Canary (5 page)

She died right before ten that September night. I'd been sleeping in the common room of the hospice on a couch more often than in my bed at home. The TV was turned on quietly in the background to some news show. We'd spent the last few days there, trying to hold off time. Brett was still up, staring ahead but not really watching the images on the screen. Then Dad walked out of Mom's room. He didn't need to say anything. His face was empty. I could hear my aunt crying.

Brett shook his head, saying no over and over.

I didn't know what to do, how to act, what to say.

So I ran away from it all.

I ran out of the hospice into the open fields behind and turned my face to the sky, unable to catch my breath. I was choking in an open space. I tried to take in gulp after gulp of muggy, Indian summer air. I kicked off my shoes and ran. I reached the end of the field and kept going into the woods as the fire filled my lungs and objects pinched at my feet. I couldn't stop. I needed to feel something in a body that was numb.

Behind the hospice were trails that patients could walk. I followed one into the woods and broke out of the trees to the lake Mom used to love when she was strong enough to go outside. The moon was a sliver, making the world in front of me a dark hole. I waded into the water with my clothes on, the thick mud squishing between my toes. When I was younger, Mom would put socks on me when I went swimming in our pool. I was scared to lift my feet off the bottom, to suspend myself in the water, so instead I would walk, scraping my toes as I pulled myself across the concrete bottom. The socks protected me from those injuries, while still letting me keep my feet on the bottom of the pool. Now I welcomed the soft earth below that I sank into, not caring what I was stepping on. I swam to the middle of the lake with strong strokes, feeling the burn in muscles I'd forgotten since I stopped playing sports and stayed home with my mom. I swam as Mom had, cutting through the water and pushing forward, blocking out my thoughts, and only focusing on the physical pain in my body.

I reached the middle and floated on my back, trying to slow my breath, lost in the middle of a lake with a whole new world hidden under its waters. I stared at the sky, wanting to yell, but my voice was trapped in a tight fist of choking sobs. I lay there, the waters pushing me around, until I saw thin beams of flashlights coming through the woods. I slowly swam back to shore.

When I waded out, my brother wrapped a blanket around me and Dad picked me up, carrying me to the car where my aunt was waiting to drive us all back to a house that would never feel like our home again. I curled up in the backseat, my chest bursting and body shaking.

We entered a dark house, and Dad turned on every light. When all the rooms were ablaze, he came back down. I hadn't moved from the couch. He pulled me close to his heart and let me cry. I fell asleep with him there, waking the next morning to find him gone.

If you asked me to pinpoint the moment it happened, I'd say that was it.

That was when I lost Dad.

When I walked into the kitchen the next day, he was on the phone and glanced at me briefly with sad eyes.

The days passed, and the silence grew.

We took each day as it came, but that was all. We lived, but it was as if we were sleepwalking. We moved ahead, but we didn't look back. We didn't talk about my mom; we didn't talk about the loss; we didn't talk at all.

Olmstead High told him he could take the season off, but he insisted he wanted to work. He threw himself into the games, starting a streak of wins that would eventually attract Beacon's attention.

He became basketball.

To me, to Brett, he became lost. He was gone.

Those days still pulled me down now, even when I tried to fight the reminders creeping into my mind. I pushed my head up into the crisp air, gasping for breath. I couldn't hide from the memories even underwater. It all kept crashing against me. I clutched the side of the pool, goose bumps popping up on my arms, and waited for my heart to slow down.

A voice came from across the pool. “You were swimming like something was chasing you.” It was Brett, standing there in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt.

I wiped my eyes. “What are you doing out here?”

He walked toward me with a towel in his hand. “From the looks of things, I think I made it right before the hypothermia set in.”

I climbed from the pool, shivering. “It's not so cold.”

“Take this and go change into something warm. We need to get going.” He threw the towel at me.

“What are you talking about? Where are we going?”

“Do you really need to ask?” He stared past the treetops. “The cemetery.”

My voice caught in my throat. I'd told myself I didn't need to go to the cemetery or think about Mom. “You want to go with me?”

“Of course I do. We shouldn't be alone today.”

I pulled the towel tight around me. “Let me go change.”

He nodded.

I started toward the sliding doors but then stopped.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I'm just really glad you're here.”

“We need to look out for each other. Mom always told me that.” Brett's lips curled up into a half smile. I could see his pain, but I could also see the brother he used to be. I thought about all the times he had come to my rescue. He hadn't forgotten how important family was to me.

www.allmytruths.com

Today's Truth:

People are often glad they are not you.

Words Overheard at Mom's Wake . . .

I am sorry for your

loss is hard for

anyone can see how much you loved

her body is at peace

now you hurt, but the pain will get

easier since you could prepare, say good-bye, rather than have her

taken from this world so

young, you are too young to lose your

mother was an amazing

woman like her leave their imprint on you and it's a shame they're taken too

soon this loss will get easier for

you two are holding up so

good that she is done

suffering is not the way to live your

life with her heavenly

father has been so strong throughout her

illness took us all by surprise and

shock it is to everyone to have to say

good-bye is not forever; you will see her again one

day by day the pain will start to go

away from the suffering and hurt she was

feeling as if you can't go on, but you can, and you

will keep in touch and let me know how you, Brett, and your father are

going to figure out how to handle all her items, the beautiful pieces of knitting she

created a world where you knew she cared about you with her whole

heart breaking to see everyone full of

grief will turn to memories of the good times you had with your

mom will be proud of the young woman you grow up to

be strong for your father and your

brother told me you want to try to go back to school quickly, instead of sitting around the

house is full of food so when you go home today you won't have to worry about having things to

eat something; you look so skinny and need to keep up your

strength, and faith will get you through these next few

weeks ago I talked to her and told her how special she was to

me and your mom grew up together; we were best friends in high

school will help you catch up; don't worry right now about those

things get better, life goes on, and you'll be able to handle your mother's

death is inevitable; your mom's just came way too

early on it will seem impossible to go on, but you will move

on the last day of her life, she still continued to fight for another day with her

family will be here for you.

Words blended oneintoanother;

words of sympathycondolencecareandlove,

as people morphed into more and more and more people,

the hours dripped by at Mom's wake.

Brett and I hugged everyone as they shuffled past,

awkward embraces with people we didn't know.

What we didn't hear were the words of relief, held tightly inside.

Secret words not meant for my family.

Words revealing that they were glad they were only here for a short while,

glad they could still go home to their loved ones who were still living,

to their families who were still safe

and

whole.

Posted By: Your Present Self

[Friday, September 6, 9:36 PM]

The second time I talked to Jack, I spent the night with him.

Beacon was having a basketball scrimmage, and I wanted to go. Brett was bugging Dad about transferring back to Olmstead High, but I loved my new school. The excitement of basketball was starting to rub off on me. I felt the familiar thrill of the sport, which had been absent for so long, and I liked the comfort of emotions I once knew so well.

The scrimmage was going to be at Saint Edward's, the all-boys boarding school three hours south of us. It was one of Beacon's biggest rivals. Although recruiting was restricted, everyone knew that rule was a joke. The school got some of the best players in the country. They enticed student athletes with hefty academicscholarships that continued to be awarded all four years even though the recruits spent more time in the gym than in any classroom.

Dad's bedroom door was open and the room was empty late one night when I got up to go to the bathroom. I found him in his office. He turned toward me and yawned, his glasses resting on the top of his head. He was doing the same thing he had been when I went to bed two hours earlier: feverishly studying tapes of Saint Edward games, memorizing plays.

“You need to get some sleep. It won't do you any good if you're too tired to coach.”

“I will, I will.”

“Dad, you can't stay up all night.”

It was a useless battle and he'd spend at least another hour in his office, but to walk by without saying anything didn't seem right. This was the first time his team would play another school this season, and I knew Dad felt he had something to prove. I could've told him he'd already proved it, beating out of hundreds of other coaches for the job, but I doubted he'd listen. It was obvious he saw this scrimmage as his first test. Everyone at Beacon did.

Caravans of people would trek to the scrimmage, eager to see the new players and coach, but Brett refused to go. He was adamant about staying home. Jenna didn't want to go either and miss the Saturday art class she took at the local college, but Ali acted as if her life would end if she wasn't at the game.

Ali convinced me to try to get Dad to let us ride with the team.

“Think about watching all those hot sweaty boys running around on the court trying to show off the first time they play for a crowd this year.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Sweaty boys?”

“Believe me, you'll agree there is nothing better after the game.”

Ali and I went to Dad's office when the day ended. We planned to beg him into submission, but we didn't have to.

He put his papers down, his attention completely on me. “You want to go to the game?”

I shifted my weight, suddenly shy. I glanced at Ali before I answered. “Yeah, if it's okay. We promise we'll be good.” I was about to go into the speech the two of us had prepared about how great it would look to have his daughter cheering for him right from the bleachers, but he cut me off.

“Yes, yes, of course you can come.”

“Really? You don't mind?”

“I'd love to have you there.”

I looked at Dad, and instead of the sadness I usually saw in his face, for a minute it was as it used to be. He was excited for me to be a part of the sport that just two years ago had been so special to both of us.

Ali and I promised to keep out of his way, to stay out of trouble, and to be full of Beacon spirit. After Ali's parents agreed to let her go, he booked us a hotel room to share.

We rode on one of the school buses decorated with signs the cheerleaders made. Dad and the other coaches were seated behind us, and the team was behind them. Ali and I spent the whole ride peeking at the players and discussing who was the hottest. I watched Jack when he wasn't looking and wondered how Ali wasn't blown away by his crazy sexiness.

We arrived late Friday night. The players were told to go to their rooms; wake-up was at seven so they'd have time for breakfast and warm-ups before the noon scrimmage.

Shortly after I'd fallen asleep, I woke to a muffled blaring sound. I wrestled out of the tangle of sheets, trying to figure out what was going on. The shapes around me seemed hazy. Ali was buried under the covers in the twin bed next to mine, oblivious to the noise.

The shrilling of the phone next to my bed added to the noise. I fumbled for the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Kate, it's Dad. The fire alarm is going off. We don't think there's a fire, but you and Ali need to come outside. Find me when you do.”

“Where will you be?”

He hung up, saying something about calling the team members.

I woke Ali as I slipped on my flip-flops, and we followed a stream of people toward the stairwell.

“Thank goodness we're only on the fourth floor,” I said to a half-asleep Ali as we hurried down.

She grunted. She was a self-proclaimed marathon sleeper, waking for nothing.

Outside, people stood away from the building alone or in small groups. I didn't see any smoke or sign of a fire, but the employees worked hard to keep us out there, just in case there was one. Most people wore jackets or wrapped the scratchy hotel blankets around their shoulders. I wished I'd thought to grab something. The night was cold, and all I had on was a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt that I'd worn so often it really was decent only for bed, where people wouldn't see me.