Delta Girls (35 page)

I remembered the life vests inside the box built against the wall; I lifted the hinged lid. The orange vests were dusty, covered with spiderwebs, with spiders, but still might have some life inside them. I tossed them into the water, watched them bloom back into bright orange, watched them bob away from the people who needed them. I grabbed a broom and tried to push the vests back with the handle—they felt heavier in the water, like sweeping wet laundry. I gave the broom a big slogging push and the vests started to drift in the right direction.

And then I saw him. Pushed up against one of the piles of wood, limp. The collar of his T-shirt hooked onto a branch, holding his head above the water. I couldn’t tell if his eyes were open, if he was awake, conscious, alive.

“Nathan!” I yelled, but he didn’t seem to be able to hear me.

I called 911 on my cellphone. I’m sure others from our side of the levee had, too, because the operator said, “We’re on it. We’re on the way.”

The life vests were finally reaching people, who clung to them desperately, some of them struggling to get their arms through the holes. I could see the Coast Guard tossing more life vests out a few hundred yards away. A couple of the pickers who had stayed at the orchard appeared in Mr. Vieira’s metal fishing boat. I watched as they pulled a couple of people, including Roberts, from the water onto the boat.

The emergency vehicles began to arrive—helicopters, more Coast Guard boats, ambulances on the levee road, sirens everywhere. The back of my head started to pound; I had banged it fairly hard when the boat crashed into the whale. The whale whose blood continued to flow onto the deck. I managed to slosh through it to the railing, and pressed my face against the whale’s side. Its skin was cool and smooth. I rubbed my hand along it, and could feel the giant heart drumming; it thrummed through my entire body. I felt the rhythm stutter, felt it slow, felt it stop, until all that filled my ears was something that sounded like wind.

“MA’AM,” I HEARD
someone call. “Are you okay?”

I opened my eyes. I felt dazed, drunk.

“You’re covered in blood.” It was a member of the Coast Guard. Their boat idled next to mine now; it was already full of people, some lying on the deck, some sitting, looking stunned.

“It’s not mine,” I said.

“Come on,” he said. “We can give you a ride to the hospital.”

“I don’t know,” I said, but when I stood up from leaning against the whale, I got so dizzy, I had to plunk down on my butt on the deck.

“Come on, ma’am,” he coaxed.

“I have to get something first,” I said, and slipped through the
blood into the cabin, where I found Quinn’s book. I hugged it to my chest with one arm as I reached out to the coastguardsman with the other and he pulled me over onto his boat. I could see Sam tending to someone else, someone who no doubt would see her as a heavenly angel swooping down to save their life.

I TRIED TO
avoid the bodies that someone had covered on the deck. I sat down and closed my eyes, my head throbbing like crazy now.

“My mother killed herself, you know,” said a familiar voice. I looked over; Nathan was lying on the deck next to me. His legs were bent at unnatural angles; his eyes looked as unfocused as mine felt.

“You never told me that,” I said. It felt weirdly normal to talk to him after so many years, under such strange circumstances, even though both of our voices were tired, strained.

“I was ten,” he said. “She couldn’t take it anymore—my dad’s drinking, screwing around.”

“I’m sorry.”

“When I heard you killed yourself, I wanted to die, too.” His speech was starting to slur.

I looked around to see if anyone was listening, but most people around me were either crying or catatonic. Part of me wanted to comfort Nathan and part of me wanted to push him over the edge of the boat.

“And then I see a picture of you in the paper, nine years later, after I get out. And I am so happy and so fucking angry, so happy and so angry all at the same time.”

“What were you planning to do when you found me?” I clutched the book tighter to my chest, the blue cloth cover mottled now with water, with blood.

He didn’t answer, although his fingers lightly brushed my arm.

“Nathan,” I said. “What were you planning to do?”

I looked over, even though it hurt my head to move. Nathan’s eyes were closed. He must have passed out. I tapped his cheek a couple of times with the back of my hand; the bristles of his stubble prickled my skin, but he didn’t wake up.

MY CELLPHONE RANG
.

“Quinn’s going to be discharged soon,” said Ben before I even said hello. “They said they need the beds. Plus she’s doing great.”

“I need one of those beds,” I said.

“Sounds good to me,” Ben said playfully.

“No, really,” I said. “I hit my head. They’re bringing me in.”

“Oh my God, Izzy. Are you okay?”

“The levee broke …”

“What were you doing at the levee?”

“Quinn’s book …” Talking suddenly felt too difficult. “Just wait for me,” I said. “I’ll be there soon.”

THE HOSPITAL WAS
a mad rush as they wheeled me and other people in on gurneys. I seemed to get extra attention because of all the blood, even though I kept insisting it wasn’t my own.

Ben, Abcde, and Quinn caught sight of me and ran next to the gurney as they took me back into the ER, all their faces concerned, Quinn’s mouth thankfully back to its normal size.

“I’m okay,” I tried to convince them. “It’s the whale’s blood.”

“The whale was bleeding?” Quinn suddenly looked even more concerned.

“Seckel is fine,” I said, blinking from the bright fluorescent lights. “She swam off. But Bartlett, not so much. I’m so sorry, honey.”

Quinn wailed. I was glad Abcde was there to hold her.

I did my best to describe what had happened at the levee.

“It sounds like Ragnarok,” said Quinn, snuffling. “The final battle between the gods and the giants.”

I handed her the bloodstained book and wondered if I had yet to face my final battle.

AFTER A CT
scan, an MRI, a good old-fashioned head X-ray, plus some sponging off, it was determined I had a concussion, some whiplash, a few contusions, but nothing too serious. The doctors wanted to keep me overnight to observe me, so they moved me into a room upstairs. Quinn went back to the hotel with Abcde and Ben—who had brought me some pajamas from my luggage—after visiting hours were over.

They unhooked my IV long enough for me to take a shower; after they hooked me back up, I wandered around the hallways in my flannel cupcake pajamas and slippers, pulling my IV pole, to see if I could find anything out about Nathan’s condition. A nurse pointed me to his room after I said I was an old friend; I was grateful she didn’t seem to recognize me.

When I poked my head inside the open door, I was shocked to see my mother sitting on the chair next to the bed where Nathan was sleeping or unconscious. She wore a gold sleeveless V-neck top, ivory slacks cinched with a thin gold belt, high-heeled sandals. Her arms were sinewy, her cleavage rising up to her throat. The breasts were new and startling, tan skin crepey between the hard-looking orbs. Her face appeared to be freshly tightened, her hair a brassy auburn, arranged in carefully blow-dried layers.

We stared at each other for a moment, all the air sucked out of the room.

“Well, you’ve certainly let yourself go,” she said. Almost ten years, and this was the first thing out of her mouth. But there were tears in her eyes, a softness in her voice.

I wanted to tell her it felt great, she should try letting herself go sometime, but the words didn’t reach my lips. My head pounded. I couldn’t seem to find my voice. Besides, she was wrong. I hadn’t really let myself go. I had let her idea of me go,
which was a totally different thing. I had let her idea of me go so I could figure out who I truly was, myself.

“It’s good to see you, too, Mom,” I said. When I hugged her, she felt brittle, as if she might shatter in my arms, but her perfume smelled the same as always, and it took a long time for us to let go.

Nathan was still unconscious. He looked older in the hospital bed; I could see the silver threaded through his hair when my mom pushed it back at his temple, the lines etched next to his eyes.

“They’re not sure he’s going to wake up,” she said. “Or if he’ll have the use of his legs if he does.”

He was in casts up to his hips, a catheter snaking out, leading to a bag filled with pee strapped to the side of the bed.

“I was working on getting him some shows, some interviews,” she said. “We were talking about getting married.”

I was surprised by the stab of jealousy I felt. I remembered the way she had kissed him that New Year’s Eve. Maybe they had been together all along. Maybe they had plotted out our first kiss at Nationals; maybe my mom had thought getting me laid would loosen me up on the ice, would get us more publicity. I was ready to confront her, but then I saw the pain on her face, the love on her face, as she stroked Nathan’s hair.

“I’m so sorry,” she said over and over again, and even though she was looking at Nathan, I could tell she was saying it to me.

I HELD MYSELF
together until I got back to my room and all my limbs turned to water. I lay back on the pillow and wept until I was empty.

“You okay?” the woman on the other side of the drape between our beds asked. “You need me to page the nurse for you?”

My head ached so much, I thought it might split open.

“You know when you graft a pear tree?” My mouth seemed to have a mind of its own now. “You graft the branch of a new tree
onto the roots of an old tree? And you think you’re creating something brand-new, but the old tree is still there, down to the roots?”

“Come again?” my roommate asked.

“You know that skater?” I took a deep, shuddery breath. “That skater who poisoned that other skater?”

I HAD TO
tell my story over and over again the next few days.

To Quinn, who turned very quiet, so quiet I wasn’t sure if she would ever forgive me for keeping such a huge secret from her, the person I loved most in the world.

To the police officers and FBI agents who came into my room in a steady stream, at some point handcuffing me to the bed.

To Lance’s parents and sister, who flew out from Utah. They were in tears as they came into my dim room. I was so startled by their sudden presence, my pulse almost strangled me. It was strange to see Cindy as a grown-up—she looked almost the same, just taller, filled out. The years had dulled her cuteness a bit; at twenty-four, she had a middle-aged vibe to her, a suburban housewife vibe with her sensible short haircut, her floral blouse buttoned to the neck. I could easily see how Lance would have looked if he had been given these nine years—he would have filled out, too, but his features would have gone from cute to handsome, maybe even rugged.

I started to say “I’m sorry,” but they stopped me before I could even get out a syllable.

“We’re here to say we forgive you,” said Mrs. Finkel, sitting on the edge of my bed. She had aged a lot, her hair gray, her face worn. “We know you didn’t mean to hurt our Lance.”

I nodded, my cheeks drowning in tears. She took my hand. “We’re so glad you’re alive,” she continued. “It would have been tragic for two young lives to have ended needlessly.”

“I have a little girl now, too.” Cindy pulled a picture from her wallet of herself holding hands with a toddler in a puffy pink
snowsuit, both of them in ice skates. “Lancey. She’ll be two in November.”

“Adorable.” I sniffled. She looked just like Lance and Cindy did when they were younger—fresh faced, eager. Trusting. A pang of grief and remorse shot through my chest.

“We know Nathan didn’t mean to kill Lance, either,” she said. “He couldn’t have known Lance couldn’t handle barbiturates. We didn’t know it ourselves until the autopsy—a metabolic issue.” Her voice, so eerily calm until now, started to break. Mr. Finkel put a hand on her shoulder, and the three of them started to tear up again.

“We’ve asked the police to drop any charges against you,” Mr. Finkel said. “There’s no need to punish you more than you’ve already punished yourself.”

AFTER THE FINKELS
left, the policemen removed the handcuffs. I grabbed a teddy bear from the nightstand and held it to my chest, sobbing. I wondered what I’d do with all the flowers and stuffed animals that had started to fill the room. As word got out, old fans had started to send gifts the way they used to throw them on the ice. I supposed I could donate the ones Quinn didn’t want to the children’s ward, just as I had done with the surplus years ago. The occasional angry letter and phone call came, too, people telling me I should rot in hell, I should be put away for life; the hospital apologized for letting these messages get through, but I was actually glad for them. They made the guilt flare inside me like phosphorous, the guilt I needed to let myself feel. Some part of me wasn’t ready to be forgiven.

THE DOCTORS EVENTUALLY
said I was free to go home. Wherever home was going to be. I felt completely raw inside, completely stripped bare. All the sounds of the hospital—the beeps and whirs and pneumatic wheezes, the footfalls and intercom
bleats—felt amplified, making my nerve endings prickle and wince.

Sam came into my room, holding a vase of lilies, as I was waiting for Abcde, Ben, and Quinn to come pick me up. I wanted to be happy about her visit, but I was too exhausted.

“I wish I had known you were someone,” she said, flashing her brilliant smile. She was wearing the blue sweater she had on at the party, the one that brought out the color of her hair and eyes, and I wondered if she had dressed up for my sake.

“Why?” I said. “So you would have been nicer to me?”

Sam laughed nervously. “It just would have been nice to have known.” She tried to find a place to put the flowers, but every available surface was already covered with gifts.

“Everyone is someone,” I said, and closed my eyes until she left the room.

ABCDE FINALLY SHOWED
up with some clothes for me to change into while Ben and Quinn waited in the hallway. I was so happy to see her shaggy dreadlocks, her layers of gypsy clothing, a welcome contrast to the sterile hospital environment.