This Is What I Want to Tell You Read online

  It’s fine, I told him.

  I really meant it. And I begged Lace to go back to work. I wanted all of them to just give me the space. The emptiness of the house. All of it.

  * * *

  The first day I was home alone I felt like I’d just been introduced to myself, like everything was brand new. I didn’t want to live the life I’d been living before but I couldn’t get rid of it. It was hard to keep my eyes open. It was hard to get my body to move. I lay on the couch and thought about my clothes. I wanted to wear different things. I didn’t want any more worn thin T-shirts. I didn’t want to look in the mirror and see my hair stringy and tangled. I didn’t want—

  I didn’t want to think about him, but there he was, pushing on all the edges of every memory.

  Keeley came over early in the afternoon. She knocked on the back door and I heard her push it open.

  Nole?

  But before I could say anything she was standing in the doorway. She looked at me lying on the couch.

  Hey.

  Hi, she said. She smiled. You look—

  It’s okay, I said. I look like shit. I know. I can’t remember my last shower.

  Okay. Can I sit? She wrinkled her nose, smiling. But I’m not gonna sit too close to you.

  Sit, I said.

  She sat down. Then she stood up. Wait—she said. She opened the shopping bag she was carrying and pulled out two Styrofoam containers.

  Grilled cheese and French fries. From the Coyote. Are you hungry?

  She held out the container. Suddenly, for the first time in days, I was hungry.

  I sat up. It was quiet while we ate our grilled cheese.

  Did you skip out on school? I said.

  Yeah.

  She crossed her legs under her, eating a French fry one tiny bite at a time. We were quiet.

  Oh hey, she said. I brought you something. She reached into her bag beside her; digging between notebooks, she pulled out a thick piece of cardstock and extended it out to me. I just wanted, she said, I just—you know, some good memories.

  I stared. I could feel my eyes filling and the heat in my cheeks. For the first time in days I felt something. I ran my hand over the smooth photographs, the thick, raised, painted border. I wiped my eyes and I looked up.

  Thank you, I said. It’s beautiful.

  We looked at each other, resting in between smile and discomfort, in between silence and telling. I didn’t know what I was ready for, but I was glad she was there.

  What do you wanna do? Keeley asked.

  In spite of everything, or because of everything, it felt so good to have her sitting there. It felt like a relief.

  I wanna clean out my closet, I said.

  Let’s do it. Keeley’s eyes widened. She grinned and jumped up, scooping up both of our empty containers.

  But first, you have to take a shower.

  Okay. I stood up. I felt shaky. My T-shirt smelled.

  Come on. Keeley was two steps ahead of me up the stairs. She went into my room and came out with gray sweatpants and a pink T-shirt I hadn’t seen in years.

  She pulled a clean towel down from the hall closet.

  Go on, she said. I’ll find some boxes.

  As she headed back down the stairs I fingered the pink T-shirt. I couldn’t remember the person who ever wore it. But I kind of couldn’t wait to be clean and put it on.

  When I came out of the shower, Keeley was in my room, surrounded by empty boxes and a pile of plastic bags.

  What’s this? I asked her. I scooped my wet hair off my neck, tying it into a bun. My skin felt clean and cold.

  Don’t you wanna get rid of stuff?

  Yeah, I said, suddenly exhausted. I sat down on the bed. All of it.

  Keeley moved around the boxes. She sat down on the floor in front of me, crossing her legs.

  Let’s get rid of it, then, she said.

  A drop of water was sliding down my spine, a cool slow-motion crawl.

  I don’t know when it started, I said. I really don’t. All of a sudden you were, like, whipping past me. We’d been on the same road, the same pace, then suddenly you got beautiful. You were going to other countries. I don’t know, K … you had like everything and I had nothing. You didn’t even want to go to England and I wanted to go anywhere.

  It wasn’t so great, she whispered. But she didn’t sound mad. She was watching me.

  I know I haven’t been fair, but I felt so left out. Even before I knew about you and Nadio, I think I knew. I just felt like suddenly you had everything. Everyone looked at you when you walked down the hall, and—

  Noelle, that’s not fair. That’s just the way you saw it. And I saw you sneaking around stoned with Jessica Marino not even missing me and I felt totally replaced.

  You didn’t even need me—

  I did. All I did was talk to Nadio about you. And I was so confused about what was happening with him. I just wanted my best friend—

  But you guys didn’t even tell me, I said. Our voices were low and pulling. We were desperate, maybe not mad, but desperate.

  You weren’t even here. And I knew you had something going on with this guy. Nole, I don’t even know who he is—you never told me about him.

  I tried.

  Silence. I stared at the seam of my pants. I reached behind me, rubbing at the water on my neck.

  We’re gonna change, Keeley said. We’re gonna get older and stuff is gonna happen to us—she paused. Something happened to me this summer, she said. And it was like everything I knew was suddenly wrong. Everything safe was suddenly scary. I still don’t know—I still feel like I don’t know who I am sometimes. But then you remind me. Your brother reminds me. Everything is gonna change but we always have each other. The history of each other. That’s who we are.

  I slid down off the bed. I sat down next to Keeley and put my arms around her. She leaned her head on my shoulder.

  You know, it’s funny, I whispered. Parker doesn’t know anything about me—he doesn’t know you or Nadio or the history of anything.

  I could feel Keeley nodding against my shoulder.

  But I still—it’s like one look from him and I feel like I’m floating.

  Yeah, Keeley said.

  And then the next second I’m destroyed.

  I know.

  God, I wish I didn’t think about him all the time, K.

  It won’t always be like that, she said. In a little while you’ll only think about him part of the time.

  And then a little while after that I won’t think about him at all?

  Keeley sat up. She squeezed my hand. She wiped away the tears I hadn’t even noticed sliding down my cheeks and she smiled.

  No, she said. You’ll always think about him a little bit.

  I needed to make a difference in a concrete way. I needed to change something with my hands. I needed to do something for somebody else that I could see. I needed to feel like I could help somebody.

  I don’t think I ever told Ben any of this directly. But he asked me to drive down to Virginia with him and help repair a house for a family he knew—a house that had been damaged by a fire. Tangible. I had to go. Lace called Mr. Taylor and told him I was invited on this project for church and I could get community service hours for it. Taylor excused me from school—it was just two days. I was getting a lot of breaks at school these days. And he knew I had a 4.0, even now.

  I had spent so much time worrying that my sister would feel abandoned that I hadn’t stopped to think about Keeley. The night before I was leaving, she called me.

  Will you come meet me outside?

  Now? I looked out the kitchen window from where I was holding my phone. I could see the lights from her living room cutting holes in the dark slope of hill
between us.

  Yeah, she said. Please.

  Lace and my sister were watching TV, lying with their legs crossing on the couch. I stood in the doorway, zipping my coat.

  I’ll be right back, I said.

  Lace nodded, her eyes on the TV. Noelle looked at me. She nodded. She almost smiled.

  Okay, she said. But for a second I thought she said, it’s okay.

  I turned and my eye caught on something lying on the table by the door. I picked it up. A piece of cardstock, Keeley’s hand.

  There it was. The photograph of us, in the way I always remembered: a darkened entryway in the Shipleys’ living room, the white border of the doorway framing Keeley and my sister—my sister in an orange dress and Keeley in a green dress, laughing and reaching out to each other. Me in the background, the same color as the carpet, watching them. Next to it, a picture I only just then remembered: Noelle, Keeley, me, close to the camera. They were laughing but their eyes were red, I looked serious; a piece of Keeley’s hair blew across Noelle’s forehead, we were all looking up to where Keeley’s arm was outstretched, holding the camera above us. It was the day she left for Oxford. In light green and dark green paints, Keeley had drawn a border of tangled vines linking the pictures together, and at the bottom of the page, in small square print, she wrote: And here we are.

  I looked back into the living room. Noelle was turned to the TV. I ran my hand along the slick photograph and jagged paint. Something there felt like relief.

  Keeley was leaning on the arm of one of the Adirondack chairs where we sat that night that seemed so long ago now. The heavy sky promised snow and it was sharply cold.

  Hey, I said. I leaned down to kiss her. She put her gloved hand on my chest.

  I know you need to go to Virginia. And I know none of us quite know how to handle what’s going on with Noelle. But I need to know what’s happening with you and me.

  Whoa. I stepped back. Keeley folded her arms. She blinked her eyes. What do you mean? I asked.

  You know what I mean, she said quietly.

  Keeley, I said. You know how I feel about you and I want to be supportive but you gotta give me some space, too. My sister, my mom, I want to be able to be there for all of you but you gotta give me a little bit of a break here, Kee.

  I’m trying. I want to give you space. But that’s not what I’m talking about. She stared at me.

  My hands were starting to feel numb. I shoved them in my pockets. I tried to remember the last time I’d seen Keeley outside of school—alone. I couldn’t. She knew what I knew, which was that I was avoiding her. That I felt guilty. That I was afraid protecting my sister might mean leaving Keeley. But the problem was, she knew something else too. I thought about the photograph. I thought about the way my sister had just whispered okay. I took a few steps closer to Keeley. I took my hands out of my pockets. My fingers were numb with cold. I put them against her icy cheeks.

  I’m sorry, I said. She nodded, and my hands moved up and down with her.

  Let’s just be honest, she said. I know it’s gonna be hard, but let’s at least do that.

  Okay, I said. Here’s the thing. I love you. And I don’t want you to say anything back. Say it another time, when I don’t feel like you’re saying it because you have to.

  I could feel her smiling as I kissed her.

  * * *

  In the morning, Ben picked me up before anyone was awake. It reminded me of the first day of school, when I left the house before anyone was up and everything felt like it was just waking up. This time, everyone in my house was still sleeping but now the morning was dark, and the air was sharp with cold and frost spider-webbed on the windows.

  The inside of his van was warm and smelled like coffee. Newspapers littered the floor and back seat. There were two other volunteers with him—Kevin and Silas. Both of them were actual construction workers. I wasn’t sure what I was doing there.

  Get in, son, it’s cold out there, Ben said.

  Talk radio whispered.

  Ben looked sideways at me as he backed out of the driveway. I’d told him that my sister wasn’t doing well. I didn’t tell him any more, but who knows.

  Kevin and Silas nodded hello.

  We appreciate you coming along, son. I know it’s not the time of year for outdoor work but this family’ll sure appreciate your help.

  I’m happy to do it, I said. I need some distraction.

  We drove in silence. It was easy to be silent with Ben. Something about him let you forget he was there, and then he coaxed the words out of you right when you needed them to be coaxed. Kevin and Silas seemed to whisper when they spoke, which was hardly at all.

  The house was covered in plastic, big sheets of plastic that tented out over the half-built structure. There were just the four of us there but I was the only one who had no idea what he was doing. Mostly I just hauled trash from the house site to someone’s truck. I used a hammer and pulled nails out of old boards, I tossed the boards into the back of the truck. Sometimes I drove the truck to the dump and unloaded it there.

  It was still cold but not as cold as at home. The mountains were full and blue-green. We were sleeping on cots in the office of the church, a drafty, high-ceilinged room. Ben and Kevin woke up early and made eggs and bacon and muffins and we ate while the sun came up over the church. It felt really good to be around people who were quiet and busy and determined. There was nothing else there. We were just trying to repair this house so a family could move back in by Christmas. Period.

  On the third and last day, the family stopped by. They drove a station wagon that probably used to be white but was now kind of gray and rusted and filmy. It was a mom and a boy and three girls; they all looked younger than about eight. They piled out of the station wagon, running and tumbling. They all looked sort of square and hard and sad, like the pictures on the cover of The Grapes of Wrath, only in partial color. Their clothes were worn and layered. The mom walked over to me. She was wearing a thick blue plaid jacket. I was the only one out front, tossing the last load of debris into the back of the truck. She held out her hand.

  I’m Anna Lowry, she said.

  I took her hand.

  Nadio Carter, I said.

  Thank you.

  She was holding a basket over her arm. An actual picnic basket covered in a towel.

  I brought y’all some lunch. She dropped my hand. It just really means a lot, what you’re doing here.

  She gestured around her. The kids had spread—running, chasing, it almost looked like they had multiplied. One of the girls, the youngest probably, clung to her mother’s leg.

  We’re happy to help, I said.

  Anna shifted the basket, absently patting her daughter’s head.

  I’ve known Ben for a long time, she said. When he moved away we stayed in touch. He’s always been a big help to me.

  Me too, I said.

  Anna smiled.

  It’s just me and the kids, so I just really appreciate this. The fire was a shock. I could never have done all of this on my own.

  Sure, I said again. We’re really happy to help you.

  I didn’t know what else to say. She looked so gaunt and sad and the kids took up so much space. She seemed to want me to say something else.

  My mom raised us on her own, I said.

  Anna continued to smile.

  I mean, I know how hard it is.

  Just then Ben came around the side of the house. Anna’s smile broke across her face. The kids ran to him. Anna walked slowly toward him. They laughed while the kids crowded around his legs.

  Family happens in ways that have nothing to do with what we’re born into. We think it’s supposed to be mom and dad and brother and sister and house and car and high school and summer camp and college and career. I think that isn’t how it i
s anymore. I think mom and dad and brother and sister is the exception and not the rule. And sometimes the pastor at the soup kitchen or the neighbor fills a role that is just as important as blood. I think we mess up somewhere between high school and career and get terrified and become another person, and then another person again.

  My sister is the other half of me. I hadn’t really let myself think about what would have happened—about the possibility of being a twin without a twin. Anna Lowry and Lace were moms without husbands and we were kids without dads and Keeley was a sister without a brother. But Noelle and I wouldn’t be—you can’t be a twin without a twin. I felt it in my stomach right there, and for the rest of the day as we finished the house, and all night, awake, as we drove north back home, I felt it until we got home and Ben dropped me off just as the sun was coming up. I’d felt just a glimpse of being one half without the other.

  Family isn’t what I thought it was at all.

  I have to do something and I want you guys to come with me.

  What, Keeley said. She looked scared.

  Nadio stared at me.

  We were in the kitchen. It was Saturday morning and almost spring—warm enough that we’d just gone on our Snake Mountain hike, but cold enough that Nadio was holding his hands near the burner where he was boiling water for tea.

  I wanna get a tattoo.

  You’re crazy. Nadio turned back to the stove.

  Okay, Keeley said.

  Nadio looked back.

  You’ll come with me? I asked.

  Yeah, she said. Of course. And Nadio will too.

  I’ll come, he said. But you’re both crazy.

  I hadn’t gone back to school. The more days that passed, the farther away it became. I had a social worker I started to see, Christa. At first she was sort of adamant that I go back, but Lace and I were doing assignments at home and I had a tutor for Chemistry and a special home-school agreement and I was doing really well on exams. The idea of the classrooms and hallways felt sort of impossible. And then Christa looked everything over and realized I was okay. And anyway, I promised I’d go back for my senior year. I just felt like I had to figure this new person out—who I was.