Flock (19 page)

I didn’t notice the eerily quiet house when I got home. With Faulkner to read for English and my dress to work on, I grabbed a PowerBar and a vitaminwater and headed up to my room. My mom, believing it was important for Leira to get fresh air and be exposed to external stimuli, often took her on afternoon outings. When it got to be dinnertime and there were still no sounds in the house, I got suspicious and checked my — oops — dead cell phone. I plugged it in and, once it had a little juice, discovered I had three texts from my mom, all of them telling me to call her ASAP. The last ASAP had been two hours ago. Oops again.

“Hey, Mom, what’s up?”

“I don’t want to alarm you, but it’s Leira.”

“Why? What happened?”

“We had to take her to the emergency room. She was running a fever.”

“Is she OK?”

“They suspect an infection. Possibly pneumonia. The good news is that she’s stable now.”

“There’s bad news?”

“They admitted her, and she’s back on a ventilator. Her compromised lungs aren’t quite getting the job done.”

Of course it had to be lung related. It led me to fear that Leira — because of her special selkie ancestry — was never intended to have lungs. That her long-term prognosis on earth, even should I be successful in thwarting Marik, wasn’t good.

“Should I come to the hospital?” I asked.

Even through the phone, I could hear her release of pent-up air. “I don’t think so. It’s late. There’s nothing to be done here. I’ve even talked Stanley into going home; he has an early lecture. If she takes a turn for the worse, I’ll have Stanley wake you. But if she’s holding or improving, you should go to school, and then we’ll see what’s to be done tomorrow.”

“I don’t feel right carrying on if Leira is sick,” I said.

Following a couple more rounds of my mom and me debating this, I finally agreed to stay put. I had spent enough time at the hospital over the summer to know that the night shift was long and tedious.

Immediately after hanging up with my mom, I phoned Jack. It was an entirely spontaneous response, as reflexive as covering a yawn.

“I’m coming over,” he said, after hearing the latest.

“It’s late,” I said, sounding scarily like my mom. “Besides, you know the rule.” It was a stupid one, but Jack wasn’t allowed over unless my mom or Stanley were home.

“It’s an emergency situation, though. Martial law, right?”

“I’m not sure that applies when the emergency’s someone else’s,” I said.

“Well, then, we’ll make it a covert op.”

This disobedient side wasn’t like him. I kind of liked it. And I
definitely
liked the burly quality to his voice. I went all tingly just thinking about how, in person, he’d follow that up.

About twenty minutes later, as I finished a plate of cheese and crackers, I got what I was secretly hoping for: the real Jack, husky voice and all.

“Did anyone see you?” I asked, looking both left and right down the street.

“No. And I parked a block away.”

I pulled him inside quickly. Responding to my urgency, he backed me up against the front door and kissed me. I knew I should be thinking about Leira and all that she was going through. I also knew that Stanley was due home anytime. But with Jack’s mouth on mine and his strong hands raking through my hair, kneading my shoulders, and sliding down my back, every concern of mine spiraled away like water rushing down a whirlpool. And, yes, the tingles were back.

“Now tell me about Leira,” he said after pulling away and straightening my shirt with a swift tug.

With the abrupt separation, the worries his kiss had temporarily dispelled returned. As I parted my lips, intending to update him on her medical condition, what spilled forth was, instead, a sob followed by a sheet of tears washing down my face.

“Hey, there. It’s OK,” he said, folding me into his arms.

We stood there for a long time while I struggled to get a handle on my emotions. I sensed the frailty of so many things at that moment: of Leira’s hold on this world, of my own abilities, of the all-is-well façade I’d been faking since our return from Iceland, Greenland, and beyond.

“What can I do?” he asked.

“Nothing, but I’m glad you’re here. It does help.”

“I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“That you needed me. You put up a tough front. Anyone else would be fooled.”

I gulped. Was he onto me? Did he know more than he was saying? If so, how much? Everything? I panicked momentarily but then thought of how Marik amused him. If he really knew, Marik would
not
amuse him. Just the opposite, in fact.

“But I can be tough, too,” he continued. “And behind that front, I got your back. Remember that.”

“I will,” I replied.

Jack led me upstairs to my room, where we lay on my bed simply holding each other. Once I had calmed down and my nose was all snotted out and my face looked like it had been used as a punching bag, he, rather diplomatically, segued into lighter subjects: my affinity for purple décor, my fondness for feather boas, and my overuse — in his opinion — of throw pillows. I demonstrated their multi-functionality by smacking him upside the head with a beaded one, after which we tumbled into a ticklefest. And I was back. Restored. Reinvigorated. Reminded of our bond.

Shortly thereafter, I heard Stanley knocking about the kitchen. I decided — based on the volume of his bangs — that he was not in the mood for company, not mine and certainly not rule-breaking Jack’s. We tiptoed down the front steps, avoiding the second-from-the-bottom creaker. I watched Jack slip out the front door as Stanley clattered pots and pans in the kitchen, presumably rustling himself up a late supper. Making my way back to my room, I pitied him. It must have been even more painful for him than it was for me, that Leira’s first few months of life were so difficult.

Leira did remain stable through the night. My mom put in a brief appearance the next morning to shower and change after Leira had finally fallen asleep, following a long and wakeful night.

I watched my mom as she waded from the coffeepot to the table as if navigating something much heavier than air. She looked pale and thinner than I remembered and, with her hair screwed into a twist at the back of her head, I had a glimpse of how she’d look as an old woman. It was also a bad sign that she hadn’t commented on my appearance. It was Crazy Hair Day and I currently sported two of the highest, boingiest pigtails possible. They were pulled so tight the corners of my mouth were yanked upward, the Joker’s grin, but my mom said nothing. It was unsettling, and I pushed my bowl of Raisin Bran to the side.

“I’m supposed to work at the store after school,” I said. “Should I check if Ofelia could cover for me so I can come and see Leira?”

“There’s not much to see. Even I just sit there helpless and useless. And we already rely on Ofelia for so much. I’ve talked with Afi more than once about hiring another part-timer. Given his age and own health concerns, I’d like to see him cut his hours to next to nothing, if not sell the store outright.”

I clanked my spoon onto the table. It was true that Ofelia was essentially running the store. To ask her to pick up extra hours wasn’t fair. It was, however, this most recent mention of selling the store that had me half-staffing my head. Norse Falls General Store was Afi’s. And I knew that it was what got him up and going most days. Even though his “up and going” was getting more and more difficult. Somehow, I sensed it was important to help him hang on to the store for as long as possible.

“I’ll keep my shift. If something does change, you’ll let me know?”

“Yes, of course.”

At school, I had a hard time shifting gears and getting my head back into the Homecoming mania that had invaded. But with the court announcement being posted first thing, I had to adjust quickly.

“Anyone we know?” I asked Penny as she ducked through the crowd on her return from the bulletin board. Hope elevated my voice in a childish lilt.

“Marik,” she said, rolling a curl between her thumb and index finger. Her crazy hair was a mass of ringlets. With her color and volume, the effect was like a cross between Little Orphan Annie and Medusa. “And me.”

I grabbed her by the shoulders and squealed like a blue-ribbon sow. Heads turned in our direction, but I didn’t care. Penny was on the Homecoming court; good things
did
happen to good people. “Woo-hoo. You made court!”

“And Marik, too.”

“So where is he, anyway? I haven’t seen him. Is he still sick?” I asked.

“Yeah. But nothing serious, according to Jinky.”

A part of me was concerned by his two-day absence. Another part had enjoyed the reprieve. With the news that he was on the mend, I decided to savor another Marik-free school day.

I noticed Abby and Shauna giving each other congratulatory hugs as well, their matching Marge Simpson beehives colliding like foamy heads of beer; I was so happy I allowed them their celebration.

Jinky walked up. I had no idea if her spiked hairstyle had anything to do with Homecoming, but it certainly made a point, or came to one, rather.

“Congratulations,” she said to Penny.

“Thanks.”

“Do you have anything like this in Iceland?” Penny asked.

“No,” Jinky said. “No American football. No silly popularity contests. And no mock royalty.”

No mistaking what she thought of the whole thing.

“How’re your dresses coming along?” Penny asked us.

I groaned my not-so-good response.

Jinky, to my surprise, said, “All done.”

“So not fair,” I said. “I’ve got a shift at my grandfather’s store tonight, and my baby sister’s back in the hospital with pneumonia. There aren’t enough hours between now and Saturday.”

“Maybe I could help out. Is your grandfather hiring?” Jinky asked. “I’m looking for a job.”

“Oh. Well. As a matter of fact,” I said, “he just may be.” Wheels were grinding in my head; I heard the gear shifts and even smelled something burning. “Why don’t you head over there with me after school? I’m pretty sure my
afi
will be there; you could meet him.”

“Sounds OK,” Jinky said. “I’ll meet you at your locker.”

As Jinky strolled off, I reflected on my evolving opinion of her. She took her own mystical side seriously. You gotta respect that. And though Marik and I were both cagey about what was going on, she continued to act as a medium for us to the spirit world. And after an aloof start, she was making a serious effort to blend: the paper, a mystery date to Homecoming, and now maybe a job. Change was good. I liked change. It gave me hope that it was possible in all things.

After school, Jinky was waiting for me at my locker. I texted my mom asking for an update on Leira. “Stable” was her brief but satisfying response. I therefore relaxed a little and enjoyed the glorious crisp fall day and walk to downtown. These trees were just beginning their fall reveal, and bursts of canary yellow and sumac red flapped overhead. Jinky was kind of chatty, talking about a motorcycle she wanted to buy. So Jinky hadn’t done a complete personality flop; some character traits of hers — like her hell-on-wheels need for speed, for instance — were intact.

“What’s the deal with Marik?” I asked.

“Well, you know he only shares what he wants to.” Jinky said this in a way that implied I did the same. I did, of course.

“But is he really sick?”

Jinky shrugged her shoulders. “If I knew, I’d tell you.”

I believed her. It didn’t provide me any more information on Marik, but it was a nice moment between us.

At the store, both Afi and Ofelia were behind the counter. If I remembered correctly, it had been Ofelia’s day off. Her presence had me worried; it meant Afi had needed backup.

“What’s new?” I asked.

“York, Guinea, and Zealand,” Afi said.

For the record, I had intentionally walked into one of his snappy comebacks. It was a gauge as to his state of mind. Too-beat-to-banter would have been a bad omen.

I introduced Jinky to Ofelia and Afi, reminding him that he’d met her at the fair in Iceland.

“If you’re looking for someone to pick up a few hours here at the store, Jinky’s interested in an after-school job.”

Afi grunted, probably sensing it was a reflection of his age and health.

“Can she work legally as an exchange student?” Afi asked.

Even I hadn’t thought about that. For a guy who still operated with an old-fashioned cash register and a rotary phone, he was surprisingly up-to-date on laws and regulations.

“As long as the job is registered through the school’s BVP, Business and Vocational Program, it will be considered an on-campus job and permitted under my F-1 student visa.”

Now it was Jinky’s turn to surprise me. The girl could read runes, drive a Harley, stoke a sacred fire, and speak legalese. And BVP? I’d never even heard of it, never mind be able to employ it as a loophole.

Ofelia said something in Icelandic to Jinky. She replied; it was long and, with the guttural Germanic roots of the language, sounded strong and confident. Afi joined in, adding his own string of gargled spluttering. I watched their back-and-forth conversation with a mounting annoyance and a growing stiffness in my neck. Without the benefit of comprehending the words, I was left to translate their body language. Ofelia, I could tell, was highly curious of Jinky, and I sensed — from the fold in Ofelia’s brow — that she was actively running one of her scanner operations.