by Ina Zajac
“Has she befriended the neighbor’s ponies?”
“Shut up,” Whitney said. “Ponies?”
“When I get my butt out of bed, we can take them some apples.” Via felt hope percolating up from the soft recesses of her mind. It felt like a new reality, like her life had been given back to her. “Whitney, how long can you two stay? Are you missing school?”
“Finals are next week, then I’m off until January. My mom was going to watch her while I worked, but—” Whitney stood up and went over to the desk, returning with the tray of food. “I’m not going back there now.”
“Because of me? I’m sorry.” She sat up. Her side hurt. Her face hurt more, but not enough to stop her from trying some tomato soup.
“You were the final kick in the ass,” Whitney said with a sly grin. “I just have one more semester, I was going to quit soon anyway. Ben’s been telling me to leave for months. Nick too—and Matt.”
His name. Whitney might has well have gouged out her heart with an ice cream scoop.
“I’m telling you now, the next two weeks are going to suck for you,” Whitney said. “I’m going to be a hard ass. Detox time. Tough love.”
“Okay, I get it.” She took a bite of her gooey grilled cheese sandwich. Chewing would be tricky. She drank some apple juice. The roof of her mouth had grown scales.
“When the bruising goes down, I want you to go see your doctor,” Whitney told her; her expression was so serious. “Tell him you’ve been using. I’ve done some online research and there are some medications that help with cocaine cravings.”
How could she possibly tell Dr. Gillian? She would have to see him at church. He couldn’t tell Dan though, not technically, but he could offer up some cryptic prayer request at men’s bible study.
And then Dan came back into her mind. She was going to have to break his heart.
“It’s either that or you go into a treatment center,” Whitney said. “I’m not a fan of the twelve-step thing, but then I’m not counselor. Staying away from anyone who uses is crucial. I know that much.”
Via looked at her friend. Her cat eyes looked so earnest.
“We haven’t talked about Bella’s dad, but heroin was why we split up. He just couldn’t kick.” She looked away for a minute. “You should have seen Bella when she was three. Like an angel. He really wanted to get it together for her, but he couldn’t. Not even for her. Smack was too much.”
Oh God. “I’m so sorry, Whit.” She had to say it.
“I know you’ve got a pride thing going on, but you have to ask yourself what’s worse, being embarrassed or being dead.”
She hadn’t been so sure before, but now she was leaning toward life. She would find a doctor in Seattle. She felt relieved, like something had shifted, like someone had pulled a thorn out of her brain. Maybe she had a concussion.
Whitney looked uncomfortable. “So, you’ve been talking in your sleep. About your mom. About some other stuff. I don’t want to pry though.”
She needed a good prying. She needed to get it out. None of it would ever go away until she named it, called it out for what it was. Wrong and twisted and not her fault. It seemed the universe had been trying to get her attention for some time, but she had been...too afraid, too insecure, too embarrassed. It was time to step up and into the spotlight. The real spotlight.
“I want to tell you about my past, in New York,” she said. “There’s some stuff I need to deal with.”
Whitney dragged a chair over and sat down. “I’ve confiscated your phone, you know. I didn’t listen to your voice mail messages,” she said. “But there is a particular 212 number that calls so often, I practically have memorized—so spill.”
Via felt a rush of anxiety, but the expression on her friend’s face was so encouraging, she pushed on through. “On December 21st, it will be ten years since—” she stopped. “Wait, let me start it this way.” She finished off her apple juice and leaned back against her pillow. She took in a deep breath and slowly let it go. “Whit, have you ever heard the name Rabbotino?”
CHAPTER 38
MATT
MATT COULDN’T CATCH UP with Via because his feet were fused to the stage. At first it seemed like a stage, but then he realized it was the side of a jagged mountain. It began rumbling. He reached for her, but his hands grasped away at nothingness. He was stuck there. Clumps of dirt were falling on top of him and into his mouth and lungs. The toxins in the contaminated soil were leaching into his skin. He was melting into himself and he could smell his brains burning. Someone threw roses on him, but they smelled like cigarettes.
“You’re just having a dream,” she said.
He looked over and saw her dark hair fall into waves against the white pillowcase. She smiled, but then looked confused, and pulled the blanket up over her tanned skin. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
He sat straight up. “You have to go,” he said. “You have to go!”
He crawled out of bed and found his underwear tangled within his jeans on the floor. An empty shiny black condom wrapper contrasted against the light beige carpet. The sight of it brought him both relief and disgust.
She was sitting up. “But –”
He raced out into the hall and swung open Nick’s door to find him sitting at his desk, wearing his Kermit the Frog boxers. He was rolling a joint. Dubstep reverberated throughout the room.
“What the hell?” Nick yelled.
He looked over to see that his best friend had company in his bed as well. A pair of unfamiliar eyes were peeking out from under the covers.
“Get her out of my bed,” Matt told him. “You have to get her out!”
“Whoa, whoa, shhh!” Nick said, abandoning his work in progress. He stood up and came closer. “Shut up. She can hear you. Don’t be a dick!”
He didn’t care. He started rubbing his hands up and down his arms. “Now, Nick!” He had to get into the shower, but he couldn’t go back through his bedroom. He rushed into the main bathroom, but couldn’t make it to the toilet. He knelt in front of the bathtub and started puking.
He could hear Nick in the hallway just outside the open door, “No, it’s not you,” he was saying. Matt wiped his mouth, but then hurled again. He averted his eyes as best he could. He had had pizza the night before. It was all coming back to him now, beer and pizza. A river of beer. He couldn’t remember the girl, nothing about her, not a thing. He spit then wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
“You’re a sweetheart,” Nick was saying. “He’s just super hung over. Just went through a bad break up.”
Both girls were talking now. He heard one of them say, “He’s such a prick.” They must have come as a package.
He reached over, turned on the tub’s faucet, and started running the water so he could rinse his stubbled face. Using his hand, he encouraged the puke toward the drain. Electrical pulses of pain were bouncing through his head. He didn’t know exactly what it felt like to have a brain aneurism, but he was sure he was having one now. His soupy brains should go down the pipes too, into the sewer where they belonged. He heard the front door slam, so he turned off the water, stood up, and made his way to the shower in his own bathroom.
He met Nick in the hallway and yelled, “Get out of my way! I hate you right now!”
Nick looked surprised and then glowered at him. His face was blotchy. “I told you not to bring her up to your room,” he said, following Matt down the hall and into his bedroom. “You should have stayed down in the studio. I told you that you weren’t ready.”
The sight of his disheveled bed made Matt want to puke again. He went over and reached up to unlock the latches at the top of the window. He heaved it open all of the way, stuck his head out, and felt cold rain tap against his face. He noticed Mr. Noble out walking his Labradoodle, Leo, so he knew it was just after seven a.m.
He heard a car starting up and looked down to see the girls leaving. The brunette from his bed rolled down her window long enough to yell up, “A
sshole!” He pulled his head back in before she could hurl any more insults. He went over to his bed, pulled off the comforter, bunched it up, and threw it out the window far enough so it cleared the roof edge. He watched it land on the front lawn.
“Dude, it’s going to be okay,” Nick said from the doorway. “We’re going to get through this.” His tone had become measured, but his attempt at reassurance was in vain. The smell of cigarettes and rosy perfume seemed to be growing stronger with each passing second.
Matt pulled off the blanket and threw that out. Next, he tossed the top sheet and the fitted sheet. The mattress pad was bulky, so he had to roll it up before it would fit through the window. He picked up both pillows and heaved them as well. Parting with Via’s pillow sucked because, up until the night before, it had still smelled like her, fresh and perfect. Now, everything was disgusting and wrong and ruined.
Mr. Noble had stopped walking and was looking up at him with great curiosity. He always had been a nosy bastard.
“What the hell are you looking at?” Matt yelled down. He reached for his jeans and t-shirt on the floor and threw them out the window. Next, he pulled off his underwear like they were full of ants and tossed them out, aiming for their crotchety neighbor, but missing by a long shot. “You want these, old man?” he yelled.
He looked back to his bare mattress. It wouldn’t fit out the window. He would start cleaning that after he showered. There was just so much cleaning to do. He would need to go to the store for more disinfectant spray and to rent a steam cleaner. Maybe a bug bomb too. After he showered he would bring the coffee grinder up and overwhelm the room with the scent of a dark Kona roast. Even better, he would have one of G-Dane’s hippie friends come over and cleanse the room with sacred sage.
“Dude, you’ve got to get over her,” Nick said, holding his hands in front of his eyes. He had forgotten Nick was there. “We’ve got the show in less than two weeks. Focus on that. This is big for us. You can’t go off the rails. Also, clothes would be good.”
Matt turned around and made his way for the shower. “Maybe I don’t want to get over her. Maybe I didn’t know what I was missing before her.” He looked back at Nick. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you? The cleaning, the hospital dodging, the things I say—I’m crazy, huh?”
Nick stood there with his one hand still over his eyes and didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.
“Maybe she made me feel like, I don’t know, maybe I could be normal. And maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe I don’t care about the music anymore—not like you do,” he said. “Maybe you should do what you want to do. With or without me.” He had never been so serious in his life.
Nick leaned against the doorframe and folded his hands in front of his chest. He looked up to the ceiling. “You’re just hurting right now, but it’s for the best.”
“I mean it, bro. Whatever happens. I’m cool with it, really.”
“You two were bringing each other down.” Nick seemed to be having an entirely different conversation. “The club, the coke, Carlos—”
“Fuck the coke, fuck the club—and fuck him too!” Infuriated, he couldn’t even bear to say his boss’s name. “And don’t you dare say it. If you remind me she’s engaged, I’ll toss you out the window too.”
Nick’s cheeks were past splotchy now, almost purple. “Don’t forget how she screwed you over.” He shook his head. “And you can’t blame The Skeeze for being The Skeeze.” He paused to look Matt in the eye. “And, she is engaged.”
Matt rushed him, but Nick was ready. He thrust his arms out and kept Matt at a distance. “You’re butt-ass naked. Don’t come at me like that. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Neither spoke for a minute. They just faced each other, Nick’s outstretched arms holding Matt away; his pissed off expression already replaced by one of concern. Their fights never lasted long. Matt knew he should be embarrassed, but he just didn’t give a shit. Nothing mattered anymore. Finally, he turned away from his friend’s classic bouncer block and headed toward the bathroom.
Nick was still talking, but his tone was less hostile, more practical. “He’ll be in Portland for his custody case for a few days. We’ll quit when he gets back. We’ll figure something out. You can get back to teaching. You can run the soundboard for that event company.”
Matt stopped in his tracks and let out something between a laugh and a snort. “Can you seriously see me interviewing for jobs or teaching kids right now?”
“Well.” Nick offered a weak smile. “Again, clothes would be good.”
Throwing up his hands, Matt went into the bathroom and slammed the door. Once inside, he kept his eyes low so he wouldn’t have to look at himself in the mirror.
CHAPTER 39
NICK
NICK LEANED AGAINST the weathered rail and watched the outgoing twelve-fifty ferry. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gone over to Vashon—probably that field trip to the Strawberry Festival back in the sixth grade.
The sharp breeze nipped against his cheeks. His hands were freezing. His favorite weather girl, a slinky smooth talker with slick, red lipstick and beauty-contestant hair, had predicted a chance of sun breaks, but so far the sun was a no-show. She was such a heartbreaker.
Lincoln Park’s rocky shoreline seemed stark and empty except for sloppy rows of beach logs and an old guy with a yellow Lab. The swings were still. Three seagulls shrieked and soared overhead. He thought of that eighties band, which made him think about his own. They had spent most of the week working out the new set, which still sounded pretty rough. It should have made him happy, finally getting Matt back to the music. But he felt selfish. His grandma often encouraged him to be more selfish, but it wasn’t sitting well with him. Thinking about Matt’s freak-out the day before, Nick knew he had to at least try to get her to come to the show.
He had tried calling Via that morning, but couldn’t get past Whitney. It took his very best groveling before she’d let it slip that Via had a doctor’s appointment in the city and wouldn’t be back until early afternoon. He had been hanging out, creeping on ferry commuters, since noon. Eight cars were already waiting for the next ferry, which was well on its way. He squinted and saw it atop the water, inching its way closer, its shape growing more defined every minute. The ninth car was pulling through the ticket booth. A silver Civic. His chest tightened as he recognized her. She pulled into line, parked behind the eighth car—not fifteen feet away—and looked over. Her jaw dropped in surprise. Another car pulled up behind her. She wasn’t going anywhere. And neither was he. No climbing the rail and jumping the dock, he told himself. No going back now.
As he walked over to the passenger side of her car, he went over what he was going to say. “I’m sorry I called you a whore,” he mumbled. No, he scolded himself. Idiot, don’t say that word again.
He had hoped she would ask him to get in, but she just rolled the window down. He leaned in while trying to convey a casual, I’m-not-a-stalker vibe. Wait. Her sunglasses were not only inappropriate for such a dim day, but were also huge, like she was channeling Roy Orbison.
“What’s up with the glasses?”
“I just had my eyes dilated—at the doctor,” she said. Her voice was pitchy. It snagged and skipped.
He had come to apologize. He had to get her to come to their concert. But as he looked at his reflection in her sunglasses, his list of objectives dissolved. He got in and reached for her sunglasses. She let him ease them off without a struggle.
“Oh, sweetie.”
She stared at the steering wheel. Son of a bitch, he realized. He wanted to grab the nearest seagull and shove it down his boss’s loser throat. It looked like he had hit her more than once. And her neck—had he thrown her down a flight of stairs?
“When?” He found it hard to keep his cool. He didn’t own a gun. Such a good thing.
“Please don’t tell Matt,” she begged without taking her gaze from the steering wheel.
Oh shit, he hadn’t even thought about Matt. When he found out, he would gut Carlos like a fish. He’d spend the rest of his life locked up in the state pen.
“When?” he asked again as he leaned in for a better look. “It’s god-awful, but looks like it’s healing up.”
She shook her head and looked at the ferry attendant walking by. When she reached for her sunglasses, he held them tight. “Tell me.”
She sat still and focused once again on the steering wheel.
He raised his voice. “Tell me or I’ll keep asking. I’ll scream out the window like I don’t give a fuck.”
She offered up a desperate look. “This is hard—humiliating. But, it was that night when Matt—”
Her voice caught and she looked at him. God, she had been clocked so hard the whites of her eye were bloodshot. Don’t go off, he told himself. Stay calm.
“I needed coke,” Via continued. “I thought I needed it, so I went back to the club.” She leaned over and put her head on his chest. “Please don’t hate me.” He let her lean in, but not too much. He was afraid to hurt her face. “I went there. Please don’t tell Matt. He’ll be so disgusted with me.”
“He’s dying without you,” he said. “It’s bad, that’s why I’ve been trying to reach you.” He handed her back her sunglasses and watched her sit up, put them back on, and fluff her hair over her cheeks. He couldn’t comprehend how she could be so hard on herself. Why wasn’t she furious?
Leaning toward her, he wanted to get a better look at her neck, but was distracted by the crunch of paper. She reached for the white bag on the console between them, snatched it up, and tossed it in the backseat.
“What was that?” He had to ask.
“Um,” she said. What he could see of her face began to flush. “Okay, I guess I can tell you my news. I’m on my way back from the pharmacy.”
Girl with white pharmacy bag—with news. He put his hand over his mouth and sat back. Fucking hell.