Chasing Peace (22 page)

“Come on in,” I holler, hoping that Annie can hear me. The
knocking stops.

I survey my surroundings, the stacked moving boxes nearly
blocking my view, reminding me of a play fortress a child might build. I never
built anything quite so solid. I’d always built mine of hopes and dreams, and
they were much more easily crushed by others.

“Sterling? Are you in here?”

“I’m coming.” I move around the boxes, spotting Annie as she
hovers in the doorway.

“You’re moving?”

I laugh at her perplexed look, the confusion drawing her
brows together. “No. I’m moving on.”

“Ahh.” Her brow evens out, her face lighting up. “You’re
moving back into your bedroom.” Her response might have been a question, but
she nods, recognizing the progress I’ve made.

I pull out a drawer, folding impossibly tiny tee shirts and
placing them into an open box. “It’s time,” I say, smoothing the fabric, a half
smile hovering around my mouth. “I thought I could ignore it, head off to
college and pretend like everything is fine, but it’s not.” Freshman
orientation popped into my mind. “I put on a brave face and mistook cynicism
for strength.”

“You were sad. That’s why I noticed you.” Annie sat on the
bed, close enough to provide comfort, but out of the way. “We were all so
excited, bouncing off the walls at the possibilities, but you were so still and
sad.”

“I guess I didn’t hide it as well as I thought.”

Annie clucked her tongue, shaking her head. “You only fooled
yourself and those who weren’t paying attention.”

Breath huffs from my nose as my lips curl in chagrin. “I
wouldn’t change it. You know I saw Boston for the first time that day.”

“I guess I’m not surprised.”

“He’s the runner we saw on the bus tour.”

“Oooh him.”

“I nearly clobbered him with my bag the first time we met,”
I chuckle with the memory.

“You didn’t.” She gasped, her eyes going wide, fingers
covering her mouth.

“I did. He snuck up on me, and my encounter with Brock had
been too recent. I panicked and couldn’t help myself.”

Annie giggles and pretty soon snickers bubble from between
my lips too. I don’t remember the last time I giggled. “I swung my bag at his
head.”

“No,” she gasped. “Did you hit him?”

Shaking my head, letting sober overtake me. “No. And I’m
glad I didn’t.”

“Maybe it made you memorable. You’ll have to ask him.”

I finish emptying the drawer, certain that I would never
ask. “I don’t know where our relationship is going, but I’m no longer afraid he’ll
be sucked into the black hole that’s been my life. He’s strong and I feel like
I’m here for him. I’m always thinking about what I have to offer, how I can
help.”

“You’re good for each other.” Annie turns pensive, all
giggling gone.

My lips curl in a half smile as I close the last box. “That
sounds nice, more like we’re in this together. We’re here for each other.”

She smiles too, a bright smile shining on me like the sun as
the clouds move away. “So, you need some help hauling this stuff out?”

I’d separated and packed Emma’s toys and clothing. “Not all
of it.” These are staying,” I say, resting my arm on the two small boxes
stacked on the bed. “Everything else goes.”

“You’re not keeping much.” Annie’s tone is hushed and laced
with concern.

‘A wise woman once told me that life isn’t like palm
reading. The scars from our past don’t foretell our future.”

“Huh,” she contemplates.

“I’ve kept photos and a few special mementos. That’s all I need.”
I smile to reassure her. “Memories don’t fit into boxes.” Catching a glimpse of
myself in the mirror over the dresser, I see Emma’s smile reflected in my face.
Yep. I have my memories.

Annie picks up two boxes from the dresser. “Let’s go.”

In typical Annie fashion, she wore tight, tapered jeans with
tall boots and a tank under a thin button down shirt tied at the waist. A
beautiful purple stone the size of my thumb weighed down a fine chain around
her neck. I shook my head in disgust as I only just realize that Annie must
have stopped by for another reason. She didn’t know I would be hauling boxes
today.

Picking up two boxes, I follow behind. “So,” I say as we
head out the door. “Did you stop by for a reason?”

“You want to load these in my car? There’s probably more
room in the cargo area.”

I’d planned on making two trips. “If you have time,” I say,
still wondering why she stopped by.

“I have time.” Annie kept moving until we finished hauling
boxes to the car and climbed into the front seats.

I finally had her attention. “Why are you here?”

“I’m helping out a friend.”

“Seriously Annie? You didn’t know I needed help.”

“I didn’t know we’d be moving boxes, but with the trial
beginning on Tuesday, I thought you might need a friend.”

Warmth radiates through me heating from my chest down my
arms, all the way to my fingertips.

“Thanks.” I smile at her and reach over to squeeze her arm
as she watched the road.

“Hey! Driving here!”

“You were worried about me,” I taunt. “Admit it.”

“Don’t get a big head about it. Rand asked me to make sure
you were ready for Tuesday.”

My sing-song voice rang out in the car. “Don’t go blaming it
on Rand. You care. I can tell.”

“Of course I care. I care about Rand.” We both dissolve into
laughter as Annie turns into a coffee shop drive through. “What would you like Sterling,
my treat.”

“I’ll have an iced mocha.”

She places our order and pulls ahead. “I told him you’re
ready.” Her voice had sobered, turning deliberate and thoughtful.

I turn in my seat to face Annie. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Back on the road, I sip my iced mocha delighted by the
almost immediate rush from the sugar and caffeine. At least that’s what I told
myself.

* * *

“Is that wind?” I wonder as I finish stuffing socks into the
last small dresser drawer. My clothes are back in the dresser, my pillows in
place and my duvet spread across the bed. It took most of the day, but I’m done
moving.

The room seems different without Emma’s things, like it’s
the same, but not really. I suppose it’ll never be the same. It’s like the room
changed in our time apart, or maybe I changed.

Boston will be here later. I might be ready to move into the
bedroom, but I’m not yet ready to stay here alone. I expect we’ll create some
new memories, I’ll share some of the old and eventually I’ll move forward. Just
last month I would have laughed, or maybe cowered at the thought of moving back
into my bedroom.

I hear the snick of the front door latch and smile. Boston’s
early, but I’m ready.

Stepping out of the lighted bedroom, I can barely see
through the dark. I move into the wide arch separating the kitchen and living
areas and reach for the switch. I can’t see him, but I can tell he’s there. The
cold scent from outside clings to him, but it doesn’t mask his identity.

Anxiety courses through me faster than the blood rushing in
my veins as I freeze in mid motion. I’m locked in a rictus of terror. This can’t
be happening. He’s not supposed to come near me.

Why is he here? What does he want? Agitated thoughts
stampede through my mind, the frenzy in complete contrast to the stillness of
my body, my arm hanging in space, the light switch out of reach. It doesn’t
matter. I know he’s Brock, not Boston. I don’t need the light.

“I can see you there.” The voice floats toward me out of the
darkness. He’s by the door.

“Wha … what do you want?”

“Can we talk?”

“I don’t have anything to say to you. You’re not supposed to
be here. Please leave.”

“Always so polite,” he says, his voice mocking and sinister
suspended in the darkness.

A car pulls into the parking lot. Its lights slashed by the
slats on the blind expose the room while sliding through. The illumination
flashes across me, chilling me with vulnerability.

“Ge ... get out.” My voice quavering and shuddering
contradicts any command I try to instill.

“I’m not here to hurt you Sterling. I just need to talk, to
apologize. Turn on the light.”

I look down at my arm. My eyes have adjusted to the
darkness. I can see that I’m lit from the side by light coming from the
bedroom, making it much easier for Brock to see me than for me to see him. I
can see him now too. Well, I can see the shadow of him, his outline against the
door. He hasn’t moved since letting himself in.

“I locked that door.”

“I have a key, remember? I used to live here.”

“You don’t live here now. You can’t be here.”

“I know, but I need to talk to you Sterling. I need to
apologize. Can we talk?” His voice is whining. I can’t see his face in the dark
and I wonder if he’s contrite or if he’s peeved and needs something from me—forgiveness
maybe.

No longer afraid, my hand moves forward and flips the
switch, flooding the living room with soft yellow light. I’m prepared; he’s
not, his hand coming up to shield his eyes. “Sit,” I direct him, pointing to
the chair and taking charge of his intrusion.

Brock shuffles into the room as I marvel at how short he
really is, barely taller than me. Flopping into the chair, his stocky body
appears to have lost some muscle tone, I wonder what I ever found attractive
about this petulant self-centered man-child.

I lower myself to the futon, sighing in disgust. “I deserve
better than you, so don’t even think you’re gonna convince me to take you back.”

“No. That’s not why I’m here.” His features are pinched and
pale, his eyes dull and his hair too long, as if he hasn’t taken care of
himself. “I know I can never give back what I took from you,” he continues, “but
I’m hoping you can forgive me and we can move on.”

I’m ready to forgive. Brock has demons guiding his actions
just like the rest of us, but I’m still not sure what he wants. “Move on how?”
I ask, seeking clarity.

“We need to get our lives back, return to normal.”

“I’m moving on, looking forward,” I say, choosing my words
carefully, still concerned about what he really wants. “Life will never return
to normal, but I’m living again and I’ve discovered a new normal. I guess you’ll
have to do the same.”

“I’ve tried, but I’m in limbo here, not certain about my
future.”

“I knew it!” The words flew out of my mouth, fueled by rage.
I squeeze my fingers together, cutting off the blood flow. I can’t look at him.
Looking down, I watch my fingertips turn red then darken to almost purple. I
focus on the pain building in my fingers, relish in it as I struggle to control
my anger, retake my composure. “What do you want me to do?” I whisper.

He looks eager, excited that I might support his plan. I won’t.
Over the past several months, I’ve learned to nurture my self respect. With the
help of Boston and Annie and Lyla, I’ve learned that unlike my mother I don’t
need to lose myself. I’m not going along with his plans, but I still want to
hear what they are.

“Please don’t testify Sterling.”

“Why would I do that?”

“My defense is stronger if you don’t testify.”

“Why? You drove drunk. You killed Emma. Why would I let you
get away with it?”

“Because I need your help. If you testify, I’ll get ten
years in prison. If you don’t, I might get less.”

“How do you figure?” I can’t believe how calm that sounds. I’m
ready to spring from my seat, scratch out his eyes and tear into his hair, yet
here I sit appearing calm and compliant.

“If you don’t testify, we can claim you were there. You’re
responsible for …” he pauses, his voice trailing off, his final word barely
audible, “Emma.”

“But I wasn’t there. I didn’t get in the car. I didn’t drink
and drive. I didn’t bring Emma into the car knowing that you were drunk. I’d
never do that.”

“The jury doesn’t know that. Hell,” he rakes his fingers
through his hair, his face becoming florid. “You looked like you were in a car
wreck. They thought you were driving. It’s a good defense.”

A sense of calm came over me. The more Brock unraveled, the
more tranquil I became, the stronger I got.

“So let me get this straight. You don’t want me to testify
so you can blame me?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Is this your lawyer’s idea or yours?” He looks down, guilt
hanging about him like a mantle.

“So you think if I don’t testify, you don’t have to take
responsibility for your actions?” He nods and I sigh, slumping over, resting my
elbows on my knees, burying my face in my hands. “It doesn’t matter because I’m
going to testify.”

Brock slid down in his chair, defeated.

“Have you let yourself in here before, moved Emma’s stuff
around?” I ask, pinning him with a hard stare.

His head bobs up and down, admitting guilt, his eyes
slipping past mine as his gaze focuses somewhere behind my shoulder. “I thought
if I could upset you, you wouldn’t testify, but it didn’t work.”

“It’s the curse of strength you know.”

Brock’s eyes meet mine. “What?” I can see his confusion in
the set of his shoulders, his gaze with head tilted, mouth hanging open.

“Telling the truth makes you stronger. Hiding behind lies
makes you weak.”

“It’s bullshit.” He jerks himself into a more solid posture,
shoulders squared, fists planted on his thighs.

“It’s true,” I say shaking my head in disappointment. “As
hard as it is, telling the truth and taking responsibility is liberating, but
you have to be honest with yourself first.”

“So you’re going to testify?”

“Yes I’m going to testify. You need to help yourself Brock.”

“Aww fuck. I really need your help now. I can worry about
the rest later.”

“It took balls to come here tonight Brock.” He listens intently;
hope that I’ll fall in with his plans banked in his eyes. He’ll be
disappointed, but he isn’t honest enough with himself to realize it yet. Or
maybe he knew the old me too well to accept the new me. I’d like to think the
old me would never agree with his plans, but I can’t be sure. All I know now is
the new me won’t put up with it. Emma deserves better. I deserve better.