My head moves back and forth. “The scent of it in my hand, but my willpower not to let it course through my veins, reminds me that I’m in control.”
“That is very—”
“Eccentric?”
Her lingering eyes attract mine.Who’s the one staring now?
“I was going to say admirable,” she mumbles softly.
“Not sure I would call it that since it’s the easiest decision I ever made. My father once told me that a man only fails when he gives up entirely.”
She twists her lips thoughtfully. “Then, despite whatever happened that night, I think the one thing you can take away is that your father showed you exactly what that looks like. And even though he gave up on your mom—your family,” she chokes on the emotion clogging her throat, “you never have. That’s why it’s admirable. Because even after all the shit he’s put you through, you’re still here, and you’ve become exactly what your family has needed.”
I’ve never thought of it that way. It’s easier to resent him. To picture his face on the target my brothers and I set up in the orchard for archery practice when we need to blow off steam.
For the first time in a long while, I’m thinking about the pile of unopened letters in my desk drawer—a stack that grows taller every week—wondering if they are filled with apologies and “I’msorry.” Or if they loiter there with excuses I don’t fucking want to hear.
I’ve never had the urge to open them. It would be like dragging the blade of a letter opener through a freshly stitched wound that has never healed.
Yet the glint of curiosity in my mind ponders if they would bring a new wave of clarity. But as I stare at the picture frame across the room on my dresser of my siblings and me that I had taken of us last summer, I don’t think I’m ready to open that can of worms yet—or if I’ll ever be ready.
THIRTY-EIGHT | TARYN
Unblinkingly, I stare at the screen, the contact on my phone stirring the anxiety swirling in my stomach. It’s been months since I talked to my parents.
I haven’t updated them, and they’ve sent nothing to me.
Well, I guess that’s not true. They have. But it’s just a collection of pictures of them in Costa Rica, unaware that their daughter was abducted and is now living in a completely different state from the last time they spoke to her.
It’s been a week, but the conversation Colten and I had in his bed plays on a loop in my mind. He watched his father murder his mother. And yet, here I am, anxious to talk to two people who still love me.
Who I still have.
Even if our love looks slightly different in how we don’t talk or see each other very often, it’s still there. And my heavy heart sinks in my gut, knowing I haven’t been as grateful as I should be.
Why do we only appreciate what we have when we witness others’ misfortunes?
I exhale slowly, digging my fingers into Rossco’s fur as he lies on my bed, mustering up the courage to tap the call button before I change my mind. I press the button, and the phone rings; each chime in my ear feels like an invisible cord is wrapping around my chest, tightening like those old phones with the cord plugged into the wall.
Perhaps they won’t answer. If they call back, at least I’ll feel a bit better knowing that, to some degree, they are looking out for me.
“Taryn,” my mom’s bright, cheerful voice drifts over the line. Sometimes, it’s crazy how similar we sound, especially now that I’m older.
The words come out destructed as emotion worms up my throat. “Hi, Mom.”
“Peter, get in here! Taryn’s on the phone,” she yells away from the speaker. “How’s Arizona honey? Is it hot there?”
My tongue feels like sandpaper when I lick my dry lips. “I’m not in Arizona anymore. I— Uh…followed a job to Washington.”
The line remains silent for a few seconds, and I pick some dried grass out of Rossco’s coat, setting the blades on my bedside table. He rolls over onto his back, begging for a belly rub. I can never say no when he asks.
“Well, that’s exciting. Why didn’t you tell us?”
Tears swell behind my eyes, and I shrug, knowing she can’t see me.
I could tell them the truth: I came here for a teaching position but was deceived by three brothers and abducted to be a nanny. Yet, that doesn’t even feel like the truth anymore because the reality is that I enjoy it here. It’s the first place in a long time that has started to feel like home, but with that comes the apprehension.
Maybe it’s my imagination, but my room in the tower feels smaller than it used to. The vast expanse of the orchard makes itseem like the property line is closing in day by day. Perhaps it’s because I spend so much time on the hill, or maybe the carefree girl who loved to bounce around now wonders if she could truly be happy settling down somewhere.
