Reluctant Guardian (21 page)

Brecken beckons me to come back, his arm out, his hand open, and I glance into his beseeching eyes. He meets me on the muddy bank, his body barely brushing against mine, the wonderful tingle of his aura surrounding me.

With a hesitant sigh, I whisper. “It lasted a long time. Forever, it seems like.”

“I'm so sorry that happened to you.”

“It was my brother, Derek, who finally figured it out.” I shake my head, wanting to clear it of the horrible memories, but they flood back, like roiling tidal waves on the ocean, tossed back and forth with the force of the storm.

“I'd accidentally left my clothes in the bathroom after a bath. My underwear had blood on them. I wasn't old enough to have periods, and I guess my brother knew it. I remember him coming into my room, holding my dirty clothes. He stared at me, like he wanted to kill someone. I'm not sure how he figured it all out, because I wouldn't talk about it, but he must have told my parents, because a few days later, Mr. Roland was arrested. I never opened up to Derek, even after that. Mr. Roland died in prison a couple years later. It was Natty who testified against him. I couldn't do it. ”

Brecken's eyes squint shut, his lips drawn back like he is going to be sick. “I'd kill anyone who did that to my sisters.”

“I know. That's how Derek felt, and your sisters need you so much. You have to protect them. There are other bad people out there like Mr. Roland!”

“Is that why you killed yourself?” he asks me softly, his eyes round and glowing in the sunset.

I sigh and step back. How do I explain my tortured life? I don't think I can do it accurately. “Partly,” I say. “My life was complicated. When my grandmother died, I was so unhappy, so lonely, but I kept going. I began healing. But when Natty, my best friend, got cancer and died, I died with her. I couldn't deal with anything anymore. I didn't care anymore. My one confidant who'd understood my hidden pain was gone. My parents got me antidepressants, but after I started taking them, I felt even worse, like a black hurricane constantly surrounded me, heavy and polluted. I ached with despair... all the time. I can't explain it, but I had to make it stop. I just needed it to stop.”

Brecken nods. “So then what?”

“So then... I drove into a tree. I got what I wanted, except I didn't. Nothing is what you imagine it is after you die. You don't get to rest. You don't get wings. You don't get to be with loved-ones, not if you kill yourself. You do get to work though. Dead people work all the time,” I say with a sarcastic laugh.

Brecken chuckles as though he understands what I mean. “You poor thing. And then you were sent here to deal with a loser like me.”

My heart fills with something I can't explain. “You're
not
a loser, Brecken. You're the furthest thing from it.” I have come to understand this boy, and now, hopefully, he can understand me. I step closer, aching to feel him for real, to feel the heat of his breath on my face, the warmth of his hands on my back.

“I... ” My unsaid words drift on the soft breeze, and I wonder for a moment if I can really say them out loud. I don't want to keep my feelings to myself anymore. What if I never get the chance again to tell him?

“Brecken, I... love you,” I whisper. I would never normally tell a guy I love him. In fact, I would have rather died—figuratively speaking—than tell a guy I even liked him, but I have a feeling my time with Brecken is drawing to a close. I want to tell him what's in my heart before it's too late, before I'm snatched away and never get the chance.

“I'm still not sure how this all works,” I hurry to explain. “But I might not have a lot of time left with you, and I just want you... to know... or whatever.” With a nervous laugh, I step back. “You know what I mean.” My heart lies open at his feet. Never have I felt so vulnerable, so fragile.

“Uh...” He smiles, warmth curling his lips into a grin. “Thank you, Alisa. I... don't know what to say.”

“This is the point where the boy usually says, 'I love you too.' ” The fact that he hasn't leaves a raw spot in my chest that threatens to rip deeper, depending on his next words.

“I'm not sure... I'm ready to say that again,” he says, glancing quickly into my eyes, and then back down at the stream.

Rip. Like a blade of grass on an early winter morning. One wrong step and I'll be completely smashed. I stand on the border of rejection once again. “I thought you'd say something different.”

His hands rake through his windblown hair, making it even messier. “I want to, but... I don't know if it's a good idea,” he says in frustration. “Here's what I
want
to say.” He turns to me suddenly.
“Yes,
I feel the same way. Yes, I want you. But it won't be that way. I'm pretty sure about that. It doesn't seem to matter what I want. I never get it.”

“Then
take
what you want!” I yell back at him. “You're still human. You have a physical body. Do you even know what that means?” My chest heaves even though air is not being sucked into my lungs.

“You don't understand, Alisa. You can't. And it doesn't matter anymore. I'm
tired,”
he says. “Can you see that?” Anguish coats his face and he turns to trudge back up the hill toward his motorcycle.

“Brecken... please don't go. Please—”

“I'm sorry, too.” He watches me silently for a moment before continuing up the path, the gravel crunching beneath his feet.

“I thought sharing my past with you would make a difference,” I yell at his stiff back.

He stops, but doesn't turn around. The soft evening breeze lifts his hair and it stirs around his neck. “It did. It does. I... I just... need time.”

I watch him grow smaller as he guns his bike and peels out of the parking lot.

“You don't have time,” I whisper to myself.

 

~A Broken Heart~

Alisa

 

I've never been dumped before. A raw, open slice through my soul has left me unsteady and aching.

I don't know how to fix this.

Brecken obviously needs some time alone, and so do I, but the longer I dwell on my situation, the worse I feel. I decide to look for my brothers. They need me too, and if I can help fix their screwed up situations, maybe it will take my mind off of mine.

I picture Tyler's face in my mind, the light brown of his milk-chocolaty eyes, and his dusty-blond hair with the cowlick in back that makes it always stick up. My heart aches for him, all alone with no one to support him.

Ever since he and Derek walked out on my mom, things have felt disconnected. Where did Derek take Ty, who still needs his mother? He is too young to hang out with Derek's friends, too young to sit in on grownup conversations, and too young to be exposed to whatever Derek has started with his new rebellion.

Tyler needs someone to hold him when he cries, to ask about his day, to comfort him when hopelessness surrounds him like a pack of ravaging wolves, and I don't trust Derek to do that anymore.

Within seconds, I appear at Ty's side. He sits on the back porch of a house that seems vaguely familiar to me, but I can't place it. I sit next to him and gaze at his drawn face, but I'm unable to tell what he feels just by looking at his somber expression, so I place my hand over his.

Feelings of loneliness drift over me, but aren't overwhelming. Ty is sad, but not despondent like before. With a sigh, I look up at the blue afternoon sky. This peaceful moment, holding my brother's hand, is just the medicine I need, and hopefully what Ty needs too.

After a moment, the glass door behind us slides open. A woman I recognize as Derek's best friend's mom steps out with two full glasses of lemonade.

“Here you go, sweetie.” She hands one to Tyler.

“Thanks,” he answers quietly.

She sits on the step next to him and sips her drink. “It's a nice day, isn't it?”

“Yeah.”

She looks into his eyes. A sparkling love radiates there. “I spoke to your Dad today. He says your mom is doing great and getting better fast. He's glad you're here with us, and so am I.”

“Yeah, me too,” Tyler answers. “But I miss my family.”

“I know,” she says, nodding and staring out into her backyard. “It's hard, but you'll get through it, Tyler. You're a wonderful, smart boy. But it will take time.”

“I guess.” He bows his head. “I wish Alisa were here.”

His comment pierces my heart like an arrow, and I put my arm around him, willing him to know that I
am
here, loving him and missing him too.

“Yes,” Mrs. Reynolds said. “Alisa's death is a terrible thing. I'm so sorry it happened.”

“Me to,” Tyler says, staring at his untouched lemonade.

I hate hearing this. I can't seem to escape the repercussions of my terrible decision. Oh, to go back in time, to change the course of events, to be with my family. And yet, I take each guilt-ridden barb into my heart. I deserve to hear this—deserve to feel the pain I've caused. I welcome the torture of Tyler's words. Maybe saying them out loud will help him heal. If I can suffer that for him, even for a moment, I will gladly.

“Didn't she care about me?” he asks suddenly. Tears well in his eyes and threaten to spill over his reddening cheeks. His voice breaks and he tucks his head into the circle of his arms, hiding his face.

“Oh, honey.” Mrs. Reynolds sets her glass down and takes him in her arms. “I'm sure she did, but from what Derek said, she was taking medicine that made it hard for her to feel good or to think things through.”

A sob escapes him and he leans into her, still hiding his face. After a moment, Ty's tears slow, and he sits up, wiping his face.

Mrs. Reynolds gives him another squeeze, then picks up her drink and takes a sip. “It'll all be okay,” she says. “Your mom is getting help, and everything will go back to normal.”

Tyler glances at her and nods, but I can tell he doesn't agree.

Things will never be normal again.

 

~A Bad Plan~

Alisa

 

For two weeks, Brecken and I hardly speak. He is on his best behavior: no stealing, no smoking, no swearing. He doesn't even go out with Jill during that time. I have no reason to lecture him, influence him, or correct him on any bad behavior. I don't do much but follow him around. I start wondering if maybe there is nothing left for me to do here. Maybe my job is over. If so, why am I still here? Why hasn't Raphael pulled me back to
Idir Shoal
?

I flit back to Tyler often, and he begins to improve. A smile returns to his face, and he becomes friends with Mrs. Reynolds other son, Gavin, who is only a couple years older.

I visit my mom as often as I can, and one time I overhear the doctor say she can go home soon. Everything seems to be turning around.

One evening, as twilight approaches, I sit on a park bench with Brecken, watching Heidi and Sophie play on the swings. Dramatic brush-strokes of pink and orange paint the sky as the sun sets behind the rounded hills, and a soft breeze blows. Relaxed, I find myself releasing the tension I've been feeling around Brecken.

Things have come to a place where we can communicate again. Kind of. Which is good because I still haven't told him about the vision I saw in Raphael's office. The time is just never right. But I have high hopes that we'll soon broach the subject.

Like right now.

“Can we please just sit without talking,” he says before I can get one word out.

For a moment, I almost acquiesce, but the time for procrastination has passed. It's now or never. “Isn't that what we've been doing for the last two weeks?”

He doesn't answer.

“Breck. We need to talk.” I scoot closer to him, within touching distance... because being close to him somehow soothes me—and I hope him too.

He glances over and shrugs in a
whatever
kind of way and goes back to watching his sisters.

I take a deep breath and clear my throat. It's an old habit. “You need to know that something really bad lies ahead and I'm worried.”

“Something bad always lies ahead.” He stares right through me, his gaze hard, cold, and frustrated. “That's just a given for me.”

“Is it?”

He shakes his head, his jaw flexing. “Of course. Why else would you even be here, Babysitter?”

I turn to watch the girls, mulling over his statement. Why is everything so hard with him? Why does everything feel like a battle? Why is it I can't get through, can't explain my feelings, can't understand his?

I shift uncomfortably.

He seems to sense my frustration because his eyes soften and the sun sparkles deep through his blue irises, unfathomable, like a bottomless ocean abyss. “All right,” he whispers. “Let's talk. You go first.”

“Chicken,” I say with a chuckle. At least he is warming up. It is a step in the right direction. If he is willing to forgive me for running away all the time, I am willing to forgive him for stomping all over my heart. Over and over again.

“Let's go inside so I can see you better.” He holds out his hand and I take it, the tingle of his touch tickling my fingers. Even though I'm sure he can't really
feel
me, I enjoy his fingers brushing through mine. I follow him inside to the living room.

One lamp glows in the corner and the TV is muted. The drawn curtains block the evening sun, and darkness blankets the room. We sit on the couch and face each other, my mind racing.

“I see you,” he whispers, inhaling deeply. “And I love the way you smell. Like cinnamon rolls on Sunday morning.” Back to the old Brecken I love. He tries to take my other hand unsuccessfully, and clears his throat. The smile he beams at me fills my heart, and I can't stop smiling either. “Alisa, I've changed my mind. I want to go first. Okay?”

I nod, wondering what he feels compelled to say to me after two weeks of self-inflicted solitary confinement. I pray it isn't something that will ignite another argument.