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  JUST OVER A WEEK LATER,

  Mom still didn’t know,

  I stood over Travis while he slept on his couch,

  One hand resting protectively on my belly.

  I put a note on his chest,

  Stole his keys,

  Drove to Honesty’s.

  To tell the truth,

  To take whatever was coming next,

  To finally move forward.

  If I had known Trav had already been there,

  If he had called me first,

  I wouldn’t have gone,

  I wouldn’t have killed us,

  I wouldn’t have

  Wouldn’t have

  Wouldn’t have

  Tried to set myself free

  And ended up more caged than

  Before.

  WHILE I’M STILL WAITING FOR THE WORDS TO ORDER THEMSELVES,

  Travis says, “You—you’re—going to have a baby?

  My baby?

  Our baby?”

  He sounds so hopeful,

  So alive.

  The word baby comes out of his mouth

  So easily,

  Coated with joy,

  With love.

  I deserve to burn in hell for making him sound like that,

  For telling Honesty,

  For pretending he was mine always and forever,

  For harboring the truth.

  But most of all,

  For being eternally glad I haven’t told him everything.

  I KNEW EXACTLY

  When the baby would come,

  Where I’d be when I finally told Trav,

  Why I couldn’t do it in person.

  “I was hoping to tell you after I left.”

  I loathe myself a little more for admitting that out loud.

  I just can’t look at him and say what needs to be said.

  I can’t imagine my life without him,

  Even if we’re living two floors apart,

  Alone,

  Silent,

  At least I know he’s there.

  If I tell him, he might leave.

  And I have to be the one to leave this time,

  I have to be the one in control.

  So I close my mouth,

  Slide off his lap,

  Refuse to say anything more.

  MY CELL RINGS,

  Saving me from Trav’s next question,

  Giving me a reason to move farther away from him.

  “Mom?”

  My voice carries an edge of hysteria I don’t like.

  “Harold says they’re working on restoring power.

  Could be another ten minutes.

  Are you okay?”

  How do I answer that question?

  How can she not know how un-okay this is?

  Why can’t I bridge the gap between us?

  I say nothing,

  Adding silence to the gulf separating me from my mother.

  “When you get home,

  We’ll go pick Dad up from physical therapy.

  Okay?”

  I nod,

  Though she can’t hear that,

  Though the last thing I want is to see Daddy at the hospital,

  Sad,

  Spiritless,

  Immobile.

  EVERYTHING FEELS BLOCKED,

  Held back by the weight of the last words I’d spoken to my best friend,

  Dammed by the truth my father knew,

  Clogged with guilt,

  Choked with fear that when I spill secrets,

  Horrible things happen.

  WHEN WE RECEIVED THE NEWS ABOUT DADDY,

  Mom took us to the church,

  Where we’d also mourned for Honesty.

  Mom’s hand gripped mine so hard I couldn’t feel my fingers.

  But by then,

  I couldn’t really feel anything.

  I wiped my face and my hands came away wet,

  But I wasn’t crying.

  It must’ve been raining outside.

  I hadn’t seen anything on the drive to the church,

  I hadn’t smelled anything for days.

  Mom made me eat;

  I didn’t taste.

  People talked;

  I didn’t hear.

  Travis called;

  I didn’t answer.

  I existed in a tunnel of white noise,

  Fast movements,

  Blurs of nothingness.

  How could the sun shine without Daddy whole,

  Healthy,

  Alive?

  How could my lungs keep expanding under the crushing weight of the truth I’d spoken,

  Of the damage I’d caused,

  Of what I’d done?

  How could Dr. Tickson say Daddy’s accident was coincidence?

  How could coincidence happen just two weeks after I revealed my secret,

  Just two weeks before Daddy was set to come home?

  Not a coincidence , I thought,

  I knew.

  I didn’t launch the missile that hit Daddy’s truck,

  I didn’t make it flip on the side,

  I didn’t have to make the decision—his legs or his life.

  But I felt like was all my fault,

  Because I told him about the baby.

  I didn’t force Honesty into the snowstorm,

  I didn’t freeze the water on the road,

  I didn’t make the driver of the van drink too much,

  And then take the corner too fast.

  But I felt it was all my fault,

  Because I’d also told her about the baby.

  I needed something to ease the horror that had become my life,

  Someone to cling to,

  To hold,

  To cry with.

  I needed Travis,

  Needed the escape of his hand in mine,

  Needed the comfort of his voice in my ear.

  I suddenly realized how much he needed me,

  How much our summer relationship meant to him,

  But I couldn’t tell him about the baby.

  I was too selfish to lose any part of him,

  The way Daddy had lost his legs,

  The way Honesty had lost everything.

  AT THE CHURCH,

  I didn’t see Travis until he stood in front of me.

  He tugged on the bottom of his suit coat.

  His eyes managed to drill holes into the top of my head.

  “Elly.”

  His voice broke,

  Folded me into an embrace.

  Life seemed to want to make up for the smell-less days,

  The missed conversations,

  The calming beat of his heart against my cheek.

  At the church,

  Everything rushed at me at once.

  His scent: Brown sugar and laundry detergent.

  His words: Comfort and love and a hidden current of guilt and pain.

  His taste: The sweet orange of his lips.

  At the church,

  I inhaled him,

  Listened to him,

  Kissed him in front of everyone.

  The smells,

  Words,

  Tastes,

  Melded together into one giant wave I couldn’t endure.

  I yanked myself away from him, my stomach swirling.

  I ran for the bathroom,

  Barely made it to the garbage can before throwing up.

  I felt like I was dying inside,

  Couldn’t vomit the agony away.

  A sharp pain cut through my lower abdomen.

  The gray walls lurched,

  Twisted,

  Caged,

  Until they became a tunnel filled with lies,

  Secrets.

  And then finally,

  Blissfully,

  Darkness swallowed me whole

  At the church.

  I HANG UP WITH MY MOM

  The same way I want to hang up my life.

  Even as I think it,

  I reali
ze it’s not true.

  I don’t really want to die.

  I just don’t want to keep living here,

  With the same judging glances,

  The same empty apartment,

  The same brilliant city sky that Travis and I used to enjoy.

  “How’s your dad?”

  His voice cuts through the memories of summer evenings and fall midnights.

  I don’t know how to answer his question.

  Daddy came home,

  Which is what Mom prayed for every night.

  But he’d returned wounded,

  Broken.

  “Fine,” I say,

  Press my back into the corner,

  As far from Trav as possible.

  People can look at Daddy,

  See he’s not fine.

  People look at me,

  And I look normal.

  But I’m broken

  Too.

  If I can hang on for just ten more minutes,

  A few more conversations,

  A lifetime,

  Everything will be okay.

  But my gut writhes in a way that tells me I don’t have another second to spare.

  THE WEIGHT OF TRAV’S EYES IS SO HEAVY,

  So debilitating.

  “Stop it.”

  Once again, my voice sounds like ribbon shredded too thin,

  Rope pulled too tight.

  “I have a right to know about my own baby.”

  His tone reminds me of harsh wind,

  Of the desert sand and the way my dad said it got into everything.

  There’s no escape from it, he said,

  No relief.

  It scratches,

  Burns,

  Wears you down until you give in and spill all your secrets.

  And then you get your legs blown off,

  Have to come home,

  Lie in a hospital bed for months,

  Learn to walk with your hands.

  During all of that,

  Part of you dies.

  The part that used to say, “Sugar, bring me some honey,”

  Or the part that would plant kisses on temples,

  Or the part that would say, “Always and forever,”

  And mean it.

  I DIDN'T WANT THE BABY,

  Didn’t want the reminder that I’d betrayed my best friend,

  Didn’t want to love it unconditionally,

  The way I knew I would.

  He’s still staring,

  But his laser gaze has settled on my abdomen.

  “I have a right to know,” he repeats,

  Reaches a hand toward me.

  My chin quivers;

  My hands shake;

  My eyes water.

  I open my mouth to speak.

  “THERE IS NO BABY.”

  THE FLOOD SETTLES ON ME,

  Both in memory

  And in tears.

  I’d awakened on the cold floor of the bathroom at the church.

  My mouth felt sticky and cracked,

  My head ached,

  My stomach cramped and

  Cramped and

  Cramped.

  Mom burst in as I washed my face,

  Trav right behind her,

  Her own makeup running and ruined.

  She thought my tears belonged to my father.

  I never told her the truth:

  That they belonged to relief,

  To grief,

  To Travis,

  To Honesty,

  And to me.

  I BLED A LOT THAT WEEK,

  But not enough to alert my mother of anything unusual.

  I stayed home from school;

  It was easy to claim my dad’s accident as a reason.

  I cried plenty for him too.

  Trav called and

  Called and

  Called.

  I avoided him,

  Refused to take his calls,

  Hid in my bedroom when he came over to check on me.

  Sharp pain in my stomach woke me at night,

  Forcing my body to seize,

  Forcing me to get up and hobble to the bathroom.

  I longed to call Trav,

  Beg him to meet me on the roof,

  Give him some of my burdens,

  All of my hurt,

  Pain,

  Guilt.

  He’d take it gladly,

  The same way I’d borne his.

  I’d have his number dialed before realizing what would have to happen,

  What I’d have to tell him,

  Why I needed him so badly.

  I always hung up before it rang,

  Always made it back to bed,

  Always swore to myself I’d get out of Chicago,

  The way Jesse had shown me.

  Start a new life away from the reminders of betrayed best friends,

  Injured fathers,

  Junkie mothers,

  Lost babies,

  And the boy who created the perfect shelter from all the ugliness in my life.

  But when I survived losing the baby by myself,

  I knew I needed to brave my way through the mess,

  Create my own shelter,

  Learn to rely on myself.

  Without Travis Carpenter.

  Eventually he quit calling,

  Just like I’d hoped.

  But it hurt.

  Oh, how it hurt that he gave up so easily.

  How it hurt to live my life alone,

  Without visits to the roof,

  Without stolen elevator kisses,

  Without him.

  JESSE TEXTED THINGS

  Like “Trav needs you,”

  Like “What happened with you guys?”

  Like “I told you he wasn’t good enough for you.”

  Like “Trav needs you,”

  Like “You need to get out of Chicago.”

  Like “I made the minors.”

  Like “Trav needs you,”

  Like “I miss you, El.”

  Like “Whatever happened, I forgive you. He will too.”

  Like “Trav needs you.”

  Like “Go somewhere warm,

  Somewhere new,

  Somewhere only you know about.”

  Jesse’s the reason I chose California.

  He found somewhere to exist outside the damage radius of his mother,

  Beyond Travis.

  I could too.

  I had to.

  I texted Jesse things like,

  “You’re right.”

  “I know.”

  “I miss you too.”

  “I’m going to California.”

  “Trav needs you too.”

  “TELL ME EVERYTHING.”

  Trav’s moving much too close,

  His fists closed much too tight,

  His eyes blazing much too bright.

  My shoulders shake with sobs,

  My throat burns with fire,

  My voice is going to betray me,

  Drive him away,

  Hurt him.

  “There is no baby,” I repeat

  Just as his arms encircle me,

  Just as I’d needed them to when I miscarried.

  Some of the anger melts away,

  And I know it’s my fault he wasn’t there when I needed him.

  But Trav was an easy place

  To dump the anger,

  And sadness,

  And hurt,

  The easiest person to blame.

  “I—I lost it. That day at the church.”

  I take a breath, because I’m not finished yet.

  “And I’m not upset about it.

  I was relieved when I realized what was happening.

  Not because it was your baby,

  But I just couldn’t—

  Didn’t want—

  Too much of a reminder—”

  The debilitating memories stop my words.

  I remember being so scared,

  So sca
red

  The bleeding would never stop.

  I remember feeling so alone,

  So alone

  Because no one knew.

  At night, I cried for the loss,

  Thinking I would’ve loved that baby

  The way it needed to be loved.

  During the day, I felt nothing but relief

  That I wouldn’t be a mother at eighteen,

  Wouldn’t have my whole future altered because of one night.

  The memories stop,

  Choked off with tears,

  And horror,

  At what I’ve just admitted out loud.

  HE RUBS SLOW CIRCLES ACROSS MY BACK,

  His voice is a pleasant buzz in my ear,

  His scent a welcome companion.

  I thought for sure he’d hate me,

  Look at me with eyes filled with shock,

  Like he didn’t know, couldn’t figure out,

  Who I was anymore.

  I thought he’d sigh,

  Cry,

  Rage,

  Something.

  Never did I imagine him holding me,

  Comforting me,

  Whispering to me that he wished he could’ve been there,

  Should’ve helped me,

  Would’ve shouldered some of the burden.

  Never once did I fantasize that after I told him about the baby,

  About the miscarriage,

  About the way I felt about both,

  That he’d kiss me.

  HIS MOUTH IS JUST AS I REMEMBER.

  It speaks of mercy,

  And I feel myself forgiving him