Hummingbird Heart (10 page)

“I know.”

“No, I'm not mad.” I was actually kind of glad of the company, and now that I'd told Karma what I was doing, I was less likely to chicken out.

“I'd do the same thing, if it was my dad,” Karma said. “I wonder why Amanda made us leave like that. You think he said something that made her flip out?”

I shook my head. “No clue.”

“Maybe he wants custody or something. He's a lawyer, right?”

“Seems a bit unlikely. I'm too old for that, don't you think? Anyway, he hasn't even wanted to see me until now.” What the hell was I doing? My mother would murder me if she found out. Maybe I could ask Mark not to tell her. If he was even still here. Maybe he'd gone home already. Maybe I'd never see him again. My thoughts were spiraling out of control.
Polar ice melting,
I told myself.
South Pacific islands being slowly submerged. Tsunamis.
Bee colonies collapsing. Global food shortages
. It didn't work. It didn't put my own worries into perspective or help my panic to subside. Even if the world was on the brink of catastrophe, I still wanted to see Mark. Even if he turned out to be a drug dealer or a child molester, I still wanted to know why he had come.

We rode in silence the rest of the way, and when we finally got off the bus, my legs felt shaky. Karma slipped her small brown hand into mine, and I made a face at her as we walked toward the hotel.

“Changed your mind?” she asked.

“No. We're here now. Anyway, I want to see him. I'm just nervous.”

“Want me to come in with you? Or should I wait out here?”

I hesitated. I could use the moral support, but what if Mark told me something I didn't want her to hear? “Wait out here. If you don't mind?”

She shook her head and plopped down on a sidewalk bench. “That's okay. I've got a book.”

I walked up the curving driveway, through the revolving doors, and up to the reception desk. “Is Mark Wheatcroft still staying here? Can you call him and tell him Dylan is here to see him?”

The woman—round-faced and as freckled as Toni—smiled, nodded and dialed Mark's room number. I held my breath. What if he'd already left? But the hotel staff would know that, wouldn't they? They wouldn't call his room if he'd checked out.

“Hello, Mr. Wheatcroft?” the woman said. “Um, Dylan is downstairs in the lobby?” She made it sound like a question.

I watched her face carefully, trying to read Mark's response in her expression.

The woman smiled at me and smoothed her fair hair with one hand. “Have a seat. He said he'd be right down.”

“Thanks.” I wandered over to the display case that Karma had been looking at the night before and stared at the carvings. I wondered if Mark would be angry that I'd come on my own.
Just forget about him,
Mom had said. As if I could.

Finally the elevator doors opened and Mark stepped out.

“Dylan.” He smiled widely. “I'm so glad to see you. I knew Amanda would come around once she'd had time to think about it.” He looked around the lobby. “Where is she?”

I shook my head. “I came on my own.”

“Oh.” He looked confused. “But…she did tell you?”

My heart was pounding hard and fast. “She didn't tell me anything.”

Mark's face fell. “So you're not here because…”

“I'm here because I want to know what's going on.” My voice was shaking and my eyes were suddenly wet. I brushed the back of my hand across them quickly.

“Oh.” Mark frowned. “I should probably call your mother.”

“Don't.”

We stared at each other for a moment. A muscle in Mark's jaw was twitching.

I wondered if he ground his teeth like I did. I used to wear a tooth guard at night so I wouldn't wear my teeth down to stubs. I watched him making up his mind. Finally he nodded decisively and gestured to the doors.

“Let's go for a walk, okay? And I'll tell you what's going on.”

It had clouded over. The sky was a thick damp gray streaked with dirty white clouds. I could see Karma's small figure, her back to me, still sitting on the sidewalk bench, and I wished for a second that I'd told her to come with me. Not for her sake—she never minded being alone—but for my own. I'd feel better if I was still holding her hand. I clenched my fists inside my pockets and followed Mark in the opposite direction, away from the street and along a paved path down near the harbor. A cool breeze blew off the water, and I shivered, tucking my hands into my sleeves and pulling my hoodie around myself more tightly. A harbor ferry chugged slowly toward the inner harbor. A sailboat scudded by, its canvas white against the dark green-gray of the waves.

I snuck a glance at Mark as we walked. He was wearing a long black coat over dark gray pants, and I thought about how he lived in a different world from me and Mom and Karma. A world where you didn't have to worry about paying the rent. He and Lisa probably lived somewhere nice, in a big house they owned. I wondered what he thought about Mom cleaning houses for a living. He and Lisa probably paid someone like Mom to keep their own place clean.

“It's beautiful here,” Mark said.

“Yeah. We've already covered that topic pretty thoroughly.” I knew it was rude, but if I had to make more small talk, my head was going to explode.

He sighed. “Look, I don't know what the right thing to do is. I know you want an explanation, but I'm sure you also realize your mother is not going to be happy about this. About me talking to you.”

I waited.

“Okay. The thing is, I think you have a right to make up your own mind. If I was sure that Amanda would tell you herself, I wouldn't say anything.”

He was trying to convince himself that he was doing the right thing, I realized. I nodded, wanting to help him along. “Sure. That makes sense.”

Mark stopped walking and turned to face me. “Dylan, what I'm about to tell you…just promise me you'll think about it, okay? Even if you're upset. Promise me you'll really think about it.”

I nodded, confused. “Sure. I promise.”

He tilted his head to one side, studying me as if I was a puzzle of some kind. “My daughter, Casey,” he said slowly. “I showed you her picture last night.”

“I remember.” That big-eyed girl he'd called my half sister.

“Casey has something called acute lymphoblastic leukemia.” Mark was speaking slowly and carefully, watching my face. “It's a blood disease—a kind of cancer of the blood cells.”

“Jeez. That's awful. I'm sorry.” I wondered if she was dying. It wasn't the kind of question you could ask. Besides, what if the answer was yes? I wouldn't know what to say.

“Yes. It is awful.” He cleared his throat. “She was a healthy kid until last winter. Around Christmas she started losing weight, getting ear infections and sore throats and saying she was tired all the time. She'd had a bad flu, and we figured she was just run-down. Then she started complaining of leg pain, and Lisa—my wife—took her to the doctor. They did blood tests.” He shook his head, like he was still having trouble believing it.

I pushed the toe of my runner against the soft grass at the edge of the path and wondered what all this had to do with me.

“She had chemo, which was hell. But it seemed like it worked. She went into remission and we thought we'd beaten it, but this fall she relapsed. We almost lost her. We got a second remission, but the doctors say it won't last. She needs a bone marrow transplant. Lisa and I were both tested, of course, but neither of us were a match. Lisa wanted to do
in
vitro
fertilization, to try to have another child who could be a donor, but she had a lot of complications with her last pregnancy and, well, we didn't know how much time we had. And then…” He cleared his throat. “Then I thought of you.”

“That's a first,” I said.

“You don't understand. Mandy has put me in an impossible…” He shook his head, frowning. “Never mind that for now.” He reached out and took my hand. “Listen. Casey's best chance of survival is if we can find a donor who's a good match. You're her half sister. It's a long shot, but I came out here to ask if you would consider being tested.”

I pulled my hand away. I felt like one of those snow globes—like someone had picked me up and turned me upside down and given me a hard shake. All of my thoughts and feelings were whirling and floating around inside. I shook my head.

Mark misunderstood. “Don't answer now.” He leaned toward me, his eyes intense, locked on mine. “You promised you'd think about it.”

“I have to go,” I said numbly.

“But you will think about it?” He grabbed my arm.

I looked down at his wrist. His sleeve had pulled back a couple of inches and a glimpse of color flashed. I stared at it. A tattoo. A hummingbird tattoo.

“I'm sorry.” Mark let go and stepped back. “I fly back east on Thursday,” he said. He fumbled in his pocket and handed me a card. “Call me on my cell. Here or at home.”

“You have the same tattoo as Mom.”

“Crazy thing to do,” he said, shaking his head. “It wasn't as if hummingbirds had any great meaning to us either. We just flipped through the book and picked a picture we liked. Could have been worse, I guess. At least we didn't get skulls. Or each other's names.”

I took the card. “I have to go,” I said again. Then I turned and ran back up the grassy slope toward the hotel, eyes stinging, tears cold on my cheeks.

“Hey, Dylan.” Karma grabbed my shoulder. Her eyes were wide and scared. “You just ran right past me. What's wrong? What happened?”

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

“If he hurt you…” She looked ready to find Mark and kill him if necessary.

“No. No, nothing like that.”

Karma's voice wobbled slightly, as if she might start to cry. “After you went off with him, I started freaking out and thinking, like, what if he's a pervert or something?”

“He's not.”

“But you don't want to talk about it?”

“I just want to go home,” I said.

This was the worst part, the most shameful thing: the first thought I'd had when Mark had said Casey was sick was that maybe if Casey wasn't around, he'd see me as a daughter instead. It was a horrible, sick, twisted thought to have. I hated myself for having that thought. And anyone else who knew it would hate me too. Even Karma.

Karma rode the bus halfway home with me and hopped off at the Boys and Girls Club.

“I'll just apologize for being late. That way I miss most of the group and they won't call Amanda,” she said. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” Karma looked worried, so I tried to grin at her. “Go on. I'll be fine.”

She gave my arm a funny little pat and got off the bus, and I rode it the rest of the way home. I couldn't believe Mom hadn't told me why he was here. By the time I was kicking off my shoes in our front hall and walking up the stairs, I still hadn't decided whether to talk to her about it or pretend that I didn't know. She'd be furious that I'd gone to see Mark on my own but…

Crap.
At the entrance to the living room, I stopped dead. I stood and stared for a moment. Mom and Scott were making out on the couch. There was an open bottle of wine on the table and the living room smelled like pot.

Scott jumped up when he saw me. His shirt was off and his jeans were unbuttoned. I looked away quickly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, presumably doing up his pants. “How are you, Dylan?”

“Fine.”
God.
My face was burning.

Mom didn't even bother getting up. She sat up, her shirt halfway unbuttoned, black lace bra showing, and laughed. “You're home early.”

“I'm going upstairs,” I said flatly.

“Wait, wait. Come here, baby. Come see Scott's new tattoo.” Mom grabbed Scott, who was bending to pick up his T-shirt, and held up his arm. “Check it out.”