Gives Light(Gives Light Series) (26 page)

The hospital, I remembered suddenly.  Officer Hargrove had told me months ago that the hospital had phones.

I sprinted across the reservation, half convinced that if I didn't act soon, I'd miss my chance to talk to Dad.

The hospital loomed in view, windows brightly lit, the parking lot half full.  A small flight of stone steps led to the front entrance, flanked by double wheelchair ramps.  I climbed the stairs two at a time, already breathless from my run, and pushed my way through the swinging doors.

It's funny, but a certain sense of nostalgia hit me the moment I walked into that hospital.  I guess nostalgia isn't the right word; more like deja vu.  The walls were a solid caramel color and dotted with yellow lamps, the doors and desks embossed wood.  The front desk was just beside the entrance; a curly-haired woman in glasses sat behind it, a phone at her side.  She gave me a fleeting, uninterested smile and stifled a yawn.  Bethany Bright, her nametag read.  Nice.

"How can I help you?"

I pointed at the phone.

"What about it?"

I stared at Ms. Bright in disbelief.  I thought it was obvious that I wanted to use the phone.  Under any other circumstances, I would have tried to find a polite way to ask her, but I was genuinely worried that if I didn't call Dad back fast enough, he'd grow tired of waiting around and hop on the train to the next state.

I picked up the phone.

"
Hey
!"

I dug the beeper out of my pocket and dialed the number still scrolling across the screen. 
Sorry
, I mouthed, wincing.

The phone, cradled between my shoulder and ear, rang twice.  Ms. Bright looked on me with bewilderment; until her eyes went to my throat, where the scars were, and she took on the same pitying expression I had seen on countless teachers' faces.  If not for those scars, I'm sure she would have rallied against me a little harder.

The phone stopped ringing.

"Cubby?"

My heart dropped into my stomach--whether with elation or fear, I didn't know.

"Cubby, are you there?"

I whistled, two simple notes, the first low and the second high.  Dad and I had developed a system when I was very little; if I got lost in a crowd, or if he wanted to know which room of the house I was in, all I had to do was whistle.

I heard Dad breathe with relief.  I heard him laugh, a hollow, cautious sound.  "Oh, thank God," he said.  "I'm sorry.  I just had to make sure you were okay."

All the bitterness I had felt toward him over the past few months, all the confusion and resentment, evaporated in a single second, a broad smile spreading across my face.

"So," Dad started.  It was a little awkward--but then, "awkward" was a word that defined my dad all by itself.  Just hearing his voice, just holding that phone in my hands, I felt so happy.  I felt like I could cry.  I'm glad I didn't.

"You must be enjoying Nettlebush."

He sounded dubious.  I wanted to assure him that I did, in fact, love Nettlebush.  I had no way of doing that over the phone; Dad needed to read the nuances on my face to know what was going through my mind. 

"I'm going to be there soon.  Maybe in a week."

I shifted the phone between my shoulder and cheek, freeing my hands so I could clap them.  I heard Dad laugh, light-hearted and relieved.

"Listen, though," Dad said.  "Don't be surprised if things get worse before they get better."

My heart rose from my stomach and into my throat where it caught, tightened, and strangled me.

"I'm sorry," Dad said.  "I didn't mean to put you through this.  I wish I could tell you...  Well, maybe when I come to the reserve.  I'm so reluctant to say much over the phone.  But I'll be there soon, I will.  I promise."

That was good enough for me.  I believed him.  I would always believe him.

"Cubby," he said, sounding upset now, and a little sick.  "No matter what anyone tells you--people outside of the reserve--don't let them get to you.  You might hear things...  If you do, don't pay them any mind.  Okay?  I'll be with you soon, I promise.  I'll make it all okay."

Now I was the one who felt sick.  What on earth was he talking about?  What sort of things?  Why couldn't he just come out and say it?  I was starting to understand that a large part of his reticence was cultural; but there was, I thought, a certain point at which reticence was ridiculous.

And I couldn't ask him.  I couldn't ask him what was wrong, why he was in trouble, why I couldn't help him. 

I couldn't even ask.  That bothered me the most.

"There's one more thing," Dad said.  "There's a woman on the reserve--Meredith Siomme.  She lives out west."

My insides hardened to stone.

"I need you to find her, Cubby, and tell her...tell her I'm on my way.  She knows sign language, so you shouldn't have too hard of a time."

I suddenly wanted to throw the telephone at the wall until it smashed to pieces.

"Okay?"

No, I thought, not okay.  But even if I'd had the ability to tell him off, I know I wouldn't have.  I whistled, low and curt, just to make sure he knew that I'd heard him.

"I'd better go now.  I love you."

I heard a resounding click on the other end of the phone.  Dad was gone.

Slowly, numbly, I put the phone back on the receiver.  Ms. Bright was gawking at me curiously.

I went home that night with cold skin, the sensation drained from my body.  I dragged myself up the staircase and back into my bedroom.  I lay in bed, eyes open, and listened to the owls, my blood itching and boiling beneath my skin.

I couldn't get the image of Dad and Ms. Siomme out of my head.  What they might have been doing together the night Mom had died, the night I had lost my voice.

I didn't sleep that night.

26

Giraffes

It was a Sunday when I dragged myself out west to Ms. Siomme's paddock.

I was deadly tired.  I hadn't slept at all the past couple of nights, something that happens to me fairly often when I'm stressed out.  My arms hung like weighted tethers at my sides.  My eyes, itching, refused to stay open.

I found Ms. Siomme standing in the grassy pasture, running around with the chestnut foal.

"Skylar!" she said.  She smiled warmly, rewarded the foal with a handful of oats, and wiped her hands on her pants.  She climbed the gate to me.  "It's nice to see you again."

I wanted to return her smile, I wanted to ask her how her day was going, but all I could think of was my mom's throat slit open, my throat slit open, the mingling scents of our blood heavy on the air.  I remembered something else about that night just then, something I hadn't remembered before: what my blood had tasted like, scalding and metallic, when it was filling my throat, clogging my lungs, when I was suffocating on it, dizzying whiteness filling my eyes.

The smile phased off of Ms. Siomme's face.

"You look sick," she said softly.  "Come inside."

I followed her into the barn beside the silo, the smell of old hay overpowering.  She led me up a ladder to a furnished loft above the animal pens.  It was a very cozy apartment, a round table in the center of the polished floorboards, windows facing the farmland, a kitchenette and radio to one side, two doors on the other side presumably leading to bedrooms.

She sat me down at the table and gave me a glass of iced tea.  I didn't drink it.

"You shouldn't be outdoors for too long," Ms. Siomme said.  She sat across from me.  She went on looking at me in a concerned, but calm sort of way.  "Maybe I should take you to the hospital."

It's just a fever
, I signed. 
It's okay.

Ms. Siomme smiled slightly.  I don't think she believed me.

"Did you come to see the foal?" Ms. Siomme asked.  "I decided to call her Pepper."

I'll tell Rafael
, I signed.  The apartment swam in and out of focus, darkening, then brightening again.  Spots danced in front of my eyes.  My throat was tight.  I finally drank the iced tea.  I hated to admit it, but it tasted pretty good. 
I have to give you a message from Dad.

Ms. Siomme's elbows rested on the table.  The expression on her face was closed off, patient, and intent.

He just wants you to know he's coming to Nettlebush soon.  Maybe in a week.

I thought I saw something flicker across Ms. Siomme's dark green eyes.  She nodded.  To my surprise, she immediately sprang up from the table.

"I'll tell Nola," she said.

I couldn't understand what Mrs. Red Clay had to do with any of this, but I was too tired to figure it out.  Ms. Siomme looked at me again.  Again, her expression softened.  "But first," she said, "I'm taking you to the hospital.  You really don't look so good."

It's just sleep
, I signed wearily. 
I haven't slept.

"Have you had any valerian root?  I've got plenty.  I'll mix you some with tea."

I tried that
.  Which was true.  Annie had sent me home with armfuls of valerian root, but I still hadn't slept at all the night before.

"Lemon balm, then."  Ms. Siomme walked over to her kitchenette.  "It's a very good sedative."

I couldn't bring myself to protest, though I wanted to. 
Thanks
, I said.  She took the leaves from her herb shelf and put them in a paper bag for me.  I smiled at her--I didn't want to be impolite--and took them home with me.

Granny made me a cup of tea from the lemon balm leaves; I drank it, and I couldn't so much as close my eyes.  If anything, I was more jittery than before.

"What has gotten into you?" Granny demanded.

I knew her well enough by now to discern that underneath her severe exterior, she was worried.  I would gladly have told her what the problem was--I couldn't sleep for fear that Dad was in danger; I couldn't close my eyes without wondering whether Dad could have saved Mom's life if he'd been home that horrible night--but I had run out of sticky notes.

After my third night without sleep, things got really interesting.

It began at the breakfast table, when I started shaking.  I didn't even realize it until I noticed the spoon wobbling in my hand.  Nauseated, I set the spoon down.  Normally eggs are my favorite thing to eat, but the soft-boiled egg sitting on the table looked about as appealing to me as a bowl full of cat innards.  Granny pressed a slice of toast on me; I couldn't swallow it without choking.  And I kept jumping and staring at the wall, where I was sure I'd seen the shadows move, only whenever I looked at them directly, they stopped moving altogether.  Sneaky bastards.

"Enough of this!" Granny said.  "I'm taking you to the hospital.  Get up."

Arm-in-arm, we walked to the edge of the reservation.  Granny led the way through the parking lot and up the hospital steps.

"You again!" said the receptionist with surprise, peering at me shrewdly from behind her desk.

Granny explained our quandary while I stared at the lamps and the big black splotches they left on my vision.  Ms. Bright ushered us into a waiting room, where we sat with a mother and her two small children.  The mother smiled at me; I think I smiled back.  Then a young nurse came in and called the mother's name, and she and her children trundled out.

"Fool boy," said Granny with a sigh.  I felt her bony hand rake through my hair, lending me comfort.

The nurse reappeared in the doorway with a clipboard in her hands.  She had a very round and vulnerable face.  She frowned and bit her lip; she looked up from the clipboard, her forehead wrinkling.  Granny and I were the only two people sitting in the waiting room.

"Come, Skylar," Granny said imperially.  She rose from her chair and I followed her.

The nurse led the two of us to an exam room where she checked my blood pressure and my weight.  She didn't talk much, continually chewing at the corner of her mouth.  "Dr. Stout will be with you shortly," she finally said, without meeting either of our eyes, and left the room.

Granny sat in the corner and read a magazine, and then a woman with auburn hair bustled in.

Dr. Stout tutted at me the moment she saw me.  She checked me for a fever--I already knew I had one--and listened to my heart and lungs.  Suddenly, she shrieked.

"What?!" Granny demanded, smoothing her hand over her heart.

"Nothing!  I was hoping he would pass out."

I didn't; but I seriously considered puking.

Dr. Stout put her stethoscope away and pulled up a chair.  She folded her arms and scrutinized me as though I were under a microscope.

"Well?" said Granny impatiently.

"Passionflower for his insomnia, cat's claw for his immune system." 

"Is that all?"

"You want me to give him antibiotics?  He doesn't need them.  I'll have Rosa bring you the medicine, and then you can be on your way."

Dr. Stout left us alone again, Granny fuming like a whistling tea kettle.  "Passionflower," Granny muttered, "I
never
..."