Bad Connection

by Melody Carlson

  “Uh, Samantha. Do you think you'd want to go out with me sometime?”

  “Huh?” Okay, that was a totally stupid response. But it's too late to undo it.

  “Just as friends, you know. I mean, I know that you're not really into dating too much. Olivia explained how you need to get to know a guy as a friend and everything before you really want to date or anything. And I'm cool with that. Really, I'd just like to get to know you better.”

  “Oh.” I nod. “Sure, that sounds cool.”

  “I thought maybe we could even invite someone else to come along, if you'd like that, I mean. Maybe Alex and Olivia. Do you think Olivia would be up for something like that?”

  I try not to grin. “I don't know,” I say in a totally calm voice. “But I can ask her and see.”

  “Not as a double date,” he says quickly. “Don't tell her that.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can I call you then?”

  “Sure.” Then I give him my cell phone number. But as soon as I say it, I wonder if that's a mistake. This phone is supposed to be for official use, at least for the most part. So I give him my home phone too. “I don't always have my cell on.”

  “Okay, see ya around then.”

  “See ya.”

  As soon as I'm in the house, I call Olivia on the land line, and I tell her everything. “That's awesome, Samantha!”

  “Yeah, can you believe it?”

  “It's almost like God wanted to get you guys together.”

  “Oh, I don't know about that.

  “But what about your vision about Katie? Why would God do that?”

  “Because she needed help?” I'm thinking, Like duh, but I don't say it.

  “But because she needed help, you got to spend time with Conrad,” she says as if that proves something.

  “Maybe that's all this was…” Realization is hitting me now. “Seriously, I bet the only reason I spent any time with Conrad was only so God could show me that Katie needed help. That's probably all there was to it. And maybe Conrad won't even call me. Maybe it was just his way of—”

  “Maybe you should just wait and see!” interrupts Olivia. “Good grief, you don't have to second-guess every single thing, Samantha,”

  I kind of laugh. “Yeah, I know.” ft

  But the truth is, I am sort of driven to figure things out. And I don't think it's just because of my “gift” either. I just think it's this curious part of my nature that makes me want to understand everything about everything, and it's hard to turn it off. Although I know it can irritate some “ people. Like it used to make my parents nuts when I'd ask why about every little thing. And it bugs Olivia when I start to question things like I did just now. And sometimes it even gets to me. Like I have to tell myself to just chill. Lighten up! Still, I guess that's just how God made me. And someday I'm sure I'll find out all the reasons why.

  Thirteen

  When I come downstairs, I'm surprised to find Zach home. He's standing in front of the refrigerator and just staring.

  “Cooling off the kitchen?” I pick up his coat from the floor and hang it over the back of a chair.

  “Huh?” He turns and looks at me with this totally blank expression that isn't a bit reassuring. Then he pulls out the carton of milk and closes the door.

  “Where's your car? I didn't see it in the driveway when I got home.”

  “Don't ask.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my car is no more.” He pours a glass of milk, then begins to peruse through the pantry until he finds a box of Vanilla Wafers.

  “No more?”

  “Yeah, as in totaled.”

  “Did you get in a wreck?”

  “Sort of…” He sits down at the island and digs into the half-full box.

  “Did you get hurt?”

  “Not really.”

  “Did anyone else get hurt?”

  “No. It was just me.” He lool but his eyes have this blank expression. “Just me and my car…and then it was just me.” He sort of laughs, but it doesn't sound cheery. “Just me and my feet.”

  “What happened, Zach?” I sit across from him and reach for the box. He frowns as I take out a couple of cookies. “I think there's enough to go around,” I assure him. “But seriously, what happened to your car? I mean, where is it?”

  “Where is it?” He just shakes his head.

  “You mean you don't know where your car is, Zach?”

  “Oh, I sort of know… I'm just not too sure.”

  “Are you high?”

  “High?” He looks all around him now, like he's trying to figure it out.

  “You are, aren't you?”

  He looks down at the floor. “Well, I'm about three feet off the ground. I guess if you call that high—”

  “You know what I mean, Zach!” I glare at him now. “You're on something, aren't you? And that's why you didn't go to work last night, why you lost your job and wrecked your—”

  “Whaddya mean I lost my job?” He actually looks surprised by this news.

  “Listen to the message machine. Mom said they called.”

  “I got fired just because I was in a wreck?”

  “You got fired because you didn't show up for work. And because it's not the first time.”

  Then he lets loose with some off-color language.

  “You feel better now?”

  He frowns. “No.”

  “You need help, Zach.”

  “I need my—job back!” He snaps at me and grabs the box of cookies.

  “Hey, it's not my fault.”

  “It's not my fault either.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “I told you, I got in a wreck. I had to walk back to town. How was I supposed to go to work?”

  “You could've called someone.”

  “With what?”

  “So, where did you go after you got back to town?” I ask. “Mom said you never came home last night.”

  “I stayed with a friend.”

  “And why were you driving around anyway?”

  “It's a free country,” he says. “I can drive if I want to.”

  “You could,” I remind him. “You can't now.”

  Ignoring me, he tips the box up and pours the last of the crumbs into his mouth then washes that down with his milk.

  “So, how are you going to get your car? Does it need to be towed?”

  He nods then wipes his mouth with the grimy-looking sleeve of his plaid flannel shirt. I look at him more closely; he's in serious need of a shower and clean clothes right now. “You look like you slept in a ditch last night. Although I'm sure you would've frozen if you had.”

  “You sound just like Mom, Samantha. Nag, nag, nag.” ft

  “Maybe it's because we care about you, Zach. Maybe it's because we're worried.”

  “Well, don't be. I can take care of myself.” 3

  I nod. “Yeah, it sure looks like it.”

  He stands up now and, leaving his mess behind, goes for o the phone. He takes it around the corner, but not so far away that I can't hear. Now, I don't really like to eavesdrop, but the truth is, I'm getting seriously worried about Zach. I feel certain that he's on something. And that can only mean trouble.

  “No way!” he says loudly enough that I don't have to strain my ears to hear. Then he cusses, and I can tell he's infuriated about something. “No stinking way, man! They can't do that. It's my car!” Then there's a brief silence, and Zach cusses again. “Are you positive about this? You know for sure they took it?” He groans. “What am I gonna do, man? I'm fried.”

  When he returns the phone to its cradle in the kitchen, I pretend to be busy loading the dishwasher. “Something wrong?”

  “No!” he snarls, hitting his fist on the counter. “Everything's wrong!”

  I make my face look as concerned as I can, hoping to appear more empathetic than I feel. The truth is, I'd like to knock my brother in the head right now. I can't believe that he's such a mess. “A
nything I can help with?”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Is it about your car?” I ask, knowing full well that it is.

  'Yeah.” He cusses again. 'The stupid police towed it away.”

  “The police?”

  “Yeah. It's impounded.”

  “But how do you know that? I mean, how do you know it was the police? Don't they usually just put a sticker on your car, give you a few days before—”

  “Yeah, that's what you'd think. But not for me…no, I'm the lucky one. I get the stinking police to impound my car.” And now, to my total shock, he begins to cry.

  “Zach? What's wrong? I mean, I know it's lousy to lose your car, but it's not the end of—”

  “It's the end of me.” He looks at me with frightened eyes.

  “But why?”

  “Because I'm stupid.” He slams his fist into the counter again, so hard I almost expect to see a hole or broken bones. “I'm such a screwup, Samantha. I'm a mess.”

  “What is it, Zach?” I plead with him. “I mean, I know you're probably on something right now, but you can go back to rehab, maybe stay in longer this time and make sure—”

  “That's not it.” He leans over onto the counter. “I was carrying something—something in my car, you know, for a friend.”

  “Carrying something?”

  “You know…something I shouldn't have. But it wasn't mine, Samantha. I swear it wasn't mine. I was just doing a friend a favor.”

  “You were transporting drugs in your car, Zach?”

  He nods and breaks down into tears. “What am I gonna do? The cops have my car. They probably have the stuff. They're probably on their way—”

  “Turn yourself in.” cd

  “What?” He looks at me like I've lost my mind.

  “It's the smartest thing to do. “No way.”

  “It is. Listen to me. If you turn yourself in and if you tell o them the truth—”

  “I can't!”

  “You have to, Zach.”

  “They'll lock me up.”

  “Maybe they will,” I admit. “But it won't be for as long. I'm sure they'll go a lot easier on you if you come forward.”

  “I can't.”

  “You have to.”

  Now he's crying again. And even though I know he's made these choices, he's brought this pain on himself, I can't help but feel sorry. In fact, if feels like my heart is breaking for him.

  “Why don't you go upstairs,” I say in a calm voice. “Just take a shower and change your clothes. Then we can talk about this some more.”

  He sort of nods, but I can tell he's not thinking clearly.

  “Hurry. Get cleaned up, and I'll try to think of something.”

  “Okay.”

  As soon as he's gone, I go outside and call Ebony on my cell phone. And even though I'm sure Zach might kill me if he knew, I tell her everything.

  “Is there any way you can help him?”

  “I don't know, Samantha.”

  “I shouldn't have called you.”

  “No, you did the right thing. Let me do some investi gating, and I'll get back to you. Is Zach still home?”

  “He is for now. But I don't think he will be for long.”

  “Ill call you as soon as I know anything. But tell Zach that if he's smart, he won't try to run. If his car really has been impounded and searched, there will already be a warrant out for him. It'll only make it harder on him to run.”

  “I'll tell him.” Then I hang up and go back into the house. I can't hear water running, so I assume he's already taken his shower. Or maybe he snuck out. Zach used to climb out his dormer window and slide down the roof onto the garage. I wouldn't be surprised if he did it today. But when I tiptoe by his room, pushing the partially closed door open, I see that Zach is still wearing his grubby clothes and sacked out on top of his bed. But at least he's still here.

  I go back downstairs and wait for Ebony to call back. I feel guilty for imposing on her like this. But she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she actually seems to care. I remember, as I wait, what Mom said about how Ebony might feel guilty—about how she might be trying to make up for something, I so hope that's not the case. But even if it is, I guess I don't care. All I want is for her to help Zach. Not that I want to see him totally getting out of this. He needs to account for his stupidity, and he needs help with his addiction problem. But at the same time, I don't want to see him locked up for the next twenty years either.

  The cell phone rings and I jump. But I answer it before the second ring, and to my relief it's Ebony.

  “His car was towed and impounded because it was left in a dangerous place. It was partially on the road where there was a tight curve.”

  “And?” 3

  “According to my sources, there wasn't anything illegal o found inside it. Zach will be ticketed and fined for leaving 5” his car there. But there isn't a warrant for his arrest.”

  “Really?”

  “According to my sources, it's just routine.”

  “But what about what I told you?” I ask in a meek voice.

  “Zach needs help, Samantha.”

  “I know.”

  “We could use this to get him help.”

  “How?”

  So Ebony tells me about a rehab place she knows about where she could get him in with very little waiting.

  “How's that possible? The last time he went in—it was an inpatient program for drugs. We had to wait six weeks, and then they could only keep him for thirty days. In the end, my mom thought it was just a waste of money.”

  “I know we could get him in because it's run by my brother.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Washington State.”

  “Is it expensive?”

  “I think they have a sliding scale.”

  “What's that?” I ask.

  “It's where patients pay according to what they can afford. Do you think we could convince him to go, Samantha?”

  “I think it's worth a try.”

  “Does your mom know about this yet?”

  “Well, she has her suspicions about him getting involved in drugs again. She told me as much today.”

  “But she doesn't know about his car and what he just told you?”

  “No.”

  “Do you mind if I call her?”

  “Go ahead. Try her work number first.”

  “Okay. But before I hang up, do you want to pray for him with me, Samantha?”

  “Yes!”

  So we pray and then hang up. And for the first time in weeks, I feel a faint flicker of hope for my slightly lost brother. Even so I continue praying. I walk around the house and pray that God will keep Zach asleep and safe in our house until we can figure this thing out. And I pray that Ebony will say the right things to Mom and that Mom will understand and not be offended by Ebony's desire to help. And then I pray that Ebony's brother really will be able to take Zach. The sooner the better.

  It's dark by the time Mom gets home. But Zach is still asleep. Just more proof that he really has been using something. He usually crashes like this after a binge with a drug like meth or speed.

  “Did Ebony get ahold of you?” I ask.

  “Yes.” She looks worried. “Is Zach still here?”

  I nod. “Crashed. Coming off something, I guess.”

  “Good.”

  “Did she tell you about Zach's car?” I ask in a lowered voice. “About the fact that he was carrying drugs?”

  Mom nods as she takes off her coat and hangs it in the coat closet. She looks so tired.

  “Did she tell you about her brother's place?”

  “Yes. She said that she'd already called him after talkoing to you, and he assured her of a spot for Zach.”

  “So, he's going?” I ask hopefully.

  “If he agrees.”

  “Oh.”

  “Ebony offered to come by this evening. She said we can do an intervention of sorts. And she'll put some pressure on him.”
r />   “Good.”

  “In the meantime, we're supposed to just act normal.” Mom kind of laughs. “Like I even know what that is anymore.”

  “You and me both.”

  “Why don't we start by ordering pizza? Can you take care of that?”

  “Sure.”

  “I'm going to change clothes. The cuffs of my pants have been soggy ever since the parade.”

  “What if Zach gets up?”

  “Tell him we ordered pizza,” she says. “His favorite kind.”

  I nod. “Okay. He'll probably be starving.”

  “Yeah, he usually is.” Then she trudges up the stairs, but I notice that she stops to look at the photo of our family, the one where we're happily standing together in front of Disneyland. She lets out a tired sigh then contin-ues on up.

  I wonder what Dad would think if he could see us today. Wouldn't it break his heart to know what Zach has been up to during these past twenty-four hours? I can't bear to imagine it myself. Then I wonder why God didn't let me in on this. Why didn't He give me a vision for Zach? Why was I busy finding Conrad's lost sister, Katie, when my very own brother was far more lost? Doesn't God think Zach is just as important? Then I remind myself that help is on its way. And isn't it up to God to figure out what's best anyway?

  Fourteen

  The pizza delivery van and a police car pull up in front of our house at the same time. I quickly pay the curious pizza guy as I let Ebony and a uniformed officer inside.

  “Are you going to arrest him?” I whisper to Ebony.

  She shakes her head. “No, it's just for effect.”

  “Oh.” Still, I feel unsure as I direct them toward the family room, where Mom is waiting, looking as if she's sitting on a porcupine.

  Zach woke up about twenty minutes ago. Mom told him to grab a shower before the pizza got here, but he's coming down the stairs now, barefoot and wearing sweats. His hair is still wet. And despite telling myself that this is a good thing, I feel so guilty. Like I'm leading the poor innocent lamb to the slaughter. I just hope I can trust Ebony I hope she was telling me the truth.

  I hold out the pizza box. “It just got here,” I say in a slightly shaky voice. “Good timing, huh? Mom's in there.” I nod toward the family room, worried that Zach can see right through my little act. Does he already know what's up? Is he about to bolt straight for the front door and make a run for it?