“Hey, I need to check on some people. Hang in there.” Winding my way through the tables, I hurry to my friends.
“You,” Jeff points in my direction once he spots me heading for him. He gets up from his seat and we stand face to face. “I didn’t know if I’d see you again. You scared the hell out of me,” he admits.
Knowing the feeling, I grab his shoulder and pull him into the manliest hug I can under the circumstance. This is my best friend, my third brother, and the only person who knows me as honestly as anyone can. I turn to the others, slapping backs and exchanging hugs with each one of them before we sit.
“There were so many people, man,” Jeff whispers. “So many bodies littered all over the field. I didn’t know if Katie was going to be able to make it.”
I push my mind elsewhere, not wanting to picture the images Jeff is describing. “Her parents are here. Did you see them?” I ask, changing the subject. Part of me is grateful for being trapped with Jules, as scary as those hours were; at least we were spared the views others witnessed.
“Yeah, they picked her up and told us you and Jules were here. How is she?”
“Concussion.” I miss her like hell already. “But, she’s okay. We both are. Correction, we all are.”
At least I think we are, but as I look at the faces of the guys around me, I’m not so sure.
Nine
There are people—servicemen, chaplains, police—whose job it is to deliver what is referred to as death notifications. They are the ones who arrive on the doorstop of unsuspecting families to inform them that their loved one has died. As I step to the side of the Blacklin’s foyer while my father comforts Jules’ mother I wonder how someone can handle this sort of job day in and day out. How does one remove themselves from the emotional aspect of delivering the worst news they possibly can?
Maybe I’m affected more because the news we are delivering right now is personal. Perhaps it’s easier when it’s a stranger, though I doubt it. Seeing the pain on Mrs. Blacklin’s face as my father breaks the news, hearing her cry, and knowing we still have to tell Jules—I wouldn’t be able to handle this on a daily basis.
This is another item on a rapidly growing list of things I never would have seen myself having to do before last night—another way my life has changed.
“Mom?” Jules calls from above. I look to the top of the staircase as her head pokes around the corner of the hallway. Even from where I stand in the foyer I can make out the purple bruises on her skin and the dark circles under her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” She steps into full view, grabbing the stair rail to steady herself as she descends. “West, why are you here?”
I can’t tell her. I refuse to do it. I refuse to break her heart. It takes every ounce of my self-control to keep myself from turning and running from the house. I don’t want to see her cry again, last night was enough. Her father called me a hero, but I’m just a coward.
“Oh, honey.” Her mother rushes forward the moment Jules toes touch the bottom step. “I have some bad news.”
My eyes focus on Jules’ hand as it grips the newel post. Her knuckles turn white, her long fingers curling into the wood. Her mother wraps her in a hug as I work up the courage to look at her face again. When I do, I see resignation. She knows we’re not here on a social call. I should paint on a smile, but instead I let my guard down. Removing the façade I swore I would wear around her, I let her see my pain; I let her see my need. I let her see that I’m not okay, because I’m not, and right now it’s okay to not be okay.
I share in Jules’ hurt by locking eyes with her as her mother delivers the nightmarish news into her ear. I use my eyes to allow her see into my soul. It’s all I know how to do in this moment. Mrs. Blacklin’s words scarcely reach my ears, but I know the news she is delivering.
Tanya is dead.
Jules’ eyelids flutter, pain slashing across her features as she watches me over her mother’s shoulder. Her blue eyes turn from confused, to hurt, to blank within seconds. Her feet shuffle as the color drains from her face, and I hurl myself toward the staircase just in time to catch her as she passes out. I sink to the floor with Jules limp body as her mother grabs for her hand.
“Jules?”
I sit on the ground and position Jules between my legs, her back and head against my chest. She stirs almost immediately and tilts her head up toward me in confusion. “What? What happened?”
I fake a smile as color returns to her bruised face. “Welcome back, cheerleader.”
“Honey? Are you all right? You passed out, but only for a moment,” Mrs. Blacklin, who is on her knees beside me, explains.
Jules blinks rapidly, her eyes scanning the foyer as she works to figure everything out. “You saved me again.” Her face goes beet red. She shifts her gaze to her mother and sits forward, pulling her hand from her grip. Glancing around, Jules scoots up, putting some room between us as she places her head in the palms of her hands.
“It’s this concussion. Man, it hurts so bad,” she moans. I slide in closer, my hand resting lightly on the small of her back to support her.
My father stands beside us and clears his throat. “West, I think we should let them be now.”
No. Not yet. My fingers graze her bare waist from where her shirt rose up when she fell, and my hand begs to explore her body at the feel of the soft heat of her skin . . . I shake my head. Not helpful thoughts, West.
“Why did y’all come by?” Jules asks as she massages her temples.
“Honey?” Mrs. Blacklin’s tone tells the entire story. It reminds me of the way my dad would say my name when I was in trouble as a kid. I didn’t need to hear anything but his tone and I knew I was in for it. Mrs. Blacklin’s tone says it all; her one word contains every ounce of tragedy this moment holds. And after three heartbeats of silence, the truth sinks in and Jules’ face crumbles.
“Oh, no . . . no,” she weeps. “Tanya?” Her back trembles against my touch and she hunches forward, hugging herself as though she’s attempting to hold all of her broken pieces together. Her mother leans into her, offering up her comfort in the form of a hug. I press my palms into the wood floor, prepared to slide backwards and give them their space when Jules’ hand grips my leg and pins me in place.
“No!” she cries, her head lifting from her mother’s embrace. She glances over her shoulder. “Don’t go.”
“Jules.”
“Please? I need you here. I don’t think I can do this without you.”
The desperation in her voice robs me of all thoughts but one. Jules. If I knew what was best for me, I would leave.
“West?” my dad warns, his face is full of worry.
Too bad for him, I’ve never been the best at making smart decisions.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise Jules while looking into my father’s eyes. I don’t know how to say no to her. I’m in for some serious trouble.
My heart is winning this battle: Heart: 1 ~ Head: 0.
Unpinning my shin from Jules’ fingers, I grab her hips and slide her backward on the hardwood floor until she’s in my arms again. She twists, curling into a ball and wrapping her arms around my waist as she cries into my shirt. Her mom offers my dad coffee, but I pay them no heed as they leave the foyer. My focus is on Jules as I rub circles along her back while she pours her grief into my chest.
Thinking of the death notifications again, I search for something to say. Certainly they have a protocol, some words they use to make the pain easier to stomach. But there’s nothing. No clichéd comment about a ‘better place’ or how she should ‘remember the good times’ will erase the hurt she feels. I know this on a personal level and I hate it for her. There are no words of comfort when you lose someone you love so deeply.
Tanya Rivera. She’d been best friends with Jules and Katie since kindergarten; they were inseparable. Tanya was a feisty, free spirit who brought life and fun to the room the moment she walked in. I picture her golden skin, dark hair, and large, dark eyes that
were always glowing with mischief. I recall the way she would jump into any game the boys had going on during recess in elementary school.
She was fearless, jostling and charging boys twice her size while playing soccer. I smile at the memory of the day she jumped off the diving board at a pool party and came up out of the water topless. She didn’t cry or sulk embarrassed by the moment. She merely ducked under the water, slid her top in place, and threatened anyone who spoke about it. She was tough, but sweet. And she liked to party, so unlike my relationship with Jules, I’d stayed somewhat friendly with Tanya after I quit playing ball. At least on the social scene level.
“What happened to her?” Jules sniffles into my chest.
Clearing the mental picture of Jules’ friend—my friend—I take a deep breath. “I don’t know. My dad was with the crew that found her and two others.” I fight hard to suppress my emotions as the pinpricks of tears form in my eyes.
“Two others?”
“There were a lot of casualties, Jules. All over town. People in midtown were caught in their cars,” I admit tentatively, unsure of what her reaction will be. “Some were out to eat.” I think of Remington’s and Ms. Kathy.
She straightens, her face inches from mine. “That could have been us. We could be dead right now.”
How many times did I think those same thoughts last night as I sat in the cafeteria with Jeff and our friends? I cup her face, feeling extremely grateful that I can deliver my next words. “But we’re not. We made it.”
“Yeah, we did.” Her warm hand covers mine as she closes her eyes. She releases a deep breath and opens her watery blue eyes as she asks regretfully, “But who else didn’t?”
I can’t hold back my feelings any longer. “I don’t know.” We hold our gazes, and my secret thoughts spill out. “I’m just glad it wasn’t us. I know that’s selfish, but I was scared as hell last night.”
Jules’ chin quivers and she drops her hand from mine, tightening her arms around me as tears shimmer in her eyes again. Forming a small ball, she pushes her body back into mine and hides her face in my chest. Like a sponge, I absorb each tear, each waver of breath, each tensing of her muscles as her loss surges through her.
After my mother died, I would sneak into the game room and sit in her chair our chair after my dad and brothers were in bed. I’d cover myself in her blankets, press my face into her pillows, and I would cry. I was only thirteen. During the day, my brothers and I would put our chins up and act the part of the brave Rutledge boys for all to see. After a week, Carson returned to A&M for summer football workouts, and Austin returned to Hillsdale practices. I did nothing. I tried returning to football; two weeks after the funeral I slid into my workout gear and walked to the garage door while my dad waited in the car. I stood there dressed and ready to go, but my hand wouldn’t let go of the back door handle.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Dad says encouragingly, climbing out of his truck and walking me back into the house. Tomorrow came and went, and the next day too. Carson called from school to talk about it. Austin offered to come with me. Dad reminded me how much my mother loved the sport, how much she wanted us to return to normal once she was gone.
Normal: the typical, the usual, the expected. I no longer wanted to do the expected because what I expected—a mother to be there through my childhood and watch me grow up—was taken from me. Screw expectations. The next day I removed my pads and cleats from my room and set them in a box in the garage. Four years later, they’re still there—a reminder of my defiance in the face of the shattering of my heart.
Sitting on the sun dappled floor of Jules’ foyer, holding her while she processes the loss of her best friend, is a balm to my burning soul. I’ve been angry for so long—angry at God, angry at my dad, at my mom, and at myself—but at this moment the only thing my heart feels is overwhelming sorrow for Jules. And the longer I sit here, the more I understand. I don’t hurt for Jules alone. I hurt for Tanya, and Ms. Kathy, and the others who lost their lives. I hurt for the town of Tyler.
The fire within me that’s been fueling my bitterness with life for so long is being doused by the tears of the one girl I can’t have. Shit.
I shift away from her, motioning to the staircase. We move to sit side-by-side on the stairs, and we don’t speak for a good five minutes. I consider grabbing my father and hightailing it out of there, but Jules falls softly into my side, resting her head against my shoulder. And damn.
Right when I think I can work up the strength to walk away, she pulls me back. Ha, who am I kidding? I have no strength with her. It’s unsettling and makes no sense whatsoever. For now, I chalk it up to the stress and emotions of the last sixteen hours. I place an arm around her shoulders. Later I’ll deal with the truth, whatever it may be, but for now it’s:
Heart: 2 ~ Head: 0
“Did you stay at the hospital for very long last night?” she asks as my fingers trace up and down her bare bicep. She’s wearing a tank top and small boxer-type sleep shorts. I hadn’t taken the time to notice until now. I need to stop touching her.
I clear my throat. “Um, yeah. I stayed there pretty much all night. My dad was busy.”
“We should have given you a lift home. I’m sorry.”
She attempts to pull away and I tighten my hold. “It was fine, Buffy. I saw a lot of people come in. Jeff and I hung out for a while. I saw Tommy, Ruben, and Mark. It felt good to see people coming in and know they were safe.”
“Tommy? He was probably one of the last people to be with Tanya before she—”
She breaks off without saying the word ‘died’, but that’s not surprising to me. For months after Mom’s death when we talked at my house, we always said that Mom “went away” as though she was on some amazing vacation.
“He didn’t know what happened to her. He said they were separated in the crowd. I wish—” I sigh, wondering if I could have saved Tanya too. While I sat in the hospital waiting area with Jeff, he filled me in on what happened at The Ice Shack. According to him, Tanya was the reason for the fight in the parking lot right before the storm hit. That’s why Katie came to get Jules and why Jeff wasn’t around when the sirens sounded. He’d been too busy attempting to break up the fight between Tommy Wilson and Carter Cooper, a player from our rival school, Rossview High, and apparently a rival for Tanya’s heart.
“What’s this?” Jules’ front door closes without a sound as Stuart Daniels steps into her foyer, confusion on his face.
Jules sits up and I drop my arm from her shoulders, settling my hand on the small of her back to steady her as she wobbles like one of those old school blow-up punching bag toys. There’s this odd, slow motion type of moment as the three of us exchange glances before Jules stands and crosses the foyer.
Throwing herself at Stuart, a barrage of tears and broken words spew from Jules’ lips. “Stuart! What happened to you? I sent you a text, but you never called back, and then the storm hit. I thought you were dead. Tanya’s de—she’s gone.”
Stuart wraps his arms around Jules’ waist and he smiles into her hair as he soothes her. His eyes, however, narrow thoughtfully on me. “I’m fine, Jules. You thought I was dead? Are you kidding me? I was crazy worried about you after hearing the radio reports, but my parents refused to let me leave the house last night. I finally told them it was too bad and left an hour ago. The streets are a nightmare. Thankfully I saw your dad on my way here, and he told me what happened last night.”
Jules’ mom shouts from the kitchen, the sound of chair feet scraping against their flooring pulls me to my feet. A moment later, Mrs. Blacklin enters the foyer with my father on her heels. “Oh, Stuart. I thought I heard you. I’m so glad you’re okay. Jules was worried sick about you last night.” Her mother gives him a side hug as Jules remains in his arms.
I contemplate puking.
“I’m fine. I was worried about her,” Stuart reassures them both.
The five of us stand there awkwardly for a moment too long before I rub my ha
nds together and say, perhaps a bit too forcefully, “Well, we better get going now, Dad.”
I don’t miss the scrutiny in Stuart’s eyes or the way he tugs Jules to the side of the entrance, out of my direct path, as I walk to the door. I tell myself to walk out, to leave without offering another word, but I can’t.
“Take care of her.” It’s a warning, and judging by the look on Stuart’s face, he knows it. “She got a concussion last night and passed out again this morning,” I add, as though her health is my real concern.
“Mrs. Blacklin.” I offer a bob of my head as my goodbye and push the glass door open, stepping onto their front stoop.
“Thank you for making sure we got the news,” Jules says behind me. I twist around, giving her a nod of acknowledgement, and taking the opportunity to get one last look at her.
I’m a glutton for punishment because, seriously, what do I expect to see? Jules chasing after me, begging me to stay? No. I get exactly what I knew I would—Jules and Stuart standing next to each other, their hands intertwined between them. My eyes focus on their hands, and I see red. I’m not typically a jealous guy; I don’t own Jules Blacklin, but damn if seeing her hand in his doesn’t burn me up. As though she’s reading my mind, she pulls away from Stuart’s and shoves her fingers through her hair.
“You take care, Jules,” my father says before he walks out the door that I’m propping open. With another nod to the three of them, I turn and follow in his wake. I have to force myself to not look back.
My dad and I don’t speak until we’re leaving the Blacklin’s neighborhood. “Do you want to go home?” he asks, and I contemplate my answer.
“What, and sit around all day feeling like crap about everything? No way. What can we do to help?”
“West, you’re exhausted. You didn’t sleep last night and you didn’t take much more than a cat nap after we got home this morning—”
“Dad,” I interrupt. Sleep is the least of my concerns right now. I can’t fathom sitting around doing nothing but thinking. “I need to be doing something. Please.”
West Page 7
