Until Beth Page 3

  Quadriplegic, I heard her say. My lacrosse-playing brother would never walk, or possibly even move his arms, again.

  I’d spent so much energy praying for him not to die, I’d overlooked what living would mean for him.

  I thought of the moment when he’d dragged Luke from the dressing room. My fury. Not just at Luke, but at Carson for not protecting me from that pig. It reminded me of another moment—the bitterness that had swelled up inside me when I’d found the note to Dad from “Rhonda” in his office trashcan.

  When I’d bid Dad goodbye before what would prove to be his last business trip, all I could think about was hurting him for hurting Mom.

  My chest had tingled then, too.

  I breathed in sharply and exhaled a shuddering sob. Mom pulled me closer to her. “We have to do what we can for him, Beth. And that’s going to mean changes. Changes in the way we all live.”

  I pressed my head to her chest and listened to the rapid flutter of her heart. She took me by the shoulders. Carefully prying me away, she lifted my chin with a finger and gently swiped at my damp cheek with the back of her hand. Mom’s eyes, rimmed in red, shone feverishly. “I’ve put the house up for sale. We’re going to move to Gram’s old lake house in New York, Beth. It’s got only one story and it will be easy to outfit for Carson.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” The news hit me like a body blow. In all my grieving, all my prayers, all my anxieties, I’d never imagined being uprooted from the place where my memories lived.

  Mom smiled at me expectantly. “There’s a good school nearby with a great music program.”

  “You want me to switch schools in the middle of junior year?”

  “We really have little choice, Beth. Financially, we’ve been hanging on by a thread. Now with the medical bills and Carson’s needs on top of everything else, we can’t afford to live here. Besides, there are too many steps.”

  I stood and paced the floor. Hot tears burned my cheeks. Any objection would be purely selfish, so I said nothing.

  Mom rose and walked over to me. “Beth. Your friends and I all know you haven’t been in a good place since—Sam. Maybe this is for the best.” She stopped and looked away. “It’s a great opportunity for you to start over.”

  I walked to the window and gazed across our yard. No shadow figure. I resumed pacing, then stopped to stare at the bland face that filled the muted TV. An alert scrolled along the bottom of the screen. The camera switched to an aerial view of the woods around Linford, and that old sour taste climbed into my throat. Reverend Barclay Smith, the guy who always came to the school to speak to us after another kid vanished, was being interviewed by a reporter. Turning up the volume, I was no longer listening as Mom continued to speak. She took the remote from my hand and muted the TV again.

  “Beth,” she said softly. “Carson is going to be in a wheelchair.”

  I squinted, still trying to read the scrolling newsreel. Mom’s voice trailed off as she pointed the remote at the TV and turned the sound back up. Our eyes met as her hand flew to her mouth.

  Another missing kid. Jessie Bradley. A freshman. She’d disappeared on her way home from school just the day before. I walked backward and sank onto the couch.

  “Another reason it’s best to get out of Linford,” Mom said. “I don’t want—I can’t be worried every minute of the day. I’m going to need to focus on your brother.”

  I wasn’t really listening, my own thoughts going in circles.

  “He probably won’t want me around.”

  Mom shook her head. “Why would you think that, Beth?”

  “We had a fight that night. I-I should never have let him leave, Mom. He—”

  “Carson had been drinking. I know that, Beth. And he’s paying a terrible price for his mistake.”

  My eyes stung. Mom had turned down the sound on the TV again and I stared at a silent infomercial. “I should have stopped him. I could have stopped him. And I didn’t.”

  “Beth,” Mom said. “It’s not your fault that he—” Mom began to cry, her hand clamped over her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. It’s just so hard.”

  I rubbed Mom’s back, my own eyes dry. If we left Linford, I wouldn’t have to face constant reminders of Sam. The wound would close and I could finally try to accept what everyone else seemed to have decided.

  That Sam, along with the now five other missing kids, were all dead.

  Either way, I didn’t really want to leave my memories of him.

  But I didn’t want to stay either.

  Later, in my room, I called Andre.

  “So, dude. Did I totally mess up with that freak you sent to spy on me at the slam?”

  Andre sounded sleepy. After all, it was past midnight. I’d spent the hours between strumming the opening chords to “Like Never” until my fingertips had gone numb.

  “Huh? Oh. You mean Vincent Rousseau from the High Step Program?”

  “I was kind of a shit. You don’t think I screwed up my chances, do you?”

  Andre yawned. “Nah. He’s used to crazy musicians. I’m sure I can smooth over any rough spots. Vin is cool.”

  “So, I’m good? I can still audition?”

  “Sure. You know it means you’ll have to live there, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about your mom and brother?”

  “She’s putting the house on the market and moving us to Finley Lake. I just—I can’t live with… I just can’t live in that miserable little town.”

  “Well, okay then. But you’ll need your mom’s permission eventually.”

  “Sure, whatever,” I said. “I’ll figure it out.”

  5

  A WEEK PASSED AND ANDRE HAD YET TO SET UP the audition with Vincent Rousseau. I’d returned to school, trying to act as if everything was back to normal while Mom split her time between visiting Carson and having our house shown by real estate agents. I just tried to stay out of the way.

  After Carson was moved to the rehab wing, I’d stopped visiting. I hadn’t spoken with him since his feeding tube came out. It didn’t seem like he wanted to see anyone anyway, especially me. But today, Mom was waiting in the kitchen. Carson had developed a bronchial infection. And he did want to see me. Immediately.

  My insides rolled with dread. I knew I couldn’t avoid him forever, but I couldn’t bear the thought of his accusing eyes and his immobilized body.

  I sent Andre a quick text asking yet again when the audition was going to be, but there was no response.

  The rehab unit lobby was modern and surprisingly homey. Decorated in warm oranges and browns, it reminded me of a ski lodge, though no resident of that place would be hitting the slopes anytime soon.

  Carson was asleep in his bed. The tubes were gone, the bruises faded to pale green and yellow. He looked more like my brother again. I could almost convince myself that he was going to wake with a start, sing a Green Day song at the top of his lungs in the world’s hottest shower, then hustle off to lacrosse practice.

  Mom hummed softly, positioning some cards from well-wishers on the dresser. I settled onto a chair beside the bed. One of Carson’s flaccid legs poked from under the blanket, his firm athlete’s muscles already going soft. His hands were fastened with plastic supports, the fingers flexed in rigid claws. I wanted to run, but forced myself to sit stiffly, glued to my chair.

  “He said to wake him if he dozed off,” Mom whispered. “But I don’t have the heart.”

  The tension ebbed from my body. It would be so much easier to just sit and listen to the gentle wheeze of his chest and not have to face him.

  At that moment, a portly man in a suit walked into the room bearing flowers. I recognized him instantly as the man from the TV news, Reverend Barclay Smith.

  Mom jumped to her feet and shook his hand vigorously. “Reverend! What a lovely surprise.”

  The man nodded, his lips pursed. He spoke in a hushed tone that reminded me of an undertaker. “I came as soon as I could get away, Mrs
. Collins, what with the latest disappearance. I hope I can provide some comfort.” His earnest gaze shifted to Carson, who was still asleep.

  Mom turned to me. “Beth? This is Reverend Smith. He—”

  “Yeah. I know him. He’s, like, on TV or in our school every other day.”

  Mom’s cheeks flushed pink. “Beth! Apologize for being so rude!”

  The Reverend smiled and chuckled softly. “No offense taken, Mrs. Collins. I completely understand what the young lady is going through.” The man closed his eyes as if fighting back a painful memory. “Due to my own loss.”

  I exhaled. Mom shot me the evil eye. “How about you get us all some coffee, Bethany?”

  I scowled. “Sure. Fine.” A few years before, the Reverend’s oldest son had been killed in a freak boating accident and, if you asked me, he’d been milking the sympathy factor to turn himself into the county’s Comforter in Chief.

  It took me a while to find my way to the cafeteria. By the time I came back with three coffees, they were cold and I was annoyed to find the Reverend had already left. But Mom was flushed and looking satisfied with herself. “What a lovely man. He couldn’t stay long. You do know about his son, right?”

  I sighed and set the coffees down. “Yeah, yeah. I may have known someone who was a friend of his. What was his name?”

  Mom took one of the coffees, sat and sipped at it. “I don’t know, William or something? It was a terrible tragedy. I think the boy was about fourteen, a year or so older than you at the time. Anyway, since Reverend Smith is no stranger to tragedy, I found his insights very comforting.”

  “They must be real pearls. He was here, what, ten minutes?”

  Mom glared at me over the rim of the Styrofoam cup. Her voice dropped to its softest register and I knew I was in trouble. “That’s enough, Beth.”

  Carson had begun to stir, moaning softly and thrashing his head from side to side, the only part he seemed to be able to move.

  “Honey?” Coffee still in hand, Mom leapt to his side and spoke softly into his ear.

  Still flailing, Carson’s eyes flickered open. He coughed, a dry deep rumble, and craned his neck to look at me. His eyes were glazed, the pale hair clinging to his forehead in damp clumps. “Mom. Hey, Beth.”

  Mom laid a hand on his brow. “Oh, my. Honey, you’re burning up. I’m going to get the nurse.” She hurried out, leaving us alone.

  Carson smiled at me, eyes slitted. “Didn’t think I’d miss you, but I actually do.”

  I think the corners of my lips curled up in a pained approximation of a smile. I hoped it looked more convincing then it felt. “I missed you, too.”

  I started to reach for his hand and then stopped. Carson’s jaw clenched as he lifted his arms a few trembling inches off the blanket, his hands immobile and stiff in their plastic supports. He coughed and said, “The doctor says I’ll be able to do more as the injury heals.”

  I stared. My lips moved. “That’s, uh, great, Carson.”

  He let his arms drop. “Yeah. Great.” His breath sputtered and he began to cough even more, his face turning red.

  I stood and paced the room in frantic strides. “I should get someone in here.”

  “No. Stay. Mom is taking care of it,” he said, wheezing. “Hug me, Beth. Squeeze me as hard as you can.”

  I froze. “I don’t know.”

  “I’m not made of glass.” He stopped to gulp in air. “I just want— Please, just do it.”

  I glanced around the room, praying Mom would come back with the nurse. My gaze was drawn upward and I gasped. Darkness pooled on the ceiling, a whirlpool made of shadow.

  “Please, Beth,” Carson said, his voice straining from his diaphragm.

  “Okay. Let me know if I hurt you.”

  He chuckled softly. “That would be something. Below my collarbone I can’t feel squat. Except for the tiny tingle at the tips of my fingers.”

  I slipped my arms gently around him. Tears swam in my eyes. I was frightened. As much as I’d clashed with him, I didn’t want to lose my brother.

  After a few painfully long moments, I pulled away.

  “Jeez. Don’t cry, Beth.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Why are you apologizing? I’m the jerk who tried to set you up when you were still grieving for Sam. I’m the idiot who didn’t get what a creeper Luke was.”

  “Carson, I—”

  “It’s not your fault he died. And maybe it’s not so terrible he did, the bastard. It’s not your fault I’m…like this. But you can’t just hang on to me, like you’re doing with Sam, so will you please just let me go now?”

  “Let you go?” Heat flashed to my cheeks. I sprang away from his bed. “What are you talking about?” The whirling darkness dipped lower. The temperature in the room dropped as it grew dark at the edges. My chest prickled with electric heat.

  Carson gestured toward the ceiling with his chin. “That.”

  A shiver quaked its way up my spine. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Carson.”

  “Liar,” he said, staring at me.

  The click-clack of Mom’s footsteps drew closer, accompanied by the padding of the nurse’s soft heels. I rushed from the room, raced down the hall, and stumbled off.

  Dazed and exhausted beyond thinking, I wandered aimlessly until I found an empty room, curled into the fetal position on the made-up bed, and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

  Mom shook me awake.

  “How could you run off like that? Carson’s temperature spiked to 105, but they’ve got it under control now. They’re putting him on an antibiotic drip, which will hopefully knock out this infection or he’ll have to be moved back to intensive care. I don’t have time for this behavior of yours.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bolted. You have enough to deal with.”

  Mom drew me to her, folded her arms around me, and held me tight. “It’s okay, honey. We’ll get through this.”

  I let her hold me and drank in the scent of her tasteful perfume, listened to her steady heartbeat, and prayed it never faltered.

  Mom pulled away and pushed the hair back from my forehead. “Did Carson say anything to you while I was gone?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” Mom closed her eyes. Tears trickled out from the corners. “He told me to let him die, Beth. But how could I do that? I could never….”

  I was still in Mom’s embrace when my phone vibrated with a text message.

  When I finally got a chance to look, I saw that Andre had set up the audition for that Friday.

  Once we got home, I remained outside on the driveway and stared up at the full moon. I thought of all the times that Sam and I had kissed out there under the same moon and my hand reached reflexively for the Blast Mahoney button he’d given me on our last night together.

  I looked down at the empty spot on my jacket in disbelief.

  It was gone.

  6

  ON WEDNESDAY, OUR HOUSE WENT UNDER contract. Moving day was in a month.

  Now that it seemed likely Carson would survive, Mom swung into action. She’d already hired contractors to build ramps and outfit the old lake house to accommodate the needs of a quadriplegic. The following Monday she’d scheduled a tour of my new school.

  With Mom in full upheaval mode, I threw myself into practicing for the audition. Sam had written a song for me a few months before he’d vanished, called “Fragile Forever,” and I planned to sing it in his honor.

  It took many attempts before I could get through the song, and when I finally did, I strummed for hours, pouring my heartbreak into each note. I’d searched everywhere for that missing Blast Mahoney button, but it hadn’t turned up.

  This song was all I had left of Sam. I had to get it right.

  I’d done my research and found only praise for the High Step Program online. Even my music teacher had heard of it. Apparently, High Step’s exclusivity was legendary. Many had tried, but few succeeded in gaining a coveted spot.
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  By Friday, numb and shaky, I was cautiously confident about my prospects. Andre advised me to pack an overnight bag and had graciously agreed to drive me to the audition site, two hours north over the Massachusetts border. If there were a lot of other contenders auditioning with me, we might have a long wait. The High Step Program had guest rooms available just in case.

  I told Mom that the band and I were going to play a showcase at a school in Massachusetts and that we would be staying at the home of the music teacher. My lie had as many holes as a window screen, but as distracted as Mom was, she bought it.

  We left mid-afternoon. On the long ride, Andre and I were mostly silent, absorbed in our own thoughts. Andre didn’t talk much about his home life, but Shelly had hinted about how the father who had beaten him as a child was now ill with heart disease. How he was his family’s main support. I couldn’t waste his time with my problems

  My insides curdled with guilt, I decided that I had no choice but to push ahead with my plans. It was self-preservation. Moving to that lake house would get me away from memories of Sam but also take me away from the band. It would wreck me and then I’d be of no use to anyone.

  While Andre focused on driving, I hummed “Fragile Forever” under my breath, my fingers compulsively strumming a phantom guitar. I’d been told to leave my amp at home, as the audition would be strictly acoustic.

  Though I was tensed into a tight little ball, as always, the steady heat of Andre’s strength kept me centered.

  I nodded off. When I opened my eyes, dusk shrouded the remote woods in hazy mist. A narrow road cut through trees and emptied to a field of pristine snow. Behind us, the woods vanished into grey fog. In the distance, gold light burned from the windows of a hulking stone building.

  “Here we are,” Andre said, pulling into a small parking area. There was only one other car.

  Once outside, the icy wind smacked us hard. Wet snow fell in horizontal sheets, obscuring the contours of the building. If there was a sign or marking to identify what kind of place this was, it was probably covered over as well.