Broken (16 page)

Someone once very dear to me told me that I would never change and that he didn’t want to even try to change me. And that
was when I realized perhaps I couldn’t change, perhaps I was destined to forever be this person those closest around me claimed
I was. Even the love of my life defined me in this way. The darkest star. That’s what Tyler called me. And then I realized
I might never change, that perhaps I didn’t want to change.

There were things I did that I deliberately chose. My life. My lifestyle. My comfort. My bubble. I chose this road even though
I didn’t choose who I encountered on it. I chose to continue down it and leave others behind.

Can someone go so far down the road that she makes it impossible to ever come back?

Can someone keep driving, keep running, keep heading toward the sunset and never expect to reach an end?

“I don’t want you to be someone else for me.” Tyler meant it, but I didn’t know exactly what it meant.

He said he loved me despite my baggage and my past and my sins. He said he loved me for who I was deep inside.

Yet I left him. The same way I always leave. The same way I always run and forget.

But like I find with each morning sunrise and each blank page of a day ahead, forgetting is hard to do.

Forgetting is impossible.

And sometimes the voices whisper and the demons haunt and I find I don’t know what’s real and what’s imagined and what’s gone
and forgotten.

J
ames watches the man jostling his keys before opening the trunk and placing the suitcase inside. It looks like he’s by himself,
a man in his forties on a business trip. James scans the parking lot, then walks over to him.

“Stop there for a minute.”

The guy turns around and stares at him. Then he sees the gun in his hand.

“Give me your wallet.”

The man has thick hair that’s starting to gray. He stands solid but doesn’t move.

“Look, man, don’t make this tragic. Give me your wallet and then give me your keys. Right now.”

“I don’t have much.”

“You have something, and that’s more than I have.”

The man stares back at the hotel, and something on his face changes. James sees Connor coming.

“He’s with me. And you don’t want to mess with him. So give me your wallet now because I’m not asking again.”

With the addition of Connor, and a glance at his bloody arm, the man’s hesitation evaporates. He pulls his wallet from his
back pocket and gives it to James along with the keys.

“Start walking that way.”

“Toward the highway?”

“Yeah.”

“What for?”

“Because I said so. Come on. Start moving.”

By the time the man reaches the side street toward the interstate, he is in a full jog.

“Get in the car.”

Connor looks at the small vehicle. “What are we going to do with this?”

“We’re getting out of here, that’s what we’re going to do.”

“And go where?”

“We’re going to get cleaned up and regroup.”

“I’m heading back home.”

James stares over the top of the car and points at him. “You’re sticking with me, and you’re doing every single thing I tell
you to do.”

“Cops will be looking for us you know.”

“And since when has that stopped you before? Huh? What do you think they’re doing after the stunt you pulled in South Carolina?
Beating and raping some streetwalker you met back there doesn’t count?”

“She’s not talking.”

“Yeah well, she’s lucky to be alive after you left her for dead in that motel room. You’re sick, you know that?”

“I’m not the one holding a gun and a wallet that belongs to some man sprinting like he’s in the Olympics right about now.”

“I’d beat you senseless if you had any sense in you. And then I’d take all your possessions, but God knows you don’t have
any.”

“I have you.”

“Yeah you do, and one of these days you’re going to realize how lucky you are.”

•   •   •

She has been here before. And time has not been kind to either of them.

This section of the French Quarter is quieter, with fewer tourists. They had found it together, and it had been perfect. A
hotel occupying three 1830 town houses with thirty-three rooms. They had gotten a room with a balcony and had stayed in the
city for a week.

As Laila walks in the remodeled lobby, she wonders what she’s
doing here and if this indeed is a sanctuary. She wonders if the memories will serve to heal or to imprison.

It doesn’t look very busy. She is greeted by a gentle woman who could be her grandmother who talks about the grounds and the
surrounding neighborhood. Laila books what is called a superior room on the third floor and says she will be staying for a
few days. She pays in cash and has to leave a copy of her license because she doesn’t leave a credit card on file.

Laila walks up the spiraling staircase and down a hall decorated with antiques to her room. Unlocks the door with a real key
and then locks it behind her with old-fashioned genuine locks.

It looks different, but she believes it’s the same room.

She opens the door to the balcony and looks outside.

And that’s when she knows.

This is it.

The same room and the same balcony.

His name was Erik and he was heaven and he caused the earth to move for her and she would have given him everything and eventually
did.

He told Laila he loved her and she believed him. As much as any seventeen-year-old might believe the words of a twenty-two-year-old.

She sighs and stares outside at the street. It’s so quiet, almost too quiet. For a moment she thinks she sees something moving
on the street in her peripheral vision, but when her glance shifts she sees nothing.

A chill goes through her as she looks down.

She’s not sure if she’s looking out there to remember or to make sure no one’s following her.

Without bothering to change out of the clothes she’s worn all day, Laila drifts off as darkness blankets the city, wrapping
herself in the warmth of memory. The week from her youth spent in New Orleans drifts by in echoes and apparitions. It is soft
and cool and slow and
lovely. She savors tastes and relishes sounds and embraces textures all foreign and alive and new. Her world back in Texas
and the world that awaits her when they leave is all put on hold for seven sensuous days.

Laila is intertwined with Erik when a voice wakes her up.

The voice whispers a name she doesn’t recognize, a name that doesn’t make sense.

“Marie.”

She opens her eyes and sees the glow of the city outside the balcony.

“Don’t leave,” the voice says to her, this time a little louder.

Still groggy, Laila jumps up and looks around the room. “Hello?”

“Stay with me,” the voice says.

“Who’s there?”

She turns on a light, and it barely illuminates the room. The voice she heard is a boy’s voice, talking as if he might be
right there in the room.

“Hello?”

“Let’s go out and play,” he says.

The door to her room opens with a blast of air and slams against the wall, and Laila feels something inside the room rushing
around and through her. Then the feeling is gone.

She’s left standing, shivering, cold, and searching the room with her eyes. “Hello?”

Nothing is there.

Nobody is there.

“Who are you? Who is Marie?”

But no one replies.

She stares at the doorway and thinks about closing it, then reconsiders, grabs her purse, and heads out.

•   •   •

“So what now?” Lex places the two bottles down on the table. The one he sips from is a soda.

“I guess we wait.”

“Wait for her to call?”

Kyle nods at him as he sips his beer. He checks his cell phone. It’s nine, and they’re in a bar off of Bourbon Street.

“Did she say she was going to call?”

“I told you, she said she was in trouble and needed my help. And she told me where she was going.”

In the background the blues pipes through the speakers. The place is deserted and dark.

“You look skeptical.”

Lex shakes his head. “I wonder what she’s doing here. Why she came back.”

“She’s been here before?”

“Yeah. Once. When she was a teenager. Ran off with some idiot.”

Kyle laughs.

“What?”

“You say that like I’m joining the list,” Kyle says.

“Maybe you are.”

“What’s that make you?”

“Oh, I’ve been an idiot for a long time. Difference is I’m related to Laila. Who is a little more than just an idiot.”

“What would you call her?”

“Complicated,” Lex says.

“That can mean a lot of different things.”

“It does.”

Lex watches him sip on his beer.

“Why’d she go to New Orleans when she was young?”

“I don’t know. She just disappeared and we were all worried and then she came back and got in a lot of trouble but it didn’t
matter. She was still home but already gone. She had it written all over her face. She wanted to take the first bus out of
Brady and out of Texas and into the big, old world. And she already had her ticket bought. Well, not even bought, but paid
for.”

“What ticket?”

“Bet she didn’t tell you, did she?” Lex asks.

“No.”

“You know that Laila started modeling when she was fourteen? She already looked about twenty years old. She’s been on the
cover of a few big magazines. Those fancy fashion magazines. Not just in ads but on the covers. My sister used to collect
them, but all they did was make me sad.”

“You mean magazines like
Vogue
?”

“Yeah. The fashion stuff. Nothing too revealing, nothing like
Playboy
. At least not that I know of. She had the look and once they sniffed around and found her, it was all over. She was one of
them.”

“One of what?”

Lex tightens his lips. “You smoke?”

“No.”

“Man I could use one about now. Stopped a while ago. Stopped drinking too. You don’t realize how much you use those things
until they’re gone.”

“What’d you mean ‘one of them’?”

“One of them. You know. Like one of the world. We lived in our own little world in Brady. A lot of people say Texas is its
own world too, and I sure believe it. But Laila never fit in. And she knew it. And you could tell she wanted to get away.”

“So the guy she came to New Orleans with. Whatever happened to him?”

“Just drama. He disappeared for a while trying to pursue a career in pro football and then came back like some lost puppy.
By then she was already gone. Poor guy. Everything about him that was inflated and proud just got snuffed out over time. Like
losing your hair, except it’s more than that. It’s losing your pride. I saw him not long ago down in Houston and he recognized
me and he didn’t say anything but he gave me the saddest look I’ve ever seen. A look that said he’d been there and had something
special and priceless and then lost it. It’s
like he knew. He had one chance and he blew it and he would forever be living in the shadow of that memory.”

Kyle finishes his beer. “I guess I could understand that. I guess I could see someone being like that if they had fallen for
Laila.”

“That’s the thing, though. I’ve seen some boys lose their minds over her. I mean lose their minds. And I’ve seen some rough
stuff. And all the while I’m looking through the eyes of a brother, you know? I know her. At least I used to know Laila. When
she left Texas, we had a long and hard conversation and she told me she didn’t know what she wanted and she was scared but
more than anything she just wanted to leave. She wanted to get away. She wanted to escape. I asked her how going to New York
was escaping. She said that if she could start over again, things would be okay. But I don’t think that’s how it works. You
don’t just all of a sudden start over. You carry it with you. Man, I know that. I wish I could go back in time and talk with
her and tell her that, but I learned the hard way.”

“Maybe she learned the hard way too.”

“I got a feeling that she’s still learning.”

“So what are you going to do when you find her?” Kyle says.

“I’m going to try and have that conversation again. I pray I will have the opportunity to talk with her again.”

“Think it will help her?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I hope so. I sure know it’ll help me.”

•   •   •

Laila passes a bar and smells the sweet and sour mix of late nights and spilled drinks and sweat. Crossing over onto a street
a few blocks away from Bourbon Street, she passes a closed store, an empty space, an apartment building. The few passersby
ignore her, and she finds comfort knowing their eyes don’t track over her, knowing she doesn’t have to ignore their glances.
A dimly lit corner bar playing slow piano jazz makes her stop and glance inside. The crowd is light and safe, so she walks
in.

For an hour she listens to the music and sips her drink slowly.
Occasionally her eyes will shut and remain shut for a second longer than they should. This place is relaxing. She doesn’t
worry about someone showing up at the doorway or at her table.

She thinks this and then glances at the open door and sees a boy standing there. He is wearing a red long-sleeved T-shirt
and a dark blue cap. He stares at her and then waves. She waves back. Then he looks behind him and darts away. The boy makes
her think of her brother.

As she works on another drink and feels light-headed from not eating anything, Laila checks her pocket and discovers the phone
she took from James. She notices there are several unanswered calls along with several messages. For a second she thinks about
answering it, then decides to wait. Wait until later tonight or tomorrow. Wait to let it bother her then. Wait for the worry
because tonight she wants to feel alone and hidden and tucked away in the belly of New Orleans.

Laila remembers sneaking into little joints like this, underage but still able to drink. She remembers holding Erik’s hand
and listening to him laugh and loving every single thought he had and not worrying about anything. She almost believed she
could forget what happened to her in that hotel room a couple years earlier. Laila almost believed Erik could make her forget.