The Last Superhero (42 page)

“
Why
are you doing it?”

Here it goes. The 24/7
psychiatrist. “I don't know. I thought I'd picked it up from
Dad, but really I just think I hadn't found a real reason to want to
grow old.”

“
How
is that? Everybody wants to grow old.”

Oh, my little grasshopper!
“Not everyone. I guess I was too caught up in what was
happening at the moment and not thinking of the future so much.”

“
And
now you're thinking more about the future.”

“
I
am, yes. I'm trying to get my life sorted. Move on.” I pause.
He pauses. “It's hard not to think of him, though.”

Maybe I shouldn't have said
that last part.

He grins, not feeling hurt
about it.

We
stop by an ice cream place and he takes a moment to set his eyes on
me. “You don't
have
to stop thinking about him. All you have to do is try for those
thoughts not to make you feel sad. Once you manage that, everything
else will fall into place and you'll be able to face that future
you've been thinking of now and maybe someday let someone else into
your heart, someone to share that future with. For now, concentrate
on healing yourself, nothing else.”

A warm smile is all it takes
for me to feel my steps turning lighter as we enter the ice cream
shop and he tries to guess my favorite flavor, getting it right by
the fifth try. His voice is soothing and his demeanor so welcoming I
don't want this night to be over.

But, like everything else,
it must come to an end and it takes place at my doorstep, where we
hug each other and the way he thanks me makes me think this isn't so
much about me as it is about him too.

He squeezes my hand before
turning away and I watch him get in his car knowing Dad's checking on
us through a bedroom window.

“
How
was it?” he asks once he's shut the front door behind me.

“
Great.”
I can't deny it.

“
You
look like you had a good time,” he says then kisses my
forehead. “Good night.”

And I wash off the makeup,
release the hair, and think of how different things would be if my
heart weren't carrying this weight.

The one that makes me crawl
onto bed, pull my knees to my chest, and cry myself a lullaby.

46

Week four.

Spending time at Simon and
Clarice's is a nice change of scenery and pace. The kids make me read
them stories around Mom's bed and even though she's sleeping most of
the time, I know she loves the company of whom she's always referred
to as her grandchildren.

The time she spends awake,
Clarice indulges her in whatever she fancies. Somehow she's come to
know my mother more than me.

Although, knowing my mother
as I know her, I know she knows what I don't want her to know.

She realizes Steven's not
around yet doesn't ask about it.

I play the 'I'm too busy
with stuff' card every time I feel the subject coming up and she pats
my hand, gives me a sympathetic smile, and drifts off to sleep.

And I've been busy, it's no
lie. I had an interview for an editor job at an online publication
from which I haven't heard back even though I'm pretty sure I nailed
it.

Simon and Dad took over
dealing with the accountant and the insurance claims for the
bookstore and that seems to be going pretty well.

And... well... stuff.
Life-related stuff like getting my new glasses and working over the
edits with Daphne and a couple of writing group meetings we've had in
which I feel more like a fifth than a third wheel every time Jake,
Frances, Wyatt, and Daphne take off on their magical journeys and I'm
sitting there thinking how to untangle the messes they're gonna make.
Even then, I'm able to bask in their company and the way it takes me
far from the thoughts that cloud my brain every now and then.

Thoughts of Steven. Thoughts
of that rock that keeps pushing down the pit of my stomach and it
hurts. Is it that I'm feeling his pain? I can't bear the thought of
him hurting and having no one to aid him.

Shake it off.

He said he wanted to die
alone.

Sit next to Mom and ask:
When did death become a recurrent theme in the novel of my life?

See her closer to it every
day, knowing it's mostly the machines keeping her alive.

It's like she's waiting for
something. Expecting something we don't know about.

Something we're only left to
guess.

Ross calls and every time we
talk it's obvious he's as worried as me but still, no details.

Bastard.

“
Your
friend Wyatt told me you've been meeting for writing group and I
asked him if I could join you,” he says during one of our calls
while I'm preparing some activities for Clarice to give the kids
during English class.

“
What
did he say?” I step out into the backyard, dragging my feet
over the grass.

“
He
said it was okay as long as you thought it was okay.”

What the fuck? I don't own
the group or anything. “Sure. Why not? Does that mean you've
been writing?”

“
Maybe
I have.”

Awwwweee. He sounds like a
scared novice writer and it makes me want to slash his puny innocent
soul over and over with my red pen.

“
Did
he tell you about tomorrow night's meeting?”

“
Yes,”
he drawls and his insecure tone kinda makes me smile.

“
I'll
see you at my house tomorrow then.”

“
But
that wasn't the only reason I called. There's someone who wants to
talk to you. She asked me if I could give her your number.”

“
Who?”
I'm not in the mood for guessing.

“
Tiffany.”

Bitchy Dr. Morgan? She did
ask me to stay in touch and I haven't. “Oh.”

“
I
said I'd ask you first.”

“
Is
she going to let me see him?”

“
Giana...”
No one knows how to switch their tone from nonchalant to
I'll-murder-you-for-this quite like a father.

“
You
know it's my duty to insist anyway. Tell her to call me and that I
can meet her whenever she wants.” Let's call it
The
Perks of Being Unemployed
.

“
I
will.” He pauses for a second. “How have you been doing?”

I exhale, like I do every
time he asks. “Good. Concentrating on the job hunt.”

He hesitates and the
knowledge alone of someone who feels for you even when he doesn't
need/have to is heartwarming.

“
He's
not doing good, Giana. Tiffany's going to kill me for telling you
this, but he's not doing good at all.”

The stab. Right in the
feels. The shiver that runs down your spine.

“
Is
it the nightmares?”

“
We're
not sure since he won't let us near him apart from a weekly checkup
by Fletcher. All we know is his condition has worsened.”

Breathe. Don't forget to
breathe.

“
I
need to see him, Ross. I've been reading, doing research, we can...”

“
Don't
ask me for something I can't give you.”

“
Of
course you can. You're the fucking law! We're the only ones who can
help him.”

“
He
won't let us.”

Frustration. Breathe.
Damnation. Fucking breathe.

It was his wish to die
alone.

“
Okay.”
Give in, but don't give up.

“
I'll
tell Tiffany to call you. Take care of yourself, eh?”

Yes, Dad, I'll eat my
vegetables.

Hang up and feel the wave crushing you against the rocks on the cliff that's too tall for you to climb anyway.

Let
it drag you down into its watery depths, let it pull the oxygen from
your lungs and make you feel like death's only a stretch of a hand
away.

Then breathe again and
compose yourself because this is not the moment or the place for a
breakdown.

“
Giana?”

Dry the tears. Turn around
and meet Simon's concerned gaze.

“
Are
you okay?”

I shake my head.

He sighs, taking me into his
arms. “Will you stop trying to hide it already?”

I'm not going to cry. I'm
not going to cry. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry.

“
I've
neglected you.”

“
How
can you say that?” I try to push away, but he won't let me.
“You're doing so much for us. And you've been so damn busy I'm
starting to think your children don't know your face!”

“
But
you, Giana, you're my sister and yet I haven't even sat down with you
to have a proper talk about what's happened.”

“
I'm
tired of talking. Everybody wants me to vent with them when all I
want to do is crawl into a corner and cry.” Inhale. “He's
not doing well, Simon. He's gotten worse.”

Now he pulls back, stares
into my face. “How do you know that?”

“
I
just hung up with Ross and he says Steven's condition has worsened.
They're all worried about him. I need to do something.”

“
Did
he tell you where he is?” Is he side-glancing?

“
No.
He won't tell me. He did say Dr. Morgan wants to speak with me and
that it's Dr. Fletcher who’s checking on Steven, but even then,
he won't let them near him. Simon, I can't...”

“
Calm
down. Maybe Dr. Morgan wants to find a way to help him? You'll see.”

“
I
think Mom's waiting on me to solve this before dying.”

His bushy eyebrows meet over
the bridge of his nose for a moment. “What makes you think
that?”

“
You
know she always knows more than what we think she knows.”

“
Yeah.”
It's all he can say because it's the truth.

Mom's outplayed us so many
times we've gotten used to it.

“
Richard
called to say he's picking you up in a while.”

“
Agh.
I don't want to...”

“
I
told you I can lend you a car if you need it.”

“
It's
not that. It's... It's Dad's on top of me 24 hours a day, 7 days a
week and I don't know for how long I'll be able to deal with it.”

“
He's
worried about you.”

“
I
know! But still! I'm not a child!”

“
Would
you be better off alone right now?”

Think about it. Think it
through. What did you do those days he was away?

“
I
don't know shit anymore.”

A half-grin. “It's
been only a month. He'll have to go back eventually. Maybe Mari Paz
doesn't want him there?”

“
Nah.
I don't think it's that. Although it wouldn't be the first time
someone kicks him out of his own house.”

“
Oh
god! I remember that day like it was yesterday. Juliana throwing all
those plastic bags in his trunk and him sitting on the sidewalk
smoking a cigarette. Us, walking back from school and encountering
the scene like
whoa,
what the hell is going on?
”