The Saints of the Cross

by Michelle Figley

  After about an hour of talking, we say our goodbyes, and I promise to call her soon, especially if I have any news about my mother. As I hang up the phone with Cora, the front doorbell buzzes. I throw a hoodie over my tank top and race down the stairs, hoping it’ll be Xander at the door, but it’s not. It’s Camilla.

  “Can I come in?” Her voice is sweet, but her face is stony. “I have something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Sure.”

  Camilla follows me up to my room and plops down on the beanbag chair in the middle of the floor. I sit on the bed, and wait for her to start talking. We stare at each other for a few minutes until she looks away.

  “You’re just as much a neat-freak as ever, huh?” she says, glancing around the room.

  “I thought you had something you wanted to talk to me about, Camilla. Not that I don’t enjoy your company, or anything. I mean, it has been a whole two weeks since I’ve seen you,” I say, not at all trying to hide the hurt I’m feeling.

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about,” she says, moving to the bed. She sits beside me and turns that obnoxiously beautiful face of hers to mine. “I’m actually here for Xander.”

  When she says this, it’s a punch to the stomach. Obviously, Xander doesn’t plan to see or talk to me anytime soon.

  “Where has he been?” I whisper, trying to hold myself together.

  “He withdrew from school.”

  I am in complete shock. I wasn’t expecting to hear that he’d left Holy Cross over this.

  “He had enough credits to graduate at the end of junior year,” Camilla says. “That shouldn’t surprise you at all. You know what a nerd he is.”

  “Why would he leave when we only have a couple of months left? He’s made it this far.” I know why, but I want to hear it from Camilla. If she confirms what I’m thinking, then I’ll know I have no one to blame but myself.

  “He needs time to think, that’s all.” She studies my face more intently than I think she ever has before. Maybe she’s trying to figure out if I’m going to have a breakdown. I’m trying to figure that out myself. For some reason, the despair that’s welling up in me is transforming into white-hot rage. I feel it working its way up from my toes, winding around my legs, and burrowing into the pit of my stomach. It spears its razor-sharp tendrils through the pieces of my broken heart. It’s crippling, and devastating, and unrelenting. I have only one choice to survive this; I turn that rage outward.

  “How very convenient for you,” I say, and there’s no denying the accusation in my tone.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she says and scoots away from me on the bed. The look of shock on her face would be comical under any other circumstance, but this situation is far from funny.

  “Come on, you know. And I know that you know that I know.” I watch the color in her face drain. “Why didn’t you tell me in the beginning about you and Xander?”

  “There was nothing to tell.” She rises from the bed and moves to the window. I’m pretty sure she’s looking for a way to escape. “That was years ago, in the past. It doesn’t mean anything anymore.”

  “Please don’t insult my intelligence by trying to feed me that line of crap. I’m not stupid. I don’t believe it, and neither does Christian,” I say, remembering how broken he was when he told me about their love affair. “You still love Xander, and he loves you.”

  “Well, duh,” Camilla snaps, her voice quivering, and spins on her heels to face me. “He was my first love. I will always love and care about him, just like you will always love and care about Javier. Once you love someone, you’ll always love them, like it or not.”

  “My relationship with Javier was a little different from your relationship with Xander,” I say, my voice seething. “I didn’t just screw him once and then trade up to a hot, rich, rock star.”

  Camilla laughs hysterically at that statement, and I glare at her. “Is that honestly what you think we were?”

  “That’s what I know you were,” I huff. “That’s exactly what Xander told me.”

  “Oh, he was just trying to protect your feelings—to keep you from feeling insecure about our friendship.” Camilla sits back down on the beanbag chair. “The truth is that we were each other’s best friend, true love, soul mate, whatever you want to call it. When that day in the attic happened between Xander and me, I freaked out, because the way I felt about him was scary. It was completely overwhelming, and I had to prove to myself that it wasn’t real. That it was just infatuation.” I give her a look, and she says, “Don’t think I haven’t regretted what I did every single day of my life. I speak from experience when I say that when someone breaks Xander’s heart, he doesn’t get over it quickly, nor does he forgive and forget so easily. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

  “Just tell me one thing,” I say, and my voice catches in my throat. I can’t help it. I’m not only hurt by Xander keeping this from me, but also because I feel betrayed by Camilla. She’s supposed to be my friend, but I feel completely used. Maybe I was nothing more than a means for her to distract Xander for the moment while she had her fun with Christian. Or maybe I was meant to be the distraction for Christian, while she had her fun with Xander.

  “What?” Camilla picks herself up off the beanbag chair and walks to the bedroom door. She leans against it, facing me. By the look on her face, I can tell she’s had enough of our conversation.

  “Why did you even try to fix us up in the beginning? You were so adamant about us getting together.”

  She stares at me for a while, and her expression goes soft. “I guess I never thought he’d fall in love with you.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I say. I pull my knees up to my chest and hide my face in the bend of my elbow.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that.” She crosses back to the bed and sits next to me. “It’s just that he’d never been serious about anyone else, and when I saw that he was getting serious with you—well, I didn’t expect to feel jealous like I did. Like I do.”

  I look in her face and realize that I’m finally getting the real Camilla. No tough-chick mask. This is the fragile Camilla that kept Xander worried about her all those years.

  “You know, I tried to get Xander back?” she says with a wistful smile. “When Christian cheated on me with that whore Holly Merchant, I realized I’d made a huge mistake. Xander would’ve never done anything like that to me. It’s just not in him to hurt the people he loves. But he wouldn’t take me back. He said he thought it would be best if we stayed friends. He didn’t even have it in him to make me feel bad about the way I’d treated him. And so I agreed, because I’d rather have him in my life as just a friend than not at all. He’s been a great friend, always there for me. I guess that’s another thing that set me off. Now that he’s been busy with you, helping you find your mother, he’s not had near enough time for me.”

  I glare at her, and she throws her hands up defensively.

  “I know, I’m moving on. I have moved on. But don’t think that some days when I look at Xander, and I see how absolutely amazing he is, that I don’t think about how my life would be different if I hadn’t made such a stupid decision when I was just a little girl. I could’ve been the happy one. I could’ve been the one with the doting, handsome boyfriend. Being with him would’ve been as easy as breathing.”

  “Christian loves you, Camilla,” I whisper, and her face crumples. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and hug her to me. “He’s just as insecure about your relationship with Xander as anyone else.”

  She rests her head on my shoulder and sighs. “Xander’s madly in love with you, but you don’t need me to tell you that.”

  I snort, because there’s no way that perfect creature could be so in love with me. Especially after the way I’ve let him down. Camilla sits up and turns to me.

  “No, I’m serious. And I know why he’s so crazy about you. Look,” she says, turning me toward the mirror. “You’re beautiful, smart, and you
love him as much as he loves you. You didn’t do anything that will ruin your chances of getting him back. You just have to give him time. Okay?”

  “How will I know when he’s had enough time? I don’t know how to get hold of him.” My voice trembles.

  “Don’t worry, sweetie. He’ll get in touch with you. I promise.” She kisses me on the cheek and heads back to the door. “I have to go.”

  “Wait, Camilla. What about you? What are you going to do about Christian and the baby?”

  She turns around, and her face drains. I feel guilty bringing this up; I know how devastating it must be for her. But I have to know. I love them both, Camilla and Christian, and I’d be crushed if they weren’t together anymore.

  “There’s nothing I can do but wait for the baby to be born and find out what the paternity test says.” She shrugs.

  “He loves you. More than anything,” I say hurriedly, as if I’ve got to get it out before the buzzer sounds. She gives me a sad little smile.

  “Yes, I know,” she says, then turns and walks out the door.

  CHAPTER 27

  Graduation came and went. Although it was a step in the right direction for me, it was impossible to celebrate because I still hadn’t found my mother and I still hadn’t heard from Xander. No visits, no calls, not so much as a simple text message. It was as if he’d fallen off the face of the Earth. I was bracing for the possibility that I may never see him again. I wanted to hire a private investigator, to find Xander, and make him see that I need him—that I love him. But in the end I did nothing, and I remain in limbo still. Lately, I’ve had the strange sensation of coming full circle. And it’s obvious why to anyone who knows me.

  I got a job right after graduation working in the coffee shop at the local bookstore, mostly as a means of occupying my time and distracting me from my many personal failures. I was there yesterday, leisurely reading the Rime of the Ancient Mariner for the thousandth time, when Dad called me and said that he’d gotten a very reliable lead on a Jane Doe in New York City. Apparently, she’s in a catatonic state in a hospital for the mentally ill. I didn’t get my hopes up, but I didn’t let that show to my father. He has enough hope for us all, anyway. Like the good daughter he needs, I put on an Oscar-worthy performance and enthusiastically agreed to go to the hospital with him.

  We drive up to New York together. Grandma Winnie stayed at home with Emma and Ethan. I had asked Dad not to tell the twins about this Jane Doe or our trip. I make sure he doesn’t, because I don’t think I can handle seeing their faces if this turns out not to be our mother. But I really don’t think I will be able to handle it if she does turn out to be Mom—from what I understand about catatonic schizophrenics, which is minimal. Xander is the expert on schizophrenia.

  It’s one of those strange days that are obnoxiously sunny and perfect, when all you feel on the inside is gloom and doom. I’ve been known to close all the blinds, curl up in a ball, and wallow in self-pity on days like today. But I can’t retreat within myself now. My dad needs me. It’s become his singular mission to find Mom, and not just as a means to atone for his sins. He genuinely wants her back in his life. It’s a soul-crushing moment when you have to come to terms with the fact that your decisions have completely destroyed someone else’s life, especially someone you love more than life itself. I know this fact as well as my father does—maybe, more so.

  We arrive at the hospital in the late afternoon. It’s an old warehouse down by the Hudson River that’s been converted into a locked facility for the insane. There was a time not so long ago when schizophrenics roamed the streets homeless and unmedicated. The states had closed all the psychiatric hospitals due to the expense. No one wanted their tax dollars going to house, feed, and treat the mentally ill. That’s not the case anymore; there were too many fatalities and because of public outcry, the government started funding these hospitals again.

  The security system here is similar to the one in Boston. It has two locked entry doors and an intercom/video system. However, I know that this facility is trying to keep patients in, not strangers out. Through the intercom, my dad informs them of who we are and that we have an appointment with the facility administrator, and we are buzzed in.

  An elderly lady leads us to a sparsely furnished room across from the lobby. After a few minutes, a stately looking man enters and informs us that he is Dr. Philpot, the facility psychiatrist. We’re following him out of the room and turning down a hallway when I feel a hand on my shoulder. Startled, I spin on my heels, and there’s Xander’s beautiful, beautiful face before me. My hand goes to my mouth, but then I recover and throw my arms around him. Before I know it, I’m in tears. I’m just so incredibly relieved he’s here with me, that all the emotion I’ve been carrying around for the last few months comes gushing out in spectacular fashion. I manage to calm myself after a few minutes. Xander wipes the tears from my face with gentle, loving hands.

  “Xander,” I breathe, looking up into his serious face—the furrowed brow, the prominent cheekbones, the cleft chin now quivering as he fights to hold back tears. “How—what are you doing here?”

  “He’s the source of my reliable lead,” Dad answers for him.

  “You are?” I’m in awe, but I don’t know why I’m so surprised to hear that Xander has continued the search on his own. I guess I just thought he was finished with me completely. So why would he want to help?

  He nods and caresses my cheek with the back of his hand. “I told you I’d work to find your mother, no matter what. I don’t know what I have to do to prove that to you.”

  “You just did.” I kiss his cheek and take his hand as we continue down the hallway. We stop at a door outside a room lined with one-way mirrors. I can see into the room; it’s bright, completely white, with lots of barred windows—no one’s escaping this place. There’s a large, flat-screen television that’s rolling serene nature scenes—right now there’s a rainforest motif showing. In the middle of the room is a single folding chair facing the TV. In this chair sits someone, and although the person’s back is to me, I can tell she’s female by her long, braided, black hair and her small bone structure. She’s sitting still, her back slightly slumped.

  “That’s her,” Dr. Philpot tells us. “She’s been here for two months. She was found outside the Spanish consulate, curled up on the sidewalk.”

  She’d finally lost hope of finding us. This is what losing hope looks like for a schizophrenic.

  “Her state is pretty serious,” we’re told. “She’s been like this since she came to us. We couldn’t get her to eat, so we had to put a feeding tube in her to give her nutrition, to keep her alive.”

  “Can we see her?” Dad asks, and I know without looking that his eyes are full of tears—I hear it in his wavering voice. He knows. No matter how many years pass between the time you last saw your soul mate, your true love, and the moment they come crashing back into your life, you’ll know them because the connection you share reaches all the way down to the cellular level.

  “Of course you can see her,” Dr. Philpot answers, his face sympathetic. “Follow my lead. She’s highly fragile at the moment.”

  “Dad, why don’t you go in first?” I say, tightening my hold on Xander’s hand. “If it’s her, signal for us to come in.”

  “Okay,” he answers, kissing me on the forehead. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart. I promise.”

  “I know,” I say and smile back at him.

  Dad and Dr. Philpot walk into the room. They circle around the woman in the chair and kneel down in front of her, positioning themselves so that she and Dad are face to face. Dr. Philpot speaks to the woman, and Dad’s looking at her with an expression that’s a cross between hopeful and pleading. His hands go to his eyes, and he sits down hard on the floor in front of the woman, who doesn’t move—she’s still in the same slumped position. I haven’t seen in her so much as a muscle twitch since we’ve been here. Dr. Philpot puts his arms around Dad and helps him back to his feet.

/>   “I better go ahead in. Something’s wrong,” I say to Xander and start to move toward the door, but he catches my hand and pulls me back.

  “Before you go in there,” he says, cupping his hand under my chin and raising it up until our eyes meet. “I want you to know, I am here for you. I always have been, and I always will be.” He moves his face closer to mine and kisses me lightly on the forehead. He wraps me up in those arms I’ve missed so much and whispers in my ear, “You can do this.”

  I nod and exhale, long and hard.

  We go into the room together and stop just inside the door. Dr. Philpot glances up at us and waves us over. Dad’s hands are steepled over his nose and mouth as if he’s praying, but his eyes are wide in an expression that’s borderline horrified. Xander drapes an arm around my shoulders and nudges me forward from our spot. We circle around the side opposite from Dr. Philpot and Dad. My eyes are on my father’s face, but when I sense we are directly in front of the woman, I look down at her.

  And that’s when I come crashing down to my knees.

  That face. Those black eyes. That full mouth. Those broad cheekbones. That prominent nose. It’s her. I don’t need to hear my father say so. I know it because the woman in front of me is exactly as I remember her. It’s as if only a day has passed since I last saw her. She hasn’t aged at all. The thought sends a shiver down my spine. Xander, who’s down on his knees next to me, wraps an arm around my shoulder and hugs me tight, but I pull away from him. I have to get closer to her.

  Her knobby, scaly knees poke out from underneath the blue hospital gown she’s wearing. I crawl closer to her and place a hand on the shin of her right leg.

  “Momma?” I plead.

  She’s staring straight ahead, right through me, her eyes distant and expressionless.