Elevated (13 page)

With anything,

And eventually everyone would know.

A Skype chat with Dad was scheduled before the feast.

Both events made me nauseous.

I couldn’t eat,

Couldn’t breathe,

Couldn’t look at Daddy for more than four seconds

Before he would know.

“Elly, Dad’s ready for you.”
Mom knocked on my bedroom door,

But didn’t come in.

“The twins are almost done.

Dinner’s almost ready too.”

“Just a minute,” I called,

Swallowed the nausea,

Pressed my fingernails into my palms just to prove I could still feel it.

I made sure my shirt didn’t cling to my stomach,

Even though I wasn’t showing a single bit.

I felt huge,

The secret swelling until everyone would know about the life inside me.

I sat in front of the computer,

Not looking at Daddy,

Not looking at anything,

Waiting for Mom to herd the twins away.

Dad didn’t say anything,

Sensed this conversation would belong to me.

“HEY, DADDY,” I STARTED,

Wiped the tears already sliding down my face.

Over the past couple weeks,

I’d learned how to cry silently,

So Mom wouldn’t hear,

So the twins wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the night,

So I could pretend my reality was just a nightmare.

“Travis?” Dad asked.

I nodded,

Over and over,

Like it was the only thing my head could do.

“Tell me everything, Honeybee.”

His voice, caring and parental even half a world away,

Yanked on my already-fragile heart.

I couldn’t speak.

I didn’t need to.

Daddy already knew.

“Tell me you’re not pregnant.”

This time,

His voice hurt.

I couldn’t tell him that,

Couldn’t tell him anything.

As if he stood in front of me,

I felt my dad wrap his arms around me,

Felt the scratch of his beard against my cheek,

Felt the depth of his emotion,

When he said, “We’ll get through this, Eleanor.

I love you.”

TRAV’S GRIP TIGHENS.

My fingers protest.

A strangled noise grinds in my throat.

“Elly?”

Trav sounds half-hopeful,

Half-horrified.

I shake my head.

I still don’t have the words.

DADDY TALKED,

Soothing words that didn’t register in my ears,

Until he said, “I take it your mom doesn’t know.”

I swallowed back the panic.

“Please, you can’t tell her.

I have to—

I will—

I’ll do it. I swear. I just—”

He nodded,

Just once,

Said again, “I love you, Eleanor.

We’ll get through this.”

His eyes glowed,

Dark coals of intensity,

“What about the boy?

Have you told him?”

That conversation had run through my mind a thousand times,

Circled,

Swirled,

Whirled.

I still hadn’t found the right way to begin a conversation

With Travis that ended with the words,

“I’m pregnant.”

I still hadn’t said the words out loud,

Even to myself.

I shook my head.

“Well, Elly, he deserves to know.”

“I know, sir.”

I escaped back to my room,

Endured Christmas dinner,

Managed to make it through without eating very much

And speaking even less.

JUST OVER A WEEK LATER,

Mom still didn’t know,

I stood over Travis while he slept on his couch,

One hand resting protectively on my belly.

I put a note on his chest,

Stole his keys,

Drove to Honesty’s.

To tell the truth,

To take whatever was coming next,

To finally move forward.

If I had known Trav had already been there,

If he had called me first,

I wouldn’t have gone,

I wouldn’t have killed us,

I wouldn’t have

Wouldn’t have

Wouldn’t have

Tried to set myself free

And ended up more caged than

Before.

WHILE I’M STILL WAITING FOR THE WORDS TO ORDER THEMSELVES,

Travis says, “You—you’re—going to have a baby?

My baby?

Our
baby?”

He sounds so hopeful,

So alive.

The word
baby
comes out of his mouth

So easily,

Coated with joy,

With love.

I deserve to burn in hell for making him sound like that,

For telling Honesty,

For pretending he was mine always and forever,

For harboring the truth.

But most of all,

For being eternally glad I haven’t told him everything.

I KNEW EXACTLY

When the baby would come,

Where I’d be when I finally told Trav,

Why I couldn’t do it in person.

“I was hoping to tell you after I left.”

I loathe myself a little more for admitting that out loud.

I just can’t look at him and say what needs to be said.

I can’t imagine my life without him,

Even if we’re living two floors apart,

Alone,

Silent,

At least I know he’s there.

If I tell him, he might leave.

And I have to be the one to leave this time,

I have to be the one in control.

So I close my mouth,

Slide off his lap,

Refuse to say anything more.

MY CELL RINGS,

Saving me from Trav’s next question,

Giving me a reason to move farther away from him.

“Mom?”

My voice carries an edge of hysteria I don’t like.

“Harold says they’re working on restoring power.

Could be another ten minutes.

Are you okay?”

How do I answer that question?

How can she not know how un-okay this is?

Why can’t I bridge the gap between us?

I say nothing,

Adding silence to the gulf separating me from my mother.

“When you get home,

We’ll go pick Dad up from physical therapy.

Okay?”

I nod,

Though she can’t hear that,

Though the last thing I want is to see Daddy at the hospital,

Sad,

Spiritless,

Immobile.

EVERYTHING FEELS BLOCKED,

Held back by the weight of the last words I’d spoken to my best friend,

Dammed by the truth my father knew,

Clogged with guilt,

Choked with fear that when I spill secrets,

Horrible things happen.

WHEN WE RECEIVED THE NEWS ABOUT DADDY,

Mom took us to the church,

Where we’d also mourned for Honesty.

Mom’s hand gripped mine so hard I couldn’t feel my fingers.

But by then,

I couldn’t really feel anything.

I wiped my face and my hands came away wet,

But I wasn’t crying.

It must’ve been raining outside.

I hadn’t seen anything on the drive to the church,

I hadn’t smelled anything for days.

Mom made me eat;

I didn’t taste.

People talked;

I didn’t hear.

Travis called;

I didn’t answer.

I existed in a tunnel of white noise,

Fast movements,

Blurs of nothingness.

How could the sun shine without Daddy whole,

Healthy,

Alive?

How could my lungs keep expanding under the crushing weight of the truth I’d spoken,

Of the damage I’d caused,

Of what I’d done?

How could Dr. Tickson say Daddy’s accident was coincidence?

How could coincidence happen just two weeks after I revealed my secret,

Just two weeks before Daddy was set to come home?

Not a coincidence
, I thought,

I knew.

I didn’t launch the missile that hit Daddy’s truck,

I didn’t make it flip on the side,

I didn’t have to make the decision—his legs or his life.

But I felt like was all my fault,

Because I told him about the baby.

I didn’t force Honesty into the snowstorm,

I didn’t freeze the water on the road,

I didn’t make the driver of the van drink too much,

And then take the corner too fast.

But I felt it was all my fault,

Because I’d also told her about the baby.

I needed something to ease the horror that had become my life,

Someone to cling to,

To hold,

To cry with.

I needed Travis,

Needed the escape of his hand in mine,

Needed the comfort of his voice in my ear.

I suddenly realized how much
he
needed
me
,

How much our summer relationship meant to him,

But I couldn’t tell him about the baby.

I was too selfish to lose any part of him,

The way Daddy had lost his legs,

The way Honesty had lost everything.

AT THE CHURCH,

I didn’t see Travis until he stood in front of me.

He tugged on the bottom of his suit coat.

His eyes managed to drill holes into the top of my head.

“Elly.”

His voice broke,

Folded me into an embrace.

Life seemed to want to make up for the smell-less days,

The missed conversations,

The calming beat of his heart against my cheek.

At the church,

Everything rushed at me at once.

His scent: Brown sugar and laundry detergent.

His words: Comfort and love and a hidden current of guilt and pain.

His taste: The sweet orange of his lips.

At the church,

I inhaled him,

Listened to him,

Kissed him in front of everyone.

The smells,

Words,

Tastes,

Melded together into one giant wave I couldn’t endure.

I yanked myself away from him, my stomach swirling.

I ran for the bathroom,

Barely made it to the garbage can before throwing up.

I felt like I was dying inside,

Couldn’t vomit the agony away.

A sharp pain cut through my lower abdomen.

The gray walls lurched,

Twisted,

Caged,

Until they became a tunnel filled with lies,

Secrets.

And then finally,

Blissfully,

Darkness swallowed me whole

At the church.

I HANG UP WITH MY MOM

The same way I want to hang up my life.

Even as I think it,

I realize it’s not true.

I don’t really want to die.

I just don’t want to keep living here,

With the same judging glances,

The same empty apartment,

The same brilliant city sky that Travis and I used to enjoy.

“How’s your dad?”

His voice cuts through the memories of summer evenings and fall midnights.

I don’t know how to answer his question.

Daddy came home,

Which is what Mom prayed for every night.

But he’d returned wounded,

Broken.

“Fine,” I say,

Press my back into the corner,

As far from Trav as possible.

People can look at Daddy,

See he’s not fine.

People look at me,

And I look normal.

But I’m broken

Too.

If I can hang on for just
ten more minutes,

A few more conversations,

A lifetime,

Everything will be okay.

But my gut writhes in a way that tells me I don’t have another second to spare.

THE WEIGHT OF TRAV’S EYES IS SO HEAVY,

So debilitating.

“Stop it.”
Once again, my voice sounds like ribbon shredded too thin,

Rope pulled too tight.

“I have a right to know about my own baby.”
His tone reminds me of harsh wind,

Of the desert sand and the way my dad said it got into everything.

There’s no escape from it, he said,

No relief.

It scratches,

Burns,

Wears you down until you give in and spill all your secrets.

And then you get your legs blown off,

Have to come home,

Lie in a hospital bed for months,

Learn to walk with your hands.

During all of that,

Part of you dies.

The part that used to say, “Sugar, bring me some honey,”

Or the part that would plant kisses on temples,

Or the part that would say, “Always and forever,”

And mean it.

I DIDN'T WANT THE BABY,

Didn’t want the reminder that I’d betrayed my best friend,

Didn’t want to love it unconditionally,