Chapter 5 - Laying the Past to Rest
"Deep rivers run quiet." – Haruki Murakami
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With some coaxing from Brooke, Mom consulted with Coach Ryan about teaching me to drive. He knew that I was seventeen, not fifteen, as the school records showed.
He gave me the necessary instructions, and I practiced with him. Other times, Mom became my practice instructor. Brooke was twenty, so I could practice with her. She was crazy, zany, and fun to hang out with wherever we were. Mom cringed whenever I went driving with her.
For the few weeks of the summer break, Mom took me to the childcare center to help out. I was excited to spend time with young kids again. When I helped before, I was eleven and acted like a big brother to them. Now, in this town, the parents were suspicious of a large man playing with their kids, even though I was seventeen.
“Jake, I’m sure they would come to trust you over time, but…” Mom began.
“What? I’m just some creep like my dad was.” I really hate him sometimes.
She reached up to my shoulder to soothe me, just as she had when I was little. When did she start reaching up? “You know what’s at stake here. We can’t attract attention.”
“But they’re just kids. They need someone to …”
Mom leaned forward and held my gaze. “And I was so proud of what you did for those kids. Especially …”
I look down at my feet. “Mom, you know how I felt.”
She lifted my chin. “Is that why you kept the drawing?”
A slight smile cracked my face. Mom reminded me. “You gave her hope when she couldn’t find any at home.”
I looked away. “Why not help these kids?”
“Let’s take you to Brooke’s house.”
I grinned. “So, we can stay out of trouble?”
Mom sighed.
* * *
When we entered Brooke’s house, Nathan was sitting on the couch, texting his girlfriend, and I couldn't hear or see Brooke.
Afraid that she was depressed again, I knocked on her door. A groan and a muffled reply of “Go away!” came from behind her door.
Returning to the living room, Mom and Nathan were discussing what happened.
Nathan repeated the short version. “Brooke and Vinny met up again.”
“I thought he was supposed to stay away from her.”
Nathan was still sitting on the couch, gazing up at me. “Right, but she should stay away from him.”
What trouble is Brooke putting herself in? I leaned forward on the couch, feeling sick for her. “So, did she go looking for him?”
Nathan shrugged. “I’m not sure. I don’t think she went to his place. They did go to a bar. I could smell it all over her.”
“How’d she get home?”
Nathan stood up and gestured to the door. “Some realtor guy from the office just happened to be there. According to him, when Vinny was distracted, this guy brought Brooke home.”
“Lucky he was there. Who was he again?”
Nathan walked away from the couch a few paces. “Don.” There was no admiration in his voice. “When I answered the door and saw him propping Brooke up…” He stood and shook his head. “There’s the Vinny kind of creepy with black leather, tattoos, and greasy hair. Then there’s the creepy business type that feels twice as greasy.”
Mom’s head snapped up. “Why did you answer the door? Where was Brooke’s key?”
“I don’t know, Ms. Atwood.”
“Jake, do you still have the instructions on how to rekey the new locks you installed?” Mom asked.
“Sure, that’s easy.”
We spent the next hour retrieving an old apartment key, rekeying the new one, and making copies of it. When Nathan swapped out the spares, only one was there. He stared up at Mom, and she just nodded.
* * *
The next day, Brooke stayed in her depression cocoon all day. I took up my post outside her door in case she needed something. She almost tripped over me on her way to the bathroom, but that was about all the interaction we had.
In the evening, Mom cooked some chicken and dumplings and finally lured Brooke out of her room. With a cautious smile from Brooke, I thought she was on the mend.
Brooke wasn't in her room the next day when I arrived. Down the hall, her parents’ room was open again, and I entered without waiting. She sat on the bed, staring out the window as if she were waiting for me to find her.
I sat on the bed, also, and stared out the window with her. She sighed and wiped her eyes. Asking her questions wasn’t always the best idea. With her lively personality, she often provided answers before you asked questions or offered answers without prompting. Watching her stare blankly seemed unreal, but I resolved to let her do the talking.
A long time stretched on, but she said nothing. Instead, she handed me her phone, which she had been cradling, and let that give me the answers.
A local news post featured a photo of Vinny. The headline was Local Gang Leader Found Dead. I read part of the article. Vincent Perez, Vinny, was found dead in a friend’s house from a massive drug overdose of heroin.
How she must be feeling now, I couldn’t begin to imagine. I didn’t even know how to respond to this news. How long had he been her boyfriend? But all that was abuse, and nothing good came of it. Was she supposed to be happy? Would I be glad to know my father was dead? I felt nauseous.
In a soft voice, Brooke spoke. “We had smoked a joint or two and snorted some coke a few times. When did he start doing heroin? He would have dragged me into that, too.
* * *
Over the next several days, Brooke hid in her room, depressed. Nathan was around somewhere, either texting his girlfriend or something, but he kept the house tidy.
I would sit outside her door, still waiting for when I was needed.
Then she opened her door without a word and retreated, sitting cross-legged on her bed, just as she had in her parents’ room. I accepted the open door as an invitation. Carefully stepping inside, I surveyed her room. The walls were a gallery of a teenage girl’s memories. Pink dominated the color schemes throughout the room.
She tightly clutched a pillow as she sat. Her desk was nearby, so I took a seat in the chair. With the silence between us, time seemed to slow down to a crawl.
Eventually, she reached over to hold my hand, which I extended. She then pulled me to sit next to her.
As I held Brooke’s hand, there was no romantic thrill. At first, her hand pulled whatever peace I had in me into her void. I resisted at first, but let her take what she needed. As her heart began to fill, so did mine until we were both full.
With a weak smile, she turned to me and said, “Thanks, Big Guy.”