Chaste (27 page)

Except it is.

When we arrive at the hospital, Quinn’s dad is there in sneakers and a ratty bathrobe. He’s already filled out a mountain of papers and confers with doctors as I sit in a corner—watching, waiting, biting my red-painted nails. There’s dried blood all over my sweatshirt, and I notice people staring, like they think I’m the one with the gunshot wound who needs to be rushed to emergency surgery, which I could be … if it weren’t for Quinn.

Please God, keep him alive!
I wonder if he’ll answer the prayer of a Christian who fights with her pastor father, if he’ll have mercy on a Mormon boy who sneaks out in the middle of the night against his family’s wishes to be with a girl who’s bad for him.

Mr. Walker crosses the emergency room and sits beside me. When I glance at him, his eyes are swollen, his face splotchy and red.

“Thank you, Kat,” he says in a rough voice.

I stare at him in shock. He can’t be serious. Thank you for what. For calling his son in the middle of the night and trying to take his innocence before possibly getting him killed?

He pulls out a rag from the pocket in his robe and hands it to me. “You kept him from bleeding to death before the ambulance arrived.”

I walk to the water fountain, wet the rag and wipe blood from my face and neck, wishing I could erase the last hour from my memory. The perpetual shock, the guilt, the look of horror on the policeman’s face when he saw me wrapping Quinn’s body with a ripped-up bed sheet.

As soon as I told that officer the story, he called for backup to deal with Mike. Not that it mattered. The coward had run off.

Through the commotion I knelt beside Quinn, pushed on the wound with the palm of my left hand, tightened the bandage with my right and waited for the ambulance to come. Officer Seamus called my father and explained everything. Then he handed me the phone so my dad could say that he and Mom would be on the next plane home.

I sit next to Mr. Walker, who senses my distress and tells me there’s no way I could’ve known Mike had a gun. He tells me Quinn makes his own decisions, and I’m not to blame.

“Just pray for him, Kat. God hears the prayers of those he loves.”

Quinn’s father is too nice. He doesn’t know how everyone around me dies. Not just my brother, but my parents and friends who’ve each suffered an inner-death in the last few months. My mother tries to hide it with her computer addiction, my father with his workaholism, Mike with his constant drinking, and now I’m losing Quinn.

He had more life in him than anyone I knew.

I bury my head in my hands and imagine they’re still red with the blood of each life I’ve ruined. Quinn had a squeaky clean record before I came along. No dealings with the principal. No run-ins with crazy jocks.

John’s voice pops into my head plain as day,
You brought this on yourself, Kat. Now leave that boy alone.

Why didn’t I listen?

***

Her eyes are sad.

I rise from the waiting room couch as Mrs. Walker comes closer. I’ve been at the hospital three days praying for Quinn to wake up, restricted from seeing him while he recovers. And his mother arrived a few hours ago and went immediately to his room.

“You must be Kat,” she says, the worry lines around her eyes deepening as she shakes my hand.

She phrases the sentence just like her son would, as she pushes her blond hair away from her face. Wow. He got his mother’s hair. My heart constricts when I think of my lab partner’s blond curls on the floor of my bedroom.

“Is he okay?” I ask.

“He’s asking for you.”

I glance back at the couch where my mother is sleeping, her head on the arm rest, her mouth halfway open. I’ve been amazed at the outpouring of love and concern my parents have shown since returning from Texas.

“Hold on, I need to tell my mom,” I say.

My knees hit the carpet by the couch as I nudge her in the shoulder. “Mom,” I whisper.

Her eyes snap open.

“Quinn’s awake. He’s asking for me.”

She squeezes my arm. “That’s great, Kat.”

Her once-dull eyes are filled with emotion, like she finally remembers her child who’s alive. There’s a squeaking sound and a burst of air that blows hair back from my face.

My father walks through the sliding door carrying coffee and a paper bag from McDonalds. His jacket is undone and his jeans have a hole in them. It’s a look he hasn’t sported since before my brother died.

“I have news,” he says. “Mike’s been apprehended.” A smile splits across his face.

“Quinn’s awake,” I tell him, watching as he sits next to my mom, drapes an arm around her shoulders and gives her a kiss on the cheek. The skin over my breastbone warms. My parents love each other.

“Well.” He clears his throat. “Go see him. Thank him for saving my daughter’s life.”

My heart squeezes. What, that’s it? No lecture about his religion, no warning that I’ll lose my soul to the sweet-faced demon boy?

I glance over my shoulder and see Mrs. Walker standing there. She leads me into a room that smells like alcohol. Quinn is attached to monitors. An IV is in his hand.

Amy sits at his bedside until she sees me come into the room. Then she saunters over and warns me that her brother is being emotional.

I hold my tongue. Of course he’s emotional. After what he’s been through, what does she expect?

Mrs. Walker and Amy stand on one side of the bed while I sit in a chair, stroking the blond hairs on the back of Quinn’s knuckles. His eyes are glassy when he finds my face.

“Amy … Mom,” he rasps. “Can you give us some privacy?”

Mrs. Walker and Amy exit the room.

When it’s only him and me, he squeezes my hand and speaks in a weak voice.

“The things Mike made you say—”

“It doesn’t matter now,” I point out, running my fingers up his arm.

“They were horrible, Kat. None of it was true. He made you sound selfish and heartless.” He shudders. “I couldn’t stand to hear it.”

My eyes drop to the metal wheels of his bed. When is Quinn going to open his eyes and see that Mike is right? How will he feel when he finds out he risked his life to save a girl who set out to hurt him? Ruining a nice boy’s future to win a bet is
by far the most heartless thing I’ve ever done. To hell with my video camera, to hell with Tasha’s laptop, give me back the pure heart I was born with.

“I love you, Kat. And I’d do it again.”

No, no, no!
A lump forms in my throat. He can’t confess his love to me. Not when I don’t deserve it. I think of how I cursed at his limp body on the floor, called him stupid, reckless, foolish. Why couldn’t he let me die? If only he’d let me die. I wouldn’t have to say goodbye to him, to feel the empty ache in my chest whenever I think of him.

“Kat?”

I glance up, but everything is blurry. The IV coming from his hand, the beige blanket the nurses have tucked below his shoulders, his eyebrows which have merged together.

“Quinn, please … stop talking,” I rasp.

I don’t want him to risk his life for me. It was selfish to think I needed him before. It wasn’t love. It was obsession. I didn’t care if his hanging out with me would mean more trouble at school for him, if it would injure Molly and Preston, or if my ex would make Quinn’s life a living hell. I didn’t care if I hurt him because I was only thinking of myself.

I am selfish and heartless.

“Hey,” he says, squeezing my hand in his. “This is not your fault.”

Right, how could I forget? Nothing is ever my fault with Quinn. He gladly takes on all the blame. I clear my throat.

“Look, I’m sorry. But you’re a good person. And I’m not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

It means I care too much to hurt you, damn it!
Unable to hold back tears any longer, I blink and let them flow down my cheeks.

“Kat, you’re crying. What’s wrong?”

I love you too much.
My lips tremble as I try to pull myself together. So what if my heart is cramping with pain. So what if I feel like I’m breathing through a straw. I have to be strong because if I truly love Quinn, there’s only one right thing to do.

Letting go of his hand, I force out the hardest words I’ve ever said.

“I don’t love you, Quinn. This is over.”

44

Quinn

It’s almost Christmas, and I haven’t had Kat in my life for weeks, not since the day she left me in the hospital. My mother never returned to Europe. Instead she decided to go back to college, study during the day and help with Elijah at night.

Bishop Andros has yet to say I can take the sacrament of bread and water again. The repentance process I’m going through is similar to Amy’s, except that I have to write at least a paragraph on each chapter of Miracle of Forgiveness as I read it.

I’ve confessed the things I’ve done with Kat, been forced to admit how close I came to breaking the law of chastity, and have a new appreciation for what it feels like to have everyone in church know that you’ve screwed up. There’s something deeply shameful about realizing you aren’t worthy of God’s forgiveness.

I told the bishop I was over Kat.

I lied.

Every time I fall asleep I see her face.

Since Kat left I lie awake at night and stare at the ceiling while my mother takes care of Elijah. The irony isn’t lost on me. For months sleep was all I wanted. For months I felt like the walking dead. Now that I have help, I feel more like a zombie than ever.

Right after I got out of the hospital Kat transferred to a different school. A private girl’s boarding school in Middleburg, Virginia. A small town with only one traffic light. I know because I looked it up on Google.

At least a few good things have come from that crazy night. Pastor Jackson apologized to my parents and took the anti-Mormon propaganda off his church’s website. He’s even working with Bishop Andros on a campaign to supply blankets and warm clothes to the homeless.

My friends have rallied around me since I returned from the hospital. Preston and Molly take turns coming with me to physical therapy. Amy goes to church with us. My mother cooks dinner, and my house is filled with music—Dad on his Xylophone, Mom on her violin, Amy on her once neglected Clarinet. I can’t turn around without running into people. And yet, I’ve never felt so alone.

When Kat left she took a piece of me with her, the wild part capable of letting go and having fun. Now I look at my mission as something I need to get through, an obstacle standing between me and the rest of my life. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, but I wonder what will be waiting for me when I get home. If there’s anyone else who will accept me like Kat did, who will make me feel both free and complete. Maybe a person has only so much love, and whoever I marry will have to settle for half.

Sitting in physics on the last day of school before winter break, I avert my eyes from Kat’s empty chair and open my bag to fish out what little I’ve done of the project. It’s due today, and I’m going to fail. Mrs. Williams plops a paper with familiar handwriting down in front of me. When my eyes fall to the page, I see Kat has done the project for me. Her name and mine are listed on the title page next to our grade,
B+

“Good job, Mr. Walker,” Mrs. Williams says. “Nice of your partner to drop this off. I see you finally understand teamwork.”

She walks off. My last conversation with Kat comes back to me with the force of a bomb.

Even though I need to move on, it’s hard. For once I envy Amy, who’s gotten over Ray enough to start dating again. My feelings for Kat are too intense.

I grip the report with both hands and rip it down the middle, into quarters, into eighths, into tiny shreds. My fingers shake as I throw the pieces into my backpack.

Molly turns around. “Quinn, what are you doing!”

I bite my tongue and push down the hurt. Men. Don’t. Cry.

“Pull yourself together,” she says, eyes darting around the room. “You’re making a scene.”

Tasha walks up behind me. “Come on, Quinn, did you think she actually liked you? You’re not her type. She only wanted your body anyway. Didn’t you hear about our bet?” she says too loud.

Bet?
My mouth fills with bile. “You mean that was true?”

She leans on my desk and curls a strand of hair around her finger. “Tell me, Quinn. Did she get into your pants? Cause if she didn’t, I’d be happy to finish the job. I’ll even use Kat’s, oops,
my
camera to record us. We can show her the video and rub it in her face.”

Bet or no bet, I know Tasha’s full of BS. Kat cared about me. Why else would she pull back when she could have won? Why else would she protect me when Mike showed up, or cry when she held my hand in the hospital?

John gets up from his seat and pulls on Tasha’s arm. “You’re just mad because she broke your nose,” he says.

She shakes her head at him. “Why does Mike get sent to jail for giving Kat what she deserved?”

“No one deserves what Kat’s been through,” I say, standing and lifting my shirt to show Tasha the bullet scar below my ribs.

“Mr. Walker,” my teacher says. “No stripping in my classroom! If you think this is a brothel, you can leave.” She points to the door. “Now.”

Blah, blah, blah … I am so gone. I take my backpack and exit the classroom, climb into my car and listen to the engine idle. The trees next to the school look like skeletons. A cold wind whistles through my clunker’s bent doorframe. When I shiver, it’s more from emptiness than cold.

Turning out of the parking lot, I stop thinking and drive until I find myself in a neighborhood of gated doors and mini-mansions. Kat’s house looks just like it did the day I brought her daisies. Her Jeep is in the driveway with the door wide open.

Afraid of getting caught, I pull over a few houses away and take a deep breath. Heat creeps up the back of my neck. Did I come to talk, or to spy?

I squeeze my eyes shut. If I were a decent person I’d say hello, thank her for finishing the project and show her we can still be friends. But when I open my eyes and see her unloading groceries from her Jeep, balancing a gallon of milk in the crook of her arm, I have this urge to follow her inside and kiss her.