So I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed 911.
Taking another drag off my cigarette, I look out over downtown Portland as the sun starts to set. I glance down at my watch, noting that Connor's parents should be here in a few hours. They were able to get a flight out of Raleigh today.
Immediately after I called 911, I called Connor's dad and quietly told him what happened. I asked him to please come to Portland, because I just didn't know what to do or how to handle things with his son. I also didn't know how to handle anything with Jillian either, but figured I could take some cues from the McCanns. His father didn't hesitate and jumped into action.
After that, I'd called Mags, who for the first time since I've known her was stunned speechless. But she recovered and went into counselor mode. I let her do this because she needed to, and I promised I'd have Jillian and Connor call her later.
While I dealt with the police and the rescue workers who didn't even bother trying to resuscitate Barb, and finally the coroner, Connor and Jillian sat in the Suburban. I know Connor talked to his parents, and Jillian talked to hers. I had no fucking clue what was going to happen, but I was grateful that Mr. McCann got us into a Portland hotel and told us to wait for them there.
So that's what we're doing. I'm smoking, Jillian's comatose, and Connor is staring blankly at a wall.
Fun times.
I finish my cigarette and because I don't want to go back inside the room, I light another.
I smoke that down, and then I light another.
I smoke that down, but this time, I find my pack empty.
With a sigh, I turn and open the sliding door, quietly slipping into the room through the heavy blackout curtains. Jillian is still asleep on one bed, and Connor is still staring at the wall from the other. The room is dark, gloomy, and depressing as fuck.
"I'm going to go get some smokes," I say in a low voice to Connor as I grab my wallet and keys off the small desk in the corner.
He doesn't respond, and I'll admit I'm a bit worried about him. He hasn't said much since this morning.
Regardless, I head for the door because I need some fucking cigarettes. I'm sure they'll be fine without me for a few minutes.
But just as I put my hand on the door to open it, Connor's voice reaches out to me from the depressing gloom where he's sitting. "Why do you think she did it? Why now?"
My shoulders sag as I let out a sigh. I'd like to ignore this hard-as-fuck question, but I know I can't. He needs answers, even if mine are wrong.
Turning around, I walk over to his bed and sit down on the end to face him, cocking my left leg up on the bed and stretching my C-leg to plant on the floor. His eyes are red but currently dry. He's been crying in spells, and it hits me hard … this is the first time I've really seen this dude shaken up. For living under a death sentence, he's been so stoic about everything that I sometimes forget he's probably still just a frightened boy.
"Did we do this?" he asks. "Did I do this?"
I shake my head, place a palm on the mattress, and lean closer to him. "No, Connor. She did it all herself. It had nothing to do with you, Jillian, or me."
"How do you know that?" he asks … no, he pleads almost, sounding as if he's asking me to take away whatever this guilt is he's feeling.
"Because I've had my share of mental health professionals poking around in my head," I tell him honestly. "Because I've had those thoughts run through my head, and it's difficult to ask for help with it."
"I thought she was happier," he mumbles as he looks down at his hands clenched in his lap. "She seemed like she was opening up and was having a good time with us."
"I know. I think she probably had some of her best days this last week. There are ups and downs with depression. Sometimes, it's not obvious a person is feeling bad because they can hide it."
"It makes no sense to me," he says with frustration. He lifts his face, and his eyes are blazing with fury. "I'm really pissed at her for doing this."
"Me too," I tell him. "And I think that's probably natural."
"It was a selfish move," Connor grits out, his hands bunching in anger.
"No, it wasn't," Jillian's voice rings out from the other bed. Connor and I turn to look at her. She's on her stomach, both arms crossed with her head resting on them, her face pointing our way. Her eyes are red and puffy. "Barb was trying to deal with her demons the best way she knew how. It wasn't the best way for us, but if she made the choice to go through with it, she thought it was the only way for her."
"I just wish we could have recognized some sign," Connor says. "Something that would have alerted us … gave us the chance to do something."
I want to tell him there was no sign-that her decision to do this was imminent.
No obvious signs anyway.
It's in this moment I have a new appreciation for Keith when I sneered at him for having "survivor's guilt." I know Connor's feeling it, and I've got a prickle of it making me uneasy.
I do think she was opening up, and that she was carefully watching the group come together as a unit. She had some fun times this week, and I think some of her wounds were cut open again. But mostly, I think she developed as close of a bond as someone like her could with Connor. Whether it was his youthful enthusiasm to want to do something as silly as egging houses, or the intimate moment she shared with him, Barb had let him in and she cared for him.
Last night … when Connor invited us to his house to watch movies … I think that's when she made her decision. I think Barb knew she would never survive Connor dying. That she didn't want to be around and watch him wither away. She didn't want to have her soul shredded from watching him suffer. I think last night, she chose to go out of this world on a high note, or as high of a note as someone like Barb can achieve in her dark world.
In my mind, she wanted her last memories to be of Connor watching the sunset over the Pacific, knowing he achieved his ultimate goal on this trip and that she was a part of that.
There is no way in hell, however, that I will ever tell Connor that. He'd take it personally, and it would overwhelm him with guilt. I'd much prefer him to think that Barb was being selfish so he doesn't have any more burdens on his plate.
"I'm sure we'll talk about this when we get back with Mags," I suggest. She's a professional. She'll be able to help him make more sense of it.
"But we don't have any more sessions with her," Connor points out. "She said she'd let us all out of them if we went on this trip."
"No," I correct with a smile. "She said she'd let me out if I went on this trip. But I think it would be good for us to get together with her when we get back. This is hard to process."
And I cannot even believe I'm actually volunteering for therapy. Man, the changes in my life in the last eight days are making my head spin.
Connor nods in understanding, dropping his gaze briefly before raising it again. "I'm sorry I'm not driving back with you two."
I glance over at Jillian, seeing the tears well up in her eyes again. I think she's worried this is the beginning of the end for Connor. That maybe his soul has taken such a blow by what happened today that his body is going to feel the effects of it. When he talked to his dad earlier, he was so upset that all he wanted to do was go home and be with them. All three of them are flying to Raleigh tomorrow.
"Hey," I say as I turn back to him. "We had a blast. This trip was momentous. Who cares if we're cutting it short?"
Jillian nods in agreement, sucks in a breath, and adds in a cheery voice, "Yeah. You accomplished a lot on this trip, and we have so many more things we'll do together when we get back."
Jillian and I haven't even discussed it yet, but I assume we'll be heading straight back across the country. I know I'm personally not up for continuing with the trip. Without Barb and Connor, it's just not right, and I bet Jillian feels the same way.
"You promise?" Connor asks hesitantly, his eyes flicking back and forth between Jillian and me.
"Promise what?" she asks.
"That we'll do stuff together when you two get back?" His voice is small and afraid. I think he knows this is the beginning of the end too, and that he might suspect Barb took the easy way out to avoid watching him die. He probably thinks we won't tough it out with him either.
I grin at him to lighten the mood. "Fuck yes. First on the agenda is movie night at your house for The Lion King. Tell your dad to have lots of beer for us, okay?"
Connor's mouth curves into a smile as his gaze drops almost shyly before coming back up again. He turns to Jillian, but he's addressing both of us with a clear warning. "It's not going to be pleasant. Watching me die."
"And yet we'll watch you and be with you all the same," she promises him.
Swallowing a hard lump in my throat, I nod my agreement. In my mind, there is no other choice for me. I have to see it through with him.
Just eight days ago, Connor was nothing but "Dead Kid" to me. But I know the end is coming soon, it's going to be bad, and I allow myself a brief moment to envy Barb for the out she took.
Chapter 33
Two days later …