by Easton, BB
Carter hands me the large bundle. It’s heavy in my arms and rough against my skin, but it’s not the feel that tells me I’m holding my own backpack; it’s the smell. The subtle scent of Daddy’s cigarettes and Mama’s hazelnut coffee that used to linger on everything it touched in the house. It hits me like a sucker punch, stealing my breath and making my eyes burn.
“It’s full of supplies.” Carter’s tone is smug and accusing. “I knew it was yours because of the keychain hanging from the zipper. At first, I thought you must have dropped it off for Quint before you left, but since you’re still here—”
“He left it for me.”
Carter has the decency to shut his mouth as I hug the overstuffed bag to my chest.
It’s fitting that it’s so full. It’s as if everything I’ve lost is crammed inside.
My parents. My home. My old life.
My Wes.
I smell them on the canvas, feel the weight of them in my arms.
But they’re not here.
They’re gone, and they’re never coming back.
I make it to the edge of the fountain before my knees buckle. Curling my body around the backpack, I slide to the floor, holding on to it for dear life as I rock back and forth.
My eyes are fixed on nothing, and that’s exactly what I feel.
Nothingness.
It is deep and wide and dark and damp.
It smells like stale cigarettes and morning coffee.
It swirls, like cemetery fog, around me. Clouding my vision. Numbing my pain.
None of this matters, it whispers. It always knows just what to say.
But then I feel something else wrap around me. Something warm and solid and wonderful.
He is heavy, like the backpack, but grounding.
He smells like home too, in his own way.
He is real, and he is here, and when I look up at the tender concern in his eyes, the fog lifts.
And the pain comes. It rips through me like a rusty machete as I bury my face in Carter’s T-shirt, as my emotions decide they’ve found a safe place to go and flee my body in torrents.
I cry and mourn and twist my fists in the soft cotton while Carter shushes me and pulls me closer.
Which only makes me cry harder.
Not because of everything I’ve lost.
But because of the one thing I actually got back.
My best friend.
“Carter?” a shaky voice calls from the end of the hall leading toward the main entrance.
“Yeah?” he replies into the darkness, clearing his throat.
“I don’t know what to do, man. He’s … he’s gettin’ worse.”
“Lamar?” I wipe my eyes and sit up.
“Rainbow?” The elation in Lamar’s voice surprises me. “Rainbow! You’re still here!”
The sound of sneakers pounding the tiles echoes down the hall, reaching me seconds before he does.
“You gotta come. Right now. He’s … I can’t … I don’t … you gotta help him, Rainbow. Please!” Lamar’s voice cracks, reminding me just how young he is.
Fourteen? Fifteen maybe?
I’ve been so caught up in my own shit that I never stopped to think how hard all this must be for him. Underneath all that attitude, he’s still just a kid.
I hold out my hands and let him pull me to my feet, missing the warmth of Carter’s arm around my shoulders the moment it falls away. I know without turning around that he’ll bring my backpack.
He always used to carry it for me at school.
As Lamar tugs me toward the tuxedo shop, I notice the first traces of morning light peeking in through the broken windows in the main entrance doors. They illuminate the doorway of the Hello Kitty store where Wes told me he’d never fight to keep me from leaving.
If only I had fought harder to make him stay.
Or maybe I should have agreed to leave with him, like he wanted me to, I think as I follow Lamar into the tuxedo shop, but when I come around the end of the counter and see Quint’s body convulsing on the floor, I know that’s not true.
This is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
In fact, this is the only place I want to be.
No smells. No triggers. No angry mobs. No dead bodies.
In here, I have a purpose. In here, I have friends. Out there …
In my mind, I reopen the fortress of Shit I’m Not Going to Think About Ever Again Because None of This Matters and We’re All Going to Die, take everything outside those doors—my old house, the bodies buried in fresh dirt behind it, the beautiful boy in the Hawaiian shirt who saved my life and broke my heart, motorcycles and loose dogs and tree houses and burning buildings—and shove it all inside.
Then, I unzip the backpack Carter set on the counter, and I get to work.
May 1 (One Week Later)
Rain
“You ate your breakfast!” Carter’s cheerful voice shatters the silence in the tuxedo shop as his six-foot-three frame fills the doorway.
“Yeah …” Quint clears his throat. “Kep’ it down this time, too.”
Carter’s bright face darkens as his eyes flick from mine to the boy sitting next to me behind the counter.
“That’s great, man,” he replies with a smile that only I know is fake.
I know all his smiles.
“Has your nurse eaten anything today?” Carter’s gaze slides over to me.
Quint shrugs as I drop my eyes and pull the sleeves of my hooded sweatshirt over my hands.
Carter presses his full lips into a thin line and nods slightly.
Thanks to the antibiotics, hand sanitizer, and gauze I found in my backpack, I was able to kill Quint’s infection, remove the glass from his neck, and by some miracle, keep him from bleeding out while I bandaged him up, but knowing that Wes was the one who had delivered those supplies only made the festering stab wound in my own heart grow deeper.
“Rain … can I talk to you outside?”
I lock my hoodie sleeves in my fists and shake my head.
“Not outside, outside, just … in the hallway.”
Quint gives me a nudge with his elbow. “Go on, girl. You ain’t left this room in days. I’ll be a’ight.”
With a huff, I pull myself to stand. Every muscle in my body rejoices over finally being used as I follow Carter out the door. Once I’m in the hallway, I lean against the wall outside the tuxedo shop and stare straight ahead.
“You’re not even gonna look at me?”
“I will … if you stand over here.” I gesture toward the wall across from me with a hoodie-covered fist and then press my knuckles to my lips. The black cotton doesn’t smell like home anymore.
Thank God.
“Uh … okay?” Carter pads into view with his hands in his pockets and his eyebrows raised in uncertainty. “This better?”
I nod.
“I guess that answers my question.”
“What question?” I mumble into my hoodie sleeve.
“I have an errand to run. I thought it might be fun if you came with, but seeing as how you won’t even look at the exit, I’m guessing that’s a no.”
“Yeah, that’s a no. Are we done?” I close my eyes as I turn to go back into the tuxedo shop, not wanting to accidentally catch a glimpse of what’s outside those doors. In my mind, it’s all gone. And that’s exactly how I want it to stay.
“Rain …”
Carter’s long fingers wrap around my bicep, and I go limp, letting him pull me against his chest without an ounce of protest. I hate how badly I need his hugs. Anyone’s hugs.
“You haven’t eaten anything in days. You haven’t left the mall since you got here. Hell, you’ve barely even left the tuxedo shop. All you do is obsess over Quint and Lamar. I get that you want to help and all, but you need to take a break and get some fresh air before you lose your shit.”
“This air is good enough.”
“Maybe we could take a walk around here and then … go say hi to my folks? They’ve
been asking about you.”
“Well, you can tell ’em I’m right here.” I straighten my spine and take a step backward out of his embrace.
Carter runs a hand through his loose curls in exasperation. Then, his eyes widen and lips curve with the makings of what is probably a bad idea. “You know what? I’m gonna do that. Be right back.”
I watch him walk away with long, determined strides before I shuffle back to the safety of Savvi Formalwear.
Inside, Quint gives me a smirk. I wrapped his neck in so much gauze that it looks like he’s wearing a diaper as a necklace. His eyes are sunken, and his lips are dry. But the fact that he’s vertical and smiling feels like a handful of glitter sprinkled on top of the stagnant black cesspool that is my life.
Especially when he sweeps a hand in front of his gauze choker and rasps, “I see you eyein’ my pearls.”
I snort. “You got me.”
“Hater.” Quint winces and stifles a laugh as I join him behind the counter. “So … you gonna tell me what that was all about?”
I roll my eyes and plop down on the three-by-eight-foot patch of tile that I now call home. “Nope.”
The sound of a throat being cleared causes both of our heads to snap toward the doorway. I push up onto my knees just enough to see Carter entering the store, followed by a very unhappy-looking grizzly bear of a man with a very pronounced limp.
“Since you won’t leave your post, I figured I’d bring you a new patient to work on.” Carter beams.
“Is that why you brought me down here? Dammit, boy!” Mr. Renshaw turns to leave but wobbles on his feet and has to grab Carter’s arm for stability.
“Mr. Renshaw! Stay right there!” I run to the back.
I grab a rolling desk chair from what used to be the office and push it out to the center of the store where Carter’s dad is breathing heavily and wiping his brow with the back of his hand. He gives me a pained smile from somewhere behind his bushy, overgrown gray beard and then flops onto the mildewed vinyl seat with a grunt.
“Jeepers. I done told y’all, I’m fine,” Mr. Renshaw gasps.
“Ah, come on, old man. Rain needs a new patient. The one she’s got is boring.” Carter jerks his chin in Quint’s direction. Then, he leans down and whispers in his dad’s ear, loud enough for everybody to hear, “And he’s startin’ to smell.”
Carter ducks suddenly as a roll of medical tape goes whizzing past his head.
“I heard that, asshole,” Quint coughs out from behind the counter.
They all burst out laughing as Carter stands and gives Quinton another smile that I know all too well. It’s the same one he used to give Sophie after he teased her to the point of her smacking him.
Brotherly love.
“Glad you’re feeling better, man,” Carter says more seriously, walking over to the counter and reaching behind it to give Quint some kind of dude handshake/fist bump thing.
The three of us were in the same grade back in Franklin Springs, and even though Carter and Quint didn’t hang out that much, they’ve known each other since they were kids.
“Me too.” Quint’s words are strangled with pain, but his voice is getting a little stronger every day.
“Would you get out of here?” I huff. “You’re upsetting my patients.”
Carter chuckles as he strolls toward the door. I close my eyes as he passes, catching his subtle, masculine scent.
“Hey, Carter?” I blurt out just before he leaves.
Turning back around, my best friend flashes me a Hollywood smile and points a finger gun at me. “I knew it. I knew you’d rather hang out with me than stay here with a cripple and an angry, old man.”
I crack a smile—my first one in days. I don’t know how he does it, but Carter has always been able to make me laugh, no matter how badly I don’t want to.
“Uh, no.” I roll my eyes. “I was just wondering where you’re going.”
“Relax, Rainbow Brite.” Carter beams.
And my heart sinks like the Titanic. I know that smile too. It’s one that I saw more and more of toward the end of our relationship.
Carter has a secret.
“You won’t even miss me … much.” With a wink, he disappears into the hallway, and I turn to glare at my new patient.
“He gets it from you, you know.”
Mr. Renshaw chuckles and wipes the last few beads of sweat from his brow. The walk over must have really taken it out of him. As soon as his laughter fades, I can almost feel his defenses go up.
“Don’t worry,” I say, taking a seat on the edge of the counter a few feet away. “I’m not gonna make you show me.”
Mr. Renshaw relaxes into his chair. “You ain’t?”
“I already know it’s broken.”
His nostrils flare. “How do you s’pose that?”
“By your limp. That car accident was over a month ago. If you’re still limping this badly, it means something’s broken, and it’s not gonna heal unless you get it set and stop hobbling around on it like you’ve been doing.”
Mr. Renshaw’s rosy cheeks go pale, confirming my suspicions.
Crap. It really is broken.
“I … I didn’t think it mattered, what with the end of the world comin’ and all,” Mr. Renshaw grumbles through his wiry gray beard. His once-bright eyes are dull, pinched at the corners in pain and red from countless sleepless nights.
“Is that why you wouldn’t let anybody see it?”
He shrugs and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Didn’t wanna worry ’em any more than they already was.”
Quint and I share a quick, sympathetic glance before I hop off the counter and cross the room.
Placing a hand on Mr. Renshaw’s shoulder, I say, “Welp, the world’s not ending after all, so what do you say we get you fixed up?”
He shakes his head, pulling his hurt leg a little further under the chair.
“No?”
“I ’preciate you tryin’ to take care of me, Rainbow; I do. But I think it’s best to just let it be.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
Not that I have any idea what I’m doing.
I glance down at his leg—I don’t even touch it—and the jumpy old bastard swivels away from me in his seat with a loud, “No!” He drops his eyes with an embarrassed chuckle. “I mean … I’m fine. Thanks anyway, young lady.”
I huff loud enough for him to hear me. Mama used to say that the burliest men were always the biggest babies when it came to boo-boos.
Mama.
The second her beautiful, tired, stressed-out face comes to mind, I frantically grasp at the nothingness, pulling it on like a hazmat suit right before the sadness slams into me.
Once I’m safe in my feelingless fog again, I look back down at Mr. Renshaw. His face is just as guarded as mine.
“I guess we’re done here then, huh?”
His bushy eyebrows lift in surprise. “You ain’t gonna argue with me?”
I shake my head and swivel his chair toward the door. Using it like a wheelchair, I roll him out into the hallway. “I know better than to argue with a Renshaw. Y’all are almost as stubborn as you are cocky.”
“Hey,” Mr. Renshaw snaps. “If God didn’t want me to brag, he shouldn’t’ve made me so damn pretty.”
I shake my head as I roll the old man back home.
When we get to the shoe store, I’m greeted by an enthusiastic tackle hug from Sophie and a sad-eyed, sorry about your parents hug from Mrs. Renshaw. Both of them make me want to cry.
And also remind me why leaving the tuxedo shop is such a bad idea.
It takes almost all the energy I have to crank my mouth up into a smile. I can’t remember the last time I ate … or even stood up for this long. Spots begin to dance along the edges of my vision.
“He’s all yours,” I say, walking backward out of the store as the room begins to tilt. “I, uh … I gotta get back to Quint. See ya later …”
Once I’m in
the hallway, I tear my eyes away from their disappointed faces and head back to Savvi so fast that I’m practically jogging. I keep my gaze glued to the floor and count my steps along the way to keep my eyes and mind from wandering to dangerous places.
Ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety—
As soon as I cross the threshold into my new home, I finally look up.
And find Q staring back at me.
She’s leaning against the counter with her arms folded across her chest and a look on her face that says she didn’t come to say hi.
“What’s up, Doc?” she deadpans.
“Hey, Q. How’re you?” I cringe at the fake cheerfulness in my voice.
It’s like I’m in high school all over again, cranking up my Southern accent and trying to play nice with the mean girls who are just waiting around to steal my boyfriend or snip off pieces of my ponytail when I’m not looking. Well, too bad for Q; the boy and the hair are already gone.
Like everything else.
“Just came to check on my future scout.” Q tosses her dreads over one shoulder as she casts a backward glance over the counter at Quint. “Looks like you been earnin’ your keep, nurse lady.” Her toxic, waste-colored eyes flick back to me. “‘Specially since you ain’t even been takin’ your share.”
The accusation in her tone tells me that I did something wrong, but hell if I know what.
“I’m sorry, my share of what?” I ask as sweetly as possible.
“Don’t give me that Southern belle bullshit. I’m talkin’ ’bout food. You know, that shit you need to stay alive? You got a stockpile around here that you ain’t tellin’ me about?”
When I don’t answer, her slimy gaze slides over the rest of the store. Searching. “You wanna live in my kingdom, Snow White, you gotta share yo’ spoils, undastand?”
I nod, swallowing hard, as Q walks past the mannequin stand where my overstuffed backpack is hidden underneath. Just before she breezes past me, she stops, so close I can smell the weed smoke trapped in her hair, and runs a long fingernail down my jaw.
“By the way”—her lip curls as she digs her razor-sharp talon into the underside of my chin—“you look like shit.”
I clamp my jaw shut and hold her stare. I’m not about to give this bitch the satisfaction of seeing me wince, but I’m not dumb enough to slap her away either.