You'd Be Home Now (4)

When she realized I’d heard what she said, she gave me a big, fake smile and waved to my mother as she drove away. I was eight, but I understood her just fine.

My mother’s family money could pay for Joey’s rehab a million times over and we’d still be fine. She doesn’t have to work, but she does.

Maddie wanders into the kitchen, holding Fuzzy. “Where’s my breakfast?” she says sleepily.

“You’re in college,” my mother answers. “You can make your own breakfast. And get a move on. Emmy’s appointment is at ten.”

I push my plate in Maddie’s direction. “You can have the rest of mine.”

“I almost forgot,” my mother says. “Here.”

She hands me a pink phone.

“The other one,” she says softly, her eyebrows creasing ever so slightly. “It was…smashed.”

I bite my lip. Smashed. In the accident. I was holding it tightly, in my lap, as Luther Leonard laughed and drove faster and faster.

“Same number,” she says quietly, taking a sip of coffee. “They transferred everything over.” She puts her cup down and turns, taking the egg pan off the stove and rinsing it in the sink.

“Ha,” Maddie says, setting Fuzzy down and popping some of my scrambled eggs into her mouth with her fingers. “They always say that, but I never believe them. Stuff is always missing.”

    She reaches for the newspaper my mother was reading. “Is this today’s?”

My mother whirls around. “No!” She tries to snatch the paper from Maddie’s hand.

“Mom!” Maddie arches away, opening the paper. Her face drains of color and she quickly folds the paper up, tucking it under her arm.

“What?” I say. “What is the big deal?”

My mother and Maddie look at each other. I pull the paper away from Maddie.

There, on the front page of the Mill Haven Ledger, is a photograph of Candy MontClair. Even in black-and-white, you can see the freckles dusting her face. Her hair is strawberry blond, curling over her shoulders. One hand tucked under her chin. Junior year photo.





Community Mourns Local Girl




“Put it down,” my mother says gently. “You don’t need to read that, Emory.”


Summer belongs to teenagers in Mill Haven. Swim parties and bonfires. Friday night drives up and down Main Street. Candy MontClair was headed to theater camp in upstate New York, just as she had every summer since she was twelve. Tragically…



I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. Sentences swim before my eyes. How could this have happened in Mill Haven…failing our teenagers…prevalence of drug and alcohol use in our community…who is to blame…

    “Emmy,” Maddie says, drawing the paper from my fingers. “Emmy, breathe.”

Tragically.

The way her breath sounded in the backseat of the car, pinned under Joey. Like she was drowning.

Dying.

I close my eyes, the sound of her broken breath swirling in my head.

“Mom,” Maddie says sharply. “How about getting her one of those pills now, or I don’t think she’s going to make it to her damn appointment.”



* * *



—

“It’s no one’s fault,” my sister says as she drives. “They did a tox screen on Luther. He had no drugs or alcohol in his system. It was pouring rain. He lost control of the car.”

Candy was crying and Joey was passed out and I was shouting at Luther, rain smearing the windshield, because he wanted to turn left off Wolf Creek Road, not right, which was the way home. Luther was laughing. Just one little stop. Five minutes. You girls are such babies. I’m doing you a favor.

I just want Maddie to shut up. I just want this pill to start working. I haven’t had one since my first week home.

“Shit happens,” Maddie says. “People die for no reason. I know that sounds callous, but this was an accident in the purest form. Jesus, what’s going on at Frost Bridge? How many people are down there?”

I look out the window. Frost Bridge is the exit from town, right by the ever-cheery Mill Haven sign: leaving so soon? if you lived here, you’d be home now! Down on the rocky river beach, there are tents and tarps, ratty blankets and sleeping bags. People are in tiny clusters. Sitting, smoking.

    “The city,” I say. “The city started doing that stuff. You know, uncomfortable benches. Fines. To drive them out. I think they’re coming here instead. To be safe.”

Please kick in, pill. Kick in, kick in.

Is this how Joey felt? Desperate to feel better, get numb, lose himself?

Maddie says, “Huh. I can’t see our esteemed town council, of which our esteemed mother is a member, taking this well.”

I feel the warmth then, spreading through me, loosening everything. Milder than the ocean that poured through my veins in the hospital, but still soothing.

I look out the window, Mill Haven passing by in a humid, blurry haze. Red, white, and blue banners hang across Main Street. In the distance, the Mill looms at the edge of the town. Our family’s legacy, the thing that built this town long, long ago.

The Fourth of July is in a few days. If Joey was here, we’d be in Kingston Park, giggling while Simon Stanley led the Mill Haven Gleefuls in a spirited rendition of “R.O.C.K. in the USA” and then watching the fireworks explode across the sky. Sucking the juice from cold lemons through peppermint sticks. Making fun of the parade.