Even If the Sky Falls (20 page)

And yet, my mind fills with doubt. Did they really see him? Or maybe they are confusing him with something else. Others didn't see him at all and hadn't seen him since
the Midsummer Boys left after the parade. They don't have time for follow-up questions—they have their own people to find, their own lives to track down.

Down a block I catch a glimpse of blue hair and every inch of me sparks alive. I'm running, hobbling, down the street calling “Miles,” moving people out of the way with my stick like a crazy person. “Miles!” I yell, but he doesn't turn. Maybe I'm not loud enough. Maybe he's forgotten the name I gave him and me along with it. Then I'm there, my hand reaching for his. “Miles.”

I turn him toward me; it feels like my heart will burst through my rib cage.

But it's not him—I sag just as quickly, exhaustion taking over. I lean against the stick, dejected. This guy is too short and now that I look at his hair it is nowhere near electric blue. How could I have ever thought he was Miles?

“You okay, miss?”

I release his arm. “No. I'm sorry.” I have no energy to lie.

“You better sit down then.”

My body agrees, and I collapse on someone's front steps, taking a moment to collect myself. I will not give up, but I need this moment to settle, to plan my path. As I calculate where I need to go and how far I need to travel, I scan the people in the neighborhood. Those that stuck around exit their homes to survey the damage and help neighbors with theirs as well. Piles of branches, trash, and broken glass are
ushered to the edges of the streets. If the storm hadn't hit us they would be piling empty cups, discarded clothing, and costumes. Little by little the hurricane's effects are bundled together and tossed out.

I can't shake the shivers running up my spine—something is off, more than just broken glass and beaten-up streets. It's the music, or lack thereof. In its place the sounds of hundreds of insects build to a pitch, a static that is far too familiar. New Orleans should never sound like this.

Around me, people pull sheets of wood off their windows, and I think of the storeowner I met last night and wonder how she fared. I add her shop to the list of places to visit.

I check Julius's cell phone, but there have been no messages. I text Taj:

Anything?

It takes five minutes before it goes through. The reply comes ten minutes later.

Nothing. His family hasn't heard from him either.

I shove the phone back in my pocket. Decision time. I'm going to retrace my steps, no matter how long it takes. Starting with the Mid-Summer route, ending at the pier. If I don't . . . if I don't find him then, then I'll head back to Jackson Square and then . . . then I don't know, wait, I guess. Wait for him to find me or for my parents to arrive. Call Taj, check hospitals; there have to be missing persons lines for emergencies, right? I exhale, already annoyed at
my own plan, but I'm sticking with it. The memories from last night map out my route: the parade, the Maple Leaf, the rooftop . . . I head out toward my first stop when a hand grabs my shoulder, turning me around.

For one brief moment my heart believes it will be Miles.

Ever the optimist.

“J
ULIE.”

I push the hand away, fighting a wave of repulsion. Tavis.

“How the hell did you find me? GPS?”

“Julie, this is stupid.” He's reaching for me, trying to pull me into his arms. “You're going to hurt yourself.”

“Go away, Tavis.” I hobble away from him, looking up at the sky as I do.
If this is some sort of test having to do with patience, God, I'm fine with failing it.

“I'm not going to leave you, Julie.” He matches my pace, which isn't hard to do at the moment. “You're acting insane.”

“Then you should probably stay far, far away from me,” I say as I demonstrate how to do so.

“I promised your brother I would take care of you.”

“How dare you act like you were ever even friends!” I whirl to face him, ready to jab him with my stick. “I happen to know Adam hasn't spoken to anyone since—since—just go away!”

Tavis puts his hands up. “Fine, but I'm in charge of this trip and responsible for you . . . and . . . I care for you.”

We are making a scene; people stare as I continue on.

“Good for you.” I keep going, Tavis at my heels, like I owe him something. As if saying he likes me entitles him to whatever he happens to want. He's faster than me with my broken toe and swollen ankle. He comes around, blocking my way, trying to take my hand. I do not have time for this. “Please move.”

“Not until you listen.” He rests a hand on my arms, trying to calm me down. Trying to restrain me. No thank you. I pull my arms away, almost losing my balance in the process.

“I care for you, Julie,” he says. “I always have.”

I don't think I've ever laughed in a mocking manner before now, but it just comes out. “Always.” I have a very hard time believing anything Tavis says.

“There is no always, Tavis. We didn't speak until I came here—before then you were just some guy in my school and at church. That's it. Proximity does not make a relationship. Take. The. Hint.”

Tavis shakes his head, an impressive amount of denial
happening right now. “I know you think you don't have feelings for me, that you think of me only as a friend.”

I am shaking with anger, my heart hammering against my chest, my face is red. I have to find Miles. Why does he not understand that he's holding me back?

“Let me stop you there—I don't think of you at all.”

“That's a lie.”

“Okay, fine. I do—” But not in that way
.
I'm about to say,
I think of you in the “isn't he so annoying” way,
when Tavis interrupts with “I knew it!” and grabs me, pulling me to him, sharp jabs of pain jutting through my body, my cries stifled by his lips crashing into mine.

His kiss is wet, cold, utterly mechanical, and, oh yeah, unwanted. He kisses me for a second or however long it takes my hand to push him away. I swat him with the stick and use it to wrench myself from his grasp. I fight the urge to wipe my mouth, then decide I don't care if it offends him. “Don't you ever do that again.”

“You're not as strong as you think you are, Jules.”

I block his next attempt, straight up shoving the stick in his chest.

“And you don't have to be; it's okay to show me you're hurting. I'm here now. I'm here.” Tavis reaches for a strand of my hair. I can see how this is playing in his head, the romantic kiss, followed by the sweet pushing of the hair behind the ear. Ugh. I don't have time for this.

“No touching.”

I swat his hand away, but the stupid smile on his lips is harder to get rid of. He looks me up and down, like he's “won” me—I mentally punch him in the face.

He moves to cup my cheek, and I shift. Panic rises—I'm losing valuable time standing here. This needs to end.

“One more time—” My words catch in midsentence, eyes darting to the shiny item on Tavis's wrist like a magpie. “What's this?” I grab his arm hard; he tries to pull away, to hide his wrist, but it's too late. I've seen it. Fury engulfs me, and I turn into a friggin' banshee, forcing Tavis against a wall, tugging at his hand until I'm able to remove the bracelet. Its patchwork self feels so light on the palm of my hand. It's a gift having it back, a sign. I tuck it in my pocket for safekeeping.

“Julie, I—”

“How did you get this?” In a rage, I press my arm on Tavis's neck and lean in. “The truth. Now.”

“I don't—”

“NOW.” I lean in, pressing harder with my arm, until I notice he can't speak so I let him go.

“I thought if you saw it, it would upset you.”

I shake my head, no time for excuses.

“You're far too vulnerable right now, and something like this, a boy like that? He'll only hurt you. Trust me, it wasn't what you needed.”

I think of leaning into Tavis's injured arm, of causing him pain until he talks, but I don't need to. Tavis is not
strong, not like Abuela Julia, not like Miles, and not like me. Tavis caves.

“What I need?” My voice is low. “How would you know what I need?”

“Julie, please.”

My fingers dig into the wood as I hold myself steady. “Just tell me what happened.”

“I wasn't there when he brought you in, I swear.”

Miles. Miles brought me in? My heart leaps. I nod. “And?”

“He saw me later, after they fixed you up and you were resting.”

“He stayed?”

“For a bit.”

He stayed.

“Why didn't he check in? How did he find you?”

“I don't know. I was in the waiting room; they'd bandaged me up and he recognized me from Mid-Summer. Asked me—asked me to look after you. Said he had to go check on his friends and family or something.”

He left me,
my heart whispers even as my brain points out the logic.
You were safe.

But he left me,
my heart repeats.

“And the bracelet?”

“He—he put it on you before he left so you'd know he'd been there.” He tries to straighten, but I push him against the wall. “So you'd know he'd come back.”

“And you took it.”

“For safekeeping,” he replies, completely sincere. He truly believes he's doing the right thing. “There's a lot of looting that happens after a disaster, Julie. You can't trust anyone.”

That's hilarious coming from him. “Then?”

“Then he left you, Julie. He dropped you off. And don't get me wrong, I thank God he did, but he left. He didn't stay with you. I stayed. I sat by your side and waited till you woke up. I called your parents.”

“You called my parents?”

“Of course I did. Your father is coming to get you as soon as they open the airports.”

I brush my fingers along the bracelet one more time. The feel bringing me back to Miles, to our night, curled into him, playing poker, kissing, touching.

“I know this kind of guy, Julie. He's not worth it. He's not going to be there for you. In the end there were more important things to him than you.”

My heart stops, Tavis's comment wrenching me out of my memories. “That's not true.”

“Isn't it?” He moves closer. “I'm not judging you, but you were just one night, Julie, and that night is over.”

Yes, absolutely, family is important to Miles. His friends are important. But he hadn't been at home, hadn't been at Danny's or Taj's—had he? Where did he go? Where is he now? For a moment I think Tavis might be right. Miles
left me. There were more important things. It was just one night.

My fingers reach for the bracelet again; image after image flickers through my mind. Miles at Mid-Summer, Miles in the pool, holding my hand, Miles curled around me as I slept, then standing naked as a jaybird, Miles giving me the bracelet his grandfather made, Miles diving in to pull me out of the river, holding me against the current, his voice echoing even after the darkness took its hold. Then another image, one most likely created by my own mind, but I embrace it nonetheless—Miles pulling me out, carrying me, waiting for me somewhere.

All that is worth so much.

“I don't care,” I say, dropping my arm and walking away from Tavis. “Still going to find him.”

“You've got to be kidding me. Please, Julie, just forget this guy. Come back with me. He's already forgotten you, I promise.”

I take a deep breath. “Go fuck yourself, Tavis, from the bottom of my heart.”

“Julie—”

“Don't try to follow me—I will knee you in the groin. Or I'll press robbery charges.”

“Robbery?”

I point to the bracelet. “This was given to me as a gift, and you took it. You stole it as far as I'm concerned. So don't follow me or once again I will press charges.”

Surprisingly, Tavis actually listens as I leave him behind, my anger carrying me down several blocks before I notice how far I've gone. It doesn't hollow me out this time; I touch the bracelet on my wrist and feel renewed. I forge on, unsure how long this energy will last. When I'm halfway out of Carrollton I stop, and the pain catches up to me. I was apparently on painkillers. And now each twinge, each pang is amplified, it echoes. My teeth clench when I lean against a broken post, its metallic whine a mirror of my own pain. As I walk on the people of Carrollton call out:
You okay there, hon? Easy now, girl. Okay, sweetheart?

The Maple Leaf is no luck, but the kind people clearing out the space offer me a glass of water before I continue on. I leave them Julius's number, and they promise to call if they see him. Miles, I say, that's what I call him, I explain, but it's not his real name, no, I don't know his real name, something Mills, I think. Just please, if you see him.

I am warmed. I am hopeful. I am aided by the people of New Orleans. When I think I can't continue I watch them pick up the broken bits of their city, moving forward even through the pain. So I move. I help and they help. They offer rides, offer to walk with me, as I make my way to Loyola Cathedral, Café Du Monde, and back to Jackson Square. They bless me. They wish me luck. Some know the Mills boy, some thought they saw him, yeah sure, 'bout an hour ago, maybe two? He went this way or that? It no longer bothers me that their answers are not concrete. I pass
by the club we danced in, and it is the worst I've seen so far. Half of the roof has collapsed, and people hover around the outside.

“What happened?” I ask the nearest person to me.

“Roof was rotten through. Owner never did fix it and, well, I guess it didn't survive the storm.”

“Did anyone get hurt?”

“Don't know, kid. Still trying to get them out.” He walks away and toward the building. All those people. The tears are pouring down my cheeks. I let them. I hope they decided to go home after all.

“Where's the ambulance?” I shout back to the man. He looks up and shrugs.

I try calling 911, but nobody picks up. I heard in some states you can actually text 911, so I give it a try. It goes through but there's no response. I text Julius's husband about it as well. Then I text Taj.

I feel bad leaving, but I'm no use to anyone—I can't lift anything heavy and I'm just standing in their way. I decide to head out, calling 911 one more time on my way. It goes through, and I give them the address.

I make it to the shop where we bought our supplies, happy to see the boards held through the night.

I check in with Taj again—the text doesn't go through. I'll try later.

I hitch a ride to the hotel with an older woman heading out to check on her sister. At the hotel, the damage
is surface mostly, with broken windows being the worst of it. We'd locked the hotel before we left, and now the door won't budge. Neither does the one in back. I drag over a trash can, using it to see over the fence, and the once-peaceful luminescent bay we'd played in is gone, filled with garbage, making it as opaque as the Mississippi. My voice is hoarse. I call out Miles's name. People watch me; they let me pass; they nod as I go—a silent wish for luck. They have their own names to call out too.

I wind down, body ticking, flame fading bit by bit. Though the sky is still a dull gray, it is beyond humid and I am as soaked as I was after the rain last night.

I make my way over to the pier where Miles and I saw each other last. This is where I stop, where the flame sputters and my legs give.

This is good, this is where I'll stay,
I think.
Forever or for a little bit.
Blocks away a group of men start shouting. I watch, my head throbbing—two of them look like Miles. I rub my eyes, tired of their deception. The argument breaks up. I go back to staring at the ground, imagining hours passing by with each blink. Maybe I'll click my heels three times and my body will be magically transported.
But,
I sigh,
that wouldn't make me happy either
.

My eyes close, I slack, stars float up, just beyond reach. A cool breeze comes along, a remnant of Dorothy, and more welcome than its predecessor.

“It's okay.” I hear Abuela Julia's voice. I imagine her
sitting next to me. “It's okay to take a moment. It does not mean you are giving up,
niña
. We all need time,
un momento
to gather, to rest, even to think all hope is lost. Yes, even that. Be lost. Be sad. Be.
Y cuando estes lista
,
respira
. And you will find the agony bearable, enough to stand.
Te lo prometo.
”

The stars disappear as my eyes open, and Abuela Julia fades away. I wipe the tears and test my body, wiggling my fingers and touching bruises. The pain is still there, but so am I.

“Fairy Girl.”

This is nice, I think. A dream, a waking dream . . . I don't care. I want to wrap myself around the sound of his voice.

“Red-Winged Fairy Girl.”

I smile. Keep going, I need more. I conjure up the sounds of Mid-Summer. The trumpets, the drums, the laughter. They swell around me, bringing with them the dances along the streets, delicious treats and shared stories, his lips against mine . . . especially his lips against mine. I welcome it all back.