She shrugged next to me. “I was just doing what I thought would help,” she said.
It meant a lot to me, I thought but didn’t say. More than you’ll ever know.
Marnie had come to my dad’s wake with her parents. She’d pulled me aside and given me a hug.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “This blows some serious chunks.”
It wasn’t eloquent. It wasn’t sensitive. But it was the most real thing anyone had said to me in days.
For the rest of the wake, Marnie sat in the back row of chairs. Her parents left, but Marnie asked to stay. Every so often, I’d look back and she’d smile. “You okay?” she’d mouth. “No,” I’d mouth back. She formed a heart with her hands and held it close to her chest every time I glanced her way.
When I went back to school a week or so later, there was Marnie. She didn’t avoid me like most of the other kids did, and she never said the things the adults said to me in those first few days. “Your memories of him will help you through this.” Or “Be strong. That’s what he would have wanted.” Never ever “He’s in a better place.” As well meaning as some of those things are, they’re not helpful.
“I brought you an extra PB and J” is what Marnie said at lunch that day. She reached into her lunch bag and handed me a sandwich. Then she pointed to a table full of cheerleaders in the center of the cafeteria. “There’s an empty seat on the end. You wouldn’t have to talk to anyone but me if you didn’t want to.”
I sat with her for two weeks. Some days we talked. Some days I talked to the other girls at the table. Mostly, though, I just sat and didn’t talk to anyone.
When everyone started to forget that I was “that kid whose father died,” I slowly started eating lunch at my old table. Marnie didn’t ask any questions. She’d walk by me every day, though, and drop a sandwich or a pack of peanut-butter crackers on my tray.
She was always close.
Ace lets out a loud sigh and chuckles next to me. I was so lost in my thoughts about Marnie that I almost forgot where I was.
“What was that for?” I say, gritting my teeth.
“Nothing, QB2. Nothing at all,” he says, laughing again.
We look back down at the playbook, jotting notes in the margins.
“Have you been with her yet?” Ace asks nonchalantly.
“What do you mean? Have I slept with her? That’s none of your business,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek so hard that I taste blood.
“Oh come on, Samantha. Give it up. What’s she like? Loose or tight? Maybe I’ll take a piece of that when you’re done with it,” he says.
That’s it. That’s all I can take. I stand up and shove Ace’s shoulder as hard as I can. Fire burns in my chest hotter than the fear this time. “You’d better shut up,” I say.
“Or what? You’ll kick my ass?” Ace laughs, but he’s not smiling. He stands up and gives my shoulder a small but solid push.
I’m caught off balance and I fall into the grass. I turn and see Grandpa coming toward us. Ace sees him too, and reaches his hand down to help me up. “Sorry about that, Sam. I didn’t mean to knock you down,” he says a little too loudly. He pulls me to my feet with a big, greasy smile on his face.
“Everything okay over here?” Grandpa asks as he approaches.
“Yes, sir. Just horsing around,” Ace says.
Grandpa looks at me. I nod and look at the ground.
“You know better than that, Quinn. Give me five laps around the field. Full pads and helmet. And you better not be late to the field house.”
Ace stares at Grandpa.
“Go on,” Grandpa says. “You heard me.”
“Why doesn’t he have to run? He pushed me first,” Ace says.
Grandpa’s face turns stormy. “You’re gonna question me, boy?”
“No, sir,” Ace says, pulling his helmet over his head.
“I didn’t think so,” Grandpa says, glaring at Ace. “Carry these playbooks to the field house, North,” he says to me, handing me a stack of binders and walking away.
Ace glares at me when Grandpa leaves.
“Unbelievable. If we go to state this year, you need to remember that QB2 doesn’t play at state. And he doesn’t get the girl either. I told you to fucking watch yourself, Sam. I mean it,” Ace says when Grandpa is out of earshot.
* * *
Marnie calls when I’m on my way home from practice.
“What’s going on with you tonight?” she says.
“I’m up for anything. What did you have in mind?”
“There’s a party on East Beach. Kind of an end-of-summer thing. Should we go?”
“Of course we should. Do you want to come over here and we’ll walk down? Around seven or so?” I ask.
“I’ll be there. And Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“My life would suck without you.” She giggles.
“You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone,” I answer.
“You’re the wind beneath my wings!”
“Umm…You ain’t nothing but a hound dog?” I laugh.
“Oh god. You should be disqualified for that one,” Marnie says, laughing.
“I’ll see you in a few hours,” I say.
“Can’t wait,” she replies quietly. I can hear her smile through the phone.
I hang up and pull my pickup into the driveway. Mom’s old Volkswagen is already there, even though she’s supposed to be at work. I can see from where I’m parked that the living room blinds are still closed.
“Mom?” I call when I unlock the front door.
“In here,” she answers from the back of the house.
She is wrapped in my dad’s old bathrobe and is sitting under her desk on the sunporch. I sit down on the floor next to the desk.
“How long?” I ask.
This isn’t the first time I’ve found Mom under her desk, wrapped up in my dad’s old clothes. She says that every once in a while, the sadness overwhelms her and she feels like she can’t move. I judge whether I have to call her therapist on how long she’s been under there. An hour or so? Not so bad. All day? I’m glad I have the therapist saved in my contacts.
“Just an hour. I’ll be okay, Sammy. How was practice?” she asks.
“Do you want me to call Cathy?” The therapist.
“I’ll be okay,” she says.
“But you didn’t go to work.”
“I said I’m fine,” she says, an edge creeping into her voice.
“But today is yoga day, Mom. You love yoga day. How about I call Cathy, and you can talk to her on the phone. Would that work?”
“Sam, I don’t need you taking care of me. I said I am fine. Now please stop badgering.”
I want to point out that I’m not the one curled up under a piece of furniture with my dead husband’s clothes wrapped around me.
“I’m not badgering, Mom. I just want to make sure you’re going to be okay. Cathy can help you if you let her, you know,” I say.
“Sam, that’s enough. I’m not talking about this anymore,” she says, covering her eyes like a preschooler throwing a tantrum.
I leave her under the desk and walk into the kitchen. I go through the mental checklist. Her coffee cup is there, the last swallow growing cold in the bottom of the mug. A plate with crumbs from a sandwich sits next to it. She has eaten today. I go into her bathroom. The towel is damp, and the shower curtain is wet. She has taken a shower today. I gently touch the bristles of her toothbrush. Damp. Another check in the okay column. I take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay.
JC calls while I’m getting ready to meet Marnie. “You going to this thing at the beach?”
“Marnie’s walking over, and we’re going at seven. What’s your plan?”
“Well, a little birdie told me that Jeannie is going to be there…”
“Oh jeez,” I say, smiling into the phone.
Jeannie Kruger is a soon-to-be sophomore cheerleader. Last year, she hooked up with a senior lacrosse player close t
o the end of the school year because she wanted a prom invite. Looks like JC might be the next Jeannie victim.
“Can you come pick me up? I’ll walk down with you and Marnie,” he says.
“Too lazy to walk?” I ask.
“Absolutely.”
“I’m on my way,” I tell him, throwing on a clean shirt and heading downstairs.
The sky turns from bright yellow to dusty pink as the evening sun slips down, and the wind chimes on the back porch dance along with the breeze. Glints of light dapple the leaves of the biggest oak in the yard. Mom is sitting under it, still wearing Dad’s bathrobe. I go out and sit down next to her.
“You okay now?” I ask.
“This was always his favorite part of the day,” my mom says.
“I know,” I say, putting my arm around Mom’s shoulders.
She leans against me, and her shoulders shake a little bit. She sniffs loudly.
“What are you doing tonight?” she asks.
“Right now, I’m heading to pick up JC, and Marnie will be over in a little bit. We’re going to the beach tonight. Someone’s having a bonfire. It’s not that important, Mom. I can stay home,” I say.
“Oh, don’t be silly. I’m fine. Today was hard, but not something I can’t get through on my own. You go get JC,” she says, standing up. She wipes the grass from her legs and takes off my dad’s robe. “Can you hang this up on the back of my door on your way out?”
I take it from her and meet her eyes. “You sure?”
She nods and swallows hard. I see her mouth turn down a little bit, but she puts her head down and walks back into the house. I pull out my phone and make sure I still have Therapist Cathy in my contacts.
I pull my truck into JC’s driveway and beep the horn. His mom comes out onto the porch and waves me in with a great, big smile. I smile back at her because I can’t help it. I turn off the engine and get out of the cab.
“Hi, honey bun! How’s my Sam?” JC’s mom pulls me into a hug. She used to play college basketball a million years ago, and she’s well over six feet tall. When I was little, I was afraid I was going to be swallowed whole when she hugged me. I’m a little braver now, but it’s still sometimes shocking to be hugged by a woman who towers over me.
“Hi, Mrs. Cushman. I’m doing good,” I say.
“And your mom? How is she holding up?”
I try not to think of Mom squeezed under the desk in Dad’s blue bathrobe. “She’s okay,” I lie.
“Well, come inside. Jay Jay will be ready in a minute.” She tucks me under her arm and pulls me inside.
JC’s dad is a good foot shorter than his mom. An engineering professor-mad scientist, he always has fourteen different projects in fourteen different stages of completion on the dining-room table. The Cushmans never eat in the dining room. They only eat on TV trays in the living room. Even if JC brings a girl over for dinner, they eat on the trays.
“Whatcha working on, Mr. C?” I ask JC’s dad, who is bent over the dining-room table with a complicated harness on his head that holds a tiny penlight and a magnifying glass over his right eye.
“Oh, you know…just tinkering…” he answers. I try to make sense of the wires and tiny screws and circuit boards on the table so I can ask another question. But looking at it just makes me dizzy. I watch in silence for a few more seconds before JC comes down the stairs.
“Ready, bro?” he asks, reaching for his coat.
“Let’s motor,” I tell him.
A quick hug for Mrs. Cushman, and we are on our way.
“Has Jeannie been calling you or something?” I ask him in the safety of the truck.
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
“Quit messing around. Has she or hasn’t she?”
“She texted me this morning and asked if I would be there. I don’t know where she got my number,” he says.
“Maybe Marnie.”
“I don’t even care. I mean, did you see her at the last bonfire? All that dark hair. Those librarian glasses. And she was wearing these boots, Sam. The boots,” he says, laying his head back with a groan.
“Were they, like, magic boots or something?” I laugh.
“Shut up, turd burglar,” JC says, but he’s smiling.
We pull back into my driveway just as Marnie comes up the front walk.
“Bae!” she calls and waves.
I smile.
JC makes puking noises next to me.
“Jealous,” I say.
“After tonight, Jeannie Kruger is going to be calling me all kinds of gushy names. Just wait.”
“Hey, just let me check on my mom real quick, and then I’ll be ready to go,” I tell JC and Marnie.
“Oh, let me come in and say hi!” Marnie says.
“Nah, Mom’s not feeling good,” I tell her. “She’s a little under the weather. I wouldn’t want you to catch anything.”
Marnie accepts my excuse, and I head inside. Mom is sitting on the couch now with a knitting project in her lap. There is no sign of the blue bathrobe. “I’m headed out now,” I tell her.
“You be safe, Sam. Curfew at one,” she says.
“You sure you’re okay? I can stay home, you know. We can watch a movie. The Music Man? Your favorite,” I say.
“Sam! I’m fine. I promise. Go have fun,” she says.
Grandpa comes out of the kitchen and nods at me.
“When did you get home?” I ask.
“Just a little bit ago,” he says, drying a water glass with a dish towel. Then he mouths where Mom can’t see, “I’m here. It’s okay.”
I give Grandpa a small smile and nod and kiss Mom on the top of her head. I notice she has Cathy’s business card in her hand. “Do you want me to call Cathy before I go?” I ask, pointing to the card.
“This?” She holds up the card. “I’ve already called her. Now get.” She shoos me out the door.
Mom’s saying all the right things, but there’s a heaviness in her voice that I haven’t heard since my dad died.
“Mom okay?” Marnie asks when I get back to the car.
Is Mom okay?
Not really?
I don’t think so?
Definitely not?
Marnie stares at me with wide eyes, waiting for an answer. She puts her hand on my knee.
“I…Yeah. She’s okay,” I say with a really fake smile. “She’s okay.”
7
TODAY
4:48 p.m.
“How long have you known Marnie Keaton?”
I don’t answer.
“A long time, right? You two went to elementary school together, didn’t you?”
I don’t answer.
“Live in the same neighborhood. Is that right?”
I don’t answer.
Michael sighs, rubbing his eyes. A loud, long exasperated sigh.
“Look at me, Sam,” he says, unbuttoning his sleeves and methodically rolling them up his hairy arms.
I raise my eyes to meet his. My mouth stays firmly closed.
“I’m here to help you. I will get you out of this room and to your mom as quickly as I can, but you have to help me out. Do you understand that?”
Mom.
I nod.
“Okay, good. Let’s talk about Ms. Keaton,” he says, his pen poised over the folder.
Ms. Keaton. Marnie. With her brown hair and her loud, snorty laugh.
Marnie, kissing my face and squeezing my hand.
Marnie, touching my knee and smiling her special Sam smile, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.
Marnie, putting her hand up.
Telling me not to.
Yelling “don’t!”.
“No,” I say.
“No?”
“Not Marnie.”
Michael stares at me for a full minute. I stare right back. He works his tongue over his front teeth, clicking the end of his pen several times.
“If I talk about something other than Marnie, will you answer my questions?” he asks.
I nod twice.
“Tell me about your dad.”
My stomach drops. Another quake of pain rattles my forehead, my cheeks, my throat. It settles in my ribs.
“How long has he been gone?” Michael asks, his voice softer now.
“Five years,” I say.
I feel the familiar twist in my chest while I count the years in my head.
“You were pretty young when he died,” Michael says.
“Middle school,” I say.
“That must have been difficult.”
My heart speeds up. “That’s not why this happened. Me and my mom…we’re okay. This has nothing to do with—”
“I didn’t say it did, Sam,” Michael puts his hand on mine and squeezes. “Take a breath.”
I do.
“Would you feel better if we moved on to something else?”
I nod once.
“James Cushman,” Michael says, adjusting his heavy frame in the creaky chair.
“JC?” I say, scratching at my wrist. The skin pulses underneath my fingertips.
“Is that what you call him? JC, then. Tell me about JC,” he says.
I take a deep breath in through my nose and close my eyes.
“Can we talk about JC?” Michael says.
I open my eyes a little and turn my head away.
The window in the room looks out over the roof of the building. There’s steam floating along the black tar. Industrial-looking machines chug away out there, puffing smoke into the air. I watch the smoke curl and swirl and dance into the cloudless sky.
“Sam?” Michael says again, scooting his chair just a hair closer to me.
“JC’s my best friend,” I say, my voice unsteady.
“Is he?”
I jerk my head and look at Michael. “Yes.”
My heart jumps into my throat. Where is JC? I frantically try to piece together a timeline of this afternoon. JC was there. The gun went off. Did I see him again after that?
“Is he okay? Where is he right now?” I try to keep my voice even, but it sounds weird coming out of my mouth.
“He’s fine, Sam. I promise,” Michael looks me right in the eye.
I search his face for any sign that he might be lying to me. He doesn’t even blink. I believe him.
“Does JC know what’s been going on with you the past few weeks?” Michael says, scratching something in his notebook.
Until I Break Page 5
