Ridorkulous (Dorky Duet Book 1)

by Mary Frame

  Momma stands off to the side. She’s alone.

  She hugs us both.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  Before she can answer, the door to the emergency department swings open and Abby’s parents emerge.

  “Any news?” Momma asks them while Martha hugs Annabel and me in turn and Tom shakes my hand.

  “She’s okay. Not making much sense at the moment but that’s because she has a concussion and her face is a bit bruised from the airbag so it’s hard for her to speak. They’re keeping her overnight for observation. She also has a bunch of scrapes and bruises, but otherwise . . .” Martha breaks off and starts crying softly. Her husband puts an arm around her shoulders and she turns into him, wilting against him like a deflating balloon.

  Mr. Summers continues. “She’s lucky. It would have been worse. She crashed into a tree. The officer at the scene said they don’t think it was an accident.” His voice is gruff.

  “What does that mean?” Momma asks. “How could it not be an accident?”

  “There weren’t any brake marks. She wasn’t veering away or trying to avoid crashing. And they did a blood test and a tox screen. She wasn’t on anything.”

  “What are you saying, Tom?” Momma’s eyes are wide. “She crashed on purpose?”

  Mr. Summers meets my eyes, his own grave and intense.

  The waiting room falls away as shock rolls through me. A tidal wave of guilt and shame floods over me, the feeling so visceral it roars in my ears.

  She did hurt herself intentionally. I didn’t want to believe it, not after everything . . .

  I blink Mr. Summers into focus, realizing he’s speaking to me, asking me something.

  “Has she said anything to you? Do you know where she was going or what she was doing? We looked through her phone. She had been calling you a lot but it doesn’t look like you were answering.”

  His tone isn’t censorious, but there’s an unspoken question in his words.

  Why weren’t you with her?

  “The truth is, sir . . .”

  Martha sniffs and meets my eyes, her own red rimmed and tired.

  “My phone broke. I dropped it when I was running yesterday and I haven’t had it replaced. I had no idea anything was wrong. I haven’t talked to Abby in a couple days. School has been . . . busy.”

  The excuses are lame, even to my own ears, but no one notices.

  Except Annabel, who is still standing out of sight of everyone else. She just rolls her eyes.

  Martha reaches for me, taking my hand in hers and squeezing. “They’re moving her upstairs to a room shortly. I’m sure she’s going to want to see you.”

  I squeeze her hand back, unsure how to respond. I hate everything about this.

  “I want to see her too.”

  Except I don’t end up seeing Abby until morning. By the time they move her to a room for the night, it’s nearly midnight and visiting hours are way over.

  So I do what any person pretending to be someone’s long-time boyfriend would do: I stay the night. All night. Dozing in an uncomfortable chair and thinking too much about Abby and her parents—who also stay the night, except Martha stays in Abby’s room—and wondering how the heck all of this is going to shake out and how much trouble I’m gonna gather along the way.

  Annabel and Momma leave, promising to return in the morning.

  It’s a little after seven when I finally get the okay to go to Abby’s room. At first, I think I’m not gonna get a chance to talk to her about anything important because her momma’s still there.

  This is gonna be bizarre as hell, pretending to be her boyfriend when it’s so over.

  But the moment I see Abby, take in her bruised and battered face, dark and swollen, none of that matters. I take her hand. Lean forward and kiss her head. I would’ve done that anyway. Despite our past, Abby is still an old friend.

  “Can you talk?” I ask in a hushed tone.

  “A little.” Her lip is swollen, her voice low but steady.

  “I’ll go get some coffee. Give you two a minute.” Martha pats our joined hands before heading out the door.

  As soon as she’s out, Abby squeezes my hand. “You didn’t tell them.”

  “No.”

  Her eyes shut in relief. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’m glad you’re okay. What happened?”

  She grimaces in pain. “I can’t talk about it.”

  “Okay. Fine, I get it. But . . . I need to talk to you about your parents. We have to tell them the truth.”

  Her head shakes and her eyes are filling with tears. “No, Fitz, please. Give me a little more time.”

  “Abby, you need to talk to someone about all of this. Your parents can get you help. They love you, they want what’s best for you.”

  One of her monitors beeps but the numbers mean nothing to me. Abby starts to shake and cry, tears falling freely down her face. This isn’t manipulation, not anymore. She really looks like hell warmed over.

  “Okay, okay,” I relent. “You don’t have to say anything yet. But Abby . . .”

  I’m going to convince her to come clean soon, but how can I when she’s in this condition?

  “It’s fine,” I say and she finally starts to calm down a little. “It’s all going to be fine.”

  I really hope I’m telling the truth.

  21

  The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it.

  —Flannery O’Connor

  Reese

  When my phone rings on Saturday midmorning, my heart leaps. Fitz!

  But it’s not Fitz.

  “Annabel?”

  “Hey, I wanted to let you know everything is okay. Abby is okay.”

  “I’m glad.” I am, but I’m more concerned with someone else. “How’s Fitz?”

  “He’s fine. Everyone’s tired and hungry, I think. Hospital food is terrible. They think she’s gonna be released later tonight.”

  “That’s good. What happened?”

  “She crashed her car.”

  “Oh no,” I breathe.

  “We aren’t sure exactly how it happened, but the cops think she intentionally drove off the road.”

  Guilt swamps me.

  I knew Abby had problems, and now that I think back, they’re smacking me right in the face and a few times upside the head for good measure.

  The manic episodes, the neediness, the depression . . . the constant desire to take out her insecurities and problems on me as the nearest and most convenient punching bag.

  I want to ask more about Fitz but I don’t want to appear like the lovelorn weirdo I am.

  Thankfully, Annabel answers my unspoken question.

  “Fitz will probably stay here today and maybe at home or at Abby’s parents’ house tonight.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  He’s going to stay with Abby? With her parents? That doesn’t really make sense. I get that they’re family friends and all, but does he really need to be with her this whole time? Doesn’t she have Kevin? Isn’t it odd since they broke up, over a month ago now? And Fitz has made it abundantly clear he needs distance from her.

  “Listen, Reese . . . it’s just that . . .” Annabel heaves a sigh and then her voice goes abrupt. “I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

  We hang up and I’m more confused than ever.

  An anxious energy vibrates through me. I hate this waiting, uncertainty, not knowing. I want to do something. I hate sitting here, helpless.

  Annabel did mention how terrible the food was. Maybe I can do something for them. Would it be weird to bring them homemade food? No. Couldn’t be. This is the South, it’s what we do—bring people food as a way to express sympathy. A time-honored tradition. Things always look better on a full stomach.

  Plus it’s what I’ve promised myself. I’m not going to run and hide from life. Not anymore.

  I pick up my phone and call home. “Granny? Get the smoker ready.”

&n
bsp; A few hours later, I’ve packed brisket and cornbread and potatoes and collard greens into various disposable containers and I’m pulling into the hospital.

  I carry the bags inside. God, I hope someone else hasn’t already thought to bring them food. Though it’s all I can do to convince myself anyone would be thankful for some homemade cooking.

  The waiting room is nearly empty, and a kindly older nurse tells me Abby’s family went home to get her a change of clothes and some incidentals and would I like to go visit Abby?

  “There’s a mini fridge in the room you can store the food in and Abby will likely enjoy some company.”

  I agree and she gives me the room number and directions to the nearest set of elevators.

  My stomach flutters with nerves. Will Fitz be up there? Am I intruding? Maybe I will leave the food and go.

  I find Abby’s room with relative ease and I’m surprised to find she’s alone, sleeping. Her eyes are shut, both of them dark with purple bruises. She looks so frail and tiny in the bed. It’s such a stark contrast to the seemingly indestructible, imposing figure I used to live with.

  I stand there for a few seconds, wondering what I should do. It’s like I’ve reverted to the old Reese, awkward, fumbling, insecure. I straighten and make a decision. I’ll put the food in the fridge, leave a note, and get out of here.

  I’m quietly shutting the fridge door when there’s a rustling from the bed.

  “What are you doing here?” Abby’s voice is low and gravelly.

  I spin around as if caught with my hand in the cookie jar. “I was . . . bringing y’all some barbeque. Annabel told me the food is terrible, and Granny always says there ain’t nothing that can’t be fixed with some good grub or a little moonshine.” I laugh to cover the fact that I’m so uncomfortable. My palms are sweating and I clutch them together in front of me.

  “Aw. That’s mighty kind of you, but Fitz already got us some food earlier.”

  “Oh.”

  She glances at the doorway and then motions for me to come closer. When I step toward the bed, she lowers her voice like she’s telling me a secret. “I should probably tell you so you don’t embarrass yourself. Fitz and I are back together.”

  I’m not surprised by this statement. Not because I believe her, but because I know Abby and I know how easily she lies. It’s all a game and she’s the one with the controller. “Oh?” I say, keeping my tone carefully neutral.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  I think she’s smiling, but it’s hard to tell because it looks sort of like a grimace with her face all swollen. “You think you know everything. So smart, so clever. You don’t know the half of it.” Her tone is laced with superiority. “I knew all it would take was a little scare to get Fitz back. He’s gonna be so worried about me and what I’ll do next, he won’t leave my side.”

  The floor drops out from under me. Is she suggesting that she did intentionally drive off the road, but the ultimate goal wasn’t to harm herself, but to get Fitz back?

  “That would be quite a risk,” I say carefully. “Running off the road. How did you know you wouldn’t get hurt worse?”

  She waves a hand. “The shoulder was a little steeper than I anticipated. But it all worked out for the best.”

  I don’t know what to say or how to respond. And it doesn’t matter because a middle-aged woman enters the room.

  “You’re awake!” She’s more petite than Abby, but they have the same blonde hair and blue eyes. “And you have a visitor.” Her smile is wide. “Hello, I’m Abby’s momma, Martha.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  We shake hands across Abby’s bed.

  This moment is so surreal, I can’t believe I’m in a hospital meeting Abby’s momma while she lies between us, her last words hanging over my head like a dialogue box in a comic strip.

  “Did you and Abby meet at school?” she asks.

  I glance down at Abby, my tongue stuck in my mouth while she somehow manages to look smug despite the bruised face. I swallow and find my words. “We did. We used to live in the dorms together.”

  Her head tilts at me, her brow creasing in confusion. “Used to?”

  “Momma, Reese brought us some homemade barbeque. She put it in the fridge,” Abby interjects.

  “Well, aren’t you sweet. Abby, you never told me about your roommate.”

  “We don’t hang much,” Abby says. “We both stay busy with school. And I have track too, and any spare time is spent with Fitz, you know.”

  “Oh, don’t I know it.” Abby’s momma laughs, and she tells me, “You know, they’ve been like two peas in the same pod ever since they were kids.”

  I blink. “Yes. I know.”

  I do know, but the way she’s speaking, it’s like they really haven’t broken up.

  Uncertainty flickers through me. What if Abby’s plan worked? What if he is back with her? If only to save her from herself.

  There’s a sound from the doorway and Martha turns around. “Speaking of the devil. We were just talking about you. Did you get everything you needed from home?”

  “Hey, baby.” Abby’s voice is warm and smug, her eyes boring into me.

  My own gaze is fixed to the back of Martha’s head, where her hair has been pulled back into a perfect bun.

  Heart pounding, I finally look at the doorway. My heart lifts at the sight of him, and I could swear his own face brightens for a second when his eyes meet mine, but then his expression turns to one of horror.

  I don’t think it’s because he’s scruffy and tired and worn as an old shoe and hates for me to see him like this.

  He blankets his expression quickly, but it’s too late.

  His eyes flick from Abby and her momma back to me.

  “Yeah, I got my stuff.” He lifts the bag he’s carrying. An overnight bag. Because he’s staying here . . . with her?

  “Hey, Reese.” His eyes shift away.

  “Reese was kind enough to bring us some food for later, baby,” Abby says to him.

  His Adam’s apple bobs when she calls him baby, and I can’t move. What do I say to that?

  Clearly, they are back together.

  “Fitzy, why are you still standing there?” Abby laughs. “Why don’t you put the bag under the bed over here and come give me a kiss now that I can feel my lips again?”

  I can’t.

  My throat closes up in distress.

  I can’t stand here and watch them hug and kiss and act like a couple.

  “It was nice to meet y’all.” I keep my eyes on Abby’s momma. “I . . . have somewhere I have to be.”

  I smile at Mrs. Summers and ignore the rest of the room in an awkward move worthy of every bad thing anyone’s ever thought about me.

  Then I bail, striding past Fitz without looking back. I don’t have to. I can feel all the eyes on me.

  Once I’m out the door, I have to stop for a second and lean back against the wall to catch my breath.

  “She’s . . . a strange duck,” Abby’s momma says.

  Her tone isn’t malicious, and she’s not wrong, but the words sting anyway.

  I don’t stick around to hear Abby’s response. Or Fitz’s, for that matter, if there is one.

  I walk. And then I keep walking. The hospital is a blur of people and white corridors. I have to get out of here, but I’m so discombobulated that I end up lost.

  Finally, a kind nurse directs me to the nearest exit and I make my way outside.

  I’m halfway to my car before I notice him. He’s already there, leaning against the driver’s side door, hands stuffed in his pockets. I stop and glance back at the hospital—is it too late to go hide in a bathroom?

  “Reese.” He steps away from the car.

  As he approaches, I studiously ignore the attractive way he moves, the confidence of his gait, the lean muscles in his arms flexing. I wrap my arms around my middle. “You know, Abby didn’t really try to hurt herself. Well,
she did, but not to actually inflict damage.”

  He stops a few feet in front of me. “What are you talking about?”

  “She told me she did it to get your attention.”

  His mouth opens, then closes.

  “But it doesn’t matter, does it? You’re still with her.”

  “No. No, I’m not.”

  “Her momma thinks you are.”

  He grimaces. Shoving his hands in his pockets, his head falling back and his eyes shutting for a brief moment before he gives me one quick nod. “Yes.”

  “Does your family know?”

  “We didn’t tell our parents about the breakup. I told Abby I would wait. She was already in trouble for other stuff and I figured we could tell them later.”

  “So that’s the real reason you couldn’t live with your parents. You didn’t want her to get in trouble. You were protecting her.”

  “Initially, yes. But then my parents decided to sell and move anyway, so it wouldn’t have mattered.”

  “When are you gonna tell them?”

  His eyes are dark with concern. “I’m not sure.”

  I stare down at the street, where a dandelion has had the audacity to take root in a crack of asphalt. Somehow, this little weed was strong enough to grow in the least hospitable environment. I’m sure there’s a metaphor somewhere in there but my heart is hurting so badly it’s affecting my brain, and nothing is coming to mind except wanting to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Away from all this.

  “Even now? After what I just told you? It’s one thing for Abby to be a drama queen, it’s quite another to . . . to lie and pretend she’s suicidal with the sole purpose of messing with your life. Can’t you see that?”

  “I can’t—I don’t know. I need to think about it.”

  “It’s not like I want to meet your parents as your girlfriend or anything yet anyway. But . . . Fitz. It hurts that you don’t care enough to tell people we’re together. Because . . . we are? Aren’t we? I didn’t mistake everything that’s been happening, did I?”

  “You didn’t. It’s just not a good time.”

  “Right.” I nod. “I understand. I really do. It’s just that . . . I deserve better.”