Louder Than Words (20 page)

“Mom’s right. They’re just some dumb sweaters. I promise, I’m always going to be your little girl, even if I won’t do the Von Trapp family singers thing.”

I hugged my father and then my mother. In the part of my mind that was able to observe this rerun of my past, I thought about how ridiculous I had been. If only I could go back, I would put on a thousand stupid sweaters just to please my dad. Such a small thing would have made him so happy. How could I have been so selfish?

“Come on, Liz, we have to leave or we’re going to be late,” my mother called up the stairs. “I have the tickets in my bag. Liz, are you coming? We’re stopping for Mexican food on the way home.”

That did it. Footsteps in the hall and down the stairs, and Liz raced into the living room.

“I don’t have to wear the sweater, though, right? We’re going out for Mexican anyway?” Liz tried to look annoyed, but even she had to smile at my parents in their matching moose pullovers, and at the fact that for a chicken burrito, Liz would do practically anything.

“Wear whatever you want, darling daughter. Go naked if you like. I get it. You’re all grown up, your mother and I are practically ready to be put out to pasture … we’re living on borrowed time.”

Although my father hadn’t meant it that way, it was true—less than an hour later, they were all dead. This was hard to watch, but the movie of my memory just kept playing.

“Sarcastic much? Don’t be so melodramatic, Dad. Sometimes an ugly sweater is just an ugly sweater. Okay?” Liz turned to look at me in my fishermen’s sweater and blue jeans. “So they couldn’t break you, huh?”

I didn’t want Liz to think she was such a strong influence on me, so I said, “The moose sweater’s itchy, and hot.”

“Yeah,” she teased, “that wool sweater you’re wearing will definitely keep you cool. I get it.”

Liz smiled and gently smacked the side of my head. It was the last time she ever touched me. I was not enjoying this scene from my past, but I couldn’t change reels, even though I tried hard to turn it off.

The phone rang. “Hello,” my mother said. “Oh, Charlotte, I’m so glad you got my message. So can you come with us? They’re singing the ‘Hallelujah Chorus.’”

After a long pause, “That’s too bad. You and Stuart work way too hard. I hope you won’t have to work on Christmas Eve.” Another brief pause, and then my mother laughed at something Charlotte must have said. “Love to you guys. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Call me when you have a free minute in the office. Bye.”

My mother hung up the phone and turned to my father. “I am so glad I decided not to go to law school. They’re on call twenty-four hours a day. It’s like being a doctor, but without the free samples.”

“We’ll just have to do some extra singing when they come over for Christmas Eve dinner. Let’s go. Girls, grab your coats.” My father flicked a switch and the Christmas tree went dark.

“Everyone buckled up?” My mother had been asking us that question every time we got in the car together since we were old enough to buckle ourselves.

A light snow was falling, and it looked like we were driving through a just-shaken snow globe. The trees by the side of the road looked like they were dusted with sugar, and the lighted windows of houses in the distance made them look like the miniature villages sold in craft shops. I closed my eyes and thought about Christmas vacation and my birthday, only a few days away. How many of those gifts under the tree were mine? Not that I was especially greedy, but I loved surprises, and there was nothing better than tearing the paper off a package and opening a box to find the perfect special something chosen just for me. It made me feel like my parents knew me and understood me, listened to my hopefully subtle hints when I mentioned a pair of boots I had seen or a book I wanted to read.

“The Twelve Days of Christmas” was playing on the radio, and we were all singing along. Our voices blended well, and we made quite a sweet-sounding quartet, even without the matching sweaters. “… five golden rings, four calling birds, three French hens …”

“Jay, watch out, that car is coming right at us!” My mother’s voice was shrill with fear. The bright white light of someone’s halogen headlights filled our car, casting a ghostly pall over everything.

“I can’t see,” my father shouted as he braked and swerved away from the oncoming car.

A chorus of shrieks replaced our four-part harmony. The squealing of brakes clawed at my brain, and I put my hands over my ears. Then a booming sound as we hit the tree, and the scratchy crunch of metal on metal, glass raining down on me as the windows shattered. And then the air was still, except for the dripping as the car bled to death around me. As bright as it had been seconds earlier, it was pitch black now.
So this is what death feels like
, I remembered thinking. Where were the tunnel, the white light and the angels? Gasoline fumes enveloped me, and I knew I was still breathing.
But not for much longer
, I thought calmly. The stench of blood was so strong I could taste it, like a penny in my mouth. Was it mine? Rather than pain, death was an odor, and I tried holding my breath so I didn’t have to smell it. But the instinct to breathe was stronger than my urge to shut out the world, and I inhaled the stinking cacophony. A few minutes passed. I wasn’t dead. Now what? Wedged in my seat, I couldn’t move, so I waited, skin clammy from the snowflakes melting on my face, too weak even to open my eyes or call for help.

I must have lost consciousness, because I woke up to a light shining through my eyelids. Were the halogens back? No, too small for that. It must have been a flashlight beam, but I still couldn’t open my eyes or make a sound.
We’re being rescued
, I thought. Like sitting through a movie where I already knew the ending, I continued watching my dream play out, waiting for the tragic final scene. But now, here it was: in addition to the light, there was a smell. Unlike the bitter, acrid smells of the crash, this scent was a spring day, a field of flowers, a wedding bouquet. Now I must be dead. This must be how heaven smells. And then, just as I was getting to the important part, the part that could make the difference, my movie faded to black.

When my eyes flickered open, Annie’s face was just inches from mine, and her cheeks were wet with tears. “That must have been awful. You were screaming and crying. What did you see?”

I tried to talk, but nothing happened. Grabbing my Hawkie Talkie, I frantically punched at the keys. “I SCREAMED? I MADE ACTUAL NOISES?”

“Very loud screams. The kind where the neighbors might call the police.” Annie smiled and stroked my hair. “Definite progress.”

“I SAW THE NIGHT OF THE ACCIDENT. I REMEMBERED THE CRASH. THERE WERE HEADLIGHTS AND ANOTHER CAR HAD CROSSED ONTO OUR SIDE OF THE ROAD, AND MY DAD WAS TRYING TO AVOID AN ACCIDENT WHEN WE HIT THE TREE.”

“How terrifying that must have been. Did you see the other car?” Annie grabbed a pad of paper, ready to take notes in case my hypnotic memories faded away.

“JUST BRIGHT HALOGEN HEADLIGHTS. AND THEN, AFTER WE HIT THE TREE SOMEONE WAS SHINING A LIGHT IN OUR CAR, BUT MY EYES WERE CLOSED AND I COULDN’T OPEN THEM. THERE WAS A SMELL, A WONDERFUL FLOWERY SMELL MIXED IN WITH THE SMELL OF BLOOD AND GASOLINE. IT MUST HAVE COME FROM THE PERSON WHO WAS LOOKING IN THE WINDOW.”

Instead of Mrs. Fisher standing in the doorway as I walked up the front path, it was Ben. My instinct to flee fought with an almost uncontrollable urge to run into his arms. Unable to decide, I continued walking towards him, more slowly, stalling for time.

Where’s your mom?

Ben was never home on Wednesday afternoons when I visited 7 Seashell Lane. Except for our locker room skirmish and his possible mistake in the kitchen a couple of weeks earlier, he had made good on his promise to avoid me until I had properly inventoried my warehouse full of problems. What had changed?

“An hour ago my father called to say he scored tickets to some show my mother has been dying to see, so she raced off to catch a train to the City. She called me to come home and wait for you. She said she texted, but you didn’t text back.”

He came down the steps to meet me. I could feel the color rising in my face. Not only could he read my mind, but he could certainly see what I was thinking and feeling just by my blush.

I always forget to turn my phone on. I guess I’ll come back next week then, or I can come another day. Just have your mom let me know what’s best for her
.

This wasn’t so hard—a civil, neutral conversation. With effort I held it together, and I tried not to imagine him kissing me, whispering in my ear, caressing me. My body burned with the effort.
Take it easy, Sasha
, I told myself
. Just get the hell out of here before you embarrass yourself
.

“You want to come in? As long as you’re here.”

What was this about? Push me, pull me.

I should probably go home
.

Normally I would have given a limb to have Ben invite me in, but I was slowly learning to live without him in my everyday life, and I knew that spending the afternoon with him would undo all the progress I had made. Ten minutes alone with him and I would be right back on page one—desperately in love and totally bereft. Not fair of him to screw with my emotions, especially since he knew exactly what I was feeling.

“Just come in. I want to show you something. It won’t take long.”

Before I could figure out some clever comeback, he took me by the hand and led me up the stairs to his room. Mrs. Fisher had said I could spend more time there if I thought it would help me remember, but I hadn’t taken her up on her generous offer. It only made me miss Ben, and I couldn’t trust myself not to rummage through his drawers, sniffing his T-shirts, maybe even stealing one to sleep in. It was a short stroll from jilted girlfriend to drooling stalker.

Okay
.
What do you want to show me?
I sat on the edge of my old bed and waited, trying to control my breathing, unsuccessfully trying to look nonchalant.

“Um, I want to try something, if you’re okay with it.”

He stood in front of me, holding my hands in his, just looking at me. It was unnerving—I felt like he was looking right through me. I wished I’d worn mascara, lip gloss—some girl armor to protect me from his X-ray vision. Damn the sweats. Was my breath okay? Without saying a word, he gently pushed me back onto the bed and stretched out next to me. Brushing the hair out of my eyes, he kissed my forehead, my nose, and finally my lips.

What the hell are you doing? I thought you didn’t want to be fuck buddies
.

Boys were too confusing. When did the rules change, and why didn’t I get the memo? All these weeks I had been fantasizing about just such a moment, but now that I was trying desperately to stand on my own two feet, he was determined to get me on my back. As much as I wanted him to kiss me some more, I felt like he was manipulating me, and I didn’t like it. I may not have had much self-respect, but I did have enough to make me feel like I was being railroaded. Talk about an abuse of power.

“I’m not planning on going all the way. Your virginity is safe.”

He kissed me, his tongue searing my mouth with delicious fire. I had almost forgotten how incredible it felt.

You’ve got that right
. I made a show of crossing my legs.
I’m not some old toy you can just take off the shelf and play with once in a while
.
What about my feelings?
I tried, not too hard, to sit up, but he wouldn’t let me.
I was just starting to get over you, and I’m making real progress on my own. Just ask your mother. Stop messing with my head
.

“Please don’t bring up my mother right now. Just go with it. I’m not just using you for my own selfish purposes—I swear—as much as I’m enjoying this. I have a really good reason for what I’m doing. Trust me.”

How many scheming boys had said just those words to how many stupid girls? My stomach turned over as he kissed my neck and nibbled on my earlobe. I felt like I was going to spontaneously combust inside my sweats. This was way better than Mexican hallucination tea.

It had better be a very good reason
.
Jules’s mother says you should never trust boys who say trust me
.

I was all bluster. What little determination I possessed had dissolved with that very first kiss. Talk about a pushover. Before I could wrestle with my self-esteem, my sense of empowerment, or my independence, most of my clothes were in a pile on the floor, alongside Ben’s shirt.

“You’re thinking too much,” Ben whispered in my ear. “Just relax and let me make you feel good.” His fingertips lightly brushed my arm. “Do you like it when I touch you like that?”

No, I hate it. You know how much I hate you right now? You are such a shit
. His hands and lips were everywhere—my arms and legs tingled, and I couldn’t get enough air. If someone walked in on us, I would die on the spot.
You’re sure there’s no chance your parents could come home?

“Focus, Sasha, and stop talking about my parents. We’re all alone. Concentrate on what you’re feeling. Let your body take you there.”

Take me where? I’ve never done this before
.

Ten minutes earlier I’d been steeling myself for another cup of steaming mulch and a tumultuous trip down memory lane, and now …

“Really? Your clenched fists and deer-in-the-headlights look don’t give you away at all.” He flashed his perfect teeth.

Do you think that making fun of me is going to help? I’m not scared. I just don’t understand why you’re doing this. What changed? I’m totally confused
.

“Stop thinking, and kiss me back. You spend way too much time thinking.” His body surrounded mine, and I was lost. “Yes, that’s it, Sasha. Don’t think, just feel.”

It was no use. I couldn’t fight the sensation as it reverberated through every cell in my body. It swallowed me like a wave, and I was in another place, until I heard the scream.
What was that? Who’s here?
I knew we would get caught. I had never been so humiliated in my entire life.

Kissing my damp forehead, Ben said, “That was you, numbnuts. Four years of psychotherapy—fifty thousand dollars. Five minutes with me—priceless. So what do you have to say for yourself?”

That was me?
“Thank you?” It came out as a croak, but it was my voice. I put my hands to my throat.
How did that happen? And how did you know that would happen?

“I didn’t know for sure, but the one Dr. O’Rourke book you didn’t read was all about the power of sex to build a detour around a person’s psychological train wreck. Apparently she’s right about that.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

The realization that I was coming out the other side was too much, and I burst into tears. My voice had finally swum to the surface.

“It doesn’t matter what you say. It’s all good, Sash.” Ben was grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“Does this mean you’re not going to leave me again?” Was he really back, for good?

“I’m not going anywhere, although if you’ll just excuse me for a minute …” Ben stood up. “Your enthusiasm was, um, contagious, and I need to go clean up.”

There was a wet spot on his jeans. Awkward, but it meant that this was more than just sex therapy.

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t ever apologize for making me feel like that. Stay put. I’m going to take a quick shower.” As he disappeared into the bathroom, I reached for my sweats. “Don’t put your clothes back on,” he called through the door.

Five minutes later he came out wrapped in a towel. “Close your eyes.”

I heard his towel drop to the floor and squinted through my closed eyelids. Broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, he looked like one of my art book marble statues, and I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to sketch him or jump him. He turned around, and he was as beautiful from the front as the back. My first glimpse of a naked man, and I didn’t turn to stone. Things were definitely looking up.

“No fair peeking,” he said, but he was still smiling. He slipped into sweats and climbed back onto the bed. I crawled into his waiting arms. “Are you all right?”

“I’m not sure.” I kept clearing my throat, trying to ease the raspiness. “My voice sounds funny.”

“You haven’t used your vocal cords in more than four years. It’s going to take a while for them to get back to normal. I like it this way. It’s sexy.”

I made a face. “I sound like those chain-smoking old men who hang out at the diner by the train station.”

“But a very sexy chain-smoking old man. Are you okay
other
than your voice? How does the rest of your body feel?” He rested his hand on my bare stomach.

“Oh,
that
. Yeah, that was more than okay. I’ve never done that before.”

“I figured that, but I think you needed it. I know I did.” He kissed my nose and buried his face in my hair.

“What if your grand plan didn’t work?” The way I felt when he touched me, the talking was pretty much a bonus.

“We would have had fun trying, even if it didn’t bring your voice back. And I couldn’t stay away from you anymore. I know now that what you said that night at the restaurant was just talk. You would never give up, no matter how long it took.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“My mother says you’ve been working so hard these past weeks, trying to get better, in part for me.” His voice trailed off at the end. He really did care about me—maybe as much as I cared for him.

“I’m never going to give up. Being with you, I just feel so incredibly normal, and happy. It hadn’t occurred to me that telling you how wonderful you are would scare you away.” It had never entered my mind that Ben would ever be afraid of anything. Even when facing the four knuckle-draggers whose necks were wider than their heads, he hadn’t blinked.

“When you said those things to me in the restaurant, I panicked. Stupid, but I flashed forward twenty years, and I saw you resenting me for holding you back.”

“But why didn’t you just ask me?” If he was so tuned in to my inner monologue, why didn’t he know what I meant anyway? I guess even mind readers can get their signals crossed sometimes.

“Because I’m a moron. Can you forgive me for hurting you?” He kissed me again and again. “You’ve already suffered a lifetime’s worth of pain, and I heaped on even more.”

“Forgiven.” I couldn’t stop smiling. “This can’t be happening. The two things I’ve missed most—you and my voice—and I get both back in the same day. Are you sure I’m not dreaming?”

“It’s very real. And it’s a very good day.” Ben’s cell phone rang and I reluctantly let him get up from the bed. “Yes, Mom, Sasha’s fine. She’s right here … No, I asked her to hang out for a little while …” Ben handed me the phone and whispered, “Talk to her. She’ll be so surprised. But I don’t think you should tell her how we did it.”

You think? Hi, Mrs. Fisher, Ben and I just slid into third base, and I got my voice back
.

Did he really believe I could or would explain to his mother what we had been doing? Annie Fisher was easy to talk to, but there was a line. Taking the phone, I was excited to share my accomplishment. Mrs. Fisher had started me on the trek up the mountain to recovery, and Ben had helped me reach the summit, so to speak. Then I had to call Charlotte and Stuart. They would probably pass out when they heard my voice.

But when I tried to speak to Mrs. Fisher, no sound came out. Back to the beginning—once again, I was a fish out of water. A few sentences tossed out so easily, and then nothing. Bile rose in my throat, and I dropped the phone, barely making it to the bathroom.

“No, Mom, everything’s okay, but I have to go. There’s someone at the door. Enjoy the theater. Bye.” Ben’s words tumbled out as he rushed to get off the phone.

He ran into the bathroom, finding me in the fetal position on the tile floor. “Are you okay? What happened?”

When I tried to talk to your mother, nothing happened. I’ve lost it again
.

I covered my face with my hands, wishing I could disappear. Just as I was emerging from my cave, a giant boulder had crashed down, once again trapping me inside.

“Are you sure? How can that be? I guess we’ll just have to fool around some more. Make it stick.” Ben cradled me in his lap as he sat with his back against the bathtub, not sounding especially concerned about my latest setback.

“That’s beyond not funny.” Didn’t he see that this was a catastrophe? Of all people, I figured Ben would understand.

“You just said that out loud. Your voice is back. You’re a little rusty, that’s all. But maybe we should get naked again, just to make sure.” He buried his face in my neck, and I moaned as his lips danced over my skin. “That’s the best sound in the whole world. Do it again,” he ordered. Maybe he was right; I just needed a little more of his special treatment.

“Is this what they call makeup sex?” Knowledge imparted from
Cosmo
’s monthly sex column. Now that I knew my speech wasn’t an aberration, I felt better, but something wasn’t right.

“Technically no, since it’s impossible to have makeup sex if we’re not actually having sex, but I like where you’re headed with this.” He playfully pinned me to the bathroom floor, kissing his way from my neck down to my stomach. “You want to start a fight?”

“Stop.” As difficult as it was, I pushed him off me and sat up. “I need to know what’s going on.”