Collateral (36 page)

to check out wineries, even though she still

insists I'm crazy to even consider getting

married to Cole. Not only that, but she

agreed to be my matron of honor, even

though she said the word “matron”

makes her sound like a prison warden.

We discussed colors. I was thinking

sort of pale green, maybe with lavender

accents.
Oh, no. Check out the purple

dresses on this website. Dark is in

this year. And purple is memorable.

I have to admit, she was right. So, I'm

thinking purple, with turquoise accents,

to go with Cole's dress blues. We've still

got time to decide, though. Darian's got

lots of great ideas. I told her she should

consider becoming a wedding planner.

I'm definitely better at making plans

for other people,
she said.
Every time

I try to plan for myself, something

always fucks up forward motion.

For my forever friend. That makes

me sad. Sometimes it's all her doing.

Sometimes it's just the fickleness

of the gods or whatever. And I suppose

at times everyone feels the same way.

But without a friend to prop you up,

see you through the tough periods,

it could start to feel overwhelming.

So, because we're best friends, and

since turnabout is fair play, I'll support

Dar's decision to stay with Spencer,

at least until he's able to care for himself,

or agrees to move home. When his mom

brought it up, he was as resistant as Darian

to the idea.
Oh, hell, no. Go back home

so Mommy can feed me and change

my diapers? Not on a dead damn bet.

I'll do this all on my own if I have to.

It was about then we all figured Spence

will recover. It's been a slow, painful process.

But he is progressing. He's scheduled

for an artificial skin graft right after

the first of the year. Artificial, because

he doesn't have enough undamaged

skin to serve as his own donor. And as

organs go, I've learned, skin is among

the pickiest, almost always rejecting

donations from other people or animals.

Spence's face, neck, shoulders, and arms

were burned the worst. Somehow,

his hands mostly escaped. The doctors

believe he tucked them under himself,

protecting them instinctively. Beyond

the burns, there is some impact nerve

damage to his spine. They're not sure if

he'll walk again. But, supine or straight

up and down, the part of Spencer that

makes him uniquely Spence is alive

and kicking inside him. That gives

everyone hope that he'll find his way

back onto his feet. Yes, no, or maybe,

he's going to need all the help he can

get, both medically and emotionally.

I really hope Darian is up to the task.

She and I are going out tonight

for a belated birthday celebration.

I'm officially twenty-five. (Is that all?)

Dinner. Drinks. And slam poetry.

She was a little resistant to the last,

but hey, it's my party and I'll do what

I want to. Argh! More sixties-era

lyrics. I pull into Dar's driveway

a little before six. When I ring the bell,

she yells for me to come inside, make

myself at home while she finishes

her makeup. The TV is on, so I sit

and wait for a commercial to finish

and the local news to fire up,

They flash a picture for the lead story,

and my stomach drops. I know this

woman. I haven't seen her in well

over a year. She's thinner. Rougher

around the edges. But it's definitely

Soleil's mother.
New developments

in the drive-by shooting that claimed

two victims in Santee on Tuesday
,

says the announcer.
10News has learned

that twenty-two-year-old Chandra Baird,

who resides in the bullet-strafed house,

allegedly has ties to a Mexican drug cartel.

A large quantity of methamphetamine

was recovered. Baird's boyfriend, Max Lemoore,

was killed in the incident. Her four-year-old

daughter remains in guarded condition . . . .

The blood drains from my face. I feel it

turn white and cold. “No-o-o-o.” It escapes

my mouth in a single protracted whimper.

The next is a shout. “Why, goddamn it?

How could they let her go back?” Didn't

anyone notice? Did they even bother

to look? Isn't that what Child Protective

Services is supposed to do? What the hell?

Darian materializes suddenly.
Ash?

What's wrong? Hey, are you all right?

You look like you just saw a spook.

“Can I have a drink?” I don't wait

for an answer. Tequila. And a lot of it.

I pour a fat glass for me. “Want one?'

Not until you tell me what in God's

name the matter is.
She watches

me down a long, slow swallow.

“Did you hear about a drive-by in

Santee? The little girl who was shot

went to the preschool for a while. I

noticed some problems and called CPS.

What good did it do, Dar? What good

did I do? What's the point of a so-called

safety net if it can't catch kids who are

are obviously falling?” I think about

how long it took to convince Soleil

to let me push her on the swings.

The trust she finally gifted me with.

The trust her own mother shattered.

“I knew, goddamn it. I knew she was using.

Now they're saying it was drug related.”

Darian puts her hand on my arm,

which is shaking enough to make

the drink look dangerous.
It's not

your fault. You did all you could.

I'm sorry it wasn't enough. So much

of the system is broken. They want

to keep families together. Sometimes

it works. But when it doesn't, you can't

always fix the outcome. It sucks,

but you'd better get used to it. You're

going to see it a lot as a social worker.

I set my drink on the counter.

“Maybe, maybe not. I'm not sure

I could handle stuff like this all the time.”

So, do something else. It's not too

late to change your mind. Look.

I'm going to finish getting ready.

Then we're having some fun, okay?

Don't forget you're driving, though.

She eyes my drink and goes to put on

her shoes. I reach for something

close to belief, toss a prayer toward

heaven. I couldn't save her. Will He?

All thoughts of Soleil,

but I keep picturing

her spindly legs

pumping air beneath

the swing. Kicking.

I sip my tequila, relish

the slow warm trickle

down my throat. See

her thin lips, coaxed

into a small gap-toothed

smile. Fleeting.

One more small taste,

wishing the slender

buzz could make me

forget about

her purpling back,

the way she reached

deep for courage, showed

me the corded welts. Lifting.

I close my eyes, but

the darkness behind

the lids can't obscure

the nightmarish pictures

forming in my mind of

her, beaten, bruised,

and crying out for help

she could never find.

Of her, lying still and

quiet in a rivulet of blood.

Of another newscaster pulls me

from my self-absorbed reverie.

He's . . . on the TV. Darian's TV.

And he's saying something about

A strong unexpected Taliban

offensive in the Helmand

Province of Afghanistan.

Not that. Not more. Turn it off.

Hurry. I try not to listen, but I

can't help but hear

 . . . numerous casualties among

the civilian population, as well

as coalition forces . . .

A flick of the remote. Blessed

silence. I can't watch the news.

Too much information bloats

the omnipresent fear, floating

like high, thin clouds on the far

horizon. Better not to wonder

or suspect. Better simply to know,

even if that knowledge brings pain.

Finally, Darian sweeps back

into the room.
Okay. Let's go.

You're still good to drive, right?

“If I'm not, you still remember

how, right? Anyway, when did you

become an adult?” Necessary banter.

Works well, as does an evening

out, away from the confinement

of home, where I know I'd do nothing

but stress over bad things beyond

my control. It's good, being with

Darian, who has somehow found

her way back into her comfort zone.

Since it's my birthday dinner,

I get to choose the restaurant, and

settle on a favorite Mexican place

on the beach.
Glad you went cheap,

since I'm buying,
says Dar.
Happy

birthday. Oh, keep it around five

bucks, okay?
I think she's kidding

but I'm not sure until she laughs.

It's the high, pure Darian laugh

I know and really appreciate tonight,

because it's been a while since

I've heard it. She orders drinks—

margaritas on the rocks, with pricey

tequila that flashes me back to

Jaden, but only momentarily.

At least it's a pleasant snapshot.

We decide to share a huge platter

of sizzling fajitas,
con guacamole

y salsa verde,
and as we wait for

the food, I consider asking for details

about her and Kenny. Decide not to

risk it. I don't want to spoil the mood.

A little surprised when Dar brings

up the subject herself. Sort of, anyway.

We've been talking about the wedding,

and maybe going shopping for a dress.

If you want something kind of unique,

I know a great, little boutique with

decent prices,
she says.
Sabrina and I

picked out her prom formal there.

“Sabrina is Kenny's daughter,

right?” She nods, opening the door.

“So, what's going on with you two?

You're not still moving in together.”

The last sentence was a statement.

That decision had been made.

No. But he did still buy the house

at Hermosa Beach. I'm glad.

I loved that little place.
Her voice

is sad, and now I'm sorry the subject

came up.
I keep telling myself things

happen for a reason. I'll always love

Kenny. No man has ever been that

good to me. But I still love Spence,

too, despite the water stagnating

under our bridge. And right now,

he needs me. Funny, but when you

mentioned I became an adult, you were

right. Don't know if that's good or bad.

But it had to happen sooner or later.

I'm having a great time with Dar tonight,

despite brief flashes of Soleil's face

intruding now and then. We finish dinner,

take it relatively easy on the tequila,

and I feel totally capable of driving

the short distance to the coffee house

that's hosting the slam tonight.

It's not quite as crowded as the last

one, and much more informal.

A gig more for fun than a chance

at prizes. We arrive a little before eight,

when it's supposed to get underway,

and are looking for a place to sit

when I hear my name over my shoulder.

Ashley.
It's Jonah.
I'm glad you came

tonight.
Darian and I both turn,

and Jonah kisses me on the cheek.

Darian shoots me a look meaning,

how about an introduction? “Oh.

Sorry. Darian, this is Jonah. Uh . . .

Mr. Clinger. My poetry teacher.”

Awkward. But Darian smiles

and Jonah grins and I guess that

means it's all good.
Great to meet

you, Darian. May I join you ladies?

Poetry is better with excellent company.

Darian shrugs.
Okay by me. Ash?

It's your party.
She looks at Jonah,

and amends,
Her birthday party.