Chapter Thirty-Seven

 

In the airplane on the way to the hospital, Trixie felt numb. She wasn’t terrified the way she had been on a similar journey, what would turn out to be the last time she saw her sister alive. She believed Galya when he said Abby would be fine, and even if that weren’t true, it wouldn’t be the same as losing Ileana.

To put it simply, she was confused. Her mother had all but plainly stated, on more than one occasion, that the entire tragedy was Trixie’s fault. Now she was saying she never felt that way. In fact, she was actually protecting herself emotionally from the inevitability of Trixie leaving home and only returning sporadically. If she was to be believed, and Trixie still wasn’t certain, Magda always thought of her oldest daughter as the star, the one destined for accomplishment. Why hadn’t she said anything before? Why hadn’t she encouraged her or acknowledged she’d had special gifts? Why did she always make her feel like she was second to Ileana and everything she achieved would only be meaningful if her sister shared in the success?

Galya sat between the girls on the plane. Trixie knew why. Though Shaye wanted to comfort her, she wouldn’t say the right thing. She didn’t know how to act in these situations. Usually she made a joke and tried to lighten the mood, but now wasn’t the time. Trixie knew her friend meant well, but she was so damn tough in every situation, she wasn’t sure how to console others during moments of normal human frailty. Galya kept his arm around her shoulders but said nothing, which was fine with her. She knew how concerned he was about Abby, and she had no idea how to respond to any of the hundreds of questions he might ask. She needed time to think, and traveling at least gave her that much.

They didn’t check any bags, so they walked directly out of the airport and hailed a cab. In the car, her mind went blank, and before she even knew they were moving, Shaye gave her a thump on the shoulder to signal they had arrived at the hospital.

Because Trixie spoke the native language, she asked the nurse at the emergency room desk where she could find Abhita Vicari, and they were directed to her room.

A woman met them outside. She was about the same age as her own mother, and she seemed tired.

“Veronica?” Galya asked. She nodded. “Girls, this is Veronica Hurgoi. She’s been Abby’s translator since she left.”

They gave each other quick kisses on the cheeks, but it was halfhearted. Galya asked what was on their minds. “How is she?”

Veronica shook her head. “Physically, she’s going to be fine. But emotionally, she’s been crying since she woke up after being sedated in the emergency room. They gave her another tranquilizer, but it does not seem to be having the desired effect. She’s not sobbing uncontrollably now, but she has been weeping for a few hours.”

In a move that surprised both Trixie and her friend, Galya leaned forward and gave her a quick hug. He was an affectionate man but generally only when he knew a person and when he felt they either earned or needed his support. This embrace seemed more for his benefit than Veronica’s.

“What were we thinking?” Veronica whispered. “We both knew the danger. I never should have let her out of my sight.”

“I am so grateful you were here for her,” he said in a choked voice.

“Enough already,” Shaye said, pushing past him to get into the room. Trixie and the others followed.

As described, Abby was lying in bed, propped slightly by two pillows. She was wearing a hospital gown, and her face was pale and messy, marred by wet and dry tears and snot, her hair sweaty and matted in spots, unkempt and wild in others. In the hospital lighting, her skin was a sickly blue. Her shoulders were shuddering, and she held a tissue beneath her nose. Kleenex squares filled the small waste bin beside her bed, and there were more wadded on top of her blankets and on the floor. It was uncomfortably warm in the room, but she was shivering beneath two blankets. Abby looked absolutely pitiful.

Trixie hung back near the doorway, reminding herself this wasn’t the same as what happened to Ileana. Abby wasn’t hooked up to any machines. There was blood crusted into her hair, and she had a bruise on her forehead, a puffy lip, and split cheek, but she was recognizable. She was alive and would walk out of the hospital and live the rest of her life. Yes, the smell was the same, the silence, the sense of vacuous space pressing against her ears. But this was different. This would end differently.

Galya sat in a stiff chair on one side of the bed, and Shaye mirrored him. He took Abby’s hand then leaned forward and kissed her cheek. As that happened, Veronica moved forward and stood behind Trixie, putting her hand on her shoulder.

Abby acknowledged Galya but continued to cry. On the other side of the bed, Trixie could tell Shaye was feeling even more uncomfortable than she had on the plane. She found it ironic that her friend was the one who insisted they make the trip along with their coach, but now that she was here, she had no idea how to respond to the situation. She knew if Shaye were the one in the hospital bed, she wouldn’t be crying uncontrollably. She’d be ripping the tubes from her hand and demanding her street clothes so she could get out of there. That’s exactly what she did when she awoke feverish and bewildered during the height of treatment for her staph infection. Galya told her a story of how he found his trainee doing stomach crunches in her bed even though it made her nauseatingly dizzy and caused her legs to swell like melons.

Shaye, in a failed attempt to be helpful and kind, said to Abby, “You could be an Olympic gymnast now. I’ve busted my face up more times than I can count.”

Abby tried to laugh but couldn’t manage it. Instead, her tears flowed more consistently, and her body shuddered with the effort to stop them.

Trixie could not stand to see her in such pain. Even though it was scary for her, she moved further into the room and gently nudged Galya aside. She made sure all the tubes were out of the way, and she lied down on the bed next to her, resting her head in the crook of Abby’s neck. She reached her arm across her chest and took a deep breath. Saying nothing, she brushed Abby’s hair out of her face and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Her moist skin tasted salty, but Trixie kissed her again despite the tears and bruises. She found Abby’s hand and laced her fingers though it, squeezing tightly.

“I got beat up,” Abby said shakily.

“I know,” Trixie whispered.

“I was just trying to get to the truth, to do the right thing,” she continued.

“I know,” Trixie repeated.

“Why did this happen?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed and squeezed her tighter. “Abby, you’ll be okay. It won’t always feel like this.”

“I don’t know how I feel. I don’t even know why I can’t stop crying.”

“You feel afraid, and sadder than you’ve ever been. Like whoever did this took away a part of you that you didn’t even know was important. Like you’ll never be safe again, and it’s not fair that you have to be scared from now on.”

Abby stopped crying momentarily. “That’s exactly right. How did you know?”

“I guess it’s how anyone who loses something feels at first.”

“I should have told you earlier, but I didn’t want to hurt you unless it was absolutely necessary. Trixie, Ileana was murdered.”

“You know for sure?”

“I’m a hundred percent convinced, and this person stealing my camera only makes me more confident. Evgeny Popescu lost his temper and beat her to death.”

Beat to death. Trixie’s stomach clenched. Her sister was a fragile thing. Hurting her was pulling the wings off butterflies. Hurting her was smothering kittens. Hurting Ileana was hunting a spotted fawn. There was no justification, only mindless cruelty and unfathomable, malignant evil.

Beat to death.

“Did one of the girls come forward?” Trixie asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

“Martina Năstase. Do you know her?”

“A little. She and Ileana were close.” She looked directly into Abby’s frightened green eyes. “If these people are going to hurt you, Abby, you don’t have to continue. It’s not worth it.”

“Popescu should pay for what he did.”

“Yes. But it won’t bring Ileana back.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it will.”

Trixie looked up and met Abby’s eyes. She was smiling slightly, and though it was dulled, she had the caring, determined look they all adored. She would recover from this trauma. They would all see to it.

“I’m going to step out and call your parents,” Galya said.

“No, don’t do that,” Abby begged. “I don’t want them to know.”

“You cannot keep something like this from them, or from Cruz,” he chided. “They’ll want to help you through it.”

She shook her head. “No, they won’t, at least not my father. He’ll tell me he was right all along, he’ll drag me home, and I’ll never see this through to the end. I’m sure he’s keeping track of Cruz, so I can’t tell him, either.”

“It might make you feel better just to hear his voice.”

“Damn it, Galya, she said no,” Shaye interjected. “She’s a big girl. Leave her alone.”

“Suit yourself,” Galya said and stood, leaning against the door. Trixie remained where she was, curled up with Abby on the bed. Shaye sat on the windowsill, her arms wrapped around her shins. “Why did Martina Năstase talk to you now when she wouldn’t at first?”

“She broke her leg, quit gymnastics.”

“Bummer,” Shaye said.

“They’ll say she’s lying,” Trixie cautioned. “That she’s bitter and looking for a payout.”

“They might give her a payout whether she asks for one or not,” Abby predicted. She took a deep breath and gave a shudder that signaled she was about to start crying again. Trixie sat up Indian style and leaned forward, clasping her hands over Abby’s. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to stop the tears from falling. “I don’t know why I keep doing this.”

Trixie could only squeeze her hands compassionately as a few sympathetic tears slipped from her own eyes.

“I mean, why didn’t I kick him in the crotch?”

“I don’t know why you’re so upset,” Shaye said, almost to herself.

“Shaye,” Trixie admonished.

“It sucks what happened, but if they were stupid enough to think stealing your camera and giving you a bump on the head would get rid of all your footage and make you quit, then they lose. It’s as simple as that. They lose. You win. And they can all go to hell.” For Shaye, that was always the bottom line.

“It’s really late. You guys should go.”

“I’ll stay,” Galya said.

“I’m staying at the nH Hotel,” Abby said. “There’s a double bed in there. Veronica, can you drop the girls off on your way home?”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” she asked.

“Galya’s here, and I’ll probably fall asleep as soon as you leave. I wish they would let me go home tonight, but they won’t until I talk to the police. Thanks for everything.”

Veronica kissed Abby on both cheeks, as did Trixie. Shaye gave her a smile and a nod, and they were gone.

Later, in the dark hotel room, Shaye said, “Trixie?”

“Hmmm,” she replied. Her eyes were closed, and she was on the cusp of sleep, barely paying attention.

“Are you mad at me?”

That woke her up. “No. Why?”

“Because of what I said to Abby.”

“It’s okay.”

“I really didn’t mean to make things worse.”

“I know.” Trixie wasn’t sure what her friend was getting at, but she sounded worried.

“I just...I don’t know. I guess I always think in terms of who wins and who loses. Abby got dinged up, but in the end, it’ll help her win. The same thing happened to me. I got hurt, I got sick, but in the end, it made every part of my performance better. I work harder because I know I need to be strong, and I know things can go wrong, that nothing’s given. But I didn’t think all that when I was hurt and sick. I just wanted Abby to know.”

“I get it, Shaye,” Trixie said. “I understood what you were saying. Abby did, too.”

“I wasn’t ever very good at saying the right thing.”

“Most people aren’t.”

“You are,” Shaye said.

“Sure, but I can’t do a double flip release on the uneven bars.”

“So far, neither can I.”

“You will,” Trixie said, and in that moment, she knew it to be true.

“Simone is really good at it.”

“Releases?”

“Saying the right thing, goofball.”

Trixie giggled. “I knew that.”

“Why is she so good at it, and I’m so bad at it?”

“Ileana was bad at it, too,” she said, remembering only as she was speaking. “She always made me feel better, but it wasn’t because she could find the right thing to say. She was terrible at it.”

“So why did she make you feel better?”

“Because I knew she loved me.”

Her friend was silent, and eventually she said, “Thanks, Trixie.”

“You’re welcome, Shaye.”