“She died in a car accident,” he stated.
“That night,” I confessed, “she called me. We fought a little back and forth. She told me to come pick her up because their car had broken down. I was pissed about what Trace had done and mad at life in general. I smoked a little and passed out on the couch, too idle in my own pathetic world to think past its borders. I woke to the cops banging on my door.” I stuck the keys in the door handle and turned them. The door creaked as I pulled it open and I rested my hand at its top. “I made a conscious decision not to pick her up, too lazy, too pissed, too selfish to obey her simple request after she’d worked her fingers to the bone for who knows how many hours that day while her piece-of-shit husband gambled away everything she’d probably earned.” I watched Salinger swallow. “I took my sisters’ mother and father away, and I’ve gotta do something about it.”
I got in my car and closed the door; my hand shook as I tried to fit the key in the ignition. I looked up and saw Salinger staring at me, his chest rising and falling with each breath. Slow in his movements, his left hand fell on the hood. He rounded the front of the car; his hand slid across the metal and stopped at my door. I watched his long fingers wrap around the handle and open her up.
“Scoot over,” he said, so I did. He slid in the driver’s seat and held out his hand. “Keys.”
I gave them to him, too tired to argue, and I trusted him. He drove us toward Smithfield, just outside Bottle County to one of the older apartment complexes there but they were still decent, clean, and well maintained. He pulled into a space near a bottom corner apartment at the front of the complex and parked my car.
“Come on,” he said, stepping out, and offered his hand to me.
I took it. When my skin touched his, it felt electric, which made me feel incredibly guilty. I was relieved when he dropped it. I rubbed the skin of my hand across the thigh of my jeans so the feeling would leave, but it never did. My arm still tingled. That tingle wound up the skin there and pooled in my belly.
I followed him to that bottom corner apartment. He held the door open for me and I walked in. It was dark, so he leaned across me to flip the lights on. The crack of the light was overwhelming since the sun hadn’t yet risen. His apartment smelled clean and looked it as well. There were shelves and shelves of books, several guitars hung on the walls, and chessboards everywhere.
“Have a seat,” he offered and gestured to a leather couch sat in front of a decent television.
His simple apartment wasn’t huge, but it was like a completely different world compared to my own house. I felt a sudden awareness of myself standing in his apartment.
“Why did you bring me here?” I asked him.
He went through to his kitchen, which was open to the living and dining rooms, and opened his fridge. I heard the hum of the motor it was so quiet in his house.
“Are you thirsty?” he asked.
“Yes,” I barely spoke.
He brought me a bottle of water and sat on the arm of a chair next to the sofa I’d taken the liberty to sit on. He unscrewed his lid and took a swig. I did the same.
“You’re obviously not sleeping and you’re on the verge of breaking, I can tell.”
I didn’t argue with him.
“I want you to forget,” he began. I opened my mouth to tell him that was impossible, but he stopped me. “Not everything. Just a change of scenery, a temporary escape. You can shower here. I’ll make you something to eat. You can have my bed and I’ll take the couch.”
“I don’t know if I can do that,” I said, my eyes burning. “I can’t impose on you like that.”
“It’s not an imposition,” he said.
He stood, went to a room off the living space, and returned with what looked like one of his T-shirts, a pair of shorts, and a pair of socks.
“I’ve got everything you’ll need in there,” he said, pointing to a shower off a bedroom, his bedroom, I assumed. “When you’re done, come out, I’ll have something to eat for you.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Very sure,” he answered. His expression was kind but gave nothing else away.
I took a shower, washed away the night’s work, breathed in the heat of the water, and let it clean out my congested lungs. Since losing my mom, watching my sisters get torn away from me, and the new job, my body was stiff, the muscles rigid every second of my days and even my nights. I don’t think I’ll ever know carefree again, and it’s just what I deserve.
I put on Salinger’s clothes, though I was swimming in them, and padded back into his living room.
He stopped when he heard me come in. His eyes started at my face, adrenaline flooding my body, and followed down to my feet then back up.
“It’s,” he swallowed, “they’re a little big on you.”
“Yes,” I agreed in a whisper. “Thank you, though.”
“Of course,” he offered.
He went back to his stove, picked up his pan, and brought it to the table. He laid out an omelet on a plate. He stared again then knocked his chin up, encouraging me to sit.
“Smells really good,” I told him, trying to smile, but it barely reached my eyes.
“I like anything I can throw in a pan as a big mess and have something edible by the end.” One side of his mouth ticked up in a sarcastic smile.
He sat and we started eating together.
“You’re doing really well at work, Lily,” he told me.
“Thanks,” I said between bites.
“Who is taking care of your sisters while you’re with us?” he asked, obviously not knowing what happened.
I laid my fork down and my eyes filled with tears.
“Lily? No, no, don’t cry. What’s wrong?” he asked. He looked frantic. He stood and looked at me, his hands on top of his head. “Don’t cry. What’s wrong?”
I shook my head to get control of myself. “I’m just tired,” I told him. “Sit. I’ll tell you where my sisters are.”
He did as I asked and sat back down.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“That night,” I said, letting out a shaky breath, “the night before I didn’t show up?” He waved it away like it didn’t matter, but I couldn’t let it go. “I’m sorry,” I told him.
“It’s okay,” he assured me.
“No, it’s not, but I am sorry.”
“It’s fine. It’s water under the bridge.”
I nodded. “Thank you,” I told him and wiped a few tears away. I hadn’t realized how much that had laid heavily on my shoulders until he forgave me in that moment, and I was grateful he accepted my apology. “The night before, I did something stupid. I, uh, as you know, I went over to Trace’s because he and a bunch of our friends were partying over there. I was, uh, running away from Sterling. He’d come home and I hadn’t expected him, so I thought instead of going over to Ansen’s or calling Katie or whatever, that I’d just hang at Trace’s until enough time had passed that I could sneak back over. Anyway, while I was there, Trace offered me a joint.”
Salinger nodded but his body language was a little cut off, making me feel sick to my stomach.
“I, um, I took it,” I admitted, my eyes glassing over. “I shouldn’t have done it, but I’m an idiot and he offered an escape, so I took it.” I took a deep breath and let it out, tears spilling over. “It was laced.”
Salinger unfurled his crossed arms and laid his hands on the table. “For sure?”
“For sure. I didn’t know it was, but I shouldn’t have taken it in the first place.”
“Fuck that guy. Don’t you dare blame yourself for that,” Salinger whispered.
“It was ketamine,” I said, ignoring him.
“He told you it was ketamine?” he asked.
“No, uh, I had a drug test done.”
“Good.”
I shook my head, biting my lip to keep from bursting into tears. “No, it wasn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Something I said must have made him uncomfortable because when he found out that Mom and Sterling had died, he called CPS. I think he was trying to discredit me, make it look like I’m an addict trying to blame him or something, just in case I did turn him in.”