How Evan Broke His Head and Other Secrets (16 page)

E
VAN’S BEEN SITTING there for almost an hour when the door opens. He glances up at the doctor.

“It wasn’t as bad as it looked, ” the doctor grins at him. “The scalp bleeds profusely. It’s all those capillaries up there getting oxygen to all those hair follicles. He’s all stitched up now. No concussion or anything, just a nasty cut and a bruise.”

The doctor waits. For what, Evan doesn’t know. But he towers over Evan for a moment, waiting. Evan feels childish sitting on the wooden bench in the hallway of Harborview drinking a can of soda.

“They’d like you to go in now, ” the doctor says.

Evan stands. The doctor lays his hand on Evan’s shoulder.

“Evan, ” he says. He’s an old friend of Carl’s; Evan’s known him forever but can’t remember his name. “I suppose—” But he cuts himself off.

“You suppose?” Evan prompts.

“I suppose congratulations are in order, ” the doctor says, “as belated as they may be.”

He purses his lips, taps Evan’s cheek lightly with his palm, and then walks off.

CARL SITS ON the examination table wearing a hospital gown that is stained with blood on the left shoulder. A massive bandage is held in place on his left temple by a gauze headband. Louise is standing near the window.

On their faces is that look, a somber, agonized look, the same look he’s seen a million times when they’ve come to pick him up at the hospital after a seizure. The shoe’s on the other foot.

“You okay?” Evan asks when nobody says anything.

Carl nods and touches his bandage gingerly. He looks to Louise. She nods back to him.

“We’ve discussed your situation, ” Carl begins.

Obviously. That’s why they didn’t want Evan in the room with them while Carl was being repaired. So they could discuss his situation.

“And I think we’ve reached some kind of conclusion.”

Great. They’ve reached a conclusion about Evan’s life. He can hardly wait.

“This is how your mother and I will help you with your son, ” he says deliberately. “You’ll sell your apartment, and then you and he will move in with us where we can help you raise him.”

“We’ve got plenty of space, ” Louise adds.“You can sleep in your old room and your son can sleep in Charlie’s old room.”

“Does that sound fair?” Carl asks.

Evan is too stunned to even answer. He knows that his parents think of him as totally incompetent and unable to perform the smallest task without assistance, but this is ridiculous. Move in with them? Why? What kind of person would even suggest that as a solution?

“It sounds stupid, ” Evan says.

Carl and Louise look at each other, surprised by Evan’s response, which, evidently, comes as a shock to them.

“What do you mean?” Louise asks.

“Why is there an assumption that I need your help?”

“Why did you tell us about it now if you weren’t asking for help?”

“I wanted you to
meet
him, ” Evan blurts out.“He’s your grandson. I wanted you to meet him. He wants to meet you.”

“Oh, that’s rich, ” Carl hisses.“Fourteen years this boy has existed and you tell us about it
now
because you want us to
meet
him, not because his mother has died and you have to grow up and act like an adult.”

“What are you talking about?”

“And just how long do you think you’ll last by yourself, Evan?” Louise asks pointedly. “Do you know anything about raising a child? It’s a lot of work,
hard
work—”

“I’ll say, ” Carl agrees.

“I think you have some fancy notion that you and this boy will get by eating Beef-a-Roni for the rest of your lives. But it’s not like that.”

Evan fumes. His parents’ assumption that he couldn’t raise Dean competently if he chose to is infuriating.

“You know nothing about being a father, Evan. It’s a full-time job. How are you going to raise your son and play your music at the same time? How is that going to work?”

“I can make it work—”

“You’ve got late-night gigs, ” Carl points out.

“I can get a baby sitter if you’re too busy.”

“Rehearsals at all hours.”

“You should come live at home, ” Louise blunders on, caught up in her own world.“Your father and I will raise Dean so you don’t have to worry about it. You go on doing whatever it is that you do. We’ll take care of him for you. But I insist that you live in our house.”

“You’ll need all your extra money for expenses, ”Carl says.“You can’t afford to maintain an apartment.”

“I
own
the apartment, ”Evan snaps.“Grandpa left it to me. I don’t owe any money on it, just the common charges.”

“He needs his father around, ” Louise goes on, almost talking to herself, trying to convince herself. “But if I’m going to start cooking again every night, take him to school in the morning, shuttle him about every day to music lessons or sports or whatever it is that he does, then I insist that you make it easier for me by being close by. I’m not as young as I used to be, I can’t drive all over Seattle anymore. If I’m going to do all the work of raising another child, I insist that you meet my conditions.”

“What are you talking about?” Evan asks angrily.

“I insist!” she cries brittlely. “I insist!”

“No, Mom! No. It’s not happening that way. I’m not moving in with you. He’s my son,
I’ll
raise him.
I’ll
cook his dinner.
I’ll
drive him everywhere he needs to go—”

“You’ll
drive
him?” Carl mutters.“You shouldn’t be
living
alone, no less
driving.
”

“What’s that, Dad?”

“What if you had a status seizure in your apartment? What would you do then?”

“Dad, I know in advance. I always get an aura. I can call some-one—”

“You’re killing us with worry, Evan, ” Carl says. “What if you don’t call in time?”

“I’ve taken care of myself so far.”

“But you’ve got your hands full, don’t you? And now you want to be responsible for someone else? That’s ludicrous!”

“I don’t need you to take over my life. I don’t need you to live my life for me.”

Carl doesn’t respond.

“I can be a damn good father if I want to be. I can be a damn good father. You know why? Because I know how to listen, that’s why. And I know how to be flexible. And Dean knows how to listen and be flexible, too. And when he meets you, he’s probably going to ask if he can mow your lawn so he can earn money to buy games for the Play Station 2 you’re going to give him for Christmas, and I’d appreciate your giving him a chance. He and I are going to be a good team, and we don’t need to live with you to do it.”

Louise and Carl exchange a look. Then Louise turns to the window and looks at the city that sparkles outside.

“We’ve discussed this, ”Carl says flatly. “And we feel very strongly that we either go through this together, all of us, or you go through it alone.”

It’s a second before Evan fully understands what his father is saying. When he does, it’s like a blow, like being punched in the gut by Frank.

“You mean I either do it your way, or I can go fuck myself, ” Evan says.

There’s no answer. His mother looking out the window, her back turned. His father staring him down, unresponsive. Evan is alone in the room. The only thing that keeps him there is the shock of it. That they would create such a world in their minds and then expect him to comply without so much as a whimper.

“Then I guess I have to choose the latter, ” he says.

He leaves the examination room and walks down the hallway.

He hears his father behind him. Coming into the hall, calling after him.
“Evan! Evan!”
He doesn’t respond, doesn’t look back.
“Evan, come back here!”
But he doesn’t. He doesn’t go back.

DEAN IS ASLEEP on the couch. He’s on his stomach, his face pressed into the pillow. Evan wanted to be home before Dean got there, but he failed. He has an excuse at least. He sits on the edge of the sofa bed and gives Dean a nudge.

“You asleep?”

“Yes, ” Dean says into the pillow.

“Sorry I’m late, ” Evan said.“My father slipped and fell down in the street.”

“Is he all right?”

“He cut his head and had to go to the hospital. A few stitches, no big deal.”

“Did you tell them about me?” Dean asks after a moment.

“I did.”

“When do I get to meet them?”

“Maybe next weekend. Their plans are up in the air. Possibly next weekend. If not, the weekend after that.”

“Are they nice?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, they’re nice.”

“Do you think they’ll like me?”

“Yeah, ” Evan says.“Yeah, I’m pretty sure they’ll like you.”

LATER THAT NIGHT, much later, in the wee hours, long after Evan has tucked Dean in, he calls his brother, because he promised his mother he would, and he always keeps his promises to his mother.

“Hello?” a sleepy voice croaks.

Evan looks at the clock. It’s after one. Charlie was sleeping.

Charlie. The model citizen, model father, model husband, model brother. He never once said a thing about the accident that changed Evan’s life. Not to Evan, not to their parents. Evan lay bleeding on the street, a charcoal sky pressing down, headlights from the offending car illuminating the scene. An ambulance arrived, but not before Carl, who had come home from work early, it seems, and had been summoned by a neighbor to attend to his unconscious son.(“What happened?” Carl had demanded, Evan later learned from Penny.“He broke his head, ” Charlie had answered.) And Charlie standing mute against the truth. Not a word.

In the hospital. Days of coma. Days of uncertainty. Not a word. After he wakes, weeks of recuperation. Not a word. The accident never spoken of. Why it happened, not a question. How it happened, who cares? Evan left to drift around in a raging sea without someone to throw him a line. If they had only asked how it had happened. How? And if Evan had only told them. Or if he had not. If he had held his tongue, and, later, Charlie had gone to them, head in hands, and confessed that he was to blame. But Charlie didn’t say a word. Carl and Louise never asked. Evan was never given the chance to tell.
It wasn’t my fault
, he wanted to tell them.
It wasn’t my fault.
But, apparently, they had no interest in hearing.

“Hello?” Charlie repeats.

Evan says nothing. He’s angry with himself. Angry that he’s getting sucked into ridiculous bitter memories about his own past instead of concentrating on Dean. And forced to call his brother? Now? Just because his mother wanted him to?

“Hello?”

He wants to hang up on Charlie, but the pause has already gone on too long. Charlie would know; he has caller ID. Evan has to say something.

“Sorry, Chuck, I didn’t realize it was so late. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Charlie yawns into the phone.

“Once you breach the sleep/wake barrier the damage has already been done, ” he says, hushed.“Let me take it into the other room so I don’t wake Al.”

Sleepy shuffles, a closing door.

“What’s up?” Charlie asks.

“I just called to say congratulations.”

“Oh, right, you had dinner with Mom and Dad? How’d it go?”

How’d it go? Should Evan tell his brother what he told his parents? Or should he keep Charlie in the dark, let him find out by back channels, like Evan found out about the pregnancy?

“It had its moments, ” Evan says, and then, to avoid any probing questions, he launches into an animated retelling of the scene: an evening of fawning and groveling simply because their father had shown favoritism in organ allocation.

“Dad’s a cardiothoracic surgeon, ” Charlie says when Evan has finished.“He doesn’t do livers.”

“Yeah, whatever, ”Evan says.“But I mean, Dad bumped Orsenigo’s brother twenty spots up the liver list so he could get a good table and a free bottle of Pellegrino on a busy night. Isn’t there something wrong with that?”

“That’s not what happened, Evan.”

“No? Well, what, then?”

“He told me, ” Charlie explains. “Dad reviewed the records. Orsenigo’s brother-in-law was much sicker than the charts had shown. Dad reevaluated the guy’s condition, that’s all. It turns out he really would have died if Dad hadn’t reclassified him. And Dad didn’t perform the surgery, either. He was in the hospital making rounds and he scrubbed up and observed. He always observes surgeries. That’s practically all he does. I don’t think Dad has actually performed a surgery in years, and when he
did
perform surgeries, they were
heart
surgeries. You remember things all distorted, Ev. You have selective memory.”

“Yeah?”

“You have selective memory that makes people look bad.”

“Really? Maybe so.”

Evan wonders. It’s probably so. Charlie remembers things accurately. Evan remembers things emotionally.

“Well, anyway, I just wanted to say congratulations. Mom and Dad are all excited. They’ve got a list of names for you.”

“I figured. Hey, I have to get up early and get to the gym. You wanna work out tomorrow? I’ll leave you a guest pass at the WAC. I’ll be there at six.”

“What about Eric?”

“What about him?”

“Don’t you want to have breakfast with him?”

“Ha. That’s a good one, Evan. Eric has breakfast with Spongebob every morning.”

“I guess you’re working late tomorrow, too?” Evan asks.

“Yeah, I am. I’m working like a dog lately. I’m up for partner. I think it’s a pretty done deal.”

“That’s great, ” Evan says, trying to sound enthusiastic.

“It’s ninety-nine percent sure. But I’ve got to bust my balls for the next couple of months to show that I really want it. It’s like getting into a frat.”

“I didn’t go to college. Remember?”

“You’ve seen movies, though.”

“Yeah.”

“So, you know. It’s a universal metaphor. Hazing.”

“Yeah.”

The conversation stalls for a moment.

“Do you remember Tracy Smith?” Evan asks.

“Your old girlfriend, Tracy Smith? From high school?”

“Yeah. She died.”

“What? How?”

“A car accident.”

“Oh, you’re kidding. Man. I’m really sorry.”

Evan wonders how much Charlie knows about Tracy and Evan’s relationship. Charlie was on a different wavelength in high school—the academic fast track; he wasn’t too clever about observing people’s comings and goings. Most likely he never saw or heard a thing of Tracy’s late-night visits to Evan’s room.