DIANE WAITED UNTIL we climbed in her car and hit the main road to ask the question. It would have to be asked sooner rather than later. Either way I knew she’d give me the out if I needed it.
“What happened to your mother?” she asked, her voice soft, concerned. Full of pity.
Fuck.
I sat in silence while I debated which answer I’d give her. “Pyramid?” I said, the question evident in my voice.
“If you want. I won’t pry, but I’m curious. Your uncle didn’t tell me, if you were wondering. He showed me a couple of family pictures and in the later ones she’s missing.”
“She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
Her hand found mine on my thigh and she gave it a squeeze before saying, “Pyramid.”
The word conveyed more empathy than any frown or words of pity. Diane got it. She wouldn’t push and accepted death for the answer. The how’s and why’s didn’t matter.
“Favorite sport?” Diane asked.
“Soccer.”
“Do you still play?” Her question was innocent.
“Not anymore.”
“But you did?”
“I did.”
“But now you don’t?”
“Nope.”
We’d run out questions of ice cream flavors and childhood memories. Lately our conversations wandered more into first kisses, weird scar stories, and beloved, but dead pets.
“I blasted out my knee in college. Tore both the ACL and MCL.”
“Playing soccer?”
“Yeah. I played goalie. If YouTube had been around then, the video probably would have gone viral. Legs aren’t supposed to bend in that direction.”
I watched Diane cringe and curl up further into a ball in one of my leather chairs. Rain beat the windows and we had blown off a hike for sitting around, watching movies, and waiting for the storm to pass.
“Ouch,” she said, rubbing her own knee. “Were you good? Before the injury?”
Chuckling, I absentmindedly rubbed the faint scar on my left knee. “Was I good? Yeah, I was good. Full scholarship and being scouted for the Olympics when it happened.”
“The Olympics? Really?” I could hear both the surprise and respect in her voice.
“It would have been a long shot, a very, very long shot, but yeah. I spent the summer training. Stupid asshole slipped on the wet grass when he missed the kick. I dove for the ball and he used my knee to stop himself.”
“Shit.” Diane rarely swore.
“Shit is right. I think I blacked out on the field. I’ve never felt pain like that.”
“What happened after?”
Pyramid. “I learned what it was to lose everything.”
“No more Olympics?”
“No more Olympics, no more soccer, no more scholarship.”
“How old were you?”
“Nineteen.”
“Wow.”
If she only knew how fucked up that summer was. Sucking in a deep breath, I decided to spill the whole horrible tale.
“It was the beginning of a shit storm in my life.”
“What happened next?”
“My mom died.”
“Oh shit, shit. Shit. The same summer?”
“A week later.” No turning back now. “You sure you want to hear the story?”
“Only if you want to tell it.”
“My mom had driven over to be with me when I had the surgery and set me up in my apartment after.”
“She sounds like a good mom.”
“She was.”
We fell into silence while scenes from that summer flowed through my mind.
“I didn’t know it was the last time I’d see her, that any of us would see her. She hit a summer snowstorm up at the top of Snoqualmie Pass. White out.”
Diane stood up from her chair and joined me on the sofa. Tears already crested her lower lids, but she didn’t say anything. If I was going to finish the story, I couldn’t watch her crying. Turning my head toward the windows, I continued.
“The news said the pass closed because of an accident involving a jack-knifed semi. No one knew if she got trapped on the other side because there isn’t great cell phone service up there. We didn’t know for hours. Everyone kept calling her cell phone. She was dead and her phone kept ringing. And we kept leaving messages thinking she’d forgotten to charge her phone or stopped for something stupid like going to the mall. She never heard any of our messages.”
“Oh, God.” Her voice nothing more than a whisper, a quiet prayer.
“She never would’ve been on the pass if not for me and my knee. If I hadn’t pushed to stay for soccer camp that summer, I would’ve been working in the woods with my uncle. It’s my fault she was there.”
She reached over and took my hand. I contemplated our fingers and then peeked up at her face. She shook her head no. I chose not to argue with her over the facts. It was my fault. All my fault.
“I guess the state bulls got in touch with the sheriff here on the island so they could let my dad know.” I rubbed my eyes, anger replaced the sadness. “They couldn’t find my dad at home. Or at his usual bar.”
“Where was he?” Trepidation clouded her words.
“At Joyce’s house. He was closing his pants when he opened the door for the officer.”
“No,” she gasped.
“Yep. Island’s a small place. Didn’t take long for the story to get around.”
“Oh, John.”
“Don’t. Don’t give me your pity.”
“I’m not. I’m just… that’s really…” Her words faded away.
“Fucked up. It was fucked up.”
“Beyond fucked up.” She rubbed her nose on the sleeve of that damn gray sweater. “Joyce even showed up at the funeral.”
“Wow. Wait … Joyce? As in your stepmother?”
“My father’s wife. Yep. Same woman. He married her less than a year later.”
“Wow. That’s so wrong.”
“Yep.”
The silence wrapped itself around us, cocooning us in our thoughts while we sat on the couch. Diane crept closer and half hugged me, resting her head on my shoulder. I extended my arm behind her, embracing her against my side. Outside the rain fell, making ripples in the puddles on the deck. The house felt like an ark with the two of us alone in the world, alone in the silence of my fucked up past.