“Zoey? ”
I really said her name out loud. The song was “Claire de lune”—so it had to be her. But when I burst in, it wasn’t Zoey playing the rattler. It was my mother.
“Oh, Kaz! I love it! ”
Mom was sitting on the couch, the instrument propped between her knees like a cello. “I can’t believe your friend could bear to part with it. It’s amazing.”
Nomi knelt on the carpet at Mom’s feet. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you wanted to wait to give it to her, but I thought it would make her happy, so … ”
It had worked. Mom hadn’t played a single note in years, yet here she was, doing just that. There was color in her face, and she looked strong and focused in a way I could hardly remember.
“Come,” she said, putting out one arm.
I sat beside her and she clutched me in a one-handed hug. My arms were around her waist, limp like a baby. I could smell the musty wood and metal of the rattler on her other shoulder.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “This is the nicest thing you could have done for me. I’d forgotten what it felt like to make music.” Her voice had started to crack. “The nicest, nicest thing.”
When she said that, I don’t know why, but I cracked too. Two tears leaked out, taking me completely by surprise.
“Kaz, what is it? What’s the matter?”
I just shook my head and let her hug me again. How could I explain how badly I’d screwed up? How could I tell her that my savings were gone? How could I tell her that the strange instrument she’d just been playing, the very thing that made her so happy, was at the center of it all?
“It’s about your job, isn’t it? John fired you.”
I sat up straight, sniffling. Nomi was staring at us from the floor, wide-eyed. “You know about that?”
Mom nodded. “I spoke to Mr. Rodolfo today. Doesn’t seem like he’s willing to re-hire you, but don’t worry—smart kid like you, you’ll find something else.”
“Maybe.”
Mom stared at me. “It’s not just about that, is it? It’s that girl, too.”
I didn’t answer.
“If she’s too dumb to see how wonderful you are, then she doesn’t deserve you.”
Maybe I was crying because I was happy. Maybe it was because Mom looked better than I had seen her in a long, long time. Maybe all she needed was to play music again. Maybe, in a way, that was the cure.
“You look a lot better,” I said.
“I am. Thanks to you.”
I stood up. “That’s good, but I’m pretty tired. I’ll be in my room.”
I don’t remember falling asleep. When I did, it was black and bottomless. I slept all the way through dinner and didn’t wake up until the next morning.
Mom was sitting on the bed beside me. She looked even better than the day before, smiling down, stroking my hair like I was a baby.
“Wake up, sleepyhead. We’re going to Beauhaven.”
74
The Last Time I Saw Her, Part 2
We drove up in silence. Nomi picked up on my grim mood (not a difficult thing) and kept quiet in the back seat. The air outside was humid and heavy. It was one of those dark days that come at the end of summer, when the sky goes all ashy and you just want it to rain and get it over with, but then it never does. Above us, there were layers of cloud so dark they looked like streams of soot.
All I could think about was Zoey. I thought about how strange she’d acted the second time she wanted to stash the rattler at the Sit ’n’ Spin. All that looking over her shoulder, telling me the police were after her for busking on the street. It had all been a lie. I thought about all those questions about honesty.
I can trust you, right?
I mean, you’re an honest person. You’ve always been honest with me, yeah?
Then there was the way she had grabbed my wrist, just before I signed everything away to a girl who didn’t exist. She had said it one last time.
Seriously. Be honest. You’re really sure?
I had been.
But now I knew what it was all about. It was a test. In her own way, she was warning me. An honest person would never have signed those checks. An honest person would have walked away if he thought the thing he was buying was stolen—
from some famous singer who had killed himself. An honest person would have called the police. Just like she had said at the movies that night, You can’t con an honest man.
I steered us into the Beauhaven parking lot. Everything was calm and still. A huddle of parked cars reminded me of pigs, feeding from a trough around the building. The wide-openness of everything—the huge expanse of asphalt, the lack of tall buildings—made it seem like there was nothing to hold up the sky. It felt like an endless sheet of dull gray plastic had settled over everything. I could hardly breathe.
“You look pale,” Mom said once we’d joined the wallow of cars. “You should come in.”
I shook my head.
“Give it another chance. Tracey really is—”
“A genius. I know, but I don’t feel like it. Leave me alone, okay? Let me stay in the car.”
Mom sighed and gave up. She and Nomi went in without me. I shut my eyes, resting my head on the steering wheel. Had I ever screwed up this badly before? This went way beyond letting your grades slip, or passing out at a party, or falling for the wrong girl. This was serious. This was a deep, dire, game-changing sort of fuck-up. The only thing I wanted to do was keep it a secret. Which of course was impossible. Eventually, I’d have to tell Mom what happened.
The smell of cigarette smoke cut through my self-pity. I lifted my head and saw a woman smoking in front of Beauhaven.
She seemed to be staring at me, but when I met her gaze, she looked away. After one final puff, she tossed the butt of her cigarette in the bushes and climbed into a minivan two spaces over. As the vehicle pulled away, the OPEN sign at the ice cream shop next door reflected in the tinted windscreen. The word flashed on and off, sliding over the black glass. OPEN … OPEN … OPEN …
It wasn’t until the woman had backed out of the spot completely that I saw what was parked behind her.
A red convertible. Empty.
I got out and went over, one eye on Beauhaven. Could it really be the same car? There were speckles of rust on the side. Hadn’t Andrew Myers-slash-Philip Konig’s car been spotless? Hadn’t it always sparkled in the sun? Or was that merely how I remembered it because I believed his lies? Maybe I never noticed the rust because he’d always parked across the street?
There were cardboard boxes in the back seat, the tops folded shut. I opened the door and tugged one of them open. It was nothing I recognized, nothing that looked like black crinoline or pink leopard print.
I went around to the front. There was a dent in the car’s bumper, scratches too. I crouched down and ran my fingers over the metal. I tried to picture the shape of Razor’s body. The height of her head. The broadness of her back. Could this have been where she was hit?
Behind me, someone came out of the ice cream shop. It was a hippie girl with a shaved head and a flowery dress, carrying a pair of vanilla cones. She wore enormous sunglasses, even though the sky was the color of old steel. When she saw me, one of the cones slipped, shattering on the pavement.
“Zoey,” I said. “Zoey … Konig.”
She didn’t answer.
You could measure a girl’s beauty by how she looked without any hair. That was what she’d told me. Now I knew she was right. Even shorn of every dreadlock, she still looked as sharp and beautiful as ever. Maybe even more so.
“How did you know we’d be here?” she asked.
“Are you gonna give me my money back?”
She took off the sunglasses. “I got your messages, but my dad burned the phone. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me about your—”
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“I’m calling the police.” I took out my phone, pulled up the number, and showed her the screen. “Give me back the money or I press Send.”
“Wait, don’t.”
“You completely screwed me over and … and … ” I was surprised by watery snot suddenly flowing down the back of my throat. “Fuck! I really liked you.”
“Look at me. I’m a freak.”
“Just give me back the money.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You have it and you can give it back.”
“I don’t have it, my dad does. I never have anything.”
“So get it from him.”
“I will, just not now.”
“It’s for my mother! ”
Zoey threw down the other ice cream cone. “Why didn’t you tell me? If I’d known, I would’ve … I mean, don’t you tell people anything?”
“I do, but—”
“If you’d told me, I never would’ve let my dad know about your savings. Even if he found out, even if he’d wanted to, I would’ve stopped him. You should’ve told me.” She ground her teeth and looked down at the blob of vanilla melting at her feet. “Now it’s too late.”
I looked behind me at Beauhaven. “Is he in there now? Getting his massage or whatever?”
She nodded.
“That gun I saw, is it in the car?”
Her expression changed. “What? Why?”
“Give it to me.”
“I’ll get your money back. I promise. Just not right now. You have to believe me.”
“How can I?” I went to the side of the car and opened the box again. “Where is it?”
“What’re you gonna do?”
“Maybe I’m gonna kill him. If he doesn’t give back what’s mine.”
“He’ll kill you first. He’s stronger than he looks. He’ll do it with his hands.”
“Is that where you got those bruises? Is that why you help him?”
“I promise I’ll get you everything back, you just have to tru—oh, shit! ”
I turned around and saw him coming down the steps from Beauhaven. He was in jeans and an old hoodie. For a second, I thought he’d shaved his head as well. But no, he’d merely bleached his hair. It was like it was in the mug shots. This time he had done his beard too, and even his eyebrows. It made his skin look pale, almost see-through. Teeth and eyes leaping out of a flat, white skull.
“Da’fuck is this now?”
His voice, gruff and threatening, was as altered as his face. He pounded down the steps, but stopped dead when he saw who I was. His eyes flashed at Zoey.
“I didn’t tell him, I swear!” she said. “It’s his mom, she comes here too. I told you! She’s sick.”
He almost laughed. “Not if she comes here, she isn’t. Not really.”
“What did you say?” I was ready to do what Zoey said he’d do to me. Kill him with my hands.
“Don’t sweat it, kid,” he said. “It’s just business. Wasn’t like it was that much. What was it? Ten grand?”
“It was everything I had.”
He shrugged. “Your loss.” He made a move toward the car, but I cut him off.
“Fuck you! I’m calling the police.”
I brandished the phone like a weapon and pressed Send. Zoey’s dad lifted the bottom of his hoodie and pulled out a real weapon. The gun I’d just asked for.
“Gimme your phone,” he said. “Right now.”
I didn’t. In my ear, a recorded voice asked what I needed: “Fire, police, or ambulance?”
“Police,” I said.
Zoey’s dad stepped forward. “I’m going to fucking shoot you!”
A human voice: “Yes, what is your emergency?”
“I’m at the Beauha—”
In one swift motion, Philip Konig stepped forward, grabbed my wrist, and twisted it so hard my knees gave out and I doubled over. I dropped the phone and watched helplessly as his heel shattered it to bits.
“Next time,” he growled at Zoey, “when I tell you to stay in the car, do it.”
Zoey didn’t move.
Her dad pointed the gun at her. “Get in the car! ”
When he shouted, his grip on my wrist tightened. I yelped and, almost by instinct, took a swing at him with my free hand. With his attention on Zoey, I caught him by surprise. I connected just below his eye. It felt like I’d broken every bone up to my elbow.
The next thing I knew, Zoey’s dad had one hand around my throat.
“You stupid little puke. We never stole your money. You wrote us fucking checks! You weren’t robbed, you were conned. If you were a little swifter, you’d see the difference!”
I tried to say something, but I had no air.
“Dad, stop!”
Everything was turning gray. The sky roared in my ears. I heard a grunt. A scream. My body shook and jostled and fell. I landed hard on my hands and knees, and when I looked up, Zoey was down exactly like me, like an animal, like a spooked cat. The arch of her back juddered up and down. She was crying.
I tried reaching for her, but her dad picked her up around the waist and jammed her, kicking and screaming, into the car.
“I’ll send it all back!” she shouted. “I promise!”
Oddly, the only thing in my head was, I never took a picture with her. I’ll never see her again. It didn’t help that she had her face buried in her hands.
“Don’t look, Kaz,” she said, or at least that’s what it sounded like. Her words slurred through her fingers. But how could I not look at her?
I breathed deeply and color returned to the world. I saw Zoey, her face still hidden, as her dad shifted into reverse.
“Wait!” I said stupidly. “Let me see your face!”
She took her hands away. “I’m sorry,” she gargled at me. “I’m sorry!”
Her nose was smashed, and her upper lip was split so wide it looked like she had two of them. Her dad must have hit her bad, probably with the butt of the gun. There was so much blood she looked like something in a horror movie—and I was just staring at her. I wasn’t passing out.
I was cured!
I was so shocked by my lack of fainting, I didn’t say or do anything. I just knelt on the blacktop like an idiot, watching dumbly as Zoey’s mangled face sped away forever.
Then I discovered my miracle cure was only temporary. Lying a short distance off was one of Zoey’s teeth. It stood out amid the wreckage of my phone, still clinging to a pink shred of her gums. A creeping whorl of melted ice cream came to mingle with the red.
Seeing that bloody scrap of her mouth brought on a familiar feeling. The roaring in my ears returned and the world went as black as the rivers of soot raging across the sky.
75
Cinnamon and Mold
When the world came back into focus, I was laid out on a slab of vinyl. The lights were dim, every wall was the color of moldy bread, and all I could smell was cinnamon. Tracey’s face grinned down at me like a billboard.
“Relax,” she cooed. “You’re going to be fine.”
That was hard for me to believe, since her only treatment involved waving the same old metallic cylinder over my face. The smoke puffing out of it reeked of cinnamon.
“Are you okay?” Mom was standing on the opposite side of the massage table. “What happened just now?”
“I screwed up,” I told her.
“Poor Nomi. I think she’s traumatized. She found you lying in a pool of blood! And she found this.” Mom held up Zoey’s tooth. It looked like a chip of bone, like something that had fallen off the rattler. When I saw it, I felt a bit woozy.
I shut my eyes. “The tooth’s not mine. I just fainted when I saw it.”
“Thank god. As if we can afford emergency dental surgery. You want me to throw it out?”
>
“No, I wanna keep it.”
Mom squinted at me. “Since when do you collect people’s teeth?”
“I just want it, that’s all.” I reached over and clumsily grabbed it from her.
“I think you’d better tell me what happened.”
So I did. I told Mom everything.
The first thing she did was call the police. Two officers from the West Olsten PD showed up with a lot of questions. They only took me seriously after I told them to call Detective Singh. They said it wouldn’t be long before they found the dented red convertible. I hoped they were right, but this time, I had a feeling Zoey was gone for good.
While they asked their questions, the sky grew darker and darker. By the time the cops let us head home, it was pouring with rain. Off in the distance, there were flashes of lightning. We drove in silence nearly the whole way, fat drops of rain splattering the windscreen. The whole time I kept passing the tooth back and forth from hand to hand. I couldn’t stop touching it.
Eventually, Mom said, “You saved all that money just for me?”
I told her how badly I’d let my grades slip. How I had basically given up on a lot of things since her attacks started. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I know,” she said, “but one day it will, no matter what we do. That’s why it’s so important you and Nomi get a good start in life. It’s more important than anything that happens to me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want to be cured?”
“Of course you do,” Nomi said from the back. “You’ll get better.”
I nodded. “Nomi’s right. You shouldn’t say stuff like that.”
Mom didn’t say anything for a while. “You two have to understand something. Sometimes life gives you something, and, even though it’s not the most pleasant thing in the world, it’s yours. Of course I want the attacks to stop, but if they don’t, I’ll deal with it. We’ll all deal with it. And there’s something else you need to understand. When I’m asleep for so long, I sometimes have dreams. Dreams like nothing else. They’re so vivid, so real. They’re the only place I still see your father.”
Blues for Zoey Page 19