4. Macie

Chapter four

Macie

" I don't know what to do to help Macie," Mom said.

Every Saturday morning since my return home from the hospital, my parents met with their best friends, Isaiah and Rachel, to talk about me. I stumbled upon this breakfast gathering by mistake a few weeks back. Like every Saturday since the discovery, I sat on the stairs that led to the second floor where my younger brothers were still asleep, and I listened to my parents discuss how I was breaking their hearts. Sometimes I felt like a brat for eavesdropping, but most of me hoped that by listening I'd find the motivation to speak about February.

"I've tried everything, but nothing works," Mom continued. I had to be driving Mom to a special level of frazzled, especially since she was an art therapist for children and teens. I could imagine her sitting at the table, head in her hands with her red, curly shoulder length hair falling forward. My mom had a kind face and green eyes that held love for me. When she saw me, she wore a sad smile that told me she'd do anything to see me happy again. "She won't talk to me, to Noah, to any of you…"

" You " being my countless nonblood aunts and uncles we considered family. Every single one of them had spent time with me since February, letting me know they were there for me if I should need to talk, but I couldn't… I just…couldn't…

How could I make anyone understand? The words for what happened—they didn't exist, no matter how I wished them into being. I couldn't tell anyone even the smallest of details—like how on that February night frost still covered some of my windshield, how it had begun to snow, how the three guys involved were caucasian, how they wore ski masks to cover their faces, and how one had a tattoo that I saw every time I closed my eyes.

Anytime I considered talking about February, my throat closed, this hollowness would form in my stomach, and if I did open my mouth to try to talk, I would experience this awful sensation akin to falling from the top of a rollercoaster without being strapped in, and not in a thrilling way. In the way that made me feel like I needed to vomit.

Disappointed in myself for worrying them, I lowered my head then jumped when a hand settled gently on my shoulder. My heart sprinted, but I sagged with relief when Ariel sat beside me on the stairs. She had an apologetic expression as she mouthed, "Sorry."

"It's okay," I mouthed back. I inclined my head to the kitchen, and she nodded, well aware of my Saturday morning spying activities. Because she was leaving for Europe this evening, she'd stayed the night with me so we could squeeze in time together.

"Is it possible her brain responded like yours and doesn't remember the incident?" Dad prodded Mom. Mom had experienced something traumatic when she was my age, too. It made sense Dad would think the same thing could have happened to me. He had asked some version of that question many times with the hope that I didn't remember every gruesome detail. Unfortunately for all of us, I remembered each and every single deplorable second.

No doubt Dad sat beside Mom, as close as their chairs would allow. Holding her hand, caressing her back, moving aside the curls that had fallen into her face. Mom and Dad loved each other. More than any parents in the world. It wasn't just love; it was a connection that I wasn't sure existed for any other humans in the universe.

"She remembers," Mom murmured, then continued to Isaiah and Rachel. "The last two months, she went to therapy twice a week to see if she'd connect better with different therapists, but none of them clicked how I hoped. While she will go to the therapy sessions that I set up for her and she is attending the group therapy, she still doesn't talk and she still refuses to try art therapy with me or with anyone else. She also refuses to return to where the incident happened, and while she did try hypnotherapy, her brain won't let her go under."

"She's made improvements, Echo," said Rachel, Ariel's mom. "It's only been four months. She spent the first month of that in the hospital. One of those weeks in a medically induced coma. So, really, she's only had three months to process. Appreciate what she has done in that time frame. She didn't just finish her junior year online, but she caught herself up on months' worth of work to do it. She does spend time with Ariel and the family, she's shined at physical therapy, and she has never fought you on going to emotional therapy. If she wanted, she could dig her heels in and refuse to attend, but she doesn't. She wants the help, but she's processing. I can't even imagine what's going on inside her."

"But I bet you can, Echo," Isaiah gently added. "If you look back, you needed a lot of patience after what you went through, and it took a ton of time for you to heal."

Silence from the kitchen, and anxiety released uncomfortable needle pricks on my arms. I hated that Isaiah had brought up Mom's past in an effort to defend me.

Like everybody else in the kitchen, though, he was trying to help. Me.

"I know," Mom admitted. "But I never wanted this for her. I never wanted anything like this for any of my children." Her voice broke and my throat burned with the tears that, since February, had never found their way to my eyes. All my emotions gathered into excruciating knots that wedged themselves into all the uncomfortable crevices.

"I hate that Macie's in pain and that there's nothing I can do to fix her. And that's what I want. I want to help my child. I want to take her pain. If I could carry it for her, I would. I would bleed for her every hour of every day if I knew she wouldn't hurt. I would do anything for her to be happy again." Mom's pain overwhelmed me, and I jerked with the need to make her better. Ariel placed her hand over mine. She squeezed until I allowed her to thread our fingers together.

"Macie's strong," Rachel said. "Just like you and Noah. She'll fight her way through this and come out better on the other side."

"I wish we were already on the other side," Mom responded. "I've fought this battle before, and maybe that's why I'm so upset. I know the horribleness going on inside her. I know the isolation she's experiencing. I know how she's hurting, and I hate it."

"You've gone quiet, Noah," Isaiah hedged. I held my breath, unsure whether I wanted to hear any of this. While hurting Mom caused an ache in my chest, upsetting Dad crushed my heart.

When I was a kid, my dad was my absolute best friend, my hero even. But somewhere along the way, he and I grew distant. Butted heads at every turn. No matter what I did, we fought, and since February it was my relationship with Dad that had taken the worse beating. It killed my soul that my silence was destroying the shredded remains of our bond.

"Because I don't have anything productive to say," Dad responded with a steely edge.

"That's why we're here, brother," Isaiah pushed. "Talk to us. Let it out. It's better to say it to us than to bottle it up and accidentally drop it on Macie."

A chair scratched against the tile floor and Dad's booted feet paced the kitchen. Since February, I'd seen him pace many times when he didn't know I was watching. In my hospital room when he thought I was asleep. In the garage when he didn't know I was in the yard. In the kitchen in the middle of the night. The muscles in his arms flexing and unflexing. The look of pure anger on his face giving me chills.

I favored Dad with my dark brown hair and even darker brown eyes. But I had Mom's freckles, something Dad used to tease me about on summer days. But I couldn't remember the last time he had teased me, joked with me, or even laughed…

"What do want me to say?" Dad snapped. "That I want to find the bastards who shot my daughter so I can beat the shit out of them? Is that what you want me to admit? Because that's what goes through my head from the moment I wake up till I go to bed. Those bastards are out there, and they hurt my daughter and it's eating me alive."

"We're trying to find them, you know this," Isaiah said.

"But we're getting nowhere," Dad rebuffed.

"We'll find them," Isaiah answered. "I promise you, we'll find them. And when we do, they're going to wish they were never born."

"Isaiah," Rachel reprimanded.

"What?" he pushed back. "The police have done nothing. Macie is as much my daughter as Ariel is. I won't lie and say I haven't had the same thoughts as Noah."

"The police haven't done anything because Macie hasn't talked to them," Rachel retorted. "They have nothing to work from. When she's ready to talk, they'll do their job, and we're going to let them. Neither you nor Noah are going to be any good to Macie if you get yourselves arrested."

"At least then I wouldn't feel like a failure as a father," Dad snapped, and shock seized my lungs. "Day after day, I watch her walk around this house a ghost of herself and it kills me. I feel so damn powerless and useless. Maybe if I saw a spark of the old Macie…some hint that she will be okay. She loved her summer job at the amusement park and busted her ass all last year for the promotion, and now she won't even talk about the supervisor position they offered her. Nor will she talk about returning at all. Besides family, Ariel included in that, Macie's secluded herself. When she does leave the house, she looks so damn scared that it crushes me. It feels like she's given up, and it's my fault because I've failed to protect my daughter."

"You couldn't have stopped this from happening," Isaiah said.

"But I should have," Dad bit back. "Macie and I fought that night. I had this feeling in my gut she shouldn't go to that basketball game by herself. I told her to go with a friend, with her brother—I told her I would take her and drop her off, but she was damned determined to go by herself. Then I failed her again, because I never taught her to be street smart, to not trust every person she meets. We don't know much about what happened that night, but we know she willingly got out of her car and into the line of fire. Their car hit her from behind at an isolated intersection and she never had one fleeting thought that she could be in danger. I failed her by not teaching her how to defend herself or how to see trouble coming, and I can never forgive myself for that."

"You need to let that go," Isaiah said. "She was wrong place, wrong time."

"I can't let it go!" Dad fumed. "Loving her, protecting my family is the only job that means anything to me, and I failed her that night."

Silence from the kitchen, then Mom said, "You're a good father, Noah."

"I wish I felt that way. I wish I had done a better job preparing her for the real world. I want the old Macie back, even the one who fought me every step of the way."

A part of me wished I could disappear into oblivion, everyone forgetting I existed because then no one would be in pain.

"Ariel said that yesterday Macie asked her to give a friend a ride home," Rachel announced, and my head tilted with that news.

The tapping of Dad pacing went silent and there was a hopefulness in Mom's voice as she said, "What did you say?"

"Macie asked Ariel to give a friend a ride home from school yesterday. Ariel said it's someone Macie wasn't close with before, so this is a massive step forward for Macie. Leaps and bounds. We're all hurting, but we're missing the big picture. She is improving. Not as fast as any of us want, but in her own way, in her own time."

"Great," Dad sounded disappointed. "Macie inviting more strangers into her life without knowing them."

"Ariel knew the friend," Rachel redirected. "So, it wasn't a complete stranger. She's going to meet strangers, Noah, and not all of them will be bad."

"That does make me feel better to hear." Mom's relief made my muscles relax. "Now, we need to get her to want to leave the house."

"Would you let her go if she wanted?" Isaiah asked. "You must admit that if Macie did go, it would scare the shit out of you. It has to be a comfort having her in your sight."

"I'd roll out the red carpet," Mom responded. "I'll take the fear knowing that maybe she was finding herself. I would do anything for her to be happy again."

"Noah," Isaiah pressed. "You're on the same page, right? You want Macie happy again."

"I'm settling for safe. She's fragile. All of you have to see it. I'd settle for her opening up and not hiding inside herself. Seeing her so damn breakable and vulnerable is killing me. I don't know how much more I can take."

"You'll take as long as she needs," Isaiah said. "Because that's the type of man you are."

"God's asking too much of me," Dad muttered, and I withered.

I hated hurting them. Hated it more than the pain inside me.

As silently as I could, I stood and retreated to my room. Ariel followed and she gently closed the door behind her. I paced, just like Dad.

"They're venting," Ariel said. "If they knew you were listening, they'd never say any of those things."

"And that's exactly why I listen. They're saying exactly how they feel…how I'm hurting them. How I'm disappointing them." I pressed my hands to my heart, to where it felt like I was tearing in half.

Ariel rested her back against the door. "You're not hurting them. They hurt for you. There's a difference."

"But if I could turn back to how I was before, then they wouldn't hurt at all." I dropped to the floor, feeling absolutely miserable because as much as I wanted it, I knew I wouldn't cry. Crying eluded me. Just like speaking about February. "What do I do, Ariel? How do I make it all better?" How did I make me better?

Ariel joined me on the floor, wrapped her arms around me, and rested her head on my shoulder. "You're going to be okay, Macie. I promise."

I loved hearing the words, but it wasn't a promise she could keep. "If this was a year ago, six months ago, would I have gone to the party Relic invited me to?"

"Nope, and neither would Gianna, but she's changed. I would have gone, though."

"What's a party at Brayden Gentry's like?" I asked.

"Like you'd imagine. Some people drinking. Some people get high. Most everyone is loud and obnoxious. Some will play a drinking game. Some will make out."

"What do you find fun about stuff like that?"

Ariel twirled a lock of my hair in her fingers. "I like the unpredictable. You have to admit, until February, our lives have been standard cookie cutter."

"I liked cookie cutter."

"I know, and I thought I hated cookie cutter until I saw you in that ICU bed."

I had two choices. Figure out how to ram past this wall built up around February and talk about what happened or fake being the old Macie because I couldn't handle hurting my family anymore. If I could fake being the old Macie then at least Dad wouldn't see me as breakable, vulnerable, and fragile. "Do you think Mom and Dad know Gianna's changed?"

"I don't think Gianna's parents know she's changed." She lifted her head from my shoulder. "What are you thinking?"

That I hated my life. "If I go to the party with Gianna, my parents will think I'm returning to my normal life. They won't know it's a wild party. They'll assume it's a Gianna party."

Ariel frowned. "You would have been miserable at this party before February. You think you can handle going to it now?"

Nope. "What choice do I have?"

"Your parents definitely wouldn't want you forcing yourself to do something that would make you feel worse. And if your dad finds out what type of party this is, he'll lose his mind. He's been super strict on rules with you since high school, and I can't imagine he's going to give you high fives if he finds out what you're really doing."

"Like your parents know what you're really doing," I countered.

"You're not me," Ariel said with no malice, and I took no offense, because she was right. We were two different people. "Plus, my dad isn't nearly as strict as yours."

I switched back to the real problem. "What my parents really want is for me to talk about February and that's obviously not happening. This is my second-best option."

"I don't want you to do anything that would make you more miserable."

"What happened to the I-should-go-to-the-party-and-kiss-Relic pep talk?"

"It sounded like a good idea if I were there to watch your back and slap people who weren't nice to you."

"I can take care of myself." From the way Ariel looked at me, she didn't believe me. That was okay because I didn't believe me either. Dad was correct about me—I had no idea how to handle myself outside of my manicured lawn neighborhood. "I can't keep hurting my parents. Before February, I already felt like Dad hated me half the time. Now, it's worse."

Ariel sighed heavily as she took her phone out of her back pocket and typed.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Threatening Gianna within an inch of her life if she lets you out of her sight for even a second. Then I'm texting a few other people that I trust to keep an eye on you." Her phone dinged. "Oh, look, Gianna is thrilled you're going. Like thrilled. Oh my God, this girl can text. A simple yes would have sufficed. Seriously, why did you choose her as your other best friend?"

I nudged Ariel's shoulder. "Thanks for having my back."

"I wish I could be there tonight to actually have it," she mumbled as she typed. "I expect updates, Macie. Like every-ten-minutes updates."

"You'll be on a plane heading to Europe."

"My grandparents are sinfully rich. I'll act all innocent and beg for them to pay for internet on the flight. And I'm serious about my threat to Gianna. Remind her I've served time in detention for fighting."

I snorted but the detention for fighting was completely true. I stood and Ariel glanced up. "Where are you going?"

"To inform my family I'm returning to the land of the living."