All of These Things (7 page)

Chapter Eight

I hope I’m not having a seizure. I’ve heard that you start to smell things that are nowhere close to you, and this random and motley scent of vanilla and chocolate is out of somewhere inexplicable. If I don’t have to draw out memories, then I don’t. I certainly don’t appreciate when they emerge like this of their own volition. There’s absolutely nothing in this calming green and intensely white hospital room that should trigger any recall. But it has, and it’s a hostile intrusion.

It was one of the longest stretch of days in my life, and I suppose it makes sense why it has gone on to become one of my earliest memories. As soon as my mother plucked the cover off a lipstick, I sprang back to life, swooning after the sweet trace oozing from the black tube in her hand. The scent was reminiscent to the confetti topped marble cake from Sofie’s tenth birthday party, which made no sense at all. Mom had just finished making a fuss about my watermelon lip gloss and chucked it along with the tang of my favourite strawberry balm. I was starting kindergarten in a few weeks, so according to her, it was high time I recognize reputable brands, and a paramount lesson on her
lipstick rules
was in effect.

She was handing down my first
real
lipstick, celebrating my impending entrance into school. It was a flawless, shimmering pink stick that looked like it had been dipped and coated in sugar and ice. She even dressed me for the big occasion. Mom plopped a large, floppy hat on my blond head after slipping a maxi dress over my pale body. In that particular period of time, she depended on me, and I existed for her. She was eager to present me with the metallic tube, but I was heartbroken to see her do away with my plastic ones. Mom cringed at their playful print and the sliding levers on their sides. She was impatient for me to learn about the more mature qualities of respectable lipsticks, so when that sweet scent had jumped at me, I hadn’t expected it. All that my first, real lipstick had done was remind me of marble cake.

I imagined the tube sailing on rich, slick, vanilla-chocolate swirls, and even though a string of mirages was the only thing trying to fill my tummy in the last twenty-four hours, my belly protested. My insides burned. My mother’s lecture droned as I yawned.

The day felt like it would never end. It started with light coming in from the kitchen window, and it had moved around the corner of the maroon brick apartment house, gleaming over my slender shoulder. I swallowed slowly, almost in stages, but the saliva was accumulating rapidly in my mouth. I was thirsty, but never dared to interrupt Mom’s tutorial.

She went on about classic colours, which, in her eyes, were families of reds and plums, and I let her go on that way. I worked aggressively to control my swaying legs and rocking torso. During that entire week, my mother was chillingly restless. She was gripped and impatient by her new purpose—the last one had entailed waking me up the in the middle of the night to redecorate our apartment. My mother had decided our round, oak kitchen table should be away from her cooking space so guests wouldn’t have to look at the clutter when they gathered for her home-cooked meals.

The first discrepancy was that Mom never entertained, nor did she cook! But I had waddled out of the queen bed we shared and pushed the table through our hall and into the living room. Then, we slid the sofas into the kitchen so the guests had a place to mingle while she was busy “cooking”. Apparently, she had read somewhere that the host shouldn’t miss out on conversations while tending supper. I knew it was outrageous, but the sooner we were done, the sooner I could lay back down to sleep.

I don’t remember Mom looking like she lost a minute of sleep. She was over the moon about bequeathing me that lipstick and was especially euphoric when it became erect in my flimsy hand. It was so heartening to witness new life coursing through her nerves, and out of her every pore, that I opted not to ruin the moment by asking her for a meal, or even just breaking away for a fruit or slice of bread. During that time Mom, could stay up entire nights and didn’t eat for days. She was also inclined to keep me up with her, and our neighbours, especially Charlotte Landry from downstairs, became increasingly suspicious.

My mother was scatty to discuss the lunch box I would need, or the painting smock, and I didn’t push those matters, either. I had no doubt my father would remember and fret over my school supplies even though he had had to find somewhere else to sleep. Mom wasn’t having any of him in those days, so I settled on the floor, readying myself to watch her group and regroup piles of lipsticks and stock and re-stock her lipstick spinner until Dad finally rang.

Madame Landry became ever more suspicious after hearing noises in the middle of the night. Her inklings and reservations about my mother went full speed ahead after she came up offering blueberry muffins. Something I did, or something I said, led her to call my father’s office, and the fears and suspicions he himself had tried to push down burst at the seams. He made a revolutionizing decision about where my mother had to go, and that’s around the time I became selectively mute.

Memory lane is suddenly cut short for me. Alec and Nurse Adrienne have returned, and I smear away the tears burning my cheeks. Alec’s mouth purses, and he loses some of his self-assured composure. I’m uneasy around his discomfiture, declining his eyes that beg me to use him for assistance.

“Here you are, Miss. It’s hospital policy for patients to leave in a wheelchair after ER treatment.”

“No, please. I honestly don’t need that,” I say, sitting upright and swinging my legs off the examination table. I dig my feet into my sandals resting on a stepping stool. “I’m not even dizzy anymore. I told the doctor that I just had a rough night. It’s a headache. I’m much, much better now.”

“I’m really glad to hear it, but like I said—hospital policy.”

“She’s quite stubborn, this one,” Alec cuts in. “We’ll compromise, Nurse. Thank you for your assistance.” Alec winks, and I’m positive the nurse has just come undone. Hell, I almost did in this jumbled state.

Suddenly, I’m swung back off my feet before they touch the blue spotted vinyl flooring, and Alec’s carrying me again. Sofie left ahead of us so I wouldn’t have too far to go, and I know exactly the smirk I’ll find on her face when I look into the driver’s seat. These two have become thorns in my side.

“Why do you get the front seat?” I ask in a nasty, petty tone as he tries to settle me into the rear of the car.

“I don’t. I’ve just decided to sit back here with you.” He smiles his wolfish, Casanova grin. It’s the same one I wanted to smack last night. “If you haven’t noticed yet, Caroline, I take pleasure in your annoyance and provocations. I quite like you this way.”

Sofie smiles wide and watches from the rear-view mirror.

“I’m still mad at you,” I snap at her reflection.

“I know. But we’re not fighting today. You need to heal that concussion before you can take me on again.”

“How convenient for you.”

“Very,” she says, beaming a snide grin.

“Do you have my cell with you? I should call home.”

“No, you shouldn’t.”

“What! Why?”

“Because you’ll tell Uncle Nate, and he’ll show up here with Ryan dragging us out of town. What they don’t know won’t hurt them, Care.”

“Honestly, Sofie. Why on Earth would I tell them about the break in? How would that even help? I want to call and check in on my mother. God. I’m not an idiot.”

“Well, I was worried you’d make this into an excuse to go home.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?” I say, rubbing my brow as though it will relieve my headache. “No matter what I do, you’re impossible to please. Does Jason know this about you?”

“You can tell him yourself, later.”

“He’s coming back?”

“Yup. Alec and Jay are picking up supper tonight. It’ll be just the four of us. You need a quiet evening, anyway.”

“Indeed,” Alec confirms.

“Well am I allowed to call my boyfriend, or are you banning me from him, too, Mussolini?”

In my peripheral vision, I catch an unshakeable sense that something’s suddenly wrong with Alec, almost like I can see the prickle of his scalp. He’s having a difficult time erasing an uneasy look off his face, but he pulls together, trying a different tact.

“Sofie, I sincerely doubt the two of you having a row will help her injury.”

“This is all on her,” I whine. “I’m not the one picking a fight. She started, and I’m nauseous back here. Great plan.” I sneer at Alec, wishing his gaze would detach itself from mine. His smile lengthens—it’s becoming quite the bane to my holiday.

“That’s the concussion, love. You must rest that pretty little head of yours today. Like Sofie said, we’ll bring supper along later, but make sure you rest. Perhaps Sofie can poke and prod you awake every hour.”

I can only grumble to that. “Oh, she’ll enjoy that.”

“Every chance I get,” Sofie jeers.

“Don’t you have something better to do than play house or doctor?” I say, turning my attention to the left. There’s no grey in his eyes, today. They’re unquestionably blue and sparkling but darker pools than mine. He’s dressed casual again: jeans and a khaki t-shirt.

“Out with it, love. You worry we’ll dance again? Well don’t, Caroline. We won’t... not tonight.”

PASSAGES

Ryan:
My sister says every girl leaves a clue, and that I’m not looking well enough. But honest to God, Caroline hasn’t left any clues. I’m racking my brain because there’s nothing that jumps to mind. I don’t know anything about what cut or style she likes. I guess I could ask Sofie, but Sofie’s… well I don’t want to talk to her unless I have to. Besides, she’s practically an old maid. She’s nowhere close to settling down, so what would she know about the perfect ring for Caroline.

Alec:
I need a pint every time I hear that bloke’s name.

Chapter Nine

I flare up from a drowsy state of rest. The jab at my shoulder is too rough to be a segment from an unfinished dream. My eyes set on the glass of coconut water that’s on a lace-covered tea table by the bed. I twist over and find Sofie lying next to me, ready to poke me again with kitchen tongs.

“Great! You’re not dead,” she says, slithering down next to me. “I thought you may have died in your sleep.”

I grumble, inveighing against her presence. “What is
wrong
with you?”

“What? I’m just checking in,” Sofie clarifies, devoid of the tinge of hesitation a normal person feels after digging into one’s flesh.

“Well, why not come at me with a butcher knife?”

“If I had to I would, but I didn’t think it was really necessary. How’s your head?”

“Agonizing. And it has everything to do with you and not the concussion.”

I pick up the glass of water and slide up against the headboard. The bedroom is a cloudy white space with even whiter garnishing, and it occurs to me, that for this week, I finally have a room of my own. Its crisp palette is a calming distraction from the raging flashes of memories since the break-in. There’s a chalky-white six-drawer dresser and even whiter doors with glass knobs. The trimmings and mouldings are white, like the capiz shell chandelier over the white quilted bed. The only items interrupting the pattern are two peachy-pink throw pillows and a turquoise blanket on a white rocking chair.

During the attack, my mind froze and raced in equal measure. That process alone wiped me out more than the blows from the actual assault. It’s as close as I’ve ever been to understanding a cycle of mania and the depletion that follows. As I reflect on that, my love and dedication for Mom immediately heightens, swelling in my chest—choking me with sympathy and a pang of conscience.

The physical toll that comes from a spurt of hyper-restlessness, followed by an even longer bout of wretched melancholy or self-discrimination, is real and shattering. For someone like my mother, it’s an unsolicited dance partner in the darkest of ballrooms—a perpetual step sequence without song. Except, when my mind froze and raced in that way, it was for mere seconds or minutes compared to days and weeks.

For some, it really is like pedalling backwards despite the fact that they’re trying to redeploy their minds, finding other things—beautiful, colourful, happy things to focus on and distract them. I’m thankful to discover that I can effortlessly find diversion from the sound of the rolling, crashing waves, and I know I don’t want to miss another minute of the beach and my holiday, or even my life. Mom re-routes her thoughts to the safety of her dressing room, but like a nesting doll, her intentions are a struggle inside another struggle. I suppose it does always come back to her. My mother is inescapable—bigger and more consequential than any joy or calamity in my life. Rueful, I think about what that means for Ryan.

“Is Jason down there?” I ask, my face furrowing after noting sounds coming from the kitchen.

“And Alec,” Sofie leers. “I told him to come up here and wake you up himself, but apparently it’s not very gentleman-like to turn up in a
woman’s quarters
,” she says, reproducing an awful British accent.

I ignore her effort to cultivate a dialogue on the matter that is Alecsander Vaughn, but to my chagrin, I’m also taking in the fact that I’m in the same dress from earlier and want to modify what I look like before heading downstairs.

Shit.
This is not good. My behaviour is hardly ideal, now is it? I’m really beginning to loathe all of England.

“I’ll be down in a sec. I just want to call Mom,” I say. “And Ryan. I want to call Ryan,” I add, trying to distract myself from our tempting visitor.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Caroline. Didn’t you already do all of that before taking a nap? What the hell could have changed? Just freshen up and come down for supper. The guys brought a delicious spread.”

“What time is it, anyway?” I ask, disoriented as my feet make contact with the floor.

“Eight
-
ish,” Sofie answers. “Also known as…” she moves smoothly off the bed, eerily feline, “the new, ungodly hour for Caroline and her British gentleman to continue their eye-fucking extravaganza.”

I wince.

“Get out!” I command. “I need to get dressed.”

Sofie paces backwards, watching me keenly as she makes her way to the door and smiles wide like an idiot. She brings the tong up, clipping at the air, and gleefully exits the room.

I revive some colour into my face and pep up my hair. I almost pull apart my shirt-dress once I’m back in my room and ram my legs into white jean shorts. After yanking a tank top over my head, I jam my arms through a peach and grey kimono, slide my feet into running socks, and force them into sneakers. Sofie meanders back.

“Hey,” she says.

“What do you want, now?” My voice is shaky.

“I was just thinking, Care, that you’re pretty fearless, you know. You defy the odds and come back up stronger.”

I’m agog. I’m utterly gobsmacked by her disclosure and stare blankly at Sofie after the bombshell.

“Don’t ruin it by getting all corny on me,” she continues. “Now, come on. Let’s go eat.”

I smile fondly.

We scamper off, and I stop to claw a hand over the top of the white, square banister. I steady myself, allocating air to my brain. My headache is slight but my skull feels heavy.

“Hold onto me, Drama Queen,” Sofie says, coming to my side.

“I’m fine,” I emphasize and commence a cautious descent.

“Okay. Don’t hold onto me. See if I care. I’ll just call Alec, and he can carry you down.” Sofie puckers her lips to bury a smile, and I discount much of the statement.

“We still need to talk about what you’re trying to do with all of that,” I warn as we reach the landing and step down two more stairs to enter the living room. I walk past the repulsive sofa from last night, heading towards the kitchen.

Sofie looks patronizing. “Sure we do.”

The back wall of the kitchen and dining area is a glass lookout over the sea. I need to collect my bearings every time I enter the space, but with Mom in my life the way she is, I may never see anything like this again. So the marginal seasickness is a picture-perfect souvenir for me.

“Hello, Caroline.” That heady voice never fails to make me flinch.

“Hi,” I utter inside a sigh. “Hey, Jason.” My voice picks up life as I turn away from Alec to focus on his friend.

“Hey, Caroline. I’m glad you’re joining us,” Jay says, striding closer. “I called Sofie for updates. She said you’ve been doing alright. Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do? I feel like I haven’t really been all that helpful.”

“Are you kidding? No, Jason. Thank you. And this spread. Wow,” I reassure.

“When in Maine, right?” Jay says, arranging a dispersion of clam chowder, boiled lobster, fried calamari rings, garlic bread, and Sea Dog blueberry beer. “Oh, and there’s a cobbler in the fridge for dessert. Let’s not forget that, babe.” He pecks Sofie’s cheek.

Faint ginger highlights peek through Jay’s blonde hair. He’s the quintessential construction guy, but what Sofie apparently likes best is how soft and smooth his hands and feet are for someone rough and tough like him. I try striking the image of her finding any of that out on her own and lower my head for a cascade of hair to conceal my reddening face.

“What’s the matter, love?” Alec asks, grazing my side.

“Hmm? Nothing. Why?”

“We lost you to your thoughts.”

“I really wasn’t thinking of anything. Thanks for the food, Alec,” I say, my eyes meeting his. I turn away. “You too, Jay. Thanks again.”

“You’re very welcome,” Jason responds, sliding an arm around Sofie’s neck, passing his beer to her.

“I see,” Alec says. “We’re back to this, are we?”

I draw back but plan to stand my ground. “I’m not back to anything.”

In truth, I can’t resist surveying Jay and Sofie together. They’re collaborating on a playlist for his phone, leaning over the counter of the peninsula. It’s like watching a synchronous operation between the two, so acclimatized to one another, and effortless. It affects me because they’ve hardly had the proper opportunity to reach such familiarity, and for someone like me, who’s been with her boyfriend for over a year, I’m a little thrown and nonplussed.

“I’m just admiring them together,” I divulge. “He’s a nice guy. I like him.”

“Jason’s ace. I met the lad three years ago, and I’m glad I did.”

“And you met Sofie last year?” I ask, interweaving a twinge of cynicism into the question.

“Yes,” he says, poker-faced. “Go on. What else must you know?” Alec’s voice is cool.

“I want to know why you came up to Catherine’s House, and if popping up into someone’s life, only to disappear and pop up again, is a habit of yours.”

Music shoots out from the wireless speaker, and I startle, more so when Alec advances. His head hovers over mine, and his gaze sweeps across my face.

“I believe I was painstakingly honest when I answered those very questions last night. As for your most recent inquiry, Caroline,” my name liquefies in thin, hot air as he says it, “I don’t
pop in
for anyone other than perhaps my family back home in England. Hoping to meet you was merely something I fancied. So it’s a wish granted, love. Don’t ruin my moment by overthinking it. This is as clear as it gets.”

I gape.

His voice, his gaze… they’re hypnotic. Alec is mesmeric, which is becoming exhausting. He’s this magnetic field I have no choice but to remain observant and attentive around, and it’s annoying me to no end.

Sofie lights a candle on the dining table and another by the sink. At dusk, we can only hear the sea, and for now, even the squawking, cawing beach raiders have retired. Jay waits for Sofie to approach before drawing out a chair for her, and they sit in chorus side by side. She’s three years older than him and from a distinct metropolis across the border, so being subjected to their concurrences is fantastically delightsome. I investigate the table setting.

I’m forced next to Alecsander, and I contemplate sliding things over to the head. I rake a rapid glance across the spread, attempting to hack this as discreetly as I can.

“Sit, Caroline,” Sofie commands. I glimpse upwards, shooting daggers in the process.

Oh, she is positively infuriating.

Sofia-Marie and I exchange belittling frowns, but I concede nonetheless and plop down on the chair next to Alec. He twists the cap off a bottle and pours the ale into a glass. The bastard’s grinning and Jason is, too. I’m solo, here, like the three of them are on their own masterful island.

“Love, I understand you’re on holiday, but with your head trauma perhaps you can just have a swill from mine,” Alec imparts, gallingly calm. He slides the glass between our placemats as though it’s perfectly natural for me to share a beer with him and that his opinion would mean something.

“No, thanks,” I say, happy to shoot him down. “I had enough last night, and I still feel a little dehydrated. I’ll stick to water.”

“So, Caroline,” says Jason, and I’m beyond relieved to hear him interject, “besides what happened here last night, which is so fucking shitty, how are you enjoying the town? Sofie told me your family’s been coming to Maine since before she was born.”

“It’s true,” I confirm. “My Mom doesn’t travel well, so when my father married her he couldn’t join the rest of his family on their trips here, and Sofie and I never had the chance to come together. But the summer I was six, Mom took the plunge and agreed to a holiday, and I guess my parents were trying to… I don’t know… work it out, and the three of us came for a long weekend.”

“Do you remember where you stayed?” Jason asks, mixing crackers into his chowder.

“Yeah, actually I do. My Dad booked us at the Anchorage Inn. I saw it on the way here when we arrived on Sunday, and it still looks pretty much the same. Except there are more swimming pools and buildings. But I totally recognized it.”

“That’s a nice place,” Jason certifies. “One of the best. My Mom just spent the week there. She wants her own space now that she has a boyfriend, so she didn’t take me up on my offer to stay at my house.”

“You’re from Vermont, right?”

“Yeah, but she lives in Boston now.”

“Sofie says your grandparents had a home here, and you own it.”

“Sofie’s right,” he says, tilting over to kiss her between the shoulder and collar bone. “But I rent it out. It just wouldn’t make sense for me to live there when it can bring in the income that it does. Actually, I want you to visit it—maybe tomorrow?”

His eager-to-please, affability warms me.

“Yeah. Sure. I’d love to see it,” I accede. “I do hope you’ll be coming back to Montreal. Maybe you can stay longer this time, and Sofie might even allow you outside.” I smirk.

“You better believe it,” Jay replies staunchly. “Did Sofie tell you all the smart ideas she’s been dreaming up for my place? She’s got me all wired, too, now.” He smiles affectionately towards her.

“Oh, yeah. Sofie’s great that way,” I say cuttingly and notice her uncovering my bait.

“Baby,” she starts, “Caroline, doesn’t have time for dreams. She’s on a strict schedule to die a boring, miserable human being.”

I accept the offence, knowing I full-well started this one.

“Tosh, Sofie,” Alec interrupts. “I sincerely doubt that. With this one’s determination and spirit…” he says, sloping his head my way. “She’s radiant.” He locks his eyes with mine. “You’re resplendent, love.”

I’m dazzled.

Alec is so unnerving—it’s daunting to be tucked between an ego maniac on one side and the superior commander of my life on the other. Sofia-Marie’s always been bossy with me, but is slightly so with all her friends. In school, they generally happened to be boys.

Sofie never did get on well with girls. They’re apparently too fake or melodramatic for her, and guys are easier friendships to manage. Basically, she has no patience for her sex, and there are very few in our species that Sofie doesn’t mind associating with. But truth be told, she didn’t have it very easy, either.