Fireworks: A Holiday Bad Boy Romance (31 page)

"That was
Sienna," I said.

My father scowled
as he opened the car’s passenger side door for me. He scowled all the way to
the county coroner's office. He wiped it away when the coroner met us at the
door. The two men shook hands.

"Has the
death certificate been finished?" my father asked.

"Yes, sir. My
findings corroborate with the detective's conclusion. Her death has been ruled
a suicide," the coroner said.

For once, all the
air seemed to be sucked from my father. I noticed how he had lost weight. There
was more gray in his hair. The normal command he had over any room was gone and
he followed the coroner without another word.

We stood in front
of a plated glass window and stared aimlessly into a small room. White tiles
reached halfway up the wall before giving over to an institutional gray color.
Two orderlies pushed a gurney into the room. On the coroner's signal, one
lifted back the white sheet.

There was Sienna,
gray against the bleached white of the sheet. Her golden hair was combed back
from her face and still damp from the medical examiner's administrations.

"Sir?"
the coroner called as I swayed.

My father clamped
onto my arm to steady me. "She was going to be a surgeon. She never
flinched, never fainted." His eyes never left Sienna's face. "Her
sister was going to follow in her footsteps but no one could catch up to
her."

"You've had a
terrible shock," the coroner said to me. "Would you like to sit
down?"

"You're not
going to faint are you? Surgeons don't faint," my father said.

"I'm in the
nursing program."

He snorted.
"Sienna was going to be a surgeon."

I wrenched my arm
free from my father's grip and sat on the bench the coroner had shown me. Anger
burned in my chest, and I rubbed at the pain. My father had decided when we
were still toddlers that his daughters would be doctors. Sienna had thrived
under the challenge, basking in my father's approval as she excelled.

I had always felt
constricted, the square peg in a round hole. There was the pressure of his
imperial expectations, the way he discussed it with everyone as if it was a
foregone conclusion and not a hard achievement.

Had
the pressure finally been too much for Sienna?
I wondered.

My older sister
had her ups and downs. Black rages and immobilizing bouts of depression. Sunny
cheerfulness that lit up entire worlds and an infectious joy in her work. My
father said it was a sign of a brilliant and passionate mind. Sienna worked
hard, then needed to recover. Then, her love of the medical field would pull
her back up.

It had always been
strange to me that Sienna never recognized her own symptoms. As soon as the
thought crossed my mind, I pushed it away. There were certain topics that were
never touched in our house.

"Did you tell
Mother?" I asked.

My father finally
turned away from the window. "No. She was not feeling well this morning. I
told her you needed my help and that I would be back this afternoon."

My mother would never
have believed it was Sienna that needed help.

The orderlies
pulled the curtains on the small room. The coroner led my father to a counter
to fill out the remaining paperwork. I sat on the bench and stared at the box
of tissues left on the opposite end. It had barely been touched.

Did
they replace it often or were most people that sat here like me?
I wondered. The tears still would not come; they couldn't fight past the
numbness. Somehow this was a joke, a prank. Sienna was not dead. She was going
to burst through the door at any moment and make me admit I hated my major.

After all, nurses
don't faint at the sight of dead bodies.

#

We
did not say a word the nearly four-hour drive home. My parents lived about
fifteen minutes away from the Las Vegas Strip in an affluent neighborhood
called Summerlin. I felt the weight of exhaustion and grief the entire drive,
but I could not take my eyes off the arid and flat landscape.

My father pulled
into the driveway of our six-bedroom house. The Juliet balcony overlooked the
driveway and behind the window, I saw the shadow of my mother. She disappeared
back into her bedroom suite. I knew she would not meet us at the door, full of
concern. If she was not feeling well it might be 24 hours before she appeared
downstairs.

Once inside, I
headed straight for my bedroom and curled up in the middle of my four poster
bed. For a moment, I felt like the time in high school when I got sick at camp
and had to get picked up early. Sienna was still there having fun, and I was
stuck in our thick-carpeted, quiet house by myself. I clung to that bittersweet
memory, the idea that Sienna would be home soon with fun summer stories to
tell.

When I woke up,
the light was a hot glow, but I could tell by the shadows that it was late
afternoon. I lay still and wished the nightmare would end. Now, awake felt like
the bad dream and asleep was my only relief.

I could not hide
out forever, so I brushed my hair, tied it back in a loose ponytail, and headed
downstairs. I reached the last step and heard my mother call from the kitchen.

"Darling,
have you seen the Bloody Mary mix? Oh, never mind, I found it," she
trilled.

I walked into the
kitchen to find her dancing around the kitchen island, mixing a dark red Bloody
Mary and filling it with an array of vegetables. "A light snack?" I
asked.

"Oh, Quinn,
dear, Daddy said you were home. He told me you've been skipping classes
lately," my mother said.
 

I poured a hefty
shot of vodka into a tall glass and mixed my own Bloody Mary. My mother stabbed
radishes onto toothpicks and affixed them to a celery stalk, a makeshift rose
garnish. She hesitated as she handed me one, forgetting for the moment that I
was of drinking age.

"It’s your
sister that doesn't like these," my mother said.

"She's not, I
mean, she was not a big drinker," I observed. I held the glass to my lips,
unable to drink for the lump in my throat.

"And yet
she's forever going to parties. How does she manage it?" my mother asked.
"I still don't understand how that girl can balance her surgical studies,
a busy social life, and that boyfriend of hers."

"Maybe she
couldn’t handle it," I said, my voice wavering. "Maybe it was too much
for her and someone should have told her to slow down, take it easy, and not
put so much pressure on herself."

"Please, I
know you don't spend a lot of time with your sister, but you know what Sienna's
like. She can handle anything." My mother brushed back her blonde hair and
took a long, satisfied sip.

"Daddy said
you weren't feeling well," I said.

Her eyes went dim,
deflecting the question. "Oh, you know, I just felt a little out of sorts,
but now I'm fine."

I eyed the drink
in her hand. "Did you take something?"

"Quinn,
please, what kind of question is that? I didn't need to take anything. I just
feel better. Now, enough talk about me. When are you going to find yourself a
boyfriend? I'm sure your sister's boyfriend knows lots of eligible guys,"
my mother said.

"It’s not
like we can go on double dates," I said. The drink was suddenly too heavy.
I set it down on the counter and slumped into one of the swiveling bar stools
next to the kitchen island.

"Why not? I
know Sienna's busy, but she can make time to set you up. You need someone. I'll
give her a call," my mother said.

As she reached for
her phone, the realization crashed over me: my father had not yet told her. I
was so frozen with dread that I sat dumbfounded as she called Sienna's number.

"Hello, dear,
I know you're busy, but take just a minute to listen to a message from your
mommy. I've got Quinn here and she is moping around. Honestly, she looks as if
someone's died. I'm hoping you have time for one of your wonderful sister
make-overs. Maybe Owen could find her a date for this weekend? You could double
for dinner and then split up? Think about it, darling. You know how she depends
on you. Love! Kisses!"

I still could not
move when my father walked into the kitchen. He was just as shocked as I was
when my mother bounced over and kissed him on the cheek. "Barbara, I
thought you were still upstairs. You're feeling better? Did you take
something?"

"Why does
everyone ask me that? So I slept in a little this morning and wasn't a ray of
sunshine. I'm fine."

"Daddy?"
I asked. The rest of the words stuck in my throat.

My father turned
to me with a hard look. "Your mother's right, she's fine. Let her enjoy
her drink."

"You can't,
you can't make me be the one that does it," I said. "You have to tell
her now."

"Tell me
what?" my mother asked with a bright smile.

"You just
want everyone to be as miserable as you, don't you, Quinn?" my father
asked. "Ever since you were young, you did just as you pleased. Your
sister was the one that knew how to take responsibility. She knew how to live
up to expectations and be grateful for every opportunity she got."

"Tell her or
I will!"

"Now,
Barbara, why don't you sit down?" my father said in his best soothing
voice. "There's some bad news about Sienna. I can hardly believe it
myself. I didn't know how to tell you and I wanted to wait until you felt
better."

"Sienna? Is
she alright?" my mother shoved her empty glass onto the counter and hung
on to the edge with both hands.

My father
struggled to get his voice to work. "Sienna…Sienna committed suicide last
night."

My mother sank to
the floor as a keening wail rose from her lips. I jumped down from my stool and
ran around the counter to sit with her on the floor. She bumped her head back
against the cupboard, her eyes screwed shut tightly.

"I didn't
believe it at first," my father said. "I still don't believe it. How
could she do that? How could she throw away all her accomplishments, all her
goals?"

"Oh, my sweet
girl, oh, my sweet, sweet girl. I know. I know how it feels," my mother
whispered to herself.

"Mommy?"
I took her hand.

She yanked it
away. "You don't understand, poor Quinn, you're like him. Sienna was
always like me. She felt things the same way – felt the burning, felt the
falling, felt the soaring."

"Can we talk about
that?" I asked. "I think we need to talk about that."

My mother
scrambled to her feet and flung herself at my father. "You promised she
would be okay. You promised me she could handle it. Everything was fine, Sienna
was always fine. Lies! Now, I know you lied. It's all my fault. My beautiful,
sweet girl," my mother cried.

I stayed on the
floor, cringing as my mother flailed her manicured fists at my father's chest.

"Barbara, you
need to go lie down. You've had a shock."

"A shock? Why
am I the only one that isn't shocked at all? You think people can just
magically brush themselves off and be just fine. Well, that might work for you
and maybe for Quinn, but not everyone's as heartless as you two," my
mother said.

"Everyone
grieves in their own way," my father said. He caught hold of my mother's
wrists and pulled her towards the door. "It’s no use falling to pieces,
its already done and we can't do anything to change it."

"She's not
dead, she can't be. You're just a cruel man playing a cruel joke," my mother
said. She yanked her wrists free and spun away from my father. Then, she
grabbed her phone and marched out the other kitchen door.

I sat on the floor
listening to my father's angry breathing as we heard my mother leave another
voicemail on Sienna's phone.

"Are you
happy?" he finally said to me. He slammed a fist on the counter and walked
out.

By the time I
managed to stand up, the house was silent. My mother was back in her bedroom
suite, my father was in his office, and I was alone in the rest of the
stretching square footage.

My mother was not
shocked that Sienna had taken her own life. That idea blinked in my brain like
the starting cursor of a video game. Was there some sign I had missed? Was
there something I could have done?

My legs were heavy
as I dragged myself up the stairs to Sienna's room. It had to be my fault. We
weren't close, but we were sisters and I should have known if she was feeling
so desperate.

Her room was as
neat and tidy as always. The Tiffany blue walls and white furniture glowed in
the sunset light. Instead of an old-fashioned four poster bed like mine, Sienna
had a queen-size bed with a white satin tufted headboard. The comforter was an
intricate swirl of pastel paisley. I sat on the edge of her bed, careful not to
crease it.

I needed her
there. Sienna never sat around helpless. I could see her marching into her room
and scolding me. She would have gone straight to her computer and researched
the reasons, both psychological and physical, behind suicide.