“Old ghosts, I guess. I think she’s afraid of me.”
“Lola’s not afraid of anything. Least of all you.”
“Something else then,” Rays says and shrugs.
It took Ray and Lola a long time after the accident to get comfortable with each other, but once they did, they were inseparable. Almost dependent. This avoidance now is weird. I think back on the times they have been around each other since Dad’s funeral, and I can’t put my finger on a time where they really connected. Not like they used to.
“I’m not as good as Lola, but I guess I’ll have to do for now,” I say.
“I don’t feel that way about you,” he says, shoving aside the slightly dented and now-rattling box.
“What way is that?” I ask.
“That you’re just good enough until Lola talks to me again,” Ray says. “If I act like that, I’m sorry. It’s not the way I feel.”
I see the message of truce on his face. I make no snide comment and he relaxes. It’s an unspoken decision in that moment, and Ray seems to receive it. I nod at him and he nods in return, and something in the air around us shifts.
“I ordered pizza,” he says and drops onto the couch. “Sit and watch some TV with me?”
“You’ve already got your cable on?”
“After prison, it’s the only decent vice I’ve got left. Of course I’ve got cable on already.”
“Sure,” I say. “Maybe we’ll see one of Chris’s commercials.”
“Who’s Chris?”
“Lola’s boyfriend. You’ve seen him. He’s the guy from those insurance commercials. You know, the ones where he gets in all those crazy jams.”
Ray stares at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What?” he finally asks, indignant and all big-brother like. “Lola’s dating a guy from TV?”
He grabs the remote and flips through channels, presumably searching for Chris.
“Where?” Ray asks, jabbing the remote at the television with each press of the channel button. “What insurance guy? Car insurance?”
I can’t help it—I laugh.
“This isn’t funny.”
“Yes, it is.”
Ray makes the round of channels a couple of times and then tosses the remote on the coffee table.
“Have you talked to Nicole?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“Yeah,” he says and gets fidgety. “She was surprised to hear from me. Wanted to know if I got the papers from her lawyer.”
“What papers?” I ask, my face furrowed now.
“Just some legal stuff,” he says, putting his feet up on the coffee table. “Mostly just letting me know she has representation should she need it.”
I nod. Life seems all about the paperwork sometimes. Paper to prove you are who you say you are. Paper to join you together. Paper to tear you apart.
“What does she think I’m going to do?” he asks, sounding insulted but not shocked. “Steal him? How do I even know he’s mine? Why would I take some other dude’s kid?”
“Did you actually say that?” I ask, incredulous.
“No,” he says and wrinkles his face at me.
“Good.”
“I thanked her for the picture,” Ray says, bobbing his head in challenge. “I told her I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. And please, Nina, for the love of Pete, don’t say ‘Be accountable.’”
“I didn’t say a word.”
He raises one brow at me and waits, but I stay silent.
“She actually apologized for not being honest about him sooner,” Ray said. “I told her I didn’t blame her. I mean I pretty much vanished into thin air and then reappeared in the pen. Then I popped out of there and into a black hole. Sort of like that guy from Quantum Leap, but without the sidekick to help me get home.”
“I love that show,” I say, smiling at the memory.
“Me too,” Ray says, his voice suddenly soft.
We look at each other like the kids we used to be. There’s a knock on the door. Ray retrieves the pizza and returns to the couch. We each take a slice and eat. There is silence for a moment. It’s comfortable for once.
“So, what happens now?” I reach for a second slice.
“She wants to get together to talk,” Ray says.
“How do you feel about that?”
“You know that feeling you get when you almost die in a terrible car accident, but don’t?” He takes a big bite of food.
“Yeah.”
“That’s how I feel,” he mumbles.
Me too, lately.
◆ ◆ ◆
Lola was nine when the world stopped spinning. We were like steps down a landing: Ray, weeks away from sixteen; me, twelve; and Lola at the bottom, nine years old. I remember it like the blur of her paintings, only with shots of clarity like thunderclaps and flashes of light that exploded and whizzed down like tiny missiles going nowhere.
We had cotton candy whirled high on a paper stick and no idea that life could change in the tiny moment between one heartbeat and the next. Every year the town closed down a few streets and set up a Fourth of July fair. We were set loose on the night and lost in its magic. Ray led us in and out of the crowd, away from our parents, calling back that just a few streets over we could see where they were launching the fireworks from the park.
Cautious and scared as ever, I didn’t want to go past the orange cones and street blockades. Ray huffed at me and turned his attention to our little sister.
Lola will come with me, then.
She looked back at me, and I shook my head.
Come on, Lola, one more street over and you can see how they set them off.
I yelled out for them to come back, but I was no match to big brother.
Lola, don’t be a baby. Come with me. Keep up.
Then they were out of sight. I ran after them, passing beyond the orange traffic barriers, catching a glimpse of Lola’s hair. The fireworks reflected off its shiny blackness, making it look like a Technicolor halo.
Boom, whiz.
Ray was outrunning her, and in her effort to catch up,
