Better Than Weird (12 page)

He waited, remembering Gran's promise: “When your daddy comes, he'll give you a hug, and he'll tickle you like this.” She had told him that a million times when he was little, so he was ready, but his father didn't move. Aaron wanted to say,
You can
hug me if you want to
, but the shadow stepped away and his father's voice said, “You wanna come out of there now?”

“Okay,” Aaron said. But he had been scrunched in the corner of his closet for so long that his right leg had gone to sleep, and when he tried to stand, it began to tingle as if ants were dancing under his skin. He took a step forward, but when he put weight on his leg, it buckled and he lurched to one side. He had to grab for the doorframe to keep from falling. The tingling grew worse. He lifted his foot, bent his knee and shook his leg to make it stop.
I look like a dog getting ready to pee
, he thought. That made him laugh. Having started, he couldn't stop. His laughter grew. It came out in short, high-pitched bursts with snorts every time he had to breathe.
He'll think I'm weird
, Aaron thought. But even that thought couldn't stop the laughter.

His father stood, watching. “Why don't you come downstairs when you're ready,” he said. Then he turned and walked out of the room.

It was awhile before the tingling left Aaron's leg and he felt ready to go down.

He stopped on the second step from the top. From there he could see his father's back filling the living room doorway. He could hear Gran. “He's been so excited,” she was saying. “He could hardly wait. As soon as you called, he put up a calendar to keep track of the days. You're all he's been talking about.”

“He's…he's not what I expected,” his father said.

“What did you expect?” Gran snapped.

“I thought…I hoped…He's up there laughing. He sounds like…”

“I know what he sounds like.”

“I know. I didn't mean…He's not what I expected,” his father said again.

“He is what he is,” Gran said. “He's your son and you're his father. He'll need you now if…” Her voice trailed off.

“Liam,” a new voice said. “Liam. Give it some time. We all need to give each other time.”

Aaron took a step down. The stair creaked. His father turned and looked up. His lips formed a tight, twisted smile. All the way down, Aaron tried to decide: Was his father happy? Sad? Angry? Worried? None of the expressions he had learned from Karen seemed to fit the look on his dad's face.

When he got to the bottom, his father motioned him into the living room. “Aaron,” he said, “I promised you a surprise.”

There was a woman standing beside Gran's chair. She was tall, taller than his dad, with straight black hair that hung to her shoulders. But the thing Aaron really noticed was her belly. It stuck out in front of her like she'd swallowed a basketball.

“Aaron, meet Sophie,” his father said, and he walked over and put his arm around the woman.

This was his surprise? Aaron stared. How was this woman a surprise?

The woman stood with her legs apart, her shoulders back. She wasn't smiling happy, but she wasn't frowning angry either. He thought she looked nice. Except for her belly.

“You're really fat,” he said.

Gran gasped. “Aaron!” she said.

But the woman laughed and said, “I sure am. I'm huge.” Her hands moved over the bulge in her middle as his father pulled her closer.

“You're growing a baby,” Aaron said.

“I am. And it's almost ready to be born. Just two months to go.”

“You mean…you mean it'll come out in two months?”

“Yep.”

“Oh. Is it…Is it too big for natural childbirth?”

Gran's jaw dropped. “What kind of question is that?” she asked.

“I was reading. In a book. It said some mothers have to have a…a Caesar section, if maybe the baby's head is too big. Is your baby's head too big?”

“This baby will be just fine,” the woman said. “And if it needs a Caesarean section, the doctors will take care of it.” She smiled at his dad, and he smiled back.

Aaron nodded. “How are you a surprise?” he finally asked.

“It seems that I'm more of a shock than a surprise. Your father should have told both of you about me ages ago.” And this time when she looked at his dad, Aaron saw her eyebrows go way up. “Liam?” she said.

“Sophie is my wife,” his father said. “She'll be your mother, Aaron.”

Aaron looked at Sophie. She did look nice, but he couldn't stop his words. “Gran's my mother,” he said.

Sophie smiled. “Yes, she is,” she said softly. Aaron decided it was a real smile, so he smiled back. When she came toward him, he stood, ruler straight, and tried not to twitch as her arms reached out and wrapped around his shoulders. He was afraid to move. Should he hug her back? He decided that wouldn't be a good idea. Not with her belly sticking out like that. What if he hugged too hard and squished the baby inside?

NINETEEN

The first thing Aaron showed his dad was the toad. “Can you see it? Can you? It's hiding. You have to look really hard. There. See it?” Aaron pointed out the toad's new hiding spot under the piece of bark.

His dad bent and peered into the vivarium. “Oh, yeah. There it is,” he said. “Great camouflage. If you hadn't told me, I don't think I would have noticed him. What does he eat?”

“Worms. Do ya wanna see?” Not waiting for an answer, Aaron opened the worm jar and scooped out a fat worm. It wasn't easy with one hand, but he'd had lots of practice.

“Can you lift the lid of the tank, please,” he asked, remembering to use his best manners.

While his dad lifted the screen cover of the vivarium, Aaron dropped in the worm. They both bent to watch.

“M-m-m-m-m. Yummy,” his father said, rubbing his own stomach as the worm disappeared into the toad's wide mouth. “Now I'm getting hungry.” He laughed. “I wonder what
we're
getting for dinner.”

He's making a joke,
Aaron thought, so he laughed too. The sound came out as a loud bark. Remembering Jeremy's warning, he swallowed the rest.

“Gran said she'd make spaghetti. She said that used to be your favorite.”

“Still is,” his dad said as he walked to the door. He stopped there, and Aaron, who was replacing the wire mesh over the toad's home, glanced over and saw him stare at the pages pinned up beside the November calendar.

“Wow! You've got yourself some impressive lists,” he said. “I can maybe help you with some of this stuff, but for the rest”—he shrugged—“I'd probably need lessons too.”

“That's okay,” Aaron said. “We can take lessons. We can learn all that stuff. We can do it together.”

The last word sounded so good to him that he repeated it in his head.
Together. Together.
His father didn't say it even once. Aaron hoped he was saying it in his head too.

* * *

It wasn't long before the rich smells of the onions, basil and tomatoes in the simmering spaghetti sauce filled the house.

“Dinner will be ready soon enough,” Gran said when they followed their noses into the kitchen. “Sooner if you both stay out of the way. Why don't you go and sit for a while? Sophie's giving me all the help I need.”

Aaron followed his father into the living room. He turned on the lamp that stood on the side table, the one with the picture of his mom and dad on the bicycle. Then he perched himself on the couch.

His father didn't seem to notice the picture. He wandered around the room, pausing to look at the books on the shelves. He walked to the mantelpiece, picked up the conch shell, fingered it, put it back; walked to the window, stared out at the snow-covered yard; turned, and looked at Aaron as if he was surprised to find him in the room. Then he came and sat on the opposite side of the couch, the two of them stiff and silent, like strangers in an unfamiliar house.

Aaron looked around for something he could tell his dad. Then he saw it. Up where the wall folded to become the ceiling, he saw a small, cloudy white spot. “Spiders lay their eggs in a sac, like that one,” he said, pointing. “It's full of eggs.”

“Oh yeah?” his father said.

“Yeah. But I've never seen the spiderlings hatch. Have you? I've always wanted to, but Gran keeps dusting the egg sacs away.” He glanced at his father, saw his eyebrows move together. Aaron wasn't sure what that meant, so he stopped talking. The room fell silent again.

They could hear Sophie's voice from the kitchen talking about baby names. “We're still not sure what to call it if it's a boy. We've talked about Matthew, Owen, Alexander, Graham, Brian and Scott. You can't believe all the names we've discussed. Liam says if we can't come up with anything else, we'll have to call it Shoe Box, or Door Knocker.”

“That sounds like Liam,” Gran said.

There was a clatter of dishes and then more talking. Aaron looked at his father. “Door Knocker,” he said. “That's funny. What if you call him Bread Box, or Jelly Bean?”

His dad chuckled, and Aaron felt better. “What if it's a girl? What will you call it then?”

“Then we'll call it Frances, Fran for short, after your grandmother.”

“Fran's good,” Aaron agreed. He sat, thinking about a question he wanted answered. “Who…who picked my name?” he finally asked.

“Sarah picked it. Your mother. It was her grandfather's name.” His dad folded his arms across his chest and leaned forward slightly before he went on. “She loved him. Said he told her all kinds of stories. He was a fisherman. Lived in a little town on the north shore of Nova Scotia. We went down to visit him once, and he took us out on his boat.”

“Did I go? Did I go on the boat?”

His father shook his head. “No. It was before you were born. Before Sarah…” His words trailed away.

“Tell me. Tell me a story,” Aaron said.

“Maybe later,” he said. “It was your mom who was the storyteller. She could spin tales by the hour.”

“Did she tell me stories?”

“All the time. The two of you would cuddle up here, on the couch, and she'd tell you all kinds of stories. It was the only time you sat still, when you were listening to her. Then, near the end, she was so tired that even talking was hard for her.”

Something clicked in Aaron's memory, as if a missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle was falling into place.

“
You
picked me up and took me away,” he said.

“You remember?”

“I cried.”

His dad leaned forward. He rested his elbows on his knees and looked at the floor. “You cried,” he said. He spoke so softly, he seemed to be talking to himself. “You cried from the moment you were born. You cried all day, every day, and through most of the nights.” He began massaging the fingers of his right hand, one by one. “The doctor didn't know what was wrong. He told Sarah to get one of those snuggle bags to keep you close. He said the sound of her heartbeat would keep you calm.” He shook his head. “Didn't work. You hated to be carried, hated to be touched, and you screamed even louder.”

“I was a bad baby.”

“Yeah.” The word came out like a sigh. Then his father looked up. “No. No-o-o. I don't think you were bad. But something was bothering you, and we didn't know what. We didn't know how to make things better for you. And Sarah, she was so sick, and she only got worse. She blamed herself. She thought you were sick because of the treatments she got before we knew she was pregnant. I blamed myself. What kind of father…? I should have known. I should have been able…”

He fell silent and sat, as if he was thinking… remembering.

“And then Gran came,” Aaron said to help his father along.

“Yeah. We asked her to help, and she came to take care of you. I watched her. She'd sit you on a blanket on the floor and then sing and talk. There was something about her voice. When she talked, you didn't cry nearly as much.”

“Is that why you left? 'Cause I was crying all the time?”

For a while Aaron thought his father wasn't going to answer, but after a bit, he said, “When Sarah died, we were afraid to take you to the funeral because you were so restless. Gran stayed home with you. When I came back, I walked in and you were on the floor, right there.” He pointed to a spot by the window. “You were playing with some blocks, pretending they were racing cars. You were making car noises. When you looked up and saw me, you began to suck in air until your face went from red to purple. I thought for sure you were going to pass out. Then you started to scream. It was like you were terrified at the sight of me. I thought… I thought…What kind of father am I? One look, and my kid screams.”

“And you left.”

“I didn't even stop to say goodbye.”

“You just took off.”