“They know I gave you drinks. The police might want to nail me for that one. Or try anyway,” he added under his breath.
Trina inserted her head between ours. “I think I’ll take your temp while I’m here.”
I let her stick the cone thing in my ear and thought about what Cal had just said. Of course … the drinks … the police knew I was underage. I wondered what kind of trouble he’d be in. But compared to what I’d done? “I’m guilty of way worse things.”
“Normal,” Trina announced and went to write something in my chart.
“Hey. We’re both guilty,” Cal said. “I was there too, remember?”
“Not really,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
He grinned sheepishly. “Right.” Scooping up the bouquet, he jammed it into one of the vases along the window. Pulling out a single flower, he twirled it between his fingers while he leaned against the ledge. “Your mom says you don’t remember much of what happened that — ouch!”
“Sorry!” Trina apologized, wheeling some kind of monitor to the other side of my bed. “Was that your foot?”
I waited for her to move out of the way. “Well, I’m starting to remember a few things. Like that one moment, when I hit the man …” I said slowly, closing my eyes as the image popped into my head. That startled look on his face. I think there’d been something in his hand, a cane maybe. Somehow that made it worse. When I opened my eyes again, Cal was still holding the flower. He was pulling the petals off one by one, and letting them fall to the floor.
“Sure. The man …” He looked up and abruptly stopped, like he just realized what he was doing. “Yeah well, we shouldn’t talk about the accident, or that night at all, even.” Sticking what was left of the flower into the vase, he returned to my side. He picked my hands up and held them in his, saying, “You’re not ready yet.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
“And I think I read somewhere that if you try too hard, it might cause more metal trauma or something.”
“I think you mean mental trauma,” Trina offered dryly.
Are you still here? I rolled my eyes. It was so obvious Mom asked her to spy on us. “Trina? Could you get me another cup so Cal can have some water? It’s really dry in here.”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” Cal added. I was pretty sure I saw him wink at her.
Trina forced a smile. “I’ll be right back.”
Once she’d left, Cal leaned towards me. “I just want you to get better,” he said softly. “And you can count on me to be here every step of the way.”
When he looked at me with those eyes … my insides turned to mush. All of a sudden the air felt really thick and his face seemed incredibly close. I tried to change the subject. “Ummm, I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything? Like how he’s doing?”
He gave me a blank look. “Who?”
I was kind of surprised he had to ask. “The man I hit.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. No. But don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll pull through.” He rose from the chair. “I should go,” he announced wistfully. “I’ve gotta go pick up my mom from water aerobics then drop little sis at piano.”
“Have fun,” I said.
“And no thinking about that night, right?”
There was no way I could agree to that — that would be impossible. So I smiled. “I’m glad you came.” I wasn’t expecting to mean it, but I did.
“I’ll be back.” And before I realized what was happening, he bent over and kissed me on the lips. I was too stunned to react or even say goodbye to him when he walked out the door.
I sat there, heart pounding, touching my fingers to my lips, not sure what to make of it all. I wished Kasey wasn’t in school. She was going to totally lose it when I told her.
Trina reappeared with the extra cup. “He leave?”
I nodded.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded again. My lips were still tingling.
Her surveillance assignment complete, she set the cup down and went off to do other things.
Cal’s visit left me feeling wiped out. Though I tried to fight it, it was only a matter of moments before I drifted off to sleep.
A WEIRD, SLURPING SOUND dragged me out of the darkness. I reluctantly opened one eye. There was Kasey staring at me over the rim of a giant coffee. “How can you drink that stuff ?” I asked.
“How can you not?”
I pulled myself upright. “I must be getting a cold or something. Coffee smell usually grosses me out.” I touched my hand to my forehead, feeling for a fever, but it felt cool.
Kasey hooked her bottom teeth under the lip of her cup to roll up the rim, then she grumbled in disgust. “Great. Free donut. Where’s my big screen TV?”
“Cal was here,” I said, casually throwing it out there.
“What?!” She sat up a little straighter. “Details.”
“He said he couldn’t wait to see me …” And I went on and told her everything he’d said, everything we’d talked about, the frown on her face deepening with my every word.
“Seriously, has he lost his memory too?” she asked sarcastically. “Does he think you guys have been going out for years or something?”
“Oh stop. He’s just being nice.”
“Stop calling him that.”
“But you didn’t see him. He was so thoughtful and caring, he
really was.”
Kasey shook her head. “Come on, what’s he still doing hanging around here? Shouldn’t he be moving on to his next girl of the week? No offence.”
“You weren’t here, Kasey,” I said firmly.
“Well, it’s got to be an act. Weren’t you listening when I told you about all his lurking? Acting all boyfriendy, like he’s supposed to be here?”
“Kasey. You’re being —”
“Don’t say it.” She wagged her finger at me. “Don’t say I’m being overdramatic.”
I pressed my lips together and didn’t say a word.
“You seem to have gotten over Nate pretty quickly,” she pointed out. “Wasn’t he supposedly the love of your life?”
“There’s not much point in me holding out for him. He’s obviously moved on and hasn’t given me a second thought.” It stung, but I knew that’s how it was — time to accept it.
She scowled and slumped further into the chair.
“Oh, and FYI, he does feel guilty about giving me those drinks,” I told her.
“Hmph,” she snorted. “That’s only because now he’s going to be in shit with the cops.”
How did she know that? Man, she’s good. And then I realized I’d left out the best part. “He kissed me!”
Kasey reacted like she’d been slapped. “You lie!”
“No really. He did.”
She glared at me, disapproval all over her face.
“What?” I demanded.
“I’m trying to decide whether he’s a psycho, or a stalker.” She snapped her fingers in the air. “Guess there’s not much difference!”
“Okay, now you’re being totally overdramatic.”
Kasey’s eyes landed on the gift box. She read the card lying on the lid, then stuck her finger down her throat making gagging noises. “Mark my words. If he shows up with some mixed CD that he’s made especially for you, then you’ll know I was right.”
Chapter 8
That fine line between sleeping and waking became my favourite time of day — those blissful few seconds when I thought I was home in my own bed and it had all been a bad dream. But then my eyes would open. The stain would still be on the ceiling and reality would crash down around me. Those stomach punches just wouldn’t stop.
Trina was pulling open my curtains. “Hey, sleepyhead,” she greeted. “I just came on. How was your night? Any better?”
I made a face.
“Don’t remember?”
Remember. I was really starting to hate that word. Was it possible to erase it from the English language? “I’m not even a
wake. No hard questions yet, okay?” I replied grumpily.
She smiled. “Fair enough.”
It took a ton of effort, but I managed to get myself to the bathroom. I wondered how it was I woke up more exhausted than when I went to bed. The nightmares probably. I wished I could make some sense of them. Steadying myself against the sink, I squeezed some toothpaste onto my toothbrush. As I listened to the back and forth brushing sound inside my head, once again there was a sort of heaviness hanging over me, more intense than usual. I had the feeling that the guy had died and no one had told me — what else could it be? On TV, they used phrases like we lost him, he’s passed on, expired, or we couldn’t save him. Which one would they use to tell me?
The taste and smell of the toothpaste were making me queasy. I closed my eyes and waited for the sick feeling to pass.
Hobbling out of the bathroom, I asked, “Is there something going on? Something I should know?”
Trina helped me slip into my housecoat. “I don’t think so.”
The heaviness didn’t go away.
She must have sensed my anxiety. “I don’t think there’s anything you need to know,” she repeated.
“Thanks,” I nodded. “Because people have kind of taken their time telling me stuff, you know?”
“They’re just trying to do what they think is best,” she said, “and waiting ’til you’re ready.”
I crumpled onto the bed. “Trina? What am I going to do?” Inside, my emotions were swirling around, bubbling like a witch’s evil potion. “God, I feel so awful, it actually hurts to breathe. And my heart aches all the time. I’m starting to think there may be something really wrong with me … I mean, besides the obvious.”
Trina put her hand on my shoulder. “You’re gonna be fine.”
I poured out every thought that was racing through my mind. “Not that I don’t deserve to feel this way — I do. But part of me keeps asking, why me? Why did this happen to me? I’m not a bad person. There must be loads of people out there that deserve this way more. Isn’t that a terrible thing to say? I can’t help it, though, because I really mean it.”
“It’s okay, I understand.” She passed me some Kleenex.
“And it’s not like things are going to get better,” I reasoned, “like there’s no place to go but up. Everything’s going to get way worse. I’m going to be arrested. You know that, right?” She nodded.
“Sometimes when I think about it too much, like think about if that man dies … I get so scared it feels like there’s a kind of explosion in my head.” I stopped to blow my nose. “Sometimes … sometimes I wish …”
“Wish what?”
What should I say? That sometimes I wish there was an explosion in my head? That something would happen to me? It would make things so much easier. Then this would all be over. But then the thought of something like that terrified me as much as everything else — I was such a chicken shit. “Nothing,” I whispered. “Forget it.”
Trina went into the bathroom and came back with a warm face cloth. “Here, give your face a wipe, you’ll feel better.”
“Thanks.”
“Your breakfast is probably cold. I’ll go heat it up.”
When she lifted the cover on the tray, the smell turned my stomach. “I’m okay for now. Could you maybe take it away?”
She picked it up and headed for the door. “I’ll bring you back a muffin and some juice.”
I waited until she was gone, then the floodgates opened and I cried my eyes out. I cried over everything that had happened; I cried for all the people I’d hurt, what I’d lost, my old life, the old Libby — all gone forever.
“Libby?”
It was Mom. I whipped my balled-up Kleenex over my face, under my eyes, caught the drips from my nose. “Hey, Mom.”
She kissed me on the forehead as I propped myself up on the pillows. There was a strange look on her face and my throat tightened. This time I knew it wasn’t my imagination. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
I held my breath, waiting for the bad news.
Collapsing into the chair, she sighed and took her time answering. “You’re being discharged today.”
“Oh.” The word came out like a puff of air. “I didn’t think it would be so soon.”
Mom leaned forward. “Now Libby, I don’t want you to worry. You’ll go downtown with those detectives, but Dad and I will be with you. Diane too. It’s all basically a formality. Then we get to take you home. You finally get to go home, Libby.”
She said that last part like she thought I might be happy about it or something. But I wasn’t so thrilled about going home, not if I had to be arrested first to get there. It was like some cruel game. This bed represented safety. Once I moved from this spot, all bets were off.
“When?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Dr. Murray will check you over one last time. Once we’re all organized, we’ll meet everyone downstairs, around two.”
“Around two …” I echoed.
Instinctively, we looked at the clock on the wall. Four and a half hours to go.
Mom attempted to change the subject. “Trina said you didn’t have breakfast. That’s good, because see what I brought you?” She reached into her purse and pulled out a baggie. “Cheerios. Your favourite.”
I lowered my eyes, stared at my hands, and picked at a dried scab. It must wear her out, trying to be “up” all the time. I didn’t know how she did it.
She stood and started straightening my blankets, re-tucking the corners. She did that a lot. I think it was supposed to be a distraction. More for her than me.
“Don’t you remember, Lib, when you were little? Most kids asked for ice cream, you asked for Honey Nut Cheerios.”
That was true … a whole other lifetime ago.
“They always made you feel better.”
It was her voice, kind of sad. I glanced up. Her eyes were red and puffy. All of a sudden she looked old. That would be my fault.
“Yeah, that’d be great Mom,” I said.
She brightened a bit. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you eat something. I’ll go find some milk.”
The last time I ate something … I can’t remember it, either. They’d brought me food in the hospital, but I’d just pushed it around on my plate.
“Bingo!” Mom returned a moment later holding up a plastic cup. She made up a bowl of cereal and handed it to me.
“Thanks.”
I chewed slowly, the motion feeling alien. The cereal tasted good — cold and sweet. Mom looked so happy watching me. I ate almost the whole thing, wanting to keep that look on her face.
That was a mistake. About two minutes after she cleared away the bowl my stomach began to churn violently. “Uh-oh. You’d better help me to the bathroom.”
Her face was full of concern.
“It’s okay, Mom. It’s probably all the medication.”
She nodded grimly and closed the door to give me some privacy.
Leaning over the toilet, my cast awkwardly slanted out to the side, I held my hair back with one hand and threw up. I stayed there for a while, my head hanging down, strings of spit dangling from my mouth. I watched as one stray Cheerio, stuck to the side of the bowl, slid down and joined the others. They looked like life preservers — tiny life preservers, floating in a sea of foamy white.
Chapter 9
The ticking of the clock echoed through the room. I tried not to stare, but it was hopeless. The minutes seemed to be going by faster than normal. Two o’clock … it was almost here. There was a prickly feeling all over my head, in the roots of my hair, up and down my arms — fear.
What was going to happen when they took me away? Would they read me my rights? Would they use handcuffs? Would there be sirens? Maybe I’d watched too much TV. I had so many questions, but there was no way I was going to ask them. The answers would just freak me out even more.
“I think that’s everything from in there,” Mom said, coming o
ut of the bathroom.
“Mom?”
“Hmm?”
“Am I going to have to say anything? Are they going to ask me more stuff?”
She sat down on the corner of the bed. “From what I understand, Diane wants you to keep quiet, so do as she says.”
“I don’t think they believe me you know, when I say I don’t remember.” I probably wouldn’t believe me either.
She tilted her head and frowned. “I think they believe you, Libby.”
My eyes swung back to the clock. I watched the staggered movement of the second hand, and wished there was some way to hypnotize myself into remembering. “Wait. Do they know that I remembered about hitting the man? Did you tell them that?”
Mom was stuffing things into a small overnight bag. “Yes, they know,” she said without looking up.
“Oh, good,” I breathed. Somehow that made me feel better. If the police saw me as someone who was doing their best to co-operate, to be helpful, maybe they’d go easier on me. Easier on me — like when they had me locked up in some tiny dark room, pounding their fists on the table, trying to break me, vowing to get the truth. It wasn’t really going to be like that, was it? That’s when I decided, in spite of what the doctors and my parents said, that it was time I tried to do everything I could to remember.
I wished Cal would come by; then I’d make him go through the whole night step by step. There was still time before I had to leave. Maybe hearing him say it out loud would bring something back. A lot of my flashes seemed to come as a result of something someone said. Often all it took was one word.
“Do you want to keep all these cards?” Mom asked, closing them up and making a pile.
“No.”
She opened the drawer beside my bed. “And all this candy?”
“Keep it,” I nodded.
“I told your father he was crazy,” she muttered, scooping out the drawer. Then she turned to the window. “What about these flowers? Some still look pretty good.”
I shrugged. “Maybe we could leave them here. They could give them to someone who doesn’t have any.”
“That’s a nice idea,” she said, and continued to pack up the few other things that were lying around. “What’s this?” She picked up the scarf box.
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