Catch the Light, page 27
She doesn’t bring up Jake again, except when she tells us she’ll be going out on Saturday night. I grit my teeth and Bea hisses like a cat, but underneath I think we are just relieved to know.
* * *
• • •
Every night I try to write my Proust paper, and every night I can’t. I feel better after telling Bea about Dad, but it doesn’t change the fact of forgetting. His smell is gone, his voice is gone. All of the memories have cooled, congealed into something generic. The Dad in my mind just doesn’t ring true anymore.
Thursday night I pull out my box of photographs. I take scissors, and carefully, I cut my dad out of every single one.
I write a note: Ms. Bell, I’m sorry. I can’t write this paper.
Then I put it all in an envelope and seal it shut.
* * *
• • •
On Friday afternoon, Sam, Bea, and Domino storm into my room. I am wallowing in what’s left of Jesse’s smell on my sheets.
“Okay,” Bea says. “Enough is enough.”
“Sam?” I say, confused to see her in my room.
Sam shrugs. “Bea called me.”
Domino lurks in the doorway, actually looking a little shy in jet-blue coveralls with ALEX embroidered on the chest. “Hey,” she says, raising one hand in a half-hearted wave. I give her the stink eye and turn back to Bea.
“Aren’t we grounded?”
“You know I love a loose interpretation of the rules,” she says, shrugging. “And I’m serious. This is getting pathetic.”
“What is?” I ask, as if I don’t know.
The light is already starting to bend, making everyone glow a little. I reach under my bed for my camera, but Bea gives me a look.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “We have a plan.”
“Okay . . .” I say.
“Actually,” Sam says, glancing around the room at the piles of papers and laundry and towers of ice-cream bowls. “Let’s clean up a little while we talk.”
She pulls me to my feet and Bea starts throwing clothes into my hamper. Domino shuffles all the way into my room and sits down on the floor.
“Okay,” I say. “What’s your big plan?”
Bea smooths out a stack of crumpled papers. “We watch for Mom’s light to go out. Wait thirty minutes. Then you sneak her car out of the driveway. Just roll it backward in neutral and keep the lights off until you’re down the street.”
“I’m not going to ask you how you know that, Bea. You’re not even fifteen yet,” I say, adding a mug to a stack of small plates on my desk.
Bea lobs a crumpled paper toward the garbage can.
“You’re the one who can’t figure out how to work the cable. And anyway, it was Sam’s idea. Now, do you want to get the guy or not?” She puts air quotes around the words “get the guy” and feigns barfing.
“Couldn’t I just ask Mom to borrow the car?”
“You could,” Bea says. “But you did use her credit card to fly across the country without asking first. And you blew your college applications.”
“True,” Domino says. And when I give her a look, she says, “What? I think that’s so cool.”
I shake my head, feeling my resolve crumble. “Okay, fine,” I say. “But what do I do when I get there?”
“Sam?” Bea says. “This is not in my wheelhouse.”
“You could bring a giant boom box,” Sam says from inside the closet, where she is organizing my shoes. “Like in that John Cusack movie.”
I frown. “I don’t know if Jesse’s mom would like that.”
“Or throw gravel at his window?”
I pause in the middle of straightening my books. “Hm, maybe. Then what?”
“Just tell him the truth,” Sam says. “Everything.”
“Ugh,” I say, sitting back on my heels.
“Come on,” Bea says. “Don’t be a loser.”
* * *
• • •
Once everyone is gone, I sit at my desk and contemplate the plan. I think about all of the times I’ve messed things up with Jesse, and I’m worried that this gesture, my fumbling words, won’t be enough.
I open my desk drawer and take out a small sleeve of photographs. I’ve been shooting so much black and white lately because of the darkroom, but yesterday these color prints came back, a few rolls of film from the fall.
There’s something I love about looking at photographs that nobody’s ever seen before, not even Jesse. He’s here though: the back of his head, the edge of his shirtsleeve, his little sister’s sticky smile. And there are other photographs too, tree branches, windowsills, things that should be unphotographable like time and loneliness.
Without thinking, I turn a picture over and scribble on the back: I couldn’t photograph the trees.
And then another: I thought I might be disappearing.
I turn over photograph after photograph, writing my thoughts.
I’m afraid.
Sometimes lying is easier than telling the truth.
I wish I’d done everything differently.
I love the curls at the back of your neck.
* * *
• • •
It’s almost midnight when Bea pops her head in my doorway and whispers, “Five minutes.”
I’ve been pacing around my room like an anxious dog in Sam’s mohair sweater, repeating random phrases again and again in my head. I’m sorry. I messed up. Please just listen.
I wait five minutes and then descend the stairs like I’m in Cirque du Soleil, having spent a better part of the afternoon testing which boards were the quietest. I get the strangest thrill as I lift Mom’s keys off the hook next to the back door.
Somehow the trick with Mom’s car actually works, or I think it works because she doesn’t appear on the porch shouting by the time I get to the end of the block. And then I’m free.
The seven miles to Jesse’s house feel like forever tonight because in the excitement of sneaking out, I’ve forgotten my coat. The cold is so cold the insides of my nostrils freeze on the in breath, and I’m shuddering by the time the heat kicks in.
Outside, the world is peaceful. The sky is perfectly clear. The stars and the moon feel far away. A crust of old salt lines the sides of the road in uniform white ruffles.
I turn out my headlights when I get to Jesse’s house and park behind a cluster of giant pine trees. It’s completely dark, except for one light, all the way up at the top.
I could just text him, but I’m afraid of rejection, so I grab a handful of tiny rocks and launch them into the air. They shoot up like sad little fireworks, and I watch them burst against his window and sprinkle back down to earth. In the quiet that follows I realize that I’m shivering again, partly from the wind and partly from my jagged nerves.
I don’t have to wait long before his window slides open and a head of beautiful, dark, unruly hair emerges. I meet Jesse’s quizzical look with a small, quiet wave. The rest of my body is frozen in space and time and temperature, the sleeve of photographs clutched at my side. The window closes again and I pray that he’s coming down because I’ve already made up my mind to wait all night, even if I freeze.
And then the front door opens and Jesse is loping toward me with a bright orange puffy jacket in his arms.
“Are you trying to kill yourself?” he says, half whisper, half shout.
And, yep, he’s still mad at me.
“I just need a minute,” I say.
He pushes the jacket toward me and I slide my arms through the warm sleeves, but I can’t stop shaking. He looks down at me, deciding. I feel every lie on my skin.
“Fine,” he says finally, pulling me around toward the back of the house.
It’s quiet out here in the wintertime. Dark. Nothing stirring. The only sound is the crunch of our shoes in the snow.
When we get to the darkroom, Jesse flips on the light and turns on the space heater, pulls the door closed. And then it’s just us in the warm light, him leaning on one counter and me on the other. I must look ridiculous in this gigantic jacket, in my canvas sneakers and fluffy sweater and meticulously applied makeup. Suddenly this move feels so obvious and over the top.
“So,” Jesse says, cutting through my panic, and I can tell that he’s irritated at having to be the one who starts this whole thing off, seeing as how I was the one to show up begging on his lawn.
“Look,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
This feels like the wrong thing to say.
“You already said that,” Jesse says. His eyes look tired. “A lot of times.”
“But I am,” I say, my voice sounding too loud for the room. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” and then, “Actually, I think maybe I did.”
The admission falls like a piano in a silent movie, shattering everywhere, surprising us both.
He shakes his head, looking at me in disbelief. “Why?”
“I’m a disaster,” I say, digging my hands deep into my pockets. “I try to pretend that I’m not. But I am.” I look around the darkroom with its neat shelves and rows of photographs. “And you are just so good.”
He makes a frustrated sound, uncrossing and recrossing his arms, his ankles. “That’s not fair,” he says.
“You’re right,” I say.
“Stop agreeing with me,” he says, in a voice that must be the Jesse Keller version of yelling, louder and less musical. Anger makes the features of his face feel sharper, somehow even more handsome.
“Okay,” I say, looking down at my hands. I’m messing this up. I can feel it. But I don’t know how to change direction. He’s looking at me like he wishes we’d never even met.
“I’m going to go,” he says, turning toward the door.
“No, wait,” I say, reaching for his sleeve. I need to do something, anything, to get him to stay. So I say, “I saw Bennett in California.”
Jesse stops and his shoulders deflate. He pulls his arm away and leans his head against the door.
“Not like that,” I say. “I told him about you. I ended it.”
I wait for him to respond, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, looking down at his feet.
“I’m sorry I lied,” I say. “But nothing happened between us. Not for a really long time.”
“I know that,” he says, turning back around, tugging on his hair. “Obviously. But you lied. Again and again. Were you even making a portfolio?”
“No,” I say, tears threatening the backs of my eyes. I try to think of a way to explain, but all of my practiced arguments don’t seem to fit. “Everything was falling apart and I didn’t know what to do. My mom was gone and my dad was disappearing and my future felt impossible and I just wanted you. You were the only thing that felt good. You’re my favorite person I’ve ever met.” I grip the edges of the counter, feeling the metal bite into my skin, willing myself not to cry.
Jesse looks up at my eyes and then back down at the floor. He looks wounded, vulnerable. His hands are shaking. “You’re mine,” he says quietly.
Then he seems to gather himself again, looking toward the door and shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “But Jesus, Marigold. What you said in English class, in the hallway. I had no idea about any of it. I felt so foolish.” He shakes his head. “It was like we were in two different relationships.”
“I know it felt like that,” I say. “But it wasn’t. I was there. Everything that I felt was real.”
“But so much of what you said was a lie. I just don’t know how I can trust you again.” His eyes are heavy and tired.
I look into them, willing his mind to change. “You can trust me.”
But he’s already somewhere else. “And then you just disappeared,” he says. “For days.”
“I just—” I say. “I needed to go home.”
“Home,” he says. “Yeah. I get it.”
“Please.” I choke on the word, and the tears are coming now, hot and pathetic. “Don’t give up on me. I hate needing people but I need you. Even if we can’t be together.”
He stands there for a moment without saying anything, eyes fixed on some point above my head. Then I take a step toward him and his body jerks back, like he’s been sleeping, like he’s just waking up. He shakes his head.
“I don’t know,” he says, opening the door.
And then he’s gone. It happens so fast that I almost don’t believe it. I stand there for a minute, trying to calm the gallop of my heartbeat, the shaking of my knees. I have to get back in the car, I think. I have to drive home.
I wait for a long time, until I’m sure he’s not coming back. Then I turn off the heater and the light and I leave my photos in the middle of the counter. And then I close the door behind me. Through the trees, a million stars shine down.
* * *
• • •
The next morning I wake up to an earthquake. For a second I think I must be back in California. But it’s not an earthquake, it’s just Hannah jumping up and down on my bed.
“Surprise, LOSER!”
I bring my arm up to shield my eyes from the sunlight streaming in through the window. I feel like I never want to see the sun again. “Jesus,” I say, my voice scratchy. “You almost gave me a heart attack. How did you get here already?”
“I got a ride back with my friend Zoe. And also, it’s noon.” Hannah reaches down with her fingers, trying to pry my eyes open.
I groan, swatting her hand away. “I was up late.”
“So I heard.”
“Whoops,” comes Bea’s voice from somewhere that I can’t see because my eyes have still not focused yet. I want them both out of my room so I can go back to sleep and stop feeling this ache in my chest that is getting worse by the second.
“Tell me everything,” Hannah says, pulling me upright. I shake my head, catching sight of Jesse’s jacket crumpled up in my chair, suddenly feeling like I’m about to cry. Last night comes somersaulting back in a flood of despair. Hannah squints her eyes and bites her lip, obviously confused. The sunlight glints off of a tiny hoop in her nose.
“Tell me everything what?” And now Mom’s here too, poking her head in the doorway.
“Nothing!” the three of us say in unison. Perfect conspirators.
Mom rolls her eyes as I quickly try to blink back my tears. “Whatever,” she says. “Anyway, I’m making grilled cheese if anyone wants one.”
Bea crosses her arms and sniffs the air. “Are you sure you’re not burning them?”
“Oh shit.” Mom turns and runs out of the room.
“Language!” Bea yells.
“Oh lord,” Hannah says. “This is going to be a long four weeks.” Then she turns back around to where I am trying to disappear under the covers. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head, a few tears leaking out, and she scoots up next to me, throwing her arm over my shoulders. Bea sits down on the other side and then I am all wrapped up in my sisters, which I realize is one of my favorite places to be, even when my heart has fallen out of my body.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Hannah says.
I take a deep breath, trying to let it go. “Not right now. I kind of just want to enjoy the fact that you’re here.”
“Okay,” she says, pulling the three of us even closer together, until I almost can’t breathe.
“Ow!” Bea whines.
“Stop being a baby!” Hannah says, reaching across me to pinch Bea’s leg.
I wiggle out from between the two of them. “We should go rescue Mom from her terrible cooking skills,” I say, grabbing a sweatshirt off the floor. I wipe my face on the back of my hands and follow my sisters downstairs.
* * *
• • •
I somehow manage to make it through the day without being alone again. Which is good because I think if I was, something inside of me might give way and I’d just lie on the floor for days, refusing to talk to anyone.
El brings us on another Christmas adventure, to a craft sale at the Episcopal church, and we buy a bunch of hideous clothespin reindeer and angels made from cinnamon sticks, and then we go home and put them on the bookshelves and windowsills so the house feels a little less haunted.
We watch Elf and make cookies, and even though I’m heartbroken, I feel like this loose piece of me that has been rattling around for the past few months has finally started to settle.
At six o’clock Mom leaves us, wearing makeup and perfume and reminding Hannah that Bea and I are grounded and may not leave the premises under any conditions.
“I’m almost eighteen,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
And Hannah says, “I charge twenty an hour, just so you know.”
Then Bea says, “Don’t forget to use a condom.”
And Mom puts her hand over her eyes and says, “Oh my god, I need to get out of here.”
The three of us sit on the couch, listening to Mom’s car backing out of the driveway, and when the sound of her tires has faded Hannah turns to me and says, “Spill.”
I knew this moment was coming and I’m prepared, having turned all of the delicate little details over and over in my mind until they don’t feel quite so fragile anymore.
But right when I open my mouth to tell her, there’s a knock on the front door, and when I look out the window, Jesse is standing there, the porch light shining down on his head like a halo. He’s wearing his Carhartt hoodie jacket, and my sleeve of photos is peeking out of the pocket.
Hannah and Bea squeal, and I smooth my hair down, wishing I was wearing something cuter than sweatpants. But right then he looks over and sees me through the window. His eyes lock on mine and a smile slowly works its way across his face, leaving me a little bit breathless.
