“Notthis.”
“So you’re just giving up on us?” The twitching lipwasback.
“I’m giving you the chance at the lifeyouwant.”
“You mean the life I want with you!” Finn rose abruptly from his chair. “Dammit. When I told you that story last night, it was because I’m falling in love with you, and I can see a future with you that I’ve never imagined with anyone else. And now you’re telling me to go to hell? I mean, I can’t even figure out what’s going on here. I’ve never heard such bullshit in my life, and I grew up with the queen of bullshitherself!”
“You think I wanted this? I was pushing you away because I knew this was going to happen, and I was trying to stop it before it ever got to this point. But you are relentless, Finn. You did this. You made me love you, and now we are both screwed because of it. So if you want to blame anyone, blameyourself!”
I knew I wasn’t being reasonable. He was only guilty of wearing his heart on his sleeve; but I’d never been one to fight fair, and I knew the only way for this to end was for it to end badly. Finn paced back and forth, looking truly broken. This needed to be over, so we could both start the process of moving on. Or maybe just him. I wouldn’t be moving on. I would stay stuck in the memory of this love forever, because if there was one thing I was sure of, it was that I would never put myself in this position ever again. Finn would always, and forever, remain my one andonlylove.
“I think youshouldgo.”
Finn stood there for the longest time, not speaking, just chewing on his fingernails and contemplating what to do or what to say. Finally, he turned, and without a word, walked outthedoor.
19
Emma, 2004: MakingContact
Isatwith my back touching the wall that divided our rooms, trying to judge exactly where Jake was pressed up against it on his side. He was alone. I knew this because only when he was alone did he cry. All other times he was stoic, or numb, or screaming. But not crying, never crying… until he was alone, pressed up against the wall, perhaps with his legs pulled up to his chest, as mine were now. I listened to his quiet sorrow, my heart always breaking for him in these moments. I never interrupted him or tried to console him, because, as I saw it, Jake needed therelease.
Despite securing his freedom nearly three months earlier, his life only seemed to be getting harder. The nightmares weren’t subsiding, and the hollowed out sadness persisted. Any illusions my parents may have had of bringing normalcy back into his routine were shattered fairly quickly as the reality of the situation played in front of us. Jake was not returning to his old lifeanytimesoon.
How naïve I’d been to think that Jake’s survival would bring peace back to our fractured family. None of us could have predicted just how damaged a person he’d become. Sometimes when I listened to him scream, I wondered if he might actually have been better off dying. I knew it was a horrible thought, but clearly it was what Jake wanted… having only a few days ago swallowed a bottle of pills before being rushed to the hospital to have his stomach pumped. His was a miserable existence, one not worthy of the vibrant boy he’doncebeen.
Maybe it was just too early in his recovery to see a light at the end of the tunnel. After all, if he could recover physically, as he was doing day by day, why not mentally? It was slow going, but Jake’s battered body was healing. Although I’d yet to be given an explanation as to how it happened, my brother’s knee was badly damaged during the kidnapping. With intensive physical therapy, he was actually walking again, albeit with crutches and a limp. And even though his current mental state was unsettling at best, he’d been worse… way worse. In the hospital, when he’d first awakened from surgery, he’d fallen into a trance-like state, babbling incoherently to himself, seemingly unaware of his surroundings or who was in the roomwithhim.
Thankfully Jake’s dazed state lasted only about a week, although the terror that had put him there still remained. A steady stream of trauma counselors and mental health professionals were called to his aid, and were rotated in and out on a daily basis. Everyone seemed to have opinions on my brother’s fragile state of mind, and each assigned him a new diagnosis. In time, the bevy of therapists was whittled down to a trusted few who seemed most committed to his recovery. Often volunteering their time, the therapists worked tirelessly with Jake, even spending the night in our home occasionally in order to give him ways to cope with his nightterrors.
Jake’s crying petered out. It never lasted long, just short bursts of grief interrupting his otherwise excruciatingexistence.
I turned slightly, resting my head on the wall, and whispered, “I’msorry.”
There really just wasn’t anything else to say. I wished I had the answers to help him live again, but I was as hopeless as the rest of them. Stretching out my legs, the top of my toe unintentionally tapped the wall, and I froze. Crap. Had he heard me? Did he know I was here? Would he storm my room in afrenzy?
I held my breath and waited. After a moment of silence, I sighed with relief and picked up the book I’d been readingearlier.
Tap.
I stared incredulously at the wall, unsure if I’d really heard what I thought I’d heard. Was he tapping back? Desperate for some type of communication, I took a chance and tapped back twice. A minute stretched as I waited, hoping I hadn’t over-stepped my bounds or embarrassed him in his privatecryingtime.
Tap.Tap.
A happy flutter filled my chest as my brother recognized my trustworthiness and rewarded me with this unconventional conversation. It was just a series of taps, but its meaning spoke volumes. I’d just been granted the tiniest opening into his tightly closed-offworld.
* * *
“Knock, knock!”Quinn said, his voice pitched high in excitement. His deeply tanned face was inches from mine as his hands gripped my shoulders. He was wearing only a pair of swim trunks and a devilish smile. I reached up and tousled his soft, sun-streaked waves, which were currently plastered to his head courtesy of the backyard sprinkler. He friskily swatted myhandaway.
“Knock, knock, Emma.” He repeated the opening line of his impending joke with moreinsistence.
In response I kissed his noseplayfully.
“Gross.” He wiped away my cooties with the back of his hand. “KNOCK,KNOCK!”
I grinned. Oh, how I loved this kid! I’d grown so close to Quinn and Grace over the past few months. Becoming their primary caretaker had not been by choice, but, surprisingly, I’d come to relish the role. With Mom having her hands full with Jake and Dad spread thin working two jobs so she could be home full time, focusing on my younger siblings became my contribution to the family. I fed them breakfast in the morning, dressed them in appropriate clothing, and dropped them off on my way to school. Then it was a matter of picking them up from school, helping with homework, feeding them dinner, and getting themshowered.
There was no doubt that things had changed drastically for me, not only at home but at school. When I returned to classes after Jake’s rescue, I saw things with freshly jaded eyes, and was surprised to discover that the friends I’d been hanging out with for so long were not my friends at all. Shallow and malicious, my one-time girl squad ruled the school with an iron fist. Had I once been like them? Cringing, I shook off the memory of my own obnoxious struts down the school hallways. My ‘friends’ welcomed me back with open arms, but only because my train wreck of a family was the biggest news to come out of our town in a hundred years. My tragedy was their pot ofgossipgold.
