Page 10 of Slots & Sticks
I’ve been there for well over an hour and am chatting with Lenyx Sawyer when his eyes drift away from my face to one of the TVs behind me. He squints at the screen.
“What?” I turn to look.
Immediately, Knova and Violet are on me. “Hey, do you want to step outside with me?” Knova’s usually in control of her emotions. Not now. There’s a sharp edge to her voice. She does a literal body block on the TV.
“Why? You don’t smoke.” I crane my neck to see around her. The camera is pointed at something that’s on fire. Isn’t that always the way?
“No, but we want to show you something. On Knova’s phone.” Violet wrings her hands. “If you’d just come with us—”
I don’t know what she says next. My ears must stop working entirely. Every sound turns to white noise. The screen flickers,light strobing across the lemon glass in my hand. My stomach drops before my brain catches up. The camera pans, and there it is—silver paint, familiar logo, fire curling around it like ribbon.
My pulse is the only thing I can hear—fast, ragged, wrong. The lemon and sugar on my tongue go bitter. I stare at the screen in dull horror as I finally piece together what, exactly, is burning on live TV.
It’s a bus. A familiar tour bus, with a logo I know all too well painted on the side. The headline across the bottom of the screen reads,Fatal Crash in Reno Claims Life of Beloved Singer-Songwriter.
No. No, that can’t be right. I sway on my feet. The glass of limoncello slips from my fingers to shatter on the floor. My breath comes in short, shallow gasps. That’s my mom’s bus. Her logo.
This can’t be real. I refuse to believe that it’s happening.
The world tilts. The room folds in on itself like a bad dream, faces warping into smears of color and noise.
“Dot?” Knova’s voice sounds miles away.
My knees give out. Someone catches me before I hit the floor—strong arms, familiar scent, steady breathing. Camden.
“Easy.” He braces me against his chest. I can’t see the screen anymore, just the shape of his jaw above me, tight with worry.
He lifts me—actually lifts me—and carries me through the blur of people and flashing lights, his voice the only thing cutting through the panic. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
I don’t want to stay inside. To see it. But also, I do. This isn’t something I can look away from or hide from. My parents called me from that bus earlier today. I could hear Mitzi and Moppet running down the aisleway, yapping. Dad did his silly riffs on the birthday song. Mom said she loved me.
Oh my God. Mom said she loved me. And I didn’t say it back. What if I missed my last chance to tell my mom that I love her?
As Camden holds me close, other people are talking, but their words might as well be static. The fresh air does little to clear my pounding head. I keep trying to stay focused, trusting Camden to take care of me, until he bundles me into a car and fastens my seat belt. His car, I guess. I don’t know, and I’m not sure that it matters. Nothing matters. Everything feels very far away.
Cam slides into the passenger seat. “Breathe,” he says. “Breathe, Dot.”
I do. I focus on each inhale and exhale until I’m no longer hyperventilating. That’s enough to bring my brain back online. I reach for my phone, which has a ton of missed messages, many of them from numbers I don’t recognize. The preview text for my voicemail reveals that one of the numbers is from the State Police. I call back and let my head rest against the window while I wait.
“Hello? This is Officer Foley. How can I help you?” It’s a woman’s voice. I wonder if someone picked her to deliver the bad news, or if she drew the short straw. Was she on the scene? Surely nobody wants the job of delivering awful news to families.
I clear my throat. “Hi, this is Dorothy Shaw. I missed a few calls from you.” I’m surprised by how normal I sound.
“Ah, Miss Shaw. Thanks for getting back to me.” She, too, sounds normal. I wonder if there’s been some mistake. A mix-up in the media, for example. Maybe nothing bad has happened at all, and I’m going to laugh about this later.
That’s not what happens. Officer Foley clears her throat. “Are you sitting down, Miss Shaw? Are you someplace safe?”
I nod. Then I remember that she can’t see me. “Yeah. I’m in my friend’s car.”
“Good.” Officer Foley sounds relieved on my behalf. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, honey, but your parents were in an accident.”
“Near Reno. Yeah. I saw it on the news. Are they…?” My voice betrays me with a wobble.Okay? Alive?I’m afraid to finish the sentence.
“Your father, Ranger Shaw, was air-lifted out. He’s in the burn unit at UMC.”
I recognize the name, mostly from stories that Knova has told me about her role as an EMT. She operates life flights, though she only ever tells me the stories that end well. I know she keeps others to herself. Stories where the endings aren’t so happy.
“And my mom?”
