by Teresa Hill
Jesus.
“Just say it, Sam. Go ahead.”
But he doesn’t say anything to me. He doesn’t look at me. He turns to Dana’s dad and says there’s been an accident, we need to go to the hospital.
I don’t remember exactly what happened after that, just bits and pieces. Sam gets us into his truck, and then we’re on the road. Questions fly back and forth, but Sam claims he doesn’t know much except that Dana’s mom had a car accident.
Her and one of her daughters, but the friend who called Sam didn’t know which one.
I do. It’s Dana, gone to get her hair cut, probably so she could look really good to all those college guys at Stanford.
We pull out cell phones and with shaking hands, try to call her and her mom. No answer. Voice mail, every time, and Sam doesn’t want to call anybody else and freak them out, the way we’re freaking, until we know something.
Nobody says it, but I know every damned one of us is thinking about another car accident, Grace’s husband, not two months ago. About him dying in the blink of an eye.
I feel a roaring in my ears so loud I can barely hear anything else. It’s hard to move, hard to breathe, hard to think of anyone but her.
All this time, I thought the worst thing imaginable is my mother being out here somewhere, trying to pull me back into that crazy life we used to live. I’m an idiot. That’s nothing compared to this. Nothing.
It seems like it takes forever to get to the hospital, and then it seems like everything is moving too fast. We’re getting close to the entrance, but once we get there, I’m not sure if I can make myself walk inside. Part of me wants to know what happened, and part of me doesn’t. If it’s something really bad, I’d like to not know a little longer. If I can have some more time to think she’s okay and to imagine all the things I could have said to her, should have said to her, all the things I can see in our future, I want that time. I want every bit of it.
Sam drops me and Dana’s dad off at the emergency room entrance. It isn’t a big hospital. The big ones are in downtown Cincinnati, and anybody who’s seriously hurt ends up there. I wonder if they’re even here, if they might already be on their way to a bigger hospital, because ...
And then I hear it. Crying. A little girl crying. “I think that’s Lizzie.”
We follow the sound to a curtained treatment area, and there’s Lizzie. She looks tiny on a big hospital stretcher as she sits there sobbing, her mom by her side, standing on her own, scrapes and a bit of blood here and there on the side of her face but nothing looks too wrong with her.
“We’re okay,” she says quickly. “We’re fine.”
“You’re bleeding,” Dana’s dad says.
“The airbag. This is from the airbag. Those things hurt.”
Lizzie stops crying, but her big, long eyelashes are wet with tears. Her mouth is in a little pout. She holds out her arms and says, “Daddy!”
“Lizzie-bear, are you okay?”
“The doctor thinks she broke her finger. Nothing else.”
Lizzie holds up one little hand and says, “I gotta boo-boo.”
“I’m sorry,” Dana’s mom says. “She was crying like crazy, and we were trying to figure out what was wrong. I knew we didn’t get hit that hard--”
“By a dump trunk, Em?”
Shit, I either didn’t hear the dump truck part or it didn’t register.
Dana’s mom keeps talking about being stopped at a traffic light, and the dump truck behind them slowed down but couldn’t stop before hitting them. I listen until I can’t stand it anymore and blurt out, “Where’s Dana?”
“Getting her hair cut. We’d just dropped her off. She wasn’t in the car,” her mom says, apologizing again for scaring us so badly. “Lizzie was crying, and it took a while to figure out it was just her finger that was injured, and then I didn’t know where my cell phone ended up, so I could call. How did you hear about this so fast?”
That’s the last thing I hear.
The whole world seems to be coated in a heavy fog, even though we’re inside the hospital. I back away from the three of them, leave them alone to reassure each other that everything is fine. Sam comes charging in after finding a place to park, and I tell him they’re fine and where to find them.
I have to get outside, get some air. I think I’m going to be sick, and I try to suck in big gulps of air, and then I’m sinking down to the sidewalk, my back against the brick wall of the hospital. I just can’t stand up any more, have no feeling in my legs, no strength.
Jesus. I just sit there feeling stupid, waiting for the world to stop spinning in this crazy, sickening way.
All this time, I thought I knew what it’s like to be scared. I had no idea. Being scared of what’s going to happen to me, what my mom might do, is nothing compared to being scared of something happening to Dana.
Or Lizzie.
I love Lizzie, too. How could anyone not love Lizzie? She’s tiny and adorable and so funny, so sweet. And Dana ... I put a trembling hand to my face, over my eyes, blocking out the sight of everything, thinking the spinning might not be so bad if I can’t see. Because even now -- knowing Dana’s fine, they’re all fine -- it still feels like the world is doing this crazy, sickening spin.
I don’t know what to do, except sit here. I can’t think of anything except how much scarier life is than I ever realized. I never thought about losing her. It’s one thing to know I can’t have her the way I want, that one day, I’ll have to let her walk away from me. But it’s another thing completely to imagine her hurt or just not here anymore.
And then I hear her voice saying my name. I’m not even sure it’s real, and I’m still sitting on the sidewalk. But I look up and there she is, looking terrified, tears rolling down her face. She moves so slowly, like she’s afraid to get to me, afraid to hear what I’ll say.
I get to my feet somehow, and she stares up at me, her eyes huge and filled with fear, and I tell her, “They’re okay. They’re fine.”
Her mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. She looks like she’s having trouble believing me, maybe because I still look so freaked out. Finally, she whispers, “Really?”
“Swear to God. Nothing but a broken finger and a few scrapes from the airbag.”
She nods shakily. “Really?”
“Yes, baby, I swear.”
And then she’s in my arms. We cling to each other tighter than we ever have. She’s shaking so hard. I can’t tell exactly, but I think maybe I am, too. We’re both struggling to breathe, to calm down.
“I kept thinking about the day Zach came to get us at school, to tell us about Aunt Grace’s husband’s car accident.”
“I know. We all did.”
“I was so scared.”
“Me, too, baby. Me, too.”
It takes a while for her to calm down, for both of us to, a while before I stop being so scared and start to think about having her so close. She’s crushed against me. Her head’s tucked in tight against my shoulder and my neck. As she exhales, her breath warms my skin. Her tears fall onto my shirt. I have a hand in her hair, my nose against her temple breathing in the scent of her, the soft weight of her perfect breasts pressing against my chest.
I want to hang onto her forever, want to tell her that this is her place. This is where she belongs, with me, despite all the reasons it can’t happen. It’s like my body is at war with my brain. Like the world is really fucking with me today.
She finally stops crying. That ragged breath of hers eases, but it seems like she snuggles more closely against me, holds on more tightly.
“I miss you,” she says. “I miss you so much.”
God, I miss her, too.
A second later, my hand is on the side of her face, my nose nuzzling her hair, her skin. She smells so good. Her cheeks are wet with tears, and I keep trying to wipe them away. I catch one of them with my mouth as I kiss one of her wet cheeks. Her cheek and then the corner of her mouth. Her soft, soft lips, and then I’m los
t.
Lost in her. The feel of her body. The taste of her tears. The feel of her lips beneath mine. Perfect. Exactly what I always knew it would feel like to kiss her -- and I’ve thought about it, dreamed about it, so many times -- except this is even better.
I need her. I need this so much, but I know it won’t last. It will never last long enough to satisfy me. But for now. God, now ...
She’s so soft, so tentative, like she’s hardly been kissed before. That couldn’t be true, because she’s so pretty, so perfect. I know guys want her. I hear them talk about her all the time. It makes me insane.
But I’m not going to give that thought any more time in my head. Not now. I’m mostly trying not to devour her, not to do anything to pull her out of the moment, not to let this end. So I tease at the seam of her lips as softly as I can manage, her breath mingling with mine, and then I draw that gorgeous, full, lower lip of hers in between mine and play with it, sucking it into my mouth and teasing it with my tongue, just savoring the taste of her.
I have both my hands on the sides of her face, afraid to let them be anywhere else, to touch her anywhere else, because I want them everywhere on her. I want so much.
I can’t say how long it goes on, forever it seems, yet not nearly long enough. Someone walks by us, a guy, and says something along the lines of, “I’d tap that,” and I realize where we are, what we’re doing. Her father’s just inside the doors to our right. Her mother. Lizzie. Sam. Anybody else in the family who’s heard about the accident is probably on their way.
Damn. It takes everything I have in me to put my hands on her arms and hold her still while I step back, away from her, breaking off that crazy kiss.
She stares up at me, dazed, her eyes big and watery, her mouth trembling, like she can’t quite make sense of what just happened, either.
God, I’m a mess. I’ve made such a mess of this.
“Come on.” I take her hand in mine and tug her along behind me. “I’ll take you to your mom and Lizzie.”
* * *
Chapter Nine
Dana
It takes me forever to go to sleep that night, my mind alternating between kissing Peter and freaking out about something happening to my mom and Lizzie. And that an awful thing for all of us -- well, something really, really scary -- had led to something amazing for me.
So long. I had waited so long, and I keep thinking of the way he held me, the way he kissed me.
That’s the last thing I remember thinking. I must have fallen asleep, because it’s like a second later, I have a nightmare that’s some terrifying combination of Luc’s car accident and my mom and Lizzie’s, Luc’s funeral and ...
I jerk upright in bed, barely managing not to cry out as I wake up.
It wasn’t real, I have to keep telling myself. Everybody is fine.
But I can’t go back to sleep, even though it’s too early to get up. I just have to see them, safe in their beds. I creep down the hall to Lizzie’s room and get right next to the bed, the messy covers, before I realize Lizzie isn’t here.
I go to the room next door -- my parents’ -- and the door is open. Dad isn’t there, but I can see Lizzie curled up against my mom in the big bed, and my mom is awake.
“Hi, honey. You’re up early,” my mom says. “Trouble sleeping?”
I nod. It’s hard to look at her, because she looks like she skidded on concrete, face first. She has shallow, red scrapes on her forehead, one cheek, her chin. It scares me every time I see her.
“Dana, I’m fine,” Mom says, but as she tries to sit up, I can see that she’s hurting. She grimaces and eases back down against the pillows. “Okay, my muscles are sore and tight, but that’s it.”
“Promise?” I ask, feeling wobbly and uncertain.
The door to their bathroom opens, and my dad comes out, puffs of steam following him. He comes up behind me, puts both his arms around my shoulders to hold me and leans down to kiss the side of my head. “She’s fine. I made the doctors check them both over carefully.”
“Okay,” I say.
He walks over to Mom’s side of the bed and holds out a hand to her. “Come on. I ran a hot bath for you. You need to try to soak some of that soreness out.”
I watch as he eases her carefully out of the bed, one hand behind her shoulders and one beneath her knees. She has one of her arms around his shoulder and her head leaning against his chest, and there’s so much tenderness between them, so much trust and love, it’s hard to look at them sometimes. It makes me ache for someone who will treat me like that, to care about me like that. I know there’s nothing my dad wouldn’t do for my mom or my mom wouldn’t do for him, and I want that for myself.
I want it with Peter.
I want him to kiss me the way he did yesterday and to take care of me and to love me, and I don’t care that I’m sixteen, ridiculously young to find love like that. He’s my person. We found each other early, but I swear, he’s it for me.
“Honey, are you all packed for your trip?” my mom asks.
“Yes.”
“Would you mind staying here with Lizzie for a little while? She was scared last night, and I don’t want her to wake up alone.”
“Sure.”
I climb into Mom’s spot in the bed, where it’s still warm from her body and holds the soft, sweet smell I always associate with her. Lizzie rolls onto her side and into me, all warm and sweet and sleepy. Her poor little ring finger on her right hand is splinted and wrapped together with her middle finger to stabilize it. It isn’t a bad break. Last night, she enjoyed showing everybody her boo-boo and getting kisses to make it better.
She and Mom are fine. Everyone in my family is fine.
Well, Aunt Grace’s husband is gone, but everybody else is fine.
We’re lucky. We’ve been so lucky over the years, with everyone healthy and mostly always happy. I heard my granddad talking about it at the hospital last night. How lucky we’ve been for so long that nothing awful happened.
My dad comes back out of the bathroom and to the bed. He bends over and kisses Lizzie on the forehead and then me, says he’s going to miss me.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go to California. I think Mom needs me here.”
“Honey, this is a great chance for you to see two amazing schools. If your mom needs help, I’ll stay home or Tricia will help or Grace or Rachel. We’ll handle it.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods. “Just ... Watch out for all those college boys.”
“Dad--”
“I mean it. They’re used to being around girls who are older than you, used to ... ” He groans. “I have no idea what they’re used to. I don’t even want to think about some of the stuff I’ve heard that goes on. The drinking, the parties--”
“Dad, all that stuff happens in high school, too.”
“God, don’t tell me that.”
“Sorry. It’s true. I know how to handle myself.”
He hugs me tight, and I feel so safe with his arms around me. I’ve felt safe for almost my whole life until very recently. There was that little blip when Lizzie was born. It was a long, hard delivery, and my mom lost a lot of blood, scared us all. Then Luc died, and Aunt Grace is just lost and devastated. Peter’s mother got out of jail, and he’s so scared he’s talking about running away.
I can’t imagine not knowing where he is or if he’s safe. And now I have more to think about, those awful, long minutes after I heard about my mom and Lizzie’s accident, before I got to the hospital and found out they were okay.
I’m still a little shaken up by that, by everything.
It seems like so much is changing, and could change faster than I ever imagined.
* * *
Peter
I’m still freaked out about yesterday. Believing that Dana was hurt, that she might be gone. God, I can hardly think it, even now.
The sun’s almost up. I’m not sure if I slept at all. I kept thinking about huge dump trucks crushing cars, almost blacking
out outside the hospital, and then Dana, how scared she was and how in the hell I ended up kissing her. The whole day had an odd, unreal quality. I can’t stop all these thoughts from running through my head.
She’s leaving this morning with Zach for that damned school, Stanford, which will probably save me from her asking about that kiss and why it happened, what it means.
I have no idea what to tell her.
Plus, I have bigger worries at the moment. She’s going to be around a ton of college guys for a long weekend. The more I think about it, the crazier it makes me. Guys are going to want her. They already do. College guys will, too. All those rich boys. Smart, cocky, rich boys her father will like so much more than me.
Zach’s going to pick her up and head to the airport this morning. He asks me if I want a ride to school. It’s on the way.
I debate back and forth with myself. I want to see her. I always want to see her. But I can’t explain kissing her like I’ve been dying to do it my whole life. Still, she’s leaving, and I want her to be careful on her trip. So very careful. I don’t want anyone else touching her, kissing her, doing anything with her, and I worry about someone hurting her.
“I didn’t know it was a hard question,” Zach says. “Yes or no. I’ve got to go.”
“Okay. Yes.” I wince, hoping it isn’t a mistake.
We pull up to her house in time to see her hug her mom and Lizzie. She walks out the door with a colorful tote bag over her shoulder, a surprised smile on her face when she spots me in the car.
Her dad puts her suitcase in the trunk. As I get out of the car and hold the passenger-side door open for her, her dad glares at me, and I hear her tell him, “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
She gets into the car. I close her door, and as I’m getting into the back seat, she turns around and asks, “What did you say to my dad about Stanford?”
“Not ... that much.”
Zach’s getting into the car himself and shoots me a look that says he knows all about my little talk with her dad, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything.
