The nurse came out, and Tucker walked in.
There was Ray.
He was laid out beneath a sheet, needles piercing his skin, plastic tubes shoved up his nose. The bandanna was gone, and his flesh was more sallow and wasted than ever. His arms looked thin enough to snap.
Tucker couldn’t believe how far Ray had fallen in the weeks since he’d seen him.
He approached the bed carefully, looking at his father’s face. Tucker thought he might be asleep or something worse, but no. He was awake, if only just.
Ray peered at Tucker without moving, then took a labored breath.
“Look who made the long trip.”
Tucker felt like this was a dream, a movie. No, it felt like he was high. He was expanding and then floating. Up, up, up.
Simple words came out of him, and they felt weightless too.
“It wasn’t a long trip. I was down the road, visiting a friend at college.”
“A friend?”
Tucker paused. “The girl from the diner.”
His dad tried to move—to shift or to sit up, Tucker wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, he gave up right away, pooling back down into the bed.
“Well, now I feel bad. That you left that for me.”
Tucker was still floating. He had taken up residence somewhere near the ceiling, as far from these proceedings as possible, untouchable.
Words continued to come from his mouth.
“I screwed things up with her anyway. So it was no big deal.”
Was his dad laughing or coughing? It was impossible to tell.
“I would say that you got that from me, but I don’t think you got much from me.”
Ray’s eyes were fluttering, fluttering. Shutting.
“Good for you, on that front.”
And with that, Tucker crashed back down to Earth.
This was not a dream. Not a movie. He was not high or even slightly drunk. He was very sober and he was here, in the present, in this horrible moment in which he did not know what he could possibly say.
I love you. I forgive you. I’m sorry.
None of those were right, none of them.
He should sit here, being stoic. That’s what men did, right, in situations like this?
Tucker realized that Ray was asleep now. Not a peaceful kind—one that was all sickness and drugs. Tucker had to do something, so he stepped forward and touched his father’s shoulder. It was so thin that it felt like a bird’s wing, and Tucker jerked back, afraid that even the weight of his hand might be enough to hurt him.
When Tucker’s heart had slowed a bit, he tried again, resting his fingers as lightly as he could on his father’s wasted body.
Then he whispered goodbye and walked out the door.
Tucker sat at the kitchen table with Maggie, Nate, and his grandmother. He stayed where he was while the three of them took turns being at Ray’s side. Then the nurse came out and told them that she thought it would be very soon.
There was space only for the one chair in the makeshift hospital room, but Maggie said it was fine, they would all go stand by the bed. Tucker felt shaky, but also sure that he could do this. He just had to stand there, right? Stand there and breathe.
Then came the sound of feet padding down the stairs. A scared little face peeked around the corner.
Riley.
In all his panic and exhaustion, Tucker had completely forgotten that Riley was living here, too. He watched as the little boy slipped into the kitchen, his Star Wars pajamas rumpled, hair messy with sleep, eyes wide with confusion.
Riley smiled.
“Hi, Tucker.”
Maggie immediately tried to usher him away, murmuring that he needed to go back to bed. Riley said no, no, no—they were being too loud and he wasn’t tired and why was everyone here, what was going on?
“I’ll take him outside,” Tucker said quietly. “We can go sit outside.”
“Put your hands out like this, okay? With your palms up. Now I put mine on top and you try to slap them, before I can pull away.”
“Like this?”
“Yeah, yeah. But you have to be way faster. I’m incredibly good at this game, so don’t feel bad if you . . . OW! Okay, okay. That was beginner’s luck.”
Riley laughed. “Again?”
“Okay, I’m ready. But this time you’ll never . . . OW! How are you doing that? Now I’m embarrassed.”
On the next two rounds, Tucker yanked his hands free before Riley could get him, hoping if he did that, the game would truly seem real. And it was working, wasn’t it? Riley was licking his lips, looking determined.
“Okay, last time,” Tucker said. “You have no chance, none at all, I’m . . . AHHH! All right, you win. You’re freakishly good at that.”
“Since I won, can I have more Altoids?”
“No! I can’t believe you actually like them. They taste terrible!”
They’d been on the porch for almost an hour, and Tucker had run dry on jokes and stories. He was starting to feel exhausted, but at least it looked like Riley was, too.
“Hey,” Tucker whispered. “How’s your leg doing?”
“My leg?”
“You know, the, um, the one that you hurt? The one that was in a cast?”
“Oh. The cast was really itchy. And I wasn’t allowed to go in the pool.”
Tucker looked down at his shoes and nodded quickly. “That sucks. I’m really sorry about that—really sorry.”
They sat quietly, listening to the crickets. Riley looked up at him with wide eyes.
“Now can I have more Altoids?”
“No! Listen, have you seen the Harry Potter movies? Or has anybody read you the books?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay, how about I tell you the first story?”
Riley mumbled “okay,” but a second later his head was on Tucker’s shoulder and his eyes were flickering. Tucker was barely two sentences in when Riley fell completely asleep. After a minute, when Tucker was certain he was out for good, he took the little boy in his arms and turned, ready to carry him back to his room.
Then he saw Maggie standing in the doorway.
She was smiling, but there were tears rolling down her cheeks, too. Tucker made his way up the steps, and stood there holding his cousin, looking at his aunt through the ratty screen door.
“Didn’t mean to spy on you,” she said. “It was just so nice, to listen to the two of you. I needed that right now.”
“I’m sorry,” Tucker said. “I never said I was sorry about the accident . . .”
Maggie shook her head and told him to stop. “You’re so good with him. You always have been, and I know . . . I know . . .”
Tucker clung harder to Riley, while Maggie seemed to fall apart right in front of him. Then she opened the door and came outside, her face growing harder as she looked Tucker in the eye.
“You never met our father, and I don’t have much to say about him, but you should remember this—your dad was the oldest, and the oldest bears the brunt. You hear me? The oldest bears the brunt. I know an only child must, too, but I’m not sure it’s quite the same, as when you’re trying to hold back the load from other people. Other children.”
Tucker’s throat swelled, and he could not speak.
There was a part of him that wanted to pretend this was news, what she’d just told him. But hadn’t he always known? Even if no one had said it to him so directly, it was something that he sensed from the stories he heard, and from the ones that were never told.
Tucker knew then that he’d made a mistake, trying to be stoic.
He should go back to the side of the bed and be himself. He should cry if he wanted to, maybe tell his dad a story—the one about beer tasting ugly, that would be perfect. Ray might even laugh, if he told that story.
“Can I . . . will you take Riley, so I can go back in and see him?” he asked.
Maggie pressed her lips together and shook her head.
“Oh, Tucker. He’s already gone.”
Tucker stayed out on the porch, trying to pull himself together as he stared at his phone.
He thought it would be easier to talk to Bobby first, but Bobby didn’t answer and was surely asleep, so Tucker left a long rambling message. It ended with him saying that Bobby was one of the best people he knew, and that he felt like he was a better person because the two of them were friends.
When that was done, he stalled as long as he could before he called his mom. Frank answered after half a ring.
“Tucker, hi. She’s . . . listen, don’t tell her I told you this, but she’s outside smoking.”
Tucker choked out a little laugh. “What? She still does that?”
“Only like twice a year. When she’s really stressed. Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m at the farm. He’s . . . it’s over.”
“Oh god, Tucker, I’m so sorry.”
Frank kept talking, but Tucker blocked out the words, because they were too much right now. Instead, he watched the sun edging up on the horizon. It was bringing the land into view and reminding him of the accident.
His mom had been a wreck that day. And she’d had to cry her eyes out next to Tucker’s bed, alone.
“I’m really sorry,” Tucker said, cutting Frank off. “That I didn’t want you in my room at the hospital, that day when I got hurt. I was . . . I was scared. And I was ashamed.”
Frank gave a little cough.
“You were also in a lot of pain, Tucker. You don’t have to apologize for anything.”
“No, I think I do. And I screwed up your wedding. You had to put off your wedding.”
“That was fine. That was nothing. It was just going to be a party in the backyard. We had that day at the courthouse instead, and that was perfect. I think about it all the time.”
Tucker covered his eyes with his hand. He was shaking.
No one could undo what his father had done. And no one could fill the void he’d left. Tucker would have to carry with him a store of darkness, one he’d be fighting his whole life.
He would need all the light that he could get.
“Thanks for buying me that suit, for the wedding. I really like that suit.”
“Of course, of course.”
“And thanks for buying me gum, even if I didn’t need it. I mean—it’s not because this happened, that I didn’t need it. I just don’t really need it yet.”
“Sure, sure. I was just worried about you. And for the record, I didn’t need it either, when I was your age. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Tucker was thinking again of Erika, of the awful things he had said. He tried to imagine some different version of tonight, one where she was here with him. That might have helped, being able to curl into her arms, but it wouldn’t have been enough to change anything.
Tucker used to think falling for someone meant entering a private world, a place where you didn’t need anybody else. Now he felt like that wasn’t true at all—if anything, it reminded him how much he needed other people, other kinds of love.
He wiped his eyes and stared up at the stars. They were so bright here, so beautiful.
“Did you find anything for Mom’s birthday?” Tucker asked.
“Oh, not yet. Striking out again.”
“Are you upstairs?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“There’s a bag on the desk, in my room. I saw it and thought it might work, so I picked it up for you.”
That wasn’t actually true. Tucker had bought it for Erika as a little joke, then forgot to bring it. But now this felt better, this felt right. When he heard the rustling of plastic, he pictured Frank staring at the bottle of Taylor Swift perfume.
“Tucker, this is so stupid. She will never, ever use this. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And I love you.”
“I love you too. Can you hold on, just for a minute more? Your mom is coming. Here she is, here she is.”
A Few More Parties for the Road
36
Erika
Erika’s mother had begged to come for support, but Erika wouldn’t let her—Salma was with her, and that was enough.
Erika had never been in a courthouse before. In a way, it was like the movies, the long halls lined with massive wooden doors that led to cavernous rooms. In another way, everything was old and sterile and dull, government issue. A bigger version of the DMV. That was weirdly comforting, to think of this as the DMV. Something that you had to do, so shut up and do it.
It was Friday. Finals were over, her papers were in, RA duties wrapping up. Now she just needed to get through this, drive home tomorrow morning, and smile her way through the stupid party Saturday night.
Salma patted her knee.
“Hey, girl, hey,” she said, giving her a tight smile. “You doing okay?”
“Yes,” Erika said. “I swear I’m fine. Thank you for coming.”
“Listen, I’m here for you, but also here for this, you know? This is important.”
It was important, she was right, and thinking about that made Erika’s heart thump. Why had she gotten here so early? She wondered if Makenzie was here yet. She’d heard that Makenzie got to sit in a private room with her parents, so there was no way to know.
“Talk to me about something, anything,” Erika said. “It’s too damn quiet in here.”
“No problem,” Salma said. “I actually have a real, no-bullshit question for you. Are you dreading going to your dad’s tomorrow?”
Erika groaned. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
Her dad and Jennifer were having a little party at their house to celebrate everything—the marriage and the baby and the new place back in the suburbs, not so far from Erika’s mom. Erika had said she would go, and Jennifer had been so grateful, considering all that Erika had going on. Court today, and then leaving first thing Sunday for Smith . . .
Erika had toyed with the idea of bailing on the summer program. She’d even let herself dream of a relaxing summer at home with her mom, not living several states away trying to be some kind of leader. The Erika of a year ago—she would have ditched for sure, gotten her old job at Applebee’s.
Erika of today was going—she was just nervous as hell.
Looking up at the ceiling, she sighed.
“Who wants to have a party six weeks after a damn baby is born?”
Salma elbowed her. “Jennifer, of course! Oh gosh, I know this is a bad idea, but I just really wanted to do it. It’ll be fun, right? I think it will be fun.”
Erika side-eyed her.
“That was seriously spot-on. Have you been practicing or something?”
“I haven’t, I swear.” Salma was watching Erika carefully, biting back a smile. “And I like her, for the record. Hope that’s okay to say.”
Erika crossed her arms, leaned back against the wall.
“I know, I know. I like her, too. I just never know what to say to her.”
Erika had called on FaceTime to see it—an angry, squishy face inside of a blanket. Were they always so red in the cheeks? Erika didn’t have much experience with creatures that small. She guessed it was a cute-enough baby, though she needed to stop saying “it.”
She was Tessa. Tessa Green.
“I don’t know how you’ve held out this long without meeting her,” Salma said. “I’d have driven the two hours to their house for the baby cuddles. Baby cuddles always hurt my ovaries, but in a good way.”
“You’re so weird,” Erika said. “My ovaries don’t have the same urges as yours.”
Salma was about to say more, but then Erika grabbed her arm, because here came the prosecutor, Rebecca.
She was short and all shoulders, wearing her usual uniform of a generic-looking black suit with the lowest and boxiest pair of heels you could imagine. The girls watched her coming toward them. Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk.
Erika had not hesitated the first time she’d sat across from her, several weeks back. She’d said I might not be good witness materi
al before she’d even said hello.
Rebecca had listened, blank-faced, while Erika had explained. When the story was done, Erika had folded her hands on the table in front of her, her heart pounding the whole time. Rebecca had made a couple notes on her laptop, then announced that it was fine. She didn’t think any of that would come up, and if it did, she’d try to object. But she couldn’t make any promises.
Erika had said she understood, and Rebecca had nodded. Good girl, she’d said.
Now here Rebecca was, marching down the hallway, her focus straight ahead so that she didn’t notice Erika until she was right next to her. When she saw her sitting there, she stopped short.
“You’re off the hook.”
Erika and Salma both stood up. Erika’s purse fell to the floor, but she left it there.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “What happened?”
“He took the plea at the last minute. The judge accepted it. Three years’ probation. One-year jail sentence, suspended.”
“Suspended,” Erika said. “Does that mean he doesn’t go at all?”
“Not unless he screws up in the next three years,” Rebecca said.
Erika looked at Salma, whose eyes were wide, her mouth open.
What had happened that night? Erika didn’t actually know, because what had she really done, except tell Makenzie that she was sorry, that she would believe her, that she wanted to get her to someone who could help? There was almost nothing specific in the paper. The whispers in the dorm told a little more. That Makenzie was drunk and no one should have been touching her. That she didn’t remember how she got into the room with him. Erika knew that people had seen her stumbling out, limping, and hadn’t said or done anything, because it couldn’t be what it looked like, right?
The bruises. Erika had heard that they’d photographed the bruises on her wrists, other places, and she was shaking now to think of it. She turned to Rebecca.
“I’m confused. Is this good?” Erika asked.
“It’s good. I know it might not feel good, but these cases are hard, so this is a win.”
A win. There had to be a better word for this. Erika was swallowing again and again.
“It doesn’t feel like a win,” Salma said.
Our Year in Love and Parties Page 17