Karma Brown - In This Moment

I nod, staring back at the bird. In a flash I see Jack on the road, feel the pills I just swallowed trying to make their way back up.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, and I know she doesn’t mean the bird.

“Not even a little bit.”

Julie nods. “Okay, so about this bird.” She crouches down and gives it a long look. “What do you want to do with it?”

“We could just put it in the trash,” I say. “Audrey doesn’t know what happened.” Making the effort to bury it does seem pointless.

But Julie shakes her head. “I think it needs a proper burial.” She looks pointedly at me. “I think you need this as much as the bird.”

She’s right. I can’t bring myself to put it out with the trash, like its life didn’t matter at all—not today. Frowning, I take a deep breath and hold out my hands. “Give me the gloves.”

“I don’t mind,” Julie says but then, seeing my face, pulls the gloves off her hands and gives them to me. I open the sliding glass door to the balcony and gently pick up the bird with some difficulty, thanks to how small its body is and how awkward the gloves are. Its body is stiff, yet so light it’s practically weightless. Julie holds the half-empty tissue box from my nightstand toward me and I set the bird’s body inside, covering it with a few tissues so I don’t have to look at it anymore.

We already have two birds buried in our backyard—a baby robin that was pushed from its nest a few springs ago, and the yellow finch that started Audrey’s save-the-backyard-birds campaign in our house. The graves are marked by two stones, upon which Audrey has painted red hearts with wings, and I start digging with the garden spade about a foot away from the one on the left. The wind blows strong, and Julie, sitting on the grass beside me, holds tightly to the tissue box so it doesn’t get knocked over by a gust.

A half hour later back in the bedroom, Julie and I are meticulously placing Audrey’s gel clings in a pattern on the balcony windows, tiny semicircles of dirt still stuck under my fingernails from the bird’s burial, when my phone rings.

“Hey, sorry. I’ve been in the meeting. Everything all right? I just saw your missed calls.” He sounds like he’s had a couple drinks, his words soft around the edges, and I wonder exactly where this afternoon’s meeting is taking place.

“Ryan.” I sit hard on the side of the bed, the gel cling in my hand wilting against my fingers. “Just a second,” I say to him, pressing the phone to my chest and looking at Julie. “I’m good. You don’t need to finish that.”

“Are you sure?” she asks. “I still have—” she glances at her watch “—thirty minutes before the kids go ballistic wondering where their dinner is.” She smiles, and I return it.

“I’m sure,” I say. “Thank you, Jules.”

She watches me for a beat, then blows me a kiss. “Always, my friend. Okay, call me later?”

“I will.” I wave as she leaves my bedroom, then put the phone back to my ear.

“Sorry, just saying bye to Julie.”

Ryan gives a low whistle. “You sound rough. Guess you’re not feeling bet—”

“There was a car accident.”

A pause, heavy between us. Then the rush of questions. “What happened? Are you okay? Is Audrey okay? What kind of accident?” His tone now sharp, worried, impatient.

“It wasn’t us. We’re okay.” My tone weak and weary. “But Jack Beckett got hit by a car. Right in—” My throat catches as I try to hold things in, control the flood of emotions. I shake my head and close my eyes against the images of Jack, his jagged shinbone, the nausea bubbling inside my stomach. “Right in front of us.”

“Sam’s brother? Shit. Is he okay? Was Audrey in the car with you? What the hell happened?”

Yes. No. Yes. I’m not entirely sure, but it’s at least partly my fault.

“It was a couple of blocks from the school. I had just picked Audrey up for her appointment, so, yes, she was with me,” I reply. “She’s at Children’s now with Sam.”

“Why is she at Children’s? I thought you said she was okay?”

“She’s fine, Ryan. She wanted to stay with Sam.”

“God, what a nightmare.” Ryan lets out a long breath, and I know he’s imagining what it would be like for Audrey to be the one hurt. But he’s thankfully saved from the images in my head, which are making it difficult to stay upright. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I say, forcing strength I’m not feeling into my voice. “I’ll fill you in when you get home.”

“Do you want me to come home?” Ryan asks. “I can pick Audrey up on the way.”

“She wants to stay with Sam, at least for now. And I’m fine. You don’t need to come home.” I work hard to make this part sound true, because I realize how much I want to be alone right now.

“I’ll text Audrey and let her know I’m picking her up,” Ryan says, his voice firm.

“Don’t,” I say, too fast. I pause briefly, then decide it needs to be said. “I can tell you’ve been drinking.”

There’s silence on the other end. “I’ve had half a beer, Meg.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean...” I sigh, exhausted, lying back against the pillows and closing my eyes.

“No, I’m sorry.” He sounds frustrated but genuinely apologetic. I’m not even sure what we’re apologizing for at this point.

I turn my head, and a tear drops on to the pillow. “I’ll text you when she’s ready to be picked up, and we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay,” Ryan says, pausing again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

My body quivers with my need to get off the phone. “Yes. Go back to your meeting.”

He sighs, and I know he’s struggling to decide what to do, despite what I’ve said. “I love you, Meg.”

“Me, too,” I say, then hit End Call.

I feel my fever climbing again, a chill tickling my skin, and give in, folding my sick self under the duvet. I turn up the volume on my phone so I’ll know when Audrey texts, then press my heavy head against the cool pillow. At first all I can see when I close my eyes is Jack Beckett, the aftereffects of the accident, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep. But moments later I fall into a deep slumber.

7

The dream is restless, terrifying, and all I want to do is get away from the scene in front of me. But it isn’t the accident I’m dreaming about—at least not today’s accident.

I’m trembling, my tank top and denim miniskirt soaked and clinging cold to my body. It’s raining and dark—aside from two beams of light that seem to be pointing straight up into the sky. I want to run, to get out of the storm, but as I turn in circles I see wide-open fields, a long and empty road stretched in front of me. It’s then I notice someone, walking on the road toward me. I squint, wipe at my eyes, taste raindrops when I open my mouth to shout to this person. It doesn’t occur to me to be scared. But my body is humming with something...adrenaline, I think, though I can’t sort out why my muscles seem to know something is wrong, but my mind doesn’t.

A few moments later the person is close enough for me to see who it is. Paige Holden. My high school best friend. Relief ripples through me, and I start laughing with release.

“Paige!” But my mouth is full of water, the rain everywhere, and I choke a little. Coughing, I shout again. “Paige!” I’m relieved she’s here, but she doesn’t seem to hear my cries despite being only a few feet away. She’s also soaked to the bone but isn’t doing anything to wipe the steady stream of water running down her face.

I’m about to call her name again when the words die in my throat. She’s stopped walking—too far for me to reach if I stretch my arms as far as they’ll go, but she’s close enough I can see everything, the two streams of light, which I now realize are headlights, illuminating her. Oh. God.