Insta-Hate (Instant Gratification #1) Page 11

  “The treatments weren’t successful.”

  “How long do you have left?” I asked.

  “Weeks at this point, but no one knows for sure.”

  My mom looked skeletal. Her cheek bones protruded and her square jaw was pronounced, despite the sagging skin that hung where it was once taut and youthful. She was still pretty. She always had been. Meg and I used to wish we looked just like her, but neither of us looked entirely like her. I had her jaw and blue-green eyes, and Meg had her freckles, lips, and cheekbones. The rest of us came from our father, or so I assumed, but I didn’t remember him or what he looked like. Mother never spoke of him and there were no pictures of him in her home.

  “You wanted to see me?” It sounded cold. It was cold. I just didn’t understand why I felt this indifference toward her. But it was more than indifference; it was something I couldn’t put my thumb on. Part of me feared a relationship with her. Doc explained it to me, when the aversion to my mother had taken on a life of its own, when Meg told me I was the worst daughter on the planet and that I had no reason or right to treat our mother the way I did.

  I agreed. I just couldn’t stop.

  Mom pointed to the hall closet just behind the front door. “There is a shoebox on the top shelf. Could you bring it to me?”

  I stood and went to the closet to retrieve the box. It wasn’t heavy at all. Was it empty? Was Mom losing her mind?

  “What’s in here?”

  She swallowed, pointing a crooked finger at the box as I eased it onto the table in front of her. “When I asked you to come over, I wanted to tell you about my condition. But Meg just called me. She said you had a picture.”

  I nodded and pulled out my phone, passing it to her. She smiled, swiping a tear from her cheek. “You always loved cheerleading.”

  “Fat lot of good it did for me. One wrong maneuver and my brain won’t work right.”

  I blink awake, the sounds of rhythmic beeping and whooshing of air coming from my right. Trying to talk, I realize I can’t speak. Something is in my throat. Something is choking me. My eyes go wide and I panic. My heart races. A woman is there, blonde hair with gray at the roots.

  She rushes to my side. “Honey? Oh my God.” She pushes a red button on a white remote. “It’s okay. You have a tube in your throat. It’s helping you breathe, but the doctor said if you woke up, you might not need it. I’m calling them now.”

  Who the hell is she?

  Where am I?

  A nurse rushes into the room. She’s a swirl of bright pinkish-purple, with matching lips and dark hair. Next comes an older man in a white coat. His skin is ebony and beautiful and he looks like in his youth he would have been a model in GQ magazine. He’s handsome and his voice is comforting. “We can take the tube out. Just stay calm.” To the blonde-haired woman he says, “I need you to step outside for a moment.”

  The woman who spoke to me first, who pushed the button and brought the nurse and doctor nods, her teary eyes promising me she’ll be right back. She pulls the curtain closed behind her as she steps outside, but I see her black tennis shoes pacing outside from beneath the curtain.

  The nurse tells me that removing the tube might hurt and that it will be uncomfortable. I don’t have time to nod before the doctor is pulling it out and I feel like I’m going to vomit. Gagging and heaving as they pull the foreign plastic from my throat, tears burn my eyes. I choke and sputter, but once it’s free, I can breathe. I gasp and gulp and swallow because I can’t possibly get enough air and I’m so thankful the tube is gone.

  “Can you tell us what happened?”

  “What?” I try to squeak.

  “Let me ask you questions and you can nod or shake your head, okay? Let’s try that way.” The doctor shines a light in my eyes and instructs me to let my eyes follow his pen light.

  I nod once, tracking the small, vibrant beam.

  “Do you remember your name?”

  Wracking my brain, I gasp. I cannot remember my name.

  I shake my head. Backing up in the bed, my neck and back scream.

  “It’s okay,” the doctor reassures and the nurse smiles. “Do you know how old you are? Show me on your hands.”

  I pinch my eyes shut. I can’t remember. How old am I? How does someone forget that?

  I shake my head.

  The doctor purses his lips tightly. “We’ll have to run a few tests. I’d like to see an MRI of your brain to see if there is damage, and I’ll get the neurologist down here as soon as possible, okay?”

  I nod.

  The doctor leaves, mumbling some jargon to the nurse that I don’t understand. I feel like I’ve been abducted and placed on a foreign planet. At least that would make sense. Because this shit? This doesn’t make sense at all.

  “Your mama loves you,” the nurse says. “She hasn’t left your side for a second. She said you were a cheerleader. You were doing some stunts in practice and something went wrong. I think they dropped you and you fell on your head. You have a couple of fractures in your neck, but you’re alive. You’re very lucky.”

  I nod and cry.

  “Thought it might jog something. Give it time, honey.” The nurse, with her dark bob and fuchsia scrubs, turns to type something in the computer and then leaves, telling the woman she says is my mama that she can come back in.

  “Take the box home. It has everything you need to learn who you were before the accident.”

  “Was the accident a lie, too?”

  Mom shook her head. “There was an accident.”

  “Why the lies? The name change? Why?”

  The front door burst open and Meg appeared in the living room. I stood up, fists balled. I hadn’t hit my sister in my life that I remembered, but that was about to change. “She asked you to leave.”

  “How do you know, Meg? And why are you here?”

  She huffed, crossing the room to stand beside Mom. “I won’t let you hurt her. She’s sick and you’re a selfish brat, Alexandria. Go. Home. Look at the contents of the damn shoebox and call me if you have questions.”

  Mom cried as I grabbed the worn cardboard and walked out her front door. “I won’t call.”

  “You never do!” Meg yelled. Maybe it was because of what the box contained or my sister’s rude ass. Maybe it was because Mom knew that she was almost out of time here on earth and that I would never walk through that door willingly again.

  Wild horses couldn’t drag me back here.

  I called for a cab, asking them to meet me down the block at the intersection of two main streets. On the way back into the city, I called Ava. She answered with a groan. “Hello?”

  “I need you. It’s...I need you, Ava.”

  “On my way.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Truth is Relative

  Alexandria

  Sometimes there are turning points in a person’s life, moments that you know will separate all others into before and after. This was one of those defining moments. I stared quietly at the cardboard shoebox sitting on my coffee table until Ava arrived, ringing the doorbell twenty times in a row until I walked to answer her.

  When I opened the door, she took one look at me and gave me a big hug. “Was it Arsen? Is he still here? I’ll cut his—”

  “It was Mom.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, honey. What happened?”

  I pointed toward the box on the table.

  “What’s in there?” she asked, eyes wide. I could see her brain working, imagining all the scenarios. Severed head? Million dollars? Stocks and bonds? Collection of poisons? The cardboard held none of those things. It held me.

  “I am.”

  “You are?”

  “Yep. I need you to help me find myself.”

  She grabbed my hand. “Oh, sweetie, do we need Doc?”

  “No,” I cried. The tears clogging my throat finally broke free. The hiccupping began and I couldn’t stop the snot. It was everywhere all at once. Ava ran for tissues and I fumbled through the
kitchen. Hakuna ma vodka was right, but I had no liquor. Wine would have to do. I uncorked the bottle with a loud pop and settled onto the floor in front of the box, legs crossed. Ava came and sat beside me. I asked her to take the lid off of Pandora’s box and it wasn’t long until Ava was crying too, sipping the wine right along with me.

  In the box were pictures: me and Meg, me and Arsen, me cheerleading for the Dark Woods High School Timberwolves, wearing baby blue and white and a wide, genuine smile. There was an article printed from a computer printer about a tragic motor vehicle accident in which there was only one survivor: Me.

  It said I’d killed my father.

  It said I was driving when we hit the tree.

  My name was Trinity McGregor, just like Arsen accused, and I’d been punished for my mistake. I lost my memory, my identity, my father, and my family. I lost Arsen and hope and love.

  The plastic bracelet from the hospital lay beside cuttings from a pom-pom and a picture of a two-story house and an address. Fourteen twenty-nine Oak Street, Dark Woods, North Carolina.

  The picture wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough detail. What did it look like now? Would I recognize my room? The yard? Something? I needed to see it. I didn’t know why, but I needed to go there.

  “I need to go home.”

  Ava nodded. “I don’t have the time off work, but I’ll go with you if you need me. Fuck the job.”

  I shook my head, taking a large gulp of Cabernet. “No, I think I need to do this alone.”

  She nodded, blowing her nose daintily. Meg should take notes. “You need to call our travel agent pal Julie.”

  “I will, but right now I just need wine and time to process this entire mess.”

  Ava sat with me. She began digging further into the box, pulling out more photographs, some taken with a polaroid camera.

  “They moved away to keep me from knowing the truth.”

  She began crying in earnest. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  She never had me. She had a lie.

  “What’s this?” Ava asked, scooping something out of the bottom of the box. It was a class ring with a light blue stone. The metal was too thick and bulky to be a girl’s. She covered her mouth. “It’s Arsen’s.”

  NINETEEN

  The House that Broke Me

  Alexandria

  Julie took care of everything. The flight into Charlotte Douglas International Airport took off before dawn and landed when the sun was making its trip above the horizon. A mid-size rental car was waiting for me, and as I dragged my suitcase behind me, I searched the parking lot for the red Nissan Altima. I clicked the fob and saw a pair of taillights flicker on and off. The pale sky was streaked with contrails from the jets that landed here or soared above.

  I couldn’t help but shake when I got close to the automobile. The last time I remembered driving was in Hoboken years ago when my sister was pregnant with Chase and couldn’t fit comfortably behind the wheel. She had a pickle craving and I was forced to drive her to a nearby grocery store. Evan was working and Tally was a handful, but confined to her car seat, she was an angel.

  Pushing thoughts of Meg away, I pressed the button to open the truck and lifted my suitcase inside. My palms were clammy and they shook as I turned the key in the ignition. Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself this was now; this wasn’t the past.

  I killed my father.

  I programmed the GPS with the address I found in the box, adjusted the rearview and side mirrors, and rolled the windows down. Fresh air eased nausea, right? Gently backing the car out, I heard the blaring of a horn and slammed on the brakes. Damn it! I watched as a white truck buzzed behind me. Checking again, it was clear.

  Forty-nine minutes. According to the GPS, I only had forty-nine minutes until I reached the house at fourteen twenty-nine Oak Street in Dark Woods, North Carolina.

  ***

  The GPS did not take into account Charlotte traffic. New York was worse, but I wasn’t behind the wheel there. My knuckles were white and aching when I finally made my way out of the city and onto the highway that led into the countryside. My chest was tight, but when I took a deep breath and let it out, I felt better.

  The neighborhood was small, only five or six streets across with a few cross streets bisecting those. Oak Street was the last I came to and the house in the picture, fourteen twenty-nine, was in the center of the road, flanked by houses with similar floor plans. Most were well-kept, with freshly painted siding and trim and simple groomed landscaping. But the house that I apparently grew up in looked like it belonged on an episode of Ghost Adventures. It was brick with wrought iron fencing that ran the length of the small yard and stretched around back. On the fence was a faded realty sign, reminding passersby of the fact that no one wanted to live there and hadn’t for a very long time. The walkway was cracked and the grass in the yard was as tall as my thighs. No one had bothered to mow it all summer—maybe several summers.

  The once-black shutters were faded to gray and some were crooked. I parked the Altima along the road and released my seatbelt. Before I realized it, I was inside the gate, walking up the path that led to the front door. Tree roots from two large live oaks on either side were what buckled the sidewalk, but the trees themselves were beautiful. Their large, thick branches hovered just over the ground, teasing it. I wondered if I played on them as a child. I must have.

  The blinds were all closed and when I pressed the doorbell, a familiar sound came from inside. I could almost remember it.

  Leaves blew across the toes of my canvas shoes. I pushed the sleeves of my long-sleeved t-shirt up to my elbows. It was hot for fall, but despite the heat, the trees knew what season it was. I rang the doorbell again and waited, staring up at the brick facade like it had all the answers. Walking around back, there were a few plastic chairs spotted with mold and mildew, and the grass was in the same shape as the front yard. A small shed sat in the back corner. That was where the lawnmower was. Dad cut it every Saturday morning like clockwork.

  “Can I help you, hon? Are you lost?” a sweet voice sounded from across the fence. A petite woman with a severe dark bob approached, shielding her eyes from the sun. I swallowed. If she recognized me, if she lived here before, maybe she could help me shed some light on the past.

  “I might be. I thought a friend lived here years ago.”

  She smiled, holding a small garden rake like it was an infant. “There was a family who lived here several years ago. The children would be about your age now, but I’m afraid the house has been vacant since they moved out.” She stepped closer and whispered, “I tried to get my husband to cut their grass but he refused. He said that the man who lives here is a jerk and he isn’t cutting his grass.” She shrugged. “Men.”

  “Yeah. Wait, you said the man still lives here? Now?”

  “Well, lived. He’s in a nursing home now. He has been for years, but like I said, jerk.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “Scott McGregor.” The same Scott McGregor that the printed-out article said died on impact from the motor vehicle accident I was responsible for?

  My head pounded. “Where is he? What facility?” He’s not dead? What about the article? What is going on?

  “He’s over at Sunny Valley, at the very end of Main Street. Drive out to the main highway, four streets over and turn left at the stop sign. Then I’d say it’s just a mile or so. You’ll see the sign.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Sure, hon. What’s your name?” she asked, her eyes wrinkling at the corners.

  I ran to the front yard. Forget her questions. Sitting in my car wasn’t an option. Small towns were full of busy-bodies and I couldn’t deal with that right now. “Ma’am?” she yelled from her yard as I fastened my seatbelt and drove away. Somehow I knew where Main Street was, and that there was a First Street Bank, an ice cream shop, and a florist all on the same block. But why couldn’t I remember Meg, Mom and Dad, the accident, or Arsen?

  Ava’s fac
e flashed on the screen when my cell phone rang. “Hey, did you make it okay?”

  I drove through the residential streets like a bat out of hell. “I did. I’m driving down Main Street.”

  “Do you recognize anyone or anything?”

  I slid my sunglasses on. “I recognize things; stores, I guess. And the sound of the doorbell, but then this neighbor came out and she said something...”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said that my father is still alive. He’s in a nursing home.”

  “Holy shit,” she said, her voice filled with as much fear as my body held. “Did the wreck mess him up? Will you get in trouble?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going there now.”

  Ava was quiet. “I wish I were there with you. I don’t think you should go. I’m worried.”

  “Did he say anything about me missing class yesterday?”

  “Jilly said he didn’t act like anything was wrong and didn’t mention you. I’m sorry, Lexie.”

  I pursed my lips together. “Yeah. Me too.”

  “What about the article?” My thoughts exactly.

  “I don’t know.”

  She paused. “What about your mom?”

  “She’s okay, according to Meg.”

  “Meg’s texting you?” I could hear her grumbling in the background. Meg wasn’t only on my shit list at the moment.

  “Just with updates on Mom. She’s at home, doing well, according to the text from this morning.”

  Past the bank and the ice cream shop, the florist and the grocery store, past City Hall and the public library, was a wide wooden sign and a paved road that led in the direction the arrow on the sign pointed. A giant sunshine of carved and painted wood pointed the way, while tiny wooden signs said positive, sun-shiny things all the way to the parking lot. “Brighten someone’s day,” or “Visit a stranger, leave a friend.”

  “Are you still there?” Ava asked.

  “Yeah. Sorry. I just pulled in to the nursing home. I need to go.”

  “Lexie, call me as soon as you get out of there.”