by Salsbury, JB
“When was the date of your last normal period?”
I swallow past the lump forming in my throat. “I don’t…” Memories of the week leading up to my break-up with Steven come crashing in. He’d been away on a work trip, or so he’d said. I was grateful it was the week of my period because Steven didn’t enjoy sex while I was bleeding. The day he came back, I was so desperate for him. We were desperate for each other. He stayed over and we had unprotected sex multiple times, thinking there was no way I’d be ovulating after just ending my cycle. The next day is when I showed up at his house and caught him with his wife. “A month before that.”
He scribbles something down. “And that period was normal?”
“Yes. What does the blood work say?” Because regardless of my recollection, the blood never lies.
“You’re ten weeks pregnant,” he says softly, my guess is to make sure that if Ryder is just outside, he won’t be able to hear.
As much as I want to deny it, a deeper part of me recognizes it to be true—the dizzy spells, wavering appetite, sensitive breasts, and ravenous desire for sex. I drop my head back and my breathing quickens.
“Is there anything I can get for you?” The doctor’s voice is laced with worry.
“No. Thank you.”
“Do you have any questions for me?”
“No.”
He smiles sadly and stands to leave.
“Oh, could you get Ryder to come back?”
“Sure.”
I sit there in a hospital bed somewhere in California and think of the tiny life growing in my body, half me, half Steven the cheating, lying asshole, and I feel nothing. Numb, disconnected, almost like I’m floating above myself. I don’t know how much time passes before Ryder comes back to reclaim his spot at my side.
“Hey, are you hurting?” he asks. “You’re pale. Are you going to be sick?”
His concern clenches my chest. If he only knew. “I’m just tired.”
“Why don’t you get some sleep?”
I force a small smile. “I won’t be able to sleep with you in here watching me.” I yawn and rub my eyes.
“It’ll be awhile still until we’re all free to go. I’ll go check on Ethan and Chris, and you grab a nap.”
“That sounds good. Can I, uh… use your phone? To call my mom.” The last word gets hung up in my throat.
“Yeah, of course.” He stands and slips his iPhone from his pocket. “The screen is a little banged up, but it still works.” He stands there for a few seconds, then motions over his shoulder. “I’ll go. You hold on to it until I come back.”
I get the saddening sense he wants to leave something behind so he’ll have a reason to come back. And for that, the simple show of his vulnerability, I reach out to hug him. He comes easily into my arms, his nose to my neck, and he breathes me in. “Thank you, Ryder.”
“You know I’d do anything for you, babe.”
Eventually he pulls back, and he seems a little lighter when he steps through the curtains and closes them behind him. I watch his dirty blue Vans walk away and close my eyes, fighting the tears threatening to fall.
I hit the spider-webbed screen of Ryder’s phone and search for the Uber or Lyft app. “Come on, come on, come on…” There. I find it, hit it, and request a ride. There’s one five minutes away. Perfect. I type in special instructions that I’ll be waiting outside Emergency, then hit Confirm, memorize the license plate, and scramble out of bed as best I can.
After grabbing the crutches left behind by the nurses, I make my way out with minimal pain, thanks to the painkillers. A nurse at the nurses’ station looks up at me. “Just going to the bathroom.”
“Down the hall to the left. Do you need help?”
“Nope. I got it.”
The nurses quickly forget about me, and I hobble down the hallway and follow the signs for Emergency Intake.
I make eye contact with those who pass me, pretending like I’ve been discharged, until I’m out into the crisp early morning California air. The sky is a fading mix from black to purple, and I find a dark corner to huddle in, waiting for my Uber to arrive.
I tell myself this is my only choice. The best way for everyone involved.
And when my Uber pulls up and I crawl inside, I almost believe my own lie.
26
Ryder
Our whole team is huddled in the waiting room outside Chris’s room—Brent, Jesse, Bethany, Ethan, a representative from Arenfield Records, and a lawyer. Dina showed up ten minutes ago and hasn’t come out of Chris’s room screaming yet, which is a good sign. He’s conscious, in a ton of pain, and preparing for surgery that’ll screw the broken parts of his skeleton back together.
I check the clock on the wall. I left Jade to rest in the emergency room thirty-eight minutes ago. I swore to myself I’d give her an hour, but every minute away from her is killing me.
“I can’t believe Charles is gone, man.” Ethan rubs his face, then winces at the bruise on his cheek.
“They’re going to do an autopsy to try to figure out what happened.” Bethany yawns, her eyes bloodshot and puffy from crying, and she curls deeper into Jesse who hasn’t said much since they got here. “Witnesses said they saw the bus lose control and go over the side.”
“Maybe he fell asleep.” Hard to believe after forty years of driving tour buses he’d fall asleep, but he is human, and we were coming off back-to-back shows with little time off.
Brent and the suits blab on about lawsuits and paparazzi, and all I can think about is the beautiful woman who saved Chris’s life. The stunning creature who snuck into my life and set up shop without me even knowing she was a nurse. An ex-nurse. She must’ve done something pretty bad to be forced into turning over her license. But what?
I check the clock again. Forty-five minutes. I stand. “I’m gonna go check on Jade and see if they’ve discharged her yet.”
It takes time to get from the orthopedic part of the hospital back to Emergency, and I stop to grab Jade and myself a cup of coffee. I was so relieved when Jade assured me we’d see each other again and hugged me like she didn’t want to let me go.
I swerve around nurses and patients in the busy emergency room and swing around to bed seven, Jade’s bed. The mattress has been stripped, and she’s nowhere to be seen.
“Excuse me,” I say to a nurse passing by. “Where is Jade? The patient who was in this bed.” I double-check to make sure I didn’t take a wrong turn. Nope. This is where I left her.
The petite nurse shrugs. “I’m sorry, I just got here.” She walks away, so I head to the nurses’ station.
“Was Jade DeLeon discharged?”
Maybe she’s wandering the hospital, looking for me?
The nurse types something into her computer and frowns. “It doesn’t look like it, but let me ask.” She wheels her chair around, speaking to other nurses who all shake their heads. “I’m sorry, we just had a shift change. Let me call the doctor.”
Every minute that passes seems to take a fucking lifetime. How does a hospital just lose a patient?
Maybe they didn’t lose her. Maybe she ran. How far could she possibly get on one healthy leg?
My pulse rockets harder, making my head throb. I set down the coffee, and my eyes snag on my cellphone sitting on the nurse’s desk with a sticky note that reads Jade DeLeon.
“That’s my phone.”
The nurse looks up at me.
“Jade was using it.” I reach forward and grab it, and even though the nurse looks at me like she should stop me, she doesn’t.
A nurse leads an orderly to the desk, her face ashen. “She said she was going to the bathroom. I didn’t notice if she came back.”
“Did you check to make sure she didn’t pass out in the bathroom?”
Two nurses race to the women’s restroom. I wait rather fucking impatiently outside only to have them come out shaking their heads. “She’s not in there.”
“Fuck!” I spin around, looking for her m
ass of golden-brown curls. “Can you page her? Maybe she’s lost somewhere in the hospital.”
They scurry off and begin paging her over and over. I wait. And wait.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I wrench it out. It’s a notification from Uber. I almost put it back but freeze when I see it’s a receipt.
A $119 Uber.
To Boyle Heights.
She ran.
* * *
I tell myself the entire drive back to my house in Malibu that I’m going to give her space. I may not have a way to get in touch with her over the phone, but thanks to her using my Uber account, I have her mom’s address.
The sun shines on the ocean, people are scattered on the sand, and seagulls squawk overhead. Nothing has changed in Southern Cali, but walking into my place, I feel like a different man than who I was when I left.
Funny how life-and-death experiences will do that to a person.
The floor-to-ceiling windows and expensive, over-stuffed furniture doesn’t bring the same comfort as it did when I was here last. I’m tired, sore all over, my head hurts, and my heart aches.
I can’t believe she ran.
Dragging my body upstairs, I plan to take a hot shower and sleep the rest of the day away. Tonight’s show was canceled with a promise to reschedule once Chris is healed enough to play again. Heaviness weighs on me when I consider the road ahead, first repair his body, then repair his marriage. I can’t ignore the truth. Chris may never come back to music.
After a shower, I pat dry my torn-up skin, leaving bloodstains on the towel where newly healed gashes gave way under the water spray. I rebandage what I can and slip on a black T-shirt in case the blood seeps through. I pull on shorts and throw back some Advil, then stare at my bed.
My tired, pathetic mind pictures Jade curled beneath the sheets, her wild hair tossed over the pillow, her hands tucked beneath it, and her face relaxed with sleep. What I wouldn’t do to be able to crawl in behind her, pull her soft body into mine, and sleep for days with her safe in my arms. The feel of her close is so fresh that my arms ache with missing her there. Will I ever be able to sleep soundly again without her?
The tightness in my chest forces me to ask myself the one question I’ve been putting off these last few days.
Am I in love with Jade?
I remember Rachel saying love means putting the other person first, even if it means walking away from your dreams.
Would I walk away from the band if it meant I got to keep Jade?
The answer slams me in the throat.
I throw on flip flops and race to my garage. I pull the Boyle Heights address up on my phone. The garage opens, and I fire up my truck, the directions syncing to the GPS.
I peel out of the space and point myself in the direction of the freeway.
Jade
If nursing taught me one thing, it was how to compartmentalize my emotions. If a mother came in strung out on meth holding her limp, bruised baby claiming the child fell out of a high chair, I’d shove my fury into a little box so I’m able to think clearly and do my job.
As I sit with my back to the redbrick wall of the LA County Crematorium, I use the same method in order to hold my shit together.
It’s not that I’ve forgotten my circumstances. I know I’m in hospital scrubs with a wrapped broken ankle and bare feet. I’m aware of all the cuts on my face and arms and my filthy hair. I don’t have a single dollar to my name, no family to reach out to, and worst of all, I carry a tiny life inside my body, given to me by the man I hate most in this world.
Maybe I’ve finally gone crazy. Or maybe the weight became so heavy, I’ve gone numb down to my soul.
I have no way to tell time, but the sign says they open at seven thirty.
The sky is light, so I have to assume it’s getting close.
I lean my head back against the brick, feeling the warm sun on my face, grateful to leave the freezing temperatures and snow far behind me.
I must doze off because I wake suddenly to a woman’s voice, her gentle hand on my shoulder. “Honey, are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?”
I blink and see a thick pair of glasses and gray-brown hair pulled back into a bun. She holds her purse to her belly as if she fears I may take it from her.
“I’m okay. I just fell asleep.”
The woman takes in my clothes, the crutches at my side, bare feet, and wrapped ankle.
“Do you work here? I’m just waiting for the doors to open.”
“Yes, we’re open.” She offers a hand, but she looks much too fragile to hold my weight.
“Thank you, but I think I’ve got it.” I tuck my good foot under me and use the crutches to help push myself to standing. My muscles scream in protest, a side effect from the accident.
I follow the woman to the glass doors, and she pushes them open for me. The room smells like dust, and the air is thick and stuffy.
The woman circles around to behind the counter, flicks on the lights, and tucks her purse into a drawer. “What can I do for you?”
A swell of sadness expands in my throat, and I cough to clear it. “I’m here to pick up my mom. Renee DeLeon.”
The woman’s eyes flash with compassion, and she pulls out a gigantic binder with three screws holding it together and shipping tape on the frayed corners. “Do you know when she passed, roughly what day?”
“New Year’s.” I didn’t get the call until days later when the neighbors smelled her body and called the police. They found her dead on her couch, surrounded by prescription painkillers. The guilt stabs through me.
The woman runs her finger along pages and pages of names, the unclaimed dead. “Hmm…” She licks her finger and flips another page. “DeLeon…”
Seeing my mom reduced to one of thousands of names in a book of the forgotten makes my eyes burn.
“Here it is.” She scribbles a number on a sticky note and peers at me over her glasses. “There’s a three-hundred-and-sixty-two-dollar fee.”
“I sent a check, about a month ago?”
She runs her finger along the line that leads to a check mark and then nods. “Oh, good, yes. I’ll be right back.”
I hobble to the nearest seat and lower my sore body into it. I’m so tired, but it’s early, and the homeless shelters won’t open for check-in until five. I need to find something to eat and a safe place to sleep, maybe the beach? I wiggle the toes on my wrapped foot and groan. The painkillers are wearing off. I’m barefoot and broke and on my own.
How badly I wished I could’ve taken Ryder up on his offer for me to stay with him, but how could I accept his help after all the secrets? I’m sure his fancy lawyers will soon find out all about me, and they’ll tell him. Then he’ll be happy I’m gone.
“Here you are.”
The woman takes the last few steps toward me and holds out a small plastic box. There’s nothing special about it. Her name isn’t even written on it. Just a number scribbled in black marker.
Mom.
A sob rips from my throat, and I double over with the force of it. I hadn’t seen my mom in years, but had I known the next time I would see her she’d be nothing but ashes in a shitty box, I would’ve hugged her longer. I would’ve stared at her face for hours until I memorized every freckle and laugh line.
And to think she’s gone because of me.
There’s no chance of me compartmentalizing the guilt and self-hatred as it washes over me. I deserved everything I got for what I did to her. I should’ve insisted she get help. I could’ve come to LA to help her. If I wasn’t so blinded by what I thought was the perfect life, I could’ve helped her, and she’d still be here today.
I reach for the box and pull it into my lap.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” the woman says and hands me a tissue.
“Me too.” I sniff and wipe my eyes, then realize I can’t even walk out of here on my own. A crazed laugh rumbles in my chest. “This might sound stupid, but you wouldn’t happen to have a b
ag, would you?”
Her eyes dart to my crutches and then to my mom in my lap. “Let me see what I can find.”
“Thanks.” I clear my throat and swallow back tears. I have the rest of my life to cry over all my mistakes and losses.
Ryder being at the top of the list.
“Why are you the way you are?” I whisper to myself. He’s never given me a reason not to trust him, and yet I don’t. He’s only ever made me feel safe and protected, and yet I fear at any moment, he’ll break me. He’s only ever wanted to keep me close, and I pushed him away.
The woman comes back with a reusable grocery bag. “Will this work?”
“Yes, thank you.” I set the box containing the remains of my mom into the Trader Joe’s bag and carefully stand, getting my crutches under me before I loop the bag over my shoulder.
I limp slowly toward the door, then stare at it trying to figure out how to open it. The kind woman pushes it open for me, and as I pass by her, she says, “Do you have somewhere to go? Family nearby?”
My bottom lip quivers, and I shake my head. “No, but thank you. I’ll be fine.” The warm sun feels good on my face, and I shift to look at her over my shoulder. “Actually, can you tell me the quickest way to get to the beach?”
27
Jade
The sun is at its highest point in the sky when I limp off the city bus in front of the Santa Monica Pier.
The woman at the county crematorium gave me three dollars and a handful of change from her purse and pointed me to the nearest bus stop. I had enough money to get to the beach with enough left to spare that I might be able to buy a hot dog.
The concrete is rough under my feet as I negotiate my way from the street to the sandy beach. The sound of the waves breaking in the distance calls to me, and when the toes of my good foot sink into the warm sand, all my muscles relax.
My eyelids grow heavy as I fight to get through the deeper sand with my crutches. When I get close enough to feel the cool breeze off the water, I drop to my butt and simply stare. Rather than come up with a plan or rake through my limited options for where to go next, I drop to my side, and using my arm as a pillow, I close my eyes and let sleep overtake me.
