After Dark (27 page)
When I led him toward the bedroom, Nate stepped into the hall and eyed us warily.
“Everything all right?”
“Fine,” I said.
MATT
On Friday morning, Mike, Hannah, and Nate filed into my study.
They brought chairs and sat.
I grimaced and tossed my book onto the desk.
“I was reading,” I said.
“Well, good morning to you, too,” said Mike. He grinned at me, then at Hannah and Nate. “Surprised you’re home at this hour. Is that new?”
“Quite,” said Nate.
“Sort of…” Hannah flushed and I wanted to laugh. I’d been
home
last night, when, for whatever reason, she’d become determined to have sex. I hadn’t wanted sex in weeks—but Hannah applied her hands and mouth vigorously, and then she rode me like her life depended on it. We came. I fell asleep. Experiment over, I suppose.
But I did grasp her wrists in the heat of pleasure. I did sit upright and meet her gaze and scrape my teeth along her throat. Yes, I enjoyed that feeling, a touch of death, and I missed it.
“I wanted you to see these.” Hannah offered a stack of printed pages to Mike. What were they? I tried to get a look. “It’s a story he and I have been writing. This chapter—”
My hands tightened, nostrils flared.
Everyone looked at me.
Mike said, “You don’t mind if I read this, do you?”
In response, I snatched the pages—Chapter 10 of our untitled novel—crumpled and tossed them on the floor. Hannah laughed. Nate smiled broadly and Mike chuckled.
“The fuck?” I spat. “You look like a bunch of clowns.”
“I’ll give you the gist,” Hannah said. “He has this idea, this belief, ‘deeply held,’ he wrote, that the price of happiness is pain. From what I can gather, he blames the happiness of his early childhood for the loss of his parents.”
I disliked the direction of the conversation.
“Very disordered thinking,” Mike said. “Black-and-white. Typical for him.”
Typical for me?
I felt like a specimen.
I wanted to leave, but for the first time in a while, I also wanted to stay.
“And once, when we were talking about whether or not we wanted children, he said, ‘We have to be careful. We could be too happy.’ Something like that.”
Nate chimed in with some unhelpful bullshit about my childhood.
All three of them began to discuss me openly, encouraging and questioning one another.
“I’m fine,” I snarled into their dumb conversation.
Mike barely glanced at me.
Hannah mentioned Seth, and Nate said, “I’m sure Matt blames himself.”
“He must,” she said. “He probably thinks our engagement and this gorgeous house, all this happiness, somehow relates to Seth’s overdose.”
“That’s a great point.” Mike scribbled notes.
I felt myself rising into the moment, where I had not been for many days. It stung. I wouldn’t be there—couldn’t—in that reality where Seth had died. I couldn’t.
That’s it.
I couldn’t. I told Mike and Hannah and Nate that I couldn’t, and I nearly took the door off its hinges on my way out.
* * *
There was excitement in the house.
No one came to tell me what was happening.
Fucking typical.
No one cared about me anymore.
Nate didn’t drag me out for walks; Hannah didn’t leave muffins and other treats around the kitchen. How long had my brother been staying here anyway? One night, I returned to the house and found them at the dinner table, Hannah and Nate, the happy fucking couple. Hannah quickly set me a place at the head of the table, but Nate said grace.
After that, I had resumed sleeping at the house. In bed, I pulled Hannah against me possessively. I woke tangled around her.
Shrieks of laughter sounded from outside.
I pulled on my standby layer—a rugged navy blue sweater—and went to the window. The afternoon was gray. I wanted Hannah to come read with me, the way we sometimes did. Instead, she was outside with … a white horse? It wore a saddle and bridle and Hannah held the reins from as great a distance as possible. I snorted. What the hell was she doing?
Nate appeared, jogging across the field to the paddock. He climbed over the fence and tossed an apple to Hannah. She fumbled it, let go of the reins, and squealed when the horse lunged at the apple.
Amateurs …
I tugged on socks and sneakers and checked myself in the mirror—not that I cared what I looked like, just to be sure I looked better than Nate. I did, of course. I’d lost a little weight and needed to gain back some muscle, but I was clean-shaven and clear-eyed.
I bounded down the stairs and out toward the paddock.
Hannah and Nate didn’t see me. He sat astride the horse and she stood on a fence rail, holding Nate’s hand and teetering.
“I can’t!” she said.
“Just throw your leg over. Come on.”
Hannah looked delightful. Her long curls were tied back and she wore a wooly red sweater. A burst of color shone on her cheeks. I wanted to bundle her up.
I stalked into the paddock.
They ignored me until I snagged the horse’s bridle and looked it in the face. It was a mare with a subtle crimp of the mane and tail, completely white and too thin.
“Hey Matt,” said Nate, casual as you please. “Tell Hannah to get on this saddle.”
I glanced at Hannah. She smiled shyly at me.
“I bought her,” she said. “Can you believe it?”
I gave her a flat look. “No, I can’t believe it.”
The tack, at least, was very fine—used, but of good quality. The horse had been groomed recently. I smoothed a hand down her leg and she lifted it, making me smile. Clean hooves.
Then I folded my arms and cleared my throat.
I looked at Hannah.
“You don’t know shit about horses,” I said.
She and Nate stared at me. Was I speaking in tongues? They glanced at each other, then Nate started to laugh and Hannah grinned.
“Well, you don’t have to be an asshole about it,” she said.
A smile twisted my lips.
Oh, you’re funny, little bird.
I studied her, assessing, smiling. The red sweater … the lippy attitude. I liked this girl.
Fuck,
I loved her.
I jerked my head at Nate in a gesture that said
get off
. He slid down from the saddle and handed me the reins.
“She’s a … a Saddlebred,” Hannah said. “She’s seven.”
I stroked the horse’s neck.
“Her name is Written in Verse,” Nate said.
“They always are weird,” I said. “Horse names.”
“True,” he said. “You remember Overtime Magic?”
I laughed spontaneously. Overtime Magic had belonged to Aunt Ella. She was an ornery old quarter horse, nothing magic about her and no overtime in her.
“And Razzle-my-Tazzle,” I said.
“Yeah. Seth got a kick out of that one.”
A hot, uncomfortable feeling simmered up my throat, so I gripped the horse’s mane at her withers and swung onto the saddle. My sneakers felt clumsy in the stirrups. She danced sideways and I shortened the reins. Nate gave her cinch a little tug.
“That’s right, he did,” I said, focusing on the horse below me. I was always a good rider, but I was out of practice. Slowly, I found my equilibrium, weight in my heels, my body relaxed.
Written in Verse hugged the fence.
I leaned down and kissed her neck.
“You’re a pretty lady,” I murmured, “but a little too skinny for my liking. We’ll feed you well, don’t worry.”
Hannah shimmied along the fence and laid a hand on my thigh.
“You look good on that horse,” she whispered.
I glanced at her and felt the pull of her.
Her hand on my leg …
God, if Nate wasn’t standing there.
“You look fine on that”—my mouth twitched—“on that fence.”
The corners of her eyes crinkled. She seemed about to laugh, then about to cry.
My God, if everyone would quit crying at me.
I tightened my legs against Written in Verse and she walked on, and I took her around the paddock at a trot. That young horse wanted to run. I knew the feeling.
“I’m going to take her out,” I said, nodding toward the meadow.
Nate frowned. “I’m not sure that’s a good—”
“Go ahead,” Hannah said. She beamed at me and I smiled at her. I remembered these compulsive smiles we used to share, like starstruck idiots.
I urged the white mare out of the paddock and took her up to a gallop. That speed always comes with a thrill of fear. Written in Verse ran smooth and fast. I couldn’t hear anything above her hooves and the rushing wind, which was just the way I wanted it.
When I returned to the paddock, the sun was halfway behind the mountains. Nate sat waiting on the fence. I dismounted and he caught the reins.
“Just because I’m talking,” I said, “doesn’t mean I want to talk about everything.”
“I don’t need you to.” He slid off the fence and I looked sidelong at him.
“Do you need to talk?”
He shook his head.
“I’m going home soon. Tonight I think I’ll go out and buy supplies for this girl.” He patted the horse’s cheek. “I’ll walk her to the barn.”
“I don’t want you to go yet.”
“No?” Nate chuckled. “You’ve seemed ready to see me go for a while.”
“I wasn’t myself. I haven’t been…”
“That’s all right.” Now he patted
my
cheek. “I’ll come back. I need to see my family.”
“I
am
your family.”
“Matt…” He kept one hand around the reins and pulled me in with the other. He brought my face against his shoulder.
I know something about grief. I learned it the hard way, which is the only way. The thing I know is that grief is no feeling—no feeling at all. When it comes, we expect a terrible pain or drawn-out, stinging sorrow. Then we learn that grief is a vacuum. Even tears would be preferable. It is no feeling that comes and comes; it is loss itself.
After a while, Nate told me to go up to the house. He said that Hannah was my family, too, and not to be angry with her about the horse.
I thought about the horse as I walked back. An impulse buy, it seemed. With Nate leaving and Hannah ignorant of horses, I would need to care for the animal, which was no simple task. I wouldn’t sell it, though. I already loved it. Hannah must have known that the moment I saw the horse, I would love it.
And if I didn’t care for it, it would die.
Animals are that simple. They need our care and we love them for needing us. Children are the same.
I stopped midstride, and then I ran.
HANNAH
That evening, Matt returned to the house alone.
I met him in the doorway.
His hair was wind-mussed and he was panting.
“Where’s Nate?” I said, looking him over.
“Taking the horse to the barn. He said he’s going to buy some things for her. He said he’s leaving soon. Did you know that?”
I gazed dumbly at Matt’s mouth as it moved. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this—an abrupt return to clarity and full sentences.
“Are you … okay?”
“I’m not angry about the horse. I like the horse. Hannah, what—Chrissy, the baby…”
“Come in, come on.” I closed the door and led him to the great room. He refused to settle on the couch. I sat while he paced. “What do you want to know?”
“Is Chrissy … all right?”
I nodded quickly. Matt’s energy was contagious. I wondered if this was phase two of a protracted breakdown—some kind of mania.
“She’s fine. I mean”—I searched my memory—“we spoke … a couple times on the phone. After, uh … she moved back home. She’s back with our parents.”
I watched the color drain from Matt’s face.
“Out of the condo? That nice condo?”
“Well, S—” I bit my tongue.
Seth didn’t leave Chrissy anything.
But that wasn’t Seth’s fault. He didn’t know death was right around the corner. “She can’t afford that place.”
“We can. She can stay, for God’s sake.”
“No, love…” I smiled softly. Matt was concerned for my sister? Strange, but touching. “It’s more than the money. She needs people right now, family. The condo isn’t good for her. Isolation isn’t good. It’s been … hard for her.”
“Okay.” He dragged his hands through his hair. “The baby?”
I shrugged. I did
not
want to be having this heavy conversation. Any one of these topics—Seth, Chrissy, children—could send Matt back into a tailspin. And God, it was heaven to have him here and communicative and engaged with the real world.
I stopped his pacing with a hug.
“Baby, are you hungry? Do you want dinner?”
“Not at all.” He squeezed me, his voice thin. “Please. Is she still pregnant?”
I stared up into his wide eyes. Was
that
the problem here?
“Yeah, she is. For now.”
“For now?”
“She doesn’t know what she wants anymore.” I stroked his cheek. “She’s twenty-two weeks this week, so she could still—”
“Don’t.” He pulled away from me. “Don’t say it. I get it.” His gaze panned rapidly around the room. “Right. She only wanted the kid to get to him.”
I’d had the very same thought about my sister, but when I heard it from Matt, spoken with such contempt, protectiveness reared inside me.
“Hey, you don’t know that. She’s going through her own issues, okay?”
“No. It’s not okay. You don’t understand.” He hurried to the window and looked out in the direction of the paddock. “If she does that, I will never be okay. I’ll do anything she wants. It’s not just some child. It’s my brother’s child, and my brother is dead.” His eyes snapped to mine. “Get her on the phone.”
* * *
Matt locked himself in the study with my cell.
He spoke in a low, continuous murmur. Not once did he raise his voice. And that sucked, because I couldn’t hear a damn thing he was saying.
I hovered outside the door until I heard Nate returning.
With a sigh, I descended the stairs.
“Everything okay?” Nate said. A long receipt dangled from his hand.
“Uh, sort of. What’s all that?”