The Memory Jar (20 page)

Then
(To Tom)

We went to a wedding once, a two-hour drive from Sterling Creek. A cousin of his—I can't remember her name, to be honest, and maybe it was a little weird that I went along, but this was early in our relationship and we were desperate for time together and horrified at the thought of a weekend apart. It was the first time I'd ever been somewhere with Scott and his whole family. It was the first time I'd ever experienced what it was like to be squished into the car with siblings and two parents and a whole lot of goofy shenanigans. Road trip traditions, fighting over the car stereo, sharing junk food. All new to me.

At the wedding itself, I was shy and awkward, and one of Scott's aunts or whatever came up to us in the church before the ceremony even started and was like, “Oh, and when are
you two
getting married?” and I could feel my face heat up so I knew I was blushing like crazy. Scott squeezed my hand and smiled at her, making some kind of smooth non-answer as he did, but she gave me a wink that said something in secret old-auntie code about girls and nice young men and marrying and probably having a bunch of little children. I've never been the kind of girl who had a princess wedding dream, you know? In fact, I can remember a time when Dani and I went to play at this other little girl's house when we were like eight or nine, and the other girl kept trying to get me to pretend to marry her little brother, who had sticky fingers and no front teeth. The girl had all these pretty dresses and plastic high heels and bouquets of flowers, and she got so mad at Dani and me for not playing that she had her mom call our moms to come and get us early. Anyway, I was sitting there at this wedding, Scott and I holding hands with his thumb tracing little circles on the top of mine, and suddenly I had all these tears in my eyes.

“I hadn't pegged you for the crying-at-weddings type,” he said to me after, the two of us dawdling around the edges of the milling crowd, sneaking little moments of intimacy amid all his relatives. I twirled around so my yellow dress spun in a circle, warm June air on my bare legs, and I felt like I could do anything.

“It wasn't the wedding,” I said, and I wanted to write a poem right then—get down on the ground and chalk it out on the sidewalk, maybe. I felt like the words were so close, but I couldn't say them out loud the way Scott and his brother and sister just fit together, laughing or fighting with each other in a way that was comfortable and nice, even when it got mean or rough. Scott and Joey were like puppies or lion cubs, maybe, rough and tumble, and Emily was this prissy little mother hen always pulling them apart and putting them in headlocks and tugging on their ears, all with the kind of big-sister smile I'd never experienced. “I wish I had a brother or a sister,” I said, and maybe he kind of understood, but then he laughed.

“They're a pain in the ass,” he said. “Do you know how many times I wished I was an only child growing up?”

There were a lot of people with siblings who felt compelled to tell me that fact when they found out I was an only. I guess they imagined my life was filled with peace and quiet, that nobody stole my toys or fought over the remote control or whatever, that these little privileges of solitude would make up for never having an ally, a confidant, even a scapegoat. Someone to share the burden of being the child, someone to make at least half of the mistakes. “Your family is amazing,” I said, and I twirled again. “Even if your aunt made me blush.”

“I'd marry you in a heartbeat,” he said, and he pulled me in for a kiss—right there in front of everyone. A deep kiss, too, so I couldn't help pulling back and checking who was watching, but he took my chin and brought my face around to his again. “We can have a house full of kids, and you can watch them fight all day long. Then we'll see how lovely you think siblings are.”

Now

Tom sits on the footstool and listens, and I'm proud of him for not getting up for his camera to capture his feel-good moment. Scott sleeps, or drifts there a little bit above or below sleep, who can say. I pop one of the dinner mints into my mouth and talk around it. “They had a ton of these little mints on all the tables at the reception, mixed with peanuts. Scott couldn't pass a candy dish without taking a handful, but he hated nuts, so he kept giving them to me.” I can't believe what I'm about to say. “All night long I was eating handfuls of them, and, well, I had an upset stomach on the ride home. I had terrible gas.” I laugh, remembering how mortified I was at the time, trying to hold it in, hoping nobody would guess it was me. “It was so bad in the back of the van that Scott's sister Emily started using these little disinfecting hand wipes to mask the smell, but everyone was too nice to tease me about it.”

“They all blamed it on me,” says Joey, walking in. “And if I recall, you did not correct this assumption.”

“See what I mean about scapegoats?” I say.

Tom laughs. “Only children have to blame the dog.”

“Oh, my mother is too much of a neat freak to have
animals
cluttering up her home.” I make big sad eyes at him and Joey. “It was a sterile, lonely childhood for me.”

“With no one to blame when you farted,” says Tom.

“Maybe you should fart right now,” Joey adds. “Wouldn't it be hilarious if that's the smell that wakes up my brother?” He steps close and does this thing that's supposed to be, like, a joking punch to the shoulder or something, but halfway through it turns into a sort of putting-his-arm-around-me kind of thing? I can't quite tell, but he leaves it there, his hand on my shoulder, and the weight of it feels like a brick.

“Gross,” I say. “It's not like I can fart on demand. I'm not a middle school boy.”

Still smiling, Tom looks around and seems to realize the oddity of his even being here, so far from his camera and still kind of reeling from this weird conversation, from everything. “Well, anyway, uh … I'm still in touch with Terence, and I could forward you all the information I found, if you want.” He gets awkwardly to his feet.

Joey looks up. “Keep me in the loop,” he says. Tom promises to email us both.

“Fucking
Kendall
,” I say. “I don't even want to talk about it anymore.” I squeeze my eyes shut, and Joey tightens his hold on me, pulling me into both of his skinny arms so my face smashes into his canvas jacket. He smells nice, like muscles and loud music, and I know those aren't real smells but it's true anyway. I let him hold me, and he lets me pull myself back together.

“Kendall?” A voice, thick and hoarse.

His
voice. “Scott!”

He's blinking, his eyes all scrunched up like it's way too bright, but they're open and all three of us jump up and push in close, and then Tom runs for a nurse or maybe his camera, and Joey crowds in so we're both hovering over Scott, saying his name, exclaiming and crying. “Scott,
oh my god
. You're awake!”

“I'm thirsty,” he croaks, and his eyes meet mine. “Where is she?”

“I'm here,” I say, and I wipe eyes, my nose, whatever, on my sleeve. I'm a mess, but I'm
here
, oh my god, he's awake. “Do you remember? Do you remember me?”

“Easy,” says Joey, and he reaches for the little swab we've been dabbing Scott's mouth with to keep it from drying out too much. “Let's not overwhelm him.” Scott's face is flushed pink and hot to the touch, and I feel panic creeping into the corners of my joy.

“Water,” says Scott, and he frowns and turns away from the swab, making a face like an angry toddler. “
No.
” His eyes slide closed, and I all but pounce on his chest, my hands trying to pull him up out of the bed.

“Scott!” He's burning up, his heart fluttering away beneath my hands.

“Taylor!” Joey grabs my hands, grapples me again into some kind of a hug/restraint, and I'm fighting him even as
my brain is telling me I'm acting out of control, but Scott can't go back to sleep, he can't go—

“Scott!” Joey tightens his arms around me and I'm sobbing and Scott's eyes are closed as though they never opened, and this can't be the way it happens.

“Did he say ‘Kendall'?” My voice is too high-pitched to be me. “Did he ask for her? Oh my god, oh my god.” I want to kill her. I want to kill him. I want to kill myself. Joey's arms relax but stay wrapped around me, his hand stroking my hair.

“It's okay,” he whispers, right into my ear, and he helps me down into the chair. “It's okay. It means nothing.”

The nurse is there, and two doctors and I guess Scott's parents come in too, but he's sleeping again. The voices are concerned, there's beeping machines, talk of fevers and IVs, and Joey pulls me down the hall and past the family waiting room and into the stairwell to the parking garage, the whole time with one arm still wrapped around me like maybe we're freezing to death or maybe one of us is drowning and working hard to drag the other one under, too.

“What's going to happen?” I say, when the heavy door swings shut and we're finally free of the beeping and the strange freeze-frame of hospital time. “What's happening now?” My voice echoes in the concrete stairwell and I mean everything and nothing, and I don't want an answer, and he pushes me to the wall and I kiss him and he kisses me back but it's not so much kissing as much as it is trying to breathe in and out through someone else's lungs, trying to feel through someone else's heart, and we hold on to each other for what feels like forever and we cling and we kiss and we cry.

“I don't know,” he says at last. “I don't know.”

Then
(To joey)

I was about to break up with him. I almost jumped off a cliff, so you know. I'm all messed up. But I didn't jump, and I called him, and he yelled at me about the baby like that was the only thing about me jumping off a cliff that was important, like I was nothing to him but an incubator.

I shouldn't have gone to the island. I should have told him right away when he got there. I waited by the window that evening for him to come over, and I rehearsed the words I was going to say.
Scott. Listen. This isn't about the baby. This isn't about what happened before. This is about being realistic, and realistically, this isn't working.
That was my speech. I know it's stupid, but so is asking your seventeen-year-old girlfriend to marry you, my god. Is that a rational thing to do? Is it better or worse than promising a baby to a girl with a personality disorder?

He used the island against me, the romance of it but also the isolation of it. I was always at his mercy out there, and it put the balance of power off kilter. I don't know that I realized it at the time, but it was true. I was trapped, and I should have chewed off my own leg, you know? Instead I took that stupid ring and held on to it and got onto the snowmobile.

It's horrible, Joey. I made one demand. And because he was a good guy, and because he felt bad about yelling at me earlier, and who knows, maybe because he felt bad about hiding Kendall from me, Scott let me be in control.
He let me drive.

I remember the sound, and now I don't know how I could ever have forgotten it. It happened so fast. The whine of the engine grew louder and louder and it wasn't me. I lifted my hand and screamed, I wasn't pushing the throttle, and he tried to reach around me, but we were accelerating so fast, the sled skipping across the snow, bouncing and flying, and he swore in my ear and got his hand around at last and pounded his fist on a red button and the engine quit just as we crashed. A crunch. Silence. There was somewhat of a moon, and a dark blue-black sky. There was snow in my eyelashes and the sound of a crunch was stuck in my ears, even though it was silent, so silent, and soft, and I think I fell asleep.

I remember the crunch, and I'm sorry to say that because it was awful and I wish I could stop hearing it. I wish I could never think about it again, but it was loud, and it was unmistakable. The crunch of something breaking, and then silence, and sleep, and that's when the blood fits in. It must have been a dream, my bloody stomach and me dying, and Scott reaching out his hand. That never happened, but I … I wish it had. I was about to break up with him, but I didn't want to kill him. I couldn't get myself to step off a cliff, but I suppose I might have wanted to die, after all.

There was blood in real life, too. There were voices and bright lights shining at me. A man yelling, the stars spinning overhead, and things were confusing for a long time. I kept reaching for him, reaching for the red button, but there was nothing to stop and no one could hear me screaming. More engine whine and a mask over my face and I was about to break up with him but I was wearing his ring.

If I had done it, if I had pulled him aside and said,
Scott. Listen. This isn't about the baby
. If I had refused to let him lure me out the door and onto that stupid snowmobile.
This is about being realistic, and realistically, this isn't working.
It wasn't the worst break-up line in the world. And if I had done it, none of this would have happened. That moment on the snowmobile wouldn't have happened, and that crunch. That crunch should never have happened.

That crunch is my fault.

Now

“This is so messed up,” Joey says for about the fiftieth time. We're sitting in his car, which is running but not moving. My mouth still tastes like his, and my hands are sweating.

This is insane. I fight the queasiness, the pieces of my new memory that are trying to suffocate me. “It was all my fault.” I mean the kiss; I mean the crash. I mean the world.

“I don't know what I was thinking.” He's said that about twenty times. “He didn't look so good, you know.” Eighteen times. “I don't blame you, Taylor.” Fifty. “What else do you remember?” Ten.

“Why would he say
her
name?” I say, and I've lost count on that one.

Joey puts the car in gear, finally, and eases out of the parking spot.

“Where are we going?”

He doesn't answer, but I don't really care, so I sit back and look out the window. It's cold today, and icy, and I can't stop thinking about the crash, the whine, the crunch. I liked it better when I couldn't remember, maybe. My phone buzzes, and I'm scared to look. I haven't gotten any more pictures of chopped-up babies, but that doesn't keep me from cringing every time a text pops up.

It's Dani.
Got a lead on some possibilities for that other thing,
she says. If my mom saw that, she'd think I was doing drugs for sure. I probably should be. I bet Celeste could hook me up. Whine and crunch. And fucking Kendall.

“Do you really think of yourself that way?” he says.

“What?” What way? I stare at Dani's text and wonder if I can go through with it, with that other thing. How weird would it be to walk into a clinic and walk back out with a do-over, a second chance. I feel claustrophobic in this car, in this family. I have the urge to open the door and jump out, to roll through the snowy ditch like I'm in an action flick, jump to my feet and run. Joey drives too fast.

“Do you think you're messed up, like you're broken or something? Did you really try to kill yoursel
f
?” He looks at me too long, too intensely, for someone who's supposed to be driving.

Roll, jump, run. I would kill myself, obviously, jumping from a moving vehicle. I watch the trees flashing past, skeletons standing sentinel. “I don't know what to do.”

“It's not your fault,” he says. “I know I blamed you at first for what happened to my brother. But right now I'm worried about
you
.”

My phone buzzes again.
Wisconsin will do it with any adult relative over 25. Could find someone to pretend. Have to drive to Madison probably. Or could try to get court bypass. Good time to call?

I stare at the message. Is it that simple, then? Grab an older friend, say she's my sister, drive down to Madison or whatever, sign it away. Slight cramping, a little spotting, everything disappears. I've done enough searching around the Internet to have a pretty good idea what I'd be getting myself into, even this court bypass business. The screen goes dark and Dani's message is gone. I'm alone in a car with a huge mistake. Well, two of them, really. “He's awake,” I say, and I touch the screen, bring Dani's text up again. “I can't believe he's awake.”

Can't talk now,
I text back.
Busy having a look at my life, my choices.
It's a joke that isn't. She'll get it.

“Did Tom tell you about Kendall faking her own death?” says Joey. He turns left at the mall, away from the center of town, and I know he's heading toward Grave Lake. What would it take for us to get back out to the island? The snowmobile is gone, but the ice is solid enough for the car by now. The daylight is fading, leaving the sky looking like a washcloth that has seen too many spin cycles, too many mascara stains. “So yeah, the deeper Tom looked into the situation, the weirder it got,” Joey goes on. “One of Kendall's Internet identities, or whatever you call them, ‘died' of uterine cancer. Maybe it was supposed to be her fake sister, I don't know. She made all these cancer friends and then she died and they all donated to a children's cancer charity in her fake name. All of this while posting as other identities, even in the same forum. What the fuck, right?”

“I'm the one who kissed
you
,” I say. We're definitely on the way to Grave Lake now, the long straight stretch through the swamp, desolate and empty. Something in my chest tries to claw its way out via my desperately pounding heart, and I think I could make him turn back if I were to speak up, but an equally powerful desire to see the place again, to remember the ending and put to rest the questions, keeps me silent.

He ignores me. “Can you believe that? Do you think we need a restraining order?”

I'm stuck on the sound of him saying her name, still trapped in the moment he looked into my eyes and asked where she was. Kendall.
Adoption.
I could live with that.
That was one of the slogans from my mystery pro-life texter. As if being alive is the only variable that matters—life at any cost, any quality. “I mean, if we get the cops involved … ” I can get a court bypass. I can pretend she doesn't exist. “I did try to kill myself,” I say. “But I don't think I'm suicidal enough to succeed. I'm just sort of stuck and don't know what to do, and that seemed like a way to make the decisions not matter anymore.”

He slows the car, turns into the road for the public access. “You know, people have kids all the time when they're young, and it's not really the end of the world.” He eases the car down the boat ramp and out onto the lake. “I think we can get pretty close to the island. There's a sort of a road plowed out to the fish houses in the next bay, but we'll have to walk from there. I have an extra hat and a scarf in the back.”

My phone buzzes.
Your life, your choices, are beautiful. CHIN UP!!!!

I barely have time to smile before it buzzes again, but this time it's not Dani.
We NEED 2 talk abt the poss of adoption? PLS!
Followed by another one:
Abortion is MURDER and u will be a MURDERER
. The car bounces across the snowy road, tires spinning here and there on the windswept ice. I hang on to the edge of the seat and dial the last number. Far away, it rings, a hollow sound, until it stops. No message.

In the dim beams of the headlights I can see the square shapes of three or four fish houses clumped together up ahead. Joey drives more carefully now, leaning forward to see where the makeshift road leads. “I'm going to have to park it here, I think,” he says, but
park
is too intentional a word for what happens when the car sort of slides to a stop and the front tires sink into what I hope is deep snow and not a gaping hole in the ice. “Damn it.” He puts the car into reverse and tries to back onto firmer ground, but the tires whine in a way that any Minnesotan can easily recognize as the sound of “Oh shit, we're stuck.”

I pull on my gloves and stick my phone into the zipper pocket on my jacket. At least I'm wearing boots, even though they're not great boots, and my toes are already a tiny bit cold. My jacket has a hood, but it's flimsy.

“It's okay,” Joey says. “Let me take a look at the front end, see if I can get us unstuck.” He points away from the fish houses. “The island is right over there, I'm pretty sure. If we're lucky, the snow will have a good crust, and we can walk right on top.”

I sit in the car for a few minutes, watching Joey poke around in the front. After a while he gets back in, leaving the driver's door ajar. He shifts into reverse and tries to ease the car backward but stops as soon as the tires spin again. “We sank through a layer of half-frozen slush,” he says. “Nasty stuff, but the ice is good underneath. A layer of water on top, so that shit is slippery. Can you drive while I try to push?”

I get out and walk around to the driver's side, but Joey wants to show me the slush, and the tires sitting on glare ice. “You don't want to go hard on the gas,” he says, “or we'll spin out more of this slush and then we'll never get out. Just go easy.”

I shake my head. “I don't know, Joey. What if I accidentally make it worse?” My phone rumbles inside my zipper pocket, and I have another text from the same number.

PLS taylor don't make any decision til i see u we would love the baby like our own! CHOOSE LIFE!!!

“It's Kendall,” I say, and I hold up the phone so Joey can see. “It's been her all along.” Somehow he's become my ally in this even if he doesn't realize it. “Look at this one, Joey, oh my god. She's texting me more
pictures of chopped-up fetuses
, trying to scare me out of having an abortion. That girl is horrifying. She needs help.”

“Abortion?” says Joey, and he takes my phone to look. “Oh god, what is this. Wait. Are you planning … ?” He's trying to hide his distress. “
Our
baby?”

I hold up my hand. Whoa, whoa. “What?” I take my phone back, take a step away. I shouldn't have kissed him. This is getting too weird. “I have a right to make this choice.” The wind slaps at my face and my exposed ears.

Joey zips up his stupid little coat. “I didn't mean it like
our
baby,” he says. The wind tries to drown out his voice, but he talks louder. “But Scott's waking up and we'll find out what's going on and I just meant … well, I told you I'd take care of you. Of you both.” He stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets, and I pull my arms around myself and try to keep all my rage from spinning out of control. “My brother may or may not get better,” he continues, “but I'm here. This baby … do you get it? This baby could be the best thing we have left out of all of this, and you—you're our family, too, Taylor. I want you to understand I'm not a stupid kid, not Scott's reckless little brother, the one who had to go to rehab. I can be better for you.”

I'm shaking my head, but it's so windy—my hair snaps into my eyes, and I can't believe this. “Joey, it doesn't … it doesn't work like that.”

“Why not, though?”

He moves toward me, and I step back again. I feel all this adrenaline, this fight-or-flight feeling. I'm not scared of Joey, but I'm sort of uncomfortable with this level of intensity, you know? I remember Joey's rehab, but it wasn't for drugs—it was like Joey was doing self-destructive things, thrill-seeking or something. I keep backing up, my boots crunching in the snow off the edge of the plowed path.

Joey holds up both hands, palms out. “It's okay. I'm sorry. I'm in love with you. I know that doesn't make sense, not now. You're my brother's girlfriend. His
fiancée
. But I can handle it. Like I said, I'm sorry I kissed you. It wasn't the right thing to do. It wasn't the right time.” He shakes his head, gestures to the car. “Will you please drive while I push, and I'll take you back to the hospital or home or wherever you want to go, and we can talk about it or not, but I just want you to understand that I'm not going anywhere, whatever happens with Scott. I'm here for you, and I'm here for his baby.”

I turn away. “I can't, not yet.” I can't look at him because I'm so embarrassed and so taken aback and so flattered and so unnerved by the way my heart feels when I look in his direction. It's too cold to stand here, and it's too weird to get in the car with him, so I start walking in the direction I think is toward the island. It's not that far. Maybe I can start a fire, like Scott taught me. I remember the thrill of that little structure igniting, and there's at least a part of me that thinks a fire like that could be a sort of magic, you know? To pull Scott back to us, and maybe to push back my guilt, too.

I kissed Joey, but it was just a weird thing that can happen. There are stages to grief, and obviously one of them is completely messed up. I'm sure Celeste could explain it. I keep moving, and it feels good to walk. My legs warm up with the exertion, and the wind is at my back, holding my hood against the back of my head. It's not that cold. I want to see the island. I want to remember.

“Taylor, wait! Let me get you a hat!” I hear his voice, but I don't slow down. I'm fine. Everything's fine, and I don't need Joey to be here for me.