Arcadia's Gift (Arcadia Trilogy) (12 page)

I rang the bell, and Dad buzzed me in.

“I’ll get you a key made next time I go to Menards,” Dad said as he opened the door for me.

I stepped inside and glanced around. “Still living in boxes?”

Cardboard U-Haul boxes stood stacked like skyscrapers around the apartment creating a skyline effect in the living room. The only thing that appeared to be put away was his extensive DVD collection which consisted of every John Wayne, Clint Eastwood and Al Pacino movie ever made.

Dad grinned guiltily, running his hand through his thinning hair. “Guess I just haven’t had time to deal with unpacking yet.”

I shrugged off my jean jacket and hung it on the back of a kitchen chair. I recognized the oak dining set from my Grandma Nora’s house before she moved to Arizona a few years ago. When she left Iowa for a tiny condo in Scottsdale, she’d put most of the furniture from her large family-sized home into storage.

“Food will be here any minute,” Dad said. “Have a seat.”

I followed him over to the couch where I snuggled in and put my feet up. The comfortable sectional was also a relic from my Grandma’s home. It was strange to think that my dad lived here in this place. It was all just...too bare. All of the walls were off-white and the carpets beige. Hotel rooms have more personality than this place.

“So…” I said, feeling rather awkward and knowing he did, too, “maybe after we eat, we could get to work on fixing this place up.”

Dad nodded. “I was thinking, you know, if you want, we could fix up one of the bedrooms up for you. It would probably have to be the small one, because Aaron may be moving in and if he does, he’ll want the bigger room. You know, living here full time.”

I nodded. “Aaron told me he wanted to move with you. Has he talked to Mom about it yet?”

Dad shook his head, “Don’t think so.” After a pause he added, “How is Mom anyway? She looked pretty rough today.” This trial separation was something they both wanted, but the tone of his voice made it clear he was still genuinely concerned about her.

I debated about what to say. If I told him the truth, that Mom was turning into a junkie hermit, would that be disloyal to her? But what if protecting her was actually a bad thing? I decided to just be honest.

“She almost never leaves her room, Dad. She drinks alcohol and takes pills and sleeps like fifteen hours a day.” I didn’t mention my suspicion about her using multiple doctors. I didn’t want to accuse her without concrete proof. I’d wait until I had a chance to take a look at those pill bottles. The prescribing doctor’s name should be on them.

Dad drew in a sharp breath, but he didn’t really look all that surprised. “Yeah, Aaron mentioned she was taking things pretty hard. Maybe —”

His thought was cut off by the tinny ringing of the doorbell. The food arrived. Dad took care of paying the delivery boy and brought the bag with him into the living room. I grabbed us two cans of soda from the fridge while he divided out the white take-out boxes between us.

I opened mine and let the steam escape from my egg rolls. Dad ripped into a package of chop sticks and began attacking his shrimp with lobster sauce. I picked up one of the crispy rolls and took a bite.

“Aw, man,” I cried as I dropped my egg roll back into the box and scrambled for the can of soda. My tongue juggled the chunk of egg roll around my mouth, trying to keep it from burning my tongue into a melted lump of flesh. The cold Pepsi washed through my mouth like heaven.

“Careful there,” Dad warned too late.

I set the food carton down on the end table. “I’ll just give that a minute.”

Something was off in the room, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. The temperature seemed normal, but cool breezes kept brushing my skin. The ceiling fan above me was off and none of the windows were open. Something else about the room was making me uneasy, worried. I pulled my sleeves down over my hands and crossed my arms in front of my middle.

“So,” Dad said, concern clouding his expression, “about your mother...I know you’re worried about her. I am too. Just because things aren’t working out so well with us right now, doesn’t mean that I don’t love her. What I’m trying to say here is that if you want me to —I don’t know —take some action, I will.”

My eyes narrowed, not sure whether I liked the sound of that. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well,” he said, setting his dinner down. “To be honest, my instincts are to give her some time and let her ride this out. Losing Lony…well, it’s been hell for all of us. I’m doing the best I can here, and I’m sure your mother is to, but if you think you might be in any…I don’t know…danger or something…”

“She’s not dangerous to anyone but herself, Dad.”

He nodded. He let out a relieved sigh, and with it, a breeze, slightly warmer than the room, touched my face.

“But I am worried about her,” I continued. “She’s mixing booze with those pills. That can’t be good. She stays in her pajamas all day and ignores the calls on her cell phone.”

Dad’s relief was short lived. He reached his hand up to rub the back of his neck. The coolness to the breeze was back.

“Do you feel that? That breeze? Where is it coming from?”

Dad held his hand up to check the air. “I don’t feel any breeze.” He shook his head and continued, “Well, I don’t think I can help your mother right now. She won’t even talk to me. Nora can’t do much to help in Scottsdale. Think I should go have a talk with her therapist?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. What about Aunt Tina? I know she’s your sister, but she and Mom have always been close.”

Dad nodded, contemplating that option. “We could try it. I’ll give Tina a call tomorrow. Just to be safe, I’ll call her doctor, too. He needs to know that she’s mixing her meds with alcohol.”

Part of me felt badly for telling on my mother. When I was a kid, I once got in trouble for telling a neighbor girl that Mom made Dad sleep on the couch after they had a particularly bad argument. Mom sat me down and lectured me on what happens in our house is no one else’s business, and I was not to tell tales about my parents to the neighbors. I had to wonder if this rule now applied to my father now that he no longer lived with us. I picked up my egg roll, now sufficiently cooled off, and began nibbling away.

By Sunday morning, I’d gotten almost all of my homework caught up. Late in the afternoon, Bryan called to see if I wanted to do something. He picked me up in his car and we drove down to the river. Following alongside the Mississippi is a flood wall with a path on top where people can ride their bikes or walk. The tree leaves on the Wisconsin side of the river were just beginning to turn color. Bryan bought us ice cream cones at a stand, butter pecan for him and cookie dough for me. We ate them while we strolled along the path.

“You’re not scared to go back to school tomorrow, are you?”

I shook my head. “No, not really. It can’t be any more of a disaster than Tuesday.”

“School was hard on me after Jesse died, but I got through it, and so will you.”

Ever since he told me about his brother and that he had the same disease, I’d been waiting for an opportunity to ask him some questions. “Bryan, can I ask you something? It’s kind of personal, so if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool.”

“Go ahead. Ask.” He picked a stone up off of the cement and tossed it out into the river where it sunk with a splash.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about what you told me…that you have that blood disease, too. Are you like…worried or anything? Like what if it was you?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he answered, then paused to lick the dipping ice cream off the side of his cone. “I mean, I’ve thought about it my whole life. My mother was insanely over-protective of both of us, especially when we were little. She actually homeschooled us until seventh grade because she was afraid we’d get hurt at recess or play too roughly with the other kids. Sometimes, it was hard to forget we were different.”

“Wow. So she finally let you go to regular school?”

“Jesse used to beg our parents to let him go to school with the other kids. When he was fourteen and I was twelve, they finally caved, but we weren’t allowed to take gym class or do sports.”

“Wish I could get out of gym class,” I muttered.

He grinned. “I may not have had to go to gym, but gym teachers have always found other ways to torture me, like writing essays on basketball theory or the history of physical education. Did you know the Victorians used to think allowing women to play sports was inhumane due to their delicate constitutions?”

“I think it’s inhumane to make us all change clothes in the same room.”

Bryan chuckled. “So, to answer your question about whether I worry about death, the answer is yes…and no. I’ve lived with the possibility of death for as long as I can remember. I guess I’m sort of used to it. I try to remember that with treatment and a lot of caution, I could live a fairly normal life. But I’d be lying if I said there weren’t times —especially after Jesse died —where I didn’t feel the weight of it, you know?”

Not knowing what else to say, the best I could come up with was, “Um…I’m sorry. I mean, sorry that you have to live with this. So, like the disease…it is treatable, right?”

“Yeah. I take medication every day which has clotting factors in it. If a bleed happens, that’ll help, or at least buy time for me to get to the hospital.”

We sat down on a bench and watched a group of ducks bobbing along the shoreline. “Do you have bleeds very often?”

He shrugged. “Well, as much as my mother would like to completely encase me in Nerf, it’s impossible not to. Jesse and I were more careful with each other than most brothers, but we’d still fight. When I was six, he threw a Hot Wheels car at me and cut my forehead open. I was in the hospital for a week. I also had some joint bleeding when I hit my big growth spurt freshman year. Most people don’t realize that your joints are prone to bleeds. I guess growing seven inches in a year put stress on my knees, because they would ache and bruise up. Eventually, the pain went away, but the doctor says I might develop arthritis in them someday.”

“How old were you when you got this?”

“I was born with it, but didn’t start developing the symptoms for a few years. My mom was pregnant with me when Jesse was diagnosed. They knew I’d probably have it, too, so they banked my cord blood and had me tested right away.”

“How scary for your parents! It must suck to have this happen to both of your kids.”

“Yeah, I think my mom wanted more children, but they decided to stop after me. If she’d have had a girl, the baby would’ve been fine, but there’s no way to guarantee.”

I didn’t say anything, just wound a lock of my hair around and around my index finger. I loved the idea of having a ton of kids someday, and thinking about what Bryan’s mom must have gone through made me sad. We nibbled our cones in silence.

“Well, I guess we better go,” Bryan said. “I have a chemistry assignment to finish tonight.”

“Yeah, sure.” I popped the last bite into my mouth and wiped my fingers on a paper napkin before stuffing it into my pocket.

On the way home, I snuck a couple of glances at Bryan as he drove. We’d gotten pretty close in the time since Lony’s death. And those black glasses that he drove with dig things to his dark eyes that made my insides squirm. It was probably wrong for me to choose this time to develop my first real crush. (I’m not counting the unrequited love I have for Orlando Bloom.) Was there an appropriate amount of time a person had to mourn before they were allowed to move forward with their life? My guilt felt like a lead helmet on my head…two sizes too small.

How would Lony have dealt with it if our situations were reversed? If I was the one who died, leaving her behind? She already had Cane, so it’s not like she would’ve stopped dating him just because of me. She also had a talent for selective thinking, not spending too much time on topics which depress her. Lony would have gone back to school last week when Aaron did. She probably would’ve roped her friends into putting together a memorial for me at the school, rather than ripping one down.

So, maybe I shouldn’t feel too badly about my feelings for Bryan. I couldn’t help the timing…heck, if it hadn’t been for Lony’s death, he probably would have never reached out to me.

“You can do this,” I whispered to myself. “It’s no big deal.”

I walked purposefully up the front steps of the high school, holding my worn —and newly mended —backpack like a shield. The ice water pumped through my veins, my body’s reaction to the dozens of eyes following me down the hall. I wasn’t being paranoid. The quick glances away when I looked up were proof enough.

The funny thing was I wasn’t nervous at all about going to school that morning. I was actually looking forward to getting back to a routine. But once I entered the crowd of students, my stomach tensed up into one big knot and my skin grew damp with cold sweat. In fact, it was the most curious case of nerves I’ve ever felt; a mixed up cornucopia of emotions…excitement, joy, anger, fear. The walls of the hallway seemed barely strong enough to contain it all.