Drowning in You (2 page)

This shouldn’t have happened.
My best friend Rosa’s dad isn’t like this, so why should mine be?
My dad’s not even fifty and hers is fifty-five! Dad winces as he
tries to push himself up in bed and it’s so feeble that I can’t
watch the same man who used to pin me down and tickle me ‘til I had
cramps of pain from laughing struggle like this. I can’t watch, so
instead his grunts pierce my ears because I close my eyes. I clench
my fists by my thighs until he stops making those God-awful sounds
and…

And would you look at that! My
father is sitting upright.

“
My liver now
isn’t—”

“
Dad!” Darcy
hooks his arm around the doorjamb and skids to a stop inside. He
puts his hand to his chest and says, “She’s coming right
now.”

“
Okay, okay.
Come here. Whoa, did she give you coffee?”

“
No, I just
came here as quick as I could, Dad. I promise she said she’ll come
real soon.”

“
You’ve done
great. Come sit down.”

Darcy, smiling and satisfied
with what he’s achieved for Dad, trots over to his chair and sits
on the edge. He pulls out his handheld game from his pocket and
starts jamming buttons. Then, apparently remembering something,
pulls out his cell from his other pocket and starts texting.

Dad’s eyes
say
come here
so I
scoot closer.

“
He’s a smart
ki—” Dad starts, but footsteps are approaching our door. He says,
“No tomfoolery with him. You tell him straight up, Charlee. You’re
Melissa now and I am —”

“
Walter!”
someone says from the door.

It’s Lisa. She’s my favorite,
because she sometimes has a sour candy for Darcy to suck on, and
she always says how Dad’s improving, giving him smiles and pats on
the back.

As Mom to Dexter, Lisa has the
same shocking blue eyes as he does. She wiggles her hips at the
door, fingering her pocket. She has a somewhat round face, whereas
Dexter’s is square and bulging with veins and all that sexy stuff I
could only dream of touching, but Lisa Hollingworth is cute, in a
Mom way. I bet if Dexter never opened that potty mouth I used to
hear while I ogled him from the sidelines of the football field
he’d look like a Mama’s Boy, too. But when he opens that mouth, his
voice is sex oozing from those luscious lips.

“
Watermelon,”
she says to Darcy.

Darcy drops his electronics on
his chair as if they are plastic toys from a McDonald’s Happy Meal
and grabs the twenty-cent candy from her. Shame, really. That kid
doesn’t know value. But there’s something comforting in that; Darcy
is still learning, and I guess I can still tell him our Dad is
going to be fine.

“
Pink and
green.” Darcy nods his head in an impressed way as he checks out
the candy. “Nice.” He points outside to the hall and walks
out.

“
How you doing
today, Walter?”

“
Same, I
guess.”

“
You look
well. Great to see.”

I smile at Dad. See? See, I
wasn’t lying. You’ll do just fine.

“
We’ll do more
tests today. Doc is still worried about your internal bleeding.
That’ll be after your regular dialysis,” she’s saying, but I stand
up, and they both face me.

I step into the hall because
I’m such a sook. I bet every one of Dad’s millions I couldn’t say
“cry” without choking on the word and heaving in fits of
embarrassing sobs. I’m the best crier there ever was and that’s a
curse. As I said: a sook.

Outside the room is almost the
same as being inside. I manage to hear sentences from Dad and Lisa
such as “Well, we’ll just do the tests first and then see if that’s
the case,” and “Melissa would have been so proud of you and that’s
the truth because you’ve done well to come back from the dead,
Walter.”

I can imagine Lisa winking at
my dad after that last bit.

The corner at the end of the
hall is here suddenly, and I almost topple over Darcy’s sneakers.
He jumps back. His gaze is straight to his feet.

“
I didn’t hear
too much,” he says.

Mom would have pinched my arm
and dragged me back for what I’m about to do, but you know what?
Mom died when the wires from that ski lift snapped and fell to the
bottom of the mountain and she can’t stop me now. No one can.

As I walk out
of the hospital with Darcy’s fingers thrashing in my fist,
shouting
but I didn’t get to say bye! I’ll
only be a sec! Pleasepleaseplease!
Dexter’s
shocking blue eyes are the only thing I think about because I don’t
believe what everyone says.

Dexter Hollingworth didn’t kill
my mom and maim my dad, and injure those other two dozen skiers.
Eyes that blue don’t belong to someone so cruel. Eyes that blue are
peaceful and stunning and I know, in my heart, it really was an
accident those wires snapped because I’ve loved that boy from a
distance since he started sprouting facial hair and there’s no way
the son of that woman caring for my dad in the ICU could have
knowingly allowed that ski lift to operate in that condition.

That’s the worst part. My mom
was the only one to die, my dad the only one injured this badly,
and I won’t believe what everyone else thinks.

I can’t believe Dexter
Hollingworth did that to my family.

Most days, I think that makes
me stupid.

2. Distract Dexter

Dexter

“
Dexter!” Dad
yells. “Don’t you fucking walk aw—”

I whip around. This natural
feeling explodes inside me, my fists pumping together by my jeans
so I don’t punch Dad out. Stepping into his space, he should get
this message. I’m twenty-fucking-one and no, I don’t have enough
money to rent a place, but yes, I’m 101-percent certain I am not
going back to Mason’s Ski Resort to work.

“
Give it a
rest. You could act like you give a rat’s ass about the
charges.”

Dad’s crooked
nose, from when his business partner in our old home, Chicago,
popped him one, is inches from mine. “You mean the charges that
were
dropped
.”

“
I step back
in that resort and I’m only stirring up trouble.”

Dad’s eyebrows
perk up. Like,
Really?
Like,
Dexter, you’re really going
with this?

I step in closer, feeling the
air escape from between our noses. He grabs my shirt collar and
yanks me in. If I’d been shorter he would have raised me to eye
level. Like when I was fourteen or so. But I have an inch on
Dad.

Which means nothing.

My shoulders do this
involuntary thing where they convulse, without me remembering I
asked them to rip myself from his grip. Guess I’m used to defending
myself against Dad.

Fear jolts through me as if it
were electricity. “Get off, you fuck.”

“
This,” Dad
says, snickering at my shirt, “this is my shit. My wages bought you
this top. Now go back to Mason’s and help out because they need
you.”

Right, his wages stopped paying
me a year ago when he was demoted, almost went broke, and lost
control of Mason’s Ski Resort. Some other head honcho paid the
wages for my winter job there. It’s really too bad Dad hasn’t let
his pride down. Instead? He’s settled, for now, as just another
worker there. He’ll be owner of Mason’s again. Apparently. His
words.

“
Melissa May
died in that
acc
ident. Walter May was saved by some miracle. But look at you,”
I flick my nose up at him, thinking he’s pathetic. “You wouldn’t
think someone died and dozens were injured by how distraught you
are.”

“
Right. But
Walter did
not
die.”

“
You’re…” But
the words die in my mouth. Hopeless? Messed up? Crazy?

He’s not worth it. That’s what
he is. I’m lucky the police ruled the Mason’s disaster an accident.
That, or they didn’t have enough evidence to charge me with it. But
I’m not stupid enough to tempt fate by punching Dad out. Instead I
head the other way.

“
What? Get.
Back. Here,” Dad growls.

I’m at the door already, free
from his grip. I’m driving away. More, I’m moving out.

But I don’t have the money.

And I don’t even have a car to
get me someplace, any place, far from here.

“
Tomorrow.
I’ll see you tomorrow,” I call, ripping open the door. When the
screen door makes a pitiful clank against the doorjamb, I’m
disappointed. I wish we had the money for an expensive door so I
could have slammed it and walked away like a hero.

Mom’s still working at the
hospital so my only choice is to walk. Twenty seconds into my
escape, the first raindrop splatters on my eyelid. I shake it off
and tip my head to the sky. Bloated, gray clouds hog the space
above. I can’t remember it being blue in so long. This Melbourne
winter isn’t much better than when I was a kid in Chicago. But we
don’t even get snow here. It’s just freezing.

Freezing. The word escapes and
I feel it. My bones are rattling. Looking down, I remember I put on
my holey jeans and my black shirt with the rolled sleeves at my
elbows. If I could do over my pitiful walk out of Dad’s and my
argument, I would have grabbed my hoodie.

And that’s when everything gets
fucked up. I give myself a handshake, tap my cheeks. Nope, I’m hot
still. Not cold at all. Which means…I don’t want it to be true
but—

I’m holding my fingers in front
of my face. I stop at the corner of our street, a car vrooming
past, another coming up, but I don’t hear them because it’s become
quiet in my world. I feel my fingers trembling before I see them
quiver and blur as my vision falters.

This is karma, I bet. I’m
having a hypo attack ‘cause I’m diabetic, by which I’m
essentially…what’s the word… What am I…?

My mind is looping already.
It’s bad, I know. I was so wrung up arguing with Dad I didn’t
notice it, but now I do. Trembling when his face came near had
nothing to do with being scared.

I need sugar quick, like I do
with every hypo. I pat my pockets down but I only feel my leg
through the material, because, of course, I hate carrying my candy
on me in case someone sees and asks what it is for.

Fuck my diabetes. I’m my own
worst enemy. My body can’t even sustain itself. My blood sugar
level is dropping, and it’s making my steps wobbly.

One of the cars approaching
slows. Noises come from chatter inside. I refuse to look and give
those shitheads the time of day since I know exactly what they’re
looking for. But when I hear a snicker I start. I swear I know that
voice. If I had to guess, I’d say it belongs to Robby. I haven’t
seen him since before the Mason’s ski accident mess when he used to
talk and hang with me in the group.

Lucky I decide to turn after
all because an egg, followed by another, tumbles in the air in a
direct line for me. I duck and they sail just over my hairline.

When another car slows, I’m
ready to fucking lose it, even if it only backs up my new
reputation as a killer. But my words are stumbling, smooshed, and
not coming out of my mouth right thanks to my severely depleted
blood-sugar level and the fact that my body’s in survival mode.

Then out of the window pops
Darcy May’s head. I know that kid. He’s Charlee’s little bro.

Just my luck.
That her mom was the only one to die at Mason’s. I’ve been wanting
to kiss this girl since before I got my first tattoo, or my eyebrow
ring. Before seeing her at the opposite end of the occasional
party. All things considered, a rich, beautiful, kind-looking girl
like Charlee would never bring home a guy like me. I’ve never
spoken to her the way I want to. Why take the risk of getting
rejected by the only girl I’ve ever really wanted? And even if she
did want me, would she see
me
or me as the person as what I’ve done to her
parents?

I know Charlee’s read the
papers; she couldn’t have missed it.

Dexter Hollingworth was on
shift as a lift operator when the overhead wires snapped on one of
the lifts at Mason’s Ski Resort. No charges have been laid.

Charlee’s Audi hatchback stops
beside me. Darcy pops his head back in and chucks a thumb at me
then turns to whisper something to Charlee.

I take these rare moments when
I still see her around to imagine her letting her blonde hair down
and shaking it out across her face. About getting a hand into that
hair and holding her to my chest with the other. I want to know
what she smells like.

It’s as close as I deserve to
get.

I sort of topple as she leans
down to peer through the window and says, “Dexter? You okay out
there?”

Oh, right.
Fair question. It’s spitting rain on a Wednesday afternoon at
5:30
pm
and I’m
stumbling on the sidewalk.

“
Hey,
Charlee,” I say, gripping the car door because I need to stand tall
and steady. I lean down, so I’m at Darcy’s and her eye level. “I’m
all right. But…thanks.”

She looks like her mind’s in
another world for a moment, staring at me. She’s not looking at my
eyes, but through me. She grins, but she turns before I can see it
light up her face. Her hair covers her expression as she tucks her
chin away. What on earth has she got to be embarrassed about?

“
Hang on a
sec,” Charlee says to me. She steps out of her car, into the
drizzle. She tucks some wild hair blowing in the wind behind her
ear and I still see it. That grin. But she’s trying to desperately
to hide it.