“Nah,” Chel said, coughing into her fist again. Outside the window, thunder rumbled in the distance, causing them all to glance out the window at the dark clouds building on the horizon. “She said just to call soon as you can, that it’s important. Anyway, since we’re definitely visiting Mom and Nana, I’m gonna go throw together an overnight bag, okay? It won’t take ten minutes.”
“Me too,” Jon said, after glancing at Wendy’s face to read the emotional weather. “Lemme know what’s up,” he whispered as he left.
Fingers trembling, Wendy shut the door before punching in the number for Eddie’s mother’s cell on the cordless phone. It rang three times and went to voicemail.
“You should try again,” Piotr said and Wendy jumped.
“Crap! I didn’t see you there,” she gasped, hand pressed to her chest. Beneath her palm her heart fluttered frantically; adrenaline left her mouth sour. “How long have you—”
“Long enough to catch you obliterating the mirror.” Piotr drifted through the desk and settled on the edge of her bed, his cool hand rubbing calming circles on her back. “I was going to speak up, but Jon came and I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.”
“Good idea,” Wendy said. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Today has been one hell of a day already.”
“Is that so?” Piotr touched her wrist. “I noticed that you opened up your cuts again.”
“Accident. Look, we’ve got a lot, I mean a whole hell of a lot, to talk about. But not right now okay? Give me just a few minutes.” She held up the phone.
Understanding, Piotr nodded and pretended to zip his lips shut, resting his head against the wall so that his touch wouldn’t distract her further. This time Eddie’s mother answered on the first ring. “Hello? Winifred, is that you?” Even across the crackling line, she sounded frantic.
“Hi Mrs. Barry,” Wendy said, injecting what she hoped was the right amount of faux cheer into her tone. “My sister said you called. What’s up?”
“Winifred, I need your help. It’s Eddie.”
It was as if she’d reached through the phone line and punched Wendy in the gut. All the breath went out of her; her stomach felt hollow, empty, and her heart thudded so hard in her chest that the room literally alternated dark and light with each beat of her pulse. Yet, somehow, despite the world spinning out of control right then and there, Wendy heard herself say, voice appropriately concerned, “Eddie? What’s the matter, Mrs. Barry? Is he okay?” She wiped her forehead with her good arm; her skin was oily with sweat and she found that she was clenching her jaw so tightly her teeth ached.
“You remember how your mother just collapsed last year?” Mrs. Barry sobbed into the other end. “Last night at dinner Eddie was standing up to pick up the plates and he keeled over. Boom! Just like that. We rushed him to the hospital—I thought it was one of those youth heart attacks, God forbid—but his heart was still beating, he’s still breathing. But he won’t wake up, Winifred!”
Honking her nose noisily, Mrs. Barry spent several seconds struggling on the other end of the line. The sounds coming out of her were somewhere between sobs and crazed laughter. Wendy recognized that sound. It was the sound her father had made when they’d brought her mother into the ER that first night. It was the cry of an anguished soul.
“Oh Winifred,” Mrs. Barry sobbed, “first my husband, now my only boy? I go to synagogue, I keep the holy days, I volunteer. What did I do wrong? What else could I have done?” She broke down weeping for several minutes but the sound was thick and muffled. Hearing a steady thump-thump in the background, Wendy realized that Mrs. Barry must have pressed the phone to her chest. Patiently, she waited for her best friend’s mother to calm down.
Finally the sobbing slowed, followed by a wet sniffle. “Hel-hello? Winifred?”
“Hi, Mrs. Barry, I’m still here.” Swallowing thickly, Wendy was surprised to realize that her voice was level, calm even, and that at some point between picking up the phone and this moment, her heart had slowed down, the sweat on her brow had dried.
“What hospital is he at, Mrs. Barry?” Wendy asked, reaching for the math notebook balanced on the corner of her desk. The pencil cup was on the opposite corner and too much effort to hassle with; Wendy used the mechanical eyeliner that had rolled underneath the corner of her bed.
“UCSF,” she muttered, jotting the address down. Later, she wasn’t sure why she did. UCSF was the same hospital where her mother was staying; she could’ve driven there with her eyes closed. But it felt good to keep her hands busy. “We were going to visit my mom today, Mrs. Barry,” Wendy said. “Stay calm, okay? I promise you that I can be there in about an hour.”
“How’s your mother’s condition?” Mrs. Barry asked, desperation underlying every word. “Do the doctors know anything?”
“I’ve gotta go, Mrs. Barry,” Wendy said. “I’m on my way, okay? Okay, Mrs. Barry, you hang in there; I’ll be there in an hour. Okay. Okay. Bye.” Pressing the off switch with her thumb, Wendy dropped the phone on the floor. Outside, thunder boomed again, much closer this time, rattling the pencils in their cup.
“Eddie’s sick,” Wendy said and fought not to remember that terrible night when she had to explain to her siblings that their mother was in the hospital and Dad wouldn’t be home for twelve hours. “He’s got…probably whatever Mom’s got. Same symptoms.”
“Shit,” Chel said and slumped to the floor, burying her face in her hands. “Shit, not again.”
“He’s at UCSF,” Wendy continued, addressing Jon because Chel was crying now, slow soft sobbing that was both heartbreaking and distracting. “Your bags packed?”
“Yeah,” Jon said dully, reaching down and collecting both the bags. “Yeah, they are.”
“Okay.” Wendy held up her arm; let Jon see the dark splotches where the dermabond had pulled apart beneath the gauze. “I’m going to fix this and then I’ll need your help wrapping it back up. Then we’ll go.”
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed, dropping the bags again and following Wendy to their shared bathroom. Wendy spun the cap off the hydrogen peroxide with her thumb, consciously not thinking about how Eddie had done this very thing for her only two days prior. She hissed when the chill liquid bubbled across her arm. At first it was bordering on unbearable but then Piotr was there, his hands icy cold and pressed against her wound, numbing it. Steam billowed up, obfuscating the bathroom, but when it cleared he was still there, eyes searching her face, seeking the telltale signs of weakness or pain that would make him draw away.
Splashing a second dose against her arm, Wendy couldn’t help marveling at the way the peroxide slipped right through his hands. She could feel the wetness but her arm was now numb from wrist to elbow and with Piotr helpfully gripping her forearm it took no time at all to pat the area dry and apply another layer of dermabond to the wounds.
“Here,” she told Jon, tearing off a long strip of gauze with her teeth. “Start here and wrap.”
“Let me do it,” Chel snapped from the doorway, pushing past her brother and snatching the gauze out of his hand. “He can’t fix a boo-boo to save his life.” Chel eyed the wounds and heaved a dramatic sigh. “I always knew you would flip out one day,” she muttered, wrapping Wendy’s arm with an expert finesse that spoke of years in cheerleading, of countless bound ankles, wrapped scrapes, and an endless succession of hastily bandaged knees. “But did you have to cut so deep? These are totally gonna scar.”
“Not that I don’t appreciate the help, but why does everyone think I did this to myself?” Wendy asked, exasperated.
“I always figured your goth-kiddie thing was a big cry for attention,” Chel said, taping off the end. She pulled a tissue from the box and swiped at her nose and under her eyes. “The next logical steps are emo poetry and a knife fascination, right?”
“Shut up,” Wendy replied and gestured for Jon to collect the bags. Piotr was already halfway down the stairs and sliding neatly through the kitchen wall. She knew that he would be waiting for them in the car, hopefully in the back seat. “Come on, let’s get a move on.”
“Go cry in a corner, emo kid,” Chel said, brightening and leading the way downstairs.
Wendy laughed despite herself. “Can it, buffy, before I kick your ass.” They collected the car keys and locked
