Saving Beck Read online

  “How did you get here?” I ask.

  “An Uber.”

  I nod because I don’t know what else to do.

  “I have to do something,” he tells me. “I signed myself out of the hospital, but I’ll go to rehab tomorrow. Do you trust me?”

  No.

  I can’t.

  He’s shown me that. He ran away and got high and didn’t come home.

  But he’s here now.

  As I stare into his serious face, I see the little boy he once was, and he’s sincere.

  “Okay,” I say. “What are we doing?”

  “I have to go somewhere,” he says simply. “Will you take me?”

  I nod. Again, I don’t know what else to do. I can’t imagine what he needs to do, but he’s going into rehab tomorrow. So whatever he needs, I’ll do it.

  Kit stays with the kids while I get into the car with my son.

  Beck directs me to a neighborhood downtown, and a little bit later, we pull in front of a vet’s office.

  I’m confused, but I don’t say anything. I just follow Beck inside, past the beat-up door, into the dingy lobby.

  There’s a woman behind the counter, and she has kind eyes. She looks at Beck and I see the flicker of recognition. She knows him.

  “Do you remember me?” Beck asks her. She nods.

  “Of course. How is Winston?”

  “He’s fine,” I answer for my son. “We’re getting him fattened up.”

  “That’s good.” She looks at me, probably wondering who I am and why we are here.

  I wonder that last part myself.

  “Was there a girl with me when I was here?” Beck asks her now, hesitantly. He’s uncertain, and he feels uncomfortable. That’s clear.

  The woman cocks her head. “A girl?” She shakes her head. “No. Just Winston. But you were talking to yourself a lot. You were . . . pretty out of it. Pretty banged up. I thought about you for days. I should’ve done more for you.”

  I stare at her now. Beck was here and he was out of it, and she didn’t do anything? I want to punch her for that. But then again, what could she have done?

  “You’re sure there wasn’t a girl?” Beck asks again, and his voice has lost all confidence. His shoulders are slumped.

  “Very sure. I’m sorry.”

  Beck nods and thanks her. I feel her watching us as we walk back to the door, and when my hand is on the handle, I turn back.

  “Whatever you did for my son,” I offer, “thank you.”

  She nods again, and her eyes are soft and I can tell she’s a mother. She did something kind for my son, although I might never know what. Not unless Beck chooses to tell me.

  Outside, Beck crouches on the curb, kneeling as though he is catching his breath.

  “Honey,” I start to say.

  “I just need a minute,” he croaks. That’s when I know. He truly didn’t believe us about Angel, not until now, not until this moment.

  “Take all the time you need,” I answer him softly. I wait in the driver’s seat, trying not to fuss over him. It’s a while before he finally stands up and drops into the passenger seat.

  He looks straight ahead, his skinny hand clutching his leg. He’s utterly deflated.

  “Are you okay?” I ask him gently.

  “No. I don’t understand this. She was so real, Mom. I . . . I don’t know how to process this.”

  I hug him tight, and after he pulls away, he looks at me, his eyes red. “Can you take me one more place?”

  I’m expecting him to direct me to the abandoned warehouse where he had been living, but he doesn’t. He asks to go to Lake Michigan.

  My car noses in that direction, gliding down the road.

  Beck’s knuckles rap against his knees and he’s anxious.

  “Did you love her?” I ask quietly. “The Angel you thought you knew.”

  He looks out the glass, staring at the trees.

  “Yes. But not like she deserved.”

  I pull into the parking lot of the beach nearest to us. The water is gray and still ice-cold from winter, but Beck is already out of the car, striding toward the edge.

  The sand is hard and doesn’t give way underfoot as I follow him. I don’t know what he’s planning, only that he has a single-minded focus.

  I’m hovering at his elbow as he kneels to the ground at the water’s edge.

  “Angel,” he whispers. “They’re telling me that you were never real. I don’t know how that can be, but . . . God. I’m sorry. I should’ve loved you enough. I should’ve loved you better. You were the best friend I ever had. I don’t care what was real or not.”

  My throat chokes up and I put my hand on his shoulder, and I feel his bone beneath my fingers.

  “You don’t have to worry about this prison anymore,” he says. “There is no more pain, no more hate. No one will ever hurt you again. You’re free, Angel.”

  He stands up and remains still, except for the breeze that flutters his hair.

  “The day is done,” he tells her softly. Tears stream from my eyes as Beck talks to a girl who never was but who still so profoundly affected him.

  I wait silently, and when he turns, he doesn’t look at me. He heads straight for the car.

  “I just want to sleep in my bed one time before rehab tomorrow,” he says as I drive home. “Is that okay, Mama?”

  He hasn’t called me Mama since he was small, and it clenches a knot in my stomach.

  “Of course, sweetie,” I tell him.

  “I’m sorry. For everything.”

  “You’re my son,” I finally answer around the lump in my throat. “I’ll love you always, no matter what.”

  “I’m still sorry,” he says.

  “I know. Me too.”

  He doesn’t ask for what, and I don’t explain . . . that I’m sorry for all of the lost moments, for his dad’s death, for every bad thing that isn’t my fault, but I’m sorry for it all the same. I think he already knows.

  “Tomorrow is the first day of forever,” I tell him. “You’re going to be healthy and strong, and eventually, you’re going to be happy again.”

  “Okay,” he answers simply.

  “Do you believe it?” I ask, because I can’t tell.

  He shrugs. “I will.”

  forty-four

  BECK

  MY BED IS SOFTER THAN I remember, and it’s hard to sleep.

  I went to bed earlier than everyone else because I feel weak now, tired. But still, I can’t sleep, so eventually, I give up.

  I walk softly through the house. Even though it’s dark and filled with shadows, they are familiar. I’ve seen these same dark shapes since I was small, and heard the same loud creaks in the floor. I hear a murmur of voices coming from the kitchen and see a light on over the table. It sounds like Sam and Vinny are still here, and maybe even Kit.

  I curl up on the sofa and my thoughts are loud.

  My memories are louder.

  I remember the crash.

  How my phone rang, and how I answered it.

  It happened so fast, and the crunch of metal and the screeching noises.

  My own screams.

  “You okay?”

  Kit is in the hallway, his thumbs looped through his belt loops. He’s awkward here, yet comfortable. A strange balance.

  I shake my head.

  “Not really.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  He comes in quietly and sits next to me, his legs sprawled in front of him.

  “I’ll never forget the crash,” I tell him. “I’ll never forget how it sounded . . . the screeches of the metal or the screaming. I think that was me.”

  Kit is serious and he watches me, and his big hands fidget in his lap.

  “My father’s face when I woke up after. I’ll never forget it, Kit. I can’t get it out of my head. Anyone who says a dead person looks like they are sleeping is a liar. They don’t look asleep. They look dead.”

  “I agree,” Kit says finally. “
They do. And I’m so sorry you had to see your father that way, Beck. He would never have chosen that.”

  My lungs feel heavy and hot and the silence is thick between Kit and me, and he takes a deep breath and he’s measuring his words.

  “You know, I’m struggling with something myself,” Kit tells me. “I’m not sure how to deal with the fact that maybe I could’ve prevented it too.”

  My head snaps up.

  “Oh yes,” Kit tells me. “I could’ve been there. Your dad invited me to go. It’s our alma mater, after all. I almost did, but I had an early morning the next day, so I said no. If I had been there, maybe I would’ve been driving instead of you.”

  “You’d have never have let that accident happen,” I point out.

  Kit shakes his head. “You know, my mom used to tell me that everything happened for a reason. She believed that every single thing on earth was planned by God Himself, that nothing was left to chance. If that’s the case, then the accident would’ve happened anyway.”

  “But why would I get to live?” My voice is strained and high-pitched.

  “Because you are supposed to,” Kit says simply.

  “But I’ve watched two people die,” I protest. “And they were both better people than me. Good, smart, kind. I’m not. The first chance I got, I ran away and hid and spent two months high out of my mind. If I hadn’t met Angel, maybe she wouldn’t be dead right now either. And please don’t tell me that she wasn’t real. I just don’t want to hear that right now.”

  Kit wraps his arm around my shoulders and squeezes.

  “I don’t know why things happen. I don’t know why your father’s seat belt malfunctioned. But what I do know is this: You can’t waste this chance. You’ve got to live your life hard and fiercely. You’ve got to live for Angel and for your dad.”

  “I’m going to try,” I tell him, and I love him for saying that about Angel. “It’s hard, though. I want to use even now.”

  And I do. I feel the want burgeoning up from my belly into my thoughts, and every time it rears its head I try to suppress it, but I’m afraid that sometime, someday, I won’t be strong enough.

  “You can beat this,” Kit tells me, and he sounds so sure. “I know you can.”

  We’re quiet and the minutes stretch, and finally I turn to him. “I don’t know where to go after this. Do you . . . do you think I can still go to college? Maybe I can still play football. I mean, after rehab. Do you think I can?”

  Kit levels a stare at me. “Kiddo, I think you can do anything you put your mind to. You’ve always been that way, and you always will. You can do this.”

  I exhale and nod. My dad always called me kiddo too, and hearing it now makes my chest warm.

  “Thank you, Kit,” I tell him sincerely. “Truly.”

  He nods, and I change the subject.

  “Can I borrow your phone? Mine broke, and I’d like to text Elin.”

  Kit is surprised, but he doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.” He pulls it out of his pocket and hands it to me.

  “Your father was proud of you from the moment you were born,” he says and looks straight into my eyes. “He’d be so proud of you for taking the step to go into rehab tomorrow. I know it.”

  My eyes are hot now and they sting, and Kit leaves me with his phone.

  Can you come back over? I text her. This is Beck, btw. She’d been here earlier, but I miss her.

  I’ll be right there. She doesn’t even hesitate.

  I leave Kit’s phone on the chair, and I’m waiting for Elin on the porch steps when she arrives twenty minutes later.

  She’s in pajamas, but she’s here.

  My arms close around her, and she smells like sunshine and strawberries, just like I remember.

  “I’ve watched two people die, Elin,” I say, and my voice trembles a little. “I don’t think I’ll ever be the same.”

  “I doubt you will be,” she agrees. “No one would. But I love the person you are, Beck. The person in here.” She touches my heart and I close my eyes.

  “I’m sorry that I blamed you,” I tell her finally. “For calling. That wasn’t right. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “And it wasn’t yours,” she answers. “It was a terrible twist of . . . something. Fate? Tragedy? I don’t know. It was an accident.”

  “I know.” And I do. “My brain knows it. I just have to get my heart to understand now.”

  “Are you happy to be home?” Elin asks, and her voice is oh so soft.

  I nod. “Yeah. But I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “I’m proud of you,” she says, and her hand wraps around mine. “You’re so brave.”

  “What if I’m not strong enough, though?” I ask before I can filter my words. “What if I can’t do it?”

  Elin is already shaking her head. “You can do anything,” she says stoutly. “You always have, and you always will.”

  “Will you come visit me? I’ll understand if you don’t want to. I’m sure rehabs aren’t pleasant places.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be there every chance I get.”

  We chat for a while longer, before she kisses my cheek.

  “You’re going to be amazing tomorrow,” she says. “We’re all behind you, Beck.”

  She leaves to drive back to her normal life and I’m left with my fucked-up one. But that’s no one’s fault but my own.

  I almost crawl back into bed, but then . . . then . . . I remember something.

  Something my father said when I was dead for that minute.

  Did you ever listen to that CD I gave you?

  I feel the sudden urge to do it. To hear his voice. He went to all the trouble of making it for me. The least I can do is listen.

  I pad down to the den and find where I’d hidden it between the pages of a book on the top shelf of the bookcase. No one knows how it survived the crash, but it did. It seems almost as though I’m meant to hear it.

  I pop it into the CD player and press play.

  My dad’s voice instantly fills the room.

  I know you want to sleep in, Beck. But before you reach for the snooze button, remember this:

  You want to be the best, and the other players do too. They won’t press snooze. The best players are already up, and they’re already running, their feet on the floor.

  I want you to get out of bed and remember that you are the best of the best. You breathe in challenges, and you spit out wins. You do not accept failure, and you fight for what is yours.

  You’ve got work to do, Beck. So get up, and head out. You’re going to sweat, and you’re going to hurt, you may even bleed, but you’ll get stronger and stronger, and soon, no one will be stronger than you.

  A hot tear escapes my eye as I listen. My dad had made this because he knew I hated to get up so early to work out. He meant for it to be motivation, but he had no idea how I might use it now . . . for something far more important than football.

  It will motivate me to live.

  There’s the right way to do things, son, and the easy way. You will take the right way. You will work and sweat and bleed, and you will win. The easy way out is not YOUR WAY. Your way is hard and less traveled, but your way is the best way. Your way is the way of winners.

  You are strong, and you are fierce. You will get up today, you will rise, and you will do it again and again. You will take one step then another. You are your own biggest opponent. Your own biggest challenge.

  You will not defeat yourself.

  You can do anything you put your mind to.

  Remember what you’re fighting for.

  Put on your armor and wear it every day. Give it all you’ve got.

  You can run faster.

  You can throw harder.

  You are a fierce warrior.

  You can do this.

  So shake the sleep from your eyes, and put your feet on the floor.

  It’s time to fight for what’s yours.

  The CD ends and the room is quiet. All I can hear is
my breathing and my heartbeat. One beat. Two beats. Three. My dad was talking about football.

  But I’m interpreting it differently now. Maybe Kit is right. Maybe things happen because they are supposed to. Maybe my dad was supposed to make this CD.

  He thought he was talking about football.

  But he wasn’t.

  He was talking about my life.

  I have to fight for my life.

  And this time, I will win.

  epilogue

  FOUR MONTHS LATER

  THE CEMETERY IS SILENT BUT for the chirp of the birds. I’m not sure why cemeteries are so peaceful and reverent, but they are. Even the trees are hushed, as though anything else would be disrespectful.

  I stand in front of my father’s black stone and stare down at his name.

  Matthew Beckitt Kingsley.

  I lay the flowers down on the marble and sink into the grass, running my fingers along the inscribed letters. The day of his death, October 12.

  “It’s beautiful here,” Elin observes, her arm linked through mine.

  She called me every day I was in rehab, after that initial first week. She’s buoyed me up, talked me down when I was upset, and been there throughout every minute. Just like my mom, Sam, Kit, and Vinny. They all have. They visited every visiting day and called me every night.

  Today, I came here to share a victory with the one person who couldn’t do those things.

  “I made it through rehab, Dad,” I tell him. “I’m clean now. I’ve been clean for a hundred and thirty-four days.”

  It’s a long time, but I don’t want to focus on that. I want to focus only on today, because today is all that matters. I can’t get cocky. I can’t slip. I slide my hand into my pocket and run my fingers over my Narcotics Anonymous medallion. It is always in my pocket now, next to Devin’s green good-luck marble.

  “So now I’m going to go to a halfway house,” I continue bluntly. From beside me, I hear Elin suck in her breath. I know she doesn’t really want me there, living among addicts. But I am an addict. I have to come through the stages, just like everyone else. I have to put in the work, go through the steps, and most importantly, I can’t lie to myself about what I am. It’s the only way I’ll truly recover.