Pretty Girl-13

DECISION




MY EYES CRACKED OPEN. I PEEKED FROM SIDE TO SIDE. Lots of white, lots of equipment. I was in a hospital again.

I raised a hand to rub the grit out of my eyelashes and nearly bonked myself with the giant Q-tip my arm had become. Both arms. Bandaged to the elbows, hands swaddled in gauze. Seeing them, they suddenly itched like crazy. I banged them together and immediately realized what a stupid idea that was as a wave of pain rippled up the length of my arms.

A nurse appeared out of nowhere and held them gently apart. “Don’t do that, honey. There’s healing going on in there.”

“Where am I?” I asked, blinking away the tears.

“You’re in the burn unit at UCLA Medical Center. It’s Saturday morning. And I’m Marie, your nurse for the next twelve hours.”

Twelve hours? “How—how badly am I hurt?” Stupid question. I felt like a giant bandage.

“Your hands got the worst of it. Third-degree burns. Your legs escaped with second degree. No skin grafts needed.” She gave me one of those encouraging tight-lipped nurse smiles. “You’ll live to play the piano again.”

“Guitar,” I corrected. I shifted uncomfortably.

She adjusted my pillow and smoothed my hair under my head. “Given the rest of you, I’m not sure how you escaped with all your beautiful hair unsinged.”

“I ran out of the fire with a wet blan—oh my God.” It hit me like a two-by-four in the face. “Sammy. My … my child, where is he? Is he okay?” I stopped breathing while I waited for her answer.

Marie’s face twisted in confusion. “Your …? They said you were the babysitter.”

“I was. I am,” I quickly corrected. I wracked my mind, literally. Lonely One? Where are you? Why did I say my child?

“The little boy was perfect. Untouched. Somehow you got him out of that inferno before the bedroom wing collapsed, and you took all the damage.” She patted my shoulder. “You’re a very brave girl, from what I understand. A hero. The parents have been to see you while you slept. As have your own, of course.”

Of course. “Can I see them now? Mine, I mean?”

“I believe they’ll all be back up here in a few minutes. They all went off for coffee together. It’s been a long, long night for them.”

I closed my eyes, already exhausted from the short conversation. Marie smoothed the sheet under my chin and stroked my hair one more time. “That’s it,” she said. “Rest and recover.”

But with my eyes closed, I couldn’t sleep, could only wander the halls of my brain. I found them deserted. Where I had created the girls’ cabin, there was only a pile of imagined ash. So where had Lonely One gone when I pulled her out after me?

“I need you. Now,” I had ordered her. Was it possible? Had she merged into me in the blink of an eye? In the unbearable heat of the moment? Perhaps. Yes.

I gave myself permission to remember, and then—I did. I remembered everything: the gentle swell of my belly, already large when I first emerged as a person; the sickness that came and went; the man’s kinder, softer side, making it all the more unexpected when he tore my heart out by stealing the baby, the one we named Sam, after his father, he said; the hours spent rocking and crying alone and forgotten after Girl Scout and Little Wife came back; the bright Angel who came and gave me hope that I’d see my baby again; the nights spent peeking at a sleeping child, who looked and smelled familiar and just might be the one; the detective’s words that gave me the strength to burst from my detention cell and make my way back to Sam.

Yes. That was it. We were—I was—together. Complete.

And together we’d done it. My strength and her mother love joined against the fire.

Burnt, aching, swathed in gauze, I finally felt complete.

Tears tracked down my cheek. A tiny tap-tap caught my attention, and I blinked to see the Harrises at the ICU window. Sammy was on Mrs. Harris’s hip. He gave her a wet, open-mouth kiss on the cheek. She waved his little fist in a hi-bye motion at me. Her face heavy with sleeplessness and gratitude, she blew me a kiss and rubbed her cheek on Sammy’s fair hair. Dr. Harris clenched his hands together up beside his right ear, telling me I was a champion in his book. The love was so thick, you could spread it on a bagel.

I sighed with a deep kind of joy and waved my Popsicle arms at them. Dr. Harris saluted me once, then wrapped an arm around his wife and child to head to a hotel for a soft bed.

Mom and Dad came in then for the hug-and-cry session.

They let me go home that evening with all my wound care instructions, home to my own bed. The painkillers did their best, but I still spent much of the night awake. There were other wounds that gauze and antibiotics couldn’t touch.

Before Lonely One had tossed all her memories and emotions into the mental mixing bowl, I’d already fallen hopelessly in love with Sam. Now I knew firsthand the magic bond they had shared for such a short time. Then I had been fighting with her—now I was fighting with myself in the dark hours of the night.

Should I tell Mom and Dad? Bring Sam home? Raise him with my new brother/sister? There was a certain logic in that. But how could I do that to the Harrises? And what was best for Sam? To believe forever that his mother had died or to know that she had been relentlessly molested by a crazy man until he was conceived?

I stumbled on the stairs, distracted by the dilemma spinning my brain around.

In a moment, Mom was in front of me, arms out, as if she could catch me now when it was far too late to make a difference. Her stomach looked huge. Time was speeding along.

“Your dad’s still in the kitchen, watching the morning news. He took the day off work, in case … in case you need anything.”

“Um. Okay.” I wasn’t exactly sure what kind of thing he was thinking of.

“I made you French toast,” she said hesitantly. “Feel up to eating some?”

I wasn’t typically much of a breakfast eater, but after twenty-four hours in the hospital, I was ravenous. “Sure, Mom. I’ll have a slice or eight.” I slipped in next to Dad at the kitchen table—next to, so I wouldn’t have to make eye contact and I wouldn’t block his view of the TV. “Someone will have to feed me, though.”

Mom sat across the table, forking small pieces of French toast at me. She was sweet but unbelievably awkward.

“You’re out of practice, Mom,” I teased her. “Better figure it out before Junior arrives.”

“More like June,” she quipped back. “Apparently you’re having a sister.”

Mom had no way of knowing that the sudden look of horror on my face had nothing to do with her announcement. Behind her head, the entire TV screen had filled with a photo of the man.

“Oh my God,” I gasped.

“Hey, what’s the matter with a sister?” Mom demanded.

Dad’s fork dropped with a clang. His face went pale. “Damned TV news. That didn’t take long.” His eyes darted to the rolled-up Sunday paper, still in its plastic sleeve.

Mom whirled and caught her breath at the face on the screen.

A face I now knew better than my own, the only face that parts of me had seen for three years. So ordinary, except for the narrow dark eyes that looked just a little off, a bit skewed from normal. Sandy-brown hair lightly flecked with gray. A weak chin. Very small ears.

The voice-over did not identify him by name, just asked for any information about his movements and whereabouts in the past five years. He was described only as a person found deceased in the Angeles National Forest—no mention of me or his record.

I was frozen in place, fascinated and appalled at the same time.

Mom slammed off the TV with a bang.

“Oh, my poor Angel,” Dad said, voice cracking. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

What a stupid comment. What the heck was he thinking? “Dad. I lived that.”

His face turned bright red, like he’d given up breathing.

“You couldn’t have stopped them anyway,” I said. “It’s news. A body in the park.”

His fists balled up fiercely. He raised them toward the darkened TV screen, like he could reach through it to the man, to the news studio. “I would have tried my damnedest. I swear I would. I would have done anything to prevent it.” He drew a shuddery breath. “Damned TV news.”

I knew he meant much more than that. He meant the man, and the fruitless search. He meant Bill, and all those years we could never get back. He meant my long-lost innocent childhood.

“Dad. You didn’t know. It’s. Not. Your. Fault.”

He didn’t say anything, but a tear fell off the tip of his nose and splashed into the puddle of syrup on his plate.

I thumped his shoulders with my bandaged arms. “Look at me, Dad.” His tear-streaked face was a misery. “It’s done. He’s dead. We’re alive.”

Dad tore his eyes away from mine.

“Look at me,” I insisted. “Am I crying? Am I feeling sorry for myself?”

He only made a choking sound.

I shook him lightly. “You do not have the right to feel worse than I do. So get over yourself and start being here for me and Mom.”

His eyes widened.

A step sounded behind me, and I felt Mom’s hands on my shoulders. Her taut belly brushed the back of my head. “And the baby,” I added. “She does not need a morose, depressed, self-absorbed father. She needs a daddy. Get it?”

Mom squeezed her appreciation into me with silent fingers.

Dad pulled a handkerchief out of his robe pocket and blew his nose. He nodded.

“So you have the day off. Now go do something fun,” I said. “Mom, take him Christmas shopping. I couldn’t help noticing that no one’s put anything under the tree except me. Ahem.”

Mom smiled. “You come along too, hon.”

“Not till I get my gauze mittens off,” I said. “I don’t want to spend the whole day explaining.”

I felt like the parent for a moment. Dad stood up and gave me a long, squeezy hug. He whispered, “Angel. I’m sorry. So sorry.”

“I know that, Daddy,” I said in his ear while he squoze. “By the way, if you need any ideas, I’m getting my ears pierced, and I wouldn’t mind pearls.”

They had been gone for only an hour when the doorbell rang.

I jumped up and realized I’d have a heck of a time opening the door. Through the spy hole, I saw Brogan standing awkwardly on the front mat. His face wore an odd, nervous expression.

“Come in,” I yelled.

The door cracked, and he poked his head in with hesitation. “Angie?” He looked back and forth from my hand-pods to the smoking rubble across the cul-de-sac, actually at a loss for words.

“It wasn’t arson,” I said. “I’m innocent.”

He shook his head. “Sorry. Yes. Yeah, I know. I’ve just spoken to the Harrises. At their hotel. Are your parents around?”

“Nope. They’re shopping.” Spoke to the Harrises? Why? Suspicion dawned.

“Maybe I should come back later.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“I think you’d better come in,” I said. “I think this is a talk we need to have privately.”

He studied my face and apparently came to a decision. “Okay. Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

He sat down on the edge of the sofa, his elbows on his knees. I took a chair and leaned back on purpose.

“As I said, I’ve, uh, just come from the Harrises,” he said. “They recognized Brett Samuelson on the television. Apparently from the adoption signing.”

Oh, no. “Do they know it had anything to do with me?” I asked. “Did they figure it out?”

Brogan shook his head. “No. I told them it was a homicide follow-up. They felt quite sorry for him.” He raised his eyebrows.

“Let them stay that way,” I said. “Close the files.”

“Yeah?” He cleared his throat. “Sam’s sure a cute kid.”

“Good genes on one side of the family, at least,” I said lightly.

Brogan gulped, searching for a response.

I rested my bandaged arms on his knees. “He belongs with them. Close the case files. Please.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. His chest fell with a quiet huff of air. “I see why you’re the survivor, kiddo,” he murmured. “Tough as nails, softhearted as—”

“Besides,” I interrupted. “As long as we’re all living here, which I anticipate will be a long time, I’ll get to see him grow up. I’ll help them decorate his new room. I’ll teach him to read. I can help him with his homework when he goes to school. So it’ll be okay. He’ll be fine. Better, even.”

My voice caught, but I swallowed it down. “I saw him take his first steps, you know.”

Brogan did the totally unexpected. Stood up and hugged me, for a long time. When he let go, I saw the tears in his eyes. I suppose there were some in mine, too.

“Okay, kid. I’ll respect your wishes. But I’m putting a note with the Harrises’ story and a copy of the adoption papers inside the file before I seal it, in case you change your mind later.”

“Okay. Fair enough,” I said. “And you were never here, right?”

“I was never here. It’s been an honor meeting you, Angie,” he said. He dropped a kiss on the top of my hair. “I wish you all the best.”

Brogan drove away slowly. Pines swayed madly in the wind that promised a warm December afternoon.

I watched from the front window, at peace with my decision and my final secret. Too much was at stake. Too many lives would topple if all the truth were known.

Some secrets are meant to be kept close to the heart. Forever.