Silence (21 page)

The looks on both of their faces say that I’ve surprised them. I’ve never spoken to my parents like this. And as I look at them, my words resonate with me. It’s true. I’m not the same girl anymore. And not just because I can’t hear anything. The accident has changed me. Hayden has changed me. I see more, feel more, maybe even understand myself more than before.

“I love him.”

I told them before telling him. But right now, it matters. They need to know what he means to me. So I say it out loud. Even though I can’t hear it. I say it. Mom doesn’t look surprised. She already knew. Maybe before I did.

But Dad. He’s another story. His face turns a deeper shade of red. But he doesn’t say anything or write anything. He just stands there, speechless.

Mom puts her arm around me and hugs me close to her. I breathe in deep and relax against her. I close my eyes, wishing this were all over. But when I open them again, Dad is still here. He hands me the phone.

I still don’t approve. But I will think about it. For the next few days, no Hayden. Then we’ll talk.

Truthfully, it’s more than I hoped. The dad I know never changes his mind. But a couple of days is too long to be separated from Hayden. Our seventeen days are not up yet.

I want to argue more. To convince Dad.

I look at Mom. She smiles and nods. It’s going to be okay, she says with her eyes. I almost believe her.

I agree to go with Dad to his office picnic. Emerson is ready, but she has been hiding this whole time. I find her in the kitchen, munching apples and licking peanut butter from a spoon.

“Thanks for all the support,” I say sarcastically.

She shrugs. She doesn’t need to answer. I already know that this is her way. She avoids conflict at all costs.

“Let’s go,” I tell her.

Then Emerson surprises me. She reaches out and embraces me. And for a split second, we are sisters again, bound together by blood and history. And by the experiences no one but she and I will ever understand.

“Thanks,” I say.

She takes me by the hand, and we head outside to climb into Dad’s car. I look out the window at Mom as we drive away. She is standing in the open doorway. For a minute, I can sense her conflicting emotions. Sadness, loss and something else. I watch from the window as she turns back into the house and closes the door.

And then I brace myself for the next two hours of Dad’s colleagues and their families. Sometimes it is nice not to be able to hear anything at all.

Walls that crumble

— 
Hayden
 —

I
can’t spend the next few days with you. I wish I could, but I can’t. It’s my dad, and it’s complicated. Or not really complicated, just really unfair. He’s got these rules. In a few days, everything will be back the way it was. I hope.

I’m sorry.

I read her message over and over again, wondering if it’s true, or just an excuse. She reached out to me, asked me to trust her—and I pushed her away.

I have never told my story to anyone, not even Gramps.

And as much as I want to trust Stella, my instinct tells me not to. It tells me to protect myself, to keep my secrets safe where they can’t hurt me more than they already have.

I’m used to disappointment, so when I read her words, I imagine the worst. I see other words instead.

I can’t do this anymore. You have this wall up, and you won’t let me in. You won’t trust me, even though you’ve asked me to trust you. Maybe after a few days of not seeing each other, we can step back.

I write her back.

I’m sorry too. Sorry things ended the way they did today. I didn’t mean for it to be like that. I want to tell you. All of it. But I can’t.

Stella must be sitting next to her phone. She writes me back immediately.

“Can’t” and “won’t” are two different things. But it doesn’t matter. You’ll tell me when you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere.

It’s the last sentence that breaks down the wall, leaving my chest open and exposed, wounds raw even after all these years. They might be healed by her. And maybe that’s the reason for our twined destinies—healing, for her and for me. I have given her something, and she wants to give me something back. A salve for my open wounds. If only I could take that first step and speak the words.

If only . . .

8

— 
Stella
 —

I cry myself to sleep the same way I did when I found out my parents were splitting up. My sleep is restless. Bits and pieces of nightmares jar me into semi-consciousness like someone is pinching me. Keeping me awake when all I want is to sleep. To escape into that quiet place where everything is exactly the way I want it to be.

I roll over. I bury my head in the pillow, and try to forget. But the nightmares continue.

A fog. I can’t see anything. I am running. Away from something. I slam into a giant boulder. It slices my head open. Hot, sticky blood runs down my face like crimson tears.

I stumble. Confused. Disoriented. Blinded by pain. Fall into a bottomless lake. Black water sucks me in. Pulling me down. Deeper and deeper. I can’t breathe. My lungs burn. I don’t want to open my mouth. Don’t want to let the blackness in. I clamp it shut, clenching my jaw. So the water seeps into my ears. Filling them. Weighing me down like a sandbag from within.

I shake my head to keep it out. But it’s too late. My mouth opens to scream. And the darkness envelops me. Until I am no more.

I wake. Shaking. Soaked with sweat. Sobbing.

Mom rushes into my room. I must have been screaming. She pulls me against her. Cradles me in her arms and rocks me back and forth. I let her hold me, needing to forget. To chase the nightmare away with reality.

Mom releases me. Takes the pad and pencil next to my bed. Writes.

I’m here. I’m always here. I know you must be angry with me for letting your dad make rules in our house. But I have to at least try to co-parent with him. Just lie low for a few days while this blows over. Your dad is right about one thing. You have been spending too much time with Hayden. What seems like love when you are 15 won’t seem that way later. What about Lily or your other friends? Why don’t you see them instead?

“I don’t have any other friends. Lily’s changed.” Correction:
I’ve
changed. And I’m not ready to talk to Mom about love. How she doesn’t understand that the way I feel for Hayden will never ever change. Whether I am fifteen or fifty.

But her heart has been broken, so there’s no sense trying to convince her. The only way to make her see would be to bring up things that would hurt her. Things that would remind her of my dad. What he did to her. To us.

Mom writes again.
What about all of those kids in drama?

Kace Maxwell. He’s a friend, I guess. But he asked me out on a date. According to Dad, that’s off-limits. Quinn hates me. That leaves me with exactly no one.

I shake my head.

I’m sorry,
she writes.

Sorry doesn’t help me much. Sorry is just a word.

Suddenly, I’m exhausted. Whether I am really tired or just sick of this subject, I don’t know. But I can barely keep my eyes open. Mom must notice, because she stands. Tucks me beneath the blue-and-white-checkered sheets. Kisses me on the top of my head like she used to when I was little.

When I wake again, the sun is shining. Today is Easter Sunday. Mom has chocolates for us. Little bunnies and eggs wrapped in pastel foil.

I help make tomato and jack cheese omelets. Then I wake Emerson with a plate of cinnamon rolls. She grins and dives for the plate. I hold it just out of reach, teasing her. She chases me around the room. And for a few moments, I forget about everything.

Mom has hidden plastic eggs in the yard for us to find. We’re too old for these games, but we pretend to love it for her sake. Plus, the eggs are stuffed with jelly beans and chocolate. We’ll never be too old for those. So we race around the yard in our pajamas, pushing each other out of the way when we spot an egg we both want. Laughing until our sides hurt.

Later, we go to church. We always get new dresses for Easter. Floral or pastel flowing dresses that make us spin in front of the mirror. Today, I spin a few extra times. Because Hayden may be at church. Dad said I couldn’t go out with him. But he can’t keep me from running into Hayden at church.

My dress is pale blue with a white lace overlay. It has a blue ribbon at the waist. I tie it on the side. Then I twist sections of my hair from the front and pull them back, off my face. I leave the rest of my hair down.

We meet in the foyer. Emerson’s dress is yellow with white polka dots. She has left her hair down with a silver headband. Mom wears a white dress and tan cardigan. We look like one of those commercials for spring dresses.

Church is crowded. Every seat is taken. People spill out the open doors. Little girls dressed like princesses carry little white baskets and stuffed bunnies. Boys pull at collared shirts and vests, looking uncomfortable.

Hayden isn’t here. I look for him during the service. And afterward, at the coffee and donut table. He isn’t there, either. My stomach drops with disappointment. There are two other services today. He must be going to one of the others. All I wanted was to see him, if just for a few moments. With five days off of school for spring break, I won’t have a chance to see him during school lunch, either.

We walk to the car. “You can sit in front today,” I tell Emerson. “I’m kind of tired.” It’s not a total lie. I am suddenly really, really tired. Emerson is thrilled to ride shotgun. As the oldest, I am usually in the front seat. But I don’t want Mom to see the tears welling in my eyes. The sag in my shoulders. Or the silent sobs that follow.

I check my phone every half hour. No message from Hayden. I finally break down and send him one.

Happy Easter. Hope u have a gr8 day! :)

I watch Emerson practice a routine for cheerleading tryouts. Emerson explains that the junior varsity squad tries out later than varsity, so the new cheerleaders can mentor the younger ones. I guess I should be happy that Lily wants to mentor my little sister. But it still gives me twinges. I smile at Emerson and clap for her when she does a spunky routine.

Emerson finishes with a series of jumps and then a perfect back flip. I give her a standing ovation. Not thinking about Lily now. Just Emerson.

Mom comes outside to see the routine. I stay and watch a second time. “You’ll make the team for sure,” I tell her. “I just know it!”

Emerson runs over and hugs us both at the same time. We’re the three musketeers.

Then Mom hands me a pair of gloves and garden shears. She sets my vase on the garden path before moving into the garden with her own gloves and shears.

She wants me to fill the vase with flowers. I breathe deep, inhaling the scent of roses and lavender.

Then I start choosing flowers. I cut a yellow rose just beginning to bloom. I add sprigs of lavender and a bunch of pink peonies. One single white daisy with a yellow center. I arrange the flowers so the daisy is the centerpiece.

By the time Mom comes to check on me, I am finished. I hold up the vase for her to see. She nods her approval. Warmth spreads from her smile to mine.

I spend the next couple of hours side by side with my mother. We pull weeds, tie back roses and drag the hose around. I like watching the water slowly trickle from the hose into the flowerbed. Turning the brown soil black. Drenching it.

I forget for a while. Forget Hayden. Forget Lily. Forget everything. It feels good not to think. I just feel—the sun on my shoulders, the dirt underneath my hands, the ache in my legs from kneeling, the calm in my heart.

Later, we sit together on the sofa and watch cooking shows. It’s easy to understand them without hearing or reading captions. Emerson makes a bowl of popcorn, and I empty our Easter candy into the bowl. The chocolate melts into the buttery popcorn and makes a tasty mess.

I keep my phone on the coffee table in front of us. I keep looking at it. Finally, at dinnertime, he responds.

Hope you have a great day, too.

Then nothing.

I can’t blame him. When I think of things from his perspective, I even understand it. I am hollowed out, like one of the chocolate foil eggs. A shell on the outside. Empty on the inside.

I stay awake in front of the television. Afraid to go to sleep and revisit my nightmares. I wrap myself in a blanket, watch infomercials until I can’t prop my eyes open anymore. And I fall into a dark, dreamless sleep.

Being in the moment

— 
Hayden
 —

With no hope of seeing Stella for the next few days, I pick up extra shifts at the nursery. There’s nothing worse than sitting around—I’d rather be moving, working, sweating. I show up at 6 a.m. to unload shipments from the truck.

Yesterday, I needed to find something else to keep myself busy. So I helped Gramps clean out his studio—tearing down clay models that have been turned into bronze, recycling the clay, sweeping the floor, wiping the tables. We stopped only to go to church, the last service of the day. I didn’t want to see Stella—too painful. Gramps didn’t ask any questions and didn’t pry. But he watched me, and I know he realizes something’s wrong. He’s waiting for me to share it with him, but I’m not ready.

I work at the nursery from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m., with only a short break to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I move bags of sod, rearrange rose plants, water everything twice. Today, Jeremiah needs my help with customers. Sunny days bring crowds—good weather is like a banner that advertises planting and growing things. So today I load cars with fruit trees, carry flats of flowers to trucks, help people fit tall houseplants in their cars. I smile and nod, do as I’m told. I don’t speak once all day. It’s better that way, like I’m in a bubble—my own silent world.