Shelter Me (8 page)

He paused, waiting for a response.

"Okay," I said.
 

"Now, this might come as a surprise to you, but I'm actually really difficult to work for. A lot of the managers here are. It's just one of those things. You'll do well here if you can just keep your head down and learn how to say 'yes sir' even when you don't want to. It's like the army. In fact, I've had quite a few ex-military employees and they all say I'm the biggest hardass they've ever worked for!"

He seemed to be waiting for some kind of comment.

"Wow," I said, finally.

"All right," he said, looking irritated. "Now do you want this job, or not?"

"I don't know what the job is," I said. "You haven't offered me anything."

"Oh," he said. And then, after a longer pause, "oh. Listen - I'm going to have to call you, all right? The paperwork's all a mess here. I don't know if I'm coming or going. Why don't you go enjoy the rest of the afternoon, and I'll call you when I know something, okay?"

"Sure," I said. "Thanks a lot for your time."

I offered my hand for him to shake, but he didn't even seem to notice.

I ended up getting a good deal on a tube of Pringles on the way out, so the day wasn't a total loss.
 

***

When I got home, the house seemed strangely quiet. I took the stairs two at a time, calling out, "mom? Dad? Sara? Anybody home?"

Then, I pushed my bedroom door open, and saw my mom sitting in my desk chair.

Oh, crap.

"I got an interesting phone call today," she said. "Is there anything you wanted to tell me?"

"They weren't supposed to call here," I said. It was a stupid thing to say, but I couldn't think of anything else. "I only put it down as an emergency contact."

"Well they did. They called here. Asking about a job application." She was very obviously upset, and it was very obviously not just about my applying for jobs. But all the same, I felt horrible.

"I'm sorry," I said. "But how many times have we had this conversation now? And you always put me off, you always say you're going to try and find a way for me to take classes, and it never happens. I have to do this. I can't live here forever, and I'm not going to suddenly wake up tomorrow with a marketable job skill."

"Lying is never the answer," she said, her voice quivering. "
Sneaking around
is never the answer. I have to deal with enough of that from your sister, I don't need it from you."

"You have to let me grow up!" I shouted, much louder than I meant to. It hurt - I could see it in her face, and I immediately regretted it, even if it was true.

She was under so much pressure. Most of the time, she could keep it together. I couldn't even imagine the strength it took to smile through everything she had to endure. But I had to live my life. I had to be able to make a choice for myself, for once.

"I never wanted to stop you," she said, quietly. Her bottom lip was trembling. I so rarely saw her like this; even with things got bad with Sara, she usually handled it with businesslike efficiency. This was a side of her I hadn't encountered in years and years. I didn't know what I could possibly say to console her.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, but almost frightening in its intensity. "I just wish," she said, "I just wish you showed even the tiniest bit of concern for your sister."

My heart plummeted into my stomach. "What are you talking about?"

"You're so blasé," she said. "I know you have to put on a show for your friends. But at least when you're at home, it would be nice if you showed her that you cared about her."
 

Her eyes were brimming with tears. I felt awful, and I knew that wasn't what she wanted, but the untold stress of the last few days, weeks, months, years - it was finally spilling over. I was desperate to say the right thing. Some magical phrase that would make everything all right. But there was nothing.
 

I was two years old when my mom went into the hospital, in labor with Sara. As much as I'd like to pretend to, I don't remember her back then. I have no idea how my mother acted before her daughter was born, and all our lives got turned upside-down.

"I'm sorry." My throat was getting thick, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd cried. "I don't know what you want. I stay home and take care of Molly every time you guys have to go into the hospital with her. I'd come with you if you didn't need someone to watch the house."

"I'm not talking about that," my mom insisted. "I'm talking about the everyday stuff. She needs to know that you love her. She needs your guidance."

"I don't know how to help her, mom." I was getting choked up, trying to hold it back. "If I did, I would."

"Things are hard for her." My mom let out a shaky breath. "You know that. She's trying, but she's struggling. Just you acknowledging her, letting her know you can see how much she hurts. It would mean the world to her."

"She hates it when people treat her like she's sick," I retorted.

"But acting like she's not doesn't change reality." No longer on the verge of tears, my mom just looked angry. I knew she was really angry at the world, not at me. Angry at what happened. Angry at God, even. But that didn't make this any easier. "I can't do this by myself."

"I don't know what you want me to do."
 

"I'm sorry," she said, after a pause. She was sagging a little, the exhaustion finally kicking in. "Jacob, I'm sorry. I know this isn't easy on you either. But you have to show Sara a little more concern. She might pretend that she hates it, and maybe there's part of her that does, but she needs you right now. Marissa isn't your concern. She's engaged to Mark, and I know - Jacob, listen." I was staring at the floor now, which I guess she took as inattention, but I was just embarrassed. "I know it's not easy. But you need to move on from that girl."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I muttered.

"Okay," said my mom, standing up and letting out a heavy sigh. "But please try to talk to Sara tonight."

"I will," I said. "I promise."

She hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. "I know you're an adult now," she said. "I know I can't stop you from taking a job offer, if you want to. But I just want you to be happy, Jacob. That's all. I can't see you being happy like that. You've always been so good with your hands, with those bikes - I wish you'd pursue that."

"I'm going to," I said. "I
want
to. But right now, I just need something to get me out of the house a little bit. Get some money saved up. It's not going to be the perfect job right now, but I've got to start somewhere."

"All right," my mom said, quietly. "Okay. I just don't want to see you give up what makes you happy"

"I promise I won't."

And with that, she dropped a kiss on the top of my head, and left.

***

A few hours later, I tapped cautiously at Sara's door.

"What?" she responded, finally.

"Can I come in?"

There was a long silence.

"I don't know, can you?"

Sighing, I opened her door and stepped inside. Sara was sitting at her computer, clicking away intently on some kind of multiplayer world-building game that occupied most of her time these days.

"Hey," I said, sitting down carefully on the edge of her bed. My feet sunk into the protective padding that lined the floor around it. "How are you feeling?"

She made a noncommittal noise, never taking her eyes away from the screen for even a second.

These days, it was sometimes hard to separate her disorder from typical teenage behavior. But she'd always been like this. I knew she wasn't really sullen or resentful; it was just how she dealt with the world. People who didn't know her very well couldn't see it, but I could. The same defect in her brain that gave her the seizures also made it hard for her to cope with things that everyone else just took in stride.

Really, I couldn't imagine dealing with seizures even if everything else was perfect. I had no idea how she did it. But that didn't make her any easier to talk to.

As usual, I struggled to come up with a topic of conversation. I couldn't talk to her about Brandon's amusing college application struggles, because that would just remind her that her medical bills were the reason neither one of us would ever go. If I brought up biking, that would just be cruel. I couldn't talk to her about her games, because I didn't understand them.
 

Well, out of all the possibilities, at least the third one probably wouldn't upset her.

"Raiding?" I asked, using one of the few terms I'd picked up from her. She didn't get talkative often, but when she did, she could go on about her gaming adventures for hours.

She nodded.

"Stupid," she muttered, after a moment of silence. "Ever since they found out I'm a girl, they think I can't tank. Showed them."

I smiled. Even with only a vague understanding of what she was talking about, I could appreciate the sentiment. Anybody who thought my sister didn't have any fight in her - well, they had another thing coming.

"So, how mad was Mom about the whole job thing?" She was still staring at the screen, but I thought I could see her reflection smiling.

"Pretty mad," I said. "But she's probably going to let me keep it, if I can find one."

"Well, that's good."

"Maybe," I said. "The search isn't going well so far."

"Oh well, it'll get better. Everybody wants to hire a goody-two-shoes like you."

I had to laugh.

"Okay," I said. "Thanks, man. Good talk."

But she was already lost in her game again.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Marissa

When Mark first asked me over to his house for dinner, alone, I fully expected my parents to balk. But when I asked them about it, they seemed thrilled.

"Oh, how romantic!" My mom actually giggled a little, and I swore her cheeks turned pink. "That's so lovely of him to ask you over. There's nothing like a man who cooks, Mari."

I thought Martha looked a little concerned, but she just said: "I hope he knows how to make a good dessert. So many people do okay with the main course, and then they just drop the ball when it comes to the finisher."

I had no idea where she was getting this stuff.

Finally, my dad asked the question I'd been expecting. "He's having you over by yourself? Will his parents be there?"

I shook my head. "Just me."

"Have you ever actually
met
his parents, Mari?" Martha wanted to know.

"No. He told me..." I sighed. "He told me they don't really talk to him anymore. They're...not religious. They don't approve of his life choices."

My mom made a small noise of disapproval tinged with sadness. "How horrible for him to be alone in the world like that. No wonder he's thriving in our church." She smiled at me.
 

"Hmm." My dad was frowning a little. "Sounds like some drama's coming down the road with that one."

"Well?" Mom snapped, whirling on him. "What is she supposed to do? Turn the man down just because he's got a difficult family? That's not exactly fair."

"Still," my dad said, mildly, completely unperturbed by my mom's eye daggers. "It's something to think about."

"Don't you listen to him, Mari," my mom said, turning back to me. "It's ridiculous to worry about something like that, especially at this stage. Maybe his parents will reconcile with him someday and maybe they won't. Who cares?"

My dad just shook his head, and went back to eating. By now we'd all learned to pick our battles, him most of all.

The next evening, my mom dropped me off for my dinner date at the appointed time. Mark had a house in town, a couple neighborhoods over from mine - a little bit bigger, and a little bit nicer, than anybody I'd grown up with. Walking up to the front door, I felt a little out of place. No, more than a little. The well-manicured landscaping and perfectly painted trim looked like something out of a commercial.

He opened the door before I had a chance to ring.

"Marissa," he said. I could my mom's engine still idling behind me.
 

"Hi," I said.
 

Mark was smiling, stepping back and pulling the door open farther. "Come in, please."

I did as he asked, my eyes darting all over the entryway. Everything was gorgeous and perfectly placed. It really was like walking into a magazine.

"Wow," I said. I couldn't help myself.

Mark grinned. "You like it? I have to admit, it's a pretty nice place. I can't take credit for most of it, though. I had a decorator come in."

A
decorator
?
 

I wanted to ask him how he could possibly afford all this, but even I knew that was rude. Still, though. I'd never encountered a seminary student who seemed to be this well-off.
 

"Come on, have a seat in the living room. I'll take you on a tour after dinner."

I followed him into the living room as I'd been told, sitting down on the plush sofa and keeping my back firm and straight. Almost immediately, he disappeared into the next room. I sat quietly for a moment, then tried to figure out what he was doing.

He was fiddling with something in the kitchen. I craned my neck to see what he was doing, and realized that he was popping the cork on a bottle of wine. There were two stem glasses sitting out on the counter. I felt a prickling sensation on the back of my neck.

When he came out to the living room, I carefully avoided looking at him, or at the glass that he set down on the coffee table, right in front of me.

"What's wrong?" I felt the cushion shift as he sat down next to me.
 

"I don't..." I cleared my throat. I felt like I should have said
no thank you
, but it seemed a little late for that. "I don't drink," I said, finally.

"Never?" He seemed surprised, taking a sip from his own glass.

I shook my head.

"Once I was a teenager, my parents always let me have a glass on special occasions," he said. "With dinner. I thought it was something everyone did."