Black River Falls by Jeff Hirsch(45)

I pulled off my mask and lay flat on my back. The walls towered above me. I heard Freeman’s voice in my ear. What raw materials did you use to build Cardinal Cassidy?

The trip to Lake George was supposed to fix everything. I know it probably seemed out of nowhere when I first mentioned it that morning at breakfast, but the truth was I’d been planning it for weeks. Six full days in a two-bedroom cabin a hundred and fifty miles from Black River. All of us packed in together just like it was when we were back in Brooklyn. At first I was pretty sure Dad was going to flat-out refuse, but I guess the nudging from Mom helped.

I got more and more excited as the weeks stretched by. It was kind of like when you buy someone the perfect Christmas present and it feels like you’ll jump out of your skin if the day doesn’t hurry up and get there so you can give it to them. I think I drove you a little crazy, didn’t I? Admit it, in the weeks leading up to Lake George, the decision to save money by living at home instead of in the dorm your first year in college was seeming like a truly terrible one.

Anyway, the day finally came, and there we were, you and me and Mom. We’d loaded our bags into the car and were standing at the end of the driveway, waiting for Dad. Autumn had turned the slopes of Lucy’s Promise and the rest of the Highlands scarlet and gold. The air was crisp and smelled like dry leaves and fireplace smoke. I felt like there were fireworks going off inside my chest. I couldn’t stop talking.

“Did I tell you guys about the boats? You can rent them at the place and then take them all the way across the lake. They have rowboats and motorboats and those ones that have the pedals, like bicycles. Oh! And there are horses.”

Mom put her hand on my shoulder, as if she were trying to keep me from leaping into the air. “Yes, you told us about the horses.”

You rolled your eyes as you tapped away on your phone, probably texting that girl from your art class. “And all the great antiquing opportunities. Seriously, Card,” you said, “what sixteen-year-old kid gets pumped about looking at antiques?”

You were messing with me, but I didn’t care. Right then, I was invulnerable to it.

“You’ll see. You and me, bro. We’ve got us a date with some reasonably priced mid-century modern home furnishings!”

“You are such a freak.”

“I can see you’re a tough sell, kid. That’s why I saved the best for last. Did I mention the twelve miles of hiking trails? Or the generous daily breakfast prepared to order by a genuine French chef?”

Mom pulled out her phone, checked the time, and then put it back. It was the third time she’d done it in the last twenty minutes.

“Dad just has a few things to finish up,” I said. “And then he’ll be ready.”

Mom tried to smile, but it was a poor effort. She kept her eyes locked on the front door. I pulled out my brochures and put the finishing touches on the plan. We’d probably all want a little rest after the drive, so I thought naps first and then we could cook out on the charcoal grill the place provided. I’d already talked to the manager about the best grocery store to go to in town for steaks and things. After that I figured you and I could go over to the main house and grab a whole bunch of board games. Day Two was definitely horseback riding and then maybe a trip into town. Day Three was—

Footsteps on the sidewalk. My heart jumped into my throat. When I looked up, though, it wasn’t Dad coming out of the house, it was Mom going in.

“Mom, no, wait! He just needs more time! He’ll be here in—”

Mom slammed the door behind her, and the fight started almost immediately. Mom yelled. Dad yelled back. I could hear every word, almost as if there were no walls between us at all. It was a familiar enough sound by then, but standing there with those brochures clenched in my fists, I felt like there was this iron bar running down the middle of me and someone had taken it in both hands and shaken it.

I turned to you, but you had your head down and your fists jammed in your jacket pockets so hard I could make out the peaks and valleys of your knuckles through the black corduroy.

“We can still get there before dark,” I said. “We can take one of the boats out on the lake. Or maybe Mom and Dad can. I brought the Xbox. Me and you could hook it up and—”

You looked up from the sidewalk. Your eyes were angry slits, rimmed in red, and your jaw was clenched. I found myself stepping back, moving away from you.

“It’s going to be fine,” I said. “We’ll be away six whole days. By the time we get back, everything will be the way it—”

“You’re just like them.”

“Tennant—”

You turned your back and walked away, your body framed by Lucy’s Promise, which autumn had turned into a wall of flames. I wanted to say something. I wanted to call out to you, to stop you, to tell you that everything was going to be okay, but I couldn’t talk and I couldn’t move because that iron bar was still rattling inside of me. You turned a corner and were gone, leaving me alone on the sidewalk as the house and the street and the world shook with Mom’s and Dad’s voices. I didn’t see you again until late the next night.

October sixteenth.

I rolled up off the floor and knelt before the ellipse. You were all there, pressing in closer, surrounding me until I could hardly breathe. I pulled my arm back and drove my fist into the wall as hard as I could. It was like punching a downed power line. I hit the floor and curled around my throbbing hand, waiting for the pain to burn you all out of my head, knowing that it never could.