Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(41)
Outside, lightning flares and fades. I get up and go to that ancient television, kneel in front of it. My fingers suddenly have a mind of their own as they turn it on and press a button on the VCR. The video hasn’t been touched in months. Part of me expects it to be gone, as if the machine would try just as hard as me to avoid the memories and swallow the tape whole to do so. But seconds later there’s a crackling sound, and my little brother’s face fills the screen. My heart simultaneously soars and crashes.
“Mommy, tell her to stop!” Hunter shrieks. The camera is zoomed in on him, and he writhes with both agony and laughter as I dig my fingers into his side. But the camera just shakes as our mother joins us, and then it is all three of us on the bed in a tangle of arms and legs. I watch us, feeling a smile curve my lips.
For just a minute, my family is alive again. Nothing else exists. Something shimmers beside me, and I don’t even care when a gentle hand settles on the top of my head. The smell of dandelions permeates the air, and the most dizzying sensation grips me. Joy. But she’s not the only one that comes; Sorrow has returned. They hover, their essences unrelenting and not entirely unwelcome. The size of my room and the strength of their apathy make the gust of feeling all the more poignant. Tears sting in my eyes. Releasing a ragged breath, I reach out to brush my brother’s round face, the sounds of his voice a lullaby that will help me sleep tonight. I’m so lost in them that it’s jarring when my hand collides with the hard, cruel reality of the television.
As swiftly as she came, Joy is gone. All I see of her is a glimpse of red hair.
Sorrow and I look at each other. I don’t tell him to go, I don’t scream my hatred. Words have never seemed more impossible or inadequate. Which is why shock vibrates through me when Sorrow murmurs, “They are beautiful.” The words are rough and raspy, like he hasn’t spoken in years. And then he’s gone, too.
Beautiful. I focus on the screen again, clenching my fists in the sheets. This is why I don’t let myself watch it. The rush might be exhilarating, but the fall is devastating. I’m torn in half by conflicting urges: to keep watching or smash the television into a hundred jagged pieces.
“Do you give up?” the other me demands, static making hair cling to her forehead. Hunter manages to get out a yes and our mother kisses his cheek. The screen goes blue and the stillness rings in my ears.
Just like the night of the accident, they’re here one moment and gone the next.
My first instinct is to turn on the loudest, most violent music I have, or open the window again and let the storm rip the room apart. Anything louder than the pain. Yet I don’t move; I just concentrate on the blueness and see their faces. “I know I promised,” I finally whisper, feeling as if something inside me has exploded and I’m bleeding, bleeding, dying. I trace the place where my mom’s eye crinkles were, leaving the smear of fingerprints, and for the first time I take comfort in the fact that my family isn’t really here. They’re only on the screen, where they can’t see what I’ve become.
Saturday dawns warm and bright, which is unfortunate, since I’m grounded. At least I assume I am, given last night and the fact that Saul saw my car this morning. I couldn’t tell him what really happened, so I told him I rammed into a telephone pole trying not to hit a deer. He didn’t say a word. He just took a sip of his coffee, dumped it in the sink, and walked out. Missy still hasn’t left their room.
I sit on the bottom step outside, watching the wind stir the treetops. A bird flies past. Long weeds sway beside the railing. My cell phone is next to me, silent after another unanswered call to Dr. Stern and an ignored call from Andrew. I glance down at the screen, and the moment I do, it lights up. The caller ID won’t let me pretend or avoid. His name glares up at me in bright capital letters: ANDREW.
“Who you dodging?”
A shadow falls over the ground by my feet, and I jump. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust and recognize the face standing over me. “Oh, hey, Erskine. What are you doing here?”
The town mechanic spots my car and walks over to it. There’s a toolbox clenched in one of his hairy fists. “Your uncle told me about your mirror. Thought I’d come out and take a look at it, since I’m having a slow day. Not much I can do about the other damage, though.” He squats and opens the box, winking at me. His gray ponytail gleams and his red tank top is stained with motor oil.
“Thanks.” I smile.
“So who’s getting the cold shoulder, if you don’t mind my asking?” He nods toward my phone, screwdriver in hand.
I hesitate, watching him take the remains of the mirror off. Erskine’s always been a gossip and he’ll just keep asking. So I eventually sigh and say, “Andrew Lomenta.” Please don’t ask me why. I don’t have a good lie prepared.
An Emotion materializes beside the mechanic. Fear. He grins in my direction while his slender fingers grip Erskine’s shoulder. “ … know he was your old man’s best friend and all, but I would stay away from that one,” he’s saying.
I blink and Fear is gone. Erskine’s words register. “Wait, why? How do you know him?”
He doesn’t answer. Suddenly, all his attention is riveted to his task as he pulls another mirror out of the box—it’s a different color than my Saturn—and attaching it. Recalling something my father once told me, I frown. The details are fuzzy and slow in coming, but they do come.