Shelf Life (24 page)

chapter forty-three

“What the fuck took you so long?”

“I had to drag your injured mother through a frozen orchard in the dark, that’s what the fuck took me so long,” I tell Jay while dismounting from the ATV.

“Is she okay? Did she wake up?” He places his hands on either side of her face while his dad and my mom leap from the front porch, both wearing identical expressions of determination and fear.

“Get her into the house,” Mom says.

We work in silence to carefully move Mrs. Leaher up the steps and through the door, the only sounds those of our boots crunching snow and the constant groans and snaps of burdened trees.

Inside, Lindsey’s sprawled out on the couch, but she quickly scoots away when we bring Mrs. Leaher over and set her down. I step back and let Mom do her thing. Lindsey wraps an arm around my waist. “Are you okay?” she whispers.

“I really don’t know.”

She scowls and pulls me over to the hearth. The fire is dying so I add a couple logs before settling next to her on the brick. She picks up my hand and slowly pulls off the glove, then does the same with the other hand. My fingers have been better, but there’s no permanent damage. Then she laces hers with mine and everything feels okay again. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, but neither of us is capable of
anything more optimistic at the moment.

“Pete,” Mom calls. “Did you do this?” She points at Mrs.
Leaher’s bandages and the knotted twine holding the comforter in place.

“Yes?”

“Great work, son. You did everything just right.”

It takes a few blinks before her words sink in. My brain’s the consistency of a
slushie, plus I can’t believe I did something right. “Good. Thanks. There are warmers under her arms, too.”

“Excellent. I’ll get her vitals.” We watch Mom feel Mrs.
Leaher’s neck for a pulse, check her pupils, and reach for the stethoscope in her First Aid kit. Her brows draw closer together. “How long she been unconscious? The tree fell maybe forty-five minutes ago. That when she got hit?”

“Yeah,” Mr. Leaher answers. “Jay stayed with her while I tried to get into town to get someone.”

Mom nods. “Jay, was she out the entire time?”

My stomach sinks as his lip quivers. I almost feel sorry for him. “No,” he whispers. “She was awake at first. She screamed.
Real loud. Tried to calm her down, but her legs were all twisted and she was bleeding back here,” he says, touching the back of his head.

“How long was she awake?” Mom asks.

“Maybe a couple minutes.”

“Then she passed out?”

Jay’s gaze quickly flickers to his dad then away. If I hadn’t been staring at his face, I might have missed it.

“Yeah, she got quiet so I held her.”

Mom chews her lips for a few seconds and takes a deep breath. “I’ve got good news and bad news. Might want to sit down,” she says, nodding to Jay and his dad. Neither move. “The good news is she’s stable and I don’t think she’s in any pain. The bad news is she needs to get to a hospital ASAP. She’s mildly hypothermic, she’s gone into shock, and her head’s banged up pretty bad. There may be internal swelling and bleeding.”

Lindsey gasps, her hand covering her mouth. I can’t chance her getting stressed and having another episode, plus I know Mrs. Leaher is in the best hands. “Get your coat,” I whisper to Lindsey. She gives me a funny look. “We both need to calm down, and we can’t do any good in here.”

She squeezes my hand before standing. I love that I don’t have to say any more and she understands exactly what I mean and where we’re going. We walk hand-in-hand to the barn, catching each other when we slip on the ice. Sarah’s coming out just as we approach the door.

“What’s happening in there?”

“Mom looked over Mrs. Leaher and she’s stable, but in bad shape. Mr. Leaher and Jay are kind of just sitting there, so we left. The girls okay?”

Sarah rolls her eyes. “They wouldn’t let me near them, but otherwise they’re fine. I swear you worry about them as if they were your kids.”

“Born to be a vet, I guess.”

“Whatever. I’m going to bed. Maybe this whole thing will be over in the morning.”

She moves past us but I catch her shoulder. “Hey, uh, will you be okay with Jay in there? He won’t try anything with you, will he?”

“His mom’s practically dying. You really think he’ll
come after me?”

“He’s upset, and people sometimes do crazy things.”

“I’ll lock my door, okay?”

“Good, thanks.” I can still hear her muttering after she’s swallowed up by the dark between the barn and the house.

“That was sweet,” Lindsey says, resting her head on my shoulder. “I’m not Sarah’s biggest fan, but I wouldn’t wish Jay Leaher on anyone.” I told her about Jay and Sarah a couple weeks ago, and while Lindsey wasn’t all that surprised, she was sympathetic. I guess wanting something more than what you’re handed is common ground for the two of them.

Once inside, Lindsey and I pat down the girls and give them some treats. They seem fine, and the barn is plenty warm. Eventually we’ll milk them since Sarah failed—or more likely, didn’t even try—but I can’t pass up the privacy we’ve got out here. She and I need to talk.

“Come here,” I tell her, and motion to a pile of hay on the main floor.

“No offense, but I’m really not in the mood.”

“Shut up, I just want to hold you.”

“Sure, that’s what they all say, just before they shove their tongue down your throat.” She smirks, and I can’t find the energy to be mad.

Sinking into the pile, I open my arms and she nestles in next to me. I’m not sure how to bring this up. "So, you going to tell me what’s going on?"

She refuses to meet my eyes, even as I hold her close. "What do you mean?"

"What's with the staring, the not remembering stuff? You're scaring me."

She sighs. "Guess it’s time I told you. You know how I'm on medication?"

"Kind of. You've never really said what it was for, but I figured that was your business."

"Yeah, well, it's to control my seizures."

So I was right. Those were seizures I was seeing. "Okay. I guessed you were having seizures but I didn't want to pry. I wish you'd trusted me with that information since I'm your best friend." I swallow. "And especially since we’ve moved beyond that."

She grimaces and still won't meet my eyes.

"What, there's more?"

She presses her eyes closed, and a little moisture leaks out.

"Hey, don't cry. If you don't want to tell me, I won't press. Whenever you're ready, Linds."

"No, it's not that. I know you won't care. It's just the reason I have to tell you
sucks."

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the unease that's crawling up my throat. "Go on."

"The reason I'm having more and more seizures is because I’ve had to sell my medication. You know how my mom's been drinking and lost her job?"

Oh, God
. It all clicks. I swallow down the lump and nod.

"Yeah, with money being so tight, I didn’t have much of a choice. I pretty much get the meds for free, but my paycheck doesn’t keep the heat on and put food on the table."

Fury wraps itself around my chest and squeezes. “Does your mom know? Does she understand what she’s put you through?”

Lindsey shrugs. "I don't want to burden her with this. I mean, she's got a deadbeat dad for an ex-husband, an agoraphobic high school drop-out for a son, and an epileptic loser for a daughter."

"Hold the damn phone. I agree with most of what you said, but two words stick out: epileptic and loser. You’ve never used the word epileptic with me. Why?"

Lindsey shrugs again. "It's just what they call it. It's not who I am and doesn't define me."

"No, it doesn't. You're way more than that, but it's good to know. I mean, what if something really bad happened to you? What if you went into a grand mal seizure and I didn't know what I was looking at? You nearly went there earlier tonight."

"Listen to you throwing out terms like grand mal. How do you know about that? And for the record, I don't have grand mal seizures.
Just funny little complex partials."

"It's not funny. I know about them because I'm pre-veterinary, remember? Knowing this kind of stuff is vital to my studies, and don't change the subject, I'm not done. The other word that stands out is 'loser.' Under no circumstances are you a loser, nor could you ever be. Look around you. We live in a town of losers, but you are not one of them. You're smart, funny, beautiful, you work harder than anyone I know—which, by the way, isn't the best thing considering stress can bring on attacks—and you'd give the shirt off your back to help someone.
Except Jay. I'll be pissed if you ever take your shirt off for Jay."

"Now who's trying to be funny?"

"You're right. It's not. Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you push me away all summer when I could have helped or at least been an ear to listen? God, Lindsey, what else are you keeping from me?” My fingers rake through my hair. “That’s not how this works. In this very barn I told you it was you and me. You said you understood, but you didn’t. I mean,
fuck
, we’ve been best friends since forever and now…now you’re everything to me. You act tough and strong all the time and so fucking proud of being able to take care of yourself, but you can’t survive as an island. We’re so much stronger together than separately. That’s how I know this is right. Hydrogen is weak on its own, but when you combine it with oxygen, the bond triples in strength. That’s how you and I are.”

She’s quiet after that. I don’t know if it means she’s thinking and letting it all soak in or if she’s gearing up to tear into me. She hasn’t pulled out of my arms, but that could be the calm before the storm, and honestly, I’ve had enough storms for one night.

"Does Lewis know you've been having seizures again? He's let you suffer like this all alone?"

"It's not that way,” she says. “He tries to help, but he's not well, either."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"No, it's not, and if you saw him lately you'd understand."

"If he or his sister would let me into the house when I come around, you'd be right."

"Can we not fight?"

"Not trying to pick a fight, I'm just saying that you shouldn't have to figure this out on your own and you shouldn't have to put your health at risk. Friends don't sit by while their friends are suffering. I learned that lesson the hard way. I don't intend to repeat the mistake."

She's quiet then, but I can feel her heart beating against my chest. Here in the quiet of the barn, I can pretend the outside world doesn't exist, that there isn't a woman in my family's
home who may or may not live, and that the jerk who's made my life—and Lindsey's—a nightmare isn't in there, too, breathing our air, probably eating at my family's table, eating the food we worked hard to grow, preserve and prepare, and that he had a hand in destroying.

The whole thing makes my head hurt.

chapter forty-four

“Well, let's do what we came out here to do and get you back where it's warm, okay?"

"Sure."

She doesn't put much enthusiasm behind it, and I can't blame her. I take off my gloves and examine my fingers. The gauze is still in place, but I decide to put the gloves back on to do the milking. It might not be the most sanitary, and I'll probably have to dump this milk, but at least the girls will feel better. Lord knows someone deserves a little comfort during this hellish night.

Lindsey grabs her bucket and a stool and plops down next to Katie. I'm thinking she actually prefers Lindsey to me. Not that I mind. It's kind of cool that she's become such a part of my daily routine and that we can share this. Again, my brain wants to go a couple years into the future, but with all that's gone on tonight, I need to stay focused on the present. Daydreaming leads to carelessness, and on a night such as this, it could cost someone their life.

"Hey, girl, how are you tonight?" I whisper to Ashley. She responds by shifting her weight and snuffing a little. "I know, it's been crazy. Be glad you've got fur and nice, warm hay to bed down in. To tell you the truth, after this is over, I think I'll hit the hay, too. No, don't worry, I'm not sleeping in here with you. It's just an expression."

Thunk
.

A sound like a baseball hitting a wooden fence catches my attention. I turn slightly on my stool but don't see anything. And that's the problem. I can't see Lindsey's head above the low stall wall. The sound happens again, but not as loud, and this time it keeps going.

Fuck.

"Lindsey? You okay?"

That's the dumbest thing I could have said, I know, but it just popped out of my mouth. I round the corner of the stall and there she is on the ground with the milking stool between her ankles, her wrists crossed stiffly in front of her, rocking and spasming rhythmically.

She's having a grand mal seizure.

Katie shifts again, clearly nervous and aware that something's wrong, and nearly steps on Lindsey in the process. I hate to move her, but I have no choice.

"Hey there, girl, I'm going to move Lindsey out of your way, okay? Everything's fine. No reason to panic or make any sudden moves.
Shhhh." I rub her hind quarter to let her know where I am. She snuffs a little, but seems to calm a bit at my voice.

I lift Lindsey into my arms and carry her to safety across the barn. I gently set her down in the pile of hay she and I just occupied. Her arms are still completely straight with wrists crossed over her stomach. Her eyes are fixed up and to her right.

A little spit escapes from her mouth so I wipe it with my sleeve as she takes huge gasps of air then blows it out through her nose. Her stomach muscles contract as if she's doing a sit-up but failing. For a second, she relaxes.

"Lindsey? Can you hear me?" Her eyes close and a tear leaks out. "It's okay, love. Everything's going to be okay." Then her eyes open again and they're fixed on some distant point. It goes on and on, and just when I think it’s over, she stiffens up.

While I watch, I vow this will never happen again. I've known her for more than a decade and she never had a seizure like this. Looking back, I can see where she had tiny ones—the day in the barn when she stared off at the corner, then thought my shampoo smelled like perfume, but before that I figured that was Lindsey being weird or pulling my leg. Big difference between that and what I'm witnessing now.

Her mom will pay for this. Lewis will pay for being such a fucking coward and not helping his sick sister. Maybe he's not the friend I thought he was. Maybe he's changed so much that we're no longer compatible. I don't need that kind of friend and Lindsey doesn't need that kind of brother. I won't stand for it.

I stare down at Lindsey and cradle her head with my hand. There's straw tangled in her beautiful hair, but she looks so pale and so fragile. It isn't right. There are some things Mother Nature just can't fix, and this is one of them. Lindsey needs modern medicine. All the prayers and herbs and mumbo jumbo my mom would recommend won't help. I told Lindsey before that it was her and me. I see now just how true that statement was. I just had no idea we'd be tested so soon.

Lindsey's body relaxes a little and she groans.

"Lindsey?"

"Uh?"

"Lindsey, it's Pete. Can you understand me?"

Her eyes roll into the back of her head and she spasms for a couple seconds. Then she seems to come around again as her gaze wanders.

"No, no," I tell her. "No crying. You're okay. I'm here and everything's fine."

Her eyes find mine, but I don't think she's seeing me yet. She tries to talk, but it comes out all garbled, like she's got marbles in her mouth. Thankfully, there's no blood so she didn't bite her tongue or anything.

"You had a seizure, Lindsey. A big one. Do you feel okay? Does anything hurt?"

"Uh-huh," she says.
“Head.” It doesn't come out the clearest, but at least she's communicating now.

"You tired?"

She nods and tries to curl into a ball. I pull her into my lap and put my arms around her. She wanders in and out as her eyes flutter closed, then pop open again, as if she's making sure I'm still there or she keeps forgetting where she is. I stroke her back and push her hair off her forehead and place a kiss there.

Just when I think we're in the clear, her back arches, she throws her head back, and it starts all over again, complete with grunting noises that will ring in my ears and haunt me forever. I don't know how any parent—drunk or not—would want their kid to go through this.

If Lindsey's family won't take care of her, then I will. Obviously I'll have to stay with my parents until I get this pre-vet stuff done, but after that, we'll figure something out, and in the meantime, Lindsey's moving in with us. My parents have said it a million times, that Lindsey is family. Now's their chance to prove they mean it.

Lindsey's fingers begin to twitch, but thankfully, she's stopped arching her back. Her head is still thrown back, and I can only imagine how badly her neck is going to hurt when this is over. I continue to brush her forehead and hair while the spasms wrack her body.

After an eternity, she relaxes again. We repeat this process one more time before I think the seizure has finally run its course.

I'm exhausted, but I can't imagine how insanely tired she must be.

When it's over, she blinks a few times, looks around, and takes some deep breaths.

"You know where you are, Lindsey?"

"Barn," she says.

"That's right, we're in the barn. Do you hurt anywhere?"

"Just head," she says, her speech getting clearer.

"Okay. You think you're done now, or do you feel like there's more
coming?"

She rubs her left temple. "Tingly," she says.

"Your head is tingly?"

"Uh-huh."

"But nothing else hurts?"

"No."

"Okay, I'm going to carry you to the house now. Think you can handle that?"

"Yes," she answers. Then a tear trails down her cheek.

"No, none of that. Everything's going to be fine."

"…’
barrassed."

This floors me.
"Seriously? You're embarrassed?"

She nods and turns her face away.

"No, you look at me," I tell her, and pull her chin so we're eye-to-eye. "There is absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, you hear me? Nothing. I love you, and this is a part of you. You have absolutely no reason to be embarrassed. Okay?"

She doesn't really answer, but then I didn't expect her to. I lift her up into my arms, forgetting all about milking the girls. Fucking Sarah will have to do her share for once. We carefully make our way to the house. Mom’s in the kitchen.

"What happened? Is she okay? Is she hurt? Did one of the girls hurt her?"

"Slow down, Mom." I push past her, past everyone gathered in the living room, to my bedroom.

Grateful that I changed the sheets two days ago, I place Lindsey on the bed. I untie her boots, rub her cold feet, then remove her coat. She watches me do all this, and I can tell she's uncomfortable, but I don't care. She's going to let someone take care of her for a change.

Mom's on my heels, poking her nose in the door with her mouth flopping open and closed, a hundred questions dying on her lips.

"Mom, can you get me another blanket, please?"

"Sure, honey. Do you need help?"

"No, I think she just needs to rest."

"Can you at least tell me what happened?"

"She had a seizure. I'll let her tell you about it later if she wants, plus we need to talk about some other things. This night's been a game-changer."

Her eyebrows furrow, but she turns and
disappears. With her gone, I return my focus to Lindsey.

"You back to yourself, now?"

"Yeah," she says, but turns her head toward the wall.

"
Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," she says as her eyes drift closed.

"Just tired?"

"
Mmm-hmm."

"Comfortable?" She nods again, fading quickly. Forgetting that Jay Leaher and his family are in the kitchen and his mom is possibly
dying, I shuck off my boots, coat, hat and belt and settle on the bed next to her. "This okay?"

She smiles.
"More than okay."

I must drift off pretty quickly because when I wake, there's a quilt over both of us. Lindsey's on her side in the fetal position with my arm under her head. Somehow, I snaked my hand over her hip and around her waist. God, I hope Mom didn't see that. But then I shake my head. I'll be asking my parents to let Lindsey move in soon. They'll just have to get used to seeing us like this.

A noise in the kitchen grabs my attention. It's not loud, just strange, like a puppy being strangled, not that I know how that sounds. It happens again, and I realize that's what woke me. I glance over at Lindsey and her face is perfectly smooth, her eyes calm under the purplish lids. I carefully move the quilt off of me and set my feet on the cold floor. Fire races up my shins, reminding me that frostbite has done its damage.

Then I hear wood splintering.