Salvation (25 page)

Slowly, ever so slowly, Beth reached across the space and touched her mother’s hand. “Mom?”

Her mother engulfed her in a fierce hug. “I love you, honey.”

And Beth knew she had meant every word.

Salva stared at the graphite sketch, slashed by sunlight, on the hospital room wall. One would think the budget could afford a print by van Gogh. Or Monet. Or someone who at least had the sense to paint flowers in color. For a place where so many people drew their dying breaths.

Though Char hadn’t drawn hers here. The girl he’d shared a seat with on the bus when he was eight, the one he’d escorted to school for their first day of junior high, the one he’d spent most of the year ignoring and who’d verbally slapped him upside the head a month ago for underestimating his best friend: she had been dead before she’d ever reached the hospital.

Unlike Pepe. According to the newspaper, he had still been alive until an hour and twenty minutes after his arrival. Sometimes people made the mistake of thinking Pepe’s toughness wasn’t real—that he just used it for intimidation. But Salva knew better—knew his best friend could take out half an
offensive line on his own. Pepe had always been the one with the guts. And he’d proven it. In the end.

The article—the one the cops had given Salva an hour ago when they’d come to interrogate him—had included a photo. Of the convertible. The crushed front passenger’s side. It was a miracle Pepe had been able to scream.

Salva had forced himself to read the article and assimilate the other details of the wreck. The truck and trailer they’d been passing that had wound up jackknifed in the middle of the road and taken out a power line. The car that had plowed into the convertible, leaving the driver trapped behind the wheel. Though, apparently, the guy had been able to walk once he’d been carved from his seat.

Unlike Pepe.

The cops had left without their statement. They had claimed they needed one, with Pepe’s mother threatening to press charges. But Salva knew better. Silence should be enough to confirm that the whole crash was his fault.

His father entered the room without permission. For the millionth time. Apparently, patients had no rights when it came to
la familia.
Earlier this morning, Talia and Casandra had been allowed in.
Why?!
Salva had wanted to yell. There was nothing for them to see. No one to look up to. He hadn’t wanted them here, staring wide-eyed at the brace around his leg as if that were somehow the cause of his dissolution.

They’d announced that Miguel was coming home. Another
why?
In some futile attempt to prove that
la familia
still existed? Or because it was now clear which son was the greater failure?

“There was a phone call for you last night,” said
Papá.

And I’m supposed to care?
Salva let his father’s words run past him. The sketch on the wall seemed to grow uglier as he studied it. There were holes between the slash marks. The petals looked as though they had been severed.

“The man said his committee wants to interview you for a scholarship,”
Papá
continued. “Is this possible?”

No.
The stems in the drawing had thorns. Sharp. And pointed.

“
Hijo,
answer me.”

Sí, Papá. If you give out the orders, everyone will have to obey. Charla will go to college. Pepe will behave. I won’t be guilty.

“Your sister told the man we had an emergency, but he said the committee has to make a decision this week.”

Go away, Papá.

“Which means you have to call them,
hijo
.” His father held out a scrap of paper with a phone number written on it.

Salva thrust away the number. He didn’t deserve a scholarship. He didn’t have the right to talk. What was the point of speech if you didn’t use it when you should?
I don’t deserve to be alive.
When would the doctors and his father and everyone figure that out?

Beth returned to the hospital to learn that Salva had been moved from intensive care to the medical/surgical floor. And that she had been left off the approved-visitors list. No doubt the decision of Mr. Resendez. Her mother had driven her to the hospital and stayed for the first hour, which should have helped. And hadn’t.
Salva is healing,
Beth told herself as she waited on the thinly cushioned chair in the waiting room of the medical wing.
That should be enough.
But it wasn’t. She couldn’t be certain. Couldn’t know. Couldn’t truly
believe
he would recover until she saw him with her own eyes.

She pulled her knees up toward her chest and buried her face in them.
He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.

“So…you’re Beth.”

Her eyes flew open, and she looked into the forthright gaze of Salva’s older sister. Lucia stood above her, holding out a granola bar.

Beth declined the offer by shaking her head.

The other girl sat down at her side. “Sometimes my brother can be so dense.”

What?

Lucia tugged on the wrapper of the granola bar. “Oh, I know you must think I’m a horrible sister, but I don’t see why he didn’t just introduce you to all of us—after
Papá
got over his temper. But Salva can be such a coward.” The wrapper split open. “It’s a miracle he ever got up the guts to ask you out. Every other girl he’s dated was someone that one of his
friends recommended.” She peeled down the shimmery paper.

“When he was little,” Lucia continued, not pausing long enough to take a bite, “he didn’t even have friends because he was so shy. Then after we moved here, Pepe conned him into sneaking a snake into the church. Salva was too scared to refuse. And that’s how they got to be close.

“You know he wouldn’t even try out for the football team in middle school? He was so sure he wouldn’t get picked. Tosa and Pepe had to go to the coach and ask him to invite Salva personally.”

“H-he doesn’t like losing,” Beth whispered.

“No.” The other girl’s voice dropped. “He’s never been good at losing anything.”

Like his friends.

“H-how is he?” Beth whispered.

“He has a broken femur. The bone came right through his skin, and he lost a ton of blood; but he went through surgery okay.” The granola bar fell idle on Lucia’s lap. “His head was also bleeding when he first came in. They couldn’t do any tests right away because he was in shock. When they ran the CT, it didn’t show anything. The doctors don’t think he has brain damage, but he’s not…talking.”

Two figures in dark uniforms tromped past the open door.

“Bastards.” Lucia shuddered. “They were in Salva’s room this morning, without even asking
Papá
’s permission. Not that
Papá
would talk to them. You’d think the cops would back off after the test came back saying Salva hadn’t been drinking.”

The sound of the boots faded, leaving Beth in shivers. “Do
you…do you believe Pepe’s mother will really press charges?”

“Pepe’s mother is grieving,” Lucia murmured. “The police ought to realize that. My brother is a human being. He made a mistake. And his friends are dead because of it. Isn’t that enough punishment for anyone?”

“Hija.”
Mr. Resendez entered the room and shot a disapproving glare at his daughter and her companion. Then he began to pace, his words rushing into more Spanish.

Beth made herself remain at Lucia’s side. It would be wrong to abandon the person who had finally answered her questions.

Though the older girl appeared to be holding her own for a half-dozen exchanges. Then she switched to English. “I don’t know,
Papá
. You’ll have to ask him.”

The response was brusque.

“Well, he won’t talk to me either!” she argued.

Her father flung his arms into the air.

“No sé,”
Lucia replied, glancing over at Beth, then back at her father. And back again. “Why don’t you ask
her
?”

Instantly, Beth regretted the decision to stay.

The other girl didn’t appear to notice, though her attention now fully centered on Beth. “Do you know where my brother applied to go to college?” she asked.

“Of…of course,” Beth stammered, then reeled off the names of the in-state colleges.

“And those are all the schools?” Lucia asked. “You’re certain? It’s not possible he could have applied to more?”

“Lucia!” her father snapped.

“¿
Qué
,
Papá
? Maybe she knows—”

“What could she know?” Mr. Resendez replied.

Beth felt the blood rush to her face. This man had no right to belittle her. Or to keep her from seeing his son. “There were three others,” she blurted. “I dared Salva to apply to three other colleges.”

Mr. Resendez froze.

“You did?” Lucia was grinning.

Beth dropped her chin, knowing if Salva hadn’t told his family, there must have been a reason.

“Where?” the other girl demanded. “Where did he apply?”

The error had already been made. Might as well tell the entire truth. “Harvard, Princeton, and Yale.”

“That’s it,
Papá
!” Lucia said. “Yale University really wants to interview my brother for a scholarship.”

Yale.

Mr. Resendez was staring at Beth. “Why would you do that?” he asked. “Why would you dare him to apply somewhere so far away when you also tell him not to take the scholarship at State?”

“I told him not to
settle
for it,” she replied. “Your son is the best student at Liberty High. He’s gifted. Brilliant. Any school should be grateful to have him.”

There was silence.

At last Mr. Resendez sank down into a chair, his head tilted back, his gaze toward the ceiling. “He has to call the scholarship
committee. But he won’t. It’s like he’s…broken.” The man’s hands lifted to cover his face. “I don’t know what to say to him. He needs—”

“His mother,” Beth whispered.

The hands fell, and the silence was intense.

She bit her lip. “He…he said his mother could fix people.”

Dark eyes lifted, pain raw within them. “He spoke to you about his mother?” Mr. Resendez’s voice cracked.

“He said she loved to sing,” Beth whispered.

Silent tears spilled down the man’s face.

“You,”
he said at last, blinking fiercely. “You need to talk to him.”

“But
Papá…”
Lucia whispered. “Salva said—”

“Exactly.” Mr. Resendez rounded on her. “And that’s the only thing he has said since the crash.” The man turned back to Beth, not giving her the chance to ask questions. “If you could dare my son to apply for this school and persuade him to reject a four-year scholarship to another one, then maybe
you
can get through to him. And convince him to complete this interview.”

Beth’s heart thundered.

His trembling hand stretched, taking her own. At last the larger meaning came flying into her chest.

He was going to let her see his son.

A knock tapped on the hospital room door, followed by the sound of footsteps.

Not again.
Salva nailed his gaze to the graphite flowers.

This time the visitor didn’t speak.

There came a soft, very light rustle on the left side of his bed.

And then a hand on the back of his own.

He jerked away. No one had touched him like that since…
God, no.
She should not be here!

He tried to order her to get out, but the words stuck at the barrier in his throat.

His eyes dropped, following her fingers as she touched the scrap of paper on the bedside table, the paper with the scholarship phone number. Then she reached again for his hand.

He tried very, very hard to remain stiff. To convince himself that if he didn’t respond she would leave.

Like everyone else.

But Beth wasn’t everyone.

Her arms came around him.

He couldn’t let them—couldn’t let her hold him. She would hate him when she knew the truth. But perhaps that would be better. His words broke through the invisible barrier. “It’s my fault.”

The arms tightened.

“I knew,” he said. “I knew, and I didn’t—”

Her forehead rested on his shoulder.

“I didn’t speak,” Salva said.
Didn’t she get it?
“I could have stopped her. Char was afraid of losing face. Pepe was trying to impress her. He would have listened to me. Char wouldn’t have fought. If I’d just…”

Beth pulled Salva even closer.

“
I
was supposed to teach her. It was
my
responsibility, but I quit. I knew”—his voice broke—“I knew she couldn’t drive.”

A shudder rushed from Beth’s body to his. She whispered, “You weren’t driving?”

“I should have been!” he shouted. “I should have”—he choked on the words—“I should have”—the tears were falling—“
said
something.”

He cried in her arms, the tears turning to sobs. His whole body shook until he could not think anymore. Could only feel the huge hole that had been his friends’ place in his heart—the girl who had needed him, whom he had let down, and the guy who had always,
always
been there when Salva needed support. He would never recall his past the same way. His childhood. His life.