Authors: Coleen Patrick
The only
thing that stopped me was knowing that it would never be enough—well that and
leaving Bloom to go to Colson.
After
getting the rejection letter, I stood in the middle of the kitchen for so long
my blood practically mutated from warm to cold. I stepped outside the French
doors onto the deck, to let the sun thaw me. I leaned against the railing, staring
out at my tree house and the swing underneath. Had Katie known I would screw
up Colson? She was there when I started my slide into drinking oblivion, even
if she never said anything. I imagined her smile, the one I imagined in Jake
Adler’s backyard when I was drunk out of my mind. If I saw that smile now, it might’ve
cut me, allowing me to crack into a pile of icy shards.
But she
wasn’t there. She never really was.
Still, it
was
like
she was there, some wisp of her floating around me, compelled
by my mistakes, and my loneliness. My guilt, my sadness, my anger.
I found my
breath and squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, I focused on the tree
swing, which now moved ever so slightly to summer’s balmy whisper.
* * *
I went to
see Kyle. For some reason, it felt like he would understand about Colson.
When he said he was going to a party, I decided to go with him. I figured I
would follow, shadow him, and stuff myself into a corner so I didn’t have to be
alone with my thoughts of Colson, Evan, and the unrelenting Katie presence that
really pissed me off.
But when Kyle’s
car turned onto Dogwood Road, my heart plummeted. “The party is at Jake’s?”
He nodded,
his fingers drumming the top of his steering wheel to the music from his
radio. I stared at his profile and the tiny bump on the bridge of his nose,
the one he got playing basketball. He quit after sophomore year, not because
someone’s elbow connected with his nose, but because practice interfered with
his newfound desire to party. Partying trumped everything for him. He didn’t
seem to be attached to any sort of reminder that this was the last place we saw
Katie alive.
Kyle passed
the Adler’s driveway. He turned onto the tiny dirt road that led down to the
quarry, pulling to a stop before the trees.
“The party
is at the quarry? You just said it was at Jake’s.”
“Yes, it’s
at the quarry. Jake’s bringing the beer. ” He tapped his forefinger on my
cheek before hopping out of his car. He didn’t wait for me though. He waved
his arm at me through the window, then headed into the woods.
I slid out
of Kyle’s car and put my feet on packed dirt. I let out a deep breath I didn’t
know I’d been holding. I turned and looked toward the Adler’s house. I
couldn’t see the backyard, but the porch light illuminated some of the front. The
grass was super green, and I remembered it was prickly and damp under my bare
feet when I stepped out that night.Stupid thoughts, all of them, like me
chasing after my memories. Like the hope I carried with me that one day things
would be fixed between Katie and me.
I caught up
with Kyle on the path that snaked through the woods. He grabbed my hand, and
we made our way in silence to the strip of beach at the bottom of the quarry.
It was
illegal to go into White Rock Quarry, but everyone did it anyway, ignoring the
rusted No Trespassing sign and pushing easily through the gap in the pitiful
fence. The quarry was great for swimming. It was a lake surrounded by tree
lined, gray rock walls. Most of the walls were high and vertical, around
eighty feet, but above the beach, the outcropping dipped lower, winding into an
easy path down to the water. The water was clean, a dark blue mirror, with
shades of green that looked like reflections of the trees up above.
The house in
the center of the quarry was the big attraction. Flooded decades ago, the roof
sat just under the water. From the top, it seemed like a shadow, something
imagined. But it was real. I stood on it once last year, in the pitch dark,
the water lapping at my ankles, the sounds of laughter echoing on the rocky
walls.
Once on the
beach, we joined the party. There were about ten people, including Jake Adler,
sitting on the large rocks or roots that lined the tiny strip of beach. The
air was warmer down there, the night breeze unable to reach, one of the many
reasons it was so easy to strip off your clothes and slip into the cool quarry
water.
That and
alcohol.
Someone
handed me a can of beer, and I rolled it upright between my hands until my palms
felt like aluminum. Flat and cold.
I opened it
and sniffed it. Sour. I shivered. I hated the smell.
“You
flirting with that beer, Whit?” Jake asked.
“Why not? I
don’t see anything else worth flirting with.” I laughed.
A couple of
guys did that “oohing” thing, like I’d issued some sort of challenge, but it
all died down quickly when two girls, one who was barely old enough to be a freshman,
stood and stripped off their shorts and tees, revealing bikinis.
They ran,
the water pushing up and out at their legs until they dove in, the gravity of
their movements pulling half the guys on the beach in with them.
Only Kyle,
Jake, some other girl, and I were left. We watched the water in silence as if
we were at the movies.
“Isn’t your
car somewhere out there?” the girl asked.
I didn’t
know she was talking to me. I was still staring out at the water, watching as
the swimmers reached the flooded building in the center. When they got up on
the roof, it appeared like they walked on the water’s black surface, their feet
disappearing underneath.
“Whitney?”
“Huh?” I turned
to the girl. She was petite, wearing a pile of black leather strings on her
wrist. It looked like a large cuff on her spindly arm.
“It rolled
into the quarry, right? Is it still out there?”
“No, Molly,”
Jake said. His tone sounded like he said “stupid” instead of her name. “It
never rolled anywhere, it-”
“Just into
the Bloom on the Bluff sign,” I said, cutting him off before he made the girl
feel any smaller. Stories repeatedly told usually took on a new life, like the
one about the old building under the water. It was part of the mining site
before the quarry flooded, but there were many different versions of the story,
like the one where the site foreman was still in the house when the water came,
drowned as punishment for some mysterious mining murder. According to that
one, his bloated body was still somewhere inside the house, not that I ever
heard of anyone diving under to slip into a murky window to check. It was
enough to remember the true story of Dave Keller, who jumped off the other side
of the quarry ten years ago and broke his neck. It was tragic but fueled by
stupidity. Even if my car had plummeted into the quarry, it wasn’t like I was
in it. I was lucky.
I focused on
the ground, my gaze following a path of the roots that twisted up the hill.
“Still a
bummer,” the girl said.
I nodded,
staring up at the top of the wall of rock behind her.
Laughter
from the water interrupted our silence, and Kyle stood, peeling off his T-shirt.
“You coming?”
“Not yet.” I
forced a smile as Jake and the girl ran to the water.
Kyle
shrugged, then followed them.
When they
were in the center of the quarry, on the roof, I pressed the beer to my lips,
wetting them. Then I tilted my head back, letting it flow into my mouth to sit
on my tongue.
I opened my
eyes. I looked at the wall of white rock again, as more beer slipped in, sliding
down . . .
I coughed,
folding forward as the beer leaked out, down my neck, and onto my shirt.
The rock
made me think about my carabineer, made me long again for a clearer picture
even though I thought I was done trying to figure out my shredded memories.
Suddenly, I wanted to go to Jake’s house. If I went to the library, maybe it
would help me remember more.
I still wanted
my memories. I didn’t want to depend on anyone else for my happiness. I felt
like if I had them, I would be stronger, whole again, then I could smother the anger
and guilt, and put Katie’s memory where it belonged. She was someone I once
knew.
Why continue
to torture myself by letting this crap linger on? Our friendship, like Kyle
and Katie’s relationship, had been disintegrating long before I screwed up.
Katie’s death had me attaching things to our once upon a time relationship that
didn’t make sense. I needed to exorcise something, so I followed the path back
up. Alone. It was quiet, especially when I could no longer hear the group’s
shouts and laughter from the water below, and even though the trees were dark
and the ground underneath me crackled with every step, I wasn’t afraid. I was
actually excited. I was going to reclaim my own happiness.
Me.
My steps quickening,
I leaped onto the porch and knocked on the door. It was then that I realized I
had no plan on how to get into the Adler’s library. I couldn’t think because
there was a growing pain in my chest. It swelled from a stabbing sensation to
something white hot, pressing in on every side of me. I understood the terms
spontaneous human combustion, because I felt like I was about to explode into a
pile of ash. But the pain was caused by worry—worry that this wouldn’t work
either. Then what would I do?
The door
opened.
Evan Foster stood
in front of me.
“Whitney,”
he said. He was in the open doorway, his head tilted to the side and his
eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. Or, surprise. I didn’t know.
I
was
surprised to see him in Jake Adler’s house, but it hardly registered. Maybe I
swayed back a little, because Evan stepped forward, taking a hold of my arm.
“What’s wrong? You look . . . Hey, are you okay?”
He pulled me
into the marble foyer. I felt dizzy, my thoughts bottoming out, leaving my head
a blank, whirling space of air.
“The
library,” I managed to say.
“The
library?”
“I need to find
the library. Please.”
Evan’s gaze
swept over me. He even squeezed my arm, as if he were checking for broken
bones. “You’re shaking, Whit. Is your shirt wet?”
I didn’t
process his words, because I suddenly remembered where the library was. I tugged
my arm from his grasp, and ran down the hallway.
Once there,
I walked around the room, which had floor to ceiling bookshelves, and trailed
my fingers over the book titles, trying to remember. I focused on the dark
wood Scrabble board and the wine-colored carpet, then finally sunk into a
leather club chair.
I remembered
nothing new.
Evan was now
in the library. Maybe it was because I was almost having a mental breakdown,
but I wasn’t too surprised to see him at Jake’s, not as I should’ve been anyway
seeing as I didn’t know
why
he was there.
Evan spoke
first. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my
head. “I just thought . . . I mean, I was in the quarry with-”
Evan
sighed. He ran a hand down his face stopping at his chin. “A party.”
It wasn’t a
question, but I nodded anyway.
“I came with
Kyle,” I said, my emotions moving from stupid to uncomfortable. “Why are you
here?”
“Jake is my
cousin. I’m here for the summer.” Huh. How had I missed that? I got all
crazy like I was in love with someone, and I didn’t even know where he lived? Why
was it that I never seemed to be fully aware of what going on? What was wrong
with me?
Evan’s eyes
dropped to my shirt, and my hand automatically went there. It was damp. The
beer.
Heat crept
up my neck. He thought I was drinking—was that judgment? I couldn’t form the
words, my mouth opening and closing like a muted dummy. I sprang from the
chair. My hand knocked a book off the armrest and onto the open game of
Scrabble on the table next to me. I mumbled an apology as I picked up the
book. I swiped at the tiles, sliding them into a pile and pushing them back to
the middle of the board. I hesitated for a moment, staring at the letters,
wishing they would just tell me what I wanted to know.
Evan’ gaze
shifted from the game to me. He stood there with his hands shoved into the
front pocket of his jeans, almost like he waited for something, too.
Waited for
me to leave.
“So, um I’m
going to go,” I said.
I wasn’t
really talking to him. It was just what I needed to say, what I wanted to do,
but Evan’s expression changed again. He no longer seemed to be scrutinizing
me. His face reset, and he became polite, diplomatic Evan again. “I can take
you.”
“Oh.” I nodded
and turned around as if I had a pile of stuff to collect before I left. Like
my mind, which I’d obviously lost.
I didn’t
want to look at him anymore. I couldn’t. I felt so small, seeing judgment
from him would make me disappear but not in the way I wanted. And I didn’t
want him to take me home. He was just being polite anyway. Mr. Senator and
all that.