Side Effects May Vary (24 page)

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollinsPublishers

Alice.

Now.

I
watched the clock as the minute hand fell on the two.
Four thirty-two.

My mom would be home by five. She rarely used her home office except to store important papers. My dad had left for the grocery store forty-five minutes before, and I'd already been hunting through files for the past half hour. Nothing had pointed me in the right direction.

The silence between me and my mom was going on three weeks.

Since I'd sworn off the scheming and manipulating, life had been quiet and lonely. And not at all rewarding. So now I was scheming in a new way. Scheming for redemption. And this scheme required a great deal of snooping, which I'd been doing for the last week.

The front door creaked open. I whirled around and fell into my mom's chair, in front of her computer. My mom shuffled through the mail, with her phone cradled in the bend of her shoulder. “What?” She sighed. “No, we're going to have to file an appeal.” She looked up and saw me there at her desk.

“Paper due tomorrow,” I lied. “My laptop was moving slow.”

She nodded. “I'll have your dad take a look.” She turned and left me with the sound of her bedroom door opening and closing. I went upstairs to get ready for ballet.

 

Natalie was sick. She never got sick. Even her immune system knew better than to fail her.

Simone, the jazz teacher, had subbed all of her evening classes, and because Natalie was not here and it was a Thursday night, I had no ride home.

I called home and left a message on the voice mail. Now it was just a toss-up between who would pick me up. My bet was on Dad, seeing as my mom had relegated everything involving me to him. She was still pissed about the whole iron-skillet thing.

At two minutes to nine my mom's car pulled into the parking lot.

I sat down in the passenger seat and pulled the seat belt across my chest. It was completely quiet, no radio, just the low hum of the engine. She sat there with her arms folded across her chest and her lips pressed together in a straight line.

I knew that eventually one of us would have to crack and break this silence, but I never expected it to be me. “Mom?”

She put the car in park and took her foot off the brake, then rolled down her window. “Your dad asked me to pick you up.”

“Oh. Was he not home?”

“Oh, no. Your father was home.”

More silence.

Her eyes seemed to be focused on the rain-slick pavement in front of us. “He said that we need to talk.”

It'd been three weeks since the beach house incident, and I wasn't surprised that my dad had finally lost his patience. “So, what now?”

She shrugged.

Her indifference pushed me from annoyed to infuriated. “Fine, Mom. Let's pretend. Let's pretend that I didn't see you with some man and that this friction between us is nothing but a little mother-daughter tension. Is that what you want? If this remission is the real deal, then it'll only be one more year and then I'll be off at school or wherever. We can pretend for one year, right? And then you can leave him and everything will be broken, but at least we'll have been honest. Because that's what counts.”

Then she did something I rarely saw my mother do. She cried. Laying her head against the steering wheel, her whole body curved into a hunch.

No matter how angry I was with my mother, I didn't know how to watch her cry. So I said what people always say when someone cries. “It's okay, Mom.”

“It didn't last for long,” she said through her tears. “He was an old law school professor. I told your dad about it right after you were diagnosed.” My diagnosis. It would always be a landmark in our lives. There would always be before and after. “I wanted to be honest with you, Alice. But then you got sick. I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't tell you that truth and expect you to deal with my lies on top of everything else.”

“He knew? This whole time Dad knew?”

She nodded.

Maybe I should have been mad, but I was relieved to know that my dad already knew and it wasn't because he had heard it from me. Still, that day had been this domino in my life, and she wanted to brush it aside because for her it had been over this whole time. Finished business. But I'd lived with this and carried it like my own secret. I wondered what life would have looked like if I'd stayed at school that day or if my mom had left five minutes earlier. “Why?” I asked. “Why'd you do it?”

“Getting old is a bitch.” She laughed a little. “Life starts happening, and you begin to realize that every decision in your life only eats away at the control you have over everything else until there's nothing left. You get married; decision made. That chapter of your life is closed. Kids, college, jobs. It's easy to let all those decisions take away the unpredictability and excitement even when they don't. Choosing to—” She paused. “Choosing to be with someone else gave me some of the control back.” Her tears splattered down her face. “And then you got sick, and I realized life was going to do whatever the hell it wanted and the control we think we have is a façade.” She paused again. “In the last year, life stopped being about what and started being about how. I'm proud of my choices—you, your dad, the law—and now I want to be proud of how I live those choices.” She took a second to catch her breath. “I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I'm not going anywhere. I love your dad. And I love you,” she said, wiping her face even though there were no more tears. “I want to work on us.”

“I don't know how to talk about this,” I said. And it was true. “But I don't think either of us is in the habit of talking about our feelings.” Telling Harvey how I felt that morning hadn't been easy, but I did it. With my mom, this felt different. I didn't know how to tell her that I understood. That when it came to me making commitments, I felt cornered too.

“I'm going to make an effort to change that, Al.”

What really bothered me about our argument at the beach house was that as soon as I had my mom's undivided attention, I ended up saying all the wrong things. Maybe this would be my opportunity to say the right ones. “Mom, I'm sorry too. I'm sorry for what happened at the beach house.” I sucked in a breath. “And for everything before that. I've been so shitty to all of you guys for a while now. I'm sorry.” I didn't think I could live like this with my mom anymore. I couldn't see us changing; we were both so stubborn. But we had to try because living without each other sounded pretty miserable too.

We sat in the parking lot and talked for a long time. It wasn't easy at all. It was strained and uneven. But it was a start. A beginning.

When we got back home, my dad was waiting for us on the front porch. “All better?”

“We're on our way there,” said my mom.

My dad turned to me and hugged me, really hugged me. “I love you, Alice Elizabeth,” he whispered. Over his shoulder, I saw my mom, her lips curved into a faint smile.

The sweetness of it all made my teeth hurt, but it was true.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollinsPublishers

Harvey.

Now.

F
inals had wrapped last week. It was officially summer. I didn't make As or anything, but I'd passed eleventh grade, so I called it an academic success.

Miss P's yearly recital was in a week, and now that school was out, my mom asked me to come in and play for the classes whenever I had time so the students could practice with a live accompaniment. When I got off work at five, I drove straight to my mom's studio.

By the time I arrived, the intermediate class was almost through their warm-up. I had a few minutes so I waved to my mom, pointed to the bathroom, and jogged down the hallway.

All the other classrooms were dark except for a small echo of light coming from the last studio. Passing the bathroom door, I walked to the end of the hallway. A piece from
The Sleeping Beauty
played loud enough for me to hear when I stood close. It was one of my mom's favorite ballets.

Alice sat on the floor next to the rosin box in a black long-sleeve leotard with a low scooping back and light pink tights. Using white cloth tape, she taped her toes quickly, like the routine of it had come back to her without any trouble. My mom had told me about this. That Alice was dancing again. I tried to feel indifferent about that.

After sliding her feet into her shoes and tying her ribbons—Alice never did use any toe cushions—she stood and tapped the box of her shoe in the rosin box, dust flying up around her.

Without waiting for a break in the music, Alice began to dance, like she was trying to pick up where she left off. Every joint in her body all the way down to her fingers communicated back and forth, her movements falling into a rhythm. But this time when she danced, I didn't have that same feeling as when we were younger. That feeling that said she was too good for me and that I would never speak her language. I'd always
known
Alice, but in the last year and a half I'd seen every piece of her under a magnifying glass. Her flaws, her strengths, her vulnerabilities. She spun, spotting herself in the mirror, as she kicked her leg out and gained momentum with each turn. I loved her because I didn't know how to stop, but she wasn't on this pedestal anymore.

And then she fell, her legs slipping out from beneath her.

 

When I finished playing for my mom's class, I found Alice sitting on the floor of the lobby with her legs stretched out and piles of papers laid out in front of her.

I turned my back to her and tried to walk past her without being noticed.

“Hey.” Her voice was soft, but I knew she was talking to me.

Only a few feet from the door, I turned. “Oh. Hi.” It was one thing to see her, but to have to talk to her and pretend like all that I felt for her had disappeared wasn't something I was capable of.

She pulled all her papers into one big stack. “I'm waiting for your mom to finish so she can take me home.”

I nodded, taking a step back toward the door.

“Unless you can drop me off?”

It would have been easy to say yes, but I couldn't go back now. I shook my head. “I'm supposed to go to Dennis's,” I lied.

“Oh, okay.” Her lips curled into a sad smile. “Have a good night.”

I walked out before she could say another word. I didn't know if my will could take it.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollinsPublishers

Harvey.

Now.

E
xcept for a few slips and falls, my mom's yearly recital was a success. I dropped the last box of props into the back of my car and let out a sigh. I'd had to wear a suit that was two years too small, and my ass hurt from spending my entire Sunday afternoon on a piano bench. Alice had been backstage the whole time, helping the younger classes get lined up while I was in the orchestra pit by myself.

Checking my pockets to make sure I had my keys, I reached up and slammed the hatchback door shut.

“This is for you.”

I turned to find Alice standing in front of me, holding out a stack of folded-up pieces of paper wrapped in twine. She wore a black leotard with a little black dance skirt—the kind you could see through—and black tights.

When I didn't take them, she pressed the stack into my hand. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Working,” I said, weighing the papers. Each page looked to have been unevenly ripped out of a notebook. The only marking I could see was the number one written with pencil on the first paper.

“Call in sick. You know Dennis will cover for you if you ask him to.”

I shook my head, my nostrils flaring. “You've got to be shitting me. I'm not doing this anymore, Al. I told you. This isn't happen—”

“Harvey,” she said, reaching up and cupping my face in her hands like she'd done so many times before.

The feel of her skin against mine silenced me.

“I haven't given you any reason to, but trust me. Trust me this one last time and expect better of me than I deserve. Last time, I swear.”

I opened my mouth. I felt myself slipping away and without anything to hold on to.

“Tomorrow,” she said, “wait until late afternoon. Like, three. The pages are numbered. Read them in order and don't read the next one until you've completed the task before it.”

Falling into this pattern—her telling me what, when, and how—felt sickeningly familiar. “Do you need me to pick you up?”

She shook her head. “No. This is for you to do alone.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollinsPublishers

Harvey.

Now.

I
almost tore apart the whole stack of papers the second I got home, but I stopped myself. I wouldn't let myself get excited, and if I didn't open the notes early, I could convince myself that this didn't matter to me. Sleep felt impossible and when it came it was short-lived. When I woke, the stack of papers taunted me.

By noon, I nearly gave in. I slid the first note out from the pile.

No.
I couldn't do it. I'd waited this long. I could stand a few more hours.

Like Alice had told me to, I called in sick to work. I watched the clock and prayed for three p.m. When that didn't work, I watched a few hours of daytime television. Which was embarrassingly enjoyable.

Three o'clock finally came.

I unfolded the first paper, nearly ripping it in half.

 

harvey,

follow these directions to Alton. once you reach your destination, unfold the next paper.

—al

 

Directions without reasons. Of course.

Alton was about forty-five minutes north of us. I stopped for gas and drove. My mind was too busy for the radio, so I rolled the windows down and soaked in the early summer heat. Maybe Alice would be meeting me in Alton. I couldn't figure out how she would get there without me to drive her.

My foot weighed a little heavier on the gas pedal, but I didn't care. I was too anxious.

When I arrived in Alton, I found it was much like Hughley. Small businesses, a few big chain stores on the outskirts of town, and mostly two-lane roads. I'd never been here, but knew that our teams played their teams all the time and that Bernie always said they had the best shopping. But, really, there was nothing special about Alton, so for Alice to have wanted me to come here made no sense.

I followed her handwritten directions to a small parking lot full of empty storefronts. At the end of the strip mall was a narrow little place called Oscar's. The windows were heavily tinted and there was no
OPEN
sign. Above the door were decals that spelled out
SUITE 667
. I checked Alice's directions, and cut across the parking lot, sliding into a spot right up front. My Geo was one of three cars.

After turning off the ignition, I opened the piece of paper labeled with the number two and held my breath.

 

go inside.

 

Exhaling, I crumpled the piece of paper and threw it into the backseat. I shoved the rest of the notes in my pocket and went in, hoping there wouldn't be anyone checking IDs.

Inside, a haze of smoke hung to the ceiling, and it took me a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The only employee seemed to be an old lady behind the bar with a name tag that read B
ETH
. Diamond-patterned hunter-green wallpaper covered the walls, peeling at the corners. The bar where Beth stood was at the back of the room. Lining the walls were high-back booths the same color as the wallpaper. Tables and chairs peppered what little floor was left.

Before deciding where to sit, I reached for the next note.

 

welcome to Oscar's. sit down at the bar and order a drink. supposedly they have really good gin and tonics. TRUST ME.

 

I sat at the bar, in the stool farthest from Beth with her big red hair and white roots. My hands were sweating. I was going to get arrested. I was totally going to get arrested for underage drinking or, like,
attempting
to drink while underage.

Beth slid a coaster to me and strolled down the length of the bar.

Okay, so Beth had these nails. Not fake nails.
Real nails
. Long nails coated in chipped red nail polish. Everything about her smelled of smoke, like, she was the source of the smoky haze. She was one of those ladies who could have been fifty-two or ninety-four and you'd never know. Her jeans were high-waisted and too tight and her boobs spilled out of her yellow V-neck shirt. Beth, with her boobs and her nails and her fake red hair, scared the shit out of me.

“What can I get ya, sweetcheeks?”

I twisted my hands together in my lap. “I, uh.” I cleared my throat. “Gin and tonic.”

She made this nasally noise like a buzzer going off. “Try again.”

“Uh, I'll have a Sprite.”

“One Sprite!” she called to no one in particular.

I opened the next note.

SUCKER!

 

Rolling my eyes, I reached for the fourth note.

 

i got you good. it should be almost four. sit tight and enjoy your nonalcoholic beverage. open the next note when the music starts.

 

When the music starts?
Where was Alice? The anxiety twisting in my chest had faded and now I just wanted to see her. Beth brought me my drink and left me alone after that. I was surprised when she didn't ask any questions about me or what I was doing here. But this struck me as the type of place where people didn't ask questions.

The customers were mostly men, although there were a few women. Every one of them was over the age of forty and looked like they hadn't slept in years. A lady with a cat sweatshirt on and purple pants. A man with a fedora and a tracksuit. A balding man with a holey T-shirt and jeans with a cigarette box imprint in his back pocket, but no cigarettes. The only person who seemed out of place was an old man wearing tan slacks, a cream polo shirt, and a maroon sweater vest. He carried a well-used leather portfolio and wore an old baseball cap with a mesh back, but took it off when he came inside to reveal a thinning white head of hair. Age spots covered his face, and on his feet were spotless white orthopedic sneakers. This guy was someone's grandfather who'd probably gotten lost on the way to the pharmacy.

When he walked past the bar, Beth called to him, “Evenin', Porter. Usual?”

He nodded and gave her a faraway smile. Him I felt bad for most of all. Because, of everyone in this bar, he seemed to be the one who had lost the most.

I checked the time on my phone. Four thirty-five. I shoved my hand in my pocket and pulled out the rest of the notes. Frustrated and sure that Alice had sent me on a fool's errand, I held number five in my hand ready to open. This was bullshit. I didn't know what kind of kick Alice was getting out of this, but it made no sense. She was probably off with some guy while I was sitting here like a total jackass. I stood up to leave and slid my wallet out from my back pocket.

Then the music began. I sat down. I didn't know the song, but it sounded familiar. It wasn't typical ballet music, of course, but it felt like I should've known it. My eyes followed every note to the sad piano in the corner of the room. It wasn't a grand piano, just a plain, old, light wood piano. I never paid much attention to piano makes. I only played whatever was put in front of me. If I really thought about it, though, I always felt most comfortable with the piano at my mom's studio—a 1973 Baldwin Concert Grand.

Behind the piano was the old man with the sweater vest. I listened as each note fit together seamlessly, like he'd played this song a thousand times. If I closed my eyes, I could feel the touch of ivory beneath my fingers.

Porter's eyes crinkled a little as he focused in on Beth. She mouthed something for him to lip-read.
Out of gin
. He leaned forward and she moved her lips once more. Porter nodded and returned his attention to the keys.

My lips twitched, thinking about that day before freshman year, when Alice had mouthed to me to meet her in the front yard.

The note. Shit, I almost forgot about the notes.

 

harvey, when i found out i was sick, i decided i wanted to give you something. a thing that would outlive me and all your memories of us. but i didn't get it done in time. i wasted my time with things and people that didn't matter. i'm sorry. i don't think i'll ever stop being sorry. since i got a second chance at this whole life thing, i wanted to do something that should have been at the top of my list and finally give you the puzzle piece you deserve. listen to a few songs. on the phone, Beth said Porter was really good, but i don't know, she sounded kind of crazy too. whatever. order another drink.

 

If this were some kind of fantasy, this would be the moment when Alice sauntered in and explained herself, but not before kissing me. That didn't happen though. I took her advice, ordered another Sprite, and listened to a few more songs.

I was about to open the next note when Porter stood up from the piano for a break. Stretching his back and popping his knuckles, he walked over to the bar. “Beth,” he said, “you're slacking on me. I can't play for free without some gin to wash it down.”

“Oh, hush,” she said. “You make your tips.”

He chuckled. “If I was doing this for tips, Oscar's wouldn't be my venue of choice.”

They both laughed, like the whole thing was some kind of inside joke.

I took a big gulp of soda and looked around, trying to make it look like I hadn't been staring.

“I'll have what he's having,” said Porter and pointed at me.

“Oh, I don't think you want any of that,” she said.

Coughing, I said, “It's soda.”

“What?” asked Porter, motioning to the hearing aid in his ear.

“Soda,” I said. “Just soda. No kick.”

“Ah,” he said and took the seat next to me. “Then the boy will have whatever I'm having and I'm having a Jack and Coke.”

Beth raised her eyebrows. “No can do. I already refused him once.”

Porter leaned forward on the bar and smiled.

“Oh, fine, but if anything happens to him, that's on you.”

Porter nodded once.

Beth made two Jack and Cokes and set a coaster down in front of me.

I reached for the glass.

“Just the one,” she said.

Porter laughed a great big belly laugh and turned back for the piano.

He played another song and I drank my drink too fast, my vision going a little soft on the edges.

After a few more songs I turned back to the bar and opened the next note.

 

i wanted to find your dad. isn't that so stupid of me that i thought i could even do that? well, Porter's not your dad. he's too old. and that would be kind of gross. open the next note when you're ready.

 

Blood rushed to my head like I'd been hanging upside down. My dad? Alice wanted to find my dad? I couldn't figure out how she would know to do that for me. She was right, though. Porter was way too old to be my dad. Maybe he'd just known him or something. I squeezed my eyes shut and ran my hands down my face.

I asked Beth for a glass of water. I downed the whole thing, cooling my liquor-warmed chest, and drank two more glasses. Porter finished another song. What did he have to do with this?

 

i started digging. i looked everywhere. finally, i found all of your emergency contact information from when we were kids in my mom's closet in an old accordion folder. i knew she would have something in case anything happened to your mom. take a bathroom break or get another drink or something, because the next note—the last note—is the big one.

 

For once, I ignored Alice and went for the last note. Whatever she'd found out was folded up inside that little piece of paper.

I set the note back on the counter.

I didn't want to know.

I picked the note back up.

I had to know.

The clock on my phone said
6:15
. With the note in my hand, I took one last deep breath.

 

harvey, this is my gift to you. and who knows, maybe it's not anything you want. but before you let your eyes skip forward, read this: my weird-shaped-doesn't-fit-into-a-box-sometimes-angry heart loves you, and whatever comes next, i want to be there. on whatever terms you decide. it's okay if you don't want to know what i have to say. it's okay. but if you want to know, skip to the bottom of the page.

 

I fished a piece of ice out of the bottom of my glass and chewed on it. She loved me. And it didn't feel like a condolence prize. This time it was a promise, and the only thing that would make it better was to hear her say it out loud. I touched my fingers to the page, letting my skin absorb each letter.

 

Okay.

William Joseph Porter is your grandfather. i don't know who or where your dad is, but Porter was the only family i could find. but he's YOUR family. it doesn't have to be now or this week or whatever, but he comes here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday around 4 if you decide you want to know him.

 

I stood up and shoved the note into my pocket. I had a
grandfather.
A living grandfather. A laugh slipped out of my lips, and I slapped a hand over my mouth. I took a step toward the piano, then doubled back. I didn't know what to say to him or what I expected us to be. And my mom. I had to talk to my mom. I couldn't go behind her back on this. All of these possibilities and it had been Alice who had given them to me.

I wasn't ready to know Porter. I didn't know when I would be. But thanks to Alice, I knew where to find him. I needed to talk to someone, and there was one person who I wanted that to be.

 

If possible, the ride back felt even longer than the ride to Alton. The summer sun fell in the sky, flirting with the horizon.

My grandfather
. I had a grandfather.

I didn't know what to do, but I knew where to go.

Alice's house added about ten minutes to the drive.

I sat at the last light before her house, waiting forever for it to turn green. I swear to God, the lights skipped right over my street. Rolling out to the middle of the intersection, I looked both ways and floored it.