“Okay,” he answers immediately, too excited to actually consider the consequences of having to wait.
Retha gives him a cupcake, and then me, her, and Travis head into the kitchen to put away the groceries. I set a pot of water on the stove and get out the hot dogs and mac ’n’ cheese for dinner.
“You spoil him,” Retha calls, sitting in my father’s chair at the table. Travis puts the boxes of cereal in the cabinet.
“Hardly,” I say. I lick my lower lip, tasting blood. Travis comes over to the stove and asks to look at it. He examines my lip and tells me that I shouldn’t need stitches. We joke that he’s the expert on stitches since he’s had to get them too many times to count.
I must look pathetic though, because he wraps his arms around me and gives me a hug. His jacket smells like leather, smoke, and motor oil. It’s a cologne all his own. I straighten and thank him. Times like this, you can’t give in to the emotions of it all. It’ll bury you.
My friends wait while I make dinner, and then I give them their own portion of food. All of us sit at the table, like a family—a dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless. Evan smiles, looking around at us.
And I think that this can work out. When there’s this much love, it has to work out.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The week passes quickly.Cameron jokes with me a little in class, updating me on his preparations for the pool party. On Thursday I let Kathy take Evan, refusing to speak even a word to her when she does.
It’s also the day Travis’s dad comes home. But no one wants to talk about that. Doesn’t mean I don’t worry, though. Part of me hopes this will be the last time Travis’s dad gets out—that next time he’ll stay in jail. But it seems like the law only gets involved in our lives to ruin them.
By Saturday the scratches from the cornfield have healed, and I have only one new bruise—which will look awesome with my bathing suit.
My phone rings early in the morning and I dash out to answer it, worried it’s Kathy and that something has happened to Evan. I pick up the phone and run my other hand through my tangled hair.
“Hello?” I ask, my voice thick with sleep.
“Savvy?” Retha chokes out. She’s crying, and I tighten my grip on the phone, panic breaking across my chest.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “What’s happening?” This is bad—Retha doesn’t cry. Tear up, sure, but not sob cry. She’d rather punch something first.
“It’s Travis,” she says. “He’s relapsed.”
I let her words sink in, and my lips begin to tremble. I stagger back and bump against the living room wall. Iknewit. I knew Travis was using again, but I didn’t stop him. I didn’t force him to talk about it. My face breaks, and I put my palm over my eyes. When we didn’t go out last night, I figured he and Retha were together. “What happened,” I murmur.
“After he dropped me off,” Retha says, “he got into a fight with his dad. Bastard nearly broke his arm again—I can’t believe he ever got paroled.”
“Fuck,” I whisper, hitching in a cry. “Who gave him the drugs?”
“He left his house and tracked down those assholes he used to hang out with—the ones from State Street. They got him a fix. He sat in their apartment and shot that shit into his arms.” She starts to break down but bites it back. “His brother thought he was dead when he found him on the lawn this morning. Those junkies dumped him instead of taking him to the hospital.” She pauses to breathe. “He OD’d this time, Savvy. His heart stopped.”
Physical pain shakes me, and my entire body goes rigid, ready to convulse with tears. “Tell me he’s okay,” I whisper. “Please tell me he’s okay, Retha.”Not Travis. Please, God, don’t take Travis from us.
Retha sniffles, as if my meltdown helped clear her head. “He’s alive, Savvy. We won’t know the extent of the damage for a while, but they got him to the hospital and were able to stabilize him. He’s got a hell of an infection in his arm.”
“Which hospital?” I dart my eyes around the house, thinking of how I can get to the hospital. I spy my father’s keys hanging near the door, and I start that way.
“He’s not there anymore,” Retha says. “They’ve sent him to a rehab center in Cleveland. He’s on lockdown in the infirmary—no visitors.”
I clutch my father’s keys in my hand, feeling the metal bite into my palm. “For how long?” I ask.
“He has to stay there a mandatory ninety days. And if he fucks up this time, he’s going to prison for parole violation. This is his last chance.” She pauses a long moment, her toughness fading with each jagged breath she pulls in. “He looked so bad at the hospital,” she whispers. “It was like it wasn’t him at all. I’ve never . . .” She breaks into a new cry. “I can’t live without him, Savvy.”
Soon her sobs are replaced with thuds, the sounds of her fist hitting things. The wall, maybe. The table.
“Stop,” I tell her, although I know she won’t listen. “I’m coming over. We can—”
“I’m leaving, Savvy,” Retha says. “I’m on my way out right now.”
My stomach drops, and I wipe hard at my cheeks. “What? Where are you going?”
