Night Road (21 page)

Amanda scooted sideways, made her mom and dad scrunch together to make room.

Lexi sat down by Amanda. She looked into the girl’s sad eyes, and suddenly they were both crying. They hadn’t been friends in high school, but it didn’t matter now; all that stuff just fell away. “It totally wasn’t your fault,” Amanda said. “I don’t care what people say.”

Lexi was surprised by how much that meant to her. “Thanks.”

Before Amanda could say anything else, the service began.

The priest said Mia’s name, and every high school girl in the church burst into tears, and more than a few boys joined in. The priest’s words painted a picture of a happy eighteen-year-old girl who was almost Mia and yet not quite. He didn’t say that she snored when she lay on her back or that she moved her lips when she read or that she liked to hold her best friend’s hand while they walked through the mall.

His words she could withstand. It was the slideshow of Mia’s life that devastated her. Mia in a pink tutu, her arms circled above her head … Mia holding a Captain Hook action figure, grinning … holding Zach’s hand as they stood in the cold ocean water, grimacing. The last picture was of Mia alone, wearing a crazy tie-dyed T-shirt and cutoffs, smiling for the camera, giving the world a thumbs-up.

Lexi closed her eyes, sobbing now. Music began to play: it was not the right music. Mia wouldn’t have liked the droning, solemn chords. And somehow that hurt most of all. Whoever had picked the music hadn’t thought of Mia. It should have been a Disney song, something that would have gotten Mia on her feet and made her sing along with her hairbrush as a microphone …

Sing with me, Lexster
.
We could be in a band
… and Zach, laughing, saying,
no more, Mia, dogs are starting to howl …

Lexi wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, but the words came from inside of her, memories blooming up and spilling over.

“Time to go, Lexi,” Amanda said gently.

Lexi opened her eyes. “Thanks, for letting me sit with you.”

“You coming to graduation?”

Lexi shrugged. Had it only been six days ago she and Mia and Zach had been together in the gym, practicing for graduation? “I don’t know…”

People moved into the aisle, streamed toward the double doors. Lexi felt their gazes on her. Faces frowned in recognition as they passed her. Parents looked judgmental; kids looked sad and sympathetic.

Finally she saw the family. They sat in the front pew, still and stiff and dressed in black. People paused to offer condolences as they passed.

Lexi moved toward them, unable to stop herself. She was going against the flow; mourners stared at her, frowned, moved out of her way.

In the front row, the Farradays rose in unison and turned.

Neither Jude nor Zach acknowledged her. They just stared, dull-eyed, their faces streaked with tears.

Lexi had practiced what she would say to them a hundred times, but now, faced with the magnitude of their loss and her guilt, she couldn’t even open her mouth. The whole family turned away from her and walked to the church’s side door.

Lexi felt Eva come up beside her. She sagged into her aunt, giving up the strength it had taken to come here.

“No one blames him,” Eva said bitterly. “It’s not right.”

“He wasn’t driving.”

“He should have been,” Eva said. “What good is it to make a promise and then ignore it? He should be blamed, too.”

Lexi remembered how he’d looked at her in the hospital; the green eyes she loved so much had been darkened by more than grief. She’d seen guilt there, too, as deep as her own. “He blames himself.”

“That’s not enough,” Eva said firmly. “Let’s go.”

She took Lexi by the arm and led her out of the church. Lexi could hear people whispering about her, blaming her. If she’d been less culpable, she might have agreed with Eva, maybe been pissed at Zach, but any other blame was less than hers. That was all there was. Zach had failed to live up to a promise. She’d made the deadly decision herself. Guilt and remorse filled her to the brim; there was no room for anger, too. Zach had screwed up; Lexi had done far, far worse.

“Someone should have told me it was a bad idea to go to the funeral,” Lexi said as they drove out of the parking lot.

“If someone had,” Eva said, “I’m sure you would have listened.”

Lexi wiped her eyes. “Of course.”

*

Jude sat huddled in the limousine’s dark interior. Outside, it began to rain; drops landed on the roof like infant heartbeats.

She was so deep in grief that when the car door opened, letting in a blast of gray and yellow light, it stung her tear-burned eyes and she looked around, disoriented.

“We’re here,” the driver said, standing by the open door. He was a slash of more black in the rain, a slanted shadow beneath an umbrella. Behind him, Molly and Tim stood huddled with their grown children.

“Come along, Zachary,” her mother said, herding him out of the limousine.

Miles slid past Jude and got out of the car. Then he held out his hand for her. “Jude.”

“Go on,” she said, glad that he couldn’t see her eyes behind the dark sunglasses she wore.

“I’ll catch up with you,” Miles said to Caroline, who no doubt nodded and walked briskly away, making sure Zach stood up straight and didn’t cry. That was what Jude remembered about her father’s funeral: not crying. No one had cried for him. Her mother simply hadn’t allowed it. She’d treated grief like a malignancy of some kind—a few snips, a few stitches, and you were good as new.

“You can’t not go,” Miles said, squatting beside the car. Rain pelted his face, straightened his hair.

“Watch me.”

“Jude.” He sighed.

It was their family sound now; before it had been laughter. Now it was the sigh. “Don’t you think I want to be strong enough for this?” she said. “I’m ashamed of myself, and I
want
to be there. I just … can’t. I’m not ready to watch them lower her into the ground. And I’m sure as hell not ready to stand next to you while you let go of pink balloons.” Her voice broke on that. “Like she’s up in some heaven waiting to catch them.”

“Jude,” he said tiredly, and she understood.

He wanted her to believe that Mia was in a better place, but Jude couldn’t do it.

She knew what it was costing her, this inability of hers to be strong, but she couldn’t do it. There was simply nothing of her left. Try as hard as she might (and honestly, it exhausted her to even try), she couldn’t seem to be
present,
not even as a mother.

Zach knew she wasn’t herself anymore. He treated her as if she were made of spun sugar. He approached her warily, making sure never to say anything about Mia. But sometimes, when she said good night to him, she saw the need in his eyes, the naked pain, and it hurt her to her bones. She’d reach for him in those moments, but he wasn’t fooled. He knew it wasn’t
her
touch, that somehow she wasn’t there, and when she walked away, she saw that he looked more broken after she’d soothed him than before.

“You’re breaking Zach’s heart,” Miles said. “I know you know that. He needs you today.”

Jude swallowed hard. “I know. And I can’t do it. I can’t stand there. Did you see how they all looked at us at the funeral? All I could think was that I hated them all, with their healthy kids. I look at people who aren’t us and I hate them. And I look at Zach, and all I see is the emptiness beside him. He’s half a person, and we all know it … and sometimes I can’t help blaming him. If he hadn’t gotten drunk…” She drew in a sharp breath. “Or if I hadn’t let him go that night…”

“You can’t keep this up…”

“It’s been less than a week,” she snapped. “And if you tell me time will heal this, I swear to God, I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

Miles stared at her a long time and then pulled her into his arms. “I love you, Jude,” he whispered into her ear, and against her best intentions she started to cry.

She loved him, too. And she loved Zach. It was inside her somewhere. She just couldn’t reach it.

“I’ll tell her good-bye for you.”

She heard the car door click shut, and she was alone again. Thankfully. For a long while, she sat there in the darkness, listening to the rain on the roof, trying not to think about anything, but her daughter’s presence was everywhere, in every breath, every sigh, every blink of the eye. Finally, furtively, she reached into her small black purse and pulled out Mia’s cell phone. With a quick glance around, she flipped it open and listened to Mia’s outgoing message.

Hi! You’ve reached Mia. I’m way too busy to talk now, but if you’ll leave me a message, I’ll totally get back to you
.

Jude listened to it over and over again, sometimes talking to her daughter, sometimes crying, sometimes just listening. She was so caught up in
reaching
Mia that she gasped when the door opened. She snapped the phone shut and shoved it in her purse as Zach climbed into the limousine. His eyes were red and swollen.

Jude slid over to him and took his hand. She hated the way he looked at her—surprised by her touch—and she wanted to offer words of comfort, but she had none.

She and Zach and Miles slumped together on the long ride home.

Her mother sat opposite them, her hands clasped in her lap, her beautiful eyes glistening with tears that never fell. Jude was surprised by that sign of emotion, of loss. Only a week ago the sight of her mother’s improbable tears would have amazed Jude, made her want to reach out. Now, she didn’t care. Her own pain crowded out everyone else’s. It was a pathetic, humiliating truth, but a truth nonetheless.

At the house, Jude got out of the car and walked to the front door alone. All she wanted to do now was sleep. She must have said it out loud because she heard her mother say, “That’s a good idea. Sleep will help.”

Jude seemed to awaken at that. “Will it, Mother? Really?”

Her mother patted Jude’s wrist. It was a light touch, barely there before it was gone. “God doesn’t give us more than we can bear. You’re stronger than this, Judith.”

Anger blindsided Jude. It was one of her new emotions. She had never been angry before, not really, but it was always with her now, as much a part of her as the shape of her face and the color of her skin. It took tremendous effort not to show it all the time. She spun away from her mother before she said something she would regret and headed into the house.

In the entryway, she came to a halt. “Where’s Mia’s sweater?”

“What?” Zach said, coming up behind her.

“Mia’s green sweater. It was hanging right here.” Jude’s anger mutated into panic.

“It’s in the laundry,” her mother said. “I was going to wash it along with—”

Jude ran to the laundry room and pawed through the pile of dirty clothes until she found Mia’s sweater. Bringing it to her face, she pressed the soft wool to her nose, inhaling Mia’s scent. Her tears dampened the fabric, but she didn’t care. Ignoring her family’s stares, she stumbled into her bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her, collapsing on the bed.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she heard her bedroom door open.

“Hey,” Molly said from the doorway. She stood there, looking sad and uncertain in a chic black dress with a cinch belt, wringing her hands together. Her white hair was a mess, pulled back from her face in a thin headband; a black grow-out line spread along her forehead. “Can I come in?”

“Could I stop you?”

“No.”

Jude crawled to a sit, leaned back against her silk upholstered headboard.

Molly got up onto the big bed and took Jude into her arms, holding her as if she were a child. Jude didn’t mean to cry again, but she couldn’t help it.

“I used to think I was strong,” Jude whispered.

“You
are
strong,” Molly said, tucking a damp strand of hair behind Jude’s ear.

“No,” she said, pulling back. “I have no idea who I am anymore.” It was true. All of this had shown her the truth of her soul: she was weak, fragile. Not the woman she’d imagined herself to be at all.

Or maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe she knew now what she hadn’t known before: she wasn’t kind and caring and compassionate and even-tempered. She was angry and weak and even a little vindictive. Most of all, she was a bad mother.

Everything lately pissed her off. Sunshine. Healthy children. Parents who complained about their kids. Lexi.

Jude suddenly didn’t want to be touched. She pulled out of Molly’s arms and slumped back against the headboard. “She wasn’t wearing her seatbelt.” She said it quietly, afraid; it had only been a few days, and already Jude had learned that people didn’t want to hear about Mia. How was she supposed to stop talking about her daughter? But just the mention of her name could send people running for the door.

“Tell me,” Molly said, holding her hand, settling in beside her.

“Thanks,” Jude said. “No one wants to hear about her.”

“I’ll listen to anything you want to say.”