October 12, 2013
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington
Sitting at the Caulfield's kitchen table, I stare into the mug of hot chocolate warming my hands as I wait for Max to emerge from upstairs.
Even after her parents had ushered us into the house, it had been a while before they seemed willing to let either of us out of their sight - not that me and Max were any better. For nearly an hour, it was like all we were able to do was sit and cry at the sheer enormity of everything that'd gone down. Every time it seemed like we were getting a handle on it, it'd all come crashing down on us again.
In the end, it was probably the mix of smoke, seawater, and two-day-old sweat smell that was wafting off both of us that got her mother to suggest we go get ourselves cleaned up. I definitely hadn't complained when Max suggested I take the first turn in the bathroom. I'd been keen to not stink, and if Max wanted to give her parents a little more time to fuss over her, I wasn't gonna say anything.
The shower had been heaven on earth. I probably stood under the hot water for half an hour, and I'm proud to say that I only cried once. The fresh clothes Mrs. C loaned me are almost as good. The Oregon State sweatpants and powder blue t-shirt might be a long way from my usual style, but they're a shit ton better than going back to the same clothes I'd been wearing. With all the sweat, grime, and general nastiness of the last thirty-six hours washed away, I finally feel the tension I've been carrying begin to ease away. I'm surprised at how much there was; I must've spent the whole drive here wound up like a spring.
"Need a refill?"
Looking up, I find Max's dad pointing to the mug in my hands and shake my head. "I'm good, Mr. Caulfield."
He gives me the same look Max's mom gave me right before she started saying stuff like 'You're an adult now, Chloe' and 'You're more than welcome to call me Vanessa', both of which are crazy concepts that have no basis in reality. I've never understood how Max could be so chill about calling my mom by her first name, because the idea of calling Mr. Caulfield 'Ryan' just feels weird.
Ryan sounds like some guy I'd try to bum a smoke from. It doesn't matter that I'm almost twenty or that I've been smoking for years; the thought of asking Max's dad for a cigarette feels fundamentally wrong.
"Wouldn't mind some coffee, though," I add, hoping to side-step the whole thing, and once again his expression does most of the talking for him.
"You really think that'd be a good idea?"
He's got a point. I already feel like I've been awake forever and adding more caffeine to the mix probably wouldn't do me any favors. Still, I don't like backing down as a rule. "C'mon, Mr. C. I thought you were cool."
It doesn't get me any coffee, but it does bring a little smile to his face so I'm gonna call it a win.
"You know, I haven't been called that since we moved to Seattle. One of the things that got left behind, I guess." He chuckles softly. "Just like that table you and Max decided to carve a treasure map into."
"Wasn't the only thing you left behind..." God damn it. Even if the words came out softly, I shouldn't have let them come out at all. They sound just as harsh and bitter as I feel, and I regret them as soon as they're spoken.
He looks surprised for a second, then the smile falls from his face and he takes the seat across the table. "We didn't want to leave Arcadia Bay, Chloe. I know it was a terrible time to have your best friend taken away from you. If we'd had any other choice..."
"I know." I never blamed them for actually leaving. It'd been Arcadia Bay's biggest tool, Sean Prescott (who's hopefully rotting under that stupid fucking mansion of his right now), who'd been responsible for that. He'd been the one to shut down the town's small train depot and put Max's dad out of a job.
"God knows we wanted to stay. Your parents even tried to help."
"They did?" I'm surprised, and probably a lot more than I should be. I keep forgetting that our parents were really good friends, too.
"Of course they did. Your dad was working on getting me a job with one of the Pan Estates construction crews, before the accident. It just didn't work out. When Vanessa got a job offer from a firm here in Seattle, she had to take it."
"Still would've been nice if Max had actually tried to keep in touch." I manage to sound a little less bitter this time.
"Don't be too upset with her, Chloe. Our first week here, she was so broken up about leaving Arcadia Bay that I think she spent as much time crying as not. It wasn't entirely her fault."
"It's not like you took her phone away." After I point that out, I give myself an imaginary pat on the back for keeping almost all of the resentment out of my voice.
"We might as well have," He counters, gesturing to a wall in the living room I hadn't bothered giving much attention to before now. There are dozens of photos hanging on it, and when I get up to take a closer look I see that most of them are pictures of Max. "We thought the best solution was to keep her occupied, so we pushed her into every single activity she showed the slightest interest in."
In one, she's wearing a slightly dirty soccer uniform and not looking especially happy about it. Next to that, I find her sitting with a small group of other kids, all holding guitars and smiling a little awkwardly. The next row down has shots of her standing next to a science fair exhibit (on solar eclipses, of all things), looking bored sitting on what looks like a model UN (nerd!), and on what looks suspiciously like a camping trip with...
"Seriously?" I point to the last picture. "Max was in the Girl Guides?"
"Rangers, actually. She wasn't exactly in love with it, but at least it looked good on her Blackwell scholarship application." He sighs, gesturing from one photo to the next. "When we look back now, it's pretty clear that she was basically running on autopilot. Always moving from one thing to another, trying her hardest but never really enjoying any of it."
"God damn..." I should probably be watching my language, but seriously...god damn. I'm surprised Max isn't a total burnout. I always assumed she'd decided she didn't have time for me anymore, but all this makes me wonder if she even had time for herself. Turning back to her dad, I say the first thing that comes to mind. "What the hell, man?"
He actually looks a little guilty. "We honestly thought we were helping her, Chloe. If we'd known we were practically shoving you out of her life..." He shakes his head sadly. "By the time she finally settled into photography, I think so much time had passed that she just didn't know how to reach out to you again."
"I'm glad she finally did, though." Mrs. Caulfield comments as she walks into the kitchen. "The guest cabin is ready for you, Captain Bluebeard. It's right across the hall from Max's."
Wincing, I briefly wonder if I can blame the sudden heat in my cheeks on the hot chocolate. "You remember that?"
"Of course I do. Remembering all the embarrassing details is half the fun of being a mom." She hesitates and her smile fades. "Chloe, I...we can't begin to tell you how sorry we are about what happened to your mother. Joyce was an amazing woman."
I never would've thought that one little sentence could carry so much weight, but then my own emotions hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest and it's like I can't breathe. I mean, it's not as if I'd forgotten that mom is gone...but I actually kinda had, a little. The same thing had happened when dad died. I'd be doing alright, and then I'd see a picture of him or hear a song he'd liked and before I knew what was happening I'd be a wreck.
The therapist Mom sent me to for a little while told me how grief comes in waves. She said that it wasn't a constant thing, and that it was normal for me to not feel sad all the time. She'd probably hoped that I'd alternate between sadness and happiness before I finally got to acceptance. Instead I went for an extra-large helping of anger and stuck with that for the next few years.
"T-thanks..." Despite my best efforts, my voice is still a little rough. "I...uh...I appreciate that."
The three of us sit, silent, for a full minute. And if you're thinking that doesn't seem so bad, go find a clock and watch a minute go by. Felt like a long time, didn't it? Now imagine you're sitting alone with your best friend's parents, trying not to think about your dead mother.
Still think it doesn't sound too bad? Well, fuck you, then.
It's uncomfortable on so many levels, and I'm honestly thinking about fleeing the room when Mr. Caulfield finally breaks the silence. "You know, we were both so happy for Max when she got into Blackwell Academy, though. I don't think she ever stopped wanting to go back home."
Yes. Awesome. A topic other than death. I am 100% down with this. "Oh yeah?"
Mrs. Caulfield nods. "Absolutely. The way she acted when she got that acceptance letter, you'd think she'd won the lottery or something. And just between us, she applied to Blackwell before she even knew Mark Jefferson was teaching there."
"Fucking freakshow that he was." I'm kind of annoyed that the conversation has gone back to the dark side so quickly, so the muttered words are out before I've really thought about them. It's not until I notice both of Max's parents gawking at me, looking like they can't decide whether to be shocked or angry over the remark, that I realize they'd have no way of knowing about everything that went down during Arcadia Bay's final days.
"...I beg your pardon?" Mrs. Caulfield says slowly.
"Oh, fuck." I suddenly wish I was anywhere else. Throw me in prison. Banish me to Hell. Trap me at a never-ending country music festival. Literally anywhere other than in this room right now. "Sorry, it's just...shit. I don't know if I should..."
"Chloe?" Oh god, she's giving me her concerned mom look. There are nuclear weapons less powerful than Vanessa Caulfield's concerned mom look. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Damn it," I glance over to the stairs. I know I should probably wait for Max, but I can still hear the shower running and I honestly doubt I can stall long enough for her to finish. And since my backup plan to jump out the nearest window probably wouldn't work out too well for me, I reluctantly gesture to an empty chair. "You better sit down."