The tears start fresh.
“But I didn’t think about it again until a few nights later, when I was trying to get to sleep. Flipping through one of my old magazines.”
“And there I was.” I exhale a shuddery breath.
“Yeah. Standing on the courtroom steps. And I knew it was you. And I just had this feeling like….
she’s so fucking brave
, you know?”
“Wait. What?” I study her. Her waves fall in a mussed curtain around her face. Her liquid eyes are wide. Honest. “What do you mean, brave?”
“I mean brave! For testifying against your own father, even though you knew what would happen to your family if you did. I can’t imagine anything worse. You did the right thing for so many people, El.”
I shake my head. “It was too late.” My phone buzzes again.
“Nah. It’s never too late. Not really.”
“Does Waverly know?”
“Hell, no,” Gwen laughs. “I’m not stupid. Nobody else knows, as far as I can tell.”
“But…” I squint at her. “You didn’t… why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Why would I?”
I shrug. “You’re a journalist.”
She looks hurt. “First, I’m a human being. You wanted to start over, right? Who am I to get in your way? You did the right thing, so you get a second chance. That’s called karma, baby.”
Gwen has held my secret, kept it close. She’s chosen not to exploit it, or use it to tear me down. I relax just the tiniest bit. Lean into her.
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew?” I choke.
“I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you’d talk,” she says. “We all have things we don’t want to speak out loud.”
“I fucked things up with Luke. He hates me. And when Goodwin finds out that all the kids know, he’ll have to fire me.”
“Luke doesn’t hate you. And Goodwin would never abandon you like that, Ellie. You’re a good teacher. The kids love you.”
I shake my head. “It won’t be enough. And you didn’t see Luke’s face. He never wants to see me again, Gwen. It’s over.”
My phone buzzes a third time, and Gwen glances quizzically at me. When I give her a quick nod, she reaches into my bag and pulls out the phone. Checks the screen. “It’s a 212 number.”
New York.
I shrug.
“I think… I mean, they’ve called a bunch of times.” She swipes the screen with her thumb and lifts the cell to her ear. “Elle’s phone.” She twirls a lock of hair around her finger as she waits. “She’s not available right now. Can I take a message?” Almost instantly, her face goes pale gray. The color of ash. “Hold on.” She extends the phone in my direction.
“You should take this. It’s the hospital. Calling about your sister.”
On the other end of the line, the nurse’s voice is clipped and kind. She gives me the facts, which I string together like ugly mismatched beads on a child’s necklace.
Sleepover. Pills. Alcohol. Overdose.
And then she lets me cry, or moan, or whatever animal sound escapes me while Gwen holds me on the floor of the cottage. Patiently, she tells me what she knows: that my sister left the sleepover upset. That she went home and locked herself in her bathroom with my mother’s pills and booze. That there was a note. In the note, she asked that I be contacted. My mother is on the way to the hospital.
Patiently, she tells me what she does not know: what happened to push her over the edge. Whether my sister, my sweet, fragile, Aria, will survive.
When there is nothing more to say, I thank the nurse. With shaky fingers, I try to end the call three times before Gwen takes the phone and does it for me. I can’t stop shaking, even though my skin is hot to the touch.
“What happened?” Gwen asks.
Silently, I shake my head. I don’t know. Does it matter? What matters is that my sister begged to live with me. She needed me. Again and again, I rejected her. This, like everything else, is my fault.
“I have to go to New York,” I whisper. I feel sick. Like I want to tear my way out of my own skin. But I can’t. Maybe that’s what Aria was trying to do tonight. Escape herself. Maybe her way is the only way.
“I know. We’ll get you a flight.” I think Gwen is crying. “The next flight out.”
I stare blankly ahead at nothing. There are so many questions, but I can’t slow my thoughts enough to focus. Did my mother find her? Does my father know? Could I have stopped her? Would saying
yes
to a move to Miami have saved her life?
Gwen clears her throat. “Elle. I’m going to call the airlines.” She pushes herself to her feet and then pulls me to mine. “And you go take a shower and pack. And we’ll figure the rest out later.”
I nod. The strength in her voice gives me something to reach for. Like I’m drowning in choppy waters, and Gwen is the very edge of the rope being tossed my way.
Gwen nudges me down the hall. “Let me know if you need help.”
I find my way to my room and sink listlessly onto the edge of my bed. I don’t bother turning on the light. My room is chaos: the dresser spewing the gray outlines of pajama pants and one of Luke’s Allford t-shirts; the night stand piled high with student papers. Stuffed under my duvet is Aria’s tank top. I clutch it, bury my face in it and inhale until I think my lungs will burst. But I can’t find her.
I glance down at my cell phone. My own mother hasn’t called. Neither has Luke. I scroll through my
Favorites
, knowing I shouldn’t make this call. But I can’t stop myself.
After five rings, the call goes to voicemail.
Hey guys, it’s Aria. You know what to do.
I hang up before the beep, then dial again.
Hey guys, it’s Aria. You know what to do.
She sounds so real, so alive, that I’m tempted to call the hospital back. Tell the nurse that she must have made a mistake, some horrific mistake. I’ll forgive her, of course. We all make mistakes.
Hey guys, it’s Aria. You know what to do.
I turn off my cell and stumble into the bathroom. The shower knobs screech in protest as I turn the water as hot as it will go. I peel off my clothes and step into the shower, tilting my face toward the spray. My skin glows pink beneath the scalding water. This is my fault. If I’d let her come to Miami, she could have had something to look forward to. What was she thinking? Why didn’t she call me?
The questions swirl in my mind on loop. There are no answers, nothing I can do until I get to New York. I want to call my mother. I want her to be a mother for once in her life, a real mother. To tell me that this isn’t my fault; that Aria will survive it and that we will be fine. I need a
we
right now. But right now, I’m nothing more than an
I
. I’ve never felt more alone than I do at this moment.
I reach for the shampoo, not remembering whether I’ve washed my hair. The sharp scent of almond and mint rises with the shower steam, enveloping me. I need Luke. I need him now more than ever, but I know that he’s lost to me. I accept it. And I can’t blame him. I’m a liar with a power-hungry thief for a father and an abusive drunk for a mother.
I stay in the shower until the water runs cold, then wrap myself in a fluffy towel. I start to cry again when I see the picture on my bedside table. It’s the picture of Aria and me on the steps of the Met as children. I thought we were happy then. I wonder if she ever was. I wonder if I ever knew her.
I lift the picture and peer into my sister’s eyes. I don’t know what I’m looking for. Answers that I’ll never find; comfort that won’t come. I stare at her until her features go out of focus. Then I toss the picture on the bed and change into a fresh pair of jeans and Aria’s tank top. Cold, wet drops of water stream down my neck and back as I tug my suitcase from under my bed and fill it with the clothes I find on my floor.
I’m zipping the suitcase when there’s a soft knock at my door. My heart races, then sinks when I hear Gwen’s voice.
“El? Can I come in?”
“Yeah.” My voice cracks. “Sure.” I squeeze the water from my hair and rake my fingers through it.
The knob turns, and then Gwen’s standing in the doorway. She doesn’t turn on the light, and I love her for it.
“Your flight leaves in an hour. Come on. I’ll drive you.”
The New York outside my taxi window is a stranger. My face stiff from tears, I stare listlessly at the bright lights and familiar landmarks and looming structures in steel and glass as they storm past my window. None of it feels like home. How could it? This is the place that saw the destruction of my family. The place that watched indifferently as my sister swallowed pills and booze and self-loathing. Home is supposed to be a place that nurtures, a place that gathers you close and rocks you gently. I used to find my home in Luke.
Luke.
I swallow the emotion that rises at the thought of him. He hasn’t tried to contact me since I ran out of his classroom, and I’m not surprised. It’s the reaction I expected, the reaction I’ve had from so many before him. I close my eyes and lean into the stiff vinyl seat, remembering the faces of friends, teachers, neighbors, when the news of my father’s arrest first broke. Their faces were horrified. Disgusted. Curious. At first, they’d distanced themselves. No more calls, no more texts. No one wanted to be close to the girl whose father had incinerated so many futures.
And then, they’d slowly crept back to me. Not close enough to tarnish their image, of course. But close enough—
just close enough
—to make claims like
I lived in her building—I always knew there was something off with that family
or
Those girls had the best of everything; maybe now they’ll understand what it’s like to have nothing
. Close enough to give interviews, to be quoted in all the major newspapers. Close enough to have front row seats to the destruction.
“Miss? Here we are,” grunts the driver as he slows at the front entrance to the hospital.
I fish a wad of bills from my purse and slip them through the partition.
“Keep the change.” I stare up at the hospital. On the other side of one of these tiny yellow squares of light is my sister. Clinging to life in a hospital bed. What if she decides to let go? I can’t see her like this. I don’t know how to see her like this. I have the sudden urge to tell the driver to go back to La Guardia. But then what? I can’t return to Miami. There’s nothing more for me there. Not Luke, and once the Allford parents find out about me, not a job. I have nothing. If Aria dies, I belong to no one.
“Miss?” The cab driver prompts me with an irritated glance in his rearview.
“Sorry. I’m—sorry.” I gather my suitcase and purse and stumble onto the curb. The cold air is like shattered glass filling my lungs. I drag my bags through the gaping entrance, weaving past nurses in scrubs and a mother snapping at a crying child.
A bored-looking woman at the information desk directs me to Aria’s floor, and soon I’m standing in a nearly empty waiting room. The overhead lights are sterile; blinding. My head spins with the sounds of doctors being paged and phones ringing and two political pundits screaming at each other on the television in the corner.
I leave my suitcase next to an empty seat, then find my way across the dirty linoleum floor to the woman behind the nurse’s station. It takes too long for her to pull her gaze from the blue light of her computer screen
She blinks. “Can I help you?”
“Yes.” The word leaks out as a whisper, and I clear my throat. It takes everything I have to keep the tears contained inside me. “Um, yes. My sister tried to—Aria Halloran? She’s… here?”
The woman’s kohl-lined eyes spark with recognition, but she’s smart enough to keep her mouth shut. “Visiting hours are over,” she informs me in a clipped, cold tone. “Your mother just left. Why don’t you come back with her tomorrow?”
Anger churns at my core. I want to lunge across the counter and slap her.
My sister is dying, you bitch. My fucking sister is dying because I wasn’t there.
“I’ll wait,” I tell her.
She shakes her head. “Visiting hours are over until
tomorrow
. You’ll have to come back then.”
“She might be dead by then,” I say loudly. The woman’s eyes widen as the others in the waiting room turn to watch. “Is someone going to call my cell and let me know if my sister dies in the middle of the night, or should I just come back tomorrow and check?”
She shrinks away from me. “Miss, I’ll have to ask you to—”
“To what?” I can’t stop the tears any longer. “To calm down? To be
rational
about the fact that the only person I have left in the universe might not make it through the night? Is that what you fucking want from me?”
“No, I—”
“Let me tell you what I want.” I can’t stop. Desperation and anger and fear pours from within, a tidal wave of emotion that threatens to drown me. “What I want is to see my baby sister and hold her hand. I want to make sure she has a blanket to stay warm, and to brush the hair from her face and to whisper how sorry I am and how much I love her and what I want most of all is to know that if she dies tonight, she won’t die alone.” I grip the edge of the counter to stay upright. “And if you tell me that that’s too much to ask, I will stand here and ask you again and again and again until someone drags me out of this hospital. And after that, I will come back. So fuck you and your fucking rules. I want to see my goddamned sister.”
The waiting room is silent, except for the screaming politicians. I close my eyes to stop the room from spinning. When I open them, the woman’s brow is furrowed, her eyes glassy. She gives me a small nod. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.” I press my the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to stop the tears. It’s amazing that there are any left. I turn and head back to my seat. It’s possible that my mother walked these same steps, just a few minutes before me. I’m relieved that I missed her. And I want her here. I want her to hold me so tight I can’t breathe. Because at the end of the day, she is my mother. When it’s dark out and my sister is dying, she is my mother.
Ding.
The tinny twang of the elevator startles me, and I look up. Then I shake my head and look again, because I’m sure I’m hallucinating. I haven’t eaten, I’m in shock, what I see in front of me cannot possibly be real.