by Margo Kelly
I tore off the hospital gown, gathered my supplies, and stepped into the shower stall. The hot water sprayed my face and obscured my tears. Dad committed suicide. What did that mean? Did it change anything? Jordan died in the car accident. And that changed everything. I slapped the wall and a sliver of pain shot through my wrist. I shook it out. Then I studied the bruise left by the seat belt. It was too tender to touch, and the spray from the water pricked it, but I only had bruises and sore muscles. I couldn’t say the same for my friends.
I shampooed my hair several times until the snarls and knots disappeared. Then I covered the loofah with a generous amount of shower gel and scrubbed every inch of my body. I wanted to wash away the last twenty-four hours. I leaned against the shower wall and let the water pelt my back. I held my breath and imagined all my troubles flowing down the drain. My muscles relaxed, and I stayed there a while longer. I loved the solitude of the shower.
Mom rapped at the door and opened it. “Hannah?”
I stiffened. “Almost done.”
Mom left and closed the door behind her.
I dried off and wrapped the towel around me. I took another towel and mopped the steam off the mirror, but my reflection faded as the mirror fogged over again. I spritzed myself with the jasmine body spray and reached into the tote for clean clothes.
Something pricked my finger.
I jerked my hand away, and in the process, the tote tumbled to the floor. A three-inch hairy wolf spider scampered across the white tiled floor. I screamed and jumped up, perching on the sink. The neatly lined supplies hammered against the floor, and my hairbrush landed near the spider. He paused, but then darted toward the shower stall.
The bathroom door flew open.
“What’s the matter?” Mom yelled.
I clutched the towel to my chest and pointed to the shower.
Mom touched my knee. “What?”
“A freaking monster-sized spider!” I hopped down from the sink and examined the shower stall. “It must have gone down the drain,” I said.
“I’m sure you scared it more than it scared you.” She picked up the items from the floor and set the bag back on the toilet.
“It was real.” I held out my finger and showed Mom the tiny red welt at the tip. She kissed it and drew me into a hug.
“Couldn’t you have told me the truth sooner?” I whispered.
Mom drew back from me. “I didn’t want the suicide looming in your mind.”
“Why did we move to Idaho?” I asked.
“I was trying to protect you.” She gripped my hands in hers.
“From the truth?” I asked.
“We’ll work through this, Hannah, but it won’t happen in an instant.”
I tried to summon the courage to reach into the bag, but my hand trembled. Mom stepped forward and plucked a pair of white ruffled shorts from the bag. Before passing them to me, she shook them. No spiders. She did the same with a white camisole, underwear, and a sheer lavender blouse.
Mom had always had a flair for selecting outfits. Throughout my life, she had said to me, “You never get a second chance to make a good first impression.” My temples throbbed, and images of my family’s parking lot fiasco in New Jersey came to mind. That outburst had repercussions. The next day, those three irritating girls had told everyone at school about it. I had never been a part of any clique back then, and so it didn’t really matter when they all snubbed me. I already knew what loneliness felt like, because I usually sat by myself at lunch anyhow. When we moved to Idaho, Mom was determined to help change things. She bought me all the right clothes, shoes, and accessories. My debut as the new girl was still awkward, even with the best jeans. But after a few days, and a few great outfits, the popular crowd invited me into their world. Lily and I had been friends ever since.
Mom lifted a pair of leather sandals from the bag and dropped them on the floor in front of me.
“No spiders,” she said and moved to the door.
“Leave it open a little,” I said. She nodded and left me alone to dress.
I dropped my towel and reached for the underwear. My skin itched. I positioned myself next to the sink to keep an eye on the shower stall while I dressed. If that creature crawled back out of the drain, I wanted to see it before it saw me.
• • •
Several hours later, Mom dozed in the corner armchair, and I sat in the bed, tapping my fingers against the bedrail. I pushed the call button.
Audrey came into the room. “Yes? What can I do for you, Hannah?”
“I need to see Manny.”
“I’ll let you as soon as possible, but right now I’m pretty sure he’s still down in radiology.” She checked my vitals and left.
A few minutes later, I pressed the call button again.
Audrey returned, but she paused at the doorway.
“Can I see Lily?” I asked.
“She’s still in recovery. Later they’ll move her to ICU, but I doubt you’ll get to see her today.”
I pressed the call button a few more times over the next couple of hours, but Audrey always had an excuse why I couldn’t see them yet. Meanwhile, Mom had woken from her nap and was replying to messages on her phone.
“Please find out what rooms they’re in,” I said to Mom.
“Sure, honey.” She stepped out to the hallway to talk to the nurses, but then returned when another doctor came in to examine me.
“You’re a lucky girl,” he said. “You’re the only one who came out of that accident unscathed.” Right. Lucky. He discharged me, but before we left, Officer Stephens came into the room.
“Based on the information I’ve gathered from you, the doctors, and your friend, I need to suspend your driver’s license.” He lifted one unkempt eyebrow and passed me a citation to sign.
My hand trembled, and the pen wobbled. Mom reached out and stroked my arm. Shudders ran through my body, and I began to cry again.
Officer Stephens stepped forward and patted my shoulder. “You can request a re-examination when Dr. James writes a letter to the judge on your behalf. Plus, if the doctor clears you to drive, the judge may simply put an expiration date on your suspension. But Hannah, you drove recklessly last night, and it resulted in a fatality.”
I breathed deeply through my nose, signed the form, and returned it to him.
“She’s a good kid,” Mom said.
“I can see that.” He tore off the back copy of the citation and gave it to Mom.
I wiped my face and shook out my hands.
“Ready to go?” Mom asked.
“I need to see Manny and Lily first,” I said.
“The nurse said we can’t see Lily today,” Mom said.
We stepped into the hall and spotted Mrs. Santos coming our way. “Manny is asking for you.”
She led us to Manny’s room, and my spirits lifted as I stepped over the threshold. Sunshine flooded through the window, and the fragrance of flowers overwhelmed me. Bouquets and balloons adorned the room. Manny’s mom probably brought them to cheer him up. Manny propped himself up in bed, and a smile lit across his face when we made eye contact. I ran and threw my arms around him.
“Careful!” Manny said. His body clenched. “Two cracked ribs.” I leaned back, and he flushed red with pain.
“Sorry.” I perched next to him and tried to hold back my emotions, but the thought of hurting Manny yet again was too much to bear. He reached up with his thumb and wiped the tears from my face.
“We’ll give you a few minutes,” Mrs. Santos said. She set her hand on my mom’s back and guided her from the room.
“It’s not your fault,” Manny whispered.
“Jordan is dead, Lily’s in ICU, and you’re all broken up.”
Manny’s eyes welled. “I’ll be fine.” He lifted his chin, refusing to cry. “Lily will be fine.” He tucked my hair behind my ear.
“Jordan is dead,” I said.
Manny pointed at me. “You told him to put his seat belt on.” The
heart rate monitor beeped faster.
I laced my fingers with his.
“I let go of the steering wheel.” I lowered my gaze and lowered my voice and spoke as fast as possible. “Ants crawled across my skin, and I freaked. I saw this crazy black smoke. A doctor did a consult. He thinks I might be nuts. He thinks the hypnosis may have triggered an underlying psychosis.”
“What?”
Surely he didn’t expect me to say it all again.
“You are not nuts.” He drew me in closer, and I carefully embraced him.
“Things won’t ever be the same,” I said.
“Maybe not, but we don’t have to change.”
“When will you get out of the hospital?” I asked.
“They said they want to monitor me for a day or two to make sure there’s no internal bleeding.”
“Days?” My breath caught.
“It’ll be okay,” Manny said.
I drew my finger along his jaw where plum-colored bruises had already formed. I cautiously leaned in and kissed him. When I pulled back, our eyes locked.
“Manny, I love you.” I blurted out the words, which had been in my heart for years. The accident made me realize I couldn’t wait another day to tell him . . . even if he felt differently. I needed him to know I loved him more than anything.
“I’ve loved you longer,” he said. My heart lifted. Hearing those words, I believed anything was possible.
He caressed my neck and inhaled. “You still smell like flowers. That hasn’t changed.” He pulled me close for a long kiss, and I melted. Before we said anything else to each other, Mrs. Santos and my mom came back into the room.
“We need to go.” Mom motioned toward the door.
“We’ll be okay.” Manny squeezed my hand. “Remember what I said.”
I nodded.
Mom touched my elbow and ushered me from the room.
Book Two
Authority
A lingering grain of inefficacy capitulates to the arrogance of authority.
Sunday
August 25
I sat at my bedroom desk and smoothed out a new sheet of coral stationery. Two hours had passed since I first sat here, and I still struggled to find the right words to convey my sorrow to Jordan’s parents. I needed to do this. I reconsidered my words and wrote in my best penmanship:
Dear Mr. & Mrs. Hilaman,
I am so very sorry for your loss.
My fingers twitched. I clutched the pen and gouged out the words. The tip of the pen tore through the paper and left scratches in the walnut desktop. I groaned, crumpled the paper, and threw it across the room toward my bed. It landed on the carpet next to the other wads of paper.
I turned back to my desk and glanced at the wall above it where three pictures hung: a family photo from when I was eight on the New Jersey shoreline, a snapshot of my friends at last year’s homecoming, and a Disney World caricature of me.
I lifted the family portrait from its hook and cradled it in my hands. My dad’s behavior wasn’t always irrational and unpredictable. Several times, he took me on long walks through the zoo and taught me about the animals and named the trees—elm, redwood, sycamore, chestnut, and more. He was strong and stable then, just like the trees, and I idolized him. When he hugged me, he smelled of Old Spice after-shave lotion. When he started having outbursts in public, I began to fear him. To know, now, that he committed suicide because he had schizophrenia terrified me, and more than ever, I wished I could go back in time and do something to help him.
With the picture still in hand, I hurried to my closet. I set the framed picture on a shelf next to my shoe collection. Then I reached up to the top shelf and nudged a box closer to the edge. I lost my grip on it, and the dusty box fell to the floor with a thud. Snapshots and an old family album spilled out across the carpet. I sank to my knees, and I flipped the album open to the first page, which displayed a picture of Mom and Dad on their wedding day. She wore a long, full white dress with puffy sleeves, and he wore a black tuxedo with a pointy collar. I studied his face: a straight nose proportioned just right for his head, green eyes that resembled mine, dark, thick hair neatly trimmed around his ears, and a broad smile that lifted the corners of his eyes.
He was happy.
And I longed to keep that image of him in my mind.
I returned everything to the box and tucked it on a lower shelf behind some shoes. Before we’d left New Jersey, I’d hidden these pictures away. Mom had thrown out nearly everything else that reminded her of Dad. She knew I had the one family picture hanging on my bedroom wall, and she avoided looking at it whenever she came into my room. I left my closet and rehung that portrait above my desk. My hand traveled from its frame to the next one: the caricature from Disney World. The artist had distorted my head and exaggerated my eyes. The cartoon pictured me sitting on a red-and-white-checkered blanket with a picnic basket next to me. Ants dotted the edges of the blanket.
Ants.
How had I never noticed that before?
I grabbed the framed drawing from the wall and examined it. The artist had drawn the small black pests in a uniformed line, creeping along the edge of the blanket and into the picnic basket. I opened the bottom desk drawer and dropped the picture inside, face-down, and then I slammed the drawer closed.
In one sweeping motion, I shoved everything off my desktop, plunked my head down on the bare surface, and cried.
When the phone rang, I jumped from my chair, wiped my eyes, and tried to focus. The cordless house phone—buried next to my stapler under a pile of stationery on the floor—stopped ringing before I could click the talk button. It didn’t matter; the caller ID showed it was one of Mom’s friends.
I stood there and stared out my bedroom window at the giant oak. There were few trees in the foothills, but our neighborhood had planted a variety for shade and privacy. Even with the large cottonwoods and maples, we still had a great view of downtown Boise in the distance, but Mom didn’t buy this house for the view. She bought it because it was less than a ten-minute drive to her hotel. While people swarmed downtown Boise with their clatter and commotion, families retreated to their homes in the foothills for peace and quiet. Nothing ever happened up here. No crime. No traffic. No noise.
Finally, the screen on the phone showed the line was free. I dialed the hospital’s number. When the automated system prompted me, I typed in Manny’s room number. Mrs. Santos answered.
“Can I speak with Manny?” I asked
“They’ve taken him for a CT scan.”
“Another one?” When I called earlier, she’d said the same thing.
“Patience, child,” Mrs. Santos said. “It was an x-ray before. They need to make sure everything is fine before they release him.”
“Today?” My heart raced.
“Tomorrow at the earliest. I’ll have him call you as soon as he can.”
We said goodbye, and I dialed again. This time I typed in Lily’s room number.
“ICU nurses’ station,” a woman said.
“Oh. I wanted Lily Sloane’s room.”
“Her calls are being directed here.”
“How is she doing?” I asked.
“Are you family?”
“I’m her best friend.”
“I’m sorry, but we’re only able to give information to family members.”
I disconnected the call.
I flopped face-down onto my bed and dropped the phone. Mom knocked on my door, but I remained on the bed. She knocked again and came right on in. She knelt next to my bed.
“Oh, Hannah.” She stroked my hair.
I lifted up and met her gaze. “Never lie to me about anything, ever again.”
She sat next to me on the bed. “I promise. I’m sorry for not telling you about your father sooner.”
My stomach twisted. I wanted everyone to forgive me for the accident, but I was unsure that I could forgive her for lying to me about Dad.
“Will you accept my apology?” she
asked.
“I’m working on it,” I said.
“That’s all I ask.” After a few seconds of awkward silence, she patted my knee. “Let’s go to the mall.”
“Are you kidding me?”
She smiled a crooked, halfhearted smile. “Mall therapy is just what we need. We can get you a new phone, a new pair of shoes, a new purse.”
“And that will make everything all right?” I asked.
“No.” Her smile disappeared. “But it will be better than sitting here alone in your room. And we can pick up gifts for Manny and Lily.”
I wanted to see Manny, and I wanted to find out how Lily was doing. So, I conceded to Mom’s plan. I took a shower and changed into an embellished silver tank top and faded denim shorts. My bruise from the seat belt peeked out at the neckline of my tank, and I felt a pang of guilt for going to the mall when Manny and Lily were still in the hospital. I changed into a ruby-red blouse that covered my bruise and headed out with Mom. Some people went to church on Sundays; we went to the mall—my mother’s favorite place of worship.
• • •
Manny’s extended family—who’d probably come straight from church, because they were all decked out in their best Sunday attire—crowded his hospital room. They teased Manny about his hospital gown.
“Are you going to get some shiny heels to finish the outfit?” his brother asked. Everyone laughed. The spirited gathering filled the room with love. They noticed me in the doorway and welcomed me as if I was one of them. When Manny saw me, he smiled, and my heart warmed, but it was then that I realized no one had visited me. Unlike Manny, I had a small family. Both of my parents were only children, and my grandparents still lived in New Jersey. But none of our friends from school had even called to check on me. And in this crowded room, I felt very alone.