Saving Red

  if she hadn’t discovered it so soon.

  Red shudders.

  Pixel nudges his nose

  into her palm.

  Her mom says she knows Red meant no harm.

  She knows it only happened

  because she was sick.

  And she wishes more than anything

  that Red could spend Christmas with them.

  But she can’t put Red’s little sisters in jeopardy.

  So Red will have to check herself

  into a hospital in L.A.

  and get back on her medication

  before she can let her come home.

  Her Mom’s Crying Now

  I can hear her sniffling.

  And so is Red.

  “Can’t I speak to my daughter?

  Just for a minute?

  So I can

  hear her voice?

  So I can tell her how much

  we all love her and miss her?”

  But Red shakes her head no

  and turns away.

  After I Say Good-Bye

  And switch off the phone,

  Red tells me she doesn’t blame her mom

  for not wanting her to come home.

  Then she tells me about the fire.

  She tells me

  that The Duke said the curtains

  were crawling with tarantulas

  and had to be destroyed.

  She tells me that Lana said

  she’d seen eleven crows that day.

  That the crows were a sign

  that the curtains were cursed.

  “But it wasn’t The Duke and Lana

  who lit the match,” Red says.

  “It was me.

  That’s why I ran away.

  I was afraid, if I stayed,

  the next time I might not be so lucky.

  The next time I might really hurt

  my family.”

  Red Wraps Her Arms Around Herself

  Like she feels

  a sudden chill.

  She turns abruptly and begins walking

  toward Ocean Avenue,

  almost as if

  she’s in a trance.

  The city is awake now,

  the traffic picking up.

  I hurry after her,

  Pixel trotting along at my side.

  Suddenly Red whirls around

  to face me.

  “I’m sorry,” she says

  in this weird strangled voice,

  “but I’ve got to go.

  The Duke and Lana are telling me . . .

  They’re telling me to run out

  into the middle of the street . . .

  Telling me not to be scared . . .

  That it won’t even hurt . . .

  That it will all be over in a minute . . .”

  My Blood Freezes

  Red’s face has gone oddly blank.

  Like she’s here.

  But she’s not.

  “Lana says the omens are perfect, . . .”

  she murmurs. “The Duke says

  it’s time for me to make my royal exit . . .”

  She turns away from me again

  and continues heading toward the road,

  picking up speed with each step.

  I dart past her and sprint to the sidewalk,

  positioning myself between her

  and the traffic.

  Pixel dashes along next to her,

  barking and nipping at the cuff of her jeans.

  But she just shoos him away,

  without even glancing down.

  Now Red Breaks into a Run

  I’m as tense as an arrow

  just before its release.

  I steal a glance over my shoulder

  at Ocean Avenue—

  there’s a moving van barreling

  down the road from the right!

  A bus and two taxis,

  coming from the other direction!

  “Stop!” I scream at Red,

  just before she reaches me.

  She tries to swerve around me

  to the left,

  but I lunge forward

  and grab her by her shoulders.

  She struggles to escape,

  but my fingers have turned to iron.

  “You don’t have to do what they say, Red!

  The Duke and Lana—they’re just voices!

  Just voices inside your head!”

  Her Eyes . . .

  They’re so wide . . . so lost . . .

  She blinks at me in confusion.

  “They’re . . . they’re just voices . . .

  They’re not real . . . ?”

  “No. But you are, Red!

  You are!

  And I . . . I wouldn’t be able to deal with it

  if I lost you.

  Not after what happened with Noah.

  I just couldn’t handle it.”

  Red’s staring at me now.

  Staring at me so intently.

  Then she blinks again, and the confusion

  in her eyes dissolves like a mist.

  She reaches up

  and covers my hands with hers.

  “Please,” she says through clenched teeth.

  “Call 911.”

  Keeping a Tight Hold on Her Hand

  I walk her over to a bench

  that’s in the middle

  of the park,

  at a safe distance from the street,

  and also from the edge of the cliff.

  Just to be on the extra safe side.

  Then I pull out my phone and switch it on,

  my other hand clamped tightly around hers,

  praying there’s enough battery . . .

  There’s still 7 percent left!

  I punch in the number

  and tell them where we are.

  Then I switch it off again

  and we wait together in silence,

  looking out at the ocean,

  my hand

  never loosening its grip

  on hers.

  The Ambulance Arrives Five Minutes Later

  I ask Red if I can ride

  to the hospital with her.

  But she gives me a quick fierce hug

  and says, “I have to do this alone.”

  “Well, not entirely alone,” she adds,

  with an exaggerated wink.

  And I know exactly

  who she’s referring to.

  Pixel puts his paws up,

  resting them on her knees.

  She lifts him into her lap and gives his

  secret sweet spot one last scratch.

  He gives her cheek a little lick,

  as if to say, “You’re doing the right thing.

  But I’m sure gonna miss you.”

  She kisses him on the top of his head.

  Then she hands him to me,

  stands up from the bench,

  and does one of those

  funny little curtsies of hers.

  She walks

  over to the ambulance,

  climbs into the back of it,

  and a second later,

  it starts to rain.

  This Isn’t Just a Sprinkle

  It’s a full-on drencher—

  torrential, epic, cleansing.

  I splash over to the ambulance,

  with Pixel cradled in my arms.

  Red peers down at us

  as we stand here getting soaked.

  “Wet enough for you?” she says.

  “Is it wet enough for you?” I say.

  “A little too wet.”

  “Not for me. I love it!”

  We smile at each other,

  remembering our very first conversation.

  Then the paramedics hoist Red’s stroller

  up to her, swing the door closed,

  and take her

  away,

  cruising down Ocean Avenue

  in the back of the silent amb
ulance,

  leaving Pixel and me

  to stare after the flashing red lights

  till they turn the corner

  and disappear.

  A Second Later

  The downpour stops,

  just as quickly as it began.

  Like someone

  has switched off a giant faucet.

  I know my clothes

  must be soaked through.

  But for some strange reason,

  I can barely feel them.

  I shift my gaze away from the corner

  and notice Red’s bike leaning against a palm.

  I’ll need to call a friend

  to help me get it back to Cristo’s . . .

  In a fog,

  I pull out my phone.

  But then I remember:

  Red’s my only friend.

  And now—

  she’s gone.

  My Parents Pick Up on the Very First Ring

  They tell me

  that they’ve been worried sick.

  That they’ve been calling me

  all night.

  But that their calls kept going

  straight to voice mail.

  I apologize

  and tell them that I’m fine.

  That I switched off my phone

  because my battery was about to die.

  That I’ve found Pixel and he’s fine too,

  but that I need a little help.

  Then I tell them where I am

  and hang up.

  I glance at the time.

  Can it really only be nine o’clock?

  It feels like a lifetime has passed

  since sunrise.

  And That’s When I Realize

  How terribly tired I am.

  So tired my legs can barely hold me.

  I plunk down onto

  the nearest bench

  and press my face

  into Pixel’s damp fur.

  Then I look out

  at the water,

  at the heavy gray clouds

  reflected in its surface.

  And then over at the pier

  and at the Ferris wheel . . .

  And suddenly I’m thinking of Cristo.

  And of his unexplained silence.

  And of how much

  I miss him.

  A Few Minutes Later

  Mom and Dad pull up

  in their ancient Volvo,

  with their coats thrown on

  over their pajamas.

  They leap out of the car and wrap

  Pixel and me into the kind of hug

  that sorta makes you feel

  like you’re a little kid again.

  A part of me wants to surrender to it—

  to just let them take me home and tuck

  me into bed and feed me a nice hot bowl

  of matzo ball soup.

  But another part of me

  wants to shove them away,

  wants to punish them for leaving me

  alone with Noah last New Year’s Eve.

  It’s like there’s this gigantic tug-of-war

  going on inside of me,

  and I’m not sure which team

  to root for.

  When My Parents Finally Let Go of Me

  They take a closer look at me.

  “You got your hair done,” Mom says. “It’s pretty!”

  “It makes you look so grown up . . . ,” Dad says.

  But I ignore their compliments

  and tell them I need their help getting

  a bicycle back to the person I borrowed it from.

  Dad asks me who was riding it.

  And for the first time in forever,

  he doesn’t seem distracted.

  He seems totally focused on me—

  like he’s actually interested in hearing

  the answer to his question.

  But I just tell him it’s a long story,

  give him Cristo’s address,

  explain where the key’s hidden,

  and ask him to take Pixel

  with him in the car, and wait for

  Mom and me in the backyard.

  Then I Leap onto My Bike

  And race off,

  leaving her to scramble onto Red’s bike

  and try to catch up with me.

  I’m not even sure why I’m doing this.

  Maybe I just want to make things

  as hard for her as she’s made them for me.

  I pedal faster and faster.

  “Wait!” I hear her call after me.

  “Molly! Wait up!”

  But that

  only makes me feel

  like pedaling even faster.

  And somehow,

  the more furiously I pedal,

  the more furious I become.

  Pretty Soon

  It starts to feel like

  there’s a bonfire raging in my chest—

  blazing with a single searing question.

  And if I don’t get an answer,

  get an answer right now,

  I’ll be consumed by the flames.

  So I screech to a halt,

  whip my bike around,

  and wait for Mom to catch up with me.

  When she finally does,

  wheezing to a stop in front of me,

  I don’t waste any time.

  “Why did you do it?” I snarl.

  “Do what?” she asks,

  still trying to catch her breath.

  “Why did you and Dad leave me

  in charge of Noah last New Year’s Eve

  when I was only a kid?”

  Her eyes widen for a second.

  Then she squeezes them shut,

  drops her chin to her chest,

  and reaches up

  to rake her fingers

  through her hair.

  When She Opens Her Eyes Again

  She looks

  right into mine.

  “Because we were stupid,” she says.

  “We were stupid and selfish

  and the strain of Noah being so sick

  had been hard on our marriage.

  But your father and I,

  we wanted to . . . No.

  We needed to stay together.

  For you.

  We shouldn’t have asked you

  to watch Noah.

  But it was New Year’s Eve,

  and we just wanted to have

  one happy night together.

  Just one happy night . . . ,”

  she repeats, with a sad little laugh.

  “But it didn’t exactly work out that way.”

  I Can Feel Her Words

  Feel them

  trying to penetrate me,

  trying to burrow under my skin.

  But I shake them off

  and start shooting questions at her

  like bullets:

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?

  Why didn’t you ever apologize?

  Why didn’t you ever explain?”

  “You never . . . asked?” she says lamely.

  “And . . . and you had Pixel . . .

  You seemed . . . You seemed okay.”

  “Okay? I was anything but okay.

  Though I guess everything seems ‘okay’

  when you’re high all the time.”

  We stare at each other

  in silence then,

  for a long moment.

  My mother seems to be shrinking

  right before my eyes.

  Shrinking into herself.

  Then, in a voice

  just above a whisper,

  she says, “Well, I’m not stoned now.

  And last night, when we couldn’t

  reach you, when I thought that I might

  have lost both my children,

  lost my favorite girl in all the world

  because I was too out of it to be there

  for y
ou when you needed me most,

  I flushed all my pot down the toilet.”

  I Refuse to Cry . . . I Absolutely Refuse!

  “You’ll just go buy some more,”

  I say through gritted teeth,

  “the first chance you get.”

  “No,” she says, “I won’t.

  Though I’m sure I’ll be tempted to.

  I’m already tempted to.

  When you’ve been high as long as I have,

  reality seems so . . . so damn real . . .

  So real it hurts . . .”

  “Poor you,” I say,

  “having to deal with how painful

  things actually are.”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  She just sort of winces—and suddenly

  I feel a little ashamed of myself . . .

  Then she climbs off Red’s bike,

  leans it against the nearest palm tree,

  walks back over to me, and says,

  “Your dad and I should

  have apologized to you, Molly.

  We should have apologized ages ago.

  I don’t know why we didn’t . . .

  Maybe because an apology

  would also have had to be a confession—

  an acknowledgment that Noah’s

  disappearance was our fault.

  Ours.

  Not yours.”

  Then She Heaves a Ragged Sigh

  And says, “I don’t blame you

  for being so mad at me.

  I’m mad at me too.

  I did the best I could

  after Noah disappeared.

  I guess we all did.

  But

  my best

  was pretty pitiful.

  So I’m going to try to do better.

  Try to do much better—

  starting today.

  I am so sorry, Molly.

  I’m as sorry as a person

  could possibly be.

  I am filled

  to the brim

  with sorry.

  And

  I hope someday

  you can forgive me.”

  I Let My Mother’s Words

  Sink

  into

  me.

  I

  let

  them

  sink

  into

  me

  and wash

  all through me

  like rainwater . . .

  cooling down

  my anger and my

  resentment . . .

  Then

  I swallow hard