The Aftermath

by Matayo, Amy

  “Mom’s going to be okay, right?” he finally asks.

  I stretch my legs out in front of me. “The doctor says she was lucky. Thank God the ambulance arrived when they did. The paramedics saved her life.”

  “Thank goodness the neighbor heard her scream.”

  I nod. Life is a series of close calls, isn’t it? We all straddle the line of danger and safety at any given moment. Our best hope is finding a Good Samaritan when we fall on the wrong side…of finding a Healer when we’re hurting and broken. Thank God our mother found both.

  “Hey, do you remember that time after the tornado when that kid—”

  “You were awake?”

  “The whole time.”

  “Huh.” Amazing the things you find out when you take the time to talk to people. “I’ve never forgotten it.”

  Liam sniffs. “Me either.”

  We both stare straight ahead as though time has slipped backward fifteen years, remembering that morning in our own separate ways. Liam rubs a thumb along the railing, then sighs, deep and slow.

  “And your friend really lost everything?”

  I blink at his abrupt change in direction. “Everything.”

  He sighs, popping one knuckle and continuing until he’s cracked all ten. “I think I’m going to make a phone call,” he says, standing up. I look up at him, puzzled by his scattered thought process.

  “Calling Dillon?”

  “Something like that,” he says.

  He disappears inside the house, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  I had no idea he still remembered that kid. We’ve never talked about it since the day it happened.

  CHAPTER 15

  Riley

  We’ve lived here together for a week, and this apartment has shrunk in size by half considering I’m sharing it with someone who needs constant care and attention. There’s no escape. No hope for anything to change. Even the single window is painted shut and won’t open, giving no reprieve from the close confinement we’re currently living in. I’m going stir-crazy, or maybe just actually crazy. What used to be a very full life now fits into a two-hundred square foot space, and my proverbial wings are slowly breaking.

  It’s four o’clock in the afternoon on the longest day in history. My eyes are closed, and I’ve been drifting in and out of sleep, and now someone is talking over my head. The voice is excited—almost giddy—which makes no sense considering the day we’ve had so far. When I register that the voice is coming from my grandmother, I sit up and rub my left eye. But it isn’t my vision that’s foggy. It’s my hearing. What could she possibly have to be excited about?

  Today we went to her house. To what was left of it. My grandmother cried at the sight of her home, cried still when she located a box of photos in what used to be the dining room and cried on the drive home.

  “Okay, get up right now and stop moping. You’d think you lost a child with the way you’re acting. I’m exhausted from watching it. The hospital was more fun.”

  I roll my head to the side to study my grandmother. “I’m not moping.” We both know it’s a lie.

  “You’re moping so low you look like an ape walking with your hands dragging the ground. Straighten up, Riley. You still have a lot left to live for.”

  I push myself to an upright position and gesture to the room. “Yes, look at all of it. Except the funny thing is, none of it is mine.” Not the bed, not the sofa, not even the utensils in the kitchen drawer. If you can call it a kitchen. There are two burners on the cooktop and a refrigerator smaller than the one I used in college. Inside, there’s a gallon of milk, a carton of eggs, a slab of bacon, and no place for ice cream. Living without ice cream was the final nail in a two-hundred-square-foot coffin. My bakery had ice cream in every good flavor, peanut butter being the best one of all.

  Bella slides into my thoughts.

  With her comes Chad.

  My brain is an unsafe place to live.

  “My life is just wonderful,” I say to finish up. Sarcasm and anger are perfect emotions to mask my real feelings of sadness and loss.

  “Listen up, you ingrate.” I blink. My grandmother rarely calls me out on bad behavior. “I’m sixty-five years old, have a brand new ten-inch scar on my side, and I’ve lost everything I’ve ever accumulated in life. You’re twenty-nine and have all kinds of time to start over. If I can see the good in this situation, shouldn’t you?” She points at me and widens her eyes like a crazy person. It’s the way I know she isn’t mad at me. “We’re alive, aren’t we? We have a roof over our heads, don’t we? Not everyone has been quite so blessed.”

  Blessed is hardly the word I would use, but I press my lips together to avoid more of her wrath. Besides, I’m not an ingrate. Not usually.

  “I always tell you God never gives us more than we can handle. What in the world did you think I was talking about?”

  I make an unflattering noise in the back of my throat. “I thought you meant like when I got a pimple on prom night or when my car got a flat tire on my way home from school. I didn’t know you meant this.” Another gesture to the room. I fall back with a dramatic sigh.

  My grandmother’s eyes soften when she looks at me. Her gaze is gentle and kind, so I don’t feel the need to look away. “Child, I told you that the night I picked you up in Boston. You don’t remember that?”

  I shrug. “No.” But I do remember it.

  “I said it again after your grandfather left. Do you remember that?”

  There’s no sense in lying anymore. She can see through me anyway. “Yes, I remember both. I guess I was just too young to know what you really meant.”

  She smiles, and the corners of her eyes crinkle. “Welcome to adulthood. Now you know what I’m talking about. Being a grown-up means a lot of awful things happen. You can’t always pay the light bill. You don’t always have enough money for groceries; people leave, and others die. Don’t forget, when you lost your father I lost my son. But even with all that, I still believe God doesn’t give us more than we can handle. Back then, when I thought my entire world was shattered, I got you. You’ve been God’s gift to me from day one. Wait and see, something good will come from this. You just have to learn a little patience first.”

  I stare at her, wishing with my whole heart that I could share her optimism. But all I can think is…patience sucks.

  And tornados suck.

  And car wrecks.

  And insurance companies.

  And condemned buildings.

  And men. Particularly insurance-adjuster-type men.

  Like every other thought I’ve had this week, all roads lead back to Chad.

  “I don’t like patience,” I finally say.

  She laughs, musical and bright. It almost makes me smile.

  “No one likes patience.”

  The phone chooses that moment to ring, filling the tiny house with its loud clanging. The cordless—yes cordless that my grandmother still insists on keeping because cell phones give you cancer, her words—is sitting on the arm rest of her chair, so she answers.

  “Hello?”

  I close my eyes and think about her words, about starting over and about losing my parents. About God not giving us more than we can handle. I’m not sure I fully believe those words, and I’m not sure I ever will. It might be easier if He would stop giving me so much, but she believes them so I should probably try. Maybe good will come from this. I can’t see it now, but maybe someday.

  “Are you serious?” she says. I open my eyes and look at her with a question. She waves her hand in the air as though to swat me away. “Yes, that would be perfect. Of course, we agree!” I sit up straighter and lean forward, but she merely shushes me. I frown because I never even spoke.

  Why in the world is my grandmother smiling?

  Her eyes are shining.

  She’s looking right at me.

  I look at her and throw my hands in the air.

  What? I mouth.

  In response, she turns her
back on me.

  I glare and make faces she can’t see.

  I think God just gave me more than I can handle.

  CHAPTER 16

  Chad

  Liam called Teddy. Just like that, he called him, and the two of them set this whole wild plan in motion, keeping me in the dark until all the details were in place. Even now, I’m not sure whether I should throw up or pledge them both my firstborn child.

  “You’re sure you can pull this off?”

  “If you ask me that one more time, I’ll back out of the whole thing.”

  “I’m not saying you can’t do it. I’m just asking if you’re sure.”

  “Here’s what I’m sure about,” Teddy says, setting the empty mug of his third cup of coffee on the counter and pushing it away. “One, if you don’t stop hassling me, I’ll kick you out of this apartment. Two, I’m tired and need a nap. Three, if your brother doesn’t get here with the burgers soon, I’ll change the locks. And four, when I announce that I’m headlining a benefit concert, people will show up. I’m Teddy freaking Hayes. We’ll raise all the money she needs and more, trust me. So shut up about it.”

  I slide my phone face down across the table, tired of reading the headlines. Teddy’s benefit concert is trending on Twitter, which makes him right. Annoyingly right, and I couldn’t be more proud or grateful. Still.

  “A little full of yourself, aren’t you?”

  He grins. “You have no idea.”

  “Pretty sure I have a better idea than most.”

  I catch the towel he throws at my head mid-air. I’m getting better at guessing his moves, and this one is predictable.

  “All you need to worry about is—”

  The back door opens, and Teddy looks over his shoulder. “Where the heck have you been?”

  “What?” Liam says sharply, his hands full of two giant bags and three large sodas. When Teddy orders take-out, he orders nearly everything on the menu. “Feltner’s was backed up. You try waiting in that line and see how fast you can get through it.”

  “If I’d stepped in the line, I would have been ushered to the front.”

  Liam looks first at me, then at Teddy. He rolls his eyes.

  “A little full of yourself, aren’t you?”

  Teddy winks. “Seems to be the consensus. Now hand me a drink.” Liam sets everything on the counter, and Teddy opens a paper bag and pulls out a handful of fries, stuffing five in his mouth at once. It’s disgusting and rude, but I stand up to do the same. He’s right; Liam took forever, and now I’m starving. I locate my burger at the bottom of the bag and unwrap it, the appetizing scent of grease and cheese making my stomach growl.

  “Have you finished packing yet?” Liam asks me.

  After spending time at my parent’s house, I’ve been back in my apartment for five days, but tomorrow I leave again. Back to Springfield to face Riley and whatever wrath she has in store for me, but at least I’ll arrive with a purpose. The concert is in two nights, but I haven’t spoken a word to her about it. All I know is that Teddy’s manager located Riley’s grandmother, and they both agreed to the terms. Whether Riley is happy or pissed off is anyone’s guess, namely mine. I still haven’t talked to her, and no one will give me her phone number. Teddy’s reach is long, but for some reason, it doesn’t extend to me.

  “No, he isn’t finished packing,” Teddy speaks up. “He’s still too busy asking me if I can pull it off.”

  “Oh, good Lord, still?” It’s a two-man pile-up around here, and I’m tired of fighting them both off. “Would you stop worrying, and just pack? I’m coming to the concert to help keep him in line,” he slaps Teddy on the head, “and it will all work out. You just worry about the chick and let us handle the rest.”

  “Her name is Riley.”

  “I know, you’ve told me a hundred times. Can I have some of your fries?”

  “Eat your own fries.”

  “I already did.” Liam eyes Teddy’s bag.

  “No,” Teddy says, intercepting the question.

  “You’re both selfish.” He unwraps his burger and takes a giant bite.

  “And you’re a pig,” Teddy and I say at the same time.

  “Why don’t you go pack,” Liam says to me. And then to Teddy, “and you go…practice singing or something and let me eat in peace.”

  “I don’t need to practice singing,” Teddy says around a mouthful.

  Liam and I just look at each other. It’s like clockwork, the way we’re all so in tune around here.

  “He’s full of himself,” we say at the same time, then continue eating in silence.

  CHAPTER 17

  Riley Mae

  There are three people I could kill right now if someone handed me a weapon sharp enough. First, Teddy Hayes for expecting me to do all this crap. Two, Chad Gamble both for leaving here without an explanation and for not telling me he was friends with Teddy Hayes. Roommates, even. Who leaves that little tidbit out of a conversation? I told Chad I didn’t like the guy’s music, for the love of all things holy. And three, myself for agreeing to this disaster in the first place. I’m neck-deep. Getting ready to drown. Sputtering on sugar. Death by flour asphyxiation with no one around to give me the Heimlich.

  To make matters worse, my grandmother is just sitting in the worn recliner shouting instructions while keeping one eye on Wheel of Fortune as it blasts from the television screen. Which reminds me—four. Let’s add her to the list as well. She’s the one who originally put me in this mess, after all. Specifically, the mess that involved me filling the pre-concert craft table with specialty cupcakes and slapping my name on Teddy Hayes’s billboard as a co-sponsor of this event. He’s covering all the expenses, which makes me technically not a sponsor at all.

  My grandmother didn’t even inform me who was on the line before letting me know she’d signed me up to bake five-hundred—five-hundred!—cupcakes for Teddy Hayes’s benefit concert. And guess where I’m baking them? In an oven the size of a shoebox, from the kitchen of an even smaller garage apartment. There are four card tables set up in the tiny living room, and all are nearly filled with undecorated strawberry and vanilla cupcakes. There are still three batches ready and waiting to go in the oven. It will be a small miracle if I get this done tonight. But baking them was the easy part.

  Now I have to ice them. Five hundred tiny black music notes and microphones, coming right up. Not that I don’t appreciate what Teddy Hayes is doing; he is giving a free concert to benefit the town. The question is, why? He doesn’t know us. He doesn’t know me. And there’s the fact that I no longer even like his roommate.

  An image of Chad sitting on the barstool talking to Bella appears in front of me, and my heart gives a little stab. I blink the image away. Another image of him rushing home to help his hurt mother takes its place. Yes, my grandmother told me what happened when she hung up with Teddy’s manager. No wonder he didn’t tell me goodbye, he was too preoccupied with fear to consider it. There’s a good chance I’ve been wrong about him this whole time, and the idea fills me with all sorts of regret.

  Maybe the not liking him thing isn’t technically true.

  I pick up cupcake number one and reach for a bag of black frosting when my grandmother shouts, “Come in!” and I drop it on the floor. With a growl, I bend down to pick it up.

  “Can you please quit shouting like that? You scared me to death and nearly ruined the frosting.”

  “Well, what was I supposed to do? Someone knocked. Can you get the door? I guess it’s locked.”

  I didn’t hear a knock, and the door isn’t locked, and whoever she shouted at hasn’t attempted to enter. I roll my eyes and march toward the door, wondering who in the world would possibly be on the other side. Other than Mr. Joyner, no one even knows we live here. I set down the bag of icing and wipe my hands on an old apron I managed to grab last-minute from the bakery. When you have only an hour to pack, you don’t always make the best decisions. My new “Life Is Like a Bowl of Cherries” apron wit
h the red skirt and green ties remains locked behind a condemned door. I’m still bitter about it.

  I open the door to see Chad standing on the threshold. I stare for a minute, trying to gauge how I feel. When the other person with him steps into view, I once again wish for a weapon. I can’t believe Chad brought him here.

  Chad

  I can see the dark circles under her eyes, the slump in her shoulders that even the tornado didn’t cause, and her bottom lip is dotted with cracked powdered sugar that looks like wet chalk left in the baking sun. She’s licked it, smeared it, rubbed it around, but it’s there to stay for the long term or until she takes a shower.

  “Hey,” I say. It’s weak, but the only thing I can think of. I look to Teddy to be more creative, but he gives me a disappointed look.

  “Is ‘Hey’ the best you’ve got? I’m Teddy,” he holds out his hand to Riley. “Chad here has told me all about you, including the fact that you hate my music. Nice to finally meet you. Love the hair.”

  Riley’s face blooms red. “Um…I don’t hate it, I just—” She stumbles for an explanation, but he stops her with a laugh.

  “You’re entitled to your opinion. I’m just gonna have to work to change it. Now invite us in and offer us some coffee. It was a long flight to get here.” He drops his arm and shoves both hands in his pockets.

  Riley hesitates, unsure what to make of this direct exchange. She looks from me to Teddy and back, then relents. “Come in, but only because you said you like my hair. Not everyone feels that way.” She flings a look at me. Her jabs are going to be sharp tonight.

  Teddy just laughs and steps inside. I follow, tensing as Riley’s arm brushes mine when she moves to close the door. She glances up to catch me staring, and our gazes hold. Then Teddy speaks and breaks the tension. As usual, he has the worst timing.

  “Good lord, it smells like Willy Wonka stopped by and threw sugar everywhere. What are you doing in this tiny apartment, and can I please be a part of whatever it is?” He picks up an iced cupcake, sniffs it, and sets it back down.