Bring Her Home

by David Bell

  He followed his sister out. He noticed paint splatters on her scuffed boots, evidence of the art she created in the spare time she stole from raising her two teenagers, Summer’s cousins. She looked like she’d gained a little weight since the last time they’d seen each other, but she wore it well. Their mother, dead more than ten years, always said Paige had a big appetite for everything—life, food, drink, fun. The comment made Paige fume when she was an awkward teenager, two years younger than Bill, but he always saw it as a compliment. His sister was open to the world, one of those people who lived with her arms thrown open wide. He envied her easygoing nature, her enthusiastic acceptance of whatever came her way.

  When they made their trip together, the one following R.E.M., it was Paige whose energy never flagged. It was Paige who pushed for them to do more and more. He felt the whole time like he was swimming in her wake.

  And he had one of the best times of his life.

  When they were out in the hallway, Paige pointed at the middle-aged security guard and said loudly enough for the man to hear, “That guy tried to tell me immediate family only when I got here, but I told them I was Summer’s aunt. And your sister. And if they tried to keep me out, I’d knock somebody down.”

  Bill shrugged at the guard, who showed no reaction to Paige’s words. “I told him you were coming today.” Bill felt stuck. What did he want to say to his sister? “Really, Paige, thanks for coming. I know you have the kids, and it’s a long drive.”

  “Of course. Mom and Dad are dead, so you’re stuck with me.”

  The comment struck Bill as oddly funny, and he almost laughed. And almost laughing felt good.

  He quickly told her where they found Summer and Haley and about Summer’s condition, including the collapsed lung. When he said that Haley was dead, Paige raised her hand to her mouth, stifling her own cry of grief over Summer’s friend.

  “She was a sweet girl, wasn’t she?” she asked. “An easygoing kid. I remember meeting her at your house. Those two were together all the time, joined at the hip.”

  “Yeah,” Bill said. “They were just like that. They were going somewhere together on Saturday when they disappeared. We’re just not sure where.”

  “Ugh.”

  “I didn’t ask,” Bill said. “I just let them go out the door to . . . wherever. Why did I do that? Why didn’t I ask? Just ask one question, that’s all I needed to do.”

  “Bill, it’s okay. This isn’t your fault.”

  “Every other parent asks these questions. Why didn’t I? You know Summer’s heart was broken by Julia’s death and I’m trying not to be another drag on her life.”

  “I get it,” Paige said. “I do.”

  A bundle of words jammed up in Bill’s throat. “Come here,” he said, and led Paige farther away from the nurses’ station and over to the couch where he had sat with Hawkins. When they were seated Bill said, “Get a load of what the cops are saying.”

  “Do they have a suspect?”

  Every atom in Bill’s body quivered as he spoke. He told her that the police had been questioning him about Summer’s sex life and the boys she knew at school, including Clinton’s history of violence. All the words that had been jumbled in his throat fell out of his mouth like heavy stones.

  When he was finished, he looked back at his sister. Paige’s lips were parted, her cheeks flushed red. She’d flushed the same way when she was angry or upset ever since she was a little kid throwing tantrums over their parents’ rules and edicts, and he saw the shadow of that child in her face, even though a few more lines were apparent and her once-brown hair was streaked with a little gray. He saw Summer there as well, in the shape of her nose.

  “You’re thinking maybe a kid at school did something to Summer,” she said, the fury simmering below her words. “That maybe they hurt her.”

  “What else can I think?” he said. “What else am I supposed to conclude when the cops show that kind of interest in these kids? I know what it’s like to be a boy. I was as horny as any of them when I was a teen. You know, the cops told me she fought back, that her hands and fingers are a mess because she fought off her attacker. Maybe those boys tried to do something to her, and she let them have it. Summer was spending time with them, especially the one named Todd Stone. If his friend, this Clinton Fields, has beat up other kids, who’s to say he didn’t do it to Summer?”

  “If Summer has your temper, yes, I can imagine she’d fight back.”

  “I’m trying not to think of calling my neighbor, Adam, and asking to borrow his gun. Or going to a pawnshop and buying one myself.”

  “I’m sorry, Bill, but you have to let the police handle this. You can’t fly off the handle or confront anybody about this. You need to be here for Summer. Let the cops do their jobs.”

  “That’s so rational of you.”

  “Has Summer said anything or shown any significant signs?”

  Bill remembered that one word, that one syllable repeated over and over as he leaned in close to Summer’s face.

  No. No. No. No. No.

  Was she remembering the attack? Did she not want him so close when she was in such pain?

  “Not really. Just some groans. She barely moved all night or this morning.”

  “Maybe she’ll talk soon.”

  He’d reached a point of exasperation. “And she has a fucking belly button ring, Paige. A belly button ring. I didn’t even know. The nurse showed me. Am I the most clueless dad on earth? Did I simply have no idea about anything my daughter was doing in her life? I’m thinking maybe I don’t really understand what fifteen-year-olds do.”

  “Nobody does, Bill.”

  Something sounded off in the tone of Paige’s voice. He’d heard her give pep talks before, had even on occasion been on the receiving end of one. When she dished out her advice or pick-me-ups, Paige’s voice achieved a buoyancy, a sense that her words and maybe even her body were about to lift off into the air.

  In the Intensive Care hallway, her tone became muted, the look on her face apprehensive. Bill wanted to ascribe the changes to the circumstances, to know that his sister looked and sounded different because of the gravity of the situation. But he didn’t buy it. That wasn’t Paige’s style at all. It would be more likely for her tone to rise, for her energy level to swell as the situation grew more dire. At their father’s funeral, when they were both in their twenties, Paige became giggly at the viewing, responding to every offer of sympathy with a high-pitched laugh. At the end of the evening, he pulled her aside and told her to knock it off, that they were at a funeral. That was when Paige cried, broke down sobbing in his arms, making him feel—justifiably—like the biggest jerk alive.

  “What’s going on, Paige?” he asked. “What are you holding back?”

  “I want you to keep your perspective here,” she said. “I know you’re probably on the brink of losing your cool and getting frustrated.”

  “Paige.” But she was right. His hands were clenched into fists. He’d already spotted a stack of magazines on a side table, objects ripe for throwing. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know something that might be related to all of this,” she said. “Shit, I didn’t want to dump it on you right away, but it might shed some light on these things you’re talking about with these boys.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Bill waited for Paige to go on.

  For the first time he noticed that some kind of low, tinny Muzak bled out of speakers set into the ceiling tiles over his head, the notes so faint and distant as to barely be heard. And he recognized his sister’s ploy. At various times, both his parents and Paige had used it on him. They mentioned his temper before they told him something, suggesting that any display of anger was unnecessary and even unreasonable.

  But he didn’t dwell on his sister’s psychological manipulations. He stopped looking for something to throw an
d zeroed in on her, waiting to hear what she knew.

  “What, Paige?” he asked, the words emerging from his mouth like pellets of ice.

  “Summer called me. About six months ago.”

  “I didn’t know she called you.”

  “She never had before. But she wanted my advice about something. Remember, Bill, she doesn’t have a mom she can go to anymore. This is the kind of thing I would have tried to talk to Mom about when I was fifteen. She wouldn’t have listened, but I would have wanted her to. And we’d just visited, remember? We’d driven through and spent some time with both of you, so I was, I don’t know, fresh in her mind.”

  “What are we talking about here?” Bill asked.

  “She wanted to know about birth control. About the best kind to use and where to get it. She was worried about going on the pill because she’d heard that it affects your body and your moods.”

  “She was on the pill?”

  “I don’t know,” Paige said. “She never called back. And I . . . To be honest, she seemed kind of freaked out by the conversation, so I assumed maybe she dropped the whole thing.”

  “You didn’t follow up with her to see what she decided to do?”

  Paige gave him a withering look. “How stupid do you think I am? Of course I followed up. I texted her and asked her how things were going. She told me she had everything under control, that she didn’t think she needed any birth control after all. She seemed certain. Maybe she got cold feet. That’s what I hoped. I hoped she got cold feet and decided to wait before taking such a big step.”

  In the swirl of emotions that tumbled through his chest, sadness quickly overcame anger as his response to Paige’s information. How lonely and scared Summer must have been, reaching out to an aunt who lived in another state. How much she must have craved and longed for the presence of her mother over the past year.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

  “Bill, I was in an almost impossible situation,” Paige said. “If I told you, I’d betray her trust forever. She’d never open up to either one of us again.”

  “She asked you not to tell me?”

  “Of course. She didn’t want her dad to know about these things.”

  “I’d have told you if it was your kid.”

  “My kids wouldn’t call you.”

  “You know what? Fuck you, Paige.”

  “Bill.” She placed her hand on his arm, even though he’d made no move to stand up. “None of this is helping Summer, okay? If you’re pissed at me, fine. You can be pissed at me. Maybe I was wrong—I don’t know. I’m telling you this so you know what to make of what the police are telling you.”

  Bill took a few deep breaths. He scratched at the back of his head where his hair stood up. He hadn’t taken a shower or shaven or anything before running out the door the previous morning when the police called.

  “So she might have been having sex with one of those boys,” he said. “Probably that little shit Todd Stone who she went to that dance with. And he or his friends turned on her for some reason, beat the crap out of her.” He wrung his hands together. “But she’s only fifteen.”

  “Fifteen-year-olds have sex,” Paige said. “I did.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s not a problem that I had sex when I was fifteen, Bill. You and Mom and Dad acted like it was, but it wasn’t. It was normal. I was normal.”

  “And here I was worried about some pudgy male orderly seeing her with her clothes off.”

  “Bill, you need to make this about Summer’s well-being, about catching the person who hurt her. And killed Haley.” Paige looked distracted for a moment, her brow furrowing. “Why did she go to a dance with one of these boys if they’re such shits?”

  “Good question. Todd’s smart, I guess. Gets good grades. He’s a good-looking kid. They’re both involved in student council, and they worked on this group project for their history class last semester. His friend Clinton, I don’t know quite as well. I guess as long as you’re on his good side, he won’t break your jaw.”

  Paige reached up and touched her face. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

  “You’re going to tell the police all about this,” Bill said, pointing at her. “Then the detective can stare at me and shake his head and secretly wonder why I knew so little about my own child. He’ll call me ‘bud’ in his syrupy Southern voice, but inside he’ll think I had no control over my kid.”

  “They just want to catch the bad guy.” Paige studied Bill as he pulled out his phone and prepared to call Hawkins. “Have you been sitting here this whole time? When’s the last time you took a shower?”

  “I don’t even know. Over the last few days . . . I’ve barely eaten.”

  “Do you want to go home and take a shower? Change clothes?”

  “No.”

  “I can sit with Summer,” she said. “You live five minutes away. You’ll feel better. And smell better. You’re a little ripe. If anything happens, I’ll call you. Right away.” She held up her hand as though taking an oath. “I promise.”

  “Would you leave the bedside of one of your kids?” he asked.

  “I know, Bill. I know. But you have to take care of yourself. And you’re going to have people coming to the hospital. Kids and adults who will want to visit or talk to you. And see Summer as she gets better.”

  “Being in the house has felt weird with Summer gone. Missing.”

  “Lonely?”

  “Sure, that. To be honest, I’ve been a little uneasy. Someone assaulted her. I’ve been lying in bed, trying to sleep, just wishing she’d come in the door. Everything feels off, in the whole town. It said on the news people are calling security companies to buy alarm systems. Lord knows how many guns and canisters of pepper spray have been sold. I slept with all the lights on in the house. Like a scared kid. And I use the term ‘sleep’ lightly. I couldn’t do it. Dreams. And hearing noises.”

  “Okay, you’re not alone here. You do have help.” She pointed to her own chest, her index finger sinking into the material of her heavy sweater. “Me.”

  “Right.” He scratched his stubbled cheek. “But I’m calling Detective Hawkins first. You can fill him in on my daughter’s sex life. Then I’ll think about bathing.”

  As he started to press the SEND button on his phone, Paige reached out and placed her hand over his. “Bill? First tell me how you and Summer were really getting along.”

  “Fine.”

  “Bill. Were you there for her? Really there? I know it’s tough—”

  “Because her mother and my wife died a year and a half ago? Yeah, it is tough. Summer’s been pushing boundaries ever since then. I’m sure it’s teenage rebellion, but also a form of anger and grieving. Maybe that’s why she ran into the arms of a teenage sociopath. To act out or rebel. So I didn’t ask where she was going on Saturday. I’m trying to let her live her life. We’ve had some dustups, but we seemed to be turning a corner.” Bill still held the phone in the air, his finger poised but not pushing any buttons. “It was Julia’s birthday two weeks ago.”

  Paige lifted her hand to her chest. “Oh, shit. Right.”

  “You know, last year on her birthday, the first one since . . . Summer and I were so friggin’ sad. We both cried all day. We just locked ourselves up in the house and cried.”

  “I’m sorry, Bill. I meant to call you that day.”

  “It’s fine.” He patted his sister’s hand. “This year, with everybody feeling a little better, I tried not to make too big of a deal out of it. You know, just act like it was any other day. But she was down—I could tell.” Bill remembered Summer leaving for school that day, her shoulders slumped, her eyes downcast. When Bill came home from work, he insisted on ordering a pizza, and the two of them found a cheesy movie on the Syfy network, something about giant flying roaches. “I should have
talked to her more. I shouldn’t have assumed she was fine.”

  “Bill—”

  He held up his index finger, asking for quiet.

  “I have to call the detective.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The stinging hot water washed over Bill. He stood beneath the showerhead, after soaping his entire body, until the steam billowed, obscuring his feet. He didn’t want to turn off the water and step out. He wanted to remain lost in the soothing fog.

  But he knew he couldn’t.

  The longer he dawdled in the house, the longer Summer lay in the hospital without him nearby. He shut the water off, felt the slight chill in the air as he stepped outside the stall. He listened. The furnace made its usual loud clicking noise as it cycled on. He remained still, waiting to see if there were any other noises, anything out of the ordinary. He wanted to hear only one thing—the sound of Summer at home and healthy.

  He knew he’d feel better if he shaved, so he cleared a circle in the condensation on the mirror and lathered his face.

  The house was crammed full of memories. Everywhere he turned, he thought of an association with Julia or Summer. He saw the swing set in the backyard, where he parked the car. He saw Summer’s heights marked on the doorjamb when he entered the house. He repeatedly walked across the kitchen floor where Julia died.

  Just a month before, at the end of January, he and Summer had bonded during three snowy days when school was canceled and Bill took a couple of personal days off work. They watched two full seasons of Game of Thrones, sharing frozen pizza and cookies and making insane predictions about who would ultimately reign at the end of the series. Bill had even convinced Summer to watch at least one season of the original Star Trek with him, and he looked forward to it as though he were a kid again. At times like those, parenting felt so easy, so natural. If only every problem could be solved with binge watching and junk food . . .