by Beth Vrabel
The curtain flew back with a whoosh, and Jeff rushed into me like a linebacker. He didn’t pause, just flew into the room and crushed me against him. He smelled like motor oil and the cinnamon he shakes into his coffee. “Jesus, Noah. What the hell happened?”
I shrugged, face still burrowed into his shoulder. For a second my chin wobbled. If he weren’t holding me together I’d swear I was made of cobwebs, ready to fly apart. I swallowed and pushed back a little. Jeff held onto my shoulders, looking in my eyes. His forehead creased into deep lines.
“What?” I asked when he didn’t stop staring.
Jeff shrugged. “Good thing Halloween’s coming up. You’d be a great Frankenstein.”
My hands flew up to the bandage on my head, a few inches above my hairline. “The doc said the stitches were small, that’s why they needed six of them. How bad is it?”
Jeff smiled, but it looked more like a wince. “Just busting you, kid. That mop of hair will cover them, anyway.” Just as quick the smile melted away. “What am I going to tell Diane?”
I stared at my hands. “Don’t tell her anything. The stitches will be out before she is.”
“Noah,” Jeff said softly. He sat beside me on the cot, making the paper cover crinkle. “I’m going to have to tell her.”
I shrugged.
He draped his arm around my shoulder, then let it fall to his side. “Just got to fill out some paperwork and then you’re free to go.” Jeff’s nose crinkled as he stood. “It smells like Sunny D mixed with exhaust in here.”
After Jeff left, I lay back on the cot and closed my eyes. I almost fell asleep, too, but the squeak of steps and the soft rustle of the curtain woke me. My eyes fluttered open and there was Landon, holding the curtain back with fingertips, half in and half out of the room. I got the feeling that if I hadn’t opened my eyes just then, he would’ve left. Even now, Landon looked like he was caught cheating on a test.
“It smells like crap in here,” he said when our eyes met.
From the other side of the curtain, the old man said, “Sorry.” Then he moaned and farted again.
Landon’s mouth twitched and I lost it, covering my laugh with the inside of my elbow. Landon let the curtain fall behind him, coughing to hide his own laughter. It didn’t work. Soon we were both doubled over, choking on silent bellows. Then the old man shifted with a crinkle of his own paper-covered cot and another toxic cloud drifted toward us with a moan. No chance of hiding our laughter that time.
“Want a seat?” I asked, throwing out my elbow toward the space beside me on the cot.
Landon shook his head. “I don’t want to stay. I just needed to make sure … I didn’t mean … ”
I nodded. “Couldn’t find a plastic bucket, huh?”
Landon stared at his sneakers. “It was my idea, but our bucket is missing. Mike brought his, set it all up. I didn’t know he’d bring a gardening bucket like that. A metal one.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. I noticed the rust-colored stains on the shoulder of his orange Bruin’s sweatshirt and realized it was blood. My blood. Landon slowly looked up. “I should’ve stopped him.” Landon didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then, “What now?”
“I don’t know.”
Landon nodded. “Me, either. You going to tell Mr. Anderson?”
“Nah,” I said, not looking at him. He came here to make sure he wasn’t going to get in trouble. That was it. The thought was an animal clawing its way out of my belly. Stupid. Stupid to think he was there to make sure I was okay, when it was really just to ensure he was all right.
“So you’re not going to catch any heat, okay? You can go now.” I lay back down on the cot with a flop and squeezed shut my eyes.
When I peeked back, Landon was pulling back the curtain, his back to me. But he wasn’t leaving. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s just a couple stitches.”
Landon shook his head. “Not just that. I’m sorry. For what happened to you.”
I turned away from him.
“Mom’s on first shift instead of second tomorrow,” he said.
“Congratulations.”
“I was gonna … ” Landon sighed.
“Spit it out, already. I’m supposed to be resting.”
“I was gonna look for some tracks. Bear tracks. Dad taught me how.”
I rolled onto my back. Landon never, ever talked about his dad. I pushed up so I was seated, facing him. He was breathing hard, shoulders going up and down, like he was the patient, the one in pain. “He liked to hunt. My dad, I mean.”
I nodded, not wanting to break the spell of Landon talking to me, talking about his dad.
Landon twisted his neck. “So if you want to look for tracks, let me know.”
Just then, Jeff pushed the curtain back further. “Hey, Landon,” he said, like the fact that my former best friend was here was totally not a surprise. Narrowing his eyes at me, Jeff added, “Noah’s going to be tied up tomorrow until late afternoon. We’re visiting his mom.”
“No, I’m not.” I crossed my arms.
“Look, kid, she’s going to bust out of there if she doesn’t see for herself that you’re okay tomorrow. You’re doing it.”
“No.”
Landon cleared his throat. “I’ve got to watch Henry until three o’clock, anyway. We can head out then.”
“Great,” Jeff said. “I’m not sure if bear hunting is following the doctor’s orders to lay low, though.”
“We’re not hunting, just tracking,” I said.
“And if you find this bear? What are you going to do then?”
“Call the authorities,” Landon and I said at the same time. Landon’s smile looked like a fishhook pulled back the side of his mouth, and I knew both of us were thinking the same thing—if we spotted the bear, we’d save her. Ourselves. “See you tomorrow,” he said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
We didn’t talk on the drive home from the hospital. Jeff turned into the pharmacy and didn’t say anything then, either. Just slammed his door shut and took quick steps to the store. I stayed in the truck. A few minutes later, he tossed the shopping bag onto my lap. Inside was a combination lock for my locker, a bottle of ginger ale, and a pack of vanilla cookies.
Again, I forgot that I wasn’t talking to Jeff and held up the cookies. “What are these for?”
Jeff’s shoulder popped up and down. “My dad used to get those and ginger ale for me whenever I was sick.”
“But I’m not sick.” I fingered the bandage on my head, trying to picture Jeff as a kid. I couldn’t do it.
Jeff shrugged again.
When we got home, he actually darted around the truck to open my door for me. “It’s cool, Jeff. I can walk.”
“Shut up. The doc said you might be wobbly.” He hovered just beside me up the walkway to the house. “Sit down,” he ordered, pointing to the couch.
Funny, we almost never used the living room. The big, plaid couch was older than me. The boxy television was almost as ancient. It always seemed like Jeff and I hung out in the kitchen, watching the TV in there while we ate dinner. But I sank into the couch and Jeff handed me the remote. When he just stayed there, staring at me, I tore open the cookies and crammed one in my mouth. “Don’t you have to get the Shop?”
Jeff crossed his arms. “Glen’s running things today.” He continued just standing there.
“Want one?” I held up another cookie.
Jeff grabbed the cookie and sank into the other end of the couch. I flipped on the television, and just stuck with the Discovery Channel’s Bigfoot documentary, even though we had seen it a couple weeks ago. My eyes had just drifted shut when Jeff tucked a blanket around me. Softly he said, “You worried me, kid.”
I’m not sure how long I was out, but when the doorbell rang, the room’s only light came from the television, where a show about the formation of the galaxy now played. I tried to sit up, but my head pounded. Jeff popped up and flipped on the porch light. “I’ve got it,
Noah,” he said. “Keep resting.”
Jeff opened the door and there was Ms. Jacobs, standing there in her high heels. She winked at Jeff. “Hey, handsome neighbor.”
“Sorry, Cathy,” said Jeff, already half shutting the door. “If those raccoons are back, I can’t help right now.”
“Oh, Jeff,” said Ms. Jacobs, her voice sugary. “I heard what happened to that boy today. You’ve had your hands full, haven’t you?” She stepped forward and put a hand on Jeff’s chest as she spoke. He took a step backward, but she just moved forward, like he had invited her in instead of moving away from her.
I rolled onto my side on the couch, burying my face in the nubby plaid.
“Noah’s doing fine, thanks. Now’s not a good time, though. He’s resting.” I heard the creak of the door and figured Jeff was trying to scoot her out.
“Oh, but I’ve brought you—you and Noah—something. I figured it’s been a while since you’ve had something homemade.” The smell of hamburger and potatoes wafted into the room. My stomach grumbled. Traitor stomach. “Just thought you could use a woman’s touch.” Ms. Jacobs’s voice turned to honey.
Jeff coughed. “Thanks, Cath. Appreciate it. But the kid and I are doing fine.” His voice hardened. “You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.”
“Oh, no trouble at all!” Ms. Jacobs replied. “After all you’ve done for that kid. Takes a village, you know.”
Jeff didn’t say anything.
“Do you have a couple plates?” The door creaked again, and I heard Ms. Jacobs’s heels click on the foyer tile. “Some napkins? Best to eat it while it’s hot. Maybe you and I could just have a nibble while Noah sleeps.”
“Not now, Cathy,” Jeff said, even as I heard those heels click across into the kitchen.
“Nonsense! No trouble at all!”
A cabinet door opened and closed and plates clattered onto the table. “See?” Ms. Jacobs singsonged. “Still remember my way around here, even after all this time. You remember how we used to have dinner together. Dessert, too. Remember?”
The doorway between the kitchen and living room croaked as Jeff leaned against it, halfway in the living room with me and half in the kitchen. “It’s been a long time, Cathy,” Jeff said. If Ms. Jacobs’s voice were honey, his was bark, rough and crumbly. “Thanks for the dinner, but I’m not hungry. I’ll eat with my kid.”
“But he’s not your kid, is he?” Ms. Jacobs said, the sweetness gone. “How long has been since Diane left?”
Another croak of floorboards. Cabinet door opening. Plates clattering back on their stack inside. “She comes home in a week.”
“Then what?”
“Then what what, Cathy?”
“Well, you’ve stepped up. Done your part. You have nothing to feel guilty about, Jeff.” The click of her heels moved closer to the doorway. Toward Jeff. “You’ve done more than enough. Once she’s out, she can take the boy and move on, too.”
“Now’s not a good—” The trill of the phone broke off Jeff’s words. He picked it up. “Diane! It’s Friday, I wasn’t expecting to hear from—”
Voice too high, Ms. Jacobs laughed. “Where do you keep the corkscrew, Jeffy? I’ll pop open a bottle of wine for us to have with dinner!”
“No, no, Diane. Cathy’s just leaving. That’s not—no!” I peeked over the couch arm. Jeff covered the receiver with his palm. “You need to leave, Cathy. Just grab your casserole, and get out.”
“There’s no need to be so rude!” She stomped toward the door.
“Your meatloaf!” Jeff pointed to the table.
“Keep it! Choke on it!” Cathy slammed shut the door.
Quickly, I lay back down. Too quickly, because I knocked my head on the arm and gasped at how it throbbed. I squeezed shut my eyes, feeling Jeff staring at the top of my head.
He sighed. “It’s not what it sounded like, Diane.” Long pause. “He’s fine. He’s sleeping. Want me to wake up him? … Yes, I know. I know. Look, the doc gave me all these instructions. I don’t know … Yep. Talked to the principal.”
Jeff’s voice turned cold. “I’m handling it, okay? Yes. Yes! I’ve got the kid painkillers. The doc said to let him sleep. I’m taking care of it, all right?” he boomed. “Just like I have been for the past six months. I’m. Handling. It.”
Jeff sighed and put his hand—phone still in it—at his side. “Look, I just … I’m in over my head with this kid. I need you back here. I’m not cut out … ”
I strained to hear as Jeff moved to the back porch, but the doorbell rang again.
Storming into the kitchen, I grabbed the huge casserole dish of meatloaf and whipped open the door, ready to throw it in Ms. Jacobs’s face. Instead, Rina stood in front of me, Micah in her shadow.
Rina’s eyes fluttered from the bandage on my head to the meatloaf in my arms and back up to my eyes. “Got any plates? A fork, maybe? Or are you going to T-Rex that meatloaf right out of the dish?”
I put a chunk of meatloaf onto four plates and brought them to the table, leaving a spot empty for Jeff even though Mom’s fifteen minutes were up and he still hadn’t come back inside. For a long time, none of us said anything, just shoveled the meatloaf into our mouths. Ms. Jacobs might be a man-stealing jerk, but she makes a mean meatloaf.
“Hmm, this is awesome,” Rina said. She rubbed her belly and leaned back in the chair. “Mom’s making roasted beets and chickpeas for dinner. Thank God we stopped by when we did.”
“Chickpeas look like tiny butts,” I blurted when no one said anything for a minute. Micah just sat there, smiling at me.
Rina cocked an eyebrow. “How bad was that concussion?”
“I thought we were just going for a walk, Rina,” said Micah, his mouth crammed with potato. “I like this walk.”
Rina smiled at her cousin and touched his big hand with her fingertips. “We don’t need to tell Aunt Sarah we stopped by Noah’s house, okay?”
Micah nodded, smiling. “I like Noah. I miss Noah.” To me, he said, “We play football. Right, Noah?”
My breath didn’t seem to bring enough air to my lungs and my head ached. I don’t think it had anything to do with my concussion. How could he sit there, smiling at me like this? He should hate me. Rina should hate me. I rubbed at the bandage. “We don’t play football anymore.”
“Did you get hurt, too?” Micah pointed at my head.
“Yeah, Micah, he did get hurt,” Rina answered when I couldn’t.
“You’ll get better, Noah.” He scooped up another bite. “I did. I’m better.”
I nodded, my throat choked with too many words for any to come out.
“Yes, you did,” Rina told Micah, but her eyes stayed on me. “You got better, didn’t you? Almost right away.”
“Yeah.” Micah sighed. “But Mom says no more football for me. I miss playing.”
“I have a football outside,” I heard myself say. “We could play a little now. If you want.”
If Jeff was surprised to see Rina and Micah as we came out on the back porch he didn’t say anything. “Take it easy,” was all he murmured when I rooted out the football from under all the leaves in the yard. He stubbed out his cigarette and rubbed at his face with his hands. Rina sat in the grass in front of him. The two of them had the same expression, eyes wide and happy, mouths hard and worried. “If that ball hits you in the head, Diane will kill me,” Jeff called.
Micah, though, he was pure joy as he trotted across the yard. He squatted, both hands out. “Throw it here, Noah! I’m ready!”
I tossed the ball so gently it fell with a thud in the grass in front of Micah. “Come on!” he said and threw it back at me. “I’m ready!”
This time I threw it with just a little more force. It landed in Micah’s hands. He whooped and ran around the yard like it was baseball instead of football. Jeff and Rina cheered him on, especially when he spiked the ball after a full circle. “Awesome, Micah!” I clapped as his face split with a grin.
Fifteen minutes and
just as many homerun touchdowns later, Rina said she had to get back before her mom sent out a search party. “Or worse, burns the beets.” Her nose wrinkled. “Ever smell burnt beets?”
“Thanks for stopping by,” said Jeff as we walked them to the gate.
“No problem,” Rina said.
Micah tossed the football hand to hand, still smiling. He handed it to me, but I handed it back. “You can have it.”
“Really, Noah?”
I nodded. “I don’t play anymore.”
“Because you got hurt?”
I tried to say no but my throat closed again. Micah pressed the ball into my arms. “You’ll get better,” he said. “Just like me.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, the words snagging like briars on the way out. “I’m so sorry, Micah.”
I didn’t think he’d know what I meant. After all, he had been so happy to see me. To play football with me. That had to mean he didn’t remember, right? Mom once told me that Micah “has some missing connections.” So I figured he didn’t remember I was the one who had hurt him. But Micah pushed the ball toward me with more force. I looked into his face. “I forgive you,” he said. He let go of the ball and I held onto it.
For just a second the smile he always wore was gone. Just as quick it came back. “You’ll get better. I did.” He pointed to the football. “We can play again.”
I guess I stumbled a little because suddenly Jeff was there, arm around me, holding me up.
“Hang on a sec!” Rina called out to Micah as the gate clicked shut. She darted back in front of us. Jeff squeezed my shoulder and stepped back as Rina leaned in and whispered, “Want to take it back?”
“Take what back?”
She crossed her arms, the moonlight making her smile shine and her eyes glitter. Her breath frosted the air in little white clouds. “I seem to remember you saying something about it being too late? About me being pretty dumb? You know, right before that bucket slammed into your skull.”
Jeff snorted and walked back toward the house. He whistled under his breath.
“You were right,” I muttered.
