This Wicked Rush

by Jessie Evans

  I grab my cell and call Sherry, who says she can be over in a couple of hours and will bring the slip 'n slide from her garage for the kids to play on. I thank her profusely, and promise to give her all the gossip on what’s going on with me and Gabe at the earliest possible moment. She’s so excited that he’s moving in, I can’t stand to tell her the reason just yet.

  We hang up as the coffee maker is huffing and puffing out the final drops of coffee, and I focus on breakfast. Simple things, getting through the morning one step at a time. I toast bread and coat four slices with butter—figuring Gabe probably isn’t up for a big breakfast any more than I am—pour two coffees, and take the tray back upstairs, surprised to find Gabe already mostly dressed and in the bathroom using my brush to tame his wild hair.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he says, smiling when our eyes meet in the mirror.

  He looks so normal, so healthy and fine and like the old Gorgeous Gabe with trouble in his eyes. It’s so hard to believe that he’s dying, that in a few weeks—or months, if we’re lucky—he won’t be here anymore.

  “I thought you were going to let me bring you breakfast in bed.” I set the tray on the back of the toilet before moving into his open arms, pushing the heavy thoughts away. I can’t think about it, I’m still too emotionally raw from everything that happened last night.

  Last night, when we killed a man.

  We killed a man, and Gabe is dying.

  I feel like a character from one of those old cartoons, the ones where a one-ton anvil falls on someone’s head, squashing them into the pavement. But I’m not squashed, I’m still walking around, making breakfast, hugging Gabe, going through the motions, numb and sad and scared, but still here, still ticking.

  Tick tock, tick tock, like a bomb waiting to go off and wreck everything I touch, but I haven’t yet. Maybe I never will…but I think it’s too soon to tell.

  “I realized I should head home first,” Gabe says. “I’ll go back to Darby Hill, tell my parents what’s going on, pack a bag, and come right back.”

  “You could just call them,” I say, arms tightening around his waist as I press my face to the soft fabric of his white undershirt and inhale his Gabe smell. “And we could buy you new things in Charleston. Sherry’s coming in a couple hours to watch the kids, and I don’t want you to leave.”

  Gabe kisses the top of my head. “I don’t want to leave, but I have medicine there, too. Pain pills and meds that helps keep the symptoms under control.”

  Medicine. Symptoms. This is real. It is real, and it isn’t going away.

  I pull back with a sigh, nodding. “All right. But let’s eat breakfast first, and then I can get dressed and drive you. I don’t want you to have an accident.”

  “I won’t,” he says. “I’m feeling a lot better. The pain I’ve had the past few days is gone so…maybe I’m not going downhill as fast as I thought.”

  I take a breath. “Well, that’s good.” It is good. It means more time, and I’ll take as much of that as I can get.

  And maybe, just maybe, with more time, I can find a way to convince him to give the surgery a shot, no matter how set in stone he seemed on the subject last night. I understand why he made the decision he did, but I’m also greedy. I don’t want Gabe for a few months; I want Gabe forever, for the rest of my life. I want to grow up with him, grow old with him, and have those babies I thought I’d be too tired to raise with the man I love.

  We didn’t use a condom last night. I didn’t realize it until this morning, but I wasn’t freaked out when I did. A part of me actually hopes I’m pregnant. A baby would be something else for Gabe to live for, and give me a piece of him to keep loving if the worst actually comes to pass.

  “I’ll be back before you know it.” Gabe leans down, capturing my lips in a kiss that makes me tingle all over despite the dark thoughts tromping through my head. “And then we’ll head into Charleston, get tattoos, get money, and treat the kids to a steak dinner at Roxie’s on the Square when we get back.”

  “Roxie’s?” I shake my head. “No way. That will cost a million dollars.”

  “Money is just money,” he says. “I want to spend it.”

  “But don’t they have a dress code? We can’t take the kids there in stained tee shirts and jeans.”

  “We’ll buy them khakis and polos in town today, and a new dress for Emmie,” he says, grinning. “I want to see the Cooneys dressed up. I have a feeling y’all are going to clean up nice.” He reaches down, squeezing my ass as he leans in to whisper his next words against my neck. “Especially this Cooney. I want to see you in something black and slinky with no shoulders.”

  My eyes slide closed as I lean into him. “All right, but if the kids act like savages, don’t blame me. They’ve never been to a sit down restaurant before.”

  “Well, they’ll have to get used to it,” he says, kissing my lips one last time before he pulls away to finish up with his hair. “Because I’m taking you all out at least once a week, and I don’t want to hear any complaints.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, with a mock salute.

  His eyes darken as our gazes connect in the mirror. “And we’ll do more of that, too. I want to play games with you. I’ve been fantasizing about you tying me up since the night we danced together.”

  “Oh yeah?” I ask, lifting a brow. “I would have thought you’d prefer I be the one tied up.”

  “You’ll be tied up first,” he says, as if that’s only logical. “But then I’ll take my turn. I want you to make me beg for it.” He sets the brush down and turns, crossing his arms as he leans back against the sink and surveys me with a predatory look. “I want to watch your breasts bounce while you ride me and suffer the torture of knowing I can’t get my mouth on them unless you let me.”

  My tongue slips out to wet my lips. “If you keep talking like that, we’re heading back into the bedroom and those clothes are coming right back off.”

  He grins. “As lovely as that threat sounds, I’d rather get this business with the parents behind me. I have a feeling they’re not going to be happy.”

  “You think it will be a bad scene?” I ask. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I want you to stay here, have coffee, hang out with the kids, and enjoy the rest of your morning. You’ve been through enough the past two days. From here on out, any way I can spare you more of that, I will.”

  “You don’t have to spare me,” I say. “I’m tougher than I look.”

  “Don’t I know it.” He kisses me again, a sweet kiss that feels like the sun on my face, before he whispers against my lips, “Be back in half an hour.”

  “Okay, love you.”

  “Love you,” he says, and it sounds like the most natural, perfect thing in the world. I have no reason to doubt him, or his love. No reason at all.

  And then twelve o’clock comes and goes and there’s no sign of Gabe. I don’t call—figuring he’s probably in the middle of something with his mom and dad and not wanting to interrupt—but then Sherry arrives at one o’clock and I decide the phone call can’t wait any longer, not if we want to have time to get everything done in Charleston before dinner.

  I call Gabe’s phone, but am sent directly to voice mail. It makes sense that he might turn his phone off before going to talk to his parents, but it doesn’t make sense that he would keep me waiting for hours without at least texting to let me know that he’s been delayed. Something is wrong, and after all we’ve been through I can’t sit around and wait to see what’s gone to shit this time. I have to take action. I have to go to Darby Hill.

  I hug Sherry and the kids and tell them I’ll be back soon and jump in the family van, rolling down the windows to let the hot summer air rush through as I head out into the country.

  The sun is shining bright and the fields alongside of the road are green and ridiculously lush. Upcountry South Carolina looks like the best, prettiest, postcard version of itself, and I can’t help but feel lifted u
p by the sight of it, by the smells of summer weeds and flowers floating in on the breeze, by the sounds of insects cricking and birds singing and all the trappings of summer that insist the world is alive. It is wild and alive and death won’t dare lay a finger on anything right now, not while summer is here, wrapping the world in heat and abundance.

  I hold on to my hope that there’s been some simple glitch—Gabe’s phone died, or his car broke down, or his parents put up more of a fight over the move than we anticipated—until I reach Darby Hill and see Gabe’s parking spot in front of the azalea bushes empty.

  I slam out of the van, heart beating in my throat as I start toward the front steps of the house, but before I can reach the veranda, Deborah opens the door. Her cheeks are red and blotchy and wet, but she isn’t crying, and she doesn’t say a word when I step onto the porch and ask her if she’s okay.

  She simply stares at me with this strange empty, lost expression for a long, long minute, a tense, strained, terrible minute that makes me feel like I’m going to lose my coffee and toast right there on her elegant doormat.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, when the silence gets to be too much. “Has Gabe been here? He said he was coming to talk to you and Mr. Alexander.”

  “He was here,” she says in a flat tone. “Here and gone.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “Where did he go?”

  “Aaron came home for lunch and found Gabe passed out behind the wheel at the end of the drive,” she says calmly. “It looks like he lost consciousness right after he made the turn.”

  My hand flies to cover my mouth, and my stomach cramps tighter, forming a sick knot at the center of me. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have taken no for an answer. I should have made him let me drive him.

  “Is he okay?” I finally ask. “Can I see him?”

  Deborah licks her lips, and swipes an invisible hair behind her ear, taking what feels like an eternity before she answers. “Aaron took Gabe to the hospital, while I called our friend Mary, who works in emergency. She had everything ready for them when they arrived. She promised me it would be fine.”

  I nod, fighting to swallow past the lump in my throat. “So is he okay? Have you heard from the hospital? Can we go see him?”

  She lifts her right hand, revealing a black cordless phone I hadn’t realized she was holding. “Aaron called ten minutes ago. I thought he was going to tell me they were coming home.”

  I shake my head, feeling the truth bearing down on me like a runaway train, but I don’t want to believe it. Gabe was fine just a few hours ago; he was better. He said he felt great. I don’t want to accept what I know is coming, don’t want to hear Deborah say another word. But I can’t stop her. I can’t stop her any more than I can stop autumn from coming, or death from putting his fingers wherever he likes, whenever he likes, even all over this perfect summer day.

  “He’s dead,” Deborah says, brow wrinkling delicately as fresh tears fill her eyes. “My boy is dead. It’s too late.”

  Her words hit me in my core, in my gut and my heart and every part of me that has lived harder since Gabe came into my life. They hit and a second later my knees hit the hard wooden boards beneath me, but I don’t feel that pain. That pain is too small to register now that my entire world has become pain. There is nothing left to breathe but pain, not a shred of hope or light anywhere to be found.

  I rock back and forth on my knees, arms wrapped tight around my shoulders, fighting for breath, too fucked up even to cry. I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. My cry is wordless, soundless, a miserable silent wail that only the banshees can hear.

  My grandma used to tell me stories about banshees before she died. She was first generation Irish, and still had so many beautiful, dark, mysterious stories to tell. She was the first magical person I ever met in my life. Gabe was the second.

  And now they’re both gone. Forever.

  Forever. He promised to love me forever. Somewhere out there, wherever he is, he is still loving me, I know it. It isn’t enough to banish the pain—not even close—but it helps me pull in a breath, and then another, and finally the tears break through and begin to fall.

  I cry and cry. I have no idea how long, but gradually I become aware of the fact that Deborah is still standing in front of me. I look up, to find her staring down at me with an expression of such contempt that it makes me flinch.

  “It’s your fault,” she says. “You were supposed to make him want to fight, want to live. You were supposed to convince him to have the surgery.”

  “I…I didn’t even k-know,” I stutter. “Not until y-yesterday.”

  “How could you not know?” she asks, eyes flying wide. “It was there, every day, every word he spoke, every time he did something the old Gabe would never have done. He wasn’t the same. That thing in his head changed him, made him ruthless and cold and…” She shakes her head and her lip curls. “But you wouldn’t know. You didn’t know who he really was.”

  I stumble to my feet, so shocked it feels like the ground is tilting beneath me. “You’re wrong. I knew him, and I loved him. I would have tried to—”

  “You didn’t know him, you knew the disease,” she says, cutting me off. “And I should have known better than to think a girl in love with the heartless person Gabe had become could ever help me get my son back. I should have kicked you back to the hole you live in the second you darkened my door.”

  My jaw clenches, and anger boils inside me, but not for myself. “Gabe was anything but cold or heartless. He loved me, and he loved my brothers and Emmie, and he was a good, good man. He would have given his life for me, or any one of the kids.” Tears fill my eyes, but I refuse to cry in front of this woman again. “If he was cold to you, maybe that’s because you’re cold, and he was tired of wasting his time on someone too stupid to see what a wonderful person he was.”

  “Get out,” Deborah says, tears flowing down her cheeks.

  “He told me how alone he was growing up,” I say, unable to stop defending Gabe now that I’ve started. “How you couldn’t even be bothered to tuck him into bed, and instead had the woman you hired to raise your son do it. How you made him feel like he was something to manage, not a person who deserved to be loved.”

  “Get out!” Deborah shouts, the words ending in a sob. “Or I’m calling the police.”

  “Fine,” I shout back. “There’s nothing here worth staying for anymore anyway.”

  I turn and charge back down the stairs and across the driveway. I slam into the van, and I drive back toward town. I force myself to go the speed limit. I force myself to pull over and check directions to the tattoo parlor on the edge of town on my phone instead of tapping letters into the search engine while I’m driving.

  I keep my tears at bay for the next hour and a half as I find the tattoo parlor, give the artist the picture of the windblown dandelion that I picked out online this morning, and sit down in his chair to have the tattoo inked into my shoulder.

  The pain of the needle dragging across my skin helps me stay present. I focus only on the moment, and how good it feels to be going through with this, to have the tattoo Gabe and I talked about on me. Forever. A permanent reminder of our love, and the summer that taught me to never take any beautiful thing for granted.

  I force myself to hold it together until I’ve paid the artist, driven home, and have the van parked in the driveway. Only then do I turn off the ignition, drop my head to the wheel, and cry like the world is ending. Because it is. Part of it. A beautiful part I’m going to miss so much it feels like something vital has been removed from my body, leaving a toxic, hollow place behind.

  I cry and cry, until my face is covered in tears that drip down onto the bare skin below my shorts, taking the time to grieve Gabe alone before I go inside and tell the kids that someone they loved is gone.

  Chapter Twenty

  Caitlin

  Death leaves a heartache no one can heal,

  Love leaves a memory no one
can steal. –Irish headstone

  Sherry stays the night, and the next day. We call in sick to work, call the kids in sick to daycare again, and make a gigantic pillow and sheet fort in the living room. All day Tuesday, we hide out in our fort, play board games, and watch our favorite movies. I take breaks to cry, but manage to hold myself together…mostly. Sherry helps, distracting the kids when I start to tear up, and need to make a run to the upstairs bathroom to hide.

  By Tuesday night, the news that Mr. Pitt committed suicide by setting himself on fire is all over the news. Sherry, Danny, and I watch the coverage on the tiny television in the kitchen, while the little kids are finishing their ice cream in the fort. I wash dishes, Danny dries, and Sherry stacks everything back onto the shelves. Sherry almost drops a plate when she hears Pitt left a suicide note confessing he murdered his mother—she had him for seventh grade, too, and has no trouble believing he was a psychopath. She makes it clear she isn’t sorry to hear Pitt has checked himself out, but Danny doesn’t say a word.

  Our eyes meet as I pass him a salad bowl, he lifts one eyebrow, and I look away. And that’s the end of it. We move on without another word about Pitt, the memories of that horrible night eclipsed by the greater grief of losing Gabe.

  We wake up Wednesday morning to a gray day with rain pouring down, turning the front yard into a mud pit, and decide to call in sick again. We make cookies and run the air conditioner and play the longest game of Go Fish ever. We eat the pizzas Isaac brings over—all four of them—and make alligator puppets out of the boxes.

  Isaac doesn’t come in, but he gives me a hug that feels like one of his old hugs, and when he says he’s sorry for my loss, I believe him. He tells me he talked to my dad again, and gives me a note from Chuck, written on one of the napkins from the restaurant.

  I take it reluctantly, but when I start to read, Dad’s message isn’t what I expected.

  Isaac told me about your boyfriend. I’m sorry, Kit Cat. I really am. It was obvious the boy cared about you, and no one should have to lose the person they love so young.