Unlocked (7 page)

I sat at my bedroom desk and smoothed out a new sheet of coral stationery. Two hours had passed since I first sat here, and I still struggled to find the right words to convey my sorrow to Jordan's parents. I needed to do this. I reconsidered my words and wrote in my best penmanship:

My fingers twitched. I clutched the pen and gouged out the words. The tip of the pen tore through the paper and left scratches in the walnut desktop. I groaned, crumpled the paper, and threw it across the room toward my bed. It landed on the carpet next to the other wads of paper.

I turned back to my desk and glanced at the wall above it where three pictures hung: a family photo from when I was eight on the New Jersey shoreline, a snapshot of my friends at last year's homecoming, and a Disney World caricature of me.

I lifted the family portrait from its hook and cradled it in my hands. My dad's behavior wasn't always irrational and unpredictable. Several times, he took me on long walks through the zoo and taught me about the animals and named the trees—elm, redwood, sycamore, chestnut, and more. He was strong and stable then, just like the trees, and I idolized him. When he hugged me, he smelled of Old Spice after-shave lotion. When he started having outbursts in public, I began to fear him. To know, now, that he committed suicide because he had schizophrenia terrified me, and more than ever, I wished I could go back in time and do something to help him.

With the picture still in hand, I hurried to my closet. I set the framed picture on a shelf next to my shoe collection. Then I reached up to the top shelf and nudged a box closer to the edge. I lost my grip on it, and the dusty box fell to the floor with a thud. Snapshots and an old family album spilled out across the carpet. I sank to my knees, and I flipped the album open to the first page, which displayed a picture of Mom and Dad on their wedding day. She wore a long, full white dress with puffy sleeves, and he wore a black tuxedo with a pointy collar. I studied his face: a straight nose proportioned just right for his head, green eyes that resembled mine, dark, thick hair neatly trimmed around his ears, and a broad smile that lifted the corners of his eyes.

He was happy.

And I longed to keep that image of him in my mind.

I returned everything to the box and tucked it on a lower shelf behind some shoes. Before we'd left New Jersey, I'd hidden these pictures away. Mom had thrown out nearly everything else that reminded her of Dad. She knew I had the one family picture hanging on my bedroom wall, and she avoided looking at it whenever she came into my room. I left my closet and rehung that portrait above my desk. My hand traveled from its frame to the next one: the caricature from Disney World. The artist had distorted my head and exaggerated my eyes. The cartoon pictured me sitting on a red-and-white-checkered blanket with a picnic basket next to me. Ants dotted the edges of the blanket.

Ants.

How had I never noticed that before?

I grabbed the framed drawing from the wall and examined it. The artist had drawn the small black pests in a uniformed line, creeping along the edge of the blanket and into the picnic basket. I opened the bottom desk drawer and dropped the picture inside, face-down, and then I slammed the drawer closed.

In one sweeping motion, I shoved everything off my desktop, plunked my head down on the bare surface, and cried.

When the phone rang, I jumped from my chair, wiped my eyes, and tried to focus. The cordless house phone—buried next to my stapler under a pile of stationery on the floor—stopped ringing before I could click the talk button. It didn't matter; the caller ID showed it was one of Mom's friends.

I stood there and stared out my bedroom window at the giant oak. There were few trees in the foothills, but our neighborhood had planted a variety for shade and privacy. Even with the large cottonwoods and maples, we still had a great view of downtown Boise in the distance, but Mom didn't buy this house for the view. She bought it because it was less than a ten-minute drive to her hotel. While people swarmed downtown Boise with their clatter and commotion, families retreated to their homes in the foothills for peace and quiet. Nothing ever happened up here. No crime. No traffic. No noise.

Finally, the screen on the phone showed the line was free. I dialed the hospital's number. When the automated system prompted me, I typed in Manny's room number. Mrs. Santos answered.

“Can I speak with Manny?” I asked

“They've taken him for a CT scan.”

“Another one?” When I called earlier, she'd said the same thing.

“Patience, child,” Mrs. Santos said. “It was an x-ray before. They need to make sure everything is fine before they release him.”

“Today?” My heart raced.

“Tomorrow at the earliest. I'll have him call you as soon as he can.”

We said goodbye, and I dialed again. This time I typed in Lily's room number.

“ICU nurses' station,” a woman said.

“Oh. I wanted Lily Sloane's room.”

“Her calls are being directed here.”

“How is she doing?” I asked.

“Are you family?”

“I'm her best friend.”

“I'm sorry, but we're only able to give information to family members.”

I disconnected the call.

I flopped face-down onto my bed and dropped the phone. Mom knocked on my door, but I remained on the bed. She knocked again and came right on in. She knelt next to my bed.

“Oh, Hannah.” She stroked my hair.

I lifted up and met her gaze. “Never lie to me about anything, ever again.”

She sat next to me on the bed. “I promise. I'm sorry for not telling you about your father sooner.”

My stomach twisted. I wanted everyone to forgive me for the accident, but I was unsure that I could forgive her for lying to me about Dad.

“Will you accept my apology?” she asked.

“I'm working on it,” I said.

“That's all I ask.” After a few seconds of awkward silence, she patted my knee. “Let's go to the mall.”

“Are you kidding me?”

She smiled a crooked, halfhearted smile. “Mall therapy is just what we need. We can get you a new phone, a new pair of shoes, a new purse.”

“And that will make everything all right?” I asked.

“No.” Her smile disappeared. “But it will be better than sitting here alone in your room. And we can pick up gifts for Manny and Lily.”

I wanted to see Manny, and I wanted to find out how Lily was doing. So, I conceded to Mom's plan. I took a shower and changed into an embellished silver tank top and faded denim shorts. My bruise from the seat belt peeked out at the neckline of my tank, and I felt a pang of guilt for going to the mall when Manny and Lily were still in the hospital. I changed into a ruby-red blouse that covered my bruise and headed out with Mom. Some people went to church on Sundays; we went to the mall—my mother's favorite place of worship.

• • •

Manny's extended family—who'd probably come straight from church, because they were all decked out in their best Sunday attire—crowded his hospital room. They teased Manny about his hospital gown.

“Are you going to get some shiny heels to finish the outfit?” his brother asked. Everyone laughed. The spirited gathering filled the room with love. They noticed me in the doorway and welcomed me as if I was one of them. When Manny saw me, he smiled, and my heart warmed, but it was then that I realized no one had visited me. Unlike Manny, I had a small family. Both of my parents were only children, and my grandparents still lived in New Jersey. But none of our friends from school had even called to check on me. And in this crowded room, I felt very alone.

I plastered on a smile and told myself it was fine, because Manny was the only community I needed. I moved toward him and extended the gift sack.

“What's this?” he asked.

“Open, open,” his family chanted.

Manny tossed the tissue paper to the floor, and his brothers leaned in closer. Manny lifted out the iPod and held it high for everyone to see. They cheered. I grinned. Their energy was contagious.

“Why'd you get me another iPod?” Manny asked.

“I figured yours was lost in the accident.” I bit my lower lip. A lot of things were lost in the accident. He motioned me forward, and I sat next to him on the bed.

“Actually, it wasn't,” he said. “Chelsea had it. She brought it by earlier today.” He pointed to the side table.

“How did Chelsea get your iPod?”

“During the hypnotist show, she joined us for a better view, and she asked if she could borrow it.”

“And she visited you today?”

“She came with the student council gang. I was surprised you didn't come with them, but Chelsea said you weren't feeling well.”

“I haven't even talked to Chelsea today.”

“Oh. She called you at home this morning to check on you.”

“What else did she tell you?”

“She said you were pretty out of it. Maybe that's why you don't remember.”

“I'd remember if she called.”

Mrs. Santos set her hand on my shoulder. “It's okay, child. Just a misunderstanding.”

I struggled to catch my breath and calm myself. Why would Chelsea lie? We were friends. It made no sense for her to invent a story for Manny, but I didn't want to cause a spectacle in front of his relatives . . . so I let it go.

Manny introduced me to his extended family, and one by one, they told me embarrassing stories about him. After a while, my mom announced we needed to head out.

“Please, let me stay,” I said. “You could come back later and pick me up.”

“No. Plus, we still need to give Lily her gift.”

“Right.” I squeezed Manny's fingers and said goodbye to his family.

We took the elevator to the ICU and followed the signs to Lily's room. My heart beat faster at the idea of seeing her, but when we got to her room, my heart sank. We stood in the hallway and stared through the sliding glass doors. A gloomy pallor masked her vibrant, tan face. Gauze wrapped around her head where her long brown locks should have been. Ashen lids cloaked her hazel eyes. Hoses and tubes connected Lily to machines and pumps and drains. A ventilator helped her breathe. A gray blanket covered her seemingly lifeless form. This was not the Lily I knew. Her dream was to leave Idaho and explore the world. She had to recover.

“May I help you?” a nurse asked.

“We're here to see Lily,” my mom said.

“I'm sorry, only family members can visit,” the nurse said. “However, Mrs. Sloane is just down the hall in the waiting area if you want to speak with her.”

“Thank you,” Mom said, and we moved in that direction.

Mrs. Sloane sat with another woman. I smiled when she looked up. The other woman's face turned bright red, and Mrs. Sloane glanced nervously between her and me. We approached, and they stood. I wanted to give Mrs. Sloane a hug and talk with her, but my body tensed the closer I got to the two women.

“Hi, Mrs. Sloane,” I said. “How's Lily doing?”

She wrung her hands together. “She's still unconscious.”

“I'm so sorry—”

“You should be,” the other woman said. Tears tore down her face.

Mrs. Sloane cleared her throat and motioned toward her. “This is Jordan's mother.”

“Oh,” I said. I'd never met Mrs. Hilaman before. I swallowed and tried to find the right words. “Mrs. Hilaman, I am—”

Jordan's mom thrust her finger into my face. “Do. Not. Patronize. Me.”

“I wasn't.”

She stepped closer to me, and I took a step back.

“How can you even justify being here?” She turned from me to my mother. “Either of you?”

“I brought a gift for Lily.” I lifted the glittered pink sack. As soon as I said it, I realized it was a stupid thing to say, but in the tense moment, I couldn't think straight. Jordan's and Lily's moms needed to know how sorry I was, but I said, “We went to the mall—”

And Jordan's mom slapped me across the cheek.

I dropped the gift to the floor and covered my face. It was the second time in my life I'd been hit by someone. I didn't deserve it the first time, but maybe I did this time.

Mom stepped in front of me, and in a low, restrained tone she said, “I understand you're grieving, but don't ever touch my daughter again. It was a car accident, and Hannah never intended to harm anyone.”

“Leave!” Jordan's mom pointed toward the elevators. A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead.

Mrs. Sloane covered her mouth and sobbed. I hated myself for causing this grief. I'd give anything to bring Jordan back and make Lily whole again. If only I could.

Mom looped her arm through mine, and we walked away, trembling. The gift sack was left abandoned on the floor.

• • •

I ran up the stairs to my room, slammed the door behind me, and threw myself on the bed. I buried my face in my pillows and cried myself to sleep.

Sometime during the night I awoke, still fully dressed and on top of my covers. The light of the waning full moon shone through my window and cast strange patterns along the upper edges of my walls. The hairs on my forearms stood, and a menacing gloom came over me. The shapes grew and changed, elongated toward the center of the ceiling. Then they descended like murky vapors.

I twisted over and flipped on the bedside lamp. Then I bolted from the bed and yanked the drapes across the window, blocking out the strange silhouettes cast by the moonlight. My eyes darted around the room and toward the ceiling. No more scary apparitions danced overhead, but something was still wrong.

My heart thumped. I tiptoed around my room, and then I shuddered. No more piles of wadded stationary spotted the floor. The stapler, pencil sharpener, and other items had been returned to my desktop.