My face flames red.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alissa says. “What did you guys do last night? What did I miss?”
I hear a light slap and then Alissa says, “Hey!” Two seconds later she says, “Oh. Okay. I get it. Never mind. Don’t answer that question.”
I can’t turn around. My face is totally and completely on fire. I look down at my phone instead. I’m pretty sure there’s smoke coming out of my ears. I’m temporarily distracted from my sex life problems, though, by the ten missed calls on my phone.
“Oh, shit,” I say, pressing the green button. My heart is in my throat and I feel the blood draining from my face. Every call I missed was from my parents.
“What?”
“My parents. Something happened. I missed ten calls.”
“Maybe they’re worried about you,” Alissa says.
The phone rings and rings. No one picks up.
“They knew I was coming up here. I told them it was for an interview for an internship. They wouldn’t worry about that. Something’s wrong, I know it is.” I feel like throwing up. Why did I check my phone last night? What’s wrong with me?
I dial my mother, father, and the house phone over and over. All I get is voicemail.
I stare out the window, not even noticing the scenery or cars going by. I have a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something is very wrong. Tears gather in my eyes and then just fall. I’m too numb to wipe them away.
We’re just outside San Jose when my phone rings. I answer it as soon as it starts to buzz in my hand. It’s my dad, and I know as soon as I hear the tone of his voice that it’s bad.
“Quinlan. It’s Dad. Where are you?”
“I’m just outside of San Jose. What’s going on, Daddy? What’s happened? Is someone hurt? Is it Jersey?”
“Can you come home?”
“Of course, I’m on my way. What happened? Please tell me.” I’m begging and crying, but I don’t care what anyone thinks. I feel like I’m about to have a stroke.
“Your brother and your mother have been hurt. They’re both in the hospital. I’d rather wait for you to get here to discuss the details. I have to go because the doctor wants to talk to me.”
“Wait! Dad, wait! What hospital?!”
“Cedars-Sinai. I have to go, sweetie. I’ll call you back.” And then he’s gone.
I stare at my phone for the longest time. It’s only Mick’s hand on my arm that brings me back to the real world. My ears are ringing with white noise. It makes it hard to hear anything else.
“What is it?” he asks. He looks ready to cry with me.
“My mom. Jersey. They’re in the hospital.” My throat hurts like I just swallowed broken glass. I can’t say anymore.
Mick swerves off the highway, taking a section of the road going to the right.
“What are you doing, man?!” Colin shouts. “She needs to get home!”
“I know that! A plane will be quicker.”
I look at Mick, lost and confused. “A plane?”
“Yeah.” He pats me on the leg and then puts both hands on the wheel. Looking in the rearview mirror, he talks to his brother. “Colin, call Virgin America or Alaska airlines. Get us two tickets to L.A. out of San Jose.”
I sit in the passenger seat like a statue, too stunned to move. Too stunned to think. All I can picture are my mom and Jersey, hooked up to machines, on their way to dying while I’m on my way to the airport. Why am I going to the airport?
I’m only half conscious of getting to the terminal and accompanying Mick to the ticket counter and then to the plane. I guess Colin and Alissa have taken the car somewhere because they’re not with us, but I can’t worry about them. I’m too afraid that I’m never going to see my brother or my mother again.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
THE MUFFLED CLICKS OF MY heels on the hospital hallway floor keep time with my rapidly beating heart. I can see the room where my brother is being kept, up ahead. I’m going to see him first because he’s in worse shape than my mom and because I know he’ll be scared. We’re in the burn ward, dressed in gowns, masks, gloves and shoe covers. I feel like I have cotton stuck in my ears the way all the sharp edges have been taken off the sounds in this place. Mick is beside me, holding my hand, just like he has been since we buckled our seatbelts on the airplane.
I reach the doorway and stop, dropping Mick’s hand and taking a deep breath. I can’t let Jersey see me freaking out.
“It’s going to be fine, babe. Just relax.” Mick is rubbing my arm. “Want me to come in or stay out?”
“Stay here first. I’ll come get you in a minute.” I can’t breathe. I’m starting to hyperventilate. The hallway is spinning.
“Babe. Get a grip.” Mick is shaking me by the upper arms. “Jersey is going to be upset if he sees you upset. Calm down.”
I nod. He’s right. He’s completely and totally right. I grab him in a neck-strangling hug before going in. “Thank you,” I say, letting the tears fall for a few seconds. “Thank you for getting me here so fast.”
“Go,” he says, detaching me from his neck. “Come get me later if you want. I’ll be right here.”
I take a deep breath and school my features to be normal. As normal as they can be, all things considered. It’s not every day that your little brother lights your house on fire and nearly burns himself to death.
I walk inside and try not to let my shock and horror show in my expression. Jersey’s neck and left arm are completely swathed in thick bandages. Some of them look yellow and I hate to think they started out white, but I’m pretty sure they did. His eyes are closed and his face looks sunburned.
“Jersey?” I say, moving closer to the bed.
One of his eyes flutters open followed by the other soon after. “Sister?” His voice sounds very rough. The beeping of machines in the background makes the whole thing that much more horrible.
“Hi, baby bro. What’s up? What are you doing in here?” I reach the side of his bed and move the covers, searching for his other hand, the one that’s not wrapped in bandages. I find it, but am dismayed when I see the nasty IV needle sticking out of the back of it. I hold onto his pinkie finger because it’s the only one without tape on it.
“I got on fire,” he says.
I have to concentrate really hard not to bawl at that simple statement.
“That’s what daddy told me. He told me you got on fire at the house.”
“Yeah.” Jersey just nods his head. A tear plops out of each eye and runs down his cheeks.
“Well, I’m just glad that you’re okay, turd basket, because if you weren’t okay, I was going to have to kick some serious butt somewhere, I can tell you that.”
“I hurt mommy,” he says, his lips quivering.
“Shhh, don’t get upset over that. She’s going to be fine, I promise.”
“No, she’s not. She’s gonna die.”
I frown at him. “Boy, do you want me to come up on that bed and give you a knuckle sandwich?”
“No,” he says, his voice as pitiful as I’ve ever heard it. “I don’t like knuckle sandwiches.”
“Good. Because if you talk about my momma dying or any other stupid shit like that, that’s exactly what you’re going to get.” I nod so he knows I’m serious.
I stroke his finger. “Does it hurt a lot?” I cringe again looking at his bandages.
“Yeah,” he sighs out softly. “A lot, a lot, a lot. I’m melted.”
“Melted?” I want to laugh, but I’m afraid he’s serious.
“The fire melted me like a butter. I’m melted like a butter, just like you said.”
I shake my head, unable to speak. My lips tremble with the effort.
“Hey, buddy.” Mick’s voice comes from the doorway and saves me. He completely and totally saves me from losing my mind.
I look over with tears of gratitude streaming down my face. I can’t look at Jersey again until I clean myself up, so I move away from the b
ed and let Mick come over.
“Mickey Mouse. I see you, Mickey Mouse.”
I have my back to them, wiping away at the stupid tears that will not stop coming out of my head.
“I see you too. Good thing you don’t have that invisible stuff on today.”
“I burned the house down,” Jersey says. “I guess I’m an asshole.”
“Well, yeah. You might be an asshole for doing that. But it’s not a big deal. You can get a new house.”
I smile bitterly. My poor kid brother. He’s going to wear that asshole name tag for a lot of years over this one. He’ll never believe me telling him he’s not one. He’s not so disabled to be oblivious to reality. It’s going to take a lot of work to help him through this, and not just physically. I don’t even know what his physical injuries look like, but I’d be willing to bet they’ll be only half as bad as the mental ones. I sigh heavily as I consider what this means for our whole family.
A knock at the door brings a woman in a pantsuit carrying a briefcase.
“Mrs. Torres?” she says.
“Miss Torres, yes.” I immediately don’t like the looks of her.
“Hello.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Kelly Stratton from DCFS, Department of Children and Family Services.”
My blood runs cold as I take her hand and shake it reluctantly. “I think you’re in the wrong room.”
She smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “No, I’m in the right room. I’d like to talk to your brother’s next-of-kin about the incident.”
“The incident?”
Mick moves over to stand at my side, and I’m very glad for his presence. I’m afraid I’m about to bitch-slap a bitch.
“The incident where your developmentally disabled brother was left unsupervised and burned your house down.”
Mick puts his arm around my waist and pulls me into him squeezing me hard. “I think this is something that needs to be discussed outside this room and not with Jersey’s sister, but his father, don’t you?” asks Mick.
I’m shaking with anger. “Yes. Outside. Not in here.”
“Of course,” the woman says, all cool and calm like she’s not an asshole. “Happy to.” She leaves the room, clearly expecting us to follow.
“Mick, if I have to go out there and look at that woman for a single second, I am going to strangle her with my bare hands.”
He puts his hands on either side of my face and kisses me ever so gently on my lips. “I know. I’m going to go out there and send her away. You just stay here with the little asshole and make him as comfortable as you can.”
My mouth drops open and I part laugh and part cry. “Asshole?”
“Yeah,” he says, half his mouth quirking up in a smile. “Only assholes light fires, right?”
I nod, pressing my lips together as the tears fall.
He brushes them away with his thumbs before tilting my head down and kissing me on the forehead. “Go give him hell. I’ll be back in a few.”
I watch him walk out the door and then lift my eyes to the ceiling. Yo, God? Budda? Allah? Mother Nature? Buehler? Anyone? Buehler? If you’re up there, listening to a girl who never gives you the time of day, I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for bringing Mick to me and for not letting my brother kill anyone. I owe you one.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
MICK AND I ARE HOLDING hands under the conference table at the lawyer’s office. Teagan is on my other side, holding my other hand. Rebel is at work, unable to get away from the huge workload that was made worse by our road trip and then Mick’s subsequent focus on me and my family. A lot has happened in a week, not the least of which is this head-to-head with the lawyers.
“So tell us exactly what this so-called secretary said to you.” The young lawyer speaking to Mick looks very happy but the older one, not so much.
“She said a lot of things, but mainly that Teagan’s dad was fine up until the last couple months before he died and then he just kind of went downhill fast.”
“Downhill in what way?” the lawyer asks.
Teagan squeezes my hand hard.
Mick responds. “Getting absent-minded. Nauseated. Sweaty. Disoriented. Chest pains.”
“Sounds like heart attack symptoms,” says the older lawyer.
“Not really. It went on for weeks, not just days. But that’s not the worst part.” Mick looks at Teagan, and I know what he’s about to say. I let go of his hand and cover mine and Teagan’s with it. She knows what he’s about to say too, but that doesn’t make it any easier to hear.
“Tell us.” Now the older lawyer is leaning in too, less skeptical or mad or whatever he is.
“I guess he was kind of a grade-a dick to his employees for years. But at the end, when he was really sick, he was working late with his assistant and he made a joke.”
“A joke?” The lawyer looks confused. “How is that relevant?”
“He told her that if he ever kicked the bucket under suspicious circumstances, someone should check to see if his wife was poisoning him.”
The room goes silent but for the ticking of a clock on the bookshelves. It has a heavy brass case and a swinging pendulum inside. It looks expensive with lots of little shiny parts to it. I’m mesmerized by the movement. Back and forth, back and forth. My best friend’s world is falling down around her ears and that thing is just going to keep on going and going and going.
“That’s a little hard to believe,” the lawyer says. He looks a little stunned.
“There were other rumors.” Mick sighs. “That his wife and her brother were out to get him. That they were always scheming and planning behind his back. I’m not sure that any of it can be backed up, but maybe that poisoning angle could be.” He looks around the room, and I want to hug him for looking so hopeful. He’s my hero and Teagan’s too.
The lawyers look at each other and exchange a few words in low tones that I can’t really hear well. I’m too busy trying to read Teagan’s mind and make sure she doesn’t lose it right here in the office. When she first heard the news she almost took Rebel’s apartment apart. He had to restrain her in his human straitjacket arms until she stopped freaking out. None of us blamed her a bit. Alissa had to leave the room she was crying so hard and Colin snuck out to his apartment. Only Mick and I stayed and it was a very long night.
“Well, it’s a long shot,” says the head lawyer, “but I think it’s worth checking out.”
“You do?” Teagan sits up, her voice clear for the first time all day.
“Yes. Here’s why … generally speaking, when a person has suspicions that a spouse is trying to kill him, strong enough that he voices those suspicions to a co-worker or family member, it’s generally not a joke. They do often believe what they’re saying. There are many cases of this on the books. And sometimes they’re correct. His suspicions combined with the fact that he was acting so strangely with a manifestation of several physical symptoms says that there was definitely something not right there. Maybe it was just the stress and poor health. But his medical records are clean up until a few months before he passed. Hopefully it was just bad luck and bad habits catching up to him. But I think we should spend the money on looking for some facts. We can hire an investigator that we’ve used successfully in the past if you approve the expense.”
I look at Teagan. “Can you afford that?”
“They’re taking an I.O.U. from me.”
“But you only make, like, fifteen bucks an hour. That’ll take forever to pay off.” I look at the lawyers for confirmation, but they say nothing. They’re zombies looking at me like they want to taste my brain or something.
“They’ll be paid when I turn thirty and get my trust fund opened up to me.”
I nod sagely. “Ahhhh, I see.” I narrow my eyes at them. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that they’re not so willing to help a starving student unless she has future bucks to pay their bill. “Then I guess we just need to see what we can find out, right?” I pat her hand.
r /> “Yes.” She nods at her lawyers. “Go ahead with that. How long will it take?”
“A few weeks. Maybe longer. Depends on what he finds.”
Teagan stands. “Are we done here?”
“Yes. We’ll call you when we have any information.” The main lawyer comes over and holds out his hand. “Just hang in there. We’ll get to the bottom of this and then we can move forward with the suit or settlement.”
Teagan shakes their hands and I wave on the way out. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go get some cotton candy ice cream.”
“You going to bring some to Jersey?”
I nod, sobering up to the reality that is my life now. “Yes. And then I’m going to go house-hunting with my dad. Not yay!”
Mick stops outside the office door next to me. “You want me to go with you?”
“Nah. I know you have to get back to work.” I pause long enough to give him a hot and heavy kiss. Only Teagan clearing her throat behind me reminds me we’re not in a hotel room with no one watching. I pull away with a slight flush to my cheeks.
“See you later?” he says, brushing his fingers along my jaw before letting them drop.
“Yeah. Later.”
He pinches my butt as I walk away in the opposite direction as him, and I pretend to be mad about it.
“You are so goofy,” Teagan says, getting into her Beetle.
“I know,” I say, sighing with happiness.
She doesn’t start the car right away. She looks over at me, a sad smile in place. “I’m happy for you guys. I really am. I just hope he doesn’t screw it up.”
My heart sinks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She starts the car. “They don’t call him Hellion for nothing.”
I grit my teeth to keep from responding. She’s not in a good place right now, so I can’t hold her kind of sharp words against her.
Best friend asshole pass … delivered.
All the way over to the ice cream store and then back to my parents’ temporary rental house, I stew in her words of warning. Mick would never screw this up. He likes me. I think he might even love me. I have nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.