For Always (19 page)

Once we got to my house, I tried with little success, to keep him talking and engaged in conversation.

“Do you want to come in for a minute? Can I get you a drink or something?”

“I really should be getting back,” he answered, looking away.

I nodded and reminded myself it had been his idea to walk with me, and that definitely constituted progress. Before going through my front door, I turned back. He already started toward home, but he did seem to have more bounce in his step.

More often than not my phone would ring late at night when he tried his hardest to ward off sleep and the awful visions it would bring.

“What are you still doing up?” he’d ask.

“Talking to you.” I tried to sound more alert than I actually felt.

“You’d be better off getting some sleep.”

“Don’t worry, if I get too tired I’ll just close my eyes,” I assured him.

“I hate the night,” he confessed on more than one occasion. “It’s too quiet. No one’s around. No one’s awake.”

“Want to come over?”

Most of the time, his answer was “No.” But on two occasions, he surprised me.

“Steph it’s almost midnight. I doubt your mother would go for that.”

“If she says yes, do you want to?”

“If she says yes,” he hesitated. “I’d love to.”

Much to my amazement my mother did allow it. Aside from Maria, I wasn’t allowed visitors past eleven o’clock, but if Jordan felt like coming over at midnight, Mom was okay with that. It only happened twice but I was surprised it happened at all. She suddenly had a soft spot for him and hadn’t the heart to say no. She even made it a point not to come out and embarrass me.

The scent of alcohol hung on his breath. He didn’t stumble or slur his words so I knew he wasn’t drunk, but his eyes weren’t right. They looked wild and frightened. The way he fidgeted and his eyes darted around, he looked like he couldn’t bear to be in his own skin.

“It’s too quiet. I can’t sleep.”

“You’re not listening carefully,” I tried to lighten his mood. “There’s always noise outside, sirens or horns. Always something.”

He shook his head, his tone, his expression, everything about him seemed so serious. “When I close my eyes, I hear nothing but the pounding of my heart in my ears. And it’s so loud.”

“Sleep with music on,” I offered.

He snickered. “Like I haven’t tried that. I hear it through anything. It’s like a bad joke. Like the universe is trying to remind me I’m alive.”

What do you say to that?

“Do you want to talk about the accident?” I offered, understanding the true cause of his nighttime angst.

“No.”

I wanted so badly to wrap my arms around him. I moved closer, he stood and found something of interest on the other side of the room. I ached to ease his pain, I just needed a clue how to.

The next midnight visit he wanted to talk. The subject matter caught me off guard.

“Besides the sleepaway camp, do you have other bad memories of your father?” he inquired.

I didn’t understand what his purpose was at first. I thought maybe he felt so depressed he wanted me to feel bad along with him. After all, misery loves company right?

“No.” I answered. “I guess that’s why I miss him so much.”

He mulled that over for a minute, “You know, every single memory I have of my father is bad,” he confessed, his face grim. “All but one.”

“And what is that?”

“The day he left.”

It seemed I only played into his depressing, destructive line of thinking. I wondered if that was why he came, because he knew I didn’t have the slightest clue how to make him feel better.

“I’m sure he must have done something nice.”

Jordan shook his head, a distant look in his eyes, “He was nice the nights he only locked me in the dark attic. They were better than the ones where he beat me with his belt first.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“If I knocked my glass over at dinner, or I spilled something, if my room was messy or I didn’t answer him quick enough, I’d be stuck in there, sitting on the dusty, wood floor feeling my throat close.”

I stared at him silently in disbelief as he went on.

“I’d hug my knees pretending I could curl up in a ball and make myself invisible. My throat would hurt. It was raw from crying and screaming for my mother to help me.” He shook his head; a nasty sneer on his face. “She never did. Not one time.”

It was the first time I ever caught a glimpse of anger or resentment toward his mother. I reached for his hand and held it. He allowed me that much. But when he looked down at our joined hands with a detestable look on his face, I felt a stabbing pain in my heart. Feeling dejected I drew my hand back.

“She never did anything to help you?”

“She couldn’t. Then he would punish her for interfering in his ‘disciplinary tactics,’” he said in a mocking voice. “Instead she signed me up for karate. So I’d know how to defend myself against him. I was young and hadn’t been in long enough to use it before he left. She insisted I keep with it long after he was gone.”

Lost was the carefree boy with flirtatious smile and playful eyes. In his place I found an aggrieved, bitter replica. I never imagined he carried so much pain.

“I guess that was the only way she knew how to keep you safe.” Jordan always proclaimed his undying love and dedication toward his mother. So hearing anything but, surprised me.

“It was better than sticking her head in the sand and looking the other way altogether. Still, I hate that she had been so weak, that she didn’t throw him out on his ass. The son of a bitch left us instead.”

I could tell he felt too vulnerable and exposed. He tried to delve into my soul as well.

“Why Steph? Why do women stay with guys who hurt them?

I cleared my throat, searching for an answer. “I have no idea.”

“Why did you stay with Chris?”

I didn’t expect that. I hadn’t spoken to or about Chris since the night of the party when we broke up. Surprisingly, he never bothered me, just as Jordan promised. A few months later, Chris dropped out and took his GED.

“Chris didn’t hurt me. I mean he did, but that was the last night I was with him.”

Jordan snickered, “He hurt you all along. He controlled you, who you saw, who you spoke to.”

I swallowed hard ready to disagree and plead my case. “That’s not true.”

“Then why didn’t you ever come to my locker? When you saw me in the halls, why didn’t you stop and talk?”

He noticed. And he bottled it up for years. “I was inexperienced, and I didn’t know what to do or how to act around you. Actually I thought you wanted me to give you space.”

I didn’t mean to put the onus back on him, it just happened. He was quick to change the subject.

“Where are your drawings?” he asked. “I’d like to see them.”

“Upstairs. But I haven’t done anything special in a long time. I’ve been busy with school and graduation.”

He shrugged, “I don’t care. Go get them.”

I hesitated before explaining, “I don’t share them with anyone. They’re more for me to relax and unwind, than anything else.”

“I know.” He understood they were personal, that was his point. I was just too dense to understand. “But you let me see them once.”

“I didn’t really let you, more like you snatched my book and wouldn’t give it back, until you riffled through all the pages.”

“Was that so bad?”

Bad? No. Just the opposite. To see the look of admiration on his face, it gave me hope. My entire life changed that day. Girls that before, treated me like gum on the bottom of their shoes, gained enough respect for me to end the taunting. Probably afraid I’d make caricatures of them and post them on the Internet. And I let down walls for Jordan, that otherwise were hard as steel.

“I guess not. But still . . . ”

He narrowed his eyes and I saw a flash of anger in them. “I just told you things I’ve gone my whole life without talking about. And you won’t show me your drawings?”

Guilt plagued my judgment. He made it sound so trivial. I understood he manipulated me to get what he wanted. I also knew he had a hard time talking about his feelings. I only began to realize I barely knew him at all. I wanted to be his safe haven.

I caved.

We sat together and went through my entire portfolio. We spoke about every picture, what inspired it, and how I felt at the time. When he finished pouring through my drawings, we sat without saying a word listening to music. He rifled through my CD’s and stopped when he came across Phantom of the Opera.

“Do you mind if I put this in?” he asked.

“Not at all. I love it.”

We listened and he, too, fell in love with the powerful music. I got the sense that he identified with the phantom hidden behind the mask, afraid to show the world who he was, striving for a love he could never have. I wondered if Jordan were creating his own mask, one of alcohol, in an attempt to withdraw from the world. Strangely enough it only made him more human in my eyes and I loved him for it.

And then there was Madison.

He wore his guilt in his eyes. Speaking about her was off limits.

“Jordan, I know you miss Madison, I just want you to know you can talk to me about it.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

But I knew when he thought of her. His face looked wistful and his eyes would trail off to the side, filling with tears he didn’t want me to see. I could see he was going to try and make up for the accident by dedicating his life to her memory.

Twenty-Six

I climbed over the wrought iron banister separating our houses and opened Maria’s front door. Over the years the Delucis took to keeping the front door unlocked if someone was home. This way they didn’t have to hear the bell every time Maria and I went in or out. Which some days could be ten times an hour.

I knew her father worked half a day on Saturdays and our mothers left together on a shopping spree. I also remembered Rob was vacationing with his parents at Lake George. I thought we could enjoy the time together. Just the two of us.

She hadn’t heard me come in since she didn’t greet me, or call out for me to come to the kitchen in the back of the house. I smiled to myself thinking I’d sneak up on her and get her blood racing.

“You’re kidding right?” I heard her say.

From the front foyer I peered into the kitchen and spotted her pacing form holding the telephone to her ear.

“You have to talk to Stephanie. You have to be fair.” I heard her say.

My heart dropped like a crashing elevator to the floor. Jordan. She had to be speaking to Jordan. Still undetected I crept into the living room, then the dining room, trying my hardest not to be seen.

“If you want to punish yourself, fine, but I won’t let you keep punishing her.”

The thundering of my heartbeat pounded in my head. What was she doing? Why was she involving herself in something that had nothing to do with her?