Remember Me Like This (22 page)

Lately, she’d gone on a tear with books about Stockholm syndrome. Some of the books she ordered online and others Eric checked out (and returned) for her at the library. She took notes on the books, made lists of things she wanted to monitor with Justin: his eating habits, any aversion to specific TV shows, any tendencies to grow angry or clam up around certain topics of conversation. Eric, she knew, worried she might read something that would pull the rug out from under her again. She could feel him studying her, silent and skeptical and beseeching, waiting for her to deliver terrible news, as if her reading about something would coax it into reality. As if she were tempting fate by what she chose to read, as if she’d be doing everyone a favor if she’d just stop. But the more she read, the better she felt. More at ease. Empowered, even.
Lucky.
The sheer mind-boggling luck of her life made her want to try harder.

So, when she finished her last library book late on Monday morning, instead of stacking her returns on the counter for Eric to take back, she decided to deliver them herself. The decision was immediately gratifying, the rush of accepting responsibility, and then the feeling redoubled when she decided against inviting Justin to drive her. That he was still sleeping and would have to be woken up wasn’t the issue. If Laura invited him, she knew she’d be infringing on Eric’s turf, elbowing her way into a province that wasn’t hers. Eric’s feelings would be hurt, and in sparing them, Laura was galvanized. When she poked her head into Griff’s room, she found him
on his stomach on his bed, talking on the phone to Fiona and flipping through a skate magazine. “I’m going to the library,” she mouthed, and his face scrunched into an expression of sweet befuddlement. Then he gave her a thumbs-up. She saw in it more than simple acknowledgment. He was endorsing her, rooting for her. Her younger son, who knew how long it had been.

The interior of her car was sweltering, the trapped air still tinged with old chlorine. The seat burned, even through her jeans. If her car hadn’t been parked under the chinaberry tree by their curb, the glue affixing her rearview mirror would have certainly melted, given way, and dropped it to the floorboard. That happened once or twice a summer. Not today, though, and as she turned onto Station Street, cool air started flowing through the vents. The perspiration dried on her skin, a film she’d enjoy washing off later that night in the shower. She’d think of how she’d ventured out on her own, running errands early on a stifling day. How she’d left her two teenage sons home alone, how nothing had happened, how happy they’d been to see her when she returned, the pride in their eyes like light reflected in a jewel.

Traffic wasn’t bad for August. There were likely two, maybe three, ferries running, so the stream of people coming and going from the island was steady. Clusters of tourists waited at the crosswalks. They wore wide, floppy hats, sunglasses with coaster-sized lenses, and white zinc frosting their noses. Some surfers in a Jeep honked at a gaggle of bikinied girls, one of whom theatrically blew the boys a kiss and sent the others into a laughing fit. It made Laura want to slip out of her shoes and drive barefoot like a teenager. She felt that way now, young and liberated, living in a world that expanded outward with each mile she drove. Why not drive out to see Justin’s billboard? Or back to Pampered Pets to see if the shipment of feeder mice had arrived? She could go anywhere and her family would be at home when she returned.

The line at the Whataburger drive-thru was ten cars deep. Laura
thought to swing by after the library; she’d take lunch home. Maybe she’d go by the school first, surprise Eric with her being out and about, and then surprise him again by suggesting they eat lunch by themselves before taking burgers home for the boys. Hadn’t Letty said they needed to do things together and without the boys? If she timed it right, he’d just be finishing up with class. She used to love watching him interact with his students at the annual assemblies or football games, and while she’d been derelict in her teacher’s wife’s duties for some time—she couldn’t remember when she’d last rallied herself for a school function—stepping unannounced into his classroom would illustrate her commitment to improve. She’d see where he’d hung the poster the kids had made for Justin, and she’d see her husband seeing her try. At first he would be alarmed, but she would defuse his fear.
Everything’s fine,
she’d say.
I was just out running errands and thought I’d say hey.

Hey,
she’d say.
Hey.

S
OUTHPORT
’
S LIBRARY WAS A LOW
-
SLUNG BUILDING COMPRISING
three rooms. It boasted nice collections of Texana, naval history, and marine biology, and it was fiercely air-conditioned. Fresh- and saltwater aquariums lined the foyer and—Laura had forgotten this—there were a few terrariums mixed in as well, tanks housing turtles, lizards, and snakes. Seeing them was jarring in a way, given Justin’s recent interest. Her first thought was that once he felt comfortable enough, she’d bring him here, but she quickly second-guessed herself and in doing so, she felt precariously balanced on the edge of anxiety: The D.A. had mentioned that a room in Dwight Buford’s apartment had been crowded with empty aquariums. A wave of disgust rippled into Laura’s throat. Would all aquariums recall what he longed to forget? Would an aquarium ever just be an aquarium again? The world seemed suddenly and acutely dangerous, booby-trapped and inhospitable. She had an urge to flee home, but she told herself to stay. She told herself Justin had aquariums in
his room at home and he loved them. She told herself to breathe. To put one foot in front of the other.

And then the air deeper inside the library smelled of Saturday storytime, of puppet shows, of Halloween costume contests and cardboard Christmas tree workshops; it smelled of her sons’ childhoods, of nothing less than happiness itself, and she relaxed. She slid her books through the return slot, recalling Justin’s astronaut costume and Griff’s attempts to re-create the puppet shows by putting socks on his hands and acting them out once they returned home. Changing his bed last week, she’d found a pair of socks sandwiched between the mattress and the box spring. They smelled of Fiona’s soft lavender perfume and kept Laura smiling for half an hour. And she was smiling a little now, returning her books. She took her time, depositing them one by one, both to savor the experience and to survey the library. To her surprise, she recognized no one—not the librarian or the few patrons browsing the stacks, not the old men reading the paper or the women waiting in line at the circulation desk—and none of them seemed to recognize her. The anonymity was a relief, proof that life might return to what it had been. It was also, to her surprise, disappointing. She realized she wanted to run into someone she knew. She would’ve liked for someone to notice her brushed hair and clean clothes. She would’ve liked to brag about Justin, to leave the person struck by the transformation her family had undergone. She would’ve liked to think about people talking about her later, knowing how wrong they’d been.

So when she stepped into the parking lot—the heat as thick as wet plaster—and saw two old women waiting by her car, Laura felt something like satisfaction. They were snowbirds, dressed in ice cream–colored pants and long-sleeved polyester blouses. You must be so hot, Laura thought. As she approached, the women straightened their postures (as best they could) and arranged smiles on their faces. One of the women, the shorter of the two, was holding a package of Lorna Doone cookies.

“We wanted you to have these,” the woman said, handing Laura the cookies. “We figured you’d be swallowed up by flowers about now, but we still wanted to give you a little something.”

“Aren’t you sweet?” Laura said. She thought she knew the women from the dry cleaner’s. She might have laundered the bright outfits they were currently wearing. She said, “And yes, we’re up to our necks in flowers. The house feels like a nursery.”

“We were coming back from the store and saw you go in the library. We waited out here. We didn’t want to pester you inside,” the woman said.

“We’d rather fire from ambush,” the other said, and Laura remembered. They were sisters, Beverly and Ruth Wilcox. Ruth, the one who’d pushed the cookies on her, was nicer, but Laura had always felt an affinity for Bev, as if she were the woman Laura might become. They’d aged considerably since she’d last seen them. Maybe the sisters were noticing the same thing about her.

“Y’all must be over the moon over there,” Ruth said. “Y’all just must be walking on clouds.”

“We are. We have to stop ourselves from smothering him with affection,” Laura said, thinking she sounded like a little girl. Then, lifting the cookies: “Justin will love these.”

“Some folks don’t,” Bev said. “But we have a couple each afternoon when we’re watching the soaps. Sometimes I’ll eat a handful for breakfast. They’re sweet but not too sweet.”

“Your boy gave me a rock one time, a little piece of flint,” Ruth said. It sounded like she’d been gearing up to say it, waiting until she couldn’t wait any longer. “We were eating at the Castaway, and your husband walked him over and he handed me the prettiest little rock. I remember showing it to Bev at the table. We both thought it was the prettiest little rock we’d ever seen.”

Gauzy strands of memory, like she’d walked through a spiderweb: Justin had almost knocked Ruth down, rushing into the restaurant because he wanted to be the one to ask the hostess for a
table by the window. Before giving Ruth the flint, he and Griff had various rocks arranged on the table. Eric had been adamant that Justin apologize, though Laura was less convinced, and she’d expected them to fight about it later, once the boys were in bed. It had been Justin’s idea to offer the flint, his way of punishing himself.

“Thank you for remembering us,” Laura said now. “I’ll tell Justin when I get home. He’ll be flattered you kept it all these years.”

“It sounds like there’s going to be a nice celebration at the Shrimporee,” Bev said. “It sounds like they’re taking it real serious over there.”

“I haven’t really heard anything yet, but I’m sure they’ll do something special. We want to honor everyone who helped these past years, not just Justin,” Laura said. “We’re indebted to everyone.”

“You don’t owe anyone anything, not a lick of anything.”

“We’re just so happy he’s home,” Ruth said. “Oh, we’re walking on clouds just like you are.”

“Thank you.”

“And we hope they put that dirty man in front of a firing squad for what he put y’all through,” Bev said. “We hope he’s real popular in the jail cells.”

“He’ll get what he deserves,” Laura said. “Sometimes you have to thin the herd.”

“Thatta girl,” Bev said, nodding. “Amen to that.”

“We’re just walking on clouds,” Ruth said. “We’re just dancing in the air. We surely are.”

G
RIFF COULDN
’
T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME HE
’
D HAD THE
house to himself. Justin was sleeping, so he wasn’t completely alone, but with both of his parents gone, the rooms seemed cavernous. When his mother left, he’d been on the phone with Fiona. He’d invited her over, thinking they might be able to fool around in his room instead of at the elementary school, but her father was making her go to lunch at the yacht club. (Griff didn’t entirely understand
what the yacht club was, couldn’t surmise if it was an organization or a physical building, but he didn’t want to embarrass himself by asking.) Since then, he’d been walking from one room to another, trying to imagine how Justin viewed their house now. After they went for their drive that night, Griff had decided to be more vigilant, more aware. He wanted to perceive the world as his brother did. He wanted to look at something—their furniture, the hedge near the marina, Rainbow and their parents—and understand what Justin would see. He didn’t want him to have to spell everything out if they took the truck again.

So far, though, Justin hadn’t invited him on any more of his drives. It made Griff think he’d failed a test. He felt antsy and over-eager, the way Rainbow got just before feeding time, the way the mice got when someone unlatched the lid on their aquarium. They ran around like crazy, stopping to stand on their hind legs and sniff the air, trying to find the crumbs that were about to be dropped, then if nothing materialized, they started running again. “They’re such little spazzes,” Justin had said one night. He was holding Sasha, letting her slide from one hand to the other. She writhed like a hose with too much pressure, and Griff realized he was a little afraid of her. It was disillusioning, for being afraid of her was like being afraid of Justin. Griff wanted to change that, too.

He was standing by the sink eating a handful of cereal when Justin limped into the kitchen. Griff nodded at him coolly, as if they were passing on the street. He offered him the cereal box, but Justin declined and took a coffee mug down from the cabinet. He was wearing the bathrobe their mother had bought him at the mall. Griff had helped pick it out, and seeing him in it was always gratifying. Justin poured what was left in the pot and took a loud sip. He said, “What’s Dad’s deal?”

“He’s at school. Mom went to the library. We’re by ourselves.”

“Dad’s pacing in the driveway, talking on the phone. He looks pissed.”

“He must have just got here,” Griff said, sounding inane. “Do you think he knows we took the truck?”

“If he does, it’s because you told him.”

“I didn’t,” Griff said.

“I’m just fucking with you, Lobster. No, I don’t think he knows.”

“Me either,” he said.

“I went to the island last night. I watched a coyote bark at the waves for an hour.”

“You took the ferry? Someone could’ve recognized you.”

Justin took another drink, shrugged his shoulders. He said, “Maybe that’s who Dad’s arguing with now.”

“You can say I was with you last night. You can say it was my idea to sneak out.”

“It’ll be all right.”

“And if you ever need me to go again, if you ever want company or something, just let me know.”