Lisa Unger - Darkness My Old Friend

Eloise could see that Ray was in pain-of course he was. Ray had chosen badly, and all the predictable consequences had formed a line at his door. But there was nothing to be done about any of that now. You just open the latch and let it all in-loneliness, regret, a kind of bone-crushing fatigue.

“Okay, let’s do it,” said Eloise. Maybe it was pity. At least she could give him this.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

She got up from her desk and walked past him. She went to her bedroom and sat on the squeaking old mattress. She pushed off her shoes and lay on her back. Ray stood in the doorway a minute, and she remembered what it used to be like with them. How he’d come to her in the night like this and they’d make love with all the lights on, all their imperfections in plain sight. They saw each other, understood each other. And when they were together like that, the dead and missing, all the people they were chasing, all the gore and horror that obsessed their thoughts, would recede for a while, leaving them with a brief moment of pleasure and comfort in a world that had gone too gray for everyone else.

He walked over to her and stood above her. For a moment she thought he’d reach for her. And she thought she’d let him, thought she’d take him and let him have her. She could see him thinking about it, what it would be like after so much time. Then he looked away from her face and down to her feet. He removed the shoes from the brown paper bag, an old pair of sneakers. Tenderly, he placed one on each of her feet. Then he took a seat in the chair in the corner. They waited.

Bethany Graves cooked dinner, because that’s what she did. Her world, it seemed, conspired against putting words on the page, her other great comfort. Sometimes it felt like every page was stolen, secreted, managed in spite of all efforts against her. Inspiration was flighty and delicate, and any disturbance could send it squawking off into the sky. But hunger, the need and desire to prepare food, was steady and reliable, a centering ritual that must take place every day.

She couldn’t even talk to Willow at the moment. Her child sulked in the family room, sitting on the floor, hunched over a pile of homework on the coffee table-even though there was a perfectly lovely desk built into the bookshelves that lined the wall. But that was Willow, always choosing the hard way.

Bethany chopped the garlic with quick, staccato motions on the butcher-block board. She slid it into the olive oil waiting in a pan on the stove and listened to its happy sizzle; she took in the pleasant aroma. Garlic cooking in olive oil, was there anything better? Then, right before it browned, she tipped in the crushed tomatoes. She chopped the fresh basil and brushed it into the pot. Then she stirred, the heat on low. She’d defrosted the meatballs she’d prepared over the weekend. After a few minutes, she placed them into the sauce and covered the pot, turned the flame to a low simmer. She’d start the pasta and toss the salad after a bit. Spaghetti and meatballs, Willow’s favorite. She should have made steamed tilapia and broccoli, which Willow hated. But maybe what they both needed was a little comfort.

She doesn’t need comfort. What she needs is a good kick in the ass . That’s what her own mother would have said. Bethany and her mother had never gotten along, right up until the day the woman died.

Bethany sank into the sectional behind her daughter, who didn’t bother to turn around and acknowledge her. This room was exactly what she’d hoped it would be when she bought the house-a towering ceiling, a wall of bookcases, a plush cream sectional, a flat-screen television. Outside the window all she could see were trees.

“Your father wants to come this weekend,” she said. She was extending an olive branch. They hadn’t talked since the screaming match they’d had in the car. Willow hated The Hollows, hated her life, and hated her mother, and she had expressed this to Bethany in a furious shriek that still rang in her ears.

Willow let out a snort. “You mean Richard?”

She took a breath. “Yes. Richard.”

“Did his girlfriend break up with him?”

She reached out and touched the back of Willow’s impossibly silky hair. The shades of red and gold were dazzling. It was cut in a funky asymmetrical bob. She’d always loved the way Willow’s hair felt beneath her fingers.

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Willow turned around then.

“I don’t want you to be sorry, Willow. I just want you to keep your promises to me.”

“I know. I just…” Willow dipped her head into her hand.

“I know. You want friends. You want people to like you. That’s why you lie to them, to me. That’s why you break all your promises. We’ve been through this with the doctors, with each other. I know. But now it’s time to grow up, Willow. You are enough. You are exactly who you need to be. And anyone who doesn’t see that, who doesn’t like you for who you are… well, those people are not meant to be your friends.”

Willow worried a thread on her sleeve. Bethany knew that Willow couldn’t hear her. At that age nothing your mother said got through. But Bethany thought that if she kept saying it, one day it would sink in.

“I’m taking away your phone-for real this time-and the Internet access in your room. I’ll be driving you to school and picking you up. And you’re not going to see Jolie anymore outside school.”

Willow looked up with wide eyes. “She’s my only friend.”

“Friends like that you don’t need.”

She expected Willow to explode again. But she didn’t.

“How long without phone and Internet?” she asked.

“Indefinitely.” She kept her voice calm but firm. She wanted Willow to know that she wasn’t backing down this time. “You can use the computer in here for research when I’m in here, too. And you can talk on the home phone, of course.”

“If anyone calls, you mean.” Willow leaned her head back against Bethany’s hip.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” she said again.

Bethany didn’t want to think it, but she’d heard those words too many times from her daughter. They sounded hollow and insincere. She didn’t say anything, just kept stroking Willow’s hair. It was as soft as it was the day she was born. It’s angel hair , Willow’s father had said. And she had been their perfect cherub, plump and so pretty. It was all so much easier when she was small, even though Bethany hadn’t realized it at the time.

“I want you to talk about all this with Dr. Cooper tomorrow. Okay?” she said.

“Okay,” said Willow.

“Willow?”

“Yeah.”

“Who was that boy?”

When Willow turned to look at Bethany, she wore a wide smile. Bethany felt her heart fill. She hadn’t seen her daughter smile like that in so long. It almost brought tears to her eyes.

“His name is Cole. Isn’t he gorgeous ?”

Bethany couldn’t help but smile back at Willow. She reached a hand out to touch her cheek. When Willow was small, she used to climb into Bethany’s bed at night and lie on top of her, pressing her cheek against Bethany’s chest. I can hear your heart, Mommy… Go to sleep, Willow .

“He is cute,” Bethany said. “How old is he?”

“I don’t know. He’s a junior.”

“So what were you guys really doing back there?”

“We really were looking for that mine you told me about.”

Bethany was kicking herself. She should have known better than to mention something like that to Willow. “Do you know how dangerous those old mines are, Willow? I mean, people die, get buried alive. I’d have thought after your encounter you’d be scared out of there forever.”