With Malice (18 page)

Once Jill was gone, I asked Nico directly what was going on between the two of them. He denied any inappropriate behavior. When I pushed him on it, he admitted that he knew Jill had a bit of a crush on him and that he enjoyed the attention, but that it was nothing more than some harmless flirtation. I thought that would be the end of it.

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Adventures Abroad Homework Assignment, Dated April 23

Jill Charron

Please write up to 300 words about one of the pieces of art in the Siena Duomo and its impact on you.

With the impressive frescoes by the Renaissance painter Pinturicchio in the library, it is almost possible to overlook the statue called the Three Graces, but this would be a mistake. It was my favorite piece in the whole church. The statue is a Roman copy of the Greek original. The graces stand for charm, beauty, and creativity. It is three women who are holding hands and dancing in a circle.

I think I liked it best because it was so understated and it made me think about how rare it is to see those three things together. You might meet someone who is charming, or handsome, or smart and creative, but you rarely get all of it together. The problem is that we want to. Sometimes we want the missing grace to be there so badly that we almost imagine that it is—our brain creates it and refuses to let us see that it's not. Then something happens, and we realize that all we've fallen for is the idea of something, not the reality.

I think it is okay to be disappointed by things. It doesn't matter if things don't work out exactly as we want. The important thing is that we keep trying and keep shooting for that ideal. That's why this statue was my favorite. It is the perfect reminder that sometimes everything does work out just the way it is supposed to.

EXCERPT FROM POLICE INTERVIEW WITH NICCOLO LANDINI

Date: 11 May  Time: 10:00

Florence Police Department

Present: Niccolo Landini, Roberto Gallento (lawyer for Mr. Landini), Detective Alban

Original transcript in Italian, translated to English by Stoker and Mills Translation Services, New York, New York

I didn't know she was a virgin. Jill didn't say anything until . . . well, until it became clear. I told her that I appreciated she would give me such a beautiful gift. I felt . . . I guess, proud, that I was able to give her such a wonderful first time. I am not trying to brag, but to be honest. I have been told I am a giving lover.

POLICE STATEMENT FROM SAMANTHA YU

Fellow Student in the Adventures Abroad Program

Transcript to be provided to Italian police

I don't think Jill ever really slept with Nico—it was just a story. When we were in Venice, I was telling her about my boyfriend and how we hadn't done, you know, it, and that I wanted to wait until I was at least a sophomore in college. She said that she hated feeling like she was the last American virgin on the planet and how she was hoping to “get it over with” by sleeping with Nico. Then later, everyone was talking about how she'd borrowed a condom from Abigail, and I mean, honestly, Abigail brought a whole jumbo Costco-size box on the trip. She said her mom gave it to her—how gross is that? Anyway, Jill was really vague about what happened, but I asked her directly, and she said something that made me think that in the end she'd backed down and hadn't gone through with it. Something like the whole thing was such a letdown and wasn't even worth talking about. She was figuring out that he was actually sort of a knob.

If Nico is saying he slept with her, I bet it's just because he wants everyone to think he's some kind of Casanova. He wouldn't want it to get around that some high school girl actually shot him down. I think the rumor that they were sleeping together was just a lie.

I couldn't believe they'd brought cake. It was nothing fancy—a grocery store sheet cake, the kind where the frosting tastes like Crisco mixed with a pound of sugar—but it was the thought that counted. Someone had piped
Congrajulations
across the top. It seemed petty to point out the misspelling. I still felt absurdly touched.

“I'm afraid there's no ice cream,” Dr. Weeks said. She scraped the
j
off the top with a sigh. She began cutting it up and placing the slices on paper plates.

Sam, my physical therapist, took two pieces. “Looking good on those crutches,” he said.

I'd officially retired the wheelchair. I'd still be in the cast for several more weeks, but I'd graduated to a walking boot, and my arms no longer felt like they were going to rip free from my shoulders after using the crutches for longer than twenty minutes.

Dr. Weeks tapped her coffee cup with her fork. “Everyone have some? Okay, before we let this party get out of control, let's cover business. This is our last official team meeting for Jill. She'll be headed home next week.”

There was a brief round of applause before they started to go around the room and make their reports. Each of my clinicians went through what I could expect in my outpatient program. My occupational therapist, Linda, gave me a long list of equipment she suggested I have when I got home. I could see my mom mentally ticking off the cost of everything. I looked at the items and figured we could skip at least half of it. I didn't need a raised toilet seat. I wasn't eighty. The group took a break for more coffee once everyone had spoken.

Mom squeezed my hand. “Be sure to thank each of them,” she whispered in my ear. My mom was a walking, talking copy of Miss Manners. The idea of someone not sending a written thank-you note made her break out in a nervous sweat.

“I will,” I said. I did appreciate what everyone had done, even Sam the torture artist. “It'll be good to get home and sleep in my own bed.”

Mom shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“You didn't sell my bed and replace it with a hospital one, did you?” I asked it half jokingly, but she had a look that broadcast bad news was coming.

“I've rented an apartment for us,” she said.

My stomach sank. “Did you lose your job?” I knew she'd spent too much time with me at the hospital. What kind of dick was her boss to let her go when she had me—the brain-injured kid—to deal with?

She jolted slightly, startled. “What? No. It's nothing like that.”

“Then why aren't we going home?”

Mom sighed. “There have been problems with the press.”

I stared at her, trying to make sense of what she was saying.

“Your story is fairly big news. Lots of TV trucks and reporters wanting a story hanging around.” Mom shrugged. “They've caused some trouble, and the homeowner association complained.”

“They can keep me from going home?” Like it wasn't enough power for the homeowner association to control what color we painted the house, the plants we were allowed in the yard, and the type of curtains in our windows—but it seemed now they could decide who to evict. “Can they do that?”

“There's a clause in the bylaws about causing a disturbance,” Mom explained.

“But I'm not the one causing the trouble,” I said. I knew it didn't make a difference. It wasn't a battle we were going to win; the association was willing to go to war over the shade of red people had for their tulips. Then I had an idea. “I could stay with Dad, just until things die down.” My dad and his new family lived in a gated neighborhood. There was even a security guard. Granted, he was roughly 110 years old, but I was still willing to bet he could keep the media out of my hair. I wasn't keen on having to put up with my stepmonster and her two spawn, but at least it would have been better than staying in some rent-to-own apartment.

Mom's eyes slid away from mine. Then I knew. My dad, or more likely my stepmonster, didn't want me at his house. They must have already talked about that option. She saw the realization in my eyes. “He worries that the press attention could be bad for the kids,” she said.

I snorted to indicate what I thought of that excuse. Wasn't I his kid too?

“They're younger than you,” mom said.

“Oh,” I said. There was no point in arguing about it with my mom. It wasn't her fault.

“Now, don't look so glum. It will be fun.” Mom squeezed my arm. “I got an apartment in that complex near the mall. We can pretend to be college roomies.” She squeezed my arm. “Plus, there are no stairs to deal with, so it will be easier for you to get around. There's even a pool. Sam said swimming would be good for you.”

Her voice was full of false cheer, so I made myself smile and nod as if the idea sounded like a riot to me. “How am I going to get to school if we're across town?”

Mom swallowed. “Well, that's some good news. Since there's just a couple of weeks left, your teachers are going to let you wrap up things as a homeschool student. Then you won't have to worry about exams, or getting around to classes on your crutches.”

The school didn't want me there either. No one wanted me around. Being discharged didn't feel as exciting as it had an hour ago.

Anna looked over her shoulder and motioned for me to be quiet.

“You're the one who keeps laughing,” I said in a whisper, and she snickered again. We were down in the treatment wing after hours. The overhead lights were off, but the emergency lights in the corners made the hall bright enough to see where we were going. “What are we doing here, anyway?” I asked.

Anna rolled to a stop and held up a key she'd pulled from a pocket. “Behold!”

“How did you get that?” I hissed.

She slid the key into the door for the OT gym, and the lock gave way. “Don't ask and then I won't have to tell,” Anna said. “A girl has to have some secrets.” She rolled inside, and I crutched after her, checking over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching us.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

Anna motioned to the switch. “Don't turn on the light, in case the security guard comes around,” Anna said. She rolled to the far side of the room and parted the curtains so the light from outside came in. She pulled the pack from the back of her chair. She held up a finger to make sure she had my attention and took out two cans of Diet Coke and a bag of Chips Ahoy cookies.

“Can I get a drumroll?” she asked.

I made a sound with my mouth that I hoped would work as a drum sound, and with a flourish, Anna pulled out a bottle of Captain Morgan Spiced Rum. “How did you get booze?” I looked over my shoulder, half expecting to see someone bearing down on us.

Anna laughed. “You realize we're in here alone, right? You don't have to whisper.” She rolled over to the stack of mats. There was a transfer bar above, so she swung herself out of her chair and patted the mat. “Join me. We're having a party. We're celebrating you getting sprung from here and the fact you were the best roommate I've ever had.”

“I don't leave until next Wednesday,” I pointed out.

“True, but tonight's Friday, and that means neither of us has to get up at seven tomorrow to be chased around by an OT or get stuck in group therapy listening to someone else whine about how much harder it is to be them,” Anna said. “I am consumed with envy that you won't have to go to group anymore.” She popped the two cans of Diet Coke and took a sip from each before filling the cans up with rum. Before the accident, it would have grossed me out to have someone drink from my can. I was totally past caring about germs from Anna. She'd seen me naked in the shower, with my leg cast in a giant plastic garbage bag to avoid getting wet, while a nurse washed me down. She'd seen me cry after physiotherapy and listened to me snore. Swapping a bit of spit was nothing.