Rusty Summer (25 page)

“Do you want to get out and pose with them, honey?” he asks jokingly. Uncle Oscar tried to get wild horses to hang out for a photo op once. Uncle Frankie loves to tell that story.

“You are very funny!” Oscar informs him.

My dad just stands there, looking at them with a little smile on his face and confusion in his eyes. He kind of spasms when Frank calls Oscar “honey.”

But he's trying, God bless his pointy lil' head.

 

That night GramMer makes her famous fried chicken. I'm not sure what all she does, but she shakes it and fries it and bakes it and forget about it!! It's so good!

She is very interested in our day and the bears and the boat, and Raven is jumping on the furniture babbling to Leo about her Berenstain Bears book, and my dad is talking to Uncle Frank about how big this fish he almost caught once was, and Uncle Oscar is looking at pics Beau took on his phone, and all of a sudden it all seems okay. It feels cozy.

For the first time since I found out about Raven I don't feel like running out the door.

 

However, later that night, we are sacked out in our respective beds and I'm tossing and turning.

I can't sleep.

Everyone says that's pretty common when it's summer up here, you get “midnight madness” and start mowing the grass at two in the morning, stuff like that, but I haven't experienced it at all yet.

What is keeping me up tonight is the question of fairness. Right versus Wrong.

And why is that?

Because tonight I met Ruth when she came over to get Raven.

We shook hands. She seemed really nice . . . and very pretty, just like GramMer said. Raven favors her mom in looks. “Two peas in a pod,” as GramMer called them.

Raven's mom knew about us, but we didn't know about them. Ruth was nervous when she came in; she kept looking at me and smiling in a way like, “don't be mad.” Finally I smiled back at her.

I don't know if I am mad or not anymore. I
think
I am . . . and yet . . .

It was a very pleasant evening. As my dad, Raven, and Ruth were leaving to go to Ruth's house for the night, I found myself standing beside her, a little distance from the others, while Dad was buttoning up Raven's coat.

We just sort of swayed awkwardly, trying to think up something neutral and nice to say . . . but what? Finally she goes first.

“I know it must be awful to have all of this thrown in your face all of a sudden.”

I just snort and nod. I don't have words to express my feelings. Ruth goes on.

“I try to put myself in your mom's place and I think I would be really upset.”

“Um . . . yeah, I think that's gonna be a safe bet.” I laugh mirthlessly.

“I dread that. She's already been hurt enough.” Ruth's likable face is sincere.

“We all have.” I am surly, thinking of future conversations.

“I know . . . it's terrible for a child when you have no control over a situation. That's one reason I'm getting my degree in sociology. My dad was an absentee parent too. Maybe I can figure out this childhood baggage, you know? Maybe even help someone else, someday.”

I look at her sharply when she says that. Hey, me too!
I
want to help someone else too!

She looks at me and smiles. Looks right into my eyes, genuinely.

“Listen, when the time comes, I'd like to be your friend. Your mom and Paul too.” She looks wistful.

I sigh when she says that. Friends with me, maybe someday . . . but good luck with my mom.

She is gonna trip.

As I'm flailing around in bed thinking about all of this, I hear Leo get up and go to the bathroom. I don't think anything of it till I hear the scales creak, then I think,
Oh, great, this'll end in tears,
as my Brit friends say.

“Goddammitmiserablesonavabitchshit!!!” Championship swears fly from the bathroom.

Wow, Leo!! Temper!! She comes back out in her underwear and bra. She's thrown off her nightgown to weigh herself. She is made of flimsy sticks. She is pissed.

I pretend to be asleep. All I do all day is bust on her. Let her have a quiet moment.

She gets in bed, then flings back the covers, and starts doing push-ups. She can only do one regulation push-up before she drops to the floor, trembling with exertion. Even though she's panting, I continue to feign sleep. She tries to do another and fails. After lying on the floor for a while, she gets up, stomps back into the bathroom, and closes the door.

I return to my worries.

What is Paul going to think? He was younger than me when Dad left. Does he even have any memories? At least he is still the only boy. He's still special!

I kind of roll my eyes at myself when I think this. I know it's silly and infantile, but I didn't expect him to have a replacement daughter—a replicant, like in
Blade Runner.

I lie and try to distract myself by thinking about other old movies I've seen and liked, and seen and hated, and others that I want to see, when I hear a cough in the bathroom. It dawns on me that maybe Leo would like some privacy. I want a drink of water anyway so I get up and tiptoe noiselessly out to the kitchen.

When I get there I decide I want warm milk instead of water. I look out the window. The nightlight plugged into the counter outlet is inconsequential compared to the night light outside.

I stare out the window, waiting on the microwave. The dusk is the same golden-gray color it stays till about four a.m. Then the sun rises above the horizon, where it has loitered all night, and the sky turns blue—or more often, gray.

I get my milk, which I nuked too long so now it's like molten milk. I set it carefully on the table and then sit and consider. The clock ticks loudly; minutes go by.

I never thought I'd say this but I like Ruth. Not Raven. Just Ruth. I feel kind of disloyal to my mom for feeling that way. I have no idea what my mom is going to say when she finds out.

Scream and faint? Go to confession? Cry???

Omg, I hope she doesn't cry.

I heave a deep sigh and rest my chin on my hand as I wait for my milk to cool. Then I hear a faint noise, a scratching. I hear it again.

I look out the window in the direction it's coming from and I think I see a shadow—or shadows. Moving! Then a black blob that disappears into the brush.

What was that?!!

Before I can figure out what I'm about to freak out about, I hear a cry. A frail little wail.

I run into the bathroom, where Leo is lying/leaning over the toilet bowl.

Oh my God.

She's gasping and crying and shaking, her hand is bloody and her nose is bloody and her face is gray and slick with sweat and slime and blood. She gags and spits into the toilet and I see nothing but pink froth and red slime and know she's been trying to make her empty self puke.

“Leonie, what are you doing?” I whisper in horror.

She groans. She starts to speak, but instead, convulsively she starts to heave and gag. Bloody foam comes out, frothing red. She gags and gags, violently, and when the paroxysms are over she falls to the side of the toilet.

I kneel down and touch her. She is icy and clammy and shaking.

“Honey, can you get up?” I ask.

Dazed, she weakly nods and tries but slips on the slimy tiles. Her head hits with a sickening thud as she falls hard, groaning. Frantically, I drop to my knees and try to gather her up into my arms. She's so cold. She's like a little bundle of icy sticks. Her eyes start to flutter and roll back in her head.

I shake her.

“Leo?! Wake up! I think you should stay awake right now! I think it's important!
Leo!!
”

“So cold,” she whispers. Slick blood from her nose makes a trail down her lips and chin. Her breathing is shallow little gasps. She looks like the deer....

I tighten my arms around her. I accidentally shove aside her ill-fitting bra and I can see her tiny shriveled breasts, so different from how they used to look. Her teeth chatter and her breathing grows shallow and erratic.

“Leo! Wake up!” I'm panicking. I can't move without releasing her.

Her eyes are black circles and her face is wetly white. Every tiny golden freckle stands out starkly. She struggles to wet her lips. She's delirious.

“Mama,” she mutters, almost inaudibly. Her legs draw up tight to her chest, meager and regressing.

I try to hold on to her, hold her broken pieces together. Her breath is so shallow. Her frail frame sags like deadweight. Her gray lips move soundlessly. Her head is too heavy for her.

“Want my mama.”

Tears spring to my eyes. I think I can feel my heart breaking. I don't know where she is.

She's lost.

I do the next best thing. I scream for my grandma and when she comes running I call our Uncle Oscar.

 

They put Leonie in the hospital and the doctors want to keep her there for a while. She has an IV. She's sleeping.

I spend the next few days beside her. Beau stays with me, bringing me snacks, while I'm on guard. Just makin' sure—as my grandma says. She and the uncles come and go five times a day, bring us cheer and treats. I read. Leo sleeps.

While I sit with Leonie, I get a text from Bathsheba.

It says:
why not Ivana basher?????

No!!!!
I text back.

Whatevs-gud name!!!
comes back, in like a nanosecond.

But not for me. It's strange, but it feels like I haven't thought about my skating stuff in years.

After a while (I've lost track of time and I'm not sure exactly how long it's been) Leo wakes up. She has monitors and an IV taped to her arm. Beau is back at GramMer's house so it's just the two of us.

A nurse with a careworn expression comes in and checks Leonie's beeping thing on the wall.

“How about something to eat?” the nurse asks Leo.

Leo looks away.

“You need to eat when the IV is finished. If you don't they'll give you a feeding tube, honey. It's not fun; you should just eat.”

Leo draws a shaky breath and stares out the window, feeble and defiant.

The nurse sighs resignedly.

“You better make up your mind to try real quick—or they will make the choice for you.”

She leaves. Her scuffed white shoes squeak as she walks.

Leo continues to stare silently out the window.

I wait. I acknowledge her pointedly ignoring me. She's ignoring what she knows I'm thinking. What I'm dying to say. But I wait. I'm learning to wait.

And . . . nothing. Leonie closes her eyes. I am disappointed. The machine beeps away, monitoring only her physical illness. After a bit Leo dozes off. I must have too, because I wake up and she is looking at me.

“How are you feeling?” I ask her.

She shrugs. Doesn't answer for about five minutes. Shakes her head.

“Hopeless,” is finally all she will say.

The hospital window is large and looks over the water. We watch the clouds and birds and boats pass by. I gather my breath with the incoming tide and then storm the beach.

“Leo, I've been thinking . . . I think you are right. You are too fat. Way too fat. And so am I.”

Leonie eyeballs me. Suspiciously. Pretty sure there is a squall kicking up.

And she's right. I continue.

“America is way too fat
and
way too obsessed about it. We don't change or accept the way we are, we just make sad little runs at it and then get our big butts handed to us on a failure platter. But I'm going to change that! I'm going to lose weight till I look the way a woman should look, so as to be taken seriously. I will lose weight and wear makeup, because hey, if the former Secretary of State can even be dogged for not wearing any while she fought to save the world—well, fer gawd's sake, how can I not?”

Leo looks at me with narrowed eyes. Still waiting. I continue.

“Yep, I'm going to remember all the things the jocks yelled at me for all those years and I will be swayed by it! I'm buying in again—just like when I was twelve! Every time I feel hunger, I will feel self-hatred! I will! I should! Shame on me! Fat people are eyesores! Why even leave the house? No one wants to get to know me. How could they? I'm gross! Only blind people can stand being around me, like Frankenstein.”

Even saying this crap to Leonie makes me want to puke. I used to believe it, and she still does.

I continue to blast off.

“You know what else, Leo? I've decided something. The one I am going to save is Raven. I really don't want her to blow up like a ‘giant fat cow'! I'm going to explain to her—wait, she won't take it from me, 'cuz I'm fat—but you, Leo, she'll listen to you. Go tell Raven she's not pretty because of her chubby tummy and cheeks . . . 'cuz you know, she is pretty chubby!”

“Stop it! I know what you're doing! I won't! She's not! She's perfect! I won't! Don't tell her anything! Leave her alone! Don't . . . disturb her!” Leo snarls weakly. She is tormented by the thought. She struggles to sit up. Too many tubes. She fails and falls back. “I see her and I think how I was—and how I'm not now and never will be again—so little and happy and clueless! Leave her alone! Let her be happy and clueless! Leave us alone!! Little girls shouldn't get messed with. I was her age . . . I was never her age.” Leo's voice shakes. Her lips tremble. Frowning, she closes her dark circled eyes.

I keep at it.

“Seriously, she's as much your sister as she is mine. Don't hurt her.”