The Thread (19 page)

22

Callie

I still don’t understand everything that happened. I don’t understand how it happened or
why
it happened.

But it doesn’t matter, really, because the past few months have been the best of my life. Everything is different, with Dad in prison waiting for his trial for two crimes: kidnapping Ayana and molesting me. I’m glad to have him gone—but I’m also glad I didn’t kill him. I’m glad Ricky stopped me, even though that’s one more thing I don’t understand.

What would have happened if I’d killed someone? The thought is too awful to think about for very long. It’s bad enough that I sliced open Kirin’s head. He never told anyone it was me who made him bleed; we let everyone think Dad did it when we fought with him, and Dad has never told anyone something different. But Kirin and I both know what really happened. We know that somehow I turned into an enormous, terrifying blue goddess—and that I almost did horrible, horrible things.

But all that is over, and like I said, the past few months have been the best of my entire life. At least until last week.

According to the calendar, today is the first day of summer, but I always think summer begins when school gets out. That was two weeks ago, and now I have my days to myself while Mom goes to work—and it’s a relief. Mom and me, we’re trying to be nice to each other, but underneath, we’re both furious. Despite everything that’s happened, she’s still living in her little dream world. She can’t accept that I won’t live there with her in fantasy land. And she can’t forgive me for helping to put Dad in prison.

And I can’t forgive her for not believing me. For
still
believing Dad.

“He didn’t know what he was doing,” she says over and over. “He was just so sick, for so long. His mind was confused.”

Maybe that’s so. Maybe that might explain, a little bit at least, what he did to Ayana, hiding her away like that until she nearly died. Maybe he went crazy, crazier than Richard even. Maybe he’s always been a little messed up mentally. That’s what Aunt Mickey says. But that still doesn’t explain how he could do to me what he did all those years. I can’t buy that he was crazy night after night, that he didn’t know good and well exactly what he was doing.

I don’t want to think about that right now, though, not when it’s a summer day, and I’m out for a walk. I’m not going anywhere, I’m just wandering along. The sky is that shade of blue that feels like there’s a promise hanging over the city, something deep and mysterious and
there
. I’m trying to convince myself I’m happy, that I’m feeling the sense of relief and peace you get when you finally do something you’ve been putting off.

I’m trying not to cry.

I broke things off with Kirin today. During the months since everything happened, I tried to make it clear that we were
just
friends. I’m sure I did. And if it had been true, I could have handled things. But last week, it got out of hand. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I knew I had to end it. I had to end
us
.

We’d been spending every day together since school got out, from the time we woke up until dinnertime. I should have known that was a mistake. But it seemed so comfortable to fall out of bed and head downstairs, and there Kirin would be in the lobby, waiting for me. We’d walk to the coffee shop down the street and talk while we ate croissants. Finally, we’d get up and head home, but most days, we’d end up wandering around the city instead. Walking and talking and laughing all day. I’d come home tired and happy and sleepy from the heat. Sometimes after dinner, we’d get together again, maybe watch a movie with his parents or hang out in his grandmother’s apartment. Sometimes we’d visit Safira and Ayana. Sometimes we’d go to a concert together.

But we were friends, that’s all. That’s what I kept telling myself anyway.

And then last week, on Friday, we were at the zoo, looking at the lion, talking again about everything that had happened, sorting through it, the way we’ve done over and over again.

“I still don’t get why Ricky came forward in time like that,” Kirin said. “And I just thought of something else. How did he know your name? We never told him, did we? But he called you by name there at the end. When he stopped you by laying himself down on your father.”

“Maybe he heard you shouting my name.” I felt my face get hot, remembering how close I came to killing Dad and maybe Kirin too. “But what I don’t get? How did he know—what he knew?”

I didn’t want to talk about that part with Kirin. We know each other’s secrets now, but I still can’t talk about what Dad did to me. Not to Kirin, not to anyone. So I went back to thinking about Ricky, because that was easier. “Richard, the present-day Richard, always seemed to know—about me,” I said slowly, trying to figure out what I was saying at the same time that I was speaking. “The way he looked at me, the things he said. I think he knew what Dad was doing. Somehow.”

“And he knew about my dreams,” Kirin said. “But why would
Ricky
—Richard in the past—know those things?

“Because Richard-Ricky is magic?” I didn’t know any other word for it. “Maybe because of his mental illness? Like it gives him other powers or something?”

Kirin gave a little grunt. “It seems kind of lame.”

I laughed. “Well, the whole thing was pretty lame. Threads and grandmothers and Indian goddesses all mixed up with kidnapping and murder. I don’t know what the
hell
was going on.”

And then, with absolutely no warning, Kirin pulled me against his body. “Callie,” he said into my ear.

At first, I thought someone was about to run into me, and he was pulling me out of the way. And then I thought maybe there was something wrong, that something bad had happened, and he needed to tell me. I looked up at him, and I could see that his eyes were wide and dark. “Callie,” he said again.

And then he kissed me.

I guess it sounds stupid to say I wasn’t expecting it. I know the kids at school think we’re boyfriend and girlfriend. I know he likes to hold my hand. I know when he touches me, there’s a weird little hum that slides through all my nerves, and I figure he feels it too. We’ve been finding reasons to touch each other, I know that too.

But at the same time, I’ve been pretending that none of that was happening. I knew that if I faced it, I’d have to do something—and I didn’t want to.

When he kissed me, I couldn’t pretend anymore.

It wasn’t so much his lips on mine that bothered me. Dad never kissed me, except the way a father ought to kiss his daughter, so it’s not like Kirin’s kiss triggered any memories. But his hands on my shoulders were so tight, and he didn’t let go when I pulled back. Instead, he yanked me tighter against him, against the whole tall length of him. I could feel how excited he was. Maybe even worse, I could feel how excited
I
was.

And suddenly there I was, trapped in the darkness, with Dad’s weight on top of me. It was like all those amazing things had never happened, the Thread and the Grandmother and that young man with the wide smile. I was right back in the dark, and Dad was there making me feel all those things I hated.

I shoved Kirin away from me. He staggered back, and then we stood staring at each other. His face was red. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Callie—” He held out his hand to me, as though he thought we could go back to the second before, the moment when we’d just been standing there holding hands and talking. “I’m sorry. I—”

He broke off, like he didn’t know what else to say, and I turned and stared at the lion. It shook his huge head and yawned. I noticed with some tiny distant piece of my brain that his gold mane was threaded with black and brown. “I can’t,” I whispered.

When I looked back at Kirin, I wanted to push him again, I wanted to shove him so hard that he sprawled backward. But it got even worse. Right then, in that moment, I wanted the lion to leap out of his cage and rip open Kirin’s chest.

I wanted to have a gold sword swinging from my hand.

I shuddered. This was Kirin, not Dad.
Kirin
. I sucked in a breath and forced myself to speak calmly. “I’m sorry, Kirin. But I gotta go.” And I turned around and left him standing there beside the lion’s cage. He didn’t try to follow me.

I avoided him for the next few days. I didn’t answer my phone when he called. I ignored his texts. But that couldn’t go on forever, it was too awkward, and I was tired of hiding in the apartment. So this morning I left the building early, before he’d be out, and then I called him on my phone. I told him I don’t want to see him anymore. I told him I don’t want to spend time with him the way we’ve been doing. I don’t want to be his friend anymore. I definitely don’t want to be his girlfriend, I said.

He didn’t say anything. I could hear a tiny little catch in his breath, and then finally he said, “Okay,” and hung up.

I walked on down the street.
There
, I said to myself.
You did what you had to do
. But inside, I knew what I’d done: I had hurt him.

I hurt
Kirin
.

I don’t feel relieved. I feel horrible.

But I keep telling myself the same thing, over and over:
You did what you had to do. You might have hurt him even worse if you had stayed with him. Really hurt him, like with blood. Remember Kali? You don’t know what you’re capable of now. So you did him a favor really.

Tears are rolling out of my eyes, but I keep walking, the sun on my head, the breeze in my face.
Everything’s good,
I tell myself.
The whole day is ahead of me, the whole summer, and I’m absolutely free.
But everything I’m saying to myself feels like a lie.

I can’t think of anywhere I want to go, and there’s no point in walking nowhere all by myself, so I head back to the apartment.

“Hey, girl.”

Someone is sitting on the steps, a black umbrella folded at his side. I wipe the tears off my face and smile. “Hey, Richard. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

He nods. “Safira, she’s got me sleeping over at her church. I keep the place clean and they let me stay there. Works out for everyone. Can’t say I agree with their theology. All that shouting and singing, amens and hallelujahs, not my cup of tea. But they’re good people. I’m not complaining.”

“That’s good, Richard,” I say. “I’m glad.” And I am. His clothes are still tattered, but they’re clean. I can’t smell him, even though I’m standing right next to him. His hair is dark brown, not gray with nits, no lice crawling across his face, and really, he looks good. So I sit down next to him on the step. He seems like an old friend now, after all that happened.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you, Richard, I wanted to say—well, thank you. I don’t understand what happened. But you were part of it. And you stopped me from—hurting anyone. I mean, Ricky did. The you who came forward in time from when you were a kid. Do you remember that?”

He looks puzzled. “Can’t say I do. But I had dreams, lots of them, before I went back on meds. That’s another thing Safira’s done—got me on the meds again.” He shrugs. “Anyway, maybe it was another me that did those things. And that’s why I can’t remember.”

“Maybe.” It feels peaceful being here with him. I’m still sad, but life seems a little better than it did before, and I feel a twinge of curiosity as I think about what he said. I try to make sense of all the different possibilities, but none of them quite work.

If his younger self did all those things, then it already happened to him—so wouldn’t he remember it now? Or maybe it just got mixed up with all the other crazy things that go on inside of his brain? Or—a new thought occurs to me, a really interesting one—maybe Ricky was a visitor from one of the alternate universes Kirin told me about. This Richard wouldn’t be able to remember things that had happened to him in the other universe. Was that what he meant by “another me”? Was that what he was talking about back when he said there were a lot of Rickies?

This new theory is so good I want to text Kirin right then to tell him about it. But of course I can’t.

“Doesn’t really matter much,” Richard is saying, “so long as everything has turned out all right. And I guess it has.” He leans forward and studies my face. “Has it? I came over to check on you. How you doing?”

“I’m okay.”

I know he’s seeing the traces of tears on my cheeks, because he squints at me, letting me know he doesn’t believe me.

“My dad’s in prison,” I offer, trying to shift the conversation.

“I heard that. From Safira.” He leans back on his hands and tilts his head. “You know,” he says after a moment, “in my case, I guess you could say craziness ran in my family. My father wasn’t right, in all sorts of ways. My mom—I don’t know. She put up with him, and maybe that was just as crazy.”

I nod, because I understand that all too well.

“I hated my father for the things he did.” With his head back like that, he looks as though he’s talking to the sky. “But I went along. Yes, I did. Really, I wasn’t any different from my mother, not when you came right down to it. So I ended up hating myself. Maybe I hated myself more than anyone.”

I think about the terrible secrets he’s lived with all these years, and I feel so sorry for him. “In the end you did the right thing, though. You were so brave.” I try not to remember how much I disliked Ricky, because it seems mean of me, now that I understand Richard better.

He frowns up at the sky. “I don’t remember it like that. What I recollect is that I took whatever my dad dished out. I went along with it—I even liked it sometimes, in a horrible sort of way—and then it was part of me. So I couldn’t ever get away from it, because there it was, inside me. I was as bad as my father. Then he dropped dead, and I thought I’d be free. But I wasn’t. Didn’t seem like that feeling—that feeling of being
dirty
—was ever going away.”

I run my fingernail back and forth along a crack in the step, again and again, studying the dirt that comes out as though it holds the secret of the universe. What I’m really doing, though, is thinking about his words:
I even liked it sometimes, in a horrible sort of way
. A shudder runs through me, like an icy liquid flowing through my muscles. Here it is, my last secret, the worst one, the one I can never ever tell Kirin, the reason why I can’t be his girlfriend.