“She wants me to… hurt her. It’s been building. It started with smaller stuff, stuff that was okay, and I guess some of that was fine with me, but she’s asking for more and more. And it’s freaking me out. We’ve been fighting because I can’t do what she’s asking.” He takes a deep breath, and his eyes fill with tears as he finally looks at me. “Blythe, last night, she asked me to hit her. Hard. Jesus, she wanted me to leave bruises, and she was crying and begging me to… She was freaking out on me. I’ve never seen her like that. Or anyone like that. I can’t do that to her. Iwon’tdo that. I couldn’t hurt her. Ever.”
“Oh my God, James.” I am so taken aback that I don’t know what to say yet, but I throw my arms around him and hug him close.
“Why would she ask me to do that?” He puts a hand on my arm and squeezes. “Do I seem like some guy who would do that to a woman? Is that it? Is there something wrong with me? We were outside, in the yard, and she… God, she was trying to get me to shove her around and shit. She started yelling at me, saying that other guys have given her what she wants, and maybe she’ll have to go find someone else. She said that maybe I’m too… naive, or whatever. Too inexperienced for her. What she wants, though? That’s not right, is it? I can’t do it, and I don’t understand why she’d want me to. I really like her, Blythe, I do, but I don’t get this, and it’s scaring me. What am I supposed—”
Chris’s voice is shaking as he interrupts us. “James?”
I turn to him. His expression is pure disbelief, but I am less surprised. I remember the bruise that I saw on Estelle’s hip when were on video chat. And I remember her crying in our dorm room.Repenting.
James looks panicked. “Chris, I swear to God, I didn’t—”
“I know you didn’t. I know you wouldn’t.” He crosses the porch and drops onto the wicker sofa. “You didn’t do anything wrong. This is not your fault. At all.” He rubs his hand over his face. What a thing to wake up to. “Blythe? Do you mind if I talk to James for a few minutes?”
“Of course not. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
I walk into the house through the living room and notice Zach crashed out on the couch. Eric must have been snoring loudly, because the old couch is certainly not comfortable. I spend two hours in the kitchen, cleaning, planning dinners for the next few days, fussing around. I don’t want to talk to anybody right now, so I’m glad to be left alone in here. Later, Zach pops in for coffee, but he’s exceptionally sullen and quiet, and he lets me chop vegetables for the grill in peace.
James and I go downtown for lunch. He doesn’t want to talk about Estelle anymore, and neither do I. My brother is obviously terribly embarrassed, which I get, so I don’t press him on the issue, but he looks better as the afternoon goes on. Being with me seems to help him, so that is a good thing. Just as we finish lunch, I get a text from Chris. He is taking Estelle to Seal Cove, and asks if he can take Jonah. I tell him of course. Jonah loves that trip. Chris and I have been there a few times. It’s a magical walk down a mossy, rocky path to the cove, and on lucky days, you arrive at the beach to see tons of seals sunning themselves on the rocks. I hope today is a lucky day.
But I know that it’s starting. The storm. The one in the increasingly dark sky and the one on the ground.
James and I take one of the touristy boat rides through the harbor. He is one of the volunteers who helps raise the giant red sails. Despite what has happened with Estelle, he is able to smile into the bits of filtered sun that hit his face as he pulls on the thick rope that soon flaps loudly in the wind. I am very lucky to have him back in my life. I take a video of him with my phone and then have him pose with the ship’s mascot, an enormous black Newfoundland.
I want to delay going back to the house, so I persuade James to walk through busy downtown Bar Harbor. We get ice cream and browse in the bookstore. I buy him some clothes for school from one of the sporting goods stores, even though he insists it isn’t necessary. After we’ve exhausted the hilly streets and nearly every store, James stops me. “Blythe. I want to go back. I need to see Estelle. Make sure she’s okay.”
“Of course.” So I take us home.
I pull the car up to the house and put it in park, but James doesn’t move to get out. “She’s probably angry at me for telling.”
“No, she won’t be. You did exactly the right thing. Did it help to talk to Chris?”
“Yeah. I still don’t understand, but he made me feel better. Do you get it? Why she would… you know, want that?”
“I’m afraid I might, James.” I hand him the keys. “Take Estelle out for dinner or something if you want. I’m going to find Chris.”
But I don’t have to find him, because I know where he’ll be. And I’m right. I walk slowly across the upper lawn, down the wooden stairs to the lower yard, and then to the beach and the long dock that stretches into the ocean. Chris is sitting on the end, his feet hanging over the edge, and Sabin is lying down behind him holding a beer can with one hand and petting Jonah with the other. My dog seems to be on high alert, panting and thumping his tail as he looks around.
“C’mere, Jonah.” I clap my hands, and he races down the dock to greet me. I kneel down and scratch the scruff of his neck. “You watching over the boys? Huh? Yeah?” He bounds away and plants himself back next to Sabin.
I step over Sabin, who appears to be sleeping, take off my shoes, and sit next to Chris. He puts his arm around me and kisses me. “Hey.” He sounds as tired as he looks.
“Hey. How are you? And how’s Estelle?”
He sighs. “I don’t know how to answer you.”
“Blythe, Blythe, Blythe!” Sabin thumps the deck with his hand, and I turn around. He is drunk. Really drunk.
I glance at Chris. “I know,” he says. “I know.”
“Hi, Sabe.” I lean back and rest my head on his stomach.
“Where you been today? I missed you, B.”
“Out with James.”
“Oh. First I thought you and Chris were locked up in your room again. I mean, Jesus, you two are like rabbits. It’s never just you and me anymore. But then he came back and you stayed away.”
“I’m sorry. We’ll do something tomorrow. Just the two of us.” I don’t want to have any kind of conversation with him. I can tell he’s way too drunk to make any sense, and if I say the wrong thing, he could get irritable. “Promise.”
