The Silent Waters (41 page)

“Why are you cooking? We have to go,” I barked at Maggie the next morning as she stood in the kitchen cooking pancakes. I didn’t understand it. I was short with her the night before. I made it clear that we were leaving first thing in the morning.

She didn’t turn to acknowledge me. She kept cooking.

“Maggie!” I shouted, and still, no response.

I rolled my eyes, went to the fridge, and opened it for a beer. But, there was no beer to be found. “What the…”
Fine.
I moved over to the liquor cabinet and opened it wide, to find nothing. “Are you shitting me?” I grunted. “Maggie, where’s my alcohol?”

No reply. “Jesus, Maggie. You’re mute not deaf!”

She turned to me, narrowed her eyes, and gave me a look of death, which somehow forced me to apologize. “Seriously, though. Where’s my stuff?”

She pointed over to the emptied bottles in the sink. My gut tightened, and I drew in a sharp breath. “You need to go home, Maggie. You need to go get your suitcases so I can take you home right now.”

She walked over to me and placed a comforting hand on my cheek. Then her fingers lightly grazed over the scar across my neck. I closed my eyes. Too much. Her touch gave me too much comfort.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I said, my hand falling on top of hers. I cleared my throat. “I asked you for space…” I swallowed hard.

She slid her lips against mine and held up her right hand.
Five minutes.

I shut my eyes. “I can’t…”

She pulled me closer to her, resting her hands against my chest. When I opened my eyes, she was staring up at me with so much hope.

“Okay.” I shifted my feet and took her hands into mine. “Five minutes.”

The first minute, I had the hardest time staring her way. She reminded me of everything I always wanted and everything I’d already lost. The second minute, she reminded me of the best days of my life. The third minute, I thought of music. Maggie always reminded me of music. She was my music.

She moved in closer, and I stepped back, dropping our hold from one another.

I shook my head. “No. You can’t comfort me. I’m sorry. I can’t be near you. I’m sorry, Maggie. I’m going to go into town for the day, and when I get back, please be ready to leave.” I turned to walk away, embarrassed by my rawness, and as my foot hit the doorway, I spoke my truth. “You can’t fix me, Maggie. You gotta let me drown.”

I wouldn’t leave, and that pissed him off.

Each day that passed I received two different versions of Brooks Tyler Griffin. The first was the silent one, who’d walk past me without saying a word. In all my time of knowing him, he’d never once made me feel invisible until I came to that cabin.

The second version of Brooks was the drunken, rude, asshole version. It was a side of him I didn’t know existed. He’d stumble home sloppy drunk so many times, and come my way, telling me how pathetic I was, and how I should’ve moved on with my life, because we’d never be together. We’d never have a future.

“I mean, look at you. You’re sitting here, waiting for me. What’s the matter with you?” he slurred, stumbling side to side in my doorway at three in the morning one night. “Stop embarrassing yourself, Magnet. This isn’t going to happen. Don’t you have some kind of list to get to?” He snickered and fell backward against the wall. “Or are you too afraid to do anything on your own?”

It was those nights when I wanted to leave the most. It was those nights when I wanted to throw in the towel and leave Brooks in his own misery.

But then I’d hold onto my anchor necklace and remind myself of how many times he stood by my side.

At night, I’d take baths, sink under the water, and remind myself.
That’s not him. That’s not him. That’s not my love…

If I walked away from him when things became hard, what would that say about me? How would I ever forgive myself if his mind went so dark and he slipped away? On the days I needed him most, he always stood by me, and I owed it to him to do the same.

Being in love with someone didn’t mean you only loved them during the sunbeams. It meant you stood by their side during the cloudy nights, too.

He didn’t love the person staring back at him in the mirror anymore. He didn’t see the fun, charming, goofy person he used to be. He didn’t laugh anymore, and I struggled to remember the last time he smiled.

It was my job to remind him.

It was my job to be his anchor.

It was my job to stay and love him through it all.

On the days Brooks was at his worst, I had to walk away. I’d go into town and explore the small shops, yet I hadn’t known how hard it would be on my mind. I noticed everything—every smell, every noise, every person. My mind was on constant alert, warning me of the dangers of the world. The idea of not knowing what was coming from around the corner horrified me.

When a man accidentally bumped into me, I tripped over my feet and fell to the ground, cowering with fear. He apologized over and over again and tried to help me up, but I was too embarrassed to accept his help.

Since I couldn’t go back to the cabin, I’d gone to the place that most reminded me of home—the library. Each day I’d visit the Messa Library and sit in a back corner reading to take my mind off of the world. Mrs. Henderson always came by to visit me and slid me a piece of chocolate, winking my way. “No food or drink allowed in the library, but since you’re so good at almost blending in with the walls, I think we can let this slide.”

Thank you
, I wrote.

“You’re more than welcome.” She pulled out the other chair at the table and paused. “You mind a little company today?”

I gestured for her to sit. Anyone who brought me chocolate each day was allowed to sit with me.

“What are you reading?” she asked.

I showed her the cover.

“Ah,
Persuasion
by Jane Austen. It’s one of my favorite pieces of her work. Second to only to
Northanger Abbey
.”

I nodded in agreement, appreciating Mrs. Henderson’s wise opinion of Austen’s work.

She went into her pocket, pulled out a piece of chocolate, and then popped it into her mouth. “I like to think that
Persuasion
is a perfect mix of profound moments stirred with wonderful entertainment.”

This woman understood what made for a wonderful story.

“So, I told you my husband was the sheriff here, yeah?”

Yes.

She smiled. “If you met Lucas, you’d think he was born from the sweetest piece of chocolate. His voice is so soothing and he has this rich personality that everyone instantly loves. He has a spark about him; when he walks into a room the energy shifts to a brighter place. He’s the love of my life, and I can tell that this Brooks is the love of yours, right?”

He is.

She popped another piece of chocolate into her mouth. “Ninety-five percent of my marriage has always been filled with happiness. Being married to Lucas was the best choice of my life, but there was a point in our story where that five percent showed up. We lived in an inner city, and Lucas was working nightshifts as a police officer. He hardly talked about the kinds of things he saw out there, but I knew they affected him. He started smiling less, he hardly laughed, and everything I did was somehow wrong to him. He shouted at me and yelled about ridiculous things. The dishwasher leaking water; the delivery boy tossing the newspaper into the bushes by mistake. Those sorts of things drove him crazy, and he hollered at me about it. I placed his anger on my shoulders, though, telling myself he’d had a tough day. My sweet Lucas had a tough work life. He worked a job where death was more common than life. He walked into houses sometimes where he’d come across children who lost their lives due to getting in the crossfire of their parents arguing. He was tired, so I took on his exhaustion. I told myself I was his rock, therefore I had to hold down the fort for both of us.”

I listened to her words, hardly blinking once.

“But the thing about rocks is even though they are strong, they aren’t invincible. You can’t allow someone to take a sledgehammer to a stone, without expecting it to begin to crack. It took a lot of work, but we came through it after I stood up for myself, reminding Lucas that I was his partner, not his punching bag.” Mrs. Henderson leaned in closer to me and placed a piece of chocolate into my hand. “I see it in your eyes, sweet girl. The way you’re holding his pain in your chest. The way you’re breaking while trying to appear strong. I’ve read some of the articles about Brooks and they are beyond harsh. Brooks is a gentle soul. That’s probably why all of this media attention is so hard on him. Gentle souls hurt the most when the world turn its back on them. That’s why your role to him is so important. You’re his truth. So, help him, but stand your ground. Don’t be his punching bag, Maggie. Love him, but love yourself, too. Just because he’s hurting doesn’t mean he gets to hurt you,” Mrs. Henderson said. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself?”

I promise.

“Good.” She grinned, and we started talking about much happier topics.

“I don’t think I ever asked you what you plan on doing with your life. What’s your career path?” she asked me.

I’m actually enrolled in school to become a librarian.

Mrs. Henderson popped the last piece of chocolate into her mouth and gave me a wicked grin. “Well, sweetheart, I urge you to reconsider. If I can be quite frank with you, I think you talk too much to ever work inside of a library. Have you thought about becoming a politician? They talk all day even though they hardly ever have anything much to say.”

I smiled. The world needed more women like her. The world needed more people who were like the book
Persuasion
: a perfect blend of profound moments stirred with dashes of entertainment.