by Kelly Myers
“He wasn’t technically hired,” Marianne points out. “Your mom didn’t pay him, right?”
“I’m on Beatrice’s side too,” Elena interjects. “But maybe Zach wasn’t all bad – Beatrice said to herself that he made her feel better about coping with the past.”
“There are no sides,” I say. Everyone falls silent and looks at me from where I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor. “That’s what he told me last night when I asked him if he was on my mom’s side. He said he had a different opinion on how to deal with the past, but he didn’t judge my choices because there weren’t any sides.”
“Oh, well that’s convenient,” Zoe says.
“Beatrice.” Marianne speaks slowly as she leans forward from her perch on the couch. Her golden hair shimmers under the light of the lamp. “How do you feel about Zach? Because you mentioned you were furious at him, but you also said he made you so very happy last night and this morning? And it’s not like he was pretending to be someone else. He just left out some important details. So how do you feel about him now?”
Elena leans against me, trying to offer whatever comfort she can as I mull over Marianne’s question. Zoe crosses her arms and purses her lips. To Zoe, the whole thing is black and white. One strike and you’re out. Normally, I would see it the same way, but Zoe doesn’t know Zach like I do.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I was so mad at him, but I’m also mad at myself.”
“You did nothing wrong,” Zoe snaps.
I shrug. “Maybe, but I have been a coward. I’ve let the past dictate my life. My mother can’t do anything to me anymore, and yet I’ve refused to talk to her out of fear I should have left behind. And maybe a little pettiness as well.
“And Zach – he never tried to force me to talk to her. He just wanted me to talk to him about it, and when I did, I felt so much better.”
Emotion chokes me up, and I pause to take a deep breath. “I think I love him.”
It’s Marianne, always cool under pressure, who recovers her composure first. “Do you think it’s a good kind of love? That he could be good for you? Because you could always fall in love with someone else. Someone easier.”
“There’s no one like Zach,” I mumble. I’m aware of how corny it sounds, but it’s true. No one can make me laugh like Zach. No one understands me like Zach. And the real kicker is that it is easy with him.
“I think only you can make this choice.” Elena squeezes my hand and looks me in the eyes. “But whatever you decide, you should know that you’re the strongest and bravest person we know. And you’ll survive anything.”
“It’s true.” Marianne wipes away a tear and shrugs. “He definitely sounds like an exciting option, you’d just have to make sure he really begs to get you back, after what he did.”
I turn to Zoe. Trepidation pulses through me. She will have the toughest opinion, but it’s also the opinion I value the most. Zoe doesn’t sugarcoat anything.
She looks at me for a moment, her dark eyes gleaming like obsidian.
Then she throws up her arms. “If you want him, go and get him. But make sure he knows that if he messes with you again, I’ll kill him.”
The sight of the petite but fierce Zoe threatening a man who is nearly twice her size is too much. I burst out laughing, and pretty soon everyone else joins in.
Everyone says good night and heads out soon after. I promise my friends that I’m going to think things over and keep them posted.
When I’m alone again in my apartment, my phone rings. It’s Zach.
I stare at the phone, but I let it ring out. I truly don’t know what I would say. If I want him, I should go get him, like Zoe advised.
I am in love with him. I’m just not sure I want him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
At the end of the week, I make my monthly pilgrimage to Torrins. It’s the first Sunday of February, and nothing can stop me from visiting my grandmother. Not even fresh heartbreak.
As I sit on the bus, I mull over the facts. It’s good to consider concrete details before plunging into emotional vagaries.
Zach has called me four times, once each day. He left one voicemail the second day. He said he didn’t want to bother me, but he wanted to talk. He was sorry about everything, and he was worried about me.
He didn’t leave any other voicemails, but he did text me on Friday. He said that everything I thought was true. He had reached out to me because my mother asked. She did want him to encourage me to forgive her. He had no secret justification. He just did it to help out an old friend. He didn’t specify if I was the old friend or if he was referring to my mother.
The text wasn’t that long; it was clear that he wants to talk in person. I don’t blame him. Things like plotting with my estranged mother shouldn’t be discussed over text.
When my grandma opens the door, I fall into her arms as if it’s been a year, not a month.
“Honey,” she rubs my back. “You seem tired.”
“It’s Winter blues.” I don’t want to worry her, especially since my drama involves my mom. It’s a sensitive subject with us.
I know my grandmother feels guilt for not managing to help me sooner. She didn’t know how bad my mom had gotten. I also know that she still speaks to my mother, but in a very limited capacity. My grandma had to tell my mother point blank that she would never force me to reconnect with Claire, no matter what.
That’s probably why my mom got creative with Zach. Honestly, I have to give my mother points for sheer tenacity.
My grandmother makes me a cup of tea, and we settle down to chat. I tried to make dinner reservations as promised, but she has plans with some friends tonight, so we’re postponing.
I tell her a bit about work, and she tells me the latest from her bingo night.
I pause for a moment. I don’t want to share all the details about Zach, but I do want her opinion on one issue.
“Grandma, do you think I’m only good at running away?” I fiddle with the handle of my chipped tea cup. “Do you think I only deal with problems by leaving them behind?”
My grandmother’s face softens, and I can see how much she cares for me by the way her eyes fill with love and a tinge of sadness.
“No, honey, of course not,” she says. “You never ran away from problems, you ran towards the solutions.”
I laugh and shake my head. “That’s a bit of an oversimplification, isn’t it?”
“Sometimes the truth is in plain sight.” She shrugs. “You don’t leave everything behind, you haven’t left me, have you? And I know how much you hate coming back here.”
“I don’t hate it.” I take a sip of my lukewarm tea. “Or at least, I’m beginning to appreciate that this place made me who I am, and I like who I am. So maybe I shouldn’t run away from everything.”
“That’s very wise of you,” she says.
I nod, and we sit in a peaceful quiet for a bit. Then my grandmother clears her throat. I watch as she adjusts her glasses on her nose.
“I don’t mean to pry, but I was wondering if you’re still talking with that Zach O’Malley boy?”
I can’t hide my surprise as I meet her inquisitive gaze.
“We were,” I say. “But things got a little complicated.”
“Hmm, did they?” She drums her finger on the table in a nervous pattern. “Well, you know how my old friends and I like to gossip, I asked them about him. Since you had mentioned seeing him, and I was a bit concerned just because of...well, everything.”
I smile and nod. My grandmother and I could have an entire conversation about all the trauma in my life without every going into specifics. We like to keep things nice. I can tell it’s hard for her to even mention Zach by name.
“What did your friends say?” She tries to keep her tone casual, but she’s dying to know what the Torrins gossip mill has churned out.
“They love him.” My grandmother shakes her head as if she still can’t believe it. “Everyone insists that he’s be
en straight as an arrow for years, and of course he has that big contracting business. And then no one knows for certain, but everyone seems to think he helped the police get rid of that one awful man.”
She knows Finn. She knows his name and what he did, but she can’t bring herself to talk about it. She feels too much guilt over what I had to endure.
“Well, I’m glad he’s a local hero,” I say. “He was young when I knew him, but it’s good to know he grew up well.”
“There’s something else.” My grandmother’s tone sets alarm bells in my body ringing. Whatever she’s about to tell me, it’s big. “The night you ran away, the night I called you and picked you up, do you remember that?”
I can’t resist raising my eyebrows and giving her my most sarcastic look. “Grandma, of course I remember.”
“It wasn’t a coincidence that I called you that night.”
I set my tea cup down. This is a surprise to me. I always thought it was the fates finally throwing me a bone.
“Someone called me and told me you needed me.” My grandma’s green eyes glisten with unshed tears. “It was a boy, or a man, I couldn’t quite tell.”
I feel like I am no longer living a real life. I’m in some sort of alternate reality video game where all my choices somehow lead back to this one person. I try to turn away, but somehow I keep getting pushed back towards him.
“It was him,” my grandma says. “He called me that night.”
“How do you know?” For some bizarre reason, I’m whispering, as if my grandmother is communicating some official secret that will change the world as we know it.
“Gladys showed me a video on his website.” My grandmother waves her hands in a square, presumably to represent a computer. “He was talking about a house he was building, and I recognized the voice.”
“Are you sure?” I don’t need to ask. In my heart, I know it was him. All this time, I thought he was part of the cage trapping me in Torrins with my mother, but he was the one who slipped me the key.
My grandmother nods. “Until the day I die, I will remember every detail of that night.”
“Me too.” I stare at the familiar kitchen, the table and tea kettle and houseplants that have not changed for over ten years.
I don’t know what else to say to this news. It’s a shock, but at the same time, I feel like I should have known all along. How did my grandmother know to reach me out that night? Who else knew what was going on with my mother and cared enough to do something about it?
“Thank you for telling me,” I say.
“I shouldn’t have needed to be told by someone else.” My grandmother’s voice is tainted with shame. “I should have known. I should have tried to reach you sooner.”
I don’t even have the words, but I know I need to assuage her guilt. So I get up, and I sit next to her, and I hug her for a very long time.
“You saved me,” I say. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
An hour later, I stand outside my grandma’s house and blink up at the dull sky. It’s overcast, and the sun is hidden behind a layer of endless grey clouds.
I have to see Zach. I have no idea what I’ll say to him or what I want from him, but I need to see him.
I consider going on his website and seeing if his home address is listed. Then I wonder if my grandma’s friends know it.
In the end, I choose the simplest method.
I just text him and ask for his address. He responds within seconds. Then he asks if I want to come over and talk some time this week.
I don’t respond, I just type the address into google maps. It’s a fifteen minute walk.
I start walking, but about halfway there, I start to run. I’m filled with nervous energy that courses from my scalp down to my toes.
As I jog block after block, my heavy coat swaying from side to side, I feel like a kid again. I feel like a girl running out to play with some friends down the street. I feel like a teenager, rushing to school with my backpack, desperate to not be late for homeroom.
I feel like I’m seventeen, and it’s summer (only it’s the coldest summer ever), and I’m running to meet Zach at the park so I can tell him how much he means to me, and I can ask him if maybe, just maybe, I mean that much to him as well.
Only I never ran after Zach like that when I was seventeen. I was too unsure of him, and too unsure of myself. Everything in my life felt like a risk. My entire world could come tumbling down at any moment. I was too terrified to take a risk with him.
I’m still terrified. Only this time, my fear of going home to Lincoln Park and spending the rest of my life wondering about Zach far outweighs my fear of confronting him, at least once more.
He lives in a tiny duplex on a quiet cul-de-sac. It’s far from fancy, but it’s neat and clean. He’s probably saving for his forever home. Kids like us, who grew up with nothing, are always trying to save. We always think everything we earn might disappear at any moment.
I’m not going to let Zach disappear. Not yet.
I reach out and ring the doorbell.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Zach’s expression is so comical that I almost laugh.
“I thought – I figured.” He pauses and tries to get his bearings. “I thought you were gonna come over later this week.”
“I was in the neighborhood.” He blinks at my light, almost cheerful, tone. I know it’s a far cry from how I spoke to him last time we were together. “Are you gonna invite me in? It’s rude to make people linger in doorways.”
Zach steps aside and ushers me into a living room. It’s got a couch and a massive desk. I stand in the middle of the room and turn to look at him. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, just like he used to in high school. He lifts one hand to the back of his head, and my eyes are drawn to his bicep. I remind myself that now is not the time to get distracted. He has to answer for a few things first.
“Bea, I want to apologize,” he says. “For everything.”
“Wait.” I hold up my hand. “You should apologize, but first I want to say something.”
Zach shuts his mouth and just stares at me as if I’m the most confounding being in the world. I admit, I can’t even explain my behavior. All I know is that I had to see him.
“I know it was you who called my grandma that night.”
Zach lets out a long breath of air. Whatever he was expecting me to say, it wasn’t that. He looks down at the floor and then back at me before nodding.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Zach shrugs. “You never exactly gave me the chance.”
“Zach, you saved my life.” I wrap my arms around my torso and stare up at him. “Thank you.”
“You would have saved yourself eventually.” As if it is taking too much energy to stand, Zach crosses to the couch and sits down. “But that summer you were so sad, and I tried my best, but I knew I couldn’t make you feel better. Not permanently. I wasn’t good enough for you.”
“Don’t say that.” I stay standing, my feet planted firmly on the floor. So I can feel in control. Maybe so I can run if I need to. I’ll always be the girl who has one eye on the exit, but if anyone can understand that, it’s Zach.
“It’s true, or it was back then.” Zach gives me a rueful smile. “I was trouble, but I knew you were good. And I didn’t want you to get sucked in like me.”
Zach leans forward and props his elbows on his knees. His hair falls forward around his ears. “You were sad, and your mom was too far gone, and Finn was at your mom’s apartment more and more.”
He looks up at me, and I flinch at the sudden anger in his eyes.
“Finn started talking about you, about how pretty you were,” Zach says. “If he had touched you, I think I would have killed him.”
My knees tremble at the intensity in his voice. He means what he’s saying, and I know from the protective tilt of his jaw that he cared for me back then. But does he still care? Or does he just feel some lingering attraction and loyalty for his
teenage crush?
Because what I have isn’t a crush. It’s big and powerful and all-consuming and is pushing me to act against all reason. It’s pushing me to throw myself into his arms despite the fact that he has lied to me.
“And that night was bad,” Zach says. “I wasn’t there, but my dad came home ranting and raving about it, and I knew I had to do something. So I looked up your grandma’s number, and I called her.”
I take two steps and perch on the very edge of the couch. We both stare straight ahead.
“I was so happy when Finn came by and was moaning about how you ran away.” Zach glances up at me with cautious eyes, as if I’m a timid animal that might bolt if he makes one wrong move. “I almost laughed out loud.”
“I wish I had helped you,” I say. “Somehow, I should have helped you like you helped me.”
“It’s not a game,” Zach says. “There are no points or debts.”
He’s right. There are no rules to the world we grew up in. No teams or sides.
We only have our stories. Zach has one that only he can tell, as do I.
“I want you to tell me why you were helping my mom,” I say.
Zach tips forward as if he might reach out to hold me, but then he leans back again. “There’s no excuse for what I did.”
“Just tell me.” I need to hear his reasons from his own mouth.
“Your mom is part of a support group,” he says. “I know some of the guys, we all meet up a few times. She never stops talking about you, about how you ran away before she could make things right, about how she just wants one more chance.”
It’s not pleasant, picturing my mom with a bunch of sad recovering addicts, yammering away about her daughter who left her in the dust.
“I felt guilty,” Zach says. “She doesn’t know it, but I felt like I had taken away her chance by getting your grandmother involved. Not that I regret what I did. But I still felt guilty. So when she asked if I would reach out to you, I said I would consider it.”
Without realizing it, I’ve angled my body towards him, so my knee is almost touching his thigh.
