Silent Scream (28 page)

I push the gas and start driving again, unsure what to say.  I could tell her where the ring ended up the last time, but chances are she’s freaked out enough without me adding to it.  So instead of silence, I say, “Let’s hit the Taco Tico on the way to your place.”

“I’m not hungry,” she says in a faraway voice dusted with fatigue.

“Tough.  You passed out, probably from not enough food.  Now you have to suffer from taco indigestion.”

I half expect her to keep arguing.  The old Rachel would have.  Instead, the whole drive back into town she remains as still as a stone and just as quiet.  Even when I coast to the drive-thru window, she doesn’t move.  As I order, I glance at her chest, and judging by its steady rise and fall, she’s said bye-bye this world and gone on to the one where whatever dreams she still has live on. 

I pay and grab the bag before pulling out of the parking lot.  As I drive down Main Street, the only road fronted by buildings sans crosses and bell towers, I notice how worn the buildings have become.  Even new paint slathered on the structures can’t hide the old lumber that’s stood upright too many years.  I can’t help but think of porcelain dental veneers.  They’re the same old eyesores, just disguised to be more politically correct.  Buried under the paint is still the same small town settled by my great-grandfather.  It seems quaint enough at first.  Passersby first notice the children riding bikes up and down the streets and playing hide and seek.  They assume it’s just like every other town.  But if you look hard enough, you realize a subtle discrimination of white fences, white children, white houses, and white letters on signs.  You can paint things however you want.  The sun will still age them.  The rain will still wear at them.  The wind will peel them until the underbelly shows, and eventually white isn’t as pretty as it once was.

I drive to Rachel’s, a two-story wood-frame house with lots of interesting alcoves and nooks.  Ariel had actually picked it out, and the two girls lived together.  Just like there had only been one Ariel, this grey house also stands unique in its moldering neo-gothic shell, with its alcove windows and wooden shingles.

The place gives me the willies.

“Rach, we’re here.” I slip the keys into my pocket and nudge her.  She sits up, her eyes glassy.  “Why don’t we eat inside?”

“Okay.”  She pulls the key from her purse and stumbles toward the house.  She opens the screen door and slips the key into the lock,  fighting with it for a moment before the knob turns.

“Did you have a nice nap?”

She shrugs.  “I seem to fall asleep at the drop of a hat these days.”

I follow her into the foyer and close the door behind me before carrying the food into the kitchen where Rachel is already pulling out plates and glasses.  Setting the bag on the counter, I tug open the fridge, looking for juice or soda.  Although I know she hasn’t been eating much, I didn’t expect to find so many bare white shelves.  Except for a jar of pickles and another of mayonnaise, there is nothing in here —and the rotting tomatoes don’t count.

“I can see why you haven’t been eating these days.  You have so many choices.”

Rachel grins sheepishly and sets the plates on the table.  “Yeah, I know.  I’ve been meaning to do something about it, but I never get around to it.”

“And now I guess we will.  After dinner I’ll take you to the grocery store.”  I grab the glasses and fill them with water.  “I can’t believe I drove all the way back from Virginia just to make sure you’re eating right.”

“That’s not why,” she counters, grabbing the bag of tacos.

“Part of it was.”  I set the glasses on the table and slide into the chair across from hers.

“And the other part?”  She puts two tacos on my plate.

I don’t want to tell her Owens is afraid she’ll leap off the Bluff like Ariel did.  So I don’t.  “Just stuff.”

She unwraps a taco.  “Bull.  I’ve seen the way everybody looks at me, like I’m gonna break or something.  Somebody tracked you down and told you I was going around the bend.”

I, too, unwrap a taco.  “You’re not going around the bend,” I manage, feigning a greater interest in the taco than I have.

“Damned straight I’m not,” she snaps.  “It’s not my fault I’ve seen the ghosts at the Bluff.”

No
, I think, it
probably isn’t.  Grief does a lot of strange things to people, and considering how close Rachel and Ariel were, it doesn’t surprise me she believes she seeing ghosts.
  I take a bite, unsure how to respond even as she openly stares at me, her slender fingers trembling as she eats.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” she demands.

“There’re no such thing as ghosts, Rach,” I finally respond, my voice gravelly from all the things I don’t say.   I believe in ghosts that haunt the human heart, but that’s about it.

Rachel gazes down at her plate.  “I knew you’d say that.”  Her mouth is set in a tight frown, the kind of line that doesn’t bend for laughter.

“How so?” I ask between bites.

“It’s the same thing everyone else says, Matt.  That only leaves the ‘crazy’ option.”

I finish the taco and wad the wrap into a ball.  “You’ve been through hell.  Are you expecting there won’t be moments your life is nuts and feels like the walls are closing in, especially after having lost your sister?  You’re under an incredible amount of stress.”  I unwrap the second taco, carefully avoiding the heavy spots of grease dotting the paper.

She shakes her head in disbelief.  “You’re acting like it’s completely normal to see ghosts.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to see the ghost of a recently deceased relative.”  I reach for my glass and take a sip.  “History is full of accounts like yours.” 

“It’s not just Ariel’s ghost…it’s also the ghosts of the women from the brothel.”  She licks her lips nervously and takes a tentative bite. 

“It doesn’t matter, Rach.”  These words are empty, I know.  But what else can I say?  She’s broken inside, and healing takes time and distance.  “I think given enough time, whatever you’re seeing will go away.”

She shakes her head.  “You don’t understand, Matt.  These ghosts don’t really want me; they’re asking for you.”

I sort through possible explanations, the most likely being exhaustion and dreams.  Besides, I still sense Rachel’s longing for me.  Time and despair might’ve tempered it, but nothing has erased it.  “You’ve not been sleeping at night.  It wouldn’t surprise me if you started seeing the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man, either.”

Leaning back, Rachel glares at me, her bottom lip quivering slightly.  “You think this is funny?”

Not really wanting to meet her gaze, I peer instead at her plate, aware she’s taken only a few bites.  “Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have made a joke, but when you tell me ghosts are asking for me by name, what else can I do?”

“Take me seriously.”  She rises from the table.  “You can show yourself out.”

Unsure what just happened, I stare at her retreating form.  “Hey, I’m sorry I made you mad.”

She keeps walking until she vanishes around the corner, and that’s when I realize how big a mistake I must have made.  This familiar scene pretty much sums up why I’m still professing bachelor status.  I hadn’t known how to respond to Ariel’s rejection of my proposal, either, so I just left to avoid the awkward silences between us.  Now I’ve offended Rachel.  I’m no good at finer conversational points when it matters.  I mean, I want to call Rachel back to dinner because she needs to eat, but I haven’t a clue how to handle her “ghosts.”  Or my own.  I could tell her sometimes it’s just too hard to know people die and we invent ghosts so maybe they never really leave, but I think Rachel would just tell me to keep my crap to myself.

Speaking of leaving, I finish my last taco in two bites and clean  up the dinner table before I lock the front door and get into the
 
Cherokee.  I start for the hotel but find myself driving back to the Bluff.  Maybe it’s foolishness, or perhaps just dumb curiosity, but one thing’s for certain: it’s not about ghosts.  I don’t believe in them.  

I step away from the vehicle.  Even the wind isn’t breathing.  Although lots of trees stand nearby, no birds nestle in the branches, giving new meaning to the word
still
.  Surveying the landscape, I walk to the cliff’s edge and peer down at the rocks below, trying not to imagine Ariel’s body there.  Too late.  It is bent amid the jagged outcrop.  Her long, dark hair flows out around her head, still bobbing in the water.  Although one leg is twisted unnaturally, there is no blood.  For all intents and purposes, she appears to be sleeping, yet this is in my head.  I must have to imagine the scene without blood or pain because only then can I breathe without the catch in my throat, and only then can I believe I can help Rachel without drowning in my own grief.

I blink, and Ariel’s body is gone.  The water laps lazily at the rocks—but it is silent, as though God has muted this land.  Sweat beads on my forehead, and my mind goes back to the last time I came to the Bluff before today.  Ten years ago, Ariel and I had driven out here to share a picnic.  We’d brought a camera and had snapped some shots over by the old foundation blocks before spreading a blanket and the contents of the basket on the ground—a feast of ham sandwiches, potato salad, and Jell-O.

It was a summer day—August fifteenth, to be exact—and although we hadn’t had much rain, the grass still seemed green and soft.  Then again, maybe that was just the effect Ariel had had on me.  I could find blue skies and sunshine amid the worst thunderstorm so long as I knew I’d see Ariel soon.  Between the two of us, we didn’t have a lot of money, especially with me saving up for her wedding ring and paying it off.  That’s where a bit of romance and picnic lunches came in.

“It looks great, Ariel,” I said, kneeling beside her.  “I can’t wait to eat!”

She laughed, her dark curls wildly framing her face.  “Yeah, it’s a real gourmet meal.  At least the Bluff is pretty this time of year.”

“Not as pretty as you.”  I caught her hand.  “Look, Ariel, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.  It’s kind of important.”  With my free hand, I grabbed the ring box and slid it into her hand.

“What’s this?” she asked, opening her palm, each finger drawing back like a flower petal.  At the center, she discovered the navy ring box, and her gaze lifted from the box to my face and then headed back to the box.  With trembling hands, she flipped open the lid, and once she caught sight of it, one hand flew to her mouth.  “Oh, Matt.  You shouldn’t have.”

I squeezed her hand.  “I love you, Ariel.  I always have.  I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy.”  I watched her face, expecting joy, but her expression remained unchanged, and she refused to meet my gaze.  I tried to meet her halfway, leaning over her, but I couldn’t swim in the ocean of her eyes.  “Well, is that a yes?” 

“I love you, too, Matt.”

I stiffened immediately, sensing all my dreams falling at the wayside.  “But?”

“I can’t marry you.”  She closed the box and set it in my open palm.  “I’m sorry.  I really am.”

“Why?  At least tell me that.”  My voice took on an edge I couldn’t soften as I clenched the box and shoved it into my jeans pocket.  “You’ve admitted you love me, so why won’t you say yes?”

“I do love you,” she replied, brushing an errant curl from her face.  “But there are others to think about, not just us.”

Furious, I stood.  “Ariel, this is the rest of our lives I’m talking about.  So what if our decision to get married affects others?  Why do we need their permission?”

“It’s not about permission,” she managed weakly.

“That’s not what you just said.”

Ariel rose and slid her arms around me while resting her face against my back.  “I love you, Matt.  I always have.”

“Just not enough to marry me,” I finished for her, so confused by the way her body holding me seeming to shout love but her words rejecting me at each turn.

“That’s not it,” she insisted, tightening her embrace as though that could convince me of her honest intentions.  “It’s Rachel.”

Clenching my teeth, I loosened her hands and escaped her embrace altogether.  “What does your sister have to do with this?”  I stared out over the cliff, hedging closer just to put some distance between me and Ariel, aware of the stillness around me, broken only by her following my steps.

“Rachel has been crazy about you since the two of you met.  She first mentioned you as the guy she planned to marry.  We met a few days later.”  Despite my proximity to the jagged ground just before the Bluff, Ariel stepped in front of me, her fingers clasping mine.

“It was a crush, Ariel—that’s it.  She’s a good kid, but a kid just the same.  She’ll eventually understand.”

Arching an eyebrow, Ariel stared at me expectantly.  “Oh, you think so?  Just like she got over the wreck that killed Mom and Dad?”  She chewed her bottom lip nervously.  “She needs to feel like her world is stable.  That’s why I can’t marry you.”  She slid one hand beneath my chin and tried to get me to look at her, but I refused.

“What about what we need, Ariel?  Doesn’t that matter?”  I caught her hand and squeezed tightly.  “I want to grow old with you and wake up every day beside you.”  Although I felt the tremors of anger running through me, I didn’t realize I was pressing against Ariel until she started to lose her balance toward the Bluff.  My fingers cinched around hers, and I snapped her body toward mine so I could wrap my arms around her.