Bill starts to speak again, but Luke shuts him up. “No! Don’t fucking speak!” His face is red, tremors vibrate through his raised fist.
“Luke—Luke!” I call out his name, but my throat feels closed off. Flashes of the things Bill might have said are hitting me in pulses.
Luke’s face turns toward my voice; our eyes connect over the barrier of someone’s shoulder. He gives me such a broken look—a look like he’s never given me before. Such deep pain, mixed with his anger. He turns away, shoves Bill back before he can finish climbing to his feet. “You’re not worth it,” he says, and I don’t know if the words are for Bill or for me.
I’ve edged my way into the last threads of bystanders, so I see it when Bill gets up and runs at Luke, aims at him from behind as he’s trying to exit the swarm. It’s only one push, but it’s enough. The full weight of Bill’s body is directed through the hands that connect with Luke’s back, and even though I’ve screamed Luke’s name, he doesn’t have time to react. He falls forward, hitting the edge of a row of lockers with his head, and drops to the ground.
I’m crying now, clawing my way to him, his name the only thing on my lips. He’s on the floor, and teachers have flooded the area; they become part of those who are blocking me. One of them has his arms wrapped around Bill, who’s still trying to go after Luke; another comes to help and the threat of Bill leaves my mind. There’s only Luke, and getting to him.
The teachers are with him—holding on, bracing—when I finally force my way through and land on my knees in front of him. He’s trying to get up, which means he’s conscious.
He sees my tears and pain goes through his face. “Layla?” He reaches for me, and I’m pulled back from him.
“Miss Marshall—Miss Marshall.”
The gym teacher has me by the arm. “You have to let us help him,” he says.
I look down at where I’m gripping Luke’s outstretched hand with both of mine. Then, I let go.
♦ ♦ ♦
I am inconsolable, afterward. Nina and Josie are with me; they’re the only ones I’ll let come anywhere close.
“He’ll be okay,” they say, coaxing me in rotation. I don’t believe them; I won’t, until I know the truth of it for myself.
The teachers keep Luke separated from everyone while they await an ambulance, until one of them arrives to take me to him, because he’s asking for me.
“Are you okay?” I say as soon as I get close, the strain making my voice crack.
He looks up from where he’s sitting, holding an ice pack to his head, and gives me a strange gaze, clinging and wary and foggy, all at the same time. “Are you crying?”
“Don’t worry about me. How are you feeling?”
“Shitty,” he says.
“Do you remember anything that happened?” I think of the accident on the mountain and his memory loss there.
“Yeah,” he says. “Pretty sure I remember almost everything.” The distance in his gaze grows, and I feel like I’m being accused of something. Even though I can’t be certain about what it is, I can imagine. I also can’t help thinking of how this injury differs from the previous one: this time, if I’d been open and honest, he might not have been caught unawares by the danger; possibly, he could’ve avoided harm.
“Luke, I—” When I get tripped up by not knowing how to begin, he cuts me off.
“They can’t get a hold of my dad.” He hands his cell phone to me. “Can you keep trying? I don’t want to talk to him.”
“Sure. Of course.” I block thoughts of how I’d rather not talk to his dad, either. I’ll do this—do nearly anything—to make things better.
“The ambulance is here,” a teacher says, and a couple of people help Luke stand as the vehicle pulls around the corner. There are flashing lights but no siren, which brings some sense of relief. I follow Luke and his helpers to the ambulance, ask the EMT where they’re taking him, ask if I can come along.
“Family, only,” she tells me. Luke raises his eyes to mine and I can’t be sure if the pain darkening them is related to his head, or what’s happening between us. Maybe it’s both.
“I’ll follow you to the hospital,” I say, but he only adjusts his ice pack and looks away.
Nina and Josie offer to accompany me, their faces bursting with sympathy, but I think their school day has been sufficiently interrupted. They group-hug me goodbye and, in unison, on either side of my head, each whispers into my ear, “We need to talk.”
The ambulance takes Luke from me, and I drive to the hospital, where I’ll stay until he’s okay.
In the waiting room, I attempt to call his dad and end up scrolling too quickly through his contacts. The screen rolls almost to the end before I head back to the Ds. I ignore the M in his list, guessing it stands for Marissa, until I notice Marissa’s name is there. Could the M be for Mom? And does she deserve to know, too?
My decision is made when I can’t reach Luke’s dad. I get his voicemail and leave a message detailing what I know of Luke’s injury, assuring him he’s conscious and hopefully mostly all right, telling him he’s at Memorial Hospital.
I don’t know where Mr. Owens is, or how long it will take for him to receive the information and make his way to his son. Someone needs to be here for Luke, though. Someone who can make decisions.
Before I can change my mind, I select the number with the M, and hit the button to call.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice answers. She hardly sounds familiar anymore. I wonder if Luke had the same thought when she first reached out after years of silence.
“Is this Beth, um, Owens?” Who knows if she and Luke still share a last name?
“Who’s calling?”
“This is Layla Marshall, a friend of Luke’s.”
“Layla?” Her voice goes faint, like she’s stepped far back from the line.
“Yes. Uh, please don’t panic or anything, but Luke’s been hurt and—”
“Hurt?”
“Yes, he’s pretty much all right, but he hit his head. He’s conscious and talking, but he might have a concussion, or maybe he just reinjured—”
“Where is he?”
“Memorial Hospital. He’s being treated in the Emergency Room.”
“And he wanted you to call me?”
“Um? I didn’t specify who I would call, but…”
“Okay. I’m leaving now, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“All right. I’m in the waiting room, so…I guess I’ll see you when you get here.” I feel like I should warn her of this.
“Good. And Layla?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
I don’t know whether calling Luke’s mom will be a positive thing for him or not. I don’t even know how I’ll react to seeing her: she betrayed my mom, her former best friend. That continues to hurt, although I feel like being The Other Woman must have hurt her in plenty of ways, too. Regardless, what she did to Lucas still feels unforgiveable. But I guess that part will be up to him to decide.
♦ ♦ ♦
The hospital is overly bright. It smells of chemicals and a sickly sweetness, and there are beeping sounds and voices, and, somehow, a strange, pervasive silence underlying everything.
I don’t want to be here, but I’m glad I can be, for Luke. Even if they won’t let me see him.
I still have his phone, and since I can’t text or call to let him know I’m close by, I check with the nurse until she gets tired of telling me she can’t tell me anything. Then, I ask her to please let Luke know I’m here if she can. She says she will. It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got, for now.
While I’m waiting for something besides waiting to happen, I call my mom to explain about Luke and to let her know where I am. After assuring her as much as I can about his condition, she wants to know what time I’ll be home, but that’s a question I can’t answer yet.
Luke’s mom walks in as I’m hanging up the phone. She checks in with the receptionist, and her
eyes roam the waiting room, catching on my face and lingering. She’s uncertain whether it’s me.
“Mrs. Owens?” I ask, still not sure what I should be calling her. She hasn’t changed all that much. A few extra pounds, a little more chemical colorant in her blonde hair, a lot less sparkle in her smile.
“Layla,” she says. “You’re all grown up.”
“Getting there.” I go to her and she gives me a light hug when I arrive, which is unexpected but not awful. We share history, not necessarily hatred.
“Have you been in to see Luke?” she asks, her gaze skimming the room once more.
“Not yet. They said only family could see him now, but I overheard them saying something about taking him for some kind of scan, anyway.”
“Yes, that’s what they told me.” His mom nods, glancing again at the reception desk. “You said he was conscious, though. Talking, and everything, right?”
“Yes, and making sense. Much better than last time.”
“Last time?”
I nod. “The accident. When we got lost on the mountain.”
“I was in touch with his father during that whole ordeal.” Her face has clouded with something that looks like doubt, or maybe regret. “He kept me updated…but he never mentioned a concussion.”
“Oh.” I don’t trust myself to say more, but her gaze goes over my face. If she has questions, I hope she directs them to the right person.
“I called Luke’s dad, too,” I tell her. “I didn’t reach him, but I left a message.”
“Thank you.” Her gaze roams again. Doctors and nurses pass in the hallway at the end of the room, but each of them looks busy, inaccessible.
Luke’s mom’s hands are folded together, her thumbs rubbing at skin. Wringing. That’s the word for it: she’s wringing her hands, and it makes me think of a Shakespearean character, but I can’t remember which one. Ophelia? Or maybe Lady Macbeth? She sees me looking, locks her hands into a firmer grip. “So, you and Luke have stayed close for all these years?”
My own hands start fiddling, my thumb scratching at the black fingernail polish on my forefinger. “We…lost touch for a while. Different interests, different groups of friends, and stuff. But then, spending all that time being lost together, everything came back.” I don’t tell her things are less-than perfect at present. There’s a lot of distance between us right now, but I’m still holding onto the hope that it can and will be overcome.
She smiles, and it reaches her eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. I was always grateful that he had you in his life.”
I thank her, but I wonder how she’d feel knowing about the destruction I caused: for her, and by default, for Luke.
“I just saw him,” I say, pointing past her shoulder. “They wheeled him down that hall.”
“Should I follow? I should follow.”
She does, but I can’t, so I wait.
Twenty-Eight
Telling
Luke’s mom is the one to tell me I’ve finally been cleared to visit. I’ve lost track of how many hours I’ve waited to see Luke, but none of that matters anymore.
When I enter the hospital room, he winces a little, and like the last time I saw him, I’m not sure if it’s because of his injury, or if he’s finding it hard to look at me. When his gaze drifts to the far side of the room and stays there, I think it might be the latter.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Been better.”
“Any news from the doctor?”
He glances at me. “Just more of the same. It’s another concussion, or maybe it made the original one worse. Either way, it set back my healing a bunch.”
“I’m really sorry.” I’m afraid to ask what this might mean for football training and his scholarship. He doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to discuss bad news. I take his hand, instead, and he lets me—at least until he slides it away to scratch at the IV connection in his opposite wrist. “Do you know how long you’ll have to be here?” I ask.
“Not long. I have to stay for observation right now, but only for a day or so. I’ll be out of school for a while, I guess. At least a couple of weeks.”
He lowers the hand I’d held, but leaves it lying across his stomach, far from where mine waits on the edge of the bed.
“So,” he says, when the silence extends, “you called my mom?” He catches my eye only briefly before lowering his head.
“I hope that was okay. I left a voicemail for your dad, but in case he didn’t get the message, I thought you might need your mom here, for decisions and things.”
“It’s all right. She talked to my dad. He was out of town for the day at a meeting, but he’s on his way now.”
“Hope that won’t be too awkward, with everyone here together.”
He replies with only a small nod and continues looking down, his fingers gathering and plucking at the thin hospital blankets. “Were you going to tell me?” he asks. The question is quiet, so quiet I’m not sure I haven’t imagined it. His gaze lifts to mine and flickers; any hints of a challenge drain to reveal only sadness in his eyes.
“What did Bill say to you?” I ask, my voice nearly as faint as his.
“Can’t you say it, even now? You need me to do it?” Pain sharpens his words, the second question becoming more pointed than the first.
“No, I—”
“Can you guess how it felt to hear something like that from him?”
“I was going to tell you. I was.”
“When?”
“After I took the test.”
“Why then? Why couldn’t you talk to me about it before? Why does it have to come from Bill Fucking Carter?” He winces, and his hand goes to his head.
“It wasn’t supposed to come from him. He saw me at the store, buying the tests, and… Luke, I just didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure.”
“And do you know, now? Or, do I not get to find out?”
“Yes, I know…and I’m not.”
I wouldn’t have imagined this news could make his expression worsen, but it does. “Well, I guess that’s a relief, right?” he asks. “You didn’t want to tell me, anyway, so if Bill hadn’t come along, you could’ve kept it a secret forever.”
“I wouldn’t have, and it wasn’t a secret, not from you. I just wasn’t ready to share yet.”
“There’s a surprise.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, are you ever going to trust me, Layla? Or, will you keep pushing me away, hiding from me? You’re not the only one who got hurt all those years ago. You’re not the only one who’s hurting now.”
“You’re right, and I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t seem to hear me; his eyes are far away. “You thought you might be pregnant,” he says, emphasizing the word like he can’t quite fathom the whole thing, “but you didn’t tell me.” His focus sharpens. “And what if you had been? Would you have told me, then? Or would you have made some kind of decision, without me? Would I ever have found out?”
“God, Luke, don’t you know me better than that?”
“I’m not sure. I think I do, then I don’t know. I want to trust you, Layla, and I do, except you don’t even trust me enough to…” He shakes his head, winces again.
“Luke—”
“No, I can’t do this. I think you should go. My head’s killing me, and I’m supposed to be resting. I need some time.”
“Time to heal? Or time away from me?”
“Just time,” he says. His voice and his expression are flat, and flat is how I feel, inside.
♦ ♦ ♦
“‘She finally lets you screw her, and you knock her up?’ …Except Bill didn’t use the word ‘screw,’” Josie tells Nina and me.
That’s how Luke found out about my potential pregnancy.
It’s Wednesday morning, we’re back at school talking in the Chamber, our private, between-doors space, and there’s been no need to address any concerns about the pregnancy that wasn’t, si
nce I already assured Nina and Josie last night through group text that both test strips came back negative.
Good. We would’ve stuck by you, no matter what. But good.
This was Nina’s reply, and Josie’s reflected the same sentiment, the same loyalty, which I’m never quite sure I deserve.
Josie continues, “I was standing pretty close when the fight happened, so I don’t think too many people overheard that part.”
“Still, my stomach will get watched until graduation,” I say, “and I’m sure there will be other kinds of rumors, too.”
I’m worried about this, but the people closest to me know the truth, and I can’t do anything about the rest. My bigger concern is Luke. Bill tried to damage him with his words as well as his hands, and he was successful in both regards. The effects of those injuries are still unknowable.
My fault. That’s the main thing I’m taking from all of this—never mind Bill, because I can only believe his involvement stemmed from the choices I made. I can’t even apologize to Luke again, because he hasn’t reached out and I’m afraid to call or text before he’s ready to hear from me.
“I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not your fault,” Nina insists, though I haven’t said a word about it.
Josie mirrors her response once more, their voices echoey in the glass-walled vestibule. “Nina’s right. You probably should’ve told Luke, but what Bill did is still not your fault.”
“I should have told him, though, shouldn’t I? That’s the point. That’s why Luke is so hurt.”
Nina answers with silence, her regret-filled eyes speaking volumes, and Josie asks, “Why didn’t you?”
I know the answer, but it’s not anything I want to say aloud.
The knowledge hangs inside me, anyway, adding weight to the day’s worries. I’m anxious about Luke’s health, and about how things are going between him and his parents. I can only imagine the tension at the hospital, or—if he’s been released—at home, the place the three of them lived together, the place where everything fell apart.
Picturing You Page 24