by Gaby Triana
I stop and focus on him. He’s gotta be kidding me. The only other person I know that takes meds for that is J. C. Funny, too, because Becca sometimes reminds me of him.
Liam sees I’m stunned into silence. “Yeah. You’re not supposed to know that, though.”
Well, I guess that explains a thing or two. “But she’s told me other things that you’d think are a bigger deal.”
“What, about being gay? That’s nothing. It’s the whole deal with her dad not wanting her, her mom’s dead, her sister’s away. And her grandmother—the woman’s like eighty-something, and you name it, she’s got it…high-blood pressure…high cholesterol. She’s not gonna be around forever.”
Man. Talk about getting dealt a crappy hand. I look away and see my parents sitting out on the deck. Mom’s on the left feeding seagulls, Dad’s on the right checking out boats. They’re not talking, but they’re there. I don’t know what I’d do if one of them was gone, much less both of them.
Behind me, I can feel Liam watching me watching them. He sighs. “Did he tell her, or did she find out?”
I haven’t asked my mom anything about the affair, because I honestly don’t want to know, but that, I did ask. And it just might be the reason why I still see my dad as a good person, even though he’s a bonehead. The fact that it was him who came clean makes a world of difference. “He told her.”
After Liam leaves, after my shower, I feel something inside me breaking down. And all of a sudden, I’m leaning over the sink, crying. I think of my mom and all she’s been through, my dad and how difficult it must’ve been for him to make a mistake and admit it, of Becca and her laundry list of cruel life events, how she thinks she’s invisible. God, I couldn’t see anything that was happening. How could I be so freakin’ blind to everything?
I rush into my room and dial Becca’s number. I don’t know how to come right out and say I’m sorry. Isn’t that kind of dorky? You’re supposed to look humble, Desert. That’s the whole idea. Then, I’ll ask how she’s been and stuff. And hopefully, she’ll still want to be friends with me. Hopefully.
Her phone keeps ringing on and on, though. No voice mail. No answering machine. I’ll guess I’ll just talk to her at school on Monday.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Rebecca Reese?”
No answer.
“Miss Reese?”
Nada.
I look at the empty seat next to me. “She’s not here,” I say. Neither is Ms. Smigla. Her sub, Mr. Perez, marks the grade book. After taking roll, he makes it clear we are not to open our mouths, just read from Romeo and Juliet. He takes all the fun out of having a substitute.
Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-crost lovers take their life;
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife.
Parents’ strife. Ha! What would I do to bury my parents’ strife? Anything, probably. Maybe Becca’s right. My parents have done a lot for me. I never said they didn’t. I just wanted more. What’s so bad about wanting more? I don’t think that’s so selfish. She didn’t have to call me selfish.
Liam looks at me over his shoulder. I wish I could sit with him.
The fearful passage of their death-mark’d love,
And the continuance of their parents’ rage
Parents’ rage. Desert’s rage. Becca’s rage. A folded note drops into my view. I open it to see Liam’s handwriting.
Have you heard from Becca? Do you know if she’s here?
I write back.
Obviously she’s not here! You mean is she somewhere else in the school building? I don’t know. I tried calling her all weekend, but she wasn’t home.
I slide the note onto Carlos’s shoulder, the dude sitting in front of me who delivered Liam’s note. He passes it forward. Not a minute later Carlos sighs heavily, flinging the note back at me.
I called her too, and didn’t get through. Could her sister be in town or something?
My pen scribbles fast.
Maybe she’s sick.
Fling note forth. Carlos is ready to shove the note up my ass. Ten seconds later, fling back.
Becca doesn’t miss school for anything. Can you call her from your cell?
Yeah, after class. You know what was really weird that I didn’t tell you? When she left that night, she was all, “I can’t take this life, blah, blah. I won’t be back,” real dramatic, like Smigla.
She said that? She actually said, “I can’t take this life? I won’t be back”?
Yeah, and once she even said, “Sometimes I think of ending things.”
Carlos turns around, flinging Liam’s reply at me for the last time. “Use the phone,” he mouths.
Dammit Desert!!! When the bell rings, follow me to the car.
Thirty minutes later, after first period ends, Liam and I hustle through the halls. A few people hand us flyers about a weekend party. We breeze by them, drop the sheets in the stairwell, pass the cafeteria. The school security guard is flirting with a senior cheerleader. Loser. He doesn’t even blink when we sneak behind him.
Outside there’s a light drizzle falling. The rain hits the cars in the parking lot with a sleepy sound. “Liam, what is it? You think she’d do something stupid?”
His lips press together as he tows me by the hand. “She said all that? About ending things, and she wouldn’t be back?”
“I think that’s what she said. I remember it was so melodramatic, but I guess she was pissed. You know, she was just overreacting.”
“How do you know she was overreacting? How do you know she didn’t mean it? Coño, Des.” He shakes his head, weaving between cars to his brother’s Integra.
What the hell’s this third degree all about? “What? Coño, what?”
Liam’s voice is deeper than usual, darker. “Don’t you know what to look out for when someone like Becca…forget it, you can be so clueless sometimes.”
“Oh, so now I’m clueless? Don’t you get mad at me, Liam! I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Desert!” He stops and jerks my shoulders to face him, scaring me. “When I told you the other day about Becca being depressed, clinically depressed, the fact that she said she thought of killing herself, then said good-bye, should’ve been a huge red flag to you!” He’s shouting. Now Liam’s shouting.
“She never said it like that!” I cry. Actually she might’ve said it like that. She said Crossfire is the only thing that keeps her going. I thought she meant like, figuratively, or something. “Liam, she was probably just saying it for attention!”
“Really?” He flips his palms up, questioning. “How the hell do you know that? How do you know she didn’t mean it? I didn’t know you were qualified to make that judgment! Where the hell does it say, ‘Desert, Little Miss Ph.D.,’ on your shirt?” Then, he walks off, leaving me there like an idiot.
I can’t believe all this. I can’t believe now Liam’s ragging on me. Am I really that stupid? I run after him. What else did Becca say? Think, Desert, think. Her mom dies, her dad leaves her, the girl she really digs dumps her, plus she tells me all these depressing things. Then Liam tells me it’s real, that she sees a doctor for it.
You know what? I am pretty freakin’ stupid. “Liam, I didn’t see the whole picture like that! I didn’t realize!” I call after him.
We reach the car just as the rain begins to pour down. “Why didn’t you tell me any of that before? Damn!” He throws his arm up, unarms the alarm, and yanks the door open. “We gotta find her.”
“I didn’t think it was that big a deal. I didn’t see it like that, I didn’t realize,” I ramble, getting into the passenger seat. “I wouldn’t have let her go if I’d seen it that way. My mo
m drove her home, but I wouldn’t have let her go pissed like that if I’d known. Oh, God.”
Liam’s not talking to me. His eyes are fierce, focused on the wet road.
I deserve every shitty thing that ever happens to me for not seeing the signs. But at least I called her after what Liam told me, didn’t I? I wanted to show her I was still her friend, that I was sorry. At least I’m not a total craphead.
I wipe wet mascara off my eyelashes with the inside of my shirt. A thought of Becca, lying on the bathroom floor, surrounded by blood, flashes through my head. Another one of her outstretched arm, still gripping a bottle of sleeping pills. And yet another of her pale face, eyes open. Stop it, brain, stop!
“God, please let her be okay, God, please!”
Liam speeds down Palm Avenue, cornering onto Hibiscus, winding through the set of narrow roads that make up Coconut Grove around our school. Lots of cops in this area. Don’t any of them see us cruising through all these red lights? I swear, if anything’s happened to Becca, I think I’ll hurt myself, too. This is all my fault, totally and completely my fault.
“Please, God, please.” Since when do I pray so much? Please don’t let there be anything unusual going at her house. I beg you. I’ll do anything you ask of me. Anything!
We wind into her neighborhood, where some little kids are riding bikes in the rain. Shouldn’t they be in school? Liam makes another turn, screeching onto Becca’s street, hauling ass over the speed bumps. At the end of the road, sure enough, there’s a group of three or four people standing in the street, talking under a cluster of umbrellas. My stomach squeezes, heart pounds hard. But we can’t see Becca’s house yet, not until we reach the corner. When Liam makes the last turn, the house comes into view, and we spot them—what we hoped wouldn’t be there—the flashing lights.
Red and white. Red and white. Silent.
Something inside me breaks down. A feeling washes through, not like the rage from reading Brianna’s e-mail, but something else. Something more painful. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like this. My heart, it hurts. Guilt. This is called guilt.
As Liam pulls up to the house, the sirens begin to wail.
And the ambulance takes off.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Liam yanks the emergency brake, throws open the door, jumps out, all before the car even comes to a full stop. “Didi, what’s going on?” he yells at a shivering woman, crying, underneath an umbrella. “Is she all right?”
I stay in the car, head down, unable to look up. I can’t. I can’t look at anyone right now. This is my fault. All my fault.
I hear the woman reply, “No, dear, they’re taking her to Mercy.”
Oh, no! They’re taking her to Mercy! “What’s Mercy?” I ask Liam.
He ignores me.
“Who?” Liam asks stupidly. So stupid of him! The car hums in idle, air conditioner ticking erratically. Tears drip into my hair.
“Edith, sweetheart. Edie!” shouts the lady, trying to be heard over the growing downpour.
“Edie?” I look up at the woman, examine the pink, spongy rollers in her hair, the tan, leathery skin. “Who’s Edie?” I ask.
Are we on the wrong street? This is Becca’s house, isn’t it?
“Don’t you know? Why are you here, then?” she asks me, rubbing her arm, warming herself in the humid air. “Are you lost?”
Liam turns and hangs from the car door, his face hidden by his arms. His hair, shirt, soaked. Water drips from his nose and chin. He gathers his breath, slowly, recuperating. A half-laugh, half-cry escapes his lips. “Her grandmother, Des. Becca’s grandmother, Edie.”
“Oh!” Sweet Jesus. Becca’s grandmother, Edie. I never even knew her name. Never even met her. “Is she all right? What about Becca?”
Liam nods, face still hidden.
I think I’m going to faint. I roll down the window to take in the cool breezes. Rain washes my face, rinses me. It feels wonderful, refreshing. Becca’s okay, but her grandmother’s not.
“What happened to her? To Edie?” I ask.
Didi, with the pink, spongy rollers, shakes her head as she talks. “She hadn’t been feeling well since Saturday, didn’t want to eat hardly a bite all weekend. Then this morning she started complaining of chest pains, so we called her doctor.”
Liam stands up straight and faces her. His clothes are soaked, his hair smushed against his face. I think he lost his voice.
“Oh, honey, get out of the rain,” Didi says, waving her hand around. Liam slumps into the car seat. She waddles up to him, covering the open door space with her umbrella.
Poor Becca! Now her grandmother’s sick. Great. If anything happens to Edie, then Becca will have no one but her sister, who lives somewhere else. No wonder she feels the way she does half the time. No wonder she’s the all-time moping queen of Miami. Suddenly the idea of her taking solace in my dad’s songs doesn’t sound so ridiculous. I can see it. And I always waved it away like it was no big deal.
“Was Becca in there?” Liam asks, pointing in the direction the ambulance left.
“Yes, hon. I’m gonna go inside and get dressed. They’ve got to let me in at the hospital. Becca shouldn’t be alone.”
“We’ll take you, if you want,” Liam offers. He’s so sweet. So damn sweet. I didn’t even think of that.
“Oh, dear, thank you. That might be better. Don’t know if I can drive right now. Give me a minute to get changed, will you? Wait in the car. Don’t get out in this rain.”
Didi disappears up the slick path to her house, while Liam and I stay in the car, breathless, speechless.
At Mercy Hospital, we sit inside the emergency waiting room. Liam already called his mom and the school to let them know where we were. The secretary actually told him that next time we should go by the office first and receive permission to leave school grounds. Can you believe that? Emergencies are called emergencies for a reason, people!
On the TV, suspended from the ceiling, some Spanish talk show host is trying to calm down an angry audience member. Looks like he doesn’t like the gay couple embracing their baby. They’re well-dressed, seem like loving dads, and the baby looks happy too. But the guy’s going off on them. I don’t know what he’s saying, but who cares? They love her! Isn’t that all that matters?
Isn’t it? At least they love her and want her….
Thoughts of Becca run through my mind again, and I find myself crying. Again. Liam, for the first time since we left school, pats my back to comfort me, but it’s not the same. Maybe he’s still mad.
“Desert,” he says.
Sniff.
“You know this isn’t over, right?”
I look at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s good that Becca didn’t hurt herself, but now’s when we really have to keep an eye on her. Now that this has happened.”
He’s right. If this doesn’t annihilate Becca, I don’t know what will. All we need now is for Crossfire to break up and clinch it.
The man sitting next to me is sniffing. I wonder if he lost someone. I wonder if he just lost the most important person left in his life. And that lady over there, the one who’s studying the floor so hard, what’s she thinking? Probably waiting patiently for some news. Bad news. What anguish. Thank God I’ve never lost anyone close to me. There was Grandma and Grandpa, but I was so young when they both died. I don’t really remember.
“Liam,” I say, trying to think of something worth saying next. I really shouldn’t be talking at all. I’ve done enough damage. “I’m so sorry.”
For a moment he’s quiet, opening and closing a brochure on first aid. Then, he sighs. “Desert, look, just forget it. We both should’ve paid closer attention to her, including me. I’m sorry I got mad at you.”
That was easy. Why can’t I apologize like that? We sit in silence another minute. “Man, we’ve already been here two hours. What’s going on in there?” I try to look through the double doors to the ER.
“I guess t
hey have to stabilize her,” Liam says.
We watch the Spanish talk show to the end, until the camera pans across the five gay couples and their children, adopted or artificially conceived, and the audience claps heartily, some waving at the camera. The credits roll.
“Hey, guys.” Becca’s behind us.
“Hey!” We stand to greet her.
Liam hugs her hard. “Beck, are you all right? How’s your grandma?”
She wipes her nose with a tissue. “She’s okay for now. It was a mild heart attack. They’ve got her on some medication to thin her blood. Didi’s in there with her.”
“Didi and Edie,” Liam says, smiling.
“Didi and Edie,” Becca repeats. Must be some kind of inside joke.
Then she gives me a look that could mean I’m sorry, or come here you idiot, or something else, and reaches for me.
“Becca, I’m really sorry,” I say pathetically. As if that could really comfort her right now. “We thought you were hurt. We thought…” Should I say it? What we feared? “You were dead.”
“What?” She chuckles softly. “Why?”
Liam raises his eyebrows and tilts his head at me. Yes, he’d like to know why as well.
“Oh…um…well.” It’s moments like these when I’m at my verbal best. “We thought maybe you had hurt yourself. You know.”
“Hurt myself. You mean, killed myself?” she asks, glancing around to see if anyone is overhearing this absurdity.
She said it, not me. “Well, yeah. You’ve been really down on yourself lately, like since I’ve known you.”
I look at Liam. Can I get a little support here, before I make a complete fool out of myself? My mental message obviously does not get through, since Liam remains quiet.
“You’ve said that sometimes you wanted to end things, and well, you’ve been crying a lot,” I add.
