She is his rock and the reason that he is able keep moving until he finally hears the bell ring from the house. Tapping into his last reservoir of strength, Chris throws the buckets as hard as he can against a group of boulders near the shore. He did it. This bullshit, abusive task is done, and he made it. He paces back and forth for a minute, enjoying the brief high from completion. His arms are lighter now because he doesn’t have to carry the weight of the ocean, and he turns to the girl, the incredible girl who has held him up for hours, and he raises both hands into the air, his palms held high, fingers spread.
She raises hers, too, and they reach out as though they are touching palm to palm. Her fingers fold as if they are falling between his, and Chris makes the same motion. She has become part of him, this girl, and he lowers his hands to rest over his heart. He will keep her there always.
29
BECAUSE OF, IN SPITE OF
WHEN I WAKEup, it’s cool and clear, with a bit of fog floating over the water. This is August on the coast of Maine: the opposite of Boston, where it can be so oppressively humid in late summer.
Sneaking out of bed without waking Chris, I make coffee and take it out front, where I gaze out at the beautiful coastline and warm my hands on my steaming mug.
Despite the gorgeous weather and the scenery, though, I can’t shake the feeling of dread that weighs on me. Maybe it’s just that I’m tired. Chris will probably tell me later that he slept through the night, but in fact, his sleep was severely disturbed. I know that he had nightmares, and I barely slept because of his thrashing and because of my worry. Chris is asleep now, though.
James and Estelle are entwined in the hammock that hangs between two trees on the far side of the lawn. I smile. They must have slept out here last night. I like seeing my brother taking care of her. Well, as much as Estelle will allow anyone to take care of her. He’s doting and affectionate without being pathetic.
I read the news on my Kindle for half an hour before James appears. He looks like hell.
“You need a coffee, huh?” I ask.
“Yeah. Thanks.” He pulls a sweatshirt over his head and sits down in the wicker chair across from me. When he rests his elbows on his knees and puts his head in his hands, I realize that something is very wrong.
I go to the kitchen and take my time making him a double espresso. Everything has been going so well, so James’s obvious stress concerns me. I think I was right: I am going to have to brace myself for this day. When I return, he is sitting up again, but his expression concerns me.
“Blythe, I need your help.”
I sit. “Anything. What’s going on?”
He looks away. “I don’t even know how to say this… I don’t know what to do or why…”
“Is it Estelle?”
“This is really uncomfortable.”
“It’s okay, James. You can tell me anything.”
He starts talking, but he still can’t look at me. “I really care about her, you know? I do. I think she’s fantastic. Sure, she’s got this kind of tough exterior and all, but she’s super sweet, too. She’s smart, and funny, and wild.” He pauses. “It’s the wild part that… It’s not right, Blythe.”
“Honey, I don’t understand.” He’s getting visibly upset, so I move and kneel next to him. “What do you mean?”
“In… in bed.”
“Oh.” I can see why this is uncomfortable for him.
“I don’t want to talk about this, but I have to, Blythe.”
“I’m here. You can tell me.”
“Look, I know some people like… rough sex, or whatever, right?”
“Um, sure.” He’s right, this is not a talk I want to have with him, but I keep at it. “And she wants that. From you.”
He nods.
“And you don’t want that,” I say.
He shrugs. “See, I kind of did. I mean, a little rough. Like, there’s fun wild and then… there’s not fun.”
I shake my head. “What do you mean by ‘not fun’?”
