Heartsick (6 page)

Chapter Eight

There’s nothing like listening to a band alfresco. Especially a band with a banjo. So as Conrad, Mandy and I hand over our tickets to see Dakota Tatum at the Allan amphitheater, I can’t stop smiling. I’ve been wanting to see her since a freshman hallmate introduced me to her songs three years ago. Liking her, and bluegrass in general, was one of the ways my high school friends, who mostly matriculated to the Ivies in the north, said Virginia had finally swallowed me up. Sure, we had all grown up in Alexandria, which is in Virginia. But only sort of.

After we get in, Conrad taps my shoulder. “Hey, I’ll meet up with you guys in our section.” He nods to an adorable guy with fresh hair, wide-rim glasses and skinny jeans that actually work on him. “I have chemistry lab with that guy. As far as I’m concerned, he’s the hottest pepper in the bucket.” Conrad is so corny, he makes up his own corny sayings.

I slap his lower back. Okay, some may argue I slap his upper tuchus. “Go get ’em cowboy.”

“I’ll try to snag him in two toots of the horn.” He tips his imaginary cowboy hat and saunters over. I turn to catch up with Mandy, who had walked a little ahead, but after two steps I’m hit in the shoulder. Hard.

Natalie.

“Oh, sorry,” she says in a way that clearly indicates that she not only isn’t sorry but she intended it.

I mean, I get it. If I had a sister who was killed, I’d probably hate everyone who may even somehow in some small way be related to her death too. But only to a point.

“How are you, Natalie?” I ask.

She leans back. “Okay,” she says. “Except there are too many Poe kids at this concert. Don’t y’all have your own campus concerts to go to?” She frowns.

“I like Dakota Tatum too,” I say as I tug against the little streamers that flow off my dress.

Blissfully, Mandy has picked up on my disappearance. She has zoomed back and swooped around me. The tension in my neck lets up a little, and I stand taller.

“You should leave,” Natalie says to us. “Everyone knows you were at the party. No one wants you around.”

“Natalie—” I roll my neck a bit, I can’t help it, “—half of Poe was at that party.”

“And that half of Poe isn’t welcome here.”

“Natalie,” I say, “we’re all really sorry that Lynn is gone. She seemed like an amazing person. I read in her obituary how she volunteered at the animal shelter and—”

“You didn’t even know her.” Natalie’s hands tighten into fists and her eyes narrow.

I breathe. “I didn’t, but—”

“Grieving doesn’t give you a blanket bitch license,” Mandy says.

“Whatever,” Natalie says. “How did you get those eyes anyway? Some new STD only reserved for skanks? You going to spread that around Allan, like a slut?”

“Hey,” I say. Warmth grows up my chest, my fingers curl into my palms. “Slut shaming never helped any woman.”

Natalie smirks. “Spoken like a true slut.”

Sometimes, in the back of my mind, I think we should all stand around and sing “Kumbaya” around Georgia O’Keefe paintings just because we all have vaginas. But even if I could organize something like that, I wouldn’t invite Natalie.

Natalie looks at Mandy. “Seriously though, what’s up with that purple? Did you let some guy cum in your eye?”

Mandy’s gaze simmers, but she remains quiet. I scramble for how to defend her.

“Why don’t you just go shit in a bush and relieve yourself?” Yes. This is what I come up with.

And it works.

Natalie mumbles a “whatever” and walks off.

Of course, Mandy is not rattled. I’m rattled, arms shaking and jaw tight. But I get over it when we find Conrad in our section and spread out our blanket and settle down in the grass.

“How did it go?” I ask Conrad.

He shrugs. “He has a boyfriend.”

“That sucks,” I say, resting my head in my hand and frowning with him.

He pulls at some grass and shrugs. “Anyway, what about you? Anything new with that Luke guy?”

I had told him about how Luke has kept texting, usually with “admissions” of what he actually studied, ranging from learning to be a park ranger on the moon to studying to be that guy who has to sweep up confetti after political campaigns. Yes, that requires four years of training, he assures me.

“I haven’t seen him since the hotdog.”

“And the other hotdog!” Conrad says, shoulder barreling into me. I laugh. I told him the details—not the gory details, but the fluffy details—of what happened after that first kiss on the stoop. It had been tame. I am a good girl, mostly. And Luke didn’t stay the night. He said he needed to get back. But before he left, he held on to me for about five minutes. I considered tapping my foot and looking at my nonexistent watch on my wrist, but decided I didn’t mind extended time with my nose in the crook of his neck. If I could capture his grassy, smoky scent, I would.

“Yeah, yeah, well, after I told Rachel I was, you know, hanging out with her brother, she was thrilled for some reason—”

“She’s thrilled because she knows you’re the bee’s knees,” Conrad says.

“Ditto,” Mandy chimes in. I have nice friends.

“Anyway, she said I had to come over for dinner,” I say. “So I’ll see him tomorrow.”

“Sounds serious,” Conrad teases.

“No, it definitely isn’t,” I say.

The band comes on, and it’s nothing short of amazing. My toes mix in the grass and the sun sets and casts beautiful orange, purple and pink streaks across the sky. The lake behind the stage is calm and serene. I eat up every strum of the banjo and let Dakota Tatum’s beautiful voice glide through me.

It’s perfection itself, until a break, when Dakota calls up Jared, that creepy religious guy, for a special announcement.

“Oh no,” Conrad says. “No, no, no.”

Jared takes the microphone from Dakota. “I know you’re all having a nice evening, and that’s great. But please consider all the lives that have been lost, all of God’s children who have never been able to enjoy a nice evening. The Poe University Interfaith Council is raising money to stop abortion, once and for all.”

Conrad, the president of the interfaith council, has his head is in his hands.

“Women who kill their babies will go to Hell,” Jared continues. “But that is not enough. We must punish these murderers now.”

Well, shit.

One of Dakota’s best songs is about her sad experience having an abortion when she was a teenager. She has since become a pretty prominent pro-life activist. Despite my feminist upbringing, I can still have a rather healthy girl crush on her because one, I’ve never experienced that, and two, she thinks high schoolers should learn about condoms.

Even though she’s pro-life, I don’t think that means she enjoys being called a murderer who deserves Hell. Or, I’m sorry, more than Hell because apparently Hell isn’t enough. As Jared continues booming about evil women, Dakota crosses her arms and nods to the large drummer. He approaches Jared.

Jared sees the impending drummer and his speech scrambles. “God knows your true soul! He has already begun marking those who are evil! Clear your heart. Renounce the devil. Your wickedness will flow through your eyes—” He doesn’t get to finish because the drummer has taken the mic from him.

“Thanks for...um...that,” he says, passing the mic to Dakota and heading off stage with a squirmy Jared.

Conrad’s face emerges from his jeaned knees and folded arms. He shakes his head.

“What was that?” I ask.

“Ever since he couldn’t get people to rally behind his anti-gay stuff, Jared has been trying to organize a pro-life coalition within the interfaith council. But we aren’t pro-life. I mean, we aren’t pro-choice either.” Conrad swallows. “We have different members with different views on abortion and that’s fine, but he just keeps pushing it. And, well, some of his views have even offended a lot of the other pro-lifers.”

“Well, yeah,” I say, tilting my head. “I’m sure most people have a healthy appreciation for Jared’s special brand of nut baggery.”

“You’d be surprised at how many people take him seriously.” There is some extra moisture in Conrad’s eyes. He says it slow and soft.

I stare at the intertwining blades of grass before me as I rub my hand in a circular motion along Conrad’s back. I cheer him up by downloading a Zippo app and waving my smart phone slowly back and forth to a mellow song. I do it as a joke, but, lame as it is, it sort of feels nice. Then the air gets colder and I stop with the hijinks. I put my hands into my warm pockets and curl into my jacket.

Chapter Nine

It takes the reporter almost a week to get whoever her source was at the hospital to speak, even on the condition of anonymity. But once she does, the story appears with those unidentified flying quotes: “Yes, Mandy Malone had deep cuts on her arm. They were too deep to heal in a day, at least in my experience.” Yet the picture the reporter snapped the next day showed an arm that looked like it hadn’t so much as had a rug burn in years. The story explodes across the front pages of the
Allan Crier
because, well, have I mentioned not much happens in Allan?

Soon people are tweeting it and posting it on Facebook and Tumblr, which makes it a not-so-fun Saturday morning in the Mandy-Quinn household.

It’s hard to believe it was just a week ago that I woke up to her screeches about her purple eyes. She’s been pretty calm about the whole purple eye/mysterious healing thing since then, so I’m startled by her response to her sudden fame.

“What does that bitch think she’s doing?” Mandy asks. She shakes her phone as I put some Pop-Tarts in the toaster.

The headline “Poe University Senior Miraculously Heals” shifts back and forth.

Yeah. Miracle Mandy.

I gently take her phone from her and set it on the table. I pull her into a hug. “It’s okay, it’s just one stupid article,” I say. “Who reads the
Allan Crier
anyway?”

She nods, brushing her curls against my cheek as she does. “Well, everyone apparently, when it’s about how I’m a freak.” Her voice sounds like it’s lined with hot tears. But then it shifts. She says it stiff, almost under her breath: “Why did you make me go to the hospital anyway? Just because that jerk wanted me to go?”

Something bristles under my skin. “Luke is not a jerk for wanting you to go to the hospital. Shit, Mandy, you had pieces of glass in your arm and were bleeding like crazy.” I don’t raise my voice often, so the soreness in my throat is unnatural. “And you shouldn’t have taken that weird crazy drug Zachary gave you anyway. I can’t believe you did that. You know how I feel about hard drugs.” I scrunch my mouth and busy myself with stirring my tea.

When I look up, her purple eyes are focused on something to my left. Or she’s just avoiding looking at me. She clunks her teacup in the sink. “I shouldn’t have swallowed that tablet, but not every drug story is related to your uncle.”

Heat flashes through me and I can’t move. I want to punch something. My teeth hurt from grinding against each other.

She sighs. She reaches for my shoulder, brushes it with her fingertips and pulls back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” She leans against the counter. “All I was trying to say was Luke didn’t need to imply that Zachary hit me. He should have been able to tell I’m not like that.”

It will do no good to explain that no woman, or man, is “like that.” But sometimes it’s indelicate to throw PC arguments at someone who has such deep ties to an issue you’ve only read about. I’ve been in the dark too. I have a sordid story too. That’s one of the reasons we’re so close. But despite the fury still broiling in my insides, I appreciate that her dark was a lot darker than mine.

“You know, Luke wasn’t judging you, he was just assessing the situation.”

“Okay, okay.” She sighs and looks toward the ceiling. “He’s not a jerk.”

“He’s not a jerk.” My fingers curl into my palms.

She stares at me. “Quinn.” She tips her head and grins. “You really like him, don’t you?”

Ding
. My Pop-Tarts slam up. My heart almost stops. Flustered, I pull them out too soon. They burn my hands. As I suck on my red, sore finger, I say, “Wah mathes you thing thah?”

Mandy laughs. We fall back to normal, and I smile, sore finger still in my mouth.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” she says. She sighs and rushes her hands through her hair before she goes to our little table for mail and catalogues and pulls out a piece of paper. “I got this a few days ago.” I hold it. It twitches in my hand as I take in the words. Jail. Release. Visit.

Her dad.

“He’s coming to see me in November. My stupid mom not only told him I’m at Poe, she gave him my address.” She crushes her nose into her palm and shakes her head.

I don’t love it when she calls her mom stupid, but then again, her mom does some stupid things. Still, what’s done is done. “Don’t be afraid,” I say. I hug Mandy for a long time. “If he keeps contacting you, my dad knows people who can help you get a restraining order.” The last time she saw her dad, when she was in high school, she insisted on a public place. He still slapped her and grabbed her wrist. He would have done more if not for some fast-acting sandwich artists.

She pulls away from the hug. “I might see him. It might be different this time.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” I say, trying to find the right balance between I’m-your-friend-and-I-support-your-decisions and are-you-fucking-nuts. “Will things be that different just because you have me and Conrad and—”

“I know I have you guys,” she says. “But that’s not what I mean.”

I shift toward her. “I don’t think it’s wise to think he’ll somehow be different.” Some people don’t change.

She shakes her head. “No, not him. This time
I’m
different. I think.” She looks at me with her deep purple eyes, and then shakes her head.

“I know you’ve grown and become braver,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t hurt you.”

She swallows. “I feel...stronger.”

I open my mouth, not sure what to say. My hand, with a limply extended pointer finger, hangs in the air. She closes her palm over my hanging hand. “Look, never mind. I’ll be okay. Come on, I think they’re having a
Punky Brewster
marathon today.” She releases my hand, walks away and flops on the couch.

We watch morning sitcoms while sipping tea. Something about funny family lives in the ‘80s soothes us. She seems to be handling everything well. We’re fine.

Then the doorbell rings.

“Is that Luke picking you up?” Mandy asks. I told her we were going apple picking before dinner.

“Can’t be,” I say. “He’s not supposed to get here ’til one.” But, sure enough, Luke’s blurry figure shines through the blurry glass.

“Quinn, it’s 12:55.”

Shit. I swear it was ten-thirty only fifteen minutes ago. Well, at least it feels that way.

“Give me ten minutes,” I shout through the door.

He tries to open it, but it’s locked. “Okay, can I come in?” Even through all that wood and glass, his voice sounds husky. I grab at my gross, unwashed hair and look at my fuzzy pajama pants. My breathing speeds up.

Mandy is behind me. “Go,” she says. “Get ready. I’ll play nice, I promise.” I dash to the shower as Mandy welcomes him in.

Ten (okay, twenty) minutes later, when I’m cleanish and mascaraed and wearing an orange dress that screams
autumn field trip,
I’m glad he and Mandy are laughing. Except when I walk in, they stop.

I cross my arms. “Okay, what did I do that was so funny?”

Luke gets up and shrugs. Mandy says, “I just told him about the time you ordered the low-carb meal at The Biscuit Kitchen.” Luke and Mandy share a smirk. I try to hide my own smile, and I furrow my brow.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “I thought low carb meant they’d give me a smaller biscuit. I didn’t think I’d just get an egg. I mean, it’s The
Biscuit
Kitchen. Aren’t they required by law to serve a biscuit with every meal?”

Mandy laughs, but Luke says, “Yep, I’m pretty sure that’s an Allan county ordinance,” as he holds the door open. He gives a little nod to Mandy, which she returns. It makes me much happier than a little nod should.

As we get closer to his car, he asks, “How are things?” I can tell by his inflection that he is talking about Miracle Mandy.

“Okay.” I get into his car. The upholstery has those freshly vacuumed lines. Two coffee cups rest in the cup holders. He passes one to me. “Do you like pumpkin chai?”

“I love it!” I take in the glorious flavor, but it’s hard to concentrate on my happy taste buds. “It’s weird, you know, with the newspaper article and everything, but we’re doing okay. Mandy is okay.”

He swallows. “Yeah, well you need to be careful. This town had gotten riled up over less.”

I bite my lip. “Are they riled up now?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Natalie’s been saying some shit. But she’s been, well, off ever since...”

“Yeah.” I nod and look at my thumbs.

“I also heard some students want Mandy to leave? Something about evil eyes...”

“What are you talking about?”

He starts the car and drives. “It’s probably nothin’. Just if you or Mandy don’t feel safe, you know you can call me, right?” He locks eyes with me for as long as he can while still being a good driver.

“Yeah, sure, of course.” I run my thumb along my lip and look out the window at the shops that dot Main Street. Wooden chairs. Wooden doll houses. Wooden spoons.

“I got something for you.” He flicks his head toward the backseat.

I twist around while mumbling how he really didn’t need to. I reach for the pink bag. It’s next to a radio scanner.

“It’s kind of sketch you have a scanner,” I say.

“Oh?”

“You know those are illegal?”

“It’s only illegal to have them on in the car. That one’s off.” I look back. It does look dead. Kaput. But probably ready to come to life with a push of a button. Unkaput.

“Well, okay, but if the cops pull us over, I’m making a run for it,” I say. He laughs his lumberjack laugh.

I sift through the delicate pink wrapping. “Where did you get this, the Girls’ Shop for Women and All Things Feminine and Ladylike?”

He emits another hearty laugh. “Pretty much. I don’t know, I just saw it and thought, what the hell.”

Nestled inside the paper is a palette pendant on a delicate chain. The palette isn’t just silver either, it has bulbous colors for each of the paints. It’s basically hideous. Though mercifully small.

I don’t lie. Not even a tad. I look at him warmly. He shifts his eyes back and forth from the road to me via the rearview mirror. He’s holding his breath.

“That was really sweet of you,” I say. See, no lies. “I’m going to wear it right now.” Also not a lie. I unclasp it, moving my hair aside, and clasp it again, removing my other necklace that my mom got me from Tiffany’s. Tiffany will have to wait. And I guess if Luke and I ever have breakfast, it would be outside the Girls’ Shop for Women and All Things Feminine and Ladylike.

I pull the palette away from my chest and smile. He breathes out.