Crash (Visions (Simon Pulse)) (18 page)

And what am I supposed to do?

But before I can say anything to Sawyer, strangers
wearing scrubs come in to announce the removal of my catheter. Awesome. Thanks, guys.

Sawyer makes a hasty retreat, and before you know it, I have my faculties back, and they have me easing out of bed and standing, and then walking a few steps, and every muscle in my entire body screams at me. By the time I get back in bed and have some dinner, I’m done for. Trey comes back to say good night, and he looks tired too.

And as much as I want to continue the conversation with Sawyer, I definitely need to rest. I tell Trey to send Sawyer home. With Mom and Dad coming, there’s no reason for him to stay and make the situation worse.

I’m not really sure what to think about what Sawyer
told me, and it’s a little hard to process. Maybe because it’s so weird to imagine my dad having an affair, and maybe because of the painkillers—everything is taking just a little longer to comprehend these days. But what I have comprehended is that my dad is a big rotten cheater, and my mom just keeps smiling that agonized smile all the time, and now I think I know why. Just who the hell does he think he is?

I don’t want to see Dad, that’s for sure. Before Sawyer left, I promised him I wouldn’t say anything. I don’t want to cause more problems between our families, especially now.

•       •       •

When my parents come they wake me up, and I remember all over again.

It’s like I’m looking at two strangers. I wonder why my mom stayed with him. I wonder why Mr. Angotti stayed with Sawyer’s mom. Maybe it was for our sakes.

I can’t actually stand the thought of talking to my father right now, so I just focus on Mom and Rowan. They made it through Valentine’s Day without Trey or me, and customers were sympathetic. Today, too, the place was packed with supporters, they said. Seems we got an unexpected sympathy rush out of the ordeal, which is awesome. I guess. Dad hired Aunt Mary’s deadbeat son, our cousin Nick, to help out for a while until Trey is feeling up to coming back.

And then there’s Rowan. Poor girl. She never gets a break. I think of all the times she’s covered for me lately, and she doesn’t complain. I try to make her feel awesome. I wish Mom and Dad would go away for a while so I can just talk to her. Find out how her boyfriend is. See how she’s doing with everything.

Before they go home, my father, who’s been agitating over in the corner all alone, apparently feels like he just has to say something.

“Now that you’re feeling a little better,” he says, “I want to make sure you only let family in to see you. Nobody else. Okay? And soon you’ll be home.”

I see my mother flash him an annoyed look, and Rowan’s eyes go wide. I think about fighting him on it because it’s stupid, but I’m also really tired and ready to sleep. “Who else is there besides family?” I say. “Of course, Dad. I don’t want anybody else seeing me like this.”

“And then we’ll talk about why you would steal the food truck just to go see that hooligan.”

I nod. “Fine.”

He hesitates, then seems satisfied. I yawn, trying not to split my chest in half. “I’m really tired, guys,” I say. “They’re talking about sending me home Tuesday. I just want to get there. So I’m going to sleep now, okay? Please don’t stay. You need your rest too. I’ll sleep like a baby with these meds. I’m fine, okay?”

“Of course,” Mom says, and she stands up. I’m a little surprised she doesn’t argue, but she seems preoccupied. “Come on, Antonio,” she says to Dad. “We’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.” Her effervescent smile is as fake as they come.

•       •       •

In the morning, my task is to take a shower, and I actually see for the first time all the places I have cuts and contusions. My entire outer left thigh and butt cheek are so purple they’re almost black from the door smashing in on me. They said it was amazing I didn’t break my hip or leg. I’ve got stitches in my scalp, my chin, and one knee in addition to my stomach from surgery and my knuckle from the Crescent wrench. My black eye is less puffy but still purple with a hint of yellow.

After the shower a volunteer comes in and does my hair and makeup, which almost makes me cry because it’s so sweet. It feels good to not look like a total train wreck again. When I think of how I looked in the hospital bed, I know that Sawyer could have run away screaming, but he must really like me if he could stand to look at me that way. I feel a little extra energy today coming from inside—relief, or happiness, I guess.

Once I’m all fresh and clean, my next required task is to take a walk down the hallway. The day is full of challenges, isn’t it? Mom stops by before the restaurant opens
to bring me one of her homemade bran muffins, which are amazingly delicious. She must have gotten up early to make them, and once again I feel a pain in my chest for her. She sits for a bit, and we just talk about our days, and avoid talking about anything that could get weird.

But ever since Mom told me that I wasn’t the first to have to say good-bye to an Angotti, I sense she wants to talk about something more. And for the first time, I actually think that’s a good idea. Maybe it’s because of what Sawyer told me about my father, so I feel sorry for her now or something. But maybe because I think she knows that I’m really in love with Sawyer, and she’s okay with it. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to have her on my side.

But that talk doesn’t happen.

When she leaves, I have lunch and a nap, just killing time waiting and hoping for visitors after school. Hoping Sawyer comes back.

I wonder idly what happened to my cell phone in this whole ordeal. All I know is that I don’t have it. It’s probably smashed to bits.

•       •       •

Trey and Rowan come straight from school. “Trey’s a freaking hero,” Rowan says as they burst into the room. “Everybody loves him. He won’t stop talking about his own awesomeness.” She flops into the chair next to my bed, and I can hardly contain my delight. I missed my sibs.
No matter how crowded the house can be, it’s still fun to be crowded with them.

“I’m not surprised,” I say. “He can’t ever get enough attention.”

“Hi. I’m right here,” he says.

“See?” says Rowan. “As if seeing him isn’t enough, he has to announce his presence.”

“It’s disgusting,” I say.

Trey’s jaw drops. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll just go hang out with my new BFF, Sawyer Angotti.”

“What??” both Rowan and I exclaim.

“We had lunch today in the caf,” Trey says.

“I hate you.”

“Me too!” Rowan says, and then turns to me. “Wait, why do we hate him?”

“Because we’re jealous, dumbhead.”

“I’m not jealous. I don’t get what you two see in him. He’s so . . . broody and dark and Italian.”

Trey thinks for a moment and says, “You know, Rowan’s right. I could go for a nice Scandinavian.”

Rowan agrees with a hearty nod and a secret smile at me. “Blonds are hot.”

“You know who’s hot?” Trey asks. “Jules Demarco. Amazing what a shower does for that girl.”

I sink back into my pillows with a grin, feeling like all is well in the world.

•       •       •

When they leave to get to the restaurant before the rush, there’s a knock at the door, and I know it’s him. I can feel it. “Come in,” I say.

He pushes open the door and ducks his head in a shy sort of way, which makes my thighs ache, and not because of the bruises. He’s holding a bunch of grocery store flowers with the price sticker still on them. He hands them to me awkwardly. “I’m sort of new at this,” he says. “The clerk at Jewel said you’d definitely like these.”

I squelch a grin. “You asked for help?”

“Sure,” he said. “My cousin Kate said I should bring you flowers, which—I know, I know—I didn’t need her to tell me that, thank you very much. But I didn’t really know, like, what kind.”

“I love them,” I say, and I can’t stop grinning.

And then, from his shirt pocket, he pulls something else out and hands it to me. “Do you still like these?” It’s a butterscotch sucker from their candy jar.

I stare at it, take it in my hand. “Yeah,” I say. “I do.” Okay . . . that almost made me cry. And I know that there’s no question that I will give him a chance to do things differently, to stand up for the things he really wants.

I love you,
I want to say. But it feels very weird today to say something like that. Now that the danger is over, that is, and it appears we’ll both live. At least until our
parents find out we’re hanging out again, anyway.

I slip my hand in his like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and we’re talking like we’re sixth graders again, sitting under the slide with our suckers and doing that innocent, flirty thing. Every time he says something funny, I laugh even though it hurts, and when he blinks those long lashes and looks at me with that shy grin, my stomach flips. He stays for hours, and I want the night to go on forever.

Sadly, we lose track of time.

When my parents come in and see that Angotti
boy holding my hand, and they see the flowers in the crook of my broken arm, I think my father is going to have an aneurysm. Sawyer stands up faster than the speed of light and his chair topples to the floor behind him.

I struggle to sit up.

“Get out,” my father says to Sawyer.

Sawyer looks fleetingly to me, then back to my father. “Sir,” he says, and I feel a rush of warmth when he doesn’t just go. “Can we talk about this?”

“No. Out.” My father points to the door. He’s being calm. Too calm. “You are not to see my daughter again.”

“Mr. Demarco,” he says, “Trey and Jules saved our restaurant and our lives, and I’m just—”

“Well, maybe they shouldn’t have done that. Did you look at her? She almost
died
because of you!”

“I know, sir, and we are very grate—”

“If you don’t get out of this room right now, I will call security.”

I can hardly breathe. “Dad, stop!” I say. “Don’t be crazy.” I cringe after I say it. “He’s on his way out anyway, and I’m glad he stopped by, and I hope our families—”

“Pipe dreams!” my father says bitterly. “Our families will never be friendly as long as I’m alive, and you, young lady, had better get that figured out right now. This is over. Do you both hear me?”

Sawyer stands his ground and stays cool, and in that moment, I see him acting on his own desire to be different from the father and grandfather he described yesterday. “I’m sorry you feel that way, sir,” he says in a calm voice, yet he commands the room. “I’ll leave now out of respect for you. But I’ll never leave Jules again because of something personal that happened between other people, so you might want to get used to seeing me around.” He gives me a look that makes my heart quake, and then he smiles politely at my mother. “Thank you for what your family did for my family, Mrs. Demarco,” he says. And then he slips out.

My father slams the door behind him.

“Antonio!” my mother says, her voice raised, which is exceedingly rare.

He startles and looks at her. “What?”

She shakes her head. “Act your age once, will you? Honestly. We’re in a hospital, for Christ’s sake.” I’ve never heard her talk like that before. Ever. “Maybe you should go cool off so I don’t call security on
you
.”

“Why, what did I do?”

“That boy did nothing to you. Leave him alone.”

“He is just as his family is,” Dad says.

“Oh my dogs,” I say, disgusted. “You don’t know anything about him! And if he is as his family is, then what does that make me? Am I just as my family is too? A bitter, psychopathic hoarder?”

I don’t know if it was the drugs. I think it probably was—I’m pretty good at hiding my thoughts otherwise. At least I didn’t call him a cheater. I don’t think I did, anyway. Everything got a little fuzzy right around then.

Mom says a hasty good-bye before he can explode, and she drags him out of the room.

•       •       •

By the time I get discharged on Tuesday, my father and I haven’t spoken one word to each other, and it looks like we won’t be speaking anytime soon. And frankly, I’m really fine with that, because he’s acting like the biggest asshole on the planet.

I spend the next week and a half at home and I can’t stand it. No cell phone, no communication with Sawyer
other than a few e-mails. My father has the home phone forwarded to the restaurant so that I can’t receive any calls, and he threatens to watch the phone bill like a hawk to see if I’m calling anybody. I argue and fight, and it only makes things worse—he takes the Internet cable with him to the restaurant whenever I’m home alone. Stupidly, I talked him right out of getting me a replacement cell phone . . . at least until I’m out of this prison and I need one for deliveries again.

In the evenings up in our room Rowan entertains me with a few tidbits about her video chats with Charlie, whose full name is Charles Broderick Banks, and who isn’t really homeschooled—he has a tutor and a house in the Hamptons and has never made a pizza in his life. Rowan’s going to keep her secret from Mom and Dad for a while longer. Hopefully they’ll calm down enough to be reasonable about it, but I have a feeling Rowan won’t be going to New York anytime soon. And that’s really sad, because Charlie seems like a good guy.

And thank dog for Trey, who is acting as a secret liaison between Sawyer and me. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without him right now. On the last Friday of my confinement, Trey comes home with a note for me in a sealed envelope. When I am alone, I open it, and in Sawyer’s old familiar handwriting, I read:

I don’t want to risk you getting caught, but I really have to see you as soon as possible. I’ll be by your back door tonight at 2 a.m. If you can’t come down, I understand.

Miss you so much. Want to hold you . . .

SA

I die a little.

No, a lot.

•       •       •

I take a nap in the late afternoon to prepare, and wait impatiently for everyone to come back up to the apartment and go to bed. I fake sleeping, and finally everyone else is sleeping too. I hope.