Page 16 of Salvation
I don’t think she believes me, but it’s okay because I don’t believe me either.
______________________
After Della Rae leaves, I grab the envelope from the counter along with another cookie and march outside to the back porch. I need the sun on my face to remind me I’m alive for what I’m about to do.
Della Rae’s question about my happiness hit me hard. If I’ve learned anything since my grandmother’s death, it’s that I don’t know what makesmehappy. My whole life, I’ve spent my time trying to please everyone else, and the only way to move on from that is to finally face things head-on—starting with whatever secrets are hidden inside this envelope.
Except I find myself hesitating again as I sit on the porch, letting the sun warm my face. I don’t know what I’ll find in here—what secrets my grandmother is apologizing for. There wasn’t much she sheltered me from. I wasn’t coddled, so I know whatever it is will hurt.
The idea scares me so much that I nearly convince myself to go back inside and set the thing on fire in one of the many fireplaces, but I know what awaits me inside—white walls and a life where I am never fully myself. So in one quick motion, Ishove the cookie in my mouth and use both hands to rip open the envelope.
Pulling out the contents, I scan over the first page—a birth certificate. I have my copy at my house, but a death certificate also accompanies mine. I’ve spent a reasonable amount of time staring at both, my eyes blurring as I read over the date that matches on each document.
Confused, I move on to the next document—another letter—and that’s when I fall apart. The air whooshes from my lungs as I read it—once, twice, three times—but even on the third time, I can’t comprehend what I’m seeing.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head to clear the tears blurring my eyes. “This can’t—”
I frantically flip through the rest of the pages, trying to make sense of it all, but nothing makes sense.
My entire body trembles so violently I can hardly hold onto the papers, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t force the air back into my lungs. The world spins in a circle until all the colors blur into a darkness so black that even the sun’s rays can’t reach me. My heart slows then speeds up, beating so hard I’m afraid it might explode.
This isn’t a secret. It’s a betrayal of the deepest kind.
Chapter 8
Campbell
There’s a cup sitting on my coffee table that I’ve been telling myself to pick up for the last three days. I set it there the morning of my last day on shift, but I can’t seem to make myself pick it up. Every time I think about it, the task becomes so overwhelming that I choose to ignore it instead, promising I’ll do it later—and yet later hasn’t come.
It’s the same with the rest of my house. There are plates in the sink that need to be washed. Clothes on the couch that need to be folded and put away, and trash sitting in my garage that needs to be hauled out. But instead of doing any of that, I’ve spent the last three days on my couch, switching my attention back and forth between the stuffed animal I haven’t put away yet and the letter sitting beside it.
It’s been a month since Ivy showed up in Benton Falls, and aside from the run-in at the coffee shop, I’ve managed to avoid her—mostly because aside from going to work and football practice, I rarely leave the house. I’m slipping deeper into the darkness, and I can’t seem to make myself hold onto the light this time.
Honey colored eyes haunt me when I close my eyes and try to sleep, so I’ve given up on that, too. All in all, I’m running on about three hours of sleep in two days, and I need a shower.
My Bible sits on the end table beside the couch, and I lift it, placing it in my lap and running my hands over the soft leather binding. My mom gave it to me the day I was saved. I was thirteen years old and believed my faith could move mountains, but at thirty-two, I’m terrified that I was wrong. It’s not that I think God can’t move mountains still, but I’m questioning whether he’s finally given up on me.
I would deserve it if he did.
Dipping my head, I close my eyes and sit there. There was a time when praying came easily because I knew he was listening, but anymore, it feels like those prayers are falling on deaf ears.
The silence presses in, growing heavier, and heavier, and heavier until it smothers me. Opening my eyes, I tilt my head back to the ceiling and fight against the pressure, trying to drag air into my lungs, but it’s like swimming against a current when it’s raining. Impossible and exhausting.
So I give in, letting the Bible fall from my hands onto the floor. My muscles tense, and anger at everything I can’t control rushes through my veins.
“Why can’t you just help me?” I yell at the sky, but the silence remains, pressing down harder than before until I’m so terrified of being crushed under its weight that I shove off the couch and shove my hands into my hair, pulling at the roots.
“Come on, God,” I beg, pacing back and forth between the couch and the coffee table. “Just—give me something. I’ll be more grateful for the things I have. Okay—just throw me a lifeline because I’m drowning.”
I don’t know what I’m expecting. I’ve been taught my whole life that you hear God’s voice in the quietness, and there’s nothing quiet about the way I’m feeling right now.
Despite the silence in my house, my voice is loud inside my head, and I can’t get it to shut up.
My eyes fall to the cup still sitting on the table, and in the span of one breath, everything comes to a head. I pick up the cup, not even bothering to look at it, and with the weight of it in my hand, I throw it against the wall, watching it shatter into a million little pieces.
I imagine that it’s me—that I’m the one breaking apart to the point I’ll never be able to be put back together. That’s what Ivy did when she left, and it’s what she did again when she came back.
I’ve shattered, and just like the cup, I’m no good to anyone now.
