Panic Attack

six

Marissa got out of bed at around noon and headed down the main staircase. She was about halfway down when she suddenly stopped and couldn’t get herself to go any farther. Although it looked like the blood was all gone, she remembered what that guy had looked like, with that big piece of his jaw missing and all the blood, and got so grossed out she felt like she was going to throw up. She took the back stairs instead and went right into the kitchen. She was planning to ignore her father, give him the silent treatment after their argument last night. She didn’t see him downstairs, and her mother wasn’t around either.

“Ma!” she called. No answer. Usually she loved it when she had the house all to herself, but after last night the idea of being alone kind of freaked her out.

“Mom! Dad!”

Her dad came out of the den, finishing a call on his BlackBerry. “Okay, Lauren, I’ll check back with you later on that. Bye- bye now.”

At first Marissa was kind of surprised that her dad was acting so normal, that he was able to get back to work so quickly after going through so much trauma, but then she decided it made perfect sense. After all, he wasn’t exactly in touch with his emotions. She remembered how he didn’t cry at all at his father’s funeral- even at the cemetery, when they lowered his father into the ground, he was stone- faced-and then a few months later he was a mess, snapping at everybody all the time, drinking too much. It would probably take him a few weeks before he realized how he actually felt about the shooting, and in the meantime he would take his anxiety out on her and her mom.

When her dad came into the kitchen Marissa was at the counter, pouring a cup of lukewarm coffee.

“Hey, good morning,” he said, sounding inappropriately upbeat. “How’d you sleep?”

She waited several seconds before mumbling, “Shitty.”

“Aw, that stinks,” he said. “Maybe you should take a nap later or something. Oh, and by the way, I’m really sorry about last night. I was just feeling exhausted and stressed and I shouldn’t’ve taken it out on you.”

“Whatever,” she said, not ready to forgive him yet.

“No, not what ever,” he said, mimicking her. “I was wrong and I’m sorry. Friends?”

He extended his arms, inviting her to hug him.

“Friends,” she said grudgingly.

They hugged loosely; then she took a sip of the coffee. It tasted sour and murky.

“Hey, so I was thinking,” he said. “Maybe instead of going down to Florida I’ll just fly Grandma up here instead.”

“Can she travel?” Marissa asked.

“She said she’s been feeling a lot better lately and that she could handle the flight. She could just sleep downstairs on the pullout and use the downstairs bathroom so we don’t have to worry about her going up and down the stairs.”

“Sounds good to me,” Marissa said.

She was always up for getting out of a trip to Florida. She used to like going down there when she was a kid, mainly because she and her parents always stopped at Disney World on the way back, but for the last ten years or so going to her grandma Ann’s condo in North Miami had been torture. It was always nice to see her grandma, but at her condo Marissa was basically a prisoner, hanging around all day, playing Rummy Q, watching game shows, and waiting for the main activity: going to the early bird dinner at four o’clock.

“Yeah, I think I’m just gonna call her and suggest it,” her dad said. “Maybe next weekend or the weekend after.”

“So,” Marissa said, “is there any news?”

“News about what?”

Was he serious?

“The shooting,” she said.

“Oh, no,” he said. “I mean, I don’t know what news there would be since last night. I mean, they removed the body right after you went to bed, and I was up for maybe another hour or so. I’ve been getting a lot of calls and e-mails, of course. It’s amazing the way news spreads. Remember my old friend Stevie Lerner? Big guy, dark curly hair? Anyway, you met him when you were about eight years old, I think, and the last time I saw him was at a wedding maybe ten years ago. Anyway, he called to see if everything was okay.”

“Did they figure out how the burglars got in yet?” Marissa asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said, like he really didn’t care one way or the other. “But the lock guy was here already, and we have brand- new locks for the back door, Medecos. There’re new keys. The alarm guy should be here at around-” He checked the time on his cell phone. “Actually, they should’ve been here a half hour ago.”

Marissa took another sip of the gross coffee, then said, “I’ll talk to you later,” and started to leave the kitchen.

“I was thinking,” her dad said, “maybe we could all go out to dinner tonight. You know, as a family.”

“I’m supposed to hang out with some friends,” she said.

This wasn’t really true. She had no set plans with her friends; she just didn’t feel like spending a whole night with her parents.

“Oh, then maybe we should do something over the weekend, just the thter all, he wasn’t exactly in touch with his emotions. She remembered how he didn’t cry at all at his father’s funeral- even at the cemetery, when they lowered his father into the ground, he was stone- faced-and then a few months later he was a mess, snapping at everybody all the time, drinking too much. It would probably take him a few weeks before he realized how he actually felt about the shooting, and in the meantime he would take his anxiety out on her and her mom.

When her dad came into the kitchen Marissa was at the counter, pouring a cup of lukewarm coffee.

“Hey, good morning,” he said, sounding inappropriately upbeat. “How’d you sleep?”

She waited several seconds before mumbling, “Shitty.”

“Aw, that stinks,” he said. “Maybe you should take a nap later or something. Oh, and by the way, I’m really sorry about last night. I was just feeling exhausted and stressed and I shouldn’t’ve taken it out on you.”

“Whatever,” she said, not ready to forgive him yet.

“No, not what ever,” he said, mimicking her. “I was wrong and I’m sorry. Friends?”

He extended his arms, inviting her to hug him.

“Friends,” she said grudgingly.

They hugged loosely; then she took a sip of the coffee. It tasted sour and murky.

“Hey, so I was thinking,” he said. “Maybe instead of going down to Florida I’ll just fly Grandma up here instead.”

“Can she travel?” Marissa asked.

“She said she’s been feeling a lot better lately and that she could handle the flight. She could just sleep downstairs on the pullout and use the downstairs bathroom so we don’t have to worry about her going up and down the stairs.”

“Sounds good to me,” Marissa said.

She was always up for getting out of a trip to Florida. She used to like going down there when she was a kid, mainly because she and her parents always stopped at Disney World on the way back, but for the last ten years or so going to her grandma Ann’s condo in North Miami had been torture. It was always nice to see her grandma, but at her condo Marissa was basically a prisoner, hanging around all day, playing Rummy Q, watching game shows, and waiting for the main activity: going to the early bird dinner at four o’clock.

“Yeah, I think I’m just gonna call her and suggest it,” her dad said. “Maybe next weekend or the weekend after.”

“So,” Marissa said, “is there any news?”

“News about what?”

Was he serious?

“The shooting,” she said.

“Oh, no,” he said. “I mean, I don’t know what news there would be since last night. I mean, they removed the body right after you went to bed, and I was up for maybe another hour or so. I’ve been getting a lot of calls and e-mails, of course. It’s amazing the way news spreads. Remember my old friend Stevie Lerner? Big guy, dark curly hair? Anyway, you met him when you were about eight years old, I think, and the last time I saw him was at a wedding maybe ten years ago. Anyway, he called to see if everything was okay.”

“Did they figure out how the burglars got in yet?” Marissa asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said, like he really didn’t care one way or the other. “But the lock guy was here already, and we have brand- new locks for the back door, Medecos. There’re new keys. The alarm guy should be here at around-” He checked the time on his cell phone. “Actually, they should’ve been here a half hour ago.”

Marissa took another sip of the gross coffee, then said, “I’ll talk to you later,” and started to leave the kitchen.

“I was thinking,” her dad said, “maybe we could all go out to dinner tonight. You know, as a family.”

“I’m supposed to hang out with some friends,” she said.

This wasn’t really true. She had no set plans with her friends; she just didn’t feel like spending a whole night with her parents.

“Oh, then maybe we should do something over the weekend, just the three of us. Maybe go into the city to see a movie or a show. When was the last time we went to a Broadway show? It’s been ages.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Dad?”

“Fine,” he said, smiling unusually widely. “What do you mean?”

“The way you’re acting. It’s… I don’t know… not normal.”

“What do you mean?” he said. “I had a phone session with a patient. I’m taking care of stuff around the house. I think I’m acting very normal.”

“Yeah, but it’s not normal to act normal. I mean, you’re allowed to be upset.”

“Upset about what?”

“You shot somebody,” Marissa said. “If that happened to me, I mean, if I was the one who shot him, I’d be a total mess right now. I mean, you wouldn’t even be able to talk to me.”

“Everybody handles things differently,” he said.

“Anybody would be upset,” she said.

“Look, I was upset at first, okay? I mean, you saw me last night, right? I was expressing my anger then, but I’m okay with it now, I really am. I mean, I’m not going to beat myself up over it. I was in a difficult situation, and I did the best I could under the circumstances. I wish it hadn’t happened, but it did happen, and it could’ve happened to anybody- that’s the important thing. You know how many people in this neighborhood have guns? The Zimmermans have a gun, the Stenatos have a gun, the Silvermans have a gun, the Coles have a gun. I bet there’s a gun in every other house on this block, if not in every house, and I think any other father would’ve done what I did. I protected my family, that’s all. It’s not something to feel bad about, it’s something to feel good about.”

God, he was so deep in denial it was hopeless.

“Look, Dad, if I were you, I’d talk to somebody. Your therapist, some other counselor, whoever. I really think you’re still in shock right now but you don’t realize it.”

“Shock?” he said, like he’d never heard the word before. “Why do you-”

“Hello?” her mom shouted. It sounded like she was in the foyer, near the front door. She sounded totally panicked, like something horrible had happened. “Who’s home?!”

Marissa and her dad looked at each other with concerned expressions, then left the kitchen together and met her mom in the living room. Her mom looked frantic and went right up to Marissa and wrapped her arms around her and wouldn’t let go.

“What is it, Mom? What’s wrong?”

Her mother was crying now, but it was worse than the way she’d been crying last night. Last night she was just upset. Now she looked devastated.

“Yeah, what’s going on?” her dad asked, concerned yet calm.

Marissa’s mom let go of her. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, leaving smudges of mascara, and her lips were trembling.

“I-I just spoke w-w-w- with that d-d- detective… C-c- c-clements.” She had to catch her breath. “I c-c- alled him about the paper… He called back and… and… she’s d-d- dead.”

Marissa was lost. “Who’s dead?”

“G-g- gabriela,” her mom said. “Somebody shot her. She’s dead.”

Marissa was confused. The only Gabriela she knew was their maid, but that was impossible. Marissa must’ve misunderstood something. Her mother must’ve meant some other Gabriela. Maybe someone from the neighborhood or a friend of a friend. Something like that.

“Gabriela?” Marissa asked. “Gabriela who?”

Her mom couldn’t speak for several seconds, then blurted out, “Our Gabriela.”

The room seemed like it was spinning, and then Marissa wasn’t sure where she was anymore. Her father had to actually grab her to keep her from falling. Somehow they all wound up on the living room couch, Marissa sitting between her mom and her dad.

Her mom was asking her if she was okay, and Marissa, crying, was saying, “It’s not true. Please tell me it’s not true.”

“It’s true,” her mom sobbed. “It’s true, it’s true, it’s true.”

“How do you know it’s true?” her father asked. “Maybe there’s some mistake.”

Her dad wasn’t crying at all, and he didn’t even seem very upset. He sounded weirdly calm, in control.

“He told me,” her mom said. “The detective. He said she was shot this morning in… in her apartment.”

“Maybe there was a screwup,” her dad said. “Maybe it was some other Gabriela.”

“No, I asked,” her mom said emphatically. “He said it was Gabriela Moreno, and he gave me her address in Jackson Heights. It’s not a mistake. She’s dead. Somebody shot her.”

Marissa was still sobbing. Last night had been one of the scariest times of her life, but this was like a total nightmare. Gabriela had been so young, so happy, so healthy. How could she be dead? This wasn’t possible.

Then it hit Marissa, and she said, “Oh my God. You don’t think it has something to do with last night, do you?”

“It has nothing to do with last night,” her dad cut in quickly. “Okay, come on, let’s not get all hysterical before we know all the facts. I want to talk to Clements, find out exactly what’s going on here.”

He was trying so hard to sound in control. Like people were getting shot left and right, but of course he could handle it, it was no big deal.

“He said he’ll be over,” her mom said, “later.”

“Good,” her dad said. “I’m sure there’s a lot we don’t know right now.”

“Didn’t Clements say he was gonna go talk to Gabriela?” Marissa asked. “Isn’t that what he said last night?”

“He didn’t have a chance to talk to her,” her mom said. “He said he was planning to talk to her today when-”

“Then it has to have something to do with it,” Marissa said. “It’s too coincidental.”

Her father stood up and started making a call on his BlackBerry. “Let’s just see one thing, okay?” he said.

“What’re you doing?” her mom asked.

“Let’s see if she picks up her phone.”

“What’s wrong with you?” her mom said. “I’m telling you, she’s dead.”

Her dad ignored her, with the phone to his ear. Then after several seconds he clicked off and said, “Voice mail.”

“Of course her voice mail picked up,” her mom screamed. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Can you guys please just stop fighting?” Marissa asked.

“What’s Gabriela’s cell?” her dad asked, and her mom leaned over her lap, grabbed fistfuls of her hair as if she were trying to pull it all out in total frustration, then made an infuriated gravelly sound in the back of her throat.

“What were you saying before about a paper?” Marissa asked.

Still looking down, her hands still clutching her hair, her mom said, “I had the code to the alarm written on a piece of paper. I realized it was missing this morning, that’s why I called Clements.”

“Okay, think about what you’re saying,” her dad said. He was standing in front of them, looking down at them. “Just think about it for a second without getting hysterical. You know Gabriela, right? You know how wonderful she is, how loyal she is, how trustworthy she is. How many times has she been in this house alone? How many times did she babysit for us, or pick up Marissa from school? She’s worked for us for how many years? Twelve? Thirteen? And in all that time she’s never stolen anything from us. I’m talking not even a dollar bill from on top of my dresser. I mean, there’s probably been hundreds of times that she had total access to my wallet, your pocketbook, your jewelry, and she’s never stolen a cent from us. But now you’re positive, there’s no doubt in your mind, that she conspired with that criminal Sanchez to rob our house? Why? Because they’re both Spanish? I mean, just think about how absurd that is before you start screaming your head off at me, okay?”

Her father ended his speech, seeming proud of himself, as if he’d just delivered a Shakespearean soliloquy or something. But, Marissa had to admit, the idea that Gabriela was part of the robbery did sound ridiculous. She couldn’t imagine any scenario where Gabriela would do something to hurt Marissa’s family.

“He’s right, it does sound pretty crazy,” Marissa said. Then she said to her dad, “So what do you think it was, a big coincidence? She gets shot the morning after our house is robbed, right before the detective has a chance to talk to her?”

“Look, there’s a lot we don’t know right now,” her dad said. “Maybe it has something to do with her daughter, some guy she was dating.”

“Manuela’s eleven,” Marissa said.

“What I’m trying to say,” her dad said, “is let’s just confirm she’s actually dead.”

“It’s confirmed!” her mom suddenly shouted. Her face was red, and her eyes were very big. “How many times do I have to tell you before it gets through your thick skull? She’s dead! She’s fucking dead!”

Her dad shook his head in frustration and exited to the kitchen.

“You’re so goddamn impossible,” her mom said and left, going toward the front of the house.

“Ma,” Marissa called and followed her.

She watched her mother head up the main staircase, hesitate for a moment as if suddenly remembering what had happened there, and then rush upstairs.

Marissa couldn’t believe how absolutely screwed up everything suddenly was. Gabriela had always been so warm, so friendly, and had probably been one of the kindest people Marissa had ever met. Marissa remembered all the times Gabriela played with her and took her places when she was growing up. In high school when she had boyfriend problems, she never felt comfortable talking to her parents, and Gabriela was always there to give advice. Marissa had helped Gabriela learn English, and Gabriela had helped her with her Spanish. She had been a combination big sister and close friend, and Marissa just couldn’t accept the idea that she was gone, as dead as the guy on the stairs last night, that she’d never see her face or hear her voice again.

Standing in the foyer, Marissa started to cry again. Then her dad came in and put an arm around her and in that pseudo calm voice said, “It’s gonna be okay, sweetie. I promise.”

Marissa couldn’t take it anymore. If he was in denial before, now he was hopeless.

She broke away and said, “Please, Dad, just stop it already,” and went upstairs, not even realizing she’d passed the spot where the body had been until she was in her room.

She checked her phone and saw that she’d received a bunch of e-mails and texts from her friends as news of the robbery had been getting around. She felt like she really needed to vent, let out her anger, so instead of replying individually she went online and posted a long entry on her Artist Girl blog, which most of her friends- her closest friends, anyway- read every day. She described the robbery as dramatically as possible, focusing on how terrified she’d been when she woke up and heard the intruders in the house and everything that had happened with the shooting and how the police had questioned her and her family for most of the night. She left out the part about how Clements had questioned her about her drug use in the house, paranoid that this would somehow incriminate her. Although she didn’t mention anything about Gabriela specifically, she hinted at it, ending with “Now things seem to be getting even more fucked up. This is the craziest day of my life.”

After she posted the blog, she searched Google News for “Gabriela Moreno,” hoping to find nothing, but there were two news items about the shooting. Marissa read them, feeling devastated and numb. The items gave pretty much the same minimal information that Marissa’s mother had already reported: Gabriela had been shot to death in her Jackson Heights apartment this morning by an unknown assailment. The motive for the shooting was also unknown.

“Goddamn it,” Marissa said, and she picked up the keyboard and banged it against the desk. It sounded like something cracked, but she didn’t care.

She hoped that whoever killed Gabriela rotted in hell for it, but she still couldn’t believe that Gabriela had actually been involved in the robbery. Maybe her dad was right about it being a coincidence. Maybe Gabriela was shot for some crazy random reason. It seemed farfetched but not any more farfetched than her having anything to do with that dead guy, Sanchez.

“Marissa.” Her father knocked on the door. “Marissa, can you come downstairs for a sec, please? Detective Clements is here.”

Great, just what Marissa needed.

“Coming,” she said, nearly whispering.

“What?”

“I said I’ll be right there!” she shouted.

She took her time, answering a few more e-mails, then went downstairs. Her mom, her face still smeared with mascara, was at the dining room table with Clements. Her dad looked more serious than he had before.

“What’s going on?” Marissa asked.

“Please… join us,” Clements said.

Marissa sat in the empty chair, noticing that her mom and dad were avoiding eye contact with each other.

“I guess you heard the news,” Clements said.

“About Gabriela, yeah,” Marissa said.“Why? Nobody else died, right?” She was only half joking.

“No one else died,” her dad said in a monotone.

“I was just filling your parents in on a few of the latest developments,” Clements said.

“Oh, no, what now?”

“She was involved in the robbery,” her mom said.

“You know that for sure?” Marissa asked.

“It’s very likely she was involved,” Clements said. “We’ve established a connection, a very definite connection, between her and Carlos Sanchez”.

“What kind of connection?” Marissa asked.

“They had a history,” Clements said. “They dated for several years and there was a history of domestic violence. She’d even gotten a restraining order against him.”

Marissa looked at her mom, then her dad, in disbelief. “Did you guys know about this?”

Her mom shook her head. Her dad didn’t have any reaction.

“She’d been in contact with him by cell phone numerous times in the days prior to the robbery,” Clements said. “A neighbor also thinks he saw Sanchez at her building one day last week, but that hasn’t been confirmed yet.”

“Wait, that doesn’t make any sense,” Marissa said. “If she had a restraining order against him, why would he’ve been at her building?”

“We’re not sure,” Clements said. “Her sister said their father in Ec ua dor is ill and needs money for an operation, so that may’ve been the motive.”

“Tell her about the AIDS,” Dana said.

“Her father had AIDS?” Marissa asked.

“Not her father- Sanchez,” Clements said. “And he didn’t have full- blown AIDS. He was HIV positive.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Marissa’s dad said.

“We all have to get tested now,” her mom announced.

“That’s ridiculous,” her dad said.

“His blood was all over the staircase,” her mom said, suddenly looking and sounding maniacal. “It could’ve splattered on you.”

“Oh, stop it,” her dad said, waving a hand at her dismissively.

Marissa couldn’t believe her parents were actually arguing about HIV transmission. They’d officially hit a new low.

“The risk for HIV transmission in this type of situation is minimal if not nonexis tent,” Clements said. “The virus dies almost immediately when it’s exposed to air.”

“See?” her dad said to her mom, like he was so proud of himself. “I don’t care,” her mom said.“The blood was everywhere, I want to get tested.” “If you want to get tested, get tested,” her dad said. “I can’t stop you.”

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Marissa said to Clements. “You think Gabriela took the code to the alarm so she and her ex- boyfriend could rob our house?”

“It seems logical,” Clements said. “Your mother says she believes Gabriela had access to the code.”

“What about the keys?” Marissa asked.

“She could’ve copied them at some point,” Clements said. “We’re talking to area locksmiths, and my guess is we’ll find out that she copied the keys to the back door.”

“I don’t believe it,” Marissa’s mom said. “If Gabriela robbed the house, then who killed her? Explain that.”

“It’s too early to speculate,” Clements said.

As Marissa’s mom rolled her eyes, Marissa said to her dad, “I thought you heard another guy in the house.”

“I’m not sure about that,” he said. “It could’ve been a woman.”

“According to your parents,” Clements continued to Marissa, “Gabriela wasn’t aware that you’d canceled your trip to Florida, so she may have believed the house would be empty. Did you tell her you weren’t going to Florida?”

Marissa didn’t say anything, just shook her head.

It was starting to set in-Gabriela had been involved in the robbery of their house. She’d actually been involved.

“Oh my God,” Marissa said, “I don’t think I can handle any more of this.”

Her dad, suddenly all protective, said, “If you don’t have any more questions for her, why does she have to be here?”

Ignoring him, Clements said to Marissa, “I understand you were close with Gabriela.”

“Yes,” Marissa said, trying her hardest not to cry. “I was.”

“Did you talk to her at all during the last few days?”

“Monday,” Marissa said. “I saw her Monday.”

“Did she mention anything to you about how she needed money, or about how she’d gotten back with her old boyfriend?”

“I had no idea she even had a boyfriend.”

“So there was nothing unusual in her behavior?”

“Nothing at all. She was her usual happy, smiley self.”

“Well, she was apparently very good at keeping secrets,” Clements said. “Did she ever mention anything to you about drug use?”

“Gabriela?” Marissa said, shocked. “Are you kidding? She was totally antidrugs.”

“Sanchez had a history of heroin addiction,” Clements said. “It’s likely that since he had a relationship with Gabriela she was using as well, at least when they weretogether.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Marissa’s dad said.

“I can’t believe that either,” her mom said. “The money’s one thing. Anybody can get desperate, make a mistake, but drugs? I don’t think she’d be able to hide that from us.”

“You’d be surprised what people can hide when they put their minds to it,” Clements said.

There was an awkward silence in the room for several seconds- Marissa noticed that her mom and dad both seemed uncomfortable- then her dad asked, “So’s that it?”

“Yeah,” Clements said, getting up. “For now.”

Marissa and her dad stood, too.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” her mom said, remaining seated. “That’s it? There’s a killer out there, a killer who was probably inside our house last night, and you say that’s it?”

Her dad said, “You don’t know-” and her mom shouted at him, “We do know! Why do you think she got shot today? Because somebody was trying to shut her up, that’s why! And you shot the other guy! You killed him and you think he’s not gonna come back here?”

“Okay, try to calm down,” Clements said.

“Why the hell should I try to calm down?” her mom said. “Do you have any leads? Do you have any idea, any idea at all who shot Gabriela?”

“We’re working on it,” Clements said.

“Oh, you’re working on it,” her mom said. “That makes me feel so much better. You’re just so good at reassuring us. Meanwhile, you could’ve saved her life. Last night, if you weren’t here asking us about my daughter’s bong you could’ve talked to Gabriela sooner, stopped her from getting killed, and found out who the other guy is. Now you’ll never find him, and he knows who we are, he knows where we live, he’s been in our house!”

“I’m sorry,” Marisssa’s dad said to Clements.

“You don’t have to apologize for me, you son of a bitch!” her mom screamed. “You caused all this- you and your stupid gun! How many times did I tell you to get rid of that stupid thing?”

“Here comes the blame,” her dad said.

“I’m blaming you all right!” she screamed. “Who else should I blame?”

“See? I knew you couldn’t hold back forever. You’ve been dying to blame me. Go ahead, keep going, let’s hear all that rage.”

“I told you if you had that gun in the house something horrible would happen someday. You didn’t listen to me, and, what do you know, something horrible happened. What a shock!”

“Horrible!” her dad shouted. “That’s a good one, I love that. No, horrible would’ve been if you and Marissa got killed, that would’ve been horrible. You should be thanking me instead of yelling at me!”

“You wanna be thanked? Okay, thank you! Thank you for fucking up my life!”

“Can both of you just stop it already?” Marissa screamed as loudly as she could.

Finally there was silence as Marissa’s parents remained glaring at each other, breathing heavily. Then Clements announced, “I’ll keep you informed, and you let me know if anything comes up on your end.” Then he looked at Marissa’s mom and said, “And despite what you think, Mrs. Bloom, we do know how to do our job, and I think we do it very well.” He put his pad away in his pocket, then said, “Sorry again for your loss,” and left.

Marissa remained with her parents in the dining room, watching them exchange looks. Then her father said, “That was brilliant, insult the whole NYPD, why don’t you?” and that set her mom off again. Marissa couldn’t take it anymore and went up to her room. She heard her mother shouting, “You still think everything’s okay? You think it’s going to all miraculously blow over?- and then she turned up her stereo- more Tone Def- to drown her parents out.

She hoped this wasn’t just the beginning, that her parents weren’t going to start having marital problems again. In high school, it had seemed like her parents were on the verge of divorce, at each other’s throats 24/7, and they always argued about the stupidest things. Like her dad would leave some dirty dishes in the kitchen sink or pee on the toilet seat, and her mom would lay into him about it. Or her dad wouldn’t like a look her mother had given him or her tone of voice, and it would lead to a huge fight. And, because her dad was a psychologist and they were in marriage counseling, they would both go into this weird therapy- speak in their arguments that only led to more fighting. Like during a fight her mother might say,“You’re so annoying” and her father would say,“You’re generalizing” or “There you go with your rage again,” and then that would lead to a fight. Or sometimes they would be arguing and her mother would say, “You’re being defensive,” and her father would fire back, “There you go, projecting again,” and they’d be off, shouting at each other in their ridiculous mumbo jumbo about who was projecting and who was being defensive. Of course there was never any resolution to their fighting; no one ever won or conceded. It seemed like they had the same argument over and over again, like an annoying song stuck on repeat play. Marissa never understood why they bothered to stay together. If they couldn’t get along, why make each other miserable? Why not just get divorced? She’d hoped they weren’t staying together for her, because she would’ve preferred that they just split up and move on with their lives. What kid wanted unhappy parents?

Marissa turned down the music, and she could still hear her parents going at it; it sounded like they were in their bedroom now. She took a quick shower and was toweling off when she heard her mother shout, “What’re you gonna do then? Get your gun again? Shoot him?”

God, were they still arguing about the gun?

Marissa headed back to her bedroom, passing her father in the hallway. He marched by and went downstairs. He was in sweats and sneakers, probably on his way to the gym.

Sitting on her bed, Marissa texted Hillary, who worked in midtown. They arranged to meet for drinks at five thirty. Marissa typed: cant wait I SO have to get out of this crazy fucking house She got dressed quickly- skinny jeans, a black lace cami, and the cute little leather jacket she’d bought last week at UNIQLO in SoHo. As she left the house, she saw her father on the sidewalk, talking to several reporters. They’d probably come back to ask him questions about Gabriela and she could tell he was into it, furrowing his eyebrows and moving his hands a lot as he talked, acting like he was a movie star giving a press conference.

Marissa walked several blocks, through the gates of Forest Hills Gardens to the subway on Queens Boulevard. Riding on the R train, she wore her sunglasses because she was crying and didn’t want anyone to see. She still couldn’t believe that Gabriela was actually dead.

When she arrived in Manhattan, she had some time to kill, so she went to the Whitney to see the Man Ray exhibit. She’d sent a job application to the Whitney, as she had to practically every other museum in the city, and hadn’t heard anything yet. She’d been applying to a lot of galleries, too, and had gone to an interview to be the “events coordinator” at one downtown, but she’d gotten no job offers so far. Her father had probably been right about how she’d made a mistake by quitting the job at the Met. She should have stuck it out for at least six months to use it as a reference, or until she found something else. She just hoped she found something soon; she wanted steady money coming in so she could afford the rent for her own place, or even a share. She hated not having her own money and being so dependent on her parents.

After the museum, she walked to midtown, feeling out of place around all of the oppressive office buildings and stressed- out working people. Downtown was cooler, though all of Manhattan seemed so uppity and into itself that Marissa felt like she just couldn’t connect. She liked Brooklyn a lot better- especially Williamsburg, DUMBO, and RAMBO- But most of her friends were working in the city and always wanted to meet at midtown bars or go out in Murray Hill or, the worst, the Upper East Side.

At five thirty, she met Hillary at McFadden’s at Forty- second and Second. It was the typical midtown after- work bar- lots of suits and ties, lots of uptight people desperately trying to let loose, businessmen calling each other “bro” and “dude.” Marissa felt like she was on a different planet, but Hillary, who had an entry- level marketing job at some ad agency, seemed right at home, smiling, waving, saying hi and even hugging people as she entered. Marissa and Hillary had been best friends for years, but lately Marissa felt like they’d been drifting apart. She hoped it was just a phase, though, that Hillary would eventually get over this whole trying- to- act- like- a-yuppie kick and return to acting like her normal self.

Hillary hugged Marissa hello; then Marissa said, “God, I need a drink so badly. Something strong.”

They found seats at the bar and ordered cosmos,“heavy on the vodka.” Hillary had already read about the robbery on Marissa’s blog, but Marissa retold the story anyway.

“Oh my God, that must’ve been so horrifying,” Hillary said.

“It gets worse,” Marissa said, her voice cracking.

Hillary, like all of Marissa’s friends, had known Gabriela. It was almost like Gabriela had been a part of the Bloom family.

When Marissa told Hillary about Gabriela being killed and probably being involved in the robbery, Hillary started to cry, and Marissa cried with her. Hillary said all the expected things-I can’t believe it, it’s not possible, she was soyoung- as they continued to sob together.

Finally Marissa said, “Maybe we should stop crying, this is a happy hour after all,” but the attempt at an icebreaking joke didn’t even get a smirk from Hillary.

“It’s so horrible that you have to go through all of this,” Hillary said.

“Yeah, I know it sucks,” Marissa said. “My mom’s worried that the guy who shot Gabriela’s still out there, but I’m not really worried about that. I’m sure the cops’ll catch him.”

“God, I certainly hope so,” Hillary said.

Marissa sipped her drink, then said, “I was so happy when you said you could meet up. It’s been a total nightmare at home. My mother’s angry, so she’s snapping at my father, and, of course, my father’s taking it out on me, as usual. He actually said I have to stop drinking and smoking in the house, treating me like I’m some kind of party animal or something. Meanwhile, I barely smoke or drink at all. But their fighting, that’s the worst. I swear, it was like when I was a teenager all over again. I really don’t know what’s wrong with them. If they can’t get along and can’t stand the sight of each other, why don’t they just get divorced?”

Suddenly Hillary’s eyes widened, and Marissa could tell something was wrong.

“What is it?” Marissa asked.

“Nothing, never mind,” Hillary said and took a sip of her drink.

“Come on, what is it? Is it about Gabriela?”

“No.”

“Then what is it? Come on, you have to tell me.”

“It’s really not important.”

“Come on, just tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” Hillary said. “I shouldn’t’ve said anything.”

“You didn’t say anything yet. Come on, now you have to tell me.”

Hillary took another sip of her drink, breathed deeply, then said, “It’s just… It’s about your mother.”

“My mother?”

“See? I shouldn’t’ve opened my big mouth.”

“What about her?”

“I mean, with what you’re going through now and every-”

“Come on, just tell me already.”

Hillary waited several seconds, as if trying to or ganize her thoughts, then said, “I heard her and my mom talking the other night. They didn’t think I was home, but I heard them from upstairs.”

“What were they talking about?”

“I’m sorry. I mean, I didn’t want to tell you, but-”

“Is it something bad?”

“No. I mean, not bad bad.”

“Is my mom sick?”

“No, God no, nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s just she’s… well, she’s… cheating on your dad.”

Marissa couldn’t believe it. “My mother?”

“Sorry, I didn’t want to tell you, especially not now when-”

“You sure you didn’t misunderstand something?”

“Positive. She was talking about how it’s been going on for months and she keeps wanting to break it off but she can’t.”

For months?

“With who?” Marissa asked.

“You know him,” Hillary said.

“Oh God, who?”

“Tony.”

“Who’s Tony?”

“You know- Tony, that trainer guy at New York Sports Club.”

It took a few moments to register then Marissa said, “You mean that big guy with the thick Bronx accent?”

Hillary nodded uncomfortably.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Marissa said.

“Swear to God,” Hillary said. “See? I shouldn’t’ve told you.”

Marissa saw a flash of her mom and Tony together- naked. It was kind of funny.

“Who would’ve thought?” Marissa said. “My mom and a bodybuilder. Good for her.”

“Wait, you’re not upset?”

“Upset? Why would I be upset? If I was my mom I would’ve cheated on my dad years ago. Maybe my parents’ll finally get divorced, put all of us out of our misery.” She finished her cosmo in one gulp, then added, “Honestly, this is by far the best news I’ve heard all day.”