Lurlene McDaniel (14 page)

His gaze is steady and I hold it, knowing I can't crack. He nods slowly. “I guess it could have happened that way.”

We stare at each other for a few more seconds, and I realize that something has been settled between us. “I'll take that beer now,” I say.

He asks the stewardess for a beer, leans back against the headrest.

He takes the beer and she walks away. He gives it to me. I sip it, dreading getting home and returning to my real life. And to Laurie.

At least she didn't call me over spring break. The week apart has made me downright cheerful. How did I ever get into this? It had never crossed my mind that a girl like that could be so awful. I notice a pretty woman two rows up and across the aisle. It's nice to be able to look at another female
without Laurie going ballistic—just for show, and we both know it. But it's made me paranoid. I half expect Laurie to lean around the seat in front of mine and say,
“Thinking of cheating, Quin? Don't!”

Why did I let that girl get so into my life? She was just another nothing to me. How could I know? If she opens her big mouth, college, baseball, my dad's approval rating—all of it's over. I sure didn't mean to hit that girl on her bike. I didn't even know it until—well, later. And maybe I should have told Dad a long time ago, but I didn't. Only a few more months and I can put this nightmare behind me.

“You still dating Laurie?”

His question catches me off guard. Is he reading my mind? “Sure.”

“But you're willing to give her up when the time comes?”

“As soon as camp starts.”

“And she's good with that?”

“She's known all along that I have other plans for my life.” My palms are sweating, so I set the beer down, afraid I'll drop it. “Nothing's going to get in my way, Dad.”

He nods, looking satisfied with my answers. “She has calmed you down a lot; I'll give her that much.”

“She doesn't like to party,” I say, in an effort to explain my changed behavior.

“You might want to remember that once you get to college.”

“I'll remember,” I say, seeing that he's in lecture mode. I know to be agreeable. The week's been too good to mess it up with an argument this close to home.

“Plus there are rules for athletes on scholarship. All the coaches we met were forthright about that.”

“I'll behave.” All I want is
out of here.

A baby begins to cry somewhere behind us. Dad groans. “I hope someone shuts up that kid. I sure don't want to listen to some screaming brat for another hour.”

I slouch in my seat, think again of my son. He would be close to three by now. I wonder who's raising him. I can hardly believe what happened to me back then. I don't know if I loathe myself or my dad more. I guess myself. I hate this kind of thinking.

I shut off my brain. I finish my beer in one long gulp, slouch in my seat and pull the bill of my ball cap low over my eyes. I pretend to fall asleep while I listen to the crying baby. I'm through talking
to my dad, having him dig through my life like a dog looking for a bone. It's never been easy with him. Finally this week is making a difference. I do not want to screw it up. I know I have an approval addiction, but no one is going to get in my way, especially not a blackmailing rat like Laurie. She can't control me forever.

“Her doctor says she has pneumonia.”

Sonya meets me in the hall with a worried look. I stop in my tracks, feeling like the wind's been knocked out of me. “Can't they give her antibiotics?”

“It's viral, so antibiotics won't help. She's really sick, Jeremy.”

“Can I still see her?”

Sonya hands me a mask. “You'll have to wear this in the room.”

I slip the green mask over my nose and mouth and feel claustrophobic. In the room, Analise is covered by an oxygen mask, and signs announce CAUTION! OXYGEN IN USE. FLAMMABLE! She looks pale and small against the white bed-sheets. I take her hand, still curled, clawlike. “Hi, baby.”

Standing on the other side of the bed, Sonya
says, “They're going to send her back over to the hospital. They had to take her off the blood thinners, so she's susceptible to more problems.”

I nod, unable to speak. Her going back to the hospital underscores just how sick she must be.

Sonya says, “Look, I'll leave you two alone.”

I nod again and she slips out of the room, closing the door behind her. Still holding Analise's hand, I ease onto the bed. I like being alone with Analise. I can talk to her freely this way. I tell her everything in my heart, and I know she hears me. “I'm sorry you're sick,” I say. “But the docs will fix you up.” I press my lips to her hand and force myself to be upbeat. “Mark's got a ton of work, and I spend all my free time at his workshop. I wish you could see some of my projects. He wants me to go to community college in the fall and get some business credits. Says that's his weak spot, that he never got into the business and accounting parts, and that if I learn that stuff, maybe I can partner with him someday. I like the idea, because I don't want to live anywhere else except near you. I mean, you'll be out of this coma someday.”

The room is quiet. Sunlight slants through a window and casts my shadow across her body. I want to hold her. “Prom's next week,” I say. “I
thought we'd be going. But I guess not. Amy's got a hot date with some guy she's been chasing— make that stalking—half the year.” I laugh at my own joke. “She says I can come with them, since she knows I won't take anyone but you. Like I care about the stupid prom.”

My parents suggested that maybe I should consider moving on with my life. It made me so mad that I didn't speak to them for days. Mom made peace by going on a baking rampage, making all my favorites, and issuing a big-time apology. “Mom's got a ton of relatives coming for graduation,” I say. “Including Aunt Betty. You remember her—the nutty one who spends her life on cruise ships instead of renting an apartment.” I grin, remembering how much fun Analise and I had talking about the old girl and her many ex-husbands.

Memories of happy times pour through me, and the desire to hold Analise makes my heart ache. I lift up the bedsheet, slide onto the bed behind her, and gently put my arms around her. She barely fills them up, but she's warm, and with her body pressed against me I feel at peace. Her hair has grown out a few inches. It's as soft as down against my nose and lips. I kiss her neck. If anyone
walks in on us, I'll probably be banned for life from the place, but I don't care. I only want my arms around her. For a moment, I swear that her body relaxes. It's an illusion, I know, but still, it makes me crazy happy.

“You don't seem that sick to me,” Mom says. “Not sick enough to miss the prom with Quin.”

I'm sitting on the sofa in my robe, a box of tissues in my lap, trying to watch some DVD. The tissue box is a prop and so is the robe. I'm not sick in the way I told Mom I was sick. I'm sick in my heart and soul. “There'll be other proms,” I tell her, hoping she'll go away.

“Honestly, Laurie, I just don't understand you sometimes. I would have carried my sickbed to the prom in my day.”

She's not letting up. “It's just a dance, really,” I say. “Don't get carried away.”

“It's at the country club. Spencer's reserved the entire place for the senior prom tonight. And what about that beautiful dress we bought you?”

Mom says “Spencer” like they're best friends, and I want to gag. She dragged me into every store
downtown until she found the “perfect dress,” which I hate. “You can take it back. I never cut off the tags.”

“Did you and Quin have a fight?”

I grit my teeth. “I don't feel good, Mom. I'm trying to be responsible here. To not make others sick.”

“Well, it's not right that you're making him miss his senior prom, you know.”

“I gave him permission to go without me.” He was downright gleeful when I told him to go without me.

“But you're his girlfriend! You don't want a guy like Quin footloose. Some girl will snake him away.”

“I don't care!” I throw the tissue box across the room. “Don't you get it? I'm not really his girlfriend.”

“But you are. He chose you. You're a lovely girl with the hottest guy in school. The perfect high school couple.”

I clamp my hands over my ears. “Stop it. Stop talking about me and Quin.”

She looks confused, and suddenly the dam behind my eyes breaks. Words bubble up like a geyser. I can no longer live with the lies. No matter what, I must confess to my mother. I spend
the next fifteen minutes spewing out my pent-up guilt. I tell her everything. I watch her face go from shocked to horrified to pasty sick. I watch her recoil. I've turned into a freak. Her precious little Laurie is a screwup. She is realizing that her baby had to blackmail her way into popularity by sacrificing justice. An innocent girl is in a coma.
Welcome to my world, Mom!

Once I'm through spewing, she is silent for a few minutes. Then she looks right at me and asks, “What are you going to do?” Her voice quavers.

I was hoping you'd tell me,
I think, but I say, “I don't know.”

She stands very still. “A lot of people will be hurt if you say anything.”

“I know.”

“There would be a lot of loss, Laurie.”

For instance, your job,
I think, but I just say, “I know.”

“Telling won't fix this girl. It won't change her medical condition.”

“I know,” I repeat.

“And … and I'm thinking about you. What's going to happen to you? You're my child. You've got your whole life ahead of you.”

Until now, all I've done is think about me. I feel sick, like I'm going to throw up. “I know.”

“This can ruin yours and Quin's lives.”

“What about
her
life? I think about Analise all the time. I can't get her out of my head.”

“But you said it was an accident. No one can blame you and Quin for an accident.”

“We should have come forward once we realized what happened.”

“You said you didn't know that you'd actually hit a person. That still may be true.”

“I know we hit her, Mom. Trust me. I know, and he knows too. Quin knows.”

We look at each other, Mom and me, across the distance of the family room. The few feet that separate us feel like a hundred miles. I want her to tell me that everything is going to be all right … just fine … no need to worry. I want her to say, “Let me handle it.” Instead, a mask slips over her face, and her eyes grow cool and distant. She says, “Think hard and long before you speak out, Laurie, before you open this can of worms.” I look at her and see an expression I do not like. “I'll have to hire a lawyer, so let me know what you're going to do before you do it.” She stops talking then. She almost leaves the room, then turns at the last moment. “I'll support whatever decision you make, but confessing won't be a cure-all. All it will do is create new problems. Remember,
you and Quin are young, and so much can happen.”

She leaves, and I sit and stare at the empty doorway, feeling shell-shocked. I don't know what I expected her to do, but it wasn't to walk away. I want her to come back, but she doesn't. The sound of silence is heavy, like a smothering blanket. Finally I hear water running upstairs. She's getting ready to go to bed. “Thanks, Mom,” I say aloud. “I will have to do this alone.” Once again, I outline my choices: speak out or stay silent. I've tried it one way for months. Sure, I got popular, but I feel awful. It hasn't worked.

Tears make the walls blurry. I am alone. I have no friends, no one to care about me. We were a family once—me, Dad and Mom. Then Dad left and it was me and Mom. Now Mom's disappointed and even distant. She's left me too. My whole body aches, like someone's been throwing rocks at me and every missile has scored a direct hit. I almost envy Analise in her coma, at peace, oblivious to the pain and hurt of real life. Maybe it would be best for all if I checked out too. I'm not pitying myself, really, because all I can think is
Who will really miss me?