by Kyla Stone
“Yeah, we gotta split.” Reese shakes Floyd’s hand. “See you next week.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Lux,” Floyd says, and there’s both desire and threat in his voice.
I stare at my hands as we pull out of the driveway. They’re trembling. The headlights reveal the black bodies of trees lining both sides of the road, their gnarled roots draped in snow.
“What’s wrong?” Reese asks.
I thrust my hands between my knees. My whole body is freezing. I don’t want to tell him.
It’s Felix I want to tell. I want to slip my cold fingers between his large, warm hands. I want to press my cheek against his chest and let his calm, steady heartbeat merge with mine. It’s his voice I want murmuring in my ear, promising me everything will be okay. But Felix isn’t here.
We drive in silence for several minutes. Reese lights up a cigarette at a stop sign and hands it to me. “This will calm your nerves.”
I take a drag, roll down the window, and blow the smoke outside. The chilly air pimples my skin. “That guy has skulls in his house. Human skulls.”
“You saw those, huh?”
“What the hell? Who does that?”
Reese just shrugs. “They’re collector’s items, I guess. Like Civil War relics or something? Floyd said you can buy them on the black market.”
A shiver runs through me. “Who is he, anyway?”
“He owns that pawn shop in St. Joe, next to the strip mall.”
“But that’s not all he does.”
“What’s it to you?” Reese’s voice goes hard.
I look out the window at the shadowy darkness. My heart sticks to my ribs like a magnet. “You bought drugs from him. To sell.”
Reese blows out a mouthful of smoke. “Get off your high horse, Princess. Don’t pretend you care about anything but getting high. Where do you think that comes from?”
“That’s not true.” But to Reese, it is. That’s all he knows about me. It’s all he wants to know. I think of Felix again. Felix with that dopey smile and mop of curls.
Felix was a good thing. I ruined us, like I ruin everything in my life. Hot tears sting the back of my eyelids. I cannot, will not cry. Not for him. And certainly not for me.
We pull into Reese’s driveway. I duck my head against the snowflakes twirling down and dash into the apartment. What the hell am I doing? I need to get away from this guy. I need to stop. Pull myself back from the edge.
But first, I need to forget.
I need to drown everything away in a warm liquid haze.
26
Lena
The doorbell rings. It’s early on Wednesday afternoon, and I’ve just fed Dad his lunch. He can’t feed himself properly anymore. Most of his meals now consist of applesauce, yogurt, eggs, and other easily digestible foods.
The days pass slowly and then all at once. It’s already the first week of March, and I can see the signs now, markers on his slow descent toward the end.
The doorbell rings again. I dump the dirty dishes into the sink and hurry down the hall to the front door.
For a moment, I don’t recognize the girl shivering on my front porch. The faux-fur lined hood of her coat is pulled low over her face. She scrubs at her forehead with a gloved hand, revealing a chunk of inky hair.
“Hey, Isabel.”
“Hey.” Isabel Gutierrez shifts her weight, adjusting the aluminum foil-covered casserole dish tucked under her right arm. Her face is small and sharp. She looks uncomfortable. “My mom wanted me to bring this over.”
“Oh. Thanks.” The cold air pimples my skin. I’m only wearing loose jeans and a long-sleeved baseball tee. It’s the middle of March, but the weather hasn’t broken. It’s still as frigid as January. “Um, do you want to come in or something?”
Isabel glances back toward her car parked in the driveway, which is still running. “No thanks. I’ve got work in like, fifteen minutes. It’s carne asada tacos with cilantro pesto. The food, I mean.”
It snowed last night. Harsh sunlight reflects off the unbroken plane of white, dazzling my eyes and blurring Isabel’s features. “Sounds good.”
“I wanted to make an organic seaweed, kale and artichoke dish, but my mom wouldn’t let me. Sea greens are actually chockful of nutrients, but she thinks organic food is a ploy by the big companies to charge more money for the same food.”
I smile. “When your mom used to babysit for us, she’d always make baked enchiladas smothered with cheese. Remember those warm, gooey churros dusted with cinnamon and sugar?”
Isabel tucks a few strands of hair back beneath her hood. “Horrible for the arteries.”
“Yes, well, we didn’t worry about that back then.” I rub my arms to keep from shivering.
“How’s your dad, by the way? I’m supposed to ask.”
“Not so good. I think it’ll be pretty soon.”
“That sucks. But it’s for the best, right? I’m sure you don’t want him suffering.”
“I don’t want him to suffer. I don’t want him to die, either.” I reach for the casserole dish but Isabel doesn’t let go. Her arms are almost skeletal, but stronger than I expected.
“I hear you’ve been hanging out with Eli Kusuma.”
I glance down at my feet. “Yeah. Some.”
“Shy nerd-girl and the star football player?”
“He’s more than a football player and I’m not a nerd.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “So the rumors are true. How the hell did that happen?”
“We’re just friends,” I say, suddenly protective of our non-relationship.
Her full lips pinch into a frown. “I guess he’s truly fallen off his pedestal big time, hasn’t he? Getting Nyah knocked up senior year, giving up his hoity-toity scholarship, and now he’s the one saddled with the brat.
He’s a walking advertisement for birth control.”
I clench my teeth so hard my jaw hurts. “You know what I think?” “What?” she says, the corners of her mouth curling.
She wants this. She wants to piss me off. I jerk the casserole out of her hands. “Thanks for bringing this by. I always did like your mother.”
Isabel’s face flattens, her features going hard. “I know you’re all enamored over him right now, but watch yourself. He’s not right for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugs. “Just saying.”
“Do you have a problem with me?”
Her smile is like Teflon. “I don’t have a problem. Do you?”
I remember how she used to kick me under the table when her mother wasn’t looking. How she always took the prettiest Barbie to play with, leaving me with the one with the missing arm or chopped off hair. How I hated going over there, only relishing the moments at the kitchen table with her mother, Maria. I won’t let her see that she’s getting to me. “Tell your mom thank you.”
I shut the door in her face, all the scathing words I want to say burning my tongue. I take several deep breaths, willing my anger down. I don’t know her, I don’t even like her. I don’t care what she thinks. I used to, though. The wild-haired dork desperate for everyone to like her, even the perfect, popular girls. But I was invisible to them.
I shake my head. It doesn’t matter now.
I head into the kitchen and put the casserole dish in the fridge. Part of me wants to chuck it in the trash. Dad probably won’t be able to eat it, but it’ll feed me for several meals, and Lux if she wants some. If she’s ever at home.
I check on Dad. “Who was that?” he asks.
“Isabel Gutierrez. You remember that lady who used to baby-sit me and Lux? That’s Isabel’s mom.”
Dad’s gaze darts to my face, then skips away. “Maria Gutierrez?”
“Yeah.”
“Maria’s daughter was at our house?”
“Yep. And she hasn’t changed much at all. Hey, are you okay?”
“I—yes, I will be.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. �
�Just memories.”
I lean against the doorway. “You could have her over, if you want. To say goodbye.”
He shakes his head vehemently. “No visitors. I don’t want anyone seeing me—not like this.”
“Your friends won’t care what you look like.”
He coughs, wheezes hard. “No.”
“Fine. If that’s what you want. Did you know her well?”
“She was friends with your mother.”
I hazily recall Mom picking us up. She and Maria would spend a few minutes chatting. It always took awhile to gather our book bags, coats, shoes, and toys.
Maybe they went out for coffee a few times? I don’t remember. I don’t remember Mom having many friends. Not at the end, anyway.
Dad has another coughing fit. He struggles to breathe.
I move to the bed. “Here, we need to elevate your chest.” I prop some extra pillows against the headboard and help Dad raise himself into a reclining position.
His breathing eases. “Thank you.”
“How often is it hard to breathe like this?”
“Mostly at night, but more and more now.” He smooths the comforter with his hands. His fingers are swollen sausages. The swelling, the difficulty breathing, the blue-tinged lips, they’re all signs the end is near.
“Dad, Ellie said there are things we can do … to make things easier.
Drugs. Opioids, I think she said. Morphine. It can take some of the pain away.”
“No. I don’t want any drugs. No relief.”
The way he says it, ‘no relief.’ He’s already been in a lot of pain, more than he’s let on. And he wants it that way. My throat tightens. “But Dad—”
“That hospice nurse already tried to convince me a dozen times. I don’t want anything.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“It’s my choice.”
“Mom wouldn’t want this.”
“I’ve made up my mind, Lena.”
It’s useless to argue with him. This is another of his punishments, his penance.
Desperation builds up inside me. I can’t bear the thought of the suffering he’s enduring for no reason. “I thought you said God forgave you.”
“He has.”
“Then why this?” I gesture wildly. “Why are you insisting on feeling all this pain when you don’t need to?”
“This is part of it. Please, I need to do this.”
“But why? I don’t understand.”
“Let it go, Lena.” His voice is gravelly, thick with the effort of speaking.
“Dad—”
“Maybe it’s time to talk about certain things, while I still can.”
I sink heavily into the blue armchair. “What do you mean?”
“I have a life insurance policy.”
“No, Dad—”
“Listen! I need to rest soon. Let me say this. Got your ears on?” he says, using his old CB slang.
I nod mutely.
“I have a life insurance policy for five hundred thousand dollars. It cost an arm and a leg with my health, but it’s worth it. In my will, the money is split between you and your sister. I want Lux to finish school, go to college. I’m entrusting the money to you. Help her out of this rut she’s stuck in. I’m hoping I can talk some sense into her, but in case that never happens, it’s up to you.
“Some of that money will go toward my medical expenses and the funeral. Use the remainder of your share to cover the rest of your college education. Promise me you’ll go back to school next semester.”
I nod again. I can’t do anything else. I’m numb. I want to scream, to howl with grief, but nothing comes out. My father’s about to die. He’s talking about his own funeral like he’s going grocery shopping.
The reality of his death strangles me like a creeping vine, roping me to the chair, to the harsh, terrible here and now I don’t want to think about, let alone experience.
“Promise me, Lena.”
“I promise,” I manage to say.
“You can sell the house or keep it, it doesn’t matter to me. Don’t spend a lot on the funeral. Don’t even have one, if you don’t want. I’d like to be buried next to Eve. I’ve already purchased the lot. Just call the RoseHill Funeral Home, they’ll help you with the process and the papers and whatever else needs doing.”
“Okay, Dad.”
“You’ve done such a good job. I’m sorry this had to be asked of you.” My eyes burn. I rub them with the heels of my hands.
“Will you read a little something to me? Then I’ll try to rest. First Corinthians thirteen.”
“The love chapter.”
Dad raises his eyebrows.
“I went to church, Dad. Remember?”
“Yes, we did, didn’t we?” He leans back and rests his head against the pillows. His skin is gray. He looks tired. Bone-tired.
I reach for the Bible on the nightstand. I find the spot and begin to read: “‘Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, it is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails. And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.’”
“Those are the most beautiful words ever written.”
I close the book and hold it in my lap, stroking the nubby surface with my fingertips.
The fabric of my skin is too thin, insubstantial, like I could slip into the nothingness that hums around the edges of things. “You wanted me to hear it.”
“I hope it’ll carry some meaning for you, like it does for me.”
I rub my temples. How much can love really suffer? How long can it endure before it cracks, before it’s beaten and trampled beneath the brutality of life? Mom loved us—in spite of everything, I still believe this—but love wasn’t enough to tether her to this world.
My love for Dad won’t bind him to life. And my love for my sister? Do I still even love Lux? Or has my anger obliterated it? Love seems so tenuous, so weak, so easily crushed. “If only love like that really existed.”
“It does. It’s the way God loves us.”
“It sounds nice.”
He coughs several times into his fist. “It’s more than nice. It’s true.”
I place the Bible back on the nightstand. My hands ball into fists in my lap. It’s all I can do to stay seated. Every fiber of my being screams at me to flee, to get away from the awful sound of his breathing, the stale, heavy air pressing down on me.
“God calls us to love others in the same way.” He sucks in a breath.
“No matter what they do. Love endures all.”
“You need to rest.”
“There’s still time for you and your sister. I ran out of chances. Don’t waste yours.”
“Dad—”
“Please.” He’s almost gasping. “Make things right with Lux.”
I shoot to my feet. Beneath the pain and the grief for my father, there’s something else. A deep ache, an empty space lodged behind my heart. I can’t. I don’t know how.
“I’ve got to work on my pictures. I need to send them on Monday to get them to the committee on time.”
“I’m praying for you.”
Prayers won’t do any good. They never have.
I hurry from the room before he can see the sudden tears trembling against my eyelids.
27
Lux
I try to ignore the knocking on the door, but Lena doesn’t answer it. Then I remember she’s out, getting groceries or gas or something. The hospice nurse is here, with Dad in his room. She’s not going to get the door.
The knocking doesn’t stop. It’s insistent, like a little dog that won’t stop yapping. Finally, I yank out my earbuds and drag myself to the front door.
It’s Felix. “Hey,” he says, grinning nervously. “How’s Phoenix?”
“If you get too close to her, she’ll claw your face off.”
“Oh. Um. Good?”
“What are you doing here, Felix? Shouldn’t you be in school?” I tighten my sweatshirt around myself.
The day is gray, cold, and miserable. Heavy iron-bellied clouds slink low over the horizon. The snow is slowly melting, the first patches of brown grass starting to show through. I haven’t seen the sun in weeks.
“First, it’s like 3:30 in the afternoon. And anyway, it’s spring break.” Felix kicks at a stray pebble on the cement porch. “Look, don’t get mad. Eden asked me to come.”
“What? Why?”
He scrapes his hand through his hair. “You dropped out of school, Lux. No one sees you anymore. Word is you’re hanging out with a drug dealer. What’s going on?”
“What do you care?”
His smile dissolves. “I do care.”
“You sure have a funny way of showing it.”
“I messaged you.”
I shrug. “I’ve been busy.”
“I’m worried about you. Eden and Simone are worried about you. We’re concerned.”
A gust of wind bites into my exposed neck and face. I shiver and thrust my hands beneath my armpits. “Thanks for coming all the way out here to show your concern. But I’m fine.”
“I get that you’re mad at me. I’m not so happy with you myself. But still—I care about you, Lux. I want you to be okay.”
My throat constricts. I throw him a lethal glare. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you broke up with me.”
“I didn’t—”
“Save your excuses for someone who cares. Jayda, maybe?”
He looks at me, aghast. “Please don’t do this.”
“Do what? Call you on your B.S.?”
“No. That’s not what I meant. It’s not what I’m trying to say.” His hands clench and unclench at his sides.
Where’s he been all this time? Nowhere. He left me, abandoned me just like everybody else. “I don’t really care what you have to say.”