Cages

by Peg Kehret

  Yes, he does, Kit thought. He means every word of it.

  Half an hour later, there was a quick tap on her door. Tracy came in and stood beside Kit’s bed. She held a bouquet of daffodils.

  “I brought these for you,” Tracy said. “I’m sorry about Lady.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Your mother called me and asked if I could come over for awhile. She said she thought you might like someone to talk to.” She handed the flowers to Kit and sat beside her. “It’s odd,” she said. “This morning I was angry because Marcia was going to get the dog you wanted; now I’m angry because she didn’t get Lady.”

  “Marcia took one of the other dogs,” Kit said.

  “Did you have to pay the fee?”

  “No.”

  “Good. At least you still have your forty-five dollars. It would have bugged me if you had paid the fee for Marcia. Now you can do something fun with that money.”

  Kit didn’t say so but she knew she wasn’t going to do anything fun with her baby-sitting money for a long time. Every dime of it was going to Wayne until she had repaid the three hundred dollars.

  “You know what your mother said, when she let me in just now? She looked at the daffodils and said she wished she’d thought of that. And Wayne agreed.”

  “Wayne said he wished he had bought me flowers? That’ll be the day.”

  “I think Wayne wants to be friendly,” Tracy said, “only he doesn’t know how. I always feel as if he would like to talk to me but he isn’t sure what to say.”

  “He said Lady was only a stray mongrel and he doesn’t understand why I’m crying.”

  “That’s what I mean. He’s like somebody from another planet who has never seen people before. He really doesn’t understand.”

  “Well, I don’t understand him, either, so we’re even.” Kit went in the bathroom and splashed cool water on her face, soothing her aching eyes. She looked in the mirror and quickly looked away. Her face was red and blotchy. She looked like she was fresh from another planet herself.

  “I started my original research,” Tracy said. “I talked to three people about their brothers and sisters. One girl told me that her brother used to collect spiders in a jar and turn them loose in her bedroom. I’ll never complain again about being an only child.”

  Kit knew that Tracy was trying to cheer her up by changing the subject, but thinking about the speech she had to give on teenage shoplifting only made Kit feel worse. There was no way she was going to interview any store security people—just thinking about it made her stomach do cartwheels. Maybe she should try to talk to Tracy’s cousin, Glorie. She didn’t know any other teenaged shoplifters. Except herself.

  The next afternoon during American History, two buzzers rang, alerting the class to a message on the intercom. The teacher waited.

  “Please send Kit Hathaway to the office. Kit Hathaway to the office, please.”

  Everyone looked at Kit.

  “Go ahead, Kit,” the teacher said.

  Kit got up and walked to the door. Why would she get called to the office?

  When she got there, the school secretary said, “The principal wants to talk to you.”

  Puzzled, Kit turned toward Mrs. Dobson’s office.

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news,” Mrs. Dobson said. “Your mother is in the hospital?”

  “What happened? Was she in an accident?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have any details. Someone from Overview Hospital called me and asked me to give you the message. I called back, to verify that it wasn’t a prank call. Your mother was admitted about an hour ago. She’s in the emergency room.” Mrs. Dobson opened a desk drawer and removed her purse. “I’ll drive you there, if you like,” she said.

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  “You’d better get your coat and anything else you’ll need. I’ll wait here for you.”

  Kit hurried to her locker to get her things. She scribbled a quick note and stuck it through the slot in Tracy’s locker. Dorothy’s in hospital. I’ll call you later. K.

  When Mrs. Dobson and Kit got to the emergency room waiting area, Wayne was pacing the floor. She hurried over to him.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “We don’t know yet,” Wayne said. “She called me at work. Said she was in terrible pain. By the time I got home, she was in bad shape. Pale and shaky and sweating. She couldn’t even talk, to tell me what was wrong. We came straight to the hospital.”

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Mrs. Dobson asked, before she left.

  “No,” Wayne said. “Thank you for bringing Kit.”

  Wayne looked pale and shaky himself. “All I could think of in the car was that she’s having a heart attack. That’s how she looked to me, like she was having a heart attack.” He gripped Kit’s arm. “But how could that be?” he said. “How could Dorothy have a heart attack?”

  Kit knew what he meant. Dorothy ran six miles almost every day, she was thin, she had never smoked. How could she have a heart attack when she did everything possible to prevent one?

  Still, what if it was a heart attack? What if Dorothy died?

  All of the times she had criticized Dorothy flashed through Kit’s mind and she was overwhelmed with guilt. What a rotten daughter I’ve been, she thought. Maybe Dorothy isn’t the perfect parent, but I could have worse. In her own way, she tries and what have I ever done for her?

  As if he was thinking exactly the same thing, Wayne said, “If Dorothy makes it through this, let’s try to get along better. It drives her nuts when we fight.” Wayne’s neck got red, as if it strained him to talk this way. “I’m not blaming you,” he said. “I know I haven’t been much of a father. I just don’t know how to act or what to say.”

  “I haven’t been the world’s greatest daughter, either,” Kit admitted.

  “The trouble is,” Wayne said, “Dorothy’s the one who gets hurt. I get mad at you and you get mad at me but it’s Dorothy who suffers. She’s spent the last five years trying to make us like each other.”

  Kit knew he was right. She also knew that some doctors said stress can cause heart trouble. Was that what had happened to Dorothy? Was she so strung out because of Wayne and Kit that it had affected her health?

  Kit didn’t think things were that bad. Still, Dorothy did worry a lot and she spent a lot of time trying to smooth out the wrinkles between Kit and Wayne.

  “You want to know something funny?” Wayne said. “One reason she married me is because she thought you needed a man in your life. A father. She said little girls always adore their fathers and she wanted you to have that relationship. How’s that for a laugh? If she’d known what a failure I was going to be in the fatherhood department, she would never have said yes.”

  Kit looked at Wayne in astonishment. She had never heard him admit he was wrong about anything, much less call himself a failure. “I think she wanted to marry you for herself,” she said, “not just for me.”

  Wayne stared down at the floor, as if he didn’t hear her. “The worst part of all,” he said, “is that I don’t even know what I did wrong. If we could go back and start all over again, I’d probably make the same mistakes with you that I made the first time. Even if we got a second chance, you’d still end up hating me.”

  “I don’t hate you,” Kit said.

  “It sure isn’t love,” he said.

  A doctor approached them. “It’s acute appendicitis,” he said. “We’re preparing her for surgery.” He handed Wayne a clipboard with some papers on it. “I’ll need your signature on these, Mr. Gillette. They give us permission for the surgery. Read them carefully and, after you’ve signed, give them to one of the nurses.”

  Wayne nodded and took the clipboard.

  “We’ll have some word for you as soon as we can.” The doctor left, leaving Wayne and Kit alone in the waiting room.

  Kit sat down and Wayne sat beside her. Together, they began reading the papers. When Kit got to the par
t about the risks of anesthesia, she stopped. “This sounds scary,” she said. “Here, where it says unforeseen conditions may arise.”

  “I’ll sign it,” he said. “The hospital has to protect itself but if Dorothy needs surgery, that’s what she’ll get.”

  He took a pen from his shirt pocket and signed the papers. Then he got up and took them to one of the nurses.

  When he returned, looking frightened, he sat beside Kit and put his head in his hands.

  He loves her, too, Kit thought. And he’s afraid he might lose her.

  We finally have something in common. Wayne is just as scared as I am.

  IT was a long afternoon. Wayne paced back and forth, unable to sit still for more than a minute at a time. Kit tried to read the National Geographic magazines that were in the waiting room but was unable to concentrate.

  At 4:30, Tracy rushed in. “What happened?” she cried. “Is your mom OK?”

  Glad for the distraction, Kit gave her the details.

  “I’ll wait with you,” Tracy said.

  “Don’t you have play practice?”

  “Miss Fenton excused me.” She sat beside Kit. “Remember that time I broke my arm, and you tried to heal it by saying a magic chant? Something about a lizard tail?”

  Kit smiled. Of course she remembered. It had taken her two hours to write that chant. In a low, spooky voice she said:

  “Tail of lizard, drops of dew,

  Make my mother good as new.”

  The word “new” was barely out of her mouth when the doctor appeared. “She’s doing fine,” he said. “We got the appendix before it ruptured and she’ll be good as new in a few days.”

  Kit grabbed Tracy and hugged her. Then, impulsively, she hugged Wayne, too. He looked dumbfounded. He didn’t hug her back but he mumbled, “Thanks.”

  Tracy, in her most melodramatic Harriet Headline voice, cried, “DAUGHTER’S MAGIC CHANT SAVES MOTHER! MAYO CLINIC RENAMED HATHAWAY HOSPITAL AFTER DOCTOR REVEALS MEDICAL MIRACLE!”

  The doctor raised one eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?” he said.

  Already giddy with relief, Kit shrieked with laughter. Wayne burst out laughing, too. As they guffawed together, Kit thought, maybe there’s hope for us yet.

  Kit didn’t visit her mother the next afternoon because it was her day to work at The Humane Society. She was glad. Compared to people, the animals were so uncomplicated. She looked forward to spending two hours with simple creatures who had no pretenses and no secrets. Maybe she would stay late and pet the inhabitants of the cat room today.

  That’s where she was, cuddling a fuzzy orange kitten, when she heard the harmonica music start. Smiling, Kit put Puddy back with his sisters and followed the music. She found Mr. Morrison serenading a forlorn-looking bulldog.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you told me,” she said, “and I’ve decided you’re partly wrong.”

  “Enlighten me,” he said.

  “Grownups can free themselves,” Kit said, “but kids can’t.”

  “Is that right?” Mr. Morrison stroked his beard.

  “I can’t leave home and as long as I’m there, my parents decide everything: if I can have a dog, if I go to college. I’m stuck with their decisions.”

  “You needn’t leave home in order to free yourself. You just need to let go of your anger. Don’t you see? Your parents can control whether or not you own a dog, but they can’t keep you from loving the animals. No one can keep you out of college, if you want to go badly enough. When the doors are locked, girl, climb out a window.”

  It was nearly dark when she got home and the house was empty. She supposed Wayne had gone to the hospital after work. Her stomach growled as she went to the kitchen. She realized she was spoiled; Dorothy always had dinner started by the time Kit got home.

  She was opening a can of stew when she heard Wayne’s car in the driveway. A few moments later, he entered the kitchen.

  “Hi, Wayne,” Kit said. “I’m fixing us a bowl of stew. I just got here myself and . . .”

  “I’m not hungry,” Wayne said loudly.

  Kit froze. She knew that tone of voice too well. Slowly, she turned to look at Wayne.

  His eyes were red and he swayed slightly as he stood there.

  Not now, Kit thought. Not with Dorothy in the hospital. She emptied the stew into a pan and turned on the burner. From the corner of her eye she watched Wayne open a cupboard, get out a glass and a bottle, and pour himself a drink.

  “Are you going to the hospital tonight?” she asked.

  “For what?”

  “To visit Dorothy. I didn’t go after school. I thought maybe you would go tonight.” Actually, she had thought they would both go but she had no intention of going anywhere with Wayne now, not when he’d been drinking.

  Wayne was silent. Surely, Kit thought, he remembers that she’s in the hospital. He can’t be that drunk, can he?

  Finally, he answered. “I’m staying home,” he said.

  Just as well, Kit thought. He shouldn’t be driving and he would only embarrass Dorothy if he showed up at the hospital this way. She would call her mother and explain. Dorothy wouldn’t like it but she would agree it was better for Wayne to stay home.

  Kit stirred the stew and opened a box of crackers.

  “I need another drink,” Wayne said. He held his glass toward Kit, as if he thought she would refill it for him.

  She pretended she didn’t see him. She ladled some stew into a bowl. “Sure you don’t want some stew?” she said. “There’s plenty.”

  “I said, I need another drink.”

  “So, get one.”

  “You get it for me.”

  “I’m not your waitress.” She opened a drawer and took out a spoon.

  “Get it for me.”

  “What happened to our agreement?” Kit said. “Yesterday you promised to be a better father. You said you wanted to get along with me, for Dorothy’s sake.”

  Wayne blinked at her, scowling as if she were speaking French or German.

  “If you really want to get along with me,” Kit said, “you’d better not have another drink.”

  “Are you telling me I’ve had too much to drink?”

  Kit hesitated. She knew how Wayne would react if she said yes but she was sick of lying. Wayne had a drinking problem. Maybe he wouldn’t admit it but that didn’t mean she had to pretend. She stepped toward him. “Yes,” she said. “You’ve had too much to drink. Instead of getting you another one, I’ll make you a pot of coffee.”

  Wayne pounded his fist on the table and bellowed. “Who do you think you are, telling me I’ve had too much?”

  Kit knew there was no point saying anything else. She picked up her bowl of stew and carried it out of the kitchen. If he was going to sit there and drink, she certainly wasn’t going to watch him.

  She clicked on the television in the living room. She would eat her stew while she watched the six o’clock news. She’d had only two bites when Wayne appeared in front of the TV screen.

  “You’re acting too smart for your own good,” he said.

  “Wayne, please. I don’t want to argue with you. Let’s make a deal: I’ll leave you alone and you leave me alone. How about it?” Kit forced herself to smile at him, hoping she could cajole him into a better mood.

  “You’ve always acted too smart,” he said. “Like you were the genius and I was the stupid one. Well, I’m not stupid.”

  “I never said you were.”

  “I can tell what you’re thinking. Just because you get As on your report cards, you think other people are stupid.”

  Kit ate another spoonful of stew. “Why do you like to drink?” she asked.

  The question caught Wayne off guard. “Huh?” he said.

  “Why do you drink? Does it make you feel happy?”

  He stared at her, his mouth hanging slightly open.

  “I’m just curious,” Kit went on. “You never seem happy when you’re drinking so I just wondered why you do it.
”

  “It makes me forget my problems.”

  “It doesn’t make them go away, though. When you sober up, the problems are still there, big as ever. Maybe bigger.”

  Wayne pointed a finger at her. Kit saw that his hand was shaking. “There,” he said. “That’s what I mean. You always talk so smart and make me seem stupid.”

  Why did he keep insisting that she thought he was stupid? She had never said that, to him or anyone else. She wondered if he thought of himself that way. Maybe that was the real problem. And maybe the time had come for her to tell him exactly what she thought. He was angry at her anyway. Maybe it was time to bring everything out in the open.

  “Wayne,” she said, “you are an alcoholic.”

  “No, I’m not. I can handle my . . .”

  “Yes, you are,” she said firmly. “But you can change, if you want to. Lots of people have a drinking problem. And do you know what they do? If they’re smart, they admit it. They admit it and then they join Alcoholics Anonymous or they go to a treatment center. They get help. They change.”

  Wayne turned and walked away from her, back to the kitchen.

  Kit followed him. “I know you don’t want to hear this,” she said, “but I have to say it. The main reason I’ve never felt close to you, and never wanted you to be my father, is because of how you act when you’re drunk.”

  “I’m not drunk!”

  “Denying the truth won’t change it. I’ve seen you this way too many times.”

  “You . . .”

  Kit rushed on, the words racing forward like a forest fire out of control. “When you aren’t drinking, we get along OK. At the hospital yesterday, when we were waiting, I felt real close to you. Why do you have to spoil it all by getting drunk again?”

  “I’m not drunk. Quit saying that.”

  “Why can’t you just admit the truth? Instead, you always pretend you aren’t drunk and Dorothy pretends, too. Well, I’m sorry but I can’t go along with your lie any longer.”

  “Listen to the little thief talk about honesty!”

  The word thief was cold water on the flame of Kit’s outrage. She slumped against the refrigerator.