“Mr. Phillips?”
“Ayuh.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I followed you, as I said.”
“I thought I put you on a bus?”
“Got off it, didn’t I?”
“Why—”
“Let’s get you out of there.”
“Someone’s coming.”
“Maybe. You think you could push yourself on your stomach if I tug on your feet?”
I move my neck gingerly. Nothing seems out of place, though pain shoots down my back.
“Let’s try.”
He grunts and places his warms hands around my ankles. I push at the floor with the heels of my wrists. Pain shoots up the left side of my body, but I grit my teeth and ignore it. Push, tug, stop. Push, tug, stop. Nothing feels broken, just rattled, bruised. Push, tug, stop.
Time is a rubber band. I thought I knew what living in the moment was. All those forests. All those fires. Lost in the physicality of it.
But that was nothing. This is me being in my life. Right here. Right now. Inch by inch.
“That’s it. Keep on going, you’re almost out.”
I push myself to the limit, and now John’s hands are on my waist. After a couple more tugs, I am out from under the stage.
I roll onto my back and place my hands on my stomach. It’s warm to the touch.
The power is out in the tent. Although my eyes have adjusted to the dark, I can only see shadows and outlines, a child’s tracing of chaos.
“Can you sit up?”
I let him ease me up and against the edge of the stage. The tent has ripped completely open and is flapping out into the night. Two of the tent poles nearest the stage are lying on the ground, and the stage itself is tilted like a seesaw.
“We should get out of here,” I say.
“You think you can walk?”
“Have to try.”
I place my hands on his shoulders, and he levers me up. My legs feel shaky and my left arm doesn’t seem to be working right, but we can’t stay here.
I sling my right arm around his neck, and we shuffle out of the tent’s makeshift opening. The wind gusts, and the canvas flies back and slaps at my face. Another cramp shoots through my stomach, doubling me over.
“I can’t . . .”
“Just a bit farther.”
“Bathroom. I need to get to a bathroom.”
John Phillips nods toward the concrete bunker I used earlier. “That’s the closest place.
I straighten up and take a few more steps.
“I’d carry you if I could.”
“I can make it.”
The wind is spiraling around us, and the sky is so dark. There’s a thick band of smoke the wind can’t disperse. The air is full of noise, louder than any concert I’ve ever been to. I’ve never felt this disoriented in my life. How do soldiers at war handle it? The noise? The pain? The fear?
We get to the bathrooms, and I shuffle into a stall, holding my hurt arm against my waist. As another cramp hits me, I sit there, too terrified to look. But when I finally bring myself to, there’s nothing alarming. No blood. I need to get to a doctor, but I haven’t lost this baby.
Not yet.
A siren is getting closer. I pull my dress down and limp outside.
“There she is,” John Phillips says. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with her. She got a good bump on the head when the tent collapsed.”
“Ma’am,” the EMT asks. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”
I look into his shadowed face and voice my fears. “I think I might be having a miscarriage.”
CHAPTER 37
Puddle of Grace
Mindy
Mindy and Peter went round and round in circles into Sunday morning.
Peter had seen Angus, who’d repeated what he told Mindy. He hadn’t done anything, he couldn’t explain what was going on, they should just believe him because he was asking them to. And Mindy had found it convincing, but to Peter it lacked conviction.
Maybe Angus was spent from his surroundings. Maybe Mindy had been too willing to accept something that wasn’t true. Whatever the reason, she and Peter had switched places now. She was the believer, he the questioner. She was spoiling for a fight, casting around trying to find a new solution. Peter was trying to reconcile himself to a future he didn’t think he could change. Both of them were filled with guilt and anguish and questions.
Whether Angus had done this or not, he’d been living a whole life they knew nothing about. Their own son. How did they let that happen? Why did he feel like he had to keep the darkest parts of his life from them? This wasn’t just teenage autonomy. It felt like some fundamental mistrust or distance they couldn’t explain or accept. They’d failed their son in some basic way, and now he might be lost to them forever. The idea that he might also be the cause of even greater losses was something that circled them like prey.
And even as they clung to each other, Mindy began to believe that, whatever the outcome, she and Peter might not survive.
When Carrie was sick, they were a united force. There was a common enemy to fight, and no doubt that they’d win was permitted between them. The unspeakable was not spoken. It was forbidden, banished, sent packing before it even arrived. While many of the couples around them, haunting the halls, cold cups of coffee clutched in their hands, were alone in their grief, Mindy and Peter drew together. The ties that bound them knotted them closer. Illness would not slip between them, they vowed. Only united could they cast the spell that would end up saving Carrie.
But now, there were two paths to choose. Even though the result would be the same if Angus was found responsible, regardless of his guilt or innocence, the fact that they were even on separate paths was like a slap in the face.
They were both stinging from the blow.
“Do we need to leave our house?” Carrie asked, jumping onto their bed with her usual grace.
Despite the fact that it was just past six, Carrie was dressed in what Mindy had come to think of as her uniform: a black leotard, pink tights, pointe shoes, and her hair tied back closely in a bun. A pink shrug covered her slender arms, and her face was flushed with exertion. Peter had installed a ballet barre in the garage a few years ago so she could practice whenever she wanted, and she rose early every morning to go through her series of pliés and relevés.
“Are you always up this early?” Mindy asked, saddened that she didn’t know the answer. How many hours did her daughter put in at the barre every day, alone among the plastic boxes that contained her childhood toys and mementos? Mindy felt again that her watchfulness all these years had been for nothing. All it seemed to have done was keep her from seeing what was really in front of her.
Mindy sat up and rubbed her eyes. They were blurry from lack of sleep and the hours she’d spent in front of the computer when Peter finally drifted off. She’d alternated between watching the fire news, and googling the law about accidental fires and juvenile offenders. An evacuation order was issued, but they were outside its boundaries. The Fall Fling was in the fire’s path, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that. She’d sat there feeling helpless, refreshing her Facebook feed as people started posting photos of the melee and the injuries that resulted.
Another thing Kate would blame her for, surely.
Carrie hung her arms around Mindy’s neck. She smelled like sweat and the slight mildew odor that clung to everything in the garage. Peter turned over and emitted a loud grunt.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Carrie said.
“Me neither.”
Carrie climbed into her lap, folding her lithe limbs up to her chest and staring up at Mindy like she used to do when she was waiting for her next feeding. Carrie hadn’t done anything like it in years, and Mindy felt herself break open. Life was so much simpler when cries could be soothed by a breast full of milk or a fresh diaper.
She wrapped her arms around Carrie’s slim shoulders and spoke quietly so as not to
wake Peter. “Are you sure you’re eating enough?”
“I eat all the time.”
“I know you do, honey, but . . .”
“I’m fine, Mom, I promise. I couldn’t sleep because I’m worried about Angus.”
“Me too.”
“What was it like there?”
“At the police station? It’s not too bad.”
“How come I couldn’t go, then?”
“They’d only let your father and me in.” The lie sprang easily to Mindy’s lips, but perhaps it was the truth.
“Angus must be going crazy in there.”
“It won’t be for long. We’ll get him out tomorrow morning. But yes, I think he’s scared. I’m scared for him. Your father and I both are.”
“Maybe he could escape? He sneaks out of the house a lot.”
“He does?”
Carrie unfolded her legs, holding them straight out from her body with her toes pointed. She’d always had a hard time sitting still, even before she started her dance training.
“I’ve caught him a few times. Am I in trouble because I didn’t tell you?”
“I think we have bigger things to worry about right now. But . . . did you know he was out that night?”
“I thought I heard his window open, but I wasn’t sure. No way I thought he was doing anything bad. I would’ve told you then, for sure.”
“What did you think he was doing?”
“Seeing Willow? He really likes her, you know?”
“I do.”
“But her parents? They are like superstrict. I mean, I know you’re strict too, worried about me and everything, but she never lets Willow or Beech do anything. Not even in groups.”
Beech was Willow’s younger sister.
“How do you know Beech again?”
“She’s in ballet with me, remember? Her mom comes to every class and just sits there, making sure she doesn’t talk to the boys. As if. Who wants to talk to ballet boys?”
Carrie rolled her eyes. Mindy couldn’t help but wish that she’d stay this innocent forever.
“Maybe she’s there to watch her dance? Do you wish I did that more? Came to your classes?”
“God, no. All I do is make mistakes there.”
“It’s okay to make mistakes.”
“Not all kinds of mistakes. Not mistakes like Angus.”
Mindy stroked the top of Carrie’s head. Her hair was so soft and slippery it was difficult for her to mold it into a bun, and yet she managed it. Every day she put her body into difficult positions and faced her limitations. Where she did get the courage to do this? Mindy wondered. Certainly not from her.
“Is it okay if I’m mad at Angus?” Carrie said.
“Of course it is. Whatever happened, Angus made some bad decisions. But he says he didn’t start the fire, and we need to believe him, okay? We need to be strong for him as a family.”
Carrie slipped to the floor, her pointe shoes making a hollow sound. She rose up on her toes and hovered there, her hands above her head in fifth position.
“Angus should stop thinking about Willow. He’s being selfish.”
“Do you know something you’re not telling me, honey?”
Carrie descended gracefully into a demi-plié, her arms fluttering in front of her and out to finish the movement.
“It doesn’t matter what I know.”
“Of course it does. How can you say that?”
She shrugged and turned, then took a sudden leap into a grand jeté, landing soundlessly.
“It was something Beech said after class yesterday before her mom came up and dragged her back to her dungeon. Like how people should be talking to Willow. And that Willow was too scared of their parents to say anything.”
Mindy felt a small beat of hope for the first time in days. She sprung up and swirled Carrie around in a circle, not caring if she woke Peter now.
“Put me down. Mom. Mom! What’s gotten into you?”
Mindy wasn’t sure, but it felt like something.
CHAPTER 38
Pieces of Me
Elizabeth
It’s a slow ride in the ambulance to the hospital. The roads are clogged with people evacuating, and no one’s pulling aside for the weeping siren above us. I would be panicking at how long it’s taking if there wasn’t a heart-rate monitor strapped to my belly picking up the rapid, steady thrum of the baby’s heart. I watch it blip on the monitor as John Phillips holds my hand, murmuring soothing sounds and telling me we’re almost there.
The hospital’s no easier when we get there. Triage is full of those who got injured at the Fall Fling and in a pileup that occurred on the road out of town when a SUV flipped into a ditch. An exhausted-looking resident gives me a quick once-over. When I tell him my cramping seems to have stopped, a look of relief washes over his face, and he tucks me into a nook in the hall that affords a full view of the emergency room waiting area.
I ask John to call Ben’s parents, Ben’s cell phone. I even give him the number to our house, knowing there’s no chance Ben’s there but desperate for news of him. When John comes back, he’s shaking his head and he doesn’t have to speak to let me know he wasn’t able to reach Ben. His parents are safe and sound at home, but they got there on their own. They’ve been trying to call both of us for hours with no success.
I turn my face to the wall and try to reach for something that will comfort me. “Try to stay calm,” was the last thing the resident told me, and I know he’s right, only how do you do that? I’ve never been able to, not when it came to me. I had ice in my veins when I was facing down a wall of flames. But in my own life, it’s all turmoil and racing thoughts, and right now they’re rushing head-on into the wall I’m staring at.
“At least you know he was all right a couple hours ago,” John says.
He’s got my blood on his shirt collar, and a streak of ash cuts his face in two. His new dress shirt, so white and crisp a few hours ago, is almost gray now, a match for his soot-covered black slacks.
“How do you know that?”
“Because he called, didn’t he? When you was under the stage?”
Did Ben call me? Everything that happened before the stage collapsed is hazy.
“I think . . .”
John Phillips reaches into his pocket and emerges with my phone. He places it gently on my chest, faceup. I hit the power button, and a message flashes up, saying I’ve missed a call from Ben.
“Where did you find this?”
“When they’s were putting you in the ambulance I checked in the bathroom, and you’d left it next to the sink. Seemed like it was the least I could do.”
“Thank you.”
He looks out into the waiting room, full of people huddled together.
“This is all because of the fire,” he says.
“In one way or another.”
“It’s hard to imagine something that started so small causing all of this.”
“Chaos theory.”
“What’s that?” John says.
“Oh, just this thing my dad used to say. About how if a butterfly flaps its wings in South America, it might cause a hurricane in the Atlantic . . .”
My dad was always saying things like that. And when I call and tell him I’m pregnant, I’m sure he’ll say something about how there were six hundred unique spellings of Catherine registered in California last year, but of course, that’s California. And I’ll laugh and tell him he’s kind of missing the point of my news.
“Do you think it’s possible to have done something bad and not even know it?” John asks.
“Like an unintended consequence?”
“Yes, that’s it exactly.”
“I think that sort of thing happens all the time.”
“Ayuh,” he says and wanders away from me.
I pick up the phone. My battery’s almost dead, and I don’t have the energy for a call right now. I can barely keep my eyes open. I tap out a quick text.
At the hospital.
We’re fine. Please come.
I hit “Send.” Then I close my eyes and drift into sleep.
I wake up alone in the hospital hall, the steady thump of the heart monitor pulling me back to reality. I can’t tell what time it is. When I press my phone to check, it has no life left in it. My brain has that fuzzy feeling it gets after a couple hours of sleep, and the quality of light through the windows makes me guess it’s about seven in the morning. Sunday, September 7, I’m going to assume.
I try to call for someone, but my mouth is dried out and my voice is a whisper. I prop myself up on my elbows, and when that feels all right, I sit up properly. And this, finally, brings someone to my side. The same young resident from last night, or today, or whenever I saw him.
“We feeling better?” he asks, his fingers pressed to my wrist to take my pulse.
I stifle the impulse to bite back at the “we.” “We are.”
“Good.” He reads the output of the heart monitor. “Everything seems steady here. Any more cramping?”
“No. What caused it? Am I in danger of losing the baby?”
“As long as there’s no bleeding, cramping in early pregnancy is quite normal. You’ve got a lot of hormonal changes going on. Your uterus and cervix are preparing themselves for the journey ahead. Just take it easy for a few days, and go see your obstetrician. You’re healthy and strong. Everything should be fine.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, unfortunately, we’re short on beds, so I’m going to have the nurse come relieve you of your IV, and then we’ll discharge you.”
I look down at the tube pushing fluids into my arm. I’m wearing only a hospital gown. I vaguely remember the tattered remnants of my dress being cut away from my body when I arrived.
“Is there some way . . . I’m alone and I don’t have anything to wear.”
His tired eyes crinkle. “I think we can find you something.”
Half an hour later, I’ve had the IV pulled from my arm, and have been supplied with a pair of scrubs and the kind of paper slippers I used to get at my doctor’s office in the winter as a kid. When I change in the bathroom, I can see the damage the night inflicted. I have deep-tissue bruising all along the left side of my body and across the back of shoulders. My legs are full of grazes and a few gashes that have already scabbed over. I wash the dirt off my face in the sink, the water turning almost black as I use too many paper towels making my face, neck, and arms recognizable. Then I climb into the blue pants and matching shirt the nurse gave me. Years of washing has made the fabric so soft I briefly consider giving all of my clothes the same treatment.
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