Authors: Stephanie Kuehn

Charm & Strange (20 page)

Charlie leans in. “I laughed at him. I said he was making it up for attention.”

I hold my breath.

“I know we weren’t close, Drew. I don’t think you liked me at all. But Keith, he was so
deep,
like profound, you know? I liked it at first, and then it sort of scared me. I thought he wanted something else. But now I think he just really needed someone to tell. A true friend. And I’ve always wondered if I’d done something, would they still be alive. That’s on me, I know that. But if there’s anything you need, ever, you let me know. Okay?”

If I nod, will that make her feel better? Is that what she wants? I feel like I should be angry and therefore deny her any satisfaction or sense of redemption. But that requires bitterness, and I’m already too full of bitterness. So I reject this interaction and remain neutral. I reserve the right to think about this all at a later time. Just not right now.

“Tell me about your sisters,” I say.

Charlie’s lips purse and she sticks her chest out. Maybe she and I aren’t so different. We’re both reactive. We’re both middle children. We’re both competitive. Born rivals.

“Phoebe’s a senior in high school,” she says. “In Lexington. She’s like a math genius, though. She’s already taking classes at MIT.”

“Good for her.”

“And Anna is at Oxford, a graduate program. She’s studying public policy. Oh, and she’s getting married next summer.” Charlie shifts around in her chair. “She wanted to know how you were. She asks about you a lot.”

I nod. I force nice words out. I do not say what I remember about Anna. What I know. She killed a man that night. She and Ricky. They were drunk and they hit a hitchhiker on a moonlit New Hampshire road after screwing around in the middle of the woods. They stopped and they touched him and they left him in the bushes on the side of the road. Then they burned their clothes and never looked back.

I didn’t put the pieces together at first. I was too young. But when we returned to Massachusetts, I happened to read an article about the hit-and-run in the
Boston Globe
. And I
knew
. But I kept my mouth shut. And when it came to my brother and his pain, I guess, Charlie kept her mouth shut, too.

No, Charlie and I really aren’t so different.

I successfully navigate my way through the rest of my cousin’s visit. I ask questions about her life. I make eye contact at all the right times. But in the back of my mind, what I’m really thinking about is Keith and how his sense of duty seeped into his bones all those years ago, twisting and reshaping him into something far different from me. Something nobler, but brittle.

I’ll never know what kind of magic my brother believed in. What I do know is that more than anything, Keith wished for less suffering in this world. And when he couldn’t make that happen, he lost faith in change.

He lost faith in
everything
.

I let Charlie hug me again when she leaves.

Not because I want to, but because she does.

chapter

forty

bonding

Lex and Jordan visit five times over the next six weeks.

They always come together.

The first time they visit, they let me know it was a black bear that killed that guy in the woods. They both trip over their words, eager to tell me about the hunter who tracked the animal down and shot it. I’m not eager to listen, but I do. The second time they come, they bring food: a plate of oatmeal cookies wrapped in plastic, a six-pack of Coke, and some of those protein bars I like. By the third time, I figure out that they’re definitely dating. Or something. It’s written in the way they tease and touch—their jokes that flow like ritual, the spark between them vividly alive. I am curious. The attraction part is a given, but maybe opposites really can coexist in peace. I mumble something about hadrons at their next visit.

Lex mishears me. “Hard-ons? Seriously, Winters, I think this place has turned you into a pervert.”

I laugh before I can be embarrassed. “Hadrons. That’s what it’s called when quarks are joined together by force.”

“I know what you’re talking about,” Jordan says. She sits beside me. Her words and movements feel measured. Maybe she’s worried what I’ll think. Of her. Of them. Of myself. But when Lex runs outside for a smoke, I tell her I think they’re good for each other. They deserve to be happy.

She smiles. “You deserve happiness, too.”

We sit on my bed and look out at the lake. The trees are all bare. Winter is close.

“You’ve gained weight,” she says. “It looks good.”

“It’s the medication.”

“Or maybe you’re hungry.”

I think about this. “Maybe.”

“Will you come back to school?” she asks.

“Yeah. After the holidays, I think. But I’m going to be a day student. Teddy’s family has said I can stay with them. My mom went to college with his father. They’ve all been, just cool, you know, about this.”

“So do you feel better? Has being here helped?”

“Helped what?”

Jordan rolls her shoulders. “I don’t know what to call it. You say you’re not depressed. You say you’re not suicidal or hearing voices. But you agreed to come here.”

I look at her. I take her in. That short hair. Those dark, dark eyes.

Yes, it’s helped,
I want to say, followed by,
But you’ve helped more.

It doesn’t come out like that, though. My body surprises me. My throat closes up. Tears brim, then spill, wetting my cheeks. A flash flood of misery.

She’s alarmed. “Should I get somebody?”

Waves of sadness overwhelm me. With my sorrow comes the simultaneous crash-boom of fear and dread. It’s inescapable. I shake my head, but I can’t stop crying. Maybe if I knew how, I would hold on to Jordan. I would let her comfort me. Instead I hunch and clench my fists and let this storm of emotion run its course.

I look at her again when I can.

“It’s okay,” she says.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“It’s not easy to talk about.”

“I understand.”

“My doctor says that sometimes when things happen to kids, like really little kids and really terrible things, they don’t know how to make sense of it all. So they come up with ways of understanding the world that don’t look like how other people think things work. Almost like a new language.”

“A private language,” she says.

Yes.

“He calls it a system of meaning,” I explain.

“You’re saying something bad happened to you when you were a little kid?”

“I’m saying that my system of meaning about life, about death, everything, is sort of messed up. But…”

“But what?”

“But it doesn’t mean I’m dangerous. That’s what I’ve learned. That’s what’s helped me.”

Jordan frowns more, and I know I’ve made her sad. Maybe she’s wondering what it is that happened. Maybe she’s wondering who it was that hurt me and why my greatest fear is ending up just like him. But then again, maybe she knows.

Because blood is blood, and every family has its own force.

Its own flavor.

Its own charm and strange.

chapter

forty-one

spring

I still don’t feel the presence of God.

But from where I sit beneath the dappled shade of an overgrown sugar maple, I watch as Lex and Jordan race along the riverbank, and warmth fills the air. The sun picks up the glints of life in their hair, their eyes, the flush of their skin. Jordan is faster because she is more determined to win. Lex yells as she pulls ahead and he dives for her feet. They tumble into the grass and their laughter rises above the rush of the water and the call of the birds and the buzz of the deerflies. Jordan’s up again in an instant, dancing away from Lex. He remains on his back, gasping for air and clutching at his chest in dramatic fashion. Jordan says something I can’t hear, then turns her head to smile at me. She mouths one word. My name.

Andrew.

I smile and wave back.

And it hits me. I have changed.

Not everything’s different, of course. My wolf is still here, dormant, yet so very real. But it’s no longer a mystery. It’s a part of me. A part that will someday find its voice.

I know this now.

My story did not begin on that bridge, on that sun-washed morning when Keith told us about the paradise waiting for us on the other side. The wind blew through our clothes and through our hair, and the three of us stepped onto that railing together. We held hands and we readied our legs. Then the train whistle blew. I looked at Keith and he looked at me. I didn’t have to pull my hand back before they jumped.

He let go.

That was their end, but it was not my beginning. My story began earlier, back in Charlottesville, beneath the light of the moon, at the hands of my father. It’s the story that was too big for me to tell, the one that grew to fill the depths of my being and the far corners of my mind. It’s how I lost my system of meaning.

But I haven’t lost everything.

Somewhere, somehow, adrift in the sea and far from the stars, I’ve found faith.

In myself.

And that makes all the difference.

acknowledgments

I can’t begin to show my appreciation for everyone who has helped bring this book to life. You are all the strengths to my frailties.

Many heartfelt thanks to Michael Bourret, for his kindness and guidance, and for seeing the story in my sparseness; to Sara Goodman, for knowing just what needed to be said and for helping me find my way; and to Eileen Rothschild, Kerri Resnick, Jessica Preeg, Matthew Shear, Anne Marie Tallberg, Talia Sherer, and the whole SMP crew, for being so wonderfully talented and supportive.

Thank you also to my dear friends and early readers: Kari Young, Kathy Bradey, Phoebe North, Kristin Halbrook, Kirsten Hubbard, Kate Hart, Cory Jackson, Jay Lehmann, Jillian Smith, Karen Langford, Jenn Walkup, Deb Driza, Lee Bross, and everyone at YA Highway and Write Night, for all their brilliance and insight. Special thanks to Jackie Kinville, Pat Sussman, Peter Sussman, and Nathan Cheng for their wisdom and willingness to answer my questions, be it night or day.

Last, but never least, thank you, Sidney, Tessa, and Severin, for always being proud of me. You three are the brightest stars in my sky.

About the Author

Stephanie Kuehn holds degrees in linguistics and sport psychology and is currently working toward a doctorate in clinical psychology. She lives in Northern California with her husband, their three children, and a joyful abundance of pets. When she’s not writing, she’s running. Or reading. Or dreaming. Visit
www.stephaniekuehn.com
.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

www.stmartins.com

Cover design by Kerri Resnick

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

Kuehn, Stephanie.

Charm & strange / Stephanie Kuehn.—First edition.

pages cm

ISBN 978-1-250-02194-6 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-250-02193-9 (e-book)

[1. Psychological abuse—Ficton. 2. Mental illness—Fiction. 3. Sexual abuse—Fiction.] I. Title. II. Title: Charm and strange.

PZ7.K94872Ch 2013

[Fic]—dc23

2013003247