Black Tuesday

by Susan Colebank

  A tiny part of her was relieved. Now that it was day two of Jayne Finding Her Independence, she was so over it.

  She was tired. And wanted a real bed.

  But she still didn’t want to go home.

  “And so then you got on the bus, came to the Outreach center, and have been living there ever since?” Maria took another sip of herbal tea, her scone long since gone.

  “In a nutshell.”

  “God, Jayne, how scary.”

  Jayne felt her lip quiver and she forced a smile. Yeah, it had been scary. Mainly because she didn’t know what she was going to do about food, shelter, and all the stuff a person needs to survive.

  And $887 wasn’t going to help her survive for long.

  She concentrated on pressing her finger against the errant crumbs from her muffin. As she rubbed them off onto her napkin, her eye landed on a person at the register.

  Mrs. Deavers.

  Jayne felt like she’d grown roots. She couldn’t have moved—or rather, hidden—if she’d wanted to. She watched as the woman paid for a pink box of some kind of pastry. She heard the woman behind the counter say, “And we used the yellow frosting, just as you asked, to spell out ‘Happy Birthday Jenna.’”

  Mrs. Deavers nodded and said something inaudible. Jayne noticed, for the first time, a little girl clinging to her leg.

  A little girl with the same amber hair and big brown eyes her sister had had.

  Jayne found she was straining to hear what Mrs. Deavers was saying. Like, “That girl over there is the one who killed your sister. Hate her. Everyone should hate her.”

  Immediately, Jayne felt like the selfish, self-centered person she knew she was being. Yes, Jayne, that’s right. Worry about how Mrs. Deavers is going to point you out. Like that’s her number-one priority right now.

  And as she sat there arguing with her conscience, Mrs. Deavers turned. And stared at Jayne. At first she stared through her. The hair did that to people nowadays.

  But then Mrs. Deavers recognized her. Jayne could tell by the way she kept staring. And then the eventual recognition dawning in her eyes.

  There was deep, deep sadness there. She looked for the anger, but couldn’t find any.

  At this moment, Jayne would’ve preferred the anger. It didn’t hurt as much as looking at someone else’s grief.

  “C’mon, honey, let’s go.” Mrs. Deavers’s hands were shaking as she paid her bill.

  Mrs. Deavers didn’t look at her again. In fact, she seemed to be doing everything in her power to keep from looking in Jayne’s direction.

  “Can I get a cupcake?” the little girl asked.

  “Not today, honey. Let’s get going, okay?”

  A few seconds later, they were gone.

  “Jayne, was that the mother?”

  Jayne turned to see Maria looking at her, her cup of coffee in her hands, her own eyes concerned. Maria didn’t say the rest. “Jayne, was that the mother of the little girl you hit?” But she didn’t have to.

  Jayne closed her eyes and nodded. There were too many people in here to start crying.

  After a couple of minutes of the crowd talking, laughing, and clinking coffee cups, Maria spoke again. “You know, there’s something to be said about the twelve steps.”

  “Are you talking AA?” Jayne didn’t know where Maria was going with this.

  “No, just the steps. The one I’m thinking of right now, based on your reaction to Mrs. Deavers, is step nine. Making amends.”

  Jayne was looking outside. Watching as the Deaverses’ car—the same red sedan, with all the dents banged out and painted over—pulled away.

  Minus one less child.

  “I have a feeling you’re wanting to make amends. Am I correct in assuming this?”

  Jayne nodded. The car disappeared from view.

  “The ninth step also says not to make amends if it might hurt the other person more than it helps them.”

  Jayne met Maria’s eyes. “You know, just now, when I saw Mrs. Deavers there, I wanted to apologize. But for the longest time, I’ve wanted to send her a letter, telling her she was more to blame than I was.” She looked at the packets of sugar on the table. “But I never sent the letter. There was always something holding me back.”

  Maria nodded. There was nothing in her eyes that looked like she was thinking any less of Jayne. “That’s one of those steps of grief. Denial. You got over it, though. You’ve moved on.” She touched Jayne’s arm. “You’re not a bad person, Jayne. You’re human, dealing with some pretty hard-core human emotions.”

  Jayne felt the tears coming. Stupid Maria with her kind smile. “Being human sucks sometimes.”

  Maria smiled, and covered one of Jayne’s hands with hers. “I couldn’t agree with you more, m’dear.”

  41

  THANKS FOR COMING WITH ME.”

  “No problem. If you hadn’t asked, I was going to offer.” Maria turned onto the quiet street that held multimillion-dollar homes.

  Ryan leaned forward from the backseat, her head swiveling right and left as she took in the houses. “Are you sure I can’t call you princess?”

  Jayne heard the teasing tone and didn’t take offense. “I think I’ve earned my non-princess stripes these last couple of days, don’t you think?”

  “Yep. Although I have to say, you got your initiation when Darian got all rapist frat boy on you.”

  Jayne had told Ryan pretty much everything that’d been happening in her life between the day of the accident and the night she ran away. In comparison, Ryan’s life seemed downright uneventful. A high school coach for a mom and a CPA for a dad.

  So much for having a life that matched the piercings, tattoos, and attitude. Ryan had explained them away by saying, “Middle-class boredom, plain and simple.”

  Jayne’s wandering thoughts brought her back to what had made them start to wander—Darian. And what she now knew about him.

  “Maria?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you tell Darian why I was at the Outreach program?”

  “Nope. Too busy for that kind of small talk.” Maria pulled into the wide half-circle driveway, stopping at the three-tiered fountain.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “He told me once he knew why I was there. And that he found out because you’d told him.”

  “No, didn’t say a word. He must’ve recognized you from when you were in the newspapers.”

  “I couldn’t believe you hooked up with that pond scum, anyway.” Ryan carried Britney as they walked to the door.

  “Well, I didn’t know he was pond scum at the time.” They were only a few steps from the front door. Was it too late to run? “It would’ve been nice if you had told me.”

  Ryan concentrated on adjusting Britney’s collar. “You know, you weren’t the only one in the news.” She looked up. “He was in there for stealing.”

  “Stealing?” She thought back to the Louis Vuitton bag, the bracelet. “He’s not rich?”

  Ryan laughed. “His mom works the night shift at Denny’s.”

  “But he has a BMW.”

  “He installs replacement glass at the dealership. He must borrow cars.”

  Jayne thought about the time she asked Ryan if he was a drug dealer. “You said it was drugs.”

  “I was guessing.”

  Jayne lowered her voice so only Ryan heard. “He sort of is a drug dealer.”

  “Get out!”

  Before Jayne could say anything else, the door jerked open. The uncertainty she’d been feeling all weekend heightened, and she felt like she was going to puke.

  Jayne’s mom stood there, her dad’s arm around her. She looked like hell. No makeup. No hat. No sunglasses.

  Before Jayne could say anything, 120 pounds of mom came flying at her. “Jayne. Thank God. Thank God.”

  Jayne’s nerves and loneliness started to ease from her shoulders. Not completely, though. There was no chance.

&n
bsp; Her mom was hugging her too hard. “I’ll give you back the credit card. I should’ve never canceled it. And I’m sorry about everything. For not understanding how the accident was affecting you, for saying I didn’t want you in the house.”

  Jayne felt a warm hand on her cheek. She looked up to see her dad, tears in his eyes.

  She knew the words Gen was saying had come from her dad. Her mom wasn’t this intuitive.

  “She’s been worried that you were out on the streets, no money, selling your body to make ends meet.”

  Okay, so that sounded like her mom.

  Gen sniffed and hugged her harder. “I did a story on a girl who did that once. I never want to have to worry about that with you.”

  Jayne opened her mouth to defend herself. Her honor. Her ethical code. Then she saw her dad shaking his head. He mouthed, She is who she is.

  Out loud, he said, “Welcome home, kiddo.”

  42

  YOU’RE SUCH A NUMBNUT.” Jayne felt tears pricking her eyes, seeing Ellie lying there in the white sheets of the hospital bed. Covered with IVs.

  “Nice to see you too, nerd.”

  Jayne sat gingerly on the side of the bed and reached for one of Ellie’s hands.

  “I really fouled it up this time, huh?” Ellie attempted to smile. The attempt was lopsided, but at least the attempt was made.

  “Based on the picture I saw, yeah.”

  “Picture?” Ellie’s whisper got slightly louder.

  “It’s been taken care of. No worries.” The phrase reminded her of Darian. “I mean, buck up.”

  Okay, so she still had to find a phrase that worked for her and didn’t remind her of Darian and didn’t sound like it came from a Leave It to Beaver episode.

  Ellie closed her eyes and kept them closed as she asked, “What was the picture of?”

  “You. Naked.” There was no way to soften the words. She didn’t want to soften the words.

  “And who shot the picture?”

  “Lori, with her cell phone.”

  “No one else? Not even the guy who undressed me?”

  Now it was time for a little softening. “It wasn’t a guy who undressed you, Elle. It was Lori.”

  Ellie’s eyes sprang open. Shock, fear, and confusion were in them. “Lori? Is she . . . did she . . .”

  “No, she didn’t molest you. She just wanted to humiliate you. And everyone in our family. I should have realized this at the pool party, when we figured out that Gen’s assistant is Lori’s new stepmom.” Jayne held Ellie’s hand as she went on to explain about Gen being her normal über-bitch self to her assistant and Lori internalizing this and making Gen’s daughters pay for the sins of the mother.

  And the sins got compounded when one of the golden girls killed her best friend’s sister.

  “Are you sure there are no duplicates? Of the picture, I mean?”

  “Not according to the police.”

  “Police?” If Ellie hadn’t been in bed, she looked like she might’ve fainted.

  “Mom was the one who found out all this stuff when you were still out of it in your diabetic shock and I had . . . I . . .”

  “When you had run away from home. Dad told me.”

  Jayne made a mental note to tell Ellie later about how much fun it hadn’t been to be out in the world with less than nine hundred dollars and no plan.

  “So anyway, the policy interviewed everyone at Meadow’s party to see who had and hadn’t seen you naked,” Jayne said. “The girls who’d been smoking outside were the only ones. And the cops are pretty sure Lori only e-mailed it to her own address, which they’ve erased. They don’t think the picture’s anywhere else. Lori’s not that smart, you know?”

  Ellie nodded. And squeezed Jayne’s hand hard. “Looks like you were right about me.”

  “About what?”

  “Having to think for me. Make my decisions for me.” Ellie closed her eyes, and tears seeped down her cheeks.

  “Ellie. You are perfectly capable of making your own decisions. But you have to want to make the right decisions, y’know?”

  “The right ones aren’t as much fun.” Ellie sniffed. “Like that FIT scholarship. I totally blew the deadline.”

  “You’ll find another one. I’ll help you.” Jayne knew this was the perfect spot to clear things up between them.

  To get back to being normal.

  “So when you say ‘right ones,’ do you mean decisions like taking your insulin three times a day?”

  Ellie didn’t look at her. Her head listed to the side, and she watched her heartbeat on one of the monitors. “I think I was only doing it twice a day. Dad got me in the mornings and at night, and no one was around during the summer to do the lunch one.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Because you hated it. You were sick of helping me.”

  Ellie had nailed it on the head. The thing was, Jayne hadn’t known she’d been so transparent. “You’re right, Elle, I was sick of helping you. But do you know why?”

  Ellie shook her head, still avoiding Jayne’s eyes.

  “I looked down at the phone when you called. When I was in the car, on the day of the accident, I looked down. When I ran that red light, you were calling and I was looking to see who was calling.”

  “Oh God, Jayne. I’m sorry.” Ellie started crying. Ugly, loud sobs.

  “But Elle, listen.” Jayne swallowed over the lump forming in her throat. “When I ran away from home—crap, doesn’t that sound stupid?—but when I was gone, you know what I found out? I was at fault. I mean, I could’ve ignored that call, right? But no, I had to see who it was, even though the light was yellow and I was going totally fast.”

  “Yeah?” Ellie’s sobs had subsided somewhat. Now she was sniffing and trying to catch her breath again.

  “Yeah.” Jayne thought about the day. The call. The reason for the call. “Elle, why’d you call me? You never said when I talked to you that day.”

  “Well, you were kinda in the middle of a broken wrist and a crushed car and what was happening with everyone else.”

  “But why’d you call?”

  Ellie closed her eyes. “To thank you. For getting my biology homework. Because I had for . . . got . . . got . . . ten to say it.”

  The sobs were back.

  But this time, Jayne held her.

  And started seeing her sister in a different light.

  “And Ellie’s okay now?” Larry was wearing an olive-and-khaki Hawaiian shirt today. For him, it was a somber look.

  “Yep. She’s even joking about how she’s glad that her picture was taken now, when her body’s in the best shape it will probably ever be in.” Jayne was lying down on Larry’s leather couch, retelling the events of the last couple of days. She knew it was clichéd to be lying down, but she was tired. School had started yesterday, and she was already bored with the non-honors classes she was taking.

  But tomorrow that was going to change. Not because of getting into Harvard. But just so she wouldn’t be bored. And so she could start liking school again.

  Larry stopped watering and seemed to turn the thought over in his head. “I suppose that’s a healthy way of looking at it. Then again, a fourteen-year-old saying such a thing worries me a little.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I told her.” Jayne looked at the cover of National Geographic. But she didn’t open it. “Then again, I’d rather have her issues than my issues any day of the week.”

  He moved closer, watering the plants at Jayne’s feet. “You know those three children of mine I mentioned to you before? The ones who are grown now? Well, two had solid enough grades. One went to Berkeley, the other to NYU. The other one, she was the middle one. She had some problems junior year. Discovered boys, alcohol. Her grades slipped. You know where she’s at?”

  Jayne threw out her first guess. “An online school?”

  The doc chuckled again. “No. She’s at Yale.”

  Jayne watched the water drizzle out of his can. “Ho
w’d she manage that?”

  “In her personal statement, she talked about why she’d had a bad semester.” Larry sat in his green easy chair. His eyes point-blankly looked into hers. Open. Honest. “She talked about how that semester had changed her from a girl only worried about her grades to a girl who accidentally got pregnant.”

  “God. That must’ve sucked.”

  Doc sat back, his hands folded over his stomach. “And it did. Recently, you asked me if I’d ever had a week like yours. That week, when Anya told us about being pregnant . . . That week was one of the worst, if not the worst, of my life.”

  “So she just wrote about getting pregnant and she got in?” Jayne had her doubts. Doc was trying to make her feel better. Getting pregnant wasn’t something that would stand out in a good way.

  “She wrote about the pregnancy—and the abortion.”

  Jayne didn’t say anything. She didn’t know if there was anything to say.

  Doc’s kid had had an abortion? And it had gotten her into Yale?

  He must’ve seen the disbelief in her eyes. “Anya is a very good writer, first and foremost. And in that essay, she was also pretty terrific at figuring out how past mistakes could figure into future successes.”

  He leaned back again, his eyes unfocused, like he was looking past Jayne and the room they were in. “I’ll never forget the title.”

  For a second, Jayne didn’t think he was going to say anything. She waited quietly, though. She knew this was hard for the doc to say.

  “She called it”—he cleared his throat and took another pause—“‘The Worst Mistake I Ever Had the Misfortune to Learn From.’”

  “Are you taking down your Harvard shrine?”

  “It wasn’t a shr—” Jayne stopped. There was no use arguing with Ellie. She pulled out another thumbtack. “No, I was just rearranging some things.”

  “Where’s the A-hole Award Board?” Ellie sounded stupefied.

  “No need for it.” This was easier than she’d thought. She was already as far back as the essay she’d done on acid rain in third grade. “I don’t need to see all this every single day. Anyway, I want a place to put my photos. I’m taking that photography class, so I need room for the pictures I’ll be taking.”