Breakable (31 page)

Before
was an uncomplicated word, and it would never express all I’d lost when my timeline split in two, hurling me into an
after
I would never escape. I couldn’t reach through that curtain, ever, and see my mother as she was. Touch her. Hear her voice the way it should have been.

‘Lucas, I need to tell you something,’ Jacqueline said, and there was an uneasy tenor to her voice. I turned my head, watching her face as she told me she’d been curious and had searched for my mother’s obituary online.

I knew well enough what she’d found. The nightmare from which I could never wake. My heart went stone cold, and I could barely breathe. ‘Did you find your answer?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

Pity. That’s what I saw in her eyes. I lay back, eyes stinging as I thought of the news articles she must have read. I wondered if she’d sifted through the facts to see my part. My guilt.

I braced, trying to come to terms with this. No one outside the Hellers and Dad knew the details. I’d never spoken of them with anyone. I couldn’t bear to even think about it – how could I speak of it?

Then I caught what she’d just said – that she’d talked to Charles.

‘
What?
’

‘Lucas, I’m sorry if I invaded your privacy –’

‘
If?
Why would you go talk to him? Weren’t the gory details in the news reports sickening enough for you? Or personal enough?’ I shot off the bed and pulled on my
jeans, my voice like ice, like a razor, cutting into my skin. My wrists burned. I don’t know what I said to her and what I didn’t – the details I’d never uttered aloud. It didn’t matter. She knew them all.

I sat, head in my hands, struggling to breathe, reliving it –
please, God, no
–

A distant noise woke me, but I rolled back over, kicking off the sheet. I was hot, but too lazy to get up and turn on my ceiling fan. I lay on my side, staring out the window to the backyard, thinking about Yesenia, and the coming weekend. I would hold her hand. Kiss her, maybe, if I could get her alone. If she let me.

God, it was hot
. I flopped on to my back. To be thirteen was to be a furnace. I burned off food and energy like a flame sucking down oxygen.
You will eat us out of house and home by the time you’re fifteen!
my mother said while watching me finish off the leftovers she’d intended to reheat for our dinner. We’d ordered takeout instead. She didn’t want all of hers, so I’d finished it, too.

I heard the noise again. Mom was probably up. She prowled around the house sometimes when Dad was gone, missing him. I should check on her … My clock read 4:11.
Ugh
. Four hours until I would see Yesenia. I could get up early, get to school early. Maybe I would catch her without all her giggling friends, and we could talk about … something. Like my upcoming game. Maybe she’d want to come watch me play sometime.

I turned just as someone leaned over me. Dad? But he was out of town.

Jerked from the bed, I stumbled. Something was stuffed into my mouth as I opened it to scream – I gagged and couldn’t make a sound or spit it out. I thrashed and kicked but couldn’t get loose. Couldn’t move my wrists. I was shoved to my knees at the foot of the bed, and then he was gone. I tried to stand up, run, grab my phone to dial 911, but I was stuck.

My wrists were tied. I strained to scrape the binding loose with my fingernails, but it was too tight. Plastic. It was
plastic
. I pulled against the restraint, but it didn’t budge. I tried to rotate my hands to see if I could swivel them free, or fold them and twist them free, like Houdini, but the plastic just cut into my wrists. My hands were too big. Mom said my hands and feet were like the big, floppy feet of a puppy that would be a ginormous dog.

From her room down the hall, my mother screamed. I froze. She called my name. ‘Landon!’ There was a crash and a thud and I struggled harder, not caring if it hurt. I couldn’t answer her. I couldn’t tell her I was coming. My tongue shoved against the cloth in my mouth.

‘What did you do to him?
What did you do to him? LANDON!
’

There were more words, the sound of a slap – an open palm against bare skin, more screams, and I heard them all but they didn’t register because there was a buzzing in my ears and my blood swishing and my heart pounding. She was crying. ‘Oh, God. God. Don’t. No.
No-no-no-no-no!
’
Screaming. ‘
NO! NO-NO-NO!
’ Crying. ‘
Landon …
’ I yanked harder, pulling the bed with me, all the way to the door, my feet bracing against the floor, my legs straining. The bed ran into the dresser, wedged against the wall. I couldn’t feel my hands.

I couldn’t hear her any more. I couldn’t hear her. The rag in my mouth finally worked free. ‘
Mom! MOM!
’ I screamed. ‘
DON’T TOUCH HER! MOM!
’ My wrists were on fire. Why wasn’t I strong enough to break these stupid fucking plastic bands? I screamed until I was hoarse and kept screaming.

Gunshot.

I stopped breathing. My limbs shook. My chest quaked. I couldn’t hear anything beyond my heartbeat. My blood. My thick swallows. My useless sobs. ‘Mom … Mommy …’

I puked. Passed out. The sun came up. My wrists and arms were covered in blood. The zip-ties on my wrists were covered in blood. It was all brown, dried, itchy.

I called for my mother, but I’d screamed too much. A rasp came from my throat, nothing more. Useless. I was useless. Fucking, fucking, fucking useless.

You’re the man of the house while I’m gone
.
Take care of your mother
.

‘Do you want me to leave?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ I answered.

The number of people in my graduating class was forty-three.

That number could have easily been forty-two. I’d been one of the projected dropouts since the first day of high school. Before that, probably. In this town, there was no such thing as a fresh start; we carried our histories year to year like lists of impairments pinned to our shirts. The only reason I crossed that gym floor in a cap and gown was the man in the third row of the bleachers, sitting next to my father.

My classmates and I filed through the side door as our band – minus the senior members – played the processional. Seated in a matching cluster of royal blue, we fidgeted as Mrs Ingram, our esteemed principal, assured us of our bright and shiny futures. I knew she was full of shit, and so were her optimistic claims. I stared at the two vertical lines set between her eyes, permanent from decades of hostile
glares at unacceptable students. Those lines made her graduation-speech grin look sinister.

Many of my brainwashed classmates – those who’d scored near-perfect grades since learning to print their names – thought they’d skip off to college in the fall and perform just as well, just as easily. Delusional dumbasses. My eighth-grade prep-school courses were more challenging than almost anything demanded of us here. Getting into a good school wasn’t winning the lottery. It was winning the right to work your ass off for the next four years.

As valedictorian, Pearl gave the expected speech about opportunities and choices and making the world a better place – she actually used that phrase:
make the world a better place
. As one of the ‘top ten per cent’ of our class – four people – she’d earned automatic admittance into the state university of her choice, while I’d scraped up a probationary admittance to the same campus she chose. I liked Pearl more than I liked the majority of people sitting around me, and I had no doubt that she knew how to work hard. I just hoped she wasn’t betting on improving the world.

On the second page of the commencement programme, my name was listed at the bottom of the first column. My last name was the alphabetical midpoint of my class – student number twenty-two of forty-three. The placement was fitting. As far as almost everyone here was concerned, I was average. Mediocre. Not exceptional, but not a total fail, though some – like Principal Ingram, believed that remained to be seen.

When my name was called, I crossed the worn oak floor in front of the band, staring over my principal’s shoulder at the giant fish – our renowned mascot – depicted in painstaking detail on the far wall. In mascot form, its expression was supposed to look aggressive, intent on winning, but it seriously just looked like a stupid, pissed-off fish.

I’d been determined to cross the stage staring down the bitch who’d made my life hell for almost four years. To show her she hadn’t broken me, whether or not that was true.

Then, above the obligatory applause and crowd noise, I heard Cole’s screamo roar of, ‘
LANDOOON
,’ Carlie’s chirpy squeal and Caleb’s piercing whistle.

‘He’s fucking practised that
all week
, dude,’ Cole told me this morning when Caleb demonstrated his new earsplitting skill less than five minutes after the Hellers arrived. ‘The only reason Mom hasn’t gagged him is ’cause he’s a little kid. If it was me, I’d be toast.’

My principal’s reign over me was done. After this moment, she couldn’t touch me.

I reached for the rolled diploma with one hand and shook her cold hand with the other, as we’d been instructed to do. I stared into the camera, ignoring the photographer’s appeal to smile. One blinding flash later, I dropped her hand, walking away without ever making eye contact.

She no longer mattered.

As I dropped back into the metal folding seat between Brittney Loper and PK Miller, I took one furtive glance at
my classmates. Out of the forty-three of us, thirty-one would be leaving for college in three months. Some would try out for baseball or track or cheerleading and find they weren’t even good enough for some shit college’s second string. Some imagined themselves in student government on campuses where they’d arrive as one of thousands of nobodies. They’d be one of hundreds of freshmen during rush week, desperate for a defined peer group.

Some would figure it out and learn to survive. Some would fail out, and a few would return to this town with their tails between their legs.

I sure as hell wouldn’t be one of those.

Twelve of my fellow graduates planned to remain here, taking or keeping jobs in fishing or retail or tourism or drugs. They would get married and pregnant – preferably in that order, but not necessarily.

Their spawn would attend the schools that turned them out into adulthood after thirteen years with nothing to show for it but a near-worthless diploma. Ten years from now, maybe five, some of them would ask themselves what the fuck they went to school for – why they laboured through algebra, gym, literature and band. They’d want an answer, but there wasn’t one.

‘Maxfield.’ Boyce Wynn tossed me a can from the cooler, wet from melting ice. His was the last name called this afternoon, the last diploma Ingram resentfully presented. He’d be staying here, pretending this gulf was the ocean, this town his kingdom. Working for his dad at the garage,
partying on the beach or driving into the city for the occasional change of pace … Not much would change for Boyce.

‘Hey, Wynn.’

He clasped my hand and we leaned forward until our shoulders bumped – a ritual hello and a far cry from the day we’d beat the unholy shit out of each other – and then become friends. My cheek still bore a scar from the solid thud of his fist, and he carried its twin at the corner of his eye from mine.

‘We’re out, dude.’ He raised his can skywards, as if he was a running back with a pigskin, saluting God for a miracle touchdown. He lowered it and took a long swallow. ‘We’re
free
. Fuck that school. Fuck Ingram. Fuck that fish.’

Laughter rose from a few bystanders – younger guys with another year or two to go. One of them repeated, ‘Fuck that fish,’ and snickered. I tried not to imagine the possible graffiti.

Boyce glanced down the beach to the outer edge of the circle. ‘And fuck bitches, man,’ he added, more quietly. I knew the direction his gaze was aimed, and on who. He was one of a few people who knew the real story of Landon Maxfield and Melody Dover.

Time can be a selective dick about how fast it heals. Two years ago, I felt the sting of humiliation whenever I heard her name or looked at her. I hadn’t forgiven, and I damn sure hadn’t forgotten, but by the time Clark Richards dumped her for good – the night before he left town for college nine months ago – I no longer gave a shit.

‘
Shit
.’ Boyce echoed my last thought and cussed the sand beneath our feet, just loud enough for me to hear. ‘Pearl and Melody, headin’ this way.’ Pearl Frank was Boyce’s own personal demon, still.

I nodded once, thankful for the heads-up.

‘Hey, Landon.’ Melody’s spun-sugar drawl and the fingernail drawn down my bare arm made me flinch. How could those two things have ever felt like air in my lungs?

Glancing to the side, I downed half the beer before answering. ‘Miss Dover.’

She laughed and laid a small, soft hand on my forearm, as if my words were coy instead of contemptuous, as if she was encouraging me to continue. I wondered if she’d forgotten what continuing with me meant. I stared down into her pale green eyes, and she returned my gaze through thick lashes, sliding her hand away slowly.

Hugging herself even though it was warm out, her position invited closer inspection. She wore a black string bikini with a see-through cover-up posing as a sundress. Her blonde hair spilled with calculated imperfection from the salon-created twist she’d worn at graduation. The gold hoops in her ears and gold charm bracelet on her wrist flashed tiny diamond messages of how far out of my league she was.

Not that I needed those clues. She’d delivered that message in all its crystal clarity two years ago, and I’d learned it. Hard.

‘We’re throwing a spontaneous graduation party at Pearl’s pool in half an hour,’ Melody said, after a silent
communication between the girls. ‘Her parents left for Italy right after graduation – so they won’t be around. If y’all wanna come over, that’d be cool. PK and Joey are bringing vodka. Bring whatever you want.’

Melody pressed close enough for me to feel the warmth of her perfectly toned skin and inhale her still-familiar scent, something spicy and floral, artificial. This time, her fingertips stroked down my bare chest, her thumb grazing my nipple ring.

‘A pool party?’ I gestured with the can. ‘We’ve got a
beach
, in case you girls didn’t notice. Bonfire lit, beer in hand. What would we want with a
pool
?’

‘It’s a
private
party. Just a few people.’ She wrinkled her nose at some younger guys nearby who were farting dangerously close to the fire, where there was an ongoing debate about whether
gas
was
gas
. The likelihood of some idiot catching his ass on fire was a genuine possibility. ‘
Graduates
only.’

Pearl watched the underclassmen, too, sipping from her cup and shaking her head, a shadow of a smile on her face. Boyce slid his eyes from Pearl to me and lifted a brow – letting me know he’d be more than happy to go along with this turn of events. I shrugged.
Why not?

‘All right,’ Boyce said – to Pearl. ‘We’ll be over in a bit. Don’t start the party without us.’

Melody rolled her eyes, but Boyce didn’t notice and wouldn’t have cared if he did. He only had eyes for Pearl, poor bastard.

The trailer Boyce shared with his dad seemed to lean into the garage, as though the corroded single-wide was falling-down drunk and could no longer remain upright independently. Two of Boyce’s three bedroom windows opened inches from the exterior brick wall of the shop, so the notion that the trailer required the building’s support was plausible.

Once inside, we hung an immediate right in an effort to avoid Mr Wynn, who was installed in front of the flat screen taking up most of the ‘living room’ wall. Predictably, he hadn’t shown for his kid’s graduation. Boyce’s father: plastered in the evening, hung over in the morning, mean and cold sober all day long, repeat. He was nothing if not reliable.

‘What-er you two shits doin’ home during the game?’ he hollered, not moving from his ragged chair, which was where he ended up sleeping more often than not. Boyce once confessed to me that he’d fought the urge to light it on fire a dozen times.

Bud Wynn’s threats went mostly unheeded now. A year ago, Boyce had punched back during a beating, and since then his father had been all growl, no teeth. Now eighteen, Boyce could probably kill him, and both of them knew it. This made for an uneasy truce I would never understand.

After bagging enough shit for a misdemeanour but not enough for a felony, we were back in my best friend’s Trans Am and driving to the Frank mansion on the other side of town.

‘I’m going for it,’ Boyce announced, punching stereo buttons like he was programming a rocket.

‘Meaning?’

‘Tonight. Me. Pearl. Going. For. It. Wherein
it
equals her thighs spread and me between ’em.’ He flicked me a look when I didn’t reply. ‘What?’

I bit the ring in my lip, hating that I had to say what I had to say. Hating that I’d rather not say it – especially to my best friend. ‘Just – make sure it’s what she, you know –’

‘Landon, fuck, man.’ He pulled his baseball cap off, shook his head, and stuffed it back on backwards. Huffing a breath, his eyes never left the road. ‘Don’t you
know me
? Not that I have any real, ya’know,
morals
–’ he grinned – ‘but I mean, I hear you. I’ve heard you.
I got it
. I don’t know what your damage is and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to. But if and when I screw that superior, brainy little …’ He trailed off, unable to call Pearl something she wasn’t. ‘She’s gonna be beggin’ for it first or I won’t touch her.
Okay?
’

He slid a scowl my way and I nodded once, satisfied.

I wouldn’t have told him my damage if he’d asked. But he never had.

My mind shifted to Melody. If she begged for it now, would I?

The answer was a quiet, decisive whisper.
No
.

‘Hey, Wynn? Drop me back at the beach, man.’

He dialled the music down. ‘You don’t wanna go?’

I shook my head and he sighed. ‘Sure, man. Who needs a pool anyway when we’ve got the fuckin’
ocean?
’

‘I’m not asking you to give up your final chance for a Pearl hook-up.’

The edge of his mouth curved into a sly smile and he
arched a brow. ‘Oh, I’m not givin’ it up. If her parents left town today – they’ll be gone at
least
a week.’

‘Dude, we just graduated, and she’s going away to college in a couple months. You’ve had
three years
–’

‘Never say never, Maxfield. That’s the cool thing about being a pigheaded son of a bitch. I do not fuckin’
ever
give up.’ We laughed as he U-turned at a wide-shouldered spot in the road and cranked the stereo back up, heading back to the beach.

Silence is never totally without sound. Something to do with the human ear, straining to hear. Even when there’s nothing, there’s a frequency, a hum. Like a satellite, searching for signs of life where there is none.

My father’s voice was gone.
Take care of your mother
. My mother’s voice was gone.
Landon!
My choked intakes of breath, grating and loud, had subsided. I inhaled. Let go a ragged lungful of air. Swallowed. Took another breath. Heard each of these actions inside my own head.

Then I heard a meow. Francis jumped on the bed and stalked straight to me. He bumped my bicep with the top of his head, and I let my hands fall from where they gripped the sides of my face. My forearms rested on my knees, elbows digging into my thighs. He bumped me again, hard, like he was trying to herd me, and I sat up.

Barefoot. Old jeans. No shirt. Bed.