Chase’s message was typically enthusiastic: “Call me when you can.
Or, we can meet at Starbucks.” It seemed like forever since I’d enjoyed a relaxing infusion of coffee and its accompanying aroma. I could use an hour of gossiping, scouring the newspaper and watching people.
I slapped the phone shut, got out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. My chest hurt briefly. Any lingering aches and pains I’d carried from the accident weeks ago had mostly vanished, thankfully. But some mornings I woke stiffer than usual, reminded of the accident by phantom pain.
After a shower, I threw on some blush, mascara and tied my dark hair in a knot at the back of my head. I pulled on some jeans and a purple hoodie, tossed a look out my window at grey skies, and chose my fur-lined black boots.
Standing in front of the mirror, I surveyed myself. Did Weston like me in purple? I thought the color magnified the green in my eyes. Mom had told me that a million times. Mom. Abria. How quiet the house was. Usually, Abria’s running, giggling or screeching leaked underneath my bedroom door. Water streaming through pipes hummed in the background. Not this morning.
I opened the door and listened.
Nothing.
My pulse tapped through my veins. Where was everyone?
Abria’s bedroom was empty. Luke’s, empty. Mom and Dad’s, empty.
I skipped down the stairs, panic causing my knees to shake. Luke was at the kitchen table, spooning Cheerios cereal into his mouth.
“Hey,” I said, glancing around, half expecting Albert to be sitting on the countertop like a cookie jar.
“Hey.”
“Where is everybody?”
“Dad’s gone. Mom took Abria to the dentist or something.”
“Abria at the dentist? How are they going to manage that?”
Luke shrugged. “Laughing gas?” We both chuckled in unison. As if.
I crossed to the refrigerator and opened it. I hoped Mom and Dad had made up. I wouldn’t know until later, and a knot formed inside of me, lodging next to my heart. It would be there until I got home from school and saw for myself where my parents stood with each other. I shouldn’t worry about them like this. I should let them do whatever. But that thought fit like a sweater that was too small and more than that the idea was irresponsible. A few months ago I might not have gotten involved in my family’s issues. Now, I couldn’t ignore them.
Luke slurped the last of his milk down, rose and carried his empty bowl to the sink. “You gonna eat?” He let out a belch.
“Not hungry. Ready?”
He nodded. We grabbed our backpacks and headed out the front door to his car.
March didn’t warm the chilly air. A blinding sun rose up over the mountains behind our house, the white light beaming between towering evergreens and winter-naked aspens. The air was clean and bit through my lungs with each breath.
Neither Luke nor I spoke during the short drive to school. No matter how much I tried to distract myself with thoughts of budding spring, prom and the possibility of going with Weston, finals, graduation and anything else I could think about, my mind gravitated to the black forest. Me naked.
Running. From Albert.
“Heard from Krissy again?” I asked, half-joking but eager to get my mind on something other than the unpleasant dream.
“Yeah.”
“She asked me if you have a girlfriend.”
His cheeks flushed magenta.
“She wants someone to talk to, that’s all.” Luke’s tone was artificially calm, but I knew he was covering up. He pulled into the drag, the parking lot buzzing with student cars searching for empty slots.
He parked and we got out. His stride up the drag was uncharacteristically faster than mine and he kept a three-foot lead without as much as a backward glance in my direction.
I wouldn’t push the Krissy issue. The subject was delicate.
I was curious to see where Luke was going—to class, or to meet up with Krissy somewhere. There was no harm in his being her friend. I just didn’t want her to hurt him. And she definitely did not need an introduction to drugs.
Luke’s blonde mass of hair melded into the crowd of bobbing heads and bodies flowing into the high school.
“Zoe!” Chase’s voice came from behind me.
I turned and waited for him to catch up with me. He wore khakis and a blue and white oxford cloth, button-down shirt. His dark hair was neatly combed in place and his backpack hung on both of his shoulders evenly, not from one side like most teens carried them.
He smiled.“Hey.”
“Hey.”
We walked side-by-side. “So, Luke’s in a hurry. Krissy?” he asked.
“She seems to have a crush going on.”
His brows arched. I was relieved I didn’t see any disappointment on his face.
“What about you?” I asked. We ushered through the glass double doors and into the stale-smelling hall. “Things okay at home?”
“My parents think I’m guilty by association, so I’m grounded until school is over. Forget that I’m a senior, will be an adult in a few months and for all intents and purposes am the most responsible child in our family. Those facts don’t weigh in at all.”
“I’m sorry they’re being hard on ya.” I patted his shoulder and he shrugged, then his brown eyes shifted to my hand for a brief second. “I should have listened to you, Zoe.”
We held each other’s gazes and came to a stop outside his first period classroom. Students filed around us. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“Yeah. What about you and Weston?”
“We’re talking again.”
A flash of disappointment colored his eyes, and a twinge of guilt pulled at my heart.
“Oh. Well, that’s good. That’s cool,” he said. “See ya in journalism.”
He went into a room and I headed to my class with a knot in my heart.
I walked in, and automatically my gaze shot to Britt’s empty desk. I hoped that wherever she was, she was okay and getting the help she needed.
I texted her.
u ok today?
I barely tuned into what the teacher was saying, my eyes glued to my phone screen, hidden in my lap.
No reply.
Chapter nine
____________________
When lunchtime came, the smell of garlic and tomato sauce wafted into the halls. I shut my locker door and closed my eyes. Please let everything be okay with Mom and Dad.
Strong arms wrapped around my waist and my back was suddenly flush with the familiar strength of Weston’s body. I relished being held, sharing a moment of human comfort that soothed my fizzing nerves.
I turned and wrapped around him.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” His warm breath brushed my head.
I’m worried. Afraid. Hold me for a little while. “Nothing,” I murmured.
I wouldn’t be a whiner and unload the moment I saw him. What kind of greeting was that?
“Want to go get something to eat?”
I nodded. His arms cradled me as we walked, and I snuggled against him, enjoying that he was there for me. He wanted me. Cared about me.
Our cuddling garnered the curious stares of the social divas and jocks who passed us. Weston ignored the whispers. In fact, he didn’t even acknowledge the jocks who walked by—some of whom had been his friends and teammates.
There was, of course, the occasional chick who glared at me with the how-could-you-stab-your-best-friend-in-the-back look. I didn’t care. I didn’t have anything to prove to them. That crowd always believed what they wanted to, anyway.
Outside, the noon sun hid behind thick March clouds. Snow-drenched grass peeked out from beneath the heavy white blanket covering and the walkways and asphalt showed stains of draining water. Weston opened the passenger side door and I climbed into his truck. The scent of his cologne, and the sun-warmed upholstery of the seats, soothed me. I checked my cell phone, just to make sure I hadn’t missed a text from Mom.
Nothing.
Weston got in, started the truck and something raucous boomed from his CD player. I stared out the window, too worried about Mom and Dad to care what was playing. The next thing I knew, the music was off.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“My mom and dad have been fighting a lot.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah. Do your parents fight at all?” I looked at him.
“All the time.”
“What do they fight about? Sorry, maybe it’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s okay. I don’t know. Stuff. I always walk in and they’re in the middle of it. Something big is going on, but I can’t figure out what it is.” He scrubbed his jaw with his free hand.
“Do you have ideas? You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s just that my parents have always gotten along really well. We weren’t raised in a house with a lot of arguing, unless it was Luke and me doing the arguing. I don’t know, I think about where it might lead and I feel like a helpless kid, you know?”
He nodded. “Sometimes it’s stupid stuff, Zoe. I mean, only some things are marriage breakers. That’s what I think is going on with my parents.”
“A marriage breaker?”
He nodded, dark eyes meeting mine. He swallowed. “I think my mom is having an affair.”
“What? Oh no, how did you find out?”
“I catch pieces of things when they argue. You know, they do the typical shut-up thing when I come into the room. Or they did anyway. Now, they keep arguing.”
“Like, what kind of things are they saying? Or do you want to tell me?”
He eyed me. “I haven’t told anybody yet—not even Max, my brother.”
I remained silent, leaving the space open for him to share his feelings.
“One day I walked in and heard Dad say, ‘You and your little man-whore’.” His fearful, shocked eyes met mine. “What else could that mean?”
“Yikes,” I mumbled. “That’s… I’m sorry.” Did Brady have anything to do with Weston’s parents’ fights? Was his family under attack like mine, because of me? I hoped not.
Weston drove onto State Street. I was pretty sure he wasn’t concentrating on where we were going to eat lunch.
“I guess I should have seen it coming. My parents go on trips and stuff, but I think it’s all show. I think Dad is trying to hold onto her.”
“Oh, Weston, I’m really sorry.”
His shoulder lifted in feigned indifference, but I didn’t miss the way his body drew tight beneath his clothes as if holding back an explosion of emotion.
He blew out a breath. “I… don’t know what to do.”
I reached out and laid my hand on his tense arm. “What do you think would help?”
“I’m not sure anything would help. When we’re together, which isn’t very often, it feels like I’m standing between two lightning rods about to get struck. I mean, there’s all this angry energy, you know?”
Albert’s energy felt the same way. I nodded.
“I’m afraid to interfere because they might snap—one or both of them.”
“I tell my parents how I feel. Sometimes, my mouth gets me in trouble, but I say it like I see it.”
“Seriously?” He laughed. “I can see you doing that.”
“You should do it. What do you have to lose?”
“I don’t know.” We sat at a stoplight. “I wish I had your guts.” He grinned, leaned and kissed me. “You’re amazing,” he murmured.
“You throw passes with huge guys coming at you at forty miles per hour, Weston. You can talk to your parents.” His brown eyes flashed with something close to frustration. I got the impression I’d tread on his ego.
“Sorry, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“You’re right, I should say something.” The light turned green and he drove on. “But… I’m not you, Zoe. I’ve never called my parents on their behavior. They’d think I was… I don’t know, but I don’t think they’d buy it.”
“If it matters to you, and I can see that it does, you should be proactive.”
He thrust his free hand back into his hair.
“Okay, I don’t mean to beat the issue. They’re you’re parents.”
“If I don’t do something, will it be partly my fault if they split up? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No. No. I forget not everyone is obnoxious like I am, saying everything I feel like saying. I’m getting better at keeping my mouth shut, but I’m in the habit of spouting off and I don’t want to cause you or us problems, ok?”
Again he scrubbed his jaw, as if in thought, and stared out the window.
“One more thing,” I piped. I could tell he was listening, but a few protective bricks had been erected since we’d started talking about this topic.
“You deserve to know what’s going on. You’re not a kid. If something’s happening, wouldn’t you want to know before they dropped a huge bomb?”
He didn’t respond.
“You confronting them will tell them that you’re watching.”
His gaze and his mind were elsewhere, in a sad place. I shouldn’t press and I should definitely stop talking about it. “You still want to eat?” I asked, afraid I’d squashed his appetite.
“Sure.” His tone was unenthusiastic. He pulled into the parking lot of Subway. My cell phone vibrated and I pulled it out. Dad.
“Hey.”
“Zoe,” his strained tone caused my heart to skip, “Abria’s had a reaction to the anesthesia.”
“What?”
“She’s in the hospital. Get here as soon as you can.”
Chapter Ten
____________________
A stinging, rough wind seemed to push us through the hospital parking lot and toward the emergency room entrance. Weston held my hand and we waited for the automatic doors to slide open. They did, and sterile air gushed at our faces. We rushed inside. I was struck by the sight of dozens of heavenly beings comforting loved ones in the waiting room, their pure luminescence filled the otherwise cold, drab space with warm light and energy. They were completely intent on providing comfort. None noticed me, even though I felt an instantaneous kinship seeing them.
I gave my name to the nurse at the desk. She eyed Weston and me.
“Family only.”
Weston gave my hand one last squeeze. “I’ll wait out here.”
The receptionist pressed a buzzer and allowed me to enter another door, to the closed off section.
A nurse led me through an open area, lined with curtained sections, some open, some closed, crowded with guardians and family of the ill. At last the nurse pulled back a curtain and Mom and Dad stood, flanking Abria’s bed.
Abria lay on a stiff white-sheeted gurney. A thin, white blanket loosely covered her from the waist down. An IV bag hung at her side, its tube attached to her delicate arm. Her skin was flushed pink from the allergic reaction, and her chest had big red blotches—bruises blooming—across the fair skin where CPR had been administered. At the head of the iron bed stood Matthias, his shining countenance radiating in an orb that encircled him and Abria. His positive energy instantly relieved my fears.
His lips lifted slightly when our eyes met.
Is she going to be okay? I kept my gaze on Matthias, heart pounding in anticipation for his answer, and I moved to Mom’s side. Mom’s eyes met mine.
I didn’t see tears or redness. A good sign.
I don’t know the answer to that, Zoe. Her life, like all of our lives, is in God’s hands.
I bit my lip, forcing back a surge of panic, and my gaze shifted to Abria’s resting form on the white sheet.
“Mom.” I wrapped my arms around her. She buckled against me in a soft sob.
Dad’s gentle pat on my shoulder, the scent of his cologne took my gaze to him, now standing behind Mom. His eyes glistened. Could my parents take another blow? How would they survive something as devastating as the loss of a child? They’d al
ready had this test once—with me. I wouldn’t give into fearful conclusions before reality set its foot firmly in one direction. I’d hope.
“Oh no.” Luke’s voice broke the fragile silence. Mom eased from my arms to turn around. Luke’s stride was speedy from the ER door to the curtained area our family occupied. His face paled, his eyes locked on Abria.