Mom didn’t erupt. She didn’t yell. She didn’t say some vicious, sarcastic thing.
Instead, she closed the door behind her.
Then she walked up and stood behind the back of the couch. Neither Ryan nor Dianne turned on the couch to look at her. They were both looking down at their laps, waiting, waiting.
Mom’s voice was quiet. “You were very observant, Dianne,” said Mom. “And Ryan, I appreciate your effort to be loyal to me.”
Then silence. A long silence.
“Was Dianne right?” asked Ryan.
“About what?” asked Mom.
“That you were pregnant last spring.”
“She was right. Your father and I had always talked about having four children. Two of each gender would be nice, but we’d take whatever came. But Dianne was a tough delivery and some other things went wrong and I required a couple of surgeries, so for a long time we held off, and then we just kept holding off, but last winter we decided to try again, and within a couple of months, there I was. Pregnant again. Puking again. That’s what pregnancy has always meant to me. And this time I really couldn’t handle it. I hate being nauseated, I hate throwing up, and so I’d wake up in the morning having a panic attack because I could feel that I was going to throw up, and Dad would bring me toast and warm water, try to settle my stomach, but I’d puke anyway. He’d help me in there, he’d keep me from panicking, or he’d help me get over the panic attack. It was just hell on wheels, but he kept saying, it’s gonna be worth it, the baby’s gonna be wonderful like the two we already have, you know it’ll be worth it.”
It sounded like Dad.
Dianne said, “And that worked?”
“No,” said Mom. “He did everything he could, but it didn’t work. And I kept thinking, I’m too old to chase a crawler or a climber all over the house, that was fifteen years ago, thirteen years ago, but I can’t do that this time, I’m going to be a horrible mother to any baby that comes along now, this was a stupid, stupid mistake, and all the things your father did to try to help, they just made me angrier and more panicky and I hated it all.”
Another long silence. The fervor in Mom’s voice, the naked emotion—that was familiar, but somehow it didn’t sound like one of her diatribes. It was a memory. She was telling them how it felt.
And then Ryan understood what she was saying. Why she was saying it. Because . . .
“It wasn’t a miscarriage,” said Ryan.
“No,” said Mom.
Another long silence.
“It was an abortion,” said Dianne.
“It was a termination of an unwanted pregnancy, still in the first trimester,” said Mom.
“Whatever,” said Dianne.
And Ryan said, “But you didn’t tell Dad till after it was done.”
“I had my tubes tied. I didn’t tell him that, either. I said ‘miscarriage’ and he didn’t doubt me. Until he saw the denial-of-coverage letter, even though I had specifically asked the doctor not to file with the insurance company. Dad asked me to explain what medical expense I had and why the letter said I had not asked for coverage.”
“So it was the lie,” said Ryan. “And no possibility of another try.”
“It was the fact that I got pregnant as part of a decision we made together, but I ended it on my own,” said Mom.
As far as Ryan could remember, this was the first time Mother had actually taken responsibility for anything she did wrong. That was something she just didn’t do. Except for this time. Maybe because this time, it was so huge it was tearing up the family.
“If I had told him I wanted to terminate the pregnancy,” said Mom, “he would have talked me out of it.”
Ryan knew it was true. At least the first time she proposed it. Though if Mom kept trying, she usually got her way.
“And I didn’t want to be talked out of it,” said Mom. “I didn’t want any more panic attacks. I didn’t want any more bending over the toilet and puking up my spleen. I was done.”
Ryan got up from the couch. “This is my bed,” he said. “If I had another, I’d go to it and think about things while I tried to go to sleep. But I’ve got nowhere else to go.”
Dianne got up. “Mom, thank you for telling us.”
“I know you hate me now,” said Mom in a very small voice.
“You’re the only mother we’ve got,” said Ryan. “We know you and we love you and—”
“I don’t hate anybody,” said Dianne.
“I know that I’m a loon,” said Mom.
“She didn’t mean that,” said Ryan.
“Emotions just . . . it’s hard not to just let them go, let them out,” said Mom. “I’m not . . . contained, like your dad. I just can’t, I’m not—I think I loved him because he not only contained himself, he could contain me, most of the time. All the time, until . . . this last thing.”
Ryan walked around the couch. He was so angry and hurt and . . . mostly angry. Because doing what she did without telling Dad, and then lying about it—he knew what that had done to Dad. He didn’t even have to talk to Dad about it. And because she had also lied to Ryan and Dianne, with her mutterings that implied adultery or bigamy or something that made it Dad’s fault, Mom had made Ryan be angry with Father, and that was wrong.
Hardest thing he ever did, or close to it, was walking up to Mom that night and holding her in his arms and hugging her while she sobbed against his shoulder.
Because with Dad gone, that was his job now. Taking out the garbage, emptying the dishwasher, and holding Mom when she was falling apart. Always used to be Dad’s job, but he wasn’t here.
How is love even possible? Ryan wondered. How can you promise loyalty forever, no matter what? How can anybody ever say words like that?
Only because they don’t know what they’re saying, thought Ryan. Because even a word-keeping man like Dad can say them and mean them, and then one day something happens that he just can’t bear. Something that tears up his promise without him being able to stop it. Something that tears up his love.
Or was Dad over in his camper, his movable office, somehow forgiving Mom and figuring out a way to make it all better again?
It could never be good again. The betrayal, the lie, would always be there, it wouldn’t be undone, it couldn’t be. How could Father forgive it?
If anybody can, thought Ryan, Father can.
If Bizzy did that to me, could I forgive her?
He felt a rush of emotion. His love for Bizzy. Tears came to his eyes. I hope I could. I hope I’d be man enough to forgive her, and take her back, and . . . and forgive her. Really make it all better again.
I hope Father can, thought Ryan. But I have no right to ask him, or prod him, or anything. That’s something inside him, something he has to figure out, if he even wants to get his marriage put back together. I’m not part of that. I’m never even going to hint that I know what really happened. Dad has to work it out alone.
The two people I loved most in all the world, before meeting Bizzy, they’re going through a soul-wrecking emergency, and screw my stupid micropower, I did nothing about it. I had no heroic rescue in my toolkit. There was no bee I could put in my mouth, no stinger I could flick away, no evil enemy I could jab in the throat, not even a car I could step in front of. My micropower was useless, is useless, in the worst crisis of my family’s life.
But Bizzy loves me, thought Ryan.
Mom stopped crying, pulled out of Ryan’s embrace, patted his shoulder. “So many tears on your shirt,” said Mother. “I’m sorry I leaned on you like that.”
For a mad second, Ryan thought of singing, “Lean on me, brother, when . . .” No, those weren’t the words. “You just call on me . . .” The fact that he couldn’t remember how the old Bill Withers hit went saved him from the humiliation of trying to sing it to his mother. In front of his sister.
<
br /> Dianne whispered, “I’ll help you carry on.” Those were words from the song. She was thinking the same damn thing. Ryan looked at her and winked. Dianne grinned.
This had been terrible, but it had gone way better than they feared. Way better than they could have imagined. What would happen tomorrow was impossible to guess. But tonight, their private conversation that ended up being overheard, it was exactly the right thing, because nobody was attacking Mom to her face; they were just trying to work out what happened, and Mom was able to listen to it and decide to tell them the truth.
Without blaming Dad.
Such a milestone for Mom. Such a hurdle to get over. Ryan was proud of her.
Proud of Dianne, too.
And, yeah, why not. Proud of himself.
Not a micropower. Just learning to be a decent human being. Learning to be a grownup. Maybe I can do this thing. Life. Maybe I’ll even be good at it.
18
First thing in the morning, Ryan called Dr. Withunga. She wasn’t thrilled about a six am call, but when Ryan explained, she listened. “One of the people watching us—well, watching Bizzy—he confirms that the loveks exist, though he claims he’s trying to help protect the Horvats. Now he wants to come talk to her without getting himself cursed to oblivion.”
“And you don’t know whether you can trust him.”
“I kind of do trust him,” said Ryan, “but it’s not my life on the line, and my dad said, is there anything that GRUT can do to help Mrs. Horvat be safe?”
“Excellent question,” said Dr. Withunga. “To which I don’t know the answer. I know all the micropowers discovered in our area so far, but whether they can be adapted to defensive use, and whether the micropotents are willing to try, that’s not mine to say.”
“Meaning not yours to ask of them,” said Ryan.
“I can inquire,” said Dr. Withunga, “but in a context where it’s easy for them to decide not to speak up.”
“I get that,” said Ryan. Even though he thought Dr. Withunga might have tried to urge them instead of making it easy for them to—no, she was right. Every micropower was personal and some of them were terrible, like Bizzy’s. How would he feel if Dr. Withunga tried to pressure her to do something dangerously public with glamor-face? People needed to be able to choose what risks they were willing to take, what costs they would pay for someone else’s benefit. Superman in the comics could do whatever was in his power, because bullets couldn’t pierce him, falling wouldn’t kill him, and also he didn’t actually exist. All the micropots did, in fact, exist, and were vulnerable in ways that most humans were not.
“That doesn’t mean it isn’t worth trying,” said Dr. Withunga. “The GRUT group that meets at your school is too small and they’ve already made the drive once this week. Do you think you and Bizzy could ride with me to Danville?”
“That’s a couple of hours each way,” said Ryan.
“I’m not Uber, you ride for free,” said Dr. Withunga. “I can assemble a much larger group in Danville, though most of them will have to drive at least an hour to get there. And I’m quite sure some of them—many of them—will try to think of ways to help.”
“Which is more than I could do for any of them,” said Ryan.
“Oh, I think you’d try, Ryan,” said Dr. Withunga. “We can’t be sure that you have to really know and love somebody before your micropower kicks in. And if someone was in real danger, I think you’d be willing to try.”
Ryan wasn’t sure of that at all, though it was nice she thought he was that altruistic.
“Shall we leave from your school straight after the last class? You and Bizzy?”
“Give us time to go to our lockers and the restroom, and yes, sure. Let’s say, after the buses all go.”
“I’ll be in the turnaround at the front of your school.”
“What kind of car do you drive?” asked Ryan.
“The kind that has me sitting in the driver’s seat.”
Ryan thought of scanning cars to see if Dr. Withunga was driving, instead of somebody’s mother. If he could look, so could some weird stalker. “Everybody will see us,” said Ryan.
“Everybody sees everything,” said Dr. Withunga. “That’s human life.”
On the way to school that morning, Bizzy agreed that going to a big GRUT conference in Danville might be the best thing they could do, and not telling her mother in advance would also be a good thing. “She’ll curse you when she finds out,” said Ryan.
“Not if we bring her serious protection,” said Bizzy.
“Yeah, that’s right. Your mother is rational, now that we know this lovek thing isn’t paranoia.”
“Just because they’re really after you doesn’t mean you’re not paranoid,” said Bizzy. “And speaking of paranoid, what is it you’re not telling me?”
Ryan had no answer.
“Your silence is a confession that there is something you’re not telling,” said Bizzy. “But I already knew, because you and Dianne had this long family conversation with your front door standing open. Guess who else’s front door can be left open a few inches?”
“You listened in?”
“You didn’t close your door. No expectation of privacy.”
“The Supreme Court ruling on this is fascinating, but—”
“Ryan,” said Bizzy, “my eavesdropping ended when your mom went inside and closed the door behind her. So just tell me this. Was Dianne’s scenario right?”
“Not completely,” said Ryan. “But mostly.”
“What made it ‘not completely’?”
“It was an abortion,” said Ryan, feeling as if he was betraying his family by saying so.
Bizzy said nothing.
“She told Dad it was a miscarriage,” said Ryan.
“I don’t need to know any more,” said Bizzy. “Thanks for trusting me with such a hard secret.”
After telling Bizzy, Ryan felt a lot better, because she was his best friend now. Ryan could never have said anything about secret family stuff to Defenseur because the boy was terminally indiscreet. And Ryan couldn’t have taken the inevitable teasing. He hadn’t really known what a true friend was until Bizzy.
He went through school in a kind of daze, even more than usual, because he was worried about his parents, sick at heart especially about his dad.
On top of all that, there was the lovek problem, and the upcoming meeting with a big GRUT conference, and what he would say to them to explain the problem, though it wasn’t really his place to say anything because it was about the Horvats, and Bizzy was way better at explaining things than Ryan was, so why had he thought it would somehow be his job?
Right after the last bell, Ryan called his dad. “Yes, I’m in GRUT, so you win, but Dr. Withunga is taking me and Bizzy to a big meeting in Danville because we’re hoping to assemble a team to deal with stuff for the Horvats. We won’t be back till ten at the earliest.”
Of course Dad asked if Ryan had notified Mom.
“I have not, Dad. We have to leave right away and I don’t have an hour to deal with Mom’s resentment and anxiety and whatever.”
“Your one hour becomes two hours and a lot of screaming if I try to do it for you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” said Ryan. “I owe you a big one.”
“Kid, you already owe me everything you are and ever will be. This is a drop in the bucket.”
“Dad. Seriously. I’m grateful to you for coming through for me, even for stupid selfish lazy stunts like dumping this on you.”
“I hope whatever you’re doing works out. And if it turns out this was just a scam for you to get some alone time with the girl next door—”
“Dr. Withunga will be in the car. Maybe a couple of dozen people in the meeting. No alone time.”
“I’m glad I built the Horvats a deck so you can get some alo
ne time with her.”
“I think Mrs. Horvat is always in the kitchen listening to everything we say.”
“Then she’s a good mom,” said Dad.
“Thanks for signing that permission slip against my will.”
“I aim to please. Have fun. Be safe.” And he hung up.
Ryan turned around to find Bizzy standing right there. “Is it your plan to keep Dr. Withunga waiting?”
* * *
The drive down to Danville was excruciating, mostly because Ryan wasn’t free to talk to Bizzy about all the stuff that was on his mind. But it was okay because Bizzy and Dr. Withunga did girl-talk stuff in the front and Ryan mostly vegged out in the back seat and looked at all the trees and the occasional houses and gas stations and villages they passed.
Getting around Lynchburg was always tricky, because the highway designers constantly tried to send you to Appomattox, and you had to keep exiting from the main highway to stay on US 29.
Ryan was about to warn Dr. Withunga about the treacherous highway design and inadequate signage when he saw she was executing the route flawlessly, without resorting to GPS. She must make this drive all the time, thought Ryan. In fact, she actually lives in . . . where? He didn’t really know. It was surprising how incurious he was about adults who didn’t actually matter to him personally. Yes, he trusted her. He relied on her enough that calling her was his first thought this morning, before even peeing or brushing the morning breath out of his mouth. But that didn’t make her an important person to him. She was in the category of resource. Or teacher. She was Mr. Hardesty, pretty much. At the top of the teacher list.
They were meeting at an elementary school in Danville. “I have arrangements with schools in all the cities in my area,” said Dr. Withunga. “I even have keys to some where a custodian isn’t there after hours.”
“That’s trust,” said Bizzy.
“I keep waiting for a micropotent to show up who can open locks without keys and then lock them again.” Dr. Withunga sighed. “You can’t file a request for particular powers. You just take what comes.”
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