Love Me Broken (32 page)

After walking almost everywhere for a full year, we seem to leave Astoria at light speed. Everything is so much
faster
with a car. I had forgotten that. Soon we’re west of town, going over the low bridges past the tidelands. Then, before I know it, we’re exiting the main highway and entering side streets.

But it’s too quick. I look around. We’re a good five miles from where we should have turned off.

“Um, Adam?”

“Yeah.”

“It wasn’t for a few exits.”

He shakes his head, a grin on his face. “Nope. It’s here.”

I swallow, but my mouth is suddenly dry. What is he talking about? But I think I know. I don’t want to believe it, but I think I know.

He pulls over and parks the car. There’s no one around, the land undeveloped and grassy. He takes the keys from the ignition and we sit, him looking out the windshield with his arms relaxed on the seat back, and me, hunched and peering around, trying to breathe.

“Erica,” he says after a moment, “you’re amazing, you know that?”

I don’t respond. What’s the catch?

“When you woke up this morning, you couldn’t even look at a car. Now you’re riding in one. On busy streets, no less. Going fast.” He takes my hand, cupping mine in both of his. Only his top hand isn’t empty. He’s pressing the keys into my palm.

“I don’t think we’ve hit your limit yet. I think you’ve beaten this thing. I think you can take us the rest of the way.”

I know it’s crazy, but I kind of want to, just to see if I can. But I’m worried I won’t be able to. I try to hand the keys back, and Adam shakes his head.

“Not until we find your limit,” he says. “I know you can do more. But we’ll go slow. Do you think, with the car parked and the engine off, that you could sit in the driver’s seat? Just sit in it?”

I nod. I know I can do that.

“Okay.” He unbuckles and is halfway around the car before I realize that this will require me getting out too. I unbuckle just as he’s opening my door. My legs are wobbly as I stand up.

What if I crash? What if I’m too shaky to drive and I crash?

The idea doesn’t feel illogical.

I shake my head. If I don’t feel up to it, I won’t drive. I’ll just sit and I won’t drive. But I know I can sit.

I sink into the driver’s seat. It’s still warm from Adam. I shut my door and look over at Adam with a queasy smile.

“See?” Adam says. “No big deal.” He buckles his seatbelt. I take a deep breath, then I buckle mine.

I put the key into the ignition. I pause a moment, not taking my hand off of the key. Then, squinting my eyes shut and giving a little yelp, I start the car.

I laugh nervously, looking over at Adam. He looks at me intensely, but his body is completely relaxed.

“Adjust your mirrors,” he prompts.

I roll my eyes at myself. “Right. It’s been a while.”

“You’re doing great,” Adam says.

When everything is ready, Adam handles the shifting for me. “There’s enough to think about without having to learn all this too,” he says. “I got this part. You just take this street to the beach, slow as you want. It goes all the way through.”

I look at him, asking with my eyes: How do you know this?

He gives a guilty grin. “I had Levi check on his phone while you were in the shower.”

“You had this planned?” I ask. “But how did you—I mean, what if I—”

“Erica,” he says solemnly, “I
knew
you could do this. You’re stronger than you realize. Now, I’ll be right here if you need me. You’ve got this.”

Okay. Okay, okay, okay. I can do this. I look out the windshield ahead at the empty road. I glance in my side mirrors, and my rear view. All clear. My hands are gripping the wheel tightly, the leather forming little indents in my skin. I test the gas pedal and the engine gives a corresponding
vroom
.

“I’m ready,” I tell Adam, and he shifts the car into gear. We start rolling forward slightly, and I—very lightly—press my foot on the gas. The car lurches ahead and I lift off my foot as if it were touching fire. Adam says nothing, patiently letting me find my own way. I try again, this time pressing down on the pedal with easy pressure. The engine purrs a little, and we start gliding along. It feels—it feels too fast. I take my foot off the gas and touch the brakes. We don’t slam to a stop but I feel my body being thrust into the seatbelt, and I almost stop right there, in the middle of the road, and chicken out.

But I don’t. I take a deep breath.

“You’re doing great,” Adam says. “Keep going.”

So I do. This time, I get the car moving at a steady pace. It feels so incredibly fast at first, and then I look at the speedometer and it’s barely ten miles an hour. I’m just glad there are no other cars on this road.

Gradually, I pick up a little speed. I haven’t been on this particular side road, but I know that we’re a good five miles from the beachfront. My confidence is building a bit, and we get up to twenty-five miles an hour.

“Almost second gear!” Adam yells with glee. He’s laughing, and I laugh too.

“I’m driving, Adam! I’m driving!” I must sound like a complete fool, shouting because I’m going as fast as a school bus chugging uphill, but it feels
good
! “I’m doing it! I can’t believe it!”

“I can,” Adam says. He looks up ahead and claps his hands. “Almost there!”

I see an empty parking lot about five blocks away. “I can make it,” I tell Adam. “I’m going to make it.”

I’m practically hopping on the seat, I’m so excited. Adam’s going a bit crazy next to me too. He’s peering ahead and then looking back at me, giving just enough attention to the car to shift us if necessary.

“All right,” he says, laughing. “Now slow it down and turn us in.”

I can’t believe it. I drove here. I
drove
here! As I turn into the parking lot, I see the ocean spread out before us on the horizon. We’re both laughing as I slowly roll the car ahead.

“If only Prickly Pete could see me now,” I say, and even though it doesn’t really make sense, it makes us both laugh hysterically. I’ve got tears in my eyes, and I hear Adam cough a little, he’s laughing so hard.

 “Careful there,” I tell him.

He struggles to say something, and can’t through his laughter. We roll forward, and suddenly Adam coughs again. This time it shakes his whole body, and suddenly he’s not laughing anymore, just coughing. It sounds phlegmy and wheezy at the same time.

“Adam?” I ask. “You okay?”

His hand is at his mouth, and his eyes are shut as if he’s in pain. I want to turn to him but my hands are on the wheel. I tap my foot on the brakes so that I can help him, and we both lurch forward slightly. His hand goes down, and he coughs again.

He coughs a spray of blood that lands on the silver dashboard.

“Adam!” I scream, my foot coming off the brake pedal. He doesn’t respond—he’s still coughing too much. His face looks pale, like he can’t breathe.

Then there’s a major bump, and I look up to see that we’re rolling past the edge of the parking lot and onto the sand.

“No,” I beg, “not again.” A chill runs through my whole body. I put my foot on the brake and struggle with the stick shift to put the car into park. Meanwhile, Adam is fumbling with his seatbelt. He unlatches it before I can stop him and pulls open his car door.

“Adam, wait!” I call, struggling with the latch of my own seatbelt. The car is still running, the smell of exhaust wafting over us.

He stumbles out, takes a step and falls, his legs giving out. I scream for him again, my voice cracking. I unlatch my belt, throw open my door, and run around the front of the car.

There is Adam, his arms sprawled out, his body on the sand. He landed on his stomach, and he is facing away.

“Please,” I beg and rush over to him. I put my hands on his shoulder and give him a small nudge. “Adam?” I ask.

His eyes are open, but his pupils have rolled back into his head. There’s blood on his lips. I call out his name again but he doesn’t hear me. He isn’t moving.

I look around. The car engine rumbles, and the waves crash in the distance beyond. We are alone. I am helpless. 

It feels like this is all happening again.

Then a wheeze comes out of Adam. He’s still alive, and this thought sobers me.

He’s not Conner. He’s not dead. I have to do something. I have to call for help.

But my cell phone is at home.

“I need your phone, Adam.” I pray that it’s on him, that he didn’t leave it behind too. I have to reach around him, feeling his pockets. The bulky shape of his wallet is in the pocket facing up. He’s leaning on his other pocket, pressing it into the sand. That’s where his phone is, and I’m not sure if it’s safe to move him, but I know it’s not safe to just leave him here, so I lean him back a little. It scares me how limp his body is. His arm falls back over his shoulder. “You’re going to be fine,” I tell him, although I don’t know why. Maybe I’m telling myself more than him. “Nothing is going to happen to you.” I pull the phone from his pocket and carefully return him to his side.

I flip open the phone and am thankful it doesn’t have any sort of lock code. I suppose even phones with a password allow emergency calls though. I press 9-1-1 and put the phone to my ear.

Nothing.

Then I realize I have to press the green button to dial. While it’s ringing, I look down at Adam. I put my hand on his chest, trying to feel if he’s still breathing, if he’s still alive—

“Nine one one, what’s your emergency?”

It’s a woman on the other end with a nasal voice. I’m annoyed immediately that she sounds almost bored.

“Help!” I gasp. “I need help!”

“What’s the emergency, ma’am?”

I pause, wondering how I should describe Adam in relation to me. “My friend, he’s not breathing.” I realize this may not be true. I feel the faintest bit of breath come from Adam. “I mean, he’s passed out. He’s breathing a little. But it’s—there’s blood.”

I hear a keyboard clattering. “Where is the blood coming from?” Her voice is alert now.

“He coughed it up. We were in the car and—and
laughing
. Everything was fine. Then he started coughing and—oh my god—he coughed up blood and then fell over and wouldn’t wake up.”

“We will get your friend the help he needs. Now, who am I speaking with?”

“Erica. Erica Harper.” Then, after a moment of thought, “He’s my boyfriend. Adam.”

More keyboard clacks. “Where are you?”

I look up, seeing the car idling over the edge of the parking lot. I look to the street, then the ocean. Nothing is familiar.

“Um, I don’t know. We were on our way to Seaside. We pulled off.”

“What do you see around you? Are there any street signs? Do you have GPS on your phone?”

“No,” I say to the last question. I look down at Adam, reluctant to leave him. I touch his shoulder and then have to stand up, walking through the sand and onto the pavement of the parking lot. “I am right by the ocean. There’s a parking lot, but nobody’s around.” I scan the road. “Wait. I see a street sign. Hold on.”

I race through the parking lot and across the street, where on the opposite corner I see a bent street sign. I scream the street names to the operator.

“Good,” she says. “I am sending an ambulance right away. Now I need you to go back to Adam and help me to figure out his condition, and if there’s anything we can do to help before the ambulance crew arrives, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, my voice shaky. I recross the empty parking lot. All the details feel unreal: the sand in the corners of the lot, the cracks in the pavement with long wispy weeds growing out of them. The car is still idling. I know I should probably turn it off, but right now the sound is comforting in this silence.

I return to Adam. He hasn’t moved.

“What is his position? Can you tell me without moving him? I want to make sure he has a clear passage of air.”

“Uh, he’s on his side. His right side.” I’m not sure if this is important or not. “His eyes are—” I cringe looking at them “—they’re still open, but they’re, they’re rolled back.”

“Is his mouth open? Is he breathing?”

“His mouth is open a little.” I lean down to listen. His breath is slow and sputtering. “Yes, he’s breathing. But it sounds weird. Wet.”