Cloudburst (35 page)

I got out of bed. I felt wobbly but flopped into the seat at the computer. The e-mail list was full, but there was one that caught my attention.

Kiera's.

I opened it. For a moment, the words looked fuzzy, but then I leaned closer and read it.

Thanks for ruining my weekend.

17
Grief

I
didn't respond to Kiera, and she didn't call me. Mrs.

Duval tried to get me to eat something. I refused. She brought it anyway, but I didn't eat any of it, even though I didn't leave my room. Jordan visited me twice before she went to sleep. I never saw Donald. I didn't turn on the television or reattach my phone. Later, I did go on the Internet to read the news stories about the Garfields. Everything being told to the press was being told by their publicist. The story given out to the public was that both Bradley and Beverly were too overcome with grief to speak to anyone. Details were sketchy, but the publicist revealed that Ryder had been in therapy and a troubled young person for some time. The implication was that all of his problems were the result of chemical imbalances. There were no details about his death except the revelation that it had occurred at home and was a suicide.

Reading the words on the Internet didn't make it all less unreal for me. I continued to cling to the hope that this
was all a celebrity publicity event and soon there would be retractions. Ryder was still alive but perhaps in some rehab. I had no factual reason to have the hope. I knew I was behaving like someone who simply refused to believe the truth even though it was staring her in the face. I walked about the suite, talking to myself as if there were a therapist in the room.

He wouldn't do this; he couldn't do this. Mama taught me always to be skeptical.

Yes, but not delusional.

I was thrown back to when I was in the hospital after the accident Kiera had caused and I was told that my mother had died. No matter what anyone said, I wouldn't believe it until Jordan arranged for me to see my mother in the hospital morgue, and even then I tried to convince myself that it wasn't my mother.

When the truth is so horrible, you squirm and twist like someone chained to a wall watching the room fill up with water. Do what you can, you can't escape. You nearly drown in reality, and when you come up for air, the world you knew is changed forever and ever. You almost wish you were back in the room, even if it meant you'd die.

I was chained to that wall. I screamed and screamed inside. No one but me could hear it.

Later that morning, Jessica and Sydney made an attempt to visit me. Jordan came to my room to tell me they were at the gate, but I told her I didn't want to see them.

“It might do you some good to talk to your friends, dear. This is a hard thing to bear alone.”

“They just want gossip to spread. I don't want to see them,” I said firmly. “I don't!”

She winced, nodded, and left. I spent the rest of the day locked away, sleeping as much as I could. I wouldn't go down to dinner and hardly ate anything that was brought up to me. When Jordan looked in on me later, I pretended to be asleep. She stood there for the longest time but finally gave up and left. She was there even before Mrs. Duval the following morning. I was still in bed, of course.

“You have to come out of here, Sasha, and you have to eat more today. You're only going to make yourself sick.”

I turned over so she would be looking at my back, and then she left. She was in and out constantly, looking to do something for me, but finally, she gave up after lunch.

Late in the afternoon, I went outside. Mrs. Duval had threatened to have me dragged out of the room if I didn't. I still had not seen Donald, nor did I care to. Jordan didn't hear me leave my room and go down the stairs. I was happy she hadn't seen me leave the house. I still wanted to be alone, and a walk to the lake seemed the most soothing thing to do.

Of course, what really drew me was the recent memory of being there with Ryder. The beauty of the lake calmed whatever demons were swirling around in him. I knew we both saw ourselves together there in the future, spending a quiet afternoon just drifting in a rowboat and talking softly. I would sprawl out on the floor of the rowboat and lean against him. Perhaps we would have stayed out until twilight and enjoyed the sight of the first star. Our kisses,
our embraces, would have been extra special there. There was so much for us to do together. Why wasn't that enough to overcome anything that had depressed him? Why didn't that give him enough hope?

I hated to admit it, but Donald was probably right when he had begun that long preamble to telling me about Ryder's death. We really hadn't known each other, especially people our age who hadn't been with each other long enough to see behind the words as well as the walls. I had no doubt that Ryder had been honest about his past, but there were surely things he had not revealed, perhaps because he thought they would drive me away.

Still, it was impossible not to wonder what it might have been like if we had successfully enjoyed the weekend. Perhaps we would both have been restored enough and strengthened enough to overcome any difficulties. We would have outlasted them because we would have shared too much to forget.

I had no way of knowing exactly what had occurred when the police returned him to his home. When did they take off the handcuffs? What threats and punishments did his parents give him? Did they tell him they were surely going to send him to that military-type school he feared? How come they didn't know their own son well enough to anticipate that he might do something so drastic? How were they going to live with it?

And what about Summer? Did she feel bad about it? Did she really hate him as much as she pretended she did? Maybe she was the one who first discovered that he had left school and had run to her parents with the information. If
so, she would live with the guilt and be marred for the rest of her life. It pleased me to think so, but then again, perhaps I was asking myself these questions to avoid feeling any guilt myself.

It wasn't hard to see why or how that could be. Was there any doubt that if I hadn't asked him to join me with Kiera, he wouldn't be dead? Should I have gotten into my car quickly and followed the police car back to his house to make sure he didn't think I was in any way to blame? Surely there was something more I could have done instead of spending the time worrying about myself and how Donald and Jordan were going to react to my lying about where I was going and why I was going there.

I stood by the bench and hugged myself. The terns were back, only this time they were circling the lake, not simply exploring and leaving. They looked as if they thought they had found a private place and were taking pleasure in their discovery. The ocean was too common. Here, they were special. It brought a smile to my face, and my face welcomed it.

“Hey,” I heard, and turned to see Donald coming toward me. Whatever softness had come back into my body fled like the terns, which shot up and away at the sound of his voice echoing over the water.

He slowed down, paused, and looked out at the lake. “Look at this lake. I don't appreciate what I have here enough. Jordan's right about that,” he said. “I was talking to someone who might get it stocked with some fish.” He looked at me. “Glad you're out for some fresh air. How are you doing?”

“Okay,” I said, and sat on the bench. He stepped up to it, but he didn't sit beside me.

“Look. I want you to know I never wished for something as terrible as this to happen. Maybe I didn't make that clear enough. I was just looking out for your best interests. I hope you believe me.”

I nodded.

“Although I do blame myself for what's happened to you.”

I looked up at him. “Why?”

“As I've been saying, I should devote more time to you. People think that when girls get to be your age, they don't want much to do with anyone older than twenty-five, but I know you're different. You've been matured by hardships, and as a consequence, you're mentally older than most other girls your age.”

I didn't say anything. He stood there, waiting for me to say something nice in return perhaps, but I wasn't in the mood to hear compliments or say anything I didn't wholeheartedly believe.

“You don't think so now or believe it's possible, I'm sure, but this will pass. You have a wonderful future ahead of you, Sasha.”

I sensed that my continued silence was making him uncomfortable. He fidgeted for a few moments, and then he walked over to the dock, checked something on one of the rowboats, and looked at me as if he had just thought of a brilliant solution to everything.

“How about I take you and Jordan out to dinner
tonight? Nothing fancy. Maybe we take a short drive up the coast and have some seafood. Okay?”

“I don't have much of an appetite.”

“Well, you might in a while.”

“I don't think so,” I said. “You two go.”

“I'm not worried about us,” he said a little sharply. “If you change your mind, let me know. I was hoping to do something for you before I left. I have a trip I must make,” he added, and started back to the house.

Was I being unreasonable, unfair? Should I give credence to the idea that after having been burnt so badly by Kiera's actions, he was sort of parent-battle-fatigued and justifiably overly concerned about what I did and whom I knew? If I were in his or Jordan's shoes, would I be the same way?

I glanced back at the house and up at my room, Alena's room. Considering their loss and the scars they bore because of it, as well as all of the embarrassing and nasty things Kiera had done, wasn't it unreasonable to blame either of them for any of this? Was I the impulsive and foolish one, after all? If I hadn't accepted Kiera's invitation with an air of defiance and had simply waited out the restriction concerning Ryder Garfield, wouldn't this all have turned out differently? In time, Jordan and Donald probably would have understood and become more sympathetic. Ryder might have come to trust them, and instead of plans being laid for his funeral, plans might have been made for our senior prom date.

The girls in my school, even most of the guys, looked
for every possible excuse whenever they did anything wrong or failed at something. I supposed that in that way, they weren't all that different from kids with far less. It was simply easier for them to get away with it. Their parents were more egocentric. They were all so worried about their image in the social community, so they were quicker to back up their children, to support their lame excuses and look for some other place, some other person or idea, on which to lay the blame.

The Garfields were already doing it in their first publicity attempts to explain their own family tragedy. Some chemicals in Ryder were unbalanced. How conveniently that would get them off the hook. So many other parents hid behind that socially acceptable excuse. Surely, there were some who had a legitimate claim to it, but I felt confident that this wasn't the case with Ryder Garfield. How much clearer did it have to be made to me that his parents neglected both him and his sister when it came to promoting and pursuing their own show-business careers?

If they did lay such heavy guilt on him for his mother's miscarriage in Italy, then shame on them for not realizing how deep and painful that would be for a child his age. I welcomed the anger I felt toward them. It helped me contain my sorrow.

Maybe I was no better than those I was criticizing, however. Maybe I was simply looking for something, someone else, to blame. Guilt and sorrow were too difficult to manage simultaneously.

These thoughts and feelings clung to me like leeches,
sucking out my energy. When I turned to head back to the house, I plodded along like someone carrying twice her own weight on her shoulders. It shortened my breath and made me ache all over. People were working on the grounds as usual, but I heard nothing. It was as if I had gone deaf. When I raised my head, I saw Mrs. Duval waiting for me. She waved, but I didn't respond. Drawing closer, I saw the look of terrible concern on her face.