My face exploded into flames. Fuck me. “Jesus, Dad, it’s not like that.” No matter how much I wished it were. “Kristen’s in the band, which means she’s off-limits. The guys and I promised we would keep things professional.”
Dad stretched out his legs, bare feet sticking out of pajama pants, and angled his head to study me. “So you’re saying there’s nothing romantic going on?”
“Exactly,” I replied with a sigh of relief that this conversation was over.
“But you want it, don’t you?”
I said nothing, and Dad smiled.
“Come on, Eli. You think I don’t know your heart?”
Awesome. My dad was a freakin’ psychic now. “Look, it doesn’t matter what I want. We have to do what’s right for the band. Kristen’s broadening our fan base, getting us noticed. She’s got a huge following online, and a lot of them are now following us. We just got three new gigs—including the county festival this summer.”
Dad’s eyes shot to mine, wide with surprise. “Oh. Wow. That’s…um…really great news.”
I nodded. It was. So why wasn’t he excited?
He waved a hand. “I’m sorry. It is really good news. It’s just…I’m…oh, hell.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “We found two residential programs for your sister, and we’re wait-listed. We expect to get calls this week from one of them because they think they’ll have space.”
His words were like a punch to my gut, and the breath left my lungs in a whoosh. I knew exactly how hard it was to take care of Anna—I was here, wasn’t I? But this just felt… Fuck it! We were abandoning her.
“Eli.” Dad grabbed my hand. “I know how you feel about this, but please…don’t make this harder than it is.”
I raised both eyebrows, but before I could snap back with something sarcastic, he squeezed the hand he held. “Come on, son! Why the hell do you think I’m sitting here in the dark instead of sleeping?”
I closed my mouth and bit the inside of my cheek. He was right. This was hard. On all of us, not just me. It sucked—loudly—and it was killing me that we were so close to breaking out, when I’d be able to afford twenty-four-hour care for Anna. I just needed a little more time.
I fell back against my chair and thought of Kristen. I wished I could call her. Talk to her.
Kiss her.
The clock in the hall chimed 1:00 a.m., and Dad laughed once. “Guess I should go to sleep so I can wake up in four hours for those visits.”
I jerked. Shit! “I forgot.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I figured.”
Another punch to my gut, but this time, I was ready and didn’t flinch.
“Good night, Elijah.”
“Night.”
Dad’s bare feet slapped on the tile as he left the room. I sat in the dark kitchen for the rest of the night, listening to the house creak and the clock chime and the battle raging inside my head and felt like the biggest piece of shit on the planet.
18
Kristen
@Shopaholic
@kristencartwright Gr8 mall flash mob!
@joshL
@kristencartwright Damn! Missed u scream at the mall? U are so HAWT. #CatCall #KrisVsEli
@mslake
@kristencartwright Tweet me. You think you’re too cool to tweet me? You’re not, you bitch! Scream! I’ll make you scream. #CatCall #KrisVsEli
The night ticked on, crawling its way to dawn. I stopped looking at Twitter after I blocked a bunch of new jerks. Dylan took Gordon home, but I refused to leave. If we went home and something happened—I shoved the thought into a dark corner.
“You have school, Kristen.”
“Not going, Mom.”
She sighed. “You have to. This is an important year. Don’t ruin it for—”
I looked up at her sharply, and she pressed her lips into a line. There was really no way to finish that sentence without pissing me off, and she knew it. Mom and Etta didn’t always get along; we all knew it. But there’d always been a quiet respect between them, a division of territories. Mom understood that Dad and his sister had always been Etta’s biggest achievements, and Etta understood that my brothers and I were Mom’s. Except for one thing—my interest in performing. That was all Etta’s influence, and sometimes, I wondered if Mom didn’t secretly wish I’d abandon the stage and take up gardening or pottery or something.
We sat huddled in one of the cafeteria booths, butts completely numb even though these molded particle board seats were a tiny step up from the molded plastic ones in the waiting area upstairs. The place was bustling now as the shifts changed and exhausted interns shuffled in behind fresh nurses and doctors grabbing coffee. Trays of scrambled eggs and bacon steamed from the self-serve bar and made my stomach growl, though eating was the last thing I wanted to do. Dad’s eyes were red and puffy, and I wondered when he’d cried. I hadn’t seen that, and suddenly, I felt like I shouldn’t be here. I should have gone home with my brothers so my parents could fall apart without having to worry about me, like Elijah said.
Elijah.
Thinking about him tugged on my heart. Driving me to the hospital was one thing, but Elijah had stayed with me, held me, comforted me—this was the same boy who said sexist stuff about me?
Maybe Elijah played evil twins better than I did.
This guy was two completely different people. I thought—hoped—this meant he liked me. Then I thought it meant only that he needed me in the band. But tonight—last night—he’d have just escaped the first minute he could if sex was all he wanted from me.
Wouldn’t he?
“Mom’s right, sweetheart.” Dad’s rough voice startled me out of my thoughts. “You need to go to school.”
Yeah, like that was even possible now. I shook my head. “No. I can’t leave her. Not…just no.”
“Kristen,” Dad began in that voice reserved usually for occasions when I’m about to be grounded. “I know you’re worried. I get that. But I’m worried too. Right now, Etta needs me.”
She needed all of us! I opened my mouth, but closed it when everything Elijah said suddenly replayed in my sleep-deprived brain. Instead, I nodded. “You’re right. Okay. I’ll go. But I have to see her before I leave, okay?”
Mom and Dad exchanged one of those telepathic looks they shared. I supposed it was from being married for so long; they knew each other’s moods and faces so well, they could speak without saying a word. I wanted that. I wanted someone who could look at me and know without asking just what I needed, and for about five freakin’ minutes last night, I’d had it. Elijah had given me that. But was that a limited-time-only deal or a lifetime supply?
I had no idea.
Maybe it was time to find out. I pulled in a deep breath and left the booth, ducking into a ladies’ room just outside the hospital cafeteria. I tugged out my phone and sent Elijah a message.
Did u mean what u said last nite? Parents want me to leave hospital.
A few moments later, he replied. I’m ditching school. Pick u up in 10. We can hang here with Anna.
That was fine by me. I texted back a yes and put my phone away.
“Kristen, you okay?” Mom’s heels clicked softly on the gleaming floor.
“Yeah. Sorry.” I met her at the sink. She put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“Honey, she’ll be okay. Try not to worry.”
I nodded even though that simply wasn’t possible. I followed my parents into the elevator and back to the ICU and to Etta’s bedside.
Dad went right to her side and took her hand. Etta was asleep—or unconscious—with dozens of wires attached to her. A monitor over her bed tracked various signs of life. The only one I cared about was her heart. It still beat—a slow but steady rhythm that made me think of songs and lyrics and mood and tone. Slowly, I approached her
bed and took her hand and almost gasped out loud. They’d stripped her nail polish off, leaving red stains surrounding her nails. Her face was bare of the dramatic eyeliner and drawn-on eyebrows and bold red lips that I’d come to think of as purely Etta, leaving behind a shell. Oh, God. “Can she hear us, Mom?” I whispered.
“I don’t know, honey. But I don’t think it’ll hurt to try.” She nudged me with an elbow, and Dad smiled at her.
“Hey, Etta,” I said in an extra loud voice, stroking the hand I held. It was cold and so tragically still. Etta’s hands were never still. I had to stop myself from grabbing her by the shoulders to shake her, force her awake, and urge her to make one of those grand gestures. I patted her hand. “Oh, Etta, you need a manicure! As soon as you’re feeling better, we’ll get manis and pedis.”
There was nothing. Just the relentless beep of the machines.
“And the food! Etta, as soon as you taste it, I have no doubt you’ll fling aside these tubes and wires, glide down the hall, and say to the head nurse, ‘This substance is to food what supermarket tabloids are to literature.’” I flung up my arms in a perfect capture of Etta’s signature move and heard Dad quietly applaud.
There was still nothing, and my heart simply fell.
“Okay. I have to get to school. And, Etta, the band—well, my band—we’re playing at the mall and at the county festival this summer, and you’ll be there, of course, because I’m your favorite granddaughter, right?”
That was our joke—I was her only granddaughter. Tears dripped down my face, falling onto Etta’s arm. She didn’t even twitch. Mom’s arm came around my shoulders and gently pushed me away from the bed. “Come on, honey.” She led me out to the main corridor. “We’ll call your brother to come pick you up.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. I called Elijah.”
Mom’s blue eyes darted to mine. “Elijah. Anything going on there?”
Shrugging, I hit the button to call the elevator. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Well, he brought you here, stayed with you most of the night. I’d say that’s a pretty good sign.”
My phone buzzed. “He’s here. Call me if anything—”
“I will. Of course I will.” Mom gave me a hug and a wave as the doors to the elevator slid shut.
Elijah leaned against the passenger door of a different car than the one he used yesterday, opening it for me when I walked through the exit.
“Hey.”
“Thanks for this.”
He shook his head. “I meant what I said. When you need me, I’ll be there.” He shut the door before he could see the stupid tears fill my eyes. We were silent on the way back to his house, listening to the radio play. I ached head to toe, my eyes felt like they’d been sandblasted, my throat was raw, and my vision kept blurring.
“Did you eat?”
I jerked in my seat and discovered we were parked in front of Elijah’s house. “Oh, um, yeah, I think so.”
He left the car, came around to my side, and took my hand, leading me through the garage and its music equipment to the kitchen. He pulled out a chair for me, the scrape it made against the tile floor sounding like the roar of an earthquake to my exhausted ears. He left me there and opened the refrigerator, removed an armful of stuff, and started beating eggs in a bowl while butter sizzled in a skillet. I started to tell him I wasn’t hungry, that he shouldn’t bother, but when he pulled out not one but four plates, I let him do what he had to do.
Elijah was nice to watch. He wore blue jeans today instead of his usual black and a plain white T-shirt under a button-down flannel. He diced onions, tossed them into the pan, and shook it, and my face burned when I realized he knew more about cooking than I did. He toasted half a dozen slices of bread and buttered them while the eggs cooked and then scooped a portion of hot, sizzling eggs onto each plate, surrounded the eggs with toast halves, and carried all four plates to the table—at the same time—without dropping them.
“Dig in.” He waved a hand at the table in front of me and then disappeared into the hallway off the kitchen. I looked down and discovered a napkin and utensils had been set for me. When the hell had he done that? I picked up the fork, took a bite, and almost cried. It was so good. By the time he came back, followed by his sister and a woman I’d never met, I was done with my eggs and nibbling the toast.
“Ding, dong, ding, dong!” Anna clapped her hands when she saw me, singing the chorus to the Christmas carol I’d sang for her in the mall.
Elijah laughed. “I think that should be your nickname.”
“Great,” I replied with a smile I couldn’t help.
Elijah helped his sister into a chair and spread a huge plastic sheet around it.
“Kris, this is Linda, Anna’s aide.”
I nodded, smiled weakly, and ate every last crumb in front of me.
• • •
“Hey, Ding Dong. Want some juice?”
I shot Elijah a death glare. “I said it was cute when your sister calls me that, not you.”
He raised both hands. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” And then he flashed me a wicked grin. “You’re fun to mess with.”
I blinked at the empty kitchen. “Where’s your sister?”
Elijah turned from the dishwasher and jerked a thumb toward the second floor. “Linda took her upstairs to hose her down. Anna’s table manners are deplorable.”
A giggle burst out of me. “Deplorable? What, is there a vocabulary test with breakfast at the Hamilton residence?”
He laughed, but I noted the slow crawl of red making its way up his neck and onto his cheeks, so I backed off. It was fun to mess with him too. He slid the last plate into the dishwasher and closed the door. I watched him reach into a cabinet, find a couple of glasses, and pour orange juice into them. He slid one of the glasses across the table toward me and sat down. “Here you go.”
I sipped the juice, watching him over the rim. His hair was loose today, spilling around his shoulders in a dark curtain, glints of red and gold showing up whenever sunlight from the window caught it in just the right way. He shut his eyes and tilted his head. “God, that feels really good.”
I jerked when I discovered my hand was on his head. I didn’t realize I’d been running my hand through his hair. “Sorry. I…I’m so tired. I don’t even know what I’m doing. I’m—”
Abruptly, I shut my mouth and shook my head. Instinct, I suppose. The need to avoid saying something out loud for fear that will make it true. It was a potent terror—that someone I love might die.
“It’s okay. I like it.”
I tucked both hands into my lap and suddenly blurted out a question burning at the back of my brain. “If there were a way to live forever, would you take it?”
Dark eyes popped wide over the juice glass. He put it down and angled his head, considering. “If it were science, yes. But no vampire stuff.”
I waved my hand. “No, no, not fiction. I mean legitimate immortality. Like doctors find some way to cure all the diseases. I mean, you could still die from injuries and what not, but not diseases.”
He rubbed a finger slowly over his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”
I nodded. “Me too.” I couldn’t get a song out of my head, one of the first ones he’d played for me. “Ah oooh. Ah oooh,” I sang softly.
His lips twitched. “‘Words As Weapons’?”
“It’s been in my head since…since Etta. It’s like…well, it’s like the song is all about her. That line about the broken mind?”
“Keep me locked up in your broken mind,” Elijah sang.
“Yeah. That one. And there’s another line about being paralyzed.”
“Keep me dumb, keep me paralyzed.”
“I keep thinking this could be her, this could be her life now. Paralyzed, unable to talk, trapped inside her own mind.”
Elijah winced. “Oh. The chorus. Is that what’s bothering you?”
Bothering me? I thought about that for a minute and decided that was the most monumental understatement ever. It freakin’ gutted me. “All I really want is something beautiful to say. To never fade away. I wanna live forever,” I sang, and it was like a prayer. And the scary part was I wasn’t sure if I was praying for Etta or me. “Etta would despise that. Fading away, I mean.” Everything she’d shown me, taught me, it was always about making an impression, making sure my audience not only knew my name but would never be able to forget it. That’s what she’d done throughout her career, and now she was in a hospital bed while the world kept right on turning. She was fading away. Tears dripped down my face, and suddenly, Elijah was right there, pulling me against him.
“Shhh. You’re worrying about stuff that hasn’t happened and may not happen.”
“It will. Etta’s old, Elijah. I never thought of her that way before until this morning, when I saw all those tubes and wires and machines. She won’t be here too much longer even if she does recover.”
His arms tightened around me. “Yeah.”
He could have lied to me and said everything would be fine. Or he could have said something lame about the circle of life. He didn’t say anything else, and in a weird way, that made me feel better.
He shifted his hands to my shoulders and gently held me away from him. “Kris, maybe this is what your song should be about.”
I thought about that for a moment and then shook my head. “No. I’d never be able to sing it without choking up.”
He started a slow, steady beat of hands against the table. “It can’t get worse; this is the way it hurts.” Same words. Different tempo, different mood.
“I like that.”
A flash of teeth. “What else do you like?”
You, I almost blurted. Instead, I just shook my head and shrugged, trying not to cry all over again.
“Come on.” He tugged me to my feet, put our juice glasses in the sink, and led me out of the kitchen to the stairs.