Before and Ever Since (9781101612286) (6 page)

“Baby, it doesn't hurt anything for me to make some money. It's groceries. It's toys. Every little bit helps—and it's something to do.” She gestured toward the drooling, pink-cheeked little girl bouncing on his knee. “I put her in the stroller and we go talk to people.”

His expression was stern, but she didn't falter, and I had to smile. She was tough like that even then. They looked at each other over Holly's bouncing head until he sighed and shook his head.

“I don't like it,” he said. “Makes me look like I can't take care of my family.”

Mom knelt in front of him awkwardly, holding on to his knees. Holly leaned forward and wrapped her little arms around her neck.

“It doesn't mean that at all, Charles,” she said, stroking his kneecaps with her thumbs. “The hardware store will take off, but it's going to take a while.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“And you have to be there to make that happen, so I want to do what I can.” She tilted her head. “And you know I'm not one to sit around and knit.”

He broke into a reluctant smile and chuckled silently, running a long lock of her hair through his fingers. “Baby, I promise you, it won't always be like this.”

“I know,” she whispered, leaning into his hand and smiling.

“I mean it; it won't always be this hard. We'll get where it's comfortable and then we'll go on vacations with the kids. Take them all the places we've talked about.”

Mom laughed. “I saw that you marked up that map my dad gave you.”

“Yep,” he said, tickling Holly so that she wiggled and squealed. “Bought a box of thumbtacks, too. For when we actually go there.”

I thought of the poster upstairs in my dad's office. The one of the world and all the places he circled in red that they wanted to visit. My mom wouldn't take it down after he died, insisted that it stay there behind his desk. My heart felt heavy and I wished I could change the fact that there were no thumbtacks in the poster. The only vacations we took were to go camping at the lake two hours from home.

“It'll all be okay,” she said. “I have faith in you, baby. You and Tommy will make this a success, I know you will.”

His eyes lit up. “We will. It's just the hard part right now. The late hours, the advertising. But that's okay. Because you know if something's hard to get—”

“—Then it's gonna be the good stuff,” I whispered along with him, having heard that my whole life.

“You watch, Holly bug,” he said, holding her in his arms. “Daddy's gonna show you the world.”

My eyes filled with tears, and I wished more than anything to make this crazy scene be prophetic in some way and give my dad that. To change the outcome.

But I couldn't think about that anymore, because the sounds were coming back, rushing past my ears, making everything wobbly. The blackness came, and with it the inability to inhale, and I sucked in as hard as I could, blinking furiously.

•   •   •

I was back. Breathing like I'd run a mile. Still holding on to the bar. And Ben Landry was holding on to me.

One hand was in my hair and one was on my upper arm, and the expression on his face all up close to mine was panicked. If I wouldn't have been so unbelievably terrified, it would have been endearing.

“Emily, look at me,” he was saying, his face very close to mine.

“I—I am,” I said, clearing my throat of the mud that had landed there. I remembered the last time, and how it appeared that no significant time had passed. “What—um—did I pass out or anything?” I asked. “How long have you been here?”

His eyebrows raised. “I just walked in the door,” he said, jutting his head behind him. “You saw me.”

I frowned. “Just now?”

He paused, looking at me funny. Great. “Yeah. Emily, what's wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said, pulling free from his hands, realizing even through the craziness that I didn't want to, and knowing I couldn't cave to that. I put shaky hands over my face for a minute and took slower breaths, trying to calm my breathing. “I just—”

I just what? Kept going back in time? I laughed, which probably wasn't the greatest thing to do, because it only served to make me look more in need of a padded room.

“How long was I—um—whatever I was?”

He blinked a couple of times, as if unsure how to answer me. “I don't really know what you mean. I mean, you just kind of spaced out and looked upset, but it's like you—I don't know.” He shook his head and backed up a step.

“Like I what?”

“Like you were somewhere else,” he said, making my stomach hurt a little. “I talked to you and it was like you didn't hear me. Then all of a sudden, you sucked in like you were choking.”

I licked my lips and pretended to inspect a nearby coaster. “So, how long?”

He did a tiny face shrug. “Maybe ten—fifteen seconds.”

“Seconds?” I asked loudly.

He backed up again. “Yeah. Roughly.”

I held my hair back and tried to breathe normal, tried to appear normal, tried to look like the together woman I'd dressed myself to be. I had to shake it off. Something weird was happening, but I couldn't deal with it in front of him. It would have to wait.

“Okay,” I said, feeling very off balance. “Um—I'm good. What are you working on today?”

He looked taken aback by my abruptness, and honestly I couldn't blame him. I'd think I was pretty damn rude if it were me. I'd be pointing out my bitchiness right about then. But he didn't. He just let his eyes glaze over like I remembered they could do, and he nodded.

“I'm working on the windows today,” he said, a sharper edge to his voice. “And was thinking about looking under the carpet, see what the wood looks like.”

I inhaled as slowly as I could, considering my heart was still on a race. “Okay, well, I won't keep you.” He stared for a couple of beats, and then averted his eyes and gave the slightest shake of his head as he moved around me. “And, um, thank you,” I added, not meeting his eyes.

“For what?” he asked, his voice distant as he knelt down to pick lightly at a place in the center where the carpet seam was already separating.

“For—worrying about me, I guess.” I tried laughing, but it sounded off.

“Whatever,” he said quietly. He pulled back about a six-foot section of carpet that just basically lifted itself. “This isn't even attached anymore,” he said, peering under it. “The padding is nearly gone. Look here.” He swiped a hand over it to reveal the wood. “Wood's still in decent shape. At least here, anyway.”

I didn't see the wood, the floor, the padding, or the carpet. All I saw was the faint scratch of an
x
in the wood, next to his hand.

CHAPTER

4

I
T WAS REAL.

There was no way for me to know about that scratch. I knelt opposite him and traced a finger over it, trying to wrap my mind around something too impossible to fathom.

“How?” I whispered my thought, not realizing it was out loud.

“What?” Ben asked.

I met his gaze, startled, and cleared my throat to get myself together. So much for a better impression this time. I was just a more stylish nut job.

His eyes searched mine, and my first instinct was to spill it all. In that one second, he was my Ben again. The guy that once upon a time I could tell anything. The guy I had no secrets from. Except that now I did.

“Nothing,” I said, scooping my hair back, my eyes falling to the scratch in the wood again.

Ben let the carpet fall back down but stayed on one knee. When I chanced a look at his face again, his intensity nearly made me jump.

“What's wrong?” I asked, even though I already knew. In that earlier moment, he'd gone back there, too. To the days where we knew no taboo subjects, no boundaries, no hidden anythings.

“Exactly my question.” He shook his head and got to his feet, raising me with him before I could protest. I could still feel the heat from his hands when he let go of my arms. “You don't want to be friends, Emily? Okay, whatever. It makes you uncomfortable. I get it.”

The sudden barrage had the words pinging off my brain, and all I could do was blink.

“If I'd known it was gonna be a problem, I wouldn't have taken the job.” he continued, walking away from me, narrowing his eyes as he studied the back windows.

“What?” I said, my head spinning. “Who said it was a problem?”

He threw a look back at me before turning back to run a finger along a gap between the frame and the wall. “It's all over you, Em.”

I felt my mouth drop open as the rush of heat washed over me. “All over me?” I let the old hurt transform into anger, realizing in a flash of clarity that doing that was my best course of action. It would solve everything. “No, what's all over me right now is that you have a hell of a lot of nerve.”

That turned him around, and he fixed me with a look that broke free of the glazed scowl. “
I
have a lot of nerve,” he repeated.

A sarcastic chuckle found its way out of my mouth. “Yes, you.” It was like the door had been thrown open, and everything was spilling past lines we hadn't even defined yet. “You come back here after all these years, and then get pissed off at me for not falling right back into where we left off.”

There was a smile and a bitter laugh from him as he took a few steps toward me, accompanied by an even harsher look. “I never asked for
where we left off
, Emily,” he said quietly, acid lacing the words. “That's ancient history. I just thought that twenty years later we were grown-up enough to have a cup of coffee.”

I stared at him, unable to process the logic that he would be bitter with
me
. For what? For him saying things he didn't mean?

“A cup of coffee,” I echoed. “Really?” I swiped under my eyes that I knew were misty from the anger seething in me. “You know, I imagined a lot of conversations with you the first few years after you left. Pictured what we'd say.” I laughed, trying to make it sound bitter, like his. “Not once was it
let's go have a cup of coffee
.”

Ben opened his mouth, then closed it tight, the muscles in his jaw twitching as his eyes got darker than normal. Distant. Then gone. “You're right,” he said, his voice just above whispering.

He bent to pick up a box I hadn't seen him bring in, and he carried it to the window, pulling out a caulk gun and various tubes.

He was done. I needed to be, as well. So then, why, as I turned and trudged up the stairs, did I feel the need to beat the damn horse? Ben's reaction hadn't been logical, but it wasn't supposed to matter if he was acting logically. Or if he was pissed off. Or if he liked me or didn't like me. It wasn't supposed to be any kind of driving factor. I wasn't supposed to care. I had a family to protect, not an old—whatever he was—to figure out.

And my mother's house was talking to me. That was enough drama for a lifetime.

•   •   •

P
ROBABLY, THE SAVING GRACE FOR
H
OLLY AND ME GROWING UP
was that we never had to share a room. It was a good thing that Mom and Dad looked for something more than the potential for a sewing center when they house shopped, because Holly and I were way too different to have survived sharing.

I sat on the edge of the now-queen-sized bed that resided in my old room. It was just a double when I lived there, but had since been upgraded for guest room purposes. Actually, for Aunt Bernie's purposes. I tried really hard not to think about the sulky, brooding man downstairs and how my chest still hurt every time I looked at him. About the real live scratch on the floor that fell straight out of my head. And about what the hell was going on in the rest of my head. Or in this house.

All of those things—they needed to go. I needed all my wits about me just to keep the average, ordinary, comparatively normal drama of my daughter finding out who her father really was under wraps.

I let my gaze travel the room, seeing it differently now that it was going away. Seeing it through my Realtor eyes, past the bookshelves full of books no one had read in years, and the random knickknack décor that had replaced my obsession with heavy metal rock stars years earlier. Instead, I noticed the crack that ran from the window to the ceiling. The tiny gaps around the window that light peeped through. The heater vents at the floor that fronted outdated and probably not-to-code-anymore ductwork.

While a part of me groaned at all that needed to be done, and how long that meant Ben would be around making my life complicated, a tiny immature part of me also wanted that. To delay things. To make it too difficult to sell the house I knew every crack and crevice and sound of. To keep that door knocker knocking, and keep being able to walk in at any time and see all the pieces of our lives that still settled there all absorbed into the surfaces. And on the shallower end—to keep the woman who'd been caught naked with my husband from getting the sale.

I got up and went to the window. Holly hadn't been around for me on that front. Not when I'd decided enough was enough. She was always about forgiveness. About how love endures and all that crap. Where was
his
love for me when he was banging other women in his office, in his car, and in Dedra's case—in my bed? No, that was it. Holly didn't agree with me, and that was okay. It wasn't the first time. I filed for divorce the next week. I got the house. He got the bed.

I peeked through the wooden slats of the blinds that didn't used to be there. Once upon a time, my window just had red curtains and looked out onto a view no one cared for. No one but me.

The view from my window was of the roof over the garage. Nothing pretty like Holly's view of the backyard with its begonias and sunflowers and wisteria growing over a wooden arbor. I couldn't care less about wisteria. My rooftop access was like manna from heaven.

I raised the blinds as far as they would go so I could see out, and I smiled to see that it really hadn't changed. The big oak next to the garage still towered over the house, low-lying branches reaching across the garage section and blanketing that whole area in a shimmering wall of leaves. Like a personal cave just for me—for most of the year, anyway.

I pried my fingertips between the wood of the window and that of the sill, and wiggled until it moved. One inch up, however, and I felt it. The spinning, the ringing, the feeling of being sucked away into blackness.

“Oh, shit,” I said, sinking to the floor. The sound of my own voice sounded oddly far away, and all I could feel was the cold of the wall against my palm.

•   •   •

I was there in my room—although an odd version of it. It was both familiar and not, and I recognized the bedspread with a start. It was the one I'd gotten for my eighth birthday, that looked like multicolored shredded yarn had been smashed together. I loved that bedspread, and had been secretly sad to replace it when I was fifteen. Somewhere there was a book with a snipped off piece of it hidden inside for a keepsake.

“Oh my God,” I said softly, still staying snug to the wall, like that was safer.

That thought made me chuckle that anything tangible would really be safer in that situation. I reached out tentatively with my left hand to see if the same rules applied as before. It wasn't so much a stopping point as it was just a feeling that I couldn't move any farther.

It didn't matter. Once I watched my eleven-year-old self fly through the door and pounce on that bed, I was paralyzed anyway.

It was the freakiest kind of bizarre. I held my breath as I watched mini-me kick off the black sneakers I remembered decorating with puff paint smiley faces.

“Come on,” she called out, and the craziness continued with Holly coming in.

She strolled in with all her twelve-year-old maturity, arms crossed and eyes looking down with disdain on whatever I was doing. The usual.

Her hair was redder, mine was blonder, and neither of us appeared to have an ounce of body fat. I remembered we were long and lanky, but I didn't remember looking quite so awkward.

Mini-me pulled her socks off as well and bounced to the window, right at me. I held my breath as she sat on the window box on her knees, opening the window and leaning out to suck in the fresh night air. Six inches closer and I could have touched her—me—her. I could see the brand-new burn on the inside of her right calf, the one that came from riding on the back of Uncle Tommy's motorcycle and accidentally letting my leg fall against the hot engine. I pulled up my jeans leg above where my boot was and fingered the scar left there.

“Can you hear me?” I asked her. She didn't blink. “If you can,” I continued, “don't cheat on the social studies test. Mrs. Cartwright is watching.”

What the heck, it was worth a shot.

“I'm telling you, it's not that scary, you're being a big baby,” mini-me said to Holly.

“I'm not scared, it's just stupid,” Holly said, keeping her arms crossed and jutting one hip out to look older. “Mom and Dad would board up that window forever if they knew you were climbing out of it every night.”

“And I didn't invite them in, now did I?”

Holly huffed. “Well, I'm not going to go climb around on the roof in the dark,” she said, landing on the bed and crossing her legs. “That's retarded.”

Mini-me rolled her eyes and shook her head, turning back to the window. “You're such a stump, Holly, I swear.”

“Oh, please,” Holly said with a laugh, twisting the ends of her hair around her fingers. “You just want to see if that crazy boy comes back.”

I sucked in a breath at the same time mini-me whirled around. I remembered this.

“I do not!”

“Bullshit,” Holly said. “You've been glued to that roof ever since that psycho showed up the other night.”

“He's not a psycho,” mini-me said, her nose scrunching up in anger. “Don't talk about him like that or I'll tell Dad you're cussing.”

“And I'll tell him you're sneaking out at night.”

Mini-me's face got all sarcastic and it was so much like Cassidy's that I laughed out loud. “Oh, sneaking out?” she said, pointing out the window. “A whole ten feet?”

“You know good and well they'd ground you for a month, Emmie, so don't act all tough with me,” Holly said, still playing with her hair.

“Whatever,” mini-me said, seeming to realize she'd lost her leverage. She sat flat on the window box with her arms around her knees. “And I've been going on the roof since the third grade, long before Ben ever came over, so shut up.”

“Why would anybody do that?” she asked. “Climb around on other people's property, climb around on their roof? He's gonna get shot one day doing things like that.”

Mini-me gave her a look. “You may as well be a hundred and one years old, Holly. You sound like an old woman.”

Holly shot her the finger, which mini-me promptly returned before turning back to the window. “Sorry I ever invited you. Go back to your crocheting, old lady.”

“Whatever,” Holly shot back. “Go visit your freaky boyfriend.”

“He's not my boyfriend, he's my friend, and you'd better shut up or I'll tell him you have the hots for his brother.”

Holly's face flushed pink, and she scooped her hair back. “I do not!”

Mini-me laughed, and so did I as I remembered how she really did have a major crush on Bobby Landry, who never even gave her a second glance.

“Yeah, you do, I heard you and Katy Pritchard talking about him.”

“Oh, you don't know anything!” Holly stormed from the room, her face as red as her hair.

Mini-me snickered, and then stalled as she watched the door for a moment in case Mom or Dad showed up with guns blazing. As she looped one skinny leg through the window, I recalled the Landry brothers as kids and how they always caught the girls' attention with their long dark hair and guarded eyes.

I watched myself disappear into the darkness, toward the curtain of the big oak tree, where I knew I'd sit till the sound of the breeze made me sleepy. I peered out to see if I'd get a glimpse of young Ben, but somehow I remembered that he didn't come again for a while. I remembered he'd gotten punished after getting caught sneaking back into his house that first time. His punishment hadn't been grounding, though. His dad had a different theory on punishment. One that frequently required long sleeves in the summertime. Ben learned how to be craftier after that.

I didn't have long to ponder the memory of that first visit, when he'd climbed the big tree to my roof with a bag of his drawings, begging me to keep them so his dad wouldn't tear them up.