The Contradiction of Solitude(83)

Mrs. Statham looked upset. She liked me. She had come to regard me with a lingering affection. I almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

“Where’s home?” she asked. Another dig for information. She was always, always digging. I was glad to be free of her constant prying.

“Away from here,” I said with a smile as I took the cookies from her hand. I lifted one off the plate and put it in my mouth. It was vile. The most disgusting thing I had ever tasted. I swallowed it, suppressing a gag.

“I hate this. You’re the best neighbor I’ve had in years. None of that obnoxious rock music at all hours of the night. No strange visitors. You keep to yourself but you’re nice. A nice, sweet girl. It’s a shame. I had hoped you were putting down roots here.”

If anything, I had played my part well. I could take satisfaction in that.

“No. It’s time for me to move on, Mrs. Statham. This was always just a stop along the way. Nothing more.”

Nothing more.

Another chapter in the story.

The most important story of all.

“When are you leaving?” she asked. The old woman looked so forlorn. So unhappy.

“Immediately. As soon as I can finish packing,” I told her honestly. I ate the rest of the cookie. Hating every bite.

“Well, bring that plate back up before you go so I can say goodbye.” She sniffled. Her rheumy eyes wet with tears.

And then she hugged me. Tight.

“I’m gonna miss you, Layna. Take care of yourself,” she said thickly. I nodded.

I’d always take care of myself.

Mrs. Statham left, and I threw the cookies away. Along with the plate.

I made sure to put the guitar case by the door. I had no use for it anymore. It was time to return it to where it belonged.

I was a little sad to say goodbye to the inanimate object.

But it was never mine to keep.

I went into the living room and picked up the last of the pictures. The one Elian had never noticed. The one that sat behind all the rest. Out of sight.

But my eyes could always see.

Pretty, pretty girl with dark hair and lovely green eyes.

My family.

Amelia.

I kept them all with me.

Some may call it morbid that I surrounded myself with my father’s specters. And maybe they’d be right.

I loved them.

I hated them.

But in many ways they were all I had.

They were the memories. The recollections. They were whatever I needed them to be.

I wrapped Amelia up in paper so, so gently and put her in the box with all the others. Right on top.

The most important one of all.

I found my notebook underneath my purse and opened it to a clean, blank page.

No stories. I had all the time in the world for those.

These words were different.

These words were just for me.

Still, cool waters

So easy to drown

Your hand reaches out

But doesn’t quite catch

What it hopes to save.

Coaxed by promises

Soothed by smiles

When will you learn

To look before you leap?

Too late

All gone

I was never here.

My hand hovered over the page. Not quite sure if I was really finished.

Was I?

I closed the notebook. Slammed it shut. And then I shoved it in the box. My hands shaking as I taped it closed.

My phone rang and I answered it.

“Matt,” I greeted.

He didn’t say anything.

He was angry with me. I could tell.

“I know you’re upset. But understand. I had no choice,” I tried to explain. Out of everyone on this earth, his opinion mattered.

My little, little brother.

I was crying in my room. Daddy had been gone for a year. Things were awful. People were so mean.

Matty got it the worst.

He at least tried to fit in. To be normal. They were more cruel because of it.

But today I cried because I had seen his face in the newspaper. He was going on trial. And seeing the word killer hit me hard.

The Nautical Killer.

My daddy.

“Why are you crying, Lay?” Matt’s small voice snapped me out of my despair.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand and glared at him. He was so annoying. He just never knew when to leave me alone.

“None of your business, booger. Where’s Mom?”

Matty shrugged, his face falling. “She’s sleeping again.”

I softened slightly. Mom slept all the time. Because it was easy to deceive yourself in dreams.

“Come here,” I said, calling him into my room. I never let him come in. He knew better. And he seemed hesitant now. Unsure.

“Come on. Stop being stupid.” I rolled my eyes and patted the bed beside me. Matty jumped up and got comfortable.

He looked at the newspaper in my lap. Daddy’s face large in black and white.

“I hate him,” Matty said and I couldn’t argue. I hated him sometimes too.

“But you love him still, right?” I asked. Hoping I wasn’t alone in these conflicting, confusing feelings for the man I called father.

Matty was quiet for a long time. He looked like me. Like Daddy. We took none of our features from our mother. I was glad.

“He doesn’t love me, Lay,” Matty said and I was startled. He was only nine years old but sometimes he saw more than most adults.