Second Sight (9 page)

“
What did he tell you?” I
growl. I’m shaking, and that’s never a good sign. I don’t need a
seismograph to figure out the fault line in my body is about to
shift again.

“
That he was worried about
you. He’s afraid if you fall, we won’t get you back. And he’s
right.”

“
Don’t. I think I’ve had
enough ‘comforting’ for my own good’ today. You want to hang around
until Jimmie gets back, fine. Right now, I’m getting a bath and
going to bed.”

I stride toward the door.

“
It’s not even five yet,
Lizzie.”

I stop and laugh hollowly, wishing it were
really that funny. “You’re right. It’s not. But I’m tired. And
Jimmie’s got more than enough on his mind right now, I’m sure.” The
image of Jimmie walking with that woman pops into my head again and
I cringe. I try to ask myself why I should care, but why doesn’t
matter. It’s like asking why Lev died. No answer is going to make
me feel better.

I start walking, and even as I reach my
bedroom I hear Griffin call out, “I never meant to hurt you,
Lizzie.”

I slam the door and lock it as I lean against
it, whispering, “But you did. Everyone does.” In that moment, I
think I can hold it all in. Then the walls tumble so fast I’m on
the ground, trying to pick up all the pieces. There’re so many
tears I can’t see through them, and I can’t stop them. I want to be
angry—want to let the frustration and pain and, yes, even hate wash
over me like hot, acrid rain, but even in that I am denied. I can
barely breathe. Gasping, I stagger to my feet. Through the teary
blur, I start picking things up and hurtling them at the walls
across the room. I don’t care what my hand touches even as I break
it. The loud, crashing impact is my only comfort.

The pounding at the door begins almost at
once, along with the rattle of the door knob.

“
Lizzie! Open up!” Griffin
demands.

“
Leave me alone, Griffin
Hauser! I never want to see you again!” My whole body is shaking,
and I feel like I’m going to fall over.

“
Let me in!” he yells.
“Before I break it down!”

“
Go ahead,” I scream as
loudly as I can. “Break it down just like everything else. It’s
just wood. Your daddy can replace it!” M
aybe he can just replace me, too,
I
think. If I don’t matter to Lev, why would I matter to anyone else?
Sobs overwhelm me, and I go into the bathroom and lock that door as
well, wanting to put as much space between us as
possible.

The pounding stops, and I know I’ve reached
as deeply as I could to wound him. I thought it would make me feel
better—that it would at least take away the burning inside—but I
don’t think anything can do that, no matter how hard I try. Jimmie
is right. I am broken, and there’s no fixing me. All this is for
what? Some angel who chose to return to Heaven and leave me in this
hell?

It’s the middle of summer, and I’m shaking. I
strip away the clothes and toss them into the trash—yet another
thing I never want to see again. As I twist the knobs, letting the
water warm up for a shower, I glimpse myself in the mirror—pale,
thin, and strange. I don’t know this person anymore. Turning away,
I step into the shower, flinching from the scalding rush of heat
across my back. I stand there, letting the water sluice around me
and run down the drain. I absently finger the scratch on my wrist.
It’s such a small wound. Or maybe that’s the normal part; maybe the
rest of me is the wound. Who’s to say? I touch my arms where Scott
gripped me, searching for bruises. It doesn’t matter if I can see
them; I feel them just the same.

I slowly sit in the middle of the shower and
let the water rain down on my body, more of a fine mist now by the
time it reaches me. I think of the falls and the rush of air as my
fingers slipped from my gloves and how the mist accepted me,
drawing me in as I plummeted, at once motionless—suspended amid
that icy rush. And then the blinding light. He’d come for me then.
But now—now this is all there is. I wrap my arms around my chest
and rock back and forth as more tears come.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Eventually, the water turns cold. At first, I
don’t even notice; I don’t care. Then, when my body starts
shivering, I turn off the water and get out, mechanically grabbing
a towel and dabbing the water from my skin. Then just as
mechanically, I slip into my pajamas and crawl into bed. I give the
locked door one last look at the locked door and turn out the
light.

I don’t know how much time has passed before
I hear someone jiggling the knob and the door slowly opens,
admitting a slice of light from the hallway. The rest of the room
is dark, so night must have fallen at some point. I try to drift
back to sleep, but until whoever it is goes away, I might as well
just pretend. I don’t want to talk. There’s nothing to say.

“
Is she all right?” Griffin
asks.

Someone leans in close. I’m guessing probably
Jimmie.

“
She’s sleeping.” It’s not
Jimmie’s voice but Scott’s. I want to stiffen up and tell him to
get the hell out, but I can’t. Scott steps back. I hear his shoes
scuffing across the hard wood floor.

“
Thank God. I’ve never seen
her like that, not even right after Lev died. She seemed to have
more hope then.” His voice is strained, but good for him.
Let
him
be
strained for a while. You get what you deserve.

“
Grief does funny things to
people. Give her time. I think my friends can help.”

“
I hope so.” The chairs by
my desk creak, indicating they have both sat down. I wish they
would go away. “Did you ever get a hold of Jimmie?”

“
Not yet.”

“
What time was he supposed
to be home?” I edge one eye open, and see Griffin check his
watch.

“
He should have been home
hours ago.”

“
Then I guess we should go
downstairs and wait.” Scott stands.

“
You really think she’s
going to be okay?” Griffin looks at me, and I
snap my eyes shut, hoping he doesn’t see.

“
Yeah.”

I hear them step away when Scott grabs the
knob to close the door, I open my eyes. Even in the darkness, I
know he sees me. His lips part, and his blue eyes seem sad.

“
Good night, Lizzie.” He
closes the door and leaves me in the darkness where I belong. I
don’t want to think about what is going to happen when Jimmie
finally does get home any more than I want to think about where he
is or what’s keeping him busy. I don’t want to think, period. So I
close my eyes and drift.

The sunlight seeping around my curtains wakes
me, not Jimmie. For a moment, I just lie there, watching dapples of
it dance in from among the branches outside my window, teased into
motion by a soft breeze. Even now, I don’t want to move. That will
mean the day will go forward, and I will have to go downstairs and
explain why I conned Griffin into driving me to Knoxville. At least
there were no guns involved this time. Then again, I doubt Jimmie
will see the bright side. Shrink city, here I come.

I close my eyes, wishing I could just fall
back asleep. As a kid, I used to look forward to growing up and
falling in love; now I wish I could go back to being five and
thinking I had all the answers. Or Jimmie did. Somehow we both lost
them along the way, and that scares the hell out of me.

Or maybe we
do
have the answers.
Maybe the reality is just a lot grimmer than the
fantasy.

I force myself to sit up, dreading seeing
Griffin again. The anger is gone, at least for now, but in its
place there is a weight of distrust I can’t lift. I know he never
promised he’d take my side in everything, but it’s like he’s okay
with whatever Scott or Jimmie says or does. I hate Scott; I don’t
care if he is an angel. Who knows? Maybe I hate him more for
that—so smug and so right. So perfect. Still, if that’s perfect,
the rest of us should do just fine.

I keep hearing his words about Lev making a
choice, words that steal my breath and shove me under, threatening
to drown me. Frantic to get those thoughts out of my head, I push
my legs over the edge and stand. Five minutes later, I’ve dressed
and tugged a brush through my hair. I could stay up here all day,
but that’s probably not going to get me out of talking to Jimmie.
In fact, I can’t think of anything that’s going to accomplish that.
His time, his way.

I scan the room and take in all the
destruction I left last night. It’s not going to clean itself, I
know. I start collecting all the broken picture frames and
shattered glass ornaments. Even the mirror on the bureau stands in
shards, and if I thought my reflection last night looked skewed,
fractured as it is,, makes me look even more haunted. Still,
staring at it, I think this one’s more like me, after all. I’ll
never be able to pick up all the pieces.

“
Finally awake?”

Jimmy stands in the doorway, a hand touching
either side of the molding. His voice is calm, which should be a
clue this might be really bad. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt,
not clothes meant for working as the security guard for a local
bank.

“
Yeah.” I avert my gaze and
keep picking up the broken things. One shard jabs my thumb, and I
end up looking at the pinprick of blood pooling on my skin. Such a
small wound, and yet….

“
We need to talk.” He
quietly steps over to the bed and sits. This is definitely not the
Jimmie I know and love—is it? “Come sit down.” He nods to the chair
beside the bed, the same one Scott sat in last night. Or had that
just been a dream? Did yesterday even happen? If it did, I want a
refund.

“
There’s nothing to talk
about,” I mutter, plucking the glass from my thumb and throwing it
away.

“
Lizzie, I don’t always do
things the right way. I don’t always pay attention. But it’s not
because I don’t care. I just don’t know what I’m doing—and I wish I
did.”

“
Where were you last
night?” I ask softly. It’s not really about side-tracking him; I’m
just trying to see if he trusts me enough to be as honest with me
as he wants me to be with him.

“
Not that it’s important,
but I went out with a friend.”

“
Do I know him?”

He shrugs. “No. I want to talk about you—and
what happened yesterday.” He swallows hard and looks down. “Both
Scott and Griffin said you think Lev was…an angel.” He frowns, and
the wrinkles in his forehead make him look older.

“
It doesn’t matter.” My
back stiffens and I wish Jimmie would just get this over with.
Funny, he wants me to tell the truth, but he lies to me. But then
why would he be any different? Angel. Human. Devil. All the same. I
guess the trick is not to care.

“
That’s not good enough,
Lizzie.” He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “I’ve
tried telling myself lots of things, like you just needed time,
that you’d get through it, like you just thought you loved Lev. But
none of it’s worked, and I’ve still failed you. So now I have two
choices. I can either ignore the fact you need help, or I can get
you that help myself.”

“
Fine.” I pick up more
glass. There is no end to the jagged pieces. No end.

He doesn’t hear me right—again. “No, you’re
not. I wish you were.” He reaches to take my hand but I duck
away.

“
I keep telling you it
doesn’t matter. I know you have it all worked out with Scott and
Griffin, and I’ll do your stupid appointments. Whatever.” I stand
and start to walk out, but he catches me.

“
Don’t be angry, Lizzie.
This is for your own good. I haven’t done anything
wrong.”

“
Right. You just keep
thinking that—and while you’re at it, I’ll try to think of the top
ten reasons you keep dragging me to these stupid small towns that
are great for you. If you hadn’t dragged me to Hauser’s
Landing—”

I stop talking because I know he’s ignoring
me. Crazy girl talking, no one listening. So why bother? Perhaps
the old Lizzie would have started screaming at him. Me, I just
don’t care. I’m too tired for that. I feel him staring, waiting for
more reaction, but I’m done. I’m working hard at shoving my
feelings in a box I might actually be able to forget about.

“
Griffin is sleeping on the
couch. I told him he could take the extra bedroom while he’s here.
It’s the least I can do for all his trouble. I’ve set up an
appointment for tomorrow so he’ll be driving you to
Knoxville.”

“
Are you coming home right
after work, or are you going out again?” I ask softly.

He shrugs, and I can tell by the way he
averts his eyes he’s hardly comfortable with the question. “Don’t
know. I’ll call you.”

“
Right. Whatever. You do
that.” I walk out. I guess he thinks Griffin is a great
baby-sitter, even with yesterday’s disaster. Maybe he’s just happy
I got all weepy. Maybe he thinks that’s the answer, but there are
no answers.

Gritting my teeth, I head into the kitchen
and pull down a glass. I grab the juice pitcher from the
refrigerator and pour a glassful, thankful wherever Jimmie is, at
least he’s not here, demanding I eat. Maybe this way he’ll at least
be distracted enough for me to breathe.

“
Lizzie.”

Without turning, I know Griffin is standing
there. I don’t want to face him, so I don’t. I grab the pitcher and
shove it in the fridge before I take the glass and walk out,
heading to the back patio. I can tell from the angle of the sun
it’s mid-morning, and already it’s hot. Got to love August and all
its glory. In the distance, I hear birds warbling amid the thick
stand of trees nearby.