my heart. It was murder. It was wrong—even for such a necessary and noble purpose. How could I condemn my father for doing the only thing left for him to do? How could I not condemn him for such a heinous act?
Chapter 8
B y three in the morning I still couldn’t sleep. I paced my room like a caged animal and found it impossible to relax. I opened a window and drew in a deep breath. Outside, the moon’s reflection in the water beckoned me. I pulled on sweats and sneakers and headed downstairs and out of the house.
I took the stone steps down to the beachfront, careful to hold on to the rail. Dad had built it when we were children, telling all of us that the slippery surface could prove deadly and that we must always use the railing. Old habits weren’t easily put aside.
A damp, chilly breeze made me glad I’d grabbed a jacket just before exiting the back door. As I reached the beach, I zipped the coat up and stood for a long time just staring out at the water. The setting reminded me of Mark. He’d once asked me to take a moonlight dinner cruise with him in Boston Harbor. He’d said it was purely business, but I’d declined, thinking it sounded dangerously romantic. In this day and age of sexual harassment lawsuits, I was surprised that Mark continued to express an interest in me. Maybe he knew I wasn’t the suing type. Or perhaps he saw the longing in my eyes.
Jamming my hands down into the pockets of my jacket, I walked for a short distance, listening to the water lap against the shore and dock. I remembered a time when Dad had rented a boat for us. We had spent the entire day on Puget Sound. Momma had refused to come for some reason, but Dad wouldn’t be deterred. He loaded us girls in our life jackets and away we went. That day would stand out as one of the few childhood memories that made me happy.
I had been eleven that summer, and I wanted nothing more than to get in that boat and float away to some far-off place. I didn’t want to come back to the house or to the routine of school and Mom’s problems. I hadn’t realized until now just how depressed I’d been. I’d always pictured myself as having it together—feeling very grown up and wise. Now, however, I knew those feelings had merely been cover-ups for the truth. I was terrified and tired, and those things had led me to depression.
Why depression? Why not anger or anxiety?
“But I was angry and anxious too,” I reasoned. Somewhere down the beach I heard a dog bark, but otherwise I was completely alone. I stopped again and focused on the sky. The stars were visible, but I knew very little about them. I used to imagine that I could connect all of them together and make some incredible picture. Of course, that’s exactly what I had tried to do with my family as well.
“I really wanted to believe we could be a happy family. I wanted the perfect life—the happy mother and father, the well-adjusted children.” If only I could have connected all the dots.
A sense of weariness washed over me. I felt really old. I had been born old, I thought. There was never a time when I remembered acting or feeling like a little child. I felt the weight of responsibility for so much, so early. People had always commented on what a serious child I was. In fact, I remember once sitting at a birthday party watching a magic show. The man was doing his best to keep the audience in stitches of laughter, but I wasn’t impressed. I was bored. I knew the magic wasn’t real. It seemed I’d known that all of my life.
I walked back toward the house. I’d left the back light on to find my way. It illuminated the deck and yard below just enough to paint shadowy figures across the width of our property. The tall yews and cedar rose up like towering guardians, keepers of the land who sheltered us away from view and maintained our secrets. It gave me a chill. If I walked into the water—slipped beneath the blackness—no one would ever know. I would simply
Chapter 8
B y three in the morning I still couldn’t sleep. I paced my room like a caged animal and found it impossible to relax. I opened a window and drew in a deep breath. Outside, the moon’s reflection in the water beckoned me. I pulled on sweats and sneakers and headed downstairs and out of the house.
I took the stone steps down to the beachfront, careful to hold on to the rail. Dad had built it when we were children, telling all of us that the slippery surface could prove deadly and that we must always use the railing. Old habits weren’t easily put aside.
A damp, chilly breeze made me glad I’d grabbed a jacket just before exiting the back door. As I reached the beach, I zipped the coat up and stood for a long time just staring out at the water. The setting reminded me of Mark. He’d once asked me to take a moonlight dinner cruise with him in Boston Harbor. He’d said it was purely business, but I’d declined, thinking it sounded dangerously romantic. In this day and age of sexual harassment lawsuits, I was surprised that Mark continued to express an interest in me. Maybe he knew I wasn’t the suing type. Or perhaps he saw the longing in my eyes.
Jamming my hands down into the pockets of my jacket, I walked for a short distance, listening to the water lap against the shore and dock. I remembered a time when Dad had rented a boat for us. We had spent the entire day on Puget Sound. Momma had refused to come for some reason, but Dad wouldn’t be deterred. He loaded us girls in our life jackets and away we went. That day would stand out as one of the few childhood memories that made me happy.
I had been eleven that summer, and I wanted nothing more than to get in that boat and float away to some far-off place. I didn’t want to come back to the house or to the routine of school and Mom’s problems. I hadn’t realized until now just how depressed I’d been. I’d always pictured myself as having it together—feeling very grown up and wise. Now, however, I knew those feelings had merely been cover-ups for the truth. I was terrified and tired, and those things had led me to depression.
Why depression? Why not anger or anxiety?
“But I was angry and anxious too,” I reasoned. Somewhere down the beach I heard a dog bark, but otherwise I was completely alone. I stopped again and focused on the sky. The stars were visible, but I knew very little about them. I used to imagine that I could connect all of them together and make some incredible picture. Of course, that’s exactly what I had tried to do with my family as well.
“I really wanted to believe we could be a happy family. I wanted the perfect life—the happy mother and father, the well-adjusted children.” If only I could have connected all the dots.
A sense of weariness washed over me. I felt really old. I had been born old, I thought. There was never a time when I remembered acting or feeling like a little child. I felt the weight of responsibility for so much, so early. People had always commented on what a serious child I was. In fact, I remember once sitting at a birthday party watching a magic show. The man was doing his best to keep the audience in stitches of laughter, but I wasn’t impressed. I was bored. I knew the magic wasn’t real. It seemed I’d known that all of my life.
I walked back toward the house. I’d left the back light on to find my way. It illuminated the deck and yard below just enough to paint shadowy figures across the width of our property. The tall yews and cedar rose up like towering guardians, keepers of the land who sheltered us away from view and maintained our secrets. It gave me a chill. If I walked into the water—slipped beneath the blackness—no one would ever know. I would simply
Similar Books
