Letters to Nowhere (26 page)

The girl’s lip started trembling, and then a full–out wail erupted from that tiny mouth, filling the silence that had suddenly fallen on the gym. I clutched my chest as a woman rushed over from the lobby, snatching up the little girl in her arms and throwing a glare in my direction. I looked over at my teammates, who sat with their eyes wide, mouths hanging open.

Gymnasts don’t scream like that. Ever.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Bentley near the front desk, watching me carefully. I drew in a deep breath and then headed for the locker room, avoiding the stares from all the preschool parents.

I was yanking my stuff from my locker as fast as possible when Blair appeared behind me.

“Karen, what’s going on?”

New beads of sweat had begun to form on my forehead and my chest felt so tight. “If I tell you, can I leave without talking about it? I really need some air.”

She nodded.

I squeezed my eyes shut, spewing out the words as fast as possible. “I have nightmares. Lots of them. My parents are broken into pieces, body parts everywhere, and I keep seeing my decapitated dad’s head rolling toward me and just a minute ago I thought…”
Breathe in, breathe out
. “God, this sounds so stupid when I say it out loud, but in my head it’s so real.”

She put her hands on my arms, holding me in place. “Look at me, Karen.”

I opened my eyes and tried to breathe.

Her fingers tightened around my arms. “You can get through this. I know you can. It’s like a mental block. Break it down and figure it out, okay?”

I was hit with about twenty percent relief hearing her speak my language. “Thanks, Blair.”

She released me and I snuck out of the locker room and through the front doors of the gym before anyone else could stop and chat. I began to feel more and more resolve as I drove home, already forming a plan for the afternoon. I needed something. I needed information.

Some of their accident story had been public, but I couldn’t find the details on the Internet, and at the time it had happened, I hadn’t let myself hear or see any of it. I hadn’t thought it’d help at first. But Grandma had put the obituaries in my old room, which meant they might be in those boxes Jordan had put away in the garage.

I practically ran through the front door, tossed my stuff onto the couch, and made myself a turkey pita sandwich before heading to the garage. There were boxes everywhere, and since Grandma had hired movers to move my room here, I couldn’t tell my boxes from what was already here.

I spent a couple hours digging through my old items—pictures and trophies and birthday cards and ribbons and scrapbooks—all while taking trips to the kitchen to grab a banana or another bottle of water. Eventually, I opened a giant box that had three thick photo albums, all the same shade of gray–blue. Curiosity took over; this was either something of Bentley’s or something of my parents’. Both options intrigued me.

After removing the first album, I opened it up and scanned the pages. They were full of pictures starring a girl with white–blond hair and a toddler boy with sandy blond hair. The girl looked about seven or eight, maybe.

Eloise and Jordan.

The first several pages were filled with fall leaves and Halloween costumes. An entire row of little Jordan dressed as a giant pumpkin. My gaze stopped on a photo of a woman holding Jordan, dark blond hair just like his and an identical nose. She looked so young and pretty and tall. She might even have been taller than Bentley. It occurred to me right then that I’d never asked Jordan his mom’s name.

“He hated that costume.”

I jumped, gasping and clutching my chest when I heard Bentley’s voice, and saw his feet firmly planted right behind me. I didn’t know what to say, so I kept my mouth shut, the album still stretched across my lap.

Coach Bentley crouched down beside me and eventually sat down on the floor. “He wasn’t a tortured child, I promise. He just hated that costume. That’s why he’s crying in nearly every picture.”

I held my breath as Bentley reached across me and removed the second album from the box. “You might like this one.”

I leaned closer, examining the spread of pictures of Bentley in his Team USA apparel. In one photo he held a tiny blond toddler girl with stick–straight pigtails coming out of the sides of her head. “That was my last competition. World Championships in France. We had Eloise pretty young.” He laughed under his breath. “It was a little unexpected, so money was tight while I was still training and Anna was at Juilliard.”

Anna. So that’s her name
.

He flipped through more photos of himself smiling with his teammates. “Her parents bought tickets to France for Anna and Eloise as a graduation gift. That was the only competition they got to travel to until I started coaching.”

“But didn’t you—”

“Tear my bicep during a training session in France?” Bentley finished, flashing me a tiny smile, maybe so I wouldn’t think he was upset with me for bringing it up. “Yes, I did. That was the end of my career.”

“Did you have surgery in France?”

He shook his head, flipping through some more pages. “They packed my arm in ice and put me on a plane to London. We stayed with Anna’s family for a few weeks, and she was offered a part with the London Symphony and I was offered a coaching job with the British men’s junior national team. Eloise grew up in the gym with a bunch of sweaty boys. She learned swear words before proper English. Symphony rehearsals weren’t exactly the best place for a little one, so Eloise and I were coworkers early on.”

Maybe that’s why he never seems to mind that Stacey’s got Olivia with her at every practice.

“And what happened when Jordan came along?” I asked. “Did you raise him in the gym, too?”

Bentley laughed again. “Jordan was the one we planned. Anna did everything in advance, from putting Jordan’s name on every early admissions list for preschool to college funds and interviewing nannies, to picking the best month to conceive.” Bentley coughed and cleared his throat. I could feel my face heating and I hoped we weren’t going to get into any conception details today. Preferably never. “Anyway, she just knew we were going to have a boy. Everything in his room was blue and green before the end of the first trimester.”

There was nothing shaky or emotional about Bentley’s storytelling and recollection of the past. His tone was identical to the one he used in the gym every day, but I could see the ghosts swarming him like he hadn’t spoken about these two people for a very long time, not to mention his parents being gone, too.

“Green and blue, huh?”

Bentley and I turned around quickly and saw Jordan leaning against the door, arms folded across his chest, his school tie still knotted perfectly like he’d just walked through the door. His eyes stormed with something I hadn’t seen on Jordan before…anger? Maybe rage?

Bentley got to his feet and I stayed on the floor, the first album still on my lap.

“I seem to recall a conversation a couple months ago…” Jordan walked closer to his dad, his arms dropping to his sides, hands balling into fists and then opening again. He was pissed. Really pissed. “Where you told me that you would have my head—literally—if you caught me looking through those albums or messing with any of your stuff.”

Bentley rubbed his hands over his face and then looked at Jordan. “I thought it would be easier for both of us, with you living at home again. I know how you used to spend so much time looking at those pictures—”

“When I was a bad, trouble–making kid, right?”

This was like a horrible train wreck, and I couldn’t bring myself to look away. And both Bentley and Jordan were blocking my way to the door. I was stuck here witnessing this domestic battle.

“That’s what you think, isn’t it?” Jordan challenged. “You think looking at pictures of my dead mom and my dead sister are going to make me fall apart and…and what? Rob a bank? Do drugs?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Bentley snapped.

“You’re going to hold me accountable for stuff I did when I was fucking thirteen? And you were such a loving, devoted father…I don’t see how I could have gone to the dark side.”

Oh boy…I need out of here. Now
.

Bentley folded his arms across his chest, his face set and tense, but he didn’t move. He was going to let Jordan finish speaking or throwing his teenage tantrum.

Jordan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, like he was using some anger management technique. This was not the sweet, lighthearted Jordan I knew.

“You know what really kills me,” Jordan said, anger and emotion spilling from his voice. “You’ve got all those memories locked up, and I’ve accepted that maybe you just can’t fill in the blanks for me, and then you go and tell Karen stuff I’ve never heard you talk about before.”

Bentley’s face turned from stiff to sympathetic. “Jordan, listen—”

“Maybe you don’t want to remember them, but I do.” He turned around and strode toward the door. “I’ll be at Tony’s.”

Bentley let out a breath and stormed after Jordan. I figured I could sneak upstairs, but only made it to the landing before their yelling stopped me.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Jordan said.

I glanced down for a second and saw Jordan shove his dad back. I held my breath, waiting for somebody to throw a punch. Did relatives do that? But that was the end of their fight. Jordan walked out the door and slammed it hard. Then Bentley stomped through the house, heading out the back and slamming that door.

I let out a breath and felt my hands and legs shaking. Then I went into my room and shut the door before I could get caught in the middle of more of their drama if they returned anytime soon. I had seen the tension, of course I’d seen it, but I had had no idea how bad it was.

And poor Jordan. He must hate me. I thought back to everything he’d said to me over the past few months, and it wasn’t just his mom and his sister he wanted to learn about. It was his dad, too. That awkward day at the store when we had shopped for tampons, he’d looked so nervous before he finally asked me what his dad was like.

And Bentley, he probably ached inside every time he thought about Jordan being here without his mom and sister and grandparents. If it hurt for
me
to think about, I couldn’t imagine what it did to Bentley. No wonder he didn’t like to talk about them with Jordan. Talking to me about them was different. I was a neutral party, because I didn’t know the people he’d lost.

But Jordan needed him, and it was Bentley’s job to figure out how to connect with his son.
He’s the adult. Jordan’s the kid
. In the gym, coaching us girls, Bentley always got that right. Why couldn’t he get it right with his own kid?

It didn’t help that they both appeared to be extremely stubborn.

***

“God, I love tumbling!” Blair said after practice while we were in the locker room.

I started to respond to her, but my phone rang and Jordan’s name came up on the screen. I had eventually gotten brave and tried to call him right before practice, but he hadn’t answered, and I’d been distracted and worried ever since.

“Hey,” I said right away. “Are you okay?”

“Karen, it’s Tony,” Tony said, his voice muffled like he was trying not to let anyone listen in. “We got a problem…”

My eyes darted around the locker room, resting on Stevie, who seemed to be paying close attention. “What happened? Where’s Jordan?” I whispered.

“Everything okay?” Blair mouthed after tossing her bag over her shoulder.

I nodded and waved her away, knowing her mom was probably waiting, and I didn’t want her involved in this family feud.

“He’s okay,” Tony said. “We’re at the hospital. In the emergency room. He’s a little drunk. Kind of high, too. And bloody.”

“Tony!”

“Do NOT tell his dad, Karen,” Tony said. “Swear to me.”

“I swear.”

“Can you grab some clean clothes from his house and that big wad of cash in the green shoebox in the bottom of his closet and then come to the Barnes emergency room?”

“Okay, yeah, I can do that.” I shut the phone, tossed it into my bag, and scrambled to get my shoes and coat on.

“What happened to Jordan?” Stevie whispered, though we appeared to be alone.

“Apparently he’s drunk, high, and bleeding in the emergency room without money.” I shook my head, hardly able to believe this story myself. “He had a really big fight with Bentley earlier today.”

Stevie’s eyes were huge. “Not about you guys, right?”

“No.” I looked at her, trying to decide what to tell her. “Just family stuff.”

“I’ll go with you, okay?”

I felt like hugging her, I was so relieved to not have to do this alone. “Thank you.”

I drove, so Bentley wouldn’t worry if he saw my car still in the parking lot. It took us a full forty–five minutes to get Jordan’s clothes and money and get to the hospital. Tony was standing near the doors, pacing back and forth. He sighed with relief when he saw us. “Just don’t say anything about the weed. I don’t think anyone has guessed.”

I shook off his words and followed behind him. “What is bleeding, Tony? You can’t just say he’s bleeding and then—”

“His head. He cut his head.”

“On what?” Stevie asked.

“My neighbor’s metal swing set,” Tony said, as if this was normal. Maybe it was, given the sledding incident.

Jordan was sitting sideways on a hospital bed, his feet dangling off the edge. His white shirt was half untucked and had a mix of dirt and blood splattered all over it. His khaki pants were pretty roughed up, too. A whole strip of dried blood ran down the side of his face.

I slowed down when I saw him, not sure if he was mad at me or not. Then as soon as he looked up and saw the three of us, I blurted out those exact words. “Are you mad at me?”