Meet Me Here - Bryan Bliss Page 0,62
something, finally.
I grab the backpack before he can stop me and throw it over the bridge.
It falls, falls, falls, finally hitting the water with a satisfying splash.
We stare down together, and at first I think Jake’s going to reprise my dive into the dirty river. But he stands there, staring at the slowly disappearing ripples in the water until there’s no sign of the rock, no sign that it ever existed.
“Do you think that will work?” I ask.
Jake stares down hard, not saying a word. I didn’t think it would snap him back to life immediately, like something from a fairy tale. A weird kiss from the prince. But I did think he would react. Instead, he stares at the water until a car comes flying by, only looking up when the rear end of the El Camino has disappeared around the corner. My phone buzzes, but I ignore it. Almost immediately afterward, Jake’s goes off, too. He looks at his and says, “Mom.”
He answers it, and I already know the conversation that’s happening on the other end. “Where are you? Your father isn’t happy. Come home.” Jake answers all her questions, finally saying, “Yes . . . He’s right here . . . Okay . . . Yes.”
When he hangs up, he stares at me. “Dad is waiting for you.”
A familiar stab of anxiety plunges deep into my chest. I want to run, but I can’t. I want to drive away, but again: not happening. So all I can do is stand there, and barely that, feeling completely helpless.
“You have to stand up to this. You need to do what’s right.”
“I don’t know what’s right,” I say.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“So I go home and tell Dad,” I say, trying not to cry in front of Jake. When I look at him, it takes everything I have to keep myself together. “And then what?”
Jake stares at the water. “You want me to be honest?”
I already know what he’s going to say. I’m sick because of it. I’ve known the answer my entire life. But I still nod.
“You go, man. You go.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I tell him. “There isn’t anything you could do to disappoint him.”
Jake gawks at me. “You’re kidding.”
“Do you realize what it’s like having to live up to . . . you?” I say. “All I ever hear is: ‘Look at Jake. Jake would never do it that way. Be just like Jake.’ But I can’t, okay? I can’t be like you—not before, not now.”
I’m breathing hard, barely able to get the words out. Jake shakes his head.
“Yeah, because my relationship with him is so great,” he says. “He thinks I’m weak.”
“Okay.” I wave my hand at him.
“I heard him telling Mom one night. Because I came back like this. Because I can’t just grin and bear it like everybody else. ‘Soldiers before didn’t come back broken.’”
I stand there, trying not to let his words—his logic—penetrate my plan, shaky as it may be. Every part of my body tells me to run, to escape, but is that just learned behavior? Or is Jake right? Will I ever be able to feel peace living this way? I turn around and lean against the railing of the bridge, closing my eyes. The sun is warm on my face as I speak.
“I don’t know what to do.”
Jake flicks me on the chest, and when I open my eyes, I’m not sure what’s real and what’s not. He looks no different from an hour before, but standing there with the sun outlining him, he looks bigger than life.
He waits for me to look him in the eyes before he says, “Yeah, you do.”
My phone buzzes, and I nearly throw up. But when I look at it, it isn’t Dad or Mom. There are five missed texts, all from the last two hours.
5:05 A.M.—Hey.
5:38 A.M.—Listen, can we talk?
5:45 A.M.—Are you ignoring me?
6:05 A.M.—Hello . . . ???
6:55 A.M.—I’m at the bridge. Meet me here.
Mallory.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
As we drive, I try to figure out what to text back to her. If I go back to the bridge, what happens? What else is there to say? I’m sorry? Good-bye? Thank you? But what happens after that? How does anything either of us says change anything that’s happened tonight?
Dad is waiting for us in the driveway, and when we pull up, he grabs me by the arm and drags me toward the front door. I’m howling with pain, and he doesn’t notice