Heavenly (2 page)

Pleasure lasted only seconds. Inevitably, shame trickled in. Her innocent expression was caught in an oblivion no one,

not even I, understood. And I couldn't rescue her from that foreign place either. Like everyone else, I stood helplessly

outside.

What would the stranger think of my juvenile display? Surely there would be sympathy on his face, understanding

that my plate was full and I couldn't take another second of this challenge. When my frustration at last ebbed away and was

replaced by curiosity, I chanced a look over my shoulder.

He was gone.


TWO


"The perks of having a sibling who couldn't talk were few, but as I drove home, creeped and confused by the

experience with the guy at the park, I was glad Abria wouldn't be saying anything about my negligence to Mom and Dad.

I looked at her through my rear view mirror. She sat, strapped in, flapping her hands. I hated it when she flapped.

"Quit flapping. You look like a bird."

"Bir. Bir."

Yeah, whatever.
My mood was at a defcon ten. Yet she sat there smiling, happily gazing out the window as if the last fifteen minutes had never happened. For all I knew, for her they hadn't. Either that or she loved putting me through the terror I'd just experienced.

I flicked on the radio, blasting something rock. I had to get my mind clear and the only way I knew how was to drown

in music. She hated loud music for yet another reason none of us understood except to say that many children with autism

have hyper-sensitive hearing. Often, even a classical piece left her whimpering.

I looked at her again. At least she'd stopped flapping. Now, she sat perfectly still as if listening to a strain of the music I couldn't hear, and she stared out the window like a statue. Good. The victory was sweet but bitterness soon followed. I

couldn't, in good conscience, leave the music assaulting her ears so I turned it down and watched her reaction. She blinked,

and started to come to life again. I sighed.

We drove, me listening to the music and her babbling. I thought about the guy at the park. His blue eyes, both

soothing and electric, were etched in my memory. I tried to remember the details of his face. I hadn't even noticed what color his hair was. I couldn't conjure up any feature but his eyes. "A lot of good I'd be if I had to go in for a police line-up."

Abria chattered nonsensically in the backseat.

"How did you find that guy, huh?" Mom believed that if we talked to Abria enough, someday, she'd talk back. So

we'd been trained to carry on these one-sided conversations that left—at least me—feeling stupid. Still, at that moment, I

wished I could peer into her brain and rewind what had happened at the park.

Ours had been the only car in the parking lot. Out of habit, I thoroughly checked any place we took Abria, because the

less people around, the better. She didn't do well in crowds and I hated how people stared. No one was at the park, that was a fact.

I'd taken my attention off of her to text Britt and she'd vanished. I knew how fast she could run, but I would have seen

her backside disappearing, I was sure of it.

I'd been texting.
Texting.
The disgrace of that forced my heart into another fit of shame. I should be able to text for one second and not lose my sister in the process. Yet I couldn't explain how she got to the pavilion in a half-a-seconds time.

"Who was that guy?" I frowned. Maybe he'd been hiding, waiting to come out, and the minute I'd taken my eyes off

Abria he sprinted, grabbed her and dashed to the pavilion. But that sounded as ridiculous as Brad Pitt falling from the sky.

"I wish, just for once, that you could tell me what happened at the park."

"Park! Park! Park!" I'd said the blasted word. Now she was chirping like a parakeet. Crap. I looked at her through the rear view mirror. She was flapping again.

The oddity of the situation at the park didn't leave me, even when I saw the safety of home. Our grey-brick house with

black shutters and white trim used to be my refuge from any and all things I couldn't deal with. But lately, peace was harder and harder for me to find—even at home.

We lived on a street slivered out of the mountain bench, in a neighborhood sprinkled with pines and aspens at the

fringe of forest behind us. Luke, my brother, was out front, his blonde head of hair buried beneath the hood of his latest car, an ancient blue Suzuki Samurai.

I pulled into the driveway, parked, and got Abria out. As was her custom when we arrived home, she ran to the door,

pushed it open and vanished.

Though I tried to forget the brush with the stranger, I couldn't, and not telling my parents about the incident left me

feeling like I was keeping a secret. But then I was, and Abria and I were the only ones in on it.

"How's the car, bud?" To get my mind off the incident, I strolled over to Luke. He was greasy from fingers to elbows.

A black smudge slashed across his cheek where he'd probably scratched himself.

"I can't figure out where this cable goes." My brother's voice was so low it scraped the street, a characteristic that made him sound years older when in fact his round, baby face and big blue eyes made him look like a little boy even though

he was just two years younger than me.

"Better wrap it up soon, looks like it's gonna rain," I told him. The clouds over head were so angry; I shivered at the ominous layers and devouring formations.

"Can I borrow your car if I can't get this thing fixed?" he asked without looking away from the puzzle of wires and cables. "I have some plans."

I started for the house. "Only if I don't hang with Britt."

Silent, Luke continued to work. His patience amazed me. I could never obsess over details like he did without

yanking my hair out.

I went inside.

The house smelled of baking bread. Rather than be thrilled by the aromatic scent, at the Rachael Rayness of it all, my

stomach turned. Mom only punched her fists in the dough when she was under stress, which meant I needed to find a way to

get out of the house as soon as possible. I turned around and made a beeline for the door. "Zoe!" I stopped, sighed.

"I heard the alarm Zoe, don't ignore me." Out of necessity we'd had an alarm system installed to monitor Abria's

comings and goings so that every time she tried to open a door or window, we'd be alerted. Never mind that the rest of us felt trapped.

"I could have been Luke," I told her, sulking into the kitchen. Abria was at the kitchen table with a giant bag of potato chips.

"He's been out front for an hour." Mom wiped an already spotless counter. Stress drew a line between her brows and

deepened the creases at the sides other pinched mouth.

I didn't want to ask her how her day had been. The lame day was written in the surrender in her eyes, the tense way

her body moved in a jagged effort to appear normal. Our family hadn't been 'normal' since Abria was diagnosed.

Abria's light mutterings drew my frustrated gaze to where she sat— eating—in her usual oblivion. She caught me

watching and began to climb on her chair.

"Get down!"

"Don't yell at her," Mom snipped.

Abria climbed on anything and she climbed over and over again. It didn't matter how we told her not to: patiently

lifting her from harms way or yanking her down. Screaming or whispering. Begging or demanding. She went back to

climbing as if driven by an unseen force.

"Oh, so you can but I can't?"

Mom stopped wiping the counter and closed her eyes as if praying for patience. "We've all done our share of yelling,

but that doesn't mean we have to continue."

"So when are
you
going to stop?"

Her eyes met mine; weary and hopeless. I hated that look. The Mom I remembered before Abria was diagnosed was

lively, determined, strong, and never gave up. This Mom I'd seen gradually worn down, sanded away until only tissue paper

remained.

Abria was still standing on the chair. Her perky eyes looked off into nowhere as she muttered endless no-nonsense

phrases.

At that moment, I wanted to stuff her back into her seat. My fingers squeezed into fists. With Mom so obviously

tense, I turned to leave before I did something I'd get in trouble for.

"Where are you going?" Mom demanded.

"I can't stay here anymore."

"Well you can't walk out either," Mom snapped. She didn't want to be alone in her misery. "Set the table. Dinner's almost ready."

I muttered curses under my breath and crossed the kitchen to the cabinets. Robotically, I pulled out a red and white

tablecloth and laid it out. Abria, still standing on the chair, now stepped onto the table.

"Get down!" I strode over, yanked her down and plunked her into the chair.

I shot a glance over my shoulder at Mom, afraid she'd disapprove of my harsh treatment but she was wiping down the

other counter. Her back remained turned.

I didn't have dinner, too angry to eat. I couldn't wait to get out of the house and hang with Britt. We'd planned on

driving around, blasting music and maybe picking up some hot guys if we came across any. Britt's parents didn't care if we

brought kids back to their house to watch movies or raid their fridge.

We never went to my house.

I put on a short black skirt and tight white shirt. Mascara defined my green eyes. Blush and sparkly lip gloss colored

my pale skin and lips to a soft, rosy hue. I left my dark hair long, a tempting flow around my shoulders, then I headed for the front door. Upstairs, I heard Mom's raised voice, "Time for bath, Abria."

Abria shrieked. The sound of her running footsteps, followed by Mom's frantic pound of feet followed. "Stop running away from me!" Mom shouted. I went out the door.

Two seconds later, the front door opened. I whirled around, ready to scream that I was not going to stay. Luke came

jogging after me. He had on jeans, a tee shirt and a long sleeved striped shirt in blue and white that made his eyes bluer than afternoon sky. When he saw me dressed up, he slowed and sighed. "Man. So you're going out? I was hoping to use your car."

I continued on. "Sorry, bud." "Can you drop me somewhere?"

Sticking the key in the lock, I grinned at him. "What? Can´t take another moment of home sweet home?"

Luke snorted and opened the passenger door. "Save me." I got in. "So, what have you got going on?"

He slid in, shut the door and shrugged. "Nothing. Getting out of the house is my only plan." He buckled his seat belt and I started the engine.

"I hear ya," I said, pulling onto the street. "Abria's been on one for days. I can't stand to be around her."

He nodded, looking out the window at the houses we passed. Night blackened the sky. Lights from houses cast golden

beams onto lawns and streets.

"I don't know why Mom and Dad don't look into putting her in one of those special care places. Do you know how

much easier that would make our lives? Not just Mom and Dad's but all of ours."

Luke didn't say anything, just kept staring out the window and into darkness.

"They take care of those kinds of people, you know?" I went on, my voice rising. "We're not equipped to take care of her.

She's so out of control, breaking everything, crawling on everything, making holes in the walls, running away. You know, it

isn't going to get any easier as she gets older. She's so strong now. Dad can barely control her when she has a spaz. Imagine what it will be like to have someone your size, or my size, throwing a fit in the mall or something." I crammed my hand into my hair and let out a groan.

Luke kept his face averted. "Yeah."

"I mean," I shifted gears, rewing faster down the street, "It's embarrassing. We can't go anywhere together. What are we going to do, break up our lives into shifts forever? You go with Dad to dinner first, then Mom and I go later? As it is we can't go on any trips together. We're stuck with Abria and that sucks. She hates going anywhere. I feel like I live in prison."

Luke reached into his pocket and started tapping out a text to someone. "Can you drop me at Sam's?"

I glared at him. "He's a loser, why do you hang out with him?"

"I don't know."

I did, and my anger shifted. "Is he selling you weed?"

Luke stared out the window.

"You'd better not come home high. That's the last thing Mom and Dad need right now."

He didn't say anything.

"I'm not taking you to a druggie's house," I spat, turning toward Britt's street. I didn't know what I'd do with him, but there was no way I was going to escort him to druggie hell.

"We won't smoke," he protested.

"You can pull the wool over Mom and Dad's eyes but I've seen you wasted. They have enough to worry about, Luke,

without worrying about you. Grow up."

We came to a stop sign and he busted out of the door, slamming it behind him. He took off across the street in a jog

without looking back. I pounded the heel of my hand on the horn. Luke didn't turn around.

Forget it.
I screeched off in the direction of Britt's, my blood at a roar.

I was fairly sure my parents didn't know about Luke's marijuana habit—they were far too preoccupied and the constant

severity of Abria's affliction provided a perfect curtain to veil Luke and me from their vision.

I was, by no means, without my own secrets. But I'd never touched drugs or smoked cigarettes, both habits I deemed

for losers. Deep inside, I hurt. Luke wasn't a loser. However, I easily swept him into a corner with the rest of the world

hooked on disgusting habits.

I checked my rearview mirror to see if he was anywhere in sight. I closed my eyes a moment, swamped by guilt,

knowing I'd basically abandoned him to Sam and an evening of getting high when I should have taken him home.