Drowning Is Inevitable (3 page)

The only person I hated in the entire world was Tom Benton. I forgave him for his meanness; it was his niceness that was truly unforgivable. It gave you a glimpse of the man he could be all the time, but chose not to be. He beat his wife—though she was quick to point out it was only when he was drunk.

“He's never laid a hand on Jamie,” she'd say in his defense.

This was true. He had never laid a hand on Jamie. In fact, Jamie couldn't remember his dad touching him once since he was ten. That was the year Mr. Benton lost his job and found the bottle. Even though he found work again, the jobs never lasted long, and he never stopped drinking. Sometimes I caught Jamie watching his dad expectantly, like he was waiting for him to turn back into the man he was before.

He stopped touching Jamie. He stopped looking at him. I once begged Jamie's mom to leave and take Jamie with her. I begged her to make it quick, because I was worried Jamie was being completely erased. She didn't even think about it.

“I made a
vow,
” she said. “I made a vow for good times and bad.”

She'd made this vow in their backyard. We took promises made on Fidelity Street very seriously. Once Jamie tried to promise me he'd always be my best friend. I made us walk two streets over before he made any declarations, just in case he wanted out later.

“Lillian! Come down out of that tree and help me bring in the laundry.” My grandmother was in the side yard, fighting the wind as she tried to fold sheets.

Jamie lifted his head from his journal and looked at me. His parents' shouting was getting louder; then there was silence, followed by his mom's screaming and the crash of a slammed door. Even at this distance, I flinched. Jamie didn't, though. He just held my eyes. Sometimes his eyes were the saddest thing you'd see for two parishes.

I still pretended I was his sister. I didn't want his parents as my family anymore, though—just him. He and I made our own family: the invisible children of Fidelity Street.

“Lillian!” My grandmother yelled again.

“I'm coming!”

From a distance my grandmother looked like a grandmother was supposed to look. She was small and round and soft in all the right places. She smelled like peppermint and old-lady perfume. Her face was lined like a map, which made you think she had the answers to all life's questions, but the map offered no direction. I loved her completely, and she loved me back, even though it wasn't my face she saw. I couldn't explain it, but I could still feel the love from when I was just me. She was my protector, even if she couldn't remember who she was protecting.

“Lillian, I love you,” she said.

The billowing sheets between us, I replied, “I love you, too.”

M
aggie, friend number two, worked at Bird Man Coffee and Books. It was a cross between an art studio, a restaurant, and a dive bar, complete with local musicians and sculptures, and decorated with books, endless books. Oh yeah, it also sold coffee.

Maggie was behind the counter, wiping it down with fast, angry strokes. I was petite, but Maggie only came up to my shoulder. What she lacked in size, she made up for in volume. She was a singer, songwriter, and artist—a bewilderment of beings. No one matched the sheer velocity with which she approached life. Once, in the first grade, she gut punched Brad Henderson, a boy three times her size, when he said I was the only person in the class who didn't have a mother. Everyone needed a Maggie.

“Hey, how's it going?” I asked.

“If I have to serve one more cup of coffee today I'm going to lose my mind. And your sometime boyfriend came by looking for you,” she said.

“He found me.”

“I told him to leave you alone. He never listens. He doesn't listen to anyone.” She exhaled loudly. “I'm sorry. I'm just in a bad mood. I'm ready to get out of here.”

She stopped wiping and leveled a hard look at me. “I have to get out of here.”

Maggie was moving to New York in the fall. She had a scholarship to the School of Visual Arts in Manhattan and planned to major in fine arts. She didn't listen to or read anything dating to after 1976 because “nothing current is original.” She had no filter and would say anything that came into her head, and her eyes were so big that when she looked at you, she always saw more than you wanted her to

“I'm off in fifteen minutes,” she said. “Are you and Jamie coming to Magnolia's?”

Magnolia's was an actual juke joint that sat behind the coffeehouse. Jamie and I spent most every free night of the summer there—at least the nights Maggie was singing.

“Yeah. He's meeting me here.”

“Good. My dad is coming.” She rolled her eyes. “He's bringing the new girlfriend.”

Maggie was one of only three kids in my graduating class to come from a broken home. Her parents' divorce was big news at West Feliciana Elementary. In St. Francisville, Louisiana, marriage was forever.

Maggie's mother was a folk singer who spent most of her time in New Orleans working on a drug habit and hoping to be discovered. Maggie joked that the only thing her mom ever gave her was her voice. Her dad, meanwhile gave her everything else. He was a local artist who taught Maggie everything she knew about art, books, music, and, according to Maggie, how not to love a woman.

“It's gonna be a good show,” said Maggie. She beamed. Maggie was a born performer.

The door opened and Jamie walked in. You couldn't tell from his face that anything bad had happened earlier. Jamie was good at that. He snuck up behind Maggie.

“Maggie, my love,” he whispered in her ear. He reached for her hand and spun her out and then brought her back in to his chest, swaying with her even though there was no music. It didn't matter. When Jamie and Maggie were in a room together, there was always dancing. He dipped her. “When are you going to quit this job so you can spend more time with me?” he asked.

“When you give me the money it takes to afford my life.”

“If I had it, darlin', it'd be yours.” He let her go and sank down on the couch.

“How long before you get off?” he asked.

“I'm headed to Magnolia's now to help set up. Will y'all be over in a little bit?”

“You know it,” he said. “Can you get me a cup of coffee before you go?”

She threw her dish towel at him. “Get your own coffee.”

No one carded at Magnolia's. This accounted for the rowdy state of many of the teenagers in the room. Jamie and I picked a spot in the corner, not too far from the stage. Maggie started belting out a song, so loud and beautiful.

Jamie leaned in toward me. “I'm going to get a water. Do you want one?”

I nodded. As soon as Jamie walked away, Lyle Williams snaked up next to me. Lyle had graduated a year ahead of us and been solidifying his reputation as the town asshole ever since.

“Tick tock, Olivia. Your birthday's coming soon,” he said. “You don't have much time left.” He stepped closer to me, invading my space, his hot breath on my face. “Why don't you make the most of it?” His hand slid out to grab my waist and pull me even closer to him.

“Screw you.” I shoved his chest.

“What? You broke up with Max again. You're fair game.”

I looked over my shoulder to see Jamie coming back to me, having abandoned his quest for water. Jamie was usually pretty easygoing, but he became a different person when someone was messing with me. I knew if I didn't do something to defuse the situation, Jamie was going to get into a fight. He'd gotten into more than a few of them because of me.

After the last fight, we were in my mom's bathroom and I was cleaning his cut lip. “You have to stop taking up for me. They're not gonna stop, and you're gonna keep getting hurt.”

He'd looked down at the floor, watching the patterns his blood made as it dripped onto the tile, and mumbled, “Better me than you.”

Not wanting a repeat of that performance, I jerked free of Lyle's hold.

“Shut up,” I said.

I turned and walked outside, but stopped short at the sight of Max sitting on the front bumper of his truck. Since Max had stopped drinking, he didn't come into Magnolia's.

Lyle followed me outside.

“Hey, don't walk away,” he said. He reached out and snagged the back of my shirt.

I turned around as Jamie stepped between us.

“Leave her alone,” he said.

Lyle let go of me.

“If it isn't Olivia's lapdog. Run along. We were just having a little chat.”

“No.” Jamie put his hands on Lyle's chest and gave him a push. “I said leave her alone.”

Lyle's hands fisted at his sides. Even though Jamie knew what was coming next, he didn't look scared. He held his ground, and with a little chin lift, gave Lyle a look that said, “Come on man, hit me.”

Just when I thought there was no avoiding a fight, Max stood up. Lyle jerked his head up in response. Max didn't have to say anything; Lyle tucked his tail between his legs and walked away. For people like Jamie and me, it took busted lips. Max only had to stand. This was because when Max
did
fight, he didn't lose. I turned my anger on him.

“We had it under control,” I said.

“You looked like you had it under control,” said Max, and then, trying to change the subject, “Maggie sounds great tonight.”

“As she does every night,” Jamie added.

Max nodded. “You might want to be careful about going back in there. Lyle is stupid and doesn't learn from his mistakes.”

“You're right,” Jamie said.

Max walked to us and reached for my hand. “Let's get out of here.” He leaned down to my ear. “You and me, let's go somewhere.”

“Why would you think I'd go anywhere with you?”

“Olivia,” he sighed.

“Max.”

“Why do you fight me on everything?” he asked. “Just come for a ride with me.”

I looked at Jamie.

“I'm fine to stay here with Maggie,” he said.

“See? Jamie says it's fine. Let's go.” He tugged on my hand. “I've missed you. Please?”

“Where do you want to go?”

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he said, “Let's go to Thompson Creek.”

“Wait,” Jamie said. “You don't need to go out there at night.”

“Sure she does. Everyone knows that's the best time to go cliff diving.”

Max knew I wouldn't be able to resist that invitation.

“It hasn't rained in over a month,” Jamie said. “The water's too low.”

“I know a place that's safe to jump. It's supposed to be over twenty feet deep. Come on, Olivia. Live a little.”

The rush was like nothing else.

I could tell Jamie knew what I was thinking, because he let out a loud sigh and threw his hands up. I didn't always do the right thing; sometimes I channeled self-destruction. It was a feeling that started in my toes and quickly headed north. I knew what people would say if word got out that Lillian's daughter had gone cliff diving, but there were times when I felt dared to meet their expectations. What they didn't realize was that I didn't do these things because I was suicidal. I just wanted to feel closer to her. We had limited options when it came to mother-daughter bonding.

“My mind's made up,” Max said. “I'm jumping off a cliff. You can come with me or not.” He turned and walked to his truck.

“Wait for me,” I said.

Jamie looked pissed.

“You heard him,” I said. “His mind's made up. I can't let him go alone.”

“Sure you can. He doesn't have to be your problem.”

“But he is,” I said. Max was always my problem.

“Am I supposed to pretend I don't know why you're really going?”

“Yes.” I couldn't keep the excitement from my voice. I always got excited when I was about to do something I knew she'd done. I got this irrational feeling, like I was close to finding her.

“Dammit, Olivia. Try not to die.”

I ran to catch up with Max. He pulled open the passenger door and then leaned in to try and kiss me.

“No, Romeo. I'll jump off a cliff with you, nothing more.”

He smirked and got in the truck.

I caught Jamie's eyes as Max cranked the truck. They pleaded with me, but I stayed put. No matter how many times Jamie stepped in there was no saving me from Max or myself. Jamie knew that on nights like this, he had two options: he could be the witness, or he could go home. He turned and walked back inside.

The creek was only a few miles away, so it wasn't long before we were standing at the edge of what passed in St. Francisville as a cliff. I was starting to rethink my decision to jump, but I couldn't bear to let anyone see me back down, especially Max. I did try to stall, though.

“You can't even see the water from here,” I said.

The night air whispered around us, dead black.

“It's there. I promise.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked.

“Kids jump all the time. It's safe.”

He kicked off his shoes, and I did the same. I placed my hands in his and he twisted us closer to the edge, looked down into my eyes, and breathed, “Trust me.”

Never
—but I closed my eyes and nodded slowly. I thought I could hear voices in the background and imagined that one of them was Maggie's.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, but my heart was beating so loudly in protest that I was sure he'd hear it.

His thumbs rubbed my palms. He lifted them to his face and planted kisses there. It took my breath away.

“I'll never put you in danger again. I promise. You can do this. The water is deep enough.”

I nodded.

“One, two … deep breath … three.”

We stepped off the edge of the world and plunged into the night. The wind rushed by us. I heard screaming before I realized the sound was coming from me.

The water was as black as the night. There was a flash of light as a car headlight swept over the water below, and I closed my eyes as my feet stabbed through the surface. There was no sickening snap of bones, but the water grabbed me fiercely, ripping my hand from Max's. I turned around, then up, then down, disoriented.

But I didn't panic; in fact, the opposite happened. I felt my muscles relax as I slowed down, no longer a speeding bullet. My heart stopped hammering and picked out a slow beat as the water moved around me, warmer than I expected. I opened my eyes, but saw nothing. I stayed like that for some time, quiet and peaceful, in the silence of the murky water.

I stayed under for what felt like minutes. My chest started to burn. My lungs protested. I should've swum toward the surface, but I remained perfectly still. I felt closer to her when I was underwater. I wanted to try death on for size, to see how she might have felt.

Then my reflexes took over. My arms pushed the water out of my way, my legs kicking frantically as panic set in. There was no light and no hint I was going in the right direction. I faltered, then committed and pushed through the water faster and faster in the same direction.

There was never sweeter air. I heard my name being called, and the voice was panicked.

“Olivia!”

The water splashed around me and in me, but I continued to suck in air. Max reached me and yanked me toward him. Then he half dragged me to the shore.

“I can swim.”

“Are you sure?”

We stumbled up the bank and collapsed onto our backs on the grass. I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing in and out. Max lay next to me.

“What the hell, Olivia?!” he yelled at the sky.