Jess pulls out latex gloves for both of us as if we’re members of Ocean’s Eleven minus nine. “Not a trace, all right? Not even a fingerprint can prove we were here.”
“And I’ll keep my clumsy factor in check today.” I swat away images of swirling files in the air with my imaginary bat. I can handle this.
Door removed, I follow Jesse into Dad’s lair. The desk proves void of further clues regarding our mom or grandparents. When I pull the bottom right handle toward me, the sight of Dad’s gun startles me. It’s still here. Flashbacks of that afternoon finding Jess in here floods my thoughts, and I sense the urgency of our mission. I slam the drawer shut and move toward the file cabinet. Seated in Dad’s chair now, Jess looks over from the monitor. He knows what I saw in the drawer. Silently, he returns to tapping on the keyboard, scrolling through screens, and searching Dad’s saved files and documents for clues. Any clue.
I move to the drawers of Dad’s file cabinet against the furthest wall to find letters in the middle drawer. Memorizing their position in the drawer, as well as the top address, I pick each envelope up and begin to meticulously sort through them, looking for any overseas stamps or labels, especially those from India. Sheesh. There are so many from India. I return them and move to the next drawer. Same thing. File upon file with female names that read “Joyti, Kavitha, Sagel, Manisha, Mali,” and on and on. Does Dad only deal with female clients?
Pulling open the last section, my fingers almost flick past a file that sends a shiver down my spine. I back up the manila folder to read the name under my breath. “Gita Shah.” That’s Mom’s name.
“Jesse?” I’m afraid to remove it as if lifting it could detonate a bomb.
“Find something?”
“Mom’s name.” I turn to see him moving toward me. “There’s a file with Mom’s name on it.”
Jesse could care less about bombs exploding. He yanks the file out without giving me a chance to memorize which name it belonged after. Thankfully a small space remains between the names Farah and Henna. I’m still thinking about how Dad filed alphabetically when Jess let’s out an emphatic string of cuss words.
“Jesse?” Cursing could only mean one thing.
“It’s useless. The file has one sheet of paper with a bunch of law jargon all over it.” I’m looking at the paper too now. There’s that word Mom told me was misspelled on the magazine, saying the word was skirt. “Escort.” Mom lied to me.
Trying to decipher the legal jargon, it seems like an official document giving Mom permission to work for a one year period in the States. Did Dad hire Mom to escort him to places? That might explain how she ended up with him. I mean, you couldn’t pay me enough to stay with the man if I had a choice. Dad’s handwriting runs atop the line marked for the representing attorney, although it’s another lawyer’s name—Michael Meyers, Esq. I’d recognize his handwriting anywhere. I shake my head in disbelief.
Mom never worked a day in her life as far as I could remember. My mind scripts a hundred more questions of what I’ve always assumed to be true. I begin to wonder whether my parents even wanted children. Maybe I was an accident. And Dad’s treatment, or should I say mistreatment of me, is his punishment for me showing up. Like it’s all my fault.
I’m lost in thought over this deeper level of rejection that I contrive with the slightest suggestion of Mom’s mistake—Mom’s foolish choice to pick Dad as her lover. Now look at me. I’m as bad as my father, blaming Mom for everything. Maybe Lagan was right. Repulsed by the comparison, my foot kicks the drawer shut. The loud ting of metal hitting metal punctuates our attempt. It’s over.
Just like that. No further clue regarding our grandparents or Mom’s history or our heritage exists in Dad’s office. Perhaps he just hadn’t had a chance to toss the most recent letter that I stumbled upon. Wish I had taken the time to memorize the return address. Add that to my long list of coulda, shoulda, woulda’s.
Another plan dissipates into oblivion, and it’s time to reassemble and clean up. Jesse’s eyes express loss beyond words. Without seeing the original letter, it feels like a hoax. To both of us. We go back to being alone. Together. Unwanted and alone. Neither of us speaks as we return every item perfectly and finish by reinstalling the door and its lock. The door seems heavier as we align the angles in order to replace the hinges. Why did we have to remove the hinges if we removed the doorknob? Does it matter now? We found what we were looking for. Although neither of us expected to find out this. I guess we’ll never meet our grandparents, after all.
“I’ll put the tools back if you want to rest a bit.” I feel terrible. “Your legs must be exhausted.”
Jess complies by wheeling to the stairwell, dragging himself up to his room and pulling the covers over his head. He’s more disappointed than me. I return the tools, shut the garage door, and decide to start dinner. My stomach’s growling reminds me that we skipped lunch. When I see the snow whisked up to the kitchen window, I’m shocked at the volume. And it’s still coming down. I don’t see any snow plows. They’re probably busy trying to keep the highways clear. There has to be over a foot of snow out there. I turn on the radio on the counter to listen for the latest weather update.
“Jess!” I run to tell him the news. “Jesse! The weatherman says that sixteen inches of snow have fallen, and they’re expecting three or four more before midnight when it will finally slow down!”
“So?” Jess responds from under the covers.
“That means, I hope, that Dad cannot get home! There’s no way! Not even cabs can drive in this insane weather. The radio guy advised everyone to stay indoors. Even a lot of the “L” lines stopped running due to ice on the tracks. This is insane! Insanely awesome!”
“What are you so excited about?” Jess sits up in bed and looks at me curiously. “One day of freedom doesn’t cut it for me. I want out. I want to get out of this hell for good. Are you so clueless that you missed the bit about no info? No grandparents’ address? No way to get to the two people who might exist that actually want us? I’m going back to sleep. Wake me up if you get some real good news. Like the police find Dad in the storm. Frozen to death. Until then, leave me alone, okay?”
I swallow. Okay. I return to boiling water to make rice. Salty rice soup appeals to me on cold wintry days. Any soup really. I fish through the fridge for what else I can throw into the soup and find green onions, leftover chicken, spinach, and fresh basil. I chop each item up, toss in some paprika, salt, and black pepper, and hope the warm aromas of basil and spice might lure Jess out of bed to eat with me.
Dad calls while I slurp my soup, trying not to burn my tongue. “I’m stuck at work.” I bite my tongue to keep from squealing aloud. “The cab companies aren’t driving to the suburbs until the snowplows make their rounds, and they might not get to it till the morning. I’ll crash on my couch here in my downtown office for the night if I can’t make it home. You two behave, and I’ll see you tomorrow evening after work. Even if I manage to fetch a cab in the morning, I’ll waste time commuting right back through the mess. If anything changes, I’ll call.”
Will this qualify as good news to Jess? I don’t care. I run back to Jesse’s room and announce Dad’s message. “Maybe it’s just one day, but let’s make the best of it! Let’s go and play in the snow! Let’s build a snowman! Let’s goof off! Come on already!” I pester Jesse until he finally rolls out of bed.
Jess whines, but gets up. “Fine, but if my legs collapse in the snow, you’re responsible for carrying me inside. Deal?”
“Dealio! Can I get help?” I press my hands together. “Can I ask Lagan to come over?”
Jess points out the obvious. “How do you plan to call him without getting the call traced or tracked by Dad? And second of all, how do you think Lagan would manage to get here through the snow when Dad can’t get home?”
“Hmm.” He makes two very good points. “For the first question, I’ll tell Dad that I needed homework help. He won’t see the number again. He’ll for
get about it. For the second problem. I just have a feeling that if Lagan could find a way to get here, he would. Maybe he owns a snowmobile? He only lives a few blocks away. It’s worth a shot!”
“You’re gonna do what you wanna do.” Jesse shakes his head as he plops down into the wheelchair. “Do whacha gotta do.”
I follow my brother as he shuttles down the steps on the conveyer he rarely uses these days and then rolls into the kitchen where I ladle a bowl of soup for him. Staring at the phone, I realize that I don’t know Lagan’s number. Another grand idea swirls down the drain.
Dishing up another helping of steamy soup, I join Jesse to wash down another serving of warm goodness. Next, I dig out winter wear and snow boots for my brother and myself, reminding him to layer up before we go out. We exit our house from the back door resembling Eskimos, every inch besides our eyes covered. At first Jesse lightly steps atop the close to two feet of snow, but too quickly. His feet sink deep into the snow. I have no choice but to follow, and I’m out of breath just trekking to the front of the house.
No one is out, except for a few kids on their sleds racing down the empty street, no traffic to worry about. I look back to see Jesse picking up his legs one at time to work his way toward me. His eyelashes are covered with dainty snowflakes. Neither of us has ever made a snowman. How hard can it be? I fall back onto an untouched area in the yard, and sway my arms and legs, then stumble forward as I rise to look back. My first snow angel. I blink away flakes on my eyelids that get immediately replaced with fresh ones.
As I circle the scene, my eyes can barely take in the beauty. The whole earth, every branch, every inch of earth, is perfectly white. Perfectly clean. Perfectly lovely.
I close my eyes, pull my scarf down, and stick out my tongue. I’m in my own world when...ouch! A snowball hits my back. Jess declares war from a bank he’s hiding behind near the front hedges. Forget the snowman. Revenge calls my name. I hop from spot to spot, beelining for the biggest tree in our yard. Jesse nails me two more times before I dive for cover. I eat a little more than a few flakes in my ridiculous Mission Impossible reenactment. Tom Cruise would be embarrassed to have me as a partner, but the night is young. I form several snowballs before I turn to fire them toward my enemy. Jesse catches them like baseballs and shoots them right back at me. Not fair!
We’re so consumed by our war, neither of us notices the abominable snowman making his way up the driveway. The mailman? Except that he has no mail.
When he turns, and I recognize his eyes, I point at Jesse and scream for help. “Lagan! Get him!” I need help. I have yet to hit Jesse once! Lagan drops down and produces power-packed ammunition within seconds. Finally! A little testosterone to show Jesse he can’t push me around!
“Ouch!” A snowball nails me in the arm, and I realize that I gloated too soon. “Lagan! You’re supposed to be on my side!”
“My bad.” He laughs out frosty steam puffs. “I thought you said boys against girls!”
Next thing I know, Lagan and Jesse fire away while edging up on me, and I barely rise to my feet to run away when I’m tackled face first into the snow by the boys’ team. My second snow meal today. Yum! Cold! Glad it’s not yellow.
“No fair!” I spit snow out of my mouth and try to wiggle out from under the weight of two sets of bulging teen biceps. “Time out!”
“We’ll let you out if you...” Lagan shifts slightly toward Jesse, holding out an open hand while keeping the other tightly wrapped around my knees.
“If you agree to make us hot chocolate and homemade cookies when we go inside.” Jess fills in the blank.
“Not a chance!” I retort. “I am not rewarding this unjust behavior!”
“Okay then…bacon. I’ll let you go for a few strips of perfectly crisped bacon.” Lagan throws a gleeful grin my way and burrows his head into my back like it’s a pillow. “Or we’ll just lay here till you can’t feel your toes!”
Jess chimes in. “No can do on the bacon, but I know we have the stuff for cookies.” Then he turns to me. “Last I heard, it’s pretty hard to bake with frostbitten fingers.”
I weigh my options, as if I have many, and cave in. “Okay! Just let me go already!”
We play in the snow for a while longer, until Jess feels his legs giving out, and then we make our way to the back door. Shaking off the snow before entering, Jess keels over when the back door opens. I remove my snow gear quickly and race to retrieve the wheelchair, dry clothes, and a blanket. Jess is so tired that he lets Lagan help him peel back his socks in order to put new ones on. A sweater and slippers with a blanket over his lap do the job. He starts to thaw, and I leave in order to get myself into dry clothes. Lagan hasn’t removed his layers besides his gloves and hat when I return downstairs.
“Should I stay?” Lagan needs permission.
“Of course!”
I fill him in on the details of Dad’s delay. How I wanted to call him. How he came. “By the way, how did you know my dad wouldn’t be home?”
Lagan looks pleased with himself as he reveals his plan. “Well, I hoped he’d be at work. But if he wasn’t, I planned to offer to shovel your driveway. Teenagers always try to make a quick buck on snow days.”
“Hmm.” I nod, impressed with the simplicity of his idea. “If Dad does somehow show up, we’ll have to explain why we’re feeding this teenager before he shoveled the driveway!”
“That’s easy. Teens always work harder after eating.” Lagan raises his eyebrows playfully. “I’ll happily shovel for the price of a cup of hot cocoa and a couple of warm, out-of-the-oven goodies.”
Jesse jumps in to agree. “Of course. Dad will buy that explanation hands down. So we—I mean you—best get to baking.”
“I’ll help.” Lagan hangs up his snow gear on the back door hook. “But I have to warn you, I need a lot of guidance in the kitchen. The only reason the last brownies I baked turned out was because my cousin is a pro when it comes to baked goods. Rani says you never stick to the time on a recipe. A few minutes beforehand is better since things keep cooking on hot trays even after you pull them out. But I’m a by-the-book type of guy. Anyway, where do you keep your flour? And measuring cups?”
Lagan opens cabinets while Jess and I just watch silently for a moment. Jess’s eyes say what I’m thinking. This feels right. Company. A friend. Baking together. A day of freedom tastes even sweeter than either of us expected. Never thought it would occur inside the beehive. When the king’s away, the peasants will play. Something like that, right?
That evening, we feast on oatmeal raisin cookies and frothy hot chocolate. Everyone takes seconds, and then we finish off the soup I made earlier. When Lagan checks his watch, he jumps up to start clearing dishes.
“You don’t have to...”
“Yes, I do. It’s the least I can do after such a scrumptious dinner. But I should get going before my parents start looking for my name listed under the newspaper’s list of SCD—Snowplow Collateral Damage. Those guys drive half-asleep when they’ve been up all night salting the roads.”
Jesse chuckles and rolls himself into the living room to watch TV. We’ve never had so much free time on our hands. Maybe we’ll stay up all night too.
The clock reads 8:00 p.m., and it’s dark outside. As if reading my thoughts, Lagan nudges my shoulder at the kitchen sink. “Don’t worry. I’m a big boy. I’ll call you when I get home to let you know I’m safe after dialing star sixty-seven. That way my number stays blocked from the caller ID. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Our hands collide in a soap-filled sink, and I couldn’t have asked for a happier day. Especially since Jesse genuinely allowed Lagan to be a part of our lives today. Lagan shakes hands with Jess, telling him how proud he is of his progress. “You got a killer throw, dude. You should think about baseball. In the spring, of course, after all the snow melts.”
“Of course.” Jess smiles big, then wheels himself back to the living room on cue to allow Lagan to say goodbye to me.
<
br /> “Thanks, umm, for coming by.” I fumble for words, suddenly aware it’s just the two of us.
“Hey.” Lagan raises my chin with his hand. “I did have a reason for coming over.”
“All right.” I shrug my shoulders. “Are you gonna tell me, or do I have to guess?”
“Well...” Lagan looks away for a moment. “You see, I wanted to ask you something. And I had to do it in person. I want to know if you’ll let me W4U?”
“W4U?” I chuckle at his newest acronym. “I’m guessing it’s pretty serious for you to chance turning into Frosty just to ask in person.”
“You could say that.” Lagan tips his head, like he’s searching my eyes for permission to continue. “It stands for Wait For You. Because I will. Wait. For as long as it takes. To be with you.”
“W4U, huh?” I’m trying to make light of the weighty words that linger between us. The questions I can’t answer. A timeline I can’t predict. “It might take a long time. A really long time.” I’m so close to saying it, and then he does.
With his hands turned up and animated, he turns on a thick, Italian accent and says, “For what? For you? Forevah!”
I can’t help but giggle at his antics, and then Lagan steps closer. Gently kisses two fingers and then places his fingers on my lips and rests them there. My broken lips. With his pulsing, unscathed fingers, he kisses me. And I cannot breathe.
“And for the record, forever isn’t too long.” Lagan’s fingers playfully swirl off my lips and down my chin, and then he turns to open the back door. “I’ll see you soon. The seventeenth, if not sooner.”
The door closes and I stand there, my trembling hand resting over my mouth.
Nothing like a snow day to make my first snow angel.
To taste a kiss on my lips.
To flirt with forever.
Swimming Through Clouds (A YA Contemporary Novel) Page 17
