ZACH AND Idon’t talk for most of the ride home. I haven’t told him about Chris’s father. I just can’t. The devastation and confusion are too great. For now, this knowledge is solely mine, and I’m not ready to change that yet. One of the things that I love about Zach is that he respects boundaries the way that I do, so he does not press me despite the obvious fact that I am in shock. I do, however, say firmly, “I can fix this. I can get them back. I just need to think.” He doesn’t question me, but just nods, continuing to hide behind his sunglasses as we drive. We stop at a convenience store for gas and something to eat. Both of us are sick to our stomachs, but we agree that some food might help. I scan the drink cases, unable to decide—nothing could possibly sit well. Then I smile and reach for an orange soda.
At the house, I walk through the living room past James, Estelle, and Chris, who have returned from the hospital, and go up to my bedroom. I need quiet. I sit on the side of the bed, the bed that I share with Chris, and stare at my reflection in the dresser-top mirror. I can’t decide if I still look like a kid or if I look like a woman. I’m at a funny in-between stage. Perhaps I should see myself as younger simply due to my age, but what I’ve been through makes me feel older. It’s not an uncomfortable thought, being totally grown up. I like who I am, who I’ve grown into. Had I not lived through the fire and through the aftermath, I might like myself less. I am affected by my past, just as everyone is, and being able to embrace that centers me. That strength and stability is going to help me today.
What am I going to say to Chris? I’ve had a long drive to process things, but I’m still missing a piece of our story. I know it. The quilt is cool against my skin when I lie down on the bed, and I tuck my knees up into my chest while I try to digest all that has happened over the past twenty-four hours. Too much. A massive storm of information has engulfed me, as I knew it would. That’s how a storm with such power happens; you sense the build and darkness, you prepare as best you can, you do what you can to get through it even as it devastates your entire world. Whatever you do, however much you brace yourself, you will still be caught up in forces that you cannot control. So the question is how to navigate through the chaos. It takes thought, and trust, and serenity.
Later I get up and pace. I’m close. I have the answer right here, if I could just… I sit up slowly and look to my dresser. The sea urchin that Chris gave me so long ago sits in the center. I pick it up gently and rub my fingers over it. He said this belonged to me, and I felt that to be true also. Neither of us had a reason, but it simply felt so right that questioning it was not a priority. That’s how it has always been with him. The natural, instinctual flow between us has always felt so right. Now I am sensing that our connection is even deeper than I have previously imagined. I start to roll the sea urchin back and forth from one hand to the other.Think. Think.
As it turns upside down in my palm, I stop. I’d never noticed the small circular disc on the bottom of the sea urchin. After some gentle prodding, I get it off. The porcelain figure is hollow, and something is stuffed inside, presumably to protect the fragile piece from breaking. I remove a wad of faded red fabric. I put down the sea urchin and hold up the scrap of cotton. I have flashes of memory, sensory input from this small bit of old fabric that triggers emotion and, minutes later, images. Then I know what it is. I know the color and texture very well.
My heart nearly stops.
I squeeze my hand around it as I walk from my room into Chris’s. Ignoring my general high regard for privacy, especially Christopher’s, I begin frantically rooting through his dresser and his closet. It’s got to be here. He must have it.
It is an hour later that Chris appears in the doorway to my room. “Blythe?”
I am sitting on the floor while tears cascade down my cheeks. I am not sad, I am just overwhelmed. I don’t know how to explain this to him because I cannot explain it to myself. I look up at the person who I love more than anything in the world.
“Blythe, what are you doing?” He kneels down in front of me.
I can’t speak. There is no way to begin.
“Sabin is all right,” he says. “He’s going to rehab. The hospital staff is very nice here, and they’re helping us find a good place. He’d like for you to call him later.”
I nod. “Of course. I’m relieved he’s okay.”
Chris fiddles with his watch so that he doesn’t have to look at me. “We’re going to pack up today. Probably leave tomorrow.”
“No,” I say clearly. “No, you’re not. You are not ending things between us. You are not endingus.”
“I need to. I can’t do this with you. It’s too much.” He stands.
“You’ve said that before, but I’m not going to accept it this time. You don’t know what you’re saying, and you’re not being fair to me.”
“Look, the things you think you love about me? You shouldn’t. Not really. My… past. It’s part of me, it affects everything that I do in the most fucked-up way. You think that I’m strong, you love that I take care of you. But I’m only like that because of what happened. I was forced to become bulletproof and competent because I faced complete insanity. That competence and diligence that you get off on is tainted. Jesus, even in bed. You like how I am with you. I’m… controlling. I’m in charge a lot. You even said it to me, that I don’t like to be out of control. See? How am I supposed to be who you want when you know why I am the way I am? It’s not real strength.” His voice shakes. “Every part of me is affected. It’s why I left you in the first place, why I ran to someone safe. Because you can’t possibly deal with what a fucking disaster I’m bound to be. You know all that. So you should know that I’m not good for you, or for anyone. I have done everything wrong so far. Everything. I’ll end up destroying you the way I’ve destroyed everything and everyone. The only smart thing that I can do now is to leave.”
“Stop it. Just stop it!” I’m angry now. “Don’t you ever talk about yourself like that, and you don’t you dare presume to tell me why I love you. Give me more fucking credit than that. You got yourself, and your brothers and sister, through the unimaginable. And you got me through my own nightmare. I love you for so many reasons, but I don’t love you because of those reasons. I love you simply because I do. And that’s it. That’s the only goddamn thing that matters. I love every single part of you. So, no, Christopher, no. We are not over. And I can prove to you why.” I stand up, using the bed for support. I am shaky, but I am also clearheaded. “I want to show you something. I need you to trust me. Can you do that? Just for a minute.”
Chris looks so tremendously sad, but he nods.
“I’m going to fix this. I’m going to make this okay.” I don’t know if I’m talking more to him or to myself, but I am trying hard to believe in what I am going to show him and tell him.
I stand him with his back to my dresser. “Just stay there. Don’t move.” I take the lightweight full-length mirror from the other side of the room and lean it against the bed so that it reflects into the mirror across from it. I stand in front of him and take his face in my hands. I lift up and kiss him softly. He doesn’t kiss me back, because, I’m guessing, he feels broken and unworthy of anything even close to love. I can’t stand that. As I lift the bottom hem of his shirt up, he tries to stop me, but I brush him away. “Trust me.” Chris lets me raise his shirt. I move my left arm under his right and set my forearm on his back, angled up to meet the other hand that goes over his shoulder. “Look in the mirror.” I hold him tightly, close my eyes, and wait. “It’s okay.”
In a few seconds, I feel him tense. His panic sets in. I know how this feels from him because of the many nights that he has awoken me with his nightmares. It was disconcerting for me when I saw this, but for him it is terrifying because it defies how he makes sense of the world. There is no logic or explanation to this, and I know that he’s scared.
“Breathe with me, Chris. Breathe.” I inhale and exhale.It’s simple. This is how you do it. In and out. Breathe.
“Blythe, how can… No. This can’t be real.”
“But it is. This is real.Weare real.”
There is disbelief in his words that I know all too well. “We’re like… puzzle pieces that fit together.”
“Yes. Exactly. I first saw this when we were at the hotel. I didn’t want to tell you then because I didn’t understand it. But I do now.” I step out of the way as Chris reaches for his shirt and pulls it quickly over his head.
“How could you possibly understand this? It’s just some weird… coincidence. It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t.”
“It does. It means everything.” I reach behind him and take something from the dresser. I hold up the torn remnants of my red shirt up and rest it against my chest.
