The View from Here

by Hannah McKinnon

  There, in the doorway, stood Perry. He had a bashful look on his face. In his hand was a rope. “Perry?”

  He stepped to the side, but not to make room for her. Olivia’s eyes followed the length of rope from Perry’s hand to the shadows behind him. Buster lumbered forward. The second he saw Luci and Olivia he barked, and his whole body began to wag.

  There was a small shriek from the bed and everyone turned. Luci leapt from her covers and leaned over the railing, reaching out with her good arm. Her face was alight with joy.

  “Perry!” Olivia exclaimed.

  Perry sneezed twice, then shrugged uncertainly. “I hope you don’t mind, but I think Buster missed you.” He let go of the rope and Buster trotted up to the edge of Luci’s bed, hopping up on his hind legs. Luci threw her arm around his neck and buried her face in his fur.

  When she finally looked up, Luci motioned to her mother.

  The room had gone quiet. Olivia hurried over. “What is it, baby?”

  Luci pulled her close. “It was him,” she whispered.

  Stunned, Olivia pulled back to take in Luci’s expression. Fearful of breaking the spell, she encouraged Luci to go on. “What was him?” she whispered back.

  Luci pressed her lips to her mother’s ear. “Buster. Buster was what I wanted Ben to draw on my cast.”

  As the words flowed into her ear, Olivia’s eyes traveled to the doorway. Perry hadn’t moved an inch. His nice navy trousers were coated in dog hair. He dabbed his runny nose absently with a balled-up tissue. He looked more uncomfortable than she’d ever seen a person look. And yet there he was.

  Yes, she thought. It was him.

  Perry

  Perry had not planned on the dog. That would have been a terrible plan. Getting the dog meant finding out where Olivia lived and driving all the way over there. It meant locating the dog, once he arrived. Worst of all, it meant securing the beast, without getting a limb torn off, and somehow convincing it to get into his car. His car. With the buttery leather interior and pristine surfaces. Free of food, beverage, and most certainly pet hair. Getting that dog was the last thing he’d ever wanted to do.

  He could not say for sure how it happened. First, Emma had been discharged. She was home, tucked safely in her bed. Not that Emma showed any sign of being happy about it. Beyond the obvious trauma of the accident, and the painful bruises and scratches his daughter had suffered, there was a deeper sadness Perry saw and felt, but could not reach. Nor could Amelia. To their combined consternation, Emma had swiftly closed her door and climbed into her bed. Refusing tea or lunch. Declining Perry’s offer to make her a bed on the living room couch where she could watch a movie, something that had always worked when she wasn’t feeling well. It wasn’t good that she’d shut herself away like that. Emma needed to get up and move about a little bit, as the doctor had suggested. Moreover, they needed to talk, all three of them, about the accident.

  With all of that going on, Perry’s head and heart were still floating somewhere outside his body, a sense that so unnerved him he felt compelled to get up and do something, as if that might somehow spark the three to reconnect.

  What he couldn’t stop thinking about was the toxicology report. Emma had been drunk. To his knowledge, their child had never touched alcohol. And even if she’d tried it, there was no way he could imagine she would drink in front of her family or while out on the boat in the middle of a summer day. She was too smart for that.

  Her uncle was another story. It was well known that Jake liked his beer, and any social occasion was an excuse to crack a few open. It was true, he had seemed to slow down now that he was with Olivia. But Perry had seen him with a beer in hand at the party, and come to think of it he could not recall a time he’d seen Jake without one. But was it the same one—or two? Or had there been more?

  Then there was his relationship with Emma. Emma had adored her uncle ever since she was a little girl. The two had a bond that, if he were being honest, Perry would admit he envied. Deeply. And Perry was sure Emma would protect her uncle, if she had to. That he could forgive. She was a teenager, and she was loyal. What he couldn’t forgive was Jake putting his daughter in that position.

  He found his wife in the kitchen. “Amelia, we have to ask her about the alcohol. And what happened out there with Jake.”

  Amelia looked exhausted. “I know. But we have to tread gently.”

  “I don’t disagree, but the longer we wait the harder it will be. Can we please ask her together?”

  “Let me make her lunch first. She’s barely eaten a thing.”

  When Perry knocked on Emma’s door and opened it, to his dismay, she was staring at her phone. Something else she wasn’t supposed to be doing. “Would you like to come sit outside on the patio with me?” he asked. “The doctor said it would be good for you to get up and get some fresh air. Maybe do some of those stretching exercises to loosen things up?”

  Emma kept her eyes trained on her phone. “No, thanks.”

  He paused. “Want anything special for lunch?”

  “Mom’s taking care of it. She’s making a kale smoothie.”

  Perry did not like kale, and he did not understand the affinity his wife and daughter held for the viscous green smoothies they sometimes whipped up together. Usually for breakfast, of all things. But at least Emma was eating, if a kale shake constituted such a thing. “Well, that’s wonderful.”

  She looked up from her phone, frowning.

  “That you’re eating something,” he added quickly. Could he say nothing right? “Emma, I was hoping we could talk a little. If you’re up for it.”

  At that moment, Amelia joined them, with the questionable concoction in hand. “Here you go, love.” She set the glass down on Emma’s bedside table.

  Emma glanced at it, then at her father. “Thanks, but I’ve lost my appetite.”

  Perry saw the restraint his wife exercised. Her lips parted, then closed. “Well, maybe later,” she said, finally. He rested a reassuring hand on her lower back.

  “Emma, we want to talk to you about the accident.” Emma kept her eyes trained on her phone, but Perry saw his words register in the set of her jaw. “The lab tests showed a blood alcohol level. You were drinking?”

  Beside him, Amelia drew in her breath. She hadn’t wanted to press Emma about this, but they needed to while it was still fresh. She was home now. It was time to face facts.

  “Emma?”

  She set her phone down roughly. “I had some beer. Big deal.”

  Perry flinched. He’d expected her to be remorseful. Not defiant.

  “You’re underage and you were just involved in a serious accident. This is a big deal.”

  Emma stared straight ahead.

  “Have you drunk before?” Amelia ventured.

  To Perry’s relief, Emma shook her head. Tears filled her eyes. “No,” she said, burying her face in her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Perry sat down beside her on the bed, a lump growing in his throat. His little girl was still in there. “I didn’t think so. Neither of us did. Which is why we want to know what made you do it that afternoon. Did Uncle Jake offer it to you?” Perry tried to keep his tone neutral, but there was that familiar pang of anger rising inside him.

  “It wasn’t Uncle Jake. I mean, it was his beer. But he didn’t exactly give it to me.”

  “What does that mean?” Perry asked.

  Emma looked between the two of them. “Is this an interrogation?”

  “Okay,” Amelia interjected. “Let’s move past that for now. How many did you have? Because your blood alcohol level was too high for just one.”

  Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe two? It was hot out, and I was thirsty. I just wanted to try it. Everyone else does.”

  Amelia shook her head softly. “It doesn’t matter what everyone else does, honey. We’re talking about you. And making good choices.”

  “Well, after what happened, it’s not like I’ll ever do it again,” Emm
a said, swiping at her eyes. It was a small acknowledgment of her screwing up, and it gave Perry a flicker of relief.

  “It’s not your fault,” he assured her. “Your uncle is an adult. He should’ve been paying more attention out there. To you. To what he was doing…” His voice trailed off.

  “Can you both please stop now?” Emma asked. Amelia handed her a box of tissues.

  Perry wished he could. He wished they would never have to talk about this sort of thing again. But there was one more question. “Honey, I know this is hard, but there’s one last thing I hope you can help us with. This is important. Do you think Uncle Jake was drunk?”

  Emma hesitated. “No.” Then, “I don’t know. Maybe.” The only sound in the room was her fingers drumming nervously on her phone case.

  Perry glanced at Amelia.

  “Can’t you ask the hospital about that?” Emma was waffling, trying to cover for her uncle. He could feel it.

  “The reason I ask is because he went straight into surgery after the accident, and they didn’t do a blood alcohol test on him. But we need to know.”

  “Why?” Emma snapped. “It doesn’t change what happened. Luci’s hurt. He’s hurt. What difference does it make now?” Her face flushed as she struggled to hold back tears.

  Amelia went to her and looked beseechingly at Perry. “It’s okay, honey. We didn’t mean to upset you.” She rubbed Emma’s back in slow circles, and as Perry looked on he felt whatever had been coursing through him slow. “Why don’t you try to get some rest.”

  Perry followed Amelia out of the room, feeling worse than he had when they’d gone in.

  “At least she told the truth,” Amelia whispered as they went downstairs.

  “Yes, but not all of it. She’s hiding something. I think she’s protecting Jake.”

  Amelia went to the kitchen and put on a pot of tea. “If that’s true, you know I’ll kill him with my bare hands before you have a chance to.”

  Despite the awfulness of it all, Perry smiled at his wife. He did not doubt this.

  She turned to look at him. “Look, we may never know for sure if Jake was drunk. Your brother has always had a complicated relationship with alcohol. But we can’t keep pressing Emma,” she said. “It’s too much.”

  “Do you think I like this? I hate having to ask her, seeing how tortured this makes her feel. But how else are we supposed to find out what happened?”

  Amelia threw up her hands. “I don’t know, Perry.”

  “I had hoped the police would take care of this, but they haven’t found out shit. They need to do their job.”

  “Then let them! Let the police handle it. Stop trying to find out what exactly happened and let’s instead focus on getting Emma better.” Amelia’s eyes flashed. “That is our job!” She was as angry as he was, he realized, but for different reasons.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, stepping toward her. “I’m trying.” He put a hand on her arm, but she shrugged it off.

  “Please, Perry. You need to stop pushing everyone.”

  He let his hands fall to his side. “I don’t mean to.”

  The teakettle began to whistle and Amelia yanked it off the range. “I know Emma’s okay and I should feel relieved, but I just feel so…”

  “Angry?”

  She met his gaze. “And helpless.”

  Perry nodded. He felt it, too. He was angry that their daughter looked as if she’d been mugged, but was clearly far more bruised somewhere on the inside. He was angry that their boat was destroyed, and now he’d have to deal with insurance. He was angry that he hadn’t finished his contract at work and that his colleague Spencer Ashe was probably taking it over at that very moment while he was standing in the kitchen. But most of all, he was angry at Jake. Jake, who was not a parent. Who had no idea what it was like to trust someone else with your only child and then get that phone call from the paramedics. To throw yourself behind the wheel of a car that simply could not deliver you fast enough to the hospital, not knowing what you’d find when you got there. The back of his neck prickled at the memory. It was only two days ago, and yet Perry had felt the pulsing course of adrenaline every hour since. He was poised and alert, ready to strike.

  Amelia abandoned the teakettle and headed out of the kitchen.

  “Want me to pour you that cup of tea?” he offered.

  “What I’d like is a little space. I think we could both use some. I’m going upstairs to lie down.”

  Perry watched her climb the stairs. How he wanted to flop down and give in, too. What he’d have given for a moment’s rest. He’d have slept like the dead, if he could. But he couldn’t. Just as he couldn’t seem to comfort his wife or daughter.

  He spied his keys on the far counter, and retrieved them. He was halfway to the door when he heard Amelia call down to him. She was leaning over the railing.

  “Where are you going?”

  “For a drive.”

  “A drive.” She said it with soft wistfulness, as one does when they name something they love. A favorite dessert. A place they miss.

  He paused, his heart hopeful for a beat. “Would you like to come?” It was something they used to do, after a fight: go for a drive together. The destination did not matter, because the place they were aimed at could not be found on any map. It was a space between them. They’d get in the car and stare straight ahead. Mile after wordless mile. Until at some point one would reach for the other’s hand. Just like that. And then Perry would know they’d arrived.

  Amelia shook her head. “I think we’re out of toilet paper.”

  “Toilet paper,” Perry said, trying to hide his disappointment. “Right.”

  * * *

  As he turned his car onto the main road toward town, Perry could not think of toilet paper. Or stopping in at the small local market where everyone knew him and would have heard about the accident. This was exactly what Amelia claimed to love about living in a small town, and exactly what he loathed. Instead, he sailed right past the market turnoff and up Route 37 toward New Milford. From there he turned onto Route 7, wound his way through the back roads past the hospital, and continued left on Route 202. For the first time, Perry did not have a plan. What he had was an image. Of Emma in bed. Emma who did not want or need them right now. Who would not even make eye contact with him, and whose fingers drummed anxiously on her phone. Who was not perfectly fine, as the discharging hospitalist had assured him. And whom he could not seem to help.

  So instead Perry switched mental gears and focused on the next image that came to mind. Of a little girl, smaller than Emma. With a pink cast.

  Twenty minutes later, he sailed over the winding hills of Litchfield County that divided his town of Lenox and Olivia’s town of Washington. To the big white farmhouse with the shingled cottage in the rear. Where Buster lunged and barked on the other side of the door like a rabid animal. Where Perry was tempted to turn around and get his wits about him, but upon seeing a child-sized pair of polka-dot rain boots sitting on the front porch, he halted. He looked once more through the door. At the dog that little girl loved. Who might or might not take his arm off.

  Perry did not believe in signs. He believed life was a string of unpredictable occurrences looming on the horizon. Planning was your only hope against it. There were no signs. But then he spied a length of rope lying on the porch next to the polka-dot rain boots. And when the door handle turned beneath his fingers, he had to wonder.

  He knew his behavior could be construed as breaking and entering. It might even have constituted dog-napping. The only thing he could do now was push the front door ever so slightly ajar to give himself ample time for a head start. Then, he grabbed the rope and raced down the porch steps to his car, faster than he had run since his high school track days. To where he flung open the back door and stood behind it, shielding himself. By then Buster had nosed the front door open and galloped down the porch steps toward him. Perry closed his eyes, praying to remain unscathed and intact. Buster stopped sh
ort of Perry, who hid behind the open car door, and thrust his nose exactly where he should not. Perry winced, holding his breath as the dog sniffed up and down his leg, his nostrils making quick snorting noises. After determining Perry bore neither threat nor treat, he ambled over to a clump of daylilies and lifted his leg. For a moment Perry feared his mission would fail.

  But as he imagined all the things that could still go wrong, Buster turned his way. He walked up to the open door and stuck his head inside Perry’s car. And then with the whole of his hairy being, like a magnificent mythical beast, Buster leapt into the backseat. Perry slammed the door. Before he could change his mind, he hurried around to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel.

  In the rearview mirror Buster stared back at him. “Want to go for a ride?” Perry asked in the most nonpetrified tone of voice he could muster. He could’ve sworn the beast smiled back at him.

  In that moment Perry made a decision. In fifteen minutes they could be at the hospital. He would not look back again. Not at the cloud of dog hair rising about him. Not at the pattern of wet nose prints accumulating in viral momentum across his back window. It was too late.

  Perry started the car. He sneezed once, and again. Then put the car in drive.

  Phoebe

  With everyone at the hospital, Phoebe did not want to bother her parents with the realization she’d finally come to: her mother was right. There was no other choice. She needed to move home. The renovations had hit a point where the house was no longer livable.

  “Remember we talked about adding a second bath upstairs?” she had asked earlier.

  Dave kept working, so at first she didn’t think he’d heard. “What about it?” he said, finally.

  “Well, you’d mentioned borrowing some bedroom space from the second large bedroom. I don’t love the idea of one boy having a larger bedroom than the other.”