Wake (91 page)

Four months to rebuild my life in Smiths Falls, and for all that, it’s flimsy and completely out of my control.

Frank is still at work when I get home, and the silence of the house seems oppressive. I sit down in front of the TV with the intention of turning it on, but I don’t. I sit there and stare at the box, wondering what Jem is doing right now.

There’s a knock at the front door. I grudgingly get up to answer it, and when I open the door I very nearly slam it closed again. It’s Luke, and he doesn’t look friendly. He looks tough—the happy-go-lucky kid is gone from his eyes. He holds himself in front of me with something resembling respect, and nods hello.

I lock the screen door. He could still get through it if he really wanted to, but some semblance of a barrier makes me feel better.

“Willa.” Luke shifts his eyes awkwardly and says, “Can we talk?”

“Okay.”

“Can we go for a walk?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Luke’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t lose his temper this time. “That’s fair, I guess.”

“What did my brother say to you? He hasn’t been down to Doug’s place since.” Every time I’m home, Frank is unfailingly parked in front of the TV or puttering around the garage. The man needs a hobby and a break from the loneliness.

Luke shrugs dismissively. “He said a lot of things.”

“He told me you denied everything.”

“Would you admit to being beaten up by a girl?”

“I think you just didn’t want to own up to calling me a murderer.” I start to shut the door.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

I want to laugh at the absurdity of such a question. “No, not okay. Not okay at all, Luke.”

“I was upset.”

“still not okay.”

“I like you.”

“You thought I was an easy lay.”

“I was hurt by what you said.”

“Good.”

My bell igerence finally starts to get to him, and he snaps, “I’m trying to apologize here.”

“And I’m treating you the same way you treated me when I tried to mend things.”

Luke leans his arm on the doorframe. It’s a position of proximity and dominance that I’m not sure I like.

“Can we make it okay so our brothers can be on good terms again? Doug’s been in a nonstop bad mood since they fought.”

“So they did fight. You want to tell me what else was said?”

Luke fidgets at that. He’s not willing to own up to any more of his less-than-admirable behavior.

“If things are okay between us, it’ll be okay between them too,” he reasons sternly.

“It was
okay
when we weren’t talking.”

“We’re practically family.”

I bury my face in my hands and groan. I just want this conversation to end. “Fine. We’ll be civil. But this is never going to be
okay
.”

“You’ll never forgive me?” he asks flatly. “Even though you know what it’s like to make a mistake.”

I just shake my head and reach for the door. “Luke, the day I forgive myself for that mistake is the day I forgive you for using it against me.” He grabs the screen door handle and tries to jiggle it before I can shut him out. “Don’t hold your breath.”

Friday

After school, I put in a call to Mom because I haven’t checked in with her for a few weeks. At first it’s nice. Since she quit her second therapist and started going to a third, her method of dealing with all that resentment toward me is to act like nothing happened. She talks to me like I’m a kid away at boarding school—how are my classes, my friends, my job. She tries to talk about boys like our last phone cal didn’t involve a fight over Jem, who she carefully refrains from mentioning. I don’t bring him up either.

She’d sense my weakness for him, and then she’d worry.

“Are you still going to counseling?” she finally asks.

“Every week.”

“Do you feel comfortable there?”

The group leader is a twit whose main qualification seems to be a bible study certificate; I spend more time worrying about the other group members than I do my own problems; it’s yet another of my life’s activities that involves Jem; it depresses me that I don’t know how to pray.

“I’m learning a lot about myself.” Or, rather, who I want to be.

When I come downstairs I find that someone besides Frank is here. Luke is in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and shifting his eyes like a criminal.

“Who the hell let you in?”

“Your brother’s out back. He doesn’t know I’m here. The door was open.” He gestures to the front hall .

“What the hell were you thinking, coming here?”

“That I owe you. Big.”

Shoot me. I want to scream but it comes out as a sigh. “Get in the fucking car.”

“What?”

I grab my keys off the counter and give Luke the eye. “You heard me.”

*

“Do you remember your mom?” I take the road into town. It’s late in the afternoon, but we might make it in time to catch the last of the lunch special at Frank’s favorite diner. I need to be normal for five minutes, and to get out of my head. But if I get out, I might never get back in.

Luke gives me a curious look. I give him a stiff glare in return. If he knows all my issues, his are fair game too.

“Sort of.”

“Does Briana?”

“I don’t think so.” Luke reaches over to turn on the radio, but not before murmuring, “I can’t remember how she smell ed.”

*

We miss the lunch special. The fact that I find this disappointing shows just how close I am to becoming unhinged. I wonder if that’s better or worse than being numb.

“What happened to your hand?” Luke asks as we peruse the dinner menu. I’ve lost count of how many people have asked me that since I ditched the gloves.

“Mauled by a tiger.”

The waitress comes to take our orders, and when she’s gone Luke feels the need to break the silence.

“So why aren’t you with Harper right now?” he asks. “The two of you still together?” Luke’s tone is complex—like he doesn’t want to know the answer, but knows exactly what answer he does want to hear.

“He’s in the hospital.” I don’t want to look at Luke’s face and see
I told you so
written all over it. “Don’t tell Frank.”

“Why aren’t you there with him?” Luke asks with genuine curiosity. “He’s your…. You should be there.”

“He’s immunocompromised. They’re limiting his visitors to reduce his risk of further infection.”

“I don’t want to pry, but is his cancer back?”

“No.”

Luke closes his menu and stares at me. I can feel his eyes on the top of my head. “Do you want me to go with you to the hospital?”

“Is that your idea of making things up to me?”

Luke tries to take my hand and I withdraw it. He sighs like my noncompliance bothers him. “It’s what a friend would do.”

“We’re not friends.”

“What are we?”

“We’re in it for our brothers.” And that’s all this is, now.

When Luke and I get back to the house, Frank has the garage door open, puttering around as usual.

He looks surprised, and then suspicious, as Luke and I both step out of the car.

“Where were you two?” he asks.

“We had lunch.”

Frank’s eyes shift between us, trying to riddle it out. There isn’t much to infer from our silence or posture, but he seems to sense that we’re back on speaking terms. Neither of us has a black eye, at least.

“Everything’s good, I trust?”

“Fine.” I excuse myself to ‘do homework’ while Frank and Luke make conversation. I hear Luke invite Frank out to Port Elmsley in the near future, and sigh with relief. That’ll make Frank happy, and it’ll give me some solitude around the house.

I start preparing dinner for him—ham sandwiches and salad—and do another neurotic message check on my phone. Nothing. I text Elise for an update but she doesn’t get back to me.

“Frank! Food!”

Luke doesn’t stay—claims he has to get back, and we part with a civil goodbye. Frank asks if we’re okay now.

“We’re talking.” That’s more than I want to give him, but it’s what I have to give to make my brother happy. He tucks in to his sandwich and devours half of it before he looks up again.

“How come Jem isn’t around?” Frank may not like Jem or my relationship with him, but as a creature of habit Frank has become accustomed to visits, particularly around the weekend. If Jem isn’t here, I’m usually at his house.

“He’s having some testing done.” It’s a fairly benign lie, and one that covers my ass should Frank learn that Jem spent part of the weekend in the hospital.

“Is he alright?” Frank asks suspiciously.

I nod. “Just a routine checkup. Cancer’s one of those diseases you have to follow up on occasional y.” I get an eye roll from Frank for stating the obvious. He senses my fickle mood and lets me be without further prodding. I don’t leave the kitchen until bedtime. By the time I retire there is no less than five days’

worth of food in the freezer (Frank is pleased) and I feel marginally better. I fall asleep knowing that feeling won’t last.

Saturday

Elise calls me during breakfast to chat. Jem is coming home today. She doesn’t let slip many details about his physical condition, but mentions that he won’t be up for having guests right away.

“I understand.” I don’t like it, but the best thing I can give him right now is the privacy to rest and heal.

I change the subject. “Have you applied for work at that camp yet?” I know Elise wants to, even though she doesn’t think she should. She admits to having printed an application off the camp website, but she hasn’t fill ed it out or sent it in.

“You should.”

“Mmm. I need to be here.”

I have to let the call end to go to work, but not before I extract a promise from Elise that she’ll call to let me know how Jem is doing.

“I’ll tell him you said hello.”

“Tell him he’s my favorite asshole, okay? He’ll know what it means.”

Elise snorts into the phone. “Now I know how you put up with him. Two peas in a screwed up pod.”

That sounds about right.

*

Work drags. It’s a busy day at the B&B because the dining room and garden have been booked for a Christening reception. My mind is elsewhere and each plate of food I bring to the buffet, each batch of lemonade I squeeze for the garden party, gets me one step closer to the end of my shift. Every time I go into the pantry I surreptitiously check my phone for messages. still nothing from Elise. It’s early, yet. Jem isn’t due to be discharged until this afternoon.

It’s odd, missing him and not knowing when I’ll see him again. I’ve never missed anyone who wasn’t family before. With every other guy I dated, I couldn’t have cared less where he was or what he was doing when we weren’t directly interacting. This absence from Jem makes me feel strange. I get the sense that if I could hear him or touch him, everything would settle back into its proper place, even though I know that such an idea is beyond naïve.

Mrs. Elwood can tell I’m a little distracted. She keeps me in the kitchen after noon, because how badly can I screw up washing dishes?

“Willa.” I jump as Mrs. Elwood speaks right over my shoulder. I quickly try to figure out what I’m in trouble for—did I space out? Forget to shut off the tap?

“Sorry.”

Mrs. Elwood gives me a quizzical look. “Phone’s for you.” I slip away to the laundry room and pick up the line there.

“Hello?”

“Hi Willa.” Elise sounds cautiously optimistic. “Just calling to let you know that Jem’s home safe.” The news doesn’t give me the relief I thought it would. He’s still sick, just in a different location, and I still have to keep my distance so he can recover.

“Oh. Good.”

“He was asking for you.”

“Let him know I miss him and I’ll see him soon.”

“Um, Mom said it’s cool of you come over later. For a short visit, anyway. It might cheer him up.” Now I wish it were a slow day at the B&B so I could blow off the last half hour of my shift to go see him.

“I get off work at three. I can come straight after.”

“That works,” Elise agrees. “See you then.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but time crawls even slower.

*

I drive directly to the Harpers’ house after work, buzzing with nervous excitement the whole time. I’m relieved that I get to see Jem again so soon, but I know it won’t be pretty. He wasn’t in the hospital for nothing.

When I pull into the driveway, Dr. Harper steps out onto the front porch and waves at me. I half expect him to turn me away at the door—his wife made a mistake; Jem really isn’t well enough for company yet.

“How are you, Willa?” he asks as I climb the front steps. I follow along with this exchange of pleasantries, and then he invites me into the front room. “I want to talk to you.”

We sit across from each other on the couch and loveseat. The way he leans forward with his elbows on his knees and speaks carefully, softly, reminds me of the way doctors explain prognoses to next-of-

kin. He tells me what to expect from Jem—his level of energy, his symptoms, and how long I’ll be able to stay. He tells me that Jem’s kidney is bruised and still may bleed slightly, so I shouldn’t hug him too hard.

I’ll have to wear a mask around him, both to keep him safe from my germs and keep me from catching his, and wash my hands thoroughly.

“When will he be back to school?”

“When he’s up to it. I don’t know when that will be.”

Elise, hovering restlessly during the conversation, interrupts to ask if her dad is done reading the riot act. She takes his stern look as a yes and grabs my hand. I get tugged off the couch and into the kitchen to wash up and don a mask, and then Elise hurries me up the stairs to see Jem.

“Calm, Elise,” Dr. Harper warns her. “Don’t unsettle him.”

“We won’t!”

Elise knocks on Jem’s bedroom door, but doesn’t wait for a response before pushing it open and stepping inside. “Willa’s here!” she announces in a sing-song voice. Her mood almost irks me, because I can’t find it within myself to show so much cheer.