The Best Friend (15 page)

B
ecka opened her eyes.

She blinked several times, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the bright light.

Where am I? she wondered.

She tried to sit up. Her back ached. Her arms felt weak.

Have I been sleeping long? she wondered.

The dresser came into focus. Then her dressing table, cluttered with makeup and assorted junk. Dirty clothes were tossed over the chair in front of it.

I'm in my own bedroom, she realized.

I'm home.

But how?

She heard muted voices nearby. She recognized her mother's voice, a loud whisper.

She didn't recognize the man's voice until his face came into view.

Doctor Klein.

He and her mother were huddled in the doorway,
talking softly, intent, serious expressions on their troubled faces. They both turned toward her as Becka struggled to sit up.

“Well, good morning!” her mother called with false brightness. She hurried over to the bed. Dr. Klein followed right behind her.

“Morning?” Becka yawned. “How did it get to be morning? What day is this?”

“Sunday,” Mrs. Norwood said, forcing a smile as she stared down at Becka, studying her. “You've been asleep for quite a while.”

“Asleep?”

“Your father and I brought you home from the party,” her mother said, chewing her bottom lip.

“Right. The party,” Becka said groggily.

Suddenly the horror came back to her, sharp as a knife stab. “Trish, is she—?”

“She broke her neck,” Mrs. Norwood said, her voice catching. “But she's alive.”

“Oh!” Becka cried out. The ceiling started to tilt. She slumped back on her pillow.

“You've had quite a shock,” Dr. Klein said, his voice professionally soft. “A terrible shock.”

Becka closed her eyes. “I remember the police, but then ...”

“You passed out,” Dr. Klein said, his narrow, mustached face expressionless. The ceiling light reflected off his balding head. “The shock was too overwhelming, no doubt. You had to escape.”

“But you're going to be okay,” Becka's mother added quickly, nodding her head for emphasis, as if trying to persuade herself. “Doctor Klein says you're going to be fine.”

“I'd like you to get complete rest,” the doctor said,
shifting his weight, fiddling with the buttons on his gray, pinstriped vest. “Stay in bed for a few days.”

“But I'm not sick,” Becka protested.

Dr. Klein started to reply, but the phone on Becka's bedside table rang. Mrs. Norwood quickly picked it up after the first ring.

She turned her back to Becka and muttered a few replies, too low for Becka to hear. Then she replaced the receiver.

“That was Honey,” she said, turning back to Becka. “She just wondered how you were feeling. She's been calling all morning.”

“Nooooo!” Becka uttered a long, painful howl.

Dr. Klein moved quickly to the bed, his face filled with concern. “Are you okay? Does something hurt?”

“Don't let Honey call!” Becka wailed, gripping her sheet with both hands. “I won't talk to her! /
won't!”

“I hung up. See?” Mrs. Norwood protested, pointing to the phone. She raised her eyes to the doctor, as if asking him to step in.

“As you can see,” Dr. Klein began slowly, “you are still very troubled by what took place at the party.”

“Don't let Honey call!” Becka interrupted.

“Okay, I'll tell her not to call,” her mother replied, her eyes on the doctor.

“No calls,” Dr. Klein agreed. “I think that's a good idea, Becka. No calls. Just complete rest. You can go downstairs for meals if you feel like it. You want to get some exercise. You don't want to let yourself get too weak. But don't go out. Don't see anyone. I'm going to prescribe some pills to help relax you.”

“Pills?”

“Mild tranquilizers,” he said. He picked up his bag.

“You think I'm
crazy?”
The words tumbled out of Becka's mouth.

“Of course not!” Mrs. Norwood immediately protested.

“I think you've been through something really terrifying,” Dr. Klein said thoughtfully. “Speaking frankly, which is what we doctors are supposed to do these days, I think you're in a mild state of shock. I think a few days of total rest will probably see you getting back to normal.”

Mrs. Norwood followed him to the door.

“I'll check back tomorrow,” he said. “Call the office if you need anything at all.”

Becka heard him clomp down the stairs. A short while later, her mother returned, nervously pushing back a strand of hair from her forehead, a forced smile on her face. “You'll be fine,” she said, smoothing her hand over Becka's forehead. “Feel like eating anything? I could bring you up something on a tray.”

Becka shook her head. “No thanks, Mom. I feel kind of sleepy, actually.”

Becka drifted into a deep sleep.

For the next few days she drifted in and out of consciousness, spending very little time awake. Her sleep was deep and dreamless, and she awoke feeling tired and not at all refreshed.

One evening her mother entered to find Becka sitting up in bed, crying about Trish, tears rolling down her cheeks, dropping onto her coverlet.

“That's it,” Mrs. Norwood said softly, tenderly placing a hand on Becka's shoulder. “Let it out. Let those feelings out, dear. Then you'll feel better.”

Becka cried and cried. She cried till she had no tears left, but she didn't feel better.

The next afternoon found her feeling a little stronger. Her appetite had returned, and she had eaten an enormous lunch.

She had talked to both Trish and Lilah on the phone. Her friends were in the same wing of Shadyside General, almost across the hall from each other. Lilah sounded bored, eager to get out. It was taking a long time for her shattered leg to heal. Trish sounded weak. And very depressed. She had told Becka that she had no memory of what had happened—one moment she was at the top of the stairs, the next, she was in the hospital. As Trish talked, Becka could hear the pain in her voice. If only there was something I could do to stop this nightmare, thought Becka, feeling alone and helpless.

Becka promised to go see them as soon as she was allowed.

Later that afternoon she was back in bed, reading a book, the radio on low in the background, when her mother entered, dressed to go out. “I'll be back in less than an hour,” she said, fretfully pulling at a glove. “You'll be okay, won't you?”

“Of course,” Becka told her. “No problem.”

“How do you feel?” Mrs. Norwood asked. She asked the question twenty times a day.

“Kind of sleepy,” Becka admitted. “I didn't think it was possible for a person to sleep so much!”

Becka said it lightly, but her mother's fretful expression turned more serious. “It's good for you,” she said. “I'll be right back, okay? You stay in bed. Go back to sleep.”

“Don't worry about me,” Becka said, yawning.

She closed the book and let it drop to the floor.

Yawning, she listened to her mother pad down the
stairs. A few seconds later the front door slammed. A few seconds after that Becka heard the car start up and back down the drive.

Suddenly Becka felt a wave of sadness sweep over her.

It's the pills, she thought.

The pills are depressing me, making me feel sad.

No, she argued with herself. It's not the pills. It's me. It's my life. My life is so sad. So very, very sad.

“Where are my friends?” she cried aloud, feeling herself start to tremble.

“Where are my friends?”

All hurt. All in the hospital.

All gone.

She pulled the covers up to her chin.

Feeling so sad. Feeling sleepy. And heavy, as if she weighed a thousand pounds. And shaky.

And sad.

And just as she was drifting into another deep sleep, the phone rang.

N
o phone calls.” Becka heard Dr. Klein's words.

The phone rang a second time.

Don't answer it, she thought. I'm too sad to answer it.

A third ring.

She wondered why her mother didn't pick it up. Then she remembered her mother had gone out. I'm not thinking too clearly, Becka realized. I'm too sad to think clearly.

A fourth ring, jangling loudly in Becka's ear.

She picked up the receiver. “Hello?” Her voice escaped, soft and timid.

Hi, Becka, is that you? It's Honey.”

“Oh.” She uttered the word wearily, not surprised.

I'm too sad to talk to you, Honey. I'm too sad because of you.

“I've been thinking about you,” Honey said cheerily.

Becka didn't reply. The phone receiver felt so heavy in her hand.

Why am I holding on to it? she asked herself. Why don't I just drop it back down?

I'm not thinking clearly at all.

“Becka, are you still there?” Honey asked impatiently.

“Yeah.”

“You weren't very nice to me, Becka. Not very nice at all. But I have a nice surprise for you,” Honey said, giggling.

Why is she so happy? Becka wondered grudgingly.

She felt cold all over, cold and trembly. And so sad. Why is Honey so happy while I'm so sad?

“Can you come over?” Honey asked eagerly.

“Huh?”

“Come over,” Honey urged. “Just for a second. Just to see the nice surprise I have. You'll like it, Becka. Really.”

“No,” Becka told her. The room tilted and swayed. She shut her eyes to make it stop. “No, I can't.”

“You have to,” Honey insisted. “You'll like this surprise, Becka. Put on your coat. Run over for just a second. You'll be glad. Really.”

No.

I can't.

I'm too sad. Too sleepy, Too heavy.

I can't.

As Honey pleaded with her to come over, Becka heard another voice in the background. A boy's voice.

Bill?

Was that Bill she heard? Was Bill over at Honey's?

Why?

“Please. Hurry,” Honey urged.

“Okay,” she told Honey. “Okay. I'll come. Just this once. Just for a minute.”

“Oh, good!” Honey exclaimed. “I have something to show you. A big surprise!”

As if in a trance, Becka lifted herself from her bed.

The room tilted and swayed.

She held on to the dressertop to steady herself.

Her heart pounded. “It wasn't Bill,” she said aloud. “It couldn't be Bill. I imagined Bill's voice. Bill would never go to Honey's house.”

But she had to make sure.

I'm only staying a second, she thought.

I told Honey. Only a second.

And then I'm never seeing her again. Never talking to her again.

She pulled on her terrycloth robe. Then slipped into her sneakers.

No need to get dressed, she thought.

I'm only going out for a second.

She peeked out the window. Snow covered the ground. The late afternoon sky was charcoal gray. Threatening clouds hovered low over the rooftops. The snow appeared shiny and hard as ice.

It's been on the ground a long time, Becka thought, staring down at it.

I haven't looked outside all week.

Isn't that strange? I haven't seen the sky. Haven't seen the snow. Haven't looked outside even once?

What's
wrong
with me? she wondered.

Why do I feel so strange?

Why don't I feel like me?

She made her way unsteadily down the stairs and stopped at the front closet to get her coat. Then,
slipping it over her shoulders, pulling the drawstring of her robe, she headed to the back door.

It was colder outside than she had imagined. Becka zipped up the coat and, bending into the wind, made her way over the hard, slippery snow.

She crossed her backyard behind the garage, stepped between an opening in the scraggly hedge, and entered Honey's backyard.