I lifted an eyebrow. “Candy?”
Sam had the grace to look sheepish. “I might’ve given them candy. It’s only fair, Nat. Beck’s at prom. Dev and Anna-B deserved candy.”
I shook my head, but I couldn’t really be mad. She’s such a bright spot in their lives.
“We need wine,” Sam announced. “Because we deserve it.”
“We do,” I agreed. “It’s in the kitchen, though. And we’re in here. You’re younger. You go.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “Only by two years, but fine. Lazy ass.”
I grinned, and she humphed off as I closed my eyes.
Sam and Vince never had kids. It was weird, since he was Italian and came from a big family, but he never wanted them and she was okay with that. She spoiled the dickens out of my kids instead.
When she reemerged from the kitchen, she was holding two giant glasses of red.
She settled back into the couch and we shared a blanket.
“I love you,” I told her after a while. She gave me side-eye.
“You haven’t had enough wine yet for the ‘I love you’ stage,” she observed. I giggled.
“I know. I just thought I should tell you.”
“Well, I love you too.” She paused, took a sip, then another. “It’s so good to see you up and about. How are you feeling?”
I glanced at her.
“You mean, how am I doing?”
She blinked. “Well, I know you’re tired of people asking that . . .”
“So don’t ask it,” I suggested.
I thought about the long, lonely nights and the empty bed. The aloneness. Matt’s razor sitting unused on the bathroom counter. But then I thought about Devin’s grin over dinner, and how he stuck two straws on his front teeth to look like walrus tusks. And how Annabelle had marched right into the restaurant in her princess dress and told them in the third person that her majesty was ready to be seated.
“I’m getting there,” I decided.
Sam studied me, checking for sincerity, and decided to believe me.
“Good. I’m here if you need me.”
“I know.”
She put her head on my shoulder. “I miss him too.”
“I know.”
“He used to let me tell him anything,” she added. “I miss that. He was like my big brother, my confidant.”
“Yeah.” Everyone thought of him that way. He was the best listener.
We were quiet for a while, and before I knew it I’d finished my wine and it was midnight.
“What time is Beck going to be home?” Sam yawned, glancing at her watch.
“It’s prom night, so he doesn’t really have a curfew.”
“That was generous,” Sam said. “Remember our proms? We had to be home by midnight.”
“Yeah. I wasn’t going to do that to him.”
“How did he take it when Elin told him she didn’t want to go with him at all after he broke up with her?”
I shrugged. “Like he does everything else lately. With very little emotion. He doesn’t show a reaction to anything.”
“Yeah, I noticed that. Don’t worry. It’s his age. He’ll figure out that it’s okay to be responsive.”
“I hope so.”
Sam yawned again.
“Seriously, go home,” I told her. “It’s late. You’re tired. I don’t want you getting into an accident.”
Sam’s head snapped up because she knew why I worried about that.
“I can sleep over here if you want.”
I shook my head. “No, there’s no need for that. Seriously. Thanks for going out with us tonight, though.”
She kissed my cheek. “Always a pleasure. Get some sleep, sis.”
“As if.”
She laughed because she knew I’d stay up until Beck dragged himself through that door. She grabbed her keys. “If you need me, call.”
“I won’t need to,” I assured her. “Drive safe.”
She nodded and left, and I cuddled into the blanket. I wouldn’t go to bed, but I could rest here. The blanket was so cozy and the couch was comfortable.
I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Really, I didn’t.
But the warmth and the softness and blackness behind my eyelids just lulled me into it.
When my phone rang, it jolted me awake—I must’ve been out for a few hours.
I sat straight up, flailing about out of instinct, blindly grabbing for my phone. My heart was pounding. The phone shouldn’t be ringing in the middle of the night. Not unless something was terribly wrong. My mind was fuzzy as I punched the Accept button, and I mumbled a feeble hello as I tried to wake up, as I tried to stay calm.
“Mom?”
Beck’s voice was low. I was instantly awake.
“Beck, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I need you to come get me.”
His words were solemn, slow. I rubbed at my eyes, trying to see the clock.
“It’s two thirty,” I pointed out. “Are you okay? Jesus, Beck. Just tell me.”
“I’m okay.”
I exhaled slowly, trying to still my racing heart. He’s okay. He’s okay.
“Where are you? I’ll come right away.”
“I’m in jail, Mom.”
There was silence as I digested that, because I thought he would say he was with Tray or even Elin. My panicky feelings were fading as I wrapped my mind around this new thing.
Jail?
That was impossible.
“What do you mean you’re in jail? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. But can you come?”
“Yes. What are you there for?”
“Underage drinking. I was at a party; everyone got busted for it.”
Son of a bitch.
Okay. Okay. This is normal teenage behavior. Kids do this. It’s okay. He’s not hurt.
After I took another breath, I answered. “I’ll be there right away.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’m at the station on LaSalle.”
“Wait—Beck?”
“Yeah?”
“You weren’t driving drunk, were you?”
“Of course not.”
He hung up, and my son was in jail, and I was stunned, but I stumbled to my feet.
I crept upstairs and into Devin’s room. Even though he was twelve, I didn’t leave him alone often because of Chicago’s crime rates and I was paranoid now. But it was necessary tonight.
“Dev,” I whispered, shaking his shoulder lightly. He stirred immediately.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve got to go pick up your brother.” I didn’t mention from where. “I’m locking the door and turning the alarm on. You’ll be here alone for just a little while.”
“Okay,” he mumbled. “No problem.”
I knew he was asleep again by the time I reached the bottom of the stairs.
Chicago was strikingly quiet at two thirty in the morning. Not as quiet as the country, because I could still hear a little traffic in the distance, but still eerie. The sky was dark, and there were barely even any stars.
I climbed into my car and pushed the button and . . . nothing.
I tried again.
Absolutely nothing. Not even a click.
“What the fuck?”
My car was dead and I didn’t know why and I had to get to the police station.
Out of habit, I started to call Sam, but she wouldn’t be able to help with my car and I didn’t want to upset her anyway. So I did the only other thing I could think of.
I called Kit.
He answered on the second ring, his voice gravelly from sleep.
“Nat?”
“Kit, I’m so sorry. I know it’s late but Beck just called. He was arrested, and my car won’t start.”
“I told you not to get a Land Rover,” was the first thing out of his mouth.
“Kit.”
“I’ll go get him,” he replied. “You stay at home with the kids. I’ll bring him home.”
“I can?
??t ask you to do that,” I protested. “It’s the police department, Kit. It’s . . . humiliating. I don’t know what happened. He was drinking and . . .”
“Don’t worry. I’ll bring him home.”
I tried to argue one last time, but he shut it down.
“Natalie, it’s not a problem. I’ll be there shortly.”
“He’s at the one on LaSalle.”
“Don’t worry.”
He hung up and I was still stunned as I headed back inside and sank into the couch. My legs were jelly. My mind was racing and of course I was worrying. I was a ball of worry, actually, tightly wound.
Adrenaline spiked through my blood because my son was in jail and the phone woke me at two thirty in the morning.
The last time this happened . . . it was . . . the impossible had happened.
But that’s not tonight, I reminded myself. Beck was fine. He was fine. He was fine.
Even still, I took a Xanax and paced the floor for the next hour and forty-five minutes as I waited for him to come home. I counted my steps on the Oriental rug. I was a gatekeeper in the quiet room as I waited. Every step made me agitated. How could Beck do this? He had to know what a call like that in the middle of the night would do to me.
It was so thoughtless.
So inconsiderate.
By the time the door creaked open, my fear had completely been replaced with anger. I was pissed at my son for putting me in this position, for scaring me. As soon as my son’s mussed-up head poked into the room and I had made sure he was safe, I pounced.
“What the hell, Beck?” I hissed instantly. “What in the hell were you thinking?”
This was the appropriate response to underage drinking. This is what a good parent did. He didn’t have to know that I was beyond relieved that he was okay, that the driving force behind my rage was actually relief, that all I really wanted to do was gather him close and smother him in a bear hug.
Kit stood behind him, tall and quiet. Beck was rumpled and his eyes were bloodshot and he was apologizing and his big hands were curled at his sides.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m really sorry. There was a party and . . .” I looked down and noticed he was missing a cuff link. I grabbed his hand.
“Do you know where it is?” I asked quickly, because it was Matt’s.
Beck looked surprised, then stricken. “No.”
“Just go upstairs,” I told him icily, dropping his arm. He’d lost a piece of Matt and I’d never be able to get it back. “I thought something had happened to you. When that phone rang and it was the middle of the night, I thought . . . thought . . .”
His eyes glint because he knew what I thought.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I really am.”
I watched him trudge up the stairs, and he glanced at me as he turned the corner, his dark eyes soulful. I didn’t blink. I didn’t soften. He needed to know this wasn’t okay so that he would never do it again.
My son looked away and disappeared, and I turned to Kit.
“Thank you,” I told him, my anger and worry draining out of me almost instantly. None of this is his fault. “I’m so embarrassed. I don’t know what he was thinking.”
Kit chuckled tiredly. “He wasn’t thinking. That’s what most teenagers do, from what I’ve heard. It was prom night, Nat. Kids go nuts. Lord knows, you, me, and Matt did. Let him sleep it off and then lecture him in the morning. Don’t worry. He’s fine.”
I blinked and my eyes were hot.
“Yeah. Until I kill him tomorrow.”
Kit chuckled again. “Valid. And it is tomorrow.”
“You want some coffee?” It was four fifteen, and I doubted either of us would go back to sleep at this point. It was Saturday, though, so thank God we didn’t have to work today.
“I’d love some.”
He followed me to the kitchen, and I bustled about brewing the coffee as he sat at the table. When I turned back around, he was tracing a deep scratch with his finger.
“Remember when I did this?” he asked, looking up at me. His eyes were very blue. I nodded.
“God, I was pissed at you two.”
Kit laughed and looked into the distance, remembering. “You were waiting up on us. You guys hadn’t been married long, and we were out playing poker.”
“You didn’t call,” I told him. “And when you came stumbling in at three in the morning, you literally passed out facedown on the table.”
“I still don’t know how my belt buckle scratched it,” he said wryly. “If we hadn’t been so young and poor, I would’ve bought you a new one.”
I shook my head. “It’s okay. It gave it character.”
“That’s not what you thought at the time,” he remembered, and I laughed.
“No, I was having murderous thoughts that night.”
“But Matt never stayed out that late again, especially without calling,” Kit told me. “So, lesson learned.”
“I guess.”
The coffee maker beeped and I got us both a full cup. As I handed Kit’s to him, his hand paused on mine. His fingers were rough from hard work.
“Thank you,” he told me softly, and I knew he was talking about more than coffee.
“For?”
“For sharing your husband with me for so long. He was the best friend a man could have.”
A pang went through my heart because I’d been so focused on myself that I’d forgotten how Kit must have been feeling.
“Are you doing okay?” I asked, sitting down across from him.
He nodded. “Yeah. It’s been tough, to be honest. But you know how that is.”
“You were a good friend to him, Kit. The best.”
“I’m still yours, you know,” he reminded me. “I lost him, Nat. But I haven’t lost you. You’re still here.”
“I know I’ve been checked out, and I’m sorry. But I’m coming back to life now.”
Kit drank his coffee and his hand was so large around the ceramic handle.
“Don’t be too mad at Beck,” he said finally. “He was blowing off some steam. It was prom night. It’s nor—”
I interrupted. “I realize it’s a normal thing to do. He just scared me.”
“Of course he did,” Kit answered, his voice soft. “But every phone call isn’t going to be catastrophic, Nat.”
I nodded. “Tell my heart that. It seems to be the first conclusion it jumps to.”
“That’s understandable,” he answered. “Anyone would be the same.”
“Thank you for going to get him,” I said, and my voice sounded small. “I’m sorry for calling you so late. I just didn’t know what else to do.”
“You can call me any time, day or night.” His answer was firm. “Always.”
I smiled and he smiled back, and it felt good to know that I wasn’t alone. I still had people in my life who knew me, who had known me for a long time. It was a good feeling.
We drank the rest of our coffee in silence, comfortable in the quiet that comes from two souls familiar with each other. After he finished with his, he got up and put his cup in the sink.
“I’m going to come over later today,” he told me. “And I’m going to clean out your gutters. Don’t argue.”
I was scared of heights and he knew it.
I smiled. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It won’t come free. I expect a home-cooked meal as payment.”
“Definitely. Don’t be surprised if Annabelle makes you wear a tiara, though.”
“That’s fine. I look awesome in rhinestones.”
I laughed and he left, and I realized with a start that that was the first time I’d been truly amused in a long, long time.
It almost felt like a traitorous act, as though I were betraying my husband’s memory by smiling. I shouldn’t feel anything good, should I? Matt was gone, and he could never laugh again. Maybe I shouldn’t either.
My brain knew this logic was flawed, but my heart seldom listened to my brain anyway.
I put it all out of my mind as I loaded the dishwasher and prepared to meet the day.
I had a lecture to give, and a dinner to prepare, apparently.
Just another day in Casa Kingsley while we learned to deal with our new normal.
fifteen
BECK
MERCY HOSPITAL
8:11 A.M.
THE DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES—I can hear it. It has a significant click when it latches.
“Nat,” Kit says, greeting my mom. I’m annoyed with him, but I don’t remember why. It’s frustrating, but I’m learning to deal with that. If I’m patient enough, it might come back to me.
“Kit. You don’t have to wait here.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he tells her. “Where else would I be?”
He has a good point.
They sit in silence for a while, until Kit speaks again. “Natalie, I’m sorry. For what happened. I feel terrible. If I hadn’t been there that day, maybe Beck wouldn’t have left. It was my fault.”
“Oh please, Kit. It was not. He was mad at the world, but mostly me. I failed him. I let him shoulder the burden around the house while I grieved, and that wasn’t fair. It’s my fault.”
So I left home and it was everyone else’s fault? Somehow that doesn’t seem right.
I remembered slipping, and floating, and feeling like I was falling apart.
Oddly enough, I don’t remember what pushed me over the edge. It’s a black hole in my jagged memory. But I do recall what happened after I left.
* * *
I WAS DRIVING.
The heroin pumped pumped pumped through my blood now and it tamed the wild fury that boiled just beneath the surface. A minute ago my heart felt like a bird flapping its wings against my ribs, trying to get out.
But now my heart had slowed.
The heroin lulled me into a warm place, a safe place, and I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t because I was driving.
I liked this feeling.
For the first time in a year, it felt like everything might be okay.
How had I lived for the past year without this?
This is for me.
After I’d woven in and out of traffic and driven across town, I pulled over onto a dark side road and just sat, sprawled in my seat, and stared at the clouds and skyscrapers.