Color Blind

by Lalla Squeglia

“To make one, please.”

  She looked sad. She also looked vaguely familiar. Nancy started looking through the calendar.

  “What do you need done?”

  “Just a checkup.”

  “Are you free on the…twenty-eighth?”

  “I think so. Let me see.”

  Nancy waited for a few minutes until the woman nodded.

  “Your name, please?”

  “Susan Martin.”

  Nancy dropped her pen.

  Surely not…coincidence. It has to be coincidence.

  She would ask Cole when she got home. But the name had to be a coincidence. Maybe she wouldn’t ask him-no point in getting his hopes up. Besides, she had no idea what his feelings towards his mother were. Maybe he wouldn’t want to see her.

  “Do you have children?” she asked.

  “My husband didn’t want children.”

  That wasn’t an answer, but Nancy let it go. She was probably wrong, anyways.

  * * * *

  Cole was not on the couch when Nancy got home.

  “Cole? Cole, are you okay?” There was the sound of retching. “Cole?”

  Nancy shoved the bathroom door open. Cole was lying on the floor, his clothes and hair soaked in sweat.

  “Cole! What happened?”

  “Puking.” he mumbled.

  “Can you go back to bed?”

  “No…not again.”

  He sat up, gagging. Nancy held his hair away from his face and murmured ,“It’s okay, it’s okay.” She felt sick.

  “Come on. You need to get on a change of clothes and get in bed, okay? I’ll bring you a bucket.”

  He shook his head.

  “No, I just wanna stay here.”

  “No. You’ll feel better if you don’t. Come on.”

  Cole pulled himself up and leaned against the wall. Nancy decided to bring up his mother later. Like tomorrow.

  “That’s better. Come on.”

  “Hot.”

  “Shh. You’ll feel better in a new t-shirt and sweats.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Come on. Lie down and get some new clothes on, okay? I’m gonna get you some ice.”

  “Ice?”

  “To suck on. You need to keep fluids down.” She set a pair of sweats and one of his band t-shirts on the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure. I’ll bring a bucket when I come back.”

  Cole didn’t move. Nancy went into the other room and got the bucket and a cup of ice. He hadn’t budged when she got back.

  “Cole. You need to change clothes. Come on, try to sit up.”

  Cole groaned.

  “No.”

  “Yes. Come on, now.” She set the cup down and tugged him upright. He winced and pulled back.

  “Sorry.”

  “Tired.”

  “I know. Come on, get your shirt off.” He coughed, leaned over, and vomited. “Oh, Cole. It’s okay, you just need some rest.”

  “I can get it.” he said, reaching for his shirt.

  “Okay. Suck on some ice cubes, okay?”

  “They won’t stay down.”

  “Do it anyway. You’ll get dehydrated.”

  “But…”

  “Just one. Please?”

  “Okay.”

  “Good. Want help?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Okay. I’m gonna take this out and I’ll be right back. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Nancy grabbed the bucket and headed for the door. Mrs. Harris from next door was outside, smoking a cigar.

  “Nancy! Are you sick?”

  “No. Cole is. He’s got broken ribs. I think coughing makes him vomit.”

  “Poor thing. How’s he doing otherwise?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “Tell him I hope he’s feeling better, okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Nancy went back inside and brought Cole his bucket back.

  “You awake?”

  “I think so. Feels like it.”

  “What happened?”

  “Couldn’t stop coughing. Pain made me puke.”

  “Did you have an ice cube?”

  He nodded miserably.

  “Made me puke.”

  “Can you try some ginger ale?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Get some sleep.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Shh.”

  “Nance?”

  “Mm?”

  “Is this normal?”

  “I think so. Get some sleep.”

  * * * *

  Cole had no idea what time it was. Nancy had come in and made him take a sip of water, but he’d puked it not long after. It was dark in the room.

  “Cole? Are you up to eating anything?”

  “No.”

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Like crap.”

  There was the sound of slippers shuffling against the carpet and a glass was set down by his bed. He didn’t want to know what was in it. What he wanted was a needle, a spoon, and a little plastic bag. Oh, and a lighter.

  They say some people have simple tastes. Those sound pretty simple to me.

  It was hot in the room and he debated on taking his shirt off. It sounded like too much work and he didn’t bother. He cracked his eyes halfway to see if Nancy was still there, but she wasn’t. Good. She’d probably lecture him on how it was ‘normal’ not to feel sorry about his dad. There was no way that was normal, not unless you were seriously fucked up.

  Well, genius, no one ever said you were normal, did they?

  He looked at his hands and studied the track marks. Some of them were fading, but most of them were still little red scars-or big red scars, sometimes. If he looked at them long enough, they would move.

  Stupid ribs. Stupid Dad.

  He looked over at the glass and saw that it was water. Maybe that would stay down. He took a sip, gagged, and squirmed closer to the bucket.

  I knew it. I knew a drink was a bad idea. Stupid me this time.

  He managed to get out of his shirt without incurring too much pain, but it was a mistake to throw it across the room. Maybe that was what made him spit up again. He wondered if he should take it out and figured, fuck it. I’ll get it later.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  When Nancy came home from work a few days later, Cole was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t puking, watching TV, or drawing. She eventually found him asleep on the bed, shirtless and half-propped up with pillows. One hand was on his thigh, the other on his stomach. She’d never seen him this relaxed. Now that she thought about it, she’d never seen him without a shirt, either.

  He didn’t look good-she could see bruises, especially where his broken ribs were. There were also track marks and other scars in various places, including what looked like a burn scar on his stomach. She stood there looking at him for a few minutes before going in as quietly as possible to get clean clothes. She was just pulling off her shirt when Cole mumbled, “Nance? That you?”

  She jumped and spun around, shirt in hand.

  “Did I wake you up?”

  “No.”

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Not good.”

  His eyes were half-closed and he didn’t look like he was all there. She went over to him and sat on the bed.

  “You okay?”

  “My back hurts.”

  “Want me to see if something’s wrong?”

  For a minute he didn’t move, then he worked his way onto his stomach. Nancy winced. His back was a mess of bruises and scars running from his shoulders to his waist and he was nearly see-through.

  “Holy Jesus, Cole.”

  “What?”

  “What happened to you?”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  �
��You’re a mess.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “What part were you talking about?”

  “My lower back. Feels like there’s a bruise or something.”

  “Welt.” Nancy corrected. “About the size of my fist. See?”

  “Oh, great. Another injury.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You didn’t do it.”

  “What happened to you, Cole?”

  “Now what?”

  “There’s a bunch of scars on your shoulders.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember where the scars come from sometimes.”

  Nancy frowned.

  “These almost look like belt marks.”

  “Who knows.”

  He rolled back over and looked up at her.

  “Everything hurts.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t know. Not until it’s you like this instead of me.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’m gonna put my hand on your head, okay?”

  “Why?”

  “To see if you have a fever.”

  “I’m not sick.”

  “You were puking yesterday. Two seconds.”

  “Why?”

  She sighed, suddenly exasperated with him.

  “You can get pneumonia really easy when you have broken ribs, and you’re prone to getting sick enough already. If you’re even a little sick, we need to take steps to make it go away. See?”

  “What’s puking have to do with pneumonia?”

  “If you get one thing, your immune system is going to be worse off than it already is. Two seconds and that’s it, trust me.”

  “Why not the thermometer?”

  “It broke because it’s a piece of crap.”

  “Okay…”

  “Two seconds.”

  He closed his eyes and nodded.

  “If you say so.”

  His head was hot and tense and he shrank back from her hand.

  “I’m not gonna hurt you, Cole, it’s okay.”

  He didn’t answer her. Nancy reached down for her grungy afghan and put it over him, but he shoved it off.

  “Too hot.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m not sorry.”

  “Sorry about what?”

  “Dad.”

  “That’s normal.”

  “You’re not just saying that to shut me up, are you?”

  “No. That’s normal.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It is. Cole, he could have killed you. You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t ask for anything like that, and you didn’t deserve it.”

  “I guess. But he was my dad, Nance. Shouldn’t I feel something besides relief?”

  “No. And don’t try to force yourself into feeling something you can’t.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  She did know. But lately she was starting to think maybe Cole was right, maybe what Dr. Grey had done was not her fault.

  “I’m gonna go back to sleep.”

  “Okay. The blanket’s right by you, okay?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Want me to wake you for dinner?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Okay. Night, Cole.”

  “Thanks, Nancy.”

  When she glanced in an hour later, he was dead asleep.

  * * * *

  Cole was sleeping fitfully when Nancy came to bed for the night. He felt her lie down and heard the click of the lamp cord before drifting back into shadows. It was either fifteen minutes or an hour when he was woken up by Nancy having a nightmare. She was sobbing and scrunched up into a ball under the blankets.

  “Nance? Wake up.”

  She didn’t react. He didn’t want to shake her, but she didn’t look like she was going to wake up any time soon.

  “Nancy. Wake up, Nance, you’re having a nightmare.”

  He tugged the blankets back and turned on the lamp just as she sat up, blinking and reaching for something.

  “Nancy! Nance, it’s okay, snap out of it!”

  Eventually the fear in her eyes went away and her breathing started to settle down.

  “Cole?”

  “Yeah. It’s just me. You were having a nightmare.”

  “I was?”

  “Yeah.”

  She blinked and shook her head.

  “Don’t remember.”

  “Nothing?”

  “No.”

  Cole wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t think Nancy was telling him the truth about not remembering, but whatever.

  “I don’t feel good.” she said.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. Feels like cramps but it’s not cramps.”

  “Do you need to see a doctor?”

  “I’m okay. I think.”

  “If you’re not better by tomorrow night, you should go in.”

  “We’ll see.”

  She shrugged and disappeared under the blankets. Cole pulled the light cord and adjusted the pillows under his shoulders. He’d bring this up again tomorrow and see what she said then. Her hand rested on his arm and as much as he wanted to pull back, he didn’t. It was starting to feel okay by the time he fell asleep.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Cole was passed out on the couch when Nancy burst in, drenched and holding what he thought at first was a baby. Then he saw it was much too small to be a baby.

  “Nance?”

  “I couldn’t leave it there.” she sobbed. “Not with everything else dead.”

  “What is it?”

  “You know that stray cat that sometimes lives around here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It died. And all the kittens died except this one…you didn’t see it…I couldn’t leave it there.”

  “You have a knack for bringing in damaged goods, don’t you?”

  She missed his point entirely and shrugged out of her coat. Now he could see that it was indeed a kitten, a gray one.

  “Bring it here and go get changed.”

  “Thanks, Cole.”

  He shook his head. Nancy deposited the gray thing on the couch next to him and slipped into the bedroom without another word. The kitten was dirty and emaciated and Cole could make out at least one tick. It yawned and burrowed under the sheet. Cole hesitantly put his hand on its head and it purred. Well, at least it was friendly. It was kinda cute, actually. Nancy came back with a damp washcloth and tweezers.

  “It has ticks.”

  “Yeah, I know. There’s one up here on its head-see it?”

  “Uh huh. Hold it still.”

  “Oh, so I’m the one that has to get scratched up.”

  “Fine, I’ll hold it and you tweeze.”

  “I’ll hold it.”

  The kitten did not like being held and Nancy and Cole ended the de-ticking covered in scratches and bites. Cole sighed.

  “Now what?”

  “I’m going to try and give it a bath so we can quit calling it an it.”

  “Want help?”

  “If you’re up to it. I think I can do it myself.”

  “S’okay. Let’s see.”

  “You probably shouldn’t.” she said. “If you keep doing things, it’s going to take a lot longer for you to heal.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “What about your head?”

  “It’s been a little better lately.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Nancy shook her head.

  “Okay…”

  “I’m fine. Honest.”

  * * * *

  The kitten didn’t like the bath either, but when the scratching and shrieking were over, Cole could see that it was actually white, not gray.

  “Go lie down. Take her with you and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Cole took the now-grouchy kitten back to the couch and set it d
own. His vision was fuzzy and his stomach hurt. Maybe he should have listened to Nancy and stayed down.

  “Here. Take a drink and don’t move any more. I’m gonna run up to the store, okay? Watch her.”

  It took him a minute to process what she’d said, and by then she was already gone.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Fuck, I’ve been hit with a sledgehammer.

  Cole reached up to shove the crushing force off his chest and found fur. The kitten had pounced on him while he was asleep and hit one of his ribs.

  For less than two pounds, that really, really hurt.

  But now she was curled up on his stomach, staring at him with shiny eyes like he was her favorite thing in the world. Dammit, he couldn’t be upset when she looked at him like that.

  “You have to not jump on me, cat.”

  She purred, kneaded his stomach a bit, and went to sleep. The pressure hurt but he had learned earlier that moving her would result in scratches. Nancy came in.

  “She likes you.”

  “About killed me a minute ago.”

  “She’s two pounds. What could she possibly do?”

  “Jump on my chest.”

  “Sorry.”

  “She’s fine. I can’t move her, though, because she’ll hurt me.”

  “Want me to try?”

  “Nah. She’ll scratch you, too.”

  Nancy sat down next to him. He turned his head to face her out of habit, but it wasn’t a comfortable position and he went back to his regular position.

  “What do we name her?”

  “I don’t know. Killer Cat.”

  “No, that’s lame.”

  “Survivor Cat.”

  “That’s lame, too.”

  “You think of something.”

  “The Accident.”

  For some reason this struck them both as funny.

  “And you said my ideas were lame!”

  “Happy Face?”

  “Not gonna work. I’m not calling my cat Happy Face.”

  “Your cat? Who said she was your cat?”

  “She’s sitting on me.”

  “And I rescued her.”

  “You were also the one with the soapy washcloth.”

  Nancy stuck her tongue out at him.

  “She was grody. There was no way she was going to stay here when she was shedding dirt and ticks.”

  “Still. You were also the one with the tweezers.”

  “Someone had to do it! And it’s not like we were planning on getting a cat. That’s why we should name her The Accident.”

  “No. Not an option.”

  * * * *

  Nancy eventually dug out the phone book and stabbed it with a pencil.

  “Well? What is it?”

  “Sadie.”

  “Fine.”

  The phone rang and the kitten flew under the sheet. The movement made Cole cough and Nancy got up to get the phone.

  “Hello? Yes, he lives here. Hang on, let me see.”

  She came back and gestured to the phone. Cole held up a finger.

  “Hang on…sure, I’ll take a message. What’s the number? One sec.”

  She went away again and Cole heard her repeating a number. He closed his eyes, not particularly interested in the person on the other end. He didn’t notice when she came back until Sadie came back out from under the blankets and sat on his stomach, licking her paws.