Lucy wraps the long arms of the sweatshirt around herself. “No monsters?”
Sawyer glares at me and I wish I could disappear.
Dad softens. “No. There’s no such things as monsters.”
Sawyer crosses the room, and Lucy goes willingly into his arms. “Thank you for taking care of Lucy and checking the apartment. There must have been a misunderstanding between me and Mom about our schedules involving Lucy. I promise it won’t happen again.”
I will Sawyer to look at me as he leaves, but he doesn’t, causing my heart to hurt. Unable to stand this, I walk after him and he stomps down the stairs. Each loud thud on the stairs a dismissal to me. He reaches the first floor, rounds for his apartment and I call out to him from over the banister. “Sawyer.”
I expect him to keep walking, but he pivots quickly on his heels. “She’s important to me. More important than your need to prove something that doesn’t exist.”
He means Lucy, he means my need to prove to my dad ghosts are real. As if she knows she’s part of the reason and is embarrassed about it, Lucy hides her head in the crook of his neck.
“I know,” I say.
Sawyer shakes his head in disappointment, as if I could never understand. “Tell Lucy that none of what you said is real. Tell her ghosts are just stories. Tell her you lied.”
Lucy lifts her head. She wants me to tell her that I was wrong, but I’m not wrong. Ghosts are real. They are. They have to be.
“I like you,” Sawyer says. “More than like, but when I’m pushed against a wall, I’ll choose my sister every time.”
Just like I’ll choose my mom.
His expression falls, as if my silence has crushed him, and that causes a slicing pain in my chest. Sawyer leaves, shutting the door of his apartment behind him, and I sink onto the stairs, resting my head against the spindles on the banister. The problem is I understand. More than he knows. Because how he loves Lucy, I love my mom, and how he doesn’t want Lucy to hurt, I don’t want to lose my mom again and that’s what I’m facing.
With my heart bleeding, I close my eyes and silently weep.
SAWYER
Monday September 23: Cured a lot today. Was in my chair all morning after the mail was delivered, and all afternoon in bed. Had a nice nap.
Poor Morris! Gee, I feel sorry for him. He was in bed all day and then came down to movies. His temp was 101.2. I told him to go up—but might as well talk to the wind.
My fault. That’s what Mom said. I was supposed to be home. She said I had agreed to be home by seven so I could watch Lucy, but I never said that. We never had that conversation. Mom was so damn insistent that my brain began to separate as I wondered if she was right and I was wrong.
Lucy was alone and was it my fault?
“Lucy, how about you go and help Tory make chocolate-chip cookies in the kitchen?” Dad enters the living room of the condo he shares with his newest and very pregnant girlfriend.
It’s a three-bedroom deal and the place is decorated like an advertisement for Pottery Barn. Never thought of Dad as the multiple-throw-pillow type. He tosses two of the pillows on the floor before sitting on the light blue couch so I guess he isn’t. Makes me wonder how long he’ll stick around with this woman and this baby.
My gut twists. This baby is going to be my half brother. Does that mean when Dad splits I’ll be responsible for him, too?
“What do you think?” Tory rubs her swollen belly and smiles kindly down at Lucy. Tory, oddly enough, is not in her twenties. She’s not as old as Dad, but she has the type of job that includes a 401(k) and health benefits. She’s going to need that when Dad decides he’s done playing round two of family man. “We’ll have a great time, and that will give your dad and Sawyer some time to catch up.”
That’s what I’ve been avoiding all day. I drove Lucy to Louisville this morning. Since then, we’ve been out to breakfast, to the movies, out to lunch, to the zoo and now back here for a home-cooked dinner. Until now, it’s been easy to sidestep any conversation that goes deeper than “How’s school?” from Dad and “Ew, that giraffe pooped,” from Lucy. Especially when Lucy has stayed stuck to me, but now Tory and Dad are seeking to conquer and divide, and I can’t think of a good reason fast enough as to why Lucy should stay.
But maybe I can go with her … “I can help,” I say, and Lucy looks like I gave her a puppy.
She slides off my lap, and as I go to stand, Tory places a hand in the air. “Sorry, this is a girls-only thing.”
Lucy’s shoulders roll forward with disappointment as she walks into the kitchen, and I slam my butt back to the chair. But I take out my cell, pop in an earbud and start swiping through my cell like I know exactly what I’m searching for, but I don’t. Other than I need a distraction.
After a few minutes of scrolling through YouTube videos, Dad does what I don’t want and breaks into my world. “Sawyer.”
I release a frustrated breath. I brought Lucy. Can’t that be enough? I glance up at Dad and find him staring at me. He looks older than I remember, though I saw him this past spring. Lines have formed around his eyes and gray peppers his black hair.
Dad leans forward and folds his hands. “How are you?”
“Good.”
“School’s going okay?” It’s the hundredth time he’s asked variations of both of those questions.
“Yeah.” I drop my eyes back to my cell, but Dad doesn’t take the hint.
“How’s swim?”
“Fine.” Eyes still locked on my cell.
“Are you dating anyone?”
“Nothing you need to know about.” There’s a twinge of guilt that I haven’t reached out to Veronica since I left her place last night.
Dad falls silent, and I hope he’ll do what he did when I was a kid: lose interest in me and turn on the TV.
“Look…” he says.
I briefly close my eyes to keep myself from rolling them.
“There’s something you mentioned a few weeks ago that’s been bothering me.”
His leaving me responsible for Lucy and Mom when I was eleven bothers me, yet I can keep my mouth shut.
“I pay child support.”
He’s a liar. Mom told me before we left to expect this from him. She said to ignore it and let her and her lawyers handle everything. Lucy and I just have to make it through dinner. From the scents wafting from the kitchen, that shouldn’t be long. We’ll suck down our food, keep our mouths shut and then we run for home. “Okay.”
“Why would you mention that I wasn’t?”
Silence from me.
“Is that what your mom is saying?”
More silence from me.
“I know I haven’t always been the most hands-on dad, but it’s not all my fault. Your mom hasn’t made it easy for—”
“Easy?” My head snaps up. “You think we’ve had it easy?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“I think it is. You divorce Mom, and leave her,” leave me, “and force her to take care of us while you go and do whatever you want.”
“Is that what this is about?” Dad asks like he’s confused. “You’re still mad at me for the divorce?”
I glance over at the kitchen. How long does it take to warm up a ham?
“I don’t know what lies your mom has been feeding you, but your mom and I were both miserable in the marriage.”
“So you get a divorce and now you get to be happy. I guess that’s the point, huh? We struggle to take care of each other and you get a hall pass. Showing up whenever it suits you. I forgot that the only thing that matters is how you feel. As long as you’re happy, then it doesn’t matter that the rest of us suffer due to your choices.”
Dad’s jaw hardens. “What was I supposed to do, Sawyer? Stay in a marriage that was strangling me?”
“As I said, as long as you’re happy, right?”
“That’s not fair.” Dad lowers his voice.
“Fair? I had to switch shifts to drive up here t
oday. Mom takes care of us full time and works a full-time job while you take every other holiday, and when I was a younger, every other weekend. Like we’re the class pet to bring home. Is that fair? Then you complain about seeing us, but you never once make an effort to come to where we live.”
He unlaces his fingers. “I have a job, and when your mom moved she said she’d bring the two of you to see me.”
I don’t want to listen to this anymore. I stand and pull my keys out of my jeans pockets. Dad shoots up from the couch. “What are you doing? Tory’s making dinner.”
“I’m taking Lucy and heading home. You wanted a visit. You got it. If you want to see Lucy again, you’re going to have to come see her yourself.”
I start for the kitchen and Dad places a hand on my arm as if he can stop me. “I know I haven’t been the picture-perfect father, but there’s more to this story than you know. Things I promised not to tell you. But regardless of any of that, I’m trying now.”
He’s trying now because regret sucks. “Lucy, let’s go.” His guilt, his regret isn’t my problem.
Tuesday October 1: Well, Diary, mother is in bed. She got up this morning and tried to work, but nothing doing.
I stayed in bed because my throat isn’t any better, but when I heard about mother’s being in bed, I got up and went over to see her. She looks badly. I do hope she’ll be better soon.
Evelyn’s mother also had TB and was in the same hospital as her. They fought, they talked and Evelyn worried. I get that—more than I want. In the backseat of my car, Lucy sings as she braids her doll’s hair. My sister has a pretty voice. It’s a sweet sound and she can naturally hold a note.
I turn off the state highway and onto Main Street. It’s seven in the evening, the fall night dark, and autumn leaves drift past the beams of my headlights. We’re almost home, and my skin itches for a jump. Dad’s been texting since I left. Mom’s been texting wanting to know what happened and why Dad’s upset. Sylvia’s been texting to find out what’s next on the project, and Veronica hasn’t texted at all.
I guess she’s giving me space. Space I don’t know if I want or need. I left her apartment pissed last night and I’m still pissed. My little sister wakes up in the middle of the night screaming because she believes there’s a ghost, and Veronica won’t do anything to help stop it. How can she be okay with that?
But I miss her.
I watch movies, TV, and see shows where teenagers date, go to movies, have fun. What I wouldn’t give right now for that to be my life. To not be responsible for anything other than homework due Monday and choosing which movie to see on a Friday night.
I’d love to pick Veronica up with flowers in hand, go grab a sandwich, and see a movie where we hold hands. Then when we arrive home for the night, I kiss her a little too much, for a little too long. To the point she’s happily breathless and my head is spinning.
My blood runs warm just with the idea of holding Veronica in my arms again. Peace settles in my soul at the idea of sitting next to her. It’s weird how quickly she’s become a part of my life—a part I don’t want to go without.
“We’re almost home, Luce,” I say, and Lucy looks up at me impassively and continues to play with her doll’s hair. “You know ghosts aren’t real, right?”
I glance at her in the rearview mirror, but she doesn’t react.
“There’s nothing to be scared of in the house. It’s your imagination. Once you accept ghosts are just stories, your nightmares will stop.”
In the mirror, I spot that Lucy lifts her gaze to me. “V said ghosts are real.”
“She’s wrong.” I pull up along the curb in front of the house, and Veronica’s on the front porch steps. She’s sexy in her red plaid skirt, knee-high striped socks and short denim jacket. She looks up, our eyes meet and I want to hold her, be with her, but at the same time … Lucy’s scared.
Lucy undoes the seat belt of her booster seat, hops out of the car and runs up the front walk to V. They hug and I take my time getting out of the car. Lucy’s a million words a minute as she tells Veronica about the movie, the zoo, and her soon-to-be baby brother. Veronica glances at me then, sympathy in her eyes.
I move one shoulder to let her know I’m fine, that I don’t care, yet I hurt all the same.
“What’s that?” Lucy points at something behind Veronica on the porch. She reaches for the items and in her hands is a large seashell and two huge sticks of something.
“This is sage,” Veronica says to Lucy, “and do you know what it does when we burn it?”
Lucy shakes her head, and I’ll admit I’m curious, too.
“It gets rid of unwanted negative energies. Like your monster.”
Lucy lights up. “So if we burn this, my monster will go away.”
Veronica nods, but then Lucy’s face falls. “If we burn this, does that mean your mo—”
“Everything will be okay.” She cuts off my sister and gives her a curt tip of her head. “Do you want to help me? That is if it’s okay with your brother.” Veronica glances up at me, hope and hesitancy mixed in her expression. She’s asking for me to forgive her.
“Will it work?” I ask, each word dripping with skepticism.
“Yes.” Veronica sounds sad with the answer. “Sage will drive away anything in the house we come in contact with.”
“Lucy, can you wait for me in the foyer?” I ask.
My sister looks at me then at Veronica then complies. She doesn’t close the door all the way, but instead leaves it open a crack.
“What happened with your mom last night?” Veronica asks.
I work my jaw as Mom’s explanation still bites at me. “It was a misunderstanding. She thought I was coming home earlier than I was.”
“So you knew you were supposed to be watching Lucy?”
No. Mom swears we had the conversation, but I wouldn’t forget something like that. Not when it comes to Lucy. I move my arms as the itch to jump becomes stronger. What if there’s something wrong with me? What if I’m the one losing my mind? “As I said, it was a misunderstanding. I appreciate you helping. Your dad, too. I promise I’ll do better next time.”
I promise. The phrase feels like a sledgehammer to the chest as I don’t feel like I should be promising anything to anybody anymore when I can’t even promise to myself that I won’t do what I’m dying to do right now—jump.
“Why do you cover for your mom?” Veronica asks, and the world takes on a red haze.
“I don’t.”
“You do,” she says carefully.
“She’s a single mom who works hard and who has two kids. She shouldn’t have to juggle everything, and it’s not her fault I mess up.”
“It’s not on you to be perfect.”
“I’m not perfect,” I shout. “I’m so messed up in the head that I jump off cliffs, remember? I’m the weirdo of my friends who can’t read right or get his crap together in order to have qualified academically for the state meet last year. I’m the one with the no-show dad. I’m not even close to perfect. I’m not good enough for that.”
Veronica and I stare at each other, her strong-willed eyes never breaking away from mine. But there’s something else there, physical pain, emotional pain, and that causes the anger in me to crack as my own words come back to haunt me. “I didn’t mean weird was a bad thing—”
“Will you allow me to sage your apartment or not?” She cuts me off with a touch of attitude, reminding me of our first interactions back in August. Tonight, I came home angry with her, and now, she seems angry with me. The punches keep on coming.
She’s waiting on an answer and I give her an honest one. “If this doesn’t help Lucy’s nightmares, you have to tell her ghosts aren’t real.”
“This’ll work,” Veronica says. “I care about Lucy, and I don’t want her to be scared.”
I hear what she’s not saying—she’s not willing to make the admission, but she is willing to somehow voodoo Lucy’s nightmares away. A placebo on the illne
ss. “This is a deal breaker for me. If this doesn’t help with Lucy’s nightmares, you have to tell her the truth. And you can’t talk about ghosts with Lucy anymore. Me and you—we’re able to play around with the make-believe, but Lucy can’t tell the difference.”
I hate that Veronica breaks eye contact with me. “I hear you.”
I want Veronica and me to work, but I need Lucy’s nightmares to go away. “I’ll give your idea a try.”
VERONICA
“What are you doing, V?” Mom had whispered in my ear when I had picked up the shells and the sage sticks earlier today. “If you do this, it will drive me out. Is that what you want? For me to leave?”
No, it’s not what I want. It’s the last thing I want, but I have to help Lucy.
“I’m only cleansing the first floor,” I responded. “Go to the third floor and you’ll be safe.”
Mom did what I asked, and now I’m terrified she’s right and I’m wrong. With each second that passes, I shake more from head to toe. From fear, from grief, from physical pain.
This morning, I woke up with a splitting headache. The type that was tough to roll out of bed with, the type that makes my head feel fifty pounds heavier than normal. My spine aches from having to find the strength to stay upright. The migraine has become worse and worse. My vision doubling at times, my stomach sloshing with the promise of future vomiting.
I didn’t want to leave my bed or my room, but this is important. Lucy is important. Sawyer is important. And there’s a bit of selfishness in this, too. If I don’t do this and do it right, Glory will come and sage the entire house and then my mom will be gone for good. I can’t risk that. Her being here is a lifeline, and if it’s cut off, I think I might die.
Glory told me that in order to sage a house, I have to want the spirits to leave or they’ll stay. If I sage every part of the first floor, if I will every spirit away from this house except for Mom, then she should be okay.
My boots are heavy on my feet as I walk through Lucy’s room, the last place in the downstairs apartment I haven’t cleansed. My makeup is heavy, uncomfortable, but otherwise there’s no doubt Sawyer would have picked up on my translucent skin, the dark circles under my eyes—he’d see the pain.
Echoes Between Us Page 26
