Shattered (6 page)

When I looked up, I was alone on the corner.

When I got to Castle Gifts, Mr. Hardcastle came to the door with a finger to his lips.

“Shhh. They're sleeping.” He pointed to the twin stroller parked in front of the counter. Inside, two babies slept under matching blue blankets.

“Peter and Mark,” he whispered as he filled the cash drawer. “Identical twins. My mom usually looks after them, but she's hurt her back.”

“Where's their mom?”

“Dead,” he said flatly. “Car accident six months ago, when the twins were two months old. She went to the store for diapers. Drunk driver hit her.” The cash drawer clicked into place, and he straightened his shoulders.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “That's terrible.”

“Yes,” he said. “It was. It is. My mom is great, but she's not so young anymore. The boys tire her out. Hell, they tire me out.”

As if on cue, one of the babies woke up. Mr. Hardcastle sighed and rummaged in his jacket pocket and pulled out a grubby-looking soother.

“How do you tell them apart?” I asked as he wiped the soother on his shirt and popped it in the baby's mouth. The baby spat it out on the floor.

“This is Mark,” he said. “Born two minutes before Pete. Mark's the wiggler. And see—he's got a birthmark on his left hand. Birthmark. Mark. We only noticed after we named him.”

Mark obligingly waved a tiny fist, and I saw the faint brown smudge near his chubby wrist. I held out my hand to him. He grabbed it and tried to stuff it in his mouth.

“Everything goes in the mouth these days,” Mr. Hardcastle said. “And I mean everything. Keys, stones, books, my glasses, sometimes food!” He laughed and squatted in front of the stroller. Mark smiled and drooled and kicked his blanket off. Pete slept on.

Mr. Hardcastle stood up and released the brake on the stroller. “See you at six,” he said. As he pushed the stroller toward the door, Pete woke up with a wail. “And so it begins,” Mr. Hardcastle said with a grimace.

“I could close up,” I said. “I know how to cash out. Then you wouldn't have to come back later. Or open up in the morning. I mean, if you don't mind giving me a key…”

Mr. Hardcastle turned and stared thoughtfully at me. Pete started to cry. “You'd have to make the bank deposit,” he said. “And take the float home. Can't leave money on the premises. Too many junkies.”

“I'm okay with that. Really.”

“Maybe for a day or two then. Until my mom is back on her feet. You sure you don't mind?” He fished a key out of his pocket. “The deposit stuff is in the drawer. The bank's around the corner. Just drop the bag in the after-hours slot.”

I nodded and took the key. “It'll be fine,” I said.

He rubbed his face with one hand. “Forgot to shave,” he said absently. “I stay up at night working on my thesis. Mornings are a bit of a blur. As you can imagine.”

“Your thesis?”

“Yeah. Botany. My PhD. I was almost finished when Fran died.”

“I'm sorry,” I said again.

“What can you do?” he said.

Chapter Thirteen

When I left Castle Gifts that night, I stuffed the bank deposit, the float and a Colonel Flapjack keychain in my backpack. Colonel Flapjack is a beaver in an RCMP hat. I figured he could join Dudley Do-Right in his battle against the snow-globe zombies. I also figured it was wrong to steal from Mr. Hardcastle, so I paid for all the junk I'd taken.

After I made the bank deposit, I checked Hazel's corner, but she wasn't there. Neither was the guy who'd handed me the poem. Maybe tomorrow.

A well-dressed drunk guy sat next to me on the bus, even though there were lots of other empty seats. I met the bus driver's eyes in the rearview mirror, and he raised his eyebrows. I shrugged, and the drunk guy said, “My wife just left me for my brother.” He started to cry.

“You'll be okay,” I said.

“What do you know?” He got up and staggered to the back of the bus. I could still hear his sobs.

That's a good question, I thought.

What do I know? I stared out the window and made a mental list of things I know.

1. Tyler is going to be okay.

2. I need new glasses.

3. I am going to tell Tyler what happened.

4. There are worse things than having a bad haircut.

5. Living an honest life is harder than it sounds.

6. I am going to be okay.

7. I like my new job.

8. Being cheated on really hurts.

9. Tyler shouldn't drink vodka.

10. Kayla is a bitch.

11. I want to talk to Nat.

“Hey, sweetheart. You gonna get off so I can get a coffee?” The bus had pulled up at the hospital. The bus driver was standing over me, grinning. The drunk guy was long gone.

“Sorry, sorry,” I said, scrambling out of my seat. “I wasn't paying attention.”

“That's what they pay me for,” the bus driver said. We walked into the hospital together. Then he saluted me and strolled down the hall toward the Tim Hortons.

Tyler's mother was waiting at the elevators, punching the Up button repeatedly. Her hair, which was usually styled in a sleek blond bob, was pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her roots were showing. Her normally flawless skin was blotchy. When she saw me, she stopped jabbing the button and clutched her gigantic purse to her chest.

“What are you doing here, March?” she said. “I told your parents. No visitors except family. Especially now that he's come out of the coma. The doctors were very clear. Family only until further notice.”

“He's out of the coma? For real?” Even though I was kind of faking my surprise, I wasn't faking my happiness. If she'd been anyone else, I would have hugged her. Instead I just grinned at her.

She frowned at me and said, “Your hair is different.”

“A lot of things are different, Mrs. McKenna.”

She nodded, as if she understood.

“The hospital called and I ran out the door. I left Brady in charge.” She put a hand to her mouth. Her pale pink nail polish was chipped. “Do you think that's okay?”

The elevator doors opened. “Brady's, what? Thirteen?” I said.

She nodded.

“They'll be fine, Mrs. McKenna.” No use telling her Brady was a little jerk. But I wasn't about to offer to babysit. We were on Tyler's ward now, and I could see Nurse Rosa talking to Mr. McKenna outside Tyler's room. Mrs. McKenna stepped away from me. Her back stiffened.

Mr. McKenna stepped forward and took his wife's hand. “Wait here, March,” he said to me. “Family only. Doctor's orders.”

Before I could protest, he and Mrs. McKenna had stepped into the room and shut the door in my face.

“Aren't you his cousin?” a voice said.

Nurse Rosa was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, smiling.

Living an honest life is harder than it sounds, I thought.

“No,” I said. “I'm his girlfriend. Or I was, until right before the accident. Is he okay?”

“Well, he opened his eyes and asked for a Coke, so yeah, I think he's gonna be okay. In the long run.”

“What do you mean—in the long run?”

“Coma recovery isn't always straightforward. It's not like in the movies. Some patients need a lot of help, for a long time.”

“But he will get better, right?”

Nurse Rosa patted my arm. “I've already said more than I should. I'm not a doctor. Go and wait in the patient lounge. I'll let you know when his folks leave. If he's still awake, you can have five minutes with him. As far as I'm concerned, you're his cousin from Regina. The one who brings him weird gifts. Now get out of here and let me do my job.”

She laughed and gave me a gentle shove toward the lounge.

I sat in a beat-up corduroy recliner in the small, overheated lounge. The
TV
was on, but the sound was muted. I tried to watch Tom Selleck silently solve a crime in New York City. But not even his awesome 'stache could hold my attention. My thoughts bounced around like Ping-Pong balls in my brain. Bounce to Tyler. Bounce to Hazel. Bounce to Mr. Hardcastle. Bounce back to Tyler. At some point, I discovered the chair had a remote. I fiddled around with that for a while. One button made the whole chair rise up and deposit me on my feet. That was cool, but it didn't stop the bouncing in my brain.

I lay back in the chair and closed my eyes. I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, Rosa was shaking my shoulder.

“They're gone,” she said. “Five minutes.”

I wiped the drool from my chin and stood up. At least I wasn't wearing Mom's clothes anymore. I'd found an old pair of black pants and a plain white shirt in the back of my closet. I was still wearing my old runners though. I ran my hands through my hair. Nothing much I could do now. Tyler was going to wake up to a whole new me, whether I liked it or not.

When I opened the door to his room, he looked the same as he had the night before. The machines were gone though. I had kind of expected him to be sitting up, sipping a Coke. Smiling his wicked smile. I stood at the end of the bed and watched him for a few minutes. Was I ready? Time will tell, Mom always said. While I was watching him, his eyes opened. I stepped to the side of the bed. He turned his head toward me and blinked a couple of times. His eyes were unfocussed.

“Hey, Tyler,” I said.

“Water,” he croaked. I picked up a plastic cup full of ice water from the bedside table and held the straw to his lips.

“Welcome back,” I said.

He waved the glass away.

“March?” he said.

“That's me.”

“Those glasses suck ass.”

Chapter Fourteen

That was all Tyler said. “Those glasses suck ass.”

Then he closed his eyes and went back to sleep. So much for my fantasy of a tearful reunion after my big confession. So much for undoing the past.

I left the hospital and went home.

My parents had kept dinner hot for me. Veggie meatloaf and peas. Ugh.

They sat with me in silence while I stared at the plate of food.

“Mrs. McKenna called,” Mom finally said. “She says you were at the hospital. So you know the good news.”

“Yeah.”

“You don't seem very excited about it,” Dad said.

“It's going to be a long haul,” I replied. “His nurse told me that.”

Dad nodded. “Brain injuries are tricky things.”

“So they tell me,” I said. I pushed my plate away. “None of it made any difference, did it?”

“None of what?” Dad asked.

“The hair. The glasses. The job. After all that, I'm still me.”

Mom and Dad exchanged a glance that probably meant
This is what we've
been waiting for.

“I'm still the girl who ran away. I'm still a bad person. And I don't know if I can tell him.”

There was a pause before Mom said, “You ran away? I'm sorry, March. I don't understand.”

“I caught Tyler cheating. I shoved him. He hit his head. I ran away.”

Mom and Dad exchanged another glance. This one probably meant
This is
worse than we thought.

I looked away from their concerned faces. “A good person would have stayed with him. A good person wouldn't have lied about what happened.”

“So you cut your hair and quit your job because you wanted the outside to match the inside. And you felt ugly inside,” Dad said.

I nodded. “But it didn't make any difference, did it?”

“What difference did you want it make?” he asked.

“Jeez, Dad. Could you be a little less psycho-babbly? I wanted to even things out. I guess I wanted to suffer.”

“And did you?”

“Not as much as I thought I would. I mean, yeah, the whole Kayla thing was pretty bad. But I kept meeting people who actually
were
suffering. This girl, Hazel. She's homeless. And my new boss has twins and their mom is dead. But they liked me, even with bad hair and ugly glasses. Kids on the bus showed me their toys. The outside didn't matter at all.”

“Because they could see who you really are, March,” Mom said.

“Didn't you hear me, Mom?” I yelled and slammed my fists on the table. My knife and forked jumped off my plate. “I pushed Tyler. And I left him for dead.”

“And you checked his pulse and called nine-one-one. And you tried to—” She paused. “You tried to atone.”

“In the Middle Ages, people atoned by wearing hair shirts,” Dad said. “Your mom's clothes and that haircut and those glasses are your hair shirt. But the thing about atonement is that it doesn't go on forever. At some point, there has to be some forgiveness. If you're religious, you ask God to forgive you.”

“And if you're not,” Mom chimed in, “you have to forgive yourself.”

“But I want Tyler to forgive me first.”

Mom stood up. “Let's get some rest. We'll go to see Tyler tomorrow. Together. I'll clear it with the McKennas. Okay?”

I nodded and went upstairs. There was an email from Augie, sent earlier that day. It was one word:
Congratulations.
Sometimes Augie can be a real pain in the ass. In the morning I called Nat and told her everything.

She was mad at first. Really mad.

“You should have told me,” she yelled. “I could have helped you. I'm your best friend.”

“I know,” I said. “But I thought you'd hate me. I hate me. I left him, Nat. Lying on the deck.”

“Did you check his pulse? Did you call nine-one-one?”

“Yeah, but—”

“You caught him cheating on you. That's, like, temporary insanity right there.”

“I know, but—”

“You should have stayed. No question. But you didn't. And he's gonna be okay, right?”

“I think so.”

“Then get over yourself and do something useful.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Maybe Mrs. McKenna could use some help with the kids. Maybe you could drive Tyler to rehab. There's gotta be something.”