A Measure of Blood (20 page)

He'll talk to doctors if they come in on a Saturday and he'll find out if his father is getting good care.

He imagines the way they will question him with their eyes—why has he never come before? Is he here at the final hour, hoping for money?

He gets out of his neighborhood, Bloomfield, and to Fifth Avenue, and he passes the theatre where Marina is rehearsing. He looks toward the building, guilty about his lie. Out front are three kids smoking. They all smoke, Marina tells him. They feel invincible.

He keeps going through Oakland, catches the ramp to the parkway off Fifth Avenue and is soon on his way toward Ohio. Place of his birth. Place of his father's imminent death.

MATT IS ALLOWED
TO STAY
later tonight because it's Friday. A couple of the actors find a corner and do homework when they're not onstage, but not too many of them tonight. They clump together talking about where to go after rehearsal. From where he's sitting in the back of the auditorium, he notes that a lot of them slip outside the big doors to smoke when they're not needed.

Matt pretends to be reading, but he keeps thinking about the email, reciting it to himself.

Some of the actors whisper that they're going to the 7-Eleven, but they forget to ask him if he would like to go. After a few minutes, Matt moves from the back of the auditorium to the lobby. The floor there is made of large stones, kind of like in an old castle. He stands at the side door, his favorite door, because it's smaller than the others and nobody uses it, so it seems like a secret door. It leads out to the grass around the theatre building. The door, like the larger ones, is decorated with big black metal straps and bolts. He opens his secret door. Nothing happens, nobody stops him. Jan is inside working, so she won't know. He sees a few actors walking back and using the main entrance. They don't notice him at the side door. He exits the building. Students who have nothing to do with the play walk up and down the sidewalks ten, twenty feet away, busy talking to each other or talking on phones. He has money in his pocket, and he knows where to go.

It would take him two minutes to get to the 7-Eleven. Less. He stands for a while, deciding, then … three steps. Three more. Just do it. Who cares? Everybody lies.

He makes a dash to the sidewalk and then walks at a more regular pace to the store. Jan wouldn't let him buy spearmint leaves the other day. He thinks a swear word about her, then another.

They know who his father is and they won't tell him. Nobody tells him anything.

There are customers everywhere in the store, so that he can hardly squeeze in to the shelf that has the bags of candy. One big guy bumps him without even noticing.

“That's it, little fellow?” says the woman at the register. “No cigarettes?”

“No.”

“Way to go,” she cackles.

He's not sure if it's five minutes or more that he's been gone. Maybe less. He hurries out of the store with his candy in a thin plastic bag. He crosses the street and steps onto the lawn.

“Hi. Hi, Matt. I was looking for you, hoping to catch you.”

It's the man who killed his mother. Matt's legs and arms freeze. He should tell someone, he should run, but he can't make himself move. He tries to grab his phone, but switching his bag of candy from one hand to the other, he finds his hands don't work right, and a second later he drops the bag on the lawn.

The man picks it up.

“Woops. Here you go.” But instead of handing it over, the man holds on to it. “I was looking for you. You know who I am?”

“You hurt my mom.”

“No, I did not. She's okay. I admit I argued with her. Over you. I'm your father.”

Matt tries to grab at his candy. “You hurt her. And then she died.” He hates the way his voice sounds—frightened. But he can't think. He grabs again, but the man holds the bag of candy away.

The man shakes his head. “No. She didn't die. Look. If you run, you're never going to know what happened to her.”

“I don't understand. You stabbed her.”

“I did not. I argued with her. I wanted time with you. Then I left. Then I went back and I found her that way. I ran out again. I called an ambulance.”

“Who stabbed her?”

“Somebody. I don't know. But we got her. We saved her.”

“What do you mean?”

“We saved her.”

“How?”

“Blood transfusions. I gave blood. Lots of my own blood. The doctors said my type was just right for her. It's B positive. She wants to see you.”

“Why didn't somebody come for me?”

“I did. Just now. She wants me to take you to her. She's still going to be … pretty weak.”

“Oh. Where is she?”

Someone on the street blares a horn at another driver. Matt jumps.

“Hospital. We could be there in no time.”

It's okay. He has a cell phone with him. Besides he keeps studying the man's face and thinks they look alike. So maybe it's true. “Are you really my father?”

“Yes.”

“Is your name Ziad?”

The man pauses. “Yes.”

“You wrote that you didn't want me.”

“Who told you that? I never did.”

“But I saw it.”

“I'm trying to think what letter it was.” The man frowns. “I do want you. I want to take care of you. I want to give you things … and a good life. We should get going. This is my car.” He points to a red VW Bug. It's not a maroon Pontiac, not what he thought. How many things has he been wrong about? He gets in. Front seat. No booster.

“Seat belt. You have to learn to obey. Rules are rules. Why are you out at night?”

“Rehearsing. Why does my mom like you now? She didn't like you.”

The man looks out the side mirrors and the rearview mirror. “I know it seemed that way. Grown-ups fight and make up. You'll see.” He pulls out and drives smoothly, then fast through traffic. “Just around this truck. Good to have a little car sometimes, huh? What's in your pocket? Another candy bar?”

“No.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You can't do that. You have to answer me when I ask you something.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm your father.”

“It's just something that belongs to me.”

“Then it belongs to both of us. Let me see.”

Matt inches the phone out of his pocket.

“Aha. Now that is useful. Your mom definitely wants to hear from us. Hand it over.”

“I want to talk.”

“We'll see how she is. Give me the phone. That's a rule: I ask, you give.”

He hands over the phone all the while thinking of ways he can grab it back. “You're passing the hospitals.”

The man, his father, presses several numbers. Matt tries to hear ringing, but doesn't and yet the man starts talking. “Mrs. Brown,” he says. “Okay. Tell her then we're on our way. It won't be long. Tell her to rest.”

“Where are you going? Which hospital? She was in Shadyside.”

“Not anymore.”

They pass another hospital—Montefiore. Then yet another one. “You passed Magee.”

“Smart kid. But they needed to put her someplace where she could rest. Someplace special.”

“Why?”

“Blood supplies.”

“But you said you—”

“She needed a lot of blood. Mine and much more. She's coming along, though. You want to play with my laptop?”

“Yeah.”

“You like computers?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too. It's what I do.”

“Your job?”

“My job is computers.”

Like father, like son. That's what his mother always said about people.

“Somebody is going to be looking for me.”

“No. I wrote them a note, an email. I'm angry with them, you know. They tried to take you away. From me.”

“They're supposed to adopt me.”

“That's not going to happen. You need your real parents, right? That's the right thing. Play with the computer. Take a nap. We'll be there soon enough.”

Matt does not take a nap. He pretends to. Mostly he tries to watch his father through almost closed eyes. He recognizes some of the road signs for a while and then he doesn't.

This is far, this is very far. This is not twenty minutes away. He's missing rehearsal. He doesn't know what to do, but he is sure he wants to see his mother again.

His phone rings and rings in the man's right jeans pocket.

“Aren't you going to answer?”

“No.”

“It's my … my foster parents. They'll want to talk to me.”

“I'm not going to let them at you. They don't have any real right to you. They snatched you away from me.”

Matt wants to grab at the phone but he doesn't want to touch the man. After a while a different phone rings. The man curses and reaches for his left pocket, but seems to change his mind. He begins to hum. And they drive for a very long time. He hums and Matt watches him.

Much later they have taken an exit and slowed down enough that Matt could almost jump out, but he doesn't. There is nothing here, just bushes. The man pulls out both phones, turns them off, and slips out the batteries while he drives. Then he tosses the batteries out the window and, later down the road, the phones, before he gets back to the main road.

“Why did you do that?”

“We don't want to be bothered just yet. I'll get us a new phone. We have family business to attend to.”

Matt watches the clock on the dashboard clicking off the minutes. He doesn't sleep but he goes away in his mind, like in the floor exercises. He goes back to the old apartment and sees his mother. He sees her robe that hung on the bathroom door. The way she sat and drank coffee with her head in her hand.

After a very long time, they stop in front of a house. The dashboard clock says it's after eleven.

“Where is this?”

“Where we'll be with her. Out of the hospital. Home Nursing Care it's called.”

“This is your house?”

“Yes.”

“Why is she here?”

“Bring the laptop. I'll explain.”

The house is not big or rich, but it's a neat little thing with a small lawn bordered by hedges. There are purple flowers in the yard. Some kind of front patio with two chairs. It's not a scary place, but as soon as he steps inside there are smells Matt can't identify. Metal? Something medical. Also spices.

“She's here?”

“Up the stairs. In one of the bedrooms. To the right. The little one. Hand me the laptop.”

He does. “They carried her up?”

“Yep.”

Matt hurries up the stairs.

“To your right.”

He opens the door to a darkened room. Small. Completely dark. Black. The door clicks behind him. He hears the sound of a key in a lock. A small light clicks on, almost as low as a night-light. The man stands, holding a key.

“Until we become used to each other. You have to be good. You might want to fight and I know that. Believe me, I was like that. When I was a kid. Just like you. So I know. I'm not blaming you or any of that.”

“Where's my mom?”

“I'll bring her home tomorrow.”

“I have to talk to her!”

“On the phone they said we shouldn't bother her anymore tonight.”

“Then you lied.”

The man sighs and moves into the room. “You make a person lie. By being bad and—and headstrong. You need to learn to listen. To follow rules. Didn't your mother tell you that?”

Matt moves the other way, toward the door. He feels behind him for the doorknob and when he finds it he tries it every which way. “Let me out.”

“No. You have to learn discipline.”

“I'm hungry.”

“I'll bring food.”

“I have to pee.”

“Use that thing.” The man points to some kind of metal thing on the floor.

“I don't understand.”

“It's a hospital bedpan. You pee in that, and I will empty it.”

That means the man will have to open the door. When the door opens, Matt will run out. He looks around the room. The bed he thought was a cot at first is some kind of hospital bed. It has only a thin spread on it. In the corner is a table with a sewing machine. There is one small window. If he could fly … if there is a roof under the window … He inches toward it.

He has to be super smart. He will escape. If he thinks, if he thinks, he can always figure things out.

“Are you really my father?”

“Yes. Absolutely.“

“Turn away. I have to pee.” He is shaking. Can he do it, get the zipper down, let the water out?

“Why would you doubt me?”

“She said you weren't.”

“She was just angry.”

He manages to get the pee going. “She's in the hospital?”

“Coming home tomorrow. You're going to be a good boy, right?”

“I guess.”

“Here's the rules. No running, no yelling, no crying. Be patient. It will take time to get to know me. I understand that. To answer your question, we'll live here for a while. She wants that. If you're good, everything will work out.”

“But school.”

“We're going to put you in school here.”

“Really? Where are we?”

“A small town. A nice small town, good for raising kids. A couple of days and you'll like it.”

He starts to cry even though he knows it will get him in trouble.

“What is it?” His father's voice is kind. “What is it? I thought I said, ‘No crying.' Hey.”

He turns away to hide the crying.

He hears the key in the lock again. The door shuts and makes a turning sound from the other side, locked.

“Wait!”

From the other side of the door he hears, “Look. Hey, I'm sorry about this, but until we're used to each other and you totally behave … ”

Matt pulls himself together and thinks hard. The door will have to open if the man brings food. “I'm hungry,” he calls.