One Last Song Part 23

I'd known this was coming. I shouldn't have been nervous. But I was. There was something about my dad-who, for all intents and purposes, functioned as a walking, talking bank account-being actually angry that made the little kid inside me cower. That he was showing any emotion at all was simply staggering. That it was anger was more than a little terrifying.

We stared at each other a long moment, and I realized just how many of his facial features I'd inherited. It was weird, seeing my eyes with lines around them, my nose, but two shades lighter.

Finally, he said, "What do you have to say for yourself?"

I began tracing circles on my knee. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry? That's it? What about an explanation?" His voice got louder with every question, hot spots of color appearing on his cheeks. "Why the h.e.l.l, when I was expecting to eat lunch with my daughter, was I ambushed by that-that liberal a.s.sclown Noah Preston? That's what I want to know!"

I shrugged, playing at nonchalance, and stood up. "He wanted to meet with you. He kept calling you; I'd seen his number. So I just decided to set it up. I admired his resolve." This was something I'd heard my dad say before, that "resolve" was something to be "admired." It was the only thing I could think of in the moment.

My dad sputtered a laugh. "Adm-okay. Tell you what. You're clearly capable of making all these decisions yourself. You know what's best. You know what I should do. Well, how about we speed up that education you were talking about? Hmm? Pre-law, isn't that right?"

"What are you talking about?" Something inside me stilled, as if my brain were prescient.

"You're going back to school." He stood up, too.

"What?"

"Yes. I've taken the liberty of researching the best pre-law programs in the country. The University of North Carolina has an excellent one. I have a colleague who's an alumnus, and he's made the provisions." He stuck a hand in one pocket, trying to appear casual. But the steady tic in his jaw gave away his anger, the fact that he was doing this out of spite. "You're enrolled in their summer program to catch up on the cla.s.ses you've missed."

"You can't do that." I felt my face drain of blood. The tips of my fingers and toes felt so cold. North Carolina was far away. Too far. I wouldn't be able to see Drew. Not even from afar, from where he wouldn't know I was looking in on him, like I'd planned on doing. North Carolina meant I wouldn't be part of his world anymore, not even unwittingly. I couldn't do that.

"It's all set up. My colleague had to pull some strings because your grades haven't been the best, but they're willing to give you a chance." He held my gaze. "If you have a problem with that decision, that's fine. You're an adult. But you'll have to find somewhere else to stay. And I'll need that credit card back."

He knew I couldn't live out there on my own. I'd never had a job; I had no experience, no skill set to give me an upper hand in this economy. I'd never be able to afford the deposit on an apartment.

"So?" he asked. "What are you going to do?"

"I'll go," I said, the words soft, falling limply out of my mouth. "I'll go to North Carolina."

Chapter Forty-Five.

I drove to Zee's, my hair still wet from the shower, the curling tendrils sneaking down the neck of my coat and dripping ice-cold water in rivulets down my back. I didn't bother moving it. I needed the cold to keep me awake, jar me out of the fog that seemed to have drifted down over my brain, enveloping all my thoughts.

On the seat next to me was the catalog for North Carolina. It was a gorgeous campus, with smiling undergrads of every color, equal numbers of women and men. I should be happy to go. Pre-law was a good program. I had no other plans.

And yet.

Everything about it felt wrong on every level. Did I want to spend the rest of my life like my dad, rich enough to buy just about everything I wanted, and yet never home? With a family that was so broken we might as well be pieces of people instead of people themselves?

And what about Drew? Was I just supposed to say good-bye tonight, resign myself to the fact that I'd never see him again? Be okay with that?

Yes, he'd said that he'd leave anyway, when it got to the point where he couldn't take care of himself anymore. But that felt different somehow. That was his decision, valid because it was his life and his path to take. This was my life, but it wasn't the path I was choosing. It wasn't the path I wanted to go down at all. I had the distinct, uneasy feeling that if I did go with my father's choice, I wouldn't be coming back. Not just to New Hampshire, but to myself. I felt like by acquiescing, I'd be losing what little self I had in the first place.

I pulled into Zee's driveway and went inside. She was on the couch as usual, in a chestnut-colored, shiny wig that fell past her shoulders in big curls. She looked like a supermodel, all cheekbones and elbows and knees.

"Hey," she said when I walked in, barely looking up from the paint-by-numbers piece she was working on. "G.o.d, why the f.u.c.k did I say I'd do this?"

I blinked, trying to break out of the fog. "Because you love Pierce and wanted him to have something nice to look at while he lies on his hospital bed?" I sat down beside her and looked at the painting, a splash of bright blues and yellows. "Who's the artist?"

She shrugged and made an "I don't know" voice deep in her throat as she dipped her paintbrush into some more yellow paint. "Some dude?"

I reached around her for the box on the floor, the memory of my dad already receding. That right there was why it was almost addicting, Zee's friendship. She might've had a hard edge, but she was vibrant and bright. She always made you forget all the s.h.i.t in your own life.

I looked at the back of the box, which had a smiling black-and-white picture of the artist.

"Carlos Almaraz," I read. "A Mexican American artist and a supporter of the Chicano arts movement. He died in nineteen eighty-nine of AIDS."

"Yeah, I read that part. Makes sense that Pierce would identify with him."

I flipped the box over and looked at the front. It was a vivid picture of a car accident, t.i.tled Sunset Crash. "Why would an artist paint a car crash in such happy colors?"

Zee made that noise again in her throat. "I'm just trying to keep it together long enough to finish this stupid thing, okay? Art's not really my strong suit." I wouldn't have thought anything of what she said except for the tremble in her voice. I looked at her, wondering what the matter was. She set her paintbrush down and stood, slowly. "I have to go to the bathroom."

I watched as she walked out, every step plodding, full of pain. And I realized that she knew what the painting meant. I set the box down and pulled out my phone.

A quick search on Google told me what I needed to know. The artist Carlos Almaraz had painted Sunset Crash to signify the reality of the Californian experience from an immigrant's point of view. They went there thinking it was this big land of opportunity, and a lot of times, the realities didn't match up to their expectations. I looked back down at the painting, the big clouds of gas with small orange explosions. The car accident took place on a bridge, and two of the cars were falling off, suspended in air. That was kind of beautiful, in a sad way. No wonder Zee didn't want to talk about it. It probably reminded her too much of where Pierce and she were right now, in life. Falling off that bridge, suspended, waiting for the end.

When Zee came back in, I put my phone away quickly. She sighed as she sat back down and held out the paintbrush. "Would you like to finish?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

She moved over and lay down on the couch while I sat before the small desk, looking down at what she'd already done. "This isn't half-bad."

"Thanks," she said, putting a pillow over her face. She pulled it off a moment later and took a deep breath. "Whoa, that's a bad idea when you don't have great lungs."

I smiled, shook my head, and began dabbing color on the canvas.

"So what have you been up to?" she asked, rolling on her side, her hands tucked under her chin.

I thought of Drew and me at the cabin, playing Boggle in our underwear. "Nothing much," I said.

Zee tapped me on the back with her foot. "So what's with all the blushing?"

I laughed. "You might be getting to know me too well." But that just made me think of what I had to tell Drew after Pierce's party, and the smile fell off my face.

Zee's cell phone rang before she could badger me more. I handed it to her off the table.

"h.e.l.lo?" She listened for a few minutes, and I heard the squawk of a woman's voice on the other end. "Oh. Oh, okay. How are you doing? Mm hmm. Can I bring anything?" Another pause. "Okay." She hung up and sighed.

I glanced at her. "What's going on?"

"That was Pierce's mom," she said. "He's not doing so well. We're going to have to do the thing at his place instead of at Sphinx."

I set the paintbrush in the small pot of water and turned to Zee. "Oh. Oh, no. Is he... is he going to make it till tonight?"

"She seemed to think so," Zee said. "But you know, at the end, it's sort of hard to say. The doctor said a month at his last visit a few days ago. But..." She shrugged. "She said I should call Drew and tell him, see if he'll play at Pierce's house instead."

I nodded.

Chapter Forty-Six.

Zee's mom and dad had been invited, too, so I drove behind Zee's yellow car. She sat in the backseat, turning and waving at me at regular intervals, as if she was a little kid instead of a twenty-two-year-old being given a ride. I laughed every time she did it, and finally, I began to cry quietly, tears leaking down my face.

This whole thing felt like a drawn-out good-bye. Not just to Pierce, but to Zee, to her parents, to Drew, to this whole other life I'd constructed for myself. I couldn't believe that tomorrow I'd be back to being the f.u.c.ked-up girl with Munchausen, being sent away because not even her own parents could tolerate her insanity.

Pierce's apartment was a little larger on the inside than I'd expected, but even so, it was crammed with people of every age, gender, and s.e.xual orientation. There were a lot of younger people from the gay community-probably Pierce's friends-but a good number of people were older women, too, there to support Pierce's mom.

There was a line snaking up to Pierce's hospital bed, which was set up in the living room. I couldn't see him from where I stood, near the front door, because of the huge clot of people in front of me.

"Wow," I said. "He's popular."

Zee was sitting in a chair beside me, Pierce's present in her lap. She smiled. "Yeah. He's always had that about him, you know? That charisma."

I had to bend down to hear her in the din of people. I wouldn't think I'd like so many people milling around me when I was sick and hovering on life's edge. But it was probably different for everyone. Maybe it felt comforting to some to be surrounded by so much love.

I felt someone touch the back of my head and turned around to find Drew.

"Hey, you." He smiled at me, a tender, soft smile that made it seem like the blue in his eyes was warm velvet. His guitar hung off his back.

"Hey." I had to look away because I felt my own eyes begin to tear up.

From the looks of him, the thought of what was coming later didn't bother or worry him even slightly. It made me sick that he was so trusting, so sure that whatever I had to tell him wouldn't influence how he felt for me at all. I wondered briefly if I was ruining him for every other woman he'd meet from here on, but then I shut down that train of thought. I couldn't go down that road-it was too painful. Everything about it hurt, from thinking about him with other women to thinking about his trust being broken because of me.

Zee's mom, Lenore, offered him a chair, but he brushed her off with a wave of his hand. "No, I'm all right. Thank you, though."

The line to see Pierce moved forward a bit, and we stepped forward accordingly. Zee's dad didn't want her getting up, so he just pushed her chair forward while she sat in it. She laughed. "Thanks, Daddy."

He kissed the top of her head and turned to talk to a man behind him.

"So what have you girls been up to today?" Drew asked, his free hand on the small of my back.

"Your girlfriend helped me paint the most depressing picture ever," Zee said.

Drew raised his eyebrow questioningly, and I shook my head. "It wasn't depressing. It was beautiful and symbolic."

"Pierce's gift," Zee explained, holding up the gift-wrapped box that contained the painting. "I thought it'd be nice for him to have something he could look at while he spends all day on that bed."

The people talking to Pierce laughed at something he'd said, the sound jarring in the room full of solemn-faced, murmuring people. Finally they parted. It had been a big group, and it was our turn next.

When I saw Pierce, I stared. It wasn't a conscious decision, of course; it just happened. I couldn't believe the way he'd wasted away since the last time I'd seen him without his outdoor jacket on. Even since just the other night at TIDD group.

He was wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, but it looked like the clothes were just lying there on the mattress without anyone inside them. His face was pale, gaunt, even more so than Zee's, and I had had no idea that could be possible. His eyes jutted out from his head, the skin beneath sunken and shadowed. When he smiled, it looked like his entire face consisted of nothing but his eyes and his mouth.

"Hey guys." His voice was like a sheet of paper, rustling in the wind. "Thanks for coming."

"Don't be silly," Zee said, thrusting the box toward him. She was still sitting in her chair, her parents behind her. When she realized Pierce was in no position to take the present, she got fl.u.s.tered, and set it down by his feet. Then she blinked furiously. "This is f.u.c.ked up, dude," she said, her voice cracking. "You weren't supposed to go first. You promised me."

Pierce's lips twisted, his eyes roving her face. "Sorry, sis," he said. "I tried. I really did."

She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, the most tender I'd seen her since we'd first met. When she straightened back up, I saw she'd left tears on Pierce's forehead. He didn't seem to notice, and if he did, he didn't mind.

"That's that stupid painting you like so much," Zee said, touching the box. "I'll have my dad put it up before we leave tonight."

Pierce nodded.

Zee stood up and walked away to talk to Pierce's mom, and her parents followed, after a quick word and a pat on the arm.

Drew sat in the chair she'd vacated, and I remained standing, feeling exceedingly awkward and out of place. I shouldn't be here. I should've told Drew already.

Now, seeing death in all its ugly, fetid glory for the first time, I realized something. I knew absolutely f.u.c.king nothing about illness.

I was clueless about its true nature, about what it must be like to be this specter of a man, unable to hold his own head up. Playing with syringes, making myself sick... that was child's play. This was what illness was: a deathbed, a painting as a parting gift, and people who'd come to say good-bye. Loneliness, desperation, and agony all packaged up in smiles and words of comfort. The utter and irrevocable knowledge that the world was moving on and you'd never have the chance to.

"I'm ready to play, man," Drew said. "Any songs you want me to add to the list?"

Pierce shook his head. "Thanks, man." He smiled at me. "Thanks for coming, Saylor. Take care of this guy for me."

I nodded, feeling like a liar, like a monster in girl's clothing.

Chapter Forty-Seven.