Ramona Blue

by Julie Murphy

  The pounding dance music slows into a quieter song and the crowd thins out. Ruthie’s eyes are wide and round, and the smile on her face is nothing short of thrilling. This is not the night she was expecting. “We can sit down,” she says as she catches her breath.

  I pull her to me. “It’s not prom without a slow dance, right? This one’s mine. Next one is Sophia.”

  Even with her heels, she’s shorter than me, but she can still hook her chin over my shoulder.

  This is new for me—the slow dance. I’m not sure where to put my hands or who’s leading whom, so I wrap my arms around her in a hug. I hold her tight and think about all the ways Ruth has been there for me, and how she’s always expected more from me than anyone else. I wish I could be the person she thinks I’m capable of becoming. I don’t even bother wondering what she would say if I told her about Coach Pru.

  It doesn’t make me sad to think of Ruthie leaving and becoming some big fancy doctor, because I know that as long as me, Saul, and Hattie are here she’ll always come back to see us. But still, there’s something about tonight that feels like the end of a good song.

  The two of us sway against each other under the twinkling lights strung up by the prom committee, when all of a sudden loud sirens drown out the music.

  For a moment, everyone is still and none of us quite know if this is real. And then Mrs. Treviño is on the mic. “Okay, people. Those are the tornado sirens. I need everyone to vacate the banquet hall and head out into the corridor. Please find a seat on the floor and do so in an orderly but swift fashion.”

  FORTY-TWO

  The pilgrimage to the corridor is swift, but in no way orderly. There is screaming and shouting and pushing.

  I feel my body beginning to panic.

  This isn’t the first time I’ve heard the sirens go off, but I’ve never been in an actual tornado. And I guess that’s why this doesn’t feel real. I know what hurricanes look like. And flooding. But a tornado sort of feels like a myth to me.

  Ruth pulls me by my arm and grabs my jacket from the table where we left our cups of punch.

  “Adam!” I shout, and reach for him and Sophia behind us. The good thing about being so tall is the sight advantage.

  As the four of us are huddling down together on the floor in this windowless hallway, Freddie rushes in, soaking wet.

  My heart nearly stops. I stand immediately and run to him.

  He’s in a tux and his pants are a little too short, but he’s holding his cell phone and his keys and he’s panting.

  “You’re here,” I say, like he somehow owes me an explanation for his presence.

  He shakes the water out of his hair. “It’s bad out there.”

  I want to hug him or take his hand, but instead I say, “Come sit down with us.”

  Ruthie scoots over and the three of us cram in with the rest of the senior class and whatever chaperones volunteered to be here, while Adam and Sophia sit across from us.

  “My gram made me come,” says Freddie.

  Ruthie peers over my shoulder. “We didn’t see you inside. Ramona was looking all over the place.”

  I give her a sideways glance, and she shrugs.

  “I was in the car,” Freddie quietly admits. “I was just going to chill for a while, and then go back home. You remember Lydia?” he asks. “My friend from Viv’s party? She was going to drive down, but the weather was bad up there, too.”

  My whole body is racked with guilt as I think of him out in the car by himself when he could have been in here with all of us. The only reason he was out there instead of in here is me. “I’m sorry,” I blurt.

  “You didn’t make me come,” he says.

  “I know. I just—”

  The sirens outside kick up again, and the lights begin to flicker. It’s nothing like a police ambulance. These sirens are more obnoxious than that, and they have to be, because tornadoes can hit at any time, even in the middle of the night.

  “We’re all quite safe in this hallway,” says Mrs. Treviño over a few shrieks. “This is a stable building that has survived much worse.”

  A stable building. Oh God. Oh Christ. The trailer. Feverishly, I dig through the pockets of my jacket for my cell phone, but there are no bars next to the tiny battery in the corner of the screen.

  “Hattie,” I say. I turn to Freddie and then Ruthie. “Hattie’s in the trailer. She’s by herself. I’ve got to get to her.”

  I begin to stand, but Freddie pulls me back. “Ramona, wait it out. You can’t go anywhere right now. I promise as soon as it’s clear, I’ll drive you wherever you want to go.”

  And then the lights go out entirely. The hallway is lit by the blue light of cell phones. Some students are laughing and making jokes, but I hear a few quiet sobs.

  Panic claws at my chest. I wish I could see outside, but the whole purpose of having us here in this hallway is that there are no windows. I pull my knees in to my chest and duck my head in between my legs, not really caring much that I’m in a dress.

  Freddie traces patterns into the bare skin of my back, just like he did when Hattie was in the hospital.

  Every time I close my eyes, all I can imagine is going home to a slab of concrete and a missing sister. I was so stupid to think I could ever protect her. That I could ever create a real, lasting life for us in that dilapidated trailer.

  Above and all around us, the walls and ceiling begin to shake like a freight train is running through the hallway. Ruthie curls into a ball under my jacket at my side, and I grip her hand tightly. Freddie takes off his jacket and holds it over all three of us. I hold on to his leg with my free hand. Dust and drywall falls around us. There’s screaming and crying. It echoes until I can’t tell which howling is louder: the people or the storm.

  Wherever Mrs. Treviño has gone, she’s not bothering to comfort us anymore. In the face of Mother Nature, there is no sympathy. She doesn’t care if you’re poor or straight or gay or a guy or a girl. She only cares if you are in her path.

  I can’t tell how long we’re sitting there for. It could be two minutes or it could be thirty. But eventually the world stops shaking and everyone slowly quiets. As if we’re all playing dead, waiting for the storm to move on to her next victims.

  “Are you okay?” Freddie asks. “Are you both okay?”

  I nod as he drapes his jacket over my shoulders. I shine my cell phone light on Adam and Sophia. “Are you guys all right?”

  They both nod, but I can see they’re both in about as much shock as everyone else.

  “I need to go,” I say. “I need to leave.”

  “Is everyone all right?” Mrs. Treviño calls. A bright flashlight flicks on at the end of the hallway. “We’ve got to do a head count before anyone can leave.”

  And that causes an immediate uproar from everyone, including me.

  “The louder you are,” she shouts, “the more difficult this will be and the longer it will take.”

  On the other side of the hallway, I hear someone say, “My dad says everything south of the tracks is wiped.”

  My heart plummets into my stomach. I pull my cell phone out again. “I don’t have any bars. Does anyone have any bars?”

  “I’ve got nothing,” says Freddie.

  “Me neither,” confirms Ruthie. “Oh, wait. Hang on. Here’s something from Saul. It says to call him.”

  She tries over and over, but nothing.

  I wait in agony for I don’t know how long until finally my phone is struck with several notifications at once. I read them all in rapid succession. “Holy shit. Holy shit.” I stand and run past the chaperone at the end of the hallway. Freddie and Ruthie are close behind.

  “Ramona!” calls Freddie. “Slow down! You don’t have a way to get anywhere without me.”

  “You three!” shouts someone behind us, but no one has time to chase us down as we bolt through the exit.

  “We gotta go,” I shout as I frantically search the parking lot for Agnes’s Cadillac. I turn to th
em both. “Hattie’s having the baby early. I need to get to the hospital. She’s having an emergency C-section.”

  FORTY-THREE

  In the dark of night, it’s difficult to see any damage outside, but somehow, I can sense it.

  Freddie clicks Agnes’s key chain, and I follow the flashing headlights to the last row of the parking lot, where the three of us find a downed tree resting on the hood of the Cadillac.

  “Shit,” says Freddie.

  I turn to him. “We can move it.”

  And we do. The tree isn’t all that big. It leaves a dent in the hood, but after some grunting we’re able to roll it off onto the grass in front of the car.

  We all pile in. The streets are eerily quiet except for a few police cars and ambulances speeding down the roads with their lights all lit up and sirens singing.

  I can’t think about what my home might look like at this exact moment. I can only be thankful that Hattie is at the hospital and Dad was at work. The car ride is silent except for the pounding of my frantic heart. Hattie’s going to have a C-section, which we already knew, but this is earlier than expected. I don’t know much about childbirth, but it seems routine enough. It happens every day without consequence. And yet, if there’s a way for this night to go even more to hell, Hattie might find a way to make it happen.

  According to Dad’s texts, the doctor says the procedure is more high risk than normal because of Hattie’s condition. Not to mention that the storm that rolled through Eulogy is about to roll through Gulfport. The power could go out or the whole building could just be destroyed if a tornado really hits. I tell myself that hospitals are prepared for these types of things and that even if the power goes out, they’ll have generators. But still, all I can imagine at this moment is my sister bleeding out in the middle of a power outage.

  Ruth is in the backseat on the phone with Saul. “Are you okay? Are Mom and Dad? What about Reggie?”

  After a moment of silence, she nods. “We’re on our way now.” Pause. “Yeah, okay, good. We’ll see you there.”

  She hangs up. “Everyone’s okay. They lost a few windows at the apartment. Reggie was out on the rig this weekend, and the storm missed them.”

  “Saul hasn’t driven by the trailer park, has he?” I ask, even though the thought of an answer terrifies me.

  Ruthie shakes her head. “Not that I know of.”

  I close my eyes and lean my head against the headrest until Freddie says, “We’re here.” He pulls up to the carport. “We’ll meet you inside.”

  The hospital is alive with energy as injuries from the storm trickle in. The elevators are taking too long, so I opt to run the four flights up to the maternity ward. I remind myself to thank Coach Pru for the extra training.

  The maternity ward is a serene oasis compared to what’s happening downstairs. Dad sits in the waiting room by himself, chewing the quick of his nails.

  “Where is she?” I pant.

  He stands and pulls me into a suffocating hug. “You’re okay.”

  Just then the double swinging doors leading to the rest of the ward open as Tyler pushes through them. His skin is so pale it’s almost translucent, and his eyes are wide and full of terror. “It’s about to happen,” he says. “Can you make sure to let my mom know? She should be here soon.”

  “But where is Hattie?” I ask. “I need to get, like, scrubs or whatever.”

  The elevator doors open and Saul, Ruthie, and Freddie all tumble out.

  Tyler turns to me, and in a quieter voice says, “She can only have one person in the operating room with her.”

  “I know,” I say. And then I realize. “Oh.”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  My dad’s hand is on my back.

  I feel it in my lips first, the trembling. I hate myself for crying so much this year, but my entire stupid life has upended itself. This life I’ve created is a messy room and only I know where everything is hidden and tucked away, but now it’s like someone’s come in and tidied up and suddenly nothing is as it should be.

  “You have to be brave for her,” I tell him.

  Tyler nods, and I know he’s an asshat jerk, but something in my voice resonates with him. I can see it. Then he runs back through the double doors.

  I sit down in between my dad and Freddie. Ruthie argues with the vending machine, trying to shake her chips loose before she pokes around the nurse’s desk a little bit and starts asking about summer internships.

  My entire life is an unknown. It’s an ocean without a floor. A pool without an end.

  Freddie knocks the toe of his dress shoe against mine. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers.

  I nod.

  I feel betrayed. Sure, I’m not the one who got Hattie pregnant, but I’m the one who’s been there to pick up the pieces every step of the way, and if anyone is going to be in that operating room with her, it should be me.

  When Tyler’s mom arrives, my dad does all the talking. Mrs. Porter is a stout little woman with deep smile lines. I wonder what she did to end up with a kid like Tyler.

  From what I know about Tyler and his mom, I understand that being here for the birth of her illegitimate grandchild goes against everything she believes in, but I can still sense the eagerness in her voice that tells me she is going to be a wonderful grandmother. Her presence alone eases my nerves.

  “Have you called Mom?” I suddenly blurt.

  My dad turns to me and guiltily shakes his head.

  I shoot off a quick text to her. The baby is coming! Hattie’s in labor and delivery right now!

  She responds within seconds. I get off at midnight, but will try to be there sooner. Are y’all okay?

  I respond to let her know I’m okay. We’re all okay. And then we wait.

  Sara Belle Leroux is born at 11:53 p.m. at six pounds, three ounces. Her hair is blacker than night, and she hasn’t opened her eyes wide enough for me to see what color they are yet.

  I am in love. Hattie fought for Sara to have her last name, since Tyler wanted to name her after his great-aunt Sara. And Belle? Well, Hattie’s daughter’s name had to have a little bit of flair.

  Freddie, Ruth, and Saul all peek in on Hattie, but she’s still so doped up on drugs.

  “I want what she’s having,” says Saul.

  Ruth shakes her head. “We better get going.”

  After they head off for the elevators, Freddie motions with his head in their direction. “Me too,” he says. “Gram said we had a little damage on the roof, and I told her I’d climb up there as soon as the sun comes up.”

  “You let me know if she needs any shingles replaced,” my dad tells him. “You and me can jump up there on my day off and knock it out. No need to call anyone if it’s minor.” Dad holds out his hand for Freddie, and the two shake firmly. “I appreciate you getting Ramona here.”

  “Of course,” Freddie says. “Congratulations, Hattie. Tyler, you too.”

  Tyler waves, but doesn’t look up from Sara.

  Hattie giggles wildly, on the verge of tears. “I’m wearing diapers and so is she.”

  Freddie’s cheeks turn a deep red.

  “It’s a pad, not a diaper,” I tell her.

  “And oh my God! These socks are great. Why don’t more people talk about how great hospital socks are?”

  “I’ll, uh, walk you out,” I tell Freddie, not bothering to hide my smile.

  The walk to the elevators is quiet, but not in a bad way, I don’t think.

  While we wait for the elevator, Freddie hugs me, pulling me to him with our arms wrapped tight around each other. I feel the weight of everything unsaid between us. But after everything tonight, I don’t even know where to begin.

  I hold Sara for as long as I can before the nurse shoos us all away. Tyler’s mom is bubbling with constant tears, and I think even Dad’s eyes might have watered.

  Once Mom gets here she seems stunned the whole time, dabbing her eyes nonstop. For once, she doesn’t make it about herself, and the
only reason I can think of is that she’s under Sara’s spell, too. Either way, we are all completely smitten, and for those few moments in Hattie’s hospital room, it’s easy to believe that this sweet little baby is the answer to all of the world’s troubles.

  Mom sits in the rocking chair with a pillow on her lap for extra support as she holds Sara for the first time. “She looks just like the two of you girls.” She turns to my dad. “And she’s got Hattie’s nose. Doesn’t she have Hattie’s nose?”

  He nods. “And Tyler’s ears.”

  “Guess I don’t have to waste money on that paternity test,” he says in true Tyler fashion.

  But his mom is quick to smack him in the back of the head.

  “Sorry,” he mumbles.

  While the doctor is checking in on Hattie and Sara, I wait in the hallway with my mom while Dad and Mrs. Porter run down to the cafeteria for coffee.

  “Hey, honey,” says Mom, “thanks for messaging me. I’m . . . I’m glad to be here tonight.”

  I nod. “Hattie wanted you here.”

  My mom will never be perfect. She’ll never be the mom I want her to be, but she’ll always be the mom I’ve got. We’ll never have a perfect relationship, and she might not ever fully understand me, but sometimes you gotta work with what you have.

  “I wanted you here, too,” I tell her.

  She turns so that I can’t see her face, but I can hear the tears in her voice. “You look real nice in your prom outfit. Did you and Freddie go together?”

  “Ruth was my date. The girl in the blue dress.”

  She nods, facing me. “She’s real pretty. I hope you girls had fun.”

  It might be a small first step or maybe the most acceptance I’ll ever get from her. I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to see.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you girls at the baby shower,” she adds. “I was upset about not being a part of it. But I understand why I wasn’t.”

  I don’t say I’m sorry or that I understand why she got drunk, because neither of those things are true. “I’m just glad you’re here now,” I tell her.