Straightjacket (21 page)

“We really appreciate it,” she added as he helped her back into the sling.

“Anyway, I’d say another four weeks or so with this. Now Caleb, how have you been?”

“Oh, I’m fine.”

“You know, I never really got to tell you in person how sorry I was to hear that your mother had passed.”

Caleb’s whole body went stiff.

“It’s too bad you and your dad stopped coming to the lake though. Such a beautiful house, just sitting vacant for the past couple years. And all the locals so enjoyed seeing you every summer.”

Caleb’s icy face betrayed nothing. Dr. Hillman cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Well, it’s good to see you’re back now,” he added quickly. “We’ve certainly missed you. And bringing such a nice young lady with you. You kids do grow up fast.”

Caleb didn’t look like himself. Anna didn’t know what to do. She wanted to go over to him, be close to him, do
anything
to make that look on his face go away. But instead she offered Dr. Hillman an uncomfortable smile, hoping it would be enough to disguise her worry.

“Did you know that I’ve known Caleb since he was a baby? He and the family came up here every summer. And if you knew how many bumps and bruises this boy has had over the years…well, let’s just say I was here quite a bit. I didn’t mind at all, what with his mother always being such a gracious hostess.”

Caleb’s face was still frozen.

“That woman sure knew how to bake a cake.” Dr. Hillman looked through Anna and into nothing in particular, reminiscing to himself and enjoying it. “How’s your dad doing?”

“He’s fine.” Caleb’s tone was completely dead.

“Still working?”

“Yes.”

“And what have you been up to? You must be, what, eighteen by now?”

“Nineteen.”

“You in school?”

“No. I took the year off to travel.” There was no hint of hesitation.

“That’s nice. Just make sure you get back into school soon. Gotta think about your future.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” he said, slapping his hand on his knee, “you just give me a call in a few weeks and I’ll come right back over here, and hopefully we can get that sling off your arm.” He stood up and walked over to the door. Caleb stood up slowly and followed robotically.

“Thanks for making the house call,” Caleb said blandly as he opened the screen door. “The office can just send me a bill.”

“Don’t worry about it—old time’s sake and all. You take care now.”

“Thanks,” Anna called out when he was halfway to his car.

They were alone.

One glance in Caleb’s direction and it was clear: he truly wasn’t himself. His face hung lifeless, blank.

“I’m so glad you’re healing well.” His voice was devoid of any emotion. It would have been a relief to see him sad or even angry. But there was nothing there, just a detached expression and lips that mouthed empty words.

“Caleb, tell me what’s wrong,” she said, reaching for his hand. She hated herself for sounding like she was begging. His hand was still warm, though. She’d expected it to feel ice cold.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Come on, I know there is. I’m…I’m sorry about your mother.” She waited to see if she’d been able to penetrate his iciness. He only looked over at her, the blankness still in his eyes, and let a pause hang in the air before he answered.

“Thanks.”

“How long ago did she…die?” She spoke the last word more quietly than all the others.

“Two years.”

His coolness made her want to cry. He’d severed the connection between them in an instant, cauterizing the open wound on his end so that it seemed like nothing had happened. She, on the other hand, was in pain, the lesion gushing blood so quickly that she was stunned.

“Caleb, talk to me.” Even though he hugged her, there was nothing behind it.

“I’m fine, really. Don’t worry.”

“Can you tell me about your mother?” She ought to have left him alone, but she couldn’t stand the distance. There were parts of him that she couldn’t understand, and she’d accepted that, but she was becoming greedy. He had pulled away so completely, and a compulsion to know everything about him weighed on her. In that moment she was heartbroken that he hadn’t exposed himself completely to her like she thought he had.

“What do you want to know?”

“What happened to her?” She almost cringed as she asked. It was wrong, but she couldn’t help herself.

“She drowned herself.” It wasn’t so much the words that stunned her but the callousness in his voice.

“Oh,” she said breathlessly. “I’m—I’m so sorry.”

“I’m going to get some water,” he said, already walking away. He passed through the kitchen door, and she was left standing alone in the living room. As the door swung back and forth on its hinges, she shuddered from the cool air that pushed back toward her in small puffs.

Chapter Twenty-One

Every detail of the day Caleb buried his mother was still clear in his mind. In a memory he found himself in the funeral home, sitting in the front row, with his mother’s casket lying a few feet away. He fidgeted with his tie as his father and then his aunt took the podium. They delivered their eulogies in between fits of sobbing. Caleb was seventeen.

He couldn’t remember what they had said because he didn’t listen. He couldn’t stop looking at the casket. His eyes traced the grain of the wood over and over again. Its surface was so shiny, polished to perfection. He kept wondering what his mother looked like lying inside, what she was wearing, if her arms were down by her sides or crossed over her chest. There couldn’t have been an open casket, but he still wished he could see her one more time. Maybe she finally looked more like herself, more like before she went on the medication, before she turned into a drugged-up zombie.

His father had touched his shoulder, handing him a bunch of lavender tied with a purple ribbon to place on the casket. The tiny flowers were her favorite, but their pungent smell made Caleb nauseous. He placed them on top of the coffin. They began to roll off, but he caught them and set them down again, this time horizontally, and they stayed. Everyone was staring at him. Two children giggled and an angry
shhh
came from the back of the room. His face was icy and tearless.

Then the pallbearers came in, lifted the casket off its stand, and took her away. His father nudged him and he got up, trailing his mother. He walked down the aisle past each of the rows. Despite the whispering, his eyes focused on the ground; he had no desire to look at anyone. The voices were pitying him. They made him want to shove his way past the casket and the pallbearers and all the mourners and run out of the building. But his body, however heavy and dead it felt, was strong and led him down the aisle it was supposed to walk.

And then…another aisle he was forced to walk down. That time he wore a white tuxedo with a red rose sticking out of the lapel. There was no coffin at the end of this aisle. This time his father, wearing a white tuxedo identical to his own, stood at the end, waiting for a woman in white who wasn’t his mother.

The disgust ate away at his gut. That day was what did it for him. Soon after that, he was in heaven.

“Caleb?” Anna’s voice brought him back. The kitchen sink he was slumped over came into focus. “There’s a guy at the door who says you ordered some groceries?”

“Yeah.” His voice cracked. He turned around and found her standing like she was ready to brace herself for a punch to the gut. Her brightness was gone; the worry and strain had settled so easily into her face. Even though she wore the same tank top and jeans she put on that morning, she’d changed completely. He hadn’t noticed it until now.

He hated himself.

He’d done this.

I promised never to hurt her.

But he did it so easily, without even realizing it.

He rushed over and squeezed her hard, lifting her a few inches up off the ground.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She sunk into him and her body jerked, surrendering to the deep sobbing.

“You went away from me. Don’t do that again.” He squeezed her tighter.

“I won’t. I promise.” The guilt was becoming unbearable, but he deserved it and took it.

The kitchen door swung open. “Where do you want this?” a husky voice asked. They ripped apart. Anna wiped her eyes with the palm of her hand.

“On the counter. Thanks,” Caleb answered. The man dropped the paper grocery bags where Caleb had said and handed him the receipt. His hand dug deep down into his pocket. “Keep the rest,” he said handing over a stack of bills.

“Thanks, buddy.” The deliveryman counted the money and passed through the door, leaving them alone.

Anna’s eyes were still red, and her lashes, coated with tears, were an even darker black. He rubbed his thumb against her cheek, sweeping away the leftover tears.

“Don’t cry. I don’t want to make you cry.”

“I’m not crying anymore,” she answered, trying to muster a smile.

“Are you hungry? Want to pack a lunch and have a picnic?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” The palm of her hand wiped her cheeks dry, once and for all. “Let’s put away the groceries first.” She pulled the packages out, one by one, and placed them on the counter. “Where do you want all this?”

“Wherever,” he said, delving into another bag himself. Once they’d found a spot for everything, they packed themselves a lunch of tuna sandwiches and Cokes, grabbed a blanket, and headed outside.

“Want to take a walk around the lake? There are lots of places we can sit and eat.”

“Perfect.”

Caleb led the way, his hand holding hers.

Although the path was faint and little more than a thin dirt trail littered with fallen leaves, it led them reliably around the lake. It guided them in between fallen branches, wildflowers, winding rows of ivy, and an army of tree trunks. Caleb stopped to pick some wild blueberries and saved them for lunch. Every few minutes the drone of cicadas filled the space around them, and in between birds called to each other. The leaves of the trees shaded them, and by the time the harsh rays of the sun reached them on the forest floor, all that was left was a soft, warm glow.

They were the only two people in the world, living right there in the wildness, needing nothing except each other and what they found. There was no place for psychiatric diagnoses or nurses who pushed pills. They didn’t enter Caleb’s mind. Instead, he lost himself in Anna and what was around them.

When they walked far enough, he found a break in the trees that led them closer to the lake. Caleb laid the blanket down on a patch of grass and they sat together, gazing out over the water while they ate their sandwiches and blueberries. Giant birds circled the lake high above, and fish leaped out of the water, rushing toward the insects on the surface. The lake and the woods around it were their own world; nothing manmade or foreign was allowed in. And Caleb was anything but foreign. This place, more than anywhere else, was his home. He belonged as much as the birds and the fish. And now Anna belonged there too.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Anna found herself living a life that she never could have dreamed of. It was simple and beautiful and left her wanting for nothing. They spent their days outdoors, making a ritual of walking around the lake, eating berries along the way, and picking wildflowers. She liked to take a bunch for a vase in the house, and sometimes she stuck one behind her ear or wound a few together to make a crown. Frilly girl stuff like perfume and pretty dresses was never her thing, but she loved the flowers, and here she could surround herself with things she loved.

When they were through with their walks, they’d sit out on the deck until the sun set. Caleb would find a spot at the wooden table and lose himself in his drawing while Anna would indulge in one of the novels from the study in a nearby chair.

One time, though, after she’d worked up enough courage over several days, she brought the ratty old notebook from the study outside. Determined to finally write, she let the tip of the pencil hover over the first page. But all she could do was stare at the blank white sheet, frozen. More than anything, she was scared. Being a writer was a lifelong dream of hers, but if she actually sat down to do it—what if she was terrible? Her dream would be dead, and that would leave her in a place that she never wanted to go.

Just as she was about to go back inside and throw the notebook back onto the desk, Caleb mumbled something.

“Don’t forget to be un-perfect.” He hadn’t even picked his head up from his drawing.

As she laughed, her body relaxed. Without thinking about it, she jotted down a sentence that just came to her. Instead of rereading it, analyzing it, telling herself it was awful, she kept writing. The less she worried about how well she was doing, the more the words started gushing out. And just like that, she became a writer who wrote. Every night after that, she devoted herself to filling at least one page of the notebook.

At first, what she wrote one day would have nothing to do with what she wrote the next. There was so much buried inside of her, it just exploded out onto the page. But soon she noticed the same things coming up over and over again. She wrote about things she knew and had lived through. She wished she
hadn’t
known about them, but they were part of her. There was a kind of relief that came from releasing them onto the pages.

Writing wasn’t the only thing she realized she could do. She was learning how to cook. Every evening Caleb would sit at the kitchen table and keep her company while she made dinner. The ritual began with her bent over one of his mother’s old cookbooks, staring at the page with a furrowed brow. Caleb would laugh at her seriousness and tease her mercilessly until he broke her concentration, and she’d feign anger and threaten to kick him out. Of course she never did. Instead she’d tell him to make himself useful and chop an onion or open a jar on account of her useless arm. When dinner was ready, they’d sit across from each other with a candle flickering between them. Caleb would rave about how good dinner was and how sorry he was to be so hard on her, promising never to do it again. Anna could literally feel the happiness in her body.