Landslide

by Susan Conley

  I was meant to keep my finger on the button of the emergency beacon clipped to my jeans so if Michael came at me, I could press the button and two guards would come save me. But Michael would just ask if he could go to the bathroom, and then he’d say, help me. Please help me.

  I know Sam will be hungry soon.

  Candy calls and says they’ll be here in thirty minutes.

  “Who will?”

  “Who do you mean who? My father and brother and me, for God’s sake.”

  “You’ve got Kit?” I feel like Sam and I are alone in a dream and that we’ll always be alone.

  “I told you we wouldn’t leave without him.”

  “Wow.”

  “Is that all you can say?”

  “Yeah. Wow. You really have him?”

  “God’s truth. We’re driving like banshees.”

  Oh Christ. I’m not ready for this.

  PART SIX

  THEY ARE MY PEOPLE

  WHEN THE JEEP PULLS in, my thoughts go quiet. I walk outside and stand under the porch light and wait. Candy gets out of the car first and goes around to the side and opens the back door for him. I see the soles of his beat-up boots first, and then his legs.

  He keeps the right leg extended while Jimmy goes behind the Jeep and gets the crutches out of the back and gives them to Kit. He takes one in each hand and lowers his legs down to the ground and moves his body to the edge of the seat so he’s more out of the car than in it, then Candy and Jimmy help him stand.

  Everything is in slow motion. I see how he can’t go fast now, even if he wanted to. He makes his way toward me. Candy’s got one hand on his back like she’s helping him keep his balance, even though he’s much taller than she is and double her body weight. He’s got a small, nervous smile, and he shines it on me. I can count on one hand the times I’ve seen my husband nervous. His hair is short again and wavy and lovely. His face is pale and thin. God I know this face.

  My heart does the leaping thing. I can’t help it. He gets to the back door and has to take the three steps slowly, one by one, with the crutches. Then he’s before me.

  He bends down toward me, and I think he’s trying to kiss me, but it’s crowded with both of us on the landing, and I don’t think he can reach my lips. I press my face against his chest. We don’t kiss. I have these prepared speeches in my head about marriage and trust. But when I see him, I know I won’t be giving any speeches tonight.

  “It’s me,” he says.

  “It’s you.”

  “God, I missed you,” he says, and his face is clear, like he’s not hiding anything and is putting all his attention on me and is able to really be here.

  Candy tells him to watch the last step up into the hall. It’s higher than the last two. They walk by me, and I stand with my hand on the door, keeping it open for them. Kit places the crutches down on the hall floor and then uses his left foot, so the right foot just grazes the floor.

  Jimmy is still out in the yard dragging some dead branches away from the driveway. I wait for him, then close the door behind him.

  Kit’s leaning on the crutches by the side of the couch when I get there. “Hello,” he says to Sam. “Is anyone in there?” Then he bends down and puts his hand on the top of Sam’s head.

  It takes Sam a minute to process.

  “You? Dad?”

  “Yeah, me. What are you going to do about it?”

  “You’re home?” Sam looks maybe twelve years old. I bet the alcohol’s wearing off. “You came home?”

  “I was always coming home.” Kit smiles.

  Candy and I are both watching from the hall. She doesn’t even try to stop her tears. I follow her into the kitchen, so no one sees mine.

  “How in the world did you get him out of there?” I ask her.

  She throws her head back and laughs. She’s got on the long red cardigan from Walmart in Bangor that she loves. “I had Jimmy with me. He scared everyone in that hospital to death.”

  She gets a meat loaf that she probably made Jimmy weeks ago out of the freezer and puts it on a plate in the microwave. “Plus all his bloodwork was good. There was no way in hell those doctors were going to keep him any longer. Linda let everyone in the hospital know that Kit was going home to find his son.”

  “I honestly cannot believe you.” I open the fridge to look for the Parmesan.

  “You try spending that much time with my father in a car. What I need now is a cigarette.”

  Flip hates it when she smokes, and she hardly does it anymore. But I follow her outside and sit on the top stair while she lights up. She points at my T-shirt with her cigarette. “It’s not summer, you know.” She smiles. “It was much worse with Jimmy Junior. He took years.”

  Jimmy Junior is Shorty’s youngest brother’s son who has been in and out of rehab for what feels like the last decade.

  “Therapy helped,” Candy says. “And the legal drugs they used to wean him off the illegal ones.”

  I don’t think Sam should be compared to Jimmy Junior. He doesn’t have that kind of drug problem, but what do I know.

  “I’m sorry you had to go get Kit. And I’m sorry about Sam. Sorry about all of this.”

  It’s like she hasn’t heard me. This is her way with certain emotions, especially apologies.

  “Are you thinking you’ll ever talk to your husband again? He’s torn up. I’ve never seen him like this.”

  “I just didn’t expect it, you know? He and I have been through stuff before, but I thought we were okay.”

  “Just talk to him, Jill.” She puts the cigarette out under her boot. “The man is a mess.”

  “He hates talking, Candy. You know that.”

  “He’ll have to talk. I make Flip talk. You can’t get this far in a marriage without talking.”

  A car comes down the driveway in the dark and stops. Charlie gets out and waves at the driver. I walk toward the headlights.

  “Go see what the cat dragged inside,” Candy tells him.

  He runs, and Candy and I follow him. Kit’s lying on his back in the bed next to the couch, and Charlie’s sitting on the floor by the bed, holding Kit’s hand without any self-consciousness. Sam’s propped his head up on one of the couch pillows, watching his brother and his father talk.

  I shake my head and go into the kitchen and put the red sauce on the pasta. Candy slices the meat loaf and calls for everyone to come get a plate.

  Jimmy takes his food to the recliner and turns the college football on. He says the Patriots will need better offensive linemen for the game tomorrow.

  Candy brings Kit some meat loaf and a little spaghetti. He leans his head against the wall and eats in the bed and says they’ll need more than offensive linemen.

  I’d forgotten how he and his father finish each other’s sentences.

  Sam walks into the kitchen in the old bathrobe and makes a plate of food. No one says anything about the bathrobe or the fact that he’s up and moving. He brings his dinner back to the couch and sits down next to Charlie. There’s a shell-shocked ordinariness about us.

  When we finish eating, Candy announces that we’re all going to bed.

  It’s only nine-thirty, but even Charlie, our biggest night owl, agrees.

  Jimmy says he’s moving to Candy’s, and goes upstairs to get clothes. Candy walks over to Kit’s bed and asks if it’s comfortable.

  He says he’s always wanted to try sleeping down here.

  She makes a funny face at him and smiles and raises her eyebrows, like she’s glad he’s home but she’s too emotional and if she says anything else to him she’ll cry. She leans down and puts her arms around his shoulders. Then she’s out the door.

  Jimmy comes downstairs and goes over to the bed and says something to Kit that I can’t hear. Then he puts a hand on Kit’s shoulder and keeps it
there for a second. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen them physical like this before.

  After Jimmy leaves, the boys go high-five their father in the bed, and Charlie takes the crutches for a spin around the room. Then the boys fight a little about who will sleep on the couch next to Kit now that there’s only one bed in their bedroom.

  Charlie easily wins. Sam has no fight in him. He gives up quickly and walks upstairs. Charlie follows him up to the bathroom.

  Kit puts his arm out like he’s reaching for my hand.

  I need something from him before I can take his hand. I don’t know what it is. Some kind of penance or confession, no matter how bad it is.

  “Come here, you.” He smiles, but it’s the nervous smile again. “Please come over here.” He pats the quilt on the bed where he wants me to sit and give him some attention.

  “I can’t do this now,” I tell him.

  “Just sit with me. We drove all day so I could see you.”

  “I wish I could.” I walk to the hall. “I hope you’re warm enough in here. I hope you have enough blankets and that you sleep, and I’m glad you’re home, Kit.” Then I go upstairs.

  I’M NOT EMBARRASSED TO say we make it through Sunday by watching a great deal of professional sports on TV. Nettie will see Sam at eight tomorrow morning. She’s made a slot for him where there was no slot. When she called me earlier, she said she could hear the desperation in my voice on the message I left her late last night. I’m holding on to this appointment now. It feels like our best hope to try and understand what’s happening to Sam. He’s not talking to me really anymore. He keeps looking at me like who are you, living in this house with my father and me?

  Lara calls in the afternoon, and I go upstairs to the bathroom, because it’s the only place in the house where I think I can’t be heard. I tell her the four of us ate pizza for lunch and watched the Celtics, and Sam was agitated during the game. Pacing and yelling at the screen. We could not get him to sit down. When the Celtics won, he jumped around and screamed and knocked over one of the ceramic lamps. Kit had to tell him to stop it.

  “This is why I bow down to you. I could never handle parenting.”

  “No, you could.”

  “No. I couldn’t. We both know that. So let me bow down. I’ve been thinking about Marsh. I’ve decided that she got cold on the boat and borrowed Kit’s shirt and kept it afterward.”

  “I like your theory. But we both know it’s not true. You should understand I’ve willed myself to never think about the shirt again.”

  “Very good. Keep doing that. And please will yourself to stay married.”

  “Like it’s that easy.”

  * * *

  —

  NETTIE’S OFFICE WAS ONCE a Texaco station, and it still has the gray concrete floors and nubby white walls. Kit remembers getting gas here with Jimmy when he was really young. There’s a blue-and-green swirled rug and a spider plant in a macramé holder. Sam and Kit are sitting on the maroon couch. Kit’s crutches lean against the wall next to the couch. I’m over in an armchair that’s also a rocking chair that rocks back and forth if I let it.

  Nettie smiles at us and says, “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Archer.”

  Kit’s never met her before and doesn’t know what she requires, or that there’s almost nothing she won’t ask.

  She’s got on a dark paisley dress today, and her hair’s pulled back in a braid. She looks like someone I’d want to tell my secrets to if I were Sam.

  She says she’s going to ask him the series of questions she asked him the first time she met him two years ago. She wants to see if any of his answers have changed.

  She starts with hobbies.

  He says his band and basketball. But he got kicked off the team and doesn’t know if the coach will let him back on.

  “School?” How does he like it?

  He hates it. “Doesn’t work for my brain.”

  She says, “It’s good you’re able to say how you feel” and writes something on her clipboard.

  “But you’re admired at school,” I say.

  He looks at me like I’m crazy.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mom. I don’t know anyone at school who admires me.”

  I clasp and unclasp my hands. It’s warm in here, and I slide my feet out of the clogs and wish I could take back what I said.

  “Mrs. Archer.” Nettie smiles at me. “I like the way you show your support. But I want to hear from Sam right now. Let’s have him drive the conversation today. In fact, what if Sam and I stay in here and you two go out to the waiting room? Can we do that? Sam and I will talk. Then we’ll come find you.”

  It strikes me then how young she is. I don’t think I hold this against her. I never thought I’d become an ageist. It’s working for Sam. That’s what I remember most from last time. How willing he is to talk to her.

  * * *

  —

  THE WAITING ROOM HAS two black office chairs on wheels, and a black wooden bench, and an ugly glass coffee table. You can see all the electrical wiring in the ceiling and the heating ducts. I sit on the bench, and Kit just stands and leans on his crutches. He says it’s too much work to try and sit down again and that Sam seems calmer today than he did yesterday. “He showed me his mustache this morning, or what he wants to be his mustache. He was the old Sam.”

  “He’s been waiting for you. He’s always better around you.”

  We’ve all been waiting. Resentment is a dangerous thing at a therapist’s office, and I think Kit knows this too.

  We stay in the waiting room for ten more minutes or so in a kind of duel where neither of us says anything.

  Then Nettie invites us back in and says it’s good we came to see her, because Sam is carrying things around with him that she’d like him to put down.

  “We all know this,” she says. “We all know Sam has strong memories of Liam. What I don’t think you’re aware of are his overriding feelings of responsibility for Liam’s death. Am I getting this right, Sam?”

  Sam nods at her and goes back to studying his high-tops.

  “We’ve talked about it this morning,” she says. “His survivor guilt. And how this guilt is still with him. I’m betting both of you are trying to help him put the guilt down. Would you say that, Jill?” She looks at me.

  “Yes. I would say that.”

  “And you, Kit?” she says.

  “Absolutely,” he says.

  “We all want to help take the guilt away and find a place for Sam to put it, but we don’t know how.” She leans forward so that she’s at the edge of the wooden chair. “What I want you to see is that when Kit was in the accident in Canada, Sam began to do what we call spiraling. Another way we refer to this is doing stress. Sam’s brain connected the accidents. Liam and Kit. And then he started doing a lot of stress. Sometimes his guilt is all he thinks about, which gets hard on his brain. So what we want him to know is that Kit’s okay now. Kit isn’t dying. Kit is right here.”

  Sam pulls on the neck of his sweatshirt.

  I think I would have known if he was experiencing the kind of guilt Nettie’s talking about. I think I would have been able to tell.

  Nettie asks Sam to try to describe what it’s like inside his brain.

  I don’t think he’ll answer her.

  He stares at his sneakers.

  Just when I think he may never talk again, he says, “Liam like takes over everything.”

  “Everything?” I say. I can’t help it. He can’t mean everything.

  “Yeah, everything,” he says.

  I get so sad for him then. Just so sad.

  Nettie says, “I want you to know this is not a case of Sam keeping secrets, Jill. This is his brain needing help. Sam’s brain needing a break.”

  I nod at her, and when I look over
at Kit, he’s nodding too.

  Nettie says, “This is about you both seeing Sam.”

  But I see him.

  “It’s about not leaving him,” she says.

  I hardly ever leave him.

  “Because Liam left,” Nettie says.

  “How this will look for Sam will be different on different days,” she says, “but the important thing is that he keeps talking. Because to admit it really is half his battle. It really is.”

  She tells Sam that she’s going to give him a scale for his brain.

  “A what?” He looks up at her. “I don’t need a stupid scale.”

  “It’s easier not to love yourself, Sam. We just talked about this. It’s always going to be easier to be negative than to love yourself.”

  He rolls his eyes at her.

  I do not move in the rocking chair.

  “So break that pattern right there,” Nettie says. “Just break it. Don’t go negative on us. That negativity you have is the most limiting emotion. I’ve never seen it do any good. I’ve only seen it ruin people. You hear me?”

  He nods.

  “And you see these people here?” She points to Kit and me. “You can just accept them. It would be easier. Accept them and the house you sleep in and the food they give you and their love. You can drop the mask and stop feeling like you’re unseen.”

  He says, “But what does that even mean?”

  “There it is again,” she says. “Drop it. Don’t try to blame me or them. We didn’t make Liam fall off the bridge. You didn’t make Liam fall either. He just fell. So let it go.”