At the Water's Edge (19 page)

“I’ve got it.” I’m certain not wanting to sit and being served by me is a display of some sort of deep sentiment, but it doesn’t matter. Both Nina and I are sitting in her kitchen, even I can feel the significance of that singing in my blood. I can tell—so easily—that Mom doesn’t know how to deal with this fact just yet, but her life has suddenly changed dramatically. From having lost us both to being about to serve us coffee. I understand that she needs that moment with her back to us. Possibly to bite back tears—that outburst in front of us in the doorway must surely have been enough for her—or to just take another breath and let it register. Or, perhaps, to revel in that feeling of instant, pure happiness for a while longer, before we all have to start talking.

Within a matter of minutes, the three of us are hunched around the round kitchen table—still the same one we used to eat dinner at more than twenty years ago—steaming mugs of coffee in front of us.

I fully expect Nina to begin the conversation because, out of all three of us, she’s the easiest talker. But my sister is uncharacteristically quiet. She gazes into her mug as if all the answers lay buried in the dark liquid it holds. That’s when I know she’s going to pieces. My news. The flight. Turning up on the doorstep of the house of her youth. Not even Nina’s bravado is strong enough to withstand that storm of emotion.

“Tell me everything.” The earlier brokenness in Mom’s voice has healed already. I used to resent the steeliness in her tone—especially when used to downplay one of my accomplishments in school. Later, I theorized it must have been her way to make Nina feel better about not getting A’s all the time. More than anything, I know it’s how she hides herself—one of the many signs I missed because I was too busy creating my own mask of steel. “When did you get back?”

“This morning.” Nina sits up a bit straighter. “Ellie e-mailed me last week and I, uh, just had to come.”

Mom nods and, for a second, I expect everything to just be like it always was. After all, we’ve all become such experts at beating about the bush. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes.” There’s still a trace of the familiar victimhood in Mom’s voice—as though the mistakes she made were forced on her—but her tone is softer.

In the days before my suicide attempt, I used to lie awake at night, thinking of all the instances in my life when I had, completely by instinct, reacted to something in the exact same way my mother would, and vowed to take a pill for every single one of them.

Behind me, the door opens with a crash. I can’t see him, but I can feel my dad’s large physical presence in the narrow kitchen. I hear his breath being expelled rapidly from his lungs and, although this can only be imaginary, I hear his bones creak under the weight he carries.

“Where is she?” he booms, although, when I turn around, I can see him staring Nina straight in the face. His eyes are wet already. I quickly glance at my sister, who seems to be getting up in slow motion. I half expect her to give Dad a friendly jab on the arm, crack that smile of hers, but instead, she opens her arms and gives him a hug.

For all the tears that run down Dad’s cheeks, he’s not much of a sniffler. I always got the impression that he hated those outward signs of a sensitivity that never really befit him, that those inadvertent tears were not something he ever learned to hold back despite trying very hard.

Kay’s words flit through my mind.
Your family loves you.
And I know that they do, but love isn’t everything. I loved Thalia, and look how that turned out. I’m in love with Kay, but, being who I am, I was ready to walk out on her this morning.

After Nina left, in my eyes, my parents’ love for both of us quickly translated into pressure on me. The one daughter that remained. Getting A’s was never an issue, but choosing not to go to Oregon U was. All the hopes they pinned on me, albeit never spoken out loud, only drove me away further. Because I knew I’d never give Mom the chance to be mother of the bride. Or to have a brood of grandchildren like her sister has. I knew I would never introduce my dad to a future son-in-law with whom he could talk about football and when to plant green beans in his garden—two subjects he could, ironically, easily have discussed with me, if we’d ever been on those kind of speaking terms.

Once Dad has sat down and Mom has poured him some coffee, the kitchen goes silent. I can’t help but wish that Kay were here. She would know what to say. And I could use a supportive hand on my knee right about now. Because this sort of silence is what I’ve always hated the most. The kind that holds a thousand unspoken words, heavy with quiet reproach, deafening—and paralyzing—because of everything that can’t be said.

It’s okay to say you’re sorry for what you’ve done.
Dr. Hakim’s words break through the fog in my brain at the right time for once.

“I’m sorry,” I say, in my classroom voice—loud and confident and fake. “I’m sorry that what I did is the reason why we’re all together here. I’m sorry to have put you through it.” The rehearsed confidence has drained from my voice already. “I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay, Ellie.” Dad, who’s sitting next to me, puts a hand on my arm.

“No, Dad, it’s not.” I remember the moment before the pills knocked me out. The immense relief that came with it—the exact opposite of what I’m feeling now.

“It’s in the past now. The most important thing is that you’re here.” I can tell he’s had a few beers, otherwise, words like that would never leave his lips.

“Why?” Across from me, Nina’s face is covered in tears. “Why did you do it?”

“Give her a break, Nina.” Mom’s voice is harsh again, but Nina doesn’t back down.

“If she can’t tell us, what good is all of this? Or shall we just sweep everything under the rug again?” Nina’s scolding glare roams across all three of us. “Shall we have some cake and pretend this is simply a long-awaited family reunion?” She fixes her gaze on me. “When my sister tries to kill herself, I want to know why.”

“I don’t need a break, Mom. We have to talk about this.” I swallow hard. “It’s why I came back.”

“I just want to make clear that I, for one, don’t require an explanation.” Mom sighs heavily. “I’m fully aware that this family needs to have some difficult conversations, but this is not one of them.” The look of compassion she shoots me is not one I’ve seen before—or, at least, not one I’ve ever chosen to remember.

“It’s okay.” For some reason, I too, feel compelled to break the unspoken no-unnecessary-touching rule of the Goodman family. I take my mom’s hand in mine and squeeze it. “I want to explain.” I suck in a deep breath and focus my gaze on a frame holding a picture of me and Nina when we were six and nine. “The reason why I chose not to live anymore was because I—” I stall because, in hindsight, the very reasons that seemed so clear to me at the time, are now extremely fuzzy around the edges, too undefined to be proclaimed out loud. And because any words I may manage to squeeze from my throat already sound invalid in my head. I feel small again, inadequate, a let-down. How I feel right now, facing my family, always feeling like I’m about to lose another battle in the war of the never-ending assault of my brain on my soul, is the reason why I did it. But I’m not exactly an expert at translating the carnage in my mind into understandable sentences.

I glare at the three of them and consider how their mistakes have affected my life and, ultimately, my decisions, too. Two pairs of blue eyes and one pair of grey-green ones stare at me, waiting for some sort of deliverance, waiting for me to set them free with my words, and I may equally hate them and love them, and they may be my family, the same blood running through our veins—the same inadequacies testing us every day—but I don’t owe them an explanation. Not for something I can barely explain to myself. Not for something that is beyond words. I acted. I shook the pills from the bottle. I wrote the letter. I cried for help and this is where it got me. This is where I am. Surrounded by my family, the people who made me, and who, I know this now, would walk on hot coals for me. And I wonder, when will it ever be enough? When will
I
be enough? I look into their misty-eyed faces, and I know this
is
enough. The four of us in Northville attempting a conversation. It’s more than we’ve had for twenty years, possibly forever.

It’s not perfect, but it’s us. The silence that now grows is different, because I fill it differently. I used to only be able to crowd it with negative assumptions.
She’s not saying anything because she’s thinking this or that. Dad is silent because Mom looked at him that way. Nina broke all ties with us because we’re a horrible family.

What have you ever gained from being negative?
Dr. Hakim has asked me about a million times.
When has it truly helped you?

In this moment, my choice is to fill the silence that surrounds me with positive thoughts. They’re here because they care for me. Nina came back because she loves me. What I did hurt them, but they’re still my family, and I love all three of them no matter what. The bond between us
is
unconditional.
 

It doesn’t matter how they perceive my silence. The only thing that matters is that, confronted with all three of them, I don’t succumb to the guilt and the shame. I reject it. Because what Kay said is true: one mistake I made does not have to define the rest of my life.

“You did it because not living seemed like a better option than living with how you felt about yourself. Because, for some people, who have to drag themselves through slow hours of self-doubt and constant self-reprimand every single day, life is not a gift. You did it because you have an illness. An imbalance in your brain chemistry that you’ll carry with you for the rest of your life. It wasn’t weakness. It’s who you are.” Mom says it in words I would never have been able to find, let alone utter. My hand is still on hers and I dig my fingertips deep into her bony hand. “You’re here and I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

On the other side of me, Dad has broken out in loud sniffles, shuffling in his chair.

“Oh fuck it.” Nina rises and walks to my side of the table, placing a hand on Dad’s shoulder in the process. She ruffles her free hand through my hair. “How about I pour us all something stronger?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

When Kay and I arrive at the cemetery the sun has already dipped behind the trees, bathing the grounds in a dreamy half-light that gives our visit an eerie quality.

With measured, sure strides she guides me to her family’s plot. “Dad would never have forgiven me if I hadn’t buried them together. Not that I believe in any of that life after death nonsense.” She takes my hand and turns to me. “Which may make what I’m about to say sound extra ridiculous.” Her grin has a solemn air to it, as if not wanting to go all out because of the place we’re at. “Mom, Daddy,” she turns to the gravestone again, gripping my hand tightly, “I’m sure you remember little Ella Goodman. She’s grown into the brainiac professor we always thought she would be, but she’s also much more than that. She’s kind, a little too self-deprecating perhaps, funny and utterly stunning, and I’ve taken a bit of a shine to her. I hope you can approve.” She turns back to me. “Mom used to say that I should spend more time with the likes of you instead of wasting my time fawning over your older sister. She would be so proud.”

I’m a bit wobbly on my legs from the brandy I drank at my parents’ house. I had to call Kay to pick me up after being declared unfit to drive by all three of my family members. All I can do is grin at her stupidly, my limbs loose from the alcohol, and my mind relaxed after our family reunion.

Kay slings an arm around my neck and pulls me close. “I do all right by myself, but I miss them so much.” The seed of a crazy plan takes root in the back of my mind. It needs time to incubate before I can even really think about it, but it’s there, pulsing like a faint neon light in my brain. “I’m sure they would be proud of you. What parent wouldn’t be?” I lean into Kay’s solid frame, her muscles hard against me.

Kay just nods, the set of her jaw strong, her teeth clenched together.

“Thanks for coming,” she says after a while.

“Don’t mention it.” I feel like such a part of her life already. “What do you usually do on this day?” Even though my voice is quiet, it still echoes between the headstones, coming back to us as a ghostly whisper.

“Go to The Attic. Raise a glass to Mabel and Patrick Brody.” Kay tugs me closer. “Will you join me?”

“Of course.”
 

Kay’s smile stretches wider this time. “Do you think it is in any way inappropriate to kiss you in front of their grave?”

I shake my head. Despite not being a religious person, the cemetery does give me pause. The air is different here, demanding respect for the dead. Out of nowhere, the thought hits me that I could have been lying here, buried in the soil of Northville.

“Show them that you’re happy.” My throat closes. Before my voice collapses completely, I find Kay’s ear. “Show them that we’re both happy to be alive.”

* * *

When we arrive at The Attic, nerves fill me and I can’t shake the preference of wanting to spend this evening on Kay’s deck, perhaps with a skinny dip. But, at West Waters, with Nina’s arrival, everything is different now as well. So I plant my behind on a bar stool while Kay orders us drinks.

“Let’s go into a booth,” she says after receiving two beers.

Relieved, I follow her into the booth I occupied with my dad the week before.

“What a day.” Kay lifts her glass and clinks the rim to mine.

“How are you holding up?” It seems like weeks ago that we were lying in my bed at the cabin.

“I’m fine. Perhaps, emotionally, a bit more raw than usual.” Kay extends her arm toward me on the table top. “By the time Mom died, she had suffered so much, it was almost a relief.” She splays her fingers on the wooden surface. Instinctively, I reach for her hand. “The first time she got sick, I had just been accepted to UT. Literally, the day after I received my letter, she was diagnosed.

“Obviously, I couldn’t go. I made that decision as soon as they told me she had cancer. To this day, I still believe that if I had gone off to college she wouldn’t have pulled through that first time. But I stayed and she did pull through. Don’t get me wrong; it was rough. Chemo is not pretty. But she made it through, went into remission, and was declared cancer-free for a long time afterwards.