“Home, James,” Mackenzie says to Mark in a snobby voice. He grins at us through the rearview mirror.
“Sorry to hear about Luke,” Mark says sincerely.
I meet his eyes and nod, surprised at how quickly the lump in my throat comes and goes. Now is not the time to cry. Now is the time to call Momma and fill her in on what’s going on… sort of.
As Mark pulls out of the parking lot, I grab Laura’s cell phone from my purse and dial. Whoops. I’ll have to get that back to her.
“Momma?”
“Feeling better, baby?”
“Yeah, it was okay. I guess I overreacted.”
“So you worked things out with David? And Mackenzie?” she asks.
I cringe. “Well, yeah, me and Wolf are still friends, I guess, but that’s it. But the really great thing is that I made up with Mackenzie!”
Mackenzie silently claps her hands next to me and leans in to listen. I turn the volume up and put it on speaker so she can really enjoy the ego stroking.
Momma coos. It’s her thing. And she loves Mackenzie. “I’m so glad, Ricki Jo. I think she’s a good friend. She seems like a really sweet girl.”
Mackenzie bats her eyes and puts her hands together like an angel. Candace makes a gagging gesture. I try not to giggle.
“Yeah, and she asked me to sleep over tonight. Can I?”
“Oh, well, I don’t know,” Momma says. “It’s awfully late notice, and—”
“Pleeeeeease, Momma? I’ve had such a crazy night and I just want to work everything out with Mackenzie,” I say, playing on my momma’s sympathies.
“And she called her mother?” Momma asks. “You’re sure she’s okay with a surprise guest?”
“She’s used to it, Mrs. Winstead,” Mackenzie says into the phone, laying the manners on thick. “I had loads of slumber parties back home.”
“Okay then, girls,” Momma says. “Y’all have fun, and make sure to get some sleep. Ericka, I’ll come in to get you around lunchtime after Ben’s rec soccer game.”
“Thanks, Momma!” I say, giddy that the plan is working perfectly. “Bye! Love you!”
I snap the cell phone shut and give high fives to the girls as we pass the Dairy Queen, getting closer and closer to Luke.
“Hi, Betty,” Mackenzie says as we enter the sliding front doors of Preston Memorial Hospital. I follow her nervously across the lobby to the stairs, worried that the night nurse will stop us. But Betty looks sleepy, and even though visiting hours are way over and three teenage girls just strolled through the front doors in semiformal dresses, she barely glances up from her crossword.
In the elevator, the tension is heavy. “I called my dad, so I knew we wouldn’t have any trouble,” Mackenzie explains, even though she seems a little nervous, too. Candace and I nod. What is it about elevators that make everybody so quiet? You’re shoulder to shoulder with people, but you never know what to say. And of course, since the hospital was built, like, a century ago, the elevator crawls upward at a snail’s pace. We look at our reflections in the mirrored walls and I think how much I’d like to have a ponytail holder so I could get the sweaty hair off my neck.
“Guess I overdid it for Preston County, huh, y’all?” Mackenzie asks out of the blue, hip checking me as she gestures to her bright red acrylic nails. Candace and I both gape at her. “I mean, my spaghetti straps have rhinestones, and my hair won’t move.”
I burst out laughing. Mackenzie is a knockout, but she’s right. A long white gown and baby’s breath wound in her French twist? I’m no fashion expert, but I do know small-town Kentucky, and that isn’t it. Candace is laughing, too, even though in my opinion she actually undershot the dress code with her flip-flops and jersey dress. Next week, maybe I’ll pitch a “Homecoming Review: Hot or Not” article for my column in the school paper. I mean, I’ve already got wardrobe material, and some great trauma and drama, Wolf serving as the perfect inspiration… especially since calling “The Electric Slide” awesome is so obviously a major Not.
“Yeah, you’re kind of Homecoming Barbie,” Candace says, which makes me tense up, since she and Mackenzie aren’t really friends. But Candace seems to mean it as a compliment, and Mackenzie soaks it up, moving her body in weird robotic gestures like a real plastic doll.
Tears well up in my eyes again, but this time they’re happy tears. It feels so good to laugh with these girls. To make up with my friends and sort out who they really are.
Ding!
We’re here. Fourth floor. Our laughter dies down in an instant as the elevator doors creak open and the three of us peer out into the dim, empty hallway.
“It’s so quiet!” I whisper, or at least I hope it was a whisper. My pulse is pounding so hard in my ears that I can barely hear myself talk.
“Yeah,” Mackenzie says quietly, the first to step forward. “These small hospitals are like that at night. Not a lot going on and, you know, most normal people sleep at night.” She winks at me. “Even the sick ones.”
I follow her lead and we make our way down the hall. Candace’s flip-flops are like gunshots while our heels echo in a staccato rhythm. After a few steps we all walk lighter, my whole weight lifted up onto the balls of my feet. My hands and arms are freezing, but I still feel sweat trickling from my armpit down the side of my body. For one thing, I’m kind of scared of hospitals. For another, I’m kind of scared of the dark. And finally, I’m totally scared of jail, although I’m fuzzy on whether or not what we’re doing is wrong. Mackenzie said she called her dad, but she’s acting just as jittery as I am.
“How will we know which room he’s in?” I ask.
Mackenzie frowns. “Well, I guess we can just look at the name plaques on the outside of each room ’til we make it to the nurse’s station.”
I gulp, conjuring up a pretty scary mental image of the night nurse.
“Peters… McGaughey… Edwards…” she whispers on her side of the hall. Jones… Fox… Calloway… I read to myself on mine.
I keep my eyes trained on the names and numbers, reading the plaques as we pass each oak door. Fryman… Allen… Turner… Bryant… Jacobs… Nantz… Suddenly Mackenzie stops.
“Here it is,” she says.
Room 404—Foster.
We stand outside his door for a second, not saying anything and not moving for the door handle. I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. I guess there was still some small part of me that hoped it was just a bad dream, but Luke really is here. He really is hurt. And he really is right on the other side of this door.
Something loud crashes to the floor around the corner and we all freeze. “Okay, you guys go ahead,” Mackenzie whispers urgently. “I’ll keep watch from down there on those couches.”
“Keep watch?” Candace asks, her eyes bugged out.
Mackenzie’s cheeks flush a light pink. “Um, I did call my dad, but I didn’t actually talk to him…. It went to voice mail.” Candace and I look at her in shock. She raises her hands quickly to defend herself. “I knew if we had any problems, it’d be fine. It’s just, since you found his room already and I don’t really know him that well, I’ll go sit in the waiting area and stall the nurse in case she makes a night round while you’re in there.”
“So we can get in trouble for sneaking in?” Candace asks.
Mackenzie shrugs, but the answer is obvious. Yes, we can get in trouble, and she’s gone as far as she’s willing to go. My hands are sweating and I chide myself for being so nervous. It’s Luke; trouble or not, I’m going in. Candace has been in trouble her whole life, so I’m surprised that she has any reluctance at all about breaking the rules.
And then I cock my head and look at her differently. She may cuss a lot, talk loud, wear cheap gaudy jewelry, and be trailer park proud, but she’s also in the band and on the school paper, and she gets really good grades. It hits me like a ton of bricks that maybe I’m not the only one who’s trying to change.
“Why don’t you take a minute first, Ericka?” she says nervously. “See if he’s awake.”
“Yeah, we’ll be right down the hall,” Mackenzie says as she presses down on the chrome door handle and pushes me inside, my heart pounding in my ears.
“Knock, knock?” I say lightly, moving toward the giant bed near the window.
Luke is in there somewhere. In the light of all those monitors, hooked up to those tubes, under tightly tucked-in covers, Luke is there. I walk carefully across the floor, already shocked by what I see in the moonlight. His chest is bare, one arm in a cast resting across it at a right angle, and his head is wrapped in gauze. I take a deep breath and continue. The room is small; it should take only about five steps to cross, but I’m taking my time, inching toward him.
“Anybody home?” I try to keep my voice light, wanting him to know that I’m here if he’s awake, but really not wanting to disturb him if he’s not.
“Ricki Jo?” he asks hoarsely.
My eyes well up. I stop and look up at the ceiling tiles, blinking hard and wiping the tears away, then move forward again. I can see his outline pretty clearly by the light of the machines next to him. Enough to see that his pretty blue eyes are closed, bruised, swollen shut. Dried blood coats the bandage above his eyebrow, and there’s a bit on his cheek as well, from where it’s seeped through the gauze. An oxygen tube runs up to his nose and lies across his swollen cheekbones. There are so many bandages on his body that I hesitate to guess what’s broken, fractured, cut, or bruised. But I can see enough in the darkness to feel my heart break in two.
“As bad as Bandit?” he asks softly.
I laugh, one of those nervous laughs that you can’t keep inside.
“Oh, Luke, I’m so sorry,” I say, rushing forward and grabbing the railing on his bed. The tears run freely now. “I’m so sorry about everything. It’s so stupid. I’m so sorry about what I said on the bus. And just… all year, I’ve been so busy trying to fit in, be cool or whatever. Ugh! I don’t know why I needed new friends when you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. Ever. Ever. You’re—”
“Shh…” He groans. “Take it easy.”
“No, I just—I just care about you so much, and I got so scared when I heard what happened. I’m so sad that you were hurt and you probably hate me and you have every right to, but you mean so much to me and—”
“Hey, hey,” Luke whispers, and he reaches his good hand (although it’s also scraped up) toward mine. “Breathe.”
I inhale and exhale a few times, deeply, and feel a little better. I take his hand lightly and spin that worn leather band round and round his wrist.
“I hate that I wasn’t there for you,” I whisper.
“What could you have done? Fight him for me?”
“No, I mean that I haven’t really been there for you… all year. As a friend.”
I sniff and reach for the box of tissues by his bed. I know what I look like when I cry this hard for this long, and the selfish thought comes to me that I’m glad his eyes are closed, although I despise the circumstances and kind of feel evil for even thinking that. I shake my head and blow my nose. He breathes a shaky breath. I put my hand back on his and he gives my thumb a slight squeeze.
“I could have told my parents,” I say, a little more steady. “I could have told them what I saw. What I knew.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” he said. “This is our problem. The only person who could have done anything was my momma.” His voice turns hard. “And she wouldn’t.”
“But she will now,” I say. “Right?”
He actually manages a barbed grin. “She has to, or the state will. I already talked to the police and some lady from social services about domestic violence or whatever. They’re gonna come back tomorrow when I’m feeling better, and, you know, when there aren’t a ton of doctors and nurses around. But it’s child abuse. And I’m not covering for him.”
I squeeze his hand involuntarily; I’m so proud of him.
“Ow.”
“Sorry!” I cry, removing my hands immediately. He starts to laugh really hard, then he coughs violently, and each spasm obviously causes him more pain. I panic, looking at the IV thing and the huge remote on his lap, wondering if I’m supposed to do something if he goes into shock like on those hospital shows on TV. “Luke? Luke, what do I do?”
He holds his hand up and starts to regain control of his breathing as the cough finally dies down.
“So, basically,” he says, as if the conversation hadn’t just been interrupted by him almost dying on me, “Dad’s going to jail. And I don’t know for sure, but I think Momma will pretty much have to divorce him.”
“Divorce?” I say quietly. I note that, through it all, his voice has remained oddly upbeat, considering the words he’s said. There is no remorse, no worry, no fear—only resolve.
“Yeah, divorce. Or else we’ll go to foster care.”
I giggle. “Haven’t you kind of been in ‘Foster Care’ your whole life?”
Luke moans, but grins. “Oh, god! Your jokes are as corny as your dad’s!”
I giggle harder. I’m so happy to be here with him, to stroke his arm, to feel the golden soft hairs against my fingers. So happy to make him feel better, even a little. Leaned over him like this, I feel like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
“Wow,” he says.
“What?” I say quickly. “Should I get the nurse?”
“No.” He grins. “I just peeked. Nice dress.”
“Barely,” he says. “He got in a couple of good punches, in case you hadn’t noticed, but if I lift my chin up I can kind of see through my left eye. And tell me if I’m dreaming or if it’s the drugs, but I think a pretty girl just broke into my hospital room.”
I smile, widely and giddily and happily, and feel a couple more tears slip out. I feel tingles all over my body and fill myself up with one of those huge breaths that make you feel like your lungs could explode through your ribs. Luke thinks I’m pretty. I feel the cog turn like the wheel on the tobacco setter as our relationship evolves in this quiet moment to more than friends. Of course we’re more than friends. We maybe always have been—like, we’re meant to be together or something.
“Thanks,” I say softly, hesitantly brushing a piece of his soft blond hair off his forehead. He starts to ask a question, but I think I spot a smirk on his busted-up lips and interrupt: “Don’t ask.”
He chuckles, coughs a couple of times, and says, “Told ya so.”
“You sound like Candace,” I say.
He sighs. “I bet she hates me right now.”
“Nah,” I say. “She cussed you pretty good, but now she feels awful. She’s here, actually. Want me to go get her?”
“No,” he says quickly and squeezes my hand tighter, then winces from the pain. I had only half turned away from the bed, anyway. I hadn’t really wanted to get her, but the real me doesn’t always put herself first. Still, I smile smugly—I can’t help it. I guess they are just friends. He must see the self-satisfied look on my face, ’cause he adds, “I wouldn’t want you girls to fight over me.”
My impulse is to flick him on the forehead, but I manage some self-control, given all of his injuries. I chide myself. You put a dress on the tomboy, and she’s still a tomboy.
Speaking of…
“Hey, you gonna be in the hospital a long time?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says. “At least ’til tomorrow, and maybe the day after. Why?”
“And then how long ’til you’re all better? I mean, totally back in working condition.”
“The doctor said maybe six weeks. I don’t know. My arm’s broken.”
“Hmmm… but you could strip tobacco with one arm, probably, right?”
Luke groans. “Ah, you’re already complaining about strippin’ season?”
“Hey!” I say, wondering if he can see my smile, but knowing he can hear it in my voice. “You go and pull a stunt like this, do it on the off months. Geez. Now my dad’s gonna have me working the Foster farm twenty-four/seven.”
“Aw, shucks,” he says, barely pulling his lips up on each side.
“Scoot over,” I say, lightly swatting at his legs. I lower the railing, and of course he can’t really move much, but an advantage of being freakishly small is fitting into tight spaces. I oh-so-carefully lie down next to him and feel those tingles again. I wonder if he feels them, too. I gently lay my head on his shoulder, breathe him in, and focus on his chest, trying to match my breathing to his.
Up and down, his chest expands and contracts, and I think about what an idiot I’ve been. I’ve been so caught up in changing, while Luke’s always liked me the way I am. I’ve been searching for new friends, when he’s the best there is. I’ve been dreaming of the perfect guy, when he’s been right under my nose my whole life.
“Thanks for coming,” he whispers, his hand brushing my back. “And I’m sorry, too. I wondered if you would even come tomorrow, you know, to see me.”
I look up at his face and see the tiniest sliver of blue looking down at me. I choke against the tightness in my throat, marveling at how fractured our relationship had gotten, at how bad a person I’d become, that he could possibly think I wouldn’t be right here at his side in a heartbeat.
I squeeze him, very lightly. “Wolves couldn’t keep me away.”
He chuckles, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.
“I’ve missed you, Ericka,” he says softly, his hand absentmindedly working through my hair as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
I smile up at him, my whole body happy and light. “You can call me Ricki Jo.”