How to Save a Life (33 page)

My angry-at-self-plus-confusion mood is still evident when Dylan finds me in the school lot, waiting in my car, with what I’d guess—based on how it feels on my face—is a pissed expression. “I’d ask what’s wrong,” he says, getting into my car, “but I’m scared, in case it has something to do with me.”

“Not everything is about you.”

He laughs. “I
know
. Lately not anything is about me.”

I resist the urge to drive over the speed bumps as fast as possible. “Meaning?”

“Nothing, Jill.”

Not just
nothing. Nothing, Jill.
And in this context, in this tone, you can pretty much substitute
bitch
for
Jill
.

In an attempt at redemption, I ask with all sincerity if the Potato Rebellion is coming to the party.

“Nope.”

“You could go to Casa B early and get us a good table. Up near the divers. Then I could bring Mandy, and I’ll just tell her we’re going on an errand or to a drive-through or something like that. Then—”

“Jill,” Dylan says, “I forgot I promised my dad I’d help him change the brake pads on his car when he gets home from work. It shouldn’t take long, but I don’t think I can get there early for the table.”

We’re at a red light. I throw my head back and let out a huge sigh-slash-growl. “Seriously?”

He speaks slowly, as if to a toddler throwing a tantrum. “
You
go early and get the table.
I’ll
pick up Mandy. It will
all
work out. Okay?”

It’s an effective approach. “Actually, that’s a good idea. You guys kind of bonded; she’ll go anywhere with you. You can make something up.”

We work out the details of the plan on our way to Cherry Creek, where as soon as we see the tiny, adorable baby clothes, we’re overcome with the cuteness of it all and it’s like we were never fighting. We pick up some practical things, like blankets and bottles, but my mom can worry about most of that stuff. We’re clothes-crazy.

“I want a baby,” Dylan says, holding up a miniature knit cap with a turtle on it.

“Don’t look at me.”

We wind up dropping nearly two hundred dollars between us, requiring more than one trip to the ATM. Afterward we stop for lemonades and look at all of our purchases again.

“Do you think you’ll ever be a mom?” he asks, holding a lamb beanbag toy and touching its little ears.

“I can’t picture it.”

“Really? I can totally see myself being a dad. And I want to be a young dad, you know? So that when the kids are in high school, I could still potentially be a little bit awesome.”

“Kids?” I ask. “How many are you thinking?”

“Three?”

Our eyes meet. I love Dylan. He loves me. We’re each other’s first. But we’re not going to be together forever. We’ve both known it, I’m sure. He’s going to college right after graduation; I’m not. He wants a bunch of kids, apparently; I don’t. It’s not like we’ve ever talked about forever. But we’ve also not made a habit sitting around talking about our future adult selves in a way that makes it this obvious we’ll be on different paths. And letting go of Dylan means letting go of another piece of my life as it was when I still had my dad.

I’m the first to break our gaze, stabbing at my crushed ice with my straw. “It makes me sad,” I say to my cup. “To think about it.”

“Me being a dad?”

“Ha-ha. No. You’ll be great. That’s not what I meant.”

He places the lamb on the table between us, its beanbaggy legs splayed.

“Yeah, I know. You know what else is sad?”

“What?”

“It just kind of occurred to me that we’re giving this stuff to Mandy for her birthday, but she’s not really going to be around to see the baby wear it or use it or whatever.”

I pick up the lamb, hold it to my face, feel like I could cry. Because, holy hell. That
is
sad.

Mandy

In the afternoon, while Robin is gone—to the copy shop for her presentation things, to clients’ offices, getting her hair trimmed—I spend some time in every room in the house: Lying for a while on Robin’s bed, then on Jill’s. Sitting at the big kitchen table, where I’ve had my breakfast with Robin almost every morning for the last month. Touching the metal napkin rings that are cutouts of moose or elk or some animal like that. Standing in her office with my hand on the back of her desk chair. Looking at the pictures from the ultrasound that first day at Dr. Yee’s. Studying the baby’s face. Who she will be? Whose she will be?

In each room I wait for a feeling of certainty that will tell me what I should do. Maybe this is panic. Maybe every woman who is planning to give up her baby feels exactly this way, but I don’t know about every woman, I only know about me, and what I feel is that I need to think. For the longest time I sit in Jill’s father’s chair. Sometimes when I think about Mac and the stories I’ve heard about him, I’m jealous of Jill. Why do some people get a father like that and some get what I got? It might be better to have a dead father like Mac than an alive one who doesn’t want to know you. As for my baby’s father, I don’t know. The ghost, the shadow of Mac that’s left here would be a better father than Kent. But if it’s Christopher…

The phone rings. I let the machine get it, scared I might hear my mother’s voice.

“Mandy? Hey, Mandy, pick up if you can hear this. It’s Dylan.”

Dylan. There’s another person Jill has and doesn’t appreciate like she should. “Maybe you’re taking a nap or something. Crap. I hope you get this in time! Why don’t you have a cell? Everyone has a cell. Homeless people have cells. Okay, the deal is I’m going to pick you up at six tonight, and I can’t tell you anything else. I do promise it’ll be the most fun you’ve had since you got here. Maybe the most fun you’ve—” The machine beeps, cutting him off.

A few seconds later the phone rings again, and again I don’t answer. I don’t think I’m strong enough to talk to someone as nice as Dylan right now. “As I was saying, six o’clock. Just wear whatever’s comfortable.”

The machine robot voice says the time. Four fifty-eight
PM
; later than I realized. I don’t know if I can do what I need to do before six. Not that I have that much stuff, but I’m slow now, and I haven’t figured out how I’m getting to the pawnshop and then the train station, or even if I’m taking the train or maybe the bus, or where I’m going. East. West.

I get up to make and wrap some peanut butter sandwiches and take them to my room to pack. I put my vitamins in a bag, too, and fill a plastic bottle with water. Everything needs to fit in my duffel, and it can’t be too heavy. I remember my trip here, dragging my bag in the snow, no one offering to help. And here I go again, alone. I rearrange everything to be more compact and have to leave behind a few of the heavier sweaters that Robin bought me. Of all the things that could make me cry, that’s what gets to me.

I sit on the edge of the bed. My whole body is pain: my feet, my back, my rear, even my fingers, which are puffy and tight-feeling. All I want to do is rest a little bit. It will be a good chance to go through the plan in my head, anyway, so I lie back and stretch out. This will be the last time I sleep on a bed this comfortable. The final time these hopeful orange walls are the last thing I see before closing my eyes.

“Mandy?” There’s a hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes. Dylan.

“Hi,” I say, groggy.

“Hey.”

I sit up and Dylan stares down at me and I finally wake up, realizing what he’s seeing: me, and all of my things laid out on the bed beside me—the duffle with my clothes in it, the sandwiches and the water, my coat and a scarf I borrowed from Jill’s room. My Bible.

“Um,” Dylan says, and he sounds worried. “Are you going somewhere?”

He’s my friend. He hugged me. He understands about my mother. “I have to leave,” I tell him.

“No no no!” He puts out his hands, his voice getting higher with every “no.” “You don’t have to leave. No leaving. I know Jill can be a bitch, but if she’s been acting weird the last day or two, it’s only because—”

“It’s not Jill.” To help Dylan understand, I make it about the father. Dylan’s the one who said that if it were his baby, he couldn’t let it go so easy. “I need to talk to the baby’s father.”

“Can’t you just call him?” He starts to take clothes out of my duffel and put them into the dresser drawers.

I sit up and go to the drawers. “Imagine it’s your baby. I have to try to find him, one more time.” I move the clothes back to the bag. He watches me, and I can tell from how conflicted he looks that he believes me.

“You can. Tell Robin. She’ll understand; you know she will. She’d even go with you.” He looks at the clock on the dresser. It’s ten after six. “You can’t leave, Mandy. You can’t.”

“You’re my friend, Dylan. You can help me.”

He clutches the sides of his head. The more excited he gets, the calmer I feel. “No, I can’t. I mean, I can help you
stay
. Talk to Robin. I’m telling you. You want me to do it for you?”

How can I explain to Dylan what I don’t understand? It’s motherhood, it’s fathers, it’s fear, it’s the known and the unknown. It’s biology, an instinct that tells me to go, go. “I’m coming back” is all I can say just so that he won’t worry so much.

“If you’re coming back, then why are you taking everything?”

“I’m not.” I open the drawer and show him the sweaters that are too bulky to take with me.

He glances around the room, worried, as if someone might come out of the closet and catch us. “Mandy, I totally agree that you should find the baby’s father and talk to him. As a dude, I am for that. It’s only right. But don’t run away.”

We stare at each other. Dylan’s a good person; he’s trying to decide what’s more right out of two things that don’t feel right. I turn and zip my bag.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he says, pulling the bag toward him. “Come with me now. Bring your stuff. This was supposed to be a surprise…. Jill is throwing you a little birthday party at this crazy restaurant she thinks—we think—you’ll love. Don’t tell her I told you. Come with me, please.” He takes a deep breath and holds it. “Afterward, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

A birthday party? “It was Jill’s idea?”

“Yeah. You gotta eat anyway, right?”

The train east leaves around eight. The train west doesn’t leave until the morning. The buses, I don’t know. Dylan is holding up my coat now. I put my arms into the sleeves. “Is Robin going to be there?” I wouldn’t be able to face her.

“No. She has her meeting.” He pulls the coat around me as far as it will go and keeps hold of the lapels. We’re standing so close, I can smell the cinnamon gum on his breath. “I’ll help you, Mandy. I promise.”

It’s hard to think clearly so soon after a nap. Dylan’s hands on my coat make me feel safe.

“Well, I am hungry.”

Jill

Any trip to Casa Bonita is in itself weird, but it’s extra awkward to be sitting at a dimly lit Casa Bonita table with Ravi. We’ve been waiting for Dylan and Mandy long enough for that awkwardness to build in scope and intensity. Our food, which we picked up on our way in, because that’s how it works in a fine establishment such as this, is getting cold. But we do have a prime table, thanks to me getting here crazy early and begging the host. I never went home this afternoon for fear that I’d start acting weird around Mandy and spill the beans. When Ravi showed up, looking so nice in his glasses and sweater, I had to resist literally jumping up and down.