Crash Into You

Chapter 24

Rachel

STANDING IN THE GARAGE AT home, I stare at Isaiah’s phone number programmed into my cell. Isaiah said that he’ll fix things with Eric, but what does that mean for us? For our relationship? Or our lack of a relationship? If he had given me his number last week I would have been full of joy. Now—I feel tired.

Isaiah told Eric I was a debt.

Eric called me a fuck.

I close my eyes and cringe at that last word. Was Isaiah right? He called me dense. I have to be, because I honestly believed that the kiss in his apartment meant something to him. That our moment together, that my first kiss, was more than a lead-in to...to...sex.

With a sigh, I swing my pack over my shoulder and head to the house. It’s early. Not even ten yet. There’s no way I can return to school, not when my mind’s a turbulent mess over Eric and Isaiah and five thousand dollars. It all seems overwhelming and impossible. It probably is, but Isaiah told me not to worry. He told me to have hope. I’m torn between the two emotions.

The same words circle in my head: I’m a debt. I. Am. A. Debt.

I unlock the back door, enter the kitchen and disable the alarm. Dad’s at work, West and Ethan are at school, Mom is...who knows where. My fingers brush where Isaiah stroked my cheek before we parted ways. My heart flutters and then crashes to a halt. I’m a debt. A debt.

Eric pops into my mind and my skin crawls because he touched my hair. My head starts to ache. What I need is a hot, pounding shower and a new train of thought.

I’m a debt.

“Rach? What are you doing here?”

A jolt of shock causes me to drop my backpack and turn. My oldest brother, Gavin, stands next to the pantry, a bag of chips in his hand. It’s just Gavin! I scream in my mind, but after Eric, everything seems like a threat. Especially Gavin. My brother is huge: played football in college and was good at it, too. He’s smart and opinionated and he just plain intimidates me.

“I asked what you were doing here,” he demands.

My fingers twine and untwine. “I didn’t feel good so I came home.” The lie comes easily. Guilt follows.

His eyes lower to my pack on the floor by my feet. “You’re too young to sign yourself out.”

“I never made it into school. I sat in the parking lot until I felt well enough to come home.” Please believe me. Please believe me.

“Does Mom know?”

“No.” Crap. Mom. I’m not ready to face Mom. “But I’ll tell her. Is she here?”

Gavin scratches the back of his head, and the chip bag crackles in his hand. I glance around the kitchen and realize that everything about this moment is wrong. “Where’s the staff?”

“Mom gives them Friday mornings off,” he says.

I didn’t know that. “And Mom?”

“Out,” he says. “You should go upstairs if you aren’t feeling good.”

Yeah, because Gavin always looks out for my best interests—and by always I mean never. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a job?”

The bag crackles again, and that’s when I notice a gym bag full of food on the floor. And the jeans he’s wearing...and T-shirt. “What’s going on?”

Gavin drops the chips and steps in my direction. Remembering Eric, I stumble back. I’ve already been threatened by one guy today. I don’t want to be threatened by another. Faster than me, because let’s face it, who isn’t, Gavin grabs my wrist to steady me as I ram into the fridge.

“Calm down, Rach. What’s gotten into you?” He doesn’t wait for my response as he continues, “I lost my job.”

All of me sinks. “Oh, Gavin. I’m sorry. When?” Gavin became an energy broker after college. Mom and Dad were so proud. As Mom announced at parties: one in medical school—referencing Jack—and one moving straight to the top in business.

“A couple of weeks ago,” he rushes out. “I’ll find something else soon.”

My head tilts as I understand. “You haven’t told Mom and Dad.”

“Dad knows.” He omits that Mom doesn’t and frees my wrist. “He wants to tell Mom after you agree to speak at the fundraisers. That way she’ll be in a good place, not a bad one.”

I try to rub away the worry lines forming on my forehead. Why is it always on me to fix everything? “That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” he snaps. “When are you going to grow up and accept that?”

It’s too much. All of it. Eric and money and Isaiah and now Gavin. “I never asked for this.”

“And I did?” Gavin says. “Do you think this is the life that Jack and I wanted? To watch our sister die? To watch Mom’s soul die? But it’s what we got. We all have roles to play, Rachel, and I’m tired of having to remind you of yours.”

His hands go to his hips, a certain sign of an impending lecture, but at least he softens his tone. “Look, we all know you’re the best of us. You’re sweet, kind, possibly the only one of us who has the natural ability to stay out of trouble. So why are you being so selfish? You can make Mom happy and you’re choosing not to. You’re a better person than that.”

I’m not. My arm brushes against the handle of the fridge as I withdraw farther from him.

My fingers massage the painful pulse that’s penetrated the frontal lobe of my brain. Gavin dips his head to look me in the eye. I’m not afraid he’ll see a lie. I really do feel awful. My stomach gurgles with distress.

“You’re not looking good, kid,” he says. “Do you want me to stick around? Watch some movies with you?”

My lips fall into a frown and tremble. Gavin loves me and all I do is lie.

“Ah, Rach. I’m sorry.” He envelops me in a bone-breaking bear hug. “I’m sorry I yelled and I’m sorry that you don’t feel good. I’ve just got a lot on my plate right now.”

I rest my head on his shoulder. Gavin loves me. He always has, just in his big-brother way. Would Eric hurt them, my family? Or would Gavin be able to scare off this threat if I told him? “Have you ever been in trouble?” I ask.

Gavin releases me. “Are you scared Mom’s going to be upset that you came home from school without asking? Rach, I swear, you look like shit. She’s not going to care. Well, she’ll care, but in the obsessive way and not the pissed way.”

And I’m reminded that once more everything is about Mom’s reaction and that my brothers could never imagine me in trouble. “I’m going to go lie down.”

“I’ll stay if you want,” he says as I pick up my pack and turn for the stairs.

“I’m okay.” But I’m not. I’m not sure anything will be okay again. I’m slow on my way up the stairs. I’ve run this staircase a million times. Slid down the banister until Mom caught me at the age of seven. Today, my legs throb as if I’m climbing a mountain.

Five thousand dollars. How will Isaiah and I find five thousand dollars?

At the top of the stairs, I take a left, away from the four rooms that currently house West and Ethan and the two other rooms where Jack and Gavin used to live. I pass one of the guest bedrooms and a sickening nausea claws through my bloodstream at the sight of the cracked door of the room across from mine. There’s only one person who goes into Colleen’s room—Mom.

Leaving my backpack leaning against my door frame, I inhale slowly and peek into the room I wish would disappear. The walls are pink, Colleen’s favorite color. The canopy bed is perfectly made. One doll and one stuffed bear still wait on the pillow for their owner to return.

A dollhouse-sized perfect replica of our house sits on the floor. Like always, within the dollhouse, the figure meant to represent Mom lies next to the figurine meant to represent Colleen. My brothers told me that Mom slept with Colleen during the last weeks of her life and that Mom never stopped praying for a miracle.

“Rachel?” a small voice that hardly sounds like my mother whispers from the room. Gavin must not have realized she’d come home. I swallow to calm my nerves. I hate this room, and I hate entering it even more.

I nudge the door open and the hinges squeak painfully. With her legs curled underneath her, Mom slides her hand against the soft, shaggy white throw rug lying near the dollhouse. In her other hand, she clutches a baby-pink fleece blanket just the right size for a newborn. Her blue eyes are hollow as she regards me. “What are you doing home?”

The thumb of my left hand pushes against the sweating palm of my right. “I’m not feeling well.”

Worry consumes her face, and I force myself to enter the room to keep her from bolting off the floor. “I’m okay,” I say. “Just a headache.”

She gets on her knees. “You haven’t had a migraine in years.” Because a migraine is typically the aftermath of a panic attack.

“No, I haven’t.” Bold-faced lie. I step closer to the rug and flutter my hands in a downward movement to indicate she should stay where she is. “It’s a fluke. Probably my period.”

The conflict of whether to overanalyze my health or to stay where she feels a connection with Colleen wages war on her face. What I dread the most happens. Mom decides she can’t choose and wants both. She extends her hand to me and I notice that her long fingernails are a freshly painted pink. I kick off my shoes, accept her hand and join her on the rug. Does Mom know she still holds the blanket she brought Colleen home from the hospital in?

Mom surveys the room. Porcelain dolls perfectly dressed in ruffles and lace line several shelves. The only indication that Colleen made it anywhere near thirteen is the ancient Discman with headphones resting on the bedside table alongside of her diary and a book opened to the last page Colleen read.

“I dreamed of her last night.” Mom squeezes my hand. “She was calling to me and no matter how hard I tried, I could never find her.”

But I’m here. Right beside you. Look at me. See me. I exert pressure back. The gesture does nothing to rip her away from the nightmare imprisoning her mind.

“I always wonder if Colleen’s death was a punishment for my past sins,” she says.

My muscles tense with edginess, the same feeling as if I’m teetering on a ledge. Mom behaves like this sometimes. Her body here, but her mind far-off. She says things that make me unable to breathe. Mom’s hand tightens around mine and I suddenly feel claustrophobic.

“I made mistakes,” she says. “When I was younger. Before I met your father. Colleen was such a good girl. So good...”

Look at me, Mom. I’m your daughter and I’m right here. “Mom?”

She blinks and turns her head, the glow of life back in her blue eyes. I suck in a relieved breath. Mom tucks my hair over my shoulder. “You’re such a good girl, too.”

My eyes shut. I’m not. I defied curfew, drag raced and now owe five thousand dollars to a guy my mother would faint at the sight of. I’m in danger, I’m putting Isaiah in danger and I’m risking my mother’s—my family’s—happiness because I am not a good girl. I’m exactly who Gavin described: I’m selfish.

“Mom...” A lump forms in my throat. “Dad told me about the amazing opportunity to help with the Leukemia Foundation. I...I want to speak on Colleen’s behalf.”

My mother’s face explodes into a smile. Her blue eyes glitter like light dancing on the ocean. She abandons the blanket and hugs me. Reactions like this from Mom are, in theory, what I live for, but I can’t enjoy it. Being in Colleen’s room, understanding what I just agreed to, it’s like I’ve agreed to a death sentence and I’ve become numb.