The Language of Silence (9 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Brett
:

Last night, I didn’t dream.

Since my brother’s death, I have done nothing but dream. I’m bombarded by images from our childhood. Some of these images I crave, and some of these images torment me. Out of all of these varying memories, two stand out
—the day they found my brother in the library when he was seven, and my last moments with him the night of the wedding.

After Tristan and Ed’s fight, we returned to the reception. Somewhere in the middle of the multitude of wedding traditions
—cue chicken dance, cupid shuffle, cha-cha slide, electric slide…it says a lot about our society that we need so many following-the-leader-dances—I saw Tristan sneak out. Again.

I tried to tell myself many times that evening that he was just in a funk. I tried to ignore his refusal to dance, his refusal to take part in the charade. He was never a fan of the whole dog and pony show that came with being a part of one of Wendall’s more prominent families, but he was always by my side. We somehow always got through it together. That night, no matter how hard I coaxed him, he wouldn’t participate, even for me. He just sat at the table fiddling with one of the bubble wedding favors, rolling it back and forth across the table.

I still remember the expression on his face. It guts me to think of it now. It was an expression of absolute indifference. His expression was so empty, so devoid of life, I should have realized he was already gone.

I didn’t ask my brother what was wrong. Fatal mistake. Sometime between Madonna and Journey, I noticed he had walked out. Maybe I should have tried to get Ed to come with me after Tristan, but he was avoiding me. Whatever fight he and Tristan had, it was obvious it left him not wanting to be around me more than was needed.

I found my brother sitting on the curb outside of the hotel. The same expression, or lack of, still haunted his face. He was already a ghost, and I was too stubborn to see it. I plopped down next to him. We sat in silence for a while, nothing disturbing our mourning but the sound of him jingling his car keys.

I cleared my throat. “Another pathetic attempt at trying to recreate a Martha Stewart wedding, huh?”

He nodded.

“I see. How very stoic we are acting tonight. Did Ed somehow convince you to watch
Gossip Girl
again? This whole Chuck impersonation does not suit you,” I replied, trying to elicit some sort of response from my brother.

He still said nothing.

“Ed really has the worst taste in television. And books.” I forced a laugh. “Don’t get me started on his fashion sense.”

“Enough.”

It was only when he spoke that I heard pain. I grabbed for his hand. I wanted to ask him what was bothering him, but knew if he wanted me to know, he would tell me.

“I’m supposed to protect you, you know,” he offered, staring off as our aunt Judith chased my cousin Nick away from the fountain. Someone must have slipped him some alcohol because he was trying to do his best impression of Jesus walking on water.
              “Protect me from what?”

“Don’t play dumb, Brett. It’s not very becoming, you know. It might work for other girls, but it doesn’t work for you. It will never get his attention.”

“You mean Ed? I don’t need his attention. Don’t you know? I’m saving myself for Justin Bieber?”

He suddenly let go of my hand and turned me to face him. “You two need each other. Why can’t either of you see that? You don’t need me.”

“I will always need you, Tristan,” I whispered.

He shook his head. “That’s just selfish,” he spat.

“What are we talking about here?” I demanded, my voice rising.

“We’re talking about you, and me, and Ed. We’re talking about how you two depend on me too much. I can’t hold my secret and yours too. It’s too much. I don’t want the responsibility anymore, and it’s not fair to ask me to carry your burden as well as mine.” He spoke so fast that I could barely keep up with him.

I wrapped my arms around my torso. I had no words.

He was up, pacing. “I gotta get out of here, Brett.”

I didn’t bother to ask him if he was good to drive because he didn’t seem drunk. Sure, he had taken a few swigs from the flask, but he seemed more in control then I felt, and I had had very little to drink.

“I’m not drunk,” he replied, as if reading my thoughts.

“Okay,” I mumbled.

I stood up
, intending to go with him. Wherever he was going.

I looked back to the hotel. “I don’t think they’ve done the garter toss yet.”

He shook his head, taking a step back from me. Tristan opened his mouth to speak, closed his eyes, and shook his head. Without another word, he turned and walked toward his car. I went back to the wedding and got drunk.

*
***

I know Ed’s awake. We still have time before his alarm clock goes off. I don’t want to move and destroy this
illusion we both created in the late hours of last night—the illusion that we could be together, that we could be what Tristan wanted us to be for each other—solace. He gave us too much credit.

Did Tristan know he was going to die? He words seem rather haunting in retrospect. I can’t keep lying here pretending my brother’s death was an accident. Maybe he knew someone was after him.  Ed won’t help me. He needs to think Tristan was just another idiot who got behind the wheel after a few drinks.

I have to get up. I have to go on. I have to do these things because I know there is one last thing I can do for my brother. I can find out why he had to die. When I do, I will let the whole town of Wendall know. I will speak for my brother who never seemed able to speak for himself.

I pull away from Ed as I attempt to sit up. His hand slides up my arm and holds me in place. My eyes meet his. I see he’s not ready for this to end either. I’m feeling brave. Maybe I can give him, us, some brief moment to carry with us. I move so I am straddling him. I want to see him, really see him. I want to look at him and not feel afraid that he is looking back. I can feel by the movement of his body that this is where he wants me, with him. But I don’t just want this shell of him. I want
him
.

His hands slide up my thighs and torso, finding a temporary freedom on my face. He sits up, me practically in his lap. He grunts, fighting against something. I may have won last night’s battle, but I am not prepared quite yet for the war. I nod
and move away from him. I head to take a shower without another word.

After my shower, I take out my cell phone and call the one person who I know is feeling as bad as me
—Sophia.

Tristan’s girlfriend.

His fake girlfriend.

My second suspect.

Chapter Seventeen

Brett
:

Lunch has always been my favorite part of the school day, and not for the reasons one might think.  It’s the only time of the day I can claim for myself. I’m involved in every school activity that I can manage, and continue to make the honor roll quarter after quarter. I attend all the parties and social events I’m expected to go to. And even with my random taste in clothes, I always wear my Wendall High spirit gear on game days.

But lunch is mine.

Today, I sit staring at the junior varsity cheerleaders. It was the one afterschool activity I couldn’t bring myself to join. It would have thrilled my mother to have a son on the football team and a daughter as head cheerleader, but there are some things even I can’t give to Wendall High.

Last spring, Tristan had begged me to try out for the squad. He was sure that given my status and his place on the team,
Coach would pull me up to Varsity in no time.

“Come on, we’d get to travel all over the state together,” Tristan implored.

“You know, most big brothers wouldn’t want their little sisters tagging along,” I countered, slamming the door to my locker shut. I had play practice that afternoon and I didn’t want to be late. Tristan stepped in front of me, blocking my exit. I sighed and looked up at him. “Why do you want me on the team so bad?”

Tristan shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought it might be fun. Think of it as another acting role. You haven’t played peppy
, pill-addicted Penelope the cheerleader yet, you know?”

I rolled my eyes. “Crap alliteration, Tristan. I really thought you could do better than that. Do you need me to start doing your AP English homework on top of the science homework I already do? Is that why you want me to join so much? You get to spend your time on the bus joking around with the boys while I’m your academic slave?”

“First, a gentle reminder that we live in the south, sis. Slavery jokes will never be funny. Second, if I wanted you to do my homework, all I would have to do is tell Dad I’m overwhelmed and I could use my little sister’s help,” he replied.

“You’d have to get him on the phone for more than two minutes first,” I retorted. I leaned against the locker and crossed my arms. It had become apparent that Tristan wasn’t letting me go anytime soon. “Come on, what’s this really about?”

Tristan sighed again, leaning against the lockers next to mine. “I told you, Brett. I just thought it would be fun to have you along. Sometimes, it would be nice to have someone to talk to other than a bunch of moronic, immature meatheads.”

“Moronic, immature meatheads?” I scoffed. “Since when did we have so much disdain for our teammates, big bro?”

“You know what? Just forget about it. I’m sorry that I wanted to spend more time with you, and that I value our conversations,” Tristan snapped.

I grabbed onto my brother’s arm, stopping him from walking away. “Whoa there, big bro. Calm down. I’m just surprised. That’s all. You always seemed to dig those guys before.”

“Yeah, well, things change. People grow up. And right now, I’d rather spend my time with people who don’t act so damn childish all the time.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re laughing at me now?” he charged.

I shook my head and linked my arm through his, forcing Tristan to walk me to the theater. “I was laughing at the situation. It reminds me of one of Ed’s crap shows. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had a secret old lover. And since spending your time with said over twenty-oner, you can’t be bothered with us youngsters. Gotta love poorly written plots.”

Tristan stopped dead in his tracks, yanking me to a halt as well. I turned back and looked at him. His face had paled considerably. “What is it?” I asked.

“Brett
—”

I covered my mouth with my hand to stifle the laugh that wanted to break free. There was no way it could be true. This was a major error in Tristan’s code of conduct. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Tristan. You’re seeing someone older? How much older?”

Tristan looked around to make sure no one could hear our conversation. “Not that much older. Mid-twenties.”

“So, she
can
buy beer? Score, Tristan. I feel like I’m supposed to high five you or something,” I replied sarcastically.

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you,” he mumbled.

There were a million questions that ran through my mind. How had this happened? Who was she? How long had it been going on? But all that came out of my mouth was judgment. “These things never end well, Tristan. Besides, don’t you already have a girlfriend? Remember, her name is Sophia.”

“It’s complicated,” he replied.

I held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t be a walking cliché. That’s what all cheating d-bags say. It’s not complicated. You have a girlfriend, but also have play dates with someone else. I’m sorry, she’s old. Not play dates. Coffee dates. Which is insane because you don’t even like coffee.”

“It
is
complicated, Brett. One day, maybe you’ll understand. Look, I’m sorry I snapped at you. Let’s just drop the whole thing, alright? Don’t you have Shakespeare to butcher?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you have some more lies to think up to tell your girlfriend?”

Tristan looked down at me, his eyes searching mine. I could have been mistaken, but I swear there were tears in them. “One day, you’ll see that the heart wants what the heart wants, and it doesn’t care who it damns in the process.”

****

As I sit in the lunchroom, the feeling I have been trying to push down makes its way up—guilt. Tristan had given me all the clues, practically placed them in my hands himself, begging me to look down and decipher them. But I never did acknowledge that he had a life outside of my world. His secret life had been slowly destroying him day by day.

After leaving Ed alone in the bed we had shared, I dialed Sophia’s number. I let it ring and ring and ring
, but it went to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message. Tristan always had this odd rule that if he missed a call, he would never call anyone back unless they left a message. He tried to explain that if the person didn’t leave a voicemail, the conversation was probably mundane enough to be contained in a text message. I didn’t leave a message on Sophia’s phone because it felt like giving up the power. Leaving a voicemail would let her know that I was seeking answers, and I couldn’t risk her running.

Or maybe I was just being a coward.

I reach down and grab my backpack from the floor and sling it over my shoulder. I feel anxious. The cafeteria has become much too loud and way too small. I decide to go to the library and see if I can check out some Agatha Christie books.

A girl from my history class calls out my name as I walk by her table, but I pretend not to notice. I’ll make it up to her later. It’s just not a debt I’m ready to pay right now. Even if I am choosing to leave the cafeteria, it’s still lunch time, and it’s
my
time,

I grip onto my backpack straps and exit into the hallway. As I round the corner, I see the bottom half of a boy struggling to hang a
“Go Wendall” poster from the ceiling. The poster covers his face, masking his identity in Wendall High pride. Below him, a few cheerleaders giggle and command him to move it higher or lower. Each time he gets it in a position, they change the command. It’s a tired game, but I can’t completely knock them for it. They seem to be having a great deal more fun than me.

I tuck
in my chin as I walk past the cheerleaders and move under the banner, hoping that no one will stop me to talk. It’s a miracle I ever make it to class on time, but people seem to be giving me my space the past couple of days.

Suddenly, my world goes black.

More like bright yellow.

The banner falls over my head, shrouding me in a paper burka. I struggle to lift the surprisingly heavy paper when a pair of hands pull the banner off of me. I stand staring directly at Ed. My mouth falls open. I don’t bother to hide my shock. The last thing I ever expected to see was Ed hanging a spirit banner. But a lot of things have happened recently that I would never have thought could have happened. Why should this surprise me?

Ed’s face mirrors my surprise for a moment, but he’s better at covering it. “You alright there, Brett?” he asks casually. The girls behind us start to laugh harder. Apparently, this is all very funny.

“Of course
.” I scowl. “It was a giant piece of paper. Not a brick. Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

Ed laughs and shrugs. “I don’t know.  It could have paper cut your eye or something
, blinding you forever.”

My eyes dart back and forth between the amused cheerleaders and Ed holding the banner in his hand. The black glitter from the poster’s letters are infecting his hand, an Arts and Crafts case of herpes. “Blind? I wish,” I mumble.

“Ditching lunch?” he asks, filling in the awkward silence that has grown between us.

I don’t know how to act around this Ed. He doesn’t belong in this world. At least, he didn’t use to. But his smile seems genuine, and he looks to actually be enjoying himself with the pep squad. “Going to the library,” I reply. It’s only now as his eyes search down the hallway behind me that I realize he has my schedule memorized. Not that I don’t know every second of his. “Skipping gym?” I ask.

His eyes shift back to my face. “Wouldn’t call it skipping. I have a pass.”

“A pass? You seem to have a lot of those lately,” I reply.

Ed frowns for a millisecond. “What can I say? The girls needed my help. And when Wendall calls, I must answer. Right?”

The other girls coo and awe over Ed like he’s a baby who took his first step, but I hear what they don’t
—bitterness. “How far you going to take this?” I ask.

“Well, I hope we take it all the way to state,” Ed replies, high fiving the girls behind me.

I think I’m going to be sick. Literally. I shake my head and push past Ed, not bothering to apologize to him as my shoulder knocks into his. I beeline it for the library, bringing a shaky hand to wipe away the tears that are running down my face. I don’t know why I’m crying.

I hunch my shoulders and don’t relax until I’m seated in one of the study
cubicles deep inside of the library. No matter how much I want them to, the tears don’t stop running. The bell rings and I don’t move. I press my forehead against the desk, covering my head with my arms. If anyone looks, they’ll think I’m some stoner student sleeping off my high.

I’m not sure how much times passes before I hear someone sit next to me. “Why are you crying?” a voice asks. The tone conveys annoyance more than sympathy.

“Just leave me alone, Ed,” I reply without lifting my head up.

“I can’t very well leave you here crying now
, can I?” He sighs.

I lift my head and stare him down. “I didn’t know I even registered on your radar,” I charged.

Ed takes my appearance in for a moment then turns his attention to the floor. He can’t bear to look at me and it hurts. “I helped you last night. Didn’t I?” he asks quietly.

Last night. I know he’s referring to the situation about my mother, but has he forgotten how he held me in his arms? How we held each other? “That Ed and this one aren’t the same person. That Ed would never even think of going to a game. And hanging spirit posters? Only if he was being held at gunpoint. That Ed actually remembers we are friends. This Ed is a real d
-bag, and he can leave.”

“Typical Jensen bull
shit,” he mumbles, shaking his head.

“What the
Hades is that supposed to mean?” The tears have finally stopped falling.

“It’s what you and everyone in your family do best. You can’t ever let people just be. You
’ve got to push and prod till people are what you need them to be. Doesn’t matter what I need. I’m sorry you’re having a shit time dealing with your brother’s death, but—”

I spring up from my chair, knocking it over in the process. Ed stops talking, his face red. I lean forward, pushing my face into his space. “You’re sorry I’m having a hard time dealing with my brother’s death? Really?” I ask through my teeth. “Well, thank you for your condolences. How very kind of you.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you meant it. I’m sorry you’re an a-hole. Seems like we’ve both got a lot to be sorry for,” I snap.

I remember my conversation with Tristan and all the things I should have said to him. Nothing has changed. There are so many things Ed and I need to say to each other. But we never do. It’s just too hard. Too painful.

I walk away.

Leaving Ed with nothing but silence.