by Cat Jordan
“—so sorry, Middie—”
“—be all right, I’m sure—”
“—here for you, okay?”
Mr. Z’s office door opened. “Come in” was murmured by someone. Mr. Z? Ms. Templeton? I wasn’t sure.
A corduroy-covered sofa magically appeared, having been liberated from beneath piles of papers and books and trinkets by my guidance counselor. The door closed on the clamor in the hallway, on the voices of my friends, who called my name.
The principal sat on the small couch beside me, a woman named Ms. McMahon who was new to the school. She wore her hair in a chin-length bob and favored black and gray. Her frightened eyes mirrored my own. “We’re calling your mom now,” she said softly. “You can wait here until she comes.”
I felt my chin nod.
On the right side of the office a television was showing the same footage I had seen on Katrina’s phone. Principal McMahon flicked through the channels. CNN, Fox, MSNBC. Every news outlet was showing the same images of a destroyed village: trees down, buildings on fire, bodies littering the ground.
67 KILLED IN VILLAGE ATTACK.
SPLINTER GROUP OF LOCAL MILITARY SUSPECTED.
VILLAGERS AND MEDICAL VOLUNTEERS KILLED WHILE FLEEING.
No! The tiny hairs on my arms rose up and my skin went cold. I shut my eyes and felt tears fall down my cheeks and drip off my chin. This couldn’t be. It couldn’t. It was a terrible, horrible nightmare.
It was nerves and anxiety over school and personal essays and Nate being gone and somehow Emma’s inspirational Brownie troop story got mixed up in my dreams and . . .
. . . this is not real. Not real. This is a mistake. This is someone else’s village, not Nate’s.
I felt my throat tighten and my breath choke—every ounce of air was gone from my lungs and I couldn’t inhale, couldn’t stop my heart from thumping against my ribs.
“We shouldn’t have this on.” Mr. Z shut off the television. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he said.
Is he serious?
“We don’t know anything for sure yet.” Mr. Z spoke carefully, like some kind of hostage negotiator. “Meredith, talk to me.”
“Talk?” I choked out the word. I could barely form a sentence in my brain, let alone hold a conversation with another human being. What the hell would I talk about?
My phone buzzed in my purse: Haley. I tapped the screen to send it to voice mail. Then it buzzed again. Katrina. And again. Debra. Each time I glanced at the ID in vain. Finally, Ms. McMahon took the phone from me and shut it off completely.
“No!” I cried, grabbing it from her and turning it back on. “He might call!”
Our eyes met and I had to glance away. Because in them, I saw the truth as Ms. McMahon saw it. Nate wouldn’t ever call. Ever.
My skin was clammy and moist. The air was stale and everyone was too close. Too close. I could feel Ms. McMahon’s leg against mine on the too-small couch. I clutched my purse and phone tightly and lurched from the sofa to the door. “I have to go.”
“But your mother isn’t here yet—”
“I’ll wait outside.” I flung open the door and ran straight into Ms. Templeton, who was consoling Haley.
She reached for me, but I couldn’t spare her more than a glance.
I tore down the hallway and burst through the doors.
“Meredith!” I heard. I turned and spotted the Vespa. Lee waved at me and I ran, away from school, away from everything. I sat on the back of the scooter, tucked my purse between my knees, and grabbed the chrome handle that wrapped around the back of the leather seat. Lee motored away from the curb.
CHAPTER five
I was grateful for the wind on my cheeks, for the cool air that numbed my skin. As the school receded in the distance, I saw my friends spill out of the doors and wrap their arms around one another, consoling themselves. My eyes stung with tears, and I turned forward to let the wind whisk them away, temporarily at least.
We pulled into a driveway and Lee wordlessly took my phone from my purse, tapped the keys, and then handed it back to me. He shrugged. “In case you need it.”
I stopped short when I saw where we were: Nate’s house.
“You should probably be here, don’t you think.” It wasn’t a question. He was right. This was where I should be: with Nate’s family. My family.
I nodded and slowly dismounted the bike. “You coming in?”
“Not my thing.” He was on his scooter and gone before I could thank him for the lift.
For the rescue.
For not saying, It’ll be okay.
I stared at the front of the house, willing my feet to move forward. I knew I had to go inside and see Nate’s family, to console them, to be consoled by them. But I couldn’t! I looked at that house and remembered the thousands of times Nate and I had made out on the creaky porch swing. I heard the sounds of Nate’s footsteps on the front stairs as he ran down to greet me at the door. I smelled the hot buttered popcorn and melted Junior Mints he liked on movie nights with his family.
My fingers trembled as I sent my mother a text, telling her where I was. They fumbled on the keys so badly that autocorrect couldn’t even hazard a guess, translating the message into “Agnats hiss” instead of “At Nate’s house.” I pressed Send anyway and stood at the end of the driveway to wait. I couldn’t go inside alone. I couldn’t.
A few minutes later, my father’s car pulled up and my mother and sister jumped out. They hugged me between them, and my father wrapped his arm around my shoulder. Emma, in her precious Brownie outfit and freshly ironed sash, tugged on my hand. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. I scooped her up in my arms and her legs wrapped around my waist. I held her tightly all the way inside the house.
The Binghams were assembled in the front living room, much as they had been on my last visit for Nate’s going-away party. Could that truly have been just a couple of weeks ago? My brain couldn’t reconcile that—it simply wasn’t possible. But there was Nate’s great-aunt Pamela in another classic knit shell and matching twill pants set from L.L.Bean. She sat in the same chair as when I’d met her.
I carried Emma in with me, finding a place for her on the couch where she could sit with my father, who quietly introduced himself to Aunt Pamela and the others in the room. I braced for what must surely come next: Nate’s parents.
“Be strong, sweetie,” my mother said in my ear. “I’m with you.”
We entered the kitchen together, hands clasped, and were stunned by the frenzy of activity, a sharp contrast to the gloom of the front parlor. Mr. and Mrs. Bingham dashed from counter to counter to window to door, constantly in motion but never bumping into each other, almost as if their movements were choreographed. I recognized Nate’s older cousins and aunts and uncles, each on a cell phone, all talking at once. There were two televisions in here and three computer screens, all set to different news channels. Nate’s cousin Brad, a freshman at our high school, was manning the media, constantly changing the stations in search of updates.
“No, there isn’t any reason to suspect terrorism,” Mr. Bingham was saying into his cell. “We’ve heard nothing about motive.”
“—not going to give up, not this soon,” Mrs. Bingham said into hers. “The reports are sketchy at best. . . .”
She spotted us both and leaned over a table to embrace us with her arm and elbow. “Lillian, thank you.” She kissed my cheek. “Middie, sweetheart.”
Perhaps the only sign that something was amiss was her untucked blouse and her lack of makeup, save for a dash of lip gloss. Otherwise, she was the same army general that I knew so well.
“I’ll be in touch. Yes, thank you, Reverend.” Nate’s mother clicked off her cell, and she came over to hug us more thoroughly. “Oh my goodness, Middie, you’re shaking.” She held my hands in hers and rubbed them together as if she were warming me up. “We have plenty of coffee if you want a cup.”
“Caroline, why don’t you take a seat,” my mother said, “and I’ll bring yo
u some coffee.” She got a shush and a wave in return.
“Not at all,” Mrs. Bingham said. But her voice cracked as if even she could not believe she was playing the good hostess at a time like this. She quickly composed herself. “Brad, honey, would you pour coffee for Middie and Lillian?”
Nate’s cousin seemed reluctant to leave his computers, but he did as he was asked, bringing us two mugs of black coffee before quickly retreating when we thanked him.
My mother handed me hers and shooed me away. “Would you find some cream and sugar for mine, sweetie?”
I knew she was sending me off while she spoke to Mrs. Bingham, but I looked for the cream and sugar anyway, finding it on the counter closest to the sink. While I stirred some of each in, I glanced out the window at the twins on their swings. Nate’s brother sat on the ground, staring up at the basketball hoop with a ball balanced on his knees. I had a feeling the girls were ignorant of the real reason everyone was at the house, but Scotty was old enough. Fresh tears sprang to my eyes as I imagined Nate’s parents delivering the bad news, but I wiped them off with a napkin before I turned away from the window.
I carried the coffee back to my mother, who was attentive to Mrs. Bingham’s every word.
“—not exactly the most reputable government we’re dealing with down there,” she was saying with disdain. “Who knows the level of corruption in that country? Am I right, Tom?” she called over her shoulder to her husband, who nodded.
“You’re right, Car.”
“No group has claimed the attack, right, Tom?”
Mr. Bingham gave her a nod and a thumbs-up. “Right, Car.”
“We haven’t seen his body, Lil,” Mrs. Bingham went on. “No one has seen the actual bodies.”
My mother nibbled her fingernail. “But the photos—”
“Those could be anyone! That village could be anywhere!” Her voice quavered as it rose. She seemed to sense she was sounding a bit hysterical, and she took a deep breath, exhaling through pursed lips. “All I mean to say is, we’re not giving up hope, not yet.” She saw me and pulled me in to her. “You wouldn’t give up either, would you?”
“Never,” my mother said firmly.
“That’s why Tom and I are going to Honduras ourselves.”
My mother’s face creased with worry. “Are you sure that’s safe?”
Mrs. Bingham nodded and reached for her husband’s hand. “It’s what we have to do.”
The room suddenly quieted and, for a moment, we heard the little girls outside giggling and squealing, cheerfully caught up in their swings. Inside the kitchen, we all managed a smile, and then a CNN reporter returned after a commercial break to update everyone on the attack.
Nate’s mom slipped into her husband’s arms while my mom hugged me closer.
I envied those little girls; I would never be that innocent again.
For seventeen years of my life, death had been a stranger to me. I’d never known anyone who’d died. One set of grandparents was still living, while the other pair had died before I was born. A few students at my school had lost their older brothers or sisters overseas, but they weren’t people I was close to, so while I mourned for them, I couldn’t mourn with them.
Nate’s death, on the other hand, felt like my own. From the moment I’d heard the news at school, I couldn’t think, could hardly speak. While I was at the Binghams’, I was surrounded by activity. There was food to cook, dishes to wash, and coffee to brew. I shot hoops with Emma and Scotty and pushed the twins on the swings like Nate used to. I didn’t cry. Especially not in front of the kids.
But at home, I could not stop weeping. Leaving the hub of noise and optimism of the Bingham house meant returning to my empty bedroom, where there would be no FaceTime call, no text messages, no emails. Nothing.
And the more time that went by without them, the more likely it seemed that there would never be one again.
The shock of that realization was overwhelming. Fortunately, Haley arrived on my doorstep with Katrina and Debra and an offer to spend the night.
In my room, Katrina sat on one side of me on the bed, leaning her elbow on my pillow while Haley and Debra sprawled on the floor. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop crying,” I said. Debra climbed onto the bed and passed me a fresh box of tissues.
“You will. You have us. And we will always be here for you,” she said, settling herself in on the other side of me.
“I’ve never even been to a funeral,” I said. Oh god, what was I saying? How could I even think such a thing?
I felt Debra’s hand brush my hair away from my face. “You and Nate were the perfect couple,” she said. “We were all jealous of you.”
“Debra!” Katrina snapped.
“It’s okay.” I tilted my chin. I loved Nate; I wanted to hear about us, especially the good things.
“We figured you guys would get married someday and live happily ever after.”
The girls were silent and I could feel their sorrow. The loss of Nate hit all of them at the same time, and they all suddenly stopped breathing.
“So did I,” I said.
Debra smiled at her lap and then up at me. “We kind of assumed we would be your bridesmaids.”
“You did, huh? A little presumptuous, aren’t you?” I asked with a hint of a smile. I had indeed imagined all three of them as my bridesmaids, with Emma as flower girl and Allison my maid of honor.
“But you wouldn’t have made us wear ugly bridesmaids’ dresses, would you?” Haley asked from the floor.
I shook my head. “Never.”
“Not like my sister! Remember her wedding last summer and that hideous dress she put me in?” Katrina became animated. “Yellow. Yellow like the sun.” She made a face. “And me with my red hair. I looked like I was a corncob on fire.”
“Oh my god! I remember that!” Debra cried.
The girls laughed as they recalled all the horrible bridesmaids’ dresses they’d seen or worn. It broke some of the tension in the room—for them.
I smiled along with them, but I couldn’t shake the image of Nate and me walking down the aisle. The plans we’d had, the future we’d envisioned for ourselves, the life we’d expected to lead for years to come. I pulled out my laptop and found the beautiful vintage dress I’d bookmarked. I must have been staring at it for a while, because the chatter stopped and Haley’s face appeared over the top of the screen.
“What is that?” she asked me.
“A . . . dress,” I said, leaving out the wedding part. But the girls knew anyway.
I was about to delete the bookmark when Haley stopped me. “Don’t get rid of it. Not yet,” she said. “It’s a memory—”
A shade, I thought, remembering Nate’s boxes.
I was too tired to disagree, so I simply closed my laptop; not long after, we went to sleep. Well, they did, but I couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the images from CNN. The burning buildings . . . the bodies.
My friends had done everything they could to shield me from more updates, but the pictures in my head had been planted from the very first moment, and I couldn’t shake them. I cried softly to myself and in the dark saw a head stir; Haley and the girls were sleeping on the floor under comforters and tucked inside sleeping bags.
I held my breath and my sniffles and waited for whoever it was to fall back asleep. After a while, I heard a gentle snore and knew I alone was still awake.
I carefully slipped out from under the sheets and eased my way past the girls on the floor. On my desk was a photo of Nate and me from a pool party last year, a picture I’d considered putting into his box but nixed because of its size.
I crawled back into bed with the photo and crushed it to my chest. I didn’t need to see it to know what it looked like. We were tanned from working at the farm and fit from our morning runs. He’d liked my bathing suit: boy shorts in light blue and a tank top trimmed with white stripes. A little boring to me, but he liked it, so I wore it whenever we went swimming.
As I tried once more to close my eyes, my phone buzzed on the bed. A text message?
I snatched up the phone and slid my finger across the screen.
breathe
What . . .
I stared at the screen. . . . Lee? And then I recalled him putting his number in my phone.
I waited for another word, another something, anything.
breathe
Was it that simple? I took a deep breath and felt a hiccup in my chest, then slowly exhaled. I remembered the ride on Lee’s Vespa, the wind wiping away my tears.
And I breathed.
CHAPTER six
More than a week passed before I felt like I could come up for air. I did what I could to help Nate’s parents leave, visiting with the twins and Scotty while their grandparents got settled in. No one knew how long Mr. and Mrs. Bingham would be gone.
But eventually I had to find normal again. And that meant school.
“Are you sure you want to go, sweetie?” my mother asked. Emma wanted me to stay home and watch cartoons with her.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to do anything, but what was my alternative—staying home forever? I felt restless: my legs and elbows and fingers were trembling and spastic after many sleepless nights.
Besides, the people who knew Nate, who knew me, were at school. We needed one another. School would be my refuge.
“All right, but if it’s too much, come home.” She offered me the car, with a reminder to fill up the tank and get Emma from Brownies, and kissed me gently.
At the front door of the high school, I stood outside for a long time and watched students enter. They were still in shock: Nate was one of their own, beloved by all. No one wanted to believe he was gone. Groups of girls huddled together as they went through the doors, merged with one or more groups just like them, and collectively moved inside as a single unit. A few boys shuffled in next, tall and lanky like Nate, athletes like Nate, but solitary in their grief. They bobbed their chins at each other, unspoken words of encouragement and sympathy in those subtle nods.
I urged my feet to walk up the steps to the front door, but I didn’t step all the way in. I kept one foot outside and my hand braced on the metal frame.
