Social Lives (29 page)

She was in another place now, a place so familiar, it had returned without the slightest conscious effort. The transformation was seamless. The fear was gone. She had been here before, in the presence of human unraveling, in the face of total breakdown, and she knew what had to be done.

“You're okay, David. You're safe,” Jacks said, running the cloth over his forehead then the side of his face.

He met her eyes again, and this time she saw it. It was exactly the way she remembered it, exactly the same as it had appeared on her father so many years before. Like a medical disease that could be photographed and documented for future students to identify, he had the look of mental departure, the distinct external appearance that was in the eyes—the way they widened softly into hollow holes. The rest of the face was blank, like the face of the dead, lacking the urgency of fear, the uplifting of joy. The message was sent through the eyes alone, a plea for help that screamed silently from the hollow spaces.

She finished wiping his face, helping the blood to flow to arouse his senses. Then she placed the cloth on the side of the tub and climbed inside behind him, wrapping her arms and legs around his body. She rested her chin on his shoulder so he could feel her face against his, so he could hear her whisper over and over, “You're okay.”

There was a time when she had been on the other side of this porcelain wall, watching and learning. Kelly had been the one inside, holding their father like she was his mother, or his wife perhaps, but certainly not his daughter. It was far too intimate a procedure to be appropriate for a daughter, and yet boundaries such as those had concerned them little when their father was the one with the hollow holes. Thinking back now as a wife holding her husband this way, Jacks imagined that Kelly had learned this from their mother before she left and, as a little girl then, had absorbed it the same way she had absorbed other information—like putting ice on a bumped head, or a Band-Aid on a scraped knee. There were things that happened and the things that needed to be done to fix them.

From their mother to Kelly, from Kelly to Jacks, the procedures for
managing a disturbed mind had been passed along like a pie recipe. And now, here she was again. Only this was not their father.

She felt him start to break, and she squeezed harder. He would cry now, releasing the energy that his body had manufactured to hold him so still, so silent in this place. He would cry for a long time and come back slowly to reality and the reasons that had started all of this. He would see them again and know that they were not the immediate threat his mind had woven them into, sending him into the state of mental shutdown. He would think about them again in a rational way, attempt to solve them and, undoubtedly, convince himself there was a way out that he could actually live with. And then he would return to normal. He would say things like
I don't know what got into me!
And they might even laugh about it as they enjoyed a meal together with the girls.

That was what was coming, and it was the only part about any of this that had Jacks terrified. Putting away the memories of her father, she was now remembering her own husband over the past two decades. There had never been anything like this. But there had been moments, small disconnects from the world that had sent him into milder forms of shutdown. Always following some event at work—a market downturn, a shake-up of management that threatened his job—these short-lived spells had altered him. He would withdraw from the family. His temper would flare, and this was so unlike him. He would decline social engagements, refuse calls from his parents, his sister. Jacks would say he was ill, some virus. The flu. A pulled muscle from a brutal squash match.

What did it matter? There was always a reason, and this was what had fooled her. She could see that now. It was the ability to identify a trigger that had made her blind to the truth. Her father's breakdowns had always seemed random. But then again, what did they know? As little children, they were not privy to the details of his life.

She felt David's tears on her arms, his body shaking with the release of the cry that was so intense it was silent but for the gasps of air that came and went. This was the worst he had ever been. This was the only time it had been this clear, and yet she could see now all those other spells and the pattern they formed. It was then she felt her own tears return. For all the convincing she had done over the years, all the efforts she made to stop history in its tracks, in the end, Kelly had been right. People do seek out their past.
She must have felt it radiating from deep within him, because the attraction to David Halstead had been instantaneous and powerful. And though nothing about him had given it away, the truth was here now in the broken man she held in her arms.

After all the steps she had taken to prevent this, she could not deny it for one second more. She had married her father.

 

 

 

 

 

“M
AKE THAT TWO
,” A
MANDA
said over Cait's shoulder.

School was done, finished for eighteen days. They had faced final exams in four subjects, concluded the squash season with a second-place finish in the regional division, and endured the mandatory holiday concert in which they sang “holiday” songs about dreidels and Santa, with no mention of anyone's god. This was the night, the last night that they would all still be in town before the private jets fueled up and whisked them here and there for family reunions and vacations. Cait was staying put until the day after Christmas, but Amanda was leaving the next morning for Colorado and would not return until after the new year, making this Cait's last night to have a social life. With skillful precision, Amanda had remained Cait's gatekeeper to the rest of the circle of friends, and without her, Cait would be shut out entirely.

“Make mine skim,” Amanda ordered to the Starbucks barista. Then she turned to Cait. “Fucking Colorado. Just shoot me now.”

Cait grabbed the white paper cups loaded with sugar-free chocolate, sugar-free whipped cream, and the slightest hint of coffee and followed Amanda to the tables in the back, where a dozen of their peers had gathered. “No one's around anyway. It'll be dead. I already feel like a loser.”

“I thought you were going to West Palm?”

They sat down on the arms of oversized chairs, which were already overflowing with plaid-kilted bodies.

“Not until after Christmas. I'm here for a week.”

Amanda took a sip of her drink, then ran her tongue over her lips to remove the whipped cream that had gathered. “I know someone who'll be here,” she said, winking.

“Who?” Cait could feel the energy just from the way Amanda had said those words, and her hopes were confirmed as she followed Amanda's eyes toward the long line of customers waiting to order their bar drinks. It was there she spotted Kyle Conrad.

“Kyle?”

Amanda leaned in and whispered. “I heard they're in town the
whole
vacation.”

Cait raised her eyebrows. “All of it?”

Amanda nodded, and they shared a look of silent understanding. No one stayed in Wilshire for the whole break unless they were unable to afford a trip. That was a given, and it made sticking around somewhat humiliating. That the Conrads were in such a position meant they were in a tight spot. A very tight spot.

Maybe that's why he was here, alone and headed toward them. But Cait didn't care about reasons, only that he was, in fact, here and that her head was now spinning with the kind of euphoria she knew was going to get her into trouble.

“Hey,” he said to the small crowd. It was mixed tonight, some ninth-graders, some tenth. Kyle was one of only three juniors, and his presence was instantly recognized.

“What's up?” he asked.

He took a seat across from them on one of the bar stools, and this seemed entirely appropriate to Cait, that he remain above them all. Whatever it was he had over her, it was determined, and she was not fighting it tonight. She pretended not to notice him as the conversations carried on. From one topic to the next, there were loud bursts of raucous teenage laughter, the occasional spattering of the word
fuck
, and exaggerated hand iterations—all of which were meant to draw attention and differentiate the young, irreverent free spirits from the older folks who came into Starbucks for a legitimate caffeine fix.

It lasted over an hour before small groups began to disperse. Some were walking down the street to catch a movie. Others were heading home to pack. Those who couldn't drive were at the whim of those who could, and so when Amanda's ride decided it was time to leave, Cait had no choice but to get up and follow.

But that was not the end of it.

“Hey, wait up.” It was Kyle, and he was actually racing to catch them at the door.

Amanda smiled. “Hey.”

Kyle ignored her. Turning to Cait, he gave her that look—the one she'd seen the night of the school dance. The one she'd seen since but never directed at her.

“I'm headed out your way. Need a ride?”

“Headed out to the backcountry?” Amanda was suspicious and not about to let Cait have her moment.

“Yeah. I am.” And that was all he said. He didn't owe Amanda any explanations, and Cait didn't want one. There was no reason for him to be going near her estate except to drive her, and the thought of that felt like Christmas was coming early.

“That would be great. Thanks!” Cait said. She felt suddenly right, like everything she had done and said and thought for weeks was paying off. Every look, every word, even tonight, staying in her seat and avoiding him, it had all come together and
worked
! She had known all along. No, that was a lie. She had hoped and prayed and fought to convince herself that this part of her that believed was actually right. Now it seemed she hadn't been crazy after all.

She hugged Amanda quickly, saying the necessary good-byes as she trailed behind Kyle toward the car that was a frequent prop in her daydreams. Flipping her long blond hair, the smile stuck on her face, she climbed in and threw her backpack on the floor.

Kyle turned on the car. “It's fucking cold!” he said, shivering with a slight laugh as he adjusted the heat. Then he turned on some music. “Is that okay?” he asked.

Cait nodded. It was more than okay. It was perfect.

They pulled out of the Starbucks lot and began to drive north, away from town where the night seemed darker. Kyle asked about her exams, her
vacation plans, and what they should do to kill the time. He asked like he cared, and he listened when she answered.

“You should totally have a party when they're away,” he said.

Cait nodded and smiled. “Is anyone even around? It's right before Christmas.”

He turned then and looked her dead in the eye. “I'm around.”

Blood rushed into her cheeks as she smiled back. Had she stopped smiling this whole time? Fifteen minutes was a long time to smile, and her face was actually beginning to hurt.

“Well—think about it and send me a text. Do you have the number?”

Cait shook her head.

“Here,” Kyle said, handing her his BlackBerry.

She got out her cell phone and entered his number. This was happening. It was
really
happening.

They got to her driveway and he drove in.

“Go left at the fork,” Cait said, pointing ahead. “I go in through the service entrance.” It was a lie, but there would be some privacy there. They could park for hours and no one would notice them.

“So, here we are,” Kyle said. He put the car in park, but left it running with the music and the heat. Then he flicked off the lights. “You know—I never got to say sorry for that night. I kinda left you without a ride.”

Cait blushed again. “It was fine. I got home.”

Kyle shook his head. “No. Don't make excuses. It was a shit-head move, and Doug can be a prick.”

Cait was suddenly grateful that he hadn't heard a thing about Doug and the ride home. “It was fine. He was pretty high, but we made it.”

“Good. Okay. Anyway, I've been so stressed out. I've got Mr. Vointer for English. You know,
the Bear
? He's such a hard-ass, and this is the year . . . you know, for grades.”

“Why do they call him the Bear?” Cait's face was shaking. They were having an actual conversation, and Kyle was letting her in—into his thoughts, his world. She was nervous and giddy and scared out of her mind.

“I guess he has a really hairy back. I've never seen it, but that's what they say. He's been a legend for, like, generations. Anyway,” Kyle said before looking down awkwardly. It was an odd expression for his face, for his entire persona, but he managed to pull it off, and Cait found it endearing. When
he looked up again, he reached for her the way he had that night, his hand running along the side of her face then through her hair. She leaned into it softly and closed her eyes. Nothing could feel this good. Nothing.