by Jaime Reed
She seemed happy that I was stepping into the relationship field, a feat thought impossible from all sides. Mia gave me crap the entire time, which served as a good diversion from her own problems.
“So, let me get this straight. Caleb likes you, but instead of declaring his love verbally, he hands you bus fare?” Mia rolled on my bed in another fit of laughter.
“Well, if you put it like that, it sounds pretty lame. We’re both weird about couple stuff, and we’re allergic to corny. Can you really blame us?” I joked.
She must have taken it seriously. Her face set in a line of brooding introspection. “Every time I ask myself if being with Dougie is even worth it, the answer is always yes.”
“Then why do you fight with him all the time? One of these days he’s just gonna leave and not come back.”
Her honey-brown eyes narrowed. “I know. He can do a whole lot better than me. And he can leave at any second. That’s why I have to be the one that ends it, not him.”
“Why end it at all? He’s not going anywhere. You two are crazy about each other, so the only fighting going on should be to stay together. Stop being a little bitch.”
“Gee, thanks, Sam.”
“I’m not gonna hold your hand and coddle you when you’re in the wrong. You sure as hell wouldn’t do it to me. So what are you gonna do about Dougie?” I asked.
“Time will tell.” Mia stood at the sight of the clock on the nightstand. “And my time is up. Let’s see the results.”
Thank God it was a false alarm. I couldn’t see Mia bringing a life into the world. People say children change everything, bring one’s priorities into focus; but none of my friends were equipped to test that theory.
That Friday, Mia’s monthly visitor dropped by, and she and Dougie made up just in time for Robbie’s party. Being surrounded by my friend’s relationship, my siblings, and my crazy mother served as an efficient chastity belt; however, time spent with Caleb weakened my armor.
Caleb survived Master Lu’s orientation class by a thread. He stretched across his couch like a limp rag doll for two days, begging for someone to shoot him. Muscles he never knew he owned made their objections known. Soon he would be one mean fighting machine, and I was tempted to sign up for a class myself, especially if it could give me abs like his.
It wasn’t fair that he could pig out and not gain one ounce, but if I walked past a vending machine, the button of my jeans popped. I conquered the freshman fifteen in eighth grade and it was a constant struggle to keep from backsliding. Caleb didn’t seem to mind, if his relentless petting provided any clue. He told me that I felt better than the softest pillow. Though it was complete BS, I gave him points for effort.
Aside from having his ass handed to him twice a week, Caleb spent most of his time mixing on his turntable and seducing me after work. He kept his music selection under wraps, wanting it to be a surprise for Robbie’s party.
Meanwhile, Mom decided not to let the speed-date fiasco bring her down. Jumping back on the saddle, she continued her online search for her better half. She was working on date number three, and I barely even noticed.
This Caleb makeover occupied every ounce of free time I owned, but I had to pump the brakes when Mom came downstairs wearing something backless and not very age appropriate. Apparently Mom’s hunger strike had paid off, and the result had me doing a double take.
Picking my jaw off the floor, I asked, “Where you going, Miss Thang?”
“I told you all this week that I had a date tonight.” She strutted—yes strutted—through the kitchen and grabbed her cell phone off the charger.
I leaned against the kitchen island. “You did? With who?”
“He’s a retired engineer for the military, and he’s gorgeous!” Mom squealed.
“Uh-huh. What else? Where are you going? What’s the address? And what’s his Social Security number?”
“Samara, I’ve already checked him out, and he’s fine.”
Not wanting to be upstaged, I said, “Okay then, have fun. I’ve got plans, too.”
“Oh yeah? You hanging out with Caleb?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. Am I really that predictable?”
“Nowadays.” As Mom drew closer, her expression turned serious. “Samara, you’re almost eighteen and you’re old enough to make your own decisions. But some decisions are important, and your choices can change the rest of your life. Now if you and Caleb feel the urge to become intimate—”
“Mom!” I covered my ears. Omigod, not the sex talk. Not the sex talk.
“Samara, sweetie, you need to be prepared for any situation.”
“There is no situation. We just hang out.”
Her stare pinned me still. “I see how he looks at you. He’s a bit older than you and has worldly experience.”
“Two years, Mom. That’s all. And he’s not using any of his ‘worldly experience’ on me, that’s for sure.”
“All I’m saying is that you have a bright future ahead of you. I don’t want you ruining any opportunities over a summer fling.”
“It’s not a fling. We just—”
Mom spied the microwave clock behind me and jumped. “Honey, can we talk about this later? I’m running late. Just remember what I said. I’ll see you later.”
I followed her to the door, hoping her skirt didn’t ride any higher. “Okay, Mom. Have fun.”
Not having an invite to the party brought me to Robbie’s doorstep, demanding retribution. He told me that I was always welcome and no invitation was necessary. Though the response made me blush, some type of notification of the event would’ve been splendid.
The party was the epic milestone and fond farewell to civilization as we knew it. Robbie wasn’t the balloon and cake type of person, but he was into performers of the clothing-optional variety. The turnout was ridiculous, proving that there was no such thing as bad publicity. Finding a dead body at a party shot one’s popularity into the stratosphere.
The house was a fire-code violation with nowhere to stand, let alone sit down. But no one wanted to sit once Caleb’s magnum opus invaded the speakers. Bodies swayed and bent like wheat in the breeze, contorting to the will of the elements. Movement and sound occupied their own cosmic string.
Mark stood in awe at Caleb’s orchestration in the deejay booth. Every track blended with the other with customized precision, without any pause, or interference. Each song set a new mood, from panic to euphoria, all falling into a rib-rattling accordance with each other.
Caleb closed his eyes, letting the beat absorb into his pores, drinking the energy surrounding him. I watched him draw in the crowd’s adulation. He waved to everyone and they returned the acknowledgement with reverence. It was now clear why so many chicks got hot over the deejay. They brought energy to the scene, but Caleb took it right back.
Caleb’s eyes held mine prisoner as the last song of the night violated my body. His look revealed that he, as well as the song, was dedicated to me. I had never heard the tune before, and it was a good thing we were in public. Though devoid of lyrics, the sensual rhythm bordered on indecency. The beat alone would surely make a woman out of me.
This was the song that held planets in orbit; it was where babies really came from, and it wouldn’t surprise me if it was on God’s playlist. Smiling in gratitude, I lifted my head and allowed the music to steal my soul.
After the party, I went to Caleb’s house for a bit. Mom must have been having some fun of her own since she hadn’t called me about the time, so I figured another half hour wouldn’t hurt. He needed a sound opinion on a new set he had compiled for Mark. I sat on Caleb’s couch watching him work his magic on the turntable. His eyes came alive with activity and absorption. He definitely found his element and it showed through every cell of his body. He looked better, too. His skin had a healthy glow and he carried a spring in his step. Though Capone had begun to behave himself, women still huddled around Caleb at work and whenever we went out. They kept their advances nonvi
olent, but they stood oblivious of my presence. It took saintly grace to withstand that amount of disrespect.
Then there was the sex issue. I wasn’t a prude; I just never found a guy worthy enough to go that extra mile. Caleb was a good candidate, but the risks overshadowed the reward. Everyone was entitled to their past, but the thought of him sleeping with other girls made me ill. He never gave an exact body count, but even one partner was enough to tie my stomach into knots. They partook in a joy I couldn’t have, a gift only I could appreciate.
Shaking those negative thoughts away, I got up and moved to the kitchen.
“So do you like it?” he called after me.
“Huh? Oh yeah, it’s great, Caleb. The girls are gonna hunt you down over that last song.” The comment came out sharper than intended. He must have caught on, because he removed his headphones and followed me to the kitchen. My path to the fridge was intercepted by Caleb’s body trapping me against the counter.
Frowning, he read my face like a map, examining the hidden flaws in the typography. “Jealousy is never healthy.”
“I’m not jealous.” The reply came out quicker than necessary.
A smile pulled at the side of his mouth as his thumb stroked my bottom lip. “No, but I am. Every guy who’s kissed you, I envy.”
“You don’t have to.” I sucked the roaming digit into my mouth and nibbled lightly.
His eyes darkened at the invitation. Just as he leaned in to kiss me, The People’s Court theme rang through the kitchen. Trust Dad to kill the mood.
Caleb searched around in annoyance. “You might wanna consider changing your ring tone.”
“Or just turning off my phone.” I went for my bag. Caleb tried to hide his disappointment as he followed me to the living room.
Once I flipped open the visor, Dad yelled through the phone. “Samara, where are you? I tried calling you at the house.”
“Dad, what’s wrong?”
“Your mom’s at the hospital.”
I wasn’t sure if I heard him correctly, even as he repeated it twice. “What?”
“They just brought her in. She collapsed outside a restaurant parking lot. She had a heart attack.”
The bottom dropped from under me, and all the blood drained from my body. Somehow, I managed to keep the phone to my ear. “Are you with her now?”
“No, she’s in the ER now, but I’m on my way.”
“Thanks.” After Dad gave me the hospital information, I ended the call. Hurling my bag over my shoulder, I went to the door, but I couldn’t quite reach the knob. I tried a second and a third time, but all I caught was air. Something prevented my left arm from extending forward, a light resistance that originated at the elbow. Examining the limb, I realized a large, white-knuckled hand held it in place. I followed the hand toward the man who stood next to me with fear in his eyes.
“Samara, what’s wrong?” His low, muffled voice seemed to come from another room. He rotated my shoulders in his direction. His eyes focused on every movement, every intake of breath. “Sam, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Coarse thickness clung to the back of my throat. My stomach tightened, my lungs heaved to get it out, the words, the sob, the scream. Nothing came but hot air.
A violent jerk snapped my head back, my body shook. Someone was screaming at me. Irritated, I looked up at those crazy purple-blue eyes. It looked like something was moving inside them, swirling in a whirlpool around the cornea.
“SAMARA!”
I jumped. “What?”
“What is going on? What did your dad say?”
After a long blink and shake of the head, my hearing returned along with the dizziness. I leaned my head against his chest. “My mom just had a heart attack.”
His hands slid across my back and pulled me closer. “I’m so sorry. How is she?”
“I don’t know. She’s in the ER now.”
“You need me to drive you?”
“It’s fine. This is a family thing. I need to go alone.”
“You can’t drive in your condition; you’re shaking. I don’t want you to be alone. I’ll drive you.” Opening the door, he asked, “Do you need me to carry you to the car?”
I shook my head and passed through the doorway. Words took up more energy than I had available, and something told me that every bit of it was crucial tonight.
22
Sitting in the waiting room, I anticipated the doctor or my father appearing around the corner.
I had never felt so helpless in my life, and the nurse at the front desk just made things worse. I practically had to pass a lie-detector test to prove I was family, and she kept going on about insurance cards. Thank goodness Caleb was there; otherwise, I would’ve ripped that woman bald.
On that rare occasion when a doctor crossed my path, he explained the extent of the damage. Though a rare malady, a similar case a few weeks back allowed the doctor to diagnose Mom quickly. Mom endured something called stress cardiomyopathy, or “broken-heart syndrome,” a type of shock caused by psychological or emotional trauma. The overwhelming stress released a heavy amount of adrenaline and other chemicals into her bloodstream. The toxic overdose weakened her heart muscles, creating symptoms similar to a heart attack.
The doctor said that they were able to regulate her heartbeat and raise her blood pressure, along with a great deal of technical terms I had difficulty translating. But the word “observation” caught my attention. That meant she wasn’t out of the woods.
Caleb was a gem, not leaving my side for a second, always touching in case I forgot he was there. I needed the constant reminder, if anything, to redirect my thoughts from every worst-case scenario.
Dad finally showed up, looking like a warm place to rest. I reluctantly left Caleb in the waiting area to talk to Dad in private. Away from prying nurses and comatose patients, Dad pulled me into his arms so tight I thought my limbs would break.
He kissed my head and whispered words of support. “Your mother’s gonna be all right.”
“I hope so.”
He looked down at me. “Where’s your faith, baby girl?”
“I think I left it in the car.”
“You can borrow some of mine.” We walked back toward the waiting room when Dad spied Caleb standing against the wall. “Why is that boy looking at you?”
I turned to where he pointed and smiled. “That’s my boyfriend, Caleb.”
“Boyfriend?” Dad looked at me as though I sprouted an extra head. “When did this happen?”
“We’ve been talking for a while. It’s only been made official recently.”
Dad let out a low groan. “Samara, you know how I feel about boys.”
“I know, but Mom’s cool with it.”
Dad blinked. “She is?”
I nodded.
“No criminal background check, no blood test?”
“No. He just talked to her, and she likes him.” I smiled weakly.
Dad shot Caleb the death glare before saying, “Well, now’s not the time for interrogations, so I’ll hold off. You want anything from the cafeteria?”
“No, go on. I’ll call you if something happens.”
After another bear hug, Dad retreated to the elevators.
Caleb met me halfway, and I allowed him to lead me back to my seat.
While I waited for the doctor to walk in with updates, several questions replayed in my head like a broken record. What was Mom doing to cause a heart attack? Where was the guy she was seeing? Why was everyone having heart issues, physical and emotional?
I lifted my head and looked to Caleb. “I need you to be honest with me.”
He waited.
“Are there any more like you in Williamsburg? I mean besides Nadine?”
“Not that I know of.”
Running down the Cambion roll call, I asked, “Is your brother around?”
“No. As far as I know he flew back to Dublin the night he came to see me.”
Satisfied, if only marginally, I ret
urned to my stupor.
“I thought the same thing too. Your mom is pretty young to have a heart attack. She doesn’t have any weird medical history, does she?”
“No. There might be something on her parents’ side, but nothing I’m aware of.”
He rubbed my back. “I think she’ll be fine. The doctor says she’s stable.”
“What do doctors know?”
His hands caressed the back of my neck. “A lot more than you do right now, so just relax until we hear more.”
My head whipped up. “It’s easy for you to say. That’s not your mother in there fighting for her life.” The words left my mouth before I could catch myself.
If he was offended, he gave no evidence of it.
“I’ve been where you are,” he began, his voice even and calm. “Every memory you have is flashing in your head—birthdays, holidays, little things about them—their laugh, the way they smelled. Every skinned knee, every case of the flu, every loose tooth you tucked under your bed. It all rushes in front of your eyes.
“What makes it worse is when it collides with the self-deprecating sense of regret. You replay the last conversation in your head. Everything you wish you could’ve said, or done; a few more ‘I love yous’ here and there might’ve made the loss easier. ‘If I were a better kid, I would have saved them grief.’
“Every thought causes a new ache, a pain that is so distinct, it’s physical and inclusive. Then it reaches a point where you feel nothing else. You lose sight on whether you’re really alive, and whether you even care. I think that narrows it down. If anyone knows what you’re going through, it’s me.”
Scum of the earth was not an adequate description of how I felt. My body shrank into the chair as I covered my eyes with a trembling hand. I couldn’t look at him; I didn’t have the right. “I’m so sorry, Caleb. I didn’t mean—”
He gently pulled my hand from my face, kissed my wrist, then climbed to his feet. “I’m going to the vending machine. Do you need anything?”
“No.”
“You sure? You need something in your stomach. I can swing by the cafeteria.”