Page 8 of I'll Look for You, Everywhere
Going away to Yale, I left the Savoys just as much as my real family. And now my stomach drops at having to enter the house. I can already hear them saying, ‘Long time, no see! Did you forget about us?’
But I fear most the ‘I’ve missed you,’ because I know, with certainty, that I have missed them more.
I tug on my collar, feeling claustrophobic, and try to steady my breath. Do not do it here, Theo. Do not have a fucking panic attack in the Savoys’ driveway. I try to count my breaths. I breathe in and visualize what will happen when I enter their kitchen. My dad will adjust his watch, he’ll feign disinterest; if his hair is grown out, he’ll keep smoothing it over with his right hand because his left will be holding a drink.
The sound of my footsteps against the gravel silences the laughter, and I briefly pause, not ready to be seen yet. But I realize, as they had heard my steps, they will hear my silence too, so I continue forward, crushing into the gravel a little harder – an attempt at confidence.
‘Who’s there?’ It’s Anika’s voice, serrated with defiance. My sister is always ready for a fight.
‘Ehm, it’s me,’ I reply awkwardly before I see anyone. My voice comes out rough, after so long not speaking, leaving me sounding strained and unimpressed. I duck beneath the tree and stumble forward at the movement, the gin guiding me. When I lift my head to check for my next step, it is not Anika I see. A girl is lying in the grass, her skin bronze in the hushed blue light of the coming night.
‘Hi, Theo,’ she says.
‘Theo, you’re here! I thought you would have passed out!’ Anika blurts from the background. She’s sat on the outdoor bench with raised arms in an air hug, but she sees I’m too far away and immediately drops her arms. It doesn’t take me a second to realize she’s drunk.
‘Devo fare pipi!’ I have to pee, she mumbles and stands up to leave, swaying for a brief second.
I look back down.
‘Hi, Magdalen, I almost didn’t recognize you.’
It’s Magdalen, my Magdalen of childhood. Suddenly I’m unsure of where to look and seem only able to stare at her bare feet. Her ankles are sharp and delicate. She wears a pair of linen overalls that are unbuttoned and hang loosely around her hips, and the tiny white T-shirt underneath has rolled up to her ribs from lying down, but I tell myself I didn’t notice that.
She laughs and I rub my eye with the back of my hand.
‘I know, I grew four inches in one summer. It’s been the talk of town. You look well,’ she says nonchalantly, approvingly. Her legs are impossibly long.
‘Yeah, well, I don’t feel it.’ My voice comes out curt. I look at her ankles again to avert from her thighs and feel formidable as she lies on the ground beneath me, so I take a step back in hope that she doesn’t think I am in some way trying to intimidate her. Jesus Christ. Was I always this fucking self-conscious?
‘I just came back home today too, although my flight time wasn’t as bad. You must be thirsty. Would you like something to drink?’ She begins to get up and her shirt falls back down on her stomach, the waves of her thick hair falling around her face. When she stands up, she is almost as tall as me – Magdalen of my childhood, no more. Her comment about me being thirsty takes me off guard. Do I somehow look dehydrated?
Fuck’s sake. I squeeze my eyes shut. What is it about this country that makes me so sensitive?
‘Sure, thanks. Is everyone inside?’ I kick an escaped rock back onto the gravel, hoping Anika is on her way back so I can fucking breathe.
‘Yep, they’ll be pleased to know you are here,’ she says while walking towards the back door, tugging down at her shirt as if just now realizing it was at one point rolled up. I still haven’t really seen her face properly and somehow, it’s a relief – I know that when I do, I’ll wish I hadn’t. I shouldn’t be looking at her, my younger sister’s best friend, with smug lust. It is villainous. Despicable. Anika’s assumption of me fucking within the first week back nags at me and I try to think about what’s waiting in that kitchen instead. But it seems far away now. Instead, my desire to look at Magdalen, at her skin, is so strong I dig my nail into my palm until I can’t think of anything but the stinging in my hands. I focus on her words, yes, the sexless distraction of words. Excited, she said, thrilled, exhilarated, jubilant. I let myself smile, her accent elongates the ‘l’ sound with a deep pressure, making the whole sentence conform and mould around the one word: pleased.
We’ve been speaking English since I can remember, even though the Savoys are native Italians. Something about Vittoria wanting a challenge of teaching. They say we still have a Scottish accent; my father’s lilt combined with the summers in Perth have stuck.
‘Sure, sure,’ I say and roll my eyes. She would never say that if she knew what happened behind those walls. We both have to bend to enter the small kitchen door, and the yellow light of the sconces makes me squint. Magdalen enters before me, almost like an unknowing shield for my fragile ego. I try not to look at her ass as she steps down into the room.
It takes everyone a moment to notice my presence. I swallow hard, waiting for the light to dull and their reactions to surface. When was the last time I was in here? The tile floors are still the same deep terracotta colour. The cabinets, with rusted handles, remain a pale yellow. Bright red plastic chair in the corner. Time has stopped here.
‘Theodore the fucking ghost.’ Dante speaks first and gets up immediately to greet me. He’s a few inches shorter than me and looks as if his whole body is coated in hair gel. He just shines. And when his head brushes against mine I have to hide my laughter in his shoulder at how hard it is. Not a strand moves out of place. He smells of cigarettes and an expensive cologne he’s no doubt stolen, and as he squeezes me, I feel his heartbeat, fast and erratic, and squeeze him back the best I can.
I press my lips into his shoulder and mumble, ‘I’m back now.’
‘Yes, you are. Yes, you fucking are, baby.’
7
MAGDALEN
Theo’s presence has a triumphant effect on the families; even Dante is close to tears at the sight of him.
Dante and Theo share an inseparable connection, and when Theo left I could feel a part of Dante break. The skin on his cheeks, which were usually stretched in a smile, grew taut and dull. Theo was his light. And while I know it felt like abandonment to Dante, everyone in Chivasso knew that Theo was going to disappear one day. Granted, maybe not as abruptly. But his brilliance, in school, in sports, in fucking girls – it felt wrong to have all that stay in the one town he grew up in. He unknowingly made people self-conscious of their own worth.
When Theo Sinclair took a 4 a.m. flight to Connecticut without warning seven years ago, our world had shifted a centimetre; the clouds hung low as if trying to hold him in the sky, trapped above Chivasso for ever. The fruit felt rotten, Anika was silent, and Cinzia Sinclair stayed in her bedroom for months. But, at the same time, it was also the most mundane thing that could have taken place in town that day, and so life went on without Theo.
