Between Seasons (23 page)

“I mean I’m thinking about ways to off myself.”

He turned to her, eyebrows knitted together. “Yeah, that’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

He rolled onto his hip, staring. She couldn’t possibly be saying this. They’d talked quite a bit about how much dying had screwed Patrick up, how the uncertainty ate at him.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

She smiled and held up her index finger. “Pills seem to be the easiest thing. Just taking a bunch and falling asleep.” Another finger. “Wrist slitting is out because I’m kind of a big wuss about pain. And I don’t think I’ve got it in me to hang myself.”

He grabbed her fingers, probably too tightly, but he was too pissed off and worried to care. “Uh uh. No. There is no way.”

“Well, I’m not going back to the institution, and I’m not leaving you.”

“You have no idea what you’re saying, Sara. This is serious. Do you think I would have
chosen
to die?” Hell , he hadn’t even wanted to join the stupid Army because he was sure he’d get his head blown off.

“Well, no, of course not, but that’s not the p–”

“That
is
the point! And you know what else is the point? There are no guarantees you’d be here with me. I don’t know how any of this works! Not to mention that if you kill yourself, you might go to Purgatory.”

Sara laughed. “I still think it’s funny you buy into that stuff after all these years.”

“What stuff?”

“All the Catholic dogma. God hasn’t done a thing for you, but you still believe in Heaven and Hell and all that.”

“It’s more than dogma,” Patrick said, voice cold and snipped. “And whether I believe it or think God hasn’t had a hand in all of this isn’t the issue. Don’t you dare kill yourself! Your soul could suffer for an eternity before you’re purified enough to be accepted to Heaven .”

He cringed as he thought of those same words coming out of Father Thomas’ mouth. At the time he hadn’t thought much about it, but he’d considered he might be there – in Purgatory –himself a million times. He’d certainly felt tormented over the years but never more than right in th at instant. Whether Sara went to Purgatory or died and was reincarnated into a cricket, he didn’t want that for her. Not yet.

Maybe this was what he’d been denied Heaven for – to keep Sara from making a big mistake. That didn’t make any sense, though. I f not for him, she wouldn’t have been in this predicament in the first place. He discarded the idea as quickly as it had occurred to him.

“Well, what would you rather me do? You don’t understand, Patrick – if Jules tries to have me committed, if she’s successful… I could go away for years.
Years ! Do you want to be without me for years? Because I don’t want to be away from you for even a day.”

“I’m begging you.” He grasped her by the arms and pulled her closer. “Don’t. Don’t talk about it, don’t joke about it, don’t even think about it.”

“Okay, okay.” She twisted out of his hands and leaned against the wall. “But I need a plan… just in case.”

Patrick lowered himself to sit, staring at Sara. She avoided his eyes, looking everywhere except his face.

“I’m serious, Sara. I don’t care if I never see you again – I can’t stand the idea of you being in pain or hurting yourself.”

If she died, there was no telling what might happen. He felt selfish about it, but he didn’t want her going to Heaven either. Not without him. It probably made him a terrible person, but he needed her.

Sara nodded, slipping her arm around the crook of Patrick’s elbow and snuggling against him. “I promise that whole suicide thing is off the table. And really, it would be super hard for Jules to have me committed . I t really is next to impossible. It’s just… she’s really good at railroading people into doing what she wants.”

He relaxed, resting his cheek against the side of her head. Jules could be relentless – and it sounded like she probably would be – but his girl would be safe.

The wind roared at that moment, howling across the porch. Drops of rain made heavy pings against the concrete steps and walk, but it seemed appropriate somehow. Cleansing, maybe. Washing away this idea that Sara’d had.

“If we were a normal couple – you know, if you weren’t dead –where would you want to go on vacation?”

The abrupt question hung between them, the last syllable out of Sara’s mouth seeming to last a little too long. Finally Patrick chuckled, disentangling his arm from her grip so he could wind it behind her neck, squeezing her shoulder. He didn’t know why she wanted to know; it wasn’t as though they would ever be able to go anywhere. Maybe the fantasy was almost as good as the reality, though. In Sara’s case, it was probably true of a lot of aspects of her life. If Jules was right… if Patrick was really just some crazy construct she’d conjured up or a demon that needed to be gotten rid of … maybe the fantasy was better.

He allowed it could be a possibility, that he only existed in Sara’s head – he was still sure he’d know if he was evil . He’d considered the idea of Sara’s insanity before and rejected it . How could he only be a figment of Sara’s imagination when he’d had his own life long before she’d been born? But that could just be part of the elaborateness of the delusion , he supposed . She’d made him up and given him a rich back story. She was a writer, so it only made sense. She could do it, create an entire world for herself and him.

“I always wanted to go to Spain,” he answered, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. He could create a world for them, too, though. He’d seen photos of Barcelona –urban streets drenched with sunshine, the bright, sandy beaches. It wasn’t hard to conjure up the image of him and Sara walking hand-in-hand, looking in shop windows, laughing as they sat at an outdoor cafe. If he wished for it hard enough, maybe it could come true.

“What would we do there?” She tilted her head, kissing his shoulder.

“I don’t know. We’d just hang out. See the sights.” They’d visit the beach, their toes squishing into the sand. He’d find new pieces of sea glass for her, and they’d stand in the surf while he kissed her until neither of them could catch their breath.

“I think we should go to Paris,” Sara said, seeming as though she were a million miles away.

“Oh yeah? What would we do there?” he asked, mimicking her question with a smile. He knew less about Paris, but the thought of it made Gothic turrets and gargoyles and gray stone come to mind.

“I’ve always wanted to see Sainte-Chapelle.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s this gorgeous chapel with beautiful stained glass.”

“A chapel? Maybe we could… get married there one day.” The words were out of his mouth before he knew it. He looked nervously at the ground, watching Sara’s toes point and then flex.

“That’d be great,” she said, like it wasn’t the craziest thing she’d ever heard. “We could go in the spring.”

He would marry her in a heartbeat if it wasn’t a complete impossibility. To call her his wife, know that she was really his, it was a good thought.

“You’ve never been to Paris?” he asked, not wanting to push his luck by talking any more about marriage. He was lucky she wanted to be with him at all, let alone wanting her to essentially give up any chance of a normal life by marrying him. Or pretending to marry him, as the case may have been –unless they ran into a minister who could see ghosts.

“Nope. Scott and I were supposed to go in the next few years, but it never happened. Not like it’s going to now.” Sara snorted. “Not like I want it to. Not with him.”

“I wish we could go.” A note of wistfulness made it into his voice. “My mother used to have a picture of Notre Dame taped to the ‘fridge.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Who, my parents?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, sure. Sometimes I pretend like they just live in the next state, and they could come and visit any time.” He smiled and touched her knee. “Like they’re just going to show up one day, and my mom will give me a hug. My dad will yell at me for running his garage into the ground or something.”

“Is that what you would have done… you know, if you had lived? Taken over your dad’s garage?”

“Probably.” His face twisted, and he held up his hands, turning them over and inspecting his nails. “My hands were always covered in grease. It took forever to get them clean, get the dirt out from under my nails. Could you love a grease monkey?”

“You love a crazy person,” she said, threading her fingers through his and grinning. “It’s the least I can do to love you, even if you picked up dog shit for a living or something like that.”

The screen door whipped opened, and Jules walked through, her face a mask of concern and agitation. Truth be told, she looked slightly constipated. The door didn’t bang shut as Patrick expected –Megan stepped in behind her .

“Oh, wonderful,” Sara intoned.

“She went to Megan?” Patrick asked, eyes wide. “Wow, she narced on you to your neighbor!”

Sara huffed out a quick laugh and climbed to her feet. “Hey, Megan. What’s up?”

Jules answered instead of Megan. “I went over to Megan’s to get some help with this… situation . I don’t know any priests in the area, but you said her husband is a psychiatrist.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What situation?”

Oh, so Sara was going to play it smart now and deny everything.
Smooth move , Patrick thought to himself. He stayed where he was on the floor, hoping if he was quiet, Sara wouldn’t give away that she’d been talking to him.

“Uh, yeah,” Megan said, drawing the word out slowly. “Your sister seemed a little agitated, and I know you’ve had some problems in the past. I came over to get your side of it about ten minutes ago and heard you talking.”

“So? I talk to myself all the time? Roger has probably told you a million times that talking to yourself isn’t unhealthy.”

“I heard you say you’re thinking about killing yourself.”

“Shit,” Patrick blurted. Sara very carefully kicked his foot, making it look more like she was just shifting her weight.

“I was just distraught because Jules is being so nuts,” Sara lied, glaring at her sister.

“Look, Sara,” Megan said, taking her arm and guiding her to the couch. “No one’s mad at you here, and no one is accusing you of anything.”

“Yeah, right.” Patrick pushed himself up, positioning himself closer to Sara.

“Both of us are just worried.” Jules said, now standing by the mantle. She glanced at Megan, who nodded slowly. “I feel as though you might not be seeing the situation clearly. It makes me feel nervous when you talk about having a ghost or, well… whatever… for a boyfriend.”

Sara gasped. “Oh my God!
I statements
? You really have lost your mind .” She wriggled on the couch, sliding all the way back. “Well, Julie Ann… I feel persecuted when you tell me I’m crazy and talk about things you can’t possibly understand.”

“Oh, give it a rest. Don’t first and middle name me. This is just what happened last time!”

“I thought you checked yourself into a mental institution last time?” Megan asked, her voice light and soothing, as though speaking to a child. Even Patrick was annoyed.

“I did,” Sara snapped, glaring at Jules. “My dear sister is just being overly dramatic.”

“Whatever, Sara,” Jules said, volume rising with each syllable. “You need help, and you need to get away from this house.”

“I’m not leaving!” she shouted, tossing a throw pillow at Jules.

Megan patted Sara’s shoulder. “Okay, tensions are running a little high. Why don’t we all just calm down?” She turned her attention to Jules. “Why don’t we go back to my house for a little bit? I don’t think Sara’s in any danger of hurting herself , and it’ll give you two a little more time to cool off.”

“Yes, please take her with you,” Sara spat, still scowling.

“We’ll be back in awhile,” Megan said, sliding past her and yanking Jules toward the door. “Why don’t you relax… maybe take a nap. I’ll see if I can get Roger to come home from his conference and help us figure all of this out.”

“Uh huh. Right,” Sara grumbled. The second the door clicked shut, she was on her feet. “Well, that went well.”

“It could have been worse,” Patrick said, scratching his head.

“I need someone on my side,” Sara mused, almost to herself. “Think.”

“I’m on your side.” His fingers rose to the back of her neck, brushing through the fringy hair there.

“Someone they can see.” Sara’s face was blank, eyebrows pulled down. “I just wish…”

“Wish what?”

“I wish there was someone else who could see you… or at least sense you more than other people.”

Ginny immediately came to mind. She’d had such a reaction that night she’d been at the house for the writers’ group. “Uh, I do have one idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, what about Ginny?”

“Why her?” Sara asked, leaning back into his hand.

“I didn’t tell you this, but I’m pretty sure she knew something was going on.” He explained the way she’d shivered and looked around, how nervous she’d been. “And then the night she was over… you know, when she asked you if you’d found my journal.”

“Huh. That
is
true. But… do you really think she’d believe me?”

“I don’t know.” Patrick grasped her hips and pulled her back against his chest, fitting his chin into the crook of her neck. “I’m sure she’s changed a lot since I knew her, but she was always pretty open-minded back then.”

“Good enough for me. I’ll call her.”

“Who were you in high school?” Sara poured water from the kettle into a mug and reached for a tea bag as Patrick leaned against the wall next to the refrigerator.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, were you a jock or a gear head or… well, no, I guess you weren’t a nerd, huh?” Sara studied him, a grin wreathing her face.

“No, I wasn’t a nerd. I guess I was kind of a jock. I played football. Linebacker.” Despite the fall reminding him of death, it used to make him think of cool nights on the field under the lights, tackling and blocking. He’d been good on the line. Not great, but good.

She shrugged. “But you didn’t go to college.”