Authors: Marsha Qualey

Tags: #Young Adult

One Night (17 page)

BOOK: One Night

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Tyler shot me a look, then stared down at the board.

“Caller on two, Kit,” he said. “She arrived in the States three weeks ago from Lakveria. Name is Ana, says she lost all three of her children, killed by rebel guerrillas.”

Kit opened the call, welcoming the woman, gently leading her into the conversation.

“Switch me to the prince,” I asked Tyler. I leaned into the mike. “Hey, Tommy, it’s me. Don’t talk, your mike is on.” He turned and looked. “Everything’s fine, they’re all very pleased.” Tom looked toward his great-uncle. The king dipped his head.

“By the way, Kelly,” the vice president whispered when I stepped back in my place, “Mrs. Ripley and I are delighted about the tree. Surprised, but delighted.”

“I’m glad you’re both happy. As soon as I got off the phone with you, I called the service you recommended and left a message. It should be down today.”

“Your aunt does know, doesn’t she, Kelly?”

“It will be fine, Mr. Vice President. I promise.”

My neighbor laughed. “Suddenly I’m very optimistic about world peace. It seems small enough, compared to other problems I’ve tackled.”

“How can you be?” I said sharply. He sobered abruptly. “I’m sorry, sir, but are you listening to these callers? Are all of you listening to their stories? The horrible things that have happened—there’s no hope the enemies will reconcile. How can one side ever forget what the other did? And him.” I pointed to Tom. “He’s going to be destroyed, isn’t he? One way or another, whether he’s crushed or he’s killed, he won’t survive. What are the chances he’ll survive? He doesn’t believe he will.”

King Mikel turned around and stared at me.

“I can’t say, Kelly,” replied my neighbor. “I’ll be frank about that. The rebel faction will be after him and it may succeed. Some day, some sniper or guerrilla bomb might find its target. Yes, they will go after him as they went after his sister. Hope is their enemy, and that’s what Tomas and Natalia represent. But, as you say, he knows that. He knows—we all know—that it’s a dangerous business, building peace and making it last.”

“But you keep trying. It doesn’t ever seem to be working anywhere, but you keep trying, you all keep banging your heads against a very hard wall.”

“There’s no other option.”

I looked at him. “How can you keep going?”

His blue eyes locked onto mine and held me by their kind sadness and concern. “Day by day, Kelly. It’s all just day by day.”

The scene after the show was a zoo. Raoul tried to herd everyone to his office, but the general had other ideas. “The airport…” he kept saying. Brant Butler and his cameraman emerged from a room, the camera still whirring. They were followed by six bodyguards. I spotted the thugs who had frisked me at the hotel and waved. When Kit and Tom joined us, there was applause all around. Kit blew me a kiss and mouthed “Thank you” before turning
toward the camera. Over the din, the general could be heard. “The airport, please, the airport…”

I checked my watch. Five past eleven. I, too, should’ve been somewhere else.

“Kelly.” I looked up and saw Tom pushing his way through the crowd.

“Your Highness,” said the general, “we must leave now.”

“Prince Tomas,” said the king, “you must have a word with the press.”

He ignored them. We stood eye to eye as they all crowded around.

“I have to be going,” he said.

“Yes, you do,” I replied. “The UN awaits. Can you sleep on a plane? I sure hope so.”

He shook his head impatiently and leaned toward me. “I wish…” He inhaled and exhaled, one long noisy sigh. He opened and closed his mouth twice, not finding what it was he wanted to say.

“I think we’re both all talked out, Prince Tomas,” I said. “Your people are waiting, so let’s just say good—”

He held up a hand and shushed me. “I wish,” he whispered, “I wish that I’d kissed you last night.”

I glanced at the camera that was aimed at us, then I looked back at those eyes and said softly, “I wish you had, too.”

And then, with as strong a rush as I’ve ever felt, a thousand other wishes crowded my head: Be safe, be happy, may your sister heal, be safe, I hope you get your hands on Charlemagne’s map, I hope there will be peace in Lakveria, be safe, be safe, be safe.

He started to speak, but couldn’t, so instead, he made a princely move. He took my hand in his and raised it to his lips.

The camera caught it all; there were witnesses galore. I’m certain, though, that no one but me saw his eyes change color, no one else knew how tightly he squeezed, and no one could see my thumb stroking his hand as he lowered mine from the kiss.

He stared at the back of my hand. “Look at me, Tommy,” I whispered. He raised his eyes.

I said, “Be good at what you do.” And then I stepped back and let go.

The eleven o’clock meeting was well under way when I reached St. Ambrose’s. My usual spot near the back was empty, but after scanning the room, I walked right past that chair and slid into an empty one next to Sandi. She narrowed her eyes and watched me settle. I caught her glance, then at the same time we both whispered, “You okay?”

“I’m good,” she said. “But you look terrible.”

“Running on fumes.”

The speaker was deep into her story by then, so we clammed up. It was the usual thing—different in the details, but identical in outline: a life ripped apart by drugs, a life rebuilt one day at a time. I closed my eyes while I listened. Listened.

When the speaker was done, we shifted into a round robin, starting at the front. Sandi leaped right up. She was more family than friend to most of the people there, and was greeted warmly. She talked about her night. I’d seen her, of course, so I had a picture to go with the description of her close call, of the evening spent hanging by a thread.

“This time yesterday, well, most of you saw me then, I was happy as could be, top of the world. Such as it is, my world. After the meeting some of us went to lunch, and, oh, we were so loud at the restaurant, laughing and telling stories, that all the other diners couldn’t wait to see us go. When I did go, I headed home to call my girl, Tami. It was her birthday…” She paused, her hand bobbing in the space in front of her, as if abandoned midair when she lost her thought. She pulled it all in. “Everyone here knows what I mean when I say that it sure doesn’t take long to get
off
track. Plenty of us here have crashed. Just one night goes bad and we crash, lose all we’ve built up. You can do all the work, you can run the program, but still you crash. And it can happen so fast. I came that close last night. One of those nights, right? Who hasn’t had one? Well, it was last night for me. I came that close, that close. But a talk with a friend, a phone call, and I held on. And now I’ve got another day, one more day clean and sober.”

I’d always thought that if I ever got up to speak and offered more than what Sandi called name tag stuff, it would be a rush—a mind-blowing, sweaty-palm, nerve-wracking rush. And it probably would have been, if I weren’t so tired.

There’s a drill to the round robin. You identify yourself and then say as much or as little as you have in you. Plenty of people never get too far past their name. I never really had before and today I almost didn’t again. I was about to drop back down in my seat when I heard the familiar voice, heard Kit, heard her command echo in my head:
Talk now!

“I just want to add to what Sandi said,” I started. “It’s so true, how it can all fall apart so fast. You crash before you even knew you were headed somewhere.” People nodded, and I heard a few murmurs of agreement. “But it can go the other way, just as quickly. You can get through something—a night, or a day, or a phone call, maybe, and suddenly you see how far you’ve come. And I think that’s good to talk about, too.”

I dropped back down into my seat. In a moment Sandi pulled me over to rest on her shoulder. In another moment I was fast asleep.

The noise of people folding up the metal chairs woke me. When I shook the sleep from my head, I saw that Sandi was gone and I was laid out on three chairs with someone’s shoulder bag for a pillow. I sat up and looked around. Sandi was standing with a group near the door. She saw me and came over.

“I’m not inviting you to join us for lunch today because you need to go home and take care of yourself. Go get some real sleep.” She turned to a man collecting chairs in the row behind me. “Did you listen to ‘Kit Chat?” She tipped her head toward me. “She was up all night with a prince.”

The guy wasn’t interested. He just pointed and said, “I need those chairs now.”

Sandi said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kelly. Take care of yourself, that’s number one. Do you hear me: Take care.”

“Yes,” I said, “that’s what I’ll do.”

The houses around Lake Lucille are even grander in daylight. Mostly because of the gardens. Like the houses, the Lake Lucille gardens are larger and more elaborate than any others in the city. And this late in June, the flower beds were really exploding.

The house at Twenty-seventh and Lake Drive was awash in color. I’m not much into flowers, but I knew a few, and I knew that the white and red things were peonies and I knew that they were spectacular. The delphinium was going nuts, too. Not surprising: It was always her favorite.

I tapped a blossom and it bobbed. A droopy bush with round white flowers was overhanging the steps. I brushed against it as I climbed.

Seven steps, then the long walk to the house, more steps, cross the porch, knock. That’s all you have to do. Don’t stop now, Kelly, not here, keep going. She might slam—

“What are you doing here?”

I stopped on the top step. Caught my breath, then turned.

She was kneeling amid some flowers. She rose, brushed dirt off her jeans, and walked toward me, clutching a sharp-pointed trowel in her hand.

She’s a tall woman. We’re the same height, have been since I was thirteen. People used to say the typical dumb things about how much alike we looked, sisters almost. She loved it, once.

“I said, what are you doing here?”

So there we were: face to face for the first time in two years. Her holding a potential weapon and me sleep-deprived, unwashed, and mute. Advantage: hers.

She tried a different tack. “I listened to Kit today. Sounds like you had quite a night.”

That roused me. Couldn’t cough up any words, but something must have shown on my face. She arched an eyebrow, shrugged, and said, “I tune in occasionally. Sometimes she…is interesting.”

And sometimes she…talks about me. I licked my lips. “Your irises look good. The garden is already much nicer than when Grandma lived here.”

“Cut it out, Kelly. Get to the point.” She closed the space between us (still holding the trowel) until we were standing eye to eye. I breathed in…

And laughed. That scent, oh my gosh, there it was, now I knew. Confixor, her favorite styling lotion, I recognized it now.
Styling lotion.
Oh, Tommy, I thought. You little Gypsy prince; you use Aveda hair products.

She wasn’t laughing at my private joke, of course. She said, “Kelly, I don’t see what’s so funny. You show up at my home unannounced and there is nothing funny.”

I composed myself, sobered, and stood tall. Now she slumped and softened and looked about while she seemed to search for words. “You have this wild night, you show up here when two years ago we all agreed you wouldn’t ever do so, and you…you look like you’ve been through hell.” She drew herself up, but I could tell it took all her effort. “Why are you here?” she whispered.

Did I know? “Please…” I could see that she wouldn’t help, this would be up to me. Try again. “Please, I…” And again. “I want…”

What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done?

Confess to something stupid? Something bad?

Walk into a classroom, the new kid in school?

Say no to drugs?

Say “Get lost” to a boyfriend, say good-bye to a friend?

End an abusive thing you once called love?

If you’ve done any of that, then good for you,

Because all of it’s hard, and some of it’s very hard.

And what was the hardest thing for Kelly Ray?

Well, it might not look that tough, but believe me, it was.

She admitted to something.