Even If the Sky Falls (19 page)

J
ULIUS
L
ESTER
J
AMES IS AN ANGEL.
I
TELL HIM THIS, AND HE
laughs. “Please tell my husband that,” he says as he pulls up on his Vespa. We are outlaws now, which is not true but it feels like it. I wasn't formally discharged but no one put up a fight when I limped out of the hospital—there was far too much going on for that. I promised Julius I'd return once I found Miles. I make it three blocks on my own, wheezing, limping, and tripping over pieces of New Orleans the hurricane had dumped on the streets. I was certain that it would take me a year before I reached our meet-up spot when I heard the
putt, putt, putt
of Julius's Vespa down the street. The mint-colored scooter brought tears to my eyes as it stopped in front of me.

“Now I hope you didn't think I was going to just let you walk all the way to Jackson Square in your condition?” Julius pats the seat behind him, scooting farther up to give me more space. He hands me a second helmet, and I hop on.

“I'm telling you, you are a guardian angel. I know it.”

Julius laughs and waits for me to settle behind him. I'm getting mud and dirt all over the paint—the only clean parts of me are the borrowed shoes Julius begged from a nurse.

“I know. No one believes me when I tell them, though.”

I wrap my arms around Julius's waist, and we take off through the streets, winding around broken glass and the crisscrossing cars moved by wind and water like pieces on a chessboard. The storm ripped signs from stores and relocated them blocks away. The New Orleans I'd walked through hours ago has been rearranged as if shaken in a globe, its details scattered across different streets and roads. My stomach lurches with the constant jostling. I hide my face in Julius's neck.

“Take a breath now, we're almost there.”

I nod, concentrating on the sound of the Vespa, the feel of the wind—actually pleasant now and not at all trying to kill me. But with block after block of bumps and swerves to avoid fallen branches I need something else to focus on. “How long have you and your husband been together?”

“Twenty years.”

“That's amazing.”

“It's not bad.” He turns back with a smile.

“How did you meet?”

“Oh—the old cliché. Handsome doctor meets strapping young nurse followed by a tryst here and a stolen kiss there in between shifts. Both of us pretending it was just that, of course.”

“Of course.” I smile, my first real one since last night.

Julius's voice vibrates with memories of love. It travels all the way back to me, soothing and assured, making me wish I was holding onto Miles as I listen to his story. “Then before we knew it, we'd become each other's lives. He has his flaws, of course, but I get by; I'm an angel like that.”

“Flaws?” I know a setup when I hear one.

“Man likes plain vanilla ice cream. Who likes plain vanilla? And with nothing on it too. Crazy, right? Everyone knows mint chocolate chip is the only perfect flavor.”

J
ACKSON
S
QUARE IS
empty when we arrive—ravaged. Fences have been pulled up by the roots, bent and twisted. Piles and piles of torn newspapers and garbage lie against the cathedral entrance like gathered leaves in the fall. Julius helps me off the scooter, guiding me as far as we can go. I scream for Miles over and over again, but there's no answer.

“Where is everyone?”

“Hopefully far away from here.” Julius leads me back to the Vespa. “We got at least twenty injured this morning.
Less than we prepared for, so thank goodness for tiny miracles. I guess some people do learn.” He helps me back onto the bike. “Keep going, Julia, keep going. Don't give up now.”

O
N WE GO.
Sometimes the shoreline is the easiest way, the water washing everything with it until we hit a patch of cars acting like a barricade; then it's a right and a left down narrow streets that aren't covered with sprinkled branches and garbage. My eyes water from the wind blowing across my face—at least that's what I tell myself. “Thank you for doing this, Julius.” My voice is a whisper. “You didn't—”

He waves it off. “Maybe I need a happy ending to this day too.”

A happy ending. Will we be so lucky? Julius and I head to Miles's favorite place by the river. A moment of panic sets in because I don't recognize it at first. The storm has relocated street signs and a few of the lamps have fallen over. I almost can't find the spot where his bracelet fell through the planks of the pier. Once again I thank God for Julius, who knows which street is which by heart no matter how much it's all changed.

“Damn.” Julius voice is constrained; when I look back he's shaking his head as he surveys the damage. “Damn. All the hard work cleaning this city up, and here comes Dorothy barreling down on us.”

“Dorothy? Really?”

“Ain't it cheeky? Bet someone thought it was funny.” He shakes his head. “Wish the world would stop knocking us down.”

I am not graceful getting off the Vespa again.

“Still, not as bad as Katrina. That's something. We would've needed a kayak to make our way through the Quarter.”

“You were here during Katrina?”

“I was.” He wags his finger at me. “Don't tell anyone I was that stupid. I stayed behind to help a friend and got stuck. Yeah, that was bad. Whole sides of buildings falling off, houses just . . . just gone. Torn apart like toys. Dorothy did her best”—he turns away from me—“and it will take us time to pull ourselves up, but she has nothing on Katrina. We're still coming back from that one.”

I get as close to the shore as I can, scanning the waters, which were not very clear before Dorothy and are even less so now.

Julius stands by me. “You weren't hoping to find him
in
the water, were you?”

“I don't know. We were out of the water, we were . . .” But what if he was pulled back in? We were still too close to the river, it would've been so easy to slip. “I'm hoping to find him anywhere. Alive.”

But he wasn't at the hospital. And they had no record of him as a patient. Which didn't mean anything, I told myself. Maybe he wasn't as injured? Maybe . . . Had
someone taken me here and left him behind? Maybe he was holed up somewhere, waiting. Image after image flashes through my mind: Miles dragged back into the water. Or lying in a hospital bed unconscious. No ID, no name . . . Miles leaving me on a bed, saying good-bye. We spent one night together; he didn't owe me being there. I curve into myself, concentrating on the pain. I would accept being angry, being abandoned, being one night among many, if it meant he is still alive.

Liar,
my heart says, and it is a little bit right.

“Anything?”

I stand, lungs trying their best to take in air.

“Take it easy, Miss Julia.” He steadies me. “You got hit by something big. Left you bruised.”

I lift my shirt, examining my belly again. I'd been too scared to look down at the hospital. Blue and purple blossoms across my side and down my stomach—a Rorschach of injuries; I take a good look, finding tiny cuts and scratches dotting my skin. There are more that I can't see, but I can feel them—they call to me, keep me awake, keep me moving. They sing along my back, catching on the fabric of my shirt, and along my legs. My bandaged wrist throbs, and I turn it a bit, testing its limits.

I survived. I will keep going. I will keep looking. “One more place?”

Julius pulls out his phone, checks it, and nods. “I can make time for that.”

G
LITTER ENDURES LIKE
cockroaches—even after the storm there are still remnants of it along the streets; it makes the piles of debris gathered along the gutter shine. The avenues of Carrollton are filled with life, though a stark difference to the beats of Mid-Summer. Those that stayed behind have already started to clear the dead branches and broken glass, making our journey a bit easier. We travel down the parade route, keeping my eyes open for Miles. Even after the storm I recognize the streets we traveled down, my mind replaying the fun, the laughter, the vibrancy. We continue on, and my eyes shift to the rooftop where the best amateur production of
Romeo and Juliet
happened. It doesn't look like there was any major damage, though the hanging sign for the shop below is no longer there; we find it two blocks down.

Still no Miles. A hollowness descends; maybe I should be back at the hospital, waiting for my parents, healing.

“Maybe we should go back?”

“You sure?” Julius replies.

“No, not at all.”

We loop around and make it halfway out of the neighborhood before I spot him.

“STOP!” I shout. When the Vespa stops, each injury sparks to life as I jump off the back.

“Sunshine?”

It's not the voice I want to hear, and it doesn't sound
the same coming from Taj's lips, but the name still brings a little soul back into me. Before I know it I'm being pulled off my feet into Taj's arms, choking back a sob.

“I knew we made a connection.” He steps back with a sly grin on his face.

I laugh, wiping away the tears.

Julius comes up. “This your boy?”

I shake my head. “This is a friend of his. Taj, this is Julius, my angel.”

“Pleasure.” Taj and Julius shake hands. “Hope you have some miracles left for this neighborhood.” Taj turns back to me. “Why are you here? Is Miles with you?”

My face falls, all the happiness I felt from seeing a familiar face wiped away.

“What happened?”

“We got separated.” I straighten, trying to summon more strength than I have. I think I ran out of adrenaline back at the river and all I have left is stubbornness. “At the river.”

His eyes grow wide before he presses his hand against his temple. “I haven't seen him,” Taj replies. “I was going to check on Danny next. We lost contact after the tail hit. Hoping he heard from D too.”

“Domínguez? Right.”

“I haven't heard from him since he left with that girl from the party. Not that any calls are going through. I got some texts through earlier, but no responses yet.”

Julius taps me on the shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt,
Julia, but I need to head back to the hospital.”

“I'm staying,” I reply in my firmest voice, giving him a quick hug. “I'll be okay.”

He looks me up and down, then over to Taj before deciding. “Take my phone.”

“No, it's fine.”

“Take my phone—there wasn't one among your stuff so I know you don't have one. Maybe eventually you'll be able to get a call through.” Julius shoves his cell phone into my hand. “Hospital's number is on there. Eddie's number—that's my husband—is on there as well. He'll find me. Promise me you'll call me if you need me, Miss Julia.”

“Promise.”

His eyes narrow. “Why do I know you are lying?”

“I'm not lying. I will call if I need you, Julius.”

He hesitates but has no choice and hugs me again, a gentle good-bye. I can almost feel him pouring more energy into me, knowing that I'll need it later. “I expect you back at the hospital before this day is done.”

“I promise.” And I do. Deep down I know I only have this one day to find Miles, probably less, before they take me home and I've lost him for good.

I watch Julius ride off until I can no longer see him.

“You make friends fast, Julia,” Taj says behind me. Funny to think that Taj knows my name before Miles did. Before Miles will.

“I do?” I don't know if Julius would consider me a
friend, but he has been a friend to me. I think of him returning to work, to the person he loves, and my heart lightens. That means something.

“I'm going to check on Danny.” Taj motions for me to follow but I reach for his hand.

“I'm not going.”

“What?”

“I need to keep looking, and I can't slow down.” I hand over Julius's phone.

“You saying I'm slow?”

“Yes. I need to find Miles and you need to find Danny. Put your number in the phone. I find him or you find him, we'll text each other, okay?”

Taj hesitates, and I reach over to take it back. I don't have time for this.

“Okay, okay.” He holds the phone away from me as a man with a strong resemblance to him catches up. He nods and watches the interaction. Taj hands the phone back.

“You better text me when you find him,” he says.

“Ditto.”

I'm halfway down the street when I hear Taj yell, “Yo! You might need his real name, right? It's—”

Taj is drowned out by a blaring car horn and all I hear is “Mills”—something Mills or Mills something, I have no idea.

“What?” I yell back, but Taj is waving, giving me a thumbs-up before he turns and leaves.

Of course. I would laugh if I had any humor left.

I continue on at a snail's pace, maneuvering around mountains of garbage that have been blown onto the street corners. Along the way I pick up a large stick that's just the right length for me to use as a cane. I pass a woman picking up broken shards of glass and wet photos off the street; the hurricane imploded her windows, sucking out all the picture frames from her walls.

“I forgot to take them down,” she mumbles. “How could I forget to take them down?”

She is not the only one picking up pieces of her life that have been scattered to the wind. If I find any personal items I place them by the nearest house, knowing they'll find their way home somehow. It feels like the least I can do as I walk by on my own journey, not able to help more.

I make my way forward, fatigue now a close friend. As the day goes on, more and more people appear on their lawns. I ask the people around if they've seen Miles—Mills, I say and hope they know the name. I describe him from the tip of his blue hair down to his hole-ridden Chucks, hoping the details help. Some say they think they maybe saw him earlier but don't know where he went. My heart leaps each time. He's alive! He was here, he was just here. I curse my slow-moving body trailing just behind his.