidestepping between their legs and the coffee table.

  “Hi,” I say, smoothing my hair to try to seem presentable compared to Nancy. I’m not sure if I’ve ever been as pretty as her our whole friendship, but right now I don’t come close. “I was about to come around. There’s just so many people here. I’m sorry I haven’t, you know . . . talked.”

  “No hard feelings.”

  Ella rushes past, waving her fists in the air, and the stampede of kids follow a second behind. Okay, I guess I can duck off. She’s having so much fun.

  “Well if that’s for me,” I say, nodding at the red dress hanging in her hand, “then I can fill you in on everything out the back. I take that Liam’s bedroom might be one of the only places not occupied at the moment.”

  “Right on.” She nods, leading me to another hallway further down, where the colors and music dull.

  Can’t be, I repeat, unable to take my eyes off the shaped detailing of my dress. My fingers trace the curve at my waist that pinches in with careful gathering. It naturally adds the appearance of hips on me as it fluffs out below, resting just above my knees. The idea of a plunging, draped neckline is one I reserve for the celebrities of the world, so I have trouble trusting what I see in case my reflection is trickery. The neckline covers my humble breasts, outlining, yet elegantly lifting the size and shape of them. Without the need for exposure, I am the illusion of an hourglass.

  Nancy stares for a couple more seconds after I wave my hand in front of her eyes, then bats her eyelashes. I ask her to repeat her last words slower this time. She speaks again, audible on the second attempt, “A-may-zing.”

  I turn back to my reflection, leaning my head in closer to see that the voluptuous figure is really me. A quick scan yields a positive result. Even my brown hair has volume. The locks spiral down and rest over my chest. My dull face, yet to be made up, indicates I’m not dreaming.

  “Do you recognize it?” she questions me.

  “We picked it out for Paul’s thirtieth,” I say, flicking my skirt and letting it flop.

  “Hey,” Nancy says, upbeat, “at least it’s getting the occasion to be shown off. A dress like that doesn’t deserve to collect dust in your closet.” She wiggles her finger at me.

  This isn’t how I imagined it. But Mom would love the vibrant color. Nancy clearly loves the style. Ella would love the pleats and ruffles. And Liam would love it all.

  “Your mom gave me your house key,” Nancy says, reading my mind as she flings a key at me. “I think I chose wisely.”

  I tell her about the questions burning in my head. She’s done so much for me. She cares, a lot. The first thing I say is about Liam’s confession: does he really love me or did he say it to stall time as he had been requested?

  “Don’t hit me if I say this, okay?”

  “Mm,” I say.

  “I always had my bet on him second.”

  My chin drops. “What do you mean?”

  “Like after Paul.” She pauses, seeming careful to craft her next words with tenderness. “If you ever broke up, or something happened or . . . oh no, I didn’t mean it like that. Shit.” She slaps her forehead. “No, just that he was somehow different around you. Not romantic or cheesy. Didn’t cut Paul’s lunch or anything, but deeply cared for you. I could tell that you sort of acted the same way back. Now that situations have changed, well, I can see where he is coming from, how something innocent could have blown out into love. You’re stunning.”

  I remain quiet.

  She continues to powder my cheeks and tells me to pout my lips as she dabs a sweet gloss over them. The eyes she repeats, shaking her head reflectively, each time sighing. Liam laughed off the accusation about liking me from her years ago. I did too, back then. Paul, Liam and I were like one big family. I thought it ridiculous to consider us together romantically a few hours ago.

  “And . . . done!” she exclaims, dropping the bronzer brush into its snug zip-up purse. “You can look now,” she tells me, before shouting out hurried objections and thrusting a pair of peep-toe pumps at my feet. I slide my feet in, wiggling my toes toward the tip of the shoe.

  We agree on bordering sexy, but still appropriate. I thank her over and over for the smoky-eye look she created.

  We�
��ve spent almost an hour shut away from the music and chattering, at the other end of the house. The party seems so insulated from Liam’s bedroom.

  The click of our heels against the hallway is impossible to hear because the music is louder now, and the sky a little dimmer. Liam is the first person I see. He’s walking back from a room toward the back of his house, outside of the celebrations. Why was he there? Did he hear Nancy and I? One of Ella’s cousins, Ryder, tugs on his pants, and Liam squats to his level. Liam’s thighs seem larger as he rests on his haunches, his arm the texture of a mountain range, and my eyes are drawn to the gap between his legs.

  I gag reflexively. I do not want that. I don’t want any man because they all let me down in some way.

  As Nancy follows behind me up the hallway back to the party, I stop abruptly in my tracks.

  Nancy trips over the back of my heel. Normally, I would yelp as my skin peels back.

  Normally, only friends should be invited to my thirtieth party.

  Not potential rapists.

  Not people who deal drugs.

  Nancy’s body creates an ugly thwack sound as she stumbles and hits the wall. Normal circumstances given, I would be helping her up already. But my legs are twisted in my stomach, my stomach folded up my throat and my mind wrapped in the pretzel that is me.

  Nancy’s body slides to the floor. Her voice sounds sharp, accusing, when she says something, but I don’t hear because I’m not concentrating on her.

  Brent is behind him. Still the kind person I’ve always known. Let everyone in first.

  Why did he bring him? Why did Liam invite him?

  His eyes skitter over my family and friends. They are ones I want to hold back, protect them from this man who has torn my confidence and pleasure away.

  My mouth must have hit the floor. That’s what my mind feels. On the outside I’m a statue.