Unbroken (3 page)

I wish for the first time, I had someone here with me. Not Daniel, but Lacey maybe. Someone to cut through all this old emotional bullshit, and spell it out for me. It’s just a house. It’s all in the past.

“Juliet?” A trim, redheaded woman comes around the side of the house. She’s wearing a pastel blue suit and a silk blouse, carrying a clipboard and file. She beams at me, perky and upbeat. “I’m Hallie, from Kingston Realty? How was your drive? Did you make it out of the city OK?”

I shake off the memories.
Get it together, Juliet!

“Fine,” I nod, striding forwards to meet her.

“It’s so great to meet you. Thanks so much for coming down.” She shakes my hand, and kisses me on both cheeks. Up close, I can see her hair is an unnatural shade of red, and her teeth are dazzling white veneers.

Definitely not a local.

“The management company has been keeping up with basic yard-work and maintenance,” she starts, leading me around to the side door we always used as a main entrance. “Obviously, there’s some cosmetic work for the new owners to take care of, but that shouldn’t be an issue.”

She pulls out the keys and unlocks, stepping into the kitchen. I follow, and freeze in the doorway. It’s been left untouched: same photos pinned to the fridge, same decorative plates lined up on the wall. It’s like stepping back in time, to four long years ago.

“I know, it’s pretty cluttered.” Hallie sighs, misinterpreting my silence. “All of this will need to go, before we can put it on the market.”

She leads on, into the main hall. The stairs curve upwards, and the living room and dining room branch off on either side. Sunlight falls on the scuffed wooden floors. A clutter of old sandals and shoes line up beneath the coat-rack, a tarnished old mirror propped above the bureau. I half expect my mom to come strolling in, carrying an armful of groceries from the market, and unload to make dinner.

A sudden choke of tears stings in my throat. I have to clench my fists at my side and dig my nails into my palms to keep it back.

Hallie looks around, and makes a tsking noise of disapproval under her breath. “To be honest, I told your father he’d be better off waiting. The market’s rebounding, but prices are still pretty low. With all the new development in town, it would be worth holding off the sale until next year, see how much more you could get.”

“You’d have to talk to him about that.” I answer shortly. “It’s not my choice to sell.”

It wasn’t my choice to interrupt my study schedule and come down here just weeks before finals to pack the place up either, but dad wasn’t about to wait around for something as unimportant as my college education.

“Oh.” Hallie blinks in surprise. “Well, OK. When was the last time you were back here?” Her voice is bright, trying to make small-talk. I know I should just let the question slide, but I can’t dance around it anymore.

“Four years ago,” I reply slowly. “Not since my mom died. Here, in this house.”

Hallie’s eyes widen in horror. “Oh my Lord! I’m so sorry! Nobody told me--”

“It’s fine.” I cut her off, already feeling guilty for putting her on the spot like that.

“What was it…?” Hallie asks, curious. Everyone asks, I’ve found by now. Even when it’s rude, or personal, they still can’t help it. Everyone has to know the reason.

“Cancer.” I tell her. It’s half the truth, at least.

She nods. “I’m so sorry. I keep telling all my friends, go get that mammogram checked!”

I look around at the faded upholstery, and the roses twining around the window. My voice softens. “We got to spend the summer together, at least. She always loved it here.”

That much is true. It’s why I fought so hard against dad’s plan to sell. Mom’s grandparents built it themselves, way back in the Twenties, when they had to barter for the wood and nails. It passed down from generation to generation: prime ocean-front land they kept even when times were tough and they were struggling to put food on the table. Mom loved the history, that sense of connecting to our past. She always talked about us keeping it for our own families, way down the line.

But dad has other plans. He dug the family deep in debt while she was still alive, and once she was gone, it only got worse. I don’t know where it goes—frittered away on fancy dinners with his snobby, old money friends, play-acting at being a sophisticated man about town when really, he’s just a washed-up drunk. He already sold our house in the city; now, the beach house is in his sights.

Carina can’t understand my protests—the will says dad will only get half the proceeds of a sale, the rest split between me and my sister. She’s engaged for the third time, trying her best to keep up with her designer-brand-loving friends, despite the fact she hasn’t worked a real job since college. Who wants a run-down house in the middle of nowhere? she argued. I could use my share to buy a place with Daniel, or get a vacation condo somewhere cooler, like Miami.

Now, I sadly look around at the peeling print wallpaper, and the back porch I used to read on for hours. Cool was never the point.

“So!” Hallie claps her hands together brightly, moving on from all the talk about death and cancer and other non-realty concerns. “Your father said to just throw everything out,” She hands me the keys, and looks around brightly. “You know, you don’t have to do all this yourself. I can just call some guys in to pack it up and cart it away, save you the hassle. There’s a big Goodwill depot a few towns over.”

“No!” I protest loudly, then quickly cover my outburst. “I mean, there might be some things worth saving. Old family mementos. I’d rather look through myself.”

“Absolutely!” Hallie coughs, awkward. “Well, you just call if you need anything. Just call. And give my love to your father,” she adds, with a little giggle. “He was telling me about his book. When is it coming out?”

I sigh. “We’re not sure yet,” I say vaguely. My dad picks up fluttering fans wherever he goes. I guess charm is everything when you’re rotten to the core, like him.

“Oh, well tell him to give me a call, if he’s ever down here.”

“He won’t be.” I answer shortly. “Thanks for the keys, I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

Hallie trips away, unsteady on her heels. I watch through the front window as she climbs into the Lexus and drives away with a wave.

I’m left alone.

I pause a moment in the hall, steeling myself. Suddenly, it’s too quiet, too still. Nothing but the sound of the distant waves lapping up against the shore, and occasional birdsong, and a car engine passing in the distance. Just me here, with all the memories.

With Emerson…

I feel a bubble of familiar panic rise in my chest. I rummage through my purse and find the vial of pills there, small and white and reassuring. I count them out again: one, two, three, four, five.

They’re the last of my prescription, the one I swore I wouldn’t fill again. Daniel and the doctor don’t understand why I want to quit them: as far as they’re concerned, my panic attacks are a simple problem with a simple solution. Meds. But they don’t get the downside, how spaced out and distant the pills make me feel, like there’s a thin wall of water separating me from the world, and every thought or feeling I have is smoothed out and calm.

After my mom died, it was bliss, to finally have a way of shutting off my emotions. With the terrible agony of my grief, losing her and leaving Emerson behind, all I wanted was to be numb. But as the months passed, it started to scare me, how much I needed them just to get through the day. I finally phased out the anti-depressants, but my panic attacks keep coming around. I can never tell when one’s going to hit. I’ll just be walking down the hallway to class, and suddenly, my heart will start thumping, and the world starts to spin. It’s like an iron band is wrapped around my chest, crushing me, and I’m so caught up in the panic, I feel like I’m going to die. Every time.

I figured out ways to manage most attacks before they get out of hand: meditation, and breathing exercises, and visualization stuff. And just having the pills in my purse makes a difference—knowing that if one hits, I can make it stop. But I wish they weren’t such a crutch for me, always there, tempting me with that numbness all over again. I wish I could be done with the meds for good.

This time, I don’t need to open the vial. I force myself to slow my breath, and repeat the mantra I designed to steer me through it.

I’m here. I’m OK. I can get through this.

Slowly, I feel the panic dissolve, until I can hear the distant crash of the waves again, and the call of the gulls circling on the beach.

I’m here. I’m OK.

I look around at the clutter. Better get to work.

I head out to my car and unload: I brought boxes and packing tape, and a carton of extra-thick refuse sacks. I start in the hallway, and work my way into the kitchen, sorting everything into three categories: trash, donate, and keep. It’s tough work, and by the time the light fades outside the window and the sun sets, I’m hot and sweaty and tired, but the kitchen isn’t even half-way packed.

My cellphone rings. Daniel. I put down the packing tape and answer. “Hey babe.”

“Hey, is everything OK?” Daniel sounds concerned. “You said you’d call when you got there.”

“Oh.” I stop. “Shit, I’m sorry, I forgot. I figured I’d just get right into the packing,” I add quickly, like an excuse. “Get it done faster.”

“Oh yeah? How’s it going?”

I look around at the mess of boxes and garbage sacks. “It’s way more work than I figured,” I sigh. “I don’t think I’ll be back by next week. There’s just so much
stuff
!”

Daniel laughs, low and comforting. “I had a feeling. Remember when my Uncle Greg died, and I had to go pack up his office? There was like, twenty years of old newspaper clippings all filed away to sort.”

“Right.” Some of the tension in my chest eases. Daniel understands—he always understands. I picture his brown eyes, and lazy smile; he’s probably sprawled on the couch with a beer by now, his reward after a long day in the law library. “Still, I’m sorry.” I add, biting my lip. “I wanted to be back to study, and you have that first big final next week.”

“It’s OK.” Daniel sounds unconcerned by my delay. “I’ll probably be in the bunker working all weekend. Except, I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” I reply softly.

“Hey, how about I come down and help out?” he suggests. “Two pairs of hands will be faster than one, and I could use the break. I’ve been staring at the same chapters on contract law so long, it’s all a blur.”

“No!” I yelp loudly. “Thanks, I mean, but I have to study too. Here. I figure, with all the peace and quiet, and the ocean….” I’m babbling, I know, but I can’t help the panic that rises in my chest whenever I think about Daniel here, in this town, in this house—my past clashing up against my future. I’ve worked so hard to keep them apart, make it a clean break, that somehow I know him being here would be too much for me to take.

“It’ll just be another few days.” I promise him quickly. “A week, tops. Not even. I’ll pack, and study, be done in no time.”

“Don’t work too hard,” Daniel warns me affectionately. “Or do I have to text you reminders to eat and sleep?”

“No,” I protest. “I can take care of myself!”

“And remember to meditate. You know you get panicky—“

“I know.” I cut him off quickly.

“OK, well take care, call me tomorrow.”

“Love you.” I whisper to him, and hang up, alone in the now-dark room. Despite my protest to Daniel, I realize that he’s right: I haven’t eaten all day. My stomach growls restlessly.

I look around. I brought groceries with me, I could just cook a simple pasta on the stove, or nuke a frozen meal, but then I’d have to sit here to eat it, alone with all these ghosts…

No. I need real food, and more importantly, I need a real drink.

I grab my sweatshirt and my keys, and go.

There’s only one place in town to get a decent drink, or food served past 9pm: Jimmy’s Tavern. I pull into the parking lot, already mostly full with beat-up old pick-up trucks. I find myself nervously scanning the rows for that familiar flash of cherry red. No sign of it.

What did you expect? I scold myself. The way Emerson always drove, he’s probably crashed that truck three times over by now—taking the turns too fast, radio blaring.

His hand resting possessively on my thigh…

I glance in the rearview mirror and let out a whimper. My hair is sticking to my forehead in sweaty strands, and any makeup I had on at the start of the day has long since been wiped away. I pull some lip-gloss from my purse and quickly swipe it on, pulling my hair back into a loose braid, just in case.

Just in case what?

I stop, blinking at my own reflection. This is ridiculous – I can’t creep around town, expecting to find Emerson hiding behind every corner. No matter how shitty things ended between us, it’s been years now, I’m over it. I’m happy off in my new life, with an amazing future, and even more wonderful boyfriend waiting back home for me.

The thought of Daniel is like a cold shower on my nervous emotions. I tug my hair free again, wipe off the lipgloss, and quickly walk through the main doors.