The Best of Friends

by Berry, Lucinda

  Andrew’s side of the bed is empty. The bedding smooth, untouched. The red digits of his old-fashioned alarm clock that he refuses to give up read 3:12. The house is silent; everyone has gone home, and I revel in the quiet. I don’t want anyone here tomorrow. I’m sending them all away if they come by uninvited or unannounced. I don’t care what Andrew says. I need a day or two to breathe and put myself back together.

  I throw the covers off and push my bare feet into the slippers underneath my bed. I grab my robe from the floral-printed chair underneath the window. My pages are still marked in the book I was reading before this happened, and it’s tucked between the armrest and seat. I haven’t read a word since no matter how many times I tried, and I spent hours forcing myself to read, especially in the hospital. People brought me so many different books to try and keep my mind occupied, and normally, I love to read, but my brain’s too squirrelly to focus on anything. The words jumble together, or I read the same sentences over and over. I wrap the robe around myself and tighten the sash around my waist.

  I open the door of our bedroom and tiptoe downstairs. The newly purchased night-lights glow in the outlets, lining a pathway to Jacob’s bed and casting a strange glow on everything they touch. They lead from the kitchen into the living room and all the way to the bathroom. Andrew is asleep on the couch at the end of Jacob’s bed.

  I lightly wiggle his arm, and he opens his eyes.

  “Go upstairs and sleep. I’ll take over.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod and point to the stairs. “Go.”

  He grabs his phone off the coffee table and shuffles upstairs. I perch on the edge of the couch, heated from his body. The couch is new. I had a decorator help me with the living room, since it’s the first room everyone sees when they walk into the house, so I wanted it to set the tone for our home. It’s a light blue and firm but still looks plump. It’s the most expensive piece of furniture I’ve ever owned because I wanted it to look good, which it does, but I never expected people to sleep on it.

  I carefully chose all the decor because I wanted the space to feel light and clean, airy. It’s filled with soothing grays and pale whites. The couch faces a beautifully restored fireplace and the large wooden coffee table in front of it, which holds a collection of Departures magazines like we’re the kind of family that takes luxury vacations. Above the fireplace is an enormous family portrait, and framed photographs of the kids line the mantelpiece. Every inch is familiar, but none of it feels that way anymore. The ease that I walked through my life with and how much I took it for granted washes over me, making me feel sick to my stomach.

  I stare at Jacob’s bulky hospital bed crowding the space between the coffee table and the fireplace. Someone changed his socks. Probably Sutton. I get up and move to his bed. I trail my hand along the rails of his bed while I circle it. All the lock mechanisms are in place and the extra safety strap engaged as if there’s a chance Jacob might move and pitch himself out of bed. His eyes lie open, and if he were in there, they’d be staring up at the ceiling, but he’s not staring at anything. His eyes are just open. They haven’t shut yet other than reflexive blinks. Dr. Gervais said we should expect to see him moving into what appear to be sleep-wake cycles, but so far, there’s only wake.

  “Hey, honey. How was your day?” I bend over and kiss his forehead. His skin is waxy against my lips. “Mine was exhausting. I’m not even sure how I made it. I was about one step away from turning into Walgreens Mom.” It’s what he’s called me ever since I went off on the pharmacy technician at the drive-through window when he filled my prescription wrong. “But your dad forced me to sleep for a while, and I’m feeling much better now. How about you?” I run my hand along his arm, dead weight next to his body. “Are you feeling any better?” I trail my hand along his feet as I move to the other side of his bed and run my arm up that side of his body until I’ve reached his head again.

  I see the pink blur of my hand as it slaps his face. Those aren’t my hands. They can’t be. And then I watch as they do it another time, stunned as they connect. They’re attached to my body, but a force outside my control has taken them over. I can’t believe what they’ve done. How could they do that? Moonlight floods through the bay window and lands on my wedding ring. The diamonds wink at me mockingly like they know my secret. I grip the bed rails and continue circling his bed as I stifle the urge to scream.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  DANI

  I’m frozen out of all my accounts. I went to the ATM to get cash for Mom to help with the groceries and bills, because we’re a pretty big unexpected expense and she shouldn’t have to handle it alone. I was going to have to find a way to slip it into her purse because she’s too proud to take it outright, but none of that matters when I don’t have any money to give her.

  I immediately called my bank, but the customer service representative kept saying my name had been taken off the account and I needed to talk to my husband about it. She must’ve said it over ten times—“You need to talk to your husband, ma’am”—in a nasal voice that made me seethe with hot anger.

  I’ve been on the phone with my credit card companies most of the morning, and he took me off those too. Which I think is illegal, but how am I supposed to get a retainer for a lawyer when I don’t have any money?

  I smack my hands on the steering wheel and let out a broken wail.

  “This! Right here. The part that nobody understands. How do we actually get out? Somebody! Anybody. What am I going to do?” But there’s nobody to answer me. There never is.

  Thick tears cloud my vision as I keep driving in the direction of Mom’s house. My childhood home. The one where my biggest problem was that my best friend was dating the guy I had a crush on. I’m not supposed to be here. This isn’t supposed to be my life. I’m not one of those women.

  But I am.

  And I was right. He will do everything he ever threatened to do if I left him. This is only the beginning.

  Caleb and I sit around the kitchen table. He’s working on the math worksheets that I printed off the classroom website. I wish I could be more helpful with his math homework, but I’ve been lost since he was in fifth grade. He’s frustrated and agitated, but I can’t tell if it’s with the equations or his inner state. He’s so far behind in school that I don’t know how he’s ever going to catch up.

  I’ve grown to appreciate his silence over these past few weeks because he can’t ask me the hard questions that I’m not ready to answer. Or ramble with meaningless chatter just to fill up the silence that I never noticed ran through so much of daily life until he stopped talking.

  A loud knock at the door makes us both jump. Kendra pops her head in front of the kitchen window and waves, holding up a Starbucks cup. I give her a smile, trying to hide my annoyance. She texted earlier, and I told her Caleb and I were going to be taking it easy at the house today, subtly implying that I didn’t want to be bothered. She’s come undone with Paul being mad at her. She’s scrambling around even harder to put the pieces of the accident together, like that will make everything better.

  I get up to answer the door and lean down to whisper in Caleb’s ear as I pass, “Sorry. I’ll try to get her to leave quickly.”

  She rushes inside when I open the door without giving me a chance to refuse, and now that she’s inside, there’s no telling how long she’ll stay. I can’t listen to her cry all day. I know that makes me a terrible friend, but I have my own problems going on. I have to talk to Bryan about money, and that terrifies me.

  “Hi, Caleb!” she calls out to him. “Glad to see your mom has you keeping up on your homework.” She reminds me of my college roommate when she went into her manic episodes. There’s so much pressure to her speech, like the words can’t get out fast enough.

  He keeps his head down and waves at her while he keeps working. She hands me my coffee, even though I have a fresh cup of tea on the table. Oh well. There’s no such thing as too much caffeine.

  �
�I was in the neighborhood, and I’m headed back home but thought I’d stop by Lindsey’s first. I figured you’d probably want to come with me since we haven’t been over there since Jacob woke up, and it’s already been a day. You know how she gets.”

  “But Lindsey texted this morning and asked everyone to stay away today. She said they needed a day to settle or something like that.”

  Kendra bats my arm. “She didn’t mean us, goofball. Put your shoes on, and let’s go.”

  She hasn’t taken hers off. She stands in the entryway expectantly. I point to Caleb. She shrugs. “Bring him. Doesn’t he want to see Jacob?” She raises her voice higher as if he didn’t hear her. “Caleb? I bet you want to go see Jacob, don’t you?”

  I hide behind her back and shoot Caleb a helpless look. He shrugs noncommittally. She turns back to me.

  “See, Caleb wants to go, too, so stop being such a stick-in-the-mud, and let’s go.”

  “Okay, but we’ll drive ourselves,” I say. “I don’t want you to have to come all the way back here to drop us off afterward. It’s too inconvenient.”

  Really, I’m ensuring we get back here without her. I can’t handle much Kendra time today.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  KENDRA

  Dani rides my tailgate as she follows me to Lindsey’s. I pretended my visit was about dragging them along with me so I didn’t have to go alone, but it was the only way I could be sure Caleb came. Lindsey’s been ignoring my texts for two days, and there’s no way she’ll make us leave if Caleb’s with us.

  I sent her the Instagram video of the party, and she never confirmed receipt. I understand she’s got a lot on her plate right now, but she’s not the only one who’s going through things. I mean, come on—my son is gone, and her son is probably the one who killed him. I should be the most upset, but I’m not. I just want to know what happened so I can lay him to rest. Why is that so hard to understand? She’d be doing the same thing if the shoe were on the other foot.

  I slow out of habit as I come around Pike’s Bend. Yellow signs dot the sharp curve, warning people about falling over the cliff, just like the ones that warn about deer running across the road up north. They are done in the same way. Stick figures that Sawyer used to joke looked like they were doing cartwheels over the edge. He’d burst into giggles every time.

  I miss his laugh. It’s one of the things I miss the most. He never took anything too seriously, which made his grades a continual nightmare but our home a happy place. I had to get out of there today.

  Paul’s still barely talking to me. He acts like I gave Reese heroin. I get it, I do, but the medicine was prescribed for a real diagnosis by a doctor who’s been his pediatrician since he was five days old, and I always gave it to him exactly as prescribed. I’m not saying it was the right thing to do, and I really am sorry that I didn’t tell him, but it’s not like I committed the worst crime on the planet.

  It isn’t long before we reach Lindsey’s, and we pile out of our cars quickly. I hurry up the sidewalk and tap on the door, not too loud in case people are sleeping. There’s no mistaking the annoyance on Lindsey’s face when she opens the door. She stands with the door only slightly ajar and her body blocking the entrance into the house. Things obviously haven’t gotten better since the last time I saw her. She might even look worse. Her eyes are red and watery. Skin gray and sallow like she might be getting sick. Her face is so gaunt.

  I sneak a peek at Dani, and she’s thinking the same thing—it’s ten o’clock, and she’s still in her bathrobe. Sleeping in for Lindsey is seven o’clock. She’s been getting up at five since our sophomore year in high school. Her brown hair, normally meticulously done no matter what, lies flat and unwashed against her head. Maybe it’s a good thing we stopped over to say hello.

  “Hi, Lindsey, we were just in the neighborhood and thought we’d stop by,” Dani says in an extra cheerful tone, stealing the line I used on her earlier to get inside her house.

  Lindsey pulls her robe tighter. “Yeah, thanks, but I don’t think we’re in any shape for visitors. We’re having a bit of a rough day.”

  “That’s exactly why we’re here,” I say, stepping around her and into the house. I open the door wider to make room for everyone else to get through. Lindsey doesn’t always know what’s best for her.

  FIFTY-SIX

  LINDSEY

  Kendra barges her way into my house like she forces her way into everything. She struts into the living room like she’s the owner, and we automatically follow behind her like we’ve done so many times before. Caleb shuffles in with Dani. He’s red faced with embarrassment, and his arms hang awkwardly by his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

  I watch the three of them as they take in the scene. Kendra surveys the room, purposefully avoiding Jacob in the center. Dani pales instantly, and she swallows hard like she’s choking on the air. Something’s definitely going on with her. She won’t say what it’s about, but she’s staying at her mom’s with Caleb, so there’s a reason she doesn’t have him at home. Caleb’s eyes fill with tears the way they do whenever he’s around Jacob. Why do they do that to him? It’s not fair when it clearly makes him so uncomfortable.

  I move next to him and place my hand softly on his back. “You can sit in that chair over there if you want.” I point to the leather ottoman on the other side of the room, the spot farthest away from Jacob and the one with the most obstructed view of his bed. His eyes speak gratitude, and he quickly moves around the foot of Jacob’s bed. He takes a seat on the chair and curls his body up, wrapping his arms around himself.

  “I like the setup you put together,” Kendra says like we’ve redecorated the living room instead of making it into a hospital room.

  “Thanks.” I don’t want them to get too comfortable. I only offered Caleb a seat because I feel sorry for him and he shouldn’t have to be here.

  “How are things going?” Dani asks. Her eyes radiate compassion and concern.

  “It’s not as easy as we hoped. We didn’t think about any of this, and there’s lots of challenges. For one”—I motion to the space around us—“this is the only place we can put him because his hospital bed doesn’t fit anywhere else, and we don’t have a handicap-accessible house, so we can’t get him upstairs,” I explain. “We can barely move him off his bed. There’s a reason people train for that.”

  He’s a five-foot-seven, 140-pound limp noodle. We can turn him left to right on the bed, but we can’t get him safely out of bed or move him anywhere. We saw the nurses transfer him many times, but we nearly dropped him onto the wooden floor when we tried the techniques we’d seen them use. It’s not like there is a quick way to learn, so we’re poring through YouTube videos and earmarking the ones that look like they’re made by reputable professionals.

  Kendra turns around and locks eyes with me. “Can I ask what made you decide to leave the hospital?”

  I hate when she poses questions that way. It’s so manipulative. I dodged the question most of yesterday, but there’s no way Kendra’s letting me off the hook that easy, and Caleb probably wants to know too. It’s mean not to tell him, except I don’t know what came over me, which makes finding an explanation difficult.

  “Honestly? I don’t know.” It’s not the part of the story we tell others when they ask about it. We focus on what happened after we made our decision to take him out of the hospital, but the actual decision itself? We don’t discuss that because it was a split-second idea that came out of nowhere. “Jacob had just finished his CT scan, and while Dr. Merck was explaining what they’d found—basically, no changes—I had this overwhelming urge to take him outside. I wasn’t even thinking about it beforehand and just blurted it out. They let us take him outside, and as soon as we were outside with him, I couldn’t go back inside. I don’t know why. I just couldn’t do it. I almost had a panic attack every time I looked at the building.” Imagining it now makes me shudder with revulsion.

  “What about Andrew?” Dani a
sks.

  “He was the one that suggested it.” Their faces fill with surprise, and I can’t help but smile. “I know. I couldn’t believe it either. I didn’t think he was serious at first. We were standing in a back alleyway of the hospital, and I was totally freaking out. I’d been up for two days, so I just went with it when Andrew made the suggestion. Neither of us questioned it.”

  They shake their heads in disbelief. We’re the last people anyone would imagine doing something like this, and I’m on board with them. Whatever impulse came over me two days ago has disappeared and left me with nothing but uncertainty and fear. This is why I think things through. It’s exactly what I tell the kids.

  “What are you going to do now?” Dani asks.

  That’s the next question everyone wants to know—what’s the plan? We asked the doctors the same thing so many times in the hospital, and they were responsible for answering it. Now the responsibility rests solely on our shoulders, and I’ve never been so overwhelmed. We don’t know what we’re doing. We’re two blind people trying to lead each other through a maze, and I’m forced to work with someone I don’t trust anymore.

  “Does it smell in here?” I blurt out in the same way I blurted that I wanted to take Jacob outside.

  Kendra balks at the randomness of my question. “What?”

  “Tell me the truth—don’t lie. Does it stink when you walk in here?” I wave my hands around the room while I raise my head, sniffing the air. “Remember when Sandra had cancer and her house smelled like cancer whenever we visited her? Does my house smell like death?”

  The two of them exchange concerned glances like I’m not standing right in front of them. They can’t tell me they don’t smell it. Jacob’s stench has infiltrated every room in our house. It’s seeped into the walls. My house smelled like dirty diapers for years when my boys were in diapers, but it’s different somehow.