All of It (7 page)

I race to the other room, which is little more than a closet. There are vials and bottles and medical equipment. I scan the shelves, calling them, willing them to me, muttering, “Morphine, morphine, morphine … ” Then I find what I’m looking for—a dozen or so glass vials neatly lined up on a narrow shelf. I hold out my skirt with one hand and frantically clear the shelf with my other forearm, letting the bottles spill into it. I hurry back to the medic.

“This is all we have left.” I say looking helplessly at the meager supply enveloped in my skirt.

The young medic is in his early twenties, but his eyes look tired and aged. “Some won’t make it. Our platoon was hit hard. The town was supposed to be clear. They told us the Nazis moved north.” Tears begin to swell in his green eyes. “There was one sniper and then two. They picked us off one by one.” He bites his lip.

As much as this kills me to watch, I’ve seen it before many times and I know what I need to do. I read the name on his uniform and lock his gaze with mine. My words flow calmly and quietly. “Private Mason, these boys need you right now. You got them here. Please help me. Let’s focus on those that can be saved, okay?”

He shakes his head, wipes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He looks at me apologetically. “Of course, ma’am. Let’s go.”

We move down the line of beds one by one, helping those we can and comforting those we can’t. I’ve lost all track of time, but I realize that the room is much quieter now.

“Private Mason, these last three appear to have minor wounds. I can attend to them. You need to go outside and get some fresh air.”

He looks at the floor, pauses, and then looks up at me slowly. “Yes, ma’am.” He turns and walks out into the moonlit night.

I scan the room from one end to the other. Other nurses are already treating two of the final three injured men. The third sits in a chair at the other end of the room. I’m exhausted, but I walk quickly toward him. He’s sitting patiently in the chair holding his right arm, which is wrapped in dirty makeshift bandages. I can see that they are blood-soaked, but the look on his face doesn’t reveal a hint of pain. He is young and handsome. I kneel down in front of him and take his forearm gently in my hands. When I glance up his gray eyes pierce me from behind his glasses, but as he smiles his whole face softens.

“Hi, my name’s Veronica.”

“Hi, I’m Dimitri.” His voice is quiet, but confident.

Blaring music jolts me awake. I reach across my nightstand, fumbling to find a button—any button—that will shut off the alarm. The music abruptly stops. I open my eyes and blink a few times. The dream was so real I half expect a Nazi soldier to walk through my bedroom door. I close my eyes and can still see Dimitri’s face. I lay there for a few minutes concentrating on that face. That beautiful face.

Unfortunately, the day won’t wait. It’s Saturday and I have a long to-do list.

I drag myself out of bed, shower, dress, and trudge upstairs to get something to eat while my hair dries. My dad is sitting at the dining room table eating breakfast and reading the newspaper.

“Hey, Ronnie, what’s happening?”

I give him a kiss and a hug. “Morning, Dad. Not much.”

Mom must have been up early this morning. The aroma of cinnamon rolls fills the kitchen. The pan is on table in front of my dad and all but two are gone. I slide the pan over and, not bothering with a fork, dive right in with my fingers. Some foods are more satisfying when eaten with your hands. The rolls are still warm, each bite is flaky dough infused with cinnamon and vanilla, topped with sticky, sugary, cream cheese frosting. There’s a reason they call this type of deliciousness comfort food. It’s bliss. Have I mentioned how much I love my mom?

Dad folds the newspaper in half and tosses it to the other side of the table. “So, how was the first week of school?”

“Good, really good. Looks like calculus isn’t going to be as hard as I’d imagined, at least not yet. Besides, John’s in my class so I know where I can get a good tutor if I need one.”

My dad smiles. “That John’s a pretty smart kid, but I bet you’ll do just fine on your own. You’ll probably be tutoring him by the end of the semester.”

“John is a genius, Dad. I, on the other hand, apply myself to the best of my abilities. I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but that’s a fairly distinct and far-reaching difference. His brain is epic. Mine is functional.”

“Functional and funny,” he teases.

I laugh. “Aha, and there’s the rub.” I’m quiet while I take a few more bites of the heavenly cinnamon rolls. “So, how was your week? Mom said you ended up in Chicago?”

“It was a pretty good week. A few bad storms out east, but that’s what makes it fun.”

I shake my head and laugh. “Yeah, whatever. You do realize that you are the only person on the planet who actually enjoys driving in bad weather, don’t you?”

My dad is unique, and I mean that in the best possible way. He’s opinionated and stubborn, but also equally kind and generous. He’s very smart, though he barely graduated high school. I suspect a strong mix of boredom and a lack of interest were to blame for his poor grades. He takes a common sense approach to life and works harder than anyone else I’ve ever known. He’s a perfectionist in every sense of the word. (The amount of time he spends doing and re-doing drives me insane. I’m critical of myself, but I’m a do-your-absolute-best-the first-and-only-time type of girl.) He has an amazing sense of humor that gets quite juvenile at times and embarrasses my mom to death. But, most of all he’s a great role model and, along with my mom, my biggest fan and supporter.

He laughs too. “So what’s on the agenda for today?”

“I need to meet Piper and the homecoming planning committee at eight o’clock this morning at school, but it should only take an hour or two, and then I’m going to the library. I need a book to get started on a report for English.”

“How is the Pied Piper?”

“Same. Wonderful. She’s Piper, need I say more?” Because she really is pretty wonderful and my dad knows it. Of all my friends she’s always been one of his favorites. She lives just down the street from us and we’ve been friends since her family moved here when we were both in seventh grade.

He smiles. “Did the Pied Piper bite off more than she can chew again? She needs help with homecoming?”

“Yeah, it’s pitiful to watch her struggle though. And besides that she’s so darn persistent, I think she’s part honey badger. She never takes no for an answer. It’s one of her best qualities.” I lovingly roll my eyes.

This makes my dad laugh again. “Yeah, but we love her anyway.”

I smile, too. “Yeah, we do.”

I put the cinnamon roll pan in the dishwasher and hurry back downstairs to apply some mascara and do something with my hair. I decide to avoid the blow dryer and pull it back in a ponytail to save time.

I grab my bag and the list of books to check out from the library. When I arrive back upstairs my dad is heading out to the garage, so we walk together.”Bye Dad, love you.”

“Love you, too, Ronnie.” He winks. “Have fun and don’t be too hard on Pied Piper. Tell her I said hi. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“I will.” I jump in Jezebel, turn my key in the ignition, and back down the long drive.

• • •

The homecoming planning meeting doesn’t take as long as I’d expected. It’s a follow-up to the meeting on Thursday afternoon that I missed, and it seems like everyone already knows what they need to do. Piper puts me in charge of selling tickets before school the week of the dance and taking tickets at the door the night of. I’m pretty pleased. It could have been much worse. I could’ve ended up with decorating duties. Decorating duties
suck
.

I head to the library, list in hand. I’m definitely a list maker. I make a list for everything. It comes to me naturally, too. I’m a second-generation list-maker, just like my mom.

The library isn’t very busy so I decide to take my time and look around after I find the books I need. Time gets away from me and before I realize it, it’s almost eleven o’clock.

During my drive home, I think about the books and the book report that looms ahead of me. Although I enjoy English and I’m a good writer, I always get anxious when I have a paper due. The satisfaction doesn’t come until the paper is done. The entire process up to that point is nerve-wracking.

As I turn the corner and drive up my street I notice a car parked in front of our house. It isn’t unusual to see cars in front of our house; we often have visitors, especially when my dad’s home. But I’ve never seen this car before. It’s nice—really nice. It looks out of place on our street. It’s a shiny black Porsche with dark tinted windows. Maybe it’s Daniel’s car. He’s a friend of my dad’s, a car collector who’s always got something new to show off.

I park in the driveway instead of pulling in the garage, because I still need to drive to the auto parts store for oil. I stack up the books and balance them in one hand while I put the strap of my bag over my shoulder with the other. My mom’s in the kitchen making sandwiches for lunch when I walk in the back door.

“Hi Ronnie.” She’s flitting around the kitchen. My mom usually operates at 100 miles an hour. She doesn’t know how to relax. She kisses me on the cheek as she breezes by.

“Hey, Mom. What’s up, where’s the fire?” She’s making me dizzy.

Her laugh is nervous, giddy even. “I’m just making some sandwiches to take out to the garage. Do you want one?” The smile on her face could not be any wider.

I shake my head. “No, I’m not hungry right now, maybe later.” I’m confused. I set my books on the counter and hang my bag on the hook by the door. “So, whose car is that outside?”

“That’s funny, Ronnie.” She looks at me and realizes I’m not laughing. She’s confused. Good, now I’m not the only one. “You really don’t know?”

“No, did Daniel get a new car? It’s really nice.”

She smiles again, “I think you better take these sandwiches out to the garage,” and hands me two plates.

Her behavior is kind of freaking me out, but I take the plates and head out the back door. I need to ask my dad a question before I go to the parts store anyway and now I’m curious. My mom follows closely, like a hyper puppy, somehow carrying two full glasses of iced tea. I open the door to the garage and hear voices at the other end, but the TV is loud and I can’t make them out. I can see that there are two people sitting in the chairs facing the TV, their backs to us.

My dad turns around first. “Hey, Ronnie, I was beginning to think you got lost.” He reaches out to take a plate from me. “Thanks.”

I look at the chair next to him and nearly drop the plate. Dimitri stands up and quickly grabs it before it slips out of my hand.

I can’t speak. What? How? Too many questions are running through my head.

He looks at me like he can hear the incoherent babble in my mind. One corner of his mouth turns up into a boyish grin and he nods slightly. “Good morning, Veronica. Or is it afternoon?”

I’m still dazed. “Almost afternoon. Hi Dimitri. What are you doing here?” It comes out sounding rude and I want to take it back as soon as I say it.

“You said I should stop by this weekend to see the garage … that your dad would be home … remember? I apologize. I should’ve called, but you never gave me your number. I didn’t realize you had plans this morning or I would’ve waited.”

He’s struggling and I have to interrupt him before this gets any worse. I force a smile. “It’s okay. You just surprised me, that’s all. I guess you’ve already met my parents, then?”

They all look at each other and smile. Suddenly I feel like an outsider.

Dimitri nods, the odd, knowing smile still on his face, as he looks from my parents to me. “Yes. We’ve met.” The smile is the same one I saw on the first day of school when he asked me if I’d just come from French class. Only now they all seem to be in the on the joke and I have no idea what to think.

“Here’s some tea, sweetie.” My mom hands Dimitri a glass. “You let me know if you need some more. I just made a fresh batch.”

“Thank you, Jo. And thanks for the sandwich. It really wasn’t necessary. I’ve already made a pest of myself this morning.”

A pest? That indicates some period of time has passed. How long has he been here? What the hell?

My mom gives my dad his glass of tea and pats Dimitri on the shoulder as she passes and goes back to the house.

I feel like I’m in a goddamn twilight zone. My mom is always hospitable and always friendly, but she’s usually a bit more tentative with any new guys I bring home to meet them. Not to mention that this new guy brought
himself
home, unannounced—
without me
. And then there’s my dad who, in the past, hasn’t acknowledged any of my friends that are guys unless it is blatantly obvious they aren’t boyfriend material. A grand total of three have passed the test: John, Tate, and Teagan. My dad trusts me implicitly, but doesn’t think anyone is good enough for his little girl. This is definitely weirding me out.

My dad pulls a chair up next to him. “Ronnie, why don’t you sit down?”

I sit down mechanically. It’s like I’m outside myself looking down on the scene. On one side I should be absolutely thrilled that Dimitri’s come to see me. But on the other hand, my parents’ reaction to him is so …
strange
. I know the effect Dimitri has on me. I’m completely spellbound in his presence, despite the fact that I’ve known him less than a week. I’ve noticed the way other girls react to him at school, too. His looks and confidence are intoxicating. But that shouldn’t work on parents, especially mine. My dad is sitting here in his goddamn shrine, watching an old western, eating lunch with Dimitri like they are old buddies. For crying out loud—he’s only known him for a few hours at most.

They eat their sandwiches in contented silence. My dad’s eyes are glued on the TV and Dimitri’s eyes are glued on me. He’s sitting directly across from me and holds my gaze. His eyes run through a range of emotions, carrying on a one sided conversation: apologetic, then playful, then morphing into a look that’s downright enchanting.