Wake (81 page)

“How long was I out?” I roll toward him and stretch. Jem opens his arms to catch me. I’d nuzzle into his chest, but he would probably freak out.

“Not long.”

I stretch my back and give him a kiss. The afternoon in the wilderness has been fun, but I think it’s time we did other things. I suggest driving back to Smiths Falls for a meal with his family.

“My parents notice when you’re not around,” he says as we fold up the blanket. “It’s like you’ve always been there—now your absence is the noteworthy thing.” He chuckles.

“Are you sure it’s me they notice? Or do you make it obvious by turning into a grumpy bastard when I’m not around to spoil you with kisses?”

“Spoil me?”

“Yes.”

“well you’re not doing a very good job.” He brings the corners of the blanket up to my chest to fold and leans in for a kiss.

“You only get one.”

“Oh.” He deliberately pouts. “Maybe I’ll save it for later, then.”

I kiss him. Manipulative bastard.

As I pull on to the highway I suggest Jem call his mom to let her know that we’ll both be there for supper. He rolls his eyes from where he lounges in the passenger seat and points out that there won’t be any dinner unless we make it ourselves.

“What the hell did you guys eat before I started coming over?”

“Frozen veggies and hamburger helper,” he says with complete seriousness.

“You poor, deprived child.”

Jem laughs and relents, agreeing that I do spoil him. Eric too, apparently, since he’s been complaining whenever someone else takes the last of the leftover ‘Willa food.’

“Elise can cook.”

“That’s a recent development,” he grumbles. Jem’s phone rings. He checks the caller ID and answers the call without hesitation. “Hi Mom.”

Ivy’s voice is just an indistinct buzz to my ears. A crease appears between Jem’s eyebrows.

“I’m fine. What’s wrong?”

There are three long minutes where he just listens with that thoughtful expression in place, and then he tells her that he’s almost home. “Bye. Love you.” He ends the call and slumps forward, scrubbing his hands over his face.

He’s quiet for a long time, and then all of a sudden he exclaims, “Shit!” like he forgot his keys or something. “Shit. Fuck!” He punches the dash and the glove compartment pops open. Jem slams it shut with another ‘fuck.’ “God fucking damn it!” he yells with real force. Last time I heard someone yell like that, it was a bike messenger giving a reckless driver a piece of his mind.

“Jesus Christ, what’s the matter with you?” He sounded fine on the phone, and I’ve never known Jem to be so angry with his mother.

Jem looks at me like he just remembered that he isn’t alone, and this isn’t a private tantrum. “Meira died.” After all that yelling his speaking voice sounds quiet.

“Who’s Meira?” And why is she worth yelling about while I’m trying to drive?

“You remember that time we went down to Pediatrics after dialysis?”

“Uh-huh.” I’d forgotten the girl’s name, but I remember that she was dying at the time.

“She died this morning.” His voice cracks on the word ‘died,’ and he curses under his breath again. I don’t tell him I’m sorry, because I know from experience that it means jack shit to hear people say that, so I agree with him: “Fuck.”

“I know.” Jem tilts his head back and sighs. He’s quiet again for a little while, but as we turn onto his street he mutters another curse word under his breath. “She would have been seventeen next week.”

I don’t bother to ask if they were close or if they spent much time together outside the hospital. What happened on the ward probably matters more. They’re like soldiers who’ve shared a tour of duty; it doesn’t matter if they see each other after, because the bond is already forged.

“When is her funeral?”

“Tuesday.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

Jem shrugs. I look over to find his face oddly blank. Is it shock? Disbelief? Or conscious numbness? I know better than I’d care to admit what each of those feels like, but I can’t do much besides hold his hand on the seat between us while I drive home.

Elise comes out of the house when I turn into the driveway. She runs up to Jem’s side of the car and barely lets him out before she throws her arms around him. She offers soup as comfort food and Jem says he isn’t hungry.

I’m not sure if I should leave or come inside. Jem is too distracted for a proper goodbye, and I wonder if I should just slink away quietly and talk to him later, after he’s sorted through some of the emotion with his family. Then I notice Eric watching me from the front window, eyeing the way I stand apart from the grieving group. He inclines his head a little, inviting me inside.

The Harper kitchen has the feel of a funeral parlor. Jem is still quiet, and Ivy chatters nervously to fill the silence. Elise is full of hugs for her brother, but like me, Eric hangs back. Ivy tells us all the details—that Meira died this morning of multi-system organ failure. That’s the piece of information that finally breaks Jem’s blank façade, and he storms away with a sound of disgust. He rushes up the stairs and slams his bedroom door.

“Let him be for awhile,” Ivy says to no one in particular. I take it as a hint and say my goodbyes. I go home, make Frank some supper, and wait for Jem to call . He doesn’t, and I don’t blame him.

Monday It’s just after midnight when the ringing of my phone wakes me. I roll over and feel around for my phone.

The caller ID is for the Harper house. I try not to fault Jem for staying awake so late with his grief.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Willa?” It’s not Jem. For a moment I’m confused.

“Eric?”

“Yeah. I got your number from Elise’s phone.”

“Why are you calling so late?” I expect to hear horrible news. No early morning phone calls have ever been for a good cause. I sit up against the pillows and try to wake myself up enough for this.

“Has Jem said anything to you?”

“Not since I left this afternoon.”

“He’s been acting…strange.”

“Strange how?”

“Not talking. Or really doing anything, actually. He just sort of drifts around. You can tell he’s thinking, but he doesn’t seem upset, and his friend just died.” There’s a blustery echo over the line as Eric sighs into the phone. “You think he’d… I don’t know, be angry or sad or something. He just slammed that one door and that was it.”

It would creep Eric out that another person fails to express emotion. He lives out loud and expects others to do the same.

“He’ll get there.”

“If he says anything—”

“I’ll let you know.” I like Eric a little more, now. He’s a good older brother. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“You sure?”

“She was
Elise’s age
,” he says quietly, and blows out another breath. “That could have been Jem.”

“Don’t grieve something you haven’t lost,” I tell him. “Elise and Jem are fine.”

“Elise told me you saw the photos,” he says. “You’re crazy to want to join this circus.”

“I’ve been crazy for a long time.”

There’s an awkward silence where neither of us knows what to say. Eventually Eric apologizes for calling so late. “I’ll let you sleep.”

“You should too.”

He doesn’t say he will one way or the other. “Good night.”

“G’night.”

*

Paige finally found a date for the grad dance. She’s taking some junior from the track team because her options among the seniors have been exhausted and apparently this guy is fairly good looking.

That’s all it takes to qualify with Paige. But if she’s happy, I’m happy, even if it means she’s more chatty than usual at lunch. It’s mostly girls at the table today, since Cody is still sick and Joe has come down with the flu too. Diane is over her cold, which means she is no longer the center of attention, and that fact grates on her while the rest of the girls discuss prom.

“I don’t know why you’re so interested,” she says to me in her usual tone of condescension. “You’re not even going.”

“I’m not sure why you
are
going, except to punish everyone else.”

Diane glares at me like she’s trying to melt my face off with sheer force of will . Paige feigns obliviousness rather than feed Diane’s il temper, and asks me if I think it’s cheesy for prom dates to match clothing.

Uh, always. “It depends.”

“My dress is mauve. I could probably find a matching tie for him.”

“Trying to make the poor guy look whipped?” I give her a wink to show I’m (sort of) joking.

“Maybe a complementary color,” she says thoughtfuly. “I placed the corsage order in white—that goes with everything.”

I nod along while she lists ideas for how she’s going to do her hair. Apparently up-dos are overdone, and she’s determined to be different. I am so bored of prom and it hasn’t even happened yet.

“Or you could put it up to be ironic.”

“What?”

I hate having to explain jokes. “Nothing. You should wear your hair down.”

Paige seems to realize that I’m losing interest in the subject. “So how are things with you and Jem?”

she asks, as if by afterthought. Whatever I say, I’m sure she’s going to relate it back to her own interests.

“It’s good. We haven’t killed each other yet.” Paige laughs like she isn’t sure if I’m joking. Or maybe relating Jem to death makes her uncomfortable because he looks so il .

“Isn’t it a little…
weird
, though?” she asks lowly. I’m pretty sure everyone at the table still heard her.

“Why would it be weird?”

“I dunno.” Paige shrugs. “I mean, when you’re kissing him, isn’t it odd to…well you can’t, like, run your hands through his hair or anything, you know?” Figures she would care about that instead of something genuinely important, like the possibility of relapse and death.

I just chuckle. “Yes, Paige, I do know. That’s a small sacrifice to make.”

“But, like, isn’t it weird that he’s bald and stuff?”

“Not really. I’ve never actually seen his head. He keeps his hat on all the time.”

“
All
the time? Like, he never takes it off in front of you?”

“Nope.”

Paige’s questions suddenly desist, and I look over my shoulder to see Jem enter the cafeteria. Paige is good at timing her gossip. I wonder if she’s ever been caught by her subject.

Jem looks like he hasn’t slept and his dog ran away from home. He’s fifteen minutes late for lunch, but he doesn’t have any food with him and he doesn’t buy any. Al he has is the half-empty water bottle that he used to take his noon medication with. It’s as if a little cloud of gloom follows him to the table.

Jem leans around to kiss my cheek before taking the empty seat between Elwood and me. I give him a hug and he whispers in my ear that he’s fine, even though I didn’t ask—a sure sign that he’s not. Today was practically guaranteed to be a lousy day for him, what with the death of his friend, but he doesn’t have to hide it.

Chris leans forward to talk to me around Jem. “Really, Willa, never?”

I give Chris my best shut-up-or-I’ll -bury-you look. He’s tried to joke with or about Jem before, but now is not the moment for a jab in good fun. Paige looks away, trying not to involve herself.

“What never?” Jem asks me. He’s trying to be personable and participate in the conversation, but I can tell that it costs him a great amount of effort. He’s in a fragile mood and doesn’t need to know that people were gossiping about him.

“I was predicting that Elwood would never get laid.” Jem snorts with amusement and Chris scowls.

Maybe I should have just dismissed the whole thing instead of being a smartass. I’ll have to be nice to Chris at work tonight to make up for it.

Chris reaches up. By the time I realize that he’s making a move to pull Jem’s hat off, it’s too late to get out of the way. Jem shifts his chair sharply towards mine to avoid Chris’s hand and I get bumper-carred onto the floor. Jem stands up so fast our chairs fall like dominos and hit me in the shoulder. There’s the crack of bone-on-bone and Paige shrieks. I push the fallen chair away in time to see Elwood hit the floor face first.

“Hey!” The lunch monitors descend on our table like flies to a corpse. Chris’s face is bleeding. I think that asshat might actually be crying. Jesus Christ, Jem actually hit him.

“Get to the office,” the monitor barks at Jem. One of the lunch monitors grabs his arm, even though he gave no indication that he was going to make a break for it. They help Chris up and practically carry him out of the lunchroom. The twit clutches his split lip like it’s a damn war wound.

Hannah kindly helps me off the floor and asks if I’m hurt.

“I’m fine.” Diane is shaking her head in disgust, but everyone else at the table looks unaccountably excited. Lunchroom fights aren’t that common here.

“Holy shit,” Paige hisses. “He’s not like that around you, is he, Willa?”

“What?”

She lowers her voice and asks me very seriously if Jem has ever tried to hit me. For a second I think she’s hoping I’ll say yes to further the dramatic intrigue. The question takes me so off guard that I laugh, which freaks her out.

“I have to go.” There are too many people here and I can’t think straight. On my way to my car I pass by the front office. I see Elise through the glass wall, arguing with the secretary. I guess she’s demanding information, and not having much luck at it.

*

Jem’s parents are quick to ground him. They’ve barely set that punishment when they make an exception to it. He’s not going anywhere, but they won’t stop me from coming over. Elise calls me after school to tell me this and rant about injustice.

“He was provoked, so they only suspended him for three days instead of four.”

“What about Chris?”

“Technically he didn’t do anything except try to humiliate Jem, so he got off with a detention for provoking another student. It’s so unfair.” I can’t agree with her. I would have probably set the same punishments if I’d been an objective third party. And besides, a three-day suspension looks a hell of a lot better on his permanent record than an assault charge.