Love Rewards The Brave (9 page)

56.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I look over at Ms. F

as we drive home from the

most awkward hour ever.

Benji refused to sit down

so Mom got upset

at the fact

that her only son

wasn’t happy to see her,

wouldn’t go near her.

Telling us about

her plans for:

-Getting an apartment

-A job

-Bunk beds for us to sleep in.

-Good God.

She can’t see what’s happening.

Benji hyperventilating

as social worker guy tries to take notes.

Me, so stressed

tapping my fingers

biting my nails

wiggling my foot

anxious.

I kept willing Benji

to take off his damned ski mask

coat

gloves

snow suit

and TRY.

Why did I have to do all the work?

I kept closing my

eyes, silently wishing Benji

could hear

my thoughts:

Let’s please make this work

it’s our one shot

our
one way

only way

of being a family

again.

But Benji wasn’t

listening to my

telepathic cues

and I felt like I was going to

blow a fuse.

The one I

always

always

always

keep in check.

Why was he being so damned selfish?

57.

I quickly cover my mouth

scared those words

you know the ones of betrayal

had gotten out of my mouth

and made their way to the ears of

everyone around me.

But they hadn’t.

And I think that even if those words

had penetrated the air

no one would’ve cared.

no one was paying attention

to me.

“It was just really strange. I mean Mom was there, and Benji, but it was just…off.”

“Off how?”

Ms. Francine turns

the windshield wipers on.

They wipe away the rain

I want them to wipe away the

blame.

The blame I’m feeling inside

over the things I thought about Benji.

That he’s

a crazy weirdo

and

a selfish brother

and

ruining our chances

of getting back together.

“It felt like we were three strangers in a room together. It didn’t feel like….”

And my hand flies back to my mouth

once more

catching the word that almost

fall out.

Us.

It didn’t feel like Us.

Us being Ms. Francine and me.

Why am I thinking these things?

“It didn’t feel like what, Louisa?”

“Nothing. It just wasn’t like it usually is. I think we were all just tired or something.”

We drive home the rest of the way

in silence.

Not like the awkward kind

where no one

pays attention

to you

or

no one knows what to say

silence.

More like

silence is

exactly what I need.

58.

Margot’s at the house,

her bags litter the entryway.

The same way that Ms. F

hates when I leave my

things sprawled all over.

I only have to count to three

silently

before she says

what I’m thinking.

“Margot, the least you could do is put your stuff in the guest room. I’m going to trip over all this…this…what is all this stuff, Margot?”

Margot laughs

stands from the couch.

“This
stuff
happens to be my necessities, clothes, shoes, you know
deodorant
.”

She pauses, for dramatic effect

though last time I checked

Margot doesn’t need any help

in that department.

She’s decked out

head-to-toe

in all the things I’d die to own.

Oxford shoes with socks to her knees.

A pleated skirt.

Over-sized glasses

in red.

A lace tank top

in black

and a flannel shirt

tucked in, partially.

I could tell why she needed so many bags

to keep herself

looking

so

put together

accidentally on purpose.

“Well, how long are you staying? I thought it was just for a night.”

“Well, it might be a few more. The exterminator found an ant population that didn’t fit so well in my studio.”

“In the middle of winter?”

“Well, you know my apartment….”

“You mean pizza left in the box, a sink full of dishes, and past-prime-who-knows-what in the fridge?”

Ms. Francine laughs as she says this.

So does Margot.

“So what you’re saying is, your apartment is a breeding ground for cold, hungry insects?”

“Basically. You know what they say,
Habit is habit, and not to be flung out of the window by any man, but coaxed downstairs a step at a time.
”

Her hand is on her chest as she

says the lines,

sounding

smart and old at the same time.

“And who says that, Margot?” Ms. F asks.

“Mark Twain.”

That makes more sense.

“You always were the wordsmith. Okay, Margot, I’m starting dinner, but can you get this stuff put away?”

“Sure. Louisa, can you help?”

And she tosses me a duffel bag

like me being here

with her and her

sister

is totally normal.

59.

Ms. Francine stops my

Saturday morning routine

of sweat pants and earphones

coffee and eggs

before it’s even started.

“Terry called, Louisa. She says she’d like to see you today. Apparently she has something for you that you’re going to love.”

“Can’t she just wait till the appointment on Monday?”

“No, she says you need to come in. She can meet us at the office in an hour.”

I pour coffee in my mug,

dousing the brown liquid

with organic creamer

hoping this will

jump-start the day

I have no choice in.

60.

I take a shower

after the eggs are eaten,

annoyed that my

typical four-hour start to the

weekend is derailed.

Terry and Ms. F prevailed.

Not like I gave a fight

refusing to go

refusing to know

what this was about.

Have I ever?

What could be so big that

I need to come in?

I shave my legs

and wash my hair, but

the whole time

my mind races.

It’s got to be

Benji

or

Mom

or

some sort of incident.

Accident.

Oh, God.

I nick myself with the razor

wincing

as the blood wells up right

below my kneecap.

Shit.

Setting the razor down

my heart racing

just like my mind.

Turn off the water.

Dry off.

Get dressed.

I can handle a nick on my knee,

but I can’t handle a

full-blown injury.

I’m at the front door calling for Ms. F

fifteen minutes before we need to leave.

Freaking myself out

about the thing I don’t yet

know.

61.

It’s weird coming here on a Saturday morning.

The lights are off in the windows.

Parking lot’s empty

except for Terry

when we pull up.

She’s waiting outside of her pickup truck

waves at us

as we get out

makes me wonder what this is all about.

No somber face,

no looking down

not afraid to say

what we’re here for.

“Louisa, I’m so glad you could meet me this morning. Do you want to go inside, or do you mind just talking here?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Francine, if you don’t mind, I think we’ll just talk in my truck, that way I don’t have to turn off the alarm. Is that okay with you?”

Ms. Francine responds on cue, “Of course, Terry, whatever is easiest.”

She smiles

opens the door of her car again

shutting it fast

not letting the cold air in.

I look at Terry.

She’s standing here

in jeans and a polar fleece jacket.

Looking so strange out of her

normal work clothes.

I usually see her at the end of the day

always seems tired,

drinking Diet Coke to stay awake.

Looking like a cross between

over-worked and under-paid

under-stress and overweight.

But maybe it’s just the fluorescent lighting.

Because right now she looks

relaxed.

I wonder what I look like under those fluorescent lights.

I wonder what I look like now.

Probably not

that.

62.

“You can breathe, Louisa. Are you feeling anxious right now?”

We sit side-by-side in her truck,

heat’s cranked up

music’s off

armrest is the buff-

er between us.

Feeling like I’m invading her personal space.

The office would’ve been better

less at stake

when you don’t have to be

six inches apart.

“Is everyone okay?”

My hands shake

as I ask the question

that scares me most.

“Yes, oh, of course, Louisa. I’m sorry, did you think you were here for bad news?”

Her hand goes to her forehead, upset.

“I’m sorry, I see how you feel confused. No, everyone is fine. I actually have something of yours I think you might really like to have back.”

She looks at me

hopeful.

Hopeful that she didn’t

get it wrong.

I look back at her

my eyes burning

with relief.

Good grief

get it together. 

I was worried for nothing

rushed here for nothing

everyone is fine.

“What is it then?”