Letters to Nowhere(81)

Everything was tainted. All of it. The trophies broke easily, the medals didn’t. Plastic and glass frames exploded onto the garage floor. My fingers ached with paper cuts from ripping open cardboard box after box.

“What the hell? Karen!”

I heard Jordan shouting my name. I knew it was him, but I couldn’t stop. There was more of it…more of them…in this room, and I wanted them out. Jackie said I needed to put them somewhere, and that was exactly what I planned to do. I could leave them in bits all over this garage floor, just like they had left me in pieces.

Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I had to keep wiping my nose on the bottom of my shirt.

“Karen, stop!” Jordan yelled. “Dad! Dad, get in here!”

The glass crunched under Bentley’s tennis shoes when he entered the garage. He ducked as a trophy soared from my hand over his head.

He didn’t try to shout my name, he just grabbed me from behind and held me tight, my arms pinned to my sides.

And then I remembered that I hated him, too, and I should have broken all of his stuff, too. I fought him to escape, elbowing his sides and throwing my head around.

“Let me go!” I kicked his shins and attempted to duck under his arms but failed.

Then Jordan was right in front of me, grasping my shoulders and trying to search for his non–crazy girlfriend somewhere on my face. “Let her go, Dad. Just let her go.”

Bentley released me and I spun around to face him. “You knew! All this time you knew and you didn’t tell me!”

“Knew what—?”

“You knew they’d been drinking!” I wiped my face with the bottom of my shirt again, my muscles and limbs had suddenly turned to Jell–O, and I could barely stand.

Bentley covered his face for a second, taking in a deep breath. “Oh God, Karen…how do you…how did you—”

“I hate them,” I said, barely above a whisper. My voice was hoarse. “It wasn’t even an accident. They didn’t even care about leaving me. They couldn’t have or they wouldn’t—”

“What’s she talking about, Dad?”

I felt Jordan’s hands gripping my upper arms from behind like he could tell that I couldn’t stand anymore.

Bentley closed his eyes again for a second, fighting his own emotions. “Both of the Campbells had an elevated blood alcohol level the night of their accident. The police chief agreed not to release the information to the media, assuming there were no additional victims found after twenty–four hours.”

“Yep,” I said. “No victims. None at all.”

I broke free of Jordan’s grip and sprinted from the garage, using the last bit of energy I had left. I took the stairs two at a time and slammed and locked the door to my room. Once I was inside, I dove onto my bed and pressed my face into the pillow and let it muffle the sound of my crying.

***

I woke up around one in the morning, and Blair was lying beside me. She half–opened her eyes and whispered, “Jordan’s asleep on the floor. He was really worried about you, but he didn’t think it was a good time to reveal Jaren to Bentley, so he picked the floor over the bed.”

“When did you get here?” I asked her.

“You weren’t at practice and neither was Bentley and you didn’t answer your phone, so I called Jordan and he told me what happened and then came and picked me up. I tried to wake you up, but you were out cold.”

My eyes filled up with tears again. “They were drinking, Blair. Why did they have to drive home? My dad was the one driving. But they were both drinking. How did this happen? Did he tell her he was fine and she believed him? I hate him for saying that and I hate her for believing. If that’s true, she picked him over me.”

“I’m so sorry, Karen,” Blair whispered. “I hate them, too. I really do.”

Tears ran down the sides of her face as she put her arms around me, and I let her hug me.

“I feel like a total psycho,” I whispered. “You should have seen me. Bentley’s going to kick me out for ruining his garage.”

She shook her head. “Bentley’s really worried about you. He feels terrible. I’ve never seen him like that before. He’s not angry at all. And Jordan…well, he’s here sleeping on your floor, so you already know what he thinks.”

I leaned over the side of the bed and looked down at Jordan, sound asleep, using the blanket and pillow I had used during my sleeping–in–the–closet phase. That seemed so long ago, and yet, had I really gotten any further in dealing with my life?

Blair squeezed my arm and settled back into the pillows. “Just get some sleep. Everything will be a little less dramatic in the morning. You’ll see that Bentley’s not going to give you the boot or send you to the psych ward.”

“Thanks for coming over,” I said. “Thanks for being here.”

After Blair drifted off to sleep again, I climbed off the bed and lay down on the floor beside Jordan. He stirred and then woke up with a start, like maybe he hadn’t planned on falling asleep.

“Can I ask you something?” I whispered.

His fingers fumbled around in the dark until he found my hand and squeezed it. “Anything.”

“Where do you put them? Your family, I mean. Jackie said I had to be putting my parents somewhere—to rationalize it—or I wouldn’t be able to function. Like people who say their loved one is in heaven, or they’ve moved on.”