Big Fat Disaster (40 page)

I don’t know how long Leah and I stand in barn. She weeps and babbles and to be honest I can’t understand most of what she says, but I do catch this: “Not you, too. Please. No.”

Leah drags me back to her house. I’m rubbing my neck, wondering if the itchy feeling means there are telltale signs of rope burn, kind of like the icing streaks. Seems like every time I let the crazies take over, I end up with an outward sign that I’ve been up to something. Sometimes it’s red food coloring stains; sometimes it’s more whale blubber.

Leah takes my hand away from my neck and leads me to the sofa. She sits, pulling me down with her. She holds her hands over her face, and I think she’s going to burst out crying again, but she doesn’t.

I whisper, “Leah, I’m—I’m so, so sorry. I should have told you the truth, but I couldn’t, because…”

I can’t say it.

She lowers her hands and tilts her head, whispers, “Why?”

I force the words to come out: “I killed Ryan, I—”

Leah holds up her hand, shakes her head rapidly. “
No
. Uh-uh.
No
.” She closes her eyes, lowers her head, whispers, “No, Colby. What happened was a horrible accident. Ryan saw you there and”—she stops, takes a deep breath, and blows it out—“he did what I’d have expected him to do.”

She looks toward his room and says softly, “My son
wasn’t
perfect. I know that. I have no idea what possessed him to film you through your window, and for that”—she looks back at me—“I am so, so sorry.” She rounds her shoulders and crosses her arms. I force myself to look at her face but can’t for long, because it’s like seeing Ryan all over again.

Leah takes my hand and turns to me. “It seemed to me that you and Ryan were good friends when you were little and we’d visit your parents, before his dad and I got divorced and, you know…my relationship with my family completely went to shit. I hope you have at least
some
good memories of him from when you were young, when he wasn’t so angry. That’s the only explanation I can think of for what he did, filming you while you dressed. Anger can make people do things they never would otherwise. It’s what drove you to stand in the middle of the street and try to die, isn’t it?”

I shrug, and the ache of my mom blaming me for Ryan making the video feels just as strong now as it did then.

She chews her lip, like she’s trying to choose the right words. She takes a big breath in and blows it out. “The way his dad abused us really messed up Ryan’s sense of trust. He witnessed it when Mark decided that I was going to come back to him, and when I refused, he grabbed a pot of boiling water off my stove and threw it at me. That’s the reason I have tattoos covering my body like I do. I was lucky enough to find an artist who was able to make beauty out of this evidence of Mark’s rage.” Leah straightens her arm, and I notice for the first time the unevenness of her skin, and how the winding flowers and vines conceal splattered scars.

She continues, “And when Ryan reported that girl’s rape and nearly all his friends turned on him—even beat him so severely that he ended up in the hospital…it left him with an anger so big that it just about broke him. Top it off with that disaster of a Fourth of July picnic, and…” She shakes her head. A tear runs down her cheek beside her nose. I watch it until it slides down her jaw and drops off her chin. Another one immediately follows, and I am watching her tears, because looking into her eyes is more than I can do.

“I’m sorry I didn’t speak up for him at the picnic,” I murmur. “I
didn’t
agree with what was said…I’ve never been good at speaking up for anyone. Including myself.”

Leah’s eyes are soft. “Oh, honey, it’d be nice if my family would actually
hear it
when others disagree with them, but they don’t. That’s part of the reason I had to get away from them. No matter what I said, I wasn’t heard. Problem is,
my
idea of getting away from them when I was just out of high school was to marry a slick talker who didn’t listen to me any more than they did. Mark had a weakness for beer and a fondness for knocking me and Ryan around.” She shrugs and snorts. “No wonder my parents love him so much!”

I laugh uneasily.

Aunt Leah brushes my hair out of my eyes and runs her hand down the back of my head. “The scars that Mark gave me aren’t the only ones I have.” She turns up her forearms and shows me the long scars, disguised by ink as flower stems, extending from her wrists to her elbows.

I gasp. “
You
tried to kill yourself, Leah? When?
Why
?”

Leah stares at the
Hope Will Find You
print on the wall. “It was a long time ago. I was about your age. I was beat down with my family’s bullshit, and I thought that checking out was the answer.” Her eyes take on a far-away look and she says softly, “I’ve been thinking lately that it might still be. My life has a hole in it now. What do I have left? I just want to be with my boy…”

I gasp. “Leah, you can’t!”

She turns to me, takes my face in her hands, and I
have
to look her in the eye. She chokes out, “My life will never be the same.
Ever
. Yours won’t be, either, Colby.”

“Please, Leah, don’t kill yourself.
Please
!”

She sobs, “You’re telling me that
I
can’t kill myself, but what were
you
trying to do in the barn when I found you?”

I try to pull out of her grasp, but she holds tight. “Please. Let me go.” She leans in and kisses me on the forehead, then releases me.

We sit in silence for a few minutes. Shame fills me from head to toe:
I took
Ryan from her, and because of what I did, Leah wants to die, too. That thought in my head—
I’m done. I can’t
be
here anymore
—is tidal-wave strong, like the urge that propels me face-first into a four-cup measure of cake icing. I squeeze my eyes tightly and bite down hard on the inside of my lower lip.

Leah touches my knee just as I’m tasting blood. I open my eyes. Her head is bowed, and her voice is barely above a whisper. “I think…you and I need to have an agreement.”

What does she want from me?
I’m surprised I can’t see my heart pounding through my shirt. “…What kind of agreement?”
Are we going to kill ourselves together?

Leah faces me, and I see Ryan in her eyes. Not the bloody Ryan. Her eyes are soft and a little scared, like his were when he apologized to me and said that he doesn’t mean to be such an asshole.

“Ryan gave up his life trying to save you from taking your own. You wanted to die, and I’m spending most of my waking hours asking myself just what I’ve got to live for—”

I sob, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I…I wish I had died…I do, I wish it had been me.”

Leah moves closer and pulls me tightly against her. She holds me while I cry, running her hand over and over my head and shoulders.

When all I’ve got left is shuddery breathing, she speaks in a low, soothing voice. “Let’s agree that we’re going to live. It’s a choice, you know.
You
promise not to throw the gift of a second chance away, and
I promise
to stick around to be here for you in a way that your own mama isn’t.”

Mom’s face flashes through my mind: that tight-lipped look of hers that says,
“Don’t embarrass me.”
I pull out of Leah’s embrace and try to sound convincing. “My…mom…it’s not so bad—”

Leah waves me off. “
Pssht
. Save it, girl. You don’t have to maintain appearances with me. I
see
the way she looks at you. I
hear
the little digs she makes, and a person would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to notice how she favors Rachel and Drew over you. Sometimes parents beat their kids—like Mark used to knock Ryan around—but words hurt, too, and they can totally skew a person’s view of themselves. You’re going to have to learn to separate what you know about yourself to be true from what your mom
thinks
is your truth.”

Her mention of the word “truth” is like a knife through my heart. I choke out, “What I’ve done…H-how do I—what do I—everyone’s going to hate me now…” I cover my face as shame threatens to drown me.

Her voice is soft. “Didn’t your mom take you to some kind of counselor today, sweetie? He ought to be able to help you deal so that you don’t…you know…try again. I mean, you and I have an agreement, right? You’ve got a second chance at life, and I can decide to hang in and make sure you don’t fuck it up.”

She pulls my hands from my face, takes them into her own. I swallow hard and nod. “Y-yes. I promise not to waste the gift I’ve been given. At least…I’ll
try
not to fuck it up, Leah. I’ll
try
to be someone who will make you…proud. Somehow.”

“You don’t have to be anybody but who you are, Colby. We
need
to be each other’s reason to keep going when it feels like there’s not one.” She gives me a tiny smile. “That’s why you need to work hard in therapy, so that wanting to live is not such hard work.”

“Are
you
going to get some help, Leah?”

She closes her eyes, nods. “Yeah, I think I’m due for a tune-up. I was in therapy for a long time after my suicide attempt, but I think I’m going to need support to get through…this.”

“How many sessions do you think it’ll take you to get better?”

Leah gives me a strange look. “Why do you ask?”

I pull Dr. Matt’s wrinkled business card from my pocket and stare at it. “Well, my mom told me that I have to get better in three sessions, because that’s all she’s got money for. I only have two left.”

My aunt snorts and rolls her eyes. “Your mother is an absolute trip, Colby.”

I lean forward. “Soooo…more than three?”

“Colby, darling, I will see that you have as many therapy sessions as you need to get well.” She sighs loudly. “I need to have a talk with your mother.”

I yawn, and Leah does, too. She pulls me up and envelops me in a hug. “You
are
loved, Colby Denton. Just the way you are. And don’t you forget it.”

Something breaks loose inside of me, and it hits me: Leah doesn’t care how much I weigh or if I eat ten boxes of Ding Dongs. It’s like…amazing. I haven’t felt that kind of love since my dad and I used to play “Ask Me Anything” while we looked at the stars on my ceiling.

“Thank you, Leah. Thank you.”

Leah whispers, “No matter how rough it gets, remember our agreement. I’m here for you.”

My words are smothered against her shoulder, but I know she hears me: “I won’t let you down.”

Leah walks me back to the trailer around eleven that night. I push open the front door as quietly as possible, and I’m relieved to find that Mom and Drew have already gone to sleep.

I shower and put on my pajamas, then crawl into bed and close my eyes, dreading what I fear will come as soon as I fall asleep. But tonight, for the first time since Ryan died, I don’t dream of his bloody face, and…I may have imagined it as I went to sleep, but I could swear that the star on my ceiling is glowing.

Mom doesn’t talk to me the next morning. She tells Drew to eat breakfast at school, then goes back into her bedroom and closes the door.