Anabel Unraveled (26 page)

He had.

“Don’t be so childish,” he reprimanded.

I looked at him. “Excuse me?”

“If you want to talk about it, just do it. There’s no need to sit and sulk over there.” He sounded smug.

“Ugh, and I thought Jared was the most self-satisfied human being on the planet.”

“Don’t class us together.” He didn’t sound mad, but I mentally chastised myself for comparing him to the man who caused his sister’s death. So, taking a deep breath, I reconsidered.

“I’m sorry. I’m just used to everyone treating me like I’m fragile and special and fawning all over me and you . . . well, you aren’t paying me any attention!” I breathed a bit. “I just don’t know what to do with that, Matt. What kind of a bodyguard ignores the person he’s supposed to be protecting?”

At the next traffic light he stopped and stared at me for a moment. “Listen to me. I already told you, I think you’re made of stronger stuff than anyone else gives you credit for. So no, I’m not going to treat you like you’ll shatter at any second.” He paused. “But you are very special. It takes some real strength of character, some real intestinal fortitude, to go through everything that you have and still remain true to yourself, and you’ve done it.” He lowered his voice. “But don’t think for a moment that I will ever let you out of my sight. Ever again.”

“Is that a promise?” I whispered, intoxicated by his words.

“Absolutely.” He then turned back to the road, but I was smiling. I opened my mouth, and then closed it, and then looked at him again. Then I looked down at my hands, biting my lip, suppressing my grin. Then I let out a giggle, and caught his eye. He sighed. “Go ahead, I know you want to.”

“Intestinal fortitude? Really?”

“Shut up, Anabel.”

Chapter 27—Jared

I had barely seen her at the hearing.

I hadn’t talked to her in three days.

Anabel, Anabel, Anabel.

She must’ve talked to Matt about it by now. A large part of me did not blame him for hating me. The other part was mentally punishing myself for getting involved with Nat in the first place. This whole thing could have been avoided if I had just left well enough alone.

I was home, trying to watch TV but getting nowhere with that. Then I picked up a book. Then I tried to do laundry. It was no use. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see her.

I couldn’t take it anymore. So I called her.

Anabel answered on the third ring. “Hey,” came her voice, heavy with sleep.

“Oh, baby, did I wake you up?”

“It’s okay,” she mumbled. “I was just taking a nap. What’s up?”

“Is it too cheesy to tell you I was thinking about you?”

She started to giggle. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot as well.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of thoughts?” I asked, lowering my voice.

“Why do you make everything dirty?”

“Why do you make it so easy to make everything dirty?”

She groaned. “Jared, you’re . . . I don’t even know what you are, I almost feel like I need to make up a word to describe you.”

“I look forward to hearing it.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t be any worse than what Alexis has been saying about me,” she promised.

“Yeah, I don’t quite know what’s going on there. Whatever did you do to get so high on her hit list? You might be above me.”

“You never did tell me why she hates you so much,” said Anabel, accusing.

“Maybe I’ll tell you next time we see each other. How’s that?” I evaded.

That made her testy. “Why did you wake me up?”

“Why have you been ignoring me?” I shot back.

“I haven’t been ignoring you,” she denied, but her voice was uneasy.

“Don’t lie to me. I don’t like it.” I didn’t want to make her mad, but I didn’t want to let her get away with this garbage either.

“Jared,” she sighed, “I just need some time to think, okay?”

“What’s there to think about? We’re having a baby. You want to be with me, I want to be with you . . .” It was clear as day to me. “Has something changed?”

“You’re making a lot of presumptions.”

“Has something changed?” I repeated.

“Nothing’s changed, I just don’t know how to fix this,” she replied.

“What do you want from me, Anabel?” I asked her, exasperated.

She fell silent for a moment, and then, “I don’t want anything from you, Jared. I mean, I really and truly do want you to fit into my life somehow. I just don’t know where.”

“I want to see you,” I told her.

“Well you’re coming to my party on Thursday, right?”

“Right, you hit the big 2-0,” I said with a derisive grin. Charlotte and Phil, the caretakers at her house, had insisted on throwing her a party when they found out her birthday was soon. I still hadn’t made it over there, so I was looking forward to it as well. I was also relieved that her birthday was so close. At least now my sister could stop referring to Anabel as my “teenage girlfriend.”

“Yes!” she proclaimed, and almost mirroring my thoughts: “I’m excited; I’ll no longer be referred to as an unwed teenage mother.”

“We can fix that, you know.”

“Jared . . .”

“I’m serious, Anabel.” I really was. Anabel was quite possibly insane, but so was I. Somehow I adored and hated her at the same time. It also angered me that she was rebuffing me at every turn. Here I was, offering a way to get rid of the complications, and she had the nerve to reject me?

And she was being stubborn again. “I don’t want to talk about that,” she declared. “Is there anything else you want to say?”

I could’ve told her that I loved her. I could have told her that I wanted to make this work and that I couldn’t picture my life without her inane little self in it. But the words failed me, so I lied to her. “No. There isn’t.”

“I’ll see you on Thursday then.”

I hung up my phone and stared at it. Then I threw it across the room. I was sick of her turning me down. More than that, though, I was worried. If neither of us made an effort, this would all fall apart. She had no interest in making things easy for me, and every time I tried to talk to her logically, I made her mad. Where exactly did that leave us?

Chapter 28—Anabel

And a few days later, I woke up and it was my birthday.

I turned and glanced at the clock. 3:02. Too early to get up, too late to do anything. I rolled back on my back and sighed. I really missed sleeping on my stomach.

Today was October 12. My twentieth birthday. Of all the places that I could possibly be on this date, I had never thought it would be here. Sleeping in my parents’ old bedroom, in the home that they had briefly shared before my father took me away and I never saw my mother again. I was in my 23rd week of pregnancy. I had been carrying Emma for almost six months. The same amount of time that my father had been dead.

My father was dead.

He was dead, and he was never coming back.

And with that, I burst into tears. I cried like I never had before. For the first time, I allowed myself to grieve for him. I hadn’t been able to do it when we first came back, especially since we hadn’t had a real funeral for him, just a quiet memorial. Being around Sam and Alexis, and then being in the hearings—everyone had been treating me like I was about to fall apart, and I couldn’t stand that sort of coddling. So I had been putting on a front. I didn’t want their pity. I didn’t want them to feel sorry for me. But now, alone in my bedroom, I was weeping convulsively, almost retching. I clung to the bedpost as my body shook with sobs. How could this happen? How could he be dead? “Daddy,” I cried, “Daddy why aren’t you here? Oh Daddy, I really need you.” I hiccupped violently. “I can’t-do-this. I can’t do it without—you.” My sobs and wails were getting louder, and I couldn’t control myself.

That was when Matt burst through my door. “Anabel? What’s going on?”

“Matt,” I bawled, “Matt, my Daddy is dead, Matt, and he’s never, never coming back.”

So Matt came and sat down on my bed, and wordlessly pulled me close to him. He let me cry it all out until I was a sniffling mess with my head buried on his shoulder. It crossed my mind how gross he must find me; he wasn’t wearing a shirt and I was getting snot all over his bare chest. He bore it very well though; through my tears, I was impressed.

“Hey now,” he said, running his fingers through my hair. “Anabel. Sweetheart. How long have you been keeping that in?”

“A really, really long time,” I sniveled, reaching for the Kleenex box and blowing my nose rather loudly. “I’m so sorry I woke you up. You can go back to bed.”

“No I can’t.” He was incredulous. “You can’t think I’d leave you like this.” He paused. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I contemplated him in the semi-darkness, unsure.

“You don’t have to,” he continued. “But if you need me to listen, I’m here for you.”

That did it. So I told him. I told him how much I had loved my father, and how I had never felt I measured up to his expectations. I told him how awful I had been, and how I had gone out of my way to say the most atrocious things to him that I could in the days leading up to his death. I got quiet when I relayed how it had cut me to my very soul when Jonathan accused me of seducing Jared. “He could never see any good in me,” I lamented.

“I think you’re exaggerating, Anabel. He definitely saw the good in you.” He reached his finger under my chin and pushed it so I was looking into his eyes. The moonlight shone in them, and they were sincere. “If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have wasted his time, buying you all those books. He knew what you loved and provided it for you. I think that was his way of showing you he loved you.”

I sniffled. “Why could he never tell me?”

“Perhaps his heart was too ponderous for his tongue.” He was studying me, and I averted my eyes and smiled.

“I know that one,” I acknowledged. “It’s from another messed up father and daughter story. That’s King Lear.”

“I knew you would.” He was stroking my back, and I realized that I didn’t want him to stop. I think he realized it, too, because his hand stopped, but didn’t move away. “I think he’d be proud of you, Anabel. He really would.”

My mouth felt dry. “It’s getting really late; we should probably go to bed.”

But he was smiling at me. “I want to make sure you fall asleep. You need your rest. Now then,” he said, suddenly businesslike, “what can I read you off with?” He flipped on my bedside lamp.

Blinking furiously in the new light, I shoved A Treasury of Best Loved Poems at him. “Wow me,” I taunted.

He cracked it open, and began, “I once met a traveler from an antique land . . .”

“Oh no. No. Do not read me Percy Shelley!”

“And what do you have against Shelley?”

“Just that he broke his first wife’s heart. He marries her and tells her that he loves her, but then he meets Mary and goes, ‘Hey, you’re still great, but can we live like brother and sister from now on?’”

“Okay,” reasoned Matt, “but without Mr. Shelley’s connections, and that night when Percy, Mary, and Lord Byron got together and had a writing competition, we would not have Frankenstein.”

“And I thought I was the only person who knew all this esoteric crap. Seriously, are you as much of a nerd as I am?”

“My mother is a professor of English Literature. These are the stories I grew up on.”

“Really?” I sat up. “That is so fantastic!”

“Yes, and if it makes you feel any better, I’m also a disappointment to my mother. Between her and my father, who is Headmaster of one of the prep academies here, the fact that I chose to not go into an academic field upset the both of them.”

I was biting my lip again. “I don’t think it makes me feel better, but I appreciate the effort.”

“I did have to try.” He wasn’t looking at me, but I was warming to him.

“How many brothers and sisters did you have?”

“Well I’m the oldest, and then I told you about Nat. I also have a brother named Nathan, who is four years younger than me.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine, Anabel.” His hand still remained on my back, and I silently willed him to not let go of me.

“When’s your birthday?”

“It was a couple months ago, in August.”

“Are you close with your brother?”

“Not really. He lives in California, and works for a software company. Nat and I were, though. I could never see her as anything but my baby sister, and I was always trying to protect her. But you understand that,” he commented. “It’s the way Sam views you.”

I let out a yawn. “I do indeed know all about that. I want to meet your mom. Maybe that will make it easier for me to figure you out. Can I?”

“Yes, but you need to go to sleep now. I can read to you or we can sit here in silence until you drift off, it’s your choice.”

That was when it hit me. Matt had dropped everything and ran and comforted me when I needed him. He had probably been enjoying some respite from the craziness of our daily lives, and when he heard me in distress, he had gotten here without even putting on a shirt. The fact that he was sitting next to me in his boxers made me a little bashful. That thought caused me to think about the other night when Jared had just sat there while I sobbed and then left. He had just abandoned me, left me to cry on his sister’s shoulder. That night, as I relived everything that had happened between us, I had really, really needed him.

And all he had done was leave.

But Matt was there for me, and he didn’t need to be. All his job required him to do was to make sure I was alive. He could have easily ignored my sobs and wails. But he hadn’t. He had come running, and was now treating me like . . . like . . .

Matt was treating me like I mattered to him.

“You know,” I commented, settling back in bed, “I think I’m ready to go to sleep now. You don’t need to read to me anymore, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I affirmed, a bit shy. “Thank you, Matt.”

“You’re very welcome.” He walked to the door and then paused. “And Anabel?”

“Yes?”

“Happy birthday. We’ll do something to celebrate today.”

I fell back asleep with a smile on my face, and my dreams were sweet.