Remember

by Patricia Shanae Smith

  “Sure. While I get you one, can you try to remember something else around that time? Any small details?”

  I nodded. I tapped my foot. Honestly, I didn’t really remember me being sick. I mean, yeah, I got sick all the time. I drank a lot. I threw up. I did remember there being a time I was throwing up a lot. I didn’t think it was important. It was none of her business how much I drank. She came back in and handed me a pack of Marlboro Gold. Ugh. Whatever.

  “So, you were really sick and…?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t remember. Nope.” I threw my hands up.

  “Okay. So far, you’re living on your own with your dad still in your house. How did you afford to live?”

  “UCLA and the house were getting paid for by Susan, who replaced my mom at the advertising company.”

  “Did she pay the bills or did she give you the money?”

  “She and Gary took care of all of that. Why does any of this matter?” I understood that she wanted me to remember what happened last night, but why did we have to go back years?

  Three Years Ago

  I woke up vomiting. I couldn’t remember the last time I had even felt queasy. Hopefully, something wasn’t severely wrong with me. It could have been from drinking, but I’d been drinking beer like water for years now and I had never thrown up.

  “You okay?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah…I think I may have the flu.”

  “You talk to Ethan?”

  “No, Dad. I told you. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

  “He’s been by the house every day. He’s begging for you to just talk to him. He’s sorry. I mean, sweetie, if I can forgive, you should, too.”

  “I should never have started seeing him in the first place.”

  “Well then, break up with him. Don’t just ignore him. You’re a grown-ass woman. Grow some lady balls and tell him how you felt attacked by his dad and him. Who gave him the right? Now you’ve got me getting mad again.”

  “I don’t know yet. Right now I just feel sick to my stomach.”

  “Okay…well, get cleaned up. He’s downstairs.”

  “What?”

  “I told him you agreed to talk to him.”

  “Ugh.” I shoved him out of my way.

  After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I walked downstairs and saw him sitting on the couch in the living room. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed him until that moment. He had two cups of coffee sitting on the coffee table.

  “Hi…” Jesus. I just wanted to kiss him. I couldn’t lie about that. I sat next to him. I wanted to touch him. I was shaking so badly because I didn’t really know how to feel.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yep, I think I’m coming down with something.”

  “Have some coffee,” he said.

  The coffee felt good against my throat even though it tasted off. No one could make coffee as good as my father.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  I just stared at him.

  “Sorry. I just missed you so much. I don’t really know what to say. I know it’s only been a week, but it’s been the longest week of my life.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  “I just wanted to say I’m here for you. Just me. I don’t care what you do or what you don’t do. I want to make you happy. I just thought…I don’t know. I’m stupid. I hate seeing you upset,” he said.

  I put my head on his shoulder, but I was still distant. “You’re not stupid. You aced your chemistry final.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Huh?”

  “Do you love me?”

  He put his head down and took a sip of his coffee. I took a sip of mine. I still felt weird and not myself. I just wanted to go to sleep. This past week I’d been so upset—I had just slept. I felt sick. I felt gross. I assumed it was stress. I assumed everything would be better if I saw him, but I felt worse.

  “I do.” He stared deeply into my eyes.

  I didn’t want to blink. He put his hand on my knee and caressed it. Tears pooled. I inched in closer to him and kissed him.

  “I love you too,” I said, and we kissed again. As soon as he put his tongue down my throat, I felt bile coming up. I pushed him away from me. I threw up—all over the coffee table, the couch, and it splattered all over him. I was mortified.

  “I’m so sorry,” I sputtered, but I wasn’t done. I ran into the bathroom. He came in after me. “I should have said I loved you sooner.” I threw up again. One of his hands was rubbing my back and he held my hair back with the other.

  “Did you?” he asked.

  “Did I what?” I mumbled, but it echoed from the toilet bowl.

  “Love me sooner?”

  I took a deep breath and threw up again. What did I eat? Vomiting was so painful it moved my entire body. Ethan was doing his best holding me up and holding my hair back.

  “Because I loved you the first day I saw you outside the door,” he whispered in my ear, and I tossed my head back into his chest. This was so romantic. “You good?” He grabbed my hair softly, just petting my forehead.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been sick all week.”

  “Should we go to the emergency room?”

  “No. My dad has been doing a great job taking care of me,” I said.

  He kissed me on the cheek.

  “Gross.” I went upstairs to brush my teeth.

  I never got better. My dad was so sure he could take care of me and that it was nothing. I’d taken care of him, after all.

  “I think you should go to the doctor,” Ethan told me.

  “Doctors cost money. Your father already thinks our house is going into foreclosure.”

  “You still have health insurance, don’t you?” Ethan asked.

  I shrugged as I grabbed three beers from the fridge. I didn’t feel sick. I wasn’t coughing. I just felt drained and dehydrated.

  “Maybe you should drink water instead of beer,” Ethan said.

  “He’s right.” Dad grabbed my beer and slid it closer to him.

  “You guys do everything together. If you need to stop drinking, your dad needs to stop drinking. Maybe it’s the smoking. You getting sick doesn’t surprise me whatsoever,” Ethan said.

  “I’ve been drinking beer ever since my family died. This is the first time I’ve gotten sick…”

  “Ooh, she’s saying it’s your fault,” Dad joked.

  “Well then, let me take you to the doctor,” Ethan said.

  “If I’m still sick in a month, take me to the doctor, okay?”

  “Compromise?”

  “Is that not a compromise?” I looked at Ethan and Dad.

  “For a month, no beer and no cigarettes. If you get better, no doctor, you got a break, you can go back to this. If not, let’s go to the doctor.”

  “He’s joking, right? You know how long a month is?” Dad said.

  “Just no smoking,” I said.

  “Fine. Deal?”

  I nodded.

  “Sealed with a kiss,” he said, and puckered his lips at me.

  I glanced at Dad, he put his head down.

  I kissed Ethan quickly.

  It was so sweet how Ethan was helping me get through this month without smoking. Signing up for classes was stressful—I had to actually go to school again.

  “This reminds me of when we first met,” he said, looking over at me.

  “Yeah. Let’s hurry this shit up. Just the bookstore. I don’t need this other crap.”

  “You think I can get into UCLA?”

  “Of course you can,” I said. We were holding hands. I wasn’t even looking at anyone else. I just focused on our conversation. I loved it.

  “Don’t flatter me. This school is just so beautiful. It’s just crazy that you pass this up for your living room.”

  “Every day.”


  “I guess the drive would get annoying,” he said as he was looking around.

  “You should apply. There’s a program at SMC that guarantees you into UCLA.”

  “I couldn’t afford it, regardless.”

  “That’s what scholarships are for,” I said. “My stomach is killing me. And I haven’t even had anything to drink.”

  “I know, you’ve been drinking water. I’ve been proud of you. I just didn’t want to say anything in case you’d stop.”

  “I think I should still go to the doctor just to see what’s going on,” I said.

  He let go of my hand. I wouldn’t have noticed if there weren’t so many people around us. I stopped walking. I felt imbalanced as soon as he let go. It felt like all the people around us were closing in on me. Ethan hadn’t noticed that I wasn’t right next to him. My pulse began to skyrocket. He kept walking into the crowd.

  And just like that, he was gone.

  I stood there twirling around, struggling to breathe. I closed my eyes with my hands on my heart. My heart was constricting.

  “Watch where you’re going.”

  I bumped into someone.

  I started to panic. I looked around to find a spot or a tree just to sprint to and die. I hurried in the opposite direction, and someone grabbed me from behind. I immediately started screaming. Everyone stopped and stared at me—my worst nightmare.

  “It’s me. It’s me. Shh. Calm down.” Ethan guided me over to a tree.

  My lungs. Not working.

  “Take…ttta…take…me…home…”

  “Deep breaths.”

  I shook my head.

  “Breathe, Portia, it’s me. I’m so sorry I let go of you. It was just for a second. I got side-tracked by this kid…ugh…this isn’t helping.”

  I still couldn’t. I just wanted to sit and die. I still wanted to die.

  “Can you make it to the parking lot?”

  I wanted to get out of there. I nodded even though I didn’t feel like I could move. He put his arm around my waist and helped me walk to the car.

  Once we got to the parking lot, he picked me up and put me in his passenger seat.

  “Try and breathe for me, baby.”

  “I’m tr—I’m trying!” Fuck. I couldn’t get my shit together. We weren’t even in the crowd anymore. He sped off so fast I threw up in the car, and immediately rolled down the window.

  I started to calm down even though I was still covered in puke and still felt dehydrated.

  “Where are we going?” We weren’t going toward home. I tossed my head back. This was what my death was going to look like.

  “To the hospital. It’s right here.” He was driving so fast.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m covered in puke.”

  “You just had a panic attack.”

  “So?”

  “You couldn’t breathe for more than five minutes.”

  “More like two, Ethan. I’m fine now. Take me home.”

  “We don’t live near a nice hospital. We’re already on this side of town, so we might as well. At least to make an appointment. Jesus, Portia. Listen to me.” He punched the steering wheel and sped up.

  “Ethan.”

  “End of discussion. We have it your way all the time, Portia. You know I could never say no to you, but this—I’m standing my ground.”

  I’d never seen this side of him. He always did what I said—so passive. I liked that about him. He was quiet and just there. I knew him and I saw him for him, but not like this. I loved this even better. It reminded me of my dad. He was passive-aggressive except for when it came to the people he loved. In that moment, I knew Ethan really loved me—puke and all.

  Chapter 12

  Present Day, Twelve Hours Ago

  “Let’s go!” Dad screamed.

  I couldn’t move. My hands were shaking. Dad was tugging on me while I knelt on the living room floor, blood all over my hands. I looked up, there was blood splattered on the walls.

  I heard a baby screaming.

  Susan was holding a baby but it wasn’t hers.

  Dad’s hands were covered in blood, too. He threw me over his shoulders, and ran outside. I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t stop trying to figure out what just happened. He threw me in the backseat of the car and we drove off. I kept looking back. We weren’t going to clean up our mess? We couldn’t just leave our house looking like that. Dad was speeding, making sharp turns.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded as my forehead rested against the window. When I moved, there was blood where my head had been.

  “We need to get cleaned up somewhere.”

  “Where? Dad, we should go back.”

  “We cannot go back or we are going to jail, Portia. Do you get that?”

  “I think the police will understand—”

  “No, Portia. No. We need to both relax and calm down. Everything is going to be okay if you just listen.”

  I had blocked out what had happened. I was pretty sure my dad and I talked about everything on the way to the woods—camping, hiding out. We probably had a plan, but I didn’t remember it. I just knew we were dirty and bloody. Dad was super calm, like this wasn’t his first rodeo. I didn’t know where Ethan was, nor did I care. It took forever for us to set up our tent. We went camping in the backyard all the time, but this felt different. I couldn’t remember why we were doing this. Why were we in such a hurry? Why wasn’t my dad telling me what was going on?

  Dad was asleep when I woke up to the lights shining through the tent fabric. Car lights. I tried waking him up. He didn’t wake up. The lights turned red and blue. It was the police. How did they find us? My dad was right. We were going to jail.

  “Portia Willows?” a deep male voice said my name.

  I walked out of the tent with my hands in the air. There were dozens of them. Guns drawn. All I heard was my deep breaths and my hands were shaking so much, it was like I was doing a chicken dance.

  “Dad. Wake up. The police are here,” I said.

  I had no idea why.

  “You are under arrest for attempted murder—” One put away his gun and gripped my arms.

  I cut him off.

  “What? No. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Wake up.” They charged at my dad. I did not think my lungs were capable of screeching as loud as I did when I saw them put handcuffs on him.

  “No! Just arrest me. Please, no. Not my dad.”

  “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.” They put handcuffs on me. The policeman put his hand on my head roughly and threw me in the backseat with my dad.

  “Daddy. Daddy.” I clung onto him, not ever planning to let go.

  “It’s all right, sweetie, just don’t say anything.”

  “Why is this happening?”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? It’s only because you were with me.” I just kept crying. Dad’s eyes teared up. I knew he didn’t want to see me like this.

  “You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you…”

  My whole life shattered around me.

  My heart was pounding. My eyes were twitching. My throat was constricting.

  They were going to take him away from me.

  “Just don’t say anything at all. Susan will help us get out of this.”

  “What happened? What did we do?” I asked him.

  “You didn’t do anything.”

  “I obviously did something, Dad. They’re arresting us. This is real. There’s blood on our hands. I can’t remember!” I shrieked.

  The two police officers in the front seat kept looking back at us. Then at each other. I wondered what they were thinking. They couldn’t really take me to jail. They couldn’t take my dad. This couldn’t really be happening.

  “Where’s Ethan?” I asked Dad.

  “E
than Torke?” the police officer in the passenger seat asked me.

  “You know him? Did he call you guys? Where is he? He’s going to be our one phone call and he’ll figure all this out.”

  They just looked at each other again.

  What did that even mean? Why weren’t they talking to me? I still couldn’t stop crying.

  “Thank you for letting my dad in the same car as me. I know you guys don’t usually do that,” I said, changing my tone.

  “Portia. Shut up,” Dad snapped.

  “Okay. Okay. I won’t say anything, but they’re going to ask me questions.”

  “Not a word.”

  When we got to the police station, the phones were ringing off the hook. There were a lot of people waiting. I overheard so many different conversations.

  “I wasn’t there. You can’t name me as a witness if I wasn’t there.”

  “Are you guys doing anything to find my daughter?”

  “He needs a real lawyer.”

  I didn’t belong here.

  “Sit down here,” an officer said.

  I sat in the chair at one of the desks. I looked around. They had taken my dad somewhere else.

  “Where did they take my dad?” I asked the lady who was at the desk. She had my ID in her hand, and was typing away at the computer.

  “Your dad?”

  “Yes. The man I was brought in with.”

  “I didn’t see anybody.”

  “He had to have gone somewhere.”

  “He probably went into booking.”

  I couldn’t say anything, anything at all. I was shaking my legs and scratching myself. I bet it looked like I was on drugs. I’d never been in a police station before, not even when Piper and Mom died. Dad was still in the same building as me, though, so I would be okay.

  It felt like it was hours and hours before anyone acknowledged me.

  “Portia Willows,” another officer said as he walked up to me.

  “Yeah?” I immediately stood. The cuffs were really starting to hurt.