Precise (15 page)

I look up at him to see a placid, calm man. There are no quirks, or looks of I-got-you-good with this one.

My chest is open—tender and spongy inside. It’s like a surgeon has performed open-heart surgery on me and forgotten to sew me up; whilst I’m fine at this split second, my environment reminds me that things will change.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know all that, Liam. I would have helped, or tried, if I knew,” I tell him, hoping that I sound as truthful as I feel.

“I did, on a couple of occasions. But you and me, we were two peas in a rotten pod. Rotting together. I’m not sure if you blinked, to tell you the truth.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“I’m serious.”

“What happened with . . . ?”

“We never got back together.”

I’m beginning to understand the rotten pod part.

I draw away from shame.

“I was at the depths of somewhere pretty dark in my mind. I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through. When you’re in that friggin’ deep, and I
know
how sticky it gets, you can’t get out. You feel like you are sinking, eternally. You need a Good Samaritan. Someone who doesn’t know you from shit, but knows what shit to do for you.

“I didn’t have the heart to tell my parents, brother, you or even my girlfriend how weak I was. I couldn’t talk about it and then I’d almost want to, but I just couldn’t get the words out of my mouth. Dr. Crowley listened. He listened and then spoke a bit and listened until I had it all out. He helped me find a way to cope.”

I wonder how two best friends can have such similar stories and not know about it. As I think, I begin to see that my ignorance is the problem.

If I ignore something, it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist; it means I hide it away in a place that I won’t reach. It’s a thick, concrete, sound-barrier wall. I spent months of hard labor building it up good and strong with the toughest tools I had. It has me trapped, just as Liam had been, with no way out. The difference is courage. He has it, for one thing.

“I’m proud of you. I truly am.”

He shuffles in, angling in my direction. “Thanks. I know you are.”

“I’m still the rotten one that’s left.”

“I see Ella cry sometimes. She cries for you to be her playmate. She cries for you to bake some cupcakes with her.” I’m aware of the Mickey Mouse watch she gave him as he continues, which is still on his wrist. “I know your heart is in there, you just have it wrapped up so tight you can’t feel it anymore. It’s not that you’re ignoring her intentionally. I know you better than you know yourself. Paul was obviously better than I was, though. He’d say, ‘Get up off that ass of yours and play, goddamn it!’”

“It’s just . . . sometimes . . . ” I begin, sigh and continue, “never mind.”

“You’re blank. I’ve come to learn that face, too. Your eyes are thinking but they stare straight ahead. I know you’re thinking because your lips will tense and relax as if the words are literally itching to come out.”

Liam and I: we’re not so different.

Silence.

“It’s okay, you know. To let go.”

“I can’t.”

“I
know
you can. You hammered a rusty nail into my hand when we were five. It killed like hell. I never second guessed your strength again.”

Liam has both hands by his sides. I have mine wedged under my legs to prevent them from flapping around or doing something equally as crazy. I rarely feel awkward with Liam since being around him feels normal, but stripped this raw makes it feel like we’re sitting skin-to-skin. Two naked bodies.

“I know I’ve been all ‘stop drinking and it’ll get better’ and,” Liam closes the gap between us mid-sentence so I feel his heat through my fingers and leg, “‘you need to do this’ but I’ve realized now that I stuffed up.”

He leans the back of his hand on my arm. He’s pale. Except for his eyes. This is my hurt he wears. I look away, but he draws my face back with a finger.

With his blue eyes clear and unwavering, he says, “You’re the strongest person I know. If I put Brent, Nancy, or even me right there,” he points to the where I sit, “we wouldn’t have fought and survived as you have. It’s what you do, Kates. Fight.”

“Mm.”

“Know that I’ll never let you down again.” His eyes resemble the tenderness of a rose petal. Liam’s “tough” shell is crumbling. Thoughts swim on his tongue again. They circle in loops, not confident enough to slip from his mouth.

Instead, he yanks out my left hand. It has red impressions of the stitching from my pants. He traces the creases from beginning to end. Then, as if my hand passes the test, he sandwiches it between his palms.

Our bodies reflexively turn inward, as it’s easier this way, with our shoulders facing each other. I see our past in his eyes. Maybe I see this in the same way he does with my hand.

I remember something from when we were eleven. I was slipping off the smooth limb of a eucalyptus tree. Liam was under me. He told me to trust he’d catch me when I fell.

So I released.

“Okay,” I say, thinking of how Liam hasn’t changed as an adult.

I add another layer to our hand-sandwich.

“Okay,” he says.

Outside, the muffled sound of car engines whirs past. Yelling kids on the sidewalk mock their moms, their voices rising and disappearing as they pass Liam’s house. I see one kid peddling like crazy on his rusty bike and a mother jogging behind him, punching the air with her fist and yelling back.

Inside here? It’s so quiet I can hear Liam swallow. We let the silence fill our space, weaving us back together.

And then I realize: am I allowing him to see inside me? Am I ready for this?

There’s a lump in my throat that expands as Liam and I go on. I think of Paul smiling at me from the altar steps on our wedding day and a hot flush pours through my chest to my armpits. His grin is wide, but he looks like it’s still not big enough to convey his excitement.

It used to be impossible to turn away from that face, the way his eyes could ignite a fire inside my belly and warm every inch of me. Suddenly, I want to crawl into a hole and stay there for as long as I’ve repress these memories because I’m ashamed of myself. I should be remembering Paul’s memory, not shunning it.

My throat tingles and the lump expands so Liam must hear me breathing, but although I want to
feel
Paul, I still tighten in the familiar way that shuts my emotions down. It’s like a switch I haven’t reset the automatic shutdown option for.

I touch my cheek: hot but not wet.

“What do I do now?” I say, barely able to get the words out, as if each one were made of rocks that block my throat.

“Dr. Madison: she specializes in the same type of therapy as Dr. Crowley. Here’s her card.”

He passes the card, and I stare at it, transfixed. Our fingers rub when we exchange the card. He holds my hand for a moment, and in my mind I mumble,
don’t let go
.

I should say thanks in every language. Instead, I grab his shoulders and pull him in. As soon as we’re against each other, anxiety spins in my mind so I feel delirious. Through the spinning and sick feeling, I hold on tight.

Liam settles his chin in the crook of my neck. I breathe in. And it falls into place. I’m so calm when I’m this close to Liam because it’s him I’m smelling, not the chlorine burning my insides. He really is saving me, even if he thinks he’s doing a less-than-decent job.

I shift so our eyes meet. We’re so close, it’s strange blinking. The freckles I only see up close are there. And his eyes. God, I lose myself in them, so much so that my fingers find their way to the side of his face and brush his skin to feel it. I could swear I’ve hated people touching me ever since He left, but I find I need Liam. My mind and my body need him, even when I think I don’t.

He’s the only person who I feel could probe inside every inch of me and find no surprises. And I need him. Because, despite my talk, I don’t know me and he does.

And I need me back.

Blackness is everywhere. I’ve closed my eyes to drink in his feeling and at the same time he’s kissing me again. I would have pulled back if our first kiss was like this: slow, soft, tender.

And guilt-free.

But I don’t pull back this time. I part my lips and he grabs on to my hips and pulls me close to him. He kisses my bottom lip, then my top, then both.

All too soon, there’s pressure and he’s pushing us apart. More like a jolt. As if he’s remembered something.

Why is he doing this? Am I too late? Of course, this is punishment. I’m trying to repair what damage I’ve done and—

“Kates.” Liam sets his hands on either side of my neck, and I feel safe. “Rochelle told me something. She made me promise not to say anything yet, but . . . ”

“But? What?” I scoot back and my fists are white knuckles, and my muscles are trembling with anger.

“It’s Ella.”

L
iam’s Volkswagen screeches around my street corner. Between grabbing my handbag off the floor at Liam’s and speeding through two red lights, I’m grateful of at least one thing. Liam was kind enough to offer his car, knowing full well I could easily rack up more than one fine on my way.

The “O” of Mom’s mouth is the first thing I see as I rip up the handbrake in my driveway. She’s hunched forward. One hand holds her suitcase, the other reaching for Ella’s Barbie bag. Oh. My. God.

I slam the door so hard she shivers and drops the suitcase. Pointing my finger at the bullseye spot, between her eyebrows, I say, “Put-that-down.” Her fingers remain frozen, and she looks like she’s seen a ghost, despite her cake face of makeup.

“K—Katie.”

“Yes, Hi,” I growl, stomping up my driveway. “It’s your daughter. Katie. And what are you doing? Please, do tell.”

Mom blinks obviously a few times and seems unaware she’s opening her mouth without a voice.

“Please.” I grab Ella’s bag and fling it behind me, where I can protect it. She can keep my useless clothes. I’ll go naked if I have to. “Do tell.”

“Dad and I have discussed this. “We think—”

“What about what Ella’s mother thinks, huh?”

Mom visibly swallows. She stands back and wipes her forearm across her forehead. “This is for the best. Look at you,” she says, holding out a palm. “I’m glad we’ve chosen the right thing. We love you so much. We want the best for Ella and the best for you.”

“You . . . you . . . you . . . ” I keep repeating the words until Mom’s face twists in confusion. I pace back and forward until I formulate a plan.

If I’m stubborn, then my mom’s a rock—unreasonable. I have to find a way past her. I’ll do anything. I promised Liam I’d see that doctor, didn’t I? See? I’m fine. There are no problems. Everyone has bad days. My mom wasn’t close to perfect as a mother raising me.

I’ve grown up knowing I killed my brothers and sisters growing inside her. She reminded me about it often enough.

I shake my head, still pacing.
No.
I’ve tried the attack avenue; it doesn’t work.

I know.

I lick my lips and ruffle back my hair. As I saunter to Mom, her face is wary. She must be wondering why her crazy daughter isn’t stricken with grief, why my shoulders aren’t hunched, why my fists have loosened.

“Mom—” I thrust my hand toward her and bury my face in my other hand. Does this look like I’m ashamed? I don’t know, so I count to five. “It’s been hard. So hard. I’ve been lost without her father. But I’m beginning to find myself again. This weekend, when I went for a drive? I found a clinic, Mom. It’s for mothers and children to reconnect. I was going to ring up their after-hours number tonight to inquire.”

“Oh, um.” Mom rubs her chin. She sighs, slowly letting her body fall against her car. “I’m proud of you. Come here.”

Thank you. Thank you.
I smile so forcefully that my cheeks throb, but I don’t let my lips scowl until I’m pressed into her hair, and our chins are propped over each other’s shoulders. For a stone heart, my mom was easily won over.

“I’m so happy you’ve decided to do this. Hopefully, this’ll mean they’ll still take you without Ella and you’ll come back much sooner than we thought. Maybe Ella will only stay with us for a little while.”

“Whaaat?” I shove her back. Screw the niceties. How dare she play me?

“We’ll still be taking Ella, Katie. Dad and I think you need the time to recover and rehabilitate without her disrupting and stressing you.”

“You do realize you’re the one stressing me? Always have. Always will. I will never
relinquish my daughter to you. Not so you can blame her for all the screw ups you can’t shoulder.”

“Katie!” Mom gasps and strokes my shoulder. “We are doing this for you. For
you
!”

“Stop. Stop, stop.” I chuckle, and hold my chest to ease the laughter. “Don’t drag Dad into this. We both know this is your idea. Now stop playing games and put that suitcase,” I point to the one where she’d stood when I arrived, “back into my spare bedroom. Do
not
touch Ella’s. I’ll get hers. And get the rest of my stuff you packed in your trunk back to my house.”

Mom shakes her head sorrowfully. “Katie, I have the CAT team’s number saved in my phone. I can put your stuff back, but I’ll have to call them to
help
you when I get home.”

Something, similar to electricity, jolts me. Maybe it was an earthquake? My chest halves in capacity and my lungs and heart double in size, so I’m stuffed into this tiny body, when my head, my organs, my reflexes, everything, has expanded. The implication of the CAT team, Crisis Assessment Treatment team, whacks me from under the chin, as if a bodybuilder has wound up his fist and sent me flying across the driveway. My body is here; my thoughts, there. All I’m left with is
This can’t be happening
.

We all know when the CAT team comes, you’re insane and incapable of living by yourself, or caring for others.

My knees give way and my hands scrape along the concrete of the driveway. I’m in pieces, so it shouldn’t be possible I’m whole, even if I’m slumped in a heap.

“Let me help you,” someone says, though it’s quiet, muffled, distant.

Later, the same voice says, “What’s this?”

My thoughts gather after a while. I scan my surroundings, feeling hopeless, drained. “Who are you?”

“Katie. It’s Mom. What is this?”

I push myself upright and Mom helps me onto my feet. I wobble once and she catches me.

“I’m fine. Let go,” I say, hating my weakness.

After rubbing down my sweater and jeans, I realize there’s been no earthquake, no end-of-the-earth. We’re still in my driveway, with Mom taking my daughter away from me. With my power all gone. Nothing I can do to stop her.

In Mom’s hand is the new Elly, slipped out of my handbag.

“Well, that’s the new Elly doll. It was only released two days ago. The shop all the way out in Georgetown had a few left. I asked them to transfer to a closer store and put it aside.”
What does a stupid doll matter now?

“You bought this for her?”

“No. I stole it. A gun-wielding security guard chased me out of the store, but I hid in the bushes until he left.”

“These are sold out. Ella’s been asking for it for three months. Since they announced the new model on the news.”

I thank whoever is on my side. “Well that’s why I made sure I got one. I’d hate for her to be the only girl out of her friends to miss out.”

After a while I look up to Mom’s face, because she hasn’t responded. I’m not sure what I expect, but she’s staring at this doll, as if it’s gold and she’s been mining for this piece her entire life.

“I tried to pre-order online but they couldn’t guarantee I’d get one.”

“Okay,” I say.

“I tried five stores near my house but they ran out.”

“Georgetown doesn’t have new technology, or much of a system. The few they had left were hiding apparently.”

Mom passes the doll to me. Her hands look frail. Her arm is limp.

Maybe I have her wrong. Maybe she’s so screwed up in some ways, but she’s caring in another way after all.

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?” she says, her voice finally piping up.

“I understand why you’re doing this. Things in my mind aren’t always what they should be, things are racing by too fast, and I can’t get a hold. I can’t get past . . . him. I need to. Somehow.”

“Erm, Katie?”

I don’t know where’s she’s going. What else she can take from me. There’s nothing else she can take from me that matters. Hasn’t she done enough? “Yes, Mom. What?”

“I just remembered I need to take Roxy for a vet check.” She checks her watch. “Oh, no,” she says in a flat tone. “It’s in half an hour. I’m going to rush home right now, drop everything I’m doing, and take my dog to the vet.”

What the?

As she weirdly just explained, she struts back to her car in her heels and takes off, smiling and waving at me. Confused, I look around, see if I missed something. Obviously there’s nothing there, but my phone beeps not long after, with a text from Mom saying:

I’m sorry I judged too quickly.

Looking for other clues as to what she means and what just happened, I see the rest of my suitcases are resting just outside the front door. Stumped, I squat, and balance with my fingertips resting on either side of me. Yep, needed the air.

I’m not sure why Mom decided to believe me. She sure seemed shocked I was able to get my hands on a new Elly doll, when even after all her efforts she couldn’t get one. Maybe I just needed a little proof that I’m trying to fit my life back together.

I make a promise to myself. Ella means everything to me. I’ll do everything to win her back. Even if it means splitting open my head and letting the chlorine-ridden Molten Man eat me alive.