Unbroken Connection (31 page)
“Jerks.”
“Probably. There are plenty of jerk missionaries. I babysat a few. But we’re not all idiots.”
“So—in your professional opinion—you think I could do it?”
“You have to let the Lord do it.”
“That’s where it gets tricky?”
“He brought you here. You listened to that.” He frowns. “That says something.”
I actually smile at the guy. “Thanks. It’s big of you to say that.”
He shrugs and folds his arms again. “Not at all. She needs to get over you before she can love me.”
I shake my head. “I’m not letting go of her.”
“I found her in a lot of pain—even before all this. If you caused that, I hope you burn in hell. But if you are her answer, and you’re willing to do what you need to—especially now—my question won’t matter.”
Leesie’s hand, ghostlike, rises to my face. Her fingers rest on my cheek. I turn my head and kiss them.
Jaron leaves. Don’t blame the dude. I wouldn’t want to see her with him.
I bend over her and whisper, “You eavesdropping?”
Her eyes open. “Uh-huh.”
“Should I put you down?”
She starts to shake her head, winces and stops herself. “No.”
“I could get Jaron to take my place.”
“No.”
I kiss her ear.
“I’m thirsty.”
I pick up a cup of ice water with a straw that sits on the table that goes across her bed and hold it up for her.
“Not for that.” She drinks anyway. “Is my breath gross?”
“No.” I put the cup down.
“Good. I need to kiss you.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. I don’t think I can live another minute not kissing you.”
“I’ll have to put you down.”
“Okay.”
I slide out from behind her—ease her onto the pillow.
She puts her hand up to her plastered nose. “Do I look like something that escaped from Skullcrusher Mountain?”
“More classic than that. Bride of Frankenstein.”
“You still have to kiss me.”
I obey—lightly brush the side of her mouth with my lips. “Queen of Frankenstein.”
She closes her eyes. “I am a monster. I killed Phil.” She turns away from my next kiss.
“It was an accident. Accidents happen.”
“Vehicular manslaughter. Reckless homicide. That’s what they call it.”
“You watch too many cop shows.”
“They should put me in jail.”
“Shut up. You promised me a kiss.” I turn her head back towards me.
Her eyes ache with grief, regret, shame, horror. “I should be stoned.”
“They’ve given you plenty of drugs, babe.”
“No. The Old Testament kind—big rocks. People throw them. Everyone hates me. They should hate me. I hate me. Stoning would be good. Vengeance for all.”
“Freak—you did get brain damage.”
LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK
POEM #69, MANNA LIPS
His lips, like manna, sift
down from heaven.
He’s so, so gentle.
I’m so, so not.
Crazy, frantic, teeth, tongue—
I need to swallow him.
What does it matter now?
Let him take me over complete,
move me like a puppet, invest
my brain with his thoughts
until they get enough stones.
My lip bleeds fresh all over his face,
but I won’t let him stop no matter how
creeped out he gets
until a tap on the door robs
me of his elixir.
He hands me a tissue, grabs
one and turns his back to the door.
I awkwardly press it to my lips.
“She’s awake?” Mom’s in too quick,
sees too much. “Heavens, you two—
this is hardly the time.”
Her voice dissolves me.
I killed her onliest, loveliest son.
Please, Lord, let me drown in Michael,
sink into his depths.
Her voice won’t find me
underwater. I won’t see her
loathing, disgust, revulsion.
Annihilate, disintegrate, uncreate me.
I hate myself more
than she could ever despise me.
Even God must abhor me.
In this life, He won’t forgive me
this split second murder conceived
in rage and heartache.
Life for life. Please. Let me answer
to a Higher Law. I can never, never
look at my mother’s face, hear
my father’s grief, listen to Stephie
cry in the night, watch Krystal
sob over Phil’s casket.
I’ve done enough evil.
Make me suffer. Make me pay.
Stone me quick.
I close my eyes when mom turns to me.
Go away all—I’m asleep. Please, nurse
I need to be asleep. If you would just
let me sleep. I’m so, so tried, aching,
hurting, nauseating, dizzy tired.
“Leesie? Can you hear us?”
The warmth of her breath is over my face.
She’s close in, peering, trying to catch me.
I feel Michael take my hand, hide it
safe in both of his again. “She fades
in and out.” Blessed liar.
“Has she said anything about
how it happened?”
“No. She doesn’t remember.”
It’s time for my mouth to open, confess,
vilify myself. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.
Can they hear me? Am I speaking?
“I’m so sorry! So, sorry.” Screaming—that’s me.
“Sorry, sorry. I did it. I’m sorry.”
Order some stones. Giant ones
That’s mom holding me.
I can smell her, feel her.
Don’t look. My eyes obey,
but someone is still screaming
until my head pounds open.
Where is Michael? My hand
is loose.
Drop, cool drop. Fingers rub oil
on my head top. Jaron’s voice.
Now Dad’s hands return—
rest lightly on my throbbing brain.
His words staunch my hysteria
but not my guilt.
Phil, Phil, Phil.
I’m so, so sorry. I’ll pay
whatever I have to pay.
An expert touch on my right
hand, tiny icy spring water runs
into my vein.
Dad’s quiet blessing fades
in the medicated haze.
Someone takes my hand.
Ah, there’s Michael.
GUILTY
MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #10
D
IVE
B
UDDY
: Leesie
D
ATE
:04/25
D
IVE
#:—
L
OCATION
: Kellogg, ID
D
IVE
S
ITE
: Shoshone Medical Center
W
EATHER
C
ONDITION
: sleet
W
ATER
C
ONDITION
: half-frozen
D
EPTH
: deeper than I’ve ever been
V
ISIBILITY
: nil
W
ATER
T
EMP
.: colder
B
OTTOM
T
IME
: too long
C
OMMENTS
:
I retake Leesie’s hand when her Dad and Jaron finish praying on her head. Her fingers clutch an instant and go flaccid. Her face slacks with the drugs.
The nurses move in. Leesie’s lip bleeds bright red. It ran down her face and neck. The pillow is bloody—my hands and T-shirt are stained.
Her parents and Jaron stare at me.
I stare back. They want to know exactly what I did to Leesie. I want to know exactly what they did to her. Her Dad and Jaron with that tiny silver tube that dripped something. I can still see the oily spot in what’s left of her hair. They both put their hands on her head. Jaron prayed short. Her dad prayed long. “Free her from this consuming guilt.”
Consuming guilt. That’s how she kissed me. What it felt like when she smashed her swollen lip on my tooth, and I tasted the tang of her blood.
Consuming.
It scares the freak out of me. I don’t want her consumed. I won’t consume her. Free her. Like he said.
I wish they’d say something to me. Her mom hugs Jaron and asks him about his family. Her dad goes into the bathroom and washes his hands.
Please ask me.
She begged me to kiss her.
She needed me to kiss her.
She consumed me.
I’m scared for her. The purity I worshipped seems gone. Her barriers were down. What happened to her? Where did it all go? Why won’t she stop taking about stones? What weird Mormon thing is that?
They don’t look at me.
They don’t look at her.
They don’t look at the blood.
It’s like Leesie and I are on a separate plane of existence. The nurse bustles down on her level. The Hunts and Jaron murmur quietly over on theirs. I stand alone with Leesie’s hand cradled between mine, strain to pull her back from whatever dark place she’s going. But how can I? I don’t have the tools. I stare at the set of keys Jaron jangles. There it is. That tiny silver cylinder. What the hell is that?
“What do you think, Michael?”
Freak, Leesie’s dad. “Excuse me, sir?”
“The highway patrol have a job for you boys. Leesie’s things are all over the side of the mountain. They’ve invited you to help salvage.”
“Sure. Count me in.”
“They’ve finished the investigation, so now we can recover her—their—effects.”
“Investigation? Are they going to charge her?”
“I have no idea.”
Leesie’s mom moves towards me, stands by the bed. Freak. She wants me to give way. She wants Leesie’s hand. She looks at my tropic weight bloodied up clothes. “Jaron—I noticed a resort ski shop on the way in. Stop so Michael can get something to wear.” Her eyes meet mine. “You’ll freeze out there.”
A mom. She’s always a mom. Freak, I could use one of those. I blink my eyes and sniff so my nose doesn’t run, gently place Leesie’s hand in hers.
