by Nan Higgins
Blood rushed to my face when I texted back, Yes, I do.
A few minutes after I texted her, my phone began ringing, and Sloane’s crooked smile filled the screen.
“Hey,” I answered.
“Hey, you. So my brother is flying in to spend the weekend at home tomorrow. We could wait until after he’s gone to go on a date, but I wondered how you felt about tonight?”
My mind went to my clothes, hair, and makeup situation, and then I felt silly. Sloane had seen me for weeks in ratty T-shirts and faded shorts. Basically, any effort I put in would be an improvement on what she’d seen so far.
“I’m free tonight,” I said.
“Great. Should we make it official and have me pick you up? Meet the parents and all that?”
I laughed. “You’ve already met my parents.”
“As an interpreter trainee, yeah. But not as your girlfriend.”
It took everything in me not to squeal with joy that she called herself my girlfriend. “Okay. What do you want to do?”
“It’s a surprise. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“But what should I wear?”
“Whatever you want. Just make sure your shoes are comfortable.”
For the first time in weeks, I didn’t mind that someone close to me wanted to withhold information. I used to love surprises before this recent string of unpleasant ones, and it felt good to be excited about the unknown rather than filled with dread.
Chapter Twenty-one
After I showered, I slipped on some ripped jeans, my black Converse, and a graphic tee with a red guitar on it that said, “I love rock and roll,” something I figured Sloane would appreciate.
My parents were in the living room when I went downstairs.
“Are you wearing makeup?” Mom looked as if she was trying not to smirk and failing. Normally, I only wore makeup when I was onstage, but I had lined my eyes black, run mascara through my lashes, and swiped some gloss across my lips.
“A little bit,” I said.
“Well, you must be quite taken with this girl. I couldn’t get you to wear makeup for any of your high school dances.”
“I usually went to my dances with Macy and our other friends. They weren’t dates.”
“Makeup is reserved for singing and dates only,” Dad said. “Now we know.”
I tried to appreciate their attempts at normalcy, but it felt forced and false. It was hard to be torn between wanting to enjoy hanging out with my parents and being so suspicious of them. Before I could respond to their banter, the doorbell rang. When I answered, I lost my breath. Sloane wore a short sleeved white button-down, a red and black striped tie done loosely around her collar, and jeans ripped like mine, only several shades darker. She looked incredible.
“You’re beautiful,” she said.
“You are too.” I heard my dad’s familiar throat clearing and opened the door wider to let her in.
She crossed the room and shook my parents’ hands as if she hadn’t met them before.
“Good to see you again, Sloane,” Dad said.
“Good to see you too.”
“What are you girls up to tonight?” Mom asked.
“Yeah,” I said, “what are we up to?”
“It’s kind of a surprise for Aria,” Sloane said. “Would it be okay if we filled you in on the details after I pull it off?”
My mom’s smile widened. “Well, of course, that would be lovely. Did you hear that, honey?” She turned to my dad. “Aria gets a surprise date. Remember when you used to surprise me?”
“Many moons, my dear, many moons,” Dad said.
“Well, this isn’t embarrassing at all.” I attempted a smile at my father, but it felt weak. I hated how hard he was trying to connect with me now after all these weeks of distance.
“Okay, okay,” Mom said. “You’re free to go; have a wonderful time.”
We went to the car, and Sloane opened my door, bowing a little and making a sweeping motion with her arm when I got in.
“You’re really not telling me where we’re going?” I asked.
“Nope.” Surprising me sure did bring out the adorable crookedness of her grin.
* * *
Sloane parallel parked on the edge of the Short North, Columbus’s art district.
“Are we going to a gallery?” I’d been guessing for the entire drive.
“No, and you just hit twenty questions, so I win.”
“I don’t remember making that deal. What do you win?”
“The end of the questions.” She laughed. We got out of the car and held hands as we began to walk. A few blocks later, we came to the Newport Music Hall, and Sloane held her hands out. “Here we are. I wanted to share my favorite singer with you.”
The marquee said the performer that night was someone named Julien Baker. “I’ve never heard of him,” I said.
“Her. And it’s okay. You’ll love her.”
“How do you know what I’ll love?”
“Trust me.”
The funny part was, I did. I was losing faith in almost everyone in my life, but I trusted Sloane.
We got to the guy at the entrance, and Sloane handed him two tickets. “Want something to drink?” she asked.
“A beer would be good.” We stood in line at the concession stand. “How long have you had those tickets?”
“A while.”
I couldn’t ask: “Since you just asked me to come to this show today, did you plan on bringing someone else? If so, who, and why am I here instead of them?” The worry that I was an afterthought or a second choice was unbearable, but Sloane didn’t make me ask.
“My brother got the tickets because he knows she’s my favorite, and he had planned to be here a few days earlier, so we were going to go. I’m actually glad it worked out this way because there’s nobody I’d rather be here with than you.”
“Oh,” I said, and I could feel how red my face was. “I’m glad too.”
We got our beers and found a good spot to stand. There was a railing to the left of the stage, and we moved to lean against it so we were off to the side but still in front. We talked until the crowd got so big that it was really loud, and we had to yell. A local band opened for Julien, and they were okay, a little spastic for my taste, but they were decent musicians.
When Julien came onstage, the crowd cheered and then quieted. She stepped up to the microphone and began a sad, dreamy, acoustic song called “Appointments.”
I moved close to Sloane’s ear and said, “You’re right, I love her.”
“Just wait.” Song after song of deeply emotional, heart-wrenching music ripped at my soul. Finally, the guitar intro of a new song started, and Sloane put an arm around my waist. “This is the song I brought you to hear. ‘Shadowboxing.’”
Julien Baker spun a spell around me with the dreamy quality of her voice and the way her songs filled the cracks in my weary soul. I leaned my head on Sloane’s shoulder and felt an electric current run through me when she ran her fingers down my spine.
When Julien Baker finished her last curtain call, I hugged Sloane tightly. “Thank you for this.”
“You’re welcome.”
We stepped outside into the muggy air. “Are you hungry?” She looked at her phone. “It’s still hours before my car turns back into a pumpkin.”
“I’m starving. There’s a White Castle down the street.”
“I usually save White Castle for the third date.”
“Live a little,” I said. “Life is too short to play it safe.” It felt oddly personal having her words come out of my mouth, and it made me think of other intimacies I wanted to share.
“Touché.”
* * *
White Castle was packed, but we were finally able to put in our order. “My treat since you got the tickets and drove tonight.”
“My brother got the tickets,” she said.
“Still, you picked me up, planned the surprise, got us beer. The least I could do is pay you b
ack with a few sliders.”
“If it’s important to you.”
“It is,” I said. “There’s a table opening up over there in the corner. Do you wanna grab it? I need to use the bathroom.” I’d had to pee since shortly after my beer and had been holding it this whole time.
“Sure.”
I used the bathroom, careful to squat and came out of the stall to wash my hands. When I looked in the mirror, Clara Braverman stood behind me like something straight out of a horror movie. The slight flicker had increased so that she was flashing like a blacklight at a rave. She’d taken on a bluish hue, and her pupils had expanded so that the whites barely showed. Dry cold seeped into my bones, and I took a step to the side and backed against the wall.
“I need to pass on,” she said. “I’m…I’m dying here.”
I didn’t know what to say to a ghost who felt as if she was dying. “Uh, Mrs. Braverman, I’ve been trying to figure out why you’re still here so I can help you.” My voice shook, and I kept having to remind myself that she didn’t want to hurt me. Last time, it was an accident.
“And?”
“Well, um…I found the death certificate that confirmed your husband died of heart trouble, but it looks like he filed charges against you in the AfterCorps court which said you were responsible for his death, and that’s why you’ve been going through the hearings and dominion service.”
“He what?” Now, not only was she flickering, but the lights in the bathroom started to turn off and on. The cold reached my chest, and I struggled to breathe.
“Please stay calm, Mrs. Braverman,” I said, struggling to keep my voice smooth. “I want to help you.”
“Help me?” She screeched and rushed me, and I realized I couldn’t see her legs below the knee; it was as if they’d evaporated, as if she was losing her body as she became less human. “It sounds like you’re trying to find ways to make me seem guilty!”
“No, not at all. I just need to figure out why AfterCorps is keeping you here so I know what to do.”
Clara stopped an inch from me, grabbed my face, and slammed my head against the wall. The cold and pain was everywhere—my head, my chest, my stomach—I felt as if I’d been dropped into freezing water and couldn’t breathe or think or move.
“Fix it!” she screamed. “Fix it!”
I put my hands on top of hers, trying to release her grip on my neck, and the world turned to black.
Chapter Twenty-two
I woke up to the sound of a slow, high-pitched beeping and the smell of medicinal sterility. I couldn’t open my eyes, but it sounded as if I was in the hospital. Why couldn’t I open my eyes?
A door opened, and I heard my mother’s voice. “…exactly what I was afraid of, Nathan. You told me she would be safe, and look where we are. Look where your daughter is, just look!”
“You think I wanted this?” Dad said, and it sounded as if he was crying or close to it. “I couldn’t control the fact that she had a quickening or that she’s an interpreter. It’s in her blood. If I could’ve kept her from this, I would have.”
“Oh, you could have. You could have done what I asked.”
“I’m the leader of AfterCorps. I was prepared to let our legacy die with me, Joanna. I hoped, right along with you all these years, that Aria would be a reg, and that this would stop with me. But asking me to walk away? Leave AfterCorps with no contingency plan for how they would function in my absence, let this establishment that my great-grandfather built flounder without any kind of guidance—”
“Yes, you chose AfterCorps over Aria, and now our daughter has been attacked by a prior.”
The door opened, and someone said, “Mr. and Mrs. Jasper? We have some results back from the tests. Would you like to step out so we can discuss them in my office?”
“Certainly,” my dad said.
I waited as long as I could for someone to come back. I didn’t want to be alone after what had happened. Every throb of my head brought me back to that bathroom and Clara’s fury. She could be here right now, for all I knew, and that thought jolted me. I finally knew exactly how vulnerable I was, and I was terrified. As scared as I was, I was also exhausted. Just listening to my parents’ argument had worn me out more than I could have imagined, and sleep won out over fear as I slipped back into the comfort of unconsciousness.
* * *
I didn’t know how many hours had gone by when I woke again, but I was relieved that this time I could open my eyes. My entire body felt heavy, from the crown of my head to the edges of my toenails. I didn’t want to move, so I shifted my eyes to take a look around.
The blinds were slanted open enough that I could see how bright it was outside, and I guessed it was the day after Mrs. Braverman beat me up. I looked to the left and saw my mom. She was asleep in a really uncomfortable-looking position in a recliner that was only about halfway reclined. Her head tilted to the side, her mouth was slightly open, and a tiny snore popped out of her nose. I was so relieved to see her, and I was overwhelmed with love for her and relief at not finding myself alone.
“Mom?” My voice came out as a croak, and I realized how dry my mouth was. I swallowed, and it felt like sand coated my tongue and throat.
I grabbed the sides of the bed and tried to pull myself up. An IV was stuck into my left hand with a tube of clear liquid attached. Slowly, I made it into a sitting position. The room swirled around, and I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.
“Ah, you’re awake,” a voice said. I jumped, gripped the sides of my bed, opened my eyes, and saw a smiling woman wearing scrubs and a white coat near the end of my bed. My heart slowed when I realized it was just a living, breathing doctor and not a ghost. In the corner, my mom stirred, then jumped to her feet when she saw me.
“Aria!” She rested her hands on my shoulders. “How are you feeling, baby girl?”
“Thirsty.” My voice sounded like sandpaper on wood.
“I’ll get you some water.” She grabbed a giant plastic cup that said “Grant Medical Center” on the side and hurried out the door.
The stranger who’d discovered me awake grabbed a stool from the corner of the small room, wheeled it over, and sat beside me. She looked ready for a serious conversation, and I braced myself. I’d never felt less prepared to discuss anything, but it didn’t seem as if I had a choice.
“Ms. Jasper, I’m Dr. Sukul. Has anyone told you why you’re here?”
I shook my head.
“Let me fill you in, and maybe when your mother comes back, you’ll be able to fill in some blanks for me. Deal?” She had huge brown eyes and stared directly into my eyes as she spoke, and her voice was soft and soothing. I nodded.
“Excellent. You came to us unconscious and nonresponsive after your date found you in the bathroom at White Castle. We’ve run several tests, everything from blood tests to neurological exams and CT scans, and aside from some bruising and a bump on the back of your head, severe dehydration, and a low body temperature, we’ve been unable to find anything medically wrong with you. Allowing yourself to become so dehydrated isn’t healthy, but it certainly isn’t the reason for your collapse and coma.”
“Coma?”
“Very short coma,” she said, “but yes. We’ve been unable to wake you for two days.”
Two days. I felt sick to my stomach as the room spun, and the shock of what Dr. Sukul said settled over me. I’d been in a coma for two days after Clara attacked, and I wondered how I would ever be able to be by myself again. Panic clawed at me, and I had to close my eyes and focus on calming my heart and slowing my breathing.
My mother rushed back in with the gigantic cup filled to the top. She’d put a bendy straw in it and positioned the straw at my lips. The water tasted better than anything I’d had to drink in my whole life, and I gulped it down, savoring the coldness and the way it took away the desert feeling that had filled my insides. When I pulled away, half the water was gone from the little jug.
“Better?” Mom pushed my hai
r behind my ear.
“Lots better,” I said, and while my voice didn’t sound normal, it was a lot better than the craggy one I’d spoken with a few minutes ago.
“Ms. Jasper.” Dr. Sukul rested a hand on my wrist. “What do you remember about the night you collapsed?”
I remembered the concert and going to White Castle. Then I went to the bathroom and…oh.
“I went to a concert with my…with Sloane,” I said. “We went to White Castle afterward and I…I was feeling a little dizzy. I went to the bathroom to, you know, splash some water on my face, and I must have fainted.”
Dr. Sukul gazed at me for a moment. “You have a significant lump on the back of your head,” she said finally. “It’s not severe enough to have caused your blackout, but it was cause for some concern. Do you remember how you got it?”
My hand went to my scalp, and I winced when I touched the knot on the back of my head. It was still more than a little tender.
“I must have hit my head when I fell.” The lie formed on my lips before I could think twice, and if I hadn’t been so traumatized and afraid, I might have worried at how easily I’d begun to hide the truth.
Her eyebrows went up. “I see.” She stood and went to the computer near the doorway, presumably to make some notes in my chart. When she finished, she turned to my mom. “We have a few more tests we’re waiting for. If they’re clear, I’ll be able to let you know when we’ll be releasing her. It could be as early as tomorrow if she’s feeling okay.”
“Really?” Mom asked. “That soon?”
“Yes, provided she’s up and walking by then. She’ll need to have someone stay with her for several days when she leaves. I assume that won’t be a problem?”
“She’ll be lucky if I let her out of my sight again before she’s thirty,” Mom said, and Dr. Sukul laughed when I scowled.
“Very good,” she said. “Are you hungry, Ms. Jasper?”
“Starving.” Something as normal as eating to cure hunger was exactly what I wanted, and to my relief, Dr. Sukul excused herself after giving me a menu.
