While inside Tosh and Liz’s apartment, Eric calls my phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Babe. I just talked to my mom. I’ll pick up the boys when I’m done here. She said something came up?”
“Yeah, I’m at Tosha’s. Everything’s fine, now—just a minor meltdown between her and Liz.” Tosha purses her lips as I flip her the bird.
“Take your time. Love you, see you later.”
I try to hide my sigh. “Love you, too. Later.”
“Well, that sounded convincing,” Tosha teases.
“Shit, do you think he noticed anything?”
“Knowing Eric, probably not. What are you gonna do, Nat? I haven’t seen you this unhappy in a long time.”
Almost on command, the cuts on my legs itch.
“I don’t know. I can’t leave him now. He’s a good dad, and he could never do it alone without massive help from his mom. I have no interest in being a single full-time mom. I’d lose it.” I sit back and run my hands through my long black hair.
“It sounds like you’re already losing it, Nat. Just take care of yourself, okay?”
“I will.” I nod.
I see it in her eyes, though. She doesn’t believe me. She already knows too much. She knows everything.
Chapter 12
I wander around Northampton for a little bit after leaving Tosha’s apartment, trying to get my thoughts in order before going home.
I don’t want to go home.
I grab a cappuccino from the Italian bakery and float mindlessly through Thorne’s Marketplace, forcing myself to remember the clothes I used to wear, the incense I used to buy, and the person I used to be.
I shouldn’t have come here, not in this mindset. The creek of the floors and the smell of the fair-trade, organic coffee remind me of something I haven’t thought about in years. The worst day of my life. Sitting on the dusty wooden stairs, I dig my elbows into my knees and try to breathe away the impending panic attack.
Not here. Not again.
*
I was wandering around the same market, then. Alone, de-stressing after getting my ass in gear and pulling my grades back up to Dean’s List level. I reveled in the life Northampton provided. Tosha talked a lot about moving here after graduation, and I hoped she would.
With Fiona Apple blasting through my earbuds, I was glad I put my cell phone on vibrate as I thanked the barista for my coffee. I headed to the stairs and pulled out my phone. It wasn’t “unavailable,” meaning it wasn’t Ryker, but it was a number I didn’t recognize.
“Hello?” I left one earbud in, Fiona still singing in my ear.
“Hello, Natalie?” A woman’s voice I didn’t quite recognize came through the other end.
I turned off my first generation iPod—one that cost my parents a fortune—and pulled out the other earbud. “This is.”
Her voice was unsteady. “Natalie, this Julia. . . Ryker’s mom.”
I’m glad I made it to the stairs, because I was sitting down anyway. Luckily, they caught me. My pulse raced more thoughts per second through my head than I’d ever experienced before. News reports scrolled through my visual memory. I thought the worst; I thought the best. I thought why wouldn’t his dad be calling me? That meant it had to be bad. Ryker’s dad was his emergency contact, since he lived with him in Amherst. Julia lived somewhere else . . . Colorado? Wyoming? Something . . .
“Hi Julia . . .” I tried to sound nonchalant.
The longest silence in existence followed.
“Julia? Hello?”
She sniffed, and my heart leaped through my throat. I was dizzy and felt like all my nerves were buzzing on high voltage.
“Julia, what happened? You’re scaring me.” People slowed a little as they walked by me, staring for a second before going about their lives, as mine was seconds away from falling apart.
“It’s Lucas—” sobs cut her voice short.
You can feel relief and horror at the same time. It’s awful. A rabbit hole for which there is no bottom.
“Oh my god . . . no.” I put my head on my knees and started openly sobbing.
Her voice broke through my tears. “I don’t know all of the details, but there was some firefight. Ryker pulled him out—it was too late—Ryker was shot, too, Natalie.”
“What?” I was loud. A woman knelt next to me, placed her hand on my back, and asked if I was okay. She stayed next to me while I listened to Julia.
“He’s on his way to Germany, I think. His dad’s been on the phone all day trying to get details. He asked if I’d call you. From what we know so far, he’s okay, Natalie. He’s going to be okay.”
“Okay. What do I . . .” Words were useless. Nothing touched what I was questioning, what I was feeling.
Did she say Lucas was dead?
“I’ll let Bill know that I called you. He’ll call you with more information.”
“I’m so sorry, Julia.” I managed to get it together enough to recognize I was speaking with the mother of a boy who was shot.