Breaking Glass (27 page)

It’s totally weird to be in my car. The last time I’d been in here, I had two legs. Susannah was alive.

But you only need one foot to drive a car, so I’m golden.

When I get to the school, I find that, while the parking lot has been plowed, the long path to the playground hasn’t.

The wind cuts across the field, whipping ice particles into a face-scouring blast. It takes a fair amount of grunting and sweating to ford my way through the foot-deep snow, but at least Ryan hasn’t gotten there yet to witness my Discovery Channel adventure—one-legged boy braves the wilds of a suburban schoolyard in blizzard conditions.

My hands are nearly frozen onto the grips of my crutches. I stab at the snow, then vault, stab, then vault. It’s brutally exhausting, but I finally reach the swing set, spear the crutches into a snow bank, and collapse onto a swing. But I can’t resist the urge for motion, so after a bit of single-leg pumping action, I’m airborne.

Ryan plods through the snow and sits on the swing beside me. I slow and return to earth.

“How the hell did you make it here, Jeremy? I could barely get through.”

“Ski poles,” I say, nodding toward the crutches planted like a flag in the snow.

He shakes his head, a small smile creasing the smooth lines of his face. “So what were you going to tell me?”

I let myself sway on the swing. The motion feels good. I vow to come back here when I’m feeling sorry for myself, to hop on a swing.

“I’m tired of hiding behind a mask,” I say, choosing my words specifically to unnerve him and peel away his facade. I see a slight shift in his posture, but Ryan being Ryan, he’s still in character: The Interested Listener. But his hands betray him. He clenches the fingers of one hand tightly with the other.

“What mask? You’re always the same.”

“That’s because my mask is so excellent.”

Ryan rocks back and forth a bit. He shivers and snorts out a puff of mist. “Jeez. Get to the point, Jeremy. It’s cold out here.”

“The point is, I’m an alcoholic.”

Ryan squints at me, like he’s suddenly gone hard of hearing. “That’s a crock, Jeremy. Just because you drank one shot of vodka, then made an ass of yourself?”

I arch an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have known about the flask I had in my jacket pocket. Or the silver water bottle I always kept in my car. When no one was looking, I drank. A lot.”

Ryan’s brows furrow. He really is shocked, and I smile inwardly at how well I’ve kept the ruse going for so many years. And surprised his father hadn’t told him.

“You never drank a sip at keg parties. You’ve helped us win two division championships, and maintained a 3.8 GPA. Why are you laying this bullshit on me?”

I swing a little harder. “I was wasted the night I stepped out into the road to get to you and Susannah. It’s not your fault. I lost my leg because I’m a drunk.” My voice cracks on the last words. I am speaking the pure, honest truth.

Ryan gapes at me as if giant tusks have sprouted from my face. “You’re serious.”

I nod. “I’ve been a closet drunk since I was twelve. The running was never enough to—” My words fail to penetrate the lump in my throat. My eyes burn.

“Wow,” Ryan says. “Why now, Jeremy? Why are you unloading this now?”

I rock myself back and forth a bit. And realize I’m telling him this not only because I want to play tit-for-tat, but because I want it to end. Talking about it is like my gait practice. A first step.

Ryan is still looking at me and nodding. “That’s a lot of baggage to carry around.”

“You’re telling me. It’s even heavier on one leg.”

Ryan shakes his head and looks down. “I feel terrible about what happened. I feel terrible that we don’t seem to be friends anymore. I miss—I miss our talks, bro. You know, the way we’d analyze the stupidest shit until four AM? So you drank. You’re still you, Jeremy. You’re still the same cool, weird kid I’ve always known.”

“Yeah. I guess am.” I stare at him. He’s relieved. He seems to think this is the reason I brought him here. I feel almost guilty probing him like this. I wish I could let it go. Go back to the way we used to be. The three of us. But all those years of doing his bidding, cleaning up the mess he made, fester under my skin like an infected splinter. “What about you, Ryan? You’re just a basic red-blooded American guy. What you see is what you get, right? No dark secrets? No skeletons in the closet?”

Ryan’s face crumples. It happens as if in slow motion and I almost regret the grief that flashes briefly across his features. “Is this about Susannah? Is that why you dragged us out here? Fuck, man. I told you already.”

“Just tell me the truth, Ryan. I just need to know for myself,” I say softly.

Ryan buries his face in his hands. He looks up and makes no attempt to hide the raw emotion that twists his features. “I have my own problems, Jeremy, hard as that may be for you to believe. I don’t know what happened to Susannah. If I’d killed her, I swear, I couldn’t live with myself.”

“You couldn’t?” I ask, “I hated myself for drinking, yet I’m still around. There’s all kinds of ways we make excuses for ourselves.”

Ryan shudders. He’s fighting tears, I realize.

“I-I have to go,” he mutters. “I can’t, Jeremy.”

“You can’t what?”

“I
can’t
live with myself anymore.”

He stands and bolts out of the playground like he’s been shot from a cannon.

“Hey! Don’t do anything stupid, Morgan!” I call. I certainly can’t run after him. “You can still talk to me!”

I watch his car peel out of the parking lot. I swing some more, then finally pick and lunge my way back to my car.

C H A P T E R
t w e n t y - f o u r

Now

Once home, I fall onto the bed, my limbs twitching with exhaustion. It felt good to have some physical exertion. Really good. I decide to take a nap and to do some more gait practice afterward. When I get that bionic leg, I’m going to break records for the time it takes me to be walking again.

My phone rings and I jump like a startled cat. Barely anyone calls me anymore.

It’s Marisa.

“Hi!” I try not to sound too eager. But I want to talk to someone. I want to talk to
her
.

“Do you have any plans for New Year’s Eve?” she asks hesitantly.

I opt for deadpan to hide the thrill that heats the back of my neck. “I was thinking of going ballroom dancing.”

She giggles. “I-uh. Well, my family is having this party. I kind of don’t want to be there, so I thought we could go to a movie, I mean, if you want, then you can come over for a bit and say hello.”

My stomach does a back-flip off the high dive. “You want to me to meet your family?”

“They know all about you. They won’t be weird or anything.”

“N-no.” I imagine myself in a spotlight, everyone staring. “But I promise, once I get my leg, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll—I’ll even go ballroom dancing if you want.”

Marisa snickers. “I would never ask that of anyone. But what about the movie?”

“Yeah , I—” My voice dies in my throat, the phone in my hand lost to a sudden wash of blackness. I hear nothing. Feel nothing. See nothing.

Not now. Please not now
.

Shimmering with light, a figure stirs the absolute darkness. My body leaps to attention as if flipped on by a switch.

I feel her weight as she climbs onto the bed and straddles me, her hipbones sharp against my groin, the feel of silken hair hanging in my face. Soft lips rake my chest with kisses, then slide lower until my body is a wire pulled taut enough to snap.

There’s no escaping this.

The room vibrates with whispers.
I love you, Jeremy. Love you
.

Who else can love you?

“No,” I whisper, live wires threading under my skin. Pleasure crackles along my nerve endings, but beneath it is the slightest hint of violence, like the calm before a lightning strike.

No one
.

I would cry out, but my breath has been sucked away. I can’t help but wonder if she knows how I covered for Ryan. How I hurt her. And if this is her revenge.

Her faint shimmer fades to black and I’m shot from the sky and falling fast, the words lingering in my ears.
No one else will love you like I do
.

I know I’m not dead, because my heart slams madly against my ribs.

It’s an eternity until the terrorized scream explodes from my lungs. I don’t know how long I lie immobilized, unable to see before my vision clears and I can sit up again. I’m wired, as if ten thousand volts are ripping through my flesh. I gulp in air in shallow gasps.

I find my phone. There are ten missed calls from Marisa. It’s only been fifteen minutes.

My hand freezes on the call button.

A chill crawls up my spine.

She’s watching my every move
.

C H A P T E R
t w e n t y - f i v e

Now

I need a drink more than I need my next breath. But I know there’s nothing to be had.

Another ten minutes go by before I can find my voice. Shakily, I dial Marisa. Maybe Marisa is just trying to be nice. Maybe Dad is even paying her to drag me out of the house. Despair turns my weak little bubble of happiness to lead.

“What happened? We got cut off and then I tried to call like seventeen times and you never answered.”

“My battery died. I couldn’t find my charger,” I say tersely, trying to modulate my voice to its normal tenor.

“Oh. Weird timing. Now about the movie—there’re a couple of good things playing in Manor Woods, and I thought maybe you’d be more comfortable there, anyway.”

“Yeah, about that. I, uh, I don’t think it’s such a great idea.”

“What? You just said you’d—Jeremy, what is it? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I know my voice rings flat and unconvincing, but it’s the best I can do with my heart smashing its way out of my chest. “I just overdid the gait exercises, so I’m a little tired and sore. And I’m just not up for a night out yet.”

“You sound different. You didn’t have another one of those spells, did you?”

“No. I—”

“You sure you don’t want me to come over?” There’s an edge to her voice and I realize that, for some reason, maybe Marisa actually wants to be with me. But no. I’m delusional. Why would she want to be around an amputee with an attitude problem?

“N-no. I—I’m going to rest awhile. I’ll, uh, call you later.”

But I’m not going to rest. I may never close my eyes again.

I need to think. To feel the cold clear air pushing in and out of my lungs, even if I’ll never feel the road under two feet again.

I make it down the driveway to the road with only a little slipping and sliding. The bitter cold air slices into my lungs. But it feels good. I press forward, my gait smooth despite the icy patches. I hurry on, awkwardly lunging and stepping, lunging and stepping. I glance over my shoulders, unable to shake the feeling that the woods have eyes. But, seduced by the sheer pleasure of moving forward, even at my old man pace, I fall into a kind of a rhythm until I’ve almost lost track of how far I’ve gone.

I lurch along so lost in thought I don’t notice where I am until I recognize the guardrail and how the road bends at an almost ninety-degree angle. It’s the place where I was hit. The place Susannah disappeared. Through the network of tree trunks, I see the hungry waters of the reservoir.