The Ruining (14 page)

“I’ll take care of it,” Libby said. “She’s upstairs with her dad. Hey,” she continued, as though experiencing an epiphany, “maybe you and I can have some bonding time this weekend. We can finish redecorating your room! Won’t that be fun?”

I couldn’t have explained why Libby’s words struck fear into my heart as she draped an afghan over my shoulders and led me away. I couldn’t explain exactly what I was dreading when she tucked me into bed, stroking my hair as lovingly as I’d ever been touched.

to feel about my relationship with Libby for the last couple of weeks. Things were beginning to feel cracked in ways that pointed to an imminent and irreparable shatter. I was struggling to bind those cracks, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

I wouldn’t have heard Owen at the door except that I’d been returning to my room from the bathroom. The murmur of Libby’s chilly voice—the one she reserved for unwanted guests—was unmistakable. I paused at the landing, and when I heard Owen’s familiar lilt, I dashed down just in time to hear Libby tell him, “I’ll let her know you stopped by.”

“I’m here,” I said breathlessly. “Hi.” I didn’t even care that my hair was disheveled and I was wearing polka-dotted pajama bottoms and a Rolling Stones t-shirt with no bra. Owen glanced at Libby, obviously confused, but she just straightened her shoulders and made her way out of the room. “If you go anywhere, Annie,” she told me, “please be back by midnight. This is not your day off.” I didn’t bother responding. I just flew into Owen’s arms and felt the comfort of him wrapped around me. I loved how I had to stand on tiptoe to reach his face as he pulled me in for a kiss.

“Sorry,” I told him. “I’m just so happy to see you. It’s been a rough couple of days.”
“Well,” he said, trailing off, taking in my bedtime wear. “I hope not too rough to go out for a little while? I wanted a take two on the picnic. There’s this place I really want to take you to. It’s one of my favorite places in the city, and I think you’ll love it.”
“Just give me five minutes,” I told him, leaning in for another kiss. “Don’t go anywhere.” I ran upstairs as fast as I could—we only had three hours to hang out, although my curfew was arbitrary, given that the kids were in bed. Still, I was in no mood to argue with Libby again. I threw on some jeans and flats, pulled up my hair, and slipped on a bra and tank top. Owen was . . . ugh, I hated how he made my heart beat. I hated how intoxicated I felt around him. But I couldn’t get enough of it. I wanted him and hated him for not being with me every single second.
“You look adorable,” he told me once we were in the car. And then suddenly he was leaning toward me again and kissing me, and it was different this time, more intense and passionate. I didn’t recognize the sounds I was uttering. They emerged from some place deep inside of me that had felt as if it had been locked away until then. His hands moved through my hair and down my lower back, and I felt insatiable, heady, and unaware of what I was doing even as my hands moved independently of my brain, touching his shoulders and face. Finally we pulled apart, both breathing hard.
And then I saw her.
Libby was standing on the second-floor terrace, looking down at us. I wasn’t sure what she could see, but I jumped anyway.
“Holy shit,” Owen said. “I guess we should have saved that for later.”
“Let’s just go,” I told him, my adrenaline from our making out turning into adrenaline-fueled anger at Libby. What had she been doing out there? Was she deliberately spying on us? I glanced over at Owen, and he seemed creeped out, too. He was drumming a beat on the steering wheel with his fingers, and his brow was furrowed in a way I was beginning to find familiar.
“Why is she like that?” he wanted to know as we drove off the island. “Is it me?”
“No, no,” I assured him. “It’s me, I guess. I mean, I don’t know. Things were really great for a while, and then I found those files, and it’s like our dynamic shifted.”
“What files? The ones you mentioned at dinner? When you almost got fired?”
“Yeah,” I said, sighing. “I don’t know why, but things have been different since then.”
“Well . . . what was in them?”
“I feel bad saying, Owen. It’s not really my business.”
“No problem,” he said, his mouth drawn into a firm line.
“Oh, whatever. It’s not even a big deal, that’s the weird thing. I just think Libby’s a little jealous. Walker was married before. He has an ex-wife who died, and I think Libby has some sort of complex about him not being over her yet.”
“How do you know she died? Couldn’t they have gotten a divorce?”
“The files I found . . . there was a will.”
“Ah.”
“Can we change the subject, please? I really, really don’t want to think about this, and you’re my escape. Let’s not ruin it.” He smiled slightly and took my hand in his, but I could tell that he wasn’t completely satisfied. Owen’s brain was working hard the whole way to our surprise date, which turned out to be at the Audium. I could tell from his silence, and from the worry lines that creased his face, that he hadn’t stopped thinking about it.
By the time we got to the Audium, though, all was forgotten. The Audium wasn’t what I’d expected—but then, I hadn’t known what to expect. It was a circular space with plain, creamcolored walls and a ceiling covered in speakers. All in all, there had to be at least a hundred speakers surrounding us, maybe two hundred. There were red chairs set in a circle, and once we entered the space we weren’t allowed to talk. Within a minute, the whole room went black. Owen had smuggled a bottle of sparkling wine into the theater in his backpack, and over the sound of the musical sculptures, it was impossible to hear the cork pop. I wasn’t sure how he managed to pour it without spilling a drop—maybe he put a finger under the stream to follow its path to the cups—but the thought of it seemed normal, given the atmosphere. Nothing was weird in the Audium. We spent the next two hours submerged in impenetrable darkness, letting music from almost two hundred speakers radiate above, around, and beside us until we felt consumed by a whirlpool of sound that contained only us. The sound filled me. The only thing keeping me tethered to reality was Owen’s hand in mine and the motion of the bottle we passed back and forth.
“That was incredible,” I breathed when it was over, our footsteps sounding inept compared to the cacophony we’d just experienced.
“It’s one of my favorite places in the city,” he told me as we reached the car.
“What are your other favorites?”
“The movie theaters in the Castro,” he said. “We’ll go there sometime. They’re old-timey theaters, with velvet curtains and opera seats and stuff. And the Musee Mecanique. I definitely have to take you there.” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, grinning devilishly.
“What’s that?” I asked, his smile making me suspicious.
“It’s this huge collection of antique arcade games and, like, mechanical puppets and stuff.”
“Mechanical puppets.”
“Right. Like the fortune-teller from Big. It’s pretty great.”
“Because what’s better than creepy automatons,” I said.
“Exactly.”
“I’m personally very glad we came here, at least this time,” I told him.
“Yeah,” he said in a more serious tone. “Ever since my first visit, I try to go when I need something to remind me why life is more than just us. It’s the only place I can go where I feel transcendental.”
“Thank you for taking me,” I said softly. He turned toward me, leaning his back against the side of the car, pulling my waist close to his. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and I felt his lips on mine.
“You’re the only person I’ve ever taken,” he told me. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to share this with.” He leaned his forehead against mine and kept my hands tucked tightly in his. It was then that I wondered if I loved him.
We were home twenty minutes later, just in time for curfew.
“Thanks,” I told him as I climbed out of the car. “I’d better run in right away before we start making out again and unwittingly put on a show for Libby.”
“Hey, Annie,” he said, that worried look crossing his eyes again. “About that . . . something about it feels a little off.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just how upset she got after the files. How upset she gets about everything. How she’s been treating you since then.”
“Owen,” I warned, knowing where he was headed with it. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Just a little poking around on the interwebs,” he said, smiling. “I promise I’ll stay out of trouble.” I sighed. I knew there was no stopping him once he got something into his head.
“Fine,” I said. “But just remember: your trouble is my trouble in this. So please, god, don’t you dare ruin my job for me.”
“Not gonna happen,” he assured me. “C’mere, babes.” I leaned in for one more kiss, and he waved goodbye as I slammed the door. The last thing I saw before I ran into the house was his adorable, crooked smile.

LIBBy NEEdEd ME ALL THE TIME over the course of that week. She even had me taking care of Jackson and changing his diaper, “privileges” she usually reserved for herself, since she almost never let him out of her arms, let alone her sight. But this week was different. It was as though I was on call, ready to spring up to assist in the event of any crisis. But instead of bullet wounds or aneurisms, the crises I needed to attend were scraped knees or pots that threatened to boil over. I knew I should insist on some hours to rest—to do my homework, at least—but I didn’t have the will to resist her. So I leaped when she called, I answered when she buzzed, I was perpetually tied to my intercom like a harnessed animal. It was almost as if she was purposefully trying to keep me from Owen.

But it would be over soon, this busy week. And then I would get some rest.
The house, though, was growing smaller as I scurried relentlessly through it. Sometimes I was able to step outside myself and see what I looked like from afar: a rat running through a maze, one room to the next, never really getting anywhere. All the rooms and their grandeur had begun to fade for me. The yellow wallpaper, which we’d put up on my day off, mocked me from my bedroom. I couldn’t feel safe anymore because of that wallpaper. Every morning when I woke up, I had to fight the urge to tear it down. But it wasn’t just that.
The heated tiles in my bathroom, which I’d found so soothing when the weather first began to turn, scalded my feet. I checked the thermostat over and over; I even turned it to “off.” But I still emerged from my bathroom red-soled and wincing from the pain. My room had begun to take on a shabby tinge under the gaze of the yellow wallpaper. Instead of bright and cheerful, it looked forced and macabre, like a big, false smile. Like my mother’s smile when unexpected visitors had come to the door.
Owen was the only thing keeping me normal.
I woke up around six on Thursday morning to the pinging of my phone. It was still dark out, the sun just barely beginning to press its gray morning light through my bedroom blinds; but Owen was up too, apparently, because the chime was signaling a new move in Words with Friends, which he’d playfully dubbed “Ultimate Warrior.” I needed more sleep. But I wanted Owen. Want versus need. I’d always thought I had remarkable self-control, I’d thought I was a logical person—until I met Owen. And then he became all I wanted and needed, both.
Owen had played “candid” for seventeen points. I had two z’s in my stash. I could save them or use them. In the spirit of being candid, I went for it. I played “dizzy” for seventy-eight points, both because it gave me an awesome lead and because “dizzy” was how he made me feel. I smiled at my private joke. I waited a few minutes, rolling on my side to doze until he responded. Finally my phone chimed and I lifted my aching, heavy lids. I laughed: he’d played “you” for seven points. I wondered if he knew he’d created a double entendre.
My next move was “hug.” Now that I had a lead, I was content to have fun with wordplay. I burrowed under my comforter until I’d made a dark cave for myself, my phone offering the only illumination.
He played “hot.” I let out a low whistle. Was he aware that he was upping the stakes? I decided to get risky and play “thigh.” My heart thudded rapidly. Had I been too bold? But no. I hadn’t been. Because his next word, using the n from “candid,” was “naked.” My heart stopped. Tingles spread from my center outward, down my arms until the whole of me felt light and wobbly.
Instead of responding, I slipped out from under the covers and made my way across the bedroom, grabbing my robe from where it hung on the back of the bathroom door. Maybe if he saw me outside, he would come down. And then we would . . . what? What did I plan to do, get naked on the pool deck?
I just wanted to see him. To touch him, to have him touch me. The rest of it wasn’t enough anymore, and I was tired of waiting days and days for a stolen couple of hours when he lived right next door. I was tired of playing outside with Zoe in the hopes that he and Izzy would walk by. I wanted him right that second. I wanted to run my hands through his hair, touch the side of his jaw where he felt a little scruffy, pull him closer, feel his arms and stomach and chest muscles press against me, feel his lips on my neck and the chills that would follow. I couldn’t wait any longer. It was an urgency I’d never felt before, a sense of immediacy that made me disregard any concern for consequences.
So I ran downstairs in Libby’s castoffs: a cotton robe and a matching boxer/tank set. I wasn’t worried about who would see me, as long as he saw me. I ran down the back staircase and out through the back door and through the pool gate and down the driveway. I snuck alongside the fence that divided the two properties. I trailed my hand over its wooden slats as I walked, feeling the dew wet my toes. Dragonflies buzzed around me, but I didn’t bother swatting them away. They were everywhere in San Francisco, and I’d gotten used to their presence. It was cool out, colder than I thought California could be in the fall, and it showed how much I hadn’t known about what I was doing by moving out here, even the basics. But I liked it, the way the droplets of water wet my toes and tickled the bottoms of my feet. I liked the roughness of the wood fence under my fingertips, and the way the wind blew my robe open and caressed my skin under and around my pajamas. I looked up at his window, and there he was, looking down at me. I drew closer to the fence, hugging my body to it as if I could slip right through and up into his window.
I watched as he pressed his hand to the glass. Then both hands were there, and his face receded as his fingertips met to form an image. He bent his fingers together and I squinted, trying to read his message through the ever-present fog that decorated the island. Finally it was clear. A heart. He’d formed a heart with his hands, just for me. I laughed, and then his face was back, and I could see that he was laughing, too. I motioned for him to come down, but he held up a finger: one minute. I was starting to get cold from the wet, so I decided to head back toward the pool terrace. The pool was heated, and I could control the temperature of the stone tiles around it, too. At least if someone woke up, it wouldn’t look like we were trying to hide anything. It crossed my mind that Libby would be mad at me for inviting someone over . . . but this was different. This was Owen. She knew him now.
I turned slowly from the fence and moved toward the pool, focusing on the reflection of the sunrise on the bay as I went. When I reached the gate, I reluctantly tore my eyes from the gorgeous vision I still hadn’t gotten used to. I hoped I never would. I never wanted to take something so beautiful for granted. I unlatched the gate, my heart wild with anticipation. I started counting down from sixty to mark Owen’s arrival.
That’s when I noticed the figure in the pool.
It was dark and small. At first I thought maybe it was a raft left out from the day before; it was hard to tell, because it bobbed under the overhang of the floor above, and the sun hadn’t come up enough to illuminate that end of the pool yet. I moved closer, feeling my heart accelerate as it did whenever I was near swimming pools.
My palms began to sweat. The form looked more solid than it had from the other side of the deck.
I took another step, and realization washed over me in a cold wave.
And with it came memories.
A gate unlatched. I was fourteen. I’d forgotten to lock it.
A tiny form in a pink bathing suit bobbing near the surface.
Lissa begging me to take her swimming just an hour before, but I’d grumbled and turned away, wanting to sleep a while longer.
“Lissa!” I called, laughing too hard, pretending she was playing dead. But she hadn’t stood up and laughed, hadn’t told me, “Fooled you!” in her little baby voice. She was supposed to turn seven that summer.
I sank to my knees at the edge of the pool, staring at Zoe’s floating form. The same thing was happening again: my curse, my nightmare, the thing I’d tried to run away from. The thing that had driven my mother mad. I wanted to curl up and sleep right there, but I willed myself to get up, strip off my jacket, jump into the pool.
“Zoe,” I heard myself shriek over and over as I paddled toward her, the icy water lapping at my tank top and shoulders, slowing me down, mocking my attempts to save the little girl. “Zoe!” I screamed it over and over, making my way closer. I prayed there was still time. My tears mixed with the water, blending together until I wasn’t sure whether I was crying at all.
I felt a supreme aching in the back of my skull. An emptiness in my chest. I wasn’t going to make it. I wasn’t going to reach her.
Then the back door swung open and I met Walker’s eyes, saw Libby standing behind him. I watched the expression on Libby’s face morph from confusion to alarm to horror. I barely had time to wonder why she was wearing a bathing suit under her robe—had she slept in it?—before I felt my panic overwhelm me.
Time stood still.
I gave in to the blackness.
I felt the world slip away.