No Parking at the End Times (15 page)

I’M
STILL TRYING TO STEADY MYSELF WHEN JESS WALKS UP.

“Was that your mom?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Oh, wow. Are you okay?”

That has always been the question, and my answer waffles with each step we take out of the park. Half of me wants to run to Aaron and tell him exactly what she said, every word, so he can have one good memory of her. But I also want to know why she isn’t fighting for us. Why she’s pushing us to the interstate when the other option—her staying with us, no matter what—is so much easier.

Will we go without her? Yes. There is no doubt.

We’ll get on that bus and follow a slow and crooked
map across the country, drawing closer to home every single day. We’ll smell the pine trees and Uncle Jake will meet us at the bus stop downtown, instantly trumping all of our problems. We won’t have to wait for anything, except maybe the bathroom—Uncle Jake’s house isn’t that big—but what does that matter? After months of endings, I’m ready for a beginning. And if it has to be without Mom and Dad, so be it. We will start over. We will live.

As Jess and I walk through the park, people move in a hundred different directions. One catches a Frisbee as another bends over with belly laughter. A woman sits alone on a bench, a newspaper folded like a fan in front of her face. Behind the trees, a siren blares as it tears down the street. Soon, another follows. Then a third. Birds come from the trees in a flourish, blacking out the sky for a second before dissolving into hundreds of similar shapes that dart in every direction. In the center of everything Trumpet Man is lying beside a huge tree, softly playing his horn.

“Take one more look,” I say to Jess, glancing around the park. “Because North Carolina is not this exciting.”

Jess puts a hand on my shoulder and says, “I’m so ready for boring. Trust me.”

I start to laugh, but Jess jumps back so quickly she trips on my foot and falls to the ground, hard. Before I know what’s happening, she’s up—staring at Skeetch standing on the path with his arms stretched out. Like he wants a hug. The two guys I saw with E flank either side of him, one short with a Mohawk. The other, seemingly too young to sport the giant skull tattoo that dominates his forearm.

I step in front of Jess and say, “If you come any closer, I’ll scream.”

Skeetch doesn’t react, only looks over my shoulder at Jess and smiles. “Yeah? They’ll probably send the army and the navy to help.”

The two boys titter behind him, their faces worked into amused smirks. I step toward them, even though I can’t stop my legs from shaking. My hands are fists and when Skeetch sees them, he and his friends nearly collapse in laughter.

“Damn, look at you being all feisty. I like it.”

The guy with the tattoo says, “Oh yeah, hurt me. Please.”

“You do need to be careful with Little Sister here,” Skeetch says, grabbing his crotch. “She really doesn’t play nice.”

“Just leave us alone,” Jess says from behind me, her voice barely audible over the noise from the park. As she says it, the Mohawk parrots it back to her—“Leave us alone! Leave us alone!” The three of them laugh even harder.

I look around for a police officer, for Aaron or even E—anybody paying attention. But despite all the people, I’ve never felt so alone.

When Skeetch takes a step forward, I hate that I flinch. He smiles and says, “Why all the drama? Nobody’s trying to start something. If you want to go, then go.”

He steps to the edge of the path with a flourish, sweeping his arms to the side as if he were ushering us into a dance. “Go on. Nobody’s stopping you.”

Without a second thought, I grab Jess’s arm and pull her between them, ignoring their eyes, their smell. Everything about them. At the last second, Skeetch grabs the back of my shirt and pulls me against his body, pinning my arms to my hips. His mouth is close to my ear.

“When you see your brother, tell him I said hello, okay?”

And then he lets me go and the three of them cackle with laughter as they disappear into the park.

“Are you okay?” I ask Jess. She nods, and that’s all I need to start moving.

The football field is a half-mile away, but I swear it only takes seconds for us to get there. I walk fast, trying not to look over my shoulder. Trying not to worry about Skeetch and his friends.

All I want to do is get to the stadium, find Aaron, and leave.

Above us, the clouds are still rolling in off the mountains, turning the whole world gray. As we come through the arched entrance, I do a quick scan of the stadium. The track is empty, as is the grassy field. In the far corner of the bleachers, I think I see somebody lying down, but as we get closer it turns out to be a forgotten towel.

“He’s probably in the tunnel,” I say, pointing to the far side. But it’s locked, chained so securely that I second-guess whether we actually stood there just a few hours ago.

Jess points to the top of the bleachers and says, “Look.”

A large press box frames the center of the stadium. Behind that, a side street runs parallel, at even level with the top row of bleachers. It takes a second for me to realize the entire stadium is built into the side of a hill. We’re effectively in a giant hole.

I take the bleacher steps two at a time. When I get to the top, I look out onto the street. A couple is walking a small white dog with their daughter, but I don’t see Aaron anywhere. I come back to the lip of the stadium just as Jess is reaching the top.

“Do you guys have a special spot in here? Something I wouldn’t know about?”

Because he should be here. Even if the bus station was on the other side of town, there’s no way we beat him back to the stadium. Not after the trip back from Sea Cliff and talking to Mom.

“No,” Jess says. “I don’t think we ever came here together.”

As she’s talking, my eyes settle on a small patch of grass separated from the road by the same iron gate that circles the stadium. From here, all I can see is empty fast food bags and a couple of open beer cans rolling across the hard cement.

But then something moves in the shadow of the press box and I hear my name. At first I smile, but the closer I get, the more I can see. Aaron’s trying to stand up, leaning all of his body weight against a cement retaining wall, clutching his stomach.

I run to him and he falls back to the grass.

His face is broken. There are cuts and bruises and his nose is bent sideways. One eye focuses on me while the other, blood red and beginning to swell, stares vacantly over my shoulder. He tries to sit up, but a painful gurgling sound brings him back to the grass.

“Oh my God,” I say. Behind me, Jess starts screaming. She runs forward and tries to grab Aaron. As soon as she touches him, he winces.

“Go call an ambulance,” I tell her. “Now.”

“No hospital,” Aaron says. “They’ll call Mom and Dad.”

Jess hesitates. “He needs an ambulance,” I say. “Go!”

She runs out of the stadium, yelling for a cell phone and harassing each person she sees until she’s got one in her hand. Aaron gasps her name out, and I put my hand on his shoulder.

“She’s going to get help. Just rest, okay?”

“Get her out of here. Before they come back.”

I can barely understand him. Every word is drowning, choked. When he tries to sit up again, his voice is pained. “Please. Go.”

I try to guide him back down to the grass as gently as
I can. He fights me with every bit of energy he has left, which can’t be much because it’s only a few seconds before he’s back on the grass, his chest tightening with every awkward breath. Every time I look at his face, I have to blink back tears. I want to believe that we’re still going. That it’s just a matter of Aaron getting patched up and then we can get on a bus. We have to hit pause, for only a second.

He tries to say something, and I lean closer so that I can hear.

“They took the money. I’m sorry, Abs.”

Jess comes running back to us. She kneels down next to him, holding his head in her hands. I watch her cry over Aaron, her hair falling into his face as she does it. In the distance sirens begin calling. As soon as he hears them, Aaron starts mumbling—trying to push himself off the ground in a panic.

“They’ll call . . . can’t. Please.”

When the paramedics arrive, they push us aside. One paramedic gives Aaron a shot while the other asks me and Jess all kinds of questions that I either don’t know or don’t want to answer. How it happened. His blood type. If he’s allergic to any medicine. The last question is the worst.

“Does he have parents? Any family?”

I watch as they stabilize his neck in a large yellow brace. I don’t know if I should tell them about Mom and Dad, or even if I should let them put him in the ambulance. I know he’s hurt, but what happens if they bring us back?

“Hey—does he have any family?”

“He’s a street kid,” the other paramedic says. “Let’s not worry about family.”

I hear the words and the anger climbs through my body. A small group of people collect on the sidewalk, watching the paramedics work, snapping pictures with their cell phones. When Aaron gets to the hospital, the staff will eventually track down Mom and Dad. They’ll figure out that he’s not just another street kid and then—what? All of this starts over?

The first paramedic pops the stretcher up, until Aaron is lying at waist level. His eyes are closed, the drugs taking effect.

Seeing him like that makes me want to unhook all the tubes and machines from his body, and carry him away—to do this on our own, the way we’ve been planning. And I hate the impulse. There should be no question whether Aaron should be in the ambulance. We shouldn’t have to worry if social services will swoop in, or if we’ll even be
able to pay for this ride to the hospital.

But of course, that is the problem. And has been for too long.

And maybe Mom wants us to go. Maybe that makes her feel better, knowing that we aren’t stuck here going to service after service.

But I want them to know what we had to do to get away. The last thing we had to give up for God, for Brother John. I want them to look me in the eye and say that we aren’t more important than whatever is going to fall out of the sky.

I nudge Jess forward slightly. “Wait, this is his sister.”

She looks at me, shocked, but I push her forward again and say, “He needs you to stay with him.”

The paramedic looks at us skeptically, but then tells her to follow him to the truck. Just before they pull away, I run up to the side and ask where they’re taking him.

And then I turn around and run straight back to Brother John’s.

I
STORM INTO THE CHURCH, NEARLY KNOCKING OVER THE CROSS
trying to get at Mom and Dad. Brother John’s mouth drops when I step right in front of Dad and say, “Aaron’s hurt.”

“Brother Dale, I will not have this—not now.”

Dad looks at his palms and, maybe for the first time, I agree with Brother John—not now. He can’t disappear now, not when Aaron is riding across town in an ambulance. Not now.

Brother John tries to lead me away from the front of the room and I push him away. Anger takes control of my lips. My voice could shake the windows.

“He’s in an ambulance right now.” I show him the
blood on my hands. On my jeans, which now are really ruined.

Mom says, “Abigail, what happened?”

“Who here believes in God’s plan?” Brother John addresses the group, his voice tight. Booming across the small room.

A few hands initially shoot into the air, but drop when Mom spins around and stabs the air with her finger. If it were a weapon, Brother John wouldn’t be standing.

“Don’t,” she says.

Dad comes to her and wraps his arms around her shoulders, trying to whisper in her ear. She shrugs him off. Her body is rigid, yet every so often little tremors ripple across her skin. When he tries again she says, “Dale, no. Do you hear me? No.”

“We need to go right now, Mom.”

Mom turns to face Dad, her face hard. “I’m leaving, Dale. And you need to decide if you’re coming with us.”

Dad looks at Mom, and then my hands.

“We need some intervention for this family, Lord.” Brother John prays with his eyes closed. Only a few people in the room join him. “Help them see the Deceiver clearly and know that only through you can we find happiness.”

I turn to Dad and say, “God doesn’t need you here, Dad. But Aaron does. Please.”

“Are you sure?”

Dad says it plainly, like I’m trying to sell him a car. It shocks me, even though I’ve heard the same refrain a hundred times. I stare at him with my mouth open.

Maybe it can be just me, Aaron, and Mom. Jess. We’ll leave Dad here to wait with Brother John. But we’ll go, and if he ever decides to join us, then fine. But I don’t need him to be onboard. Not anymore.

But instead of seeing the Dad I have come to expect—stupidly faithful and ready to mortgage what little we have left—he takes my hand and holds it tight, like I might blow away.

Dad says it again. “Are you sure?”

“Dad . . .”

He hesitates, and then says, “I wasn’t talking to you, Abigail.”

When he looks up, his jaw is set. His eyes are focused on Brother John, still praying at the front of the room. “Brother John,” Dad says. “I need to know if you’re sure.”

Brother John doesn’t hesitate.

“God asks us to cut away the withered branches in our lives. That’s what I know. Like it’s my own name, Brother
Dale. And if you don’t?” He laughs here, spiteful and loud. “Well, then maybe your eternal destination isn’t as clear as I once thought.”

Dad nods and my heart drops into my stomach. “This is my son, Brother John. I need more than that.”

Brother John spins around to face me, grabbing my shoulders hard enough to make me cry out. “You are willing to lead your entire family astray? You’re willing to live with the eternal consequences of your idolatry and childishness? You—”

Dad pulls Brother John away from me, separating us with his body. Despite the tears that crowd his eyes and cheeks, he looks strong. Almost scary. Brother John stands there, rubbing his hands together and staring past Dad to me.

“You want a sign, Brother Dale? After everything you’ve been through, you have the audacity to ask God to give you another sign? Go ahead and leave, but God isn’t going to let you come back in.”

Quickly—before I know it’s happening—Aaron’s face flashes into my head. It’s like he’s filling me with bravado, taking control of my body, because I take a step, then two,
hoping Mom and Dad will follow me. That I’ve read the situation correctly. And as I begin to leave the room I say, “We’ll take our chances.”

Dad reaches his hand for me to take as Brother John addresses the crowd, saying, “Go ahead and leave. Walk away from the only thing that will ever give meaning to your life. Because that reward in Heaven’s going to be sweet, yes sir. Can I get an
amen
?”

I try to think of something to say as we walk to the back of the church. Something clever. Something with teeth. But when I open the door, holding it for Mom and Dad, I realize I don’t have to say anything. Everything that needs to be said is happening right now as we walk through this door.