Chapter Thirty-Eight - Smith
“You’re not,” she says.
“Then tell me what happened. You blacked out, Chella. You were talking crazy. Screaming not to stop. Yelling and making promises to be good. What the fuck was that all about?”
She’s quiet. For a long time. I am just about to give in to sleep when she finally says something.
“My life was a secret like yours.”
“Where did you go? And don’t tell me some bullshit answer about church.”
She’s quiet again. But then she takes in a deep breath and says, “I’ve been seeing a doctor for seven years.”
“Why?” I ask, sitting up in bed so she has to sit up too. I need to see her face for this. I can’t miss a moment of it.
“I’m…” She shakes her head. “I’m… sick.”
I grab her face and hold it tight. “How? How are you sick?”
“I’m broken. In the head, that’s all, Smith.”
She tries to get up, but I grab her hand. More roughly than I intend, but I’m not letting her walk out now. “You don’t get to say that and leave, Chella. Fuck that. You’re not leaving until you tell me what’s happening to you.”
“I’m sick,” she says, loudly. “OK? I’m sorry, but I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“The fuck you don’t,” I say. “I love you, dammit. And if you’re sick and need help, then I’m gonna make sure you get it and get better.”
“You can’t fix me,” she yells. “No one can fix me but me.” She yanks her hand away and this time I let her go.
“Tell me why you came here,” I say as I watch her go into the closet and start getting dressed.
“To fuck you, Smith,” she says. Trying her best to be mean. “I came to fuck you. And your friends, OK?” She pulls a pair of jeans on and then stops to look at me. “Does that make it all better? Because that’s the truth. I knew who you were. I knew what you guys did with Rochelle. She and I planned it.”
“What?” Quin asks from the bedroom door.
I had no idea they were still here, but they are. Bric is standing behind Quin, shaking his head at me. Let her go, he mouths. Don’t do this. Not now.
I’m going to listen to him. I have every intention of listening to him. But Quin…
“What the fuck did you and Rochelle plan, Chella? I think you owe me an answer.”
Chella is pulling on a sweater now. “Why don’t you ask Bric why she left? Remember when you told me you thought Smith paid her off? To get her to leave?”
“What?” It’s my turn to be confused now. “I never did that.”
“I know,” Chella says, slipping her feet into some shearling boots. I’m suddenly having a flashback to the first night we found her. “Bric did.”
Quin spins around. “Is that true?”
“Look—”
“Answer me, asshole,” Quin yells. “Did you tell her leave? Did you pay her off?”
“He didn’t pay her off,” Chella says. “He gave her an ultimatum.”
“What ultimatum?” Quin pushes Bric back with two hands to his chest. “What did you fucking tell her?”
“He told her to get an abortion,” Chella says, grabbing her purse. “That’s what he told her.”
And then she pushes both of them out of the doorway and walks off.
I jump out of bed and follow her down the hall.
Bric follows me, silent. But Quin follows both of us, asking about… fuck, I can’t even process it. I only care about where the fuck Chella is going.
“How do you know this?” He’s screaming by the time we all get out onto the hallway. “How, Chella? You said you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t.” She whirls around, her long hair flying out in all directions. “Until yesterday. We saw the same sex therapist, Quin. And I went in for an appointment to tell her about our plans for last night and she gave me an update on Rochelle because we were in therapy together and she felt I needed to know before I…” Chella stops talking, looking conflicted. “Before I took this final step with you guys. So she told me why she left.” She points at Bric. “And he’s why. She got pregnant, Quin. And she went to Bric for advice because she didn’t know whose baby it was. Yours or his. And he told her to get an abortion. So there. You’ve got your answer. Now you have no excuse not to go find her.”
She punches the call button for the elevator and it’s just our luck that the fucking thing opens, waiting patiently. Like it was in on her escape plan.
I follow her in. Hell, all three of us follow her in. She’s busy texting someone. “Chella,” I say, grabbing her by the shoulders. “You’re saying this because you don’t want to tell me about yourself. This isn’t about Rochelle.”
She punches the button for the first floor and the doors begin to close. “I don’t owe you an explanation,” she says. “Game over, Smith. Game. Over.”
I look at Bric, who is frowning so hard, I have a stab of pain in my chest for him. Did he really tell Rochelle to get an abortion?
That pain turns to sickness in my stomach.
Quin is silent now. Standing still. Saying nothing. Dead look on his face as he considers what this means. As he comes to terms with the truth.
Rochelle was pregnant. She had an abortion and she left because of… not him, he realizes.
We both look at Bric at the same time.
The elevator doors open and Chella bolts.
We follow her out, all three of us talking at once.
“Chella,” Bric says, “Please. Stop. Let’s just talk—”
“Chella,” Quin tries at the same time. “Who is your therapist? Chella!”
“Chella,” I say, “Stop. Talk to me. Tell me what’s happening.”
“Fuck you,” she says, lashing out at all of us as she makes the stairs and starts hopping down them as fast as she can. “Game over!” She yells it so loud it echoes off the lobby ceiling. There is only a doorman and a valet here right now. It’s almost dawn, the day just beginning.
We follow her down the stairs. All three of us trying to chase her down, breaking that final rule we never thought we’d have to break.
The valet has to step aside so Chella doesn’t plow him over as she enters the revolving door and pushes.
I get there just in time to slip in with her. “Chella,” I say, grabbing her shoulder.
She turns on me, mouth an angry line. “Don’t touch me!”
We get outside and she stops, confused for a moment. Maybe wondering if she’s got her car here.
She doesn’t. I know this. “Let me take you home,” I say.
But then Quin and Bric are outside with us. We are all half-dressed in tuxedos. I don’t even have shoes on and everyone on the street is looking at us like we are a some kind of massive trainwreck.
Chella notices the attention the same time I do and stops to take a deep breath. She turns to me, smiling. “I do not want to be part of a public scene,” she says sweetly. “Never again. Give me this one last consideration, at least.”
Quin and Bric stop next to me. We are nothing but questions and guilt.
“Marcella,” a deep, stern voice calls from across the street.
“Oh, that’s just fucking great,” Chella says, throwing up her arms. “Have you been following me again? Just what the fuck?”
“Who the hell—” Quin starts.
But we all recognize him before Quin can finish his sentence.
Her father.