I sat down and nodded, hoping to prove my competence at staying silent.
The doctor folded his hands. “If we’re going to get this right, Lark, we need to go over a few things. I spent the early hours of this morning with your file.”
She nodded. “Sorry about that.”
The doctor shook his head. “That’s what they pay me for. But I’m going to tell you what I think I saw there, so we can figure out what to do, okay?”
“Okay.” To my surprise, she slid off the bed and sat right down in my lap. She leaned back against me, and the nearness of her felt so good that I had to close my eyes. Later, when they whisked Lark off to some fancy hospital in Boston, I was going to have to find a way to let go.
“The notes in your file seem to indicate that you’re experiencing post traumatic stress disorder, brought on by your recent troubles in Guatemala. Does that sound right?”
She nodded, and I kissed the back of her head.
“And things are the worst during the night?”
“Nightmares,” she confirmed. “Three or four nights a week. I didn’t remember some of the details when I first came home. But a week or so ago I dreamt very clearly about the night it all ended.”
He gave her a slow nod. “Lark, people have every sort of reaction to trauma. There’s no right way to react, and no wrong way. Your file describes a kidnapping, a very frightening time as a hostage, and witnessing the shooting death of one of your captors. Is that accurate?”
Again, she nodded, but her hands began to squeeze mine.
The doctor closed the folder. “Whichever psychiatrist you see is going to ask you if there was anything else that happened. Not that your fear needs a better explanation. But they’ll want to be sure they’re dealing with the source of the trouble.”
Lark’s body went completely still.
“Was there something else, Lark?” the doctor asked carefully.
“Yes and no,” she whispered.
The doctor dropped his voice, too. “Can you please elaborate?”
“The boy who died… I killed him,” she said.
To his credit, the doctor didn’t even blink. “Did you pull the trigger?”
Lark shook her head. “No, but I might as well have.”
Dr. Richards held her gaze. “Tell me what happened.”
At that, Lark slid off of my lap and walked over to the bed. I must have telegraphed my desire to follow her, because the doctor held up a hand in my direction that seemed to say, “Stay where you are.”
Lark tucked her knees up to her chest and curled into a protective ball. “I tried to get him to help me.”
“How did you do that?” the doctor asked.
“I…” She swallowed. “I talked to him alone. His name was Oscar. He was just a young kid. And he…” Lark’s eyes filled. “He liked me.”
“He liked you in what way?” the doctor pressed.
Lark looked at the ceiling with a world-weary expression. “He liked me. He was attracted to me.” She dropped her eyes. “I led him on. I encouraged him.”
“How did you do that?” The doctor’s voice was soft.
“I told him I thought he was handsome.” A single tear dripped from her eye. “I told him that if they let me go, that we could spend more time together.” She swatted at the tear on her cheek. “I implied that we could have a sexual relationship.” Her eyes were on the doctor. Her throat bobbed as though she were trying to swallow bits of glass.
“How did you imply it?” the doctor asked, his voice soft.
“It’s really not that difficult,” she said in a hard voice. “You toss your hair. You touch his arm. You stare at his lips.” Two tears tracked down her face. “I told him he was handsome. Usted es un hombre muy guapo.” She scrubbed the tears away. “I said these things so that he would take risks for me. He did favors for me. He brought me a bottle of water, and sometimes food when no one else was looking…” She trailed off. “I wanted him to figure out how to just let me go free.”
“And why was Oscar killed?”
Lark was sniffing now, trying to hold back the tears. “I’m not sure exactly how they figured out he was planning something. My guess is that he confided in someone, or was overheard. It’s possible they just got mad because he snuck me a…” She swallowed roughly. “A candy bar. But then everything happened so fast. They were shouting at him, and then all of a sudden they shoved him against me.”
She was quivering with stress, but she didn’t look at me. Not once. I gripped the arms of the ugly plastic hospital chair and worked hard at not reaching for her.
“I was down on the floor.” Her voice was shaking, and the tears were running freely now. “And they ordered Oscar to rape me.”
My throat closed up completely, and I gagged on nothing. I turned my chin to watch the doctor’s calm face and tried not to come unglued.
I had to hand it to the doctor—he hadn’t changed his listening face at all. “What happened next, Lark?”
“He…he…wouldn’t do it,” she sobbed. “They threatened him, and he didn’t hurt me like they wanted.” She was actually choking on her tears. I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed out of the chair.
“Sit,” the doctor commanded with a single word.
I sat.
The doctor handed the tissue box to Lark, who took it with shaking hands. “Did they kill him then?”
“Yes,” she gasped. “The man in charge put the gun right in front of his chest and pulled the trigger. There was so much blood. And he was staring at me after he died.”
My own face was wet too, now.
“Did anyone rape you, Lark?” the doctor asked.
“NO!” she screamed. “People keep asking me that, and I keep telling the truth. But I’m not the victim. I’m guilty. This is on me…” She broke off, sobbing into her knees.
“Okay,” the doctor said, his voice reassuring. “I hear you.”
I’d had enough. I lunged for the bed, scooping her up into my arms. Sitting back down on the mattress again, I folded Lark into my lap. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“He’s dead,” she sobbed. “And I’m alive, waiting to find out which Ritz Carlton psych ward they’re sending me to. Where a staff of thousands will tend to my every need.”
“I’m so glad you’re alive,” I said.
“But I let him die! I’m not a good person!” she howled. And her shoulders shook as if they would never stop.
“Bullshit,” I choked out. I knew I was right. She was proving it this very minute. “Only good people care so much. Every time…” I had to stop to wipe my own eyes. “Every time I look at you, I see a good person.” At least she was clinging to me now, instead of pushing me away. “You had shitty choices, Lark. And that poor boy had only shitty choices, too. In fact, it sounds like he’d have had them whether he ever met you or not.”
She was listening to me. That was something.
I wanted to fix it. I’d take all her pain myself if I could. “I know I can’t just talk you into my way of seeing things. You need time. But I won’t ever stop believing in you.” All I could do was to cup her head to my shoulder and hold her while she struggled with herself.
“You shouldn’t love me,” she whispered.
I rocked her in my arms. “Too late.” I just held on tight. It’s all I’d wanted from these past few days, anyway.
“I’ve been horrible to you,” Lark sobbed. “I said shitty things.”
“I don’t listen too good,” I said. At that, Lark coughed out something that was supposed to be a laugh, but it changed back to sobbing right away. I just pulled her a little closer, and let her tears soak through my shirt.
The doctor was standing near the door, watching us. “I’ll give you a few minutes,” he said. “And we’ll go over our options.” Then he winked at me and walked out.
Lark relaxed against me bit by bit. “Didn’t want to end up here,” she said on a sigh.
“I
know. I watched you fight it.”
“Never meant to take you down with me.”
“You didn’t,” I promised. “I know I’m going to have to let you go now, so that you can get well. It’s okay, sweetheart. Listen to me. Eyes right here.”
Her frightened eyes found mine and focused. And the amount of pain I saw there nearly broke me in two. “Everyone has a time when they need a lot more than they can give. It doesn’t matter how much you hate it. It’s just true.” I squeezed her hands tightly, not knowing any other way to make the truth sink in.
“But—”
“Four years ago,” I cut her off. “I hitchhiked two thousand miles from Wyoming to Vermont with strangers. I begged for food, Lark. I knocked on strangers’ doors, and I asked if they had anything I could eat. And then I showed up at Isaac’s door with nothing. Not even shoes. I hated doing that. It made me feel like useless garbage. But sometimes there’s no choice.”
As I watched, her brown eyes began to fill again. But her gaze didn’t waver.
“When you’re ready to give back, we’ll be ready to receive it. Whenever it is. But for now you just have to dig in, sweetheart.” I pulled her arms forward until her head came to rest on my shoulder. I felt the first tears begin to soak into my flannel shirt. “I can handle it, Lark. Just lean on me. I’ll be your Apostate Farm.”
Tears spilled out of her eyes. So many tears. But I just hung on. It’s what I do.
* * *
Later, after Lark’s parents came back into the room, and another long conversation commenced about where Lark might get a month of intense therapy, I excused myself to go find the men’s room, where I did my best to freshen up. On my way back, the doctor buttonholed me in the corridor.
“Son, can I have a word?”
I nodded blearily. My stomach was empty and my eyes were heavy, but I tried to give the man my attention.
“Look, I’ve never seen a guy so young handle this kind of situation so well. Usually I have to cut the boyfriend out of the situation. You impress me. But you’re still going to have to step back from this process.”
I’m not the boyfriend, I reminded myself. It stung, but it was the whole truth. “I know,” I said, my voice hoarse. “She needs more than I can give.” Griff had warned me, and I hadn’t listened.
“I’m sure you’ve been a great help, but she’s going to have to do this alone. If you want her to come out strong on the other side, there’s no other way.”
I swallowed, my throat rough. The doctor was kind, but the message was clear. We never had a chance as a couple. Lark’s parents were going to take her away, and by the time she was herself again, I’d be just a memory. Hell, I’d be a bad memory. Who would want to go back to someone who knew you only when you’d hit bottom?
“Hang in there,” the doctor said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “She’s going to be okay. You know that, right? She’s a strong one.”
I only nodded. It had taken me until now to realize that I’d never been given a speaking role in this drama. I was merely a walk-on, and there was nothing at all I could do about it.
An hour later she was gone.
Lark’s mom drove her back to Boston. But Lark’s dad had to drive the Volkswagen, which I’d driven to the hospital in the dead of night. Mr. Wainright dropped me off at the Shipleys’.
“Thanks for all your help, son,” he said.
I barely heard him. “She has clothes in the bunkhouse,” I pointed out.
“Ah. I’ll grab those.”
“First bedroom on the right,” I said, my throat closing up. “Pretty sure she was all packed to go home.”
“Thanks.”
It would have been polite to walk him in there and help, but I couldn’t do it.
He walked away, and I just stood there in the driveway, trying to get my bearings. It was Friday, so not a market day. It was eleven o’clock or so. My empty belly could wait two hours until lunch.
I was still in yesterday’s clothes, but I wandered over to the cider house, where I found Griff and his cousins sorting apples and washing them for the press. May was sitting on a cider barrel, chewing her thumbnail.
“Hey,” I said. “Where do you want me?”
Every head turned in my direction, and everyone stared.
“Sorry I’m late,” I added. “You can give me shit patrol, or whatever.”
Griff was the first to speak. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I echoed.
“Her parents took her home?”
I just nodded, trying not to think of our very last hug, or the warm scent of her hair as I tucked her into the passenger’s seat and kissed her on the top of the head.
“You okay?” Kieran asked.
Stupid question. “Yeah. What needs doing?”
But nobody answered me. Instead, May hopped off the barrel. She walked up beside me and put her arms around my waist. She put her head on my shoulder and held me tightly.
Then Griff did the same damn thing on the other side.
“Don’t,” I said as the first tear slid down my face.
They didn’t listen, though. Four arms braced me as I fell apart, right there on the grass beside the cider house. The first sob sort of broke a dam inside me I hadn’t known I had. I’d never cried before. Not that I could remember, anyway.
Even when I had my pants around my ankles, taking the pastor’s whip on my bare ass, I hadn’t cried. Didn’t feel the urge. I would have rather smashed someone in the mouth. Where I come from, crying was just a good way to bring on another beating.
But saying goodbye to Lark hurt me in an entirely new way. Like I was bleeding and didn’t know if I could stop. Didn’t know if I even wanted to.
So I just bled my tears out onto the Shipleys’ soil, while they tried to say all the right things. It took me a few minutes to get the worst of it out. Kyle and Kieran wandered off to give me time. Then Griff gave my shoulder a squeeze and told me I should just have a nap before lunch. We could make cider later. “There’s always later,” he said.
May went into the farmhouse for some tissues and a bottle of water. I used my time alone to calm all the way down, sitting on the grass, my back against the side of the building, studying the mostly blue sky overhead. There’s a line in Job that reads: Look at the heavens and see; And behold the clouds—they are higher than you.
Many things were just plain bigger than my desires. I’d always been good at accepting it. Today it was just a little harder than usual.
I reached into the bin of apples beside me and plucked one out to have as a snack. It was smallish and lopsided, but firm and juicy when I bit into it.
30
Lark
Until you’ve had two hours of gut-wrenching therapy a day, you haven’t lived.
I’d feared being locked in some kind of mental institution, but the reality of my next few weeks was much less dramatic. My doctors had found a daytime mental health center just outside of Boston. Every morning I woke up in my parents’ house and got ready. Then my dad dropped me off at this place, the same way he used to drive me to my private school.
“Have a nice day,” he’d say. “Play nice with the other kids.”
“See you at six,” I’d say, because it just wasn’t funny. Though he meant well.
The place was like a country club for rich people who weren’t doing so well. Or a day camp with expensive medication.
After checking in, I went to a yoga class. Then I saw a doctor who gave me an antidepressant. Then I was sent to another activity, where I tried weaving or decoupage. Or I meditated. (Or tried, anyway. My mind kept wandering to more interesting subjects.)
I did everything they asked of me. Almost.
My doctor—a nice lady with a white streak through her dark hair, whom I was to call Dr. Becky—needed me to stop feeling guilty about Oscar’s death. But it wasn’t so easy.
“The goal,” she said, “if you want to make this burden manageable, is to forgive yourself. Accept that not e
verything is your fault. And to let the people who love you carry some of it for you.”
“I tried that,” I pointed out, thinking of Zach fighting valiantly to ease my pain. “But I was the only one who got Oscar into trouble.”
“Really? Did you force him to be part of your kidnapping?”
“Of course not.”
We went around and around like this a lot.
“Lark, nobody can carry one hundred percent of her own burdens. Humans aren’t cut that way. A baby sea turtle never meets its mother, and most of them die before they reach the waterline. Humans are interdependent by choice. You have a burden of guilt, and it’s brave of you to want to carry it yourself. But it’s foolish not to let others help you. Give some of it away to your parents and your friends. And when they need your help, you’ll be strong enough to support them, too.”
I swallowed thickly every time she said this. The logic of it had already made inroads into my mind. The hard part was letting it into my heart.
Zach had said something similar at the hospital in Vermont. I couldn’t remember that morning very clearly. Foggy from the sedative and dizzy with remorse, much of what happened that morning was a blur. But I remembered the softness of Zach’s shirt against my cheek, and the strength of his arms around my body. He’d told me a little piece of his own story—torn-up shoes, and begging for food. What were his words? I’ll be your Apostate Farm.
God, how I missed him.
“I tried letting Zach carry my burden,” I told Dr. Becky. “But that didn’t seem fair.”
“That’s because you were cheating,” she said. “Zach didn’t know you like your family or May. He was a stranger, so it didn’t feel like much of a risk to show him all the scary things in your heart.”
“So it wasn’t fair to him,” I finished.
She smiled at me. “Maybe not at first. But Zach needed you, too. He needed to know how it felt to love someone he didn’t owe. He had his own burdens to unload.”
Dr. Becky was a huge fan of Zach’s, even though she’d never met him. Figured. Zach was pretty irresistible.