The Deepest Roots

by Miranda Asebedo

  The gaslights are flickering like strobes now, and the struggle is the only thing I can hear, Garrett grunting as he finally flings Lux off him. She flies back onto the couch, her head hitting the arm with a crack.

  The phone falls from my blood-slicked fingers, but in all the noise I can’t even hear it clatter against the floor.

  It’s getting harder to focus on what’s happening around me. Why are the gaslights flickering? The wind, I realize, as it yanks Lux’s hair back from her face. She looks like a wild thing, climbing into a crouch to launch herself at Garrett again. Her eyes squint against the force of the gale that’s building in the room. Before Lux can leap, Garrett tosses Mercy on the couch next to her like a rag doll.

  I manage to turn my head enough to see Garrett free of both of them, scrambling around on the floor in the moldy debris, his eyes wild as he searches for the gun. The wind rushes through the trailer, knocking over the gas lanterns, their flames extinguished by the roaring air before they can ignite the gasoline-soaked piles of trash. Mercy, realizing that the storm Emmeline’s building around us is more powerful than Garrett now, has the sense to pull Lux down to the floor with me. Mercy puts her small hands back over the hole in my shoulder, pushing until it’s even more painful, and I shout at her to stop, words finally making it out of my mouth.

  The whirlwind circles around us. If it’s a hurricane, we’re in the eye. The couch is lifted off the floor, the piles of trash, a broken bicycle in the corner. Dusty, discarded bottles that Mercy pulled out of nowhere lift from the sink and the floor as the windows shatter, a cacophony of terror. The trailer’s roof is ripped off, exposing a dark and brutal sky above us, and suddenly I think that this must not be Emmeline Remington at all. We’re in a tornado. Damn, we’re in a tornado and we didn’t even hear the sirens.

  Lux and Mercy huddle over me, Mercy pressing against the hole beneath my shoulder, Lux wrapping an arm around Mercy. Lux’s other arm cradles my head, as if any of us were strong enough to protect the other, let alone survive this. My blood is smeared on both of their faces, and I wish it wouldn’t be the last memory I’d ever have of them. Not even Emmeline could save us from this.

  The walls rip away, a sound like the rending of metal and bone, and all I can think is that I hope Steven is okay. I hope Mom took him to the tornado shelter.

  Mercy and Lux huddle over me in the icy wind. In the bare space behind them, I see a woman in a long dress that bells and collapses again and again in the force of the tornado’s power. Emmeline, I think. She’s coming to welcome us to death.

  Everything goes black.

  At least we’re together in the end.

  Twenty-Five

  “ROME? ROME.”

  This time it’s Mom’s voice. The way it breaks takes me back to a night when I was six years old and I had the flu. The two of us were lying on the floor of the bathroom, our cheeks pressed against the cool linoleum while she rubbed my back. Her rusty eyes reflected my own when she told me that she was going to search the couch cushions again to look for money to buy some ginger ale. But I reached out to her because I didn’t want to be alone.

  Mom squeezed my damp hand, and she didn’t leave.

  I open my eyes and am greeted by a blindingly awful fluorescent light.

  “Am I dead?” I feel pretty dead right now. Everything is numb, and my mouth moves slowly. My words are slurred. I am lying in a bed.

  “No, you’re not dead,” Mom says. She’s standing beside the bed, and I struggle to turn my head and look at her.

  “That’s good,” I mumble. “Where’s Steven?”

  Mom laughs, her eyes wet. “He wanted to come, but the hospital has weird rules about dogs in the ICU.”

  “I’m in the ICU?” I ask, squinting as if that will make my situation clearer.

  Mom nods. “Lux and Mercy are in hysterics in the waiting room. The doctor didn’t think you should have a lot of visitors for a while.”

  “Dumb,” is all I can manage to get out.

  Mom nods again. “He said you lost a lot of blood. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “So lucky,” I slur. “Lucky enough to get shot.”

  Mom laughs, and it ends on a near sob. “God, Rome, I was so scared. We followed the ambulance to where you were. When I saw you lying out there in the middle of that mess . . .” Her voice trails off and I know she’s trying not to cry. “Can you tell me what happened out there? The ruins were just . . . destroyed.”

  “Knew I wouldn’t die in a trailer.”

  Mom’s hand finds mine beneath the white sheet, and she squeezes it.

  I squeeze back, as hard as I can.

  I don’t know how long I slept, but when I wake up the next time, I’m less foggy and the walls have changed. I must be in a different room, but I don’t know how I got here.

  This time Lux and Mercy are here, so I know I’m no longer in the ICU. They’re sitting on a low bench beside the bed, talking in hushed voices. Their faces are clean, no traces of my blood remaining. On the windowsill, there are several bouquets of flowers in vases. Bright, gaudy balloons are tied to the foot of the bed. I’d be embarrassed if I wasn’t so damn sore. My shoulder aches fiercely, and the pain radiates down my arm and across my chest and into my gut. With my eyes, I trace the drip lines of IV fluid and something else from my arm to the stand, watch the blip of the monitor as it records each beat of my heart with a sterile beep.

  “Rome!” Mercy exclaims, noticing me. “You’re awake!”

  “Wish I wasn’t,” I mutter, my mouth dry and stiff, but at least not slurring my words.

  “Let me get you a drink,” Mercy says, hurrying to what must be the bathroom behind a small door in the corner. I hear water running.

  “Let me get you something for that awful face,” Lux says, and at first I think she means makeup and I open my mouth to protest that this is not the time or place for eyeliner, but she lifts her hand to a small button on one of my drip tubes and clicks it twice.

  A blissful coolness settles over me, and the pain in my shoulder ebbs. “What is that?” I ask, my voice decidedly less sharp.

  “That’s your morphine drip. The nurse said you might need an extra shot now and then.”

  “Sweet Jesus, tell her thank you,” I sigh.

  “You should be thanking me. I’m the one who clicked the button,” Lux sniffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

  Mercy returns with water and helps me drink it. I try to hold the cup myself, but my hand isn’t quite steady enough.

  “Thanks,” I tell her after I’ve had a few gulps to moisten the cracked cave of my mouth.

  Mercy sets the cup down on the table by my bed.

  “So what happened today?” I ask. “Everything is sort of foggy. I was kind of in and out there for a while.”

  Lux laughs. “It’s Tuesday.”

  “What? Then I missed two shifts at the shop.”

  “Yeah, Red’ll probably fire you,” Lux agrees. “Getting shot is no excuse.”

  “Saturday was kind of a blur for all of us,” Mercy says. “It was like what happened in Emmeline’s bedroom with the wind and the shaking. Only a hundred times stronger.”

  Mercy gets her purse from the bench and holds out Emmeline’s diary. The cover is dark with dried blood. My blood.

  “It would have been nice if she would’ve shown up before I got shot,” I mutter.

  “Thanks for that, by the way,” Lux says, clicking the morphine drip one more time. She grins and I would roll my eyes but I’m too damn relaxed now.

  “Anytime,” I tell her. “What happened to Garrett? Did they catch him?”

  “He died in the storm. Rick says the police report is citing that part as ‘a random, strong microburst’ because there’s no way to report that the ghost of Cottonwood Hollow came and blew apart seven trailers to kill someone.”

  Mercy makes a face. “It was pretty awful,” she whispers, holding the cup out to me to see if I want another drink.

 
“Did anyone see her?” I ask after taking another sip. “Did either of you?”

  Mercy and Lux shake their heads. I know that I saw her. Even if it’s all kind of hazy when I look back now.

  Lux shrugs. “I think she was there, too. She came back to protect us against Garrett. She came back to take care of the daughters of Cottonwood Hollow.”

  “That’s why she wanted us to read the diary. It wasn’t just about the talents. It was wanting us to be strong enough to take care of each other. No matter what,” I tell them.

  Mercy interjects, “Well, things will be a hell of a lot better if you two would stop keeping things from me. I mean it. This ends now.”

  Lux looks away. “I couldn’t tell you,” she says in a low voice. “I was so ashamed.”

  “There isn’t anything you can’t tell us,” Mercy says, hugging Lux. When she lets go, she points her small finger at me. “And you, keeping all that from me. You pull that crap again and I’ll be the one putting you in the hospital. Same goes with the rent money and the bleach.”

  I make a face.

  “But you did the right thing calling Rick,” Mercy tells me before looking back at Lux. “So don’t be pissed at her. If I can forgive you two, you’ve got to do the same.”

  Lux twists a lock of her long hair around her finger, looking away again. “I haven’t told you yet,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “I wanted to wait until Rome was awake.”

  We wait for her, the steady beep of my heart monitor echoing in the room.

  “They picked up Aaron yesterday.”

  “Oh, I am so relieved,” Mercy says, putting her hand over her heart.

  Lux shakes her head. “No. He’s already out on bail thanks to his brother.”

  “He’s not!” Mercy hisses, her dark eyebrows sharply arched.

  “The police said we can file a restraining order against him while we wait to take him to court. That’s it. A piece of paper is supposed to protect us,” Lux says, and by the way she holds her mouth I know that she’s struggling not to cry.

  “You can do this,” I tell her. “File the restraining order. Press charges. We’ll help you. Whatever you need.”

  Lux’s face does crumple this time, and tears run softly down her cheeks. “I don’t know if I can even face him again,” she says. “Out there in the ruins, when I thought I could control Garrett with my curse, all I could see was Aaron. And what Aaron said I did . . . how I made him do those things to me. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t touch Garrett. And it almost killed you, Rome.”

  “Come here,” I say, scooting over as much as I can in the bed. Thankfully the last shot of morphine makes it bearable. Lux crawls in, sniffling. Mercy follows, climbing up next to Lux and squeezing her.

  I reach out to Lux, palm to palm.

  Scar to scar.

  “I’m still here for you. Mercy’s still here. We’re not going anywhere.”

  Mercy takes Lux’s other hand. “We’ll be with you every step of the way. Because nobody messes with the girls from Cottonwood Hollow,” Mercy says, tucking her head under Lux’s chin.

  And we stay that way, the three of us tangled together in my hospital bed, letting the steady beeping of my heart be the only song we need.

  Twenty-Six

  I’M IN THE BATHROOM OF my hospital room, struggling to get the thin button-down flannel shirt on over my bandages. It hurts to use my right arm; all movement is painful, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to shift gears in the Mach again without feeling the ache of what happened in the ruins. The ache is in other places, too. Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat, chest heaving, reliving Garrett and the gun and the storm at the ruins, sure that he’s going to be standing at the end of my hospital bed, drawling in that Oklahoma twang, “What are you doing, pretty puss? Looking for trouble?”

  I push the image of Garrett out of my head and finally get my arm in the shirt with the assistance of a few creative curse words. I fumble with the buttons until the shirt is sort of closed. Mom is supposed to pick me up today. I am thankful to be leaving. The hospital, while accommodating and regular with their meals, makes me feel boxed in and restless.

  More than that, every passing hour, doctor visit, and bandage change makes me worry about the bill. Mom and I were just about to get back on our feet with both of us having jobs again. This hospital stay is going to knock us flat on our asses. I tried to broach the subject with Mom several times, but she always waved me off, saying we would figure it out later. “Just get better,” she said. “Let me worry about the rest.”

  Avoiding a problem until the last possible moment is typical Mom behavior, so I let the worry settle in my stomach, agonizing over every meal and every tiny paper cup full of pills.

  When I exit the bathroom, I’m surprised to see not Mom, but Jett sitting beside the bed. He stands, giving me a bright smile.

  “You are not my mom,” I say, double-checking that I’ve closed a sufficient number of buttons.

  “So you didn’t hit your head, then,” Jett teases.

  “Nope, the head is still pretty good,” I answer, waiting for him to explain his presence.

  “I met your mom in the lobby. She said she was coming to take you home on her lunch break, so I offered to take you home so she wouldn’t have to skip it.”

  “Oh,” I falter. “That was nice of you. Thanks.”

  “I like to eat lunch every day, so I figured she does, too. But really it’s just a good excuse to see you again.” He gives me a roguish smile. “Your mom said to help you with your sling, and that I’m not supposed to let you carry anything or open doors.”

  “Did she also say to lock me in a closet when we get home?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but to flip the light on so you don’t get scared. And to leave you with some peanut butter and a spoon. Oh, and to make sure you can get the lid off okay with just the one working arm.”

  “That’s thoughtful.”

  Jett moves toward me, and I shift a little self-consciously, worried about the buttons I didn’t close.

  “Can I help you with those?” he asks.

  “That would be nice, thanks.” Asking for help has never been one of my strengths, but it’s something I’m slowly learning.

  He starts at the bottom of the shirt, his big fingers surprisingly deft with the small buttons. When we’re this close, I realize I’ve forgotten how big he is, and how he radiates heat like a furnace. And I’m thankful Mercy and Lux helped me shower last night. I’ve only seen Jett a few times since I’ve been in the hospital, and Lux and Mercy were here each time to tease him with leading questions during most of the visit. He’s careful not to touch my skin where the shirt still isn’t closed and manages to make it all the way up to my chest before he blushes, fighting a dimple-producing grin that’s either embarrassment or pleasure.

  “I, um, think that’s probably good.” He pulls away, his fingertips grazing my collarbone.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice tighter than it should be.

  He grabs the sling off the bed, helping me get my arm in it and then adjusting it over my neck. “All right,” he says when we’ve finished. “You have any bags?”

  “Mom and Red came and took it all last night.”

  “That’s your boss from the auto shop, right? The one with the tire iron?”

  “The very one.”

  The nurses want me to ride in a wheelchair down to Jett’s car, but I refuse with my entire being, and eventually they agree to escort Jett and me out while I walk on my own two feet. Jett brings the Challenger around to the front of the building, and a bevy of nurses checks to make sure I have all my prescriptions and a schedule of all my follow-up appointments. It’s not a huge surprise that they like me. Mrs. Montoya made sure Mercy delivered a basket of homemade baked goods every day.

  One of the nurses leans into Jett’s car and helps me with the seat belt, adjusting it so it doesn’t irritate my shoulder. “Be good, sweetie,” she says before she closes the door. “Do
me a favor and don’t take any more bullets, okay?”

  “Got it,” I reply before the door shuts.

  Jett starts driving toward Cottonwood Hollow.

  “Are you pumped about going home?” Jett asks.

  “Beyond pumped. I am completely inflated. Or whatever’s better than pumped.”

  Jett laughs. “I’m glad. That was a scary couple of weeks, I bet.”

  “I’ve had better weeks, that’s for sure. But look at me now. I’m better than new. I asked the surgeons to do some special shit to my shoulder to make me like Iron Man.”

  “Iron Man actually wore a suit—” Jett begins.

  “Shhhh. Don’t ruin it for me.”

  “So you’ll make it back to school in time for finals?”

  “Yeah. I’m thrilled. Mercy brought me all the homework I missed, so at least I’m not behind or anything.”

  “If you need a study partner for history, let me know.”

  “I don’t know how good you are at taking notes, though. Seems to me like you spent that class trying to pick up girls.”

  “Just one girl. But she blew me off most of the time, so my notes are still pretty good.”

  “Well, her loss is my gain.”

  Jett laughs again.

  “What are your summer plans?” I ask him. “Besides dating me, obviously.”

  He reaches over to hold my hand, and something flips in my stomach. “Painting houses again. And baseball. And definitely seeing you more than I’ve been able to lately. Those visiting hours are killer. But now that you’re out, I heard you’re going to come help me with the baseball team’s big car-wash fund raiser next weekend,” he teases.

  “Let me know when the team has a big oil-change fund raiser. I’d be better at that,” I reply. We drive past the last gas station, and I remember him taking me there the night I ran out of fuel.

  “What about you?” he asks. “Any big summer plans?”

  “Working, I hope. My left arm is fine. The doctors say I’ll need weeks of physical therapy before I can use the right one all the way. But I’m hoping Red will let me do some things around the shop in the meantime.”