Leaving Paradise (13 page)

twenty-five

Caleb

“Caleb, phone!” Mom yells from the kitchen.

I’ve been in my room, trying to figure out these mixed-up thoughts I’ve been having since Tuesday, when Maggie and I got locked in the attic. We sat there for maybe forty minutes. In that short amount of time I probably shared more with her than I have with Kendra. Ever.

I’m in serious trouble here.

I pick up the cordless and head to my room. “Hello?”

“Hey, CB. It’s Brian.”

“What’s up?”

“It’s Sunday,” Brian says in a way-too-cheery tone.

“And?” I say.

“Come on, dude, don’t tell me you forgot our ritual. You, me, Drew, and Tristan . . .”

I remember. Sunday afternoons watching football—me, Brian, Tristan, and Drew.
No chicks allowed
was our motto.

“I’m leaving for Tristan’s in ten. Be ready,” Brian says, then the line goes dead.

I’m in my briefs. I’d sworn to myself I’d sleep all day. But if I want to get back into a normal routine, Sunday football can’t be ignored.

I take a quick shower—believe me I’m used to them. And when I’m pulling on some old sweats and a t-shirt, I hear Mom downstairs fawning over Brian.

I’m so glad you called Caleb. You’re such a good friend. Here’s some leftover Chinese food from last night.
I swear she’s like an out-of-control machine.

When I get downstairs, Brian says to me, “Your mom rocks, CB. Check out all the stuff she packed for us.”

I glance into the large grocery bag. Mom must have put half of the food from our refrigerator in it. I’m about to hug her, but she picks up a dish rag and starts wiping off the kitchen table when I come close. “Go on,” she says, “and have a good time.”

At Tristan’s house we have to wait for the game to come on. It’s the Packers against the Bears. Before I got arrested, I could have told you every date of every game and every Bears’ opponent playing in those games.

I park myself on the couch in his basement and lean back. I can hardly wait to watch. The other guys have no clue how much I missed this.

Hell, I didn’t even realize how much I missed this.

I got Kendra back, I got my friends back. I’ve got to forget about Maggie. I’m sure I’m just thinking about her so much because we’re working together. I came back to Paradise with a mission to get my life back to normal. Sitting back and watching the game makes me realize that the status quo isn’t all that bad.

Until Tristan starts tossing cans of Michelob to each of us.

“Where’d you get the brew?” Drew asks.

“From the Fourth of July. I snatched a case from my parents’ party and hid it. My mom didn’t even know it was missing.”

“Way to go, man,” Brian says. “Toss one of those puppies over here.”

Brian and Drew catch theirs and open them right away. I catch the one thrown to me. Tristan holds his can up. “To a new season of Bears ball.”

“To a quarterback who can actually throw the ball,” Brian says.

“And a running back that can actually run the ball,” Drew offers.

They all turn to me, waiting for my dumb football wisdom.

I’m holding the can, the coldness against my palm sending a chill up my arm. “And a punter who could kick the ball,” I add, wondering if they realize I haven’t flipped the top and opened it yet.

They all take a swig. Except me. I may have jeopardized going back to jail when I got in a fight with Vic when he insulted Maggie, but that was worth the risk. I haven’t even been near alcohol since the night of the accident. I’m not about to jeopardize going back for a stupid can of beer.

“What do you think you’re doing?” an adult voice from the staircase calls out.

Shit, it’s Tristan’s mom.

I would try to hide the beer, but that’d be pointless. We’ve already been busted.

She storms down the stairs and rips the Michelob out of Tristan’s hand. “Not in my house, you won’t,” she says, then points her finger at me. “You may think you can just come back here and suck everyone into your lifestyle, Caleb, but I won’t let that happen.”

Tristan steps forward. “Ma, stop.”

“Don’t protect him, Tristan.” She looks down at the beer can in my hand, then shakes her head in disgust. “Caleb, please leave my house.”

I put the unopened can down on the table. Mrs. Norris doesn’t even look at the can. She’s too busy staring at me and sneering. “Stay away from my son,” she orders as I head out.

There’s no use even defending myself. Mrs. Norris already has her mind made up about me. Verdict: Guilty. Besides, if I explain the truth she won’t believe me. The way she glared at me says more than words ever will.

“That was a buzz kill,” Brian says when we’re back in his car. “Where are we gonna watch the game now? It’s probably close to halftime.”

“We can go back to my place,” I offer.

Ten minutes later we settle ourselves in my basement and watch the game. The Bears are up by three, but the Packers have the ball and it’s the fourth quarter.

I’m totally into the game when Brian says, “I need to tell you something.”

“Shoot,” I say, taking a handful of potato chips and shoving them into my mouth. My attention is still on the game, but I chance a small glance at my friend.

Brian is leaning forward, the expression on his face totally serious. “She’ll kill me for telling you.”

I glance back at the TV. The Packers just fumbled and it’s the Bears’ ball. This could clinch a victory for them. “Who?” I say, only partially listening to Brian.

“Kendra.”

Kendra was recently in my arms and a willing partner in my bed. It wasn’t the most romantic reunion; I guess I expected it to be like old times. It’s been anything but.

“Did you see that?” I ask Brian, getting totally riled about the Bears game. You can’t blame me for being excited when I’d been restricted from watching football for the past year. I missed a whole season. “They just sacked Edmonton!”

“We’re together, CB. I just thought you should know.”

I look at him, confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Me . . . and Kendra.”

It hits me like a brick smacked into my head at lightning speed. “
You
and Kendra?”

“Yeah.”

Jeez. The word comes out of my mouth faster than my brain can comprehend it. “When?”

“You don’t want to know.”

That means it was before I was arrested. Maggie wasn’t lying to me that night I freaked out on her.

Maggie had told me the truth while Kendra looked me right in the eye, feeding me lies. Kendra was the manipulative one and I fell for it.

But it all makes sense now, why Kendra is desperate to keep our relationship a secret. Perfect time to fuck with my head once again.

Brian is watching me, gauging my reaction. There’s no way in hell I’m going to tell him I’ve been messing around with Kendra.

In a matter of seconds, I lose my demented perception of reality. There is no getting back together with Kendra, there is no hanging out with the guys like before. My life now has no resemblance to before. How could I ever have thought it had?

I have to ask. “Are you guys, you know . . .”

“Yeah.”

I close my eyes and lean back into the cushions of the couch. Wow. My girlfriend was screwing both of us and I was oblivious. But Maggie knew and tried to warn me. As a thank-you, I insulted her and then the night spun out of control, ending up with Maggie in the hospital.

The Bears game forgotten, I shake my head and stare at the ceiling.

“At first it was just a hook-up, a mistake,” Brian continues. “We both didn’t mean for it to happen.”

I wish Brian would just shut up. Now I know what Damon means about taking the blame. “You were probably so stoked I was convicted, you could finally have my girlfriend all to yourself,” I say.

“It’s not like that.” Brian pauses. “I love her, Caleb. Jesus, I’d marry her right now if I could.”

“Damn,” I mumble. I wonder who’s going to be there when Brian comes back from la-la land and falls flat on his face. Kendra told me there were no guys that mattered. Or was that all bullshit, too?

“She made me promise not to tell you about us. But I think it’s cool if we’re all up front about it, don’t you? Then we can be a couple at school again, instead of pretending we’re not together.”

I stand, needing some distance. This is my best friend from when I was in kindergarten. I remember when Drew took a crayon away from Brian in first grade and I pinched Drew on the arm in retaliation.

And when I had chicken pox in sixth grade and had to stay home for over a week from school, Brian secretly came over and played Dungeons & Dragons with me. And we never told our parents, even when Brian got stuck with the pox two weeks later.

I’d never thought Brian would betray our friendship.

“You’re a prick,” I blurt out.

Brian stands and grabs his car keys. “I knew you wouldn’t understand. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“Dude, you were screwing my girl behind my back. How’d you think I’d react?” A shiver just ran up and down my spine when I actually put the truth into words.

“I thought you’d listen. And try to understand without wanting to rip my head off. This is real, Caleb.”

I give a cynical laugh. “I’ll tell you what’s real. Real is that I was in jail for the past year, rooming with drug dealers and eating crap food your dog wouldn’t touch. Real is not being able to wear your own frickin’ underwear and showering with twenty-five other dicks every day while guards watch. Real is my next-door neighbor who walks like she’s balancing on stilts because her leg is so fucked up from the accident. Brian, your perception of reality is totally off.”

Brian heads for the stairs, his back stiff. He stops when he’s halfway up. “When you want to forgive me and move on, you know where I am.”

My fists are clenched so tight they’re getting numb.

That’s when Mom walks down the stairs. She smiles wide and says in a cheery voice, “Did you have fun with your friends?”

twenty-six

Maggie

I wish my mom didn’t insist on going to my physical therapy appointment.

“You can just drop me off,” I say. “Just come back and get me in an hour.”

Mom shakes her head. “Dr. Gerrard wants to talk with both of us.”

Oh, no. “Mom, I’m fine. Robert expects his patients to do the impossible, that’s all.”

“I know it’s not easy, Maggie,” she says. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to do what feels uncomfortable. Just do your best.”

When we enter the hospital, sure enough Robert is waiting for us. “Hi, Maggie, how we doing today?”

We? “Fine.”

“Been doing those strengthening exercises I taught you?”

Uh . . . “Yeah. Well, sometimes.”

Robert shakes my mom’s hand. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Armstrong.”

“You too,” she responds, then takes a seat while Robert leads me to the workout mat.

“Let’s start with stretching,” Robert says. “And warm up those muscles to help them work hard. Put your legs in a V.”

I do, but my legs resemble an “I” more than a “V” because my left leg doesn’t want to warm up right now. It’s not me, it’s the leg.

“That’s the best you can do?”

“I think so.”

Robert kneels beside me and says, “Touch your left foot with your left hand.”

I try, but I only get as far as my knee.

“Come on, Maggie. A couple more inches.”

I reach about another half inch, which doesn’t impress my physical therapist.

“She can’t,” my mom interjects. “Can’t you see she’s in pain?”

“Mrs. Armstrong,” Robert says. “Maggie has to push herself in order to retrain those muscles.”

Mom is about to respond when Dr. Gerrard walks in. “Hello ladies. Robert.”

My mom stands and hugs my surgeon. After the accident, he was the one who always gave us hope and had the hands to reconstruct the inside of my leg. I remember the first time I met him in the hospital. He came in with a big white coat, a big smile, and big fingers that were going to cut my leg open and fix it.

Dr. Gerrard kneels next to me. “How’s it going, Maggie? Run any marathons lately?”

I raise my eyebrows.

“I’m just kidding,” he admits. “Bad surgeon joke.”

“Dr. Gerrard, you need new material,” I mumble.

“That’s what my interns say, too.” Dr. Gerrard has me sit on the examining table and inspects my scars. “Looks good,” he says, then looks up. “Robert tells me you’re a little timid in physical therapy.”

Robert stands there with his clipboard in his hands, the traitor.

I shrug. “I can’t put a lot of pressure on my foot.”

“It hurts her,” Mom chimes in.

My doctor steps back and takes a deep breath. “Okay, walk to the door and back for me, Maggie.”

He helps me off the table while I limp to the door.

“Can you put more pressure on your left foot?”

“Not really.”

“Okay, come back and sit down.”

I limp back to the table and sit on it. Mom comes up to me and rubs my back.

“I’m going to give it to you straight,” Dr. Gerrard says. “You’ve got to start pushing yourself and stop favoring your left side.”

“I’m doing my best,” I say.

Dr. Gerrard doesn’t accuse me of lying, but I can tell he’s not convinced by the way he’s pursing his lips together.

“Maybe we should let up on the physical therapy,” my mom says.

Dr. Gerrard sucks air into his clenched teeth, the hissing sound clearly a no-go to Mom’s suggestion. “I’d hate to see her stop physical therapy.”

“I have a suggestion,” Robert pipes in. “What if Maggie starts playing tennis again?”

My heart pumps faster, the beats within my body thumping in my chest like an Indian tribal dance.

“Are you okay?” Mom asks.

I can’t answer. My esophagus feels like it’s constricting.

“I need to get some air,” I say, then get off the table.

Robert comes up to me. “Maggie, we’re just trying to help you.”

“I know. But I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t.” I pull on my sweats, limp past my mom, and head for the exit. I’m passing people in wheelchairs, doctors, and nurses. Do they think I’m as crazy as I feel?

When the doors open I suck in fresh air and try to breathe deeply.

Breathe
. In. Out. In. Out.

Isn’t breathing supposed to be something you do unconsciously? Right now I’m hyperconscious about it. So conscious, in fact, that I think if I stop concentrating, I might just forget to do it. I close my eyes.

Breathe
. In. Out. In. Out.

I felt this way the day my dad left the last time, when I realized it might be his last visit. I wasn’t strong then, either.

I blink back tears as I try hard to forget. Because it hurts too much knowing his love for me wasn’t strong enough to make him stay. I wasn’t worth being loved enough.

Tennis was my saving grace, but even that didn’t work. I deserved to be admired on the court, because I was worth something when I played. Not only was I part of the team, I was the one my teammates looked up to.

The more that other dads showed up to matches, the harder I would play. It was as if I wanted those dads to regret I wasn’t their kid. No matter if my dad loved me or not, there would be other dads that would do anything to have me be their daughter. Having other dads congratulate me was worth more to me than the varsity trophy I earned my sophomore year. I might not be worthy of my dad’s love, but I was worthy of that trophy.

A pain in my leg shoots up into my spine, a mocking reminder that I’ll never be a champion again.

“Maggie?”

I turn toward my mom, who’s now officially freaked out.

“I can’t play tennis,” I tell her.

“Dr. Gerrard wants you to try. You will try, won’t you?”

But I won’t be good, and then my dad won’t have anything to be proud of me for. He’ll never want me to be part of his new family.
“Can we go home? I want to go home.”

Mom sighs. I hate feeling like I’m disappointing her. I know she tries so hard to support us emotionally, physically, and financially. She’s like the little cheerleader of our family.

When we get in the car, I calm down. I look at my mom, driving the car with a sad look on her face. “Mom, what do you want out of life?”

She gives a little laugh. “Right now, money.”

“Besides money.”

She cocks her head to the side, thinking. When we reach a red light, she turns to me. “I guess I’d like a partner to share my life with.”

“Do you miss Dad?”

“Sometimes. I miss the companionship, I miss going out as a couple. I don’t miss the fights.”

The light turns green and we accelerate, our car passing a woman and man holding hands with their daughter. “Will he ever want me to visit him?”

“One day,” she says, but I can tell she’s not so sure.

“Do you want to date Mr. Reynolds?” I ask.

Her eyes go wide. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Because you were dancing with him at the Fall Festival. He doesn’t have kids. I think he came to be with you.”

Mom laughs, this big laugh that fills the car, and the people in the next car could probably hear her, too.

“Auntie Mae’s Diner was a sponsor of the event, Maggie. That’s why Lou was there.”

“Well,” I say defensively, “you two were looking pretty chummy.”

“He was just being nice.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

“Hmm . . .”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Just go back to being a kid, will ya?”

We sit in silence the rest of the way home. When we walk inside the house, I ignore the lump in my throat as I say, “For the record . . . if you want to invite Mr. Reynolds over for dinner one night, I wouldn’t mind,” and head upstairs to my room.

In my room, I want to take my words back. I only said them because I know how miserable Mom has been lately.

But the truth is I miss my dad every day, too. More than anything. And I know he has another wife and another life. What if Mom and Mr. Reynolds start dating or, even worse, get married. Will they want to start a new life without me, too?

I lock my door and open my closet. In the back, in the darkest shadows, is my racquet. I know it’s there although it’s hidden behind clothes. I feel its presence when I’m in my room, kind of like kryptonite for Superman. Desperation washes over me.

I reach out and grab the handle, the weight of the racquet foreign but, at the same time, familiar.

“Maggie, open the door.”

Panic. “Just a second.”

I toss the racquet in the closet and unlock my door. Mom is staring at me strangely.

I brush the hair from my face, hoping she can’t see right through me and realize I’ve always known where my lost racquet is. “Mom, what’s up?”

“I was thinking. About Lou, my boss. Were you serious when you said I should invite him for dinner?”