Chapter 10
Three days after the accident, the image Shawn’s nearly lifeless body is still burned in my brain. His skin is pale white, cold and unnatural-looking, as he lays in a coma in the third bed of the intensive care unit. Someone who doesn’t take up even half of a hospital gurney should not be there. He should be watching cartoons and playing games with his big brother and sister. Even now, as I stare at a photo of Teig on the living room wall, all I can think about is Shelby’s brother – not my own.
Shelby isn’t her usual self anymore. She hasn’t changed clothes since she first arrived in the emergency room on Sunday afternoon. She doesn’t speak, she just cries. I had held her hand on the uncomfortable hospital bench for three hours as the doctors drilled a hole into Shawn’s skull to alleviate the pressure on his brain.
Ash comforts his parents and seems to be the most collected one of his family. He never cried at the hospital, but he often prayed while waiting, staring at the floor with his hands clasped together between his knees.
I left the hospital yesterday when the doctors said only family members would be allowed in the room from then on. When I went to tell Shelby goodbye, I found her sleeping upright while sitting with her legs crossed on a tall chair in the waiting room. An opened bottle of water was in her hand. I screwed the cap back on and let her sleep.
Also weighing on my mind is the last conversation I had with Ryan. He called me the day after the accident asking why I wasn’t at work, and had the audacity to laugh when I told him I was with the Carters at the hospital. He said he had caught wind of something happening to one of them and was hoping it was Ash, but “tough luck” to the little Carter boy.
My happiness at him calling was quickly diminished the instant I realized he was calling for gossip, not for me. I tried standing up to the criticism he spat about the Carter family, but it fell on deaf ears. He hated Ash and everyone associated with him. Ryan hadn’t stopped bad mouthing them until he heard the tears in my voice.
“Come on, Hana, you don’t have to cry about it,” he had said.
It didn’t seem possible that someone who was so perfect a week ago is now so indisputably not perfect. Had his charming smile and muscular physique blinded me? I slump in the couch and stare at a blank TV screen. If Ryan is no longer worthy of crushing on, then I had wasted so much effort trying to make him like me. I am better than this. I don’t make desperate choices like my mother, or rash decisions like Felicia. At least I thought I didn’t. Nothing makes sense to me anymore. My heart is breaking, and I don’t even have a boyfriend to break it for me.
Molly calls me into the kitchen. I leave the couch with a lack of enthusiasm as it has been my sanctuary for the entire day. But something delicious is cooking in there, and the scent starts to get to me. My empty stomach is eager to find out what it is and when I will be eating it.
The spring in Molly’s step is missing as she removes a lasagna from the oven and covers it with foil. Her hair is fashioned into a bun held in place with a pencil. She looks ten years older without makeup. Usually when I find her in the kitchen, she will give me a cheerful smile and convince me that I need something to eat. Now she’s scribbling on a piece of paper and doesn’t bother to acknowledge me.
I reach for a piece of garlic bread. Molly swats my hand away.
“It’s not for us,” she says. There is a fraction of charm in her voice. A small, tiny fraction mostly buried beneath the sorrow.
“Then who is it for?” I ask, hoping we aren’t having dinner guests.
“The Carters.” She hand me the paper she had written on. It’s directions to their house. “They have too much to worry about and I don’t want them going without dinner.” She wraps the garlic bread and puts everything in a cloth bag. “I know you’re missing Shelby so I thought you could take this to them.”
The directions lead me down a series of long county roads with houses varying from three-story Victorians to rickety shacks dotting the horizon. Unlike in Dallas, these roads don’t have streetlights, just the occasional stop sign likely to be perforated with bullet holes.
Mixon is little more than a dot on the map. It has one gas station, a general store and a McDonald’s. My dad’s motocross track is the only reason Mixon even has a dot because it’s the only reason someone would want to come here.
I turn right on County Road Forty-One and look for the first driveway on the left. When I approach the gravel driveway, I’m pretty sure I’ve made a mistake. A metal building stands at the end of the driveway next to it is an old mobile home that doesn’t look big enough to house a family of five. With a groan, I put the truck in reverse to backtrack and figure out where I made a wrong turn. Then a sign on the building catches my eye. In black painted letters are the words Rick’s Small Engine Repair. Maybe I am at the right house.
Ash’s Mazda is parked in front of the rundown mobile home, but the rest of the driveway is empty. It has a covered porch with a swing and an antique water fountain in the front yard. Their house is modest in the extreme, but cute in its own way, with white trim and stepping stones leading to the front porch. I call Shelby but she doesn’t answer.
If they’re all at the hospital then I came out here for no reason. If Ash is the only one home – well, I don’t want to imagine how awkward that will be. Sighing, I let my forehead fall to the steering wheel.
The crackling of tires on the driveway startles me from the depths of my thoughts, and I turn to see a black car park next to me. Mrs. Carter and Shelby are inside. Shelby gives me a surprised look as I get out of my truck, carrying the warm food.
“I expected Molly, but you’ll do just fine.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, “I’ve brought you dinner from Molly.”
“That’s wonderful. Molly is a fantast
ic cook.” Mrs. Carter wraps her arm around me and leads me to the front porch. The dark circles under her eyes are still visible through a thick layer of concealer. Judging from the uncertain look on Shelby’s face, she doesn’t think it’s great that I’m here instead of Molly. It’s almost like she’s embarrassed to see me.
I follow them inside. Shelby rushes down the hallway and into a room, closing the door behind her. Mrs. Carter doesn’t bother explaining what is wrong with her, and I don’t ask.
Their house has a charming warmth to it although everything inside is outdated. The suede couch is worn thin, and it faces a boxy old television. A shelf of VHS Disney movies line one wall and I’m pretty sure the Carter kids don’t watch them anymore.
I follow her through the open living room and into the kitchen. Pictures of Shelby, Ash and Shawn are everywhere, from the walls to the refrigerator. Shelby and Ash looked even more identical as children. Ash always had long hair.
“Where’s Mr. Carter?” I ask, setting the food on their table. Mrs. Carter places a stack of plates next to it, enough for every member of her family.
“He’s at the hospital. We’re taking shifts.” She sits down and cuts a piece of the lasagna for herself, motioning for me to take some too.