FIVE WEEKS AGO, we tripped Toby.
Five weeks ago, we learned the truth about his death.
Five weeks ago, our chaos settled.
It’s quite warm for late October, and Sam has the windows down in the truck, letting our hair blow freely. The air rushing through the cab feels invigorating, and I’m even more energized to get back to the Bishops’ place in Willow. There’s been little traffic on this Tuesday, so we’ve had a smooth trip.
Sam’s hand is in mine, and I trace my fingers over his skin. Callous on his palms show the physical labor he exerts every day, but the top of his hand is smooth and soft. There are two sides to his hand, two sides to him—tough and hard, eternally sweet and gentle.
Many nights, I am awoken by the memory of when he tried to surface Toby and couldn’t. His loyalty to Costa astounds and moves me. The way he immediately chose to protect Costa from knowing that he was responsible for his son’s death was a choice that not everyone would make. Sam knew exactly what he was doing with that decision. Costa had been tripping so often that he was in a state much like he’d had too much alcohol to drink and couldn’t remember what actually happened. Sam took advantage of Costa’s trip haze and easily fed him a story that released Costa of fault. The details that I’ve pulled from Sam haunt me—Costa whooping and jumping on the ice, the sound of more cracks ripping through the only partially frozen lake, the sight of the dark water showing where Toby slipped in, the utter agony in Costa’s cries.
I understand Sam’s motivation. When you love someone enough, you do anything to guard that person from harm even if that means taking a hard hit yourself.
I also understand Costa’s current frustration. How could he possibly thank Sam for what he did? It’s impossible. He knows the destruction the false story caused Sam, but Costa also knows that it saved him from completely falling apart after Toby had vanished under the ice. Sam was right that no one should have to survive causing a child’s death.
In time, I hope that all our nightmares will subside.
We pull into the driveway of the Bishops’ house, and my heart soars. We left Amy, Costa, and Toby here six days after we all surfaced. None of us have tripped since. But we will. We’ll have to.
Costa was correct that we need to trip on occasion to discharge the buildup we all feel, and I can tell we’re getting close. My body chemistry has changed, and my physical demand to death trip is getting intense. It’ll probably be another week until it’ll become necessary.
Sam and I have agreed that when we do trip, we will try to make it…beautiful. Nothing about death tripping should be beautiful, but we’re determined to find a way to sculpt it into something that we can make peace with. As much as I’ve responded to and crave blood, I’m trying to curb that urge. It feeds a darker side, the addict in me. We haven’t decided how we’ll trip yet, but there won’t be knives or guns. I will do what I need to maintain who I am, but I will not go out of my way to heighten it. Sam and I both desperately want normal lives for ourselves.
Costa and Amy? They’re okay with the gore. It suits them. It’s one of the reasons that Sam and I are here for four days—to take care of Toby while they death-trip. They’re driving into Boston for a long weekend and holing up in a hotel. I haven’t asked how they’re going to trip, and I don’t want to know.
Sam parks behind Costa’s car, a used Volvo with one of the highest crash-test ratings out there. He’s got Toby to protect now, and his son’s safety is his priority. The little boy might be a death tripper, but Costa is not taking any risks. None of us can tell if Toby will ever have to trip again, but the idea is atrocious. We’re waiting to see how he continues to do, but even maintenance death tripping for a child is beyond what we can stomach, and it’s our hope that he won’t need to.
We grab our bags and head into the house. Through the big windows, I see Costa and Amy on the patio. The same spot where Costa once lit himself on fire is now the place where he sits with his son in his lap and the girl he loves only a few feet away.
“Look at them,” Sam says happily. “They’re a family.”
They are. And while they might look like an instant family, they are anything but. Each of them fought long and hard to get to where they are today. They’ve earned this happiness.
I can’t control my smile when we walk outside, and Toby squeals, “Ish!Ya!”
I love how he calls meYa, which seems to come from the “la” at the end of my name.
“Toby!” I scoop him into a snuggle when he toddles over, and then I pass him to Sam after I get in some good kisses.
Costa bear hugs me and spins me around. “God, I missed you guys.”
“You going stir-crazy here?”
“Well, yes.” He sets me down and takes my hands in his, kissing each of them. “But I really did miss you anyway.”
Given that Costa can’t run the risk of being seen with Toby, even this far north from Watermark, he hasn’t been out much because he hasn’t wanted to leave Toby.
“You look very happy,” I say. “Cabin fever or not. Or rather, mansion fever or not.”
“It’s a good place to hide out.”
“Amen to that.” Amy moves to us and touches my arm. “Hey, sis.”
“Hey, sis,” I say back.
“It’s good to see you again.”
“Yeah?”
