The Valley and the Flood Rebecca Mahoney (top 10 motivational books TXT) š
- Author: Rebecca Mahoney
Book online Ā«The Valley and the Flood Rebecca Mahoney (top 10 motivational books TXT) šĀ». Author Rebecca Mahoney
But you canāt read this, and you canāt know this. So you tell her he didnāt do anything. That you just donāt like him.
And that will be the end of it.
Twenty-Four THE OBJECTS IN MOTION
MY SILHOUETTE IS still visible in the distance. Still slowly making her way to the old oak tree. Still holding her wrist to her chest. The road fades away before sheābefore I do.
The sounds of Sutton Avenue go quiet, leaving only my own ragged breathing. When I turn, the scene has changed again.
The walls and floor are as black as empty space. Itās just me, a Rose from over a year later, curled into our living room couch. Though the TV isnāt visible in this snapshot of memory, I see its reflection in the light on my face.
No. This one isnāt meāwhen I look at her, I see it in the way she looks back.
āWhy did you show me that?ā I choke out.
The Flood gazes dispassionately from the couch. The angles of their face shift in the changing light of the TV, but the light never reaches the deep black pools of their eyes.
āItās not why Iām like this,ā I say. āI was fine. I donāt have the right.ā
The Flood opens my mouth, and the voice of a news anchor comes out.
Another deadly accident at Sutton Avenue and Chamblys Road last night, she says. Seventeen-year-old Nicholas Lansbury was forced into Chamblys Pond when an oncoming driver swerved to avoid Suttonās notoriously treacherous oak tree. We are sad to report that his passenger, sixteen-year-old Gabrielle Summerā
āI know.ā My hands clutch at my hair. āI know, I know. Do you think I donāt know? āHis passenger, sixteen-year-old Gabrielle Summer, was killed on impact. Mr. Lansbury is expected to recover from his injuries, and the unnamed driver of the second car is scheduled to be arraigned next week. Reportsāāā My voice breaks. āāReports allege that the driver was intoxicated.āā
The Flood is still watching me. But the light of the TV has disappeared, casting their face in shadow.
āDo you know,ā I finally say, āhow many times I was told that he did the best he could? That it isnāt his fault he survived and she didnāt?
āAnd you know what? Iām aware,ā I spit out. āI know it was an accident. Iām not an idiot. But they donāt know everything. You do.ā
I grab for another breath. It slips through my fingers. āGaby had every opportunity to stay out of that car. Everyoneāeveryoneāknew Nick was a disaster behind the wheel. They didnāt need me to tell them. But you canāt tell me that Gaby wouldnāt have taken it more seriously coming from me.ā
The Flood is still. Completely still. And the longer theyāre silent, the louder I hear myself get.
āTo call me like that, when it would be over an hour before I could come get herāshe could have stayed with Ariella if she didnāt want to go with him!ā I say. āYou can see exactly how many times Iāve thought that, right? How sick is that, expecting that of her when I did the same goddamn thing? Will you please just say something?ā
Iām gasping by the time itās all out but still not cryingānot even now. Itās too dark to see the Floodās face. But I know they havenāt looked away.
Their mouth moves again. Gabyās voice this time.
āRose. Tell me what he did.ā
āStop that,ā I gasp.
And again. Christieās voice. āDid he hurt you?ā
āStop!ā My legs tremble with the word. āPlease! You saw what happened in that kitchen. Do you know what Christie and Cassie would say if they knew? How they would look at me?ā
āListen,ā she says. āRemember. Understand.ā
āUnderstand what?ā My voice cracks, hard. āYouāre showing me shit that I already know!ā
A percussive blast of sound rattles me from the ground up, and I whirl around so fast Iām dizzy. The dark edges of my living room burst into light and color and stretch into the distance, until a suburban street snaps into place. By the end of the street, on the left, thereās a house, brightly lit, shaking under the force of the music inside. Marin Levinsonās house. Marin Levinsonās party.
I donāt need to remember how it felt, for the bass beat to hijack the rhythm of my heart. Iām feeling it now.
I stumble as I turn, and the present twists back into focus, the lights of the model home spinning. The image is still blurred as I claw my way to the door, the knob liquid and unsteady in my hands. I grasp for something I can lock. The house shivers under the force of the music, and with every pound the walls creep tighter, closer. Itās at my heels as I sprint to the bedroom farthest from the sound, itās in my ribs when I clamp a pillow over my ears. My grip is so tight, my knuckles hurt. I really donāt care.
Itās hard to say what ends firstāthe attack, or the music. Sleep comes slow, then suddenly. But the dread sinks in all the way to my dreams.
ā
THE MORNING AFTER a bad panic attack must be what a hangover feels like. My skin feels too tight for my body. My brain feels too big.
Thereās a small, detached part of me thatās equal parts embarrassed and impressed. Iāve never melted down like that beforeānot out loud. Always too many people around to see it. For once in my life, thereās no one.
Hereās what Maurice would tell me, if he knew everything I knew. What happened to Gaby was an accident. What Nick asked of me wasnāt right. And if every one of us had done everything right, it might have happened anyway.
That night in his car when we hydroplaned into a ditch was over two years ago. He was young and stupid and scared. His terrible driving became an open secret at school, without my help. And he owned it. He was voted Most Likely to Total
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