Chapter Fifteen

chapter fifteen

June 18, 2019

Jackie? I’m really concerned,” Karen said. “Declan’s showing some psychotic symptoms. He’s talking nonstop about the fish not being who they said they were. About monsters who sometimes look like fish and sometimes people. His thoughts are all over the place. He made a vague threat toward you.”

“Toward me? What did he say?” I panted out the words as I walked quickly up the hill back toward Sparrow Crest, the package under my left arm, the beer in my left hand and my phone in my right.

“That bad things are going to happen to you.”

I stopped to catch my breath. “That doesn’t sound like Declan at all.”

“He said the fish told him. He heard them speaking. They’re still speaking to him even now that they’re dead.”

“Oh God,” I said. I felt a vise tighten around my head. Poor Declan. He’d been doing so well—one of my success stories. I quickly sifted back through our interactions, sure I hadn’t seen even a glimmer that any of this might have been coming. What symptoms had I missed? “He’s been antisocial and withdrawn in the past, but to my knowledge he’s never experienced any hallucinations. Never had any breaks with reality.”

“He needs to be hospitalized, Jackie. I made some phone calls and sent him over to the Central Valley ER with his mom. But his mom isn’t understanding the seriousness of the situation, resisted bringing him. She said she’s tired of her son being poked and medicated and put under a magnifying glass.”

“But she must see that this is different. He’s showing clear psychotic symptoms: disorganized thinking, delusions, hallucinations.”

“I went over all of that with her, but I’m not sure any of it truly sank in.”

I started walking again. I’d reached the end of the driveway, the big black mailbox with Gram’s last name painted in big white letters: HARKNESS.

“Okay. I’ll call Mrs. Shipee. Just to make sure she’s got him over there and help her see it’s the right move. Can you give me her number?”

I set down the package and beer, fumbled in my purse for a pen, and wrote the phone number on my forearm. Then I thanked Karen, hung up, and called Mrs. Shipee before even getting to the house. It went straight to voice mail.

I left a message and asked her to please call me when she got a chance, explaining that I’d had to come to Vermont for a family emergency, but I was very concerned about Declan. “I’m available anytime,” I told her, and gave her both my cell number and the landline for Sparrow Crest.

Back at the house, I found Diane and my father in the kitchen, and—even though it was well before five—a bottle of rum and cans of Diet Coke out on the table.

“Rum and Coke?” Diane offered.

I reminded myself I was officially no longer the booze police and smiled as cheerfully as I could.

“No thanks, I’ve got beer,” I said. I popped open one of the IPAs before sliding the rest in the fridge. It was citrusy and bitter and perfect.

“I saw Ryan,” I said. “You didn’t mention Terri and Randy are getting divorced.”

Diane’s jaw tightened a little. “Didn’t I?”

“Wow,” Ted said. “Are they really? I’m surprised. Those two were the real deal.”

Diane’s phone chirped. She glanced down at the screen and decided to ignore whoever it was. “Your father and I have been going over tomorrow,” Diane said as she laid her phone down and took a sip of her drink. “The service starts at one. I figure we should get to the funeral home at twelve thirty. I’ve had some photos of Lexie blown up, so we’ll put those on stands around the Lily Room. All the flowers have been ordered. I think we should keep things informal. Invite anyone who wants to say something to get up and speak. And, if we’re able to, maybe the three of us could say a few words, too. I have a Mary Oliver poem I’d like to read—Lexie liked her stuff.”

I nodded and took several long sips as I leaned against the counter, Lexie’s package behind me. “I’ll speak,” I said. I wasn’t sure what I’d say. You could always tell the truth, Lexie whispered in my ear. But what truth would that be? There were so many to choose from.

How, for so long, we were each other’s missing piece? How part of me worshiped and stood in awe of her, but another part secretly hated her for the way she captured the spotlight? How her illness swallowed us both up with sharp, grinding teeth then spit us out in pieces? How I moved all the way across the fucking country to try to distance myself, to stop trying to save my sister, hoping I might save myself? Or how when we sat in the lawyer’s office to hear Gram’s will, a part of me cracked open like a fragile dam? All the old resentments came roaring in, washing away any of the good feelings I had left.

Last year, after we’d gotten her ensconced at Sparrow Crest, I was saying goodbye to her at the airport. “Move in. Live with me,” she’d said. “Like we always planned. The Jax and Lex show, remember? We come as a pair. There is no me without us. The X girls,” she said, holding up her pointer finger, waiting.

But I’d kept my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

“Gram left it to you, remember?” I said. “You were her favorite. You’ve always been everyone’s favorite.”

She stared in disbelief. “That’s not fair! And it’s not my fault.”

“No. Nothing ever is,” I said, looking at her, my heavy bag slung on my shoulder. “Nothing’s ever fair. And nothing’s ever your fault. That’s the whole fucking problem, Lex.”

That was the last time I’d seen my sister.

“And, Ted, you should speak, too. I know Lexie would want you to. They’ll have her… cremains ready for us,” Diane said, not waiting for his reply. “It sounds ridiculous, like crumbs left over at the bottom of a box of crullers, but that’s what the funeral director called them.”

“I like ‘ashes’ better,” my father said.

“Agreed,” I said.

“Well, regardless of what we’re going to call them,” Diane said, “what should we do with them? I’m fairly certain Lexie wouldn’t want to spend time in a box or an urn.”

“The ocean?” Ted suggested.

“Water’s a good idea,” I said. “She always seemed more at home in the water than on land. I vote for Lake Wilmore. Lexie loved it there.”

“We could put her in the swimming pool,” my father said.

Diane and I stared at him, neither of us quite believing he’d really said what he had.

“You’re kidding, right?” I snapped.

“It’s where she learned to swim; where she found herself as a swimmer, I mean. She learned more about swimming in that water than anywhere—”

“It’s where she died, Ted,” Diane said, like she was talking to a dim-witted child.

“It’s where she lived, too!” he countered.

“We’re not putting her in that pool,” I said. “No way! God, I can’t even believe we’re even talking about this as a possibility.”

“But we’re not talking about it,” he said. “That’s the whole problem. You’re doing exactly what you always did with Lexie, Jax. You’re stopping a conversation before it even starts because you’ve already labeled the idea ‘crazy,’ which just means it’s outside your comfort zone, which just about everything is.”

I glared at my father. “If by my ‘comfort zone,’ you mean that I’m thinking rationally and soberly and unwilling to follow you on absurd drunken tangents, then—”

“I think,” Diane interrupted, “that the lake makes the most sense. I’ve got a friend with a canoe. Val. She is always trying to get me to do outdoorsy things, which is definitely outside of my comfort zone. I end up all swollen, covered in poison ivy and bug bites.” She laughed awkwardly, rubbed at her arms like the idea of it made her itchy.

We stared at her, stone-faced.

“Anyway,” Aunt Diane went on, “we can borrow Val’s canoe, say a few words, and let her go there.”

Let her go.I let the words tumble through me. As if it were that easy. One night, we’d sat on her bed, making shadows on the ceiling with a flashlight, speaking in hushed voices so Gram wouldn’t know we were still awake. “Even though we’re three years apart, we’re like twins,” she’d said. We were nothing alike. Not really. We didn’t even look alike. I had my mother’s dark hair and eyes, and Lexie was blond and blue-eyed like our dad. When I’d said as much, she said, “That’s the thing about real twins, Jax. They’re opposites. They’re yin and yang; balance each other out. That’s what me and you do.” She’d held up her index finger and I’d crossed my own over it. “The X girls now and forever.”

I took another swig of beer. “What about after the service?” I asked. “Should we host a gathering of some kind?”

“We can rent a space, invite people for food and drink once we leave the funeral home. I’m not set up for many people at my condo; get more than two people in my kitchen and it feels sardine-like. There’s a back room at Casa Rosa that’s nice.”

“Let’s do it here,” I said.

“Here?” Diane said, looking around.

“Seriously, Jax?” my father said. “Dracula’s castle?”

I nodded. “Yeah, seriously, Ted. This was Lexie’s home—she loved it here. God knows there’s plenty of space. And it’s pretty cleaned up now. We’ll just need to get some snacks.”

My father frowned.

“Okay,” Diane said as she picked up her phone, started typing notes into it. “I’ll get plenty of everything. If we have leftovers, we can send food home with people.”

Her phone dinged as she held it. “Sorry,” she said, standing. “I’ve gotta take this.” She went into the hallway, and I could hear her say in a low voice, “I’m so happy you called.” She listened, then whispered something.

“Mind if I try one of the beers?” my father asked.

“Not at all.”

He grabbed a beer, and out in the hall Diane laughed, then said in a flirtatious voice, “Is that what you think?”

“I’m sorry, Jax,” he said after a moment of awkward silence. “For what I said. I know you didn’t always shut Lexie down. I know you tried.”

This was almost worse than being criticized. I shook my head. “Not hard enough,” I said. “And I’m sorry, too. Being back here is messing with me, clouding my thinking. And losing Lexie… it’s—” I struggled to finish the sentence.

“It’s impossibly difficult,” my father said.

“Look,” Diane was saying out in the hall, “I’ve gotta go. But I’ll call you soon. Promise.” She came into the kitchen, face flushed.

“One of your lady friends?” I asked.

She didn’t answer. Just picked up her glass and topped it off with Diet Coke.

“Are you still seeing the woman who works in the bookstore?”

“No,” Diane said.

“Jane? Was that her name?”

“No, that’s Sylvie,” Diane corrected. “Jane was the tax lawyer. That was over ages ago.”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “I remember. Jane was the one with the Great Dane. Is there someone else, then?” I pressed, smiling. “The poetry lover you were chasing?”

My aunt looked uncharacteristically flustered. “What’s in that package?” my father asked, and Diane flashed him a look of thanks for changing the subject.

“Something Lexie ordered. They had it at the general store. Apparently, she didn’t like the UPS driver.”

“Or the mailman,” added Diane.

“You knew about that?”

“She thought they were spying on her. I suggested she get a PO box in town. It seemed like the easiest solution.”

“Right,” I said. You had to pick your battles.

“Should we open it?” my father asked, already pulling a jackknife from his pocket. He carefully cut along the taped seams. We all held our breath. It felt, in a strange way, like getting a message from her.

My father opened the box to find layers of Bubble Wrap. He unrolled it and whistled. It was a gun-like weapon. It reminded me of a ray gun from an old sci-fi movie.

“What the hell is that?” Diane asked, stepping back.

My father turned the gun in his hands. “It’s a speargun. They’re used for fishing,” he said. “I have a buddy down in Key West who runs a charter—takes tourists spearfishing. They get grouper, marlin, hogfish, all kinds of stuff.”

He took spears from the package. “You load it by pulling back this piece of rubber tubing—it’s basically a grown-up version of slingshots kids make in grade school.” He got the spear in place, sighted down the shaft of the gun.

“Put it down, Ted,” Diane said. “Before you end up shooting an arrow through your foot.”

“It’s a spear, not an arrow,” my father corrected her, laying the gun down on the counter. He looked back in the box. “She got extra spears and a reel and line,” he said, clearly pleased. “That way you don’t lose your catch.”

I looked at the thick, ropelike yellow line in his hand, then back down to the gun. I asked the obvious question. “But why the hell would Lexie order a speargun?”

“God only knows,” Diane said.

My father picked it up again, with the intent of installing the reel. “It’s a hell of a weapon,” he said, running his finger over the sharp metal tip of the spear.

I remembered what Ryan had said: This was a different Lexie. A scared Lexie.