Page 29 of What You Left Me

“Hold on a second,” Aminah says, repeating what Cameron said earlier but using a little more vinegar. “Something’s up with—”

“Oh, something’s up all right,” Daniel continues. “Seats. Now.”

We sit, one by one, Aminah tallest on the left with Cameron splitting the difference between her and me. We sink into the crinkling leather, our height leveling as Aminah slumps down in frustration and I straighten out in anticipation.

Daniel strides over and plants himself in front of the gigantic wide-screen. It creates a backdrop that outlines the slender tautness of his track-and-field physique. “Okay. As you now know, Michael Turrey is my neighbor.”

I relax into my seat. For a split second, I thought he, too, might want to talk about me.

“Now you have a face to go with the home. Putting all that aside for a moment—” He makes a point to look at us one by one. “I have something I need to confirm for you all.” He pauses for gravitas. “I’m gay. This is something I’ve known for a long time. Forever actually. Not sharing this with you was nothing personal. Just something I wanted to explore on my own while finishing high school. I don’t believe any of you have ever had to declare your presumed straightness to me, so my proclamation of homosexuality is more of a courtesy. My graduation gift to you all,” he says with a bow.

The three of us exchange looks while Daniel moves to a chair. We’ve anticipated this speech probably as long as Daniel’s planned it, his steady delivery a dead giveaway of more than a few practice takes in his mirror. Not that any of us ever needed it confirmed to accept him. He’s shown us in more ways than he’s ever had to tell us, anyway. But the way he clears his throat, like there’s more to the story, has all of us scratching our heads.

Daniel sits, living for our confusion, always appreciating an upper hand when it comes to secrets and big reveals. “Now, onto therealnews,” he starts. “The night before graduation, Michael and I got drunk on his roof. It’s something we’ve done a few times a year since we started high school. Might’ve even started toward the end of junior high. I don’t remember anymore. We sit up there with bottles of our parents’ liquor, and we talk about whatever. Life. You know the kinds of conversations. Stargazing talks. We get drunk, crawl back in through his window. He passes out on his bed. I stumble home. That’s how it’s always been. Until the other night—”

My cell phone starts going off, one of the new constants in my life. The incessant vibrating has been very ignorable until now, when it’s somehow so intrusive that we all hold our breath as it buzzes against my jean shorts. I fumble to silence it. “Keep going. Sorry about that.”

Daniel absentmindedly strokes his forearm. I’ve sideswiped his storytelling momentum.

“Please. I have to know what happens next,” I say.

“Fine. It was just getting good.” He brushes off his arm and sits up. “Back to the other night. We’re up there, chasing vodka with Mountain Dew. We finish up our talk and crawl in through his window. I go for the door. Like always. Michael stops me. He says, ‘Just crash here.’ I go to make a spot on his floor. He says, ‘No. Stay up here.’ I get into his bed. We’re both lying there, staring at the ceiling, not talking. I can feel it in the air. Tension. The covers shift, and before I know it, Michael Turrey’s on top of me.” Daniel pulls the drawstrings on his swim trunks to make a popping sound against his skin. “And that’s all she wrote.”

“What?” Cameron screams. She’s so loud she scares herself.

“Whoa!” Aminah yells.

“What happened after that?” I ask.

“I’m sure you can put together what happened after that.”

“I still want to hear it!” Aminah pleads.

“Let’s put it at this. Michael Turrey did not require a proclamation of homosexuality from me.” Daniel winks. “I was drunk. He was drunk. I don’t know what either of us was really thinking. Now here he is coming to my house all cozied up to one of my best friends, and we haven’t even talked about what happened. He had to go!”

My phone buzzes again, just once. I pull it out of my pocket. It’s a voicemail from Turrey. My mailbox is now completely full.

“Well, Daniel, I’m proud of you,” Cameron says. She’s beaming with tipsy pride.

“Please don’t say things like that. You know I can’t take it.”

“Too bad.”

“You need water,” Aminah tells Cameron.

“We’ve got to find out what’s up with Michael,” Daniel says.

“We do. But first, Petra.” Aminah straightens out, and her presence grows along with her height.

I throw Turrey’s voicemail to speaker as a distraction. For the first two seconds, it’s ambient driving noise. Then Turrey’s unsteady voice. “Hey. I just got a call from Fly’s sister. Shit’s not looking too good. Fly’s in surgery, and something’s not going right. I’m still driving. I’ll look around for your ring, but I probably won’t be able to bring it back if I find it. Sorry.”

14

Katie sobs in a gasp-for-air-dry-heave way. Her husband rubs her back. Turrey zones out. Brooke Delgado leans into someone’s shoulder and cries. Spencer’s dad clasps his hands in prayer. The other unidentified faces provide their own variations on those same reactions. Then there are us. Four ducks in a row, blocking the entry, kicking metaphorical rocks in contemplation.

“Do you think—?” Cameron whispers in my ear, afraid to finish her sentence. This is as quick as I’ve ever seen her sober up.

“I can’t tell,” I answer. “I hope not.” I close my eyes and make a wish that everything will be all right.