Insight (31 page)

THIRTY-ONE

Landon and I break contact as we reach my porch. I’m staring into the woods, waiting for what feels like the inevitable—to be drug into some kind of non-existence. Landon backs throu
gh the door with wide eyes holding me behind
him. He must have seen them, too.

I’m not crazy.
Right now that does not bring me any relief.

“Mom!” As soon as
Landon slams the door
, I’m rubbing my hands up and down my arms, once again trying to warm up. Time to focus on
this
mess.

“I’ll watch the door.” Landon presses his body against it, gasping for air.

“In here.” She laughs from the living room. “You sound in a hurry.”

“Who’s doing your milk run for you?” I
run to the living room and
kneel in front of her, not ready to touch her yet.
And not ready to go back outside.

“Ethan. Why does it matter?” Her weight shifts and her eyes are wary. “We planned on meeting later, to—” but she doesn’t finish. Neither of us are hiding our faces well.

Landon exhales behind me
as he pushes from the door and enters the room
. It’s his uncle.

She sits up a little straighter on the couch. Concern begins to mark up her face. She looks up at Landon and then back down to me.

No, no, no, no, no…I’m shaking my head. “Have you talked to him? Is he okay?” the words come out in gasps as I try to catch my breath.

“He’s running late.” Her voice is slow.

“How late?” It sounds as though Landon’s barely able to get out the words.

“An hour or so.” Mom looks between Landon and I again.

An hour. The amount of time Landon tried to put off the truck. We exchange glances. My heart’s still racing. What do we do? After talking to Dad I’m afraid to call. Have we just made this happen? No. I realize.
We
didn’t. I did.

“Micah, are you going to explain?” Mom asks.

“As we drive.” I stand.

“Let me check outside first!” Landon calls and he’s out the door. Looking for shadows, or maybe just re-attaching the battery.

“We have to go, Mom. Come on.” I have no idea what we’ll be able to do, or if we’ll be able to
do
anything, but we have to try.

I scan the trees for moving shadows as we step outside,
waiting to feel shadowy cold surround me,
but see nothing.

“I’ll drive.” Landon
ushers me to the car, as he stares at the trees
.
“I haven’t seen them.” He glances at me long enough that I know we’re thinking about the same thing.

Landon pulls open the driver’s side door and puts one foot inside, waiting for me to climb in the back.

“You can’t drive
.” I realize right away what he’s doing. He’s trying to be a martyr. Trying to save Mom and I if things change and this is the car to get hit. I feel the danger. It tingles in my limbs, but sets my determination even stronger.

Mom climbs in the back. Her eyes are wide in shock and confusion. At least she trusts me enough to
be in the car
.
I stop in front of Landon.

“Get in the back, Micah. I’m not moving.” He closes the
driver door
and starts the car.

I love being loved like this, but right now it’s killing me. It feels like he’s so vulnerable. He’s sitting in the seat I watched Mom die in. “Landon, please,
please
, let me drive.”

“We have to go, and we need you to be able to focus.” He puts the car
in gear, and I jump in the back closing the door as he peels down the driveway.

I sit in the backseat next to Mom as he
hits the gas on the road
. I stare out at the trees again, almost willing to see moving shadows—to prove they do exist. But I don’t.
I can’t that that, too. It’s all too much.

“Micah! What’s going on?”
Mom asks.

“I’ll explain in a minute.” I rub my fingertips on my temples, hoping I don’t throw up like last night. My eyes are closed. Another shiver hits me, like a wave of something freezing passing through me. Why do I have to be so cold?

“Puyallup, right?” Landon asks.

“Yeah.” I nod. “Landon, I love you. I can’t believe what you’re doing for me.” He’s driving, keeping us in the backseat. He followed me this morning without questioning. He followed me from the prom even though I didn’t think I wanted him to, and even though I didn’t make any sense.

Mom looks between Landon and I. “I asked Ethan to do the run for me. Why is this such a big deal?” She’s only partially following our conversation.

“He’s going to die in a car accident if we can’t get to him first, or...” I can feel hyperventilation coming on. What can we even do? My hands rest on Landon’s seat in front of me, and I force my head against it. Black spots threaten to take over. It’s all I can see. I concentrate on my breathing. I can’t pass out. They need me.

I’m afraid to look at Mom. Living the emotion is bad enough. Seeing it won’t hel
p me any. It’s freezing in here. T
he chills still won’t go away.

“Micah? Will you
please
tell me what’s going on?” Mom’s voice is tinged with desperation.

“Micah?” Landon’s voice is soft, quiet. I tilt my head and can see his eyes in the rearview mirror. “You have to tell her.”

I know this. I
know
. I reluctantly take my eyes from his.

Mom is sideways in her seat, staring at me with wide eyes. “Tell me what.” Her voice is shaking, but I can see the effort she’s putting into staying calm. Her arms are crossed and I don’t recognize the look on her face, fear? Bewilderment? Maybe a mix of the two?

“I see things, Mom.” Wow. My heart pounds. It’s out. No going back.

“What, things?” She's shaking her head. Maybe willing the moment to go away or trying to un-jumble confusion.

“Since I can remember.” I flash to five, first day of kindergarten, looking up at Mom and seeing nothing but confusion and worry. “When I touch people, I see things. I don’t have any control over it. We can shake hands or accidentally bump into one another, it doesn’t matter.”

The weight begins to pull off of me but its clutches are still there. Inside me, holding on.

“Like…the future?” Mom is so still. I can’t remember ever seeing her so still.

“I guess, yes. I mean, most of the time, I think it is. It’s just something important, something significant. Sometimes it’s the past. Sometimes the future. Sometimes neither.” My fingers are pressed to my forehead, once again trying to ease some of the tension.

“So, how can you tell the difference?”

“
I can’t
!” It comes out louder than I mean it to.

Mom jumps in her seat. Landon gives me an apologetic look in the mirror. I reach forward with a hand and touch his shoulder.
Mom’s crying. My hand’s in his. We’re too late.
Nothing’s changed. I’m watching Mom. I know Landon’s watching me so I shake my head, hoping he’ll understand—it’s all the same. We’ve changed nothing.

Tears start to come down my face. “I have no control over it. I can’t escape it. I can’t make it go away, and I have no idea when the things I see happen.” The pointlessness of what I do slams into me again and again.

“Micah.” her voice is full of soft sorrow. “How could you have never
said
anything?”

“You believe me.” The relief helps, but doesn’t take away the helplessness of the situation.

“I think.” She pauses, taking in my face again, and then Landon’s. “I believe you.”

Of course she does, she’s Mom. “I did tell you once. I didn’t realize that everyone didn’t see things so I asked you about the pictures. You looked so confused.”

“Oh, honey.” Mom puts her hand on my shoulder without thinking.

She’s heartbroken. R
unning toward Ethan’s truck in a crum
pled heap against a white truck. There are
police cars.

I shake with my first sob. “The picture’s different Landon, but nothing’s changed. We’re still too late.” My legs pull onto the seat, and I pull up my hood, hoping to hold in my warmth.

The car lurches forward in a new speed. “We’re getting close. We’re off the freeway now,” he says.

“Ethan?” Panic flashes across Mom’s face. She’s putting the pieces together. I told her he’d die, but had nothing to back it up. Now I do.

“Because I asked you to stay home to save you.” This is my fault. Ethan dying will be my fault. I want to jump up and down or clutch the seat in front of me, but it won’t do any good. We won’t get there any faster. I’m drained, exhausted.

I’ve lived these intense emotions from Landon and my mother too many times. I flop back in my seat, wrapping my arms tightly around me. Another chill passes like a wave through me. Is just the stress of this making me so cold? The tears scald my cheeks.

“I should call him.” Mom’s words come out in a slur, and she grabs her phone from her purse.

“Mom? Stop.” I roll my head on the headrest to see her. “Dad tried to stop a little girl from being hit by a car. He called the mom, bringing her inside and leaving the little girl in the front yard. She was hit by a car because the mom wasn’t there to watch her. She’s in a wheelchair.”

“You never told me that.” Landon eyes meet mine in the mirror again.

“I didn’t know until this morning.” Grief and frustration take me over again. “Watch the road, Landon.” I wouldn’t survive him getting hurt.

“But maybe—” Mom starts.

“Maybe it will work, Mom. Or maybe it will cause the accident as he reaches for his phone.” I’m desperate, but so frustrated. I feel like I’m on the edge of being able to actually change things, to actually
do
something but I’m not. I can just see things being done. I feel powerless. Helpless.

“Your
dad
does this, too?” Her eyes watch me with a scrutiny I’ve never seen in them before.

“I found out on my last visit.” I still feel like we helped Carol, but the situation was so different. “I’m sorry, Mom.” I feel tears again. “I’m sorry I didn’t share with you and that this whole thing is such a mess. I should have given you the whole story last night, and I didn’t.” There are no more words. Not now.

“Micah, I can’t believe you’ve been living with this for so long.” She reaches out to touch me, but stops this time, realizing what it will do.

I shake my head. I can’t take it again.

“Landon knows.” Her voice is flat.

“I pried it out of her.” Landon’s doing a great job of maintaining his relaxed attitude, even though I can tell the difference. His hands are too tight on the steering wheel, and there’s an edge now that his relaxed voice doesn’t have. “On a day when I was colossally bored.”

“Oh.” Mom looks hurt. I knew she would be. I told a guy before I told her. It isn’t fair. I know this.

She’s distracted, staring out the window as the car slows and we pull off the main road. This is the road where it happens. I’m sure of it. The fields and fences look the same. We’re close. I hear sirens behind us. Mom’s hands go to her mouth and tears start running down her face. We’re too late. It’s like something the size of a dinner plate goes through my chest, hollowing it out.
We’re too late
. It’s real now. We missed it. I messed everything up.

Landon pulls to the side, letting the car go by. He hits the gas as soon as the flashing lights pass. I can see it ahead now, a long line of cars, held up by the crash we weren’t able to prevent. Ethan’s truck, an ambulance, two cop cars now joined by the one that passed us.

The truck is the milk truck that we felt so clever for slowing down.

I caused my mother’s grief.

She’s afraid to touch me. Her hands are on her mouth, stifling her sobs. I want to throw my arms around her and hold her, but why would she want me? I’m the girl who’s responsible for the death of the man she loves.

The tires protest in a screech as Landon slams us to a stop. Mom jumps out, running as fast as she can toward the truck. There must be thirty cars between the emergency vehicles and us. I know what happens next. I’ll go to Landon and take his hand. I’ve seen it. He’s out of the driver’s side opening my door before I can think to take off my seatbelt.

“She’s going to hate me forever.” My voice is scratchy and quiet. “I did this Landon. I did this.” My teeth are chattering. Cold, stress, something has taken me over.

Landon takes my hand, I see now. Now is traumatic enough to block out everything else. I want to see Ethan, Mom, someone else. Know what’s going on. Mom has disappeared around the cop cars and ambulance. I can’t see her. I close my eyes and concentrate. Maybe I can see it from here, like last night from across the room. My body feels detached from what I need it to do. I clutch Landon’s hand with mine more tightly as we walk forward, and I concentrate on Mom.