The Meaning of Maggie (10 page)

Mom smiled. “You already are.”

We walked and walked around some more until our legs were too full of history to walk anymore. So we headed for the car. I couldn't wait to get home and tell Dad all about our day. We piled into the car and then Mom laid another surprise on me.

“Guess what? The adventure isn't over yet. I booked us a room at the hotel, and we're going to spend the night in a fancy suite. How does that sound, Maggie?”

I had to admit. It sounded exciting. But it also sounded fiscally irresponsible. “I dunno, Mom. Sounds expensive.”

“That's the best part,” Mom said. “I traded a day off for a room for the night. It's not going to cost a thing.”

“But we don't have our pajamas.”

“You don't give me enough credit, Maggie. I had Layla pack you a bag last night.”

“What? What did you pack for me?” I had to know.

“Don't worry,” Layla said. “I have your Rise and Shine nightgown.”

“And what else?”

“And your GIGANTIC old lady underpants.” She laughed.

I defended my own honor. “They're not gigantic, okay? I just like having room to move around.”

When we got to the hotel, I expected Dad to be waiting for us in the lobby but he was nowhere to be found.

“When is Dad getting here?” I asked. “Did you send the fancy hotel limo to get him?”

“It's just us for the night,” Mom explained. “Dad's staying at home.”

“He's what?!” My yell bounced off every inch of marble in the lobby.

“Shhh,” Mom lowered her voice. “He's fine. David
⁴¹
is staying at the house. He's sleeping on the couch. They are probably watching football and yelling at the TV right now.”

This didn't make any sense. “But who's going to make him dinner and finish his ice cream and help him brush his teeth and pick him up and put him in bed?!”

“David can do all that. Trust me.” She grabbed a key from a hand I could barely see over the tall front desk. “Now, let's go check out our room.”

We rode up the glass elevator in silence.

But the silence was over when Mom opened the door to our room.

“There are only two beds!” Tiffany yelled.

Mom put our bags in the closet. “Yes, you and Maggie are sleeping in one bed and Layla and I are sleeping in the other.”

Great, I shared a room with Tiffany at home and now I had to share a bed with her here? This was supposed to be a break from the daily grind. And my daily grind had a ponytail and legs that karate kicked at night. When Tiffany lay down on the bed her giraffe arms and legs nearly took up the whole thing. I'd be lucky if I made it through the night alive.

I was going to stay mad, but then Mom made up for it.

“How about room service for dinner?”

I snatched the menu out of her hands. “I'll take the pancakes. And a hamburger. And a steak.”

Mom took the menu back. “We're going to pick a couple things and share them.”

“FINE,” I huffed in a very unfine way. Even though it was actually fine. We ordered two hamburgers, two orders of fries, and four Coca-Colas and feasted while watching
Entertainment Tonight
.

Like always, I was the last to get in the bathroom. I brushed my teeth and put on my favorite nightgown that Layla packed for me. I had to admit, she had good taste.
When I walked back into the room, she was just hanging up the phone.

“Geez, Layla, can't you spend one whole day away from Bobby? It's not like you can make out through the phone.”

She threw a pillow. At my head.

“It wasn't Bobby. It was Dad.”

“Hey, call him back! I want to say good night.”

“No, Maggie,” Mom said. “It's time for bed and Dad's really tired. We'll see him in the morning.”

I never understood why a guy who sat down all day was always so tired at night. But I didn't fight her to call him back. I was tired too from all the seeing and thinking. I crawled into bed with Tiffany, who promptly rolled over and scared the BEEGEEZUS out of me.

“Something's eating your face!” I screamed.

“It's a face mask. It's going to keep me beautiful,” she said without moving her lips.

I shook my head. “Good luck with that.”

The next day we packed up and headed home after breakfast. I couldn't wait to tell Dad all about our adventures. I wanted to be the first to see him, so I ran into the house, rushed down the hall, opened his door, and ta-da!

He was sleeping. At one in the afternoon. On a Saturday.

Sure, I didn't have reason to believe he wasn't always asleep in the afternoon. Who knew what he did while I
was at school? But it seemed strange. I tiptoed over to his bed and he shook awake.

“Hey, Mags. How was your trip? Did you have fun?”

His eyes were half-awake and half—somewhere else and they weren't smiling like they usually did. His face wasn't smiling either. In fact, he kind of looked like . . . well, he kind of looked like he was in pain.

Something was wrong. Really wrong. I looked around the room for his wheelchair and found it locked in place next to the door. There were no new scratches or dings. So I didn't think he'd toppled over again. And there were no dropped forks around his bed so I knew that wasn't getting him down. Still, whatever had happened while we were away was a big deal.

I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to scream. I wanted to know what was going on, but when I brushed the hair out of his eyes, I saw the tired that had taken over his whole face. And I couldn't yell. I couldn't scream. All I could do was swallow the lump in my throat.

I resisted my first instinct, which was to call for Mom. I don't know why I didn't. Maybe I didn't want her to see Dad like this. Maybe if only I saw him like this then I could figure out a way to make him better before anyone else knew. I stopped thinking and followed my second instinct. I leaned over and hugged him. I squeezed him. And when we both let go, I noticed something on his wrist.

He was wearing a hospital bracelet.

“Dad?” I tugged at the hospital bracelet. “What is this?” My voice was calm. Even though my brain was screaming.

He could tell I was upset. “Okay, okay. You caught me.” He called for Mom, “Honey, can you come in here?”

She appeared and Dad smiled weakly. “Why don't we tell Maggie what's going on?”

I crossed my arms. “Yeah. Why don't we tell Maggie what's going on?”

Mom frowned at me. “Hey, no attitude, okay?”

“Yes ma'am,” I said under my breath. I crawled into bed with Dad.

Mom pulled the covers up over both of us and sat down on the side of the bed. “Dad's doctors thought a new medicine might make him stronger. And he had to get it right away. So that's why we left in such a hurry.”

“But why didn't you just tell me that?”

“There wasn't any time,” Mom said.

“What kind of medicine?”

“A really powerful one. It's a kind of steroid,” Dad answered.

“Aren't those illegal? Are you breaking the law?!”

“No, no,” Mom said. “These are the safe and legal kind. They are going to give Dad a little pick-me-up. And there might be a few side effects.”

“What's a side effect?”

“It's something bad that can pop up when you're trying to make things better,” Mom explained.

“Like how my stunted growth is a side effect of sharing a room with Tiffany.”

Mom shook her head. “You're growing just fine, Maggie.”

“I meant my emotional growth, Mom.”

Dad laughed, which was nice to hear, but I wasn't finished.

“So why did he go to the hospital?”

“Well, this medicine is very special and can only be given at the hospital. And it takes a long time to get all the medicine, so Dad stayed in the hospital overnight.”

“What? Dad stayed in the hospital overnight?! Why didn't we stay with him?”

Dad looked down. He straightened his left fingers with his right fingers and it looked like he was holding his own hand. “I didn't want you girls to worry.”

I put his hand in mine. “But that's our job.”

He squeezed my hand with his. “No, Maggie. That's
my
job.”

I felt scared and kind of the same way I'd felt when we found Dad on the floor and again when he dropped his fork. And I hated that feeling. I hated it more than I hated anything in the world including Brussels sprouts and acorn squash. Man, I hated acorn squash.

I scooted over to get out of the bed. “I'm going to get Layla and Tiffany. They should know about this.”

Mom stopped me. “They already do.”

I didn't understand. “How? We just got home.”

“I told Tiffany this morning. And we told Layla the night before.”

That's when I pitched a fit. I pitched a fit even though I'd never pitched a fit before.

Sure, I threw tantrums here and there as a kid, but mostly Tiffany was the fit pitcher in our family. Every other day (and sometimes hour) she'd scream, “Why can't I stay out past ten?!” “Why can't I dye my hair pink?!” “Why can't I join a weirdo band of gypsies and travel from seedy town to seedy town with a muscle man and bearded lady?!”

Okay, she never shouted that last one, but I could see it coming. She was always filled with so much teenage rage, and I never wanted to be like her. I never wanted to lose my mind. Plus, I was more mature than her. And grown-ups don't fight. They debate.

But the anger I felt right then wasn't debatable. It was boiling and I couldn't stop it from exploding. I yelled one yell after the next. Why did they keep this from me?! Why did they blatantly LIE to me?! Why did they tell Layla and Tiffany everything and me nothing when I was the one with the perfect GPA? I was the one with the off-the-charts critical thinking skills. I was the one who was going to change the whole wide world one day. I was going to be president. To be commander-in-chief. And they wouldn't even let me be a leader in my own house!

“You're right, Maggie,” Mom finally admitted.“You're totally right.”

I wasn't finished. “I don't even know who you two are anymore!”

“Don't be so dramatic,” Mom said. “Parents make mistakes sometimes.”

“Tell me about it!” I yelled. In a
tone
.

I wrapped my scarf tight around my neck and got back into bed with Dad. I unfolded his arm to get into his nook so we could watch whatever movie I wanted because I deserved to get whatever I wanted. When I pulled on his arm, he winced and I saw that on the opposite side of his elbow his arm was the most
purple
purple I'd ever seen.

I bit my lip. “Does it hurt?”

“A little, but I'm a big tough guy, remember?”

I laughed even though I didn't want to laugh. It was what I liked most about Dad. He was funny. Even when he wasn't supposed to be.

I pulled myself close to his side. “I love you, Dad.”

He used his unpurple arm to pull his purple arm around my shoulder. “I love you more, Maggie.”

I was mad.

To say the least.

Every member of my family had lied to me. They intentionally kept a secret from me. An important secret that so many others knew before me.

Dad knew.

Mom knew.

Layla knew.

Tiffany knew.

David knew.

The nurses who took care of Dad knew.

The doctors who listened to Dad's heart knew.

The parking lot attendant at the hospital knew.

The hospital bracelet maker knew.

The Garfield Band-Aid giver knew.

Would I ever be able to trust any of them again? I sulked and pondered and wondered and ignored my family for days and days. Mom tried to make amends with chocolate.

“I made a batch of Toll House cookies just for you. Want one?”

I shook my head, escaped into my room, waited for the coast to be clear, and then belly crawled into the kitchen, stole two from the still-warm plate, and escaped again.
What? I didn't see any reason why the cookies should suffer. It wasn't their fault she couldn't be trusted.

Dad tried to trick me with TV. “Oh wow,” he yelled. “MY FAVORITE MOVIE
PIPPI LONGSTOCKING
IS ON! I WISH SOMEONE WOULD WATCH IT WITH ME.”

No dice. I didn't need Pippi's problems. I had my own.

Tiffany didn't even try to talk to me, which wasn't a surprise. We were in a war long before this. It was a lot like the Cold War only it wasn't really cold because Dad always kept the thermostat at a balmy seventy-eight degrees.

I was sure I would never talk to any of them again. I was prepared to secede from our family and start my own across the masking tape border in my room. In fact, I was working on the design of my new family crest when Layla came in and collapsed on my bed.

“I need to know everything you know about Atticus Finch.”

“Good luck.” I turned away from her and focused all my attention on my notebook.

“Come on,” she pleaded. “It's life or death.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, it's life or death for my English paper.”

“Have you even read
To Kill a Mockingbird
? It's probably the easiest book in the world to understand. Even for you.”

“Yes, I read it! And I even understood it. I'm not an idiot, you know?”

I felt kind of bad for implying that she was.

“Come on, help me. I just finished my horrible biology homework and I don't have any brainpower left for this.”

She looked genuinely desperate. So I decided to help her.

“What do you need to know?”

“Ah! Yes! You're the best!” She hugged me. “I need to write about three traits that make Atticus Finch a strong and complex character.”

“That's easy. Is your pencil sharpened?”

She nodded yes and I stood like all great orators stand and I clasped my hands behind my back like all great orators do and I paced because great orators pace.