JASON STARR - Panic Attack

“Whatever,” she said, not ready to forgive him yet.

“No, not what ever,” he said, mimicking her. “I was wrong and I’m sorry. Friends?”

He extended his arms, inviting her to hug him.

“Friends,” she said grudgingly.

They hugged loosely; then she took a sip of the coffee. It tasted sour and murky.

“Hey, so I was thinking,” he said. “Maybe instead of going down to Florida I’ll just fly Grandma up here instead.”

“Can she travel?” Marissa asked.

“She said she’s been feeling a lot better lately and that she could handle the flight. She could just sleep downstairs on the pullout and use the downstairs bathroom so we don’t have to worry about her going up and down the stairs.”

“Sounds good to me,” Marissa said.

She was always up for getting out of a trip to Florida. She used to like going down there when she was a kid, mainly because she and her parents always stopped at Disney World on the way back, but for the last ten years or so going to her grandma Ann’s condo in North Miami had been torture. It was always nice to see her grandma, but at her condo Marissa was basically a prisoner, hanging around all day, playing Rummy Q, watching game shows, and waiting for the main activity: going to the early bird dinner at four o’clock.

“Yeah, I think I’m just gonna call her and suggest it,” her dad said. “Maybe next weekend or the weekend after.”

“So,” Marissa said, “is there any news?”

“News about what?”

Was he serious?

“The shooting,” she said.

“Oh, no,” he said. “I mean, I don’t know what news there would be since last night. I mean, they removed the body right after you went to bed, and I was up for maybe another hour or so. I’ve been getting a lot of calls and e-mails, of course. It’s amazing the way news spreads. Remember my old friend Stevie Lerner? Big guy, dark curly hair? Anyway, you met him when you were about eight years old, I think, and the last time I saw him was at a wedding maybe ten years ago. Anyway, he called to see if everything was okay.”

“Did they figure out how the burglars got in yet?” Marissa asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said, like he really didn’t care one way or the other. “But the lock guy was here already, and we have brand- new locks for the back door, Medecos. There’re new keys. The alarm guy should be here at around-” He checked the time on his cell phone. “Actually, they should’ve been here a half hour ago.”

Marissa took another sip of the gross coffee, then said, “I’ll talk to you later,” and started to leave the kitchen.

“I was thinking,” her dad said, “maybe we could all go out to dinner tonight. You know, as a family.”

“I’m supposed to hang out with some friends,” she said.

This wasn’t really true. She had no set plans with her friends; she just didn’t feel like spending a whole night with her parents.

“Oh, then maybe we should do something over the weekend, just the three of us. Maybe go into the city to see a movie or a show. When was the last time we went to a Broadway show? It’s been ages.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Dad?”

“Fine,” he said, smiling unusually widely. “What do you mean?”

“The way you’re acting. It’s… I don’t know… not normal.”

“What do you mean?” he said. “I had a phone session with a patient. I’m taking care of stuff around the house. I think I’m acting very normal.”

“Yeah, but it’s not normal to act normal. I mean, you’re allowed to be upset.”

“Upset about what?”

“You shot somebody,” Marissa said. “If that happened to me, I mean, if I was the one who shot him, I’d be a total mess right now. I mean, you wouldn’t even be able to talk to me.”

“Everybody handles things differently,” he said.

“Anybody would be upset,” she said.

“Look, I was upset at first, okay? I mean, you saw me last night, right? I was expressing my anger then, but I’m okay with it now, I really am. I mean, I’m not going to beat myself up over it. I was in a difficult situation, and I did the best I could under the circumstances. I wish it hadn’t happened, but it did happen, and it could’ve happened to anybody- that’s the important thing. You know how many people in this neighborhood have guns? The Zimmermans have a gun, the Stenatos have a gun, the Silvermans have a gun, the Coles have a gun. I bet there’s a gun in every other house on this block, if not in every house, and I think any other father would’ve done what I did. I protected my family, that’s all. It’s not something to feel bad about, it’s something to feel good about.”

God, he was so deep in denial it was hopeless.

“Look, Dad, if I were you, I’d talk to somebody. Your therapist, some other counselor, whoever. I really think you’re still in shock right now but you don’t realize it.”

“Shock?” he said, like he’d never heard the word before. “Why do you-”

“Hello?” her mom shouted. It sounded like she was in the foyer, near the front door. She sounded totally panicked, like something horrible had happened. “Who’s home?!”

Marissa and her dad looked at each other with concerned expressions, then left the kitchen together and met her mom in the living room. Her mom looked frantic and went right up to Marissa and wrapped her arms around her and wouldn’t let go.

“What is it, Mom? What’s wrong?”

Her mother was crying now, but it was worse than the way she’d been crying last night. Last night she was just upset. Now she looked devastated.

“Yeah, what’s going on?” her dad asked, concerned yet calm.

Marissa’s mom let go of her. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, leaving smudges of mascara, and her lips were trembling.

“I-I just spoke w-w-w- with that d-d- detective… C-c- c-clements.” She had to catch her breath. “I c-c- alled him about the paper… He called back and… and… she’s d-d- dead.”

Marissa was lost. “Who’s dead?”

“G-g- gabriela,” her mom said. “Somebody shot her. She’s dead.”

Marissa was confused. The only Gabriela she knew was their maid, but that was impossible. Marissa must’ve misunderstood something. Her mother must’ve meant some other Gabriela. Maybe someone from the neighborhood or a friend of a friend. Something like that.

“Gabriela?” Marissa asked. “Gabriela who?”

Her mom couldn’t speak for several seconds, then blurted out, “Our Gabriela.”

The room seemed like it was spinning, and then Marissa wasn’t sure where she was anymore. Her father had to actually grab her to keep her from falling. Somehow they all wound up on the living room couch, Marissa sitting between her mom and her dad.

Her mom was asking her if she was okay, and Marissa, crying, was saying, “It’s not true. Please tell me it’s not true.”

“It’s true,” her mom sobbed. “It’s true, it’s true, it’s true.”

“How do you know it’s true?” her father asked. “Maybe there’s some mistake.”

Her dad wasn’t crying at all, and he didn’t even seem very upset. He sounded weirdly calm, in control.

“He told me,” her mom said. “The detective. He said she was shot this morning in… in her apartment.”

“Maybe there was a screwup,” her dad said. “Maybe it was some other Gabriela.”

“No, I asked,” her mom said emphatically. “He said it was Gabriela Moreno, and he gave me her address in Jackson Heights. It’s not a mistake. She’s dead. Somebody shot her.”

Marissa was still sobbing. Last night had been one of the scariest times of her life, but this was like a total nightmare. Gabriela had been so young, so happy, so healthy. How could she be dead? This wasn’t possible.