Hurry Home

by Roz Nay

  “Wow,” he says, rubbing his smooth chin. “That definitely explains why she’s been so secretive. Everything I ask her, she clamps like a vault.”

  “You couldn’t have trusted anything she said anyway. She’s a revisionist storyteller. She changes the details of the past to suit herself.” I take his hand, interlace my fingers with his. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you any of this before. It’s not a place I go to if I can help it.”

  “I get it,” he says, rubbing the side of his glass with his thumb.

  “Some people are wired wrong,” I say. “And sometimes they end up in your family.”

  Chase picks up his gin and sips it. “You know,” he says, “I think this is the most you’ve ever talked about yourself.”

  My throat tightens, and I fight back tears. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Chase, or don’t want you to know me. I’m not trying to be inaccessible.”

  “You’ve just lived with secrets for too long.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Yes.”

  He leans across the table and touches my cheek, my neck. “So what now? Are we kicking her out?” It’s sweet how supportive he is. But kicking Ruth out won’t help anyone.

  “No,” I say, kissing his hand before he withdraws it. “She’s my sister. She’s destitute and seven months pregnant. I can’t kick her out, however complicated she is.”

  Chase nods, commiserating. “My brother and I didn’t speak for half a year when I beat him in a ski race. I still remember it. I was miserable. But when he needed me to help train for the next season, I couldn’t say no.”

  I’d like to have had his life, the surface depth of his trauma.

  “The important thing for me is to make sure Ruth’s baby is safe,” I say. “You know, what I’ve learned in my job is that so often damage is cyclical. It just perpetuates generation to generation. I don’t want that for Ruth’s child. Her baby deserves a shot at happiness.”

  “We can look after her, make sure she’s eating right, keep her spirits up,” Chase offers. “But you realize, no matter what, she’s the child’s mother. There’s no escaping that.”

  I smile. Is he right? Maybe. Maybe not.

  He glows at me across the table.

  “It’s big of you,” Chase says. “To accept this responsibility for your sister. I love you.”

  “You’ve taken my sister in. It’s big of you, too.”

  He shrugs. “Alex, I have to ask you—straight up—do I need to be worried about this Sully guy?”

  “No!” I say quickly, “God, no! There is absolutely nothing going on there. I swear, Chase, I don’t even think of him that way. He’s a colleague, and anyway, he’s really aloof. We’re thrown together by work. That’s all it is.”

  Chase looks restored. He smiles at me, then notices the nuts in the bowl are all gone and jumps up to get a refill. On the way past, I pull him back for a kiss.

  We stay longer in the bar than we need to that night, order a couple more drinks, until we’re the only two left in the whole place. I watch Chase as he tells me some story about his week. He’s animated, jovial, relieved. We’re a team again, and he’s entirely on my side. She doesn’t own him anymore. I’ve got him back.

  RUTH

  Things are not going well. Alex and Chase are letting me stay in the loft still, although for the life of me I can’t think why. She’s so terse with me that it’s obvious she continues toblame me for the big Pim reveal. We’ve stopped talking about the photograph—there’s nothing more I can say about it.

  She’s cold, distant, and uninvested. So why is she even bothering to help me, to let me stay with her? Maybe with sisters, even when you’re mad at each other you love each other. Meal times are tense, though, and she makes sure she’s never there in the morning when I wake up. Chase is always there, like a loyal dog. But there is some wariness in how he approaches me. When he catches himself smiling at something I’ve said, there’s a moment of panic in his eyes as though he’s just remembered he’s not meant to like me. He doesn’t make me smoothies anymore.

  Added to my general sense of unease is the fact that I’m now really worried about Eli. The message he left on my cell phone was razored and ominous: Come out, come out wherever you are, he said, a singsong meanness in his voice. You took something that doesn’t belong to you, Ruthy. Didn’t your mama ever tell you that’s wrong? It’s not the only message he’s left me, although they vary in degrees of menace. I don’t answer any of them and try not to look at my phone, but it dings repeatedly. Glows at night like plutonium. I pray to God that he won’t find me, because the truth is I can’t find his coffee tin. I’ve turned over the apartment, and it’s fucking nowhere to be found.

  At first I thought I’d moved it so far back in the bathroom vanity that it was simply impossible to see. I knelt down low, squashing the hump of my belly in front of me, clawing my hands into the darkness of the cupboard space. But the tin is gone. It has completely vanished. I toss and turn at night, trying desperately to remember if I’ve moved the hiding spot and just forgotten, what with baby brain and all. Or has Chase found the tin and disposed of it? Or did Alex? And if either of them looked inside and found the drugs, why hasn’t one of them said anything to me? Nothing makes any sense.

  “Have you seen any of my things in the bathroom?” I asked Alex earlier this week as she was writing an email on her work laptop.

  She looked up, hassled. “Things?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I mumbled. It wasn’t like I could be any more specific. Later the same day, I tried Chase. “Have you seen a coffee tin kicking about?” I asked him airily. “Folgers?”

  “You bought us coffee?” He reached immediately for his organic version above the stove. “We usually drink this. It’s got fewer chemicals in it.”

  Neither of them had a clue what I was getting at, which begs the question: Where the fuck are my drugs and my money?

  It’s a Sunday in late August, and the day is breaking into an idyllic, cloudless, ceramic-blue sky. I lie on the couch, heartburn fizzing and nauseous. There’s an inescapable sense that I’m panicking for two now. I wanted to feel differently about motherhood, even with what I knew of the world; at the start, I was so hopeful that it might begin a better chapter for me and for Alex. But these strange, angular sweeps of the baby’s head or elbow under my skin tell me everything is so frighteningly imminent. I stare at my midriff under the sheet, expecting a fist to punch outward, a foot. I feel more anxious now than ever. What will my baby learn about me as soon as it’s out? That I’m an idiot who lost thousands of dollars’ worth of drugs? That I ruined my own insurance plan? Invited violent crime into our home? I count down the days until September 20. I should be excited to give birth, but the date fills me with dread. I have to fix things before the baby gets here, before Eli shows up, although I’m starting to think his arrival will be sooner.

  Your sister lives in Moses River, he said on his most recent message. That’s a long, expensive bus ride, Ruthy. I’ll have to take it out of the cash you stole. He knows exactly where I am. He must have paid more attention than I thought when I spoke about having a sister. Has he already sent a henchman to steal the drugs back? Is that why I can’t find them? But deep down I know he’ll come himself, if only to inflict maximum damage. I jump whenever a car pulls up outside the window. What is this stress doing to my baby?

  I hear Alex and Chase get up and enter the kitchen. I pretend to still be dozing, but it’s pointless. I’m so worried that I have to say something. I slowly get up from my bed on the couch.

  Alex and Chase are eating at the kitchen island. Chase has made them smashed avocado on toast, although there doesn’t seem to be a portion for me. Alex pauses midsip of coffee when she notices me standing by the couch.

  “What?” she asks. “Did you want some breakfast?”

  “Oh, I’ll make you one.” Chase stands. “I didn’t know if avocado would make you feel queasy. I read that with pregnant women, it’s all kind of a t
exture thing.”

  Both Alex and I stare at him.

  “I have to tell you something.”

  Chase looks uncertainly at Alex. She puts down her toast, rubs crumbs from her fingertips. What now? she’s thinking. What the hell could you possibly do next? Shame swells in my throat.

  “I might have—I might have gotten us all into a sketchy situation.”

  Chase’s eyes widen, but still he’s waiting for pointers from Alex.

  “How sketchy?” Her voice is so tired of me.

  “When I left Pittsburgh, I was in a panic. Eli and I had gotten into this big fight, and he was trying to make me do things I didn’t want to do. But when I said no, he—”

  “What things?” Alex says.

  I look at my bare feet, at my toes as they turn inward. “Sell coke. To college kids on campus.”

  Chase has a mouthful of toast but has completely stopped chewing.

  “So I ran away from him. I ran away. But I had no money. Right before I left, I grabbed a tin of Eli’s stuff. Of Eli’s drugs, I mean. And cash.”

  Chase and Alex look at each other, shocked.

  “He owed me money anyway, and I figured if I was absolutely desperate, if you sent me away and didn’t take me in, then at least I could survive for a few months.”

  “You fucking…” Alex says, “stole drugs and cash from a dealer. And brought them here? Here, to our apartment?”

  “I didn’t mean to put you guys in danger. Honestly, I didn’t.”

  “But why steal drugs?” Chase’s voice is quiet. “What good are they to you? You’d have had to sell them to…”

  “Yes. It would have been a last resort. And I didn’t use any of the drugs. I didn’t touch the coke or the money—because of you. You both saved me from that life. But … I didn’t get rid of the stash.”

  Alex starts to pace. “Where the hell are they, Ruth? Where are the goddamn drugs?”

  “That’s the thing. I put them under the bathroom sink. I hid them right at the back.”

  Alex turns to Chase. See? she’s saying. One thing after another. It never, ever stops.

  “You put drugs in the bathroom vanity?” she says.

  “Yes, and a shit ton of cash, if I’m honest. Like, probably ten grand. I’m really, really sorry.”

  “Ten grand?” Alex says, dumbfounded. “Stolen from a violent dealer and hidden in our house? In what fucking part of your brain did you ever consider that to be thinking like a mother?” Her jaw is chisel-stiff.

  “The drugs are in our bathroom?” Chase rubs his forehead, as if trying to figure out a puzzle.

  “They were, but I can’t find that tin,” I say.

  Alex’s head tilts.

  “And there’s another problem.” I press my hands in front of me like a prayer. “Eli’s coming.”

  Alex looks at Chase and back again. “What do you mean, he’s coming? Did you give him our address?!”

  “No, of course not! But he’s … he’s clever, and he figures things out. And I thought I could just send him away with the tin, but it’s not where I left it. It’s … gone.…” I trail off, not sure what else to say.

  “Jesus Christ.” Chase stands up, knocking avocado toast onto the floor.

  “Let’s look for the tin,” Alex says grimly.

  “Alex, a drug dealer is coming to the apartment,” Chase says, desperately sweeping up the mess on the floor. “Don’t you think we should call the police, right now?”

  “I heard what she said, Chase! It’s news to me, too. And I agree! This is a whole fresh wave of shit she’s dumping on top of our heads, none of which is your fault or mine. But first, we need to find that fucking tin. And then you”—she points at me with steady, incriminating finger—“you are going to tell the police exactly what you did.”

  “If you call the cops, they’ll arrest me for sure. Is that what you want?” I ask. They ponder the question for too long but eventually shake their heads.

  “You left the tin in the cupboard under the sink?” Alex says, standing. “And you never moved it? You’re sure about that?”

  I nod. My breathing is shallow; I feel hot, far too hot. All this anxiety can’t be good for anyone.

  She strides to the bathroom, anger in every movement she makes. I drift after her on flimsy legs, Chase two steps behind me. She yanks open the cupboard under the sink, tossing facecloths, toilet paper, bars of soap behind her like a dog digging a furious tunnel. “What did the tin look like?” she asks, peering to the back of the space.

  “It’s a Folgers coffee tin.” I put one hand on the doorframe to try to steady myself.

  She shakes her head, grunts as she gets even lower to the ground. Behind me, Chase is shivering like a Chihuahua.

  Alex, kneeling on the ground, stops searching. “It’s not here.”

  “Who’s moved it?” I wail.

  “Not me,” says Chase. “I wish I knew where it was, but I don’t.”

  Alex sighs. Her hands lay limp in her lap.

  “Could someone have gotten into the loft?” Chase asks suddenly. “Has somebody broken in? Or is it possible that maybe Eli’s been and gone?” His brow lightens at the prospect, the poor sheltered boy.

  “Chase, do you really think a dealer would just tiptoe in and out?” Alex asks.

  Chase glances out the bathroom door, to the huge TV, the expensive stereo system, the easy technology scattered around the apartment. His shoulders sag again.

  “She’s right,” I say quietly. “If I can’t find it, I’m in big trouble. Eli will want to punish me.” My whole body is flushing with stress.

  Alex stands up, kicks the vanity door shut, and turns on me. It’s all too close, too claustrophobic, all three of us still in the bathroom. “Is this real, this whole drugs-in-a-tin story?” She moves in close to my face. “Or is it another one of your attention-grabbing schemes? Are you looking for more ways to disrupt our lives? To spread a little more fear?”

  “What? No!”

  “Or is it that you want us all to feel sorry for you again? To huddle around you protectively?”

  “Aren’t we doing that already?” Chase asks.

  “Maybe someone else in the building got in here? Is that possible?” I ask. “You don’t always lock the front door.”

  “That’s true,” Chase says.

  “Stop it!” Alex shouts. “Nobody who lives in this building has come into our loft and gone straight to the bathroom vanity! Can you hear how ridiculous that sounds?” She sidesteps Chase and pushes me so that I stagger back a step and almost fall over.

  “Alex!” Chase yells. “What the hell? She’s heavily pregnant!”

  Thick clouds begin to wash across my vision.

  Chase grips me at the elbow. “Ruth, are you okay? Ruth?”

  The world is turning. It’s turning so fast, and I can’t keep up. I can’t stay on my feet. All I hear is Chase’s terrified voice.

  “Alex, help me,” he says. “She’s bleeding.”

  My head droops downward, and I see a thin trickle of blood rolling past the hem of my shorts, down my thigh, toward my knee. More follows, pooling onto the white of the bathroom floor by my foot.

  “Jesus,” I hear Alex say, but blackness swirls deeper in front of me, and I surrender to it, falling onto Chase, finally finding a pit that blocks out all the sound.

  ALEX

  “Rest and simplicity,” the doctor says. “That’s what your sister needs. And the more of it the better.”

  Simplicity is next to impossible, given the situation she’s in—that we’re now all in.

  “Tell that to her, Doctor. Not to me,” I reply.

  All the tests they run conclude the whole episode is stress-related. Ruth is kept overnight for observation. It was a light bleed, nothing more, nothing dire. I sit in a slippery chair by her bed while she sleeps. It’s exactly how I sat with Dad through all those last days and nights. Even the royal blue of the cushioning is the same. Ruth sleeps like she did as a child—e
ffortlessly, soundlessly, so completely elsewhere in her slumber that it’s as if she’s switched dimensions. I leave for home at dawn before she wakes, and find Chase in the kitchen making coffee.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he says. “I know she’s your sister and everything, but Christ, Alex. I don’t think I’m okay with her coming back here. She brought drugs and stolen money into our home.”

  I move straight toward him and hug him. “I know, I know. But, Chase, what you’re not getting is that she makes a lot of things up.”

  He pulls back, his face young and trusting. “You’re saying she’s lying about that? Why would she do that?”

  “To destabilize us. She creates chaos. She’s been like that since we were little kids. If there’s a button, she’ll push it. Don’t ask me why.”

  “Huh,” he says. “You shouldn’t have shoved her.”

  I keep my eyes low. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that. It’s just that she’s just so … frustrating sometimes.”

  “You can’t go pushing a pregnant—”

  “I said I get it. I regret it.”

  He pulls me in against his chest. “So … okay. And you really think she’s making it up about the drugs and this Eli guy?”

  I lean up and kiss him along the jawline. “I think Eli’s real, but I doubt he’s coming here. I’ll get the police to check on that, ask them to keep an eye out. Okay? Honestly, Chase, I don’t think there’s anything new to worry about. If there were really drugs, they’d be in the apartment.”

  He’s quiet for a minute, then nods.

  “I have to go into work for a little bit today. Do you have time to pick up Ruth from the hospital?” I ask.

  “I thought you had today off,” Chase says. “We were going to spend some time together.”