The Mealworm Diaries (12 page)

Why now?
He clutched his stomach and gasped.

A new wave of pain spread through his body. He heaved and threw up. Once, then again and again, until there was nothing left. Still his body heaved.

He felt his mother's hands. One, firm and warm, holding his forehead, the other rubbing his back.

“I didn't. I didn't mean it,” he sobbed. “I didn't mean it.”

“It's okay, baby,” she said. “It's okay. People throw up. It happens.”

“No…,” he tried to speak, but she wouldn't let him go on.

“Just breathe,” she said, “just breathe.” Her hands never let go.

TWENTY – THREE

Later, when he was washed and dressed again, he sat on the living-room couch bundled in one of Nana's afghans. He was rocking.
Like Aaron,
he thought.
Just like
Aaron.
He willed himself to stop, but his body wouldn't cooperate.

Nana and his mother were seated on either side of him, Grampa on the chair opposite. Their faces mirrored their concern. He had to tell. He wanted to tell.
They'll
hate me,
he thought. But he couldn't keep his secret. Not anymore.

“I was…I was so excited to ride on the motorcycle. I knew you didn't want me to.” He glanced at his mother. “But…” He shrugged. “I held on to Dad's middle the way he told me, and I leaned when we turned onto the road. I did everything he said. After we rounded the curve I looked back. I was gonna wave…but you were gone.”

“I was mad at your father,” she whispered. “I went inside because I couldn't stand to see you leave.”

“That's when I saw Henry,” Jeremy went on. “He was cutting across the field. You know how fast he could run. He looked like he was flying. I called out to Dad, but he didn't hear. I shouted. I guess he couldn't hear me over the noise of the engine. I pounded on his shoulder, but by that time Henry was beside us. Dad swerved. We hit…I don't know what we hit.” His voice cracked, and he coughed to clear his throat. “We stopped just like that.” His right hand smacked against the left. “And I went flying.”

“Oh, Jeremy.” His mother reached for his hands, but he shook her away, knowing what he still had to tell.

“It was my fault,” he said. “Don't you see? It was… my fault.”

“No!” His mother wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “How could it have been your fault?”

“I…I didn't close the latch on the dog run.” The words spilled out. “I must not have closed it. That's how Henry got out. It was my fault that Daddy died.” Then in a whisper, “It's okay if you hate me.”

It wasn't until the second time she spoke that Jeremy heard his mother's words. “You're wrong,” she was saying. “Can you hear me? Listen to me! You're wrong!”

He looked up, tears flooding his eyes.

“The gate was locked,” she said firmly when she had his attention. “Officer McKendrick checked after the accident. It was the wire mesh that gave way. You know how Henry always hurled himself against the fence. The staples gave way, and he squeezed through. That's how he got out. It wasn't your fault. It was
not your fault
,” she said, as if the repetition would make her words more true.

Jeremy searched her face, but her eyes never wavered.

“It was not your fault,” she said again. “I should have told you. I wanted to tell you everything, but every time I tried talking about the accident, I got too upset. I kept crying. I couldn't help it. And every time I cried you got upset too…and you had those terrible dreams…

“I should have guessed that you were blaming yourself. It's not your fault,” she said for the fourth time. “Even if…” She wiped her eyes. “Even if…I could never hate you Jeremy. Never.”

TWENTY – FOUR

They were in the truck on their way to the airport when Jeremy said, “Do we have time to pick up apples?”

Grampa and his mother exchanged glances. “You sure about that?” his mother asked.

“Yeah. I told Milly our apples were the best. If she doesn't taste them, how will she know?”

“One road's as good as another,” Grampa said. He turned left at the next corner and started along the road that ran past their old house.

Jeremy sat, his chin high, his eyes straight ahead, until he saw the Apples For Sale sign, and he glanced to the left in time to see a flash of blue roof between the trees. Home?

Grampa turned the truck into the lane and stopped beside the house. It looked the same—but different.

A woman came out and greeted them. She led Grampa and his mother to the back where the apple shed was. Jeremy stayed in the driveway and looked around. The dog run was gone, replaced by a long, lower shelter that he recognized as a chicken coop.

Chickens,
he thought.
No dog.

An unexpected voice made him jump. “I know you,” the voice said. “You're Jeremy.”

He turned to see a small girl on the other side of the screen door. He knew her from somewhere. School maybe?

“You're Joanne,” he said.

“I know,” said the girl, and she came outside to stand beside him. “I'm in grade one.”

Jeremy smiled. “Yeah. I remember.”

She was dressed in blue corduroy overalls that had a turkey and some corn sheaves embroidered on the bib.

“You have chickens,” Jeremy said.

“I know,” said the girl. “You wanna see?” She was already walking toward the henhouse.

When she opened the door for him he bent to look inside. The henhouse held about a dozen young chickens, all past the cute chick stage, but bits of yellow down still stuck out in patches between their sprouting feathers.

“Your chickens are teenagers,” Jeremy said.

“I know,” said the girl.

He closed the henhouse door. “There used to be a dog run here,” he said, and then stifled the urge to laugh when she said, “I know.”

“It died,” she said. “You wanna see?”

Jeremy frowned. “See what?”

She took his hand and led him to the old apple tree beside the house. His tree.

“There,” she said, pointing to a large rock. “Daddy says he's under there.”

“The dog?”

“Your dog.”

For a long moment Jeremy stared at the gray boulder. Henry's stone.

The sound of his mother's voice made him jump. “You found it,” she said.

He turned to see her standing with legs braced, as if she was fighting a wind. Her arms were wrapped protectively around a bag of apples. Grampa stood beside her.

“He died that first night,” she said. “You were in the hospital.”

“Yeah.”

“I was…I should have told you.”

“I knew. I didn't want to hear.”

She took a deep breath, and when Jeremy didn't say anything else she went on. “Grampa buried him. We thought that was a good place.”

Jeremy nodded.

“You didn't ask…I didn't know…I was…”

“His name was Henry,” the little girl interrupted.

“I know,” said Jeremy, but he was answering his mother.

On the flight home, Jeremy talked about his father for the first time since the accident. “You know what I remember?” he began. He went on to tell his mother about sharing an apple; about finding Henry and how he thought the pups were a bear; how he had a fishhook stuck in his thumb; how much he loved camping. He talked on and on while his mother listened. She had heard all the stories before, but it didn't matter. She was happy to hear Jeremy share them again.

When they walked through the door of Milly's house, he called, “We're home,” and Milly came from the kitchen and welcomed them back with a hug. This time Jeremy didn't mind. In fact, he hugged Milly back before they gave her the bag of apples.

“I guess I'm making pies tomorrow,” she said with a smile. “Do you want a plain or crumble topping?”

“Make them the way Fred liked them,” Jeremy said. “I think that's the kind my dad liked too.”

At bedtime he was tired and his bed seemed to welcome him. He fell asleep easily and slept well—until the dream returned. The good part was better than ever. He watched his father pull off the helmet and smile. He felt the wind from the sea, smelled the leather of his father's jacket and the nose-biting sting of gasoline. He heard the roar of the motorcycle's engine as it kicked in, and his body vibrated with happiness—until the bad part started. He could feel it in the rhythm of his heart, which began a painful drumming.

No,
he protested.
I don't want to see. I don't want to
see.
He covered his eyes, determined not to look.

“You don't have to,” a voice said.

“What?” Jeremy was confused. Aaron? Why was Aaron in his dream again?

Aaron made one of his gargoyle faces. “Just, just turn it off,” he said, and he made a flicking motion, as if he were turning off a light.

Jeremy, desperate to escape the dream images, reached with his finger and tried to turn them off. They didn't stop. The motorcycle roared on and on.

Aaron's face appeared again. Jeremy couldn't hear him over the roar, but he saw Aaron mouthing the words, “Turn…it…off!”

He woke with a start, gasping, his heart beating double time, but when he checked, his bed was dry.

He waited, listening for his mother. She didn't come.
I didn't scream,
he thought, and he turned and settled back to sleep. When he woke it was morning, and his room was filled with sunshine.

TWENTY – FIVE

His mother was already buttoning her coat when Jeremy came downstairs for breakfast. “Have to run,” she said. “I've got an early class.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Bye, Milly,” she called, and she was gone.

Milly was by the window when Jeremy walked into the kitchen.

“It's a perfect apple pie day,” she said with a smile.

He came to stand beside her, and they looked out, admiring the reds and yellows and greens of the autumn garden. The sun was bright, the sky a brilliant shade of blue.
It does look perfect,
Jeremy thought
. It feels perfect
too.
And he was happy until he remembered that this was the day he was going to make things right with Aaron. Then it didn't seem quite as golden.

Milly interrupted his thoughts. “I forgot to tell you,” she said. “Aaron came around looking for you while you were in Nova Scotia.”

“Aaron?” Was she reading his mind?

“He didn't seem to know that you'd be away for Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah. I…I didn't tell anybody. I…” He sighed, remembering how worried he had been about the trip home. Now he felt a little silly about keeping everything a secret.

“You didn't want to answer questions?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. Milly seemed to understand all the things he couldn't put into words. “What did Aaron want?”

“Oh, Aaron.” She hesitated. “He was funny. He was bouncing up and down so much he could hardly talk. Said he had good news.”

Jeremy felt her study his face as she spoke. “His father phoned and talked to him. I didn't get all the details because he was bubbling with excitement, but he said his dad would be coming back to Toronto sometime before Christmas.” She paused again. “I thought I should tell you. I'm sure you'll hear all about it at school. It doesn't seem like a secret he'd be able to keep.”

An unexpectedly sharp stab of envy hit Jeremy, and all the good feelings of the morning oozed from his body. There was nothing about Aaron he had ever envied. Nothing. Until now. But now he wished he had a father who could phone, a father who would be home for Christmas. He realized he missed his dad so much that it hurt with a deep painful ache that made him want to cry
. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts
, he thought
.
The words rang in his head as he fought back his tears
.

There was a long silence in the kitchen. When he finally looked up, he realized Milly was still watching. From the look on her face, he knew she understood.

“It's always a surprise when it hits you,” she said softly. “And it doesn't go away. Not completely. But after a while, it doesn't hurt nearly as much. Not nearly as much. You'll see.”

By the time he arrived at school, it was almost time for the bell. Kids were milling about, talking. They sounded excited. A long weekend always made the Tuesday back feel like a new beginning. He looked around until he spotted Horace standing with Karima and Tufan and some other kids from the class. They were in a sort of huddle around Aaron, who was talking, his hands and feet dancing with the excitement of his words. Jeremy figured he knew what that was all about, but he went to join them anyway.

“…and he said he has a surprise for me,” he heard Aaron say as he joined the group.

“Therapy,” Tufan said, and he snickered. “He's heard all about you and he's going to sign you up for therapy.”