Wake (16 page)

“I don’t need your help.”

“You look exhausted. You should be in bed.”

“But I want to be here,” he says simply. “I think you need it.” He takes a Kleenex and catches a drip of blood as it runs past my handful of tissue, over my upper lip.

“I guess you do owe me.”

He smiles sadly. “That I do, Kirk.”

Tuesday

I turn in our progress report for the soil pollution project. Jem is absent today, and it doesn’t surprise me. It’s going to be a long, boring period without my smartass project partner, but at least I can get some work done.

Mrs. Hudson announces that we’re going to be moving on to the Family Life unit. She hands out the syllabus for the next three weeks. It includes fertility and reproduction, infant care, parenting and attachment theories, and an ‘egg project.’ I need someone to remind me why I took this crappy elective.

Jem calls me after school to ‘find out what he missed.’ I didn’t think he was that dedicated a student.

But it would be mean to call bullshit on him, so I tell him about the new study theme.

“Do you think we’ll have to watch that birthing video they show to the Health classes?”

“God, I hope not. Once was enough.”

Like the truly insensitive jerk he is, Jem takes this opportunity to remind me that I have the fuzzy end of the lollipop when it comes to reproduction. I encourage him not to breed, lest idiocy be genetic.

I end the call when Frank gets home and start to prepare dinner. He casually informs me that our parents called to check in today. Apparently my progress report was good.

“They’re starting to relax about you being here, I think.”

“They made it sound worse than it was at home, didn’t they?”

Frank doesn’t answer, but I feel a soft touch on the back of my head. He pets my hair once and murmurs, “I’m glad you’re all right,” on his way out. End of discussion.

Wednesday

I buy a relatively small turkey for Easter, since we won’t have to feed many people. Apart from cooking, Easter Sunday is going to be a pretty quiet day. Frank and I are nominally Presbyterian because our dad was raised that way, but we haven’t practiced for as far back as I can remember. In the Kirk house, Easter is four days off work to watch TV and eat turkey. It’s fairly low-key, except for Sunday dinner, when Oma (lapsed Catholic) will probably get plastered, take her teeth out, and prank-cal the pizza place.

Don’t even get me started on Christmases with her. On Canada Day she smokes weed on the front porch.

“Hey Willa,” Cody Russel greets me at the checkout counter. He’s a friend of Chris’s and we run in similar circles, but I don’t know him very well. He asks me if I’m cooking for a big crowd as he rings up the turkey. It’s only a seventeen-pounder.

“Not so big, no.”

“Family in town?”

“Not really.” Mom and Dad are staying in Newfoundland for the holiday, so it will just be Oma, Frank and I. Cody says, “You’re such a healthy girl,” as he checks and bags all the fruit and vegetables. He says it sweetly, like a responsible diet is adorable.

“Are you hanging out with Paige and the usual crowd this weekend?”

“Maybe. I don’t have any definite plans.”

“It would be cool if you did.” The receipt printer chugs out the slip of paper very slowly, like it’s trying to trap me in this conversation. “You’re into group things, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah?” What is that supposed to mean?

“You should have come to the dance. We all went as a group, anyway.”

“Oh.” I drop my bags back in the cart as quickly as I can without being rude. I shouldn’t have given him the opportunity to start this conversation, because it’s too tempting to be scathing in return.

“Are you going to the grad dance?”

“It’s not really my thing.” Not to mention that I won’t be graduating this year.

“It can be fun; depends who you’re with.” He smiles and winks at me. The hell ? “Later, Willa.”

I can’t help but look back over my shoulder as I leave. Cody waves, and I start to wonder if he’s a few bricks shy of a full load. Or was that flirting? How do normal people come on to each other?

Thursday

Jem is in an especially bad mood today. He picks a fight with Paige at lunch over
Harry Potter
, for Christ’s sake. They can’t agree on who it was that played Dumbledore in the first two films. What kind of dork is he that he knows that?

Paige is getting pissed, which means she’ll soon get catty. I know Jem’s moods well enough to know that he won’t take that in stride.

“Come on.” I nudge Jem’s shoulder. “Let’s go for a walk. You two can settle this later.”

He seethes quietly all the way out of the cafeteria. I ask him who pissed on his parade and he tells me to shut up.

“Change your tampon or something, Christ…”

“I told you to shut up.”

“Why are you so tense?”

“I am n—” He cuts himself off with a lurch and brings a hand up to his mouth. Jem shuts his eyes and swallows with great difficulty. Damn, he’s so worked up he’s making himself sick.

“Are you okay?”

Jem cautiously lowers his hand. “I’m fine.”

“Did you eat too much?”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Easy, now.” I don’t want him to work himself up again if he’s going to lose his lunch over it.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Fine, puke your guts out.”

“To hell with you.” He shoves my shoulder. Not very hard, just enough to make me take a step back.

“You think—” He cuts himself off again. One hand goes to his mouth and the other around his middle, and he bolts. Luckily we’re not more than ten feet from the boys’ washroom.

“Shit.”

I dig through my pockets for mints. I have a couple for him. I should stock up before Social Studies. I think Jem is going to be in there for a while, so I go back to the cafeteria and buy a bottle of water for him.

When Jem does come out, he does so like he’s trying not to be seen. Then he notices me waiting nearby and stops. “Were you out here the whole time?”

I pass him the bottle of water and neglect to answer. I drop a couple of mints into his palm and suggest he cut class to go to the nurse’s office.

“Thanks.”

“I have to go.” The bell is about to ring and I don’t have anything I need for my next class. I step around Jem and he grabs my wrist. His hands are sweaty.

“Wait. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, great, forgiven.” I don’t have time for a feel-good conversation right now.

“No.” Jem tugs me back when I try to pull away. He’s embarrassed, and talks so lowly that I have no choice but to lean in to hear him. He smells like vomit and soap. “I’m really sorry. You were trying to be nice. I shouldn’t have said that stuff.”

“Jem, all ’s forgiven, okay?” I pat his flushed cheek. “Try to chil out, eh?”

I slip out of his grasp and jog back to my locker. I’ll have to sprint to class, now.

Jem misses Soc, and I assume he’s either resting in the nurse’s office or that he went home early to recover there. There is nothing to suggest otherwise until after school, when I go out to my car and find a damp sheet of lined paper tucked under my windshield wiper. I grab it and get into my car. The sky is threatening rain.

Happy Easter, Kirk.

Friday

I sleep in to get the long weekend started off right. I follow that up with a long, thorough shower and one of my favorite books over a bowl of Fruit Loops. I plan to do absolutely nothing remotely resembling work today. You have to be dedicated like that to appreciate long weekends.

Paige calls around noon to make plans to hang out. Hannah can’t come because her family is pretty religious and actually observes Good Friday, but the rest of us go to a movie and dinner at McDonald’s.

For a few hours it almost feels like nothing has changed, like I didn’t move away and have my entire life turned upside down. I’m not sure I like it, but it’s a temporary relief.

When I get home I check the answering machine. Nothing from Frank, who picked up a holiday shift for the extra pay, and nothing from Jem, either.

Saturday

I set up my homework on the kitchen table, even though I know it will be interrupted. I even prop the front door open, and not just to let fresh air in through the screen. Maybe Jem will take the hint and just welcome himself in. Who knows? He’s weird about boundaries. They move according to his moods, and he’s quite a moody bastard.

By one o’clock I’ve finished my homework and move on to the prep for tomorrow’s dinner. I mix the stuffing in advance and set peeled potatoes in water. The turkey is already thawing in the fridge.

By the time I’m done with Easter dinner prep, it’s time to start the real dinner. The sun is set and I haven’t seen or heard from Jem, which is pretty weird for a Saturday. Or maybe not—it’s a holiday weekend, after all. Maybe he has family obligations. Maybe he’s in Ottawa to see relatives.

It’s ten o’clock at night, well past the socially acceptable hour for phone call s, when I can’t stand any more circular speculation about Jem. He could be with family, yes, but he could also be really sick. He could be pulling some moody cold-shoulder stunt because I didn’t take his side in that stupid argument with Paige on Thursday. I take the phone and curl up on my bed with it, half-expecting to get the answering machine—proof that the Harpers are out of town.

Ivy answers the call with a polite but muted ‘hello.’ I apologize for calling at such a late hour and she ignores me to divine the reason for my call : “You want to talk to Jem.”

“I was just wondering how he’s doing. I haven’t heard from him in a few days.”

“I’ll see if he’s still awake,” she says.

“Thank you.”

“I’m glad you call ed, Willa,” she says quietly. “He’s had quite a day.”

I ask her what she means, but she won’t elaborate. “Let him tell you.”

Jem: March 21 to 29

Thursday

“Don’t gnaw the whole thing off,” Eric tells me as he looks over to change lanes. I stop biting my thumbnail and slouch down in the passenger seat, sulking a little. It’s Easter weekend, and Eric and I are driving up to Ottawa. Celeste’s family isn’t religious and Emily is Jewish, so Easter is just a four day weekend for them—and a great opportunity to visit. The plan is to drive up today, spend the night at the Harcourt house, and then drive back to Smiths Falls tomorrow morning with Celeste and Emily.

I’m a little nervous. I haven’t seen Emily since last June, except in pictures. A year can really change people. I don’t even look like the same person.

Emily used to have a crush on me, back in grade ten. It was really sweet and I tried to like her back, but it just wasn’t there, so we went back to being friends. Or at least I did, and she struggled to keep her desires under wraps. It hit her harder than any of my other friends when I moved away. She took it the worst when I told her about my diagnosis. Emily used to send me cards and stuff when I was in the hospital, and then she saw a photo of what cancer had done to me and she took a giant leap back like I was a leper. I think that photo killed whatever romantic feeling she had towards me. Who could love this?

Who would want this?

“Dude,” Eric scolds me. I take my thumbnail out of my mouth. “What’s the matter? You nervous?”

“No.” That’s a lie. I’ve been snapping at everybody since I woke up and my stomach is still in knots from the episode at lunch.

“It’s been awhile since you’ve seen Em, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Eric reaches over and rubs my head roughly. “Trying to soften the shock?” he says. My toque is rust- colored today. It’s the first one Elise made me. She chose this yarn because it’s similar to my hair color.

And yes, I’m wearing it to make myself look more like the Jem that Emily used to know.

“It’s just a hat.”

“You’re tense, bro.”

“Just restless.” We’ve only been driving for thirty minutes.

“If you don’t want to see her we can cancel.” He gestures to the cell phone plugged into the dashboard charger.

“Of course I want to see her.” It was Mom’s idea that I invite Emily, after Eric asked to invite Celeste. It was sort of a last minute thing. Celeste and her boyfriend are on the rocks (when
aren’t
they?) and she was looking for a chance to get out of town.

I’m not looking forward to a night at the Harcourt house, but it’s the only thing I have to delay seeing Emily. Odds are, my time at there will be tense or boring. Eric will do the best friend thing and comfort Celeste about her stupid boyfriend, nurturing her self-absorption or distracting her as only Eric can, and I’ll be left to hang out with her parents or occupy myself. We’re not picking Emily up until tomorrow morning. She can still cancel our plans. I almost expect her to.

I get a sneer and glance from Celeste when we get to the house, before she ignores me and monopolizes my brother. Mr. and Mrs. Harcourt are polite, but distant. They don’t know what to make of me, what to say or what to offer in the way of hospitality. These are people who value perfection, which means that in their eyes, I’m practically worthless.

“Are you feeling any better?” Mr. Harcourt says.

“Every day.” Complete lie. We’re still making awkward conversation when Celeste and Eric come down to the kitchen in search of food. Celeste pays us no mind, still talking—nay, bitching—about her boyfriend.

“What’s your boyfriend’s name again?” I ask. I already know his name; I’m just trying to piss her off.

Implying that the isn’t the center of the universe will do that.

“It’s Bentley,” Celeste says coldly. She’s offended that I interrupted her running stream of blah blah blah.

“Is his sister named Mercedes?”

She gives me a withering look. “Jem.”

“Maybe a brother named Porsche?”

Mr. Harcourt thinks my joke is funny. Celeste turns her narrowed eyes on him instead of me for having the nerve to chortle. Who names a kid
Bentley,
anyway? Rich people with fatter egos than wallets, that’s who. Figures Celeste would go for a guy like that—and still wind up unsatisfied.