Chasing Impossible

by Katie McGarry

  Everyone has emailed and said they like it the best. It’s weird to think all of you spent time researching this stuff. I guess tell them all thank you.

  In case you’re wondering, I won. Completed my twenty-fifth new thing last night. I cooked. A cake. I guess that’s baking, but still. I’ve never cooked or baked and I liked it. This lady came in, a volunteer, and I was one of the people chosen to do it. She taught me how to make a flower out of frosting. I want to do more of this.

  Everyone has emailed me now and I mean everyone, even Denny and Houston. Not sure how Houston knew I was sent to juvie or how he found me here, but he’s claiming he means the whole friend thing and wanted to make sure I was fine. He sent a picture of him holding a Hallmark card in a grocery store that said, Get Better Soon. The kid is a nutcase.

  Please tell everyone that if I don’t email right away that I’m not ignoring them. I’m only allowed thirty minutes for emails and I’ll admit to reading yours first.

  Just curious...why were you sleeping with my bunny? :-p

  Abby

  To: Abby

  From: Logan

  I’m sorry

  Date: September 30

  Abby,

  I’m so sorry. Mac called Isaiah and Isaiah just told me. I know how much you loved your Grams. I know she loved you, too. He said she passed in her sleep and that Nate was with her.

  I hate that you’re in there and I’m out here. I hate that I can’t be with you. I’m holding you, Abby. I know that it’s not the same thing, but I’m holding you.

  I love you. Please know I love you,

  Logan

  To: Logan

  From: Abby

  Re: I’m sorry

  Date: September 30

  I’m pretending we’re back on the hill watching the stars. I wish I was there and not here.

  I miss her.

  I miss you.

  Maybe I made a mistake.

  To: Abby

  From: Logan

  Re: Clothes

  Date: October 1

  Abby,

  I’m going to say it again, you didn’t make a mistake. Your Grams would have wanted you to have a decent life. This is your best shot at it. Trust me, Abby—it’s not a mistake.

  Rachel bought a black dress and shoes for you. Me, Mac, and Isaiah will meet you at the detention center and they said you can change there before we head to the funeral. They’re only giving us five hours before you have to be back, but we’ll make it work.

  I’ll see you soon,

  Logan

  To: Logan

  From: Abby

  I’m still alive

  Date: October 15

  Logan,

  Sorry, I sort of lost my email privileges for a while. I did something stupid. I was just mad and sad and I broke some things. I just miss Grams. I just miss you. I just miss everyone and seeing everyone at the funeral made it a million times worse to return.

  The days are going by so slowly. Six months never seemed so long.

  Don’t worry, I won’t do anything stupid again.

  Tell Noah thanks for the shrink. No, really, thank him for me. He’ll think I’m being sarcastic, but I like her. She listens to my stories. All of them. The ones I make up. The ones I don’t. She even laughs at all the right places and it’s not a fake laugh, but a real one.

  She even likes to talk about what I think aliens would look like. People who play along are cool. She’s sort of cool, but she’s starting to ask about my mom and I’m not sure I want to talk to her about that yet. Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t, but I like that she’s okay when I don’t.

  Sleeping is tough and it’s tougher to get through this without good sleep. Sort of hard for me to close my eyes and trust that everything is okay. I lie awake for hours and stare at the ceiling. Thinking about Grams, Dad, you, my past and future choices. I miss sleeping. First thing I want to do when I get out of here is sleep.

  I still love you,

  Abby

  To: Abby

  From: Logan

  Re: I’m still alive

  Date: October 15

  Abby,

  God, it’s good to hear from you. I never lost faith in you, though. I knew I would hear from you. Knew you’d figure yourself out. It all goes back to having faith in you like you have faith in me. I don’t have to see you to know you care. You don’t I have to see me to know that I love you.

  Noah sent in Mrs. Collins when we all stopped receiving emails. She’s a social worker he knows and he just wanted to see if she could find something out. He didn’t know she would actually talk to you. He says good things about her. So do a lot of other people. They trust her so I think you can, too.

  Let’s go for fifty brand-new things. Losing pisses me off.

  I still love you, too.

  Logan

  Abby

  “What do you think?” I hold up the plastic ornament I painted and Mrs. Collins purses her lips together. Today’s December 23 and Logan told me he plans on visiting tomorrow. “It’s my Christmas present to Logan. Considering my gift-giving options are limited, this is all I’ve got.”

  “It looks good,” she says, taking in the glob of red and brown that’s supposed to be a reindeer-bunny hybrid. Mrs. Collins is blonde, is one of those naturally perky people, and she has killer taste in bands according to her T-shirt collection.

  “I think you’re full of shit. I’m definitely not a painter or ornament maker.”

  “I have a client who would tell you that art is in the eye of the beholder.” Mrs. Collins sits in the couch across from me in the private therapy room.

  I’m lying on my couch because that’s what people do on TV when they see a shrink. She explained I didn’t have to do that, but I told her I wanted the full-on experience.

  I rest the ornament on the table and link my fingers over my stomach and stare at the ceiling. “I’m betting that client is Echo, and she can say that because she’s insanely talented in art. Trust me, I’m not a painter.”

  Noah proposed to Echo before she left for Colorado and she accepted...without a diamond ring. I won’t lie—I feel guilty about that, but Noah told me not to worry. He emailed me with the news and said that Echo’s cool waiting on a ring. Said she was just fine with him asking. I’ve seen the two of them together and I believe him. Echo doesn’t care about stuff like that.

  “So if you aren’t a painter, what are you?” Mrs. Collins asks.

  Logan and I tore through fifty new things through October and November and we’ve started on number one hundred. “I like baking. Thanks by the way. For helping me get into those classes.”

  That volunteer, it turns out, visits once a week, and through Mrs. Collins I’m baking every Thursday.

  “There’s a culinary school here in Louisville that you might want to check out. I can find you an application if you want.”

  I’m silent as I stare at the ceiling and finally work up the courage to ask. “Will they consider me since I’m a convicted drug dealer and have spent the past few months in a detention center? I know my records will be sealed since I’m a minor, but won’t they figure out I was here?”

  Mrs. Collins shifts and I sit up. This chick is rock solid on body language and when she does anything out of the ordinary, it means Mars is about to collide with Earth.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I know you made certain demands with your arrest.”

  “Uh-huh.” Don’t liking where this is headed.

  “You’ve been a model inmate, Abby.”

  “I broke things.”

  “Because you lost your grandmother and you were grieving. Everyone knows this.”

  I’m immediately shaking my head. “No
one is allowed to put me up for early release. Give it to my roommate. She could solve the drought in the West with the amount of tears this chick has shed.” I place a hand on my chest. “And I lost my grandmother. What does that say?”

  “You’ve used the resources here wisely. The staff all sees how you’re working to improve yourself.”

  “Yep. Improve. So I need to stay and improve some more.”

  “What are you scared about with leaving here?”

  “Nothing.” I stand and begin to pace, thinking of Logan when he’s angry.

  Mrs. Collins is watching me. A damn hawk on a mouse and I’m aware I need to rein in the body language, but this was not part of the plan.

  “Something frightens you about leaving? What is it?”

  I halt and turn to her. “I can’t do a shitty foster home. I’m capable of a lot. I can possibly survive zombie apocalypses, but I cannot do a shitty foster home. My dad did not make the sacrifices he did so I could be treated like shit.”

  Mrs. Collins nods because we’ve talked about my dad and my mom and that’s only because Noah confirmed everything I said would always stay private.

  “What if I told you you’ll be in a good home? One I’ve checked out myself.”

  “I’ll tell you my luck isn’t that good and anyone is capable of faking anything for a half hour. Keep me in here.”

  Mrs. Collins closes the folder on her lap and leans forward. “It’s already been decided. The city needs the room for inmates that need to be in here and you’re not one of those people.”

  “Aw, hell no,” I roar. “I trusted this freaking system to help me out.”

  “There’s a lot of requirements,” she continues like I’m not throwing a fit like a two-year-old. “You’ll still continue to see me. You’ll have to check in often with your social worker.”

  “No!” I stomp my foot.

  “It doesn’t matter, Abby. It’s done. This was your exit interview and you’re leaving for your new foster home today.”

  I collapse back to the couch and feel like the world just swallowed me whole.

  “Look on the bright side,” she says. “You’ll be with your friends again.”

  I sigh in defeat and try to think of a way to get ahold of a cell phone fast. Leaving here was not the plan, but maybe this home will be one of those like Isaiah and Noah’s and won’t care where I actually live. West, Isaiah, and another friend of theirs have an apartment. I bet they’ll let me crash.

  * * *

  Mrs. Collins has a nice car and she drives too fast, especially for someone who doesn’t care to get where they are going in a hurry. She takes a right when I expected her to take a left and I glance around.

  She peeks at me from the corner of her eye. “You know this area?”

  “Rachel lives around here.” That will make bailing quick easier if the place is awful. If Mrs. Collins isn’t lying and the place is halfway decent then it will make visiting her a cinch.

  “I should warn you, this family is very particular. They have certain expectations of their children and will expect you to follow suit.”

  Great. Control freaks. “You realize I met Isaiah when he was riffling through a Dumpster, right? That was when he was in a foster home.”

  Those rare brief storm clouds. “Yes, you’ve told me this before.”

  “Just making clear what my expectations are.” I focus on happy thoughts. Regardless of whatever rules they set, I’ll be able to see Logan. “What if this doesn’t work out?”

  “I think it will.” Mrs. Collins makes a right and all the air is sucked out of my body.

  “Did you take a wrong turn?”

  She comes to a halt at a guard gate and when she explains who she is and where she’s going, I can’t decide if I’m going to cry or die or be happy. When the gate to the neighborhood lifts, Mrs. Collins speeds and for me it’s not fast enough. With every house we pass, my heart pounds harder and harder and when I see the house, I’m shaking.

  “Are you for real? Or is this a joke? Are you shitting me?”

  “The language is something you need to work on, Abby. Mr. and Mrs. Young won’t appreciate it. You didn’t speak nearly as foully when we first met, but it got worse as you continued to stay in the center.”

  I toss my hands up in a she-wins. I’ll go mute if this is for real. “West and Rachel’s parents are going to be my foster parents? I mean, do they know who I am and what I did and how I hung out with their children before I was arrested?”

  “Yes, and you’ll also know that they were heartbroken when they found out the truth, but after many family meetings, they came to this decision.” Mrs. Collins eases her car in front of the sprawling home and places it into Park. “You’ll return to Eastwick in January. I work there and you’ll be seeing me twice a week before school, and I’m serious on the expectations. The Youngs are risking a lot by taking you in. Don’t embarrass them. Don’t embarrass me.”

  I rake a hand through my hair and gather it at the nape of my neck. Before I was shot, I had dinner here a couple of times a week. I spent nights with Rachel. I played video games with her twin, Ethan. I used to pretend that I was one of them and this was my home.

  My lower lip trembles and I suck in air to control myself. “I swear to you, I will not screw this up.”

  “Good,” she says. “Now, be prepared. I hear there is a surprise party waiting inside.”

  Abby

  “We have dinner together as a family every Friday,” Mrs. Young says as if I’m not already aware of this. Before being shot, I ate dinner with the Youngs several times a week, but I smile and nod, hoping that the expression looks as sincere as I want it to be.

  Shock is what I’m feeling on the inside. This mansion...this palace...this is now my home and I just might be okay. My blood tingles and my hands shake and my face is hot. Yes, I’m in shock.

  Mrs. Young and I are walking up the stairs together and I send down a pleading glance to the massive foyer below where Logan waits. He’s been by my side since the moment I walked in to find all my friends here. He’s just as I remember him. Tall, broad-shouldered, a bit dangerous and all mine.

  I mouth, “Help me,” and he only shrugs. Mrs. Young was insistent that she give me this tour alone.

  At the top of the stairs we go left instead of right—away from her master bedroom and away from Rachel’s room. We pass West’s old room and Rachel’s twin Ethan’s room and then come to a stop at a closed door.

  “This used to be Jack’s room,” Mrs. Young says. Jack is one of Rachel’s way older brothers. He’s an adult now with his own place. Can’t imagine him returning anytime soon. “And now it will be yours.”

  Mrs. Young is a beautiful woman. Blond hair and blue eyes just like Rachel, and it causes me to want to pop out of my own skin when she folds her hands in front of her, sucks in a deep breath, and avoids eye contact. Oh, God, please don’t let her have changed her mind.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. Offense is the best defense, right? “For lying to you. About how I originally came to know Rachel and then about how I was a drug dealer and I messed up, but I’m more than that. I’m going to be more than that and if you’ll just continue to offer me this chance I promise I will not screw this up.”

  “I was in love with Denny once,” she blurts and I shut the hell up. “But you know that, don’t you?”

  I nod very slowly because my brain is swimming. Denny is my father’s best friend, a protector of mine when I had very few real warriors in my life and the reason he doesn’t have a wedding ring on his finger is because of her. Dad told me Denny’s sad story when I was old enough to understand that this woman came to Denny’s bar once a month for years to show Denny pictures...pictures of West.

  “When Rachel first began hanging out with Isaiah, did you know who
she was?”

  I should lie. It’s what I’ve done my entire life, but I don’t. If I’m starting a new Chapter in my life, it should be a fresh page. “Yes. When I walked into Mac’s garage and found Rachel hanging out with Isaiah, I knew exactly who she was.”

  I knew she was the daughter of the richest man in town. I knew she was the daughter of the woman a person I cared about loved. The reason why I befriended Rachel? “Rachel isn’t Denny’s child, but I knew he wouldn’t feel right with your daughter unprotected on the streets. Don’t get me wrong, Isaiah could have taken care of Rachel without me, but...”

  I lift one shoulder up and drop it. If Mrs. Young was once in love with Denny then odds are she met my father and I don’t have to explain how my reach would have been different from Isaiah’s.

  “You know who my father is then?” If she’s going there, then so am I.

  Her lips thin out then she nods. “I grew up in that neighborhood. I was once friends with your father and with Denny, but I had no idea who you were until after West found out about Denny. Whenever I saw Denny, I wasn’t interested in learning about the lives of those I left behind. Lots of secrets came out when West learned the truth.”

  I raise an eyebrow. That means she’s known I’m Mozart’s daughter since this spring. “Yet you allowed me to hang with your daughter?” Yet she continued to pretend to believe the cover story I had given her so I could be Rachel’s friend. That I was a rich private-school girl...just like her daughter.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell Rachel or West of my connection with Denny?” she asks as if I never spoke. “Even after the truth came out, how come you never told them that you knew who I was?”

  “Wasn’t my business to tell. Plus I didn’t know you. I just knew of you. Hearsay, even from the people I love, doesn’t equate to gospel truth.”

  She tilts her head like I said something profound and that’s when it hits me. Mrs. Young is reading me...just like my father taught me to read others for the truth or for lies. “But you saw to it to look over my son and daughter when they stumbled into your world?”