Mark My Words (17 page)

Before it was gone.

Then I moved forward, gathering courage to do what I came here to do.

Smoke rose in the sky, fire painting the inky black canvas in red splashes resembling blood. The flames danced in my eyes, swallowed me whole. Heat radiated against my flesh, melted my face. Closing my eyes, I succumbed to it. Welcomed it even. It was necessary. I’d lived with the pain too long. Held onto it, coddled it, ushered it into my life and babied it. And now I had no idea how to cut it from my life.

And I couldn’t live with it anymore.

Plumes of smoke circled around me. Glancing down, I opened my hand. Sarah’s and Lennie’s face mingled, smiling up at me. I’d loved them both, and they’d both broken my heart. Sarah when she betrayed me, and Lennie when she chose Rob. I was still having trouble separating flesh and blood Lennie from imaginary Lennie, but there were moments that the distinction was clear. Our talks in the coffee shop, the time we went dancing, our one perfect kiss. I was almost certain those were real.

The pictures slid from my palm, fell into the fire. I listened to the crackle as they were singed, incinerated. I watched as their faces morphed, the photos curling over until they were nothing but ash and soot.

Gulping in air, I looked at the remaining item. It was a button. Merely a button. A benign item. One that no one but me would find significant.

Closing my eyes, I breathed in the smoke, remembering how I’d yanked it off of his shirt when I was clawing, fighting, struggling. It wasn’t until I’d made it safely home that I found it in my palm, practically embedded in the flesh. There were moments when I’d pull it out, wondering.

Wondering if I was strong enough to tell what he’d done.

And I would wonder if this button would help me convict him. Would it be evidence? Would it be enough?

In the end, I was never strong enough to come forward. Sometimes I’d think about all the other kids. I was sure there were others. Didn’t men like him always strike again?

I felt like a failure for letting them down.

Lowering my hand, I watched the button fall into the flames as well. I stared intently as it swallowed the button whole.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered over and over, to myself, to the other kids, to Sarah and to Lennie. Then I dropped to my knees in front of the fire, allowing the pain to consume me. To feel it the way I’d never allowed myself to do in the past.

Sobs racked my body, but I didn’t fight them.

I cried for that eight-year-old boy, for the young adult who was ridiculed, for the man I was now. A man afraid of reality.

I stayed on the ground until I couldn’t cry any longer. Until I’d poured out all my pain.

Then I stood, brushing the sand from my knees. After putting out the fire, I walked back to my car. I drove off, leaving Lennie, Sarah, and the man in the truck back on the beach, nothing more than a pile of ashes.

It was the same chicken dinner.

The grandfather clock chimed, Ray’s fork scraped the plate, and Mom smiled too largely as I sat in the dining room in the house where time stood still. A shudder ran up my spine, but I kept eating. The chicken was rubbery like always, and I ended up almost choking. But I washed it down with a glass of water, the ice lodging in my throat. I drank some more until it melted.

“I finished reading the book. It was amazing, Colin.” Mom reached out, patting my arm. “I’m so proud of you for finishing.”

“Thanks,” I responded.

“And you are finished, right? With the story? With everything?” Mom threw me a knowing look. Ray stopped eating, his gaze bouncing up toward me. I could feel the heat of his stare boring a hole in the side of my face.

I nodded.

A sigh of relief could be heard at both ends of the table.

“Well, that’s just great,” Mom said in her cheery voice. “So, what’s the next step in trying to get the book published? You are going to try, right?”

“Yeah.” I set down my fork, excited to share this part. “Actually, I’ve already started sending out query letters, and a couple of agents have already asked to take a look at the manuscript.”

“Oh, that’s incredible.” Mom rubbed her palms together, bobbing her head toward Ray. “Isn’t that great?”

Ray grunted in response.

“See. Even Ray’s proud of you,” Mom said. Why she was always trying to push a relationship between us I’d never understand. It was clear we were never going to be close. “Have you told your sister?”

I shook my head.

“Why not? She’ll be excited for you too,” Mom said.

“I’ll call her later,” I said, simply to appease Mom.

Amelia wouldn’t be excited for me. She didn’t care about anyone but herself. Mom’s perception of people was baffling to me.

After forcing down a few more bites of dinner, I was grateful to be excused. Ray had already gotten up from the table, and the noise from the television floated in from the family room. Mom stood, started clearing the table. I got up too, offering to help.

“Aww, thank you.” She pressed a cold palm to my cheek. “You’re so sweet.

I smiled, genuinely appreciating her kind words. After clearing the table, I found Mom in the kitchen doing the dishes. I leaned against the wall observing her for a minute. Mom was proof that I could love. I’d loved her from birth. And I wished I could give her a life better than this one. Better than being married to a man who treated her more like a slave than a wife.

Perhaps, I should have written a book for my mom instead of Lennie.

As if sensing me watching, she peered over her shoulder. “Thank you, honey, for clearing the table, but I’ve got it from here.”

I made my way across the kitchen, leaned against the tile counter. “Mom, I kinda wanted to tell you something.”

She turned off the faucet, dried her hands on a dishtowel. “More news?” Even though she still wore that damn smile, I could tell she was a little wary about what I might say.

“Yeah.” My gaze fell to my shoes, nerves traveling up my chest and throat. “I um…sort of started seeing someone.”

Her eyes widened. “Like a girl?”

“No.” I shook my head vehemently, realizing I’d worded that incorrectly.

“A guy?”

“No.” I chuckled, and Mom’s face smoothed out. “A doctor…well, not really a doctor. More like a shrink.”

A smile swept across Mom’s face. A genuine one. I could always decipher the difference. I wasn’t sure anyone else could. “That’s wonderful, honey. Is he helping you?”

Mom was the one who came with me the last time I’d tried therapy. Maybe “tried” is the wrong word. I was sort of forced into it after what happened with Sarah. At that time the therapist threw around words that scared me. Words that I didn’t feel defined me. And he tried to make me take medicine. But I didn’t want to take medicine. I was afraid. Now I had a new fear. A fear of always being like this.

Besides, I’d braved the hospital to save Lennie.

I figured now I could brave it to save myself.

“I’m not sure. Maybe not yet, but I’m hoping it will.”

Mom’s face grew serious. Her gaze flickered to the doorway of the kitchen. She grabbed me by the shoulders, moved her face close to mine. My heart thumped in my chest. I’d never seen her like this. “You tell that therapist everything, Colin. You hear me. Everything. It’s time to let it all go.”

Swallowing hard, I nodded.

“Oh, you’re my brave boy. You know that, right?” She drew me to her, wrapping her arms around me. I fell against her, allowing her words to wash over me. Whether they were true or not, I wanted to believe them. To believe that I really was brave.

“Thank you,” I whispered into her shoulder.

Footsteps sounded outside the kitchen. Mom froze. Pulling back, she offered me a smile. It wasn’t real, but I returned it. She straightened her spine, ran her palms down her skirt. Ray stepped into the kitchen. I excused myself.

As I passed Ray, our shoulders brushed. I glanced up at him briefly.

“Heard what you said to your mom about seeing a shrink,” he said gruffly, and I was reminded of how vehemently he tried to stop me from seeing one the last time. “You be careful what you say, son. Sometimes those shrinks can get you to think all kinds of things, and you already have such an active imagination.”

I nodded, my gaze lowering to his flannel shirt. Ray wore the same thing all the time. As a kid I would search for his flannel shirt if we got disconnected in a crowd. A funny feeling descended in the pit of my stomach as I honed in on one of his buttons. Visions of flames filled my mind, of ashes, of dust, of sand on the beach.

My whole body heated up, my hands shaking. And suddenly it all came rushing back to me. I saw Ray’s truck careening into the parking lot of the gas station. He got out and walked toward me. I was crying, mad at him for leaving me.

“I’ll make it up to you, son,” he said, ushering me to the truck. Amelia wasn’t with him. At first I felt special because we never got to ride in his truck. Earlier, we’d been in Mom’s car. In the family car. As I sat in the seat next to Ray I felt like a grown up. Like it was a rite of passage.

When he drove in the opposite direction of the house and pulled over into the woods, I was still excited, thinking it was an adventure. But I was wrong.

So wrong.

That night was the first time I made up a story. It was the only way to move past it. To live in the same house as him. And pretty soon I believed the story. I could even see the strange man when I closed my eyes. It became my new truth.

Unable to look at Ray, I ducked my head and hurried out of the kitchen. Trembling, I raced through the family room and out the front door. It was cold when I stepped outside, and I hugged myself as I made my way down the front steps and around the side of the house. I opened the door to the basement, and stepped inside. The reason my parents bought this house was because the basement had been converted into an apartment. At the time they’d been looking for a home with a guest house that my grandma could live in, so this was perfect. Grandma had lived down here for several years before she passed away.

Now it was my studio apartment. There were steps in the corner that led up to the kitchen but some of them were precarious so I never went that way. Instead I always used the side door. After locking up, I moved over to the kitchen table, sat in front of my laptop. I tried to forget what I’d remembered. Desperately, I attempted to conjure up the memories of the man in the truck. The man who wasn’t my stepdad. But it was no use. Every time I saw that night for what it was.

The man for who he was.

Taking a deep breath, I wrapped my arms around myself. But I was still cold. And I feared I always would be. That I’d never escape it. That one day I’d turn into a block of ice. My gaze swept the room, memories of Lennie lingering in the air. Deep down I knew she’d never actually been here. Not flesh and blood Lennie. Imaginary Lennie had been everywhere. Sprawled on my bed in the corner, lying on the couch watching TV, cuddled up beside me. Her presence filled the gaping hole in my heart, helped me to feel less lonely.

But it didn’t keep the demons away. Nothing had been able to do that.

I had thought that my book was the answer. The way I would heal. And there were moments it seemed to be doing that. But in the end, the novel was finished, and I was still alone. Still tormented. But, even if the first two novels weren’t the answer, I had to keep trying. Didn’t they say that the third time was the charm?

Turning toward my laptop, I opened it and stared at the blank document I’d pulled up days ago. I’d been trying to start a new novel, but nothing was coming to me. I was hoping that soon I’d be struck with that same spark of inspiration I’d had with the last book. Maybe if I could lose myself in a story I could outrun the memories that haunted me. Upstairs I heard loud voices, and my head snapped up.

Great
. They were fighting again.

Groaning, I covered my ears with my palms, wishing I could shut them out. Wishing I could shut him out. Wishing I could get rid of him for good.

Lennie left without saying goodbye.

Even though I hadn’t come up with an idea for a new novel, I still went to the coffee shop every day. Mostly I surfed the net or submitted queries for my last novel. But there were days when I simply sat at the round table and sipped coffee, people watching. Still, it was better than being at my apartment. Ever since my revelation, it had been hard to be home. I hadn’t been able to look at Ray, hadn’t gone to dinner. Mom tried to get me to talk, but I hadn’t said anything. At least not to her. I had been talking to my therapist, and I was praying for the courage to take action.

But in the coffee shop I could forget, even if it was only temporary. It was the place where I felt comfortable. When I sat inside my chest expanded, air flowing freely, the tension falling away. The smell of freshly ground coffee would spin around me, cocooning me in its familiarity. This place was home.

“Hey, Colin?” a voice cut into my internal thoughts.

When I looked up, I came face to face with Rob.
What the hell was he doing here?

“I was hoping to find you here.” His expression was somber, serious. “Can we talk for a minute?”

Nodding, I motioned my hand out toward the empty seat across from me. The one Lennie used to sit in occasionally. After plopping down, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He took a couple of breaths as if gathering courage. “I have some bad news.”

I fought against the urge to run away. Or to jump up and press my palm to his mouth. Anything to stop him from saying what I knew was coming. But that would be foolish. Not allowing him to say it wasn’t going to make it any less true.

So I cleared my throat and nodded, willing him to continue.

“Lennie’s gone. She a passed away a couple of days ago.”

I’d been expecting this, but it still felt like a dagger to my heart. Emotion rose up inside of me, clawing at my insides. Visions of Lennie filled my mind. Not imaginary Lennie. Flesh and blood Lennie. The one with the pale skin and skeletal figure. The one I’d held in my arms and carried to the hospital. The one who shared her love of reading with me. Who loved happy endings, fed homeless men and was a terrible dancer. The girl who’d been compassionate to me when we were teens. The sadness I felt was like nothing I’d ever experienced. It enveloped me, pressing in on all sides. A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed it down not wanting to cry in front of Rob.  When I was finally able to speak, I looked at Rob and whispered, “I-I’m sorry.”

He shifted uncomfortably, cleared his throat. “Well, um…her service is next week. I brought you the information. I’m sure she’d want you there.” He handed me a wrinkled piece of paper. “Also, she gave me this.” He pulled out another piece of paper. This one was folded into a small square. “It’s for you.”

Lifting my hand, I tentatively grabbed it with my fingers. “Thanks,” I breathed. When he started to get up, I stopped him. “Was she happy? At the end, I mean?”

He paused, as if thinking. Finally he said, “She was at peace.”

I nodded, satisfied. Maybe that was as good as it got.

He threw me a pensive look. “I read your book to her.”

I stopped breathing, my air supply cut off.

“It was….interesting,” he said dryly, but in his eyes I saw all of the things he wasn’t saying. I had changed the names in the book to Laura and Cole, but he knew it was about Lennie and me. That was obvious. I wondered how much he really knew about the relationship I had with Lennie. What we had was nothing more than a blip. A tiny sliver of her existence. Rob took up a much larger piece. Still, it was significant to me. The way she acted at the end told me it wasn’t as significant to her, but I suppose none of that mattered now.

“Well, I guess I’ll see ya around.” Rob glanced at me one more time, briefly, before heading back out into the cold.

After he left, I unfolded the paper, and ironed out the creases with a shaky, sweaty hand.

Colin,

Thank you for letting me read your novel. It was beautiful. I’m sure it will become a bestseller. I’m sorry I won’t be here to see that. But I’m happy to know that you did end up going with the happy ending.

Lennie

Smiling, I read through the letter again. As I did, I could practically hear her voice, as if she was sitting across from me. And it seemed fitting that I would read the letter here in this coffee shop.

It was the place I’d first seen Lennie again.

It was the place we reconnected.

It was the place I wrote our story.

The place where I created the happy ending she wanted so badly.