Saving Beck Read online

  I liked it.

  “Are you okay now?” Devin finally asked. “Beck?”

  I felt dizzy. A little disoriented. A lot strange.

  “I’m fine,” I told them both. “It’s fine.”

  “I was afraid you died,” Annabelle said, sniffing, and her hands were shaky. “Everyone said you could’ve that night, during the accident. I was afraid you died tonight instead.”

  “I wasn’t dead,” I told her, and I got to my feet. “It’s all right, Devin.” He eyed me, and then finally nodded.

  “Don’t tell Mom I took her pills, okay?” I said. He hesitated.

  “I’m serious,” I told them both. “She’s got enough to worry about. It’s nothing bad. I think I had a panic attack. I’m sure it won’t happen again. I’ve never had one before. Promise me you won’t tell Mom.”

  Devin was uncomfortable, but he finally nodded and left the bathroom. He was such a rule follower that this kind of thing killed him. He wanted to get as far away from it as possible.

  “Becky, we’ve gotta call Mama,” Annabelle told me, and she was grabbing my phone.

  “No.” I snatched it away. “It’s all right, Anna-B. It was just a panic attack. At least I think that’s what it was.”

  She was still now, watching me warily. “Like Mama had after Daddy’s funeral?”

  I remembered that, how Mom had collapsed and Kit and Vinny had had to pick her up. Aunt Sam had whisked her off to wash her face and get her some water, and when we saw her thirty minutes later, she was better.

  “Yeah,” I told her. “Like that. That’s why Mom’s medicine helped. I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

  My sister wasn’t sure, but I tightened the towel around her shoulders.

  “Run and get into your pj’s,” I instructed. “I’ll be in to read to you in a little bit.”

  She did as I asked, and I tucked her into her bed. I still felt dizzy and weak. I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

  “Are you sure you’re not going to die?” She was suspicious now.

  “I’m okay,” I assured her as I reached over to turn on her night-light. It was pink and it made ballerinas dance around the room. “I’m not gonna die.”

  “Not ever?”

  “Not any time soon,” I promised. “I cross my heart.”

  She held out her pinkie, and I hooked it with mine. To her, pinkie promises were the ultimate foundation of trust. She nodded her head in satisfaction.

  I covered her up and tried to tiptoe out, but she whispered from beneath the blankets.

  “Becky, will you stay with me ’til Mom comes home? I’m scared.”

  She looked so small and pitiful, and I was the cause of that tonight.

  “I’ll stay,” I said, sitting back down on the bed and propping my head on my arm. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Go to sleep.”

  It took her a long time to fall asleep, her hand tucked tightly within my own. Every time I moved or breathed loudly, her eyes popped wide open to make sure I wasn’t going anywhere, so eventually I settled in for the long haul.

  She was resting now, but my thoughts were racing. What the fuck just happened to me? Why did it happen? I was stronger than that, damn it. Pussies had panic attacks. I was no pussy. Something was gonna have to give. This couldn’t keep happening. I’d have to do something.

  I pulled my phone out and texted Tray.

  Save me some.

  Something had to give. Something had to change. Maybe Tray’s dumb weed would mellow me out enough to handle all of this shit. I’d been smoking cigarettes for a couple of weeks now to calm my nerves. Surely weed was no worse than that.

  Annabelle stirred and grasped my hand tighter, and I forced my thoughts to calm. My restlessness was keeping her awake.

  I don’t know what time she finally fell asleep, because I fell asleep too, watching the pink ballerinas dance around her room.

  seven

  NATALIE

  MERCY HOSPITAL

  4:19 A.M.

  “NAT?”

  My sister pokes her head back in the door, and she’s got a bag on her arm. She’s younger than me by two years, but tonight she looks younger by a million.

  “When did you get here?” I ask, not letting go of Beck’s hand. Sam puts the bag down next to me and bends to kiss Beck’s forehead. That tender gesture clenches my stomach.

  “Just now. I brought your clothes,” she says, her voice thick. She’s trying not to cry, I realize. That scares me because she never cries. She says it’s because her heart is a block of ice, but I know she just doesn’t like to be vulnerable. “Vince is still with the kids. Don’t worry.”

  “I wasn’t,” I tell her. She’d never leave the kids alone. I’d trust her with my life. “Thank you for the clothes.”

  Sammy sits on the bottom of Beck’s bed, careful not to disturb him. “Has he woken up?”

  I shake my head. “No. He’s not going to until they wake him up. They say the first twenty-four hours after a massive overdose is the most critical. They’ll bring him out then. If he . . . that’s when we’ll know. If he’s going to make it. And if he makes it, if he’ll be the same.”

  My voice cuts off and Sam grabs me tight. I bury my head into her slender shoulder. My beautiful sister, who has helped me so much in the past nightmarish year.

  “Don’t say if,” she demands. “It’s when. When he wakes up, we’ll know that he’s going to be okay. He will, Nat.”

  “Okay.”

  “Jesus, he looks so peaceful,” Sam says in wonder. She stares down at Beck, worry etched on her face. “He’s so skinny. Where the hell has he been? Do you know?”

  I shake my head. “He wasn’t really conscious when he fell on my porch. I don’t know where he’s been, what he’s been eating, if he’s been eating. The doctor said he was on meth today, and God. I don’t know anything, Sammy.”

  She hugs me tighter.

  “We know he’s here now,” she reminds me gently. “And that’s the most important thing. He’s safe in this bed, and it’s the best place for him to be.”

  “He’s in this bed,” I agree. “But he’s far from safe.”

  Sam looks away because she knows I’m right. She grabs Beck’s other hand, and together we stand vigil, two sentinels with one priceless thing between us.

  Minutes pass before she speaks again, and when she does, her lips are white from being clenched together.

  “Go get dressed, Nat,” she tells me. “I’ll wait with him. Wash your face, and go down to the cafeteria to get some coffee. You need to move around a little bit. You need a break.”

  “No,” I say immediately. “I’m not leaving him.”

  “Now is the best time to go,” Sam tells me softly. “He’s not going to wake up until they wake him up. I’m here. He’s fine. Go get dressed. It will be daylight soon, and you’re still in your pajamas.”

  I look down at myself and my robe is faded and old, and I’m so tired. More coffee would be helpful. My eyes burn.

  “Okay,” I finally agree. “But I’ll be right back.”

  “And we’ll be right here,” my sister says, still holding my son’s hand. I nod and grab the bag.

  “I’ll bring you back a coffee,” I tell her. She nods and I hurry to the bathroom down the hall, change into my favorite jeans and a plaid shirt. I pull the shirt on, but try as I might, my fingers shake too badly to fasten the buttons.

  “Son of a bitch,” I mutter, and try again. But my limbs are jelly and my fingers won’t obey.

  I pull my jeans up, leaving the fly open, and sit limply on the toilet.

  I feel the cool of the seat, the rigidity of the tiles beneath my feet. The ghastly fluorescent lights tint my skin, and I am numb.

  I’m in a hospital and my son could die.

  I try to absorb the gravity of that.

  But he’s not dead yet.

  I suck in a breath, and with determination, I manage to first button my shirt, then my jeans. I throw my robe i
nto the trash. I never want to be reminded of this night, no matter what happens.

  I yank a comb through my hair, splash water on my face, and head down to the cafeteria.

  I rush because if he somehow wakes up on his own while I’m gone, I’ll never forgive myself. I know it’s impossible, but still. Beck has always been headstrong. If anyone can do it, it’s him.

  I rush to the line, in such a hurry, but then I have to wait. I’m jittery, and I can’t stand still. I shift my weight from one foot to the other. Rocking to and fro.

  The woman in front of me turns around. She’s got puppies on her scrubs.

  “You can always tell a mother . . . She rocks when she stands.”

  She smiles, and I try to smile back.

  As I wait, I can’t help but watch the people around me. Doctors, nurses, X-ray techs, all coming through on their breaks, as part of their routine. They see this stuff all the time; this is their job. It’s not personal.

  But there are other people like me here. People who are tired, people who are scared. People who don’t know if their loved one will live or die. It’s hell on earth, and in this moment I’m somehow connected with them. It’s unspoken, but it’s there.

  There’s a woman at a table near the line, and her face is so drawn and pale, her shoulders so slumped, I think someone she knew has already died. She glances up, and her eyes are dark and empty, and I nod ever so slightly at her.

  I’m sorry for your loss.

  She looks away, her eyes fixed on an imaginary spot on the wall.

  Lord, the hospital can be a depressing place.

  The line moves a little, and I’m antsy because I need to hurry. My son needs me. He’s not gone yet, and I am not that woman.

  Not yet.

  Over the loudspeakers, there’s a chime, a small, quick melody from “Rock-a-Bye Baby.”

  “What the heck?” I mutter to myself. The nurse in front of me turns again with a smile.

  “They play that every time a baby is born,” she explains. “It’s cute, right?”

  I nod, and she turns back around, and I think about that.

  Life and death happen all the time. Does one balance out the other? If too many babies are born, will Beck have to die?

  I’m being irrational but I don’t care. Maybe life isn’t as rational as we all like to think.

  We inch forward again, and now I can see another table with a teenage boy. He’s eating a hamburger at four thirty in the morning. He picks off all the toppings, the lettuce and the tomato, and I can’t help but smile just a little because that’s something Beck would do. In fact, I’ve seen him do it.

  I can’t help but stare at this boy, and as I do, I pray.

  “Please don’t let him die. Please, God. Please, God.”

  It’s not until the nurse in front of me turns back around that I realize I was praying aloud.

  * * *

  “MOMMY.”

  I opened my eyes and found Annabelle standing next to my bed. She was wearing a nightgown, and it was almost two a.m.

  “Sunshine?” I murmured, feeling for her little arm and pulling her to me to breathe her in. At eight, she still had the little girl smell, like sunshine and hope. Her eyes were brown and scared.

  “Mommy? I had a dream.”

  I stroked her blond hair away from her face. “What was it, baby?”

  “I dreamed that Daddy was gone.”

  “He is gone, sweetheart,” I told her, and a lump formed in my throat. “He’s in heaven, remember? He’s with Gramps and Gran.”

  “I know. But I dreamed that he was just gone. That he was nowhere and that I’d never see him again. That he was in a black abish.”

  “Abish?”

  Her eyes were large as she stared at me. “Yeah. A place that has no bottom. Devin taught me. It’s a spelling word.”

  “Abyss?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s not true, honey,” I assured her. “Your daddy is not in an abyss. We’ll see him again, someday. When it’s time to go to heaven.”

  “Promise?” Her eyes were so big and innocent. I nodded.

  “Promise. You can stay in bed with me.”

  She nodded seriously against my cheek. “I like it in here with you, Mommy,” she confided. I hugged her tight. She fell instantly to sleep, feeling safe in my arms.

  We slept until Devin poked his head in to wake us a few hours later. “We’ve got to go to school,” he told us. “Come on, Anna.”

  Obediently, she rolled out of bed and disappeared down the hall and I sat up, rubbing my eyes. I felt awful because I didn’t know what day it was. Tuesday? Thursday?

  I’d better get up and find out.

  Dev was already at the table finishing a bowl of cereal, his polo neatly tucked in.

  “Were you born as a thirty-year-old?” I asked, rumpling his hair as I passed. He glared at me for mussing his hair, and fixed it before he picked up his dish and washed it in the sink.

  He immediately went to the pantry and pulled out things to make lunches, and got two brown bags from the cupboard. One for him, one for his sister.

  I couldn’t stop my eyes from welling up. He was making lunches because I so often forgot.

  Oh my God. The realization caused my shoulders to quake, and before I knew it, I was sitting at the table and Devin had his arms wrapped around my shoulders.

  “It’s okay, Mama,” he whispered. “It’s okay. Don’t cry. I’m here.”

  My little boy was comforting me, doing the thing that I should be doing for him.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” I told him. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a mess lately, but I’ll do better.”

  He seemed confused as he looked up at me, his eyes wide.

  “You’re okay, Mom,” he said softly. “It’s okay to be sad. I’m sad too.”

  God. My chest constricted and constricted until it couldn’t possibly get any tighter.

  “Let me check your homework,” I finally managed to tell him. He looked pleased that I remembered, and scampered to get his bag.

  I checked his math, and he’d gotten every problem right.

  “You’re my genius,” I told him. He smiled.

  “Anna-B!” I called up the stairs. “Let’s go! The bus is coming!”

  I could hear it rumbling up the road. She raced down the steps, and I escorted them out to the stop. My daughter waved from the bus window as it drove away.

  I was walking back up the sidewalk to the front door when I caught a whiff of cigarette smoke, and something rustled on the side of my house. The distinct sound of the rose branches scraping against the siding.

  Curiously, I stepped across the dew-covered grass, turned the corner, and promptly found my eldest son leaning against the house, his hair rumpled, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

  The look of surprise on his face almost certainly matched my own.

  “Beckitt Matthew Kingsley, what the hell are you doing?”

  For a split second, he had the “oh shit” look on his face, the one he used to get when he was afraid of getting caught. But that quickly hardened into a blasé devil-may-care face.

  “I’m smoking,” he said calmly. He took another drag, then dropped it on the ground, twisting his foot to stamp it out.

  I was stunned. “You can’t smoke,” I told him indignantly. “You’ll get cancer.”

  “We all gotta die sometime,” he said, shrugging. Anger flared up in me.

  “Maybe. But not on my watch. Give me the rest of them.” I held out my hand. “You’re not going to smoke in my house. I can’t believe you. You’re an athlete. You know better.”

  “I used to think I knew a lot of things,” he said, and his words were laced with something I couldn’t place, something unlike him. “But I was wrong about most of them.”

  He dug in his hoodie pocket and fished out his smokes. He handed them to me, and there were only three or four left in the pack.

  “Don’t buy any more,” I warned h
im. “I’m serious. If I catch you smoking again, there will be hell to pay.”

  He was rolling his eyes as he started to walk away.

  “Since when would you even notice?” he asked, and I was startled and guilty and pissed. He’d never spoken to me that way before. I was taken aback. His voice seethed with anger, and the venom was directed at me. This wasn’t like him at all.

  “Trust me, I’ll notice,” I told him. “Straighten up.”

  He stomped away, and I was left shaking alone on the side of the house, cigarette butts surrounding me on the ground, a million warning signs that I couldn’t bring myself to face.

  eight

  BECK

  MERCY HOSPITAL

  4:50 A.M.

  THE ANGER IS BACK.

  I don’t know why, but it bubbles up within me like a raging sea of ugliness.

  What am I so pissed about?

  I try to think, I try to remember, but the memories aren’t obedient. They are random, and when they come, I just hold on.

  I’m vulnerable here, though. I’m in a bed, and I can feel everyone staring at me in judgment. I know there’s judgment. There has been for a long time.

  Nothing I did was good enough, but don’t they know I tried my best?

  I seethe silently because I can’t move my tongue.

  The beeps come from nowhere and everywhere, and I start to realize that they are attached to me somehow. The more pissed I am, the faster they get. I know I should try to control that, but I don’t know how.

  “His heart rate is so erratic,” my aunt whispers, and I think she squeezes my hand.

  My mom murmurs in agreement. “I know. It’s scary.”

  Why? It’s my fucking heart. It will do what it wants. Right?

  If anything scares me, it’s the anger. It feels like it came out of nowhere, and I don’t know why; it feels like it might burn me up. It’s bigger than I am.

  Now I suddenly realize what my aunt was talking about earlier when she said there was fire in me. I can feel it now, burning bright and brighter, big and bigger. It’s an inferno and it’s spreading everywhere. As it spreads, the beeps get faster and faster.

  * * *