The Noah Confessions Read online

  I assured her I wouldn’t. I took the whole thing too seriously to laugh at her joke.

  Every day I thought of Jackie and about when I’d see her again and what games we’d play. I never let on to Sandra or anybody how important she was to me. I was afraid they’d be jealous, and when people are jealous, they do desperate things.

  But the problem wasn’t about me and Jackie. The problem came from some dark place I couldn’t have imagined.

  There were arguments in my house. There were always arguments in my house, so many that I couldn’t pay attention to them all. But these arguments I heard because, over and over, they were saying Jackie’s name. My mother loved her at first and defended her, while my father argued against her. He said she was fast and trashy and was a bad influence on the girls. He said there were rumors about her around town. My mother said people in this town just talked for sport and it was none of their business who she hired to help out. She was finally getting some relief and he was just complaining because he didn’t want her to have a life. Then it was back to how her people had money and they always had someone helping out and he just didn’t know that because he grew up poor.

  Then the roles changed. The shift happened slowly. First my father stopped complaining about Jackie. Then he started finding things to like about her. She was smarter than he thought, she was starting to dress better, she was good with the girls. He still hated her motorcycle boyfriend, but he suspected she was trying to make something of her life. It was fine if my mother wanted to keep her on.

  Then my mother changed. Sometimes she did that just to spite him. That seemed to be the case again. There were loud fights in the living room after Jackie went home. My mother accused my father of being too interested in her. She said terrible things, like my father had a taste for trailer trash because that was where he came from. My father accused her of being crazy. Loud voices and eventually things being thrown. Sandra and I didn’t know what to think. Selfishly I was hoping that if Jackie got fired, I’d still get the bracelet. And that maybe she would think of me and take me with her and Lance. We’d live on the road like a hippie family. We’d fly away to someplace where no one yelled or called people names or threw things. This was my dream.

  One day my mother called me and Sandra into the living room and told us that Jackie wouldn’t be coming around anymore. We were confused and upset. She told us to stop fretting about a babysitter, there were more babysitters in the world, we’d like the new one just fine. Sandra went with that idea but I threw a big fuss and got sent to my room. That same night, my father called us into the den and said, “Jackie is still going to be your babysitter.”

  “Why?” Sandra asked.

  “Because I said so. And I’m still the last word in this family.”

  My mother sat in the kitchen smoking and drinking iced tea.

  I was thrilled about the news but terrified to show it. I still remember my mother glaring at me as I walked past the kitchen. Or maybe I imagined it. That was how it always felt in my house, anyway. You had to take sides, and then someone was glaring at you.

  Jackie kept coming and my mother ignored her and my father, oddly enough, was cold to her. She was caught in the middle of a battle that didn’t seem to have anything to do with her. She was just a piece of land they were fighting over. Like the Civil War. My father had won, but he wasn’t sure what to do with the victory.

  One night, when Jackie was babysitting, my father came home early from his business meetings while my mother was still out with her friends. Sandra and I were supposed to be asleep but I always stayed awake until one of my parents came home. I heard raised voices and I got out of bed and crept downstairs. I hovered in the kitchen, which was just a few steps away from the den, where they were talking. I listened.

  Jackie was saying this:

  “I don’t care if I work for you or not, but I know what I know.”

  Daddy was saying this:

  “Jackie, I can see you want a better life for yourself. I understand that, I do. I want to see that happen for you.”

  “Ha, like you care about me.”

  “Of course I care about you. I don’t want you to do anything unwise.”

  Jackie said, “I can’t forget what I know.”

  “You’re a very young girl. Your thinking can be confused.”

  “I’m not confused.”

  Daddy said, “Jackie, I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

  She said, “I’m not scared of you.”

  “Of course you’re not. Why would I want you to be?”

  She said, “You think you own this town. You think you have people fooled.”

  “Why would I want to fool people?”

  “I’m not an idiot. I pick up on things.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “And those girls, they’re going to figure it out.”

  “Let’s leave the girls out of it.”

  “I can’t. They’re in it. Your wife is smarter than you think, too.”

  “Jackie, I’m wondering if the stress of your life is getting to you. Going to school, working all these hours, having a boyfriend. And the way people talk about you…that has to be difficult.”

  “Talk about me? I’m not the one who should be worried about talk.”

  He began mumbling and then she mumbled back and I exhausted my hearing. All I could understand was the intensity of their discussion, rumbling like an underground railroad.

  Then she left.

  I saw her alive only once more.

  It was a couple of weeks before Christmas. My father said he was going to cut down a Christmas tree. We never bought a tree. Why would we? We lived near a forest, and in those days, you could just walk out into it and bring home a tree.

  My father was about to embark on this journey to cut down a tree and I wanted to go with him. I was his side-kick, after all. He always took me everywhere. When I said I wanted to go, he couldn’t resist. My mother dressed me up in my new winter coat and my new winter hat, a furry pixie deal with a pointed top. I got in the truck with my father and we went to get the tree.

  I rode in the truck next to my father, in my new winter clothes. We listened to Christmas songs on the radio. He parked next to the edge of the woods. The heater was blasting and I was starting to sweat. He shut off the engine and turned to me. I can still see him, slipping on his work gloves and adjusting his black wool cap.

  He said, “I’m going to chop down the tree. You should wait here.”

  “I thought I was going with you.”

  “You are with me,” he said, with a smile. He had a nice smile. He made me feel important.

  “But I want to help you with the tree.”

  “You’ll just get cold out there. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  It didn’t make much sense, as I was all dressed up in my winter gear, but I agreed. I would have done anything to make my father happy. He always seemed so smart and in charge. I knew he had his bad moments. He had a mean streak and he yelled. But I had a strong sense that he held things together in my family. I had a sense he was in charge.

  I was his idea, which meant that I was not allowed to disappoint him. If I disappointed him, I would be left alone with my mother, who never wanted me.

  “It’ll be okay, Cat,” he said. “Just wait here.”

  He got out of the truck and I turned around to watch him. He went to the back and got out an ax and some rope and a big piece of plastic. He flashed a smile at me as he walked by. I watched him disappear into the woods.

  A long time seemed to pass. Although it was cold, the winter sun was persistent and as it shone into the truck, I started to get hot. I tried to get out of my new winter gear but my mother had knotted the strings on the hat and buttoned my coat so securely that I felt I was trapped in some kind of puzzle. I managed to get my mittens off, but I was still hot. I got out of the truck and went to look for him.

  I went into the woods feeling confident. After all,
these were the same woods that my friends and I played in. I knew them like the back of my hand. I could point out the bicycle tire tracks we had made, the pretend houses we had built, the landmarks we had created with rocks and trees. But as I stumbled down the hill, everything looked unfamiliar to me. I wasn’t with my friends anymore and suddenly the woods looked dense and scary. The air outside was much colder than it had been in the truck, and I regretted taking off my mittens. My fingers were white with cold and every branch I touched stung them.

  I thought of Hansel and Gretel walking through the woods, leaving bread crumbs. Suddenly I wasn’t sure I could find my way back to the truck. I had been sure I’d see my father right away, but all I saw were tree trunks and I heard nothing but hollow sounds, the leaves shivering, the few remaining winter birds making desperate chirps.

  I saw some bushes shaking in the distance. I followed the shaking.

  I was relieved because I knew the shaking bushes meant a person was around. It had to be my father. He had found a tree and was chopping it down. I could help.

  “Daddy,” I said.

  No answer.

  “Daddy,” I yelled.

  Still, no answer. I moved through the brush. I felt briars catching my clothes.

  I came into a clearing.

  I saw my father and I was relieved. I had found him.

  There he was. He was yards away from me. I saw his dark coat and his dark cap and his work gloves.

  The ax and the rope and the bag were on the ground beside him.

  I saw him wrestling a tree. He was struggling with it. He was choking it, as if the tree could fight back.

  But it wasn’t a tree.

  It was Jackie.

  I stood and I stared and I tried to make sense of it.

  We went to get a Christmas tree.

  His hands were around her throat.

  I thought, Is she helping us get the tree?

  I thought, Is he joking? Are they kidding around?

  She saw me. Her arm reached out. The birds were around it. They danced. It was like she was trying to hold my hand. I reached toward her, too, but nothing happened.

  She looked at me, as if to say “Save me.”

  He was killing her.

  The birds. The birds.

  Then my father saw me.

  I looked at him and he looked at me.

  The birds on her wrist made a singing noise.

  I turned and ran.

  I ran up the hill as fast as I could. The mud made a slurping sound underneath my feet. The briars grabbed at me. Something in my head told me to go back, and something else in my head said, Run as fast as you can. I couldn’t run fast. A limb caught my hat and pulled it off. I grabbed it back and then I kept running.

  I thought I was next.

  I ran until I could see the truck at the edge of the woods. Then I felt some force around my waist. My father had reached me. He picked me up.

  “I told you to stay in the truck,” he said.

  “I…I was hot.”

  “When are you going to learn?” he asked me.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do what I tell you to do.”

  “I’m going to the truck.”

  “No,” he said.

  He set me down on the ground and I looked at him. Sweat was trickling down his face. He wiped it away, still wearing his work gloves.

  He sighed and looked to the sky.

  He said, “It’s too late. You have to help me now.”

  “I’ll help you,” I said.

  He said, “You don’t understand.”

  I knew I didn’t understand. But I didn’t know what to say.

  This was my father. This was Jackie. They had some secret understanding. I had interfered.

  I don’t know what happened next. Maybe we stood next to the edge of the woods for a while, talking.

  Imagine my whole world crashing down. I thought back to my mother, dressing me in my new winter wear. I thought back to meeting Jackie, to her promising me the bird bracelet.

  I couldn’t stop crying.

  He calmed me down somehow. He said a million things, probably. He said, “Your mother is crazy and your sister is sick and you were my idea.” He said, “Trust me, don’t worry, this is what we have to do.”

  He said, “Come back here with me.”

  And I knew nothing then of history. He was just my father.

  Everything that happened next is unclear.

  I think we walked back to where I saw him wrestling with a tree. I think her body was lying there. I think she was faceup to the cold winter sun and she looked just like I remembered her, except that her face was frozen in a stunned expression.

  I think he said, “She was not a good person.”

  I think I abandoned my idea of her. I think I chose my father in that moment.

  She was lifeless. We dragged her body into the truck. Then we drove the truck to another part of the forest. He was quiet the whole time. I made a decision not to speak. Every now and then I glanced at her and I saw the bird bracelet dangling. I wanted to touch it but didn’t.

  I saw her red hair spilling across her chest and I wanted to touch that, too, but I didn’t move.

  After we parked again, I helped him take her out of the car. We carried her into the woods. We approached an abandoned well—they were all over and I had been warned against playing near them. I saw the well and I was scared because he had done such a good job of warning me away from such a place. I saw the disorganized pieces of lumber in the middle of the woods and I knew that a dark, forever place lay beneath them.

  I think this really happened because I remember holding her by the wrist. I remember looking at the bird bracelet.

  We dragged her toward the well and she got stuck on some rocks and a shoe came off. I don’t know what happened then. The bracelet was still digging into my palm. I unhooked it and slipped it into my pocket.

  It seemed like a lot of time passed.

  He told me to go sit on a rock and watch for intruders. I did that. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. I had played enough in the woods to know that no grown-ups ever came there.

  When it was taking too long I walked back to the well. I saw him leaning over it and he stood up and said, “What did I tell you to do?”

  I went back to the rock and watched. No one came.

  Finally he came and found me. He looked tired. He touched my hair. He said, “Hey, are you okay?”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  He said, “Let’s go home. You need a snack or something.”

  Then we drove back home.

  Right before we pulled up at the house, he turned to me and said, “What’s good about you and me is that we have our own language. Right? We understand each other. You’re my idea.”

  I can’t remember what I said.

  My mother met us outside. “What have you been doing?” she asked. “Where’s the tree?”

  “We couldn’t find a good tree,” he said.

  “What do you mean you couldn’t find a tree?” she asked.

  “I think we might have to go to a lot this year,” he said, dusting off the arms of his jacket.

  “But you were gone so long,” my mother said.

  “We were looking. There was nothing.”

  My mother turned her eyes on me. She was beautiful and nervous. Her eyes were black and quick. There was nowhere to hide.

  I looked at my father.

  “What happened to her?” she asked, looking at me and my frayed clothing.

  I already couldn’t remember. I had no idea that my clothes were torn and dirty. My mittens were gone, my pixie hat was chewed up, my winter coat was full of briar scratches. I just stared at my mother.

  My father said, “We were in the woods. We were looking. Give us a break.”

  That night he came to my room and read me the Bible passage in which God asks Abraham to kill his only son, Isaac. He read the passage to me and explained that someti
mes it’s okay for parents to kill their children.

  After he left, I lay in bed and held the bracelet and I talked to Jackie.

  When I woke up the next morning, I was sure it had all been a dream.

  A week later, there was a search party. The gossip was that Jackie had run away with her no-good motorcycle-riding boyfriend. But the boyfriend showed up, all concerned about her absence. So the search party took place. While my parents were searching in the woods for her, I was in the basement with her sisters, Dana and Sheryl. Jackie was gone and no one knew why, but I knew why. I sat in the basement and knew why.

  While I was playing cards, you and your brother came into the room. I know you don’t remember this. And it took me a long time to remember it, too, but now I’m certain. Your brother was taller and his hair and eyes were lighter, and he had this confident way about him. You were shorter and quieter and you sort of hung back. I remember our eyes connecting.

  Someone in the room asked who you were and no one had an immediate answer. We all knew you didn’t live in Union Grade.

  Then someone said, “They’re her cousins.”

  Someone else said, “She doesn’t have cousins.”

  Someone else said, “That’s just what I heard.”

  I didn’t pay that much attention to you. I’ll be honest about that. I mainly registered your face because you were a stranger to our town. I didn’t encounter that many strangers. It took me a long time to make the connection. I didn’t make it the first day I saw you again, this fall, at Union Grade High. I didn’t make it the second or the third time. It was when people started to gossip and I heard the story. I remembered being in that basement and I remembered seeing you and it all fell into place.

  But that day in the basement of Jackie’s house, I wasn’t thinking about you. I was thinking of the bird bracelet. I knew it was my one link to what was happening and I was worried about someone finding it.

  I had put it behind a loose board in my closet, where I’m currently hiding this letter in between writing it. It’s all I have left of her, and all I really have of my experience that night. Whenever I start to think it didn’t happen, I take the bracelet out and hold it.

  Holding it has been like holding my own sanity.