I FOUND THE PAPERS THIS weekend. I woke up Saturday morning and went to check on my mother, but she wasn’t in her room—she wasn’t here at all.
No surprise.
But the opened envelope from the bank was lying on the floor next to her bed with the papers strewn about. I read them. Hell, I read through them maybe ten times, and yet I still didn’t fully understand much of what they said except that my mother was four payments behind on the mortgage.
I felt like such a child when I had to Google what a mortgage was.
I tried calling David. I called him all weekend so he could explain to me what exactly was going on with the house, but his cell was turned off, leaving me without a single ring—only his voice mail.
I left several messages before giving up and calling my mom.
She didn’t answer either.
The weekend passed slowly, a steady stream of anxiety looming in the pit of my stomach about why David hadn’t called or texted me. I busied myself with schoolwork to pass the time, completing my research paper for my government class that wasn’t due for another two weeks.
Ever since my alarm sounded this morning, I’ve been battling between rushing and stalling as I get ready for school. I want to see David—I need to see him—to know everything is fine and to find out why he hasn’t called me. But at the same time, I want to stay home to avoid the stares. Apparently, in the days following the incident last week—the days I stayed home and ditched school—Taylor took it upon herself to tell everyone she could about my cutting.
“They’re all talking about me, aren’t they?” I asked when I called David during his lunch break the day after everything came crashing down.
He suggested that I stay home until the weekend passed and then return.
It’s now Monday, and when I shove the envelope with the bank papers into my backpack, I will my emotions to sheath themselves under guarded iron.
After I pull into the school parking lot, I step out of my car and shrug my backpack over my shoulders. With my head down, I walk through the double doors and weave through the crowded halls as I make my way straight to David’s classroom.
His room is already filled with his first period students, and my tension eases a bit when I see him sitting at his desk. My presence goes unnoticed as I stand in the doorway.
The thought of having to wait until after fourth hour to talk to him stresses me out, so I call his attention with an understated, “Coach Andrews.”
He looks up from his laptop, and I immediately take in his unshaven face and tired eyes.
Without standing from his chair, he responds through the chatter all around us, saying, “You’re going to be late to class, Miss Hale,” dismissing me in a way he’s never done before.
A thousand thoughts of why he would reject me so coolly stack in the pit of my stomach, and I can’t deny a single one of them.
He turns back to his computer and runs a stiff hand through his mussed up hair. I start to panic, wondering if he’s changed his mind about me because of the cutting. My blood pumps faster and the fear of him separating himself from me catapults flares of anxiety through my system.
“Cam.”
I turn to see Kroy making his way down the hall with purposeful steps.
“I need to talk to you,” he says, grabbing my clammy hand and taking me in the opposite direction of my class.
“Kroy, I’m going to be late.”
“You should answer my texts then.”
He moves in quick strides, pulling me around a few corners toward the auditorium.
“Where are we going?”
He opens the door that leads to the backstage area. With only a few lights on, it’s dark, so I hold his hand and follow closely as we step over some stage props. Tucked behind the safety of the dark blue curtains, he turns to face me.
“What’s going on, Kroy?”
“That’s exactly what I was going to ask you,” he says. We both look at each other for a moment, and I already know where this is going. “Are you cutting yourself?”
I drop my hand from his and take a small step back. “Taylor’s full of shit, you know that.”
“When it comes to you, I don’t know what to believe.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know who you are anymore, Cam. You never come around, never talk to me . . . you’re nowhere to be found. You’re like a ghost.”
“I didn’t know I had to check in with you.”
“You know what I mean,” he clips, taking a pause before coming back with a gentler tone. “You can trust me. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
He hesitates for a moment. “She told me your stomach is covered in scars.”
“Yeah, well, so is my face.” I sling my words at him while fearing yet another person knowing my secret.
“I can help you if you just—”
“I told you,” I snap. “She’s just spreading rumors like she always does. That girl has had it out for me for years, Kroy.”
His head slants in doubt, and I shouldn’t be as irked as I am, because he has every right to think I’m lying to him.
I’ve been lying to him about so much for so long. I’m only mad because he’s questioning me, putting my hidden truths in jeopardy of being exposed.
“I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t just some rumor, Cam.”
“Then why are we here? I mean, if you believe Taylor, then why even question me?”
“Because it’s you,” he blurts, covering my cheeks with his hands. “Just because we’re broken up, doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring about you. If you need help—”
“I don’t want your help,” I lash out, pushing him back. It isn’t his hands I want on me anyway. “I don’t need your help, because there’s nothing going on.”
“Show me then.”
“You want me to show you my body? Really?”
“If you have nothing to hide, if it’s just a rumor, then show me. Show me, and I’ll drop it.”
“I’m not showing you anything. It’s my body, and I’m not pulling my shirt up for you or anyone else in this place,” I snap. “I thought you were my friend.”
“And I thought you were mine,” he says roughly before storming off, leaving me alone with my deceitfulness.
I stand here and wonder how something that feels so good can cause me to destroy so much. I have no right to be treating Kroy the way I have been. To vilify him when he’s done nothing wrong.
It isn’t fair. None of this is fair.
But I walk through the deep valley I’ve created and face the stares and gossip as I go from one class to another. Kroy doesn’t even show up in second period, and when I walk into fourth at the same time as Linze, she gives me a sympathetic look.
“It’s not true,” I mutter quietly, but my words don’t change the pitiful eyes she holds for me.
Why does she care anyway?
I take my seat among curious eyes that question what hides beneath my shirt while my eyes land on David. The murmurs in the room fade as I begin to doubt myself and wonder what the hell is going on with him. The hour passes with half-hearted glances, and I worry if someone has said anything to him. Does someone know about us? Or has he come to his senses and finally sees me as the heavy burden I am?
Why the hell is he acting so strange?
When the bell finally rings, I pack up my belongings slowly, waiting for the room to dilute, but he’s packing up too.
“Is everything okay?” I question softly when I approach his desk.
He opens the drawer and pulls out his car keys. “I can’t stay and talk right now.”
“You can’t look at me either?”
He stops and allows his distant eyes to meet mine for only a moment before he grabs his phone. “I have an appointment I need to get to. I’ll be out for the rest of the day, so there won’t be any practice this afternoon.”
“What’s going on?”
“Come on,” he says, ignoring my question. “I need to lock up.”
Lost in my own worry, I walk out of the room with him trailing behind me and wait as he locks the door. I don’t know what I expect, but his mumble of, “I have to go. I’m running late,” isn’t it.
I turn in the opposite direction and, on impulse, head out to the student parking lot. I can’t deal with this feeling of uncertainty, so I quicken my feet beneath me. I run through the lot and hop into my car, but I get stuck in the lunch traffic of the seniors leaving campus. While I wait in the jam, I see David’s SUV merging in from the faculty lot.
I watch to see which direction he turns, and by the time I make the same turn, I’m a ways behind. I keep my distance as I follow him, and it doesn’t take too long before we’re out of Edmond. Stop sign after stop sign, we weave through Nichols Hills, and I’m four cars behind when I see him turning into Rose Hill Burial Park. I hesitate to follow him into the cemetery, and I drive past, not knowing what to do.
I think about how lost his eyes were today. How worn down he looked. When I reach the next stoplight, I turn my car around and go back to where I just came from. Driving slowly through the narrow paved roads among the array of headstones, I creep along until I find his parked SUV a few winding streets away. It’s far enough in the distance that I doubt he’d see me, so I park my car and scan my eyes over the large property, until I spot him.
He stands down by the water’s edge in front of a black monument with his head down. When he drops to his knees in the snow and his shoulders shake, I fight the urge to run to him as my heart hangs heavily in my chest.
A gust of wind billows through the bare-branched trees, and nothing about this feels right. I’ve shared so much of myself with this man, and here I am, feeling as if I’m looking upon a stranger. But he isn’t a stranger, he’s anything but. So why don’t I know why he’s here or whose gravesite he’s visiting? Why don’t I know why he’s been so distant lately?
Why won’t he let me in on what’s going on?
Whatever the reasons, I feel like I’m intruding on a private moment. Against every instinct of mine, I put my car back in drive and leave David behind to suffer in isolation, wishing all the while I could hold his sufferings in my arms.