She put her hand on her left hip and jutted out her chin in defiance as she announced, “I went to Kendra’s and talked to her about what happened the night Sawyer died.” If she were five, she would’ve stuck out her tongue at him.
Bryan flew off the barstool. “What did you say?” He peered into her face.
Her expression filled with righteous indignation and pride that she’d stood up to him. She quickly glanced at me as if to say, See, this is how you do it, before bringing her eyes to meet his challenging stare. “I said I went to Kendra’s and told her everything.” She was as proud to say it the second time as she was the first.
“After I forbid anyone in this house from doing that?”
“Forbid?” She burst out laughing. “Please, Dad.”
The back of his hand smacked her before she knew what was happening. I never saw it coming either. At first, she was too stunned to cry. She’d never thought he would hit her. That was all she kept saying last night while she cried. The sound of it hasn’t stopped playing in my mind. I saw him coming at her every time I closed my eyes and tried to sleep last night. I hate being in this house. Too many bad things have happened here.
I sense Bryan’s presence before I hear the sounds of him whistling as he comes down the stairs and into the kitchen, tightening his tie around his neck. He’s freshly shaved and washed. “Can you make sure this is straight?” he asks, giving me a huge smile. “I can’t seem to get it right. It’s like I have two thumbs this morning.”
I grip my coffee mug and plaster myself against the counter, putting as much distance between him and me as possible. All I have to do is tell him to leave. That’s the first step. Say the words.
He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise at my response to him. “I see someone is still upset this morning.”
“Upset? You hit our child, Bryan!” Adrenaline surges through my body despite my resolve to stay calm.
“A child?” He smirks. “Please, she’s almost nineteen years old, Dani. She’s hardly a child.”
My thoughts grow smaller and race in tight circles. “It’s still wrong.” That’s all I get out. It’s so weak. I want something more—more powerful words to describe the magnitude of what he’s done—but I have none.
“I don’t have time for this.” His smile disappears and takes his fake mood with it. “I have to be in a meeting at ten.” He grabs a travel mug from the cupboard above the sink and fills it with coffee from the pot I brewed at six. “Luna purposefully went behind my back and spoke with the Mitchells without a lawyer present. She knows what she did was wrong, so I’m not sure why the two of you are so angry with me.”
His ability to twist things is unnerving. He won’t make me question my sanity this time. There are bruises on Luna’s face proving he’s a monster.
“You have to leave.” I force myself to sound strong and confident, just like I practiced in the mirror. Beth told me to get used to saying the words until they rolled easily off my tongue.
“I have to leave? For what? Protecting my family?” He throws his hands in the air. “All I’ve done is protect you guys since day one. We’re all under an incredible strain, and I bear the most burden because I’m responsible for keeping us afloat during this chaos, or have you forgotten that?” He points to our kitchen with its marble countertops, stainless steel sink, and concrete tiled floors. “I gave you this. All of it, and I’ll do anything to protect it. Why?” He walks toward me. I steel myself as he gets closer. “Because I love my family more than anything else in the world. You guys are the most important people to me. I might have lost my temper last night because I was so frustrated, and I shouldn’t have done that, but it’s natural instinct to protect your family when they’re being threatened.”
“You didn’t just get frustrated and lose your temper—you hit Luna.” Stay firm. Speak clearly.
“Excuse me for caring so much.” He shrugs like he’s the one insulted.
My heart thumps. “Don’t come home tonight after work.”
He lets out an exaggerated laugh. “Of course I’m coming home after work, darling. This is my house, and I don’t have a problem with anything going on in the house. If you have a problem with things here, then by all means, please leave.”
He turns on his heel and walks out the front door, leaving me standing in the kitchen with my coffee mug in my hands. My phone vibrates on the counter with a text from Luna upstairs:
Is dad gone yet?
TWENTY-FIVE
LINDSEY
I fold the last towel and set it on top of the stack before tucking the pile in the cupboard underneath the sink. Jacob got two sponge baths today instead of his usual one. His nurse gave him one in the morning before his physical therapy appointment, and I like him to bathe after a workout, so I just gave him his second. The physical therapist only comes every other day no matter how much I insist on daily sessions for his mobility. The hospital won’t allow it because that’s all our medical insurance covers. Andrew offered to pay them cash, and they still refused. They’ve probably been burned too many times, so they’re not willing to budge. I fill in the other days and do my best to mimic the exercises, but I have no idea if I’m applying the right amount of pressure even if I’m doing the right stretches.
“What did you think of your physical therapist today?” I ask, gazing down at Jacob. It didn’t take me long to get used to his tracheostomy like I expected. The tube looks more natural in his neck than it did in his mouth. His misshapen head still bothers me, though. The incision will heal once the tube’s taken out and leave a scar, but his head will forever be concave, like a spoiled pumpkin the day after Halloween. I stroke the side of his cheek, missing the hair I’ve been brushing out of his eyes since he was two. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t like him as much as Sean either. We won’t have time to get too used to him anyway. They’re going to move you to Prairie Meadows soon.”
I can’t wait to leave this floor. I’m glad we’re out of the ICU, but we’ve never settled into this place, and I don’t think we’re going to. There’s a lack of enthusiasm for his care, like we’re in a holding cell, even though it’s supposed to be the next step in his rehabilitation.
I move to the other side of his bed. New flowers arrived this afternoon from the moms on his soccer team. They never miss a week. “Is it hard not being on the field?” I ask while I adjust the foliage around them. Even though the soccer moms send flowers every week, the visits from the players on his team are dwindling. During the first week, they kept a twenty-four-hour vigil in the ICU waiting room, but as time moves forward, people grow more and more uncomfortable being around him. They don’t want to say it, but they’ve given up hope, and his presence depresses them. That’s fine with me. I’d rather they stayed away, then.
“Your team was pretty mad at you, huh? I wish you would’ve told me what was going on with you and your friends. I know you told your dad, but I hate to break it to you—he’s not very good at things when it comes to girls. I mean, I’m the one who had to ask him out first.” I smile at the memory and how many times we have shared it with the kids. They love hearing how I bid on him at a charity auction hosted by my sorority house. “You had a lot going on that you didn’t talk to me about. Why didn’t you feel safe coming to me with whatever was going on between you guys?” I scan his body for movement like I’m the MRI machine. I’d give anything for a twitch. “Did you lie to me about your drinking?”
It’s not like we haven’t talked about his drinking. Last summer, they all got busted downtown after they sneaked out to watch a fight between the star quarterback of the Lyons football team and the pitcher from their baseball team. Half their class had done the same thing, and things grew rowdy quickly. The police busted up the gathering after a group of kids flipped over a car in the gas station parking lot. They threatened to write all of them tickets for underage drinking and vandalism. The police brought the boys back to Kendra’s smelling like alcohol, and Caleb had puke on his sh
irt.
I stormed into Jacob’s room when he got home. He tried to sneak in by using the back door, but I’d been waiting for him all morning. Kendra had called me earlier and filled me in on everything. She probably would’ve kept that instance a secret, too, but she had to tell me because half of Norchester knew about it, and word travels fast. I waited for Jacob to get comfortable in his bed so it would really punish him when I ran into his room and flung the covers off his body.
“Get up!” I yelled.
He struggled to grab the covers from me, but I yanked them back each time he tried. “Mom. Stop. What are you doing?” His voice was pained, like it hurt him to talk. “Give them to me.”
“I said get up.” Anger coated each word. I wasn’t messing around.
Jacob can’t afford to get into trouble, or he’ll lose his scholarship. We can’t afford private school for three kids without some help. Nobody knows we get financial assistance. Not even Jacob. Everyone always assumes we’re loaded because Andrew’s a doctor, but rheumatologists are one of the lowest-paid specialties. It’s why I worked so hard at talking him out of it during medical school, but he wouldn’t budge, and he loves working with old people. People naturally assume I have this luxurious life, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
Jacob scuttled against the headboard, drawing his knees up to his chest and bringing his arms around them in a tight hug. I grabbed one of his pillows and flung it at him. “You were drinking last night!” I shook my finger at him.
“I wasn’t.” Righteous indignation lined his face. Did that mean he was lying or mad because he was being falsely accused?
“Caleb says you were.” I wasn’t wasting any time playing games. Caleb hadn’t admitted to anything, but one of the best ways to get kids to confess was to make them think someone had told on them. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, and then it was gone.
“They were the ones drinking.” He grabbed the covers from me again. This time, I loosened my hold.
“Caleb and Sawyer?”
He nodded.
“You didn’t have anything to drink?”
He lowered his eyes and stared at the striped design on his comforter. “I was fake drinking.” Red crept up his neck and worked its way through his ears, just like his dad’s response when he’s embarrassed.
I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t go on. “I’m sorry, but if I’m supposed to know what that is, I don’t.”
“I don’t like drinking. You know that, but everyone looks at me like I’m a freak if I don’t, so I take a few sips and pretend to drink the rest.” He shrugged. “The girls do it all the time, and that’s what we call it when we’re making fun of them. I’m just better at it than they are, so nobody knows I’m doing it.”
“And that’s all?”
“Mom, why do you keep asking me the same question over and over again? That’s super annoying.” He rolled his eyes at me.
I would give anything for him to open his eyes and give me a dramatic eye roll. I take a seat on the edge of his hospital bed and will him to open them. Every day a doctor lifts his eyelids and shines a light into his eyes, and every day it’s the same—unresponsive. His pupils are fixed and dilated; they don’t shrink at the light like they’re supposed to.
Did he have more than a few sips to drink that night? The full toxicology report still isn’t back. Detective Locke said it should be back any day. Part of me hopes he was drunk. At least it would make what happened easier to understand if none of them were in their right minds.
“Dad got a lawyer today. Did I tell you that?” I can’t remember if I did. The days run together, and sometimes I can’t remember if I’m talking to him out loud or in my head. Being in the hospital this long is like living with constant jet lag. “We meet him tomorrow for the first time. It feels strange to have a lawyer. I feel like a criminal just saying it.” He’s the only person I’ve told. I don’t want Dani to get all high and mighty like she does whenever she’s been right on something we’ve fought about. “It’s perfect timing since Detective Locke wants to see us again. They’ve gone through your laptop and want to fill us in on what they’ve found. He made it sound so serious, said it couldn’t wait. He’s always so dramatic about everything.” I roll my eyes. He left me two messages about an “urgent matter” within a half-hour span. “That’s where we’re meeting the lawyer tomorrow.” I lean down and press my lips against his forehead. It feels waxy and stiff, like an expensive doll. “Is there anything on your computer that I should know about? If there is, you should probably tell me now,” I whisper.
TWENTY-SIX
KENDRA
Every noise cuts through my brain, making my stomach heave. I’ve already puked twice. It didn’t make me feel any better. Not like it used to in college. This is why I don’t get drunk anymore. Moving my eyes makes my head spin. I’m done taking those pills. I can’t stand feeling like this every morning.
I untangle Sawyer’s sheets from around my legs. I have to quit sleeping in here. I tell myself the same thing every morning, but by the end of the night—who am I kidding? Usually by the middle of the afternoon—I find myself underneath his covers. It’s the only way I feel safe.
“It’s not healthy,” Paul yelled at me last night, and I couldn’t argue with him. I never said what I’m doing is healthy.
My body screams at me to lie back down and sleep for another two hours, but Reese is suspended, so I have to get up. Paul will drill him with questions when he gets home from work, and Reese won’t hesitate to tell him I stayed in bed all day again. The two of them have no compassion.
Paul gets angrier every day. I’ve never seen him like this before. He grinds his jaw so hard that it sounds like he’s going to crack his teeth. Anger radiates from him, and last night was no different. He kept saying it was about Reese vaping, but Reese being in trouble at school isn’t exactly a surprise. We’ve joked since his first day of kindergarten that we’d be lucky if he graduated high school. Not because he’s not smart. Reese is brilliant in his own way. He simply doesn’t care about school or being told what to do. He doesn’t understand other people’s behavior or why people pretend to like each other when they don’t. That’s why I know Paul’s anger wasn’t about that. Besides, he didn’t get that upset when we found out Reese was selling pills, so his anger obviously isn’t about Reese vaping.
I’m not even mad at Reese for vaping. It’s not like any of the PSAs on the billboards and the sides of buses do anything except increase your curiosity about them. How could they with the main tagline:
TASTES LIKE CANDY. WORKS LIKE POISON.
I never get past the candy part either. Still. He shouldn’t have done it, especially not at school.
I drag myself into Sawyer’s bathroom, avoiding my image in the mirror as I pass. Sawyer’s phone lies on the floor next to the toilet. I must’ve been going through it before I went to bed last night. That’s another thing I hate about the pills—I can’t remember the last thirty minutes before falling asleep. I pick up his phone and take a seat on the toilet, quickly typing in his pass code. The motion makes me dizzy again. A wave of nausea passes through me. Deep breaths.
Jacob’s face fills the screen instead of Sawyer’s. His midnight-black curls. Dark-brown eyes framed by arched brows. His eyes were always so intense, like he was thinking hard. He was by far the most serious of the boys. Both boys were so handsome. Sawyer was attractive in the traditional Southern California way—blond hair, blue eyes, tan skin, and perfect white teeth—but Lindsey’s olive skin and Andrew’s German background gave Jacob an ethnic flair that you couldn’t pinpoint, making him appear mysterious and aloof.
His quiet and reserved self shows through in the pictures. It wasn’t that he was shy. He was simply an observer. He stood back and watched before he ever made a move or a decision, which is why we always put him in charge of things. He was the responsible one. We relied on him to give us the real story whenever there was a questionab
le situation or someone was in trouble.
People tiptoe around Lindsey’s denial about Jacob attempting suicide. They pity her refusal to accept it. Nobody comes right out and says that to her, but it’s in their eyes and the way they speak to her. I’m the only one who believes her, but they pity me more than they do her. They write us off as a pair of grief-stricken mothers. It’s easy to do, but just because I’m mourning doesn’t mean I’ve lost the ability to reason. And here’s the thing—suicide is an impulsive act, and Jacob never did anything without thinking about it first. He was the oldest of the three—two months ahead of Sawyer—and he functioned like their older brother, always the voice of reason. He also didn’t have a selfish bone in his body, so there’s no way he’d leave his family and friends behind to cope with such a huge loss. An attempted suicide doesn’t make sense.
“Mom?” Reese’s voice calls from outside Sawyer’s bedroom door. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. I’ll be out in a second.” I do my best singsong mom voice even though it makes my head start throbbing all over again. I’m committed to showing up for him and being nice. Yesterday’s breakdown in the car was awful. He needs me now. More than ever.
I scroll through more of the pictures on Sawyer’s phone. Sawyer captures Jacob in a way I’ve never seen him before, and it’s startling how manly he looks in some of them. His usual serious expression is drawn into a playful smile. The last photo in the album is a stunning side profile shot of him. There’s a gentle expression to his face that’s usually not there. His hair is tousled, and he’s gazing into the distance like there’s something really beautiful just over the horizon.
“Mom! Are you coming? I’m starving.”
The Best of Friends Page 11