Chapter Nine: September
When their parents returned home, life resumed with placated normalcy. Back to the days where her mother would fuss over Michael, her father would come home late from work, and Laurie did what Laurie always did best,
Blend into the wallpaper. Unheard. Unseen.
Laurie never broached the subject of Ben Tramer's death to her parents. They weren't so nosy as to have been interested in some high schooler's fickle infatuations. It's only been Michael lately. And it seems it'll always be Michael first. After all, she was the second child (the third actually). No one cared about what Laurie may have really been feeling. Not Annie, and not Lynda, who'd called on Sunday, mustered her best concerned tone, and muttered how it was such a shame that Ben wasn't a brunette.
But, that's because Laurie had never told anyone. She'd convinced herself it'd be better to move on like everyone else. It's the only option for someone like her, who still lives while Ben Tramer is dead. The latter will never change. And the former isn't ready.
And though the days roll by, on a Friday afternoon when she finished all her homework, Laurie finally broke down again. Her mother and father went out to dinner and the theatre and wouldn't be back until 9 when their movie ended. There wasn't a person who she could flee for comfort, but she thought herself a little stronger for being able to bear the brunt of her agony alone.
So, even though her tears may have been falling onto the minced garlic on the chopping board, her grip is still so firm around the knife, that when her vision finally blurs , the blade slips and slices into the side of her forefinger.
And though, Laurie is unsettled and startled, her blood drains onto the wood, and there's some relief she feels at the loss.
Then, a hand closes over her wrist.
And at once, Laurie jolts into a defensive panic and her elbow thrusts back into his ribs and she hears his groan and all Laurie thinks as her brother yanks her in the direction of the sink, runs the water and holds her hand under the lukewarm stream which falls pink into the basin is that Michael doesn't smell like a hospital now.
She thinks she had made this realization several days ago when she saw him come out of the shower with his hair dripping wet onto his nightshirt, but had never given the observation a second thought.
What Laurie feels is her brother against her back, with his arm extending out to hold hers still.
Is this what Ben would've felt like? As though she's leaning against the oak tree in their backyard reminiscent of memories from her childhood. The good ones. The ones where her father were there. The ones where her mother would brush her hair. The ones where Lynda and Annie weren't hyperaware of their sexuality and those of the sweaty boys in highschool.
Laurie misses those times.
When the water shuts off, it doesn't occur to her the same hand that was around her wrist is now around her jaw. A slight pressure tilts her head back and Laurie finds Michael's face bent over hers.
And nothing crosses her mind. For once, her thoughts are asleep. And she believes herself to be at peace.
Until Michael steps back and leaves the kitchen, does Laurie realize she has forgiven him.