Page 58 of Just Like the Brontë Sisters

Chapter 36: Skylar

Was I coldblooded?

My heart should have been a wreck, rendering me incapable of action or rational thought. I waited for my breakdown, for the moment when the world came crashing in and I finally grasped that I now had to live my entire life without ever seeing Jo Beth again. But until that moment arrived, I would focus my energies on getting the condo ready for Mitch and Bijou’s arrival. Gavin set up the crib while I sorted through shelves and drawers, removing any of Jo Beth’s possessions that I found.

“Do you really need to throw away all her old stuff?” Gavin asked, as I shoved tubes of lipstick, half-empty bottles of lotion, pairs of worn down Smartwool socks, and past issues of Skiing Magazine into a large white garbage bag.

“I’m trying to be nice. Mitch might get upset if he sees her things just lying around. Besides, this is what you do when someone dies.”

Gavin cursed under his breath. I looked over and realized he’d done something wrong with the crib and now he was unscrewing his work. “I don’t understand why you care about Mitch’s feelings.” Gavin grimaced and strained to loosen one of the crib’s railing “Only hours ago, you were accusing him of murder.”

“Exactly. I need to keep my eye on him, for Jo Beth’s sake. And for Bijou.”

I pulled a slim volume of poetry from Jo Beth’s bookshelf. Was this mine? I didn’t recognize it. When I flipped the book open, I discovered it was by various 20th century female poets. From some crevice in my mind, I retrieved a memory: “I can be literary too, Skylar,” Jo Beth had told me one afternoon while we sat on the ski lift. “I’ve decided to start reading poetry so I can talk about it with you.”

I had said great, yes, do that, but I didn’t seriously think she would. And Jo Beth had never brought it up again.

“She never told me about this book,” I murmured.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” I slid the book back onto the shelf. Suddenly my body felt liquid, like my bones and muscles might transform to warm saltwater, but I dog-paddled the sensation away. I glanced at the clock. “Let’s hurry up. They should be here soon and I’d rather not be home when they arrive.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s awkward.”

Gavin’s nod of understanding didn’t register on his face. “Where are you going? It’s not like you can hit the slopes.”

“There’s more to me than skiing!” I’d been snapping at Gavin a lot lately. Here he was, trying to offer me love and support during this difficult time and I was too awful to forgive him for that. I couldn’t, not until I was ready to forgive myself for betraying him. I softened my tone. “I’m going to the library.”

“Oh. Okay…” Gavin knew that I wasn’t enrolled in any classes this term. Earlier this winter, I’d anticipated that I’d be too busy training for the Olympics to register.

“I’m going to research correspondence courses, something to tide me over until I have a better plan for next fall.”

“Can’t you do that at home on your computer?”

“You’re missing the point. I need to get out of here. I need a distraction. Why don’t you understand?”

He stood and walked over to me. “I do understand.” He tilted his face down, towards mine, and gave me a soft kiss on the mouth. Part of me wanted to collapse into his arms, but the other part wanted to run away. And if Gavin sensed my ambivalence, hopefully he attributed it to all the awful events of the last week and not to any personal insult on his behalf. Luckily, Gavin gave me a smile like snow melting in the sun. “Why don’t you get out of here? I can finish up.”

I should refuse; I should stay; if I ceased my perpetual motion, I might implode and that would be really, really messy. “Thank you.” I used my crutches to awkwardly exit down the stairs, through the front door, and into my car. Once I got to the library it didn’t take me long to browse the online courses offered through Oxford University and find something on the Brontës. Their admission policy for extension students was lax, so I just filled out a couple of digital forms and charged a few hundred bucks to my credit card, and then, voila! I was a student in an Oxford literature course. I literally could not wait to begin. My local library had all the books I needed, so I immediately read through several of the Brontës’ poems, plus the beginning of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.

The distraction was such a relief that I lost track of time and was surprised when, hours later, a soft, patient voice came on over the intercom, announcing that they’d be closing in fifteen minutes. I looked at the clock and realized it was a quarter to nine. Then I looked at my phone and realized there were several new messages from both my mom and from my dad, all to the tune of where the hell are you? One glance out the large, paneled picture window and I realized that the sun had set hours ago. Now people were making their way through the circular main room for last-minute checkouts at one of the many self-service computers that sat along the walls. I grabbed every Brontë book that I didn’t already own and awkwardly carried them to a checkout station. This was no easy feat with my crutches

“Here, let me help you!” A fellow patron swooped in when I dropped a book. I didn’t refuse her assistance, though my stomach fizzled like a flattened balloon. Should I tell her that I didn’t deserve any goodwill?

“Thank you,” I said, after she helped me check out my books.

“Do you need help carrying them to your car?”

Truth was I did, though I hated to admit it. “That would be great.”

She followed me, carrying my books. This lady in her mom jeans and middle-aged woman haircut was probably the same age as my mother, though she seemed older. Would my mom seem older too, now that tragedy had transformed her? Would either of my parents ever feel whole again? And what about my niece? Would she ever feel whole at all, without having a mother to protect her? I didn’t have answers, but I knew one thing: there was no more room for mistakes. I must protect everyone I loved at all costs. I vowed that whatever ache and anguish Jo Beth had gone through, Mitch would experience the same, and I’d be the one to unleash such misery upon him.

Later, I opened the front door of Jo Beth’s condo to find dark, empty silence. Mom and Dad must have given up on me and headed back. Relief crisscrossed through me when I realized there’d be no forced family reunion and no heavy group crying session—at least for now. At first, I thought I might have hit the jackpot, that maybe Mitch was already asleep, but then I heard movement from upstairs, the back and forth squeak of floorboards. I assumed that Mitch was rocking Bijou in the chair I’d had delivered this morning. It took me awhile to get up to the nursery and once there, I hovered outside the door until I heard a low, nearly inaudible voice say, “Is that you, Skylar? Come in.”

I entered the nursery and found Mitch sitting in the oak, hand-carved chair that I’d just bought. He was rocking a little bundle swaddled in pink whose head rested atop his shoulder. Mitch’s skin looked especially dark against his white button-down shirt and faded blue jeans. His hair was slightly shorter than I’d remembered and his eyes were drooping. But when he smiled he did so with his whole face: a tired, sad, friendly smile.