Pearls of wisdom by Ms. Hove:
Life is full of ups and downs and sadness is a natural emotion. But depression is more than feeling blue from time to time. Depression is an intense mood, producing feelings of despair and hopelessness that can last weeks or several months. Depression clouds judgment, as if everything is seen through a filter and the person cannot think clearly. Be on the lookout if you or someone you know exhibits signs of withdrawal, low energy, irritability, loss of appetite, or a general sense of worthlessness. Depression can be cured through proper counseling. Seek help immediately!!!
“I have no idea, I’m not…she was like this when I found her and…what?” Someone was speaking. Vivien heard a rustling sound, then the voice resumed. “Xanax. The bottle says Xanax. And there’s…fuck!” Glass clattered against the nightstand. “There’s an empty wine glass, too.” Silence. A drawer opened, bottles jumbled. “There’s…there’s like a whole pharmacy in here!” Silence again. “OK…all right…yes.”
She pushed herself to sitting. Her head stung. Gingerly she touched her forehead and her fingers came away with blood.
The voice again. Declan. He stood nearby, his back to her as he hovered over the motionless lump on the bed.
“No, she’s breathing, but she’s blue around the lips and her skin’s all clammy. I don’t—” He spun around midsentence. “And my girlfriend, she’s—” He broke off as their eyes linked. “You’re bleeding.”
Her lips parted soundlessly.
“What?” He returned the phone to his mouth. “No, she’s not bleeding, it’s my…yes. I rolled her on her side. When will they be here? I think they’d better…yeah, I’ll stay on the line but I gotta…” He crouched down by Vivien’s side to examine the wound. “Shit! It’s sliced clean open.” Then he was up and back in a flash, grasping a balled-up towel. He pressed it firmly against her forehead. “Here. Can you hold this?”
She nodded and took his place with a shaky hand.
He stood, his attention back to the phone, but she called out to him, “Declan…” When he turned to face her she noted he was nude from the waist up, and all at once the scene seemed surreal. She waited, anticipating something even more extraordinary to happen. The room would suddenly start to shake, then lift into the air, and she’d look out the window like Dorothy on her way to Oz.
But there her mother lay, still motionless on the bed. She wanted this part of the dream to go away. “Is she…?” she asked him.
He shook his head. “She’s breathing, but…” His eyes spoke the rest of the sentence.
She looked away, eyes burning.
And then they arrived. A darkly clad unit, issuing commands, taking control in a no-nonsense whirlwind of activity. They swept through the room, collecting Ramona, a plastic bag full of pill bottles, and finally Vivien herself.
She hardly remembered riding in the ambulance with Declan holding her hand in a vice-like grip. They’d strapped her to a bed and wheeled her out just like her mother, even though it seemed ridiculous to her at the time and she vaguely recalled putting up a fuss.
Twenty-four stitches above her left temple, that particular number ringing a bell in the far recesses of her mind. Who else…? She felt foggy, disjointed. Had they given her something for the pain? For the trauma? Yes, of course they had. She was tired. So very tired…
“Hey there. You’re awake.”
Was she? She couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or not.
His beautiful face moved into her line of vision. “How’s your head?”
What was the matter with her head?
“Your mom’s OK,” he said, his eyes soft pools of compassion. “She’s gonna be OK.”
And then it all came flooding back to her. “Oh! It really happened.” She reached up, running her fingers over the bandages on her head. Her eyes went wide with fear. “It was real; it really happened,” she repeated.
Declan gripped her hand tightly.
“Why?” she croaked. “Why would she do that? How could she?”
“Look, we don’t know how it happened. It could’ve been an accident,” he assured her. “We have to wait until she’s feeling better. Then you can talk to her.”
She let him console her. She didn’t have energy to spare right now.
They spent the next few hours talking about anything but what had just happened. Declan assumed control of the remote, surfing the TV channels for something mindless to watch. “Let’s see…what are our options on a Sunday morning? We’ve got church, of course.”
She eyed the TV suspiciously as a middle-aged man, sweating profusely through his pancake makeup, paced the stage belting out what he claimed was “the truth.” The congregation seemed transfixed by his words, and every now and then a member of the choir would nod and murmur amen. Repentance, he was saying, is a term often misunderstood. It is not “turning from sin,” as many would believe, but in fact, quite simply, the changing of one’s mind. And thus a change in behavior. The preacher paused for effect before he went on to tell his followers that unless one has truly and completely changed one’s mind, there will be no transformation. No repentance.
She began to feel a sense of unease. That same sinking feeling she always got when something bad had just happened and she believed herself to be the cause. In her world, things didn’t just happen; they happened for a reason. Good acts begot goodness. Bad acts begot evil. Now she had wrought evil upon those she loved. Her mother had come dangerously close to dying last night.
Yes, she had “changed her mind,” as the preacher said. Last night was somewhat of a blur, but she did recall marching down the hallway and making just such a decision. But was it too late? She couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out.
“Um, could you change the channel?” she said.
“Wish I could find an episode of Full House for you. Where are Michelle and the gang when you need them?”
Animal Planet proved to be the most amenable selection. A fascinating program on the top twenty most peculiar animal mating habits was playing.
“Huh,” Declan remarked, engrossed in the show. “Who knew a four-hundred-pound white back gorilla was equipped with only a one-and-a-half-inch penis?”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t seem to matter, see?” she pointed out. “Look at all the females he has doting on him—there must be at least thirty of them.” She paused, then added, “I guess size doesn’t matter after all.”
The program was interrupted by food service. Declan stood and meandered over to the tray. “Yum, breakfast.” He lifted the heavy blue plastic lid, revealing a wet-looking medley the color of paste. “Check that out. Those eggs look awesome.” He frowned slightly. “Those are eggs, aren’t they?”
She poked around with her fork. “Either that or oatmeal is my guess.” She pushed the tray away. “You have it.”
Declan pushed it back. “You’re the patient. You have to eat something. Eat the toast; they can’t really mess up toast, can they?” He helped her fold back the foil on the tiny packages of butter and grape jelly and spread them meticulously over the cardboard-like triangles. “Mmm,” he said, holding a slice up to her mouth.
She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Geez, are you a pain.”
A soft rapping could be heard on the door and a slim Asian woman dressed in professional attire and heels entered cautiously. “Vivien Allen?”
“Yes?”
She held out her hand and smiled. “I’m Corrine. I’m a psychiatric nurse who is working with Doctor Russell. He’s going to be assisting in the care of your mother.”
Vivien shook the outstretched hand. It was cold and limp. “How is she? Can I see her?”
“Soon,” Corrine assured her. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions, if that’s OK?”
“Um, sure.”
Corinne appeared set to begin, but then glanced questioningly at Declan.
“It’s OK,” Vivien said. “I want him here.” She squeezed Declan’s hand. “He’s the one who…save
d my mother’s life.”
Corinne looked surprised. “All right. I’m just trying to get an accurate picture of your mother leading up to the, uh, accident. Do you think she may have been feeling depressed? Were you aware of any change in her behavior in the course of the last few months—that is, was she different from what you were used to?”
Vivien’s mind drew a blank. Depressed? Who knew? Ramona was always so cynical, so critical, her Teflon exterior making it impossible to see what was really going on inside. Was that a new thing or the way she’d always been since her father moved out? Since Ashton’s death?
The questions kept coming in a never-ending assault, like arrows zinging through the air with Vivien as their target: How long had Ramona been taking Xanax? Had there been any previous attempts at suicide? Was she under the care of a physician? A psychiatrist? Had she observed any form of substance abuse in the last few months? Was Ramona able to function reasonably well on a day-to-day basis? Was she having difficulties at work? In her personal life?
Desperate to shield herself from the pain, Vivien ducked her head beneath her arms. Could it be true she and her mother hardly ever spoke to each other except to disagree and bicker? The idea that she didn’t really know her mother at all made her head pound and her lips tremble.
“That’s enough,” Declan said. “Can’t you see this is upsetting her?”
Corinne ceased the inquisition rather reluctantly and excused herself for the time being.
“Everything’s such a mess,” Vivien squeaked, tears streaming down her cheeks as she sank back onto her pile of antiseptic-smelling pillows. How had this happened? No matter what, it seemed she couldn’t do anything right.
“I know it seems that way right now,” Declan said, trying to comfort her. “Like you’ve hit rock bottom. But it will get better. I know it will.”
True, it hardly seemed possible for things to get any worse. She rubbed her eyes. Declan handed her a tissue. She smiled half-heartedly. “Thanks.” Then sniffled. “I don’t want anyone to know about this, you know? Everyone at school…I couldn’t take it, having people stare at me like, There’s the girl whose crazy mom tried to kill herself.”
“No one’s going to say that.”
“Well, that’s what they’ll be thinking.”
“Who cares? Those aren’t the ones who matter.”
She closed her eyes and sensed him climbing up onto the bed. In a moment his arms wrapped around her, cradling her securely in his warmth. Before her thoughts could torture her any further, she drifted off to sleep.
Seated nervously in a cold imitation-leather recliner, Vivien stared at her mother—or the woman who used to be her mother. Who was this pale, sunken corpse stretched out on the hospital bed?
Ramona turned to her daughter and attempted a smile.
“Hi, Mom. You look…”
“I know how I look,” Ramona replied in a thin voice.
They sat in silence, watching each other carefully.
“What did you do to your head?” Ramona asked finally.
Vivien touched her bandage, once again verifying that the unfolding drama was real. She couldn’t stop the glimmer of hope that perhaps the hair and makeup people had done a bang-up job and they were all simply actors in a silly daytime soap opera. The set was certainly right: tearful hospital scene complete with tense dialogue and true-to-life bleeps and alarms sounding-off in the background. Soon the unbelievably gorgeous young doctor would come in, followed by the nurse who was married to his identical twin brother and with whom he was having an affair. Later that day she would tell him she was pregnant, which would complicate things considerably since it was common knowledge his twin was unable to father children as the result of a childhood mishap.
“I hit the nightstand,” she said. “I guess I passed out or something when I…when I found you.”
Ramona pressed her lips together and looked up at the ceiling.
“Mom…”
Slowly Ramona lowered her gaze.
“Was it…it was an accident, right? You never meant to—”
“No,” Ramona said. “I don’t know how it happened. I think I just…I overdid it, that’s all.”
A long breath escaped and Vivien blinked back a new set of tears that was threatening to fall. “I thought you were dead. When I saw you on the bed. You wouldn’t answer—”
“I’m sorry,” Ramona cut her off again. “I’m sorry I put you through that.”
“I didn’t even know you were taking those pills—what the heck is Xanax, anyway?” A white-hot current of anger ripped through her now. “They keep asking me and I just…I can’t answer one freaking thing! I’m supposed to be your daughter. I feel like an idiot.”
Ramona lifted her hand and examined the IV tube secured there by excessive amounts of white tape. “I started taking it at night to help me sleep. And then I needed some during the day too. It calmed me down. I never thought…” She locked eyes with Vivien. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I had no right to do that to you, after all you’ve been through. But I hope you believe me when I say that it was never my intention to…leave you.”
No longer able to hold it together, she let out a sob and rushed to the bedside, snatching her mother’s hand in her own. She fell to her knees, pressing their hands to her cheek. “You can’t leave me,” she choked out between the tears. “Don’t you ever...If you did, I…I couldn’t take it.”
Ramona patted her gently on the head. When she’d collected herself somewhat, her mother lifted her by the chin. “It’s not your fault, you know.”
She shook her head, not understanding.
“Ashton’s accident. I know you think it’s your fault. You two had an argument before he left for the concert with Max.”
“How did you know that?”
“I’ve been listening to you talk in your sleep for years. I know a lot of things you’re not aware of.”
She blushed just thinking about this possibility.
“He was an adult, darling. He made his own decisions. Nothing you could’ve said or done would have changed that day.”
Sensing another breakdown on the horizon, she bit down hard on her lip. “But I can’t help feeling so bad about the way we left things. The last words we said to each other were...” She shook her head miserably. “Why can’t I ever do anything right?”
Ramona reached out and stroked her cheek gently. “Stop reliving the past, sweetheart. You’re young. You have your whole life ahead of you.”
Vivien nodded, then looked at her curiously. “You know, the same could be said for you. The past has changed you. Sometimes I feel like…maybe I don’t know you at all.”
Ramona blinked several times. She twisted the slender gold band on her finger, her original wedding ring which she had yet to give up.
“We aren’t close anymore,” Vivien went on. But had there been a time when they were? Or was her mind simply creating false memories? “It seems like after dad, and then the accident, you just…went someplace else. Someplace where no one could reach you—not even me.”
Her words were met with silence.
The door opened a crack and Declan poked his head in, searching the room for Vivien. She stood and motioned him inside. “Mom, I have someone I want you to meet.” Declan walked around the foot of the bed and stood by Vivien’s side. “This is Declan. He’s the one who really saved your life.”
Declan nodded. “Nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Allen. I hope you’re feeling better now.”
Ramona barked out a small, tight laugh. “Better than last night.” She gave him a long look. “Well, I don’t quite know what so say. Thank you for having a clear head. I’m…I’m…it’s all so embarrassing.”
“I’ve been wanting to introduce him to you for a long time,” Vivien told her mother. “There just never seemed to be the right opportunity. But he’s someone very special to me, and I want you guys to...” She wasn’t sure how to complete that sentence: Bond? Be best b
uddies? These suggestions seemed rather presumptuous at the present moment.
“I see,” Ramona said. “So you two have been dating for a while now?” Her voice betrayed ever so slightly her injury at being left out of the loop.
“Sort of.”
Declan jumped in to the rescue. “Vivien talks about you a lot,” he said. “Your job at the law firm and your…” Unfortunately his attempt fizzled.
“Oh, save it. Everyone in this room knows what a crap mother I’ve been.”
Declan cleared his throat. His hand crept out to Vivien’s and held on tight.
“But that’s about to change, isn’t it, honey?” Her gaze darted to her daughter. “Enough is enough. It’s never too late to start over. And all those other worthless clichés, eh? We’re going to set things straight. One step at a time,” she added with a snigger.
Vivien tried to return her look of confidence, but already the doubt was seeping through. Even at crucial time like this, her mother was making jokes, covering up her true feelings with empty phrases.
A soft knocking sounded at the door. “May I come in?” A tall, broad-chested man stepped into the room, his tanned skin complemented by a lime-green button-down shirt. He halted a healthy distance away, brushing his dark, boyishly long hair aside in a repetitive nervous motion.
“Ricardo,” Ramona murmured. “Oh! This is…” She attempted to hide beneath the sheet. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
He advanced cautiously to the opposite side of the bed, a breeze of heavy cologne in his wake. “Nonsense. You look beautiful, as always.” He gave Vivien a quick wink, then gently brushed a stray hair from Ramona’s face. “I wanted to fill the room with flowers to match your exquisiteness, but then I remembered how you’re always scolding me for taking things too far.”
“Smooth talker,” Ramona replied, but looked pleased nonetheless.
“Er…Ricardo, this is Declan,” Vivien said, gesturing beside her.
Declan offered his hand, which Ricardo shook enthusiastically. “A pleasure to meet you, son. Ricardo Vargas.”
Ramona studied the sea of faces surrounding her. “My, isn’t this cozy?”
Ricardo leaned down and whispered something long and complicated into Ramona’s ear while the other two pretended not to hear. Then he straightened. “And here I was thinking you stood me up last night,” he announced with a flash of white teeth. Vivien thought she saw her mother blush.
Abruptly, Ricardo’s affection was replaced by machismo. “Who’s in charge here?” he bellowed, glancing around as if the demand might prod the guilty party out of hiding.
Ramona shrugged lazily. “They want to keep me another day or so. Doctor Russell has his heart set on locking me up in the loony bin. Imagine—what fun! You could all come to see me pace my four-by-four cell like a caged animal, with my ass hanging out of my fetching blue hospital gown.”
“Where is this Russell fellow?” Ricardo said. “I’ll have a word with him.”
“You stay out of it,” Ramona warned. “I know exactly how you deal with things, and I can assure you it’s not going to help me here.”
Ricardo looked chagrined. Declan interrupted. “Um, if it’s all right, I was thinking Vivien could stay with me. Until you’re discharged, that is. My parents…they know what happened and they’re more than happy to help in any way they can.”
Ramona studied him carefully, as if seeing him in a new light. “Wonderful,” she muttered at last. “The word is out.”
“Not at all,” Declan said. “They’re keeping it strictly confidential, of course.”
Ramona looked dubious. “Fine. Yes, certainly, if your parents are willing…please express my gratitude.” But then a look settled on Ramona’s face that appeared less than gracious. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she closed her eyes. “Well, folks, that’s the end of show. Tune in next time for even more fun family entertainment.” Her eyes flew open and she gave a tinny laugh. “I hate to be rude but I could use some rest. I’m…not at my best, as you’re all well aware.”
The three visitors exchanged looks, bid their farewells, and headed for the door. Once outside, Ricardo hesitated, the look on his face clearly indicating he had something on his mind. “Do you have a moment?” he asked Vivien.
She nodded and he ushered the two of them off to the side, out of the way of the hustle and bustle of the hospital corridor.
“A few weeks ago,” he began, “when your mother and I went away for the weekend, I asked her…I asked her to marry me.” He looked intently into Vivien’s eyes for any signs that she’d been aware of this, but her shocked expression clearly showed otherwise.
“I was hoping that perhaps she’d discussed this with you, but I see that this is not the case.”
Seeing him so visibly crushed, she opened her mouth to speak. She felt she should comfort him in some way, but here again was another example of Ramona deliberately shutting her out. It was like a wallop to the gut that hit her so swiftly she lost her balance.
Declan reached out to steady her, his face full of concern. “Maybe I should hunt down a wheelchair.”
She brushed him off with a wave of her hand. “Ricardo, listen, just because she didn’t mention it doesn’t mean she wasn’t considering your…your…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word proposal. It sounded too heavy. Too…life-changing. It was hard to believe he’d actually gone and done such a thing in the first place. Wasn’t it a tad early to be talking marriage?
“Yes, well…you see…I’m just hoping,” he said slowly, “that it didn’t upset her. That I didn’t inadvertently cause…” He lifted his arm and gestured bleakly at their surroundings. “This.”
Vivien looked horrified. “Oh, no! I’m sure that had nothing to do with it.” But even as she categorically dismissed this, she recognized that, in fact, she knew no such thing. Ramona’s flippant explanation of “just feeling stressed” now seemed all the more likely to be another half-truth.
“I think,” Declan offered, “she looked genuinely happy to see you. Obviously, you must mean a lot to her.”
Ricardo gave him a grateful look. “I hope you’re right, son. I hope you’re right. I certainly can’t imagine my life without that woman. She is…” He raised an eyebrow. “How shall I put it? One of a kind.” He reached out, grasping Vivien’s hands in his own. “I hope to get to know you better, my dear. Your mother, she would always change the subject whenever I suggested the three of us get together. But now…I think we could all use each other. For support.”
She smiled weakly but could think of nothing further to say. The idea of the two of them hanging out together was more than she was ready for at the moment.
Ricardo held onto her for longer than necessary, staring at her but not really seeing her, his mind obviously meandering within some other realm. With a start, he returned to the present and released her in a hurried, somewhat embarrassed gesture. “Thank you,” he said, brushing off an imaginary speck of lint from his sports jacket. “Thanks for your time. I know this must be difficult.” With that, he ducked off, muttering something about the gift shop, leaving Declan and Vivien alone.
They looked at each other in silence. “Wow,” Declan said at last.
“Yeah. Wow,” she agreed. “I can’t believe he asked her to marry him. Things just keep getting weirder and weirder. I feel like we’re in an episode of The Twilight Zone.”
“His big news did manage to turn you white as a ghost. Are you sure you don’t want me to wheel you out of here?”
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
He took her arm and began steering her toward the elevators. “So tell me. How do you really feel about staying at my house? If it makes you uncomfortable, I can figure out something else instead.”
“Does it make you uncomfortable?” As things currently stood between the two of them, the invitation had been more than little unexpected.
He didn’t bother to answer, just grinned his crooked smile.<
br />
“What about your parents?” she persisted as they stepped inside the elevator. “They seriously want me there?”
Declan pushed the button for the lobby and nodded. “My mom’s already got Patrick’s room all made up for you. And right now, at this very minute, I’ll bet she’s cooking up a storm. Nothing relieves stress better than food.”
She felt grateful, excited even, to be a guest at the Mieres’ residence. But at the same time, she had the uncomfortable sensation of drifting along, unanchored. She wanted familiarity right now, her room, her bed, her things. “That sounds great. But Declan, I don’t have any of my stuff, I can’t—”
He silenced her with a finger to her lips, then gripped her arm once more as he led her through the lobby and out the doors.
Fiona sat ready and waiting in the patient drop-off lane. A few frozen-looking individuals loitered near the entrance, shaking the cold from their feet as they blew streams of smoke into the air under the No Smoking sign. The smell brought with it memories of Christophe.
Declan helped her into the front passenger seat so gingerly she felt like she’d just given birth. “It’s all taken care of,” he said, once behind the wheel.
“How? Did you go through my room?” In horror, she pictured him folding her underpants into neat little piles.
“No. I had Lauren do it.”
“Lauren?” she nearly shouted. “Oh, great! So much for people not knowing.”
He rested a hand on her knee and squeezed. “She just wanted to help. She won’t say anything. She promised. You were gonna tell her anyway, right? You guys are friends.”
She heaved a breath. They were friends, weren’t they? Nathan or no Nathan. And friends shared things with one another. Good and bad. It was only a matter of time before Charlie and Miranda found out as well. “Thanks,” she said at last. And she meant it. Sitting right here next to her was her best friend, she realized. The most caring, considerate person ever—the one good thing she could count on.
“Oh my gosh. Mrs. Mieres, that was so good,” Vivien moaned as she leaned back from the table with a hand over her belly. She had been fearful of insulting Mrs. Mieres, as the stress of the past twenty-four hours had left her with little appetite. Yet—no surprise—the dinner had been mouthwateringly impossible to refuse.
“I’m so glad, sweetheart. It was my pleasure.” Declan’s mother beamed as she rose and began stacking the dishes. “You go on upstairs and get some rest. Anything you need, just ask. I want you to feel completely at home here.” Turning to Declan, she gave him a stern look. “And you. You give the girl some space, you hear? She’s been through quite an ordeal and she might need some time to herself.”
Vivien smiled at Mrs. Mieres’ natural protective instincts. She’d been nervous about discussing things with Declan’s parents. However, as it turned out, Dr. Mieres had been called into work minutes after her arrival, and Mrs. Mieres was so up front and open about everything, it just seemed natural to have the same approach. Not that they’d discussed anything in detail over dinner, but the subject wasn’t uncomfortably taboo, either.
“Mom. Please,” Declan retorted as he helped gather dishes. “I’ll be up in a few minutes,” he told Vivien. “I’ll be good.” This he directed toward his mother under his breath.
She meandered up the stairs, lingering once again over the ridiculously attractive and athletic Mieres family montage along the wall. The photos seemed to capture every possible shining moment in the family’s fairytale history. But she didn’t feel sad or jealous or hopeless as she ascended the long, curved staircase. Instead she felt incredibly fortunate to be included in such a family. It wasn’t as difficult as she’d feared to feel at home here.
Her room (Patrick’s room) was spotless and smelled like cinnamon-apple air freshener. The bed had been made up hotel-style, with a fluffy plaid down comforter that matched the drapes. A sterile feel permeated the room as it had been emptied of personal effects, save a built-in bookcase full of old textbooks. A few photos lined the shelves: Patrick with his lacrosse team, Patrick and his senior prom date, Patrick and a velveteen miniature Cocoa cradled in his arms. Her gaze dropped to the floor where, sitting smack dab in the center of the plush beige carpet, was her overnight duffle bag.
She carried the bag to the bed and began to rummage through it, wondering what on earth Lauren would have selected to put in there. But of course, Lauren knew her well. Inside she found her favorite sweats along with several choices of t-shirts, her most flattering pair of jeans, a pink sweater, all necessary undergarments, and her UGG slippers. At the bottom of the bag she found a note. Setting the bag aside, she lay down on the bed to read it:
Dear Vivs,
I’m not going to pretend that I know what you’re going through right now, but I want you to know that no matter what, I will always be your friend and I’m here for you if you want to talk. Or just hang out and not talk. Or shop. Or eat. Or whatever!!! You mean so much to me and even though you have Declan now (and I have Nathan—can you believe it???), it’s so important that we have each other too. Us girls have to stick together, am I right?
So, basically, that’s all I wanted to say. I hope you’re feeling better and of course your mom, too. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.
XXOO,
Lauren
P.S. So weird, I ran into Monsieur Way-Too-Hot-To-Be-A-French-Teacher when I was leaving your apartment. He looked totally surprised to see me. Does he live in your building? OMG???!!!
P.P.S. Nathan let it slip about the two of you. PLEASE DON’T BE MAD!!! A sexy older man…what gives? You absolutely have to share!
Vivien felt her pulse racing as she refolded the note and laid it on the bed beside her. What exactly had Nathan told Lauren? And what if she told Charlie, or worse, Miranda, the one person you could count on to blab to entire school?
“Hey.” Declan’s voice broke into her worries. She glanced up to see him hanging back at the open door. “You found your room, I see.”
She sat up and tried to smile calmly. It was too late now; she was going to have to trust that Lauren would keep her secret. “Yeah. I can tell already this bed is super-comfy. Your mom’s the best.” She suddenly yawned.
“You look really tired,” he observed. After a moment he added, “I have orders to leave you alone. Is that what you want?”
She gave this a second’s thought. “Not necessarily.”
“Come in my room, then,” he urged, his pleasure obvious. “I’ve gotta do some homework, but you can hang out and keep me company.”
Sliding the note beneath the covers, she fought another yawn and rose from the bed with effort, following Declan down the hallway and into his bedroom. This time, she noted, it was not so clean.
“I’ve been busy,” Declan apologized, clearing a space for her on his bed. He then took a seat at his desk and began swiveling back and forth in the chair. “Too bad you don’t take Spanish. I’m supposed to write a composition tonight and I’m only halfway through the book.”
“Is that because of me?” she said with dismay.
“Nah, it’s totally my fault. The book sucks. Most of the time I have absolutely no idea what’s going on ’cause I’ve gotta look up every other word.” He pushed off with his foot, spinning full circle, and began typing away on his laptop, muttering and grumbling every few minutes.
She closed her eyes, content with listening to the sounds of him working. She must have drifted off because when she opened her eyes, Declan’s computer was closed and he was just emerging from the bathroom, a toothbrush angling out from the corner of his mouth.
“Did I fall asleep?” she said groggily.
“Yep. You talked a lot, too,” he told her, toothpaste dribbling.
“Did not.”
He left to spit and rinse, then returned and sat beside her. “You told me all your deepest, darkest secrets.”
“Cut it out,” she said, but her entire body tensed.
r /> Declan watched her with interest. At last he said, “I’m just teasing you. But you did seem upset. You said ‘no’ a bunch of times and your face looked sad.”
She shrugged and looked away in an effort to mask her relief. “Hmmm.”
Declan continued to watch her. “How’s your head? You want any painkillers? My dad’s got a ton of stuff in his medicine cabinet downstairs.” He smiled. “One of the perks of living with a doctor.”
She touched her bandages lightly. “I think I’m OK. Maybe before I go to sleep.”
“You should sleep all day tomorrow. My mom said she’d be in and out, but I’m sure she’ll totally spoil you. We can head over to the hospital when I get home. Maybe there’ll be word on when they’re gonna let your mom leave.” He reached for her hand and slid his fingers between hers. “I wish I could skip tomorrow.”
“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “I don’t want you to keep worrying about me. I’ve been nothing but…trouble.”
Declan appeared about to say something, but changed his mind. They sat in silence for a bit. A jumble of incomplete thoughts bounced around her head. It was obvious a badly needed conversation hovered over them.
In the end, Declan got things moving by politely, tentatively bringing up the subject of Ramona. “So…um, did you and your mom have a chance to clear the air? Did she explain what happened?”
“I’m not sure. She’s…not the easiest person to talk to. I think we were both trying pretty hard, though.”
Declan let out a sigh and lay back on the bed, patting the spot next to him.
She settled back and stared up at the ceiling. Movement caught her eye and she watched as a spider dashed to the corner in a rush to ensnare an unlucky victim in its web.
“Even though we aren’t exactly close, she’s all I have, you know? I can’t have…nobody.” Her voice quivered with this last word.
“Since when do you have nobody?”
She blinked several times. Tears were threatening. Again. She couldn’t think clearly, bogged down by self-pity. “I don’t know. I don’t, I guess. It just feels like it sometimes.”
He was quiet for a moment. At last he said, “You can’t have it both ways, Vivien. You don’t want to be alone, yet you won’t let people in.”
His frank analysis hit home. Once again he was thinking in terms of black and white. But was it really so simple? It didn’t seem that way to her. For her, life at the moment seemed impossibly complicated—so complicated she could think of no adequate response to explain herself.
Declan tried a new tack. “What do you really think? Do you think your mom was trying to kill herself?”
She turned to look at him uncertainly. “I don’t know. I wish I could be sure. Of course she said she wasn’t. That it was just a stupid mistake. She told me she was taking those pills to help with stress or something. But I already know that even if she did do it on purpose, she would never tell me, so what’s the point?”
“The point is you need to trust each other. Without that…” He let his thoughts trail off, shaking his head. Then, after another bit of silence, he said carefully, “Last night…why did you suddenly get up and leave? I know now’s not the best time to bring this up, with everything that’s happened. But it’s important to me. I can’t seem to let it go.”
She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. Should she go ahead and tell him everything? He was right; she couldn’t have it both ways. But if she kept quiet one last time, she could save them both a whole heap of unnecessary pain. Granted, she should have ended it with Christophe long ago, at the point when she’d come to realize just how much Declan meant to her. She knew that now.
“Vivien,” she heard him say, the need apparent in his voice. “Give me something.”
She opened her eyes. He was so close, so warm, so trusting. All at once desperation gripped her, her confession catching deep in her throat. And she knew: without a doubt, if she told him the truth, it would be over. The lies had gone on far too long. “I…I got scared,” she stuttered. “That’s all.”
He stared at her. Hard. As if his eyes could penetrate her skull. After a moment he looked away with barely concealed disappointment. “Scared of what?” he said, his voice gone dead.
“I don’t know,” she replied, scrambling to give him what he wanted but keep what she needed. “I was thinking you might want to…you know.”
“I would never pressure you,” he answered, his gaze still averted. “And might I point out that you were the one with the condom. Not me.”
Ugh! The stupid condom. Nathan, leading her blindly into a trap. This was all his fault. “I know,” she rushed. “It’s just…” She sighed loudly in exasperation. “I can’t explain it. All of a sudden, I had this feeling—“
“Why?” His face looked distorted, as if the skin might actually burst. “I don’t buy it, what you’re saying. Feelings don’t just come out of nowhere.”
His icy tone startled her and she shrank away. “I just said: I…I…” She paused, gathering her thoughts, which somehow resisted any direct manipulation, darting off into dangerous territory, the very heart of her insecurities. Fear and resentment simmered inside of her, hot and messy. “You know what? Maybe it’s my turn to point out that I’m not…I’m just not like you. You and Nathan and… and Mariah,” she spat the name with particular venom. “You say you don’t care, but you so obviously do! How dare you sit there and accuse me when I was the one who tried to tell you this—over and over again?” She gave a soft snort. “I’m not some dopey charity project you can mold to your liking. The truth is you never really accepted me for who I am.”
Her words appeared to knock the wind right out of him, his mouth dropping open in stunned silence. All at once his jaw clamped shut and he rolled away, crossing his arms over his chest. She could hear his breath coming unevenly in the heavy silence.
Nothing could stop the tears now. They rolled soundlessly down her cheeks, splashing into her ears and wetting the sheets beneath.
Minutes passed. Declan spoke, directing his words at the ceiling. “My mistake. You’re tired and…and...It was mistake,” he repeated, his voice crackling, snapping in two.
“Ughh!” she moaned. “Declan. I didn’t mean that.” She tried to wipe away any trace of tears before he could notice. “You’re right; I am tired. I should go to bed.” She sat up and immediately her head began to throb. She pressed her fingertips against her temples, making tiny, rapid circles. “Do you think I could have some of those painkillers now? The hospital gave me some Tylenol, but I don’t think that’s going to cut it.”
Declan propelled himself up and out of the bed in one swift motion but was unable to look her in the eye. “Yeah. No problem. You’re OK, though, right?”
“Just a headache,” she said, grimacing as a second wave of pain shot through her. It felt as though someone was taking a hammer to her head.
Looking guilt-ridden, Declan left the room in haste, calling out, “Be right back.”
She sat very still on the edge of the bed, avoiding any sudden movements. Everything her eyes settled upon filled her with emotion: posters and CDs; photos and trophies; dirty laundry scattered across the floor (Oh, how she loved him in that green striped shirt!); even the unmade bed itself, with its warm, pungent-smelling sheets. Could she be any more in love with this person? He was exceptional. Original. Irreplaceable.
Declan returned in an instant with a glass of water in one hand, pills in the other. “There weren’t any directions, but I think you can take two,” he told her.
The pain in her head was snaking its way down to her stomach, bringing on brief but powerful spasms of nausea. She scooped both pills from the palm of his hand and flung them down her throat, chasing them quickly with big gulps of water. She stood abruptly. Too abruptly. The room began a counterclockwise rotation.
“Whoa.” Declan grabbed her as she stumbled forward. “Slow down.” Cautiously, he led her in baby steps d
own the hall and into her room.
“Hey!” he scolded, glancing toward the bed where Cocoa lay curled in a ball. “Get down!” The dog raised her head and gave him a look. She rose laboriously to her feet and hopped down, eyeing the pair sullenly on her way out.
Vivien vaguely remembered there was something here in this room she didn’t want Declan to see, but as her eyes roamed about she saw nothing to jog her memory. Feeling as if her legs might collapse beneath her, she stumbled forward onto the bed and began to wrap the comforter around her body.
“Wait! Um, you’re sure you want to wear all that to bed?” Declan asked.
She looked down at her lower half, still in jeans and a wide leather belt, but all energy had left her. “Forget it. I’m good.” Already her mind felt clogged and fuzzy from the painkillers. She flopped her arms heavily to either side and mumbled, “Whatever.”
With a shrug, Declan swung her legs out, then tucked them under the comforter, smoothing the bulges down neatly and securing it under her chin. When he’d finished, he took a step back, standing in silence, a look of uncertainty plain on his face.
Completely oblivious, she smiled a dreamy smile. She felt good now. And he was so frickin’ hot. She nearly announced this out loud, but instead said, “How about a kiss goodnight?”
The request caught him off guard and he hesitated a good thirty seconds before complying. Slowly he leaned down, hovering an inch above her face. “Goodnight,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. Their lips met in a feather-light kiss.
At the door, he turned once again to watch her.
Her eyelids, heavy as a sack of potatoes, fell halfway. “Don’t be afraid, we’ll make it out of this mess,” she sang softly. “It’s a love story, baby, just say yes…”
Declan cocked his head with a frown. “Did you say something?”
Lids lowering, succumbing at last, the woozy smile remained on her lips. “Romeo, save me, I’ve been feeling so alone. I keep waiting for you but you never come…”
Twenty-Two