Two Feet Under

by C. C. Hunter

  Her name tag is empty. Empty. The woman has no name. Again, that’s freaky.

  “You’re back,” Kelsey says. I’m afraid to open my mouth because I’m almost certain triple shit will come out.

  “Yes.” The older blonde puts a slice of pepperoni pizza on a plate and sets it on the counter. Her eyes meet mine. “Make sure you don’t wear any orange.”

  “What?” Kelsey looks at me, then back at her. “What the hell does that mean?”

  I know what it means. I know exactly what it means. I know, and it freaks me completely out. Like ten times more freaked than before.

  Orange is the color of the rival gang of the Free Bloods.

  Crazy Lunch Lady—yeah, I’m cutting the cashier part of her name—sets another slice of plated pizza on the shelf and looks at Kelsey. “Nothing. I just don’t think orange goes well with Riley’s coloring.”

  Kelsey leans in. “You’re weird.”

  “Nah.” Her grin widens. “I’m just a limited edition.”

  Hungry students are getting impatient behind us. We grab our waters and move to the cashier.

  We pay, and as we’re walking away, Kelsey says, “Don’t look now, but she’s staring at you. I think you need to report her.”

  “For what? Being a limited edition?” I ask.

  • • •

  I barely touch my pizza. By the time the bell rings, I’m done. Done with school.

  As Kelsey and I walk out, I toss out part of my plan.

  “I’m going to the office to see if I can go home. I’m . . . I’m cramping. I just need to go to bed.” Not that I’m going to bed. Not that I’m going home. I’ve got shit to figure out and a gang leader to find. I’ve got to save Annie.

  “Sorry,” Kelsey says. “I have some Motrin in my purse if you’d like.”

  “Nah. I have some at home. Thanks. Can you get another lift home?”

  “Yeah. Don’t worry about it.” She bumps me with her shoulder. “Feel better.”

  I go grab my backpack from my locker. On the way to the office, I call Dad and give him the cramping alibi. It always works. He gets awkwardly quiet, the way he always does when it’s about my period. “Do you need me to pick you up?”

  “No. I’m just going to drive home and crawl into bed. What time do you work until tonight?”

  “Why?”

  Because I’ll be off looking for a gang leader? “I thought if I’m better I might cook us dinner.”

  “Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll probably be late. Got two new clients.”

  Friggin’ great. Can you not bring them home with you?

  “There’s still leftover barbeque chicken in the fridge. I probably won’t be home until around eight.”

  “Thanks Dad.”

  Five minutes later, walking papers from the school nurse in hand, I go to confirm that I was right about one thing. I am. I find it. The yellow Volkswagen is in the employee parking lot. She was really at the scene of the almost-accident.

  I stand there trying to figure out what to do next. Should I go in and try to question her? Won’t that be a little weird? What if someone overhears our conversation? I’m already a freak. I don’t need anything else stacked against me.

  Then the urgency to help Annie spirals through me. I make up my mind. I grab a piece of paper and pen from my backpack and I write.

  Call me.

  I hesitate to sign my name, afraid someone besides her will get it. Then I write, No orange girl. I add my phone number. Yeah, someone still might find it and have my number, but at least they won’t know who I am.

  I tuck it under her windshield wiper.

  Can it be that easy? Will she find it? Call me? Answer all my questions?

  Probably not. But it’s a start.

  I get in my car and drive straight to the hospital.

  When I pull up, I notice there are no ghosts. Kind of nice, since I’m really not feeling up to them today. I step out of the car, and I notice it’s not as cold as yesterday. The new day even brings blue skies and a spray of sunshine. I try to find a little mood boost in the pretty day, but it doesn’t help much when I think about looking for Ramon.

  I step into the hospital elevator. It’s not visiting hours, so I head to the fourth floor to see if I can find Mr. Brooks and get him on board for the find-a-gang-leader mission.

  When I step out of the elevator, I see a girl walking toward me pulling an IV pole that looks too big for her. I’m not 100 percent sure, but I think it’s Mr. Brooks’ daughter. The fact that she’s alone feels wrong.

  “Hey,” I say.

  She looks up. Dark circles ring her eyes, and her color tells the story of sickness. But she smiles. And somehow that makes her story even sadder. She blinks. “Are you an angel?”

  “No,” I say.

  She only nods.

  I’m taken back to Jacob’s sister saying the same thing. “I just look like one because of my blond hair?”

  “No. It’s not your hair. It’s . . . that you glow.”

  “Glow?”

  She nods. “Don’t worry. It’s a nice glow.” She grips the pole tighter as if she might be dizzy. “My name’s Annie. What’s yours?”

  “Riley. Are you supposed to be out of your room?”

  She gives me her I’m-a-bad-girl smile. “I wanted to look out the window.” She waves to the window just down the hall. “There’s a park, and you can see kids playing there. I can’t play. But I like watching them.”

  My heart suddenly feels too big for my chest. “Come on,” I say. “I’ll walk with you.”

  We go and stand by the window. “There.” She points to the park. There’s a silence, then she says, “It’s okay, you know.”

  “What’s okay?” I continue to stare out the window.

  “If I die. If you can’t save me.”

  I catch my breath and look at her. Does she somehow know I’m involved with this? “I don’t think it’s okay.”

  “Annie!” someone yells, and panic chases the word down the hall.

  I look back. It’s a woman, the one I saw in bed with Annie, and she’s rushing toward us.

  “Don’t ever leave the room like that!” She looks at me. “I went to the bathroom.”

  “She’s okay,” I say.

  “Look, Mom, she’s an angel,” Annie tells her mom, and her gaze shifts to me. “Her name’s Riley. She’s trying to help me.”

  My mouth drops open. “I . . .”

  The mom looks at me with empathy, then back to Annie. “Everyone wants to help you.” The mom swallows what sounds like a lump of pain. “What were you doing out of your room, Annie?”

  “Just walking.” Her gaze shifts to me, and I sense she knows it would hurt her mom to hear she wanted to see the kids play.

  The woman kneels down and touches the little girl’s face. Then she kisses her forehead. Love and tenderness sweep through the hallway.

  And bam, just like that I miss my mom. Did my mom love me that much? Did she kiss my forehead?

  Now I have a lump of pain growing in my throat.

  I feel a sense of cold. When I cut my eyes around, I see Mr. Brooks. I meet his gaze, then check the time on my phone. “I should go.” I glance down at Annie. “Take care of yourself.”

  She smiles. “I think you already helped me. I feel better.”

  The mom’s gaze shifts to me as if afraid of what I’ll say. “Good.” I nod and move toward the elevator. Mr. Brooks follows me. We both step in. The cold fills the small space. Staring out as the elevator doors close, I see someone else. Hayden. He’s standing down the hall as if he’d been in the girl’s room.

  I hit the open-door button, but it’s too late. The elevator closes and rises.

  • • •

  I inform Mr. Brooks that I’m visiting someone else and then going to the Highland apartments on Chestnut and Cherry Street. He sees me hug myself as if cold and agrees to meet me there. I don’t argue.

  I ease into Hayden’s room, hoping he�
�s there. Hoping his mother isn’t.

  She isn’t. I walk in and look around. “Hayden?”

  No answer. I look at the shell of his body, the sound of the life support machine blares in my ear. “Hayden?” I repeat.

  He had to have known I was coming up here, didn’t he? Is he really so mad that he’s not going to see me?

  From the corner of my eye, I see a smear of color move into the room. I glance up, sure it’s Hayden, but it’s not. It’s Mr. Burstein. His expression is tight. His eyes clouded with pain and desperation.

  “I still haven’t seen Ethel. Everyone keeps telling me to move on, but I’m not leaving without seeing her one more time. Please help me find her.” His words yank at my conscience and bruise my heart even more.

  If I tell him Ethel is dead will he . . . ? Would that be wrong? Should I . . . ?

  My chest opens up with a sense of rightness. And I know the answer.

  Yet the irony of thinking this is right when I’m fighting for just the opposite with Hayden isn’t wasted on me. Is it because his path is different? Because he’s young. Because he hasn’t lived.

  Or is it because I love him?

  Taking a few steps back, I ease the door all the way closed and look at Mr. Burstein. “Do you remember why you came here?”

  He scratches his thick gray hair. “It’s foggy. But I’m guessing it’s my heart. I got a bad ticker.”

  I shake my head. “Try to remember.” My gaze stays locked on him, willing him to figure it out.

  He stands frozen in one spot. “Ethel and I went for our walk at the park. Then we came home, and she fixed us fried bologna sandwiches.” A smile warms his expression. “She knows how much I love bologna. Then we both felt tired, so we took a nap.” He pauses. “I don’t remember anything after that. It all goes blank.”

  “What kind of heater do you have?”

  “Propane. Why?” He stares at me. “You work for the gas company?”

  “No.”

  He grabs his chin between his thumb and index finger and squeezes. “Are you saying that the heater has something to do with . . .” His eyes widen. “Carbon monoxide poisoning?”

  I bite into my lip.

  “Oh, Lord. I knew I should have had one of those detectors put in.” He paces across the room, then faces me. “Poor Ethel. Is she okay?”

  I hate this part. I hate it. I swallow yet another painful lump. Then I see tears fill his aged eyes and I know he’s figured it out.

  “She’s gone?” He puts a shaky hand over his heart as if it hurts. And I feel it, too. All those swallowed lumps of pain roll around my chest and make it hard to breathe.

  “She’s waiting on you. She’s been in the parking lot looking for you.”

  He rushes over to the window and looks out. “I see her. There she is.” Joy fills his voice where only grief existed earlier. He waves as if she can see him. “Why would she think I’d be in the parking lot? Love that woman, but she can be as crazy as a loon sometimes.”

  I smile. “Sometimes spirits get confused.”

  Contentment fills his eyes, and he looks instantly younger. Whatever heaviness he carried is lost. He even stands taller. “Yeah, well that woman has been crazy all her life, but it’s my kind of crazy.” His smile widens. “We can go together. How do I . . . make that happen?”

  He’s asking how to die, and suddenly I’m uncertain again. Is this the right thing to do? My heart goes straight to Hayden. But then I see the peaceful acceptance in Mr. Burstein’s eyes. “I don’t know for sure.” My voice trembles. “Have you seen a light?”

  “Yeah, avoided it like a rabid dog. I was afraid that’s what it was. So all I have to do is . . . go into that light?” He points to the wall. I don’t see any light, but I know he sees something I don’t.

  “I think so.” I give him a quivering smile.

  “Thank you,” he says.

  A siren and loud beeping sounds echo outside the door. I’m pretty sure I know what it means. Mr. Burstein just died. Shouldn’t I feel guilty?

  Mr. Burstein is still here. But his figure fades in color and becomes like an old photograph. The room goes immediately cold. Then Ethel appears, and it grows even colder.

  “Where’ve you been, old man?”

  “Me? You’re the one who’s been roaming around a parking lot when I’m up here waiting on you.” His expression is open, vibrant, even hopeful. “I love you, woman!” He rushes over to her. They fall into each other’s arms, no awkwardness of two who don’t know how to hug each other, but two people who have done it a thousand times.

  “I love you, too, old man!” Ethel says. They kiss. One of those deep, probably with tongue kind of kisses.

  It should be weird seeing an elderly couple kiss like they’re sixteen, but it isn’t.

  I feel it. Their love. Their devotion. I remember Mrs. Klasky being able to see her husband. I guess love makes that possible.

  While they’re still kissing, a warm golden light fills the room. Tiny snowflake-looking orbs start floating around. Then ribbon-like threads of silver and bronze swirl around the couple. The gold color intertwines with the silver and bronze and becomes a rope. It circles them. It’s breathtaking. The cold that seconds earlier hung in this room evaporates and leaves a warmth that feels like happiness, smiles, sunshine, and sweet birthday cake. It’s like everything good in the world wrapped up in one beautiful emotion. Then Mr. and Mrs. Burstein disappear.

  The door creaks open. Hayden’s mom steps in. Her eyes land on me, and she frowns. It’s a big-time frown. The mood she brings into the room is so polar opposite to what’s here that I feel a storm brewing.

  The warmth, all the good emotion, is shattered like a thin, fragile piece of glass.

  “What are you doing?” Her tone’s so sharp it cuts all the way to my backbone. And even takes a chink out of my third vertebra. The one I need to stand up to challenges.

  “Nothing.” My one word seems too loud and yet it’s only a whisper.

  Scowling, she rushes over to Hayden as if I was hurting him. Only after she checks him, up and down, does she look back up. “I think it’s time you explain something, young lady.”

  “What?” I push the word out, but I think I know what she’s asking. Problem is, I don’t have an answer, not one I can tell her. Not one she’ll believe.

  “What is this, morbid curiosity? You heard about a boy who’s in a coma and you want to see it yourself?”

  I’ve heard the cliché, it hurt my feelings before, but I’ve never experienced it so clearly. Her words punch deep. “No.”

  “Then explain! ’Cause I know you didn’t move to town until after the accident. So why are you claiming to be a friend of my son? Lying to me? Are you trying to hurt him?”

  She grabs the remote and pushes the red nurses’ button.

  “Can I help you?” the nurse’s voice booms out of the bedside call button.

  Mrs. Carter stares at me. “Someone needs to get in here right now! And maybe even call the police.”

  Chapter Nine

  I stand there feeling two inches tall under her scrutiny and accusations. And I’m going to feel even smaller when the police handcuff me.

  “Nothing?” Her voice rises to the white ceiling. “You have nothing to say?”

  She’s right. I have nothing. A thought hits, and before I can consider if it’s crazy, it comes out.

  “Piney Woods Camp.” The three words fall from my lips.

  “What?”

  “We . . . we met there. We kind of liked each other. He asked me to dance and then . . .”

  Her eyes widen. “He tripped you. You both fell.”

  I nod. “I . . . recognized his picture from online articles about the accident after I moved here. I remembered . . .”

  “He had such a crush on you.”

  “I . . . had one on him.” The lie tastes bitter. “I didn’t tell you this because you might think it was silly.”

  The door swings open, and a nurs
e stands there as if ready to kick ass, or maybe to save a life, I’m not sure which. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Mrs. Carter says. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired. It’s nothing.”

  The nurse gives me a look, up and down, as if measuring me up and not sure if she should believe Mrs. Carter.

  “Seriously,” Mrs. Carter says. “It’s fine.”

  The nurse steps back. The door eases closed with one final whoosh.

  The cartilage between my vertebrae and in my knees goes liquid. I grab the edge of the bed to remain standing.

  “I’m sorry.” The sound of pure agony slips off her lips. “My God. What I said to you was awful.”

  She won’t get an argument from me on that.

  “Please forgive me. I’m just . . . I’m half crazy. Everyone wants me to . . . I hate seeing my son like this.”

  My gaze goes to Hayden, looking so sick, so gaunt. The reality that I might lose him turns my heart to heavy rock. And now he’s obviously avoiding me.

  I want to cry.

  • • •

  Ten minutes later, I get to my car. I can’t open it fast enough when I see Hayden in the front seat. I jump in, literally climb over the console and reach for him. I rest my head on his shoulder and let myself soak up his scent, the earthy, boy scent. I don’t want to let go. I don’t ever want to let go.

  “What’s wrong?” His hand moves to my neck, and he threads his fingers in my hair.

  “I thought you were avoiding me. That you were still mad at me.”

  “I’m not avoiding you. I . . . I don’t like seeing you see me like that. And I never was mad, I’m concerned. I’m scared.”

  I pull my head up. He touches my face.

  “Did something else happen?”

  “No.” I refuse to tell him about what his mom said. I know she didn’t mean it. I almost tell him about the Bursteins, but considering I encouraged the man to cross over and refuse to offer the same advice with Hayden, I keep that one to myself, too.

  “Did Mr. Brooks upset you?” A layer of protectiveness deepens his tone, and I know he’s picking up on the stress I just lived through.