West

by Michele G Miller

  Her embarrassment at crying, yet again, causes my dad to chuckle lightly. “Your secret is safe with us,” he says with a grin.

  “She lives in Hickory Ridge, Dad.”

  “Hickory Ridge? Well that’s good then.”

  “It is?” Jules asks on a hiccup.

  “Everything south of downtown was spared, according to Chris. They should be safe, assuming they were home. They probably can’t get to you or don’t know where you are.” Jules gives him her address and he enters it into his phone. “You know, chances are they’re moving Heaven and Earth to figure out where you are and get to you. The emergency broadcast is telling people to stay in their homes and off the roads if they don’t need medical care.”

  I stand. “I love you, son.” He hugs me, applying extra pressure, something I think we’ll both be doing more often for a while. “She’s something special, huh?” he asks, and I nod.

  “Take care, sweetheart,” he smiles at Jules before he leaves us alone.

  My dad leaves a crack in the curtain, and as I stare after him, my eyes catch the confusion all around us. I simply stand there and stare—as though I’m in a trance—as doctors, nurses, and others rush in and out of the curtained rooms. It’s not until I take a sip of my coffee, the sting of the liquid burning my tongue, that I’m brought back to the present. A man wearing torn clothes approaches the nurses station begging for help, bringing me back to reality. Jules’ voice brings me back to her.

  “What made you run for the house?”

  Damn her voice. Soft and questioning. Scared, worried, hopeful. “Sorry?” I ask, gathering my scattered thoughts.

  “The house? You knew there was a basement. How?”

  Turning my back to the chaos beyond the curtain, I return to her bedside.

  “How sheltered have you been, Little Miss Cheerleader?” I ask. My intent was playful sarcasm, but I can’t deny there’s a tinge of bitterness in my tone as well. I have no idea where it comes from.

  “The parties?” she guesses.

  Lowering myself to sit in the chair again, I lean down and set my coffee cup on the floor. “Of course. Everyone’s partied at Grier house at least once. At least, we did before the police caught wind of it and the place got boarded up.” She presses the remote on her bed, lifting into a sitting position as I continue. “You never came to any of the parties there?” I already know the answer. No. Not Jules Blacklin, Tyler’s princess. She’s one of the good ones. Not that partying makes any one bad, but Jules is—I can’t think of a word to fit her perfectly. It aggravates me.

  “I don’t party. Not like that, anyhow.”

  “You don’t have to get stoned or wasted at a party, Buffy. More people than you think used to come. We’d have a good time, hang, dance. Some people would smoke weed or drink, but it was cool to just chill, too.”

  “Illegally, in an abandoned house? Do you know the crap I’d get in if I were caught doing that?” Jules asks, rolling her eyes.

  Her tone fires me up.

  “Oh, Miss Goody Two Shoes, that’s why you make sure Mommy and Daddy don’t find out. You know, your boyfriend actually showed up at one or two.”

  “What?”

  Feeling smug, I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from smiling. “Just sayin’.”

  “You’re full of it. Stuart never parties without me.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but like I said, a lot of people used to show. Ask Parker or Ya-ya,” I counter, using a nickname for Jules’ best friend Tanya that us guys came up with years ago. Jules snaps upright, her face full of anger. “Whoa. You’re looking a little green, Buff. Sit back and relax. You okay?” I ask, reaching for her as she sways.

  “Are you freaking kidding me? You don’t hang with our crowd anymore, and here you are telling me you’ve been partying with some of my best friends. You called Tanya ‘Ya-ya’. Where have you been for the past four years?” she asks, both anger and hurt appearing in her features.

  “First, I was there the day Tanya was given the name Ya-ya, so I damn well have the right to call her that. Second, you’re right. I don’t hang with your crowd anymore, but I never left, Jules. I’ve been here all this time.” My words come out harsh. I don’t mean for them to hurt her, but my feelings are all over the place. And the way she asked about the parties at Grier, as though they were beneath her. Damn, her self-righteous attitude hit a nerve.

  This conversation has somehow escalated out of control. Frustrated, I tug at my hair, grab my coffee, and stand. Intending to put some space between us, I say, “I’ll be back.”

  I need to get a grip on my emotions right now. Jules hasn’t done anything to me. We haven’t talked much in years, but she’s not the one who cut off communication. I was. I need air and I need perspective. What is wrong with me?

  Eight

  “If you didn’t leave, then why did you stop being friends with us?”

  I don’t make it out of the curtain before Jules speaks, stopping me in my tracks as a swarm of people rush into the triage area. One man’s voice rises above all of the other sounds as he speaks to the nurses manning the desk. “I was told my daughter is here—Jules Blacklin?”

  Relief floods in, and I call to Mr. Blacklin, waving him our way as Jules gasps behind me.

  “Daddy!”

  “Jules!” Her father rushes by me, followed by a familiar couple. “Oh, my baby girl. Thank the Lord you’re alive.”

  I press back, attempting to blend into the background as everyone talks at once. Tears flow from the woman’s eyes and Jules’ dad hugs her, running his hands over her face.

  “Honey, where’s Katie? Is she all right?” The woman asks, and I make the connection, recognizing her as Katie’s mom.

  With a shake of her head, Jules gives the spark notes version of our night. The crowd at The Ice Shack, the sirens wailing, the traffic jam and our running. Jules’ eyes look past her father and Katie’s parents several times as she speaks, almost in confirmation of what she relays. She finishes by explaining how we sought refuge in the house and how it collapsed, before she admits she doesn’t know what happened to Katie next.

  Her memory loss concerns me. She was awake, she spoke to Katie. She should recall them climbing out of the basement so they could find us help. I bite at the inside of my cheek, wondering what else she’s forgotten. Can she not remember anything we talked about? All of the things I revealed to her, the things she revealed to me?

  It’s gone quiet and I glance up, finding four pairs of eyes watching me, clearly waiting for the answers Jules isn’t able to provide. Mrs. Luther asks what happened to her daughter. I clear my throat.

  “She was fine, Mrs. Luther.” Her face visibly relaxes as I go on. “She climbed out of the basement with Jeff Parker to get help for us. I don’t know what happened to them, I’m sorry. When they finally pulled us out, the others that were with us had already been taken away. They were worried about Jules, so they loaded her into an ambulance right away and brought her here.”

  Katie’s parents spring into action, her mom furiously punching at her cell phone—which isn’t working—while Mr. Luther rushes the nurses’ desk seeking information.

  For the first time since being reunited with Jules at the hospital, I think about Jeff and Katie and the others. I think about all of the other people in Tyler and the neighboring towns possibly hit by this storm. Deciding I might find some friends here and that Jules and her father might want some privacy, I move to leave. For a second time, I stop when Jules speaks. Forcing a smile, I face her attempting to catch up on what she’s saying about me to her father.

  “—I’m pretty sure he saved my life—and Katie’s too.”

  I may have missed half their conversation, but I don’t miss the way she sounds when she says I saved her life. The glow in her eyes is bright enough to light up my darkest days for months. I nod, my cheeks warming at her praise.

  “It’s been a long time, West,” her father moves my way, his hand clas
ping my shoulder. “Jules says you’re a hero, huh?”

  I shuffle back and forth, my embarrassment growing. “Oh, no sir. No, all I did was grab her hand and run, sir. Anyone would have done it.”

  “He’s being modest, Daddy. He threw me on the ground and covered me when the house started to come down on us.”

  “Oh. I can’t imagine what you kids went through out there,” Katie’s mother sniffs. The woman’s an emotional mess; large tears fall down her cheeks mixed with black mascara.

  “There were only like, what, twelve of us in the house? Our friends scattered everywhere. We don’t know what happened to them—” Jules’ voice breaks. “Mrs. Luther, we lost Tanya, and Candy, and Tommy. I don’t know where Stuart is, either.”

  Damn it. The crack in her voice, the tears in her eyes—I busy myself with tossing my empty coffee cup into a nearby trash bin to prevent myself from reaching for her. Thankfully, Katie’s mom comforts her, pulling her into a hug. They cry together as Jules’ father explains the details of their search for her and Katie.

  “We were able to get to the edge of Grier field. We had to drive all the way around the town and backtrack, but we knew you were supposed to be there. The place was swarming with cops and Fire and Rescue, as well as a lot of civilian volunteers.”

  “What did they say?” I ask.

  His eyes, so similar to his daughter’s, meet mine, and something in them warns me to brace for bad news. “They said there were several fatalities there, but they’re not done combing the wreckage. Then they told us everyone they found was sent here. They specifically knew Jules was here.”

  “Of course, everyone knows Jules,” I smile uncomfortably. The quarterback’s sweetheart of a girlfriend; everyone loves her.

  “Steph, honey?” Mr. Luther returns, his voice abnormally loud and his face full of hope. “Apparently Katie’s in the cafeteria. They finally set up a waiting area for people not needing medical attention and they have her name on the list.”

  Mrs. Luther let’s out a strange whoop-cry and a whirlwind of hugs, praise, and ‘love you’s swirl around me as the Luther’s rush away with Jules calling after them. “Give her a hug for me and tell her I’m okay.”

  Intending to use their retreat as a cover for my own, I inch closer to the part in the curtains. “Uh, I think I’ll go too and check in. See who’s here and all.”

  “Is your dad coming back here, West? Can I offer you a ride home when we leave?” Mr. Blacklin asks as he sits on the edge of Jules’ bed.

  “Thanks, but I’m good. He’ll be coming back at some point. He went to help however he could since he has a truck,” I explain. Then, playing the role of self-appointed guardian, I go over the visit with Dr. Metzger to Jules’ father, making sure he knows she’s supposed to remain admitted because of her head trauma. He nods as I let him know someone will be back to check on her soon. When I can think of no other reason to delay my leaving, I cock my head to the side in an attempt to grab Jules’ attention. But I already have it, she’s staring at my hands. They’re clasped at my waist, my right thumb absently rubbing the palm of my left hand. I stop when I take note of her own hands, her fingers stretching open before fisting closed in her lap. Does she feel it too? The emptiness?

  “I’ll see you around, Jules.” It’s time to go, to end this—whatever this is—with her now before it gets any harder to walk away.

  “Huh?”

  “I said I’ll see ya around,” I repeat as her blue eyes rise from my hands to my face.

  “Oh.” She glances at her father. “Hey, Dad? Could you give us a moment?” Her fingers tap her lap restlessly and I bite back a smile. My need to get away is completely forgotten.

  Mr. Blacklin glances between us before he presses a kiss to Jules’ head. He walks to me and stops, offering his hand once again. “Thank you, son. We are indebted to you.”

  His offer of gratitude is filled with heavy emotion and I merely nod my reply before he leaves us alone. I feel sick. I don’t want people to think of what I did as anything special. It wasn’t. It was human nature. Wasn’t it? I’m reminded of the temptation I’d had to leave Katie behind. The temptation to merely grab Jules and run. Did that make me a hero, my willingness to save one girl and not the other? My stomach turns at the thought.

  Jules readjusts her position in her bed, sitting forward and pulling her knees to her chest. A visible shudder runs through her as she presses her forehead against her knees. I’m as inexplicably drawn to her in this moment as I was a few hours ago before this horror began. I move to the edge of the bed and lean my hip against it, watching her. Her hair conceals her face, but her jagged breaths attest to her struggle to maintain her composure. Whether it’s for me or for her, I’m not sure, but I wrap Jules in my arms and inhale deeply, telling myself this is it. One last moment, then I’ll leave, and Jules Blacklin and West Rutledge will go back to the way they were before tonight.

  “You told me we weren’t going to die. Thank you. I don’t know what else to say, West.” She sounds so achingly vulnerable. Her hands snake up and curl around my forearm that is draped across her chest.

  I’m not entirely sure if I meant it at the time when I promised her we weren’t going to die. They were merely words. From the moment the sirens sounded, I’d felt the need to protect this girl, to keep her calm. It was my purpose, perhaps one that bore out of the need to always help others as my father had taught me growing up. Who knows? It was instinct, a gut reaction, and maybe a little bit of an angel on my shoulder that drove me to do and say all I had tonight.

  Wait, she remembered something! Hoping her memory is returning, I ask, “I thought you couldn’t remember anything from the basement?”

  “I don’t, not really. That just came back to me all of a sudden.” Her hands drop to the bed as I shift away. “Why? What happened tonight? I don’t know how long we were trapped down there.”

  All the things we said. The things we shared. The bucket lists, the confessions. I smile at the situation. Those were the first honest conversations I’d had since my mom died and now Jules can’t remember it. Figures.

  “It doesn’t matter. We made it out, and that’s all that counts, right?” I want her to disagree with me. I want her to admit there’s something special happening between the two of us tonight. I want her to admit that this changes everything for her, as it has for me.

  I reach out, intending to push her hair back so I can look at her, when the curtain slides open and her father walks in with a nurse in tow. The spell broken, I spring from the bed, excusing myself as I give Jules one last look.

  “Hey, Spike?” The nickname slays me. Her voice trembles as we hold our gaze. “Don’t wait four years to get the nerve again.”

  Another memory.

  There are no words. I nod. And I walk away.

  I walk away from Jules’ curtained room. I walk away from the triage area. I walk away from the voice in my head telling me to go back, to stay with Jules. The feelings are too intense, too gut-wrenching. Every way I turn there’s another dirty face, another injured patient, another crying person. I push through them all and into a hallway. Rounding a corner, I lean against a wall in a relatively quiet place. My knees buckle and I squat, dropping my head and breathing harshly as I’m overcome with emotion.

  “Shit.” My hands cradle my head as weakness invades me. Weakness and tears. For five minutes I allow myself this moment crouched in a corner. Then I go in search of my friends.

  The cafeteria is overrun with people waiting. Waiting for word on a loved one, waiting for a family member, waiting for a place to go. There are volunteers taking names and explaining procedures as you walk in, but I bypass them. I’m merely looking for Jeff, or Ruben, or anyone I know.

  “West?”

  I turn at my name, spotting two guys from school sitting at a table. They’re both wearing the button-up white dress shirt typical of the uniform for Remington’s restaurant in mid-town. Paul has a bandage taped to his forehead and M
arcus cradles his left arm to his chest.

  “Was Remington’s hit?” I ask as I join them.

  “Damn, man, the roof was pulled right off. Like it was nothing but a toy. Just sucked right off. We barely had the time to run,” Paul says. A girl at the table covers her face and cries into her hands.

  “But the sirens?” How could they have had so little time to find cover?

  “A minute, two max. It drilled straight down main street and plowed right into us. It was chaos, we were packed with diners after the game. It could have been worse—”

  “Worse?” I ask.

  Paul touched his bandage. “Ms. Kathy—she didn’t make it.” Ms. Kathy was a fixture at Remington’s my entire life. She is—was—a few years older than my parents. She used to drop meals at our house after my mom passed away. She had a son. “—There were two other deaths, I don’t know who though.”

  “One was a student, he was in my Bio class last year,” says the girl sitting with them. I don’t recognize her as her bloodshot eyes meet mine. Her trembling hand swipes at her cheek. Biology? That means this student was most likely a junior, which means I might know him. Or knew him.

  Reality sinks in. Much of my night and this storm has been wrapped up in what I went through with Jules, but there’s so much more. An unseen weight presses on my chest, as though I’m back in the house under a pile of debris. I struggle to breathe normally.

  “God,” the girl breathes harshly, “was this night real?”

  Paul and Marcus mutter. My gut churns as I feel myself tumbling into self-pity and fear. I don’t want to wallow; I don’t want to allow my emotions out again. I fear I may never stop sinking once I begin. Taking a sharp breath, I glance around the cafeteria to clear my head.

  I locate Ruben standing at a table near the center of the room. Rising, I look at his group in an attempt to identify the dusty faces. When I spot the other guys—Mark, Jeff, and Tommy Wilson—who hadn’t been with us at the house earlier tonight, my spirits lift.