Left Behind

by Vi Keeland

  More sobs. She slumps into me as her cry intensifies. Wrapping my arms around her back, I hold her, but my voice becomes more insistent. “Mom, what’s going on? Where’s Dad?” My own tears start to well, even though I’m still in the dark over what we’re crying about.

  “He’s downstairs,” she finally spits out, breathless between sobs.

  “What happened, Mom?”

  “It’s Emily.”

  My heart clenches in my chest.

  “What?” My voice rises to a yell. “Mom, what about Emily?”

  She cries more. My father comes to the door. I turn, catching sight of him. He’s been crying too. My heart jumps into my throat.

  “Zack.” My father takes a deep breath. “Emily’s been in an accident, son.”

  Nausea overwhelms me, my head spins, but I force myself from the bed. “Where is she?” I’m yanking on clothes as I speak.

  “Long Beach University Hospital.”

  Frantically, I search my desk for my keys, then take off down the stairs. My father shouts for me to wait, but I’m out the door before he can catch up to me. He rips open the passenger door just as I’m backing out and jumps in.

  Pacing the ER waiting area like a caged lion, I wait and wait for what seems like forever. My mother arrives carrying my shoes. Looking down, I’m surprised to find I don’t have any on.

  “Did you hear anything yet?” She whispers to my father.

  He shakes his head and wraps his arm around her shoulder, pulling her to him tightly.

  Finally, after what seems like days, Emily’s parents emerge from the double doors that block her from me. I rush to them. Mr. Bennett looks at me and shakes his head no. No? What does he mean, no? My father comes to stand next to me. Mrs. Bennett finally looks up and, seeing me, she completely breaks down. Wailing, she falls to the floor.

  My breathing comes faster and shorter. I feel dizzy. My thoughts spin so fast I can’t see. They only stop when my entire world goes dark.

  Chapter 10

  Zack—

  Long Beach, California— 2 days later

  I stand in the parking lot alone, rain pelts down on me so hard it should sting, but I feel no pain. I feel nothing. Hollow. A shell of a body incapable of emotion. I look down at my navy suit, the one I wore to the homecoming dance with Emily, it’s soaked through, clinging tightly against my body. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pray to a god I’m not sure I believe in anymore, begging him to take the image that was just seared into my brain from my memory. But it’s no use, closing my eyes only makes the visual of her lying there even more vivid. I force them back open to chase what I see away, but it doesn’t work. Visions of Emily lying there, so still, so peaceful, consume me. Her normally glowing, tanned skin is pale and dull, gray replacing the bronze and pink sun drenched color.

  My body begins to shake, sobs racking through me even before my tears begin to fall. It’s the first time I’ve cried since it happened. Time goes by, but I have no idea how long I stand there letting days of pent-up emotions wash over me. Eventually, the heavy rain begins to dwindle, my tears following its lead.

  “Zack?” My father’s voice is low, cautious. It’s the same timid way everyone has spoken to me the last two days. I don’t respond. I’ve barely said two words to anyone since it happened. “Come back inside, son. The minister is going to start soon.”

  My mother waits just inside the door, the same look of worry plastered across her face that she’s worn since she woke me that morning. The morning everything changed. She puts her arm around me and together we walk slowly toward the room. The smell of flowers wafts in the air as we step closer, making me nauseous.

  Jefferson Funeral Parlor is large; three separate viewing rooms normally hold multiple services. But today it’s all for Emily. The retractable doors between rooms are open so that there’s room for hundreds to sit. It’s still not enough. People line the room, wall to wall. Family, friends, teachers, strangers. The line to visit the casket leads out the front door and halfway around the block. Everyone is here except for the driver who is still fighting for his own life at Long Beach University Hospital. The front of the car took the brunt of the impact when Dylan swerved to avoid a truck that veered into oncoming traffic. Amazingly, the rest of the passengers walked away with only minor cuts and bruises.

  A quiet hush comes over the room as we walk in. Heads turn in our direction. The minister takes his position at the front of the room, silencing the murmur without words. Slowly, my parents lead me to the front row. I feel all the eyes in the room watching me, even though I don’t look up.

  Three chairs wait for our return. Mr. Bennett insisted we sit with him. I was Emily’s family as much as he was, he said. I thought the weight of my guilt might be enough to pull me through the floor.

  Ahead of us, a small table sits on one side of the ornate wooden casket, a tribute to Emily’s life. A shrine. Four pictures in frames highlighting the life of the girl I loved: Her parents with her at her communion. Her junior yearbook picture. Me and Emily all dressed up for junior prom. But it’s the last one that gets to me, rips a hole right through my already torn heart. Emily riding her canary yellow Schwinn. Memories flood back to me…the day I met her, the first time she let me ride it. Her on the handlebars chattering away as I peddled us to the park where we’d play on the swings for hours. It breaks me. Tears roll down my face uncontrollably, my shoulders shuddering, each breath between sobs burning my throat.

  The minister begins to speak. Words flow from his mouth, yet I don’t hear anything he says. To my left, my dad hangs tough, tightening his grip around my shoulder. To my right, my mother silently sobs alone. I can’t even bring myself to comfort her. Long minutes go by, the haze I’m in blocking me from reality until a verse catches my attention.

  “We cannot judge a biography by its length.

  Nor by the number of pages in it.

  We must judge it by the richness of its contents.

  Sometimes those unfinished are among the most poignant.

  We can not judge a song by its duration.

  Nor by the number of its notes.

  We must judge it by the way it touches and lifts our souls.

  Sometimes those unfinished are among the most beautiful.

  And when something has enriched your life.

  And when its melody lingers on in your heart.

  Is it unfinished?

  Or is it endless?”

  ***

  Graveside, hours later, I stand watching an endless stream of mourners place a rose on Emily’s casket before they walk away. Tears gone, I’m numb, inside and out. I watch, but don’t really see. Touch, but don’t really feel.

  Eventually, only my family and Emily’s parents remain surrounding the hole in the ground, where Emily’s casket rests next to a mound of dirt. My father nudges me, speaking quietly, “Come on, Son. You need to say your goodbye and leave Emily’s parents to do the same.”

  Mr. Bennett looks to me and then to Mrs. Bennett. Mrs. Bennett nods, a single tear falling from her eyes. “No, please, I think we should go. Emily would want Zack to be the last one here. She may have been my daughter, but her heart belonged to your son.”

  Placing his hand on my shoulder and squeezing as he walks by, Mr. Bennett’s voice is choked up as he says quietly, “Say your goodbyes, son.”

  My parents walk to the waiting cars along with Emily’s. Finally alone, I stand staring down at the pile of roses atop of the casket. Emily’s final words to me come flooding back, the first memory I’ve allowed myself since it all happened. “You’ll be sorry tomorrow, Zack Martin. And, you know what, by then it may be too late.”

  Falling to my knees in the muddy grass, I cry. And I cry and I cry. Until there’s no more tears left to come.

  Chapter 11

  Nikki—

  Brookside, Texas— 5 months later

  “This isn’t permanent, Ash,” I whisper so Aunt Claire and Ms. Evans can’t hear. “I’ll be back after I fi
nd her. I promise.”

  I mean it as I say it, but as soon as the words come out I start to wonder if I will really be back.

  This morning, I stood in a courtroom while a judge granted my aunt temporary custody. I can’t believe how fast time has gone by. The pain of losing Mom is still fresh, yet at the same time it feels like forever since I heard her voice. The mixed emotions on Ashley’s face could be a mirror image of mine.

  “I’m happy for you, Nikki,” she says with a hesitant smile— the kind of smile you form when you don’t know if you’re happy or scared. I know she’s scared— for both of us.

  “Thank you for everything,” I say, hugging Ashley tightly. I’m not normally a touchy-feely person, so this unexpected demonstration of affection makes Ash start to cry.

  “Nikki, we have a lot to do before you can get on a flight with your Aunt tomorrow.” Isn’t that just like Evil Evans, not being sensitive enough to spot a moment between Ashley and me?

  Aunt Claire steps in. “Why don’t you come to the airport with us tomorrow, Ashley? We can have lunch and you can spend a little time together before our flight. The car service can take you back home after.”

  I feel like I’m Annie and I’ve just been adopted by Daddy Warbucks. Ashley squeals a thank you at Aunt Claire and squeezes me once again. At least I’ll be departing Brookside in style.

  ***

  As I pack up the last of my things in Ashley’s trailer, I start to wonder if I’ve made the right decision. The way Aunt Claire looked at Donna and the dim, cramped trailer makes me wonder if she’s looking at me the same way now. Whenever she’s come to visit, Ms. Evans has always driven me to a restaurant or her hotel. Aunt Claire comes from a world where trailer parks don’t exist. I don’t know if that’s the right world for me. This is the only life I’ve ever known.

  I tuck away my thoughts, reminding myself that finding my sister is more important than my feeling a little uncomfortable. I don’t intend to live with Aunt Claire forever, or even to stay in California. I just need to find my sister and figure out what to do from there.

  “Almost ready, Nikki?” Aunt Claire asks as she comes in from bringing the next-to-last box from the trailer out to the waiting town car. “We have to get the boxes over to a delivery store. You know you have to pay just to take a bag on the plane these days. So, we’ll ship whatever we can.”

  The truth is, I didn’t know. I’ve never even been on a plane before. But I agree, pretending what she says makes sense.

  Picking up the box I’ve purposely left for last, I ask, “Can I carry this small one on the plane with me? Will it count as a bag?”

  Aunt Claire stares at the small cardboard box clutched in my hands. “Of course, you can carry anything that’s important to you.” Her voice gentle, she asks, “Is that box important? We could get a new box. That one looks just about ready to fall apart, I think. They sell them in the UPS package store we’re going to.”

  “Just some of my mom’s things and a few pictures. Things I’ve moved in the same box every time we moved.” My own voice drops, becoming shaky, as I answer. It isn’t easy to leave. Mom and I didn’t live here that many years, but this is the first time I’ve ever moved without her.

  Aunt Claire’s face turns solemn. I’m not sure if it’s because I mentioned Mom or because I mentioned moving around a lot. I get the feeling Aunt Claire feels badly that I’ve had what she thinks must have been a crappy life, full of moving over and over again.

  “I’m sorry, Nikki. I can’t image how hard this is for you. You must miss your mother. I’m so sorry, honey.” Tears gently roll down her face. I’ve never seen anyone cry in such a polite, pretty way before.

  “She was also your sister.” I don’t look at her as I say the next words. “I’d imagine that it’s just as hard to lose a sister. At least I got to spend most of my time with her…you weren’t that lucky.”

  Aunt Claire nods solemnly. I turn to look for Ash, so we can leave, but she’s nowhere in sight. Instead, Donna has snuck up behind me.

  “We’re going to miss you, honey,” she says, holding out her arms. If Aunt Claire is Daddy Warbucks, Donna is playing the part of Miss Hannigan to a tee. She hasn’t called me honey in the five hundred times I’ve walked through her door. I’m suddenly conscious of the smell of her cigarettes and cheap perfume.

  At the door, I turn back to take one last look around, sending a silent prayer to Mom: I promise I won’t let California change me, no matter what.

  Chapter 12

  Zack—

  Long Beach, California

  I hear the door bell ring but I don’t leave my room. That’s the way it’s been every day since it happened. People came by a lot more in the beginning. Friends from school, neighbors, my aunt and cousins. It took five months, but the stream of well-wishers has finally slowed down. Maybe that’s the way it happens. Time just has a way of making things ease up. For me? Nothing has dulled the pain since Emily died.

  My mom’s talking to someone downstairs but I don’t recognize the voice. That’s happened a lot too lately. I hear things, but nothing registers. Voices and words all jumble together and it all sounds the same. Nothing sparks my interest, nothing brings me out of my haze.

  The talking stops again. I guess whoever came by has left. People don’t stick around long since Emily died. Even my parents, who come in my room a dozen times a day, maybe more, leave quickly.

  There’s a knock at my bedroom door but I don’t bother to get up. Mom and Dad don’t wait for me to answer anyway. They knock once and come in. I get the feeling they’re afraid of what they might find if they wait to knock a second time.

  A second knock. That breaks my trance and I look to the door. A third knock is accompanied by a low voice, “Zack, your mom told me it was okay to come up. Can I come in?” She pauses and then softly adds, “Please.”

  Even through the dull fog I recognize Allie’s voice. Or am I imagining it? Is she really on the other side of my bedroom door? I say nothing and the voice goes silent. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe there is no voice.

  The door opens with a creak. I don’t know whether to yell and tell her to leave, or just go back to staring at the ceiling from my bed. I decide ignoring her is the less painful option. Maybe she’ll just go away.

  From the corner of my eye I see her pull my desk chair close to my bed and sit down. I close my eyes.

  “Zack, I know you don’t want to see anyone. I tried emails and texts and phone calls. I just thought maybe if I came here…” She trails off. There’s a tremble in her voice when she continues. “Maybe there’s something I can do. I want to help you.”

  Allie’s voice is warm and tender and it pulls my eyes away from the ceiling. I roll into a sitting position so I feel less vulnerable. Just as my eyes make contact with hers, a tear rolls from her left eye. Even in the darkness of my unlit room I can see she’s crying. People shouldn’t cry over me. I don’t deserve it.

  Instinctively, I reach out to wipe the tear. Before I reach Allie’s face the rest of my mind snaps awake and I pull my hand back quickly. Allie reaches out for my hand. It’s the first thing I feel in months. Her skin, soft and gentle, only a whisper of a touch, yet it’s so strong and overwhelming. The contact starts to pull me into the present world. But I don’t want to be there. I don’t want to be anywhere without Emily. I pull my hand away as though I’ve been scorched.

  Unfazed, Allie tries again. “Zack, you don’t have to say anything. I know I can’t fix anything. I just wanted to see you. Even if we don’t talk.”

  Something inside compels me. “Thank you. I read your emails and your texts,” I lie. I haven’t opened anything anyone’s sent. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

  Even in the unlit room I can see the glimmer of hope in her eyes when I respond. Is that how my parents feel? Are they just waiting for me to speak?

  Allie smiles, but this smile doesn’t reach her eyes…not even close. It’s sad and forced. Something makes me smile bac
k. I don’t want her to look so sad. Her smile responds to mine, growing real, not forced. I remember how I always liked that smile. It was almost too big— almost, but not quite.

  “Aren’t you dying to know how The Scarlet Letter turned out in English? I figured the anticipation would be gut wrenching. It’s the real reason why I had to come,” Allie teases, her words coming quickly, hoping to keep me in the here and now. I never went back to school after the accident. Our English project wasn’t even a thought all these months.

  “Yes, Allie. I was worried. Very worried that some second grader hasn’t been able to read about hookers wearing the letter “A” on their boobs.” The sarcasm feels good. Normal.

  She giggles. “Mr. Hartley saved our story to read to the class last. I think he was scared, Zack.”

  Her laugh is contagious. I don’t have to think about it, it just comes naturally. But then I catch myself. I don’t deserve to laugh. It’s not fair to Emily. I slam the shutter back down over the window of happiness she’s opened.

  “Listen, Allie…thanks for stopping by. It was nice of you, but I’m really tired and need to catch some sleep.” I stand, leaving no room for interpretation that it’s time for her to go.

  Allie’s smile falters. She stands. “I’m not going to let you get off that easy, Zack. I’m coming back to read you our story soon.” She tries to sound enthusiastic.

  She tucks the chair neatly back under my desk, then turns to me, a nervous smile on her face. Reaching up on her toes, she kisses me innocently on the cheek. “If there is anything I can do, I’d like to be here for you, Zack.”

  Emily doesn’t deserve the disrespect we’re showing her. “She died because she was jealous of me being with you that night, Allie. Please go.”

  Like a coward, I fixate my eyes on the floor so I don’t have to see her face, not looking up until I hear the door close.

  ***

  It’s August and the weather is intensely warm. Waiting until after my parents leave to run some Saturday morning errands, I throw on my running gear and head outside. While I stretch, my eyes can’t help but wander across the street. My chest tightens just seeing Emily’s house, knowing she’ll never walk in the door again. Knowing her parents want nothing more than for the past five months all to have been a nightmare. How the hell am I supposed to stay here? Walk in and out of my house every day, a constant reminder of what we’ve lost? What I’ve done.