Circle in the Sand (17 page)

I smile and say, “Now who is being the distraction for whom?”

He scratches the short hairs on his chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.
But don’t we have to leave?”

My eyes widen as I exhale. “Crap. Let’s go.”

Parties made me nervous even before James’s accident. Nevertheless, they were our
whole world in high school and college, even after that horrible night.

The three of us had our routine—always arrive together after getting ready at Jax’s
house, and always leave together, no matter what.

Usually we’d stick together for a few minutes upon arrival. Then Sage would be whisked
away by some hot guy, only to return later leaving the poor sap with cartoon hearts
in his eyes. Jax would spend the evening talking to everyone: popular kids, nerds,
loners, stoners. I’d followed her around trying to join in the conversation, marveling
at her confidence. Sometimes I ended up playing with the family pets or helping the
hosts clean up messes so they wouldn’t get busted by their parents.

One night, after I turned sixteen, we went to a party down in Chula Vista. We practically
had to drag Sage there. She vowed that no party south of Coronado was worth going
to. Midway through the night, I found myself sitting at the kitchen counter petting
Elvis, the family cat.

“Better watch it; he scratches,” a voice behind me said. I turned to find Bradley,
a trumpet player in our school band. Tall with tight dark curls hugging his head,
he wasn’t bad looking for a band geek. He joined me at the counter where we talked,
about trumpets, a lot, and how underappreciated they are. He was friends with Shane,
the guy having the party, and was staying the night. When I was sufficiently bored
and searching the room with my eyes for Elvis, he asked if I wanted to go back to
a room to see his trumpet.

I sat on the bed and listened to the loudest most annoying sound I’d ever heard while
trying to look entertained. That was tough since his red face and puffy cheeks made
him less attractive. After a few moments, he must have noticed how pained I looked
because he busted out laughing. “Geez, I didn’t realize how loud that would be.” He
fell on the bed, as we both giggled and exchanged shy awkward grins. He told me I
had the cutest smile in the world, and then he covered it with his trumpeter’s lips.
It scared me, making me nervous at first. But I hadn’t kissed that many boys, and
definitely not in a bedroom like Sage had. So the excitement outweighed my fear.

We went at it for a while, soft and slow. We scooted back against the pillows, almost
lying down, his tall frame hovering over me. I thought about his hands, which were
by his sides most of the time. I wondered what it would feel like to have them touch
my body since I’d never gotten that far with a boy before. All I could think about
then were his hands. And it’s the hands that I remember most when I try to recall
that night. I wasn’t going to make the first move, so I willed them to touch me. As
if he’d read my mind, his right hand landed on my ribs and slid up to my breast, sending
a wave of electricity through me. Our kisses grew frantic. My breath caught; I let
out a moan. Maybe I even said something. That part of the memory is always fuzzy.
Did I say, “Yes” at that moment?

God, it had all felt so good. I didn’t want it to stop. When his hand slid back down,
I thought our moment was over. I was disappointed, but also a little relieved it hadn’t
gone further. Then suddenly his full weight was on top of me, my shirt sliding up,
his hand now running over the lace on my bra. Confusion poured over me as my hand
went instinctively to his wrist. I tried to pull his arm out, catching only resistance.
His lips went to my neck, kissing it softly. “It’s okay; don’t be nervous,” he whispered.

In my head I kept thinking, this has to stop now. I’m not ready for this. When I found
my voice, I said only, “Bradley, don’t.”

He didn’t hear me, or he ignored me. He pulled at my bra, exposing my breast, and
brought his lips to me. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I wondered if I should
scream. Everything had happened so fast. My body wriggled beneath him, then I heard
the slow creak of the door, the music filtering in.

“Shit, sorry.” I saw Shane over Bradley’s shoulder as he eased the door shut.

Why hadn’t I said anything? I was so embarrassed and ashamed that I thought I’d wanted
this. “Please, stop, Bradley. We can’t do this.” I felt sick as my gut wrenched beneath
him.

When his hand came out of my top, a tiny bit of relief surfaced. I’d gotten through
to him. He was going to stop. But then his hand slid between our bodies, unbuttoning
his pants. The sound of his zipper sent a chill down my spine. His hardness pressed
against me as his hand eased my skirt up. I believed in that moment not only was this
my fault, but I wasn’t fighting. Not nearly hard enough. I’d let him intimidate me,
control me, so easily. I had to do something. I had to fight. My pulse raced along
with my mind.

“Brad! Stop!” I pounded my fist on his arm. His long body was so thick and heavy.
“I said, stop!” Then a flash in my brain. Maybe Shane would come back, or possibly
someone else. Hadn’t there been another person in the hallway?

“C’mon, Emily,” Brad said intimately, as if I wasn’t begging him to stop. “Please
don’t say, no. This is too good.”

With one hand, I pulled my skirt down, fighting against his grip. I used the other
to push on his chest. “Get off me!”

Another door creek, this time quick. “Hey!” I prayed I hadn’t imagined the voice booming
into the room as the door hit the side wall. “Get the fuck off her!”

Bradley leaned to the side, turning his face and shoulders toward the door. Jax stood,
her short frame seemingly a tower over the bed, face dressed in fury. Then she jammed
the heel of her boot into Bradley’s hip, forcing him off me and over the edge. When
his body hit the floor he said, “What the hell?”

I pulled myself up on the bed as Jax hopped up and over to Brad on the ground. She
smacked him with a random shoe that was on the floor. “What the hell? I’ll ask you
the same thing,” she said leaning down right into his face. Then each word pounded
out along with a wailing shoe hammer to any open space on Bradley. “You! Piece! Of!
Shit!” Bradley wrapped an arm around his head and took it.

“Stop, Jax. It was my fault.”

Jax bolted upright, eyes strained in angry slits. “What the fuck did you say?” That
scared me almost more than Bradley did. I sank and shrugged.

“Get your ass out of here now and go find Sage!”

As I whimpered out of the room, I heard Jax telling Bradley if she ever heard about
anything like this again, she would chop his dick off and stuff it down his trumpet.
Then she’d call the police.

The three of us met up a few minutes later in the kitchen. As soon as Jax’s eyes met
mine, I burst into tears and fell into her. “I’m so sorry,” I cried into her shoulder.
“Please don’t hate me.”

“Shut up,” she said softly as she rubbed my back. “Don’t ever say that. I was just
so pissed, thinking what might have happened…and then you blaming yourself.” She grabbed
a hold of the bulk of my hair, gently tugging my head back until we made eye contact.
“Listen to me. Boys should be bowing down at your feet. They should be begging for
permission to hold your hand. Do you understand me?” I nodded. “Don’t you ever blame
yourself for something someone else chooses to do.” She knew what I was thinking next
and continued. “I don’t care what you were doing, as soon as you say no that’s it.
That’s the end, dammit!”

After I begged them both not to tell anyone, we rode home in silence, exchanging wordless
conversation with our eyes. I pretended I was fine the next time we went to a party,
even though a boulder rested at the pit of my stomach, and at every party after that.
The memory began to fade over time, as I stuffed it back into my subconscious. But
the day of James’s accident, a familiar queasiness crept back to me. I wasn’t sure
what it was, maybe a foreboding sign of something awful to come. Jax was always the
one looking for signs, but I felt something that day
.

Now as I sit here behind the closed bathroom door, pressing my legs into the floor
to keep them from shaking, I pray this isn’t a sign. It only means I’m a wreck as
usual. Nothing bad will happen today. I just couldn’t tell Sophie “no” one more time.
She’s been so heart-broken over her friend Keeley having to move, I thought this would
help.

Ben sits on the bath mat in front of me, lining up bottles of nail polish. “Pink,
pink, pink,” he says holding one up.

“Yes, baby. That’s right, pink.” I kiss his head. I hear the doorbell, so Eric will
be looking for us soon. I cheerfully agreed to this little babysitting arrangement
Ned suggested, saying it will be nice to have help to focus on the guests, the party.
But we all know they think I won’t be able to handle the day. That I’ll have a breakdown
in front of everyone, a repeat of that day at the beach. Eric must be wondering why
I haven’t handed off Benny yet. It’s ridiculous, but I can’t let him go. He’s my security
blanket perched on my hip, in my arms, or his little hand in mine.

I pull a Vicodin out of my pocket, worrying they are right about me. A few deep breaths
while I stare at the pill in my palm, give me time to decide.
You don’t do this during the day. Breathe. Focus
. I stand, still holding it, and grab a cup from the sink. A knock at the door sends
my heart to my chest. “Babe, people are arriving.”

“Just a sec.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ll be right there.”

I fill up the cup with water and stare at myself in the mirror. I hate that I look
tired and probably older than I am. I widen my eyes, throw on a party smile to see
if it looks real. Ben’s fingers find my sandals, run along the ridges, then over to
my toes. He rubs a finger across my polish-free big toe. “Pink, pink, pink.”

A genuine smile replaces the faux one. Being present to witness your baby’s discoveries
and connections is equal to finding little pieces of gold. I put the pill back in
my pocket, swallow down some water before bending down to Ben. “You are such a smart
boy,” I say, hugging him. “Let’s go to the party now.”

I open the door, and I realize how long I was in the bathroom when I see little heads
dotting my patio. A few moms and babies in the kitchen. Three dads have somehow escaped
to the living room. The doorbell continuing to ring. All of these people will be expecting
hellos and greetings of some kind.

I take Ben in my arms and head outside. Eric comes from the kitchen to intercept my
baby, but I push past him. I’m not ready to let go yet. Voices, music, footsteps,
all fill my ears as I walk, chaotic and out of order. I rub Ben’s back in quick, awkward
motions. Where are James and Sophie? My heart is beating faster now as I scan the
backyard. Almost immediately I see Ned wave at me from the back. He is pushing James
on the swing. One more. I nod up at Ned and continue looking around for Sophie.

Where is she?

Eric appears in front of me, scooping Ben from my arms. “Hey, babe. You all right?”

I hear him, but I don’t answer. Then Sophie comes crashing into my thigh.

“Mommy! Keeley came! Look.” She points to her best friend following close behind her.
She’s surprised because I didn’t want to tell her and get her hopes up.

I’m about to lose it when I see Jax in a slow jog behind her. She gives me an apologetic
look. I’m not sure if I can take all this, even with their help. My heart beats in
my skull, exactly the way it did on that day I carried James to the car before driving
to the ER. I smile, not knowing what else to do. I want to cry, but I fight it. I
need to cry, to let it out, but I don’t have that option now so I’m growing angry.
If I ruin this party, I will hate myself. When I see Keeley’s mother walk up, I manage
to say, “Thanks so much for coming.” I look at Jax. My eyes beg her for help. She
steps between us. “Drinks are in the cooler outside. Let’s take the girls out there.”

A second later, I speed walk down the hall, careful not to make eye contact with anyone
along the way. Tears bubble before I get the door closed.
Stop it. Stop it, you stupid idiot
. I can’t walk out there with red eyes. Everyone will know. I pull open my side drawer
and snatch a pen and paper. There is nothing to write. I wrote lists for the party,
revised, rewrote, checked, double checked. Everything is done, and I can’t think of
a single thing to write. “God Dammit!” I throw the pen and pad in the drawer, slam
it shut, and collapse on the bed. I run my finger over the lump in my pocket. It’s
not a big deal, just to help me get through the party. I’m hot from fighting the tears.
A few dribble out, and I wipe them with the edge of my sleeve. A streak of black from
my mascara marks the edge of my shirt, and I contemplate changing. Instead, I yank
the pill out, and then place it on my tongue as I race for the bathroom to get a drink.
Though it’s small, it skids down my throat as a horrid reminder of what I’m doing.
I avoid the mirror when I leave the bathroom.

Movement out the window catches my eye, pulling me toward it. I watch the party in
the backyard like some reality television show. My children, my friends, my family,
all genuine smiles and laughter, enjoying life and each other, while I hide away—a
mental patient closed in from the world. I continue watching as Ned and Jax shadow
my children like Kardashian body guards. My husband attempts to look manly, holding
our baby and talking to other husbands. I draw in one long cleansing breath and realize
I am unbelievably lucky to have such caring people in my life. I would love to watch
the whole party unravel from this window, but I know that’s out of the question. I
give myself a few more minutes of bliss.
Yes, I’m going to be okay
. Then I head back to the bathroom, check my face, look in my eyes, deny what I’ve
just done, and head back out.