A Missing Peace (7 page)

Caleb

After a week in the hospital, I got to go home. It would be a couple of weeks before I could go back to school. I couldn't take stairs or do anything more than walk. Even walking was limited, because standing hurt like hell. No running or jogging for a while, and I might need physical therapy to get my right leg functioning correctly again.

My first day home, the guys came over with pizza. It was the second day that things started getting interesting.

I was lying on the couch, because I couldn't take the stairs to my room yet. I was willing to throw this piece of medical advice out the window, but I couldn't figure out how to get up the stairs dragging my leg behind me.

There was a knock at the door, and I yelled, “Come in,” expecting to see Josh or Matt or both come through the door. Instead, Mirriam burst in like a stick of dynamite. She didn't say anything. She held her body so tight every breath looked painful. She wore a straight face, but the effort she put into not glaring at me was obvious. She was more than angry. We were back to the first day I saw her, and I had no idea why. I hadn't even been around for a week. I wasn't sure what I could have done.

“You wanna sit down?” I asked.

She moved almost robotically to a chair across from the couch. She stared at me, and the silence we were captured in bothered me. Mirriam was not the kind of girl to go quiet when she was mad.

She knew about the bet. That had to be it. Why else would she be sitting across from me too mad to speak?

I broke the ice. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Pulling me out of the road that night.”

“It was the decent thing to do.”

It may have been, but it was more than that, too. She proved it the way she hovered over me until the ambulance got there and then sat in the hospital until my mom came. But I didn't say anything yet. If I waited a little longer, she would tear into me. I would feel better when she did, and she would get over it.

She reached into her grey and pink backpack and grabbed a book and a few sheets of paper. She tossed them onto the coffee table that filled the space between us. “I brought notes and some books, so you can prepare your side of the debate.”

“I don't get a vacation after being hit by a car?”

“I need an A.”

“Right.” She stood, but before she could turn for the door I said, “Leaving so soon?”

She took a step toward me. “You got me out of the house that night.”

“What?”

She laughed. “Caleb, let's face it. The way you just randomly started walking home, volunteering to be my partner, suggesting Friday night study sessions—none of it ever made sense. I'm not the kind of girl that attracts football players, and I'm definitely not the kind of girl that attracts wannabe jarheads. I should have been the only person home that night, and you made sure I wasn't there.
You
gave her free reign, and then since she accidentally ended up at Pizza Hut, she has a solid alibi.”

“Who? What are we talking about?”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Goodbye, Caleb.” She left.

The first day I met her, seeing Mirriam cry might have been impressive. It would have made her human. But since then, I'd seen so many things that proved she had a good heart. I didn't want to see this. I'd rather get hit by a car again than see Mirriam cry, and I was kind of pissed at the same time because she attacked me over something I knew nothing about and I just got home from the hospital. It wasn't the bet. I wanted to know what she was so mad about.

Before I could figure out what I thought about my latest encounter with Mirriam Yohanna, my phone rang. It was on the couch with me, so I could call mom if I needed anything. The screen blinked Sgt. Rodniski. My recruiter. I hadn't actually signed yet. Mom wanted me to wait closer to the end of the year, so I could still decide to go to college.

“Hello?”

“Miller, how are you doin'?”

“I'm good.”
As good as a guy who got hit by a car a week ago can be.

“I heard about the accident, and I saw your mom last week. She said you were in the hospital. How bad was it?”

“It's been rough.”

“I bet. Are you able to handle a lot of strenuous moving right now?”

“I'll be okay.” I knew where this was going.

“Caleb, I'm sorry, but you need to bring me something from your doctor when you come to sign the contract.”

“Something from the doctor?”

“I need a medical release.”

There it was. “Well, I'll be okay. I just need a few weeks.”

“Well, we can wait to sign until you get the release, and I'll get you in a different boot camp.”

That would be the end of summer. Assuming, I didn't need physical therapy.

“Thanks,” I said flatly.

“Hey, you know I want to get you in for your dad. If you were already in, I could get you a desk job, but you have to understand even paper pushers must go through basic. If you're physically unable to do basic right now, my hands are tied.”

I threw the phone across the room. I didn't need to hear anymore of his empty apology. I'd seen enough sports injuries to know I
would
need physical therapy. The doctor was sugar coating it when he used the word “if.”

I thought I could somehow validate my father's death, if I could follow in his footsteps. Maybe, I could even go to the Mid East too, track down the monster who did this. I would volunteer to be stationed in Iraq. No one wanted to go there, so I'd get it.

Every chance of that died the day the coupe plowed me to the ground.

Mirriam

Another two days passed without me seeing Caleb at all.

I liked it that way. I made sure he had what he needed to do his half of the project, and I had no desire to see him other than that. Before the accident, I had started to like spending time with him. Even all those stupid arguments gave me an adrenaline rush like I'd never felt before. We were supposed to be friends. He'd said it, not me. But the truth was from the first time I saw him, All-American Boy was gorgeous, and I allowed myself to be blinded enough by that to let my guard down. Lesson learned.

Then he called. That took me by surprise for a moment, but I remembered leaving my number on his bedside table in the hospital, so he could call if he needed something.

“Did you forget about me?”

I live across the street. How the hell am I supposed to do that?
“What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I'm listening.”

“Come across the street.”

“No.”

“Well, then we'll both fail. I need help.”

“
Zmal.
I gave you the book. What do you need? Me to read it for you?”

Caleb laughed, and I could tell he was enjoying this. But this wasn't like the old arguments that were semi-serious yet fun. This was a Post-Caleb-the-Traitor argument. “Yes, I hit my head. I'm illiterate now.”

“You didn't have to hit your head very hard to accomplish that.”

“Mirriam, I can't walk across the street. Come over. Please?” His voice was laced with desperation.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I told you, help with Government.”

I groaned. “Liar.”

I knocked on his door, and he yelled, “Come in.” He was lying on the couch with his legs propped up wearing the same clothes I'd last seen him in. He was still undeniably attractive, yet there was something pathetic about him today.

“What happened?” I asked.

“What happened?”

“You look rough.”

“Being hit by a car will do that to you.”

“You look worse, and I don't think you got hit by a second car.”

“Well, you're no beauty yourself.”

I smiled. “Of course, I am. You told me so.”

“Believe me, I wish I could take that back, but what happened with Kailee?”

“Kailee?” I had no idea what he was talking about. I hadn't even spoken to her in a week. Then I realized Caleb hadn't been at school. She must have only recently found the time to tell on me, and I laughed. I didn't regret it, and I had no intention of apologizing for it. Still, I wasn't about to let Caleb's little fake blonde redneck girlfriend run us out of town. It took my mother forever to find the nursing job here, and I suspected that was because of government reservations for refugees.

“Mirriam, you're not at home anymore. You can't go around threatening people. People here have it out for rag—Mid Easterners anyway.”

Caleb's slip made me laugh harder. “Ragheads? It's okay, infidel. You can say it.”

“I didn't mean—”

I put my hand up to stop him. “I know. It's okay. And I didn't threaten your girlfriend, so you don't have to worry.”

“She's not my girlfriend.”

“But you haven't been at school all week, and you know about it.”

“Hey, I haven't talked to Kailee.”

“It doesn't matter. Either way, it doesn't change the fact that you got me out of the house for her.”

“Why do you keep saying that? I have no idea what you're talking about. What did you say to Kailee, Mirriam? Josh said she's threatening to have you arrested.”

I pursed my lips. “Hmm. I may have asked her if she wanted to be the first headless cheerleader on YouTube. But I didn't threaten to do anything.”

“Why would you do that? You have it hard enough here.”

“Like you care.”

Caleb's eyes went wide as his brows knit together, forming a crease in his forehead. “Hey, you know what? You shot me down in front of my friends. You cut me down in front of people every chance you get, and I've still been the only person telling people to watch what they call you since you showed up. So don't attack me.”

It was true. I hadn't exactly been nice to Caleb, and while he hadn't exactly been nice to me either, until the paint incident, he was never cruel. His monologue was convincing. Either he
had
been defending me when I wasn't around, or he was a very a good liar, and I couldn't decide which.

“Okay. I told your stupid little tramp to stay away from my house and my family or become a headless cheerleader. I think you know I'm not a terrorist, and I don't behead people. I had to say something. I don't even know why she hates me, but it was my fault we left Iraq. It won't be my fault we have to leave here, too.”

Caleb's eyes softened. He looked like he was about to say something, but I didn't give him a chance. He called my name and struggled to stand, as I walked out the front door.

Caleb

M had lost her mind. I had no idea why she kept saying I got her out of the house, or what she thought Kailee did. Even if I did, she had still lost her mind. It wasn't like Mirriam singlehandedly started a war. It didn't make sense that she thought it was her fault they had to leave Iraq.

The night at the library flickered across my mind. She'd said it was safer for everyone if people back home didn't know where she was. There was more to the story than she was telling me.

This girl made me crazy. She'd saved my life. I knew that car would have hit me again if Mirriam hadn't pulled me out of the road. But I didn't like being accused of whatever it was she thought I had done.

I called her name as she left. I wanted to follow her, but she was out the door before I managed to pull myself off the couch.

Two hours later, I sat in the lobby of the doctor's office. I spent as much time here as I did at home these days. My appointment was fifteen minutes ago, and they hadn't called my name yet. Mom sat beside me, tapping her foot. She needed to go back to work, but I wouldn't be driving any time soon.

To kill time, I took out my phone and connected to Facebook. I hadn't been on since the accident. Kailee had covered my wall with ‘Get Well!' messages, but I was more interested in her profile pic. It was a white garage panel with pink letters, ‘RAGHEADS GO HOME!' I knew this was connected to whatever Mirriam was accusing me of, but I hadn't noticed anything wrong with Mirriam's garage.

I zoomed in on the picture until I got the corner of a beige brick house in the bottom corner. There were lots of beige brick houses around here, but there weren't lots of Iraqis brave enough to settle in Killeen, Texas.

While Mirriam was sitting in the hospital with me, Kailee tagged her house. It was my idea to go to dinner that night—where we saw Kailee. No wonder Mirriam was pissed. She really believed I asked her out that night, so Kailee could trash her house. Why would she even think that? I had never done anything to her, and I didn't like it when other people talked about her.

I didn't know if I should try to convince Mirriam I had nothing to do with this, or leave it alone because I was pissed she assumed the worse of me. Whatever I decided to do about Mirriam, I was talking to Kailee. Mirriam didn't deserve this, but I was tired of Kailee interfering in my life.

I ground my teeth and howled as the doctor squeezed and pulled on my leg. He pushed my calf up, and when my knee didn't bend with him, he tried to force my leg into a bent position. I grabbed the sides of the table and screamed.

“It's almost over,” he said.

He laid my leg down on the table. I breathed in and out. In. Out. In and out, until I didn't feel like my limbs were on fire anymore. When the pain subsided enough that the room quit spinning, I used my arms to push myself up into a seated position.

I looked at the doctor who shook his head. I knew this wasn't going to be good.

“Have you been up and walking around?”

“I get up to eat and go to the bathroom.”

“Have you tried to walk more than that?”

“I can't. It's hard. I can't bend my leg, and after I take a few steps, I get dizzy.”