by Cat Connor
“You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”
“But I’m impossible. I drive you nuts. I eat crackers in bed. I talk to dead people. I hear songs that aren’t playing. I see things. I shoot ghosts.” My head may explode at any minute. “And for the longest time I saw you as Kevin Costner.”
There was a high level of exasperation as Kurt replied, “You’re mentally hilarious. You drive me nuts. You scare me with the things you see and hear.” He grinned. “Kevin Costner?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you still?”
“No.” It was true. The conversation turned him from Kevin Costner to Noah Wylie. The sky was falling and I was in no fit state to be entertaining relationship thoughts.
“As I was trying to say, you make everyone else seem flat. People lack in depth and dimension when you’re around.”
“You’ll grow to hate me.”
“I’d like the opportunity.” His right hand brushed thick strands of hair off my face. “Life with you is never boring.”
“I need time.”
The nice thing about Kurt was he got it, there was no pressure, and nothing felt awkward. He turned the key in the ignition, checked his mirrors and we continued the journey into the office.
My phone rang as we walked up the stairs from the parking garage.
“Morning, Carla, everything all right?”
“When will you be home?”
She didn’t sound mad at me for leaving yesterday. I guessed that was because Joey was there with her.
“Soon. I am at the office. Have some paperwork to finish then I’m coming home.”
She sighed. I knew that sigh. She knew how long paperwork could take.
“Mom … don’t freak out, but I have a question.”
Don’t freak out is not the best way to start a conversation with a parent.
I took a breath and stopped walking. Kurt turned when he noticed I wasn’t beside him and waited.
“Okay, I won’t freak out. Ask.”
“If you found a way to take away all the bad memories, would you?”
“No. I wouldn’t be me anymore.”
“When you lost your memory, or some of your memories, you were still you.”
“That was different. I had no control over that and I was me with chunks missing.”
“Did you ever wish you could forget everything not just some things?”
“I never wished to forget anything.” Yes I did. I wished to forget Mac dying and my childhood and some of the things I’d seen as an agent but memory loss is not the answer. “Everything we experience and do makes us who we are today. Where are we going with this?”
Red flags were waving in all directions.
“Nowhere,” she said. “It’s an assignment for school. We are supposed to write about a different reality.”
And from that she decided to erase her life? “What would you erase, Carla, if you could?”
“Mom’s death and Mac’s death. Maybe life would be easier without those memories.”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, I don’t really want to erase them,” she said quickly. “It’s just an assignment.”
“We’ll talk when I get home. I won’t be long. I’m almost done here then I can help you with that assignment.”
“It’s okay. I think I know now.”
“See you soon.”
I hung up. Kurt waited.
“All right?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
Thirty-Two
Dress Rehearsal Rag
It was midafternoon when I opened the front door. Tiredness caught up to me. I wanted to spend the rest of Thursday hanging with the kid and not thinking. A melancholic drone emanated from the living room.
“Dad?” I called closing the door.
“Laundry room,” he called back. “Just washing up. I’ve been trimming the trees out back.”
I peered into the living room on my way past. No one in there.
“What is the album you’re playing? Music to slit your wrists by?”
“Thought you liked Leonard Cohen. I found this album in among your CDs.”
“These days I prefer something a little happier.” I sipped the coffee. “You couldn’t have played Various Positions and let them hear Hallelujah?”
“The kids wanted to hear Songs of Love and Hate.” Dad smiled. “Wouldn’t hurt to widen their musical knowledge base.”
I could see how the title would appeal to melodramatic teenagers.
“You know they’re not in the living room?”
He nodded. “I didn’t expect them to hang around for the whole album a second time. Surprised they stuck around for the first play. Didn’t think it was screamy enough for those two.”
Screamy is not an adjective that I’d ever put anywhere near Leonard Cohen. I laughed. I figured that was pretty accurate.
They liked metal and stuff that gave me a headache. Carla also liked Grange but not when Joey was around. Guess it’s cool to like metal around boys. I finished my coffee and listened to dad’s rendition of the day. Sounded normal apart from the music selection.
‘Dress Rehearsal Rag’ started.
“Tell me there aren’t any razor blades in the house,” I said as I handed Dad a towel for his hands.
“You want me to change the record?”
“It’s a CD, Dad, it’s a CD. And yeah, try something happy, will ya?”
A bang from the dining room startled me.
“Probably the kids,” Dad said.
I crossed strode down the hallway and into the dining room. No kids. One of the dining chairs was tipped back against the wall.
Maybe the cat. I ducked down and checked on the chairs that were pushed in around the table. No sign of Shrek.
Back in the laundry I told dad there was no one there. I caught sight of Shrek stalking across the grass beyond the laundry room window. Not the cat then.
I walked up the stairs and along the hallway to my room. The flashing light on the phone beside my bed indicated more messages. Great. I listened to them all. The same crazy woman left me another ten messages about how she and Rowan were in love and I was standing in their way. This time I caught her name. Julia. No surname. Shame. I could’ve run some checks with a surname.
I wiped the messages.
I dropped my belt and holster on my bed. It felt good to be home. The music downstairs came to an abrupt stop. When it started up again it was Grange. I smiled. Grange was a good choice.
Dad said Joey and Carla were doing homework. I figured I would surprise Carla with a trip away; just the two of us to make up for me being gone both figuratively and physically while we waded through the craziness that was the Heathcote Diamond case. And at the same time take her to her second ever Grange concert. I patted my pocket, reassuring myself that the tickets were still there. Even Rowan didn’t know we were going to be at his spring concert at Madison Square Garden. I’d scored front row tickets.
Surprises all around.
Carla and I were taking the train to New York City. Spring break in New York. Pure awesome. I wanted a weekend just with Carla. I wasn’t planning on spending much time with Rowan. My plan was that once spring break was over, I’d make the time to talk to Rowan. We had a lot to talk about and the potential was there to make his bitch publicist very happy if we decided to call it quits. As much as I liked Rowan, I’d always doubted we were a long haul thing, our lives were just too different. It surprised me he was still around.
Part of me hoped that this trip with Carla would end the weird behavior that’d been ongoing for a week now. Carla was surly and secretive while I was away. I knew that already. She was demanding and clingy when I was around. The phone calls during the last week alone were enough to drive me to distraction. The way she lost the plot after the earthquake was disconcerting to say the least. A peculiar rhyme came from nowhere and lodged in my brain, Round and round the marijuana bush the druggie chased his dealer; he lost his stash and didn
’t have cash, Pop! goes the Glock.
Where the hell did that come from? Dad hadn’t mentioned anything untoward today. They had weird taste in music and were listening to Leonard Cohen. Okay, that was peculiar. Dad said that both kids were cagey and so forth while I was off working. Carla was clinging to Joey more than usual. Fair enough, I suppose, I promised that I’d work from home after the earthquake but shit happens. And I’m the one who has to clean it up.
Dad was of the opinion that they were either already having sex or on the verge of. Good luck to them doing anything like that with Sam, Misha, and Dad in the house. The weird rhyme suggested I might be right about drugs and Leonard Cohen suggested razor blades. It was anyone’s guess.
I made my way to Carla’s room and slowed when I noticed her bedroom door standing ajar.
“How’s that homework coming?” I called out.
There was no reply.
Carla wanted to get her assignments finished so she could enjoy spring break. The phone call she’d made to me before I left work circled in my head.
I knocked on the doorframe, just in case. I don’t want to have to scrub my brain because of something I saw teenagers doing. Huge ick factor involved.
There was no answering, “Come in.” Or worse, answering, “No, wait!”
I sauntered through the door giving the appearance of way more confidence than I had. Don’t let teenagers see your fear.
Joey was lying on the bed. Carla was semi-lying, propped up with pillows. Neither moved. As I approached Joey, Carla said, “Hi, Mom.”
She sounded half-asleep.
“You guys were supposed to be doing homework, not napping,” I said, giving Joey’s shoulder a shake.
He didn’t respond.
I gave him another shake. “Come on, Joey, I’m going to drop you home.”
No response.
“Carla, what’s wrong with Joey?”
She yawned, her voice sounded lazy. “He’s tired.”
He was more than tired. Something about him looked wrong.
“Joey!” I shook his shoulder.
No response.
I rubbed his sternum and called his name again. Nothing.
“Joey! Come on wake up. I thought you guys were up here messing around, not napping.” Joey would’ve laughed; this kid was a pit of nothingness.
I looked at Carla. She seemed to be struggling to keep her eyes open.
“Joey! This isn’t funny, wake up!” I pulled my phone off my belt as Bon Jovi’s ‘Lonely at the Top’ filled all available space in my mind.
I yelled for Dad and reached over and touched Carla’s shoulder. “Look at me.”
Her head lifted but her eyes died.
Fuck!
“What did you take?”
She smiled with a creepy serenity.
It’s not even close to being an okay thing. How did this even get to be my afternoon? The plan for the afternoon was to help Carla with an assignment and tell her we would go away for the weekend. I felt for Joey’s pulse. It wasn’t easy to find but he still had one.
Dad ran into the room.
“They’ve taken something,” I said to dad. “We need to get him on the floor.” Dad and I lifted Joey to the floor. Dad knelt down next to him and attempted to wake him up.
Carla shuffled to the edge of the bed and watched. She appeared amused. What the hell? She should’ve been at his side, trying to wake him up.
“Carla! What did he take?” I said, flipping my phone in my hand and pressing several buttons.
She shrugged and for the first time I felt a sense of frustration at my daughter’s deplorable lack of reaction. She sometimes used what I called her “place saver expression,” a blank look she adopted when she didn’t know how she was supposed to feel. But this, a shrug? When faced with such a dire situation? Not even I expected that.
The drama over the earthquake and now, nothing.
I spoke to the 911 operator and told her I needed an ambulance. As soon as I knew they were on their way I turned my attention to Carla again.
“Carla? What did he take?”
She shook her head as if she didn’t know, but I knew better than that.
“Is this something to do with the phone call, with the erasing memories thing?”
She didn’t reply.
Joey lay unconscious on the bedroom room floor. His breathing was shallow and slow. I’d rolled him into the recovery position and called Kurt.
Carla sat on the edge of the bed and said nothing.
Nothing.
“Kurt, How far away are you?”
“Close, why?”
“Joey and Carla have taken something, and I don’t know what. Joey is unconscious.”
He hung up. I dropped my phone into my pocket.
“Carla. Did you see him take pills?”
I detected an almost imperceptible motion; she shook her head, her smile secretive.
“Did he take pills?”
The blank stare returned. Large black pupils filled her blank stare. “Look at me,” I insisted. “What did you take?”
She struggled to hold her head up. It could be any drug, illegal or otherwise. Dilated pupils. Spaced out. I ran through my limited knowledge of drugs. Maybe not an opiate, unless she took Demerol. Would they have done that? Yes. I have Demerol in the house.
Demerol acts like heroin and depresses the respiratory system. They were still breathing. My brain kicked in, Demerol overdose is fixable. Narcan or Naloxone reverses the effects like magic.
“Baby, what was it?”
I reached my hand out to touch her and she toppled off the bed and into my arms.
Jesus mother Mary.
I looked from Carla to Joey to Dad. “Is he breathing?” I said.
“Just.”
“His lips are going bluish,” I said. I struggled to find the terms I was looking for. Cyanosis caused by hypoxia. That wasn’t good. I picked up his hand and checked his nail beds. Blue tinged.
I reached for my phone and called Kurt again. Kurt answered within seconds.
“Carla’s unconscious, I think they both took the same drugs,” I spouted down the line.
A siren replied before Kurt did. “Hang on, I’m almost with you. Get the gates?”
The gates.
I shifted Carla from my lap and lay her next to Joey.
“Dad?”
“Go, I have them.”
The closest control panel was the kitchen. I tore down the stairs and pressed the button to open the gates and then a second button to lock the gates preventing them from closing, then swung the front door wide open, and ran back to the kids.
Joey’s pulse was hard to find. I couldn’t tell if it was because my hands were shaking or because it was so slow and weak. Carla’s was a little easier but not much stronger.
While I waited for Kurt and the ambulance, I turned out Carla’s pockets and called Sam and Lee – three-way calling was an awesome invention. There was not even residue in a baggie in their pockets that indicated they’d taken drugs. There had to be something somewhere that would help us.
Sam and Lee answered their phones. “It’s me. I have a situation at home with Carla and Joey. We’ll be heading to Inova Fairfax Hospital soon.”
“What the hell happened?” Sam said.
“I don’t really know. They’ve taken something and neither of them are responding.”
Lee spoke, “I’ll get Joey’s folks.”
“Good luck.” He’d need it. To my knowledge they’d never shown the slightest parental concern over anything to do with Joey.
I dropped my phone and checked Carla’s pulse and breathing. Her pulse was slow and her breathing irregular. Her nail beds were still pink.
A car pulled up fast outside the front of the house. Now if I could just get my heart to stop pounding so hard and my mind to focus on what we needed more than what was happening.
“Dad, I have to check their bags. We need to know what they took. You ok
ay?”
Dad nodded. “Is that Kurt?”
“Think so.” I scrambled out into the hallway and hollered down the stairs. “Carla’s room!”
Footsteps pounded up the stairs as I went back into the bedroom.
“Ellie, Carla has a box in the bottom of her closet – her diary is in it,” Dad said.
Kurt stepped into the room.
I swallowed hard and dragged the box out of the closet. Her diary was a red leather journal. I snatched it up and flipped through her thoughts and dreams until I found the last week. Skimming. Pages turning.
There it was.
Four days ago: Joey’s parents are taking him away. He wants to stay with me forever. I want to be with him. Then an entry that said Mom won’t let Joey come over for a while. That’s so unfair.
Two days ago: I have a plan. I told Joey we should talk to Mom. She can help him stay. He thinks his parents won’t listen. Maybe he’s right. It’s too risky. Mom is always at work. If she doesn’t get home in time they’ll take him away. We need a better plan. We will be together forever.
One day ago: Stupid earthquakes here now, not just in New Zealand. A sign of things to come. The world is falling apart, now it’s our turn. Am I doing the right thing? What will Mom and Grandpa do when I’m gone? It’s too late now. We have everything we need. Mom is gone again. Why can’t she see what a mess this is? The world is ending.
My hands shook as I turned the page and read more.
Today: Why doesn’t she see that there is only one way to stop the pain and the memories? It’s not wrong to want to forget. No more pain, ever.
My breath came in short sharp bursts. Kurt’s voice broke through the words I read. “Find anything?”
“No.” I closed the diary and searched through the papers and treasures in the box. I found an empty prescription bottle with my name on it. Vomit rose.
“Heads up.” I threw the bottle at him.
“Empty Demerol prescription bottle,” Kurt said, setting the bottle aside. Joey twitched. “How long have they been down?”
“I don’t know, I found Joey like that, ten maybe fifteen minutes ago, Carla was sort of talking then.”
Joey started convulsing. “This is not good,” Kurt muttered, motioning for his bag. I moved it closer. He pulled out his stethoscope and listened to Carla’s respirations.
