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Authors: Dianne Dixon
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comforter—holding her breath. She is wide awake. And she stays awake. For hours. Agitated and sick.
Livvi had truly believed she was safe from the ghosts of her past, but they are making it clear that they’re more agile, and have a much longer reach, than she ever imagined.
Sleep, when it finally comes, is riddled with disturbing images. Among them is the vision of the woman in the silver dress and pearl-button shoes—the woman whose fiery-red lips are making way for a shrieking howl.
And at the first sight of her, Livvi is fighting for consciousness.
She wakes up shaking—and crying.
Andrew is instantly bringing her near. Nestling her against his chest. Lacing his fingers into hers like a drowsy parent comforting a frightened child.
Livvi—infinitely grateful for his sheltering presence—isn’t noticing that in Andrew’s grip her fingers are being spread unnaturally wide. She isn’t noticing that the fit is just the tiniest bit uncomfortable.
Micah
A Small Town in Kansas ~ 2012
The cab is turning the corner, bringing the place into view. Micah isn’t comfortable with what she’s looking at. The worn steps. The neglected lawn. A cracked driveway littered with old newspapers, all of them rounded, in various stages of decay, like a trail of decomposing turtle shells.
The smudged leather on the back of the seat is faintly sticky. The taxi smells of gasoline and of the driver’s rancid breath. While the cab is pulling to a stop, Micah is looking toward the door handle. Eager to be gone. But also apprehensive about what’s waiting for her on the other side of the passenger window.
“Are you sure this is it?” she asks. There’s tension is in her throat and in her chest.
The street is completely silent. Not even the bark of a dog.
The driver turns his head, sunlight glittering across the gray stubble on his cheeks. Micah is listening to the click of false teeth and watching a fine spray of saliva sail from his mouth as he’s telling her: “You said Pine Street. One-eight-nine. This here’s one-eight-nine.”
Micah gets out and hands the driver twenty dollars to cover the fourteen-dollar fare. Then the cab pulls away—and she’s alone. In the middle of a street that’s as wide and flat and plain as the wind-whipped Kansas landscape that surrounds it.
Being in this vast, open space has Micah on edge; she’s not fond of freshly tilled fields and sunshine. She prefers forests and the dark of night—places friendly to things that need to be concealed.
The noiseless emptiness of the street is bordering on eerie. Micah’s instinct is to abandon her plan. This search for answers and absolution suddenly seems much too frightening. But before she can unzip her purse to find her phone, to get another cab and escape, the weather-beaten door at 189 has been opened. By a man who’s calling to her. And saying: “You’re a little early, aren’t you?”
Micah can’t comprehend what she’s seeing. She can’t believe how much he’s changed. If she’d passed him on the sidewalk she wouldn’t have recognized him. It’s obvious that he’s only in his early forties, but he’s skeleton thin and has a scruffy beard. His hair, the magnificent hair that was as black as a midnight ocean, is gray. And he’s leaning on a cane, looking incredibly frail, as if he could be toppled by a passing breeze.
What in the world has happened to him? To Jason. Her Jason. The Jason who was always so lithe and alive.
“Well, don’t you want to come in?” he asks.
Micah, not knowing how to respond, tells him a lie: “Yes. I want to come in.”
While she’s walking up the driveway, and onto the porch, and into the house, Micah is wildly uncertain.
She has searched Jason out and traveled here assuming he would be essentially the same man she left seventeen years ago. On that sun-dappled day in September, in Cambridge, not far from the Harvard campus; when she had walked away from him, down the steps of the
Livvi had truly believed she was safe from the ghosts of her past, but they are making it clear that they’re more agile, and have a much longer reach, than she ever imagined.
Sleep, when it finally comes, is riddled with disturbing images. Among them is the vision of the woman in the silver dress and pearl-button shoes—the woman whose fiery-red lips are making way for a shrieking howl.
And at the first sight of her, Livvi is fighting for consciousness.
She wakes up shaking—and crying.
Andrew is instantly bringing her near. Nestling her against his chest. Lacing his fingers into hers like a drowsy parent comforting a frightened child.
Livvi—infinitely grateful for his sheltering presence—isn’t noticing that in Andrew’s grip her fingers are being spread unnaturally wide. She isn’t noticing that the fit is just the tiniest bit uncomfortable.
Micah
A Small Town in Kansas ~ 2012
The cab is turning the corner, bringing the place into view. Micah isn’t comfortable with what she’s looking at. The worn steps. The neglected lawn. A cracked driveway littered with old newspapers, all of them rounded, in various stages of decay, like a trail of decomposing turtle shells.
The smudged leather on the back of the seat is faintly sticky. The taxi smells of gasoline and of the driver’s rancid breath. While the cab is pulling to a stop, Micah is looking toward the door handle. Eager to be gone. But also apprehensive about what’s waiting for her on the other side of the passenger window.
“Are you sure this is it?” she asks. There’s tension is in her throat and in her chest.
The street is completely silent. Not even the bark of a dog.
The driver turns his head, sunlight glittering across the gray stubble on his cheeks. Micah is listening to the click of false teeth and watching a fine spray of saliva sail from his mouth as he’s telling her: “You said Pine Street. One-eight-nine. This here’s one-eight-nine.”
Micah gets out and hands the driver twenty dollars to cover the fourteen-dollar fare. Then the cab pulls away—and she’s alone. In the middle of a street that’s as wide and flat and plain as the wind-whipped Kansas landscape that surrounds it.
Being in this vast, open space has Micah on edge; she’s not fond of freshly tilled fields and sunshine. She prefers forests and the dark of night—places friendly to things that need to be concealed.
The noiseless emptiness of the street is bordering on eerie. Micah’s instinct is to abandon her plan. This search for answers and absolution suddenly seems much too frightening. But before she can unzip her purse to find her phone, to get another cab and escape, the weather-beaten door at 189 has been opened. By a man who’s calling to her. And saying: “You’re a little early, aren’t you?”
Micah can’t comprehend what she’s seeing. She can’t believe how much he’s changed. If she’d passed him on the sidewalk she wouldn’t have recognized him. It’s obvious that he’s only in his early forties, but he’s skeleton thin and has a scruffy beard. His hair, the magnificent hair that was as black as a midnight ocean, is gray. And he’s leaning on a cane, looking incredibly frail, as if he could be toppled by a passing breeze.
What in the world has happened to him? To Jason. Her Jason. The Jason who was always so lithe and alive.
“Well, don’t you want to come in?” he asks.
Micah, not knowing how to respond, tells him a lie: “Yes. I want to come in.”
While she’s walking up the driveway, and onto the porch, and into the house, Micah is wildly uncertain.
She has searched Jason out and traveled here assuming he would be essentially the same man she left seventeen years ago. On that sun-dappled day in September, in Cambridge, not far from the Harvard campus; when she had walked away from him, down the steps of the
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