The Key to the Golden Firebird (18 page)

“Warlk?”

“Walk. Can you stand up and walk?”

“I can walk,” May said, angrily smacking Brooks on the arm.
“Shuddup.”

May lay back against the sand.

“No, no,” Brooks said, tugging her back up. “No. Stay up. We're going to walk.”

Brooks reached under May's arms and pulled her little sister up. Even though May was shorter and lighter and even though Brooks was very strong, May was total deadweight. It was a hard trudge over the sand. May's head rolled senselessly on her shoulders, and she mumbled nonsense at Brooks the entire way.

“It's all right, May,” Brooks said over and over as she led May to the sidewalk. “You're doing fine.”

It took about four blocks before May's feet actually started to move in rhythmic steps—but it was still a plodding, Frankenstein kind of walk. As they made their way along, a Toyota Tercel full of guys slowed next to them. The car was equipped with a subwoofer so powerful that two alarms went off as it passed. An Eminem wannabe in a bandanna and
an Abercrombie and Fitch hat leaned out of the open window.

“Your friend need a ride?” he asked, smiling.

“No,” Brooks said, dragging May along.

“Ri—”

“Shut up, May.”

“She can sit on my lap,” he said as the car slowly followed them along. “I got room for both of you.”

Brooks ignored him.

“Come on,” said the guy, leaning far out now, reaching for May with outstretched arms. “She likes me.”

Brooks switched positions with May and increased their pace. May groaned.

“You don't like me?” The guy leered. “Your friend does. She's looking at me.”

“Look,” Brooks said, reaching deep into her pocket, grabbing her thick stick of zinc oxide, and pulling it out as if it were a canister of spray, “Feminem, how about you keep driving before I pepper-spray you?”

There was a roar of laughter in the car, and Brooks heard the word, “Dykes!” screamed from somewhere inside. The guy pulled himself back in, spitting on the ground near Brooks's feet before they skidded off. Brooks heaved a sigh and slipped the sunscreen back into her pocket.

“Jackass,” she mumbled, continuing to steer May back in the direction of the camp.

“
Wooo
, Brooks is tough….”

“Please, May. Just walk, all right?”

When they got to the convenience store halfway to the camp, Brooks set May down on a bench for a moment.

“Stay here,” she told May firmly. “Got it?”

May's chin slumped down on her chest. She wasn't going anywhere. Brooks ran inside and bought a bottle of water and a bottle of Gatorade. Even though she was barely in the store for a minute, May had thrown up on the ground by the bench by the time she came out.

“Oh God,” Brooks said, pulling her up and forcing some of the water down her throat. Tears of confusion were running down May's face. Her skin was damp.

“Come on,” Brooks said, stroking back May's loose, damp hair. “Almost there.”

May slumped, and her eyes began to close. There was no way she could walk any more. Brooks sat down on the bench next to her sister and looked at the passing traffic in despair. There was only one solution she could come up with. May would need to be driven, and that meant getting the Firebird, which was at the movie theater four blocks away. She didn't have the key, of course, and wasn't legally able to drive it. But she
was
sober now.

“May,” she said, very clearly, “I want you to stay here. Got it?
Stay here.
I'm going to come right back. Don't move from here, and don't talk to anyone.”

May had slipped out of consciousness. Brooks managed to get her up and pull her over to the side of the store, which at least kept her out of sight from the road.

Brooks stood up and pulled each heel up to the back of her thigh, stretching out her muscles. Four blocks. She could do four blocks in just a minute or two. With one final look at May, she took off.

The sidewalks were crowded with people headed up to the boards. She cut across the parking lot of a run-down hotel and headed down an alley parallel to the main road. Her arms pumped hard and even, and her footfalls were steady and fast.
One, two, three, four
—over a broken boogie board. Around a discarded cooler. Past three Dumpsters behind a pizza shop.

It took very little time for her to reach the theater, but once she was there, she faced another problem. Generally speaking, movie theaters didn't let people in unless they had money for a ticket, which she didn't. So she would have to get creative.

The guy at the door was about her age. He didn't look too inspired by his job.

“I need your help,” Brooks said, running up to him.

“Huh?”

“Our car is in the lot, and my mom and little sister are inside. My sister's medicine is in the car, and I have to get the keys. Could you please let me in?”

He stared at her doubtfully. She wondered if she had alcohol on her breath. Then she remembered that vodka didn't have an odor.

“Look,” she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her worn tiger print wallet. “Here is my wallet.” She unsnapped it and handed over her worthless driver's license. “Here is my ID.”

She held the card up to her face so that he could see that the image matched the reality.

“You can keep this. Keep the whole wallet. I will be in there for less than five minutes, I promise. I just need the car keys.”

“I need to ask my manager.”

“I have no time,” Brooks said. “You have all my money. You
have my ID. I'm not trying to sneak in. Who leaves their wallet?”

The guy looked at the wallet.

“Please…,” she said, leaning in.

“Okay,” he said. “Five minutes.”

Brooks tore off down the hall. It was a little place, with only four screens, so the theater was easy enough to find. But since it was a holiday night, the room was packed. And, of course, the scene she walked in on seemed to be a suspenseful one—two people staring at each other significantly—so the place was dead quiet. She squatted down almost to a crawl and sneaked down the middle aisle, snooping on each row from a dog's eye perspective. Using this method, she finally found her mother and Palmer sitting about five seats into one of the front rows.

Palmer noticed her first and wrinkled her brow in confusion. Brooks tried to pantomime keys, but that had no effect. So she decided to try the whisper-down-the-lane method.

“Could you tell that girl I forgot my wallet,” she whispered to the first guy in the row, who was staring at her strangely. “Can you ask them for the keys?”

He passed the message, though somewhat grudgingly.

Palmer turned and looked Brooks in the eye.
You are so lying,
her gaze said.

When her mother looked over, Brooks turned her pockets inside out, showing that she had no wallet. Then she pointed out, hoping this would signify the parking lot. She tried the key pantomime again. Her mother looked hesitant.

“Tell them I'll meet them out front when it's over,” she said.

There was some shushing.

Once again the message was passed. Finally the keys were
passed back, but not before Brooks got a strange look from her mother and one final, withering gaze from Palmer.

Out in the lobby, Brooks ran up behind the guy at the door and threw herself over his shoulders.

“You're my guy,” she said, plucking the wallet from his hands. “I'll remember you forever.”

She kissed him on the cheek and ran out the door to the parking lot. She found the Firebird toward the back. She checked her watch. Nine-ten. The movie would be over in half an hour. She started the engine and pulled onto the road.

Her desire, of course, was to drive as quickly as possible. But her suspended license and the heavy traffic kept her crawling along. It took her five minutes to drive four blocks to the store. May was still there, thankfully, but lying on her side. Brooks loaded her into the backseat, which she lined with some bags she found in the trash, just in case May threw up again.

It took another ten minutes to drive back to the camp. The air was full of the smell of ocean, burning wood, butane, and barbecue. Normally it would have been pleasant, but any one of those odors might very well cause May to hurl again.

One of the neighbors, who was passing by with his dog, stopped as Brooks dragged May's limp figure out of the backseat.

“She okay?” he asked.

“Oh,” Brooks said casually as May nearly slumped to the ground. “Yeah. Fine. Too much sun.”

He looked doubtful but moved on. Brooks set May down on the tarp in front of the camper. May managed to get on all fours and crawl over to the picnic table. She put her head down on one of the benches and stopped moving.

“Why don't you try to be sick again?” Brooks suggested, making her voice cheerful, as if this was something fun May should do for old times' sake. “You'll feel better.”

Something incomprehensible.

Brooks looked at her watch. No time for this. Her mother and Palmer would be out of the movie within minutes. She grabbed one of the beach blankets that was drying on a chair, pulled May up again, and walked her around to the back. There she spread out the blanket and set May on it. May immediately curled into a fetal position and passed out.

Traffic again on the ride back to the theater. Brooks beat on the steering wheel in agony. She got there with just two minutes to spare, only to find that someone had taken the parking space.

“No,” she said, feeling everything drop out from under her. “No…”

Lacking an option, she parked a few spaces over and hoped that no one would notice. Then she jumped out of the driver's seat and sat on the back bumper as if she'd been waiting there for ten minutes. Her mother appeared to notice nothing amiss when she came out, but the look on Palmer's face clearly showed that she knew something was up.

“So, I got back down there,” Brooks said with a laugh, “and May decided she was tired. So she went home.”

“She walked home?” her mom said, concerned.

“Yeah. I think it was all the sun. She said she wanted to go back and take a cold shower.”

Even Brooks was staggered by the speed of her own lie. Palmer eyed the parking space.

“We should get back, then,” her mom said.

As they rode back to the camp, Brooks felt herself hitting the wall. She was exhausted in every way. All of the confusion and adrenaline had worn her out. And her mind kept replaying the moment she couldn't find May on the beach. She saw herself looking out at the water, not knowing if her sister had wandered drunkenly into the surf. It wouldn't go away.

May obviously wasn't around and waiting when they got back, so Brooks had to continue the act by jumping up and going to the bathhouse to check on her. She walked over, wandered around for a second, stared at the wet toilet paper on the ground, and returned with a false report of May's well-being.

“Well,” said her mom, yawning, “I'm heading in. I'm beat.”

Both Palmer and Brooks received a kiss on the forehead. After she went inside, Palmer scowled at Brooks suspiciously. Brooks could feel her skin breaking out in goose bumps.

“What?” Brooks asked, trying not to look nervous.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm sitting here.”

“Want to go to the batting cage?” Palmer asked.

“Not really.”

“I can't go by myself.”

“Palm, why don't you watch TV or something?”

Palmer fell silent for a moment, picking at a rip in the plastic tablecloth.

“I may just sleep out here,” Brooks said, faking a long yawn. “Everybody keeps saying you can see shooting stars.”

The idea that Brooks would spend a night at the beach staring at the sky was extremely implausible, but she acted on it,
grabbing one of the beach towels and spreading it out on the ground. Palmer couldn't seem to make anything of her motives and soon gave up and went inside. Brooks had to wait almost two hours for Palmer to go to bed before she could move her charge. This stirring caused May to be ill once again, after which she wanted to walk around the park to work off some of the dizziness. By three in the morning, Brooks was finally able to tuck her in and fall into her own bunk in exhaustion.

“So May's drunk?” said a voice from the shelf-bed above her. “That's a switch.”

Brooks rolled toward the wall and put her pillow over her head.

“Happy Fourth of July!”

At ten in the morning May's mother threw open the flimsy piece of plastic that served as their bedroom door. Blistering sunlight poured in. May's head was revolving slowly. Pain was everywhere.

“Palmer and I are headed to the beach,” her mom said, pulling her large plastic beach bag over her shoulder. “Want to put on your suit and come?”

“No…”

“Okay. See you later, sleepyhead.”

May pulled her sleeping bag over her head for protection.

“How are you feeling?” Brooks said, standing in the sunlight, looking disgustingly tall and healthy, her blond hair loose. May felt like a small, gnarled sewer creature, something that recoiled from the light.

“Drink this,” Brooks said. She held a Gatorade out to May. May struggled with the cap, so Brooks opened it for her and passed it back. May's thirst was overwhelming, and she drank the whole bottle in about a minute. Brooks took it from her, disappeared for a moment, then returned.

“Take these,” she said, holding out two pills and a glass of water.

“What are they?”

“Medicine.”

Okay. May could deal with medicine. Didn't matter what kind, really. She took the pills. She decided to experiment with standing up. Maybe she would feel better that way. She pulled herself out of the bed and into the living area. She didn't remember coming to bed. She had glimpses…walking, being outside on the ground. She was covered in bug bites.

“What happened last…?” But as soon as she started the question, it started coming back in flashes and spurts. Brooks and her bottle. The arcade. The sand. The phone.

“Oh my God,” she said.

“What?”

May put her hand over her mouth. Brooks dove into the cabinet and quickly produced a large plastic popcorn bowl. She shoved this under May's chin, but May brushed it away. Her problem wasn't physical.

“I need to go back to bed,” May said, heading into the bedroom and slamming the door. It bounced back open.

“What?” Brooks asked again.

“You should really leave me alone,” May said. “You should go as far away from me as you can.”

 

May spent the majority of the day sleeping in fitful bursts. All of her movements were tailored to find the exact position in which her stomach would stop heaving and the flashes of pain would stop running through it. She kept sliding around on her slippery sleeping bag, which covered her tiny bed. Her pillow always seemed to be in the wrong place. One minute she'd be hot and sticky, her sunburn throbbing, and in the next second a shuddering chill would ripple through her.

When she hadn't emerged by three in the afternoon, her mother returned to examine her. Fortunately for May, her symptoms mimicked the sickness that resulted from excessive sunburn. She was smeared in aloe vera, forced to drink bottles of water and take a few aspirins, and told to stay out of the sun as much as possible for the remainder of the trip. May was fine with all of this except for the aloe, which made her shiver even more.

It took until evening for May to find the strength to get up and eat a little dry cereal for dinner. She was sick of being in the tiny bedroom, so she agreed to come along and watch the fireworks. Gingerly she pulled on a pair of running pants and a sweatshirt and slunk along behind her mother and sisters to the boardwalk. They got four Orange Juliuses and found a prime piece of railing to stand along, not far from where May and Brooks's escapade had started the night before. Just the smell of the beer was enough to almost cause May to relapse.

“Isn't this nice?” their mom said, throwing her arms over May and Palmer's shoulders.

Palmer shot May an angry look, which May didn't even feel like analyzing.

The fireworks began popping over the water, and the crowd started the obligatory oohing and aahing. May's brain was elsewhere. The illness had filled her mind with morbid thoughts, and now everything she'd been experiencing for the last few days took on a different cast. She was thinking about the word
love.
That much she could recall from the nightmarish montage of barfing, crawling, walking, and rolling around on the ground. She had used the full “I love you” construction. Not even “love ya!” or “I totally love you!”—either of which might
have meant she wasn't serious. With every boom in the sky, she heard the word.

The air grew a bit cooler, and she leaned into her mother's fleece pullover. Her mother gave her ponytail a gentle tug.

There was another thing that was even harder to grasp, and she wasn't sure why this hadn't dawned on her before: They had cheated on Nell. Or Pete had, but she had definitely been a part of it. She was definitely in the middle of things now—she was the
other woman
. The more she thought about it, the weirder and more wrong it got.

For May, this was a very disturbing transition from a pleasant fantasy to a harsh reality, like a rude awakening in a horror movie—one of Pete's favorite devices, which he had explained to her several times. It went like this: Some indestructible serial killer slays half the high school. Then in the end, right after the massacre, the only surviving character wakes up on a sunny morning. All the blood is off the walls. The severed head is no longer sitting on top of her dresser. She looks around with an expression of infinite gratitude and says, “It was all a dream….” At that moment the killer pops out of the nightstand wearing her deceased boyfriend's football jersey and wielding an ax. Everything goes black, but you know she is
so
dead….

That was what it was like for May. Just without the ax.

“What do you think, guys?” her mom enthused. “Pretty good spot, huh?”

May numbly watched another explosion on the horizon.

“It's going to be a shame to have to go back tomorrow,” her mom went on. “It's been great being here, all of us. But back to reality, I guess…”