LEMNISCATE (14 page)

The funny thing was, whenever I spotted Brynn’s friends, she wasn’t hanging out with them. And when I did see Brynn, she was devoting her available time to someone else.

And that someone happened to be my guardian.

Lately, it seemed Garreth was hanging around her locker between classes, and I couldn’t help feel pangs of jealousy and confusion when I noticed them eating lunch together in the courtyard. The very courtyard where I had first met Garreth. It infuriated me, but I didn’t have any ground to stand on. I had brought Hadrian back.

To make matters worse, our parents were coming home tonight, which meant one thing: dinner. Not the usual come home from vacation, get yourself situated, read the mail, catch up on laundry thing. Nope. Dinner. The four of us. Blech.

With that thought I shut my locker a little more forcefully than usual and turned to follow the horde out to the parking lot. The halls of Carver High had been hideously transformed during the lunch periods, displaying poster after poster of the upcoming Fall Harvest dance this Friday. The gym was sure to be decorated with orange and red streamers and pumpkins and such. It seemed so festive that I considered asking Ryan. Not only did I find myself enjoying his company, it seemed any chance of my going with Garreth was out. Rumor had it, Brynn was going to go with him. The idea made me queasy. What the heck was he doing?

I groaned and unlocked my car door, slid inside and immediately dialed Ryan’s number. The idea of doing something light for a change made me smile. It was a far cry from what we did last Friday together.

I pushed a Black-Eyed Peas CD into the rarely used stereo and waited for him to answer his phone, but it just rang and rang.

Odd,
I thought to myself.
Maybe he’s feeling better and went out?

I pulled into the parking lot of Edward’s to pick up a few things. Mom would definitely want flavored creamer for her coffee and I was craving Swedish Fish. I grabbed a green basket after entering through the automatic doors and headed for the back of the store. I found myself drawn to the Entenmann’s pastry table, but an unexpected sense of worry hit me. Two older women were whispering next to the yogurt shelves, but I could still hear what they were saying, word for word.

“A shame, I tell you. That man should be locked up for what he did to that boy. It’s just so hard to believe it was his own son.”

“They were carrying on all night, Grace. I
had
to call the police. What was I to do?”

“You did the right thing. Well, at least Gunther Jameson won’t be able to do any more harm from behind bars.”

“Which hospital did you say that poor boy was sent to?”

“Mercy.”

The basket nearly slipped from my grasp. My eyes followed the two women as they headed for the checkout and then my legs felt numb. I had to get out of there.

I made it through the self-checkout in three minutes and high-tailed it to my car.

Oh my god, Ryan’s . . . in the hospital?

I could have kicked myself for thinking he didn’t seem to care about my afternoon with Brynn. He told me his father was an alcoholic, but failed to mention the abusive part. I began feeling sick to my stomach. I raced home and sped to the kitchen, throwing the groceries inside the refrigerator. Then, as quick as lightning, I was back out the door. I still had a few hours before my mom was due home and headed downtown toward the hospital.

Finding a parking spot was practically impossible. For a small town, it seemed everyone was at the hospital today. I approached the information desk to find a woman in white scrubs, scanning a tabloid magazine over her black bifocals.

“Um, hi. Ryan Jameson’s room, please?”

She studied me for what seemed longer than necessary, then checked the monitor.

“Room 312, honey.”

I smiled a thank you and headed for the elevator. When I stepped out onto the third floor, a sterile smell stung my nostrils. My shoes squeaked on the floor. It was uncomfortable to be in somewhat familiar territory. The little plaque that read 312 was to the left of the open door and I could hear the steady beep of the blood pressure machine that was beyond. It reminded me of last spring, when I, too, had been a patient here.

“Hey,” Ryan croaked, struggling uncomfortably to sit up.

“You don’t have to get up,” I said back, crossing the floor to the bed.

God, he looked awful.
His face was puffy and swollen with fresh purple bruises along his jaw. It made me want to cry. His arm was bandaged but I didn’t have the nerve to ask why.
How could a parent do this to their own child?

“These are for you,” I placed the yellow bag of Swedish Fish on the table next to the bed. My mother had always taught me never to show up empty handed.

“Well, now you know, huh? About my dad, I mean.”

I nodded sympathetically, determined not to tell him he was the hot-off-the-press news floating around our local grocery store. “I’m really sorry, Ryan.”

“Yeah, well.”

I could now see the yellowing of old bruises lingering still on his arms and collarbone. How could I have never taken notice before?

“When will you be released?”

“Tomorrow, probably; my aunt’s going to stay with me until the court decides what to do. This way school won’t be interrupted.”

I nodded. I knew Ryan lived alone with his father and that his mother had passed away a few years ago. Now I couldn’t help wondering how she died. I sighed and looked out the large window next to his bed. It overlooked the parking garage and a small clinic. I couldn’t help feel hopeful that Ryan’s life would be changed for the better even while I was still stuck with mine.

“You okay?” he asked and I quickly pulled myself back into the moment, feeling guilty for pitying myself at a time like this.

I let my hand rest on top of his. “I thought that maybe, if you were feeling up to it on Friday, that you might want to go to the Fall Harvest dance? With me? Maybe it will take our minds off our problems for one night.”

Surprisingly, Ryan’s face lit up. “Sure, but I can’t guarantee how good of a dancer I’ll be.”

Laughing, I smiled back at him, “I’m not a very good dancer, either.”

“Then we’ll make a good pair.”

I stood up to leave. He was beginning to look tired and I had to get home.

“Hey, Tea.” I spun around at his voice. “Are you sure you don’t want to ask Garreth to the dance? You know, to fix things?”

I thought of Garreth and Brynn hanging out together today and bit my tongue.

“I’m sure.”

“T
here you are! I’ve missed you so much!” My mother’s arms wrapped me in a vise grip so tight, I had to strain to breathe.

“Mom, you’ve only been gone forty-eight hours,” I uttered breathlessly, waiting for my lungs to fill again with air.

“I know, honey. I’m just not used to being away from you, that’s all,” and she squeezed me once again.

“So, where’s Nate?” I asked, looking around the empty kitchen.

“He ran home. He wanted to check on a few pending issues in his office, but don’t worry, he and Brynn will be over in a little while.”

Don’t worry? Why would I do that?

“He’s picking up Japanese for everyone.”

“I thought we were going out?” Actually, it was better this way. The thought of being seen in public with Brynn was enough to curl my toes.

I poured myself a glass of lemonade, while my mother sorted through yesterday’s mail.

“Did you want to invite Garreth?”

I nearly choked. “Wh . . . what?”

“Garreth? Would you like to ask him to dinner? I haven’t seen him in over a week, I’m starting to miss him.”

At that point my composure must have given me away because my mother looked at me as if she knew the whole story. Which was impossible.

“Boy trouble?”

I could only nod.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No,” I whispered, hoping she would let it rest. She nodded and picked her suitcase up and headed for the laundry room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

It was seven o’clock by the time the second bottle of wine was opened. My mother was nestled in Nate’s arms on the sofa, deciding which pictures to delete from the digital camera. Brynn was sitting lazily in the wing-backed chair, looking bored as hell. I swore time was purposefully torturing me, creeping along like this. I stood up and began searching for a means to occupy myself, like picking up the napkins that had drifted in from the kitchen, and fortune cookies, and crumbs . . .

I heard my mother get up behind me and then in a flash, I turned to see her lose her balance, nearly whacking her head on the bookcase nearest the sofa. Before I could barely blink, Brynn was up out of her seat, grabbing her by the arm and gently helping her back down to the sofa.

“Brynn, thank you. I guess I’ve had a little too much wine.” My mother’s face was pink and flushed. It was odd to see her so careless. No, make that
embarrassing
. I bit down on the inside of my cheek as the overwhelming urge to reprimand her swelled inside me. She was the adult, but she sure wasn’t acting like it.

“You’re just a little woozy,” Brynn replied with a voice so gentle, I ended up doing a double-take. It was entirely out of character for her, and I half expected her to look up at me, smirking as she vied for brownie points. But her attention was one hundred percent aimed toward my mother, and in all honesty, it appeared genuine.

“Brynn’s right, Diane. Just sit here for a moment.” Nate began arranging throw pillows, placing the firmer ones on the bottom of the pile, the fluffiest near her head.

“I’ll go get a cool, wet cloth for her forehead,” Brynn chimed and headed for the powder room without even asking where we kept towels, or where the linen closet was. I was beginning to notice she was entirely too comfortable in the space I called my own.

In the midst of it all, I stood like a spaced-out idiot. I should have been the one to come immediately to my mom’s aid. To speak softly to her with concern, to run for a cool towel for her head. But instead, I felt angry, even awkward in my own home, as if these people had come in and taken over things. Things that used to be mine.

“Mom, are you alright?” I asked, but my voice sounded strained, the question contrived.

What was wrong with me?

“I’m fine, honey. My head is spinning a little. Nate, I’m so sorry. I feel like a fool. I . . . I’m not feeling so well.”

With that she pulled herself to her feet, pushing past the hand Nate offered her and staggered down the hallway to the bathroom. I met Nate’s eyes. My own guilt and shame was overshadowing everything else I should be concerned with, like my mom’s well being. She and I took care of one another. We always had. Always will. It was ridiculous that I should feel so humiliated when she was the one not feeling well, and I should be respectful and show my appreciation toward Brynn for helping my mom. Sure, Brynn wouldn’t care if I was the one suddenly on the verge of losing my cookies, but she never had any concern for me. Yet, instead of rolling her eyes and using tonight’s circumstances against me, she became the biggest help. Bigger than I was.

Brynn came back into the living room, washcloth in hand. The evening was over.

“Well,” I projected into the stagnant revelry. “I’m sure my mom will end up calling it a night. She really should get some rest.”
Finally! I was taking charge. Or so I thought.

“Maybe we should stick around just a little while longer to make sure she’s okay?” Nate suggested.

I bit the inside of my cheek. This was the first time the three of us had ever been in the same room without my mother. It was two against one, but remarkably, I felt okay. I felt strong. My mother was sick and I could handle this. I just had to feign politeness and get them to leave, then I could put my mom in her bed or on the sofa and escape to my room.

Sensing my discomfort, Nate walked over to me, placing his hand on my shoulder. “If you need anything, you can call my cell. It sends an automatic page to the hospital, in the event I get called in. You’ll do that if she gets worse or if you need anything, won’t you?”

I nodded, not promising anything. Brynn’s moment of sincerity appeared to have worn off now that she was no longer needed. She stared at me—as if boring her way right through me. I couldn’t tell if she was jealous or what. All I knew was that I wanted her out of my house. Now.

As Brynn left to go wait in the car, Nate grabbed his jacket from the coat tree in the foyer. It seemed like he was moving in slow motion. He seemed reluctant, hesitant.

“She’ll be fine,” my voice grew more convincing by the second. “And I promise to call if I need anything.”

An approving smile of thanks crept into his eyes, but yet he still wasn’t opening the door, and I imagined Brynn growing impatient, growling to herself in the car at his delay.

“Take care, Teagan,” Nate said quietly. It should have been a normal thing to say. A polite statement of departure when you don’t know someone too well. But to me, it seemed more than that, almost like a whisper of importance, carrying weight to his words.
Take care.
I heard it echo again in my head. What should I be taking care of? My mother? Myself? Was he warning me of something, because paranoid flashes of breaking into his study were permeating my mind, sending off warning signals. Did he know? Was I supposed to feel threatened? And with that, he stepped out onto the porch and into the night.

M
y mother spent the entire day in bed, calling off work for the first time in years. Before and after school, I waited on her, hand and foot, as restitution for my behavior the night before. I was sure she wasn’t aware of the weight upon my conscience, for behaving and thinking so selfishly. I was silently punishing myself with each cup of tea I brought up to her, making her soup for lunch. Did she have enough pillows, an extra blanket? I threw a load of darks into the wash without being told. Nothing was enough.