Keep Me in Your Heart

by Lurlene McDaniel

  Trisha had totally lost track of time, of the days of the week. There was something about Valentine’s Day … something she should remember. And then all at once it came back to her: This was to have been the day Tucker asked Christina to marry him. This was to have been the day he offered her a ring, the day she might have decided to give up the scholarship to Vermont to stay in Mooresville and become his wife after graduation.

  Ever since Cody had told her about Tucker’s plan, Trisha had chafed against it. She had wanted her friend to take the scholarship and get away from Tucker’s influence any way she could. A week ago, it had seemed so important. Today, there was to be no scholarship, no wedding, no future. Christina’s span of time on earth was over.

  From the distance, Trisha heard a bagpipe begin playing “Amazing Grace.” The lone piper, the symbolic spirit of their school, was dressed in a Scottish kilt and tasseled cap. He stood in the sun next to the burial site, playing for Christina. The notes, haunting and melancholy, chased the wind.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day, Christina,” Trisha whispered.

  Ten

  “I want to go see Cody.” Trisha made her announcement as soon as she arrived home from the funeral. She’d not returned to school with the rest of the students because she couldn’t bear the idea of returning to classes and going through the motions of everyday life with the pretense that things were normal again. Nothing was normal for her. Nothing.

  “His mother says he’s no better,” her mother said.

  “I don’t care. I want to see him. When I was in the emergency room, you told me you’d take me to see him. You promised.”

  Her mother sighed. “Yes, I did. I just thought it would be after he came out of the coma.”

  “Please.” Trisha’s voice trembled.

  “All right. Let me make arrangements for Charlie to go to Darrin’s house and I’ll drive you in.”

  Trisha slept on the ride into Chicago. She didn’t mean to, but exhaustion caught up with her. She hadn’t slept well since the accident. At night, it took her a long time to fall asleep, and when she did, chaotic images invaded her dreams. She kept seeing flashes of the accident, pictures of the twisted car, the glittering glass broken on the snow and scattered like marbles. And something else haunted her too, images she couldn’t quite get her mind around. Pictures that teased and taunted, but never came into clear focus. A blurry impression of the moments leading up to the wreck would flash in her memory, but before she could anchor it into place, it evaporated like fog. Often, the dreams woke her; her heart would be pounding and her breath would be ragged, and she’d sit straight up in bed, scared and confused and never sure why. And because she didn’t want to have bad dreams again, she would turn on a light and read until it was time to begin another day.

  By the time they arrived at the hospital in Chicago, it was growing dark. The vast hospital complex stretched for a city block and had an atmosphere of permanence, of solidity and strength. She was glad Cody was there and not at the small local hospital in Mooresville. This place looked serious. This place looked as if it could fix him, make him whole and well, wake him up, and send him home again.

  The head trauma unit was located on the tenth floor. She rode the elevator up with her mother. They already knew his room number because Gwyn had told them what it was, but when Trisha got to the door, she almost lost the courage to go inside. She thought of all that had happened that he didn’t even know about—he’d missed Chrissy’s funeral and days of his life. How would he make them up? How would he feel when he knew Christina was gone forever?

  Unexpectedly, Gwyn stepped into the hall and, looking surprised to see them, said, “I had no idea you’d come today.”

  “I couldn’t help it,” Trisha said. “I just needed to see him … especially after this morning and the funeral and all. It’s all right, isn’t it?”

  “Of course. That funeral was very sad.”

  “I didn’t see you there.”

  “Paul and I went to the church service, but we didn’t go to the graveside. Paul went on to work, and the kids are at school. My sister watches them after school so that I can spend more time here.”

  “Then nothing’s changed for Cody?” asked Trisha’s mother.

  “Not yet.” Gwyn looked sad.

  “Can I go in?” All this time, Trisha was screwing up her courage to see her beloved Cody, comatose.

  “In a minute.” Gwyn studied her thoughtfully. “You should know some things first.”

  “What things?”

  “His doctors say that although he’s in a coma, there’s a good chance he can hear us talking. Other patients have emerged from comas and told doctors this. Anyway, we only tell him positive things like ‘We love you’ and ‘Please wake up’—things like that. The one thing we don’t tell him is that Christina’s dead. There’s time enough for him to learn that after he awakens and is stronger.”

  “All right,” Trisha said.

  “Perhaps hearing your voice will be good for him. I know how much he thinks of you.”

  With her heart beating at trip-hammer speed, Trisha went into the room. Cody lay on the bed looking as if he were asleep. An IV hung by his bedside, and his head was wrapped in white bandages. She couldn’t help making the comparison between him and Christina. In the casket, Christina had also looked as if she were sleeping. Yet she was dead. Cody lived, but in some strange, mysterious place where they couldn’t reach or rouse him. He was suspended between the world of the living and the realm of the dead.

  Trisha handed her crutches to her mother and leaned closer. “Hi, Cody. It’s me, Trisha.” She felt stupid having to introduce herself, but it seemed appropriate at the moment.

  His eyelids fluttered, and her heart leaped.

  “That’s common,” Gwyn said, crashing Trisha’s hopes. “He often moans and moves, but it doesn’t mean he’s waking up.”

  Trisha continued her monologue. “Mom’s here with me. And Charlie wants to come see you too. You remember Charlie, my pain-in-the-butt kid brother? You play computer games with him.” Why was she talking so inanely? She loved Cody. Yet with both mothers standing by, how could she remind him of the times they’d kissed or steamed up his car windows with their breath?

  “School’s about the same: boring as ever,” she said. “Everyone wants you to wake up and hurry back. Won’t you please wake up, Cody?”

  Trisha felt a tap on her shoulder. Her mother motioned for her to step aside. She took Trisha out into the hall. “You’re getting worked up, honey. See? You’re crying.”

  Trisha was shocked. She was crying and hadn’t even known it. “It’s so hard seeing him like that. I didn’t know it would hurt my heart so much.”

  “You’re wiped out. It’s been a horrible few days—the accident, your injuries, Christina’s death. You just went to her funeral this morning. I think you should come home, take a few days to rest, and come back on the weekend.”

  Trisha knew her mother was right but hated giving in. “But what if he wakes up and asks for me and I’m not here?”

  Gwyn had joined them. “Your mother’s right. Go home. I’ll bring you when I come on Saturday.”

  Trisha felt as if they had ganged up on her, but she was too weary, too frustrated and sad to argue. She returned to the car with her mother, and they rode all the way home without speaking.

  Trisha returned to school on Thursday. She didn’t want to, but the principal had called to remind her of the memorial service on Friday and Trisha’s commitment to say a few words about Christina. She dreaded it, but what else could she do? She had been Christina’s best friend and everybody knew it.

  Tucker met her before the first bell and asked, “Do you know what you’re going to say?”

  “I wrote down some things, but no … I’m still not sure.”

  “They didn’t ask me,” he said, looking dejected.

  “You’re lucky. I’m really dreading it.”

  “Maybe. It’s not going to b
e easy to even sit through this thing.”

  “At least I won’t be sitting up on stage all by myself. Three or four teachers will speak and so will the principal.” She was psyching herself up and knew it.

  “Yeah … like they really knew her.” He sounded sarcastic.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “They knew about her, but they didn’t know her.”

  She had to give him credit for that. She didn’t think her teachers knew Christina all that well either. Perhaps they knew the public Christina, but they surely didn’t know the private one. Yet hadn’t she often wondered if Tucker had ever really known and understood Christina? He never appreciated her need to go away to college or to work at the nursing home. Trisha wanted to mention it and would have if the circumstances had been different. But this wasn’t the day to get into an argument with Tucker.

  “I would have said something about her if they’d asked me,” he said, undeterred by her silence. “They won’t ask me, though, because of the accident. Because I was driving. Her parents hate me.”

  “That might never change.”

  “Our lawyer called about the inquest. The police might ask you what happened.”

  The news surprised and disturbed her. “I don’t really remember too much,” she said. “I don’t know how much help I can be.”

  “They may wait for Cody to wake up so he can tell them what he remembers too.”

  “That may be a long time,” she said. “I saw him after the funeral and he’s pretty messed up.”

  “I’m going to visit him this weekend,” Tucker said. “With some of the guys from the football team.”

  She told him what Gwyn had told her about not mentioning Christina’s death, and how Cody could move but still not be awake. Suddenly she thought about the kids in the other car and asked him about them.

  “They were from Henderson. They had been goofing around on the road before the wreck. Do you remember that part?”

  She concentrated. “They wouldn’t let us pass them. They slowed down when they got in front of us, then sped up when we tried to go around.”

  “That’s right. Then I hit the ice and we flipped.”

  “Then it’s sort of their fault.” She kept trying to recall the exact sequence of events, but the pictures kept running together and blurring like ink on wet paper.

  “I don’t think so,” Tucker said. “They were acting like jerks, but I slowed down just like Cody asked, so as not to egg them on. No … it was an accident, pure and simple.”

  “They did come back to help us,” she said, still trying to sort out her memories. “I guess that counts for something.”

  “That’s what the lawyer says too. If you remember anything else, will you let me know?”

  “Sure.” Her head was starting to hurt from the intense concentration. “I have to go to class.”

  “Me too. See you in the auditorium. I know you’ll say the right things today about Christina. You and me, we loved her the most.”

  She watched him walk away, not half as confident in her ability as he was.

  From her seat on the stage, Trisha watched classmates pour into the auditorium and fill up the seats. By ten-fifteen the room was packed. The students were amazingly quiet and subdued, not at all the way they were for most assemblies. An easel set to one side on the stage held a blowup of Christina’s senior photograph. Trisha could hardly bear to look at it. When the bell rang, the principal stood, walked to the podium, and began to speak.

  Trisha tried to concentrate on his words but couldn’t. The whole scene reminded her of something from a bad movie. It didn’t seem real. She kept searching the audience for Christina, even though she knew her best friend wasn’t going to be there. She saw the row and the seats where they usually sat for assemblies. Two guys sat there now. I miss you, Chrissy, her mind kept saying.

  She was startled by the sound of her name, and all at once she realized that the principal was finished and was turning the podium over to her. Trisha felt sick to her stomach. With her heart pounding, she limped to the podium. She was using only one crutch now. She heard a round of polite applause, shuffled her notes on the lectern, and cleared her throat. She looked out at the sea of faces. Every eye was on her. She glanced down at her notes and realized that the words were blurry. A tear splashed onto one of the pages.

  Panicky, she looked up and opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She heard someone behind her shift in their chair. Suddenly, her shoulders started heaving and she began to cry uncontrollably. “I—I can’t do this!” she sobbed.

  And while everyone watched, Trisha turned and hurried off the stage, past the red velvet curtain and out the side door, into the bitter cold of the February morning.

  Eleven

  Trisha navigated the empty hallways to a bathroom by the gym and locked herself into one of the stalls. She leaned against the cold, hard steel and cried. She cried for Christina. She cried for Cody. She cried for herself. She cried for the sheer embarrassment of breaking down in front of the entire senior class.

  She was drying her eyes when she heard a tentative knock on the stall’s door. “Go away,” she said. “This one’s occupied.”

  “Trisha? It’s Abby Harrison. Will you open the door?”

  “Abby … please … leave me alone.”

  “No can do. The principal sent me to find you. I’m supposed to bring you to the office. Actually, I volunteered,” Abby added when Trisha didn’t answer.

  “And why would you do that?”

  “Because I know what you’ve been going through.”

  Trisha unlocked the door, threw it open, and glared at Abby. “People say that all the time. But it’s a lie! Nobody knows how I feel. How could you?”

  Abby stepped aside as Trisha brushed past her and crossed to the row of sinks. She tagged after Trisha and stood beside her while Trisha washed her face with cool water. Abby said, “I know because when I was in middle school, my older brother, Carson, fell asleep at the wheel of his car, crashed into a telephone pole, and died.”

  Trisha looked up, catching Abby’s brown-eyed gaze in the mirror.

  Abby held her gaze. “It was the worst year of my life. Everything reminded me of him. At home his room was next to mine. I couldn’t pass the door without breaking down.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “And don’t forget the year of ‘firsts’ ahead of you—things you have to get through without her. First birthday—yours and hers. First Christmas. First day of school. First anniversary of her death. Well, you get the picture.”

  Trisha got it. “If you’re trying to make me feel worse—”

  “No way. I just want you to know, you’re not the first person to have this happen. Friends and people we love die. It’s horrible. But you don’t have to go through it alone.”

  “I lost it in front of the whole class. I was supposed to say wonderful things about her, and when the time came, I lost it. I let her down. I let her memory down.”

  “No one thinks any less of you. Everyone knew it was going to be hard for you to stand up there and say a bunch of stuff when you’re still so broken up. The principal knows it too, and if you’ll come to the office with me, he and Mrs. Dodge are going to apologize for putting you on the spot that way. They realize they made a mistake.”

  Trisha blotted her face on paper towels. Her reflection in the mirror looked ghastly. Her lip was still puffy, and the bruising under her eye had turned an ugly yellowish blue. “I don’t need his apology. I just want to go home.”

  “He feels guilty. If we ask real nice, I’m sure he’ll let me drive you home.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Let’s ask.” Abby retrieved Trisha’s crutch and gave it to her.

  Trisha got to the door, stopped, and turned.

  “What’s wrong?” Abby asked.

  “I used be the one who went to find Christina when she was hiding and crying in the bathroom. It was one of my
roles in her life.”

  “Did she do it often?”

  “More and more this year. And it was always about Tucker Hanson. They were supposed to be in love, but he made her pretty unhappy at times.”

  Abby pulled open the door for Trisha. “Well, I promise not to chase you down whenever you want to hide in the bathroom and cry. Just come find me when you feel that way, and we’ll talk.” She flipped her hair off her shoulder. “I really do know how bad you hurt, Trisha. I really, really do.”

  The principal was generous to Trisha and allowed Abby to take her home. Her mother met them at the door and, after thanking Abby, ushered Trisha into the kitchen. “Why didn’t you tell me you were asked to speak at the memorial service?” she asked. “I certainly would have advised you against it.”

  Trisha shrugged listlessly. “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I didn’t expect to get blindsided by my own emotions. I wanted to pay tribute to her, Mom. All I did was make a fool of myself.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone at school thinking that. And if they do, then they’re made of stone.” Trisha’s mother fixed a cup of hot tea and set it in front of her. “Do you know what today is?” she asked.

  Trisha shook her head.

  “It’s Friday. You’re supposed to have your stitches removed today.”

  “The accident happened a week ago,” Trisha said. She remembered Abby’s words: “a year of firsts.” This was the end of the first week since Christina had died.

  “And you’ll never have to go through this week again. It’s behind you. You made it through.”

  Yes, she had, but at the moment, it was cold comfort.

  “Tell you what,” her mother said, picking up the phone. “I’m going to call and see if I can’t move your appointment up, and if I can, afterward I’ll take you into Charlene’s for a total makeover. New haircut, manicure, the works. What do you say?”

  Trisha didn’t think much of the idea, but her mother was trying so hard to cheer her up that she knew she couldn’t refuse her offer. “Fine,” she said with little enthusiasm.