Taking in the large bright space my heart filled with something that made me want to weep. Zach's parents had done this for him. They'd changed their lives around to accommodate his disability.
"Can I get you some lemonade, Kat?" Mrs. G asked, wiping her hands on the half apron tied around her waist.
"Fresh lemonade?" I teased her, surprising myself. The words should have been a ninja death blow. Everything about this moment should have been a Satan kick in the ass, but it wasn't.
She winked at me. "Is there any other kind? I picked the lemons just this morning. You can go on back to see Zach. He's in his suite," she said, shooing me toward the hallway on the right of the large room. "I'll bring you both some lemonade and cookies."
My eyebrows raised at her words. Suite? "Sounds good, Mrs. G," I said, heading down the hallway that had been widened and shortened. This side of the building used to house three bedrooms and a bathroom. Two on each side of the hallway. Now there was only one door in the shallow hallway.
I expected to be saturated in memories as I stepped into the hall, but the lack of familiarity in the house seemed to be holding them at bay. For the second time in a five-minute span I knocked on a door.
I twisted the knob, stepping in without waiting for an answer. The space was every bit as big as the room I'd just left. Walls had been removed, leaving behind one large open space with no separation. It took me only a moment to sweep my eyes around the room, categorizing each area that had been laid out carefully. It was as airy and open as a loft, perfect for someone with limited mobility.
"What are you doing?" the only occupant of the room asked, looking up from the video game he was playing on a TV screen that was almost as large as my car. Zach's tone was rough and nowhere close to welcoming. In all the years I'd known him he'd never sounded like that. He was different. This room was different. I breathed in deeply, welcoming his anger and all the changes. Finally, a moment that wasn't saturated in memories.
I shrugged to answer his question, setting my purse on a low table. I dropped into the leather recliner next to him.
His eyes bore into mine for a moment. I could feel aggravation rolling off him in tsunami-sized waves. I returned his look unflinchingly, wondering if he'd try to throw me out. After a moment of attempting to cut me down with his stare, he returned to his game with a grunt of annoyance.
A small smile tugged at my lips but I held it back, settling more comfortably in my chair. I turned my own eyes to the screen in front of me, watching his character decapitate a zombie. Blood squirted out in all directions. It was grotesque but morbidly entertaining.
Neither of us talked as Zach's guy on the screen plowed through countless zombies. The minutes ticked by one after another. A half an hour turned into an hour, which turned into two hours. Eventually, Zach handed me the second controller and I tried my own hand at zombie killing. It took me less than a minute to realize killing zombies was oddly satisfying. I got to kick someone's ass without fear of consequence or recourse. I could definitely get used to this.
As promised, Mrs. G came in not long after I started playing, bringing us tall glasses of ice-cold lemonade and cookies. If she thought our silence was unusual she didn't comment on it. Her only response was a wink in my direction right before she left the room. I gave her a small smile of gratitude, picking up one of the fresh-from-the-oven cookies.
After two hours of chopping off zombie limbs, I reluctantly set my controller to the side. Surprisingly, I was sad to leave. I'd enjoyed kicking ass, but I needed to hurry if I didn't want to be late for work. Standing up, I gathered our empty dishes and grabbed my purse, still without speaking.
"Why did you come here?" Zach asked as my hand closed around the doorknob.
"I don't know," I answered honestly, pulling the door open.
"Will you be back?"
"Yes," I said without hesitation, closing the door behind me as I stepped into the hall.
The next day I showed up and shot zombies for another two hours. If Zach was surprised I'd come back, he didn't comment. By the third day we were up to exchanging one-word dialogue pieces. It was like we'd set some kind of truce with the zombies acting as our moderators.
By Friday of the following week his grunt for a greeting made me smirk. I showed up that day with a bag of burgers and greasy fries from a place near my house. It was a hole in-the-wall place but the burgers tasted like they had been crafted by angels and sent directly down from heaven.
I didn't bother knocking on the door to Zach's suite. I stopped doing that on day two. Instead, I barged in as if I owned the place. He glared at me for a moment before spotting the bags I held in my hands.
"I hope you got mine without onions" was his only form of greeting.
"You can pick them off," I instructed, handing his paper-wrapped burger to him. "Is this all you ever do?" I asked, opening my own burger.
"No, I run sprints in the morning," he answered sarcastically, pulling the two onion rings off his burger. "I'm training for a marathon."
"I don't remember you being so prickly," I observed, taking a hefty bite of my burger.
"I don't remember you ever caring if I was. I guess we've both changed."
"Yeah, I guess so." I took another bite of my burger, waiting for the hurt to clench my heart as it had so many times in the past. But the fist that normally gripped it was absent. "I don't think we'll ever be normal again."
He snorted derisively. "Well, we know I won't," he said, thumping the arm of his wheelchair with one hand. "I'll be strapped to these wheels for the rest of my life."
I set my burger on my lap and grabbed a handful of fries. "I'd be angry too," I told him, shoving the fries into my mouth. It sounded like I was giving him permission, which explained his sudden stiffening.
"I'm not angry."
A ripple of laughter moved up my throat, filling the air between us. "And I'm the Easter Bunny. Of course you're mad. You have every right to be. We all have the right to be mad. You should be screaming your lungs out every chance you get. I would if I could."
"Kat, I'm not mad. I'm disgusted."
I arched my eyebrow, not believing him. It was obvious he was as angry as I was. "Right," I mocked, taking another bite of my burger.
"Don't be a bitch. I'm serious."
"Do tell? What are you disgusted about?" My tone was dripping sarcasm and we both knew it.
"I think the question is, what am I not disgusted about? I'm disgusted I have to rely on the support of my parents to function most days. I'm disgusted I've sat around two years feeling sorry for myself. I'm disgusted I've let time slide by and I'm nothing but a waste of space. Most of all, I'm disgusted you're still grieving like a fucking widow. You're not the only one who lost someone you love."
His words were cruel. The cruelest I'd heard since it all happened. No one talked to me like that. Not even Dr. Carlton. They wouldn't dare. Eggshells had nothing on me.
"You're a bastard," I said, throwing my half-eaten burger back in the bag.
"I didn't say I wasn't. I'm just laying it out there. You act like you're the only one who lost something. It's time you stopped acting so selfish and owned up to it. Dan would kick your ass if he saw what you've become."
My teeth clanked together with a thud. "Don't say his name," I gritted.
"Dan, Dan, Dan, Dan, Dan...Dan the Man is gone."
"You're a fucking jerk," I yelled, surging to my feet. My fries flew in every direction, speckling the floor like confetti. I grabbed my bag, intent on leaving before he could say Dan's name again. Before I could move through he surprised me by snagging my wrist. He was quicker than I would have given him credit.
"Dan is dead. Jessica is dead. Tracey is dead," he stated in a monotone voice as if he were giving a weather forecast. However, the last name he said seemed to trip him up.
"You don't think I know that?" I was still yelling. "We're alive and they're not. You, me, and selfish Mackenzie. Don't you wonder if the wrong three
survived?"
"Every fucking day. You think you hold the market on guilt? I was the driver, damn it. It was my job to keep all of us safe." He dropped my wrist and buried his face in his hands. "This is all my fault. It's only right that I pay for it with my legs."
All fight went out of me. I sank down in my chair, not caring about the fries that littered it. "Zach, the accident wasn't your fault. You didn't make that asshole ram into us. You didn't put the cell phone in his hand and make him text while he was driving. None of this is your fault. It's shitty that you lost the use of your legs, because you don't deserve that."
He looked up at me with anguish-filled eyes. "Why can't we get over this?"
"I don't know. I wish I had the answers. I've tried everything. I've run away from it, ignored it, ranted at it, but I can't seem to move past everything. It's like my feet are encased in cement, holding me in place. Maybe that's my punishment. Maybe we're not supposed to move on."
"That's bullshit. We have to be able to move on," he said, reaching for my hand. He gripped it like it was a life preserver buoying him to the surface.
My first instinct was to pull away. That hand belonged to Dan and no one else. The thought was irrational, and I would have never voiced it. It only took me a half a second to realize I liked the comfort it offered. "How did Mackenzie do it?" I asked, pleased my tone hid the malice.
"Mac?" he asked, removing his hand from mine. "I don't know. She's just hardwired differently. I envy her."
I shook my head incredulously. "How can you say that after what she did to you? She tossed your relationship away like it meant nothing."
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "She had no choice. I threw her out of my room after the accident. I refused to answer her letters. I basically turned my back on her. I wasn't the only one," he reminded me. "It was a coward's way of dealing with my guilt."
"I told you that you shouldn't feel guilty. It wasn't your fault."
Zach's eyes moved around the room, focusing on anything and everything except for me. "The accident might not have been my fault, but being in love with someone else in that car was."
His eyes met mine and I finally understood the anguish that mirrored my own.
"Jessica?" I asked, not quite believing.
He shook his head. "Tracey."
Ten
The name hung in the air between us. Zach had been in love with Tracey. How had we not known? We were a unit. We knew everything about each other, but a small voice taunted me that wasn't necessarily right. The others didn't know Dan and my plans for later that night. I wondered who else in our group knew about Tracey and Zach. I shuffled through the memories I normally wouldn't allow myself to think about trying to pinpoint an incident that would reveal a crucial piece I'd missed.
"Did Tracey love you?" I asked, trying to fit all the pieces together.
Zach's eyes burned with an agony I could relate to. "Yes. We didn't intend for it to happen, and planned on telling everyone after graduation, but Mac found out that night."
"She did?" I asked, marveling at Mac's ability to mask her feelings. "She didn't tell us."
"She wouldn't have. You know how important graduation night was for her."
I nodded. I did know how important it was. Mac had driven us nuts with all her plans for grad night, but secretly we all loved her for it. Her excitement over us becoming adults had been contagious. "How long were you two together?" I asked.
"Almost six months. We tried to fight it at first. We didn't want to hurt Mac. She didn't deserve our betrayal. At times I tried to justify it. Mac and I were together for convenience. Neither of us wanted to be alone senior year. We agreed to be each other's plus-one until we headed off to college. The summer going into senior year it seemed like a solid, sensible plan. Typical Mac fashion." His voice was flat but his eyes burned, lost in another time.
I nodded. We'd all known Mac and Zach stayed together more out of habit than anything else. Dan and I were partially to blame for their relationship of convenience. Double-dating had been a no-brainer, and we'd all gotten along so well. The situation had suited all of us, or so I thought.
Zach ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. He looked mad. It was surreal watching him. Everything about him mirrored how I felt.
"The more Mac threw herself into graduation and college prep, the less time we seemed to spend together. She stopped going to my games and buried herself in her schoolwork. Tracey was there. It was fucked up. I know I should have broken it off with Mac, but would you believe me if I said I didn't want to hurt her?" He gripped my hand. I could feel his fingers biting into my skin, crushing it to my bones. I did not shy away from it. Pain was welcomed. "We should have told her. If we would have told her, we wouldn't have had to hide our feelings. We could have spent every moment together those last six months." His voice shattered into a million pieces as sobs wracked through his body. It was a knife in my heart, dissecting and cutting pieces away until only a bloody pulp remained. I was the selfishest of bitches. I'd assumed I held the market on heartbreak.
Without thinking, I leaned in toward his chair and dragged him into my arms as his anguish filled the room like a morbid bloodbath. His wheelchair made the embrace awkward, but I paid it no mind. Having the handle digging into my side was an insignificant price to pay.
Zach cried until his tears ran out. I had the feeling this was the first time he'd let his anger go enough to fully grieve. It was ironic that my own grief had morphed to anger, while his seemed to be opposite. Each survivor dealt with things in their own way. Even Mac. I'd spent the last few months hating her for moving on while Zach and I were chained to the past. I'd assumed she was the lucky one, that she hadn't lost anything. I realized now how wrong I was. Mac had lost perhaps more than all of us.
I stayed with Zach until I had to leave for work. I could tell he was embarrassed about his meltdown once he was done. I didn't mention it and merely handed him his controller when he finished.
Driving home later that evening I ran Zach's confession over in my head. For the first time in two years I pitied someone other than myself. Losing Dan had nearly gutted me but at least I'd had years of memories and special moments with him stored up. I may have locked them away, but they were there to be pulled out any time I was ready. Zach and Tracey's relationship had been cut down before it could even get started. Life wasn't fair.
Pulling into my neighborhood, I bypassed Fred's. I felt emotionally wrung out but drinking held little appeal. I knew in a few days I'd be singing a different tune as a date I tried to forget loomed ahead of me. Last year, I'd spent the particular day huddled up on my bed with a bottle of Jack Daniel's trying to get through the painful reminder. I was pretty sure I'd do the same this year. Thankfully I didn't have to work that day.
Pushing the thoughts to the back of my head, I pulled into the lot of the complex, groaning at the lack of parking places. I circled the lot before finally conceding defeat and parking on the far side of it in the least desirable area, which was due to its distant location and lack of lighting. I climbed from my car silently cursing Hank, the superintendent, for the darkness. I'd sent him multiple complaints about the outside lighting that needed to be replaced. I swore as the toe of my shoe caught an exposed root, proving my point. I needed to get in the habit of carrying the industrial flashlight my sensible dad had given me for Christmas since it was obvious Hank wasn't going to fix the lights. Breaking an ankle on the uneven pavement held no appeal.
In the dark, I could hear the buzzing of cicadas in the few trees lining the cracked sidewalk and the rustling of lizards as they scampered across the leaves. I ducked my head, hurrying my pace. I wasn't necessarily scared of bugs, but I also didn't want one falling out of the trees on top of my head.
Carlos was on his patio, as per usual, but he wasn't alone when I finally made it to my building. Carlos' posture wasn't as relaxed as it usually was. I couldn't hear the exchange between him and his guest. As I a
pproached, apprehension slithered up my spine, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Everything about this stranger screamed trouble, and not in the typical "bad boy" way most women panted after. He was covered in amateur tattoos that were either lopsided or misspelled. I knew I was profiling but everything about him pointed toward criminal. For the first time since moving into the complex I saw Mom and Dad's perspective. They'd have a heart attack if they were here.
I knew I was probably being ridiculous, but I couldn't help clutching my bag as I scooted along the sidewalk as close to the far edge as I could get. My eyes met Carlos' for a moment and for the briefest of seconds a veil of worry seemed to cloud his pupils before he turned back to his guest. A rapid string of Spanish left his mouth, and I had the distinct impression he was trying to deflect attention away from me. More nervous than I probably should have been, I willed myself to remain calm.
I was almost to my stairs when I heard a low whistle behind me. "Hey, chica, what's your hurry?"
My foot stalled on the step. I debated ignoring him. Twelve steps separated me from some small measure of security.
"Puta, I'm talking to you."
My Spanish was rusty at best but I knew enough to know when I was being insulted.
"Leave her alone, ese," Carlos said.
"You tapping that ass, man? Maybe we can work out a trade on what you owe me."
Anger rippled through me. I whipped around to glare at the hulking figure who was now leering at me like a slab of beef. A sarcastic retort was on the tip of my tongue, but Carlos' sudden pasty complexion held me back. I'd seen many sides of Carlos in my year at the complex—from cockiness to flirtatious to the occasional drunkenness—but I'd never seen him afraid. His fear sent a jolt of uncertainness through me. My training at the gym made me certain I could hold my own in a physical situation, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt this guy wouldn't fight fair.