Perfect. Part 35

HE WON'T BOTHER YOU ANYMORE.

Whoever it was wrote the one word I didn't want to see: Stanford.

Kendra

I Didn't Want To See The truth of things. That you never embraced me the same way that I embraced you.

That when we lay laced together, satin yarn and leather cord, it was you who untied the knots. That when you told bedtime stories of love come unraveled, you were always warning me of impending unraveling.

That the promises you wove into the fabric of us were nothing more than lies.

Are All Relations.h.i.+ps Destined to unravel? I hear stories about people who have been married for fifty or sixty years. But I've never met any. And if they do exist, what are they made of? The cliche answer is friends.h.i.+p. If that's accurate, Mom and Patrick just might last a while.

But Dad and s.h.i.+loh will come unwoven eventually. Jenna and Andre already have.

That makes me a little sad, although if I am honest, I have to admit I was a lot jealous.

Not because of his car or his house or his money, but because he really loved her.

He called me the day after they broke up.

I don't know how much influence you have on your sister, but she needs help.

She drinks every day. Not just a little.

She doesn't think she has a problem, but she does. And she won't listen to me.

He said that isn't why he had to stop seeing her. And I believe that. You can't stay with someone you love when they don't care enough about you. Jenna doesn't care much about anything. Not even herself. And I really don't get that. On the surface, she is pure confidence.

What is she hiding? What is she trying to prove? What is she trying to forget?

How can I ask her any of those questions?

She'd probably ask me the same questions. And I don't have any answers.

The Only Person Who has asked them is s.h.i.+loh. Like she has any right to. Like she really gives a d.a.m.n.

Today we are shopping for bridesmaid dresses. Jenna is supposed to be here too.

Guess something better came up. It's okay, says s.h.i.+loh. We can choose the dress, then find one in the right size for Jenna.

I was thinking burgundy. What do think?

I shrug. "Kind of dark for afternoon, especially in June. What about teal?"

Nothing like flipping her entire color scheme. But hey, she asked my opinion.

Hmm. Not big on teal. But you're right about burgundy being dark. Maybe ...

black? She laughs. Just kidding. Unless you think it would work. Let's look around.

The first one that we both agree on is a strapless sheath in a floral design.

"Tres tropical," I say. "Not even close to burgundy, though." I pull a size two.

s.h.i.+loh raises an eyebrow, but keeps her opinion to herself. Until I come out of the dressing room. Come over here to the mirror. Tell me what you see.

"Uh ... the dress is a little big in the bust, but the ruche helps that, and length is good...." It falls just above my knee, with a slit up the back.

She puts one hand on each of my shoulders. Tell me about the girl inside the dress. What does she look like? How do you think I see her?

Ambushed And just when I thought it was going so well. "Don't tell me. She's too thin.

You might even call her 'emaciated.'

Obviously, she has an eating disorder.

Auschwitz survivors look better than her. What's wrong with her? Right?"

s.h.i.+loh rubs my shoulders, and that feels good. She drops her voice very low. Not exactly. I see a girl who wants to present someone special to the world. Someone beautiful. The pinnacle of beauty. But she has lost her hold on reality. Real beauty isn't thin. It isn't size two, unless you happen to be four foot ten. What the world sees when they look at you is someone who believes self-worth is all about how she looks, and that very often means what she's missing is love. Not someone else's love. But love and respect for herself. Why don't you love yourself, Kendra? You should. You are perfect, just as you are.

"Shut up! What are you, a psychologist?

I don't need you to a.n.a.lyze me! Anyway, you aren't exactly all innocent and everything. THIS IS YOUR FAULT."

Which isn't totally true, but it does shut her up for a minute or two. Her head tilts sideways as if she can't comprehend English. I'm sorry. What do you mean?

"I mean you took Dad away from Jenna and me. Have a thing for married men?"

Her Hands Fall Away From my shoulders. How can I want those hands back? The girl in the mirror looks drawn. Gaunt. Outside and in.

s.h.i.+loh's right about what the world must see when it looks at me. Oh, Kendra. I didn't take him away. Please, understand that. I didn't even know he was married until after your mom walked out, and she had every right to. By then, I was in love with him. Believed I could save him.

I still believe that. But salvation will come easier if you and Jenna can find the strength to forgive him. He never meant to hurt you.

You girls mean everything to him.

"He never ...? Oh yeah, he meant to hurt me. In fact, he used to f.u.c.king wail on me."

Ha! Said It And it had the exact effect I wanted.

Disbelief. Shock. Dawning realization that the guy she fell in love with- my father-is so not the man she thinks he is. "Oh yeah. He'd come home drunk. Angry. Didn't matter at what.

Mom was good at disappearing.

Not me. Jenna was too little. Too cute.

Too much the daughter he really wanted. I was chubby. More b.u.t.t to belt without doing real damage. That's who you fell in love with. That's what the world would have seen had it ever actually bothered to look."

For once, the mirror tells me that the girl looking back at me is skinny.

The Skinny Girl Crumbles Tries to fall, but the woman behind her-only a moment ago her rival- gathers up the pieces of her, attempts to squash them back together. Oh, honey.

I'm so sorry. Please try to believe your father is not that man anymore.

I can't tell you that he's sober. He's trying, but he backslides. Alcohol can be a monster. It's an addiction, but it starts as learned behavior. He learned it as a boy, from the man who beat him.

Abuse is a learned behavior too.

"Sounds like an excuse to me." On the far side of the mirror gla.s.s, the skinny girl stares back at me. And, safe in the refuge of a stranger's arms, she disintegrates.

People Are Starting To Gawk Not in a good way. I pull myself together.

"I'm okay." Not. My makeup is smeared and my hair's a mess. "I like the dress."

Much cooler than I feel. "Not sure how it would look on Jenna." They do have it in a ten, though. And where is she, anyway?

I go back to change, and am still only half- way into my jeans when s.h.i.+loh knocks.

Urgently. Hurry, honey, okay? We have to go. Right now. Leave the dress.

The tone of her voice hustles me into my shoes. "What is it?" As soon as I unlatch the door, she takes my arm, rushes me toward the exit. Your mom tried to get hold of you, but couldn't. Your cell must be dead. It's Jenna....

The Hospital Is Five Minutes Away Mom and Patrick meet us there. Mom is freaking out. I don't understand.

How could this happen? Oh, Patrick. She reminds me of the skinny girl falling to pieces. "What happened?" Neither of them will look at me. "Please. Tell me."

Patrick draws me to one side of the waiting room. We don't have all the details yet.

He sucks in a big breath of antiseptic air.

Your sister was raped. And ... hurt.

We sit in a stiff row, waiting for details.

Finally a doctor comes to give them. Raped.

Beaten. Cut. Left to bleed out. Some good Samaritan jogging by saved her life.

Broken bones. St.i.tches. And all because she asked the wrong guy to buy her booze.

Sean

Broken Bones Are preferable to broken dreams. A broken heart.

A solid future smashed like porcelain into dust.

How do you reconcile love that won't let go with the overpowering resentment of being cast off, leftovers for scavengers?

How do you scab over wounds that deep?

Some believe faith can move a mountain. I say that's not possible if it isn't strong enough to build tomorrow on.

You Could Power The World On anger. All you'd have to do is tap into a deep well of it, extract it, fill up your tanks.

It's clean burning, too. All except for a thin exhaust.

Anger is fueling my days. It gets me up. Out the door to school.

Reminds me that I need to pa.s.s my approaching finals. Have to maintain that GPA to stay on track for my scholars.h.i.+p, and I will not give that up, Cara or no Cara. Restraining order or no restraining order. Stanford is a very big campus. She can figure out how to stay away from me. She's done a pretty good job of it here at Galena.

I've barely seen her at all since she got me locked up.

Okay, other than the initial arrest and holding cell time, I didn't go to jail. Uncle Jeff's lawyer got me out on my own recognizance. And when I went to court, the judge gave me community service and warned me any behavior even vaguely resembling stalking would immediately land me in an actual jail cell.

Some people might say I got lucky, drew the right judge. I say Cara deserves a little comeuppance for causing me sleepless nights and five days picking up trash along the Truckee River.

But, as they say, revenge is a dish best tasted cold.

Especially If I Want To keep playing baseball.

The thing is, anger has also powered my bat. It's all in the focus. Uncle Jeff showed me that. It's okay to be mad, he told me. What you have to do is gather up all that anger, hold it right between your eyes, and when the ball releases, laser it. Your arms will follow.It took a time or two to get what he meant, but once it clicked, bam. I've put them over the fence pretty much every game.

The very best part of that is it keeps Guy Behind My Eyes mostly quiet. Lately, he only talks to me when I'm alone, something I try hard not to be.

The Main Thing He keeps telling me is that I need to lay off the 'roids.

I'll stop talking if you do.

You might shut me up forever.

Chad agrees. He says I'm borderline schizo and that he won't supply me anymore.