Dreaming of Antigone (16 page)

Still nothing from Alex.

When the doctor finally comes back, he's smiling. “Everything looks fine. You just need to follow up with your neurologist.”

“Her phenobarbital levels were normal?” Mom asks.

“Perfect. Continue taking your meds as prescribed and follow up with him in the next week or so. But come back and see us if your symptoms return.”

Mom does not look happy with this nondiagnosis, but I slide off the table. “Can I go home?” I ask the doctor.

“Of course. Ask the lady at the front desk for a school excuse.”

“I bet your friends were worried,” Mom says as we walk out into the parking lot. An ambulance is pulling in, and we hurry to get out of its way.

“A little. They were excited about me getting my license.”

“Weren't you excited too?” she asks as we get into her SUV. It's hot inside from the late-afternoon April sun beating down.

I throw my backpack on the floor between my feet and find the seat belt. “I was trying not to get my hopes up.” And see, it was a good thing I didn't. And not just about driving. About Alex too. What is the point of having hope if it keeps getting taken away from you?

CHAPTER 24

Mom actually lets me stay home from school today, saying I need to rest up for tomorrow's doctor's appointment. She's still worried about my spell yesterday, even though I've told her a dozen times I'm fine.

I send Natalie a text, reassuring her I'm okay too, but just taking advantage of Mom's overprotectiveness. Then I roll back over and fall asleep.

When I wake up, I realize I need to write down yesterday's episode in my seizure journal. I shoved the black single-subj ect notebook on my bookshelf six months ago and haven't looked at it since. Right between the Harry Potter books and my
Backyard Astronomer's Guide
.

I didn't even have the heart to record the events the night Iris died. But I need to start keeping track again. I need to be a better patient and manage myself better. I grab a pen off my desk and sit back down on my bed to write. But when I open the notebook and look for a blank page, I find Iris's handwriting.

Sophie is whimpering at my bedroom door. I can hear Mom's raised voice coming from the kitchen.

 

I touch the words on the page in horror, and I can hear my sister's voice in them. She deliberately killed herself. And she used my seizure journal to tell me good-bye.

I find Mom on the phone in the kitchen, her face white with anger. “No, I cannot accept that. This isn't right. He has to pay for what he's done.”

I get a Diet Coke out of the fridge and let Sophie out into the backyard. I sit down at the bar, holding my journal and waiting for Mom to finish her phone call. I can tell it has to do with Craig. Something is wrong.

She slams her phone on the counter, and I'm amazed to see her shaking. I've never seen my mother not in control of herself. This makes me uneasy.

She is glaring but not at me. “He's accepted a plea bargain for a lesser charge. He won't go to jail and he won't be registered as a sex offender.”

“Holy crap.”

Mom is so pissed she doesn't say anything about my language. “I keep thinking of that poor girl and her family. She's been so brave, coming forward and talking with the detectives and he is still going to get away with what he did to her.”

“Mom.” I want to hug her, but she's pacing. She's vibrating with fury. “Mom,” I try again, but my voice fades away. I don't know what else to say to her.

Sophie scratches on the kitchen door, and I let her back inside. She follows Mom as she paces into the living room. I follow both of them. My head hurts.

“Mom, you should read this.” My hand is trembling as I hold out my journal. “All this time, it's been sitting on my shelf, and I never thought to look in it. I didn't need it . . .”

Mom reads the page, and I watch her eyes race over the words. She reads it again. She looks up at me, and I freeze.

She's crying.

I can't do anything but stare at her. She didn't cry when Iris died. I don't remember her crying when my father died.

She's crying now.

I am a horrible person. I have just broken my mother's heart.

She's picking her keys up from the end table, grabbing her purse. “I can stop him. I can lock him away. He has to pay for what he did to Iris.”

Mom disappears into her bedroom. Sophie stays in the living room with me, huddled against me on the couch.

When my mother returns, she's holding Iris's diary and mine. I nod, aware of the pain she's about to put us both through. The trouble she could be in for not doing this earlier. She's going to turn them both in to the police.

It will be worth it, though. It's the right thing to do.

“Do you want me to go with you?” I ask. I scratch Sophie between her ears, my contact with her giving me an anchor. Something normal to hold on to.

“No, you should try and get some rest,” Mom says, coming forward and kissing me on the forehead. “The next few days will probably be exhausting.”

But I can't sleep after she leaves. I think about school tomorrow. The community will blow up tomorrow when they hear the news. Just as the gossip was finally dying down after Craig's arrest.

Trista and Natalie will have to believe Kimber now. I hope Kimber can forgive my mom for not turning the diary over to the police initially. Mom was only trying to protect us.

It's too late to hide anymore.

Alex. He was Iris's boyfriend, and he deserves to know before they show Iris's diary on the six o'clock news. He shouldn't be blindsided with this news from strangers. He needs to know I can't blame him anymore for Iris's death. That I don't blame him.

It's only a little after twelve right now. Everyone should be out in the courtyard for lunch. I send him a quick text.
Come see me after school? We need to talk.

He answers within a minute.
Can't. Sorry.

I stare at my screen. At his words.

They don't change. Not even when I blink. What does he mean?

Are you mad at me?
I text. Did my episode yesterday scare him away? He must have decided I am too much of a freak to love.

I'm broken, both physically and emotionally. Of course he should run as far away from me as he can.

He doesn't answer, and I wish I hadn't sent that last text. It sounds needy. God.

I should go ahead and get used to feeling this pain. There's no hope for us ever being together now.

By the time school's out, Mom is still not home and I'm tired of lying in bed trying to sleep. I get up and take a shower. I need to talk to Alex, and I need to get it over with.

Once he knows the truth, Alex is going to hate me, if he doesn't already.

CHAPTER 25

At his mother's suggestion, I find Alex at the AA meeting in the Lutheran church's fellowship hall. He's sitting in the front, head down and staring at the floor. I slip into the back because the meeting has already started and an older woman is standing up talking about her love for Oxycontin and Jack Daniel's. Back here, I can smell the fresh coffee and donuts waiting on the table.

At the break, I slide into the seat next to Alex.

He looks up and frowns at me. His eyes are red. “What are you doing here?”

“Your sponsor asked me to come to a meeting.”

“Collin?” He doesn't believe me.

I fold my arms across my stomach, hugging myself. “He came to see me after school the other day. He's worried about you.”

“Collin? Was worried about me?” Alex laughs, but it's bitter. “That asshole.”

Shocked, I glance around the room, hoping his sponsor doesn't overhear him.

Alex's laugh dies away. “That's fucking great. Because he's the one that's in the ICU after OD'ing on Oxy last night.”

I stare at Alex. The pain in his eyes kills me. “It's not your fault.”

But for some reason, I can see he doesn't believe me.

“I'm so sorry,” I whisper. I hate adding to his problems, but maybe I can actually relieve him of some of his guilt. “I came here tonight because we need to talk.”

He glares at me. “I don't feel like talking. I don't want to end up hurting you too.”

“No, please listen to me.” I reach out for his arm, but he stands up, pushing the metal chair back. It almost tips over, but I catch it. And lose Alex.

He walks out of the meeting, and the African-American woman in charge of tonight's group sees us and starts toward me.

I pick my purse up off the floor.

“Are you a friend of Alex?” she asks.

I nod. “He said his sponsor slipped up.”

“It wasn't Alex's fault,” she says. “I know he doesn't believe that, but it's the truth.”

“I met Collin a few days ago. He said he was worried about Alex.”

I don't know how old this woman is, but she looks like she's been through hell and back. “I'm worried about Alex, too,” she says. “But I'm not in danger of shooting up again. Collin was having problems of his own.” She places a hand on my arm. I can see the old scars on the inside of her wrist. She looks strong and healthy now, a warrior. I'm jealous of the Zen aura she has about her. “I hope you can convince him to come back. I know he needs some time to mourn for Collin, but he shouldn't stay away so long again. We all miss him. I was so happy to see him here tonight, I hated telling him about Collin.”

“I'll try,” I say. But I have no idea what makes her think he'll listen to me.

Iris. That was the whole reason I came looking for him. He needs to know the truth about her death, now more than ever. I run out the door as the others help themselves to donuts.

He's not at the Indigo Dragon, so I tell his mom that I'll look at their house next. Kali rolls her eyes. “He quit AA again?” she asks. “All that money we wasted sending him to that holistic rehab in the mountains. Dammit.”

His other mother, Sandra, nods her head, but her eyes are sad.

“You don't believe in him?” I ask both of them. “Why not?”

Sandra gives Kali a guilty look, and turns back to the kitchen.

Kali glares at me. I have no business telling them how to raise their son.

“I believe in him,” I say. “And I want both of you to know that I don't blame him for Iris's death. It wasn't his fault.”

Sandra returns from the kitchen with a takeout order for a customer.

Kali leans against the counter. There are tears in her eyes. “Really?” she asks. Her eyes are clear blue, just like Alex's. I want to hug her.

Instead I just nod. “And I don't want him to blame himself for something he's not responsible for. Alex is a good person. He deserves to be happy.”

Kali's eyes open wide and her gaze falls behind me. “Alex?”

My cheeks go up in flames. I don't dare turn around, but I am suddenly aware how very close he is. Dammit.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks. His voice is angry, still hurting.

“I told you we need to talk.”

“Why is my mom crying? Did you tell her about Collin? That I fucked up again?”

“What?” Kali asks.

“No!” Why does he give me such a headache? “Please just listen to me.” But I sound frustrated. And whiny. I hate when I sound whiny.

“Alex, go take Andria home,” Kali says. “Then the three of us will talk tonight.” She smiles at me, and I can see it makes Alex pause. “See you soon, Andria.”

“Fine.” He turns around to leave, and I kind of have to skip to make sure he doesn't leave me behind.

He doesn't say anything in the truck. This makes it easier for me. “Tomorrow, you're going to hear some news about Iris. And I wanted to tell you first so it doesn't shock you.”

He stares straight ahead at the road.

And yes, I am feeling better. Thanks for asking, after yesterday's ER visit. I could say this out loud, but I always get into trouble with sarcasm. I take a deep breath.

“Mom and I found Iris's diary last week, and there was something terrible inside. We didn't want to tell anyone, but today I found a message she had written to me the night she died.”

He turns into our neighborhood, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

“Please don't take me home yet,” I say. “Mom is probably back from turning in the diary at the police station, and I need to tell you everything. Somewhere quiet.”

He swallows, but doesn't look at me. “What did she write?”

It has to come out. I don't want to say the words, but he has to know. And once I say the words, I can't take them back. “Craig was abusing her. He'd been molesting her since she was twelve.

“That was the reason for all the drugs. She was trying to escape the pain.” My hands twist in my lap. “And her overdose that night wasn't accidental. She left me a note saying good-bye.”

His jaw clenches. “Why now? Why didn't you tell me as soon as you found the diary?”

“I wanted to,” I say. “Mom wasn't going to turn the diary over to the police. She didn't want to drag Iris's name through the mud again. She didn't want anyone else to know. But Craig accepted a plea deal yesterday. He's about to be released from jail, with no further justice for Kimber. He's a monster. Mom went today and turned the diary over to the police, along with my seizure journal, which Iris had used to write a good-bye letter.”

Alex pulls into his own driveway, in front of the garage. He turns off the engine and leans his forehead against his steering wheel.

“So, I wanted you to hear it. From me. I'm so sorry, Alex. Iris's death wasn't your fault.”

The silence in the truck cab presses in on my ears. I grow self-conscious of my breathing. It becomes irregular.

“Are you saying,” he says finally, “that Craig was abusing her even while we were dating?”

I think of her last diary entry, from almost a week before she died, and feel sick. “Yes.”

He tears out of the truck and sprints into his house, leaving the front door open.

I wait for a moment before assuming that means it's okay to follow him inside. I finally go in, scared any minute I'm going to get yelled at.

But I hear him. I follow the sound to the hall bathroom, where he is retching so hard it makes my stomach hurt.

I go back and close the front door before he can see me. Then I find the kitchen to get him a glass of water. I give him privacy, but I can't leave him here alone.

My phone beeps, a text from Mom. I turn the ringer off and text her back, saying I'm with a friend and will be home before dark. I get one reply:
Be safe.

I put the phone back in my purse when Alex comes out of the bathroom. I hold up the glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen I found in the cabinet over the sink. I wasn't being nosy. I was looking for the glasses.

He takes the water but not the painkillers. “Thanks.” He drinks it all and carefully sets the empty glass in the sink. He sits down at the table with me, and I feel some small relief. He's ready to talk.

“Exactly how long have you known?”

“Last week, when Craig was arrested, the police came to the house to ask questions. They asked me if he'd ever touched me. He never did, and I never had any reason to think he'd ever touched Iris.”

“She never told you? Don't twins share their secrets? Don't you sense that kind of thing?”

I flinch at the anger in his voice. And then I blink back tears, because he's right. “I should have known somehow. But I didn't. I never imagined he was such a monster. The bastard would leave his sleep apnea machine running in the middle of the night so Mom wouldn't wake up and notice he wasn't sleeping. She never suspected anything either.”

“Does Iris mention me in her diary?”

I nod. It would have been nice if Mom had let him read the diary before turning it over to the police. I don't know what to tell Alex. If I tell him the truth, it will sound like I'm trying to get him to forget about her. Should I lie and tell him she wrote about how much she loved him?

“No, forget it,” he says, running his hand across his face. “I don't want to know.”

I stare at him, wishing I knew the right thing to say.

He sighs. “Will you stay here while I take a quick shower? I feel really gross. Unclean.”

“That will make you feel better,” I say.

His laugh is short. Sarcastic. “If only. Will you stay?”

I nod.

I wait until I hear the sound of the water running and get up from the kitchen table to stretch. Their kitchen is beautiful and modern, despite being part of a hundred-year-old house. I walk down the hall and glance at the framed photos. Alex in various and assorted sizes. He had curly hair when he was little. Just like Kali.

The door to his bedroom is open and I peek inside. His walls are sky blue and bare. His bedspread a navy and black plaid. Other than a small pile of dirty clothes, his room is not as messy as I'd imagined a boy's room to be. A bass guitar is lying across the bed with an open notebook. The temptation to read it is strong, but I resist. What if he's been writing a song about Iris?

A library book sits open on his desk. Robert Frost. I sit down in the computer chair and wait. The room smells like cedar and sage and I recognize the woodsy scent I smell on him whenever we're close. I close my eyes and breathe in.

The water stops and the bathroom door opens. I panic. Didn't he take clean clothes in there with him?

Evidently not. I open my eyes to see him standing in the doorway, a towel slung low around his hips.

Alex stares at me, with water dripping from his shoulders. He is such a beautiful boy, I think. I feel a twinge in the bottom of my belly. Possibly in my ovaries. I need to look at something else besides his abs. Think about other things, Andria. Like baby pandas. Or cupcakes.

His cheeks turn pink. “What are you doing in here?”

I hop up from the chair. “Sorry, I thought you were getting dressed in the bathroom.” As I scoot past him into the hallway, I catch the warm scent of shampoo and cedar.

I need to put more distance between us. Before I do something stupid.

He lets me pass, and I shut the door behind me. “I'll just wait in the kitchen,” I say.

His voice is muffled. “No, stay right there.”

As I stand in the hallway, I hear drawers opening and slamming shut. I hear wire hangers raking across a closet rod as they're shoved from side to side.

When he opens his door again, he's wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. “Please come sit back down. I . . . I think I'm ready to hear more.” He gestures to his bed, and I give him a look.

He shrugs and spins his computer chair around for me like a gentleman.

I sit and roll it back closer to his bed, where he sits down. I place my hands in my lap, folding my fingers together like I'm about to say a prayer.

“I keep my own journal for my doctor. I record my seizures and write down each one's length, type, what was happening before, stuff like that. It helps him adjust my medication doses and helps me become more aware of my triggers. Like a severe lack of sleep.”

Alex frowns and lies back on his bed, his hands behind his head.

“I hadn't written in my diary in over six months. Until I had the seizure yesterday. But it had been lying on my desk the night Iris died. She saw it and left me a message inside, while I was at the ER with Mom and Craig.

“But I never saw it. The morning she died I shoved the journal between some books on my bookshelf and forgot about it. Until this week when I pulled it out to record my last seizure.”

I swallow the huge lump in my throat. I don't want to cry in front of Alex. “If I hadn't gone to the ER that night, Iris wouldn't have been left alone. And she wouldn't have taken my pills to add to the heroin and alcohol she had in her system. So really, it was my fault she died that night. Not yours.”

He raises himself up off the bed on one arm. “You've got to be kidding. It's not your fault. You had a seizure. You couldn't help it.”

Dammit, he makes me cry. I wipe my face with the heel of my hand. He is going to hate me when I tell him everything that happened that night.

But it all has to come bubbling out. The ugly truth that I've kept locked inside for all these months.