No Place to Fall (21 page)

The house is dark except
for the flickering light of the television.

I linger for a minute outside, under the maple trees. I watch bats dart across the cow field. A chant of
stupid
,
stupid
,
stupid
rushes through my head. I'd been ignoring it, but I always knew, somehow, I'd end up found out. That I wouldn't go unpunished for my sins. And now I've let Will go, too.

I hug my arms to myself and lean against the tree's wide trunk. I allow myself a moment to think about something good, something that should have made me happy. Will's kisses in C.A.'s kitchen, less than an hour ago. Will's wicked smile onstage, earlier today. His belief in me, always.

I wipe away the wet tears of regret rolling down my cheeks, then push myself back to standing and walk inside the house. I've got to be strong. I've got to trust my decision was the right one.

Inside, Mama is slumped in Daddy's recliner, a Kleenex wadded in one hand, her face red and swollen from crying.

I feel my stomach drop to my feet, but I knew something was going on. “Mama?”

She turns in the chair to face me.

“Mama, what's wrong?”

A strangled cry tears her throat. I go and crawl into the recliner with her, curling up on her lap like I'm six.

“Oh, baby.” She sniffles in my hair. “They came for Coby.”

I pick my head up and look at her. “
What?
”

She sighs and dabs at her eyes. “Your sister and Sammy got taken into custody. Again. Social Services came for Coby.” A new sob escapes her lips. I hug her.

“But what about us? Wouldn't they have left Coby with you and Daddy?” Why on earth wouldn't they have left him with us?

Mama shakes her head as tears roll down her cheeks. “No, sugar, they say they have evidence that we might not be fit to take care of him.” Her shoulders curl and uncurl with the shake of her breath. “He's in foster care.”

Poor Coby. My sweet nephew in some stranger's house. He must be so confused. So lost.

“Where's Daddy?” I ask, nervous.

Mama folds her arms around me. “Down to the police station, trying to make heads or tails of this mess.”

Panic jumps inside my chest. Daddy's going to find out what I've done, before I've had a chance to tell anyone myself. Sammy's probably being questioned as we speak.

For the first time in hours, I think about my audition, the faces of those judges and the way it made me feel to know I'd captured my audience. That I'd surprised them.

Mama and I sit for hours. I feel the confession bursting inside but I also hear Whitney's practical voice playing in my head. “You don't know for sure if that's why your friend's in trouble. Just play it cool. You've already lost your boyfriend. You want to lose Mama's trust, too?”

Daddy walks through the door around 1:00 a.m.

“Well?” Mama asks him.

“They won't let her go. Not yet.”

Mama's chest rattles with a sob and Daddy comes over, scooping her into his arms like she's no bigger than a rag doll.

I watch them as they hold each other and I see the love. It may not look the way most people want it to look, but it's plain as daylight to me.

“Good night,” I say and leave, holding tight to the image of the two of them in each other's arms.

The next morning Mama is in her house robe when I clatter down the stairs in my Sunday clothes.

“Church?” I ask.

Mama shakes her head and sips her coffee. Daddy's still in bed after staying up till the tiny hours of the morning. I can't remember the last time Mama skipped a Sunday service.

“Any news?”

Mama sets her cup down with a rattle on the kitchen table that had been her mother's. “Sammy had a lunch box full of cash and prescription drugs he'd gotten off other folks. Some they're pretty sure he stole, but some seems to have been sold to him by people looking to make a buck. Regardless, your brother-in-law is most likely going to end up with some jail time.”

I swallow. “How do they know who the other people are?”

“Names on the pill bottles, I reckon.”

This is
so
bad. It's not fair if Sean gets in trouble for what I've done.

“And Whitney?” I ask.

Mama shakes her head and drums her fingers on
the table. “Well, the magistrate knows the situation, and knows her as a friend of his daughter's from school. They didn't catch her selling, just in the vehicle with him. He's saying that he thinks they can sentence light. We're hoping she'll end up with a plea. Your daddy's trying to talk her into helping out the law, but for now they're keeping her in the county jail.”

“Is she going to tell them the truth about Sammy?”

If she won't, I sure will.

“Yes, sugar. Her child is at stake.” Mama's voice cracks as she raises her coffee cup to her lips. “And that husband of hers is a no-account SOB.”

It's the closest I've ever heard my mama come to cursing.

I am going to break my mama's heart if she finds out what I've done, and how I've been an accessory to his crime this time. It's funny, I've been running so hard from my family's reputation, and here I am, about to ruin my own where it still counts. Right here at this kitchen table.

I call Devon.

“Well, well, well,” he says. “Looks like you didn't need my help at all. My brother seems to find you not so plain and small.”

I don't bother telling him Will already called me that. I
sigh, but it turns into a sob before I can get my breath out. “It's all screwed up, Devon. It's over.”

“What are you talking about?”

I draw in a ragged breath. “I'm pretty sure I'm responsible for whatever's happening to Sean. My sister's in jail and Coby's been taken to foster care.”

He's quiet on the other end of the line except for a soft, “Whoa.”

I take another breath and tell him the worst part. “My brother-in-law sold some drugs for me, that I stole from the Whitsons' house. That's how I got the money for Sean's guitar. And now Will hates me and Sean's probably going to hate me, too. And Mrs. Whitson's probably going to decide she doesn't want to be in business with my mom.” I run my fingers in the space between the top of my cast and my leg, picking at the frayed netting. “Do you hate me now, too?”

“Of course not! And I really don't think Will hates you either. But, girl, what were you thinking?”

I start crying again. “It made so much sense at the time. Sammy convinced me nobody would get in trouble. I didn't mean to hurt anybody.”

Devon's quiet. “Did you really tell Will you wouldn't go out with him again?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Did you really mean it?”

“Yes. No. But it's done, Devon. Leave it alone. Promise me.”

Devon's quiet, but then he sighs and says, “I promise.”

“You can do something for me, though.” I grip the phone against my ear and avoid my blotched reflection staring back at me from the mirror.

“Anything, Plain and Small.”

“Will you call the Whitsons' house? See if you can find out what really happened, so I know for sure?”

“I already tried,” Devon says.

“And?”

“They're not home, and Kush wouldn't talk to me. He actually said, ‘Quit stalking me.'”

“Ouch,” I say.

“Look, are you sure I can't talk some sense into you about my brother? You were a total idiot, but we all know the real you. You lost your mind for a minute or two. Who in this world hasn't?”

I take a deep breath. “It's okay,” I say. “I think Will knows that, but maybe this is for the best. I'd rather keep him out of it.”

“You're the boss, Plain and Small. You going to be okay?”

I look at my map. “Yeah. I'm going to be okay.”

The first school bell is
like a death knell. Daddy gave me a ride on his way to the police station to pick up Whitney and it's teacher-early. I'm the only student in the commons. The space echoes every tick of the clock, every scuff I make of my foot on the tile floor. The cafeteria doors are still closed and won't open for another fifteen minutes.

I decide to go to the library and, thankfully, the door is unlocked. I slip inside. There's a comfy chair squeezed in on the far side of the checkout desk. It's hidden from view and everyone's favorite spot during rainy-day lunch, so I never get to sit in it. I settle into the cushions.

Sean's in trouble. Will probably won't come near me. C.A. will, understandably, question becoming my friend.
Devon's been good to me, but he's got a boyfriend to spend his nights on Skype with now. But worst of all, Coby's gone, and my sister's in jail.

If I keep my mouth shut, I'll be gone. Sammy hasn't said anything yet, who knows why, so I could get to Winston-Salem with most people not even knowing I was a part of this. But I sure wouldn't want anyone to see me when I come back to visit, if I don't come clean.

I hear teachers' voices from the other side of the library.

“I heard their child was taken into DSS custody.”

My ears perk up.

It's Nurse Barb. “Well, I had no choice but to make a report when Amber was hobbling around here with a broken ankle and only an Ace bandage. That was pure and simple neglect.”

Nurse Barb reported my ankle to DSS? Could it be my fault Coby got taken away?

I wait till the voices fade and I walk out of the library, barely able to breathe.

Down the freshman hall, I look for room 119.

The door is cracked open, and I knock softly.

“Come in.”

For the first time ever, I slip into Mrs. Early's guidance office.

She looks up at me from her papers. “Good morning,
Amber. We missed you at church yesterday. I've been waiting to find out how your audition went.”

“Good,” I say flatly. There's no enthusiasm in my voice. Only sadness.

Mrs. Early folds her hands. “But that's not why you're here.”

I shake my head.

“Do you want to have a seat?”

I nod.

She gets up and shuts the door and I start talking.

For the next thirty minutes all she does is listen. And she does it really well.

When my entire story's been spun out, she takes a deep breath. “Amber, if what you're saying is what happened, you know what you need to do.”

I appreciate she doesn't put it as a question. That she already knows my answer.

“I do.” I nod.

“Go on to class. Finish out the day. I'll see if I can't help with Coby and get in touch with the Whitsons.”

“Thank you,” I say.

She hugs me. “You're welcome.”

I've been walking with my head down all day, so it was only a matter of time before I collided with someone.

Kush. Great.

“Excuse you,” I say.

“Me?” he asks, pointing a finger at himself. “You know, I need to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“Yeah, getting Sean involved with your drug dealer in your family was brilliant. My dad is so pissed Sean let him down.” His eyes are alive with excitement. “Your brother-in-law nailed Sean's ass to the wall. Sean tried to act like he was so innocent and the guitar was a gift, but Sammy called foul.”

“Sammy blamed Sean?”

“Yeah, isn't it great?”

I stare at him. “Kush? Why are you such a dick?”

“What are you talking about?” His eyes are trained on the group of cheerleaders congregating at the end of the hall.

“After you spread all that crap about me, Sean was the one who defended you. Kept insisting you were such a good guy and that I only had to see inside of you.”

Kush turns to face me. “You don't know what it's like. Ever since he moved in it's all Sean this, and Sean that, and oh, poor Sean. He's the reason we moved here in the first place.”

“That's bullshit,” I say. “Sean told me about Daya. He
told me what happened. You need to own your crap.”

Kush shrugs. “I was only kidding. I don't
really
want him to go to jail.”

“Whatever,” I say and walk toward the stairs.

“Hey, Amber.”

I turn.

“Sorry about the shit I said.”

“Hold your sorrys. You may feel differently tomorrow.”

Mama's outside waiting for me
in the van. I take a deep breath as I climb into the passenger seat. I still haven't sorted out why Sammy pointed the finger at Sean instead of me, but that doesn't matter.

“Mama.” I watch Will cut across the parking lot toward his car. My muscles tighten across my chest. “We need to talk.”

“What about, sugar?”

“Everything,” I say. I turn toward her. “And you're probably not going to like it too much.”

When I get to the part about giving Sammy the pills, Mama's cheeks are as mottled red as I've ever seen them. “Now Aneeta's going to think I'm as bad of a parent as
the Social Services worker does. How could you
do
this, Amber? How
could
you?”

“I was trying to do a good thing. I know it was stupid. I lost my mind for a minute. I wanted to tell you. Every day I wanted to tell you.”

Mama is somehow able to accept the truth. And then she starts in on Sammy. “I should have kicked him out a year ago. It's bad enough he dragged Whitney into it, but now you, too.”

After she's wound it all out, she calms down and looks at me. “Let's fix this.”

Mama makes some phone calls and then drives me straight to the courthouse. Her fingers drum furiously on the steering wheel, her fear of driving completely gone.

It's weird how I can feel so empty, so scared, but so full at the same time. Like I'm back in my own body. Like no matter what's about to happen, at least it's happening to the real me. The one I can respect.

Mama parks and makes me walk in ahead of her.

I count the stone steps as I climb.

Sixteen.

Seventeen.

Eighteen.

The tall oak doors are heavy as I pull them open and a rush of stale air swirls out to greet me.

The Whitsons and Sean are already waiting inside, standing near the watercooler outside the magistrate's office. Sean is looking down, kind of like he did on the first day of school. Mrs. Whitson smiles at Mama, a kindness I wasn't expecting. I look at the textured granite floor and want to crawl into it, knowing the things I'm going to have to say in front of everybody.

“Miss Vaughn?” A man in a pin-striped navy suit and red tie walks to me, a folder in his hand.

“Yes, sir.”

“I'm Mr. Gunn, the magistrate.”

I nod. I recognize him from the reelection billboards all over town.

“Why don't you folks follow me into my office so I can take a statement.”

When we're settled onto the cold metal chairs, Sean between his aunt and uncle, me next to Mama, Mr. Gunn clears his throat. “Amber, why don't you tell me what happened?”

It's my moment of truth. My confession. All my hard work, all my time singing with Will, practicing with Mrs. Early's chorus—now, it's all going to be for this. I'm going to lose NC-Arts, because whether it's a sentence from the judge or a sentence from my mama, there will be consequences, and I deserve them.

I glance at Sean. His Carolina blue eyes are focused on an invisible spot above Mr. Gunn's head. He's willing to throw himself under the bus, to prove he's unlovable. I won't let that happen. I can't let that happen. I count down from five and open my fingers, letting the dream slip through.

“I took the pills from the Whitsons' house.” My voice is barely a whisper. Sammy may never have brought the pill bottle into it, but I still need to confess.

Mrs. Whitson's eyes widen. Mama looks at her lap.

“I'm going to need you to be a little more specific.” Mr. Gunn's pen hovers above the pad.

I take a deep breath and start when Sammy first told me that I could take drugs from my friends so Sammy could sell them. I swallow, working up the nerve to tell the rest, willing myself to keep looking right at the magistrate. I even confess to using Mrs. Whitson's pretty pink lipstick.

I hear Mama's feet move next to me. I don't want to look at her, to see her reaction, but it almost sounds like someone covers a laugh with a cough.

I can feel the Whitsons shifting next to us. Mr. Whitson speaks first. “Now, I feel worse than horrible. But, that young man, he confessed. He insisted Sean was involved.”

I squeeze my fingers under the lip of my chair's seat. “I think my brother-in-law is jealous of Sean. I don't know,
but Sammy might be trying to get Sean out of the way for his band.”

Mrs. Whitson leans forward. “Amber, are you sure?”

I close my eyes. “The pills were at the very back of your drawer. They had Kush's name on them. You like Clinique and Estée Lauder makeup.”

“Oh,” she says and sits back.

“Aneeta,” Mama says. “I'm so sorry. It's not like her.”

“Please don't be mad at Mama, Mrs. Whitson. She didn't know.”

Mr. Gunn clears his throat and addresses me. “So, your brother-in-law coerced you into stealing prescription drugs?”

I look at Mama. Her face is teary, but she nods and grabs my hand. “Go on, sugar.”

I hang on to her as I say, “No, sir. He only suggested it. I did it all on my own.”

“So I'm hearing you say that you, Amber Vaughn, are the one who stole and delivered the drugs from the Whitsons' house to Sammy Crowder?”

“Yes, sir. I did.”

He scrawls something on a legal pad, then looks up at the Whitsons. “Are you interested in pressing charges for theft?”

My heart stops. I knew this was a possibility.

Silence hangs for a few long seconds.

Sean clears his throat.

Mrs. Whitson's laugh breaks the thickness in the air. “Press charges? Lord, no. We're the ones who need to say we're sorry.” She reaches out and takes Sean's hand. “What I want to know is what to do about this blessed guitar.”

Mr. Gunn thinks for a minute. “I suppose it should be part of court evidence.”

Sean speaks up for the first time. “I don't want it.”

“What?” I say.

“No.” His aunt reaches her other arm around his shoulder.

Mr. Whitson reaches for his wallet. “How much is this court evidence worth? The boy needs his guitar. I've got to start making this up to him. Right now.”

Mr. Gunn waves his hand at Mr. Whitson. “Put your wallet away. The guitar wasn't stolen. The origin of the money came from your home. Personally, I've never even seen the guitar or know where it is. As long as we keep it that way, I think we're fine.”

I clear my throat. “Can I say something?”

Mr. Gunn holds out his hand, giving me the go ahead.

I turn to the Whitsons, and to Sean. “I am really sorry about what I did. It was like a train that started rolling downhill and I didn't know how to stop it.” Then I look
at Sean. “I'm sorry I lied to you about the guitar. It's just, when you talked about music, when you played it that day, I recognized something like myself in you. I guess I wanted the me in you to have it. Does that make sense?”

Sean's eyes meet mine for the first time all day. “It messed things up, but yeah, I get it.” He cuts his eyes toward his aunt and uncle. “It is a really nice guitar.”

Mr. Whitson looks like a man who's come out on the losing end of a street fight. “Sean, I . . .” He drops his face to his hands and starts crying. I don't think I've ever seen my daddy cry. He pulls himself together quickly and claps his hand on Sean's shoulder. “I love you, kid. I wish I'd had more trust.” He pulls Sean to him and hugs him hard. “I promise, from here forward, no snap judgments.”

Sean's face is buried in his uncle's shoulder until they pull apart.

Mrs. Whitson slips past them and holds out her hand. “Open your hand,” she says to me. When I look down there's a silver tube of lipstick shining up at me. She pulls me toward her and kisses me on both cheeks. “I'm sure it looks better on you. Thank you for caring about Sean.” She sighs. “And Kush. Most people would have left him that night you snuck him home.” She hugs Mama. “What hurts us makes us stronger, yes?”

Now we're all crying.

Mr. Gunn scratches something down on his legal pad.

“Well then, you folks are free to go.”

Mama and I start to follow the Whitsons out the door, but Mr. Gunn calls us back.

“Not so fast, young lady. Judge McKinney is going to need to see you. The Whitsons might not be pressing charges for theft, but the state wants a little say in the matter of the narcotics.”

Mr. Gunn leads me and Mama up a flight of polished stairs to a small office. Will and Devon's daddy is sitting in his shirtsleeves and slacks behind a wide mahogany desk that fills the room.

“Mrs. Vaughn, Amber, come in.” He pauses, letting the resonance of his deep voice echo away.

Mama seems as nervous as I am in the judge's office. We perch on the leather chairs in front of him. He's got the same laughing brown eyes as Will and Devon, but today they're nothing but serious as he takes the paperwork Mr. Gunn hands him. I notice a framed photograph of Will and Devon on his desk. They're sitting on the front porch of their house with guitars in their hands. A familiar ache throbs in my chest when I think about Will.

“Amber.”

“Yes, sir?” I grip the arms of the chair. My heart is
pounding a thousand times a minute.

He rolls a fountain pen across the desk's shiny surface as he finishes reading Mr. Gunn's notes.

I want to curl up into a little ball. Judge and Mrs. McKinney have been good to me over the years.

He stops the pen under his hand. “In light of this situation”—he pauses and looks at me under bunched brows—“I'm recommending six months of probation.”

I can feel Mama stiffen next to me.

“You will report to your assigned officer once a month during that time. If you stay in school and stay out of trouble and comply with the rules, at the end of your probation period, your record will be clean.” He looks up. “Is that clear?”

I nod. Out of nowhere, Johnny Cash's “Folsom Prison Blues” starts playing in my head, and then I remember standing in front of a different set of judges. Judges who thought I was talented. Ones who looked at me with delight, not disappointment. Panic beats in my small-bird breast.

“Judge McKinney?” I know the answer, but I still have to ask. To hear my sentence ring in my ears, like the note of a song tapering off in the wind. A note I won't be singing in Winston-Salem this year.

“Yes, Amber?”

“Can I leave the county, like if I got into a special school for the arts?”

“No, you'll have to stay here under your parents' guidance. I trust they'll help keep you on the straight and narrow. And away from Sammy Crowder.”

I glance at Mama. She's nodding in agreement, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Mama, but . . .” I let the words trail away. It's me. I've done this to myself. I'm just lucky he didn't put me in custody.

“I understand, Your Honor,” I say, hoping he hears the sincerity of my words, but unable to keep the tears and flush of failure from my face.

Judge McKinney stands up to show us out. “Now, now, no need for tears. Think of it as a favor. An enforced separation from evil forces.” He opens the door and I swear he winks. “Besides, big city like Winston, young girl like you, better to stay home with your folks another year or two.”

Mama beams at his words, hugging me close. I hold her tight.

“I'm not going to see you in here again, am I, young lady?”

I turn from the door. “No, sir.”

Then he smiles. “Don't be a stranger, then. We miss seeing you around the house. All of us.”