The Stillburrow Crush (23 page)

Mom had to sit down after that. Her face drained of color and she dragged me to the couch. We sat together and grasped each other's hands. "I don't think Marty was with her," I finally said.

My mother shook her head. "No," she agreed. "No, of course not. But if it was Abby, then someone's going to call him soon enough." She got to her feet and headed for the phone. "And I'd rather it be me."

I watched her stand in the center of the kitchen, a bathrobe over her pajamas, pressing the phone to her ear, waiting for someone to pick up. "Come on, Martin," she said, starting to pace in her house slippers once again. "Answer the phone."

But Marty never answered.

Mom called once every hour. I knew because I stayed up with her. Even if I would've tried to go back to sleep, I wouldn't have been able to. The phone rang constantly throughout the night as rumors of the accident spread across town. With each call, Mom and I gained another piece of 215

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information. First, we found out the Wallaces had been in one car.

Mrs. Wallace had been having stomach pains all night and Dr. Wallace, her husband, finally decided to drive her to the hospital in Paulbrook. It ended up that Mrs. Wallace arrived in the hospital via an ambulance, only to discover she had a bad case of gas. She and Dr. Wallace had come through the wreck OK. One of the two had a broken arm, but that was the extent of their injuries.

When we discovered the Eggrow's car had indeed been the other automobile in the accident, Mom started calling Marty's house every half hour.

Dad didn't get home until six in the morning. By then, we already knew of Abby's death. We knew Georgia was still at the hospital with Jill and that Jill had gained consciousness only an hour before.

Dad was a mess. He collapsed on the couch and didn't move. Mom brought him hot coffee that he drank without speaking. No one mentioned the red stains on his jacket or the trembling in his hands.

When the sun came up, I saw the remains of the wreck sitting in our backyard by the shop. Both automobiles were totaled. Later, someone from Paulbrook's junkyard came for them, but before they arrived, I stared out the kitchen window and saw more than I wanted. I couldn't seem to turn away.

The front of the Wallace's red car was stripped bare. The radiator was dented toward the engine, where the car had T-boned the driver's side door of the Eggrow's Lexus. Red paint 216

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streaked the tan finish of the Lexus along with broken glass, and metal so mangled it looked more like crumpled paper. A deflated air bag draped over the front seat like a blanket. I wouldn't go outside to examine the damage, but I stared out at the MADD sticker on the bumper, feeling hollow. I was almost dizzy from the empty light-headedness. Abby Eggrow was dead. It was impossible to believe even as I stared at the proof.

Mom sat by Dad and rubbed his back as he squeezed his eyes closed and tried to forget what he'd seen.

When the phone rang, neither of my parents moved, so I answered it.

"Carrie?"

I closed my eyes and sighed out a relieved breath as I heard Luke's voice.

"Hi," I answered. My voice sounded dull and lifeless...even to my ears.

"I didn't want to call too early," he said. "I was afraid to wake you."

"I haven't been asleep since two."

Luke paused a moment. "So you know?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I know."

"Are you OK?"

Again, I went to the window and stared out at the wreckage. "I don't know," I said. I wasn't sure what OK

meant anymore.

Luke blew out a breath. "I still can't believe it."

"Yeah." My eyes closed again. They were starting to hurt.

"We don't know where Marty is."

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"Really?"

I found a chair at the kitchen table, dropped into it, and rubbed my temples. "Mom's been trying to call him all night.

We don't know where he is."

"I could drive around and see if I spot his truck anywhere,"

Luke said.

My hands started to shake. "That would be nice."

"I'll come over and see you afterward."

"No," I said.

"Carrie." His voice was forceful even though it quivered a little. "I need to see you."

"This isn't a good time," I said.

"Please."

I rested my head on the table and tried to steady myself.

"Could you give me a few days? I just...I just need some time to straighten this mess in my head."

Luke said nothing for a time. I didn't think he was even going to respond. But finally he said, "I'll wait." And then he quietly hung up the phone.

I stayed there, with my head down, letting the chilly tabletop cool my cheeks. Dad was finally talking to Mom in the living room. I could hear their hushed voices. Suddenly, I had to get out of there. I had to find my brother. I just had to do something.

I left through the back door and ran all the way to Marty's house. It felt good to have the cold December air rushing through my lungs. When I reached the house next door to the funeral home, I was panting. My ears burned they were so 218

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cold and I had a cramp in my side, but I felt better. I felt cleansed.

Marty's truck wasn't parked in his driveway. That was bad news but not surprising. I thundered up the porch and charged inside. In the front room, I found Austin, E.T., and Trevor sitting in a row on the couch. They were watching a funny movie on the television, yet none of them laughed.

Three sober expressions landed on me when I threw open the door. E.T. lifted a limp hand and gave me a solemn wave. He tried to smile, but it died before it reached his eyes.

"Where's my brother?" I said.

All three of them shrugged.

"He was gone by the time I got off work this morning,"

Austin said.

"We can't go home," Trevor piped up.

I stared at him and E.T. explained. "It's a real mess over there. People keep coming in and out and Mom and Dad can't get anything done."

It struck me then that Abby's body was right next door. I shivered.

Where was Marty?

The ending words of "Amazing Grace" drifted into the air.

Dabbing a tissue at her eyes, Brenda Newell stepped back with the rest of the choir. And Pastor Curry came forward. He stood in front of the closed coffin quietly for a few moments.

His Adam's apple slowly slid up and then jerked back down.

It was a Monday morning and tiny flakes of snow were starting to fall. They melted as soon as they hit the brown earth, but it was enough to make everything damp. Wind 219

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fluttered the dampness around and small water droplets clung to leaves and coats and faces.

A picture of Abby flittered through my mind: dressed in her cheerleading uniform at the football homecoming, holding her red and white pompoms behind her, stretching up on her toes and whispering into Marty's ear. His lids had lowered dreamily as she spoke to him. In my mind, she would be frozen that way for eternity, with her head close to his and her smile as youthful and bright as ever. I would grow old and wrinkly, and she'd stay that perky cheerleader.

She was John Keats reincarnated:

* * * *

I never found him that Saturday when I'd searched so frantically. Eventually, Mom and Dad set out to look for him too. But he was gone. We worried all weekend until Dad finally said, "He's OK. The boy just needs some time alone, and we should give it to him." So that's what we gave him.

Time.

I looked at the flowers surrounding Pastor Curry. Long white lilies with a healthy wet glow sat on top of the box. A smaller bouquet of roses was nestled in the middle of them, and a ribbon ran across the stems, saying, "We love you, Abby" in navy blue letters.

Pastor Curry swept a hand through the air over the casket.

"Here lies the body of Abigail Marianne Eggrow."

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That's when it really hit me. My fingers shook as I covered my mouth with them. The wind blew goose bumps onto my arms, but I felt so hot. My stomach revolted and bile rose in my throat. I wiped my nose on my soggy coat sleeve. I don't know if I was being loud, but there was so much weeping and moaning around me, it engulfed me. No one would've noticed a small hiccup from me.

"...And this tragic accident is no one's fault," the pastor said. "Sometimes, the Lord just takes blessed people because they've filled their purpose early. Everyone plays their own song. They sing their story to the world and leave behind a melody of memories. Sometimes...their song is cut short and ends too early. But that doesn't mean their music was any less sweet or that they left any less of an impression."

I bowed my head and squeezed my eyes tight as Pastor Curry said a prayer.
Please find my brother. Please help
Marty.

When I felt a hand on my shoulder, I lifted my face and glanced back.

There he was.

He'd just arrived. His hair was still wet from a shower and his black suit was a little rough, but he'd cleaned up as best he could. His face was pale—so very pale. I moved aside to let him up with our family and he slid in between Mom and me.

I glanced around to see who'd noticed him and found many faces were glancing toward the Paxton boy who'd almost gotten Abby Eggrow pregnant. But to me, my brother suddenly looked tall and handsome.

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I was beyond proud of him. I took his hand and his fingers bit into mine because he held on so tight.

I saw Luke then. He was standing closer to the casket than we were, not too far from the Eggrows and the Gettys. His eyes were on me, and when he saw me notice him, he nodded. His mouth smiled encouragingly to me, but there were tears in his eyes.

I heard my brother whimper. When I looked up, I discovered his face was no longer white, but bright red. His lips shook and his nostrils flared as his breathing accelerated.

His gaze fixated on the closed casket. Huge drops of moisture gathered at the corner of his eyes.

Mom touched his sleeve and looked up at him with concern. Marty glanced at her, whispering, "I don't think I can do this."

Dad moved from my side and came up behind him. He touched Marty's back and said, "You don't have to be strong, son. We're here for you."

That's all the encouragement Marty needed. He clenched his eyes shut and folded, bending at the waist and letting his head fall forward. Dad caught him from behind before he hit the ground. He turned Marty around and embraced him, fitting his son to his chest and holding Marty's head with his hand. I watched Marty's arms go around Dad and his hands bunch fistfuls of Dad's jacket.

Dad looked to Mom and me then, and we instantly moved in, surrounding Marty in a protective shell. Dad opened his arms enough to gather all of us into his embrace. And right there in the middle of the cemetery—in the middle of the 222

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gathering of Stillburrow citizens—my family formed one huge hug and wept together.

I rested my head on Marty's back and listened to his sobs as they echoed through his chest. My parents' arms bound me to them. I had never felt so close to these people I'd shared my whole life with, as I did just then. As my parents cried because of their son's pain, I realized I had never loved them so much. This was my family.

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Marty walked home from the service with us, and Mom and Dad pampered him at the house. Mom poured him a glass of milk while Dad sat beside him on the sofa. Marty thanked them repeatedly, which was unlike him. Mom finally sat on the other side of him and held his hand. Dad chatted with him, taking his mind off the pain.

"Business has been picking up for me in the past few weeks," he said. "I'm getting busy enough I can't handle the workload myself. So I was wondering if you knew of anyone that needed a job. The pay won't be much at first. But I'm willing to be flexible. Do you know of anyone that knows a little about cars?"

Marty glanced up. "You asking me to work for you?"

Dad gave a brief nod. "If you're willing."

Marty mulled it over for a second and then said, "I'm willing."

It was Mom who let out a relieved breath. I watched her as she brushed her fingers over Marty's knuckles. She didn't seem worried about us getting dirt on the floor or what the town might be thinking of us for weeping all over ourselves like we had. It made me feel like she'd changed, like she wasn't so embarrassed to be a part of us now.

It seemed like our family was putting itself back into some kind of order. In the face of tragedy we'd united, and it felt good to know we wouldn't turn our backs on each other when times turned rough.

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Marty's eyelids seemed to get heavy, and I think we all realized he needed to be alone. He needed rest and a little peaceful solitude.

My parents had already drifted out of the room and I'd been about to leave Marty alone. But at the call of my name,

"Carrie?" I turned back and came to sit by him on the couch.

He looked at me from red raccoon eyes. "Don't tell anyone about what I said the other day...about the baby," he said.

I shook my head. "I won't."

"I don't want anyone to know what I thought. I was wrong, OK?" He waited for me to nod. Then he continued after a shaky breath. "And if I wasn't wrong then she didn't want anyone to know. So I'm not going to let anyone find out."

"OK," I said in a soft voice. "I won't tell anyone."

"I don't think she deserved this," he said.