An Unstill Life (23 page)

The room fell silent, my words still swirling through the air like autumn leaves on the wind. Mom looked at Jules, pleading in her eyes. Jules stared back, her face stony, impassive.

I expected an explosion of some kind, so it was a surprise when Mom started to cry. Huge sobs tore their way through her, and she made no move to wipe away the tears pouring down her face. She tried to say something, but choked on the words. She didn’t look back at us as she ran out of the room.

I made a move to follow her, but Jules squeezed my hand tighter, holding me back. “Leave her. She can’t take being wrong.”

I snorted. “She can’t take us ganging up on her.”

Jules sighed. “She can’t take that I’m dying.”

It was the first time she’d said it out loud, the first time she’d admitted in no uncertain terms what was happening to her.

“Jules, is she crazy?” I broke the heavy silence, daring to ask the question that had been sitting somewhere in the back of my mind for years. I’d always found excuses for her bizarre behavior, assumed everyone’s mother acted this way behind closed doors. But having spent time with Trish and Bianca, I knew it wasn’t the case.

“I don’t know, Livvie. Maybe.” Jules gave an exhausted shrug. “If she wasn’t before, this is driving her crazy.” She gestured to the medical equipment surrounding the bed and her own frail frame. “You can’t let her take me to Mexico.”

“I won’t.” I made the promise without thinking. Mom’s instability was frightening. She shouldn’t be allowed to make decisions about anything, especially not about her daughter’s life. I thought about her reaction to Mrs. Wolfson’s call, her refusal to listen to the doctors’ advice. She was unbalanced. Whether it was just the strain of caring for a terminally ill daughter, or some long-term condition, I didn’t know. But I did know I wasn’t going anywhere, wasn’t leaving Jules at her mercy.

As if she’d read my thoughts, Jules pulled her hand from mine and reached up to touch the side of my face. “Thank you. You’re a good sister.” Her words echoed Bianca’s and thinking about Bianca brought back the whole raft of other problems I was facing.

I watched Jules drift off into a restless sleep, her hand falling away from my face to lie splayed across the sheet. I realized I still had my coat on and my book bag hung from my shoulders. I slid them both off, my hand brushing across the pocket where the tickets to the dance nestled. They seemed to have a weight of their own, burning through the nylon. Trish’s fury echoed through my skull, mixed with other voices—Hannah’s, Mel’s, Bianca’s, Sam’s, Jason’s, even the girl in the hallway who said she was on my side.

Why were people so upset about this? Who I chose to spend time with, to sleep with, was my decision wasn’t it? How did it affect anyone else? Why did my choice to love a girl provoke such violent outrage? At least she was kind and treated me with love and respect. Surely choosing someone like Jesse, a boy who treated me like a doll to be fondled and toyed with, was a choice far more worthy of disdain. Yet when Bianca called him out on it, he was cheered. What was wrong with the world?

I was roused from the blackness of my thoughts by a choking sound coming from the bed next to me. Jules’s eyes were open, her back arched as she rose into a sitting position. She gasped, falling back against the pillows with a moan. Her face twisted with pain. I froze for a moment, waiting for this wave to pass, but it didn’t. She bucked and writhed, small animal-like noises escaping her lips.

“Mom!” I screamed, even as I fumbled through the drawer by the bed, my fear and anger at her momentarily forgotten. “Mom! Come quick!”

Mom ran into the room, and I thrust the small vial of clear liquid I’d foraged from the drawer into her hand along with a still-wrapped syringe. I watched as she filled it, measuring out just the right dose before injecting the port in Jules’s chest. It looked easy. How hard would it be to double the dose? Would that be enough? Triple it?

Jules’s contortions relaxed, and she slipped into sleep. While Mom busied herself rearranging her limbs and tucking the covers around her, I crept away. As soon as I got to my room, I sat down in front of the computer to Google euthanasia.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I
sat back, pushing my chair away from the screen and rubbing at my burning eyes. Words and images swirled through my head, making it ache. So many stories. So much sadness. While I’d been thinking about euthanasia, it had all been about Jules. I’d never realized what a big issue it was and how many different sides to the argument there were. Fragments of articles I’d read drifted through my mind, spinning and writhing as they passed. I could be arrested. Assisting suicide was a crime. I wondered if Jules knew that. Maybe that’s why she asked me, a minor. She knew I couldn’t get into the same trouble Mom could. No. That couldn’t be it. She’d asked me because she knew I’d do it. Mom never would.

I hauled my cramped body from the seat and stretched. My muscles groaned in relief, desperate to move after the three hours I’d spent in one position in front of the keyboard. I didn’t know what to do. There were so many choices. I’d read story after story of people who had done just what Jules wanted me to do, the only differences in the methods they’d employed. Overdoses of pain medication seemed to be the most common, but they also seemed to be the most often investigated. The last thing I wanted was to go to jail. Losing Jules would be hard enough. Having to deal with that grief in prison was more than I could think about.

Suffocation was another choice. I tried to picture myself placing a pillow over Jules’s face and holding it down while her body fought for life. I couldn’t do it. The moment she began thrashing, I’d give in; I’d pull the pillow away. Strangulation? Again, I couldn’t see myself doing it. I couldn’t see myself doing it any way. Despite my promise, I wasn’t sure I could help my sister die.

I dug my knuckles into my throbbing eyes, trying to gouge out the tragedies I’d read. I couldn’t think about this anymore. I’d go nuts. It’d be me they’d cart off to the loony bin, not Mom.

I shivered. I wanted to see Bianca. I needed to. With her, I could forget about ligature marks and suffocating pillows. My secret pounded against my skull, demanding to be freed. I wished I could talk to her about it. She’d be able to choose between a syringe over-full of morphine and one full of air. She’d know if helping Jules made me merciful or a murderer.

I glanced at my watch. Nine forty-seven. Not too late. Mom had drilled it into me that calling people after nine p.m. was rude, but Bianca wasn’t people. Bianca was my heart. I pulled out my phone.

“Livvie?” Bianca answered at the first ring.

“Yeah. Hi.” Now I had her, what could I say?

“Are you okay?” A dark plum-colored note of suspicion crept into her voice.

I pictured the way her eyebrows would have pulled together, her lips pursing just a little as she glared at the phone. “I guess. What are you doing? I…I…I need to see you.”

“You want me to pick you up?”

“Can you?” My heart leaped in my chest.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

The battered station wagon pulled up outside exactly eleven minutes later. I was on the steps, hunched into my heavy winter parka when she arrived. Behind me, the lights glowed in the living room, illuminating Jules, asleep in her bed and my mother, slumped and snoring in the chair next to her. Neither of them saw me slip from the house.

I clambered into the car and leaned over to kiss Bianca. Her mouth was hot on mine and tasted of the coffee she must have been drinking when I called.

“Your mom?” Bianca ran her fingers through my hair.

I shook my head. Then nodded. “Yes and no. It’s just… Well… Everything. I’m okay now.” I kissed her again, harder this time, only pulling away when my stomach made a loud gurgling noise. We cracked up. Laughter bounced off the roof and the walls, skidding across the windows in silvery trails.

“Did you eat dinner?” Bianca frowned at me.

“Uh… No. I don’t think so.” I thought back. No. I’d gone straight to my room after talking to Jules, had turned on the computer and disappeared into it. No wonder my stomach growled. If I didn’t eat soon, it would be screeching guitar solos. Metallica or something.

Bianca tossed me a sad smile as she turned the key, but she didn’t say anything. We cruised slowly through the nighttime streets, the heater blowing burnt-smelling hot air across the middle of my chest. Cold air from outside drifted through cracks in the doors and around the windows. The contrast in temperatures made me feel as feverish as the procession of ideas and moralities playing out across my computer screen had. I shook my head to shake those thoughts loose. I was with Bianca now. My biggest problem was whether or not to break the rules and take her to the Winter Formal.

I wished that were my biggest problem.

Bianca pulled up outside the diner and parked. “Out.”

I stared at the brightly lit restaurant, stomach churning at the thought of going in. The last time I’d been there…

“Come on, Livvie. You’re starving. Let me buy you something to eat.” Bianca reached over and opened my door for me, letting in a gust of chilled air.

“Yeah, okay.”

As soon as we walked through the door I was engulfed in a wave of warm, grease-scented air. My reluctance melted away, and I hurried across the scarred red linoleum to a booth near the front. My stomach quivered, grunting its approval as I scanned the menu. It all looked so good.

“Grilled cheese with a side of fries.” I looked up at the waitress who chewed gum with a bored expression. “And a chocolate shake.”

“Whaddabout you?” The waitress turned her sour, worn face toward Bianca.

“Just coffee, thanks. Black.”

The waitress shuffled off toward the counter, returning a moment later to pour watery coffee into Bianca’s cup. She offered it to me, too, but I shook my head. If I drank coffee at this time of night, I’d never sleep. I almost laughed at that thought. It wasn’t coffee that would keep me awake tonight.

“So, what’s up?” Bianca rested her elbows on the gouged Formica tabletop and leaned toward me.

I bit my lip. Could I tell her? I trusted Bianca, but this was bigger than me, bigger than both of us. My reading had told me how emotive the issue could be and how passionate people were about their opinions. I didn’t know where she’d stand on this one. Maybe she’d try to talk me out of it. My nerve was not strong as it was, could be broken with the slightest waver. I’d promised Jules I’d help. I couldn’t let myself be swayed from that course.

I shrugged and pulled a long, thin sugar sachet from the glass in the center of the table. “I don’t know. It’s just kind of hard at home. Jules is so sick. It’s hard to get away from. Sometimes I just need to get out and breathe air that hasn’t been through her.”

Bianca nodded, her eyes softening with sympathy. “Yeah, I get that.”

We fell silent. There was nothing more to say and too much. My brain swarmed with unwanted words and images, all clamoring to be free. Yet I couldn’t loose them on the world. I struggled to contain them, trapping them somewhere in the back of my mind where I could examine them later, little by little, piece by piece.

The waitress dumped my food on the table without ceremony, tearing off the check and tossing that onto the tabletop. She trudged off without a word.

“Thank you,” I called after her, but I doubt she heard.

“There’s a woman who loves her work.” Bianca gave me a wry grin.

I tried to respond to it, but my mouth was too full. I was starving. I tore through my sandwich in record time, barely stopping to breathe between bites.

“Hey, isn’t that Hannah?” Bianca nodded toward a booth in the back.

I snagged a handful of fries as I turned to look. It was Hannah, and she was pressed up against the wall in the back booth, the one out of the glare of the harsh lighting. Someone sat next to her, very close, his dark head nearly touching hers. Dark, not blond. Definitely not Sam Taylor. My heart leaped. It had been only a few days. Was there someone new already?

I sat back down and took a slurp of my milkshake. “I think so. But who’s she with?”

Bianca shrugged. “I can’t see too well. But it sure ain’t Sam Taylor.”

“No. I got that much, too.” I frowned. It was late for Hannah to be out. Her parents were strict, especially on school nights. “Should I go and say hi?” I hadn’t spoken to her since that day in the lunchroom, and it had been bothering me. I could have called, but every time I pulled out my cell to text or call, I remembered her words when she first saw Bianca and me together. She might have stopped her boyfriend from tormenting us, but I wasn’t sure I could still call her a friend.

Bianca craned around to see her better. “She looks kind of busy.”

I turned again and saw the two heads even closer now. She wouldn’t want any interruptions. I scraped the last of my fries through the ketchup smeared across the plate, not sure how I’d eaten them all in so little time. “If I know Hannah, she’s got herself a spare so she doesn’t miss the dance.”

Bianca rolled her eyes. “God! I am so sick of hearing about that damn dance. Anyone would think it was the social event of the year.”

“It kind of is, Bianca.” I made a decision. “And I think your mom’s right. We can’t let them stop us from going. It’s wrong.”

Bianca’s blue eyes widened. “You want to go?”

I nodded. I did. I was sick of being pushed around, told what I could and couldn’t do. By Mom, by my friends, by Jules, by teachers, and even the principal. Going to a dance should be our right. Like Bianca going to the party at the lake, it was part of the essential high school experience. How dare some bigoted school board deny us that?

“We could get expelled, you know.” Bianca’s brow furrowed.

“They can’t expel us for that.” I said the words with far more certainty than I felt.

Bianca’s face lit up with a smile. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

She thumped the table with the heel of her hand. “Man, Mrs. Wolfson will have a cow, but damn, girl. It’ll be worth it. You’re really sure about doing this? It’s not just because your mom doesn’t want you to go?”

I shook my head. “It’s got more to do with your mom, actually.”

“Yeah. She’ll be stoked if we go. She’ll probably get us armed escorts.” Bianca’s smile twisted a little.

I giggled.

“Let’s go home, huh?” Bianca stood up, grabbing the check off the table. “You want to stay the night at my place?”

I did. I wanted that more than anything. But I couldn’t. Not now. If Jules needed me, I had to be there. The tension that had leeched from my shoulders returned at the thought, and the caged ideas at the back of my mind reached tentacles through the bars, testing their strength as they tried to break free.

The words seemed to stick in my throat, but I managed to spit them out. “I can’t,” I said. I wished I could ask her to stay at my house, but knew that was impossible. Mom had made her position clear.

“Okay. I’ll take you home.” Bianca took my hand as we shuffled up to the counter to pay.

While I waited for the waitress to ring up the order, I tried to get a better look at Hannah and her mystery man. I turned toward the back of the diner, hoping to be inconspicuous, but Hannah and the guy were out of the booth and striding toward me. Hannah’s eyebrows rose when she saw me.

“Livvie,” she gasped, stepping backward in surprise.

“Hi, Hannah. You’re out late.” I sounded stiff and formal, like I was talking to a stranger, not the girl I’d been best friends with for more than half my life.

She flushed, not seeming to notice my discomfort and carrying on in her normal tone. “I know. Mom’s going to kill me. I was supposed to go straight home after ballet. But Manny and I were having so much trouble with partnering tonight…” She stopped and beckoned the boy nearer. “Manny, this is my friend, Livvie. Livvie, this is Manny. He’s my dance partner.” She turned even redder as Manny stepped forward to shake my hand.

“Nice to meet you, Livvie.” He had the faintest trace of an accent, just enough to clip the words and make them new and exotic.

“You too.” My hand was enclosed in a warm, strong grip for an instant, then he was gone, sidling his way to the door.

“Uh, Livvie?” Hannah stepped toward me and touched my arm. “Manny’s gay.”

I looked at her fingers, noticing the chipped pink polish on her nails. “He’s gay?”

She nodded. “I didn’t know until the other night. I mean, it’s not exactly the kind of thing we talk about. And I think he’s been kind of nervous about telling people.”

I understood that.

“So, why are you telling me?”

“Look.” She gave a helpless gesture with her hands. “I’ve been a total bitch to you. And I’m sorry. Manny told me about the crap he’s had to take at his school, and it made me feel really bad about what I said about you. It was just such a shock, you know? I mean, we’ve been friends since forever. Didn’t you think you could tell me?”

I bit my lip, looking down at the frayed toes of my sneakers.

She sighed. “Yeah, I know. I was so wrapped up in Sam Taylor, I didn’t have time for anything else. You know he told all his friends I went all the way with him? I so totally didn’t.”

“I was kind of scared,” I said finally. “I still am.”

“Do you like her?” Hannah moved closer, her familiar brown eyes searching mine. “I mean, really like her?”

I ducked my head, heat rising to my cheeks. “I love her.”

The silence that fell between us seethed. I could see Hannah battling herself, the romantic part of her struggling to overcome years of religious brainwashing.

“I’m going to the dance with a gay guy,” she said finally. “You should be allowed to go with a gay girl.”

I glanced over at Manny who waited by the door looking bored, then back at Hannah.

“We should go. Like I said, Mom’ll be freaking out I’m so late.” She hurried over to where Manny stood. “I’ll see you soon, Livvie, okay? At school tomorrow?”

Bianca slid in beside me, her arm around my waist. “Hi, Hannah.”

Hannah’s smile didn’t even falter. “Hello, Bianca.”

“You ready to go, babe?” Bianca looked at me.

“Sure. See you tomorrow, Hannah. Nice meeting you, Manny.”

“You too.” Manny smiled and nodded in our direction, not registering any surprise at our closeness. Had Hannah told him about us?

We followed them out the door, the cold slapping our faces as soon as we let the door jangle shut behind us.

“So, he’s a hunk,” Bianca commented, surprising me.

“You notice stuff like that?” I stopped and stared at her.

She laughed. “I like girls, Livvie. Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a fine looking man. It’s just a shame most of them are such assholes. Is that guy a douche?”

I thought about it while we crossed the street. “I don’t know. I just met him. But he doesn’t seem like one. But he’s gay. I didn’t guess that.”

“I’ll trust you. With all those extra senses you have, you probably have an asshole detector in there. Even if your gaydar isn’t fully developed yet.” She grinned as she opened the car door for me.

“I wish…” I whispered.

Having decided to go to the dance, I needed a dress. In a hurry. It was only a week away. Ants swarmed through my mid-section at the thought. I knew I couldn’t ask Mom for anything, so I decided to ask Jules.

“Livvie.” She licked at her cracked and bleeding lips.

“Jules, I need your help.”

“You do?” Her face brightened, and she seemed to find a new reserve of energy somewhere deep within. She straightened up and focused her eyes on me.

“I’m going to go to the dance,” I told her, the words flashing neon warning signs before my eyes. “I need a dress and stuff. Can you help me?”

“I want to, but…” She looked down at her ruined body, disappointment weighting her shoulders.

I climbed up on the bed next to her and wrapped an arm around her narrow shoulders. “Just tell me what you need. I’ll bring it to you. I need you to help me with this. You’re the only one who can.”

She smiled, the look on her face one of such gratitude it almost made me weep. Her eyes travelled over me, brighter now, the softness the morphine gave them dropping away.