I am goddamn invincible.
I stopped fiddling, barely noticed the warm blood trickling down my foot. I folded my hands across my belly as though I were already dead and took one final, effortless breath. To Gabe, I said, “I’m ready.”
Fear was etched into every crevice of his face, but he obeyed. Inch by inch, he lowered the thick Perspex lid until it latched closed. Immediately I felt the smallness of the space but reminded myself I was sheltered, not trapped. The difference between a cocoon and a straitjacket was perspective.
Under no circumstance was Gabe to release me; he would leave me to my fate until the agreed-upon time. I watched him poised above me, his arms extended, a boy playing ringmaster. He held a stopwatch in the air for the spectators to see. The cameraman focused on the timer’s face, displaying 0:00 on the ceiling.
“Welcome to Madame Fearless Presents . . . Entombed,” Gabe said. He clicked a button. The numbers began careening upward.
I could scarcely breathe.
23
Kit
JULY TO OCTOBER 2019
WHY I STAYED
During a class on grief management, I told the story. I said I was by my mother’s side every hour I wasn’t working while she slowly died of cancer. I had planned to skip my friend’s bachelorette party, but Mom insisted she’d be fine for the weekend. She had the in-home nurse, plus Nat had driven in to watch over her. So I went to Vegas. I let loose. When I got a call from my sister twelve hours in, I threw up. She didn’t want to tell me over the phone but I made her because I couldn’t move off that square of concrete until she’d said the word. When she did I crumpled, skinning my knees. I told my classmates I’d regretted taking the trip every single day since the phone call. I wanted my goodbye.
Ruth had Sofia retell my story as if it were her own. Afterward she asked if I thought Sofia was a bad person based on her actions. Absolutely not, I said. How could she have known? Sanderson suggested I write Mom a letter. Debbie said it was okay to talk to her like she was still here. Rebecca said the best way to honor Mom was to live a life brimming with possibility, glossy with fearlessness. She said I had to shine as brightly as Mom’s scarf.
I began attending the five a.m. yoga class. I hid in the back row, rusty after months without practice. I focused on my breaths, let sweat pour down my face, didn’t wipe it away. Pose after pose, my muscles burned up the guilt, gobbled the fear. After a week I moved to the middle row. Another week and I was in front. The new guests viewed me as their example.
Ruth encouraged me to put my own class together. I demurred but she kept pushing, secured special approval from Rebecca. Non-staff never get to lead classes, Ruth said. We all see so much potential in you. I took a whole day to plan it—I wanted to get the sequences perfect for my students. My favorite part was the end of class, when I got to tell the others how strong they were, how worthy of love.
Because of the exercise, I had more energy. I took on more chores. I tended the garden every afternoon, plucking garlic and arugula, unearthing potatoes. Once in a while I’d rest, squeeze soft dirt between my fingers, let the sun kiss my face. I mowed the lawn and skimmed debris from the pool. My skin tanned from the time outside. My arms grew toned with the physical labor. My face remained round and full—for the first time I didn’t care. I stopped criticizing my body, quit assigning it shapes of fruit.
In the evenings, after I’d finished all my chores, I roamed the island. I memorized the cabin numbers and which guest lived in each one. I spent hours walking the inner perimeter of the hedge wall, running my fingers along the leaves while deep in thought. I discovered a second door, also half-covered by bushes, built into a different part of the hedge. I wondered what the staff did beyond these walls.
To help me overcome my fear of public speaking, Ruth put me in charge of a beginners’ class. Although Jeremiah had plenty on his plate with his new job as Wisewood’s accountant, he offered to help me prepare. Like Nat he was organized, a planner, but unlike her he wasn’t intense about it, kept things fun—literally whistled while he worked. With his help the course quickly came together. On my first day he sat in the back row. When I posed a question that was met with a shy but awkward silence, Jeremiah raised his hand and filled the void before panic could paralyze me. After class he said he’d enjoyed himself so much he was going to take my entire course.
Every day I stood in front of ten people and asked what they were afraid of. I told them we weren’t ashamed of our bruises here. I watched as my students took baby steps toward their own fears. Somewhere along the way I forgot to dread public speaking. I no longer trembled in front of a crowd. I came to like the sound of my voice.
During one class, Jeremiah described his crushing guilt for not being there when his brother died. He’d been in a freak accident, so Jeremiah couldn’t have predicted or prevented it. Still, he was stricken, believing he somehow should have saved his brother. I told him I talked to Mom every morning. I’d asked for her forgiveness over and over until I didn’t need it anymore—I knew I had it. He began to try some of my recommendations, took me aside a few weeks later and thanked me, said they were working. I’d done that. I had eased another human being’s pain.
Every morning I watched the sun rise, every evening it descend. I marveled at how little I had noticed before, how rarely I’d paid attention. One night in particular will stick with me always—the moon was the smallest of slivers, clouds empty of birds. The sun had just disappeared, striping the sky burnt red and cool blue, the hue in between them amber and untouchable. Like a painting, I thought. How had I been lucky enough to wind up here?