Unbound (7 page)

“That
gives us three days to get you riding your bike without those training wheels.
That’s a lot of practise, don’t you think?”

“But
I can’t.” The tears began building and my throat ached, but I was determined
not to let her see me cry.

“Sure
you can. Listen, pack up your schoolwork while I go get changed and we’ll
practice before dinner.”

My
eyes on the table, I nodded as my father left the room.

Sitting
in silence, I refused to look up, knowing my mother still stood in the doorway.

“Rachel,”
her voice was gentle, “none of the other second graders have training wheels.
Don’t you want to be like the other kids?”

Schooling
myself to statue- like stillness, I counted by threes in my head.

“Suit
yourself,” she sighed and went back into the kitchen.

*
         
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*
         
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*

Almost
all of my childhood memories were of my mother in her scrubs. She would come
home from her shifts in the ER exhausted, but after a short nap, she would
tackle the laundry or housecleaning before showering or changing. She had
always seemed grimly efficient, taking little joy in either work or home, but
accomplishing the tasks that were required of her.

My
father would “help” by taking me outside to play. We built tree forts and splashed
in the creek that ran though our backyard while my mother made our beds. My
relationship with her had never been easy. Whereas my father was unabashed in
his affection, my mother, like me, was more reserved, introverted. She wasn’t
cold, only more distant, and as a child, I hadn’t the ability or the awareness
to know the difference. When I think of her back then, it was as if some
transparent barrier separated her from us, allowing us to see her and hear her,
but never truly feel her presence.

Older
now, I understood better how deeply my brother’s death affected her. She never
truly rejoined my father and me, after he died. What must it have been like for
her to be the outsider in our family of three, when instead, there should have
been four? Did she imagine that if Jacob had survived, he would have been hers,
as I was my father’s? Saddened, I realized that my mother’s life, like my own,
had been shaped by death, first by my brother’s, and then by my father’s.

Stomach
heavy with guilt, I finally recognized this link between us where I had long
assumed none existed. Thinking of her, I dialled her cell, wanting in some way
to reach out to her, to feel connected.

She
answered on the third ring, sounding harried. “Hi Rachel, what’s up?”

“Nothing...just
calling to say hello,” I said, trying to sound casual. It didn’t work.

“Is
everything okay?” her tone became worried.

“Everything’s
fine, Mom, really.
 
I just haven’t seen
you in awhile.”

“Oh,
okay then.” The silence stretched. “Any plans for tonight?”

 
“It’s Friday, Lacey’s coming over.”

“Oh,
no dates?” she asked, “Have you spoken to Adam?”

My
shoulders tensed. My mother had been pushing Adam on me since the tenth grade
after he had called once to ask about homework. Like a dog with a bone, it
didn’t seem to register when I tried to tell her we were just friends now.

“No,
I haven’t talked to Adam in months.” I tried to keep the exasperation to a
minimum.

“Okay,
just wondering,” her voice was high with pretended indifference. “He’s really a
nice boy, Rachel,” she added lightly, but I could hear her disappointment.

I
refused to take the bait. This conversation was very old.

More
silence.

“Did
you see Alex this week?” she asked.

“Yes,”
I said quietly, annoyed now. “I’m still seeing her.”

“Is
it working? Are you feeling better?” I suppressed another sigh. My mother had
somehow gotten the idea that my therapy was a panacea. I think she imagined
that Alex simply knew the right combination of words, like a magic spell, that
would make my problems disappear. Not that she understood what my problems
were. What she really wanted to know was how soon I would be ready to go to
university. She tried to hide it, but I knew she was embarrassed by my anxiety,
as well as by my inability to act like a regular teenager.

“Uh-huh,”
I said. “Listen Mom, I’ve got to get going.”

“Sure
honey,” she sounded distracted again. “I’m working a double and won’t be home
until tomorrow morning. Tell Lacey I said hi.”

Hanging
up, I pushed down the same vague sense of loss I always felt after talking to
my mother. It was as if every conversation only served to remind me that we’d
lost all of the people we loved. I had tried to explain this to Alex, tried to
describe the tenuous and fragile relationship my mother and I had forged, built
upon the graves of others.

Alex
had listened empathetically and nodded. “The cupboard is still empty,” she said
knowingly.

“The
cupboard?”

“Just
an analogy.” She shrugged. “You’re like a hungry person who keeps opening up
the same empty cupboard, desperately hoping that this time it will be full of
food.”

She
had looked at me with compassion. “Your mother may never be able to give you
the care or comfort you need, the kind of unconditional affection your Dad gave
you...the cupboard is empty,” she repeated. “Maybe it’s time to look somewhere
else.”

*
         
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*

Lacey
was not nearly as difficult as I had feared she would be. As we sat on the
floor of my bedroom eating Thai, she only raised an eyebrow when I tried,
again, to tell her that I had simply wanted to take a day off.

She
eyed me doubtfully. “Alright, have it your way. I know that look. But,” she
added significantly, “I will be the first person you spill the beans to.”

I
flashed her a grateful smile.

Luckily
for me, Lacey was easily distracted and she launched into a description of her
latest art project, a post-feminist sculpture made entirely out of high-heeled
shoes glued together. “I’m calling it No Pain, No Gain,” she said proudly,
pulling out her cellphone to show me the pictures she’d taken of it.

Relaxing,
I let myself enjoy her company, realizing she was actually going to let it go.
For now.

Catching
up on each other’s lives over Phad Thai, we fell back easily into the patterns
we had created in childhood, until, glancing at her watch, Lacey jumped up and
checked herself out in the hallway mirror. Today her hair was red, and her
clothes were black. Next week, it would likely be reversed.

“I’ve
got to go, Ray. There are a bunch of us heading to Gallagher’s tonight.” She
looked hopeful. “I don’t suppose you’ll join us?”

I
flashed a wan smile. “No,” I said sincerely, “but thank you.”

Lacey
always asked. I almost always declined.

She
frowned, but nodded. “Okay, then.” With a quick kiss on my cheek, she left.

Watching
her from the window, I wanted to call out to her as she made her way down the path.
For one moment I wanted to move as easily through my life as Lacey moved
through hers. But the words caught in my throat and died before they made it to
my lips.

Not
tonight, I promised myself, but soon.

*
         
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*

As
it turned out, I did end up rearranging my bookshelves. My book collection had
expanded beyond the confines of my storage unit once again, and I went through
the stacks, separating what I would keep forever from books that could be
traded in at the used bookstore down the street. Although I worked in a
library, I rarely borrowed books. There was something about the possession of a
book that was important to me. Owning it gave me proprietary rights on the
story. It meant that I could read as quickly or as slowly as I liked. No
expectations, no deadlines, no proscriptions on bent spines or crumpled pages.
I was not gentle on my books. I read while I ate, I read in the bathtub. At
night, I rolled over on top of my books that had fallen between the covers as I
dozed. For me, the worn pages and tattered covers were a sign of devotion. Like
the Velveteen Rabbit, the books I read were only real when they were loved. And
I understood that love was not always gentle.

Sunday
was gloomy. Staring out of my bedroom window at the rain slashing through the
trees, a melancholy fugue settled over me. I was actually looking forward to
returning to work the next day, eager to be distracted from my thoughts of
Eaden, and the doubts that were beginning to cloud my judgment. It had felt
exciting and mysterious when his very existence had seemed uncertain, his
appearances unpredictable. Knowing that he was real meant that I could really
lose him, the same way I had lost the other men in my life.

The
morning of my father’s funeral, we had stood outside the church in the pouring
rain, watching the men who carried my father’s coffin walk towards the open
hatch of the black limousine. The pallbearers were dressed handsomely, long
dark coats to protect their suits and fedoras atop their heads. That had been
my father’s request. Fedoras.
 

Rain
mixed with my tears as I recognized my Uncle James among them, his stoic face
broken with grief, and my cousin Neil, gangly legs marking his transition from
boy to man.

Longing
for Jacob, I was angry at him for not having to experience this loss. What
would he have looked like on this day; bearing the coffin of the man he would
have called his father? Needing him, missing him, I mourned, too, for the
consolation he would never be able to give me.

Some
of the pallbearers were church employees; present to ensure that loved ones did
not stumble in their grief and drop the heavy burden they carried. As the men
placed my father’s coffin in the long black car, I lost what little control I’d
been able to maintain. Wracking sobs punched up from the pit of my stomach to
find their way into the world and hunching over to contain them, I wrapped my
arms around myself and sobbed desperately for the men in my life to come back
to me.

Dimly,
I registered the hand that rested gently on my arm as my sorrow vanished and
was replaced by a peace I’d known only a few times before. I think I recognized
it instantly. Startled, I found one of the church pallbearers standing directly
in front of me, gazing at me with a deep and honest compassion. His grey eyes
did not pity me, but regarded me with sadness and understanding that riveted me
to the spot. Stunned and helpless, I stared as he turned and quickly strode
back into the church.

Did
I know…?
Recognition beat against the thick walls of my
stupor.
Where had I…?
My
grief returned as quickly as it had fled as my grandmother swept me into her
arms, rocking me gently.

“Hush
hush, Rabbit. It will be okay,” she had crooned, and lost in my tears I had let
his eyes fade from my mind and my memory.
 

Eaden
was the first thing I thought of each morning and the last thing on my mind
each night before I went to sleep. The week passed in agonizing slow motion, and
hope that bloomed upon awakening began to wilt as the day passed, without a
glimpse, without a single sign that he’d returned. He wasn’t there when I ran
or when I walked home and I didn’t see his reflection in store windows. Late at
night, when I looked out my living room window, there were only leaves swirling
across the empty lawn. Vacillating between hope and despair, I wondered if he’d
already left me forever.

My
session with Alex was strained.

“Something
has changed,” she observed halfway through our meeting.

“Yes,”
I said. There was no point in denying it. “I can’t talk about it yet.”

She
frowned slightly. “Should I be worried?”

“No,
I don’t think so.” But truthfully I knew she would be. In fact, I knew she
would be very worried if I tried to explain that last week I had spent the morning
with a man she’d suggested was a delusion. She would be very worried if I told
her that I was pretty sure I was in love with a man who had been stalking me
since birth.

“You
seem sad,” she observed, “but also...would it make sense to you if I told you
seem more present? More aware of yourself?”

I
nodded, swallowing thickly over the lump in my throat. Wanting to tell her, but
so unsure that I could bear to hear again that he wasn’t real. So instead, I
shared with her the insights I’d had last week about my mother and the
connection that I’d felt with her, however briefly.

Alex
studied me curiously and then looked down at the carpet for a few minutes. The
silence in the room was comfortable, her mark of respect for the gathering of
thoughts and the tolerance of uncertainty. When she looked up, her smile was
playful. “Well, it seems that whatever has changed has allowed you to recognize
your mother as a woman, with the same wants and needs that you have. This
something new in your life, maybe it’s a way to move forward.”

Shrugging,
my smile was tenuous, but my heart was hopeful.

Despite
this, I woke up Friday morning feeling miserable. Was it only a week ago that Eaden
had taken me to the same park where he’d watched me play as a child? It felt
like an eternity had passed waiting for him, as if being present in my own skin
had made time drag its heels in the most insufferable way.

Forcing
myself out of bed, I went for a long run and then, still only half awake,
slumbered through my morning routine. Twice I returned to check that the front
door was locked, and then cursed as I returned a third time, realizing I’d
forgotten my lunch. It had rained for most of the week, which was fitting, as
if even the natural world was mourning Eaden’s absence. Although the sun had
returned this morning, the air held a chill that had been missing until now.
The season had given up the battle, Indian summer was fading; colder weather
was approaching.

The
fifth floor was quieter than usual today.
 
I thought it was strange that Jane was nowhere to be seen until I
remembered that she had mentioned an appointment with her ob-gyn this
morning.
 
But even other library
personnel were scarce. The entire floor seemed shrouded in gloomy stillness.

After
hanging up my coat and putting my lunch away, I headed towards my desk to check
email. Reaching my chair, I froze where I stood as something white caught my
attention. Propped neatly against my computer monitor was a plain, pristinely
white envelope, my name written neatly in script across the front. A quick
glance around the floor showed that I was still alone, not a soul in sight.
Hardly daring to hope, I picked up the sealed envelope and opened it slowly, so
as not to tear the contents inside. Unfolding the thick white paper it
contained, I was vaguely aware that my hands were trembling.

Rachel,

If you have no other
obligations, I would very much like to see you this evening. I will be in the
park at five o’ clock and will wait for you there, with the sincere hope that
you might join me.

E.

Light-headed
with relief and pleasure, I sat down heavily in my chair and read the few short
lines again. Tracing my fingers over the letters, I noticed that his writing
was extraordinarily neat, the letters perfectly formed. Looking around once
more to be sure I was alone, I pulled the paper to my face and inhaled deeply
and then gave a startled yelp as the phone rang, shattering the silence.

“Historical
archives,” I said, a little breathless.

“Hey
Rachel, it’s Jane.”

“Oh...hey.”
I was suddenly concerned. “Is everything okay?” Her due date was only a few
weeks away and she’d been having Braxton Hicks contractions on and off for the
past few days.

“All
is well,” she said cheerfully. “The doctor said we’re right on track. I just
wanted to let you know I’m taking the rest of the day off. We still haven’t
finished painting the baby’s room and the crib we wanted had to be
back-ordered...”

“Uh-huh,”
I said. I was relieved that Jane and the baby were fine, but liberated of this
concern, my mind and eyes crept stealthily back to the letter lying open on my
desk where I’d dropped it. How had Eaden managed to get this on my desk without
me seeing him? Puzzled, I began looking around again, scouting for clues.

“Rachel?”
Jane asked sharply.

Crap!
What had she just said?

“Are
you okay?”

“I’m
sorry, Jane,” I apologized. “I’m just a little distracted.”

“You
know, you’ve been like that all week. You’d tell me if something was wrong,
wouldn’t you?” Her genuine concern was clear in her voice. “I know I’ve been in
baby mode, but I can still be a good listener if you need me.”

“No,
really, everything’s fine.” Grateful that she cared, I felt guilty for causing
her unnecessary worry. “There has been something on my mind...but I think
everything has worked out.” Looking at the letter again, I hoped fervently that
I was right.
 

“Okay.
You’re so quiet sometimes, kiddo, it’s hard to know what’s going on with you.”

Thanking
her again for her concern, I wished her luck in finishing up the baby’s room and
hung up.

Picking
the letter back up eagerly, I looked up at the clock and groaned. It was only
9:15. How could I possibly endure waiting the entire day to see him without
exploding from impatience? Sighing, I put the letter away in my drawer and
turned on the computer, hoping to lose myself for a time in the work that had
to be done.
 

The
first few hours, I managed by making deals with myself about checking the time.
If I shelved ten books, I could check the time, once five emails had been
answered, I could check again. Pointless. The day still felt excruciatingly
long, as if each minute delighted in dragging itself out in order to taunt me.

But
even watched pots boil eventually. At quarter to five, I walked down the stone
steps of the library, completely and utterly overwhelmed. Emotions like worry,
nervousness, and fear were like old friends; familiar and predictable in my
trepidatious life. But compared to the vortex that was raging inside me now,
they seemed pretty insignificant.
 
My
stomach churned with a mixture of excitement and nausea and despite feeling
besieged, I was exhilarated.

As
I approached the park with sweaty palms, butterflies that felt like bats soared
through my intestines. My heart pounding loudly in my ears, I stopped on the
threshold where the sidewalk met grass and took a deep breath.

He
was there.

He
stood with his back to me, facing the pond, his hands clasped loosely behind
him. Even from across the park, I recognized him, marked by his height and the
utter grace with which he took up space in the world. It registered immediately
that something was different, that some noticeable change had taken place.
Maybe it was only the clothes he wore today. I had become accustomed to
envisioning him in the dark clothes and black coat that seemed to be his
trademark. Yet today he wore jeans and a brown leather jacket that hugged the
contours of his broad shoulders.

He
turned then, as if he knew I was already there and I struggled for breath as a
wide smile broke over his features.

I
couldn’t stop myself. My legs moved of their own accord and I broke into a run,
heading straight for him. Just steps short of barrelling into him, I managed to
stop, mortified by my puppy-like exuberance. He chuckled, clearly pleased, and then
placed strong hands on my shoulders to steady me.

Pausing
first to gaze at me for a moment, he swept me up into a giant bear hug that
effectively crushed me against him. Although I could barely breathe, I wrapped
my arms around him and squeezed back, laying my cheek against his chest. I
didn’t know what had happened to Eaden’s customary taciturn nature, but at that
moment, I couldn’t make myself care. He smelled wonderful – woodsy and
warm – and I could feel the firm muscles of his chest beneath his grey
cotton tee shirt.

Gently,
he separated us, holding me apart from him at arm’s length, and looking at me
with a crooked smile that reached his eyes. He looked younger somehow, although
nothing had changed about his features. Same dirty blonde hair, sticking up
wildly in all directions, same slightly crooked nose, same wonderfully intense
grey eyes. I sighed happily.

“Shall
we walk?” He gestured to the path in front of us.

Side
by side again, we strolled through the park silently for a time. The late afternoon
sun shone coolly through the golden leaves, dappling the grass with dancing
spots of light and darkness. The leaves that had already fallen swirled like
confetti around our feet as we swished through them.

“It’s
good to see you, Rachel,” he said after some time. “I’ve missed you this week.”

I
felt a thrill shoot from my stomach to my toes and back again. “I missed you,
too.” I kept my eyes carefully on the ground as I kicked through the leaves. No
point in making my adoration so obvious, I thought. The last thing I wanted was
for Eaden to feel sorry for me, like some child who has a crush on a teacher.

“Have
you been well?” He glanced at me quickly. “You seemed so sad this morning.”

“This
morning?” My eyes narrowed as the pieces fell into place. “You followed me to work?”

“Yes,”
he admitted and shrugged. “Old habits die hard.”

My
bright mood dimmed a little and I bit my lip. Had this past week been about
quitting me, cold turkey style? His lighter countenance now carried an ominous
significance. What if he’d left me alone to relieve himself of the
responsibility that he’d felt towards me after my father died? Was this what made
him so carefree today? My thoughts now churned as anxiously as my stomach.

“Old
habits, huh?” Although my heart was sinking, I kept my tone light.

“Old
habits,” he confirmed. “I’d much rather be in your company instead of trailing
behind you all the time.
 
With your
permission, of course,” he added.

“Oh.”
My cheeks felt warm.

“How
was your week?” he inquired politely.

“Long,”
I managed. He had no idea.

He
chuckled.

“And
yours?”

A
shadow passed over his face briefly. “It was significant,” he said, evasive
again.

This
was more like the Eaden I knew. “Did it work out...? That ...that thing you
left to do?” I stumbled. I didn’t have a clue what had made him go away, but I
was sure I didn’t want it to happen again.

“Yes,
I believe I did what was necessary.” Despite the conviction of his words, I saw
doubt momentarily cloud his features. He shook his head as if to clear his
thoughts. “Are you free this evening?”

I
thought briefly about Lacey, knew she would want this for me, even if she
didn’t know what it was. I would call her later. “Free as a bird,” I said
happily.

He
smiled warmly and casually threw an arm around my shoulder, pulling me close to
him as we walked.

“In
that case, let’s get you home,” he eyed my work attire, “You need to change
into something more suited to what I have planned.”

*
         
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“I’ll be five minutes,” I called over my
shoulder as I dashed into the bathroom.

“Casual,”
he reminded me, “and warm.”

I
changed as quickly as I could into jeans and a sweater. It felt odd to have him
in my bedroom. Besides Lacey, I hadn’t really had anyone over to our apartment.
I certainly had never had a man here. I snorted as I thought of that. A man.
All of the males I knew were still boys, at best.
 
Rushing to get ready, I wondered what
Eaden would make of my room, furnished as it was with overcrowded bookshelves,
pillows and prints. Dragging a brush through my hair, I looked in the mirror
and shrugged at my reflection. It wasn’t going to get any better than this on
short notice. My skin was flushed a healthy pink, however, and I noticed my
eyes sparkled with excitement.