Vanished (11 page)

              “Come on,” Madison yells, already across the street and approaching the stairs to her building.

              We follow her up to the lobby doors.

They’re unlocked and we walk into the marble-tiled lobby.  A chandelier hangs above us and the wall of elevators is across the room.  We ride the elevator up to her floor and go down the hallway single file. Maddie stops in front of her door and sticks the key in, unlocking it. “Juanita? Mom, Dad?” She calls out as she opens it, “Hello?” She turns back to us, shrugs and walks in.  She throws her keys in the tray on the foyer table and we listen to the silence, “I don’t know what I expected,” she says, looking a little lost. 

              Jasmine’s legs go out from under her and Zayn catches her before she hits the floor, “She fainted,” he says, “help me.” Collin steps forward and takes her legs while the rest of us move out of the way so they can carry her to the couch. 

              Madison disappears somewhere and the rest of us migrate into her large, industrial sized kitchen with granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances. 

              Trin climbs on a barstool and lays her head on her arm. 

              “I’m going to check on Maddie,” I tell them.

              I find her right where I expected to, curled up on her bed, crying. “Hey,” I say, stuffing my hands in my pockets and walking into the room.

              “It’s awful,” she says moaning, “I was such a bitch to them when I left and I…didn’t…know….I might not ever see them again.”  I can’t help but sit down and pull her into a hug. 

              “We don’t know that for sure,” I hear a voice say and turn to see Collin leaning in the doorway, frowning at me.

              I release Maddie and she leans back on the bed and pulls her knees up to her chest, “I need to tell you something, Logan,” she says, “we do,” and her eyes turn to Collin.  I take a deep breath and sit down on the side of the bed.

              Collins shifts uncomfortably behind me.  I realize suddenly that I love these people and I want to make this easy for them, “I already know,” I say.

              Maddie’s eyes grow large and a tear drops down her cheek “Dude,” Collin says, and I turn and face him, “I don’t think you know what she wants to tell you,” he says, nodding his tangerine hair towards Maddie. 

              “You know about me and Collin?” She asks, her face turning pink.

              I nod, “And I understand. Things haven’t been good for a while, Maddie.” 

              “That’s not all,” She whispers, looking down at her hands, fresh tears dropping down her cheeks.  Her wings tremble as she covers her face with her hands, “I can’t say it.”

              “Collin?” I turn back to him. 

              “She’s pregnant, bro,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest and looking ashamed.

              My stomach contracts and there’s a tingling sensation in my palms, “What?” I say.

              Maddie drops her hand from her face, “It’s true. I went to the doctor before we left for the Ozarks.” 

              I struggle to get a handle on what she’s saying, “You’re…you’re…sure?”

              “I’m so sorry, Logan,” she says, as I pull my hands out of hers.

No,
I think,
not mine, not mine, not mine.

              The words are on the tip of my tongue but I take a deep breath because I don’t want to say something I’ll regret, “How far?” I say, swallowing back the fear that licks up my throat.

              “Twelve weeks,” she says, her hands covering her stomach protectively.

              “Is it…is it mine?” I say, stuttering through the question.

              She sobs and covers her face again, “I don’t know,” she wails through her fingers.

              I have to sit down.  Sinking into the chair next to her, I put my head between my legs and focus on my breathing.

              “Logan, listen,” Collins says, still standing stubbornly close to me.  “It doesn’t matter if it’s yours or mine now.  We’re all that’s left, we’re a family now.”

              I stand up, trembling with rage, and I’m not sure what to do with all of it.  I don’t want to hurt anyone.  I stalk out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

“Logan wait” I hear someone calling and – only because it’s
her
– I slow my pace.

              “I need some air,” I grunt, unable to look at her, my fists hard as rocks.  

              “I’ll come with you,” she says, grabbing her jacket off the hanger by the door and we leave, taking the stairs.  “We’ll be back,” she yells over her shoulder to a stunned looking Zayn, standing in the doorway behind us.

              I don’t know where I’m going until I pull up in front of the mega-bookstore on the plaza.  I park the Expedition and we get out. Instead of going inside, I walk around the side of the building to the alley, towards the dumpsters. I feel Trin beside me and a thrill goes through me when I feel her small hand slide into mine.  Even now with the rage I feel over what Maddie and Collin just told me, her touch is sweet and soothing. I feel a new kind of ache deep down, underneath the anger, like a warm glowing fire burning in my very core.

              We walk around the edge of the dumpsters where a few large cardboard boxes are lined up against the retaining wall, fragments of dirty blankets and opened cans fall out as I meticulously check each box. Nothing. “What are we looking for, Logan?” She asks.

              “Who,” I say correcting her, “
who
are we looking for is the question.”

              A knowing look passes across her beautiful freckled face and I see understanding in her wide pine-green eyes, “Your father.”

              I nod.  “But he’s not here. “ I say kicking a box, “Of course he’s not here.”

              “What about your house?” She asks, “Would he have gone home?”

              “Nah,” I say, “I don’t even know if he stayed in KC after I saw him last.”

              “How long ago was that?”

              “Six months,” I say, counting them off in my head.

              She comes up and takes both of my hands in hers leaning her brown head inwards, against my chest. Fire lights me up where she touches me and even though I think it’s only meant to be a friendly hug, I want so badly for it to be more.   

              She turns her face up to mine and we stand like that with inches between us. I feel like I could stare into those eyes for hours and still not get any closer to solving her mysteries.  

              We go into the bookstore, make ourselves iced coffees behind the café counter and she says she wants to check something out.  She stops at the Physics section and starts perusing through books with titles I don’t even understand. 

              “Lets grab a bunch of these and take them back with us.” She stops at several more sections; DNA, biology, aviation, even the religion section, giggling at my frown, “Are you religious?” She asks me.

              “Me? No, not really,” I say, “I mean my mom used to take me and my brother to some church when we were younger but I guess it didn’t stick, “ I say, slurping the coffee.  Another nice legacy for me to pass on to my – possible – kid. “You?”

              She stiffens and her face flushes with color.  “My family is,” she says softly.

              My mind flashes back to the scars.  “I’ve been meaning to ask you about something,” I say, studying the books she stacking in my arms. “About your scars?”

              The question hangs in the air unanswered.  A little tremor goes through her and she drops the books on the floor. “Sorry,” she murmurs bending to pick them up. “See, I’m just clumsy.”

              “That’s a lie,” I say gently, “I’ve been hanging out with you for a week now.”

              I know my suspicions are true from her reaction.  I bend down to help her with the books.  Our hands touch and a zing of electricity shoots up my arm, “Have you talked to anyone about it?” I ask. 

              She stops and falls back on her bottom, puts her arms around her knees and pulls them up to her chest.  She’s trembling like she’s about to break into a million tiny pieces. I put my hand on her arm. 

              I have no way to make this right.  All I want to do is smash the person who did it to her. “How long?”

              She inhales deeply and releases it.  Her eyes are dry but her face is pained, like just thinking about it is hurting her. “It started when I was about six.”

              Bile fills my mouth and my vision is washed in red.  I want to kill.  This isn’t just a smack in the back of the head occasionally, this is different, this is broken bones and wounds.  The muscles in my arms twitch uncontrollably but I know I have to stay calm or she won’t keep talking and somehow I know she needs to talk about this. 
What can I say to keep her going?
“Your dad?” I ask.

              “My step-dad.”

              “Does he ever…I mean is it more than physical?” The question sounds even more awkward coming out of my mouth than it did in my head but it has to be asked. 

              “No, never that,” she says and the look she gives me makes me feel like I’ve just given her something else to have nightmares about.

              How can someone want to hurt her?  “You have to tell someone.”

              She smiles weakly at me and I remember everyone is gone and that we are sitting in an empty book-store in a city totally devoid of people. “You’re right, that was stupid,” I say, running my hand through my hair, “but at least you’re telling
me
, that’s a start.”

              “Is it?”

              “Why?” I ask, hoping she’ll understand what I mean because I can’t bring myself to ask the real question;
why does he do this to you?

              She draws her knees closer with her arms and rocks backwards a bit “I don’t know,” she shrugs, “I guess I’m bad.”

              “No,” I say, “It probably has nothing to do with you.  You could be a perfect angel and it wouldn’t matter.  Your family is
really
religious aren’t they?”

              She nods, the light catches her glossy eyes and they dance with diamonds, “Yes.”

              “But your step-dad is a heavy drinker, isn’t he?”

              She looks up, “How did you know that?”

              “Something I heard a while back.  I know someone whose dad saw your dad get arrested at a bar downtown for beating the crap out of someone.”

              She frowns and then her eyes light with some memory of what I’m talking about, “I remember that.” She pushes her heel forward and pulls down her sock exposing a round scar about the size of a cigar.  “I got this later than night.”

              I squeeze my eyes shut and the shape of the scar stays behind my lids.  “I’m sorry.” It’s all I can say.  I want to tear at things, throw books across the store, smash my fists into the walls and scream at the top of my lungs but what use would that be to this girl bearing her soul to me.

              “What’s worse is being pitied, so please don’t.” She doesn’t say it maliciously. Her voice is soft and thoughtful.

              “This can never happen again,” I say, understanding what she means about pity but wanting to be clear about how wrong he was to hurt her and how this isn’t her fault, this isn’t a result of anything
she
did. 

              “I have to go back.”

              Her words hang in the air and they might as well be German for how little I understand them.  “Why? Even if they didn’t vanish like everyone else, why would you willingly go back to that?” I’m beginning to wonder how deep the emotional damage goes.  I’ve heard about women who keep returning to their abusers but she doesn’t strike me as someone like that.  She doesn’t want pity and she doesn’t wear her scars like she’s uncomfortable with them.  What he did to her made her strong, not weak.  She’s the bravest person I know. 

              “My brothers,” she says with a shrug like my feelings about it won’t change the fact that she’s going.  “They’re five.  I’m all they have.”

              Her argument deflates anything I can say to dissuade her.  “I’ll take you.”

              She stares at me. “You would do that for me?”

              Would I face him at her side? Does thunder follow lightning? “Of course,” I say, cupping her smooth hair against her cheek, “Of course, I’ll go.”

              We get up off the floor and gather up the books, stuffing them into bags.  She’s quiet and sober as we step outside into the sunshine, “I heard you arguing with Madison,” she says but I’m having a hard time shifting away from the anger so I acknowledge her comment with a simple nod.

              “Is everything oTrin?”

              I owe her an explanation for stomping out of Maddie’s room earlier especially after my confession to her at the hospital in Clinton.  “It’s over. They came out about the cheating and…she’s pregnant.” The words feel disgusting coming out of my mouth especially after hearing about Trin’s step-dad.  I find myself wondering, silently, why people reproduce.