“What’s insane, Margot?”
“What isn’t? The fact that you’re cheating on Aimee, after what happened last time, and you brought your girlfriend on vacation with us?”
“Margot, you’re overreacting.”
“Please tell me that’s because you’re going back in that room and telling her it’s over. Effective immediately. Then we can go to a winery and pray Aimee never gets wind of this.”
Adam says nothing. He’s not going to end things with Eden. He’s going to break up our family over this.
Looking away, I stare at the wall behind him. The betrayal feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest. I turn on my heel and sprint down the long hallway to the back staircase as fast as my legs will take me.
Most people wouldn’t react this way if they learned their brother was having an affair; I know this. They’d be disappointed. Upset. Feel sad that Christmas celebrations will be affected by his custody arrangements.
To me, this news is devastating. And it hurts more because I cannot get pregnant no matter how hard I try. Plus I have a sister-in-law who flew into a murderous rage when my brother cheated years earlier, before they had three daughters, and I can’t imagine all the ways she’ll lose it now that the stakes are even higher. I hold on to the railing and run down the back stairs at Stars Harbor. With every step, a new vision flashes in my mind.
Adam at the bottom of the stairs in a pool of blood, Aimee smirking from the top.
Adam with half of his face missing, Aimee holding a gun.
At the bottom of the back staircase, I search for the door I sought out earlier this morning. I slam it with urgency and it pops open. As a child, even as a teenager, I’d grab my big brother and scoot into the dark where we felt safe to spill our secrets, or where I solved problems that were too big for me. I even have a small tattoo of the outline of a staircase on my side ribs, the same one Adam has on his calf. I always feel safe when I find the cupboard under the stairs. I need to feel safe right now.
I crouch down and hide in the oddly shaped triangular storage space underneath the stairs. This small space contains me. Calms me. I will figure out how to save us.
I close my eyes and rest my head on the cedar walls of the storage space. It smells like Nana’s attic, a place where costumes and mementos of past lives were lovingly kept.
Adam pounds down the stairs above me. He calls out. I hold my breath. I hear a door open. Adam shouts my name a second time, the sound of his voice muffled with distance as he retreats away from the house, searching for me.
I burst out of hiding and race up the stairs to the room he’s abandoned. Eden stands outside on the balcony, watching for Adam to come around the house.
“Do you see her?” Eden calls down.
I scream at the top of my lungs. “I need to make this stop. You’re going to ruin everything.”
Eden steps inside the bedroom, leaving the balcony doors wide open.
“Ruin everything? Nothing in my life made sense until Adam and I found each other.”
Eden smiles. It’s not the evil smile of the night before when she needled me about a baby. It’s the satisfied grin of someone who has met their destiny.
Next to her, the sheer white curtains blow in the wind, adding to the ethereal scene. The view of the water is serene. Outside promises the easiest way out of this mess.
Gathering up my courage, I run toward the balcony and shove Eden with superhuman force. She whips around and tries to grab hold of me, but I have momentum on my side. I grab Eden low on her body and lift her up.
“Margot! What are you doing?” she screams. She tips her weight in my direction, and I have her draped over my shoulder in a fireman’s hold.
“ADAM!” she yells.
“Margot,” Adam shouts. “Put her down right now.”
I spin around and push Eden off me. She dangles over the balcony railing, headfirst. I give her one more shove.
Her body falls in slow motion. Her long blond hair floats around her face. Her limbs spiral as if she’s trying to regain her balance without solid ground beneath her. Adam runs toward her but not fast enough. Her body crashes at his feet. Her head explodes upon impact with the flagstone patio.
My problem is taken care of.
But is it really? This is too messy. Who is going to clean that up? Not the local cops. Rini? Cruel. But also, going to jail would negate the goal of keeping the family together and seeing my nieces every day.
I startle when I hear Adam calling my name. I hold my breath. A minute goes by. Then another.
The storage-space door under the stairs opens. Adam crouches and shuffles in. I scoot over to let him sit.
“I’m trying to figure out how to fix this,” I say.
“How about a story?” he asks.
Instead of growing more anxious because I haven’t figured out my solution yet, I feel calm blanket me. Adam can make me insane with frustration, he can make me crazy with worry, but when I’m at the edge and about to lose it, his mere presence can soothe me.
That’s it. It’s not a quick fix, but it’s the right one. A moment of vulnerability. I want action and resolution, but this is more important. This is connection.
ADAM
We used to do this all the time as kids. Whenever Margot was scared, which was a lot, or I was bored, which was often, we would scurry into the small triangular space under our stairs. We sat shoulder to shoulder and talked. Sometimes we’d rehash what had frightened her; other times we’d pretend it never happened and discuss our school crushes.
Margot would then endure a maximum of thirty seconds of silence before she’d press her knee into my thigh. She wanted me to tell a story, but she never liked to ask for what she needed.
One morning she’d found Dad passed out on the couch with a bloody gash on his head. Margot came crying to me, insisting he was dead. I held my hand on his chest, his heart beating under my palm. I assured her he was still alive, without commenting on whether I thought that was a good thing. Mom caught us hovering over him and shooed us away. Her tone was a mixture of disgust and annoyance, and it came off like she was directing those emotions at us when the source of her anger was Dad.
Margot took every one of those careless comments to heart, and that day she was shattered. She believed Dad was dead and in the face of that emotion, Mom belittled her. Don’t be so stupid, she’d said.
