by Joey Bush
The tears blinded me as I went upstairs. I ended up in Sienna's room, in the armchair where I had sat so many times and watched her get ready. My parents had shut the door on her room when she left for college. It was a shrine just waiting in case she ever came home. My room was almost the same except for the addition of my mother's treadmill and two old dressers she had bought with the idea of renovating them into shabby chic masterpieces.
"I miss you," I said to her perfect room. I had to squeeze my eyes shut to ward off the last image I had of her. "I hope you know I hate you. I hate you for leaving me with this whole mess."
I opened my eyes and focused on the photographs on her wall. Sienna dancing in our backyard, Sienna in her cheerleader uniform, Sienna and I in matching dresses for an Easter party.
"I know, I know, it’s my mess," I said. "You were never good with messes. I can't walk away, though. You always moved forward, moved on, but I can't."
Sienna had moved on and left me behind again. She had made a mess she did not know how to clean up and her suicide was only supposed to be a cry for help. I knew that now. She had just cut too deep and waited too long.
Now, Owen was in a mess and refused to help himself.
"It just hurts too much right now," I told Sienna. "I'll help him. I know you would want me to, but right now, I just wish you were here."
I could see her standing in front of her closet, her hands on her hips. Sienna would have told me to focus on myself, make a plan. What did I want tomorrow to look like?
At least that was becoming clearer. The more I thought about becoming an EMT, the more sense it made. I had liked nursing because I liked helping people, but the idea of walking the same white halls day in and day out made me feel trapped. It was too settled, too stationary, and I wanted to move. If I completed my training and earned my certification as an EMT, I would have more freedom.
Sienna had been right about looking to the future. It calmed me and made me feel better. I had a plan and there was something I could do towards it. I wanted to earn the money for my training on my own. All I had to do was log on and try out more of the new Mars game. It felt good to have a clear way towards what I wanted. It was much easier than thinking about Owen.
I headed downstairs and heard my parents in the kitchen. "Quinn? Is that you? We brought you back some food," my mother called.
I joined them around our kitchen island. My mother was looking tired, her mouth drooping at the corners, but she forced a smile as she poured herself a glass of wine.
"How has your night been?" my father asked. He clearly wanted to ask what I had been doing with my time. I knew it killed him to think I was just sitting around idle while my future hung in the balance.
"Actually," I said. "I've got good news."
"Really?" my mother asked. "It looks like you've been crying."
I waved away her concern. "Mother thought it would be a good idea if I got my whole plan all figured out and then presented it like Sienna used to do," I said.
My father flinched at Sienna's name. "So there's at least a plan forming."
"And, I wanted to let you know I got a job in the meantime," I said. "You're not going to like it because it’s a video gaming job, but it pays well."
"What kind of job?" he asked.
"I'm testing out a new game. It’s called Beta Testing. I play the game and give the creators feedback. They track my progress through the game and make changes depending on what I am able to do."
"So you're telling me you're going downstairs to play video games," my father said.
"She just said it was a job, she's getting paid to do it," my mother said.
"You think it’s okay if she throws away her future playing games?"
My mother cringed at his harsh tone. Her mouth quivered and she finished her wine quickly. I did not like the clouded look in her eyes.
"I don't need to work tonight," I said to my mother.
She shook her head. "No, go ahead. I'm not feeling well. I'm going to head upstairs."
She left and I stayed in the kitchen feeling nervous. My father pretended like nothing was wrong. He even tried to hum as he put away the food he had brought home for me. After the counter was cleared, he headed towards his office and shut the door.
I checked my watch – it was not even 9 pm. The happy hour party at Owen's apartment was probably turning into an all-nighter. I shoved the thought away and headed downstairs. Sienna would have stayed focused.
Still, I checked my messages before I logged on. There were two from Owen.
"Quinn, I don't know what happened. I guess I freaked out. I forgot to eat and drank too much and it all fell apart. How did it all fall apart? I need to talk to you. I need to see you. Please, call me. I didn't mean to hurt you," his first message said.
The second message hurt. "Your ex-boyfriend is all in my face telling me I cheated on you. You're going to believe him over me? I don't know what you think you saw, but you should know better. I'm not with Anya. How could you think that? Quinn, please call me. This is ridiculous. I can't believe you walked out on me."
Owen thought I walked out on him? I tossed my phone aside before I could smash it. Instead of logging on, all I could do was pace the length of our basement family room. I knew I needed to let it go. There was no way I could respond to Owen now. The brisk pacing helped me. It would be stupid to do anything about it until the morning. There was no harm in letting it go until then. That meant I had hours to do something practical, something for myself.
Finally, my breathing returned to normal. I picked up my phone, set it screen down on the coffee table, and tried to get to work. I found the secure website for the Beta version of the Mars game and was about to log on when my phone rang.
I reached for it and then sat back three times before I finally picked it up. "Hello?"
"Oh, Quinn. I'm glad I caught you," Darla said. "I just heard from some friends that Trent is coming out to visit you. I thought you might want a heads up."
"Too late," I said. "I ran into him at a party at Owen's, but trust me that was not the worst part of my night."
"Your ex arriving to try to charm you into forgiving him was not the worst part of your night? Do I even want to know?"
"No. You probably don't want to know that right after Owen and I got closer than we've ever been, he drank too much and may or may not have made out with this gamer chick that's been trying to snag him for years," I said. "Oh, and you probably don't want to know that I think Owen's roommate is setting him up to take the fall for his drug-dealing. But, of course, Owen would not listen to me because he saw me with Trent."
"Yeah, you were right," Darla said. "I did not want to know any of that – especially when I am four hours away and can't get there in time to help you!"
I laughed. "Don't worry. I got out of there and I'm hiding out in my parents’ basement. Oh my God, I know that made it sound worse, but it’s actually okay."
"Thank God you sound okay," she said. "So, have you thought more about taking that rich hottie's thank you money?"
"It was tempting, but I'm going to do this for myself," I said.
"Now that is what I wanted to hear," she said. "Every time you say something like that, you sound better than you have in months."
"I feel better, too, about that at least." My phone buzzed. "Of course, right when I say that, I get a text from Trent."
"Well, call me later if you need. Wake me up, I don't care. Miss you!" Darla said.
She hung up and I checked the message from Trent.
"Back at party, more people here. Asking around and no one in computers, tech, or web design. O is sobering up," he wrote.
"Did you confront him?" I wrote back.
"Yes. He had no idea what happened. Someone slip him shots?" Trent texted.
"Don't care." I wrote.
"Sorry, babe, here for you."
"Sure you are," I said out loud. "You're at a party for me."
I tried to ignore what
Trent had said. Asking people what they did for a living was easy party talk so I was not surprised Trent had talked to people about it. The fact that none of Jasper's friends were in computers or IT was surprising. And it bothered me that Owen had gotten so drunk he did not remember the scene in the bedroom with Anya. Had someone slipped shots of alcohol into his beer to get him drunk faster?
Another text from Trent buzzed my phone. "Anya left with Jasper. Got weird vibe. Am coming over to see you."
"No thanks," I wrote back.
Trent did not respond and I was not surprised when I heard the doorbell ten minutes later. I sprinted up the stairs, but my father's office was closer to the front door and he beat me to it.
"Hello, Mr. Thomas, may I come in?" Trent asked in his best well-mannered voice.
"I don't think so," my father said. He turned to glare at me. "Did you invite him over?"
"No, actually I told him not to come," I said.
Trent stood on his tiptoes to see me over my father's shoulder. "Know how I told you that Anya left with Jasper and it felt a little weird? Well, I got in my car and had only made it to the end of the block before I passed a police cruiser," he said.
There was a noise upstairs. My father left the front door and went up the staircase to check on my mother. I took up his position blocking the entryway.
Trent fidgeted on the front steps. "I know it was stupid, but I circled around and I saw the cops busting the party."
"I really don't want this to be my problem," I said. "I tried to warn Owen and he did not want to listen to me."
"I know, and I think you're right," Trent said. "I just wanted you to know I think your theory was right. Anya and Jasper left just before the cops arrived. I saw the cops taking Owen out to a squad car. They arrested him."
My heart sank. So much for staying out of it. "The police would not have done that unless they found something on him. Either Anya or Jasper planted something on Owen."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Quinn
I hung on to the front door and wondered what I should do. If someone had slipped marijuana into his pocket, then the police had finally found what they were looking for. It would not matter if he had tested clean for drugs. The searches and the possession were against him. It was a thin case, but the police would have something on him now.
"I just thought you should know," Trent said. "Owen's a big boy, he can take care of himself. It's really just a misdemeanor. He probably resisted and that's why he was taken in."
"That makes it worse, don't you think?"
"He made his own decisions," Trent said.
"Not if his roommate planned to set him up in order to take the heat off himself," I objected. "This could ruin Owen's career, at the very least his credibility. He'll probably lose his sponsors."
"But, honey, you don't have to fix it," Trent said. "You don't have to fix everyone."
"There is a huge difference between trying to help and trying to fix someone," I said. "Trust me, I know."
As if to illustrate what I had said, there was a commotion upstairs. "Just trust me," I could hear my father saying.
I waved Trent out the front door and promised I would call him someday. He left and I shut the door just before my mother flew down the stairs.
"Who was it? Was it the waitress? I didn't tip her well enough, I know I didn't," she said.
"Mom, are you okay? What are you talking about?" I had seen the wild look in her eyes before and it froze my heart.
My father came down the stairs and caught her in his arms. "Barbara, darling, I told you that I took care of the tip. There is nothing for you to worry about. How about I call the restaurant and tell the manager what a great job the waitress did? That'll fix it," he said.
He steered her back up the stairs. My mother's worries were descending into gibberish, yet he responded with calm, soothing answers as if he could talk her out of it. I knew he had been through this dozens of times before, but it bothered me how he thought he could just brush it aside. She needed help, that was not normal, but my father was determined to fix it on his own.
When he came downstairs ten minutes later, I was still waiting in the foyer. "What did Trent want? It sure was a surprise to see him here. Boy trouble?"
I cringed at his easy tone. "How's Mother?"
"Oh, you know how she gets. Just overtired. She'll be fine after she rests," he said. He brushed past me and headed for his office.
I followed him and stood in the doorway before he could close the door. "She just needs to rest?"
He refused to look at me. "She didn't sleep well last night. And we spent most of yesterday out running errands, so of course she's tired. Everything's fine."
"Then, can you help me?" I asked. "Or, more specifically, can you help Owen? I think he's in trouble with the police."
"Quinn, just because I'm a criminal lawyer does not mean I'm going to help every loser that gets himself in trouble."
"Owen's not a loser, you know that," I said. "His roommate was selling drugs and when neighbors started noticing, he decided to make Owen take the fall for him."
"Then if Owen's innocent, he has nothing to worry about."
"Except that he's been set-up. His roommate made it look like he was the one dealing drugs. And because Owen plays video games for a living, people are more inclined to believe it. I think he really needs your help," I said.
My father took four angry paces away from me then marched back. His face was a dark red as he pointed a finger at me. "And you think I should help him? Why should I help the man that dumped my beautiful daughter when she needed him the most? Did you know that? Owen broke up with Sienna! Can you believe that? That loser broke up with your sister. He hurt her and that made her hurt herself."
"You think that is why Sienna committed suicide?" I knew my father had always been looking for someone to blame. The hardest part of my sister's death was realizing that she did it to herself. There was no real reason for it. It had just happened.
"He just dumped her flat and left her to pick up the pieces. Can you imagine what that did to her?" my father asked. "It’s no wonder she felt so sad."
"What happened to Sienna was a tragedy," I said, "but it was no one's fault. And it had nothing to do with Owen."
"Why are you defending him?" my father yelled. He paced back and forth again. "What is it about Owen Redd that makes my daughters lose all rational thought?"
"I'm not the one acting irrationally," I said.
My father stopped sharply and turned to face me. "No? You're just running around with the man that broke your sister's heart. Have you even thought about how that looks? Do you even care what it does to your sister's memory?"
My knuckles went white as I gripped the doorframe. "Sienna cheated on Owen. Months before. She cheated on him, he caught her, and he broke up with her months before what happened at college," I said.
"Let me guess," my father said. "He told you that. Quinn, honestly, I thought you were smarter."
"I can prove it," I said. "I was in Sienna's room tonight and I remembered what her password is for her email. If you need proof, it will all be in there. You know she needed to lay everything out in black and white."
"So, you found out that she cheated and you did not say anything?"
I tried to form a response, knowing full well my father wanted to turn all of it on me. Then we both heard the muffled sob on the stairs.
"Barbara? Barbara, it's not what you think. Please, darling. It’s not at all what you think," my father called. He pushed past me and ran towards the front staircase.
"You told her? How could you? I'm her mother. How is that going to make her feel about me?" my mother cried.
"Mom? Are you okay? What are you talking about?" I called. I ran to the bottom of the stairs, but they were already gone.
I could hear her crying and my father pleading with her. He kept telling her over and over again that we were not talking about her. I knew when my mother's dow
nswings hit, one of the worst signs was paranoia. Still, something about her reaction made me wonder. We had been talking about Sienna cheating on Owen. Why would my mother think we were talking about her? Had she cheated on my father?
I knew my father wanted privacy. He wanted to fix what was wrong with my mother and pretend like nothing had happened. Instead, I went upstairs and found him pounding on the hallway bathroom door. My mother was locked inside and sobbing.
"Quinn, go downstairs. I can handle this," my father said. He rattled the door handle hard and threw his shoulder against the wood. "Barbara, just open the door, darling."
"She's not making sense," I said. "You have to know this is a really bad sign. We have to get her to come out."
"Everything's fine, Quinn. Just go downstairs," he said.
"Mom? Tell me what's going on. Are you okay?" I called through the door.
"No, no, no, I don't want you to know. My baby, my baby, no one is ever going to look at me the same again. It’s too much. Too much," she said.
"Barbara, stop! Just stop. I'm coming in. You're fine," my father said.
There were sounds of drawers opening and slamming closed. My mother was searching for something while she muttered, "Too much, too much."
My father stopped, frozen against the solid wood of the door. "My shaving kit is in there," he said.
"Take the hinges off," I said. My father started pulling on them as I ran for the pliers I knew were in the hall closet. We pulled the hinges loose and took the door completely off the frame.
Inside, my mother was standing over the sink. She had tried to cut one wrist and blood had sprinkled all over the white porcelain sink. She had then tried to wipe up the mess with her uninjured hand and stood holding a bloody tissue.
"Barbara, no. Why?" my father asked. He sank to his knees in the hallway.
I stepped around him and took hold of my mother's injured arm. "It’s not deep. She went across, not down. Here, Mom, let me stop the bleeding. Don't worry, I'll clean up too," I said.
"I'm worthless, don't bother. Just leave me alone. I deserve it," she sobbed.
