Page 3 of The Last to Let Go
That’s when my roving gaze catches Aaron. His body jerks to a halt as he rounds the corner, and he stands still for a moment. That’s my sign. There’s no reason in the real world Aaron should be here right now. Then he’s running toward me. Fast.
I raise my arms over my head, signaling to him. I want to call out,Don’t worry, this isn’t even real, but he arrives so quickly, ramming into me as he grabs hold of my arms. I feel the squeeze of his hands, feel the weight of his body crashing into mine, feel my feet anchored to the ground like they’re made of cement. I see the panic in his eyes, I hear his voice, loud and real—this is definitely my brother. He’s here, right now, in the flesh.
“What’s going on?” He takes my face in his hands. “Brooke, look at me. What happened? Mrs. Allister called me.”
I can only shake my head. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what happened. When I don’t answer, he pushes past me, rushing to the paramedics. They yell at him to get back, but he doesn’t listen. “Oh my God, Callie—what the—what’s wrong with her?” he shouts at them.
“Calm down, you need to let us—” one of the paramedics tries to say, coming between him and Callie.
“This is my sister!” he shouts at them. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down. What’s wrong with her? What happened?”
I slowly walk up behind him, reality gaining on me with every step.
“She’s in shock,” I hear the other one answer.
“Is she hurt?” Aaron asks, his voice breaking like glass.
“No,” the first one tells us. “I don’t see any physical injuries.”
Aaron starts looking around exactly as I did, like maybe he’s searching for dream cues too. But then something in his face changes. It hardens and cools as he blinks away the tears that were on the verge of spilling over, and—just like that—he grabs on to the guy’s collar. “What the fuck is going on here?” he demands with this intensity that makes him look and sound so much like our dad it scares me.
Another pair of hands pulls him back by his shoulders. And then he’s on the ground. Tony’s on top of him. Aaron’s struggling, throwing punches, nothing connecting.
“Enough!” Tony yells, holding Aaron’s arms down against the blacktop. Then quieter, “That’s enough. Pull it together, all right? Your sisters need you.”
Aaron goes still, like some kind of tranquilizer has been injected into him and is in the process of being dispersed into his bloodstream, calming his limbs into submission. He looks at me over Tony’s shoulder, his face changing back to normal. Tony slowly loosens his grip and climbs off him, reaching out to help pull Aaron up. They sit on the burning pavement. Tony looks over at me and Callie. Then back to Aaron. The four of us jumbled together in the middle of the street, the calm in the eye of a swirling storm. “You kids,” he says, breathless, “you keep me up at night, you know that?”
“Tell me,” Aaron demands, able to ask the question I couldn’t. “Did he kill her?”
Tony shakes his head and points to the patrol car. I follow the direction of his arm to my mom’s face in the window. He puts his hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “She stabbed him. Your mother stabbed him. I don’t know anything else. There must have been some kind of struggle. That’s all I know right now.”
The words are dull and thick and slow to sink in.
“That’s impossible.” Aaron’s voice trembles, and he looks at me as if he’s asking whether or not I believe it.
Callie makes no movement. They have her wrapped in a blanket even though it has to be about 195 degrees out here. They start putting her inside the ambulance. They’re strapping her to a gurney. “It’s okay,” I call out to her. “It’s okay,” I lie.
The driver turns on the lights and shouts to us through the open window. “Taking her to General!” Then the double doors are slammed shut and the ambulance speeds down the street, sirens wailing.
“I will do everything I can,” Tony says as he starts jogging toward the police car. “That’s a promise, all right?” Then he climbs into the passenger seat of the police car and it starts to pull away too. My mom keeps mouthing, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I run alongside, as far as I can, until the car drives too fast for me to keep up.
“Wait,” I hear myself say, but there’s no volume behind the words. “Wait!” I try again, but it’s barely more than breath escaping my lips. Aaron and I are left in the street all alone, watching the car grow smaller and smaller in the distance, watching our lives slowly slip away. The fire truck rolls past us quietly, as if the truck itself is disappointed there were no fires to extinguish. I look at our building. It seems so normal. I pick my backpack up off the street, along with my sandals, several feet apart from each other.
Aaron stands still, breathing heavy, then he sprints for the door. “Stay here!” he calls over his shoulder.
But I don’t. I race inside, though I’m not sure why. I only know that I don’t want to be left alone out here. I start up the stairs behind him; the third step creaks, as it always has. I approach the door to our apartment. It’s open. I hear voices. I take one step inside and Aaron is standing there like his feet are stuck to the floor.
“Brooke, get out!” he yells. “Don’t look,” he says, throwing his arm out to block me.
But it’s too late. I already see.
He’s lying on his back in the middle of the kitchen floor like he’s asleep. Except there’s a small, dark puddle beneath him, almost black, like his shadow is seeping out of his body, the source a giant burgundy stain in the center of his stomach. My eyes focus on his hand, lying there against the linoleum floor, palm facing up, fingers slightly curled. Gentle, somehow. I’ve never seen my father’s hand look so powerless.
“Hey! You can’t be in here!” someone shouts, just as another cop steps in front of me and Aaron, strong arms pushing us back toward the door. My body moves so easily it doesn’t even resist.
“That’s our dad,” I say to no one in particular.
“We have to go,” Aaron tells me. “Let’s go to Carmen’s. Come on, hurry.”
