Left Drowning(114)

“What’s up, bitch?” she asks as I come to a stop.

“I’m done,” I pant.

“No, you’re not. I came out here for spring break. I could have been in f*cking Barbados or something, you know, but I’m not. Worse, I got all dressed up like an * for you, so now put your music back on and just run like I know you can.”

“I just can’t.”

Estelle glares at me and puts my music back on. She grabs my arm and pulls me ahead. I have never seen Estelle do anything resembling exercise, so to see her run is nothing short of amusing. And it gives me the kick I need to keep going.

She’s been in therapy since the end of last summer. They all have. And while she and James are not officially together, they are “on hold” the way Chris and I once were. I think they are going to make it, and I’ve been impressed with my brother’s compassion and patience.

Estelle jogs with me for a bit and then blows me a kiss and darts away to join Zach. He beeps the horn again, and Estelle points from the window.

I smile again. Now Eric is waiting for me. He’s got earphones in, too, and he pumps his arms up and down as I approach. He gives me a nod and then joins me. We run silently. It’s always been so easy to be with Eric, and today is no different. Our hours of silent studying together have instilled in us an ability to enjoy a comfortable silence. He’s had a hard year, and it was only a month ago that he and Zach got back together.

I stumble over a crack in the pavement, and Eric puts his hand on my back. I am soaked in sweat, and I wipe my forehead with my hand. As much as this run is killing me, I cannot stop. Whatever pain I am feeling is so much less than what my friends have been through, and I have illogically convinced myself that if I can finish this marathon, I will be completing some piece of all of our stories. That doing this will secure our healing. It’s dumb. But now that I am seeing my friends, I am even more dedicated to finishing.

I brace myself because I have just reached Newton, the most challenging part of this route. It’s got four hills, the last of which is my reason for running this race. Heartbreak Hill: the ninety-foot incline that’s set between mile twenty and twenty-one. And it’s a Goddamn bitch. It’s where more people quit the race than any other spot. It comes at the worst possible time in the run, when runners who are much stronger than I am give up.

Eric knows where we are. He keeps his hand lightly on my back and together we run the first hill. When he drops back to join Zach and Estelle, I’m not sure how I am going to go on. I drop my head and consider whether or not this is worth it.

And then someone grabs my hand and runs with me. James. He gave up his spring break to be here with me, too. I’m sure the lure of seeing Estelle was appealing, of course, but my brother loves me. He’ll be back with me again in Maine this summer. I don’t think that either of us misses our parents’ house in Massachusetts that much. It never felt like home without them. The house on Frenchman Bay? That is the family home.

“Thank you for everything, Blythe.” He looks straight ahead as he runs. “I’ve never told you how courageous you were that night of the fire, but you did everything. You saved my life, and I’m sorry that I was so ungrateful. You’ve done more for me since that night than I deserved. I know that. I love you a lot. I really do.”

“I love you, too,” I pant. “And I still miss them.”

“We always will. But you’ve made it easier for us. We’ll be okay.”

The second hill hurts like all hell, but together my brother and I run through our loss. We run through the fire and our parents’ death, though his lies, through my coming undone, and through the relationship that we nearly lost. We run through the rebuilding and the survival. James holds my hand tightly, and he wipes his eyes once as we finish this leg.

The third hill. I am at my weakest now. It’s my turn to wipe my eyes as James passes me off to Sabin. Sabin will always have a special piece of my heart in a way that nobody else ever could. He’s not exactly like a brother, but he’s not just a friend. I stop my music and start to say something.

“Don’t talk, and don’t start crying yet! I’m so proud of you, B. I know you’re tired. You’re almost there. A little bit more. We can do this.”

I nod and let my hand disappear in his.

He has trimmed down a good deal of his waistline this year, and he looks wonderful. And sober. Six months of inpatient rehab and therapy have been intense for him, and I think he’s had the hardest time of everyone because he had forgotten the most. Or blocked it out. He was allowed to leave rehab for short periods after the first three months, so I have seen him a few times since last summer, including at Christmas when he was at my house in Maine. He chopped wood by hand and lugged it into the house, setting it in neat piles by the fireplace. In the evenings he did the dishes and then played his guitar for me. Sabin even spent hours on my computer helping me sort through old family pictures and putting them into an album that we had printed up. I got pretty bored after a few hours, but Sabin thought the pictures of me as a little kid were a riot, and he pestered me for days to wear my hair in pigtails. He was somewhat withdrawn over the fall and winter, quieter than he usually is, but during the past few months he’s started to sound more like himself again. Just without the booze. He never stopped being loving, caring, and sweet anytime that I talked to him during this year of recovery, but I’m happy to see that the goofy and loud parts of him are returning.