Shattered Memories

  He opened the door for me, and we entered what looked like a very cluttered place. The shelves were stacked with a variety of notepads, envelopes, files, and other office supplies. There were desk lamps and office wastebaskets lined up under the shelves. Another set of shelves had board games and toys for very young children. Maybe the place had started out as a toy store. Smack in the middle of it all was a soda fountain with six well-worn black vinyl stools. The counter had displays of candy, and just to the right of that was a magazine rack and a rack of paperback books. It looked like a store that was frozen in time. I saw little of technology, computer supplies, and the like.

  At first, I thought there was no one there, but then I saw a man with graying light brown hair shift in a rocking chair toward the rear and look up from the magazine he was reading. His face brightened instantly, and he stood. He was wearing black slacks and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had muscular forearms and looked like someone who worked with his hands, rather than the owner of a small store.

  “Hello, Troy,” he said. “How you doin’?”

  “Fine. Mr. Malen, this is my friend Kaylee. She attends Littlefield, too.”

  “How you doing, young lady?”

  “Well, thank you.”

  “You out of ink tubes already?” he asked Troy.

  “No. We came for sundaes,” Troy said.

  “Annie,” Mr. Malen called, and a woman with stark white hair brushed and tied neatly in a bun at the back of her head emerged from a room at the rear of the store. She wore an apron over a midcalf-length floral-patterned dress. “Annie’s the sundae expert,” Mr. Malen told me.

  “Troy,” she said, smiling. Her nearly wrinkle-free face looked misplaced below her gray hair. “How is school?”

  “Oh, it will survive,” Troy said, and indicated which stool I should take.

  Mrs. Malen went around the counter.

  “This is Kaylee Fitzgerald,” Troy said. “She attends Littlefield, too.”

  It was apparent that he wasn’t simply an occasional customer. If he had been, he wouldn’t find it necessary to introduce me, I thought.

  Mr. Malen sat on the stool beside him. There were no other customers in the store. “Where are you from, young lady?” he asked me.

  “Ridgeway.”

  “That’s not far,” Mrs. Malen said. “Your parents could visit often.”

  “Yes,” I said, smiling.

  “What’s your flavor?” Troy asked me. “They have chocolate and vanilla and strawberry. You can have all three. It’s a three-scoop sundae.”

  “Three? Okay,” I said. “That sounds great.”

  “Two, please, Mrs. Malen,” Troy said. “With the works.”

  “Coming up, two deluxe sundaes.”

  “Sounds overwhelming,” I said.

  “That’s what he should do, overwhelm you,” Mr. Malen said, moving closer. “Forty years ago, I overwhelmed Mrs. Malen, but not with sundaes.” He winked at Troy.

  “Oh, you did, did you? Seems to me it was the other way around,” Mrs. Malen told him as she began cutting a banana. “He brags and blusters, but he was as easy to mold as this ice cream.”

  “Only because I wanted to be,” he said. “The secret to a good marriage is letting your wife believe she is in charge.”

  Mrs. Malen tilted her head a bit and pressed her lips together. “Wanted to be? You know how long it took him to ask me on a date? Two weeks. I nearly gave up on him after ten days and finally decided he needed a little more encouragement.”

  “I was doing my research,” he pleaded.

  “You were just shy.”

  Troy and I smiled at each other, and then he quickly looked away.

  “What class are you in, Kaylee?” Mrs. Malen asked.

  “Troy’s,” I said. “Senior.”

  “You just enter Littlefield? Or did it take him a few years to ask you out?” she followed, looking at Mr. Malen.

  I glanced at Troy.

  His cheeks reddened. “She just enrolled,” he answered for me, and for himself. “But I don’t just bring anyone for these sundaes. I do my research, too.”

  “He’s picking up bad habits from you,” Mrs. Malen told her husband. “And how is your sister doing?” she asked Troy.

  “I guess okay. There have been no flares shot into the sky.”

  Mrs. Malen smiled. She smothered the ice cream balls in strawberries, adorned them with slices of banana and covered that with chocolate syrup before spreading the whipped cream over it all. She was neat about it, too.

  “It’s a work of art,” I said when she placed mine before me. “I doubt I can finish it.”

  “Eat as much as you want,” Troy said.

  After she made Troy’s sundae, she nodded at Mr. Malen, and they retreated to the rear of the store, clearly to leave us to ourselves. A customer for stationery came in, and then a woman and a young girl entered to shop for a board game, so they were occupied for a while.

  “I guess you’ve been here quite often,” I said.

  “Yeah, sometimes I just hang out and talk to Mr. Malen. They had a son who was killed in Iraq, and they have a daughter who lives in New York City. She never got married. Works for a fashion designer. How’s your sundae?”

  “Unbelievable. I might just finish it,” I said.

  He nodded. “Thought so.”

  “But how come you hang out here? Are you related or something?”

  “Something.” He ate some more, staring ahead, looking lost in his own thoughts for a few moments. Then he turned back to me. “Let’s just say we fill gaps for each other. I have no relationship with my grandparents and barely one with my father,” he confessed. He leaned toward me so no one else would hear. “This is like an oasis in the desert I travel.”

  I didn’t speak, because I had an intense urge to tell him I was traveling in a desert, too. Our conversation was in danger of becoming too heavy, and I knew where that might lead. I was happy when the Malens returned after their customers left and the conversation centered on what their youth was like. I think Troy and I circled their revelations and memories like two moths around a candle.

  Mr. Malen was honest about how awkward he was when first courting Mrs. Malen, and whenever he tried to brag, she gently brought him back to “the way it really was.” We were all laughing before we left, and on our way out, they both gave me a hug. Mrs. Malen hugged Troy. He didn’t retreat from her affection. From the very little he had told me about his own family and home, I didn’t imagine him getting many hugs like this one there.

  “Come again,” she said. “We’re thinking of getting some pistachio ice cream. Mainly because George likes it.”

  “I love pistachio,” I said.

  “I knew you found the right girl to bring here,” Mr. Malen told Troy. “About time.”

  Troy reddened a bit again, nodded, reached for my hand tentatively but held it tightly when I clasped his, and opened the door for me.

  “That was fun,” I said. “Of course, I’ll have to walk ten miles to work off the calories.”

  “Thanks for going there with me. I know it’s not exactly what you anticipated.”

  “No, it was fun. I really mean it.”

  He searched my face for sincerity and opened the car door for me. “It’s not exactly the kind of thing your girlfriends would agree to do on a Friday night,” he said as he got in.

  “Stop apologizing. I enjoyed it, and I don’t look to them for social guidance,” I said.

  “Who do you look to?”

  Once, I thought, what seemed long ago now, I had looked to my twin sister, who was far more sophisticated than I was. Despite everything, that answer was still lined up ahead of anything else in my mind and ready to be spoken. But even suggesting it would crack open the dam that held all the horror I had endured. It would come rushing in and surely kill this budding relationship between Troy and me. Maybe for that reason more than any other, I slammed the door shut on even a hint of
it. The sad thing I knew in my heart was that no relationship could flourish on a ground of lies and deceptions. Nothing could come of this. I was teasing myself and probably him.

  “Myself,” I replied.

  I knew he wanted to talk more about himself and learn more about me, but I was too frightened to ask any more questions. Twice he tried to initiate a conversation about families, relatives, our early lives, but I didn’t say much of anything. We were both silent all the way back. I was sure he was wondering if he had made a mistake asking me to take a drive.

  After we parked and got out of the car, I realized it had gotten even colder. I hugged myself again, not looking forward to the long walk to my dorm.

  “You’re really cold,” he said. “I guess you weren’t planning on doing much tonight.”

  “No, but I’m all right.”

  “No, you’re not.” He took off his jacket. “Wear this. I’ll walk you back.”

  “But won’t you be cold?” I asked as I put on his jacket.

  “I’ll risk it, but let’s move.”

  He reached for my hand. Then he started to jog. I laughed and kept up with him.

  “Feels like it might snow tonight,” I said.

  “When it does, keep track of when the first flake hits your face. That’s a lucky moment.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “No one. I made it up.”

  There wasn’t anyone outside my dorm when we arrived. We both shot into the entry and caught our breath in the pool of warmth. His face was red, and mine felt on fire, but in a good way.

  “Got rid of some of those calories,” he said.

  I took off his jacket and handed it to him. “Thanks. Thanks for the sundae, too. I haven’t gone for ice cream anywhere for a long time, probably not since I was a little girl. Now it’s usually a cone of custard or frozen yogurt at the mall. And I don’t do that often, either.”

  “Yeah, we grow up too fast these days. That’s what George says. I mean Mr. Malen.”

  We stood there just looking at each other for a long moment.

  “Well, I guess I’ll put on some warm PJs and snuggle up with some English lit. My roommate went out on a double date tonight.”

  “Really? Then there’s hope for me,” he said. “How about I take you to get some pizza and go to a movie tomorrow?” he blurted, like someone who wanted to say it before he could think about it and hesitate.

  “Okay.” I said it without hesitation, but he could have no idea how difficult that was for me to say, despite the good time we’d just had.

  “I’ll come by for you at six.”

  “Okay.”

  He offered me his hand first, but when I took it, he pulled me closer. The memory of Anthony Cabot’s face hovering over me while I was trapped in that basement bed flashed before my eyes. I couldn’t stop it. I jerked back. Troy looked devastated for a moment and then quickly regained his composure. It was as if I had slapped him across the face. My heart raced with regret and residual fear.

  “See you at six,” he mumbled, then turned and hurried out.

  I stood looking after him and feeling terrible. In a frightened moment, I had wiped away the warmth and happiness we had just enjoyed.

  I can’t do this, I thought. Not yet. I’ll call him tomorrow and cancel. Feeling defeated, I lowered my head and walked to my room. Some of the girls were laughing in Terri’s room, but I didn’t stop by. I put on my desk lamp and then fell back onto my bed and looked up at the ceiling. I knew I was imagining it, but that didn’t make it less devastating.

  Haylee was looking down at me and smiling.

  “You can’t do this without me,” she was saying. She had said it so many times. “We’re the Mirror Sisters. We need each other.”

  I turned over and buried my face in the pillow to stop the tears from reaching my lips.

  11

  Marcy’s loud laughter woke me hours later. It seemed to flow out of a dream. When I opened my eyes, I realized that I was still in my clothes. I was even still wearing my shoes. Both Marcy and Claudia came bursting in like runners charging the finish line. I glanced at the clock on my night table and saw they had just made curfew. Their faces looked flushed, but not from the cold night air.

  “What’s with you? Did you fall asleep in your clothes?” Marcy asked, catching her breath and grimacing.

  Claudia stood beside her, gazing down at me. They both had dumb smiles on their faces, and I could smell the scented cloud of alcohol floating around them. In fact, Marcy wobbled a bit.

  I sat up straighter and rubbed my cheeks. “Yes, I guess I did,” I said.

  “Have you been crying?” Marcy asked.

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “Your face looks blotchy, like tear-streaked or something.”

  “No,” I said. “You two smell like a brewery or something,” I added, to quickly put them on the defensive.

  “I told you chewing gum doesn’t make much difference,” Claudia told Marcy.

  “I guess we’re lucky Platypus didn’t inspect us,” Marcy said. “The boys brought a little . . . what did you call it, Claudia? Libation? Claudia has a vocabulary I’d match against anyone here at Littlefield, even Mr. Edgewater.”

  “They were drinking and driving?” I asked.

  “Oh, Grandma, relax. Ben drove, and he didn’t drink.”

  “I wouldn’t have gone in the car if he had,” Claudia said.

  “But Rob was already a little high when they picked us up,” Marcy said, and laughed. “Both Claudia and I partook in the libation. We’re all going to Fun City tomorrow. Want to be a fifth wheel?”

  “Fun City? What’s that?”

  “An amusement park about an hour south of Carbondale. Ben suggested it. He comes from a little town nearby. So,” she said, flopping onto Claudia’s bed, “how was your institutional dinner? Anything exciting occur?”

  The way she asked suggested she somehow knew already.

  I looked from her to Claudia and back to her. Just like that, they had become closer friends? What happened to Claudia’s hang-ups? What happened to Marcy thinking Claudia was a lead weight, especially on a date?

  “It was fine,” I said.

  “Terri was practically waiting at the door for us,” Claudia revealed, hoping to keep me from denying anything and looking foolish, I’m sure.

  “What did she say?”

  “That you went off with Troy Matzner,” Claudia said.

  “How could you go with Troy Matzner?” Marcy demanded, sobering quickly. “He’s such a snob he won’t even hang out with his own shadow.”

  They both stared at me, anticipating my regrets.

  “He’s just shy,” I said. “Misunderstood.”

  Marcy’s eyes widened as her mouth opened.

  Claudia nodded as if she always believed it.

  “Just shy? With a head like he has? I think his family is the richest at Littlefield, and he lets everyone know it. How could he be shy and drive a red Jaguar convertible?” Marcy asked.

  “He could be,” Claudia said. She looked like she was sobering up quickly. “Kaylee’s right. People are too quick to make judgments about others.”

  It was clear to me from the way she glared at Marcy that Claudia was talking about how Marcy originally had perceived her. She went to her closet and began to undress.

  “Whatever,” Marcy said. “Arrogant or shy, it couldn’t have been much fun being with him. The only thing you’d have to fight off is boredom. Speaking of which, where did he take you? To some foreign film or his favorite stop sign?”

  “He took me for a nice ride past his family’s mansion and then for an ice cream sundae,” I said. “We had a very nice time.”

  Claudia smiled, but Marcy shook her head in pity.

  “Nice time? An ice cream sundae? That was the best he could do? How exciting, and what an expensive date. Is that why you were crying? I don’t blame you. I’m sure it was a big disappointment. If you would have listened to me and
shown some interest in one of the other boys, you could have had a great time with us. First, we—”

  “I said I wasn’t crying, but I am tired. You can give your blow-by-blow description of your good time tomorrow. I’m going to the bathroom to wash up and brush my teeth.” I rose and walked out.

  “But I’m too juiced to go to sleep!” Marcy called after me. “It’s like leaving me on the brink of an orgasm!”

  I kept walking. I felt like I had regressed to kindergarten. I had no tolerance for these games, these childish contests to see who was having a better social life. Drinking, getting high, all of it paled in comparison to the roller coaster I had lived through. And if one thing was certain, it was that I wasn’t eager to toy with dangers or irresponsibility.

  Claudia joined me in the bathroom before I was finished. “I sent her back to her room,” she told me. “I’m sorry we were so boisterous.”

  “That’s okay. I needed to be woken up to get to sleep.”

  She laughed and then looked very serious. “I had a good time with Ben. He’s the shy one, not me. When we parked, he didn’t put his arm around me until I said I was cold.”

  “You parked? You mean you guys went somewhere to make out in the car?”

  “Sorta. I don’t know what Marcy and Rob did. I avoided looking, but we mostly talked and kissed, the kisses almost like putting periods to sentences,” she said. “As my father is fond of saying, ‘nothing to break out the champagne over.’ But I think Ben likes me, and I do like him.”

  “I’m happy for you, Claudia. And I was telling the truth back there. I did have a good time, too.”

  She smiled and started on her preparations for bed.

  “See you in the room,” I said.

  “Don’t worry. I’m tired, too. And I don’t want to go over the night like some sociology report,” she added. “Marcy will probably keep Terri up all night.”

  “Probably,” I said.