Anything but Ordinary (19 page)

ithout going into too much detail, Bryce stepped into her house and announced the canceled wedding. She stood behind the couch, where her mother sat in a knee-length silk dress next to her father in his best suit.

“Why?” they had asked, worried.

“It’ll blow over,” Bryce had said listlessly. “I’m going outside.”

Bryce had made it about halfway through the pasture before she collapsed on her knees. She lay in the grass, the grass where she and Sydney pretended to shoot each other with guns, and let tears run down her cheek into the dirt.

Bryce was dying. The sheer, hard fact of that would remain under everything she did, as if there was a voice that wasn’t hers saying, “Remember?”

You’re eating a bowl of cereal, Bryce. Cold milk and puffy, flavored
corn. Will these half-digested Cocoa Puffs still be inside you when your
stomach stops working? Will your heart be in midbeat, or will it have
just finished one? Will you be thinking of Carter or your family? Or will
you just be at the drugstore with your mom, expiring with a list of useless
prescriptions in your hand?

The voice had infinite questions, but Bryce had no answers. The answers would only come with the thing itself.

Since she had found herself in a hospital bed, the thought of dying hadn’t occurred to her once. It hadn’t come to her in dark thoughts. It hadn’t even come to her in visions. It had only been secondhand: In the tension behind everyone’s words, in the fear running across their faces when she sat up or stood, in the way people she didn’t know touched and talked to her, as if her closeness with death was the only thing about her they should pay attention to.

So she treated the thought of death like a piece of floating debris in her way at the lake. Like a crate of oranges knocked over in one of the aisles of the supermarket. It was a temporary obstacle she could overcome.

Bryce had learned to trust her body that way. If she did all the right things, it would take care of the rest. But she had remembered “the right things” too late. Somewhere, something had gone terribly wrong.

Bryce sat up in the pasture, her body feeling like a squeezed sponge, her skin as salty dry as the grass around her.

She headed back to the house.

Inside, her parents were still in their good clothes. Bryce heard electronic beats blaring faintly from Sydney’s room.

“You both look so nice,” Bryce said, emotion welling in her again. Her mother had put on pearls. Her father had once again forgotten to rinse a patch of shaving cream near his ear. “Why don’t you guys go out for brunch?”

“What?” her mother scoffed, glancing sideways at her husband. “No.”

“Yeah,” Bryce said, putting on a big smile. “Take me to see Carter and go. It’ll be fun. You probably haven’t been out in forever. Go to the Opryland.”

Bryce’s mother swallowed, nodding. “We haven’t. It’s true, Mike.”

“Let’s do it,” her father said quickly. His eyes were sparkling. “We might not look this presentable again for another year.”

Thirty minutes later, Bryce watched her parents pull away from the Vanderbilt Medical Center parking lot. The overcast morning had changed into a sickly, clouded afternoon, where the sun burned the clouds’ edges like toast, and even the birds were too choked with wet air to sing.

She passed through the sliding doors of the hospital, through the entryway lined by framed waterfalls, and ascended to the third floor with three quiet beeps of the elevator.

Carter wasn’t here, Bryce knew that. He usually spent Saturdays at her house. Maybe he’d stop by the neurology wing in the evening to see Sam, but most likely he was at his apartment on campus, making himself an omelet. Doing his laundry. Staring at a book.

Dr. Warren had pulled up the shades in her office, bathing the room with gray light from the window. She was bent over her desk, immersed in paperwork. Bryce knocked on the door frame.

Dr. Warren looked up, her plucked eyebrows raised in surprise. “Bryce.”

“We need to talk,” Bryce said.

“All right.” Dr. Warren got up from her desk, glancing around the dim office. “You know what? Let’s eat.”

They sat on a bench facing a manmade pool, giant pretzels and hot cheese between them. Spanish moss climbed tree trunks behind their bench, twisting around the gnarled branches before it dropped green toward the shady trickle of the water.

After Bryce had chewed her last bite of pretzel, she turned to Dr. Warren. “So this is the part when you say ‘I told you so,’ right?”

Dr. Warren crossed one panty-hosed leg over the other. “I consider it my job to never have to tell anyone that.” She sighed. “What did Carter tell you?”

“Everything.”

Dr. Warren tossed the wax paper she was holding aside. Her steeled face was trying to hold back disappointment. “So you understand there’s very little we could have done in the first place. The only ‘I told you so’ is perhaps that we could have known sooner.”

Bryce looked guiltily out to the fountain. “And now I’m going to pay.” A bitter laugh rose in her. “But not even me. My family…”

Tears stung Bryce’s eyes for the third time that day, thinking of her parents waiting for her that morning. They had finally put on their good clothes again, and they were going out for a nice meal. Together. With a sob like a blow to her gut, Bryce imagined the day of her funeral. Her dad only owned one suit. He’d wear it that day, too.

Dr. Warren leaned toward her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t think about that.”

“I have to think about that,” Bryce said, shaking her head. “I have to.”

The doctor stayed silent, uncrossing her legs and leaning her forearms on her knees. She looked like an athlete, too, with her chopped hair and wiry frame. She squinted out at the park, trying to solve a problem that had already been solved.

“I haven’t really thought of anyone but myself,” Bryce said softly.

“I’d imagine it would be difficult not to,” Dr. Warren responded. “You know, Bryce…it’s funny, the way you resisted.”

Bryce looked at the doctor, who was smiling to herself.

“No patient has ever been so feisty about her freedom. It made me look at all my patients differently. It made me remember that even though I know how to help them, I can’t quite imagine what they’re going through.” Dr. Warren leaned back against the bench, her eyes still narrowed in focus, looking into Bryce’s. “How would you like to move forward, Bryce?”

“You mean tell them?” Bryce felt her insides burn at the thought.

“There are counselors available.…”

“Dr. Warren?” Bryce interrupted. A flock of birds scattered from a nearby tree, matching Bryce’s flurried thoughts. “I don’t think I want to tell them at all.”

The doctor looked at her sternly. “Are you sure?”

“I—” Bryce searched for the words, watching the birds reassemble around the pool, pecking at the water. “I don’t want them to think they could do something when they can’t. I don’t want them to scramble around, trying to fix things, and argue about the right way to do it. I don’t want them to spend any more time in the hospital. I want them to be happy. I’ll have to lie to them, but at least they’ll be happy.”

She expected Dr. Warren to object, to insist that no, Bryce couldn’t do this on her own. That the hospital should help them through this transition. All the things Bryce had heard before.

Instead, Dr. Warren’s face broke into a sad smile. She lifted her arms and pulled Bryce to her chest. “All right, honey,” she said. “All right.”

Bryce allowed herself to stay next to Dr. Warren for a long time, and the doctor didn’t let go either. They had always bumped heads, but the doctor had been steady for her in that way, like a rock she could never move. So Bryce just leaned against her now.

They got up to go and walked through the park’s paths, Dr. Warren rolling up the sleeves of her linen blouse against the heat. Bryce decided she would call her parents and ride home with them. She wanted to hear about their date.

“If you need anything, you know where I am,” the doctor said as she got into her car. “Things are going to get…harder in the next few weeks. I can help with that if you call me.”

“Thank you, Dr. Warren.”

“And take care, Bryce.” She smiled. A breeze finally picked up, rustling the leaves above them.

I’ll try, Bryce thought. I’ll try.

eady, aim, hit.

And hit. And hit. Bryce felt wood breaking little by little under the force of her blows, driving the nail deep. She’d been helping her dad fix up the barn, and the physical work felt good. Muscles in her shoulders that hadn’t been used since five years ago, when she swam for three hours every day, were crying out in pain. But the ache was the equivalent of a stretch in the morning. It was a pure, happy ache of waking up. Sweat pricked her forehead.

The barn was shady and cooler than outside, but after an hour with the hammer Bryce was more heated and out of breath than she should have been. She wasn’t about to tell her dad that, though, hammering away next to her. She couldn’t risk him asking why.

It had been a week since the canceled wedding, since she had spoken with Dr. Warren, and Bryce was starting to get headaches more often than she used to. Small, dull headaches that went away quickly. Her breath was getting short after she walked up the stairs.

There was no way she’d ruin everything by letting on, not after last week, when her dad surprised her mom with a trip to a bed-and-breakfast for their anniversary. They stole kisses in front of Sydney and Bryce, and when they waved from the car Sydney had graced her with one of her rare smiles.

She told Bryce last year at this time their mom completely forgot their anniversary. “Dad threw away the crappy bouquet he bought for her when she came into the kitchen to refill her wineglass. Neither of them said a word.”

Sydney had stayed home a couple of nights last week. “I’m not going to leave an invalid all by herself,” she had said, flopping on the couch in her thigh-high socks and enormous T-shirt, this one covered in a picture of Courtney Love collapsed onstage.

“I’m not an invalid,” Bryce had protested. She wondered if Sydney had noticed she was starting to move slower these days, to match her lungs. But Syd just smiled and tossed her the remote.

The barn was really starting to shape up. Bryce pounded in the last nail on a long row and stepped back to admire the job. In one Saturday she and her dad had managed to replace most of the rotting beams in the walls and floors. It looked a bit patchy with the bright yellow of the new wood standing out from the rest, but it didn’t smell like mold anymore.

“Now, what about the plane?” Bryce sidled up to her dad, nudging him with her elbow.

He put his arm around her. “We’ll see, Brycey. We’ll see.”

She helped him pack up his tools, and they headed into the house. They’d been at it all day, and it was getting dark.

When they got in, Sydney was padding around the halls in various stages of dress, digging through drawers for eyeliner or jewelry. She scurried around while Bryce ate dinner with her parents, shoving the contents of her plate into her mouth before applying lipstick.

Bryce flopped on the couch with a bowl of M&M’s and
The Adventures of
Huckleberry Finn.
She was
really
reading it this time, not just for school. She was putting herself into the story, the way Sam would imagine it. If she could picture his peaceful face, the story unfolding under his closed eyes, it made her feel better about whatever was waiting for her.

“Bryce.” Bryce followed the path of Sydney’s fishnetted legs up to her made-up face. “Can I borrow your pearl earrings?”

“What for?” Bryce asked. But she knew what for.

“I was thinking about putting them in my soup,” Sydney said sarcastically.

Bryce filtered a handful of M&M’s in her mouth, excluding the red ones, which she hated. “No, Syd. I’m sorry. You may not wear my vintage pearl earrings.”

“Ugh!” Sydney protested. “Why not?”

Bryce stood up. “Because I’m going to wear them.”

“To read
Huck Finn
?”

“No, silly!” Bryce pinched her sister’s cheeks. “I’m going out with you!” She brushed past Sydney toward the kitchen.

“Bry—this…” Sydney started. “This is a bad idea.”

“It’s a fantastic idea! I wanna see your world, Syd.” Bryce made an arc over her head with her hand, face frozen in a dramatic, Judy Garland smile. She was imitating Sydney back when she was a little girl, back when she wanted to be a Broadway star. “I want to see the world over the rainbow!”

Sydney snorted, shaking her head. “You’re a freaking nut job.”

“I approve.” Bryce heard her mom’s voice from behind the couch. “You two could use some time out of the house together.”

Sydney turned around in shock. Bryce looked back at her mom. “Really?”

Their mother nodded, humming the first few notes of “The Hustle.” She’d had a glass of wine with dinner.

Bryce looked at Sydney, her eyebrows raised. “How often is
that
going to happen? Now I have to come out.”

Sydney surrendered. “You have five minutes.”

Bryce took the stairs slowly. She couldn’t help imagining with a pang what she would be doing tonight if she and Carter were still talking. Maybe ride out to the Big Chief Drive-In. The outdoor movie theater was one of the last ones left in Tennessee, with all of its old neon and rusty decorations from the fifties. When the nights were hot and the mosquitoes weren’t too bad, they sat on top of his car, drinking slushies. The whole night when they kissed he tasted like blue-raspberry.

“Stop,” she whispered aloud, throwing on her blue dress from the rehearsal dinner and her bridesmaid heels.
Stop
thinking about Carter
. He knew what was happening to her, and they couldn’t hide from it. Seeing each other would only cause them both more pain.

“And what time will you be home?” their mother was saying when Bryce came upstairs.

“One a.m.,” Sydney said. “Now please move, we’re going to be late!” They could hear the engine of her friend’s blue muscle car humming outside.

Bryce’s mom stepped aside and swept to kiss her youngest daughter’s cheek as she went through the door. Then she kissed Bryce.

“Be careful,” she said.

By the time they scrambled down the sidewalk and shoved themselves into the backseat, Bryce’s breaths were coming thin and painful. She closed her mouth, trying to bring in air through her nose. This was definitely a bad idea. But something made her come out.

Maybe it was the way her parents’ footsteps drifted from above down to her room, the sounds of them being and talking. Or the fact that she hadn’t bothered to fill her drawers with any pants or long-sleeved shirts for fall, because she didn’t know if she was going to wear them.

She would make this worth it.

In the car, Sydney didn’t acknowledge Bryce. Either she was mortified by her dorky older sister or she just couldn’t hear her over the roaring engine and chest-rattling bass beat.

Bryce rolled down the window a crack to get some fresh air. Sydney’s friends were all boys, skinny with tattoos and hairstyles slicked back like James Dean.

They pulled up to a red brick warehouse in a row of identical-looking warehouses. They were in Nashville’s industrial district, or what was left of it. The only thing to distinguish their spot from the rest of the sprawling buildings was a huge, red number
2
painted above a slatted metal door.

Bryce got out and Sydney motioned to her friends to go inside. Bryce was about to tell her not to worry, she’d be in the back, when Sydney said, “This is Lounge Two. This is where I work.” Sydney put a cigarette between her lips and lit up.

“Work?” Bryce’s eyes widened. Sydney let out a loud, barking laugh.

“Chill, Bryce. This isn’t a strip club, it’s a music venue.” She spoke in a voice Bryce didn’t fully recognize but didn’t dislike, either. It was tough. Professional.

Bryce’s face grew hot. “I didn’t think it was a strip club!”

“I go around the club and get people’s drink orders when there’s a show.”

“Is there a show tonight?”

“Every weekend. A DJ set. And you’re lucky, this one’s amazing. He’s from South London.”

“Why haven’t you told Mom and Dad?”

At the mention of their parents, Sydney tensed, taking a deep drag. “They stopped giving a shit about anything after your accident, Bryce. And this place was my saving grace. Swear to God. I mean, yeah, drinking is kind of part of the job. Customers want to take shots with you, you do it. But they’re going to make me a bartender when school starts, and they’ve already booked a few bands I found online. They like me here, Bryce.” Sydney’s face lit up. “They think I have good taste in music.”

“That’s…that’s awesome, Syd,” Bryce said, meaning it. She felt proud. “But you should tell Mom and Dad. Especially now that”—she swallowed back dark thoughts—“now that things seem to be getting better.”

“Yeah.” Sydney stamped out her cigarette under her heel. “Hmm.”

“They won’t freak out about it, you’re going to be eighteen.”

“Shh…” Syd looked around. “Twenty-one. I’m twenty-one.”

Bryce couldn’t help but laugh as they headed toward the door. “So you’ve been twenty-one for three years now?”

Sydney laughed with Bryce, putting her arm around her waist. “Eternal youth, sis. Eternal youth.”

The door opened and they were lost in sound pumping from endless speakers, sound she couldn’t help comparing to a thousand cicada melodies, amplified, buzzing, dipping in and out and dripping down like drops of drum rain. She could actually see the tones around her, floating in the air and humming around her, looking like the translucent, shimmering bubbles she used to blow as a little girl.

A tall, skinny, tattooed guy bobbed over a laptop, brushing his hand on a turntable in a jerky rhythm. The dance floor was full of everyone from Vanderbilt sorority girls in peachy dresses to guys in Atlanta Hawks jerseys with cornrows.

Bryce slipped onto a bar stool near where Sydney was clocking in and took the frosty martini glass she slid toward her.

“Lemon drop,” she said as she loaded a tray with drinks.

It was exactly that, in liquid form. Sweet, tart, bouncing on Bryce’s tongue. She nodded her head to the beat and realized in the last half hour, she hadn’t thought once about empty drawers.

An hour later, after her third lemon drop, Bryce was on the dance floor, smashing against sweaty bodies. She was gasping for breath, but so was everyone else. The beats had sped up, still steady, still rolling and swooping like a roller coaster. Everyone jumped with them. The lights flashed so fast it was as if Bryce were dancing slow.

Sydney appeared, the bright strobe catching her in choppy poses as she approached. The beat got faster. Bryce bobbed and weaved with the best of them.

“Bryce!” Sydney yelled.

“Syd!” Bryce yelled back. “I’m having so much fun!” Her lungs seized up, squeezing, so she stopped jumping. It was nothing worse than a 100-meter freestyle, she told herself.

“Awesome!” Syd replied. “Hey, so, I’m starving and I have a quick break. We’re going to get something to eat. You wanna come?”

“No, thanks!” Bryce yelled. “I think I’m gonna have another drink!”

“Okay.” Syd squeezed Bryce’s arm. “Take it easy, okay? I’ll be back in five.”

She disappeared in the bumping bodies.

Bryce looked for the direction of the bar, finally spotting it. She took a step. The floor tilted. “Uh-oh,” she muttered.

That old, familiar feverish feeling crept up her body, and she couldn’t tell the difference between the strobe light and the flickering of her eyesight. Each beam burst with pain like needles in her eyes. The lights wouldn’t stop. They were cutting red in her eyes. She tried to signal the person next to her, but she couldn’t quite find her arms in the numbing heat that was spreading from her spine.