Hickville Confessions: A Hickville High Novel (9 page)

“Cherry vanilla Dr. Pepper.”

He pushed the red button below the sign and turned to her. “Do you want to share chili cheese fries?”

“Sure.”

He gave the order and the mood in the truck began to lighten. A Beatles tune played over the drive-in’s speakers. Ryan lowered her window and sang along. If anyone could take a sad song and make it better, it was Ryan. She didn’t have a great voice or anything, but he liked it.

While they waited for their order, they didn’t talk, didn’t really look at each other, but it was okay. His chest felt lighter than it had in a long time and he was happy. Not the fake smile he forced on his face to get through the day, but genuine, from-the-gut happy. When the two dozen repetitions of the chorus began, he joined in.

As they progressed, they got louder. They didn’t look at each other or do any crazy music swaying. They sat in their places with their heads pressed against the back of the seat and sang. Their food arrived just before Paul McCartney broke into the final riff.

Justin sat the boat of fries on the console between them and passed Ryan her drink. The moment he made the handoff was the first time their eyes actually met. They held and he felt an enormous geeky grin form on his face. It was okay, though, because she had the same goofy grin. Then, they both started laughing like somebody had just told the most awesome joke ever. And it felt so good, like the first bite into a cold watermelon on a long, hot summer day.

Ryan looked at him again and shook her head. “Your sister’s art—wow.”

“Yeah. She volunteered at the gallery after school. They have a studio in the back room where she worked on her paintings.” He didn’t talk about Chelsea, ever. So why did it feel safe with Ryan now?

“I’m sorry. What happened—it just sucks.”

“That it does.” He crammed a couple of cheesy fries in his mouth and watched her pick one up and take two bites to eat it. He thought about the emotion pouring from her as they’d sat on the bench. Had it been connected to the attack? Somehow it felt bigger. He wanted to reach out to her and convince her she could trust him. “What happened back there—it was more than… Did you lose somebody?”

She snapped her gaze to him. “What?”

“I felt it…”

She looked through the windshield and shifted in the seat. He shouldn’t have asked. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and his heart began to pound in his chest. He should have left it alone.

She tilted her head up and sniffed. “Yeah. Me.”

“What?” Crap. He didn’t mean to say that. He didn’t want to know, if it was going to make her cry. Where was the edit button?

Her gaze darted to him and back to the view in front. Her chest rose and fell as though she couldn’t get enough air. “I lost me.” She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. “If you ask me to talk about it, I
will
throw my drink at you.”

“Well, shit. Do you like football?”

She opened her eyes, perplexed. “What? What kind of question is that?”

“I don’t know. You scared the shit out of me.” He took a drink from his coke and twisted in his seat toward her. “Do you?”

She sat cross-legged in the seat with her back against the door. “I’ve only been to two games.”

He threw his head back and stared at the headliner of his truck. “Seriously!” He dropped his gaze then, grateful they were on a lighter topic. “How can you be in high school and only have been to two games?”

“I went to an art magnet school, remember?”

He shook his head. “Crazy. So what’d you think?”

“Actually, I liked it.” Ryan pointed to the dash clock. “Is that the right time? Because if it is, I have twenty-five minutes to make my ten o’clock curfew.”

“We’ll make it.”

Justin gathered the trash and started the engine. “So, the Purity Club.”

“Yeah?”

“Can you explain it to me? Why a
virgin
club?”

“It wasn’t a bad idea. We made a promise to stay chaste. It just all went horribly wrong.”

Justin turned onto the main drag and headed south out of town. “But what are meetings all about? It’s one thing to make a promise, but do you discuss near misses at the meetings?”

She shook her head. “Yeah, that’s it.” She looked at him with those big blue eyes. “Of course not. Besides, a near miss is a hit.”

He laughed at her joke but he wanted to get lost in her gaze, to hold her against him—and not in an I’m-coming-unwound kind of way. “But what do you
do
at those meetings?”

“I’ve only been to a couple. Mrs. Bettis gives an incredibly long blessing and then we eat disgusting pizza. I guess the purpose is to encourage each other. Not everybody knows it’s okay to say no.”

“Most of the girls in the PC don’t have to worry about it.”

“That’s cold. Don’t be a jerk.”

He held his hands up in defense. “Just sayin’.”

“Yeah, but some girls get crazy when it comes to guys. Everybody says
just say no
, but if a girl is desperate to be liked, things happen.” She slammed the back of her head against the seat. “I can’t believe I am discussing this with a guy.”

His gut clenched. He had a reputation in school, but in reality, he’d gone all the way with a grand total of one girl. Had she wanted to say no? No way. When things started happening, she couldn’t wait to go all the way. “Not every girl is like that. Some girls go after it—they want it as bad as guys do.”

“I’m not so sure. I mean, maybe for some couples it’s right. But what girl wants to be known as the school slut?”

“Every school has a girl who doesn’t say no.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know she can.”

He’d never thought about it like that. A guy’s MO was to keep trying until the girl gave in. Sneak a hand on the side of the boob, it gets pushed away, try again. Until the girl actually says no, it’s fair game. His shoulders felt heavy. He’d gotten to various bases with different girls. Had they wanted to say no? He remembered the note he’d found in Chelsea’s room. How many times had Eric tried before she gave in?

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just wrapping my brain around what you said. Guys are dogs.”

“Pretty much.” She nodded.

“Did you hear what the fight with Eric was about?” He squeezed the steering wheel.

“No.”

“I found a note in my sister’s room a couple of days before the dance. It was to Eric. She was begging him to talk to her. He’d had sex with her at the trestle and then dumped her. My best friend effed my sister.” He shook his head. “When I confronted him, he laughed. He said, ‘Dude, we were sophomores back then. I was going to score with someone. She won the ticket.’ Can you believe that guy?” He shook his head. “The note was dated the day before she died.”

“I’m sorry, Justin.”

He gave a fake shiver. “Let’s change the subject. I’m starting to feel guilty for holding your hand.”

“I didn’t say no.”

“You could’ve.”

“No. I couldn’t have.”

She reached across the console and his hand met hers halfway. The emotion of what had passed between them squeezed his heart. They held onto each other with a white-knuckled grip. Something scary was building between them. A bond composed of secrets and sorrow.

He hated that it was time to go. He wanted to know her better. He wanted her to know that part of him that was still a nice guy. He liked her sarcasm. He liked her strength. She hadn’t shrunk into the corner when he’d asked her who she’d lost. She was a fighter and he had no doubt that if he’d pressed her for more, she really would have thrown her coke at him.

He gave her hand a squeeze and she squeezed back. The air in the truck grew heavy, but not with the unspoken sorrow it had held before. It was a good kind of heavy. The kind that came from two people who were waiting for that moment when they could kiss.

When he turned down the dirt drive leading to the house, she let go of his hand, and his heart sank a little. He parked in front of the house and his heart sank a little more. Her parents sat on the porch.

He opened his door and Ryan gave him a panicked look. “What are you doing?”

“Walking you to the door.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Before he had a chance to get out of the truck, she beelined up the porch steps and past her parents. She tossed a “’Night, Justin,” over her shoulder and ran into the house.

He gave her parents a little wave and backed away, inhaling the flowery smell of her perfume that still hung in the air.

Shit. No hug, no kiss, not even a freaking handshake.
He smiled.
But she held my hand.

Ryan didn’t wait for her parents to come in before running upstairs. If they wanted to ask questions, they could come to her room. Nothing had happened. At least, nothing physical. On an emotional level, her world had been officially rocked. Justin was the most confusing, complex, amazing guy she’d ever met.

She had already changed into her sleep shorts when she heard her parents come in downstairs. There would be questions, no doubt. She took her time washing her face, applying fresh gel, and making sure every tooth was flossed and brushed. She slid under the covers thinking she’d avoided Twenty Questions.

But before she could turn off her bedside lamp, her mom entered her room and sat on the end of her bed. “How was your date?”

Crap. Here it comes.
“It wasn’t a date. We’re just friends.”

Her mom arched her brows. “Okay. How was the gallery?”

“Small, but there was some cool stuff.”
Can we drop it now?

“Did you get something to eat?”

“Yeah. We went to Sonic. We were in public the whole time and nothing happened.”

Her mom sighed, but it seemed more out of frustration than relief. “Look, Ryan, we know you’re going to want to date…”

“Seriously, Mom. It wasn’t a date.”

“Okay, hear me out. You’re going to want to date some guy. It’s okay. What happened in Chicago is a lifetime away. We trust you. You need to understand that. If you want to go out with a guy, even on a non-date, don’t be afraid to tell us.”

“What about Dad? He didn’t look too thrilled when he saw Justin
.
”

She shook her head. “He doesn’t trust any guy with you girls. That’s just the way it is. But you know he’s all bark.”

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“We are just friends, but Justin is different from any guy I’ve ever met. When we talk, it’s real. Does that make sense?”

“Sure it does. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.” She stood, tucked the duvet cover under Ryan’s chin, and kissed her on the forehead. “’Night, sweetie.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Her parents trusted her. They had a right to—she’d been with über hot Justin Hayes and nothing had happened. No shame. Instead of dreading seeing him again, she was excited to see him at school. She snuggled a little deeper under the covers and realized she was grinning. Her plan to put Justin in the People to Avoid category had been deftly foiled by those stupid twin dimples.

She touched her lip and sighed. It didn’t matter that her face had been shredded. Justin Hayes liked her. Life was good.

*

Justin’s phone buzzed in the cup holder, so he stopped at the end of Ryan’s drive and fished it out. His throat tightened at the sight of the number. His dad never called. “Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“On my way home. Why?”

“I have to stay late at work. I can’t get ahold of Mom.”

“She was fine when I left. Did something happen?”

“No. I just—I’m sure everything is fine. Call me when you get home, okay?”

“Sure.” Justin ended the call and tossed his phone back in the cup holder.
That was weird.
His dad was not the worrying type. Justin pulled onto the highway and floored it into town.

Everything looked completely normal when he pulled into the drive. He unlocked the front door and looked around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but at the same time, he didn’t want to yell for his mom in case she was asleep. He padded down the hall toward the bedrooms. His was on the left, his parents’ on the right. He was reaching for the knob to check on his mom when he saw the light peeking from under the door at the end of the hall.

His heart sank. He pulled his phone from his pocket as he opened the door to Chelsea’s room.

But nothing in his wildest imagination could have prepared him for what he found.

His mom sat on the floor, slumped against the bed, her eyes closed. Chelsea’s clothes were strewn across the bed and her paintings were scattered on the floor. The one of Austin McCoy lay in her lap.

He stepped into the room. “Mom.”

Her head lolled toward him and she opened her eyes. The movement seemed to take all of her energy. She blinked a couple of times, but her eyes closed anyway. “Jus—sin.”

“Mom? Are you okay?” His heart pounded in his chest. Something was different. He’d never seen her this bad before.

“Nooo.” She raised her eyebrows and her eyes fluttered open. Her hands moved beneath the painting of McCoy and that’s when his heart stopped.

In her right hand, she held his dad’s .38. Her hand was wrapped around the grip and her index finger rested on the trigger.

“Mom, put the gun down.” He felt the cell in his hand and with trembling fingers called his dad.

“Don’t wor-ry. I couldn’ do it?” She picked up the picture of Austin. “I want to shoo’ a big hole in it. But I can’t. Is’ too pretty.” She broke into sobs. But the gun was still in her hand.

“Mom, set the gun down.” He heard his dad’s voice on his cell. “Dad, she has a gun. I—I’ve never seen her like this. Her speech is slurred. I think she’s drunk.” His mom may have been locked in the pit of depression for the past two years, but alcohol had never been a part of it.

But then, neither were guns.

“Get out of the room, Justin. I’m dispatching the police now.” His dad fired the words at him.

His mom’s shoulders shook as she sobbed. “I can’t do this. So tired of sad.”

“I’m on my way, son. Stay on the line.” Justin ignored his dad and focused on the gun. His heart pounded in his chest. “Put the gun down and we’ll talk, okay?” He inched closer to her.

She looked up at him with tears streaming down her face. “I sor-ry, Justin.”

“Mom, let go of the gun.”

His dad yelled, “Get out, Justin! Now!”

“I miss her. I wanna be with her.” Her hand rested in her lap, but it was still wrapped around the grip and her finger was still on the trigger.

“I miss her too.” He squatted next to her and hoped like hell that she wouldn’t accidentally pull the trigger. “She’s here in our memories, in these paintings.”

His mom shook her head. “No, no, no. I’ll go to her…” She rolled her gaze to his face. “You’re so good to me. You need a life.”

His throat had closed but he forced words from his lips. “Then hand me the gun, cuz you’re scaring me, Mom.”
Where are the freaking police?

“You need to be happy. Dad needs to be happy.”

“We can all be happy, but only if you let go of the gun.” He heard sirens in the distance and silently prayed she wouldn’t freak out. “Mom, the police are coming.”

Confusion crossed her face. “Poli…?” She closed her eyes and opened them but couldn’t seem to get them open all the way.

“They’re afraid you’re going to hurt yourself. I’m going to take the gun and put it away. Will you let me do that?”

She didn’t answer, but her grip relaxed a little. Slowly he reached for the pistol.

Her fingers tightened again. “No.” She lifted it out of her lap and pointed it toward her head. “I’m so tire… I don’ wanna hurt.”

“No. Mom!” Justin lunged across her chest and knocked her arm down, sending the pistol spinning across the floor in one direction and his phone in the other. He dove for the gun and caught it just before it slammed into the baseboard across the room. His hands trembled as he felt for the safety.

It was on.

She hadn’t taken the safety off.

He crawled back to her. She lay in a heap on her right side. He tried to shake her awake, but she was out.

Pounding sounded at the front door. He ran toward the sound. “Coming.” He opened the door and dangled the pistol, barrel down, from his index finger and thumb. “I got the gun from her. Take it from me, please.”

The officer took the gun and stepped into the house. “What’s going on?”

Justin opened his mouth to speak but he trembled so hard he couldn’t form coherent words. He pointed toward Chelsea’s room. “Mom.”

“What about your mom?”

“She had the gun. I got it from her, but I think she’s unconscious.”

The officer started down the hall with his hand on his sidearm and his back at a forty-five degree angle to the wall. Justin started to follow, but the officer put up his hand. “Step outside, please.”

Justin did as he was told and leaned against the brick wall on the porch. The trembling started again. Every muscle in his body seemed to be on the verge of losing control. His dad parked in front of the house and ran across the yard, and in a moment Justin felt his arms wrap around him in a tight embrace. He fell against his dad and let the tears come.

The front door opened and Justin pulled away and rubbed his eyes. The officer said to him, “Is this your dad?”

“Yes, sir. He’s a trauma nurse.”

The officer motioned to Justin’s dad. “Sir, come with me.”

Dad followed the officer back into the house. Justin slid down the wall to the concrete. An ambulance pulled up in front of the house, followed by a second police car. Justin watched the scene unfold as if he were watching a movie. He focused on the red bag centered in the stretcher as the paramedics rushed into the house. The second officer escorted him into the kitchen. There, he finally saw the empty fifth of vodka and the pill bottle on the counter. He sat at the table and somebody wrapped a blanket across his back. He told the the cop what had happened, but he was completely detached—as though it had happened to someone else.

He didn’t see the paramedics carry his mom out of the house, but somehow, he wound up in the passenger seat of his dad’s car. A whisper from somewhere in his consciousness told him he should reconnect with what was happening around him. But he wasn’t ready—instead, he focused on the blinking lights of the ambulance ahead of them.

They pulled into the employee lot and parked across from the ambulance bay. His dad sighed deeply and said, “She’s going to be okay. She’ll be in the hospital until she’s stable—after that, she’ll be transferred to a psych unit. Do you understand?”

He understood. He understood that she shouldn’t have had to completely unravel before getting the help she needed. He understood that his dad should have taken care of her. But he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He was still watching the movie unfold. The paramedics opened the double doors of the ambulance, pulled the stretcher out, and rolled the gurney into the hospital.

His dad reached across the seat and squeezed his shoulder. “Son, are you okay?”

Justin turned his head and said, “Don’t. Fucking. Touch me.” He squeezed the words through his lips. He wanted to say more, but judging by the look on his dad’s face, he’d gotten his point across.

His dad pulled the keys from the ignition. “The police will probably want to talk to you again. I’ll be there with you.”

Now you decide to be a dad?
“Can we check on Mom first?”

“Of course.” His dad scanned his badge to gain access to the staff entrance of the emergency department. Jeannie, a willowy nurse, met them at the door. “She’s in T-one.” She put her arm around Justin’s dad. “Alan, they’re intubating her.”

Justin wasn’t sure what that meant, but knew it couldn’t be good. He looked at his dad’s colorless face for an explanation.

“They’re putting her on a vent—a machine that will breathe for her.”

Justin’s chest grew heavy and the world seemed to be shrinking away from him. His dad slipped his arm under his shoulders. “Come on.” He led him to the staff break room and sat him at a table. “Breathe.”

Jeannie handed him a miniature can of some off-brand coke. His hands shook when he took it from her, but he managed to gulp it anyway. Slowly, as they sat there not talking, he reconnected. He wasn’t a spectator—this was his life. Sadness weighed his body down. His sister was dead, and now this.

While they waited, a couple of nurses came in and offered solace before leaving in that awkward helpless way people do in these situations. Justin watched the clock tick off thirty minutes and tried not to think about what might be going wrong.

“Alan.” A middle-aged, squat nurse stood in the doorway. “Dr. Shulkin said you could see her. He’s with her now.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, but her eyes held concern.

Justin stood with his dad. “I’m coming too.”

His dad reached out, but stopped short of placing a hand on Justin’s shoulder. “She’ll have a couple of IV lines, and she’ll be on the vent.”

Justin nodded, but the lump in his throat and the burn of unshed tears kept him from speaking. He followed his dad into the room that held his mom.

She lay on the stretcher with the machine fastened over her mouth, breathing for her, and Justin was struck by how peaceful she looked. No worries. For the first time in years, she was free from the pain—she didn’t have to try anymore. Hell, she didn’t even have to breathe for herself.

Fear raced through him. What if she never woke up? What if she died? He stepped back from the bed and looked at his dad. He wanted to hear that she was going to open her eyes any second.

Dr. Shulkin pulled away from the computer he was typing into and introduced himself to Justin. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the counter. “She’s stable. We’re going to transfer her to the unit as soon as a bed is available.” He shook his head. “Vodka and Ambien. Bad combination. I understand there was a gun.”

Justin blinked away the burning in his eyes. “She had Dad’s thirty-eight. She wanted to shoot one of my sister’s paintings.” It sounded ridiculous when Justin said it out loud. Of course she wasn’t just going to shoot the painting. She’d covered all her bases—booze, pills, and a gun. He moved close to his mom again and covered her hand with his. It felt cold and lifeless. He squeezed, hoping that some part of her consciousness would reach out and squeeze back.

Nothing. The only sign that there was life in her body was the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the rhythmic swooshing of the ventilator.

Dr. Shulkin left the room and his dad proceeded to inspect all the gadgets and lines hooked up to her. He hadn’t come close to actually looking at her. But that was his MO. It was all about the mechanics of a functioning family and a total disregard for the emotional side.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“What?”

“This isn’t some stranger from the street. This is Mom.”

His dad released the IV bag he was inspecting. “Justin…”

Jeannie and the squat nurse came into the room. “We’re moving her to the unit.” To his dad, she said, “Why don’t y’all get a bite to eat or a cup of coffee. We’ll let you see her briefly when she’s settled.”

His dad rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll take Justin home and come back.”

“No, you won’t.” Justin faced his dad. “I’m not leaving.”

“You won’t really be able to see her until morning. ICU has strict visiting hours.”

“So? There’s a waiting room. Somebody has to be here when she wakes up.”

The squat nurse volleyed her gaze between them. “You can discuss this in the family room, but right now we need to move Sandy.”

His dad nodded. “Right. Come on.”

Jeannie began preparing the equipment for transfer. “I’ll call when she’s settled.”

Justin followed his dad to the family room. Chairs and end tables lined the walls. Tissue boxes were stacked like blocks on the tables, all set up for the delivery of bad news. The last time he had been ushered in here, his world crumbled. When the door clicked closed behind him, his emotions went back to that horrible day. Sweat prickled his skin and it took a couple of seconds for his breathing to kick back in.

His dad pointed to a chair. “Sit.”

Justin dropped into a chair and tried to hide the anxiety gripping him. “I’m not leaving.”

“Mom might be on a vent for a couple of days. They’ve given her meds to keep her from fighting the machine. She won’t know you’re there.”

But I’ll know I’m there.
The shakes were getting worse. “The image of her lifting that gun to her head keeps replaying in my mind. She wanted to blow her brains out.” He gripped the arms of the chair in a failed attempt to stop the trembling. “I can’t go back. Not yet.”

His dad sat on the coffee table across from him and leaned forward. “I get it. We’ll go together, after she’s settled. She is very sick right now. Dr. Shulkin feels she’ll pull through this, but it’s going to be a slow process.”

Justin glared at his dad. “How’d it get to this? I begged you to get her help.”

“It’s not that easy. I tried.”

“Bullshit.” Justin squeezed the arms of the chair and pressed his body against the back of it in an effort to control the rage that consumed him. “You didn’t even take care of her.
I’m
the one who’s helped her get through the dark days.”

“You’re not the only one who’s had to handle her.”

“
Handle
her?” Justin’s grip tightened even more. “Is that what she is to you? Something to handle?”

His dad rubbed his forehead. “Bad choice of words. The thing is, there is no way to force her into treatment unless she’s a danger to herself or others. Unfortunately, it takes an event like this.”

“So, you were waiting for this to happen?”

“Good God, no.” He stared at the floor and shook his head. “I’ve tried to get her help. I’ve begged her. I’ve asked friends to talk to her.” He ran a hand through his hair. “That lunch with the girls from work? I arranged it.”

“You did everything but take care of her.” Justin couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

His dad stood and paced the room with his hands on his hips, shoulders back, and chest forward. He was pissed. Justin propped his feet on the coffee table where he’d been sitting and watched his dad try to regain control.

Finally he faced him. “I was wrong to expect you to take care of her while I worked. I should have found another way.”

Justin let his feet drop to the floor. “Dad, you don’t get it. It’s not that
I
had to care for her, it’s that
you
never did.”