Escape Velocity (5 page)

“Lou.” He looks at me more closely. “Is everything okay?”

I smooth down my hair self-consciously. I didn't even look in a mirror before I left the house. “My dad had a heart attack last night.” My voice doesn't sound like my own.

“Oh no.” He stands up, steps toward me as if he might hug me but then stops, arms hanging awkwardly at his sides. “Is he all right?”

“I don't know. They've taken him to Foothills.”

“So who is taking care of you?”

“Well, my dad's ex-girlfriend took me to the hospital last night.” But I know this isn't what he means. “I'm okay, though, on my own.”

He frowns, folds his arms across his chest. “You're fifteen, right? What does your mom say?”

“My mom?”

“Yeah, your mom. In Victoria, you said.”

“Yeah. She doesn't know yet. I mean, it only happened last night.”

“I think we need to call her,” he says. “Do you…look, I think I should take you down to the school counselor, Mrs. Robson. She'll know what to do.”

The school counselor is short and squat, with sparse dark hair that frizzes out on either side of the wide pale stripe where it is parted. “Well, you can't stay home on your own,” she says. “Do you have any family that could come and be with you?”

“Why can't I stay on my own?” I ask.

“You're too young, Lou. And who's going to take care of you? Take care of the house? Get the groceries, cook, pay the bills, do the laundry…”

“I do most of that anyway,” I say.

She shakes her head, and I can see that she doesn't believe me. It's true though. I do all those things. Not very well, perhaps—we eat a lot of take-out—but other than paying the bills, it's not like Dad does any of it.

“Mr. Samson says you haven't called your mother yet.”

“I tried this morning but there was no answer,” I say, looking her in the eyes so she won't guess it's a lie. “Do you think someone could give me a ride to Foothills?”

“Let's try your mother again,” she says.

“Do you know the number?” I say.

“It'll be in our records.” She rolls her chair over to the computer on her desk and clicks away for a minute. Beside me, Mr. Samson is silent. When I look at him, he gives me a guilty sort of smile, like he knows he's let me down. I wonder if he is relieved to have handed over the responsibility to someone else. Sometimes he doesn't seem grown-up enough to be a teacher.

“Aha.” Mrs. Robson puts her hand on the phone. “Are there any custody issues I should know about? Does your father have sole custody?”

“Nothing official,” I say. “I mean, they never went to court or anything. But I've always lived with my dad.”

“You do see your mother though?” Her finger is poised, ready to dial.

“Sometimes.”

Mrs. Robson dials the number and, to my surprise, holds the phone out to me. I take it and listen to it ring. I picture my mother's apartment: the hardwood floors and brightly patterned carpets, the sleek wood and leather furniture, the artwork hanging low on the pale gray walls, the white-tiled kitchen with its glass-fronted cabinets. Not expensive—my mother isn't rich—but elegant. “I don't think she's home,” I say at last.

Mr. Samson and Mrs. Robson exchange looks, and I feel a flicker of anxiety. “I have a phone number for Foothills,” I tell them. “I'll call there after school, okay? I bet Dad will be okay with me staying on my own for a few days. Or I can stay with my boss, Dana Leigh.”

Mrs. Robson nods slowly. “I'll make a few calls. Let's take things one step at a time.”

I don't want to be at school anymore. It seems silly to be here, going to classes, listening to teachers going on about all the usual stuff. So halfway through my third-period class, I stand up, pick up my books and walk home. The phone starts ringing as soon as I get in the door. I pick it up, heart instantly racing, and brace myself for a doctor's voice.

“Lou?” My mother.

“I tried to call you.”

“My god, Lou. I just got a call from a social worker at a hospital in
Calgary
.” She makes Calgary sound like it's Timbuktu, like the issue here is the location of the hospital and not the fact that Dad is in one at all. “Kristy someone. She says your father has had a heart attack.”

“Yes. Last night.”

“And then I got a call from some woman, Dana someone. A friend of your father's, clearly.”

“She's my boss,” I say. “At the World's Biggest Dinosaur.”

“The
what
?”

“The World's
—
”

“Never mind. And then another call from your school about two minutes ago.”

“From Mr. Samson?”

“No. Mrs. Something. A woman with a completely forgettable name. Anyway, everyone seems to think you will have to come here.”

“To Victoria? That's ridiculous.” My hands are sweaty, and I wipe my palms on my jeans. “Who says so?”

“All of them. The social worker, the school, your father's
friend
.” She says
friend
like it's a bad thing, and I wonder what Dana Leigh said to her. She's not a fan of my mother.

“I'm fine staying here,” I say. “Really, I am. This way I can visit Dad more easily. And besides, he'll be home soon.”

“That's not what the social worker said. Apparently he had a stroke, did they tell you that? He's practically paralyzed on one side. It could be weeks—even months— before he can come home again.” She sounds upset, almost angry. As if this is all Dad's fault.

I hesitate. “Do you want me to come?”

“Well, to be honest, the timing really couldn't be worse,” she says. “But I suppose you'll have to.”

She can't even pretend to want me. It sucks, but I'm used to that. What I can't stand is the thought of being so far away from Dad, the thought of him being in hospital and no one visiting. “What about school? And I have a job here.”

“Well, there are plenty of good schools in Victoria.” She is quiet for a moment. “Why aren't you at school now? I wasn't expecting you to answer the phone. I was going to leave a message.”

“I came home,” I said.

“Right.” She sighs. “Well, I'll have to talk to your father, but it looks as though you'd better get your things packed.”

After I hang up the phone, I pick up my copy of Escape Velocity and stare at my mother's photo on the jacket flap. It's a black-and-white headshot, taken in front of a lake. Her white-blond hair is long and loose, the breeze blowing strands across her face. She is laughing. Under the photograph is her bio:
Zoe Summers is a critically acclaimed Canadian poet and novelist. Her first novel
, Leaving Heaven,
was short-listed for the Giller Prize, and her three collections of poetry have received numerous awards. She currently makes her home in Victoria
.

The phone rings. I slide the book back onto the shelf and pick it up. “Hello?”

“Hi. This is Kristy Nichols, the social worker at Foothills hospital?” She says it like it's a question. “Is this Lou? Garland Hendricks's daughter?”

“Yeah. This is Lou.”

“How are you doing, Lou? I've been trying to get in touch with you. I spoke to your mother this morning.”

“Uh-huh. About that…”

“Your dad wants to talk to you. He was very relieved to hear that you are going to your mother's.”

My heart sinks. “He was? Can I talk to him?”

“He had an angiogram this morning, and it looks like there's some narrowing of one of the blood vessels, so he's having an angioplasty done. They'll put a stent in to dilate the narrowing, and he should be feeling a lot better after that.”

“Enough to come home?”

She hesitates. “You talked to Dr. Ramirez, right?”

“Yeah. He called this morning.”

“Okay. Well, I'm sure he explained that your father had a small stroke?”

“Yeah. Some left-sided weakness, he said?” My mother's voice is still in my head:
practically paralyzed
.

“That's right. He's going to need to go to a rehab hospital after his heart problem is stabilized. It could be a couple of months before he'll be able to manage at home.”

“Oh.” Even I know that there is no way everyone—my parents, my teachers, the social workers—will let me stay here on my own for that long. “It's just, if I go to Victoria, there'll be no one to visit my dad.”

“You want to help him, right?”

“Course I do.”

“Honestly, Lou, the best thing you can do is to go stay with your mother so that he knows you are okay.”

Being okay
and
staying with my mother
don't necessarily go together. But Dad doesn't really understand that. “Is that what he wants me to do?”

“Absolutely. You can phone him from Victoria as easily as from home, right? And it probably wouldn't be that easy for you to visit him anyway.” She talks slowly, like she is trying to sound calm and soothing, but I can hear a clicking noise and guess that she is checking her email while she speaks to me.

“Fine,” I say. “If that's what he wants, I'll go.”

I throw some clothes into a duffel bag, call Dana Leigh and leave a message letting her know what has happened and telling her that she should try to give all my shifts to someone else. She won't be happy about that. Then I call my school and tell Mrs. Robson that I'm going to Victoria.

“I didn't realize your mother was Zoe Summers,” she said. “I mean, I only just made the connection. I've read her books!”

“Yeah. Well…”

“You take good care of yourself,” she says. “Try not to worry about your dad. I'm sure he'll be fine.” She gives a little laugh. “And tell your mom I absolutely loved
Leaving Heaven
.”

My mother manages to book me a flight for early the next morning, and Dana Leigh insists on driving me to the airport. I want to visit the hospital first, but there isn't time. I have a brief chat on the phone with my dad, who says he feels like he's been run over by a truck.