Filthy Foreign Exchange

by Angela Graham

  “It hurts,” I groan. I reach over to rub my arm, but someone stops me.

  “We know,” is the only answer I receive—or maybe it’s the only one I hear, because I’m growing rapidly sleepier. I think the meds they gave me are finally kicking in. Heavenly.

  My eyes rest, head pounding less than before. Words like “X-ray” and “fracture” swirl around me as I’m pushed down another hallway, though not quite as fast this time…I think.

  The last thing I remember is the sadistic doctor from hell tugging and maneuvering my arm roughly—like it isn’t already broken and killing me, despite the meds. The fright, and obviously very low threshold for pain I’m newly aware I suffer from, has my eyes rolling back in my head.

  And once again, everything fades to black.

  Chapter 22

  “Oh, Echo.”

  I wake up to my mom worrying over me, her face tear-stained and puffy.

  “Hi, honey. Welcome back, my darling girl.”

  “Water,” I grate. It’s literally the most painful word ever to have clawed up my throat.

  “I’ll get it!”

  Sammy springs out of a chair in the corner, where I hadn’t even noticed him sitting, and rushes over with a cup and straw. “Small sips, Echo,” he instructs me. “Slow.”

  Hmm, my little magic man might grow up to be a doctor. Seems he’s been memorizing every instruction the staff’s given, and I must say, he has an excellent bedside manner. The cold water’s not only soothing, but aids in my ability to muster up a grateful smile.

  “Very good job,” my mom praises him as tears stream down her cheeks.

  It’s then that I shift my gaze to my left arm, and sure enough, there’s a bulky cast covering it from my wrist to well past my elbow. And here I was just thinking my entire body felt heavy. I wiggle my legs and toes again, just to be sure, and they’re fine. That’s a huge relief.

  “Mama,” is all I can say, silently questioning her further with what I know is a scared, baffled expression.

  “Yes?” She takes my right hand in hers. “I’m sure you want answers. You’re in Mercy General. When we got home from dinner, you were—”

  She gets choked up, and little Sammy pats her gently on the back.

  “At the bottom of the stairs, out cold. I called the ambulance. I’m so, so sorry I couldn’t ride with you, honey. I had to stay with Sammy. Your father ran into the surveyor he’s been trying to get ahold of all week, and convinced him to go out to the new worksite tonight.” She covers her mouth and pinches her eyes shut, shaking her head. “He was just here, though—rushed straight over when I called him—but…”

  “But what?” I ask as I look around, only just now realizing my dad isn’t anywhere in the room. “Is he okay?” My stomach seizes up, worst-case scenarios flying through my mind.

  “Yes, yes, of course.” She squeezes my hand, and the worried cramp in my belly relaxes. “He just needed to run home, while they were putting on your cast.”

  “Why?” I couldn’t be more confused. What is she not saying?

  “To call the cops on those punk bastards!” Sammy spits out, obviously having also memorized my father’s words.

  “Samuel!” my mom gasps.

  “He’s right.”

  My head jerks toward my dad’s voice as he walks into the room, the instinctual motion hurting like hell.

  “How’s my girl?” he asks with a warmth in his tone I’ve never heard, coming up to the side of my bed. “Gave us quite a scare, young lady. But you’re gonna be just fine. My tough lil’ Echo.” He bends to kiss my forehead. “I love you.”

  “W-what happened?” I ask, my voice still scratchy. “Punks?”

  “Don’t worry about all that right now,” my mom says.

  “No, please tell me,” I plead. “What happened?” I want to ask about Kingston, but think better of it when I see the flash of enragement cross my father’s face.

  When no one answers me, I attempt to sit up, frustrated and in pain but determined.

  “Echo, no, you need to relax,” my mother says as my father steps closer.

  “Dad?” I ask. I lock my gaze with his, hoping to convey that I can handle the truth.

  “You get too worked up, and I stop talking. Understood?”

  I whisper my “Yes,” because I certainly don’t feel like nodding, or straining my voice more than necessary on simple answers.

  “Kingston held a party at the pavilion,” my father tells me. “One with crap music blaring loud enough to wake up Mr. Stewart next door. And a bonfire, which he of course saw—when they woke him up.”

  “Why would he do that?” I ask, refusing to believe Kingston would disrespect my family’s property by hosting a party there.

  “When Kingston finally decides to turn up, I’ll sure as hell be finding out. Rest assured.”

  “He wasn’t there?”

  Something isn’t adding up. Kingston wouldn’t do this, I know it. And even if I wasn’t steadfast in my faith in him, how could he have done it, without being there? I may be groggy from meds and a head injury, but my common sense still works.

  “No, and he’s not answering his phone. Clay was there, though—now there’s a good man. Told me he heard about it from some buddies and got there as quick as he could to break it up. Not only did he move fast to help our family, but he was even trying to look out for Kingston…before I could find out. I can respect that, loyalty to a new friend. But Kingston—”

  “Wait, no!”

  I shuffle my body, anger flaring through my sore limbs and pounding skull. I look to my mom, widening my eyes at her, begging her to say something. Clay is anything but a good guy, and Kingston—and I—need her to speak up. She knows I can’t argue with or correct my father, but I can’t lie here and listen to another minute of misconceived bullshit either!

  “Yeah, Clay’s a great guy,” I say with more sarcasm than I thought I’d have in me at this point. I watch as my mom says nothing, dropping her head so she doesn’t have to look at me.

  And then it hits me: She isn’t saying anything because her loyalty lies with her son. To “out” Clay would be to “out” Sebastian, and she won’t do it. Unfortunately—and I know shamefully, for my mom—that leaves Kingston as the sacrificial lamb of a mother’s love.

  “What aren’t you saying, Echo?” my dad questions.

  Tears prickle my eyes, blurring my vision. I’m in the same boat as my mom. It’s a gross injustice, and Kingston doesn’t deserve all these uninformed assumptions. But Sebastian comes first with me too, so I remain silent.

  Plus, until I hear the facts from Kingston myself, wouldn’t I just be assuming too? Although at least my assumptions are based on blind faith in him, rather than completely undeserved faith in Clay.

  “Echo?” my father presses.

  “Nothing,” I mumble, and thankfully my mom jumps to the rescue.

  “I’m trying to reach Kingston, and I’ll keep doing so,” she finally says, picking up on my inner turmoil. She places a hand on my dad’s arm. “Let’s worry about all that tomorrow, though. Your daughter has a broken arm and a pretty bad concussion. I’d say her rest and recovery are the most important things right now.”

  My temples are really throbbing now and my vision is getting blurrier by the second, so as much as I hate it, my mother and I have to come to a silent agreement to let the matter drop for now, allowing my father his misconceptions.

  “Of course you’re going to be sore all over for a while, but the doctor says you should be able to come home tomorrow,” she explains to me. “They just want to observe you a little longer because of your concussion.”

  The nurse comes in, ready to give me something more for pain, but I shake my head. Damn it, that hurt! I have to remember: Move as little as possible, Echo!

  I motion to my water with my eyes this time, and thankfully, Sammy-on-the-spot gets the hint and helps me with another drink before I speak again.

  “In a minute,” I tell
the nurse, before staring back at my dad. There’s still something more he’s not telling me; I can feel it, despite my foggy state.

  “We should leave you to sleep. It’s late,” he announces, then turns to my mom. “Give me a minute with Echo, and I’ll meet you and Sammy in the waiting room in a few.”

  Mom tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth. “John, I’d rather not leave her alone overnight.”

  “Echo is in the best place for her right now. She’ll be fine. We both know you won’t get a wink of sleep if you stay here, and neither will she. You’ll hover and fret all night.” He turns to Sammy, while my mom leans down and gives me a hug.

  “Here’s your phone, honey,” Mom whispers, sneaking it under the covers by my right, good arm. “I don’t think you’re supposed to have it, but someone can say something to me if they have a problem. You need anything, you call.” She kisses my cheek. “Let’s go, Sammy.”

  Oh, if looks could kill, my dad would be wheeled straight down to the morgue. But he, of course, thinks it’s funny, and chuckles at her.

  Once they’re gone, banished to the waiting room, my dad pulls up a chair to my bedside and sighs, running a hand over his face. He looks exhausted.

  “Lemme see if I can answer all the questions I know you still have, in order of importance to you.” He grins. “A man knows his own daughter.

  “It wasn’t just a little party. Some guys—Kingston’s buddies—trashed the pavilion. Nothing that can’t be fixed, but enough to be a lot of work, an unnecessary setback, and a huge pain in the ass. I saw two of them run off when I pulled up, but managed to catch three. Turned ‘em over to the police. And unless they rat on who helped them, they’ll be the ones paying for it all. Like I said, Kingston wasn’t there—no sign of his truck, either—but I trust Clay’s word and they were Kingston’s friends, so he’s going home, Echo. Already called his father. If you hear from him, you’ll be sure to let him know I’m looking for him. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” I scratch out.

  “All right, then. Anything I missed?” he asks, while pressing the nurse call button.

  “No.” I don’t trust Clay, but Kingston has been MIA all day. So unless he shows his face and tells me himself that he wasn’t responsible, I can’t really say anything else at this point.

  “Then it’s my turn. Got a few questions of my own, young lady.”

  “Sir?”

  “How long has the sleepwalking been going on?”

  “For as long as I can remember,” I answer honestly.

  “Doctor mentioned sometimes a trigger or trauma can cause it. Any thoughts about that?”

  “I’ve always been a worrier, Dad. Any idea where I got that from?” I grin, hoping he accepts it as the loving joke I mean rather than disrespect.

  “Will you do me a favor?” He takes my hand and pats it. “Leave all that up to me from now on. You just worry about being the wonderful young woman you are, okay?”

  I feel my eyes mist up. It’s the most special moment my father and I have ever shared.

  “Okay.”

  “And leaving it up to me means telling me, from now on, whenever something’s bothering you that badly. You’re my little girl, and it’s my job to slay your dragons. Give me the chance to do my job, Echo.”

  “Promise.”

  “Good. Let’s get you doped up and resting then. We’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

  My father kisses the top of my head, then stands right as the nurse reenters.

  “I love you, Echo. More than anything—except your brothers and your mother,” he says with a chuckle. “I know you want Kingston to stay and you’re afraid Sebastian will have to come home early now, but I need you to trust your old man. I know what’s best.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ~~~~~

  I don’t swallow the pill the nurse gives me. Instead, I hold it between two of my back teeth so it won’t dissolve, and pretend to fall asleep so my dad feels comfortable leaving.

  Now that I’m alone in the dark room, I grab my phone. Thank you, Mom. The screen reads that it’s just before midnight—which means Kingston hasn’t yet broken curfew, at least.

  I call him first. I have so many questions for him: Where was he all day? Why didn’t he answer my dad? Does he know I’m here? And what the hell does he know about the destruction of my family’s pavilion?

  On the third ring, the phone is answered. I perk up, anxious to hear him.

  But it’s not his voice that speaks.

  “Hello?”

  I’d know that voice anywhere. It’s Savannah’s. What the fuck?

  I hang up. Nausea, anger, betrayal—and did I mention anger?—all ricochet around my head painfully. Why is he with her? Was she part of the crowd that trashed the pavilion? Was he gone when my dad arrived because they snuck off to have—

  Ugh. I can’t do this—cope with all this alone, lying broken and clueless in a dark hospital room.

  I call my brother immediately. And I go ahead and swallow the pain pill, too, even though it won’t dull the ache that hurts most.

  Sebastian answers, sounding groggy at first.

  “‘lo?” Suddenly his voice cracks and he sounds more alert, riddled with worry. “Echo, what’s wrong?”

  “Seb,” I sob past the gravel in my throat. I don’t care if it hurts—I have to talk to someone. This day, from start to finish, has been a real-life nightmare. “It’s all so bad. Everything’s ruined.”

  “What’s ruined? Echo, what’s wrong with your voice? What the hell is going on?”

  I’m crying, whispering so I don’t get caught with my cell phone, and trying to explain with a modicum of rationality. I tell him about my fall, and how I’m in the hospital. When he finishes freaking out, I move on to the pavilion-being-trashed story. And when he’s done flipping shit about that too, I tell him about Savannah answering Kingston’s phone.

  “Well, that explains why he wasn’t at the pavilion.” He laughs faintly. “Kingston might really not have had any idea about that going on—sounds like he was busy elsewhere. Which is fine…better, actually. I’d kick his ass if he watched people trash our property.”

  Huh? The medicine must be kicking in, because I couldn’t possibly have heard him right.

  “Are you seriously saying you’re okay with your girlfriend fooling around with someone else?” I’m beginning to wonder if I’m still unconscious and just in a weird, twisted dream.

  “Echo, Savannah and I aren’t together. We took a break when I left. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I knew you’d worry, and Sav’s your best friend. I didn’t want weirdness between you two…I wanted you to have someone.”

  “Someone who killed your baby and didn’t even tell you till after?”

  I bite down on my bottom lip, and taste the result: blood. Damn it. Why did I say that?

  His grim response is almost inaudible. “She told you?”

  “No, I overheard her and Mom talking, then pressed her—and Clay—about it.”

  “Clay? Why’d you ask him anything?”

  “Because Mom seems to think he drove her, and paid for it. Which he didn’t confirm nor deny.”

  He releases a snarl of disbelief. “He what?”

  “I, uh…don’t know for sure. That’s just what I heard Mom say.” I wipe at my tears, closing my shameful eyes. “Sebastian, I’m so sorry, for all of it—for saying anything. I disowned them both, though, and may have thrown the chalk box at Savannah’s head. I just…why didn’t you tell me?”

  He sighs in my ear. “Do I really need to answer that again? When you found out, you lobbed a heavy metal object at Savannah’s head that could’ve killed her, then got so upset you sleepwalked down the fucking stairs and broke your arm. Why do you think I didn’t tell you?”

  “Well, I’m so sorry that I love you and don’t like it when people go around hurting you!”

  “I love you, too. Calm down for me, please,” he begs. “Shit, Echo, I need to go.
I have to process a few things. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, drugs are kicking in. I’ll be out in few minutes.”

  He laughs lightly. “I’ll call you tomorrow—make that later today. Okay?”

  “K,” I murmur, feeling my eyes closing.

  “Take care of yourself, Echo. I’ll be okay, I promise. Love you.”

  ~~~~~

  I’m just dozing off when I make out a faint sound coming from under the covers.

  I swat at the annoyance, hoping that smashes whatever it is before registering that it’s my phone ringing, just as it stops.

  I’m digging under the covers for it as it pings with a new text.

  Kingston: Please tell me you’re all right. They won’t let me in to see you.

  Unable to lift my head completely, I fumble through a reply with heavy eyes and fingers.

  Me: Where are you?

  Kingston: Outside the hospital.

  Me: Curfew?

  That’s what I type, despite the flurry of questions I should be asking. But in this moment, I just want to be close to him—to block out the entire world, and all this bullshit. To feel his arms hold me as I fall asleep to the sound of his soothing voice.

  Right or wrong, I crave him.

  Kingston: All that matters is you. Are you okay?

  Me: Been better, but yeah.

  Fighting to keep my eyes open, the last thing I see is the final text he ever sends me.

  Kingston: I’m sorry, Love.

  Epilogue

  Thirty-six hours after being admitted, I was released from the hospital. My prognosis? Six weeks with a cast on my arm, a prescription for sleeping pills, and a mildly concussed head.

  Oh, and my dad demanded the bell be hung back on my bedroom door. Sebastian took his ass-chewing over the phone like a champ, and wasn’t mad at me. Thank God.