“Would anyone like to say a few words about Jaime?” the minister asks.
No one moves. I look at the adults. They’re staring at their shoes. Even her family looks uncomfortable. The kids that are my age are on their phones. What are they doing, live-tweeting the funeral?
No one is there for Jaime. No one will speak for her. What a sad way to go.
It could have been me.
I stand up. Krys glances at me, surprised. “I’ll speak,” I say. My voice echoes in the nearly empty space.
Everyone turns and stares at me as I make my way toward the smiling minister. He leads me up to the pulpit and positions me in front of the microphone.
My palms are itchy and damp as I look out into those blank faces. One of Jaime’s younger sisters is crying. She looks so much like her sister. Her mother looks at me with curiosity and sadness. She’s obviously taken a few Xanax herself.
“My name’s Alexa,” I say—too close to the mic. I step back. “I only knew Iv—Jaime for a short period of time, but she was a good friend.” My mouth is dry, tongue like carpet. “She was always kind and nice to everyone. She was always asking questions.” I laugh awkwardly. “A lot of questions.”
Jaime’s father smiles at me, and I look at him as I continue, “She was one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known. I loved her like a sister, and she didn’t deserve to die like she did.” My voice breaks, and I step back again, this time turning and rushing down the steps to the main floor. I practically run back to my seat next to Krys.
The minister thanks me.
No one else speaks.
Afterward, there’s a line to give condolences to the family. I want to leave, but Krys thinks it might be good for me to speak to them. She goes first, shaking hands and telling everyone how sorry she is.
I make my way through the siblings, finally reaching her parents, the toddler, and the sister who’s not much younger than me.
The father grabs my hand. “Thank you,” he says, his eyes wet with tears. “Thank you for being such a good friend to our little girl.”
I nod because I can’t speak—my throat is too tight. There are a couple of people behind me, so I have an excuse to walk away. Krys leaves a sympathy card on the pile by the door. The actual burial is family only, so there’s nothing left to do but go home.
We’re in the car with the engine running when I realize I left my purse inside.
“Do you want me to get it?” Krys asks.
Jaime’s brothers and sisters are outside, around the side of the church, and most of the cars are gone. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be right back.”
I run in and grab my purse off the polished wood bench. As I’m heading back out, I see Jaime’s parents in the lobby.
“I’m almost glad Jaime didn’t come back,” her mother says. “Did you see that girl?”
The father looks surprised. “The one who spoke about her? I thought she was nice.”
“Her eyes. I looked in her eyes and saw her pain and suffering, Joe. It was the same look Jaime had. She was broken. That’s worse than death.”
“I’m not broken,” I hear myself say.
Jaime’s mother jumps, looking at me in horror.
“I’m not broken,” I repeat. “You’re right that I’m messed up, but I’m going to be okay.”
Jaime’s father looks apologetic. “I bet you are, sweetheart.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her from going back. I tried.”
“She could be stubborn when she wanted,” the mother tells me. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I don’t think she felt like she belonged with us anymore,” the father adds. “I don’t think she felt like she belonged much anywhere.”
The mother offers me her hand. God, I don’t even know their names, or Jaime’s last name. I’ve never asked because I didn’t think it was important. “I’m sorry I said those things about you. You ain’t broken at all, just hurting.”
“I saw her once. I couldn’t get her to stay with me. I should have tried harder.”
“Don’t,” the father says, with such force that I shut my mouth. “Nothing good comes from should haves. Lord knows we’ve said enough of those over the past year.”
His wife nods. “The only people to blame are that despicable man and the people he works with. Do you know that horrible website wanted a copy of her death certificate before they’d take down that awful, shameful ad?” A tear trickles down her cheek.
I wonder if she realizes how close she is to being broken herself.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell them, and I hug them both.
“You go have a good, long life,” her father whispers near my ear, and pats me on the back. Her mom’s embrace is soft and limp, like she’s going through the motions.
They don’t ask me to keep in touch, and I don’t offer. I walk out of the church into the cool October air and head straight for the car.
“You okay?” Krys asks when I get in.
… that horrible website wanted a copy of her death certificate before they’d take down that awful, shameful ad.
“I want to do it,” I tell her.
She looks at me blankly. “Do what?”
“Meet that lawyer and the girls like me. Take on Stall 313. I want to do it.”
Krys’s grin could light up our entire town. “I’ll call him now.” She hugs me, fast and hard. “I’m proud of you, Lex.”
Nobody’s ever said those words to me before—not that I remember. They echo in my head as though trying to make me hear them as deeply as possible. As we pull out onto the street, I glance at the hearse and I see Jaime’s casket in it.
I hope she’s proud of me.
chapter nineteen
Dr. Lisa once asked me where I went when I dissociated. When I opened that door and ran through, what waited for me on the other side?
Sometimes there was nothing. At least, I think there was nothing. I remember it as being nothing but warm, enveloping darkness. The kind that only happened when I was stoned enough to zone out.
Other times I’d be on the playground at my old elementary school. It had the best climbing equipment ever.
But my favorite—and this sounds dorky—was the puzzle room. When I needed to not be in my body, I’d go into this room that had a low table in the middle of it and cushions all around. I’d sit on a pile of cushions at the table and start working on a jigsaw puzzle that had endless pieces. I wouldn’t stop until the guy on top of me was done.
I haven’t put a puzzle together since before Mitch got me, so when I call Zack to see what he’s up to Friday night and he tells me he’s doing a puzzle with his mother, I ask if I can help. It seems almost too good to be true. Like an omen, or something. Not that I believe in that crap.
“Seriously?” he asks. “I told you how lame I am, and you not only want to come over, but you want to participate?”
Since the stuff with Mike, I haven’t been invited to any parties—not that I got invited to many before. People always seem to think high school is nothing but parties, but not in my experience. I’m one of those fringe kids, and I’m okay with it. Parties offer up too many temptations I’m not ready to face.
“If you and your mom don’t mind.”
There’s silence. My stomach begins to knot. Has he decided I’m not worth the trouble after all? I finally get to the point where I’m almost confident I can trust him as a friend, and this is how I find out I’m wrong? Via puzzle rejection?
“I’ll come get you.”
I let out a breath. “I can walk.” I really need to get off my ass and get my license.
“Not with that asshole out there. I’ll be over in a sec.” He hangs up.
I grab my bag and go downstairs. “Is it okay if I go over to Zack’s?” I ask Krys and Jamal, who are about to watch a movie. “He’s said he’d pick me up.”
They exchange a glance I can’t quite read. Either they’re happy I’m hanging out with a guy, or they’re terrified.
“Will you be late?” Krys asks.
“I don’t think so,” I tell her. “We’re doing a jigsaw puzzle with his mom.”
They both stare at me. I’m tempted to take their picture. “And then we’re going to smoke some pot and rob a liquor store.”
Jamal actually laughs. “Call if you need one of us to pick you up. Do you need money for snacks or pot?”
I grin at him. “I’m good.” Headlights pull into the drive. “There he is. I’ll see you later.”
As I walk away, I hear Krys say, “Did you see that? She was smiling.”
I shove my feet into my sneakers and grab my hoodie before heading outside. It’s a cool night, which is kind of nice because it’s been really warm lately—too warm for almost Halloween.
Elsa wants to go to Lake Compounce for their Haunted Graveyard next weekend. She wants to do the Trail of Terror too. I’ve never been really big on haunts, but it might be fun. I kind of want to do a ghost tour of a town, go to Salem and see all the actual historical stuff or something.
“Hey,” Zack says when I get in the car. “How do you feel about pizza?”
“Oh, I already had dinner.”
He looks at me blankly. “What’s that got to do with getting pizza?”
Teenage boys have unfair metabolisms. What the hell, I can eat. “Sounds great.”
“Good, because Mom ordered it before I left the house.” He backs the car down the drive. “By the way, she’s excited to chat with you.”
“She is?”
“Yeah, apparently Jamal’s been bragging you up.”
Right. Jamal. “Did you tell her I’m actually a crazy bitch?”
He flashes me a smile. “I left out the bitch part. Hey, did you go to your friend’s funeral today?”
“Yeah.”
“You okay?”
I shrug. But it hits me that Jaime deserves more than my indifference. “It was sad and weird. Hardly anyone there. I heard her mother say she was glad Jaime was dead rather than like me.”
“What?” His expression is part shock, part anger. “I hope you told her to fuck off.”
I give a small smile. “No. She apologized. She’s just looking for something to make herself feel better.”
“Your therapist must have gone to the same school as mine,” he quips.
“Ha.”
When we go inside his house, his mother is at the table with a glass of water. There’s a prescription bottle beside the glass.
I hesitate behind Zack, staring at it. I shake my head, forcing my feet to move.
“Stuff hurting?” Zack asks her.
She gives him a tired smile. “Little bit, babe.” She pushes herself to her feet, wincing with the effort. “You must be Alexa. I’m so glad to finally have a chance to get to know you.”
I take the hand she offers. Her knuckles are large and warm, her fingers slightly twisted.
She catches me looking. “This sudden turn in the weather has me stiffened up. Zack treats me like I’m glass. Imagine any other eighteen-year-old staying home with his mama on a Friday night.”
I meet her gaze. “Some moms are worth staying home for.”
Dr. Bradley flashes her son a bright grin. “I like this girl.”
“She’s okay,” he replies with a glance to let me know he’s teasing. “You want a drink, Lex?”
“Uh, soda if you’ve got it,” I say. “Krys is still on her seltzer kick.”
He asks his mother if she wants anything and gets a glass out of the cupboard.
Dr. Bradley points to the chair to the right of hers. “Have a seat. Pizza should be here soon. I hope you like Hawaiian.”
I’m surprised and don’t bother to hide it. “It’s my favorite.”
Zack sets a glass of soda in front of me. “Maybe you’re more than okay.” He winks.
The older woman tilts her head as she looks at me. “Lex, I hear you’ve had some bad things happen to you.”
“Mom!” Zack looks horrified.
Five minutes. That’s all it’s been since the last time I thought about my past. Oddly enough, I’m not bothered by it. Dr. Bradley isn’t looking at me like I’m a freak, she’s looking at me like I’m just another woman. Another woman who has suffered and survived. It reminds me of a conversation I once had with Detective Willis. I’d asked her why all those things had happened to me. What I had done to deserve them, and she said, “You’re not special, Alexa. You weren’t singled out to suffer. Bad things happen to good people all the time.” At the time, it felt mean, but it’s comforting now.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I have.”
“She didn’t hear it from me,” Zack informs me, looking worried.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I figured it was Jamal.”
“He wasn’t loose-lipped,” she insists. “He wanted me to know how glad he was that you and Zack have become friends, because trust is difficult for you.”
Zack sits to my right. “Mom teaches Feminist, Gender, and Sexuality Studies.” He takes a drink of soda. “She thinks of herself as something of an expert on ‘the feminine experience as it pertains to patriarchal violence in society.’”
His mother looks at him fondly. “Someone’s been reading my course descriptions again.” She turns to me. “My husband was abusive. If Zack weren’t here, I’d tell you how much.”
“Yeah, please don’t.” He looks embarrassed. “Can we just work on the puzzle?”
“Of course,” she replies, picking up a piece and studying it. “I’ve been thinking about putting together a panel on human trafficking for my class. Would you be interested in taking part?”
“Mom.” Zack’s expression is desperate now.
I shake my head. “Oh, I don’t know. You mean, talk about what happened to me in front of people?”
“Exactly, yes. I already have a lawyer lined up, and a young woman by the name of Lonnie may join her.”
I freeze, fingers poised over the puzzle. “Lonnie?” It’s been a while since I’ve heard that name.
“Yes. Apparently she was not only trafficked by also worked as a ‘top girl’?”
“That means she recruited other girls,” I say, “helped her pimp break them in.”
Dr. Bradley looks appalled. “Hard to think of a woman participating in the breaking of her own sex.”
“Actually, it’s pathetically easy,” I tell her. “It happens a lot.”
“That’s what I’m told. Horrifying.” She rolls a puzzle piece in her gnarled fingers with surprising ease. “I’d like to have another panelist who was in the life, and perhaps a therapist on board as well. Maybe even a police officer—all female.”
I instantly think of Detective Willis. “I know a detective who might be interested.” When she brightens, I say, “But let me think about it.”
The doorbell rings. I hear Zack mutter, “Thank God,” as he gets out of his seat.
His mother smiles kindly at me. “I apologize if I upset you with my bluntness.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t. I kind of appreciate you not talking to me like I’m on the edge of a breakdown.”
“Ah, yes. Fragile Woman Syndrome. Because how can anyone with ovaries be strong enough to come out of a bad situation with her mind still intact? Thank God I’ve raised my son not to think such foolishness.”
“Everything I am I owe to you,” Zack retorts as he returns with the pizza. His tone is light, but there’s enough truth to it that I smile. I wish I had this kind of relationship with my mother, but if I had, I wouldn’t be sitting here, and I’d be missing out on some good people and some good pizza.
I watch Zack get plates out of the cupboard. His shirt lifts up on the side, revealing a glimpse of the tanned, smooth skin on his back. I wonder, for a second, what it would feel like beneath my fingers.
Then I see it—the tail end of a scar. It’s thin and pale. I want to go and pull his shirt up, see the damage his father did. I want to see all of his scars, and show him mine. I want
to. I want …
To touch him.
Shocked, I quickly look away. I’m shaking—the tremble all the way down in my bones. If I were normal, I’d probably be giddy right now. Instead, I want to puke. I take a sip of soda, and the feeling subsides, but not the need to feel Zack’s skin against mine.
I keep sneaking glances at him as we eat pizza and work on the puzzle. He and his mother tease each other, and he openly praises her when she finds the piece we’ve all been searching for, for like, fifteen minutes. When her fingers fumble with the pieces, he places them for her. When she grimaces, he asks if she needs anything. He opens her bottle of pills without her having to ask.
He’s a good son. A good guy. That’s what is scary about him.
We finish the puzzle—and most of the pizza—by nine thirty. Dr. Bradley gets up slowly from the table and says she might go read for a bit.
“Thank you for a lovely evening, Lex,” she tells me with a smile. “I hope to see you again soon.”
“Me too,” I say. I watch her leave the room, every step looking like it takes all her strength.
“I’m sorry she came on strong,” Zack says. “She does that sometimes.”
“I liked it,” I admit. “It’s kind of nice having someone be matter-of-fact about it, y’know? How long has she had arthritis?”
“She got it in her early thirties. My father was pissed—said she was faking it to get out of doing housework.”
“Did he hit her after that?”
His face darkens. “It got worse. First time I ever hit him was because he hurt her.”
“How old were you?”
“Twelve. I hit him with a hockey stick. Surprised the hell out of him.”
“Good for you.”
Zack shrugs. “He beat the snot out of me after, but I left a mark. I think Mom figured one of us was going to kill the other, so she finally stopped trying to make it work.”
He didn’t have to justify anything he or his mother did to me. “I should probably get going. I still have to walk Isis.”
He nods. “I’ll come with you.”
I don’t argue. He seems surprised when I don’t. We drive back to my place. He comes inside while I get the leash and my dog. Isis goes nuts when she sees him. Jamal and Krys come out of the living room to say hi and thank him for bringing me home.
What Unbreakable Looks Like Page 20