My Three Cousins

Chapter Thirty-Three

I don't know how long we sat by the pond holding each other.  Joan's cries and sobs seemed to erase the rest of the world.  Somehow Joan and I had become what I always thought my cousins were: parts of one whole.  When she wailed, I felt in my body and my throat, when tears fell down her face, I became dehydrated, and when she shook there was a blurry vibration in my head.  Eventually I stopped keeping track of what belonged to who and gave in to the fluid boundaries grief had created in our person hood.  The only separation I held was that all the while I knew her grief was greater.

At some point I became aware of Lennox moving beside us as they covered first Helen then Ruth with a sheet from inside the house.  They then wrapped a blanket around Joan and I, taking my phone as they did.  Even though I registered all of these things, I didn't try to make sense of them or comprehend the passing of day into night.  If someone had asked me in that moment what I was going to do I would say I would become like Lot's wife.  I would be a pilar looking back, never moving but also focused on the past when I had three cousins.

What I didn't hear in that time was another car pull into the driveway and my siblings be ushered up to a safe spot upstairs.  I didn't hear my mother start cleaning the house, too afraid to face Joan or I after Lennox told her what happened.  I didn't hear her cry as she blamed herself and was confronted with the reality that she played a hand in her nieces' deaths.  I didn't hear her take holy water and surround the house so in our mourning we would be safe from further threats. 

By the time she finally came outside to find us it had been dark for hours.  She cautiously walked past the covered Helen and Ruth and knelt in front of us.  She brushed my hair out of my face like I had done for Helen.  "Oh, sweet girl," she cooed with tears in her eyes and a break in her voice.

"Mom?"  I asked, her voice helping break from the fog and I started to feel the parts of me that were me and not Joan.

"That God you're alright," she said with a sob.  She reached out to hold me, but I wasn't ready to let go of Joan yet.

Her words didn't make sense to me.  I didn't feel alright.

"I'm so glad it wasn't you," she continued to cry harder, and I grew upset that in front of my cousins' bodies my mom managed to cry tears of relief.  I didn't blame her for it, but it seemed unimaginable to me that there was anything to be relieved about.

I wasn't thankful to be the one sitting her alive.  As mom said it I felt both a flood of guilt and a flood of jealousy.  It seemed easier to be Ruth or Helen and have this nightmare be over and it also seemed like it should have been me.  I couldn't protect anyone now that they were gone but they could have.  I knew Joan needed Ruth and Helen; without them I had really lost all three cousins.  Joan wouldn't know how to be Joan without her sisters.  I didn't say any of that to my mom, I had been at least in part responsible for two deaths, and I didn't want to be responsible for causing any more pain.

"Let's go into the house," Mom said and I looked at Joan.  "Don't worry Addison, I'll get her."

I let go of Joan, but I didn't move away from her.  If Mom failed at getting Joan inside, then I wasn't going inside either.  "Joan," Mom started and Joan's eyes stayed blank staring into the distance, "there isn't anything else you can do for them." 

Still Joan had no reaction.  "Joanie, you did all you could for them.  This isn't your fault.  You can't stay out here with them."  Mom must have realized that I may need to hear this too because she turned and put a hand under my child to tilt my eyes to meet hers, "this is no one's fault." 

I didn't really believe her but something Ruth had said came to mind.  "No one really avoids death or misfortune by their own skill." 

When I said this Joan looked over at Ruth's body as if she recognized the words.  Something about the broken way Joan looked at her sister helped me push down my own pain.  I knew I needed to help Joan now, not focus on myself.  As much pain as I was in it couldn't compare to my cousin who now found herself all alone.  "She's right," I said still not sure if I believed myself, "because if anyone had enough skill to avoid pain or death it would have been Ruth."

Joan nodded and my mom squeezed my hand, not entirely keeping up with the conversation but wanting to be supportive.  "She did what she said she was going to do though, Joan.  She enhanced the water and he's gone.  She dissolved him so you're safe now."

Joan continued to stare at Ruth.  "We have to go inside, Joan." 

For the first time Joan looked at me.  "They're ok now, they're with your mom and each other.  You need come inside and be with us."

As soon as I used the collective Joan's head spun around to Helen and she wailed again, but this time there were words in her wail, "I'm sorry Helen.  I'm so, so sorry."  Tears streamed down her face again.  I didn't know what Joan was apologizing for, whether it was something in life or something in the moments before Helen died, but it broke my heart to see how different her grief was with Helen.  Her grief for Ruth was heartbreak, losing a part of herself, but with Helen it was that same feeling plus layers of guilt the rest of us couldn't understand.  Joan started moving toward Helen's body, crawling on all fours to the edge of the water as if she was going to swim across to her littlest sister.

"I'm sorry, Helen."  This came less as a sob and more as a yell.  "Listen to me I'm sorry."   She continued to scream as if a certain number of apologies would bring Helen back.

"She knows," I said, "Helen never needed you to apologize to her, she loves you and was in awe of you.  You should have heard how she talked about you and Ruth.  She'd forgive you, Joan.  For anything."  It felt silly to tell Joan about Helen, but I knew she didn't always see her little sister.  I knew if it was Fitz under the sheet, I'd want someone to remind me he loved me because I might only remember the eye rolls and the fights.  "Helen was so proud of you.  She was proud to be your sister.  She loved you."

"I love you too, Helen." Joan said.  "and you Ruthie."  Joan didn't look at their bodies when she spoke, she looked at her own hands.  She might have just been staring off into space, but it felt fitting because her hands were as much a part of them as the bodies, they left behind were.

Shortly after that Joan let us lead her inside.