Panic Attack

“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 go

“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 wa

“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 a

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 begi

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 go

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- ski

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 co