Page 21 of Letting Go

It's coming from Chloe's room. So is a sliver of light from under the door.

The hallway is dark and I rap softly on the door.

"Chloe?"

There's a muffled whimper. And then more strangled crying.

The doorknob is smooth and turns in my hand, but the door doesn’t give. I push harder. Nothing.

"Chloe!" The whisper is fierce to my ears. Something muffled falls in her bedroom and with that I dodge back into my room and push the dresser with the beveled mirror away from the wall and cock my head to hear better.

"Chloe?" I whisper again and tap the door.

There's no change in the pattern of weeping. It just continues as if she hasn't heard me.

"Chloe. Chloe, can you hear me? What's going on in there?"

Then…clearly…the sound of an old window sash being raised.

"Chloe!"

Shoving the dresser further back, I turned the knob. Same problem. Door won't budge. Fuck.

I stand still, trying to listen and understand in a flash why the crying is so muffled: someone has a hand over her mouth.

I pull the doorknob again and it comes off in my hand. Hinges open into her room, and I take a step back then lunge, throwing my shoulder against the door. It flies open under pressure and every nerve is on fire, alert, ready to bash the guy's head in.

Everything suddenly seems in slow motion. Chloe crouches slightly in the shadows, ready to fly out the open window like a bird, a hand over her own mouth. She's been standing there, keeping herself from screaming, her cheeks streaked with big fat tears. She's shaking like a leaf.

I grab an arm and in one movement, pull her away from the window.

"What are you doing?"

I glanced around the room, take in the open window, the one small lamp turned on by the bed, and her eyes, which look like a trapped animal's.

"Are you hurt?" I run my hands quickly down her arms and check her back. Her breasts, round and full under the thin, white, cottony nightgown move when I shift her. A sea breeze catches the cotton and the cloth ripples across her chest and stomach. Shit.

She shakes her head "No," but won't take her hand away from her mouth. There's nothing and no one outside except the sea, boats and buoys. No one, and from her window, it's a direct drop to the ground, missing the awning over the back porch by just a foot or two.

"What are you doing?"

She shakes her head and grabs my arm with her other hand, flailing like a woman drowning. Her legs shake so badly she can hardly stand. I hold her up. This is hysteria. I know what it looks like.

"Hey, look at me," I try to dip my head into her field of vision. "You’re okay. You're safe." Her eyes focus for a moment on my face and then she lowers her hand slowly, the pressure leaves a white ring around her mouth. She's a ghost.

"What happened? Chloe? What happened?"

She suddenly wraps both arms around my neck, like at the dance except this time, she goes limp. Her body sags against mine and she offers a shuddering sigh. Every muscle vibrates. Putting one arm around her waist, I help her to her bed, have her sit down, and reach over for a tissue from a box on the nightstand.

"You okay?"

She nods, hiccupping slightly.

"Really?"

More nodding.

"I'm going to get you a glass of water. I’ll be ten feet away. Yes?"