When Reason Breaks (2 page)

As her mother added the bowl to the pile of dishes, Lily inched her way toward the TV.

“Oh, no you don't.” Mom stepped between Lily and the television. “I want to get to the interview early, I told you. If we leave in a few minutes I won't have to race around like a crazy person. I want to arrive calm and collected. I don't want to look or feel frazzled.”

Elizabeth and Lily caught each other's eyes and stifled laughter. Mom always looked and felt frazzled, no matter how much time she had in the day. While she spun through the room like a hurricane, Elizabeth ate a cold Pop-Tart and washed it down with three gulps of orange juice.

Her mom finally stopped and paid attention to her.

“You should eat a better breakfast,” she said.

Elizabeth shrugged.

“Did you get a haircut?”

She nodded.

“When?”

“Recently.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds.
Say something. Go ahead, I dare you
.

Mom turned away. Elizabeth watched her cross the room and usher Lily toward the door.

“Later, Lillian Grace,” Elizabeth said. Her sister peeked over her shoulder, half smiled, and stuck out her tongue.

“Later, Emily Elizabeth,” she responded. “Don't forget to walk your big red dog,” she added with a laugh. Elizabeth smiled. Nice one.

Her mom and sister walked out and slammed the front door.

“Good luck, Mom,” she said out loud to no one.

An hour later, Elizabeth stood on Tommy Bowles's front porch, jabbing the doorbell repeatedly.

Tommy yanked the door open and ran a hand through his shaggy hair.

“Are you trying to wake up the whole neighborhood?” he asked.

“Just you, Tomás,” Elizabeth said, calling him by his proper name. She pushed the bell again.

Tommy rubbed his eyes and yawned. A tall, lanky boy, Tommy wore long khaki shorts and nothing else. His wavy brown hair covered his ears and almost hid his dark-brown eyes entirely.

“You need a haircut,” said Elizabeth.

“All things in due time,” he said.

“Whatever. Are you inviting me in?”

Tommy stepped aside so she could enter.

“Go put on a shirt,” Elizabeth said as she walked into the nearby living room.

“It's going to be like ninety-five degrees today,” said Tommy.

“I'm leaving if you're going to parade around half-naked.”

“Fine,” he said and grinned. He pushed his hands into his pockets, which lowered his shorts enough to reveal the waistband of his boxers. Elizabeth looked around the room as if she hadn't been here a thousand times. “You know, for someone who's so loose about following rules, you really are a prude.”

“Shut up and put some clothes on.”

“Ah, there's the attitude I love,” he said. Elizabeth laughed. As he sprang up the stairs to grab a T-shirt, he shouted, “Hey, check out what's in the kitchen.”

Elizabeth moved into the kitchen. Old copies of the school newspaper and shoe boxes filled with pictures covered the table. Among the piles and boxes was a new digital camera.

“Sweet!” she said to herself. She picked it up and started pressing buttons to investigate the features.

When Tommy entered the kitchen—fully dressed—she asked, “Is this for me?”

“Well, it's for the newspaper,” he said, joining her at the table.

“So, Mr. News Editor, it's for me. I'm your best photographer.”

“True.”

Elizabeth returned the camera to its case and opened her messenger bag.

“Sure, go ahead,” he said. “Feel free to take the camera and try it out. No need to, you know, ask.”

Elizabeth glared at him but couldn't hold it for long.

“I'm going to take the camera and try it out. I'm not asking,” she said with a smile.

She rummaged inside her messenger bag, rearranging items to make room for the camera. She pulled out a marble design–covered notebook and moved it to another section of her bag.

“What's that?” Tommy asked.

“Nothing.”

Tommy smiled. “Looks like something. So what's in it?”

“None of your business.”

“You know, I get all warm and fuzzy inside when we have these heart-to-hearts,” he said.

They both laughed.

“What's all this?” Elizabeth said, pointing at the table.

“I'm going through back issues, thinking about how to make the news section better this year.” Tommy passed her one of the shoe boxes. “Look, pictures from last year. I found them on the old camera and printed some. Here's one of Nayliz after she got caught in the rain at a football game. Here's Jerel talking to girls instead of selling the paper at lunch.”

Elizabeth flipped through a pile of pictures. In a group
shot of the staff, she was crouched down in the front row so that the people behind her weren't blocked. She was smiling, almost laughing. That's probably why her eyes were closed.

In another photo, months later, she's a different person. Her previously chestnut-brown hair—jet-black. Her left eyebrow—newly pierced. Her smile—gone. Her eyes—open, peering into the camera's lens. Her chin—somewhat raised and cocked to the right.

She held the images side by side.

“Have you talked to your dad?” Tommy asked quietly.

“No.”

“Maybe you should.”

The memory of the last time she saw her father flashed through Elizabeth's mind. She remembered screams, fists, tears, and apologies. She remembered lying on the concrete in the fetal position, begging him to leave her alone.

“That's not going to happen,” she said.

“So, you got into a fight. No big deal.”

“No big deal? You weren't there.”

“What I mean is, it could have been worse. Nobody died.”

Elizabeth didn't respond. She thought about her sleepless nights and about her mom—how she stares into space, how they can't have a real conversation. Her stomach clenched, like it did every time her father called the house. Tommy was right. No one died, but something else did that day.

“I'm not going to play ‘compare the tragedy,' ” she said as she buried the pictures in the box. “I know people are worse off. Still …”

Elizabeth stood, sniffed hard, and wiped a tear before it fell. She grabbed her bag and headed for the front door.

Tommy stood and followed her.

“Elizabeth, wait. I'm sorry. I was just …”

Elizabeth pulled open the door and raced down the steps. She raised a hand, flashing the peace sign to Tommy without looking back.

Tommy stopped on the porch. He knew better than to chase her. “Okay, then, I'll text you later,” he called out, his words bouncing off Elizabeth's back.

Elizabeth alternately jogged and walked until she reached Rogers Park. As she crossed the empty baseball diamond, she unclenched her fists and opened and closed her jaw to relieve the tension. She took a few deep breaths and then let a stream of lukewarm water from an outdoor fountain splash her in the face. She used the bottom of her T-shirt to dry her face, not caring that she was exposing her stomach to anyone who might be looking at her.

Elizabeth removed the camera from her bag and its case and slipped the strap around her neck. As she walked, she paused to take pictures. A child on a swing being pushed by his mother. A babysitter texting on her phone, the little girl she's supposed to be watching pouring a bucket of sand over her head. A lone boy shooting free throws over and over. Elizabeth felt her breath return to normal.

When she reached the town green, Elizabeth cut through the cemetery instead of walking along the sidewalks—a habit that started soon after she moved to town five years ago.

Two months into the sixth grade, she had been playing Frisbee with her dad when she saw Tommy and a woman in the nearby cemetery. Although they went to school together, they hadn't talked much. New to town, Elizabeth wasn't friends with anyone yet. She had left her dad to talk to Tommy.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Tommy's cheeks reddened and he moved the yellow flowers from hand to hand, like he didn't know what to do with them, like he wished they—and he—didn't exist just then.

“I'm helping my mom. We're putting marigolds on the graves, you know, for
El Día de los Muertos
. She does this every year. We have an altar at home for my
abuela
, but she says we need to honor others, too, even if we didn't know them personally. It shows respect for them and for death. Like, they're gone, but not forgotten.”

Elizabeth nodded but didn't say anything. Tommy looked everywhere but at Elizabeth.

“It's kind of weird, I know,” he said finally.

“No, it's not. She's keeping them alive in spirit. They'll live forever in a way.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said. He looked deep into her green eyes and smiled.

Elizabeth had walked over to Mrs. Bowles and said, “Hi.
I'm Elizabeth. I'm kinda friends with Tommy, I guess. I'll help.”

“Nice to meet you, Elizabeth.
Gracias
.”

“
De nada
,” Elizabeth said, pronouncing the words “Day nah-dah.”

Mrs. Bowles had smiled wide and handed her a bunch of flowers. She added, “
Dios te bendiga
.”

“Okay,” Elizabeth had said with a laugh and skipped away.

Since then, Elizabeth and Tommy were best friends and regular visitors to the graveyard. They'd pick up any obvious litter and leave pieces of candy on the square marble slabs. Sometimes they'd read the tombstones and create lives for the dead. All they had were names and dates of birth and death. They filled in the rest.

“Mrs. Lynette Humphrey, a wife and mother to a baby girl who died after a short illness,” Elizabeth had said once. “She didn't want any more kids, but she was blessed with three. They all married and made her a grandmother of twelve. She died an old woman, surrounded by her family. She was mostly happy, but her heart was still a little bit broken.”

“Mr. John Edward Walters survived the Civil War only to be murdered by Captain Mustard in the Conservatory with the candlestick,” said Tommy. “And over here, we have Mrs. John Edward Walters-Mustard who died five years later. Her loving new husband slipped a jar of Grey Poupon into her casket as a reminder of him and their everlasting love.”

“Sure, go ahead and make fun of them,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “They'll only haunt you as payback. Good luck with that.”

One day, while leaving dandelions and Tootsie Rolls on grave sites, they had seen a funeral procession and recognized Sebastiano from school. They didn't know who was in the coffin, but they knew the person must be someone Sebby loved. Tommy and Elizabeth held hands under a weeping willow and observed the ceremony in silence. Shivers shot through Tommy when an older woman's wail pierced the quiet.

“I'm going home,” he said. He squeezed her hand, then walked away.

Elizabeth didn't follow him. She lowered herself to the ground and watched the rest of the service. When the mourners left, she placed a dandelion and a Tootsie Roll on the newly dug earth and whispered, “You won't be forgotten.”

Unlike Tommy, Elizabeth kept cutting through the graveyard and wondering about its tenants, how they lived and died, but never again in a jokey way.

Elizabeth walked along the grassy rows that separated the tombstones. She stopped at one to straighten an American flag. At another, she lay on her stomach to take a picture of the slim vase with a single long-stem rose.

When she reached the oldest section of the cemetery, she sat cross-legged in front of a weathered gray stone she hadn't
noticed before. Her fingertips traced the large letters that told her this was Sophia Holland's final resting place.

BORN ON JUNE 14, 1828
CALLED BACK ON APRIL 29, 1844

“Nice to meet you, Sophia,” she said quietly. “You were almost sixteen, just like me.”

Her hands shook as she raised the camera to her face.

Emily had an hour before her best friends came over, which meant she had exactly sixty minutes to clean up and erase her summer. Hiding her journal was number one on her list of things to do. Abby and Sarah would say keeping a journal was childish, and then they'd want to read it. She shoved the notebook with the marble-design cover between the mattress and bedspring, and just in case they got their hands on her phone, she deleted certain pictures and texts. She did the same with her e-mail on the computer.

After she wiped down her dresser, she stopped and studied herself in the mirror.
Would they know? Even with the evidence gone? Would they still be able to tell?
Emily stood straighter and pulled her shoulders back. She circled a piece of hair around her ear and smiled without showing any teeth.
This was her polite smile, the one she had learned from her mom. When Emily was younger, she clopped around in her mom's high heels as her mom made up her face, put jewelry on, and smiled in the mirror. That smile told the world everything was all right, even when it wasn't.

Before heading downstairs, Emily straightened the corkboard on her wall filled with pictures of her, Sarah, and Abby. She touched the edges of her favorite photograph. They were younger, maybe ten. Emily stood between them, her arms wrapped around their shoulders. Abby flashed a peace sign and Sarah leaned her head against Emily's. They all had big smiles, the kind that make your cheeks hurt. She could have told them anything then, back when secrets were fiercely guarded.

Emily hated keeping things from her friends, but she had no choice. The news wouldn't stay here, in her room, shared by only the three of them. A few keystrokes and a “send” button, and everyone would know. And “everyone” would eventually include Emily's dad. When that happened, she'd probably be shipped off to an all-girls private school.