A THORNE REMAINING

By Jo Anzalone

PART NINE:

Terry gritted his teeth. He wanted to put his arms around her, take her with him somewhere, get her away from that over-bearing sister of hers. But what could he...do?  The bloody realtor would come with the bloody keys and they'd wheel her out of his room, out of his house, and Addie would take her back to Coffs, back to some life where she could be watched over, where love would never find her.  And him?  Where would he fit into that? He couldn't stay in some small place in Coffs with Addie right on top of him all the time. What? Was he supposed to hang around in the streets all day, waiting for some sight of Allie if she came outside from time to time? 

But if he stayed here and she went, what would have been the purpose of coming home? What if he lost her completely? Addie might not think Coffs was far enough. What if he could never find her again?  What would become of her? What would her life be like? Suddenly he was terribly afraid for her.

Allison was utterly distraught. Terry came up beside her chair. "You won't lose me, darling," he said. "I won't let you." But he couldn't seem to get through the horror that was flooding her thoughts.

She saw herself clearly, very old and still in this chair, never having been loved, never knowing... anything, not anything but the overly-watchful care of a sister who thought she was doing the right thing by keeping her tucked away from the world, kept safely separated from all that made life...life. It opened before her like some dark abyss and she knew Addie would return with the key and she would fall headlong into it, lost to all light forever.

Terry. He couldn't come to Coffs. There was no place for him there and it wasn't right that he should have to leave Thorneton...not right at all. She would have to leave him behind, leave him here. Her face grew steadily whiter, two bright pink spots forming high on her cheekbones as though she were suddenly stricken with some great fever.

She rolled over to his desk, picking up his things one by one, then setting them carefully back in place. How could she leave? Her gaze moved over his bookcases and down the side of his desk where he kept his maps, where he'd
unlocked the bottom drawer so that she could find him in his journal, back up again to the top drawer...where....

He saw her eyes settle there, lingering. "Oh, God, Allison! NO!" he shouted, but she was beyond any resonance of his words.

Perhaps...she didn't have to...go? What if? What if she died, here in his room? What if she could...stay?

"NO, Allie!" he shouted at her. "Not like that! Not like that!!"

She opened the drawer, slowly taking out the box of envelopes, letting it drop heedlessly to the floor. Her fingers found the small dark gun, slid it forward to the front of the drawer where she left it a moment, staring at it, her eyes unblinking as though a cobra were staring back at her and she were mesmerized by its gaze.

"Allie! Stop it!" he begged. "This isn't the way!"

She lifted it out, turning it over in her hands, her fingers finding the safety catch. Her breathing became so shallow as to be nearly imperceptible as the gun began its turn inward toward her body.

 
He moved then, swiftly, smoothly, and knocked the gun from her fingers, sending it skittering across the floor and under the bed.

"Terry?" she said, her voice vague as she swayed slightly in her chair.

"I couldn't let you, Allie. Not like that."

"Oh, Terry, what will happen to me if they make me leave your house? I can't...."

A key turned in the lock and Addie and a middle-aged man came into the room. "Time to go, Allison," Addie said, her voice flat, brooking no defiance. "Did you pack?"

Allison lifted her pale face toward her sister, unable to say a word. She felt Terry brush past her and somehow knew he was going to the stream, knew that he felt trying to change anything more would only bring her further pain, that his presence in the room would only serve to make it all the harder for her to leave it. "Terry," she whispered, her heart splitting in her chest.

"Did you pack?" Addie repeated, in a hurry to be out of the house as fast as possible.

Allie mutely shook her head.

"All right, I'll do it," Addie snapped, opening the closet door. She didn't want Allie exposed to whatever was in this room another second. "Mr. Comack, would you please wheel Allison out to my car while I gather her things? I'll be along in just a moment."

Allie slumped in her chair, her chin resting on her chest, not looking at Addie, not looking at anything as Mr. Comack wheeled her down the hall, through the screen door and along the porch.

Addie stuffed Allison's dresses into the bag, not folding, just jamming them in still on their hangers. Quickly she tucked the suitcase under her left arm and gathered the boxes of paint supplies in her other, making a dash to follow Comack and Allie out to the car. She didn't want to be alone in the room. Halfway down the hall she stumbled and all the boxes fell out of her arms with a loud crash, pots of paint, brushes, charcoal, pencils...all of it bounced and clattered on the wooden floor.

Mr. Comack, startled by the sudden noise, let go of the wheelchair and turned back toward the screen door. The front wheels of Allie's chair were already on the steep decline of the ramp and without his staying grip, the chair began to roll rapidly forward. Allie's head was still slumped and when the chair hit the pavement at the bottom of the ramp, she was hurled out of it, the top of her head going straight toward the rock wall.

Addie came through the screen door, having decided to leave the paint supplies behind and just buy Allie new ones in Coffs. She stepped onto the porch just as Allison impacted the wall, crumpled, and lay still. "Noooo!" she cried, horrified. "ALLISON!"

But Allie was running, running across the lawn toward the stream. "Terry!" she was calling. "Terry! I don't have to go!"

He was sitting on the flat rock, skipping stones when he heard her voice. He stood, turning in her direction, the sun dappling his chestnut hair.