by Cecelia Earl
The lights flick on, and there is a buzz of electricity and a whirring of machines. Out in the hallway, voices come to life, and I only now realize that everyone spoke in hushed voices when it was dark, as if the power had taken sound with the light.
I squeeze Noah's hand. "I won't be gone long. I love you."
I push through the staff members rushing into his room as I leave him in their hands, trusting them.
Which I now realize is not something easy to do.
Trust is difficult.
-19-
Cole follows closely as we make our way to a family waiting area. It sounds as though we are nearing a giant bees' nest. The humming grows louder as we draw closer. The hallway releases us into a square room filled with anxious men and women milling about. Men, pace while running fingers through thinning hair and converse with women who hold tantruming or zoning-out toddlers on their hips. Elementary-aged children weave through legs, playing tag. Their eyes shine from a night with little sleep, half-crazed and overtired. Weary elderly embrace sons and daughters, or gaze out the windows overlooking the town.
A formerly peaceful town is now filled with turmoil and strife. All because... why?
All I want is a chair to sit on. My chances look bleak. When I make my way through the crowd, however, it seems more are choosing to pace than sit, so I lower the shoulder strap and set Mitch's laptop bag on the floor beside the chair I've chosen in the corner of the room. I open the laptop, set it on the table, and rest my jean jacket on the chair kitty-corner to mine to save it for Mitch. A low-lying coffee table of black lacquer sits in each corner, and square chairs with navy cushions and oak armrests line the room on three sides. All but the three chairs we claimed are filled.
"Strange that these are available," I say.
Cole shrugs.
Cole perches on the chair next to me, silent but for eyes that seem to ask if I'm okay. I do my best to give him a reassuring smile and pull out the folder from the apartment, hoping it will provide all the information I need to rebuild our lives.
I take a moment to gaze out the window, surprised to find it's not pitch black beyond the glass. Past the reflection of the orderly chaos behind me, I see a line of pink defines the horizon. A lone star peers back at me amidst a sky swirling with royal blue and purple clouds. I've never seen the sky so tumultuous, as if the clouds are waves upon the ocean, rolling back and forth, tossing all of humanity until we are lost at sea. Pausing, I almost feel like I could roll across the floor if I were to let go of the chair. Perhaps Earth is nothing more than a large ship, rocking its way through a thrashing atmosphere of clouds and fiery stars. My stomach is queasy and my head is beginning to spin.
"It's hard to believe how quickly life can change. I took a lot for granted," I confess.
His lips look unsure whether or not to smile. So different, in a way, from that boy I first saw, who seemed to throw around smiles so carelessly, as if they grew on trees. Mine, I fear, were packaged inside me, only so many to go around, and if I use them too freely, I'll run out at a young age, never to smile again.
"It is all changing really quickly," he agrees, his eyebrows pinched together and worried.
Mitch shows up and takes the seat beside us.
"Where'd you go?" I ask him.
He shrugs, righting his tilted glasses. He points to the ceiling. "Generator," he says, sticking his fingers into his jean pockets and walking to take the chair my jacket is on. He picks it up, folds it, and lays it across his legs.
"In the ceiling?"
He looks up, scrunching his eyebrows together. "Wha? No? I s-started it."
"How'd you find the generator? And what do you mean you started it? Wasn't there someone from the hospital taking care of that?"
"There was n-no one. Well, except this-this one guy about our age. He-he's the one who helped me find it and stood outside the door while I got it up and running." He twists his mouth, thinking. "Come to think of it, he was gone when I finished. Would-would have liked to thank him."
"Well, here I thought you'd deserted us, but it turns out you are the hero." I hold up my hand and he slaps me a high-five that we end in a thumb jive, a silly habit we started with Noah at a football game a few years ago. Probably after Cole scored a touchdown or completed a pass or something.
Then I'm lost in files and the Internet while I search for the businesses and numbers I'll need as soon as eight o' clock rolls around. Or maybe earlier. I'm not feeling very patient.
By the time the sun is a yellow sphere rolling along the backdrop of the city, Cole is gone. He went to school, a king without a queen to live his normal life, a life uninterrupted by fire and fallen stone. His castle of a house still stands, and his parents are free to work and play, to roam their kingdom with expensive clothes and toys, oblivious to the problems others face. I dig my nails into my thighs. I'm being unfair. He's been worried and helpful and here whenever I need him. I'm unsure when I've become this jealous and hideous of a person, yet I can't seem to stop my thoughts from tainting my heart, a rosy red marred an ashy black from thoughts of envy and bitterness.
Mitch stayed to listen to me talk numbers, renovation plans, and insurance figures. He leans forward and paces for me, while I sit staring at the blue-white sky, talking about my potential future with strangers over the phone. My fingers hurt from writing notes and keeping straight who said what from where. Mitch kept my chair while I checked on my family, held their hands, prayed, and kissed their still unmoving eyes and fingers. The sun becomes a pale yet blinding white that stretches its rays across the blue, so calm after the clouds raged there the night before. When finally we rise from the corner to leave, I reach toward the ceiling to stretch my hunched back.
"Coffee," says Mitch.
"Yes, oh yes," I agree.
Only, the cafeteria is in disarray. Too many people.
"Let's get it on the way instead," I suggest, walking past the cafeteria. We continue on, shuffling with the energy of people who pushed a boulder up a mountain all night long, past men and women with arms hanging limply by their sides. "Everyone must feel as tired as we do today."
Mitch nodded. "L-long night."
We round a corner and the sound of an ocean reaches us, a rolling wave of voices from the ER. It hasn't calmed yet. If anything, there are more stretchers, more people being raced to find help and space to heal.
"Yikes," I say. "What a rough night this city had." There isn't even a breeze outside. It's as if the world is holding its breath, on edge and waiting for catastrophe to strike.
"Freaky," Mitch whispers, voicing my thoughts aloud.
"I'll follow you through the Java Burst drive-thru." I want to get into my car as quickly as possible. The goose bumps on my arms and my hair standing on end is enough to make me want to scream.
He nods and lopes over to me, reaching out. "Here," he says.
"What's this?" I hold out my hand and he drops a five dollar bill and some coins in my palm. "Nuh-uh. I've got enough for a coffee."
"Grab a r-roll too, on me. Please. Eat s-something. You'll pay me b-back soon enough." He closes my fingers around the money. "L-Listen to me. I've seen h-how much you've been eating lately."
"Mitch—"
"Shut-shut up and drive."
I growl, but obey, shaking and more driven than ever to get my life back on the track where I don't have to rely on anyone, not even my well-intentioned best friend.
And if there's one thing I have going for me, it's focus.
I can do this.
-20-
Our diner and apartment look dead in the light of day. Flames have vandalized the walls with angry black waves of char. The roof is a jagged line. Inside—inside is so very sad—there is soggy ash, less than a broken skeleton of what used to be. It's nearly impossible to envision it ever looking new and usable.
Nevertheless, the insurance agent gives me a quote, and I have no idea whether it's a good number or not. Throughout the afternoon, I meet with three different co
ntractors, go over ideas for renovations, and get their quotes. The insurance money will cover maybe half. Half. I don't even know what our medical insurance will cover, or how long Mom and Noah will need to stay hospitalized. Working full-time would take me forever to earn the money we'll need. I'm definitely quitting school.
A mouthful of swearwords doesn't cover what I want to shout right now.
I lean against the wall of the florist, not seeing, not thinking, just breathing in the overcast air. Silence and a moment of rest fuel me, calming me some.
Though, there's been no reprieve from back pain. It seems with every siren wail, every dark cloud, comes pain.
Since noon, gray clouds have blanketed the world, shielding us from a warm, happy sunshine. Just above where I stand, the clouds look particularly black, a reflection of the charcoal heap my life has become. Aware, once again, of my surroundings, I heave a sigh and push away from the red brick wall.
I get in my car and head over to Molly's. The roads are empty, eerily so. I wonder if civilization has up and vanished. Like instead of stealing money, the robbers have stolen all of humanity. I speed, hurrying so I can get rid of the loneliness creeping under my skin.
Molly and her husband own a sprawling ranch outside of town on what used to be a hoity-toity golf course. Since West Side Country Club and Golf Course was built, High Meadows has been less favorable, a run-down has-been on the old western side of town. About five years ago, Molly and Nate got a great deal on their house and have since spruced the place up. The green grass of their front lawn stands out against the gray of the day. The front door is open, but still I knock before entering.
"Mol? It's me."
I step in and hear violin notes harking from down the hall and the blasts of a trumpet from downstairs. I refrain from sticking a finger in my ear to wiggle out the painful sounds. I'm sure one day Marla and Ed will play beautiful music, but today... not so much.
"Hey, girl," Molly says, walking toward me with open arms.
Her curly brown hair skims her shoulders, and her dark brown eyes are a welcome sight. They smile at me. So few people have smiles that reach their eyes, I decide, just before she holds me to her. I rest my chin on her shoulder, letting some of the fearful pain go, but holding in the sobs that rest deep within. She leads me to her kitchen table. There is lemonade and a plate of chocolate chip cookies already there waiting for me.
"How and when do you find the time to bake?" I wonder aloud.
She waves a hand through the air. "Time can move slowly and time can pass without nothing ever getting done. Even the quick ones can be worthwhile. It's all in how you use those minutes. I choose to spend each of my seconds accomplishing something great."
I bite into a cookie, and the still-warm chocolate drips on my lower lip. "This is definitely something great."
She smiles. I know how much she appreciates a good compliment. Her hand covers mine on the table.
"So, darlin', tell me everything."
"Not much has changed with Mom and Noah since I talked to you from the hospital, but I have all the numbers I need to move forward, and I need your advice."
She nods and pats my hand. "As soon as you leave, I'll head up to see them. Nate'll be at the alley for me with Rachel, so I can take a shift with your mom and little brother."
"Speaking of shifts, I'll need as many as you can hand over to me. Since I don't have the diner, I can work before school, after school, weekends, anything and everything. I'll run your inventory, your timesheets. You can take time off."
She gives me a motherly smile. "The day that happens." She winks. "But, yes, I'll give you as much time as you need. And I talked to Mitch, so I know his plans to work for you when needed." She gives me a pointed look, so I know not to argue.
I remove my hand from the warm shelter of hers, and reach for my Folder of Life, as I've decided to call it. I heave it onto the table and spread out the contents. Mol slides the plate and our drinks aside and shifts her chair so she's closer to me. I show her the insurance information, the contractors' notes, the plans, my scribbles about my plans, everything. She doesn't speak for a while, but when she does, she points.
"This one, this is the one your mom would choose." She taps Contractor #2's plans and estimate. It's the cheapest by far. I can't even say I had a favorite, but I liked his ideas for the place. "When did he say he could start?"
"As soon as I get the money from the insurance company, I can give him 20% of his fee. I’ll have some money left over to add to what we have in the bank, and then in a few months when he finishes, I'll pay more so our interest rate and monthly payments will be less. Anyway, he said he'd start some demo stuff this weekend. The other two guys said it'd be a few weeks, at least."
"Perfect." She smacks her hands on the table and stands up. "Come with me."
"What?"
"Shh. Just come."
The chair scrapes the floor as I push it back and take her hand. Normally, I wouldn't hold another grown woman's hand, but with Molly, it's just the way she does things. She's always touching the people she's with and loves. Today, it's comforting. She leads me down the hall to her office. There's a large window overlooking the front yard, a modern black and silver table holding a computer and monitor, an arm chair and ottoman with a reading lamp on the floor behind them, and a futon-type bed, opened and fitted with sheets and a plum-colored comforter. I look at her with eyebrows raised.
"Yours, for as long as you need it." She nudges me in, shows me a folded towel and wash cloth at the foot of the bed, along with an unopened toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, and a bar of Dove soap.
"Oh, Mol, it's okay. I plan to stay at the hosp—"
She covers my mouth with her pointer finger. "Like I said, shh."
To further avoid arguing, I take a quick shower and change into a gray athletic shirt and black yoga pants.
"These belong to Marla?" I ask, wondering if these are her fourteen-year-old daughter's clothes.
"Yours. I was out shopping and grabbed you a few things."
"Mol, I can't—"
She takes my arm. "Feel those biceps. How many hours have you been working out a day?"
"Enough." I look at my arms and they are bulkier than even I expect them to look. Makes sense how easily I handled that beam after the explosion. I figured it had something to do with an adrenaline rush. My thighs and calves even look fuller than a couple of days ago.
With that, my stomach growls and I can no longer ignore the fact I haven't eaten much since the explosion and all hell broke loose. Molly steers me farther into the kitchen and gives me a turkey wrap stuffed full of cheese, lettuce, and other veggies, an apple, and a bottle of water for the road. Once again, I'm on the move.
Her house is lit up in my rearview mirror, the final light from the sun casting soft rays on it. I'm sure Nate is starting a fire in the living room, and Molly is lighting pumpkin and spice candles. Marla and Ed, who hung around awkwardly as I backed away from hugs and promises of prayers, are probably being doted on and eating pre-dinner snacks while Molly hums away in the kitchen.
I glance at my wrap and feel the love, but that doesn't stop an angry vine of jealousy from reaching up through my gut around my heart.
-21-
I steer the car across town and my thoughts toward other things, like Rachel, who has to close up the alley by herself tonight. I feel bad, but I will jump out of my skin if I don't get to Mom's and Noah's bedsides within minutes. I needed to do all the things I did today, but being away from them plagues me with guilt like I've never felt in my life. Thinking about it, I haven't heard from Mitch in a few hours. He's probably helping Rach.
The road is a mess. Cars line the streets honking and swerving. It's like the city is drenched in madness every time the sun goes down. I'm sitting at a green light, stuck. I stick my head out the window to see where the hold-up is and munch on my wrap. Devour it, actually. So. Good.
My phone rings. My heart leaps, worryi
ng something happened with Mom or Noah, but it's Cole's cell on the screen. I can't see where the problem is and the light is turning to yellow, so I put the phone to my ear.
"Hello."
"Julia, where are you? Are you okay?"
The concern and near-panic in his voice is both alarming and endearing. "I'm as fine as a homeless, family-less girl can be. I am, however, stuck behind an accident or something. Seriously, every resident in Shady Creek must be on the road right now blocking my way to the hospital." I just want to get to my family. "Grr!"
"Did you, uh, just growl?"
"Maybe." The light turns to green, and still the traffic stays put. What the heck?
"Do that often?"
"Not really." More so lately.
"Want me to come out by you?"'
"No, that'd just make one more person out on the road."
"Yeah, but I've got a motorcycle. I could weave my way through the cars and steal you away, get you to the hospital in a matter of minutes."
Of course he does. I suppose that's parked next to the Porsche. "And leave my car? It's, like, my only possession."
"Whether you come with me or not, I'm grabbing my helmet now. See you in a few."
"No, wait, I—" But the line is already dead.
Traffic inches forward. I steel my hands on the wheel and lean forward, ready for a fight. I put a sneer on my lips and assume Cole's fighter stance, left shoulder back, fists tight. But then, still stuck.
The grayness of the day turns to a royal blue, skipping the beauty of twilight entirely, though it's barely past dinnertime. It's way too early for the dark to be overtaking the final tendrils of day. Streetlights flicker on, casting a yellow glow. The driver in the car kitty-corner to my back right bumper must be asleep. He leaves a space in between him and the car in front of him, so I steer and edge my way into it. Once I maneuver my way through to the corner, I turn and I'm off and racing toward the hospital while everyone else is still frozen in place on the road leading out of town.