Chapter 11
11
YORK
" A h, you're using the Caro-Kann Defense." I studied the chessboard. "You have been learning, my young Padawan."
Gabe and I sat in the corner of Fir's living room at what we had dubbed the chess table. Josiah was at a friend's house, and Fir and Quillon were in the kitchen, where Quillon was helping Fir clean up after dinner. Fir had indeed made pasta with meatballs and red sauce, which had been delicious as always. How had I never realized that not only did I have a favorite dish but that Fir made it for me whenever I came over for dinner? Something so simple, yet it meant so much.
"I told you it wouldn't be as easy anymore to beat me," Gabe said triumphantly.
I chuckled. "Hold off on celebrating just yet, buddy. The fact that I recognize the defense should tell you I also know how to beat it."
Gabe was undeterred. "Bring it."
I loved his confidence, which was essential to playing chess well. People could deny it all they wanted, but chess was partly psychological. If you believed you could win, you stood a much better chance of achieving victory.
"How's school been?" I asked.
"Good. This new kid named Matt approached me. Said you sent him."
Oh, the bullied kid had talked to Gabe? I was proud of him. "He was getting harassed by some bigger guys outside Collins."
Gabe sighed. "Probably TJ and Nicholas. They're in eighth grade, and they're assholes. They're brothers, though TJ is a year older. He got held back at his previous school."
"Are they new?"
"They moved here last summer. Their dad is a vet, so he's gone a lot, and their mom is an actress or something. They have a nanny."
"A nanny?" That was rather pretentious for Forestville, wasn't it? At the same time, I also recognized the pain those boys were coping with. "It's not easy when your parents don't see you," I said softly.
Gabe studied me for a few seconds, then nodded. "I get that, even though I have no clue how it feels. As a doctor, Dad is always busy, but we've always been his priority, and if he's not home, Grandpa and Grandma are there. Well, now there's Tomás, but before that, I mean."
Gabe knew what loss was. He'd lost his father, Fir's husband, Samuel. How old had Gabe been again? "How old were you when your father died?"
"Eleven."
"I'm not sure how to ask this without sounding insensitive…"
"Just ask it. I know your intentions are good."
See? That was why I liked Gabe so much. Josiah too. Just like their dad, they seemed to understand me and not take things the wrong way. "I know you still miss him, but how does it feel? How often do you think of him?"
Gabe leaned back, the chess board forgotten. "Not a day goes by when I don't think of him, but it's not always painful. Sometimes, I remember something funny he did or a ridiculous story he told me, and then I smile. I have many wonderful memories of him, which will always stay with me."
Maybe he had an easier time letting go because the good memories softened the pain. But shouldn't that be true for my parents as well? Shouldn't their memories of Essex have made it possible to think back of him with love rather than hold on to the pain of their loss? "I don't understand people."
Gabe chuckled. "You and me both."
"But you want to become a doctor, right? Shouldn't you be better at understanding people?"
"I'm sixteen, York. I have time to learn all that."
"True. Unlike me. I should've learned by now."
Gabe shrugged. "People are not your forte, and that's fine."
"Is it?"
"No one can be good at everything. Some people are talented athletes but suck at social skills. Others are people persons but can't solve basic math problems. You're super, super smart, but you struggle with people and social skills. So what?"
I blinked, then laughed. No one had ever said it so succinctly, and I loved Gabe for it. "Thank you."
"I mean it, York. You're pretty damn great, so don't feel like you have to be like everyone else. You stand out, and that's okay."
The laugh faded from my face. You stand out. Such a simple remark, but it hit hard. I had always stood out because I was smarter and faster than everyone else. I had never fit in. If my parents had allowed it, I could've graduated two years early. Instead, some amazing teachers had kept me busy during the last two years of high school with college-level courses and assignments, and I'd always be grateful for their efforts.
"He's right." Fir sat on the armrest of the couch next to me. "You do stand out."
I had…to everyone except my parents, who had never wanted to see it. Even now, I didn't think they understood how special what I did was, how good I was at my job. Everyone could see I was exceptional, but not them.
"Then why don't they see it?" I asked, my voice breaking near the end.
Fir put a hand on my shoulder. "Because they always forced you to fit in, to lower yourself to Essex's level."
The deep truth of his words washed over me. He was right. They had always wanted me to adapt and become more like Essex, to stop being exceptional and become average. "But why? Why can't they accept me the way I am?"
Fir gently shook his head. "I don't know. I honestly don't. Maybe it's some misguided belief that if you were allowed to shine, it would've made Essex seem stupider. Not that he needed help with that," he murmured at the end, and I appreciated that little barb. When everyone else made my brother out to be a saint, it was amazing when someone spoke the truth.
"He wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed," I said.
"Dude, if I hadn't agreed to tutor him during our senior year, he wouldn't have graduated."
I tilted my head. "Why did you agree? Because we both know he…"
Quillon. I'd forgotten about him. He'd found a spot on the couch and sat there, watching us, but I had no doubt he was analyzing every word. If I finished that sentence, he'd know the truth. Oh, who was I kidding? He'd figured it out already anyway, after the way I'd treated those bullies the other day. In some way, him knowing would be a relief.
"I can go upstairs for a bit." Quillon rose from the couch.
No. I didn't want him to leave. I had no idea why not, but I didn't. "It's okay. You can stay. I mean, I want you to stay."
Quillon sat again. "Okay."
"Why did you tutor him?" I asked Fir.
Fir's face softened. "Because I needed him to graduate and leave town. If he failed, he'd have stayed for another year."
My throat tightened. "You knew?"
"No, but I couldn't have been the only one he bullied. There had to be more, and without his friends to curtail his worst impulses, things would only get worse, so I did what I had to do to get him out of here."
He'd saved me. Fir might not have known who Essex's other victims were, but he'd done it anyway, and he'd saved me. That last year with Essex home had been bad. So, so bad that I had counted down the days until he left for boot camp. If he had failed and had to redo senior year…
Jesus, the thought was enough to make me nauseous. And Fir was right. Without Auden and the others, the situation would have been a hundred times worse.
"Thank you. I can't tell you what… Thank you."
Fir's smile was sad and sweet at the same time. "You're so welcome. I'm grateful I was able to spare you from worse."
Gabe had watched the entire exchange without saying anything, and he wouldn't comment on it now or ever. He was Fir's son through and through, and I saw a bright future for him as a doctor. He had this quality about him that made you trust him, which would be so crucial for a doctor.
I refocused on the game, and after a squeeze on my shoulder, Fir left me and Gabe to it. An hour and a half later, Gabe had to admit defeat, but he'd put up a worthy fight, and I was proud of him. "You did well."
"Thank you. I'll beat you next time."
"I'm counting on you to keep trying."
Gabe laughed. "I love that about you. You never tell people what they want to hear. You speak the truth, even to a kid like me, and that's awesome."
I frowned. What had I said that was so special?
"Most people would've assured him he'll win next time," Fir said with a smile.
Ah, okay. "Not yet, but if you keep practicing and learning like this, you will. You have an innate sense for the game and the strategies involved."
"Gabe was right, you know?" Quillon said as we walked home, our hands laced as always. "The fact that you speak the truth is special."
"I never realized that was something extraordinary, though after he mentioned it, I thought about it. He's right that most people tell others what they want to hear. Or what they think they want to hear. I've had that same issue with PhD students who came for an internship. Whenever I'd ask them questions or show them a problem I was working on, they were all polite, afraid of offending me instead of telling me the truth." I snorted. "I can't remember the last time I was offended. I don't take things personally, especially when it's about my work. Math isn't personal. It's neutral. It's either right or wrong and doesn't care about anything else."
"Is that why you choose a career in it? Because it offered you that clarity?"
Had I? It hadn't been a conscious consideration, but subconsciously, it could've played a role. "I've always been drawn to math and science. I'm naturally curious and always wanted to know how things work, so even as a kid, I knew I wanted to become a scientist."
"Your parents never discouraged it?"
I lifted one shoulder. "No, but they didn't encourage me either. They didn't care enough, I guess."
"York…"
"Yeah, Essex bullied me. Badly. And no, my parents never knew…and neither did Essex's friends."
"You don't need to talk about it."
"I trust you."
He squeezed my hand. "Thank you. That means a lot to me. I take it he bullied Fir too?"
"Yeah, though we didn't find out about each other until we became friends a few years ago. He was the only person who knew, but last year, at the school reunion, I told Tiago and gave him permission to tell Essex's other friends."
"How did they take it? It must've come as a shock to them."
I blew out a breath. Talking about this would never be easy. "Not as much of a shock as I had feared. They believed me."
"You doubted that?"
"He was their friend. Why would they believe me, telling them this twenty years after Essex's death?"
"Because you don't lie?"
He said it as if it was a proven truth, and warmth filled me. "Thank you, but they didn't know me."
"That's why you think they hang out with you. Out of pity."
As expected, he had no trouble connecting the dots. "Why else? It's not for my sparkling personality."
"Why not?"
I frowned. "The sparkling personality part was sarcastic, in case you missed that."
"I know, but I disagree with you. They like you, York. They genuinely like you. For you, for who you are, not because of anything Essex did."
Could he be right? Nah, I doubted it. "Everything's always about Essex. He's been dead for over twenty years, yet somehow, he's still at the center of my world, like everything still revolves around him. He's the bane of my existence, and he always has been."
We'd reached home, and as always, Quillon checked the house carefully before he allowed me to walk in. He made us both a cup of tea, and we settled in the living room. I curled my hands around the warm cup and pulled up my legs. Tomás had picked a great couch, deep enough to sleep on comfortably and soft enough to snuggle in.
"You can listen to music if you don't want to talk," Quillon said.
"No, I'm good." Funnily enough, I meant it despite the fact that I hated talking about it. Somehow, talking to Quillon was easier than talking to anyone else, even Fir.
"When I was fifteen, my baby sister, Charlotte, died," Quillon said softly. I sat up straight. "She was only seven. Six months earlier, she'd been diagnosed with an aggressive brain tumor, and she never stood a chance."
"Oh, Quillon, I'm so sorry." My heart filled with compassion for him. "How awful to lose her that young."
"It was, and my parents took it hard. It took maybe six months for my mom to smile again, and she was never the same, but over time, the cloud of grief surrounding her dissipated. Charlotte became a part of our memories. We often talked about her, and we still do. On her birthday, we imagine what she'd do if she were still alive. On occasions like weddings, we shed a tear because we're reminded of what she never got to experience. But we continued living as a family, and my parents never treated me or my brother and sister differently because of Charlotte."
I understood what he was saying. "She's part of your past, but life has gone on. You've moved on."
Quillon nodded. "As it should, as we should. What your parents are doing… It's not normal, York, and it's not healthy. Not for them, not for you, not for anyone. Well, except your brother, perhaps. Essex was so arrogant he'd get some perverse satisfaction out of it."
I snorted, then full-out laughed. I'd never looked at it like that, but yeah, Essex would've loved being the center of attention, the asshole. "He would have… Jesus, you're so right about that."
Quillon laughed with me, but then his laugh faded, and he leaned toward me. "So don't give him the satisfaction, York. You can't change what your parents do or think or feel, but you can stop making Essex the center of your world. Step away from it, from him, and let go."
My throat tightened, and tears filled my eyes. "I don't know how."
He got up and sat next to me, and without thinking, I snuggled against him. His arm came around me, and I put my head on his shoulder.
"Maybe I'm wrong, but it feels as if you've been holding on to him because, on some level, you're still hoping for an apology."
"He's dead. Dead men can't apologize."
"No, but that hasn't stopped you from hoping for something to paint a different picture of him, anything to shed some light on why he was such an asshole to you, anything to understand why this happened…and maybe why no one saw it. Don't you think that's why you told his friends? Because you hoped that maybe they could offer some closure?"
His words stabbed like daggers with icy precision. My heart pounded, and I struggled to breathe, my lungs heaving like a boulder was pressing on me. Was he right? Was that what I had been doing?
A few tears spilled over. I had never understood why Essex had done it. "Do you think he hated me because I was smarter than him?"
"Maybe, but bullies don't always need a reason to hate. They're messed up inside. You did nothing to trigger it, York. This was all Essex. He chose that path."
"I had…" My voice broke, and I had to swallow. "For so long, I hoped that he'd see reason in the Marines, that they'd teach him right from wrong…and that he'd apologize."
"And him dying took that away as well." Quillon tightened his arm around me and kissed the top of my head. "I'm so sorry, but I don't think he would ever have apologized to you."
The truth. There it was, in all its ugliness, in all its crushing clarity. And yet, it brought freedom too. Knowing that even if he had been alive, Essex wouldn't have apologized somehow took a weight off me. As if I was releasing something I'd been holding on to for a long time, and maybe I was. Maybe this was what I had needed to hear to be able to let go of Essex.
Quillon was right. My parents had held on to Essex, but so had I. I had allowed him to take up way too much space in my head, my heart, and my soul. He had influenced everything I'd done so far, had darkened my life, diminished my joy. In a way, he had been my measuring stick, my compass.
But no more. I was ready to be free.