Calli

by Jessica Anderson

  She dials Liz’s number and taps her long fingernails against her desk. “This is Mrs. Cunningham, and Calli’s in the nurse’s office right now. I’m concerned she might have head injury complications.”

  Ugh—I finally did a good job lying, but the way she puts it makes it seem like I lied too well. I should’ve just said I have a terrible headache, but she never lets anyone go home for a headache. Cramps either for that matter.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Cunningham continues. She nods her head in agreement to something I’m not aware of. “That’s what I suggest.” I can’t overhear anything Liz is saying.

  “Thanks,” I say slowly after she hangs up. “Am I going home?”

  “Your mom is on her way to take you to the emergency room.”

  The emergency room?

  “I might’ve exaggerated my symptoms,” I say, talking much quicker, but it’s clear Mrs. Cunningham isn’t going to change her mind.

  EMERGENCY ROOM: PART II

  Thursday, May 1

  LIZ ISN’T THE ONE who picks me up. Mom does. So much for not worrying her.

  “Is Liz okay?” I ask when my mother signs me out of the office.

  “She’s fine, but she has a bunch of meetings. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?” Mom helps me into the car. “I wouldn’t have been upset. You know that, right?”

  “Of course. I was having a rough day, but I don’t need to go to the ER,” I say on the verge of confessing more. Then I think about how Liz said Mom hasn’t been feeling well.

  “Well, Mrs. Cunningham was concerned, and I am too. You don’t have an option.”

  How did I mess things up this bad?

  St. David’s emergency room reeks of harsh cleaning chemicals. After checking in, a nurse tells us to take a seat in the waiting room. We sit near an elderly lady in a wheelchair who coughs uncontrollably. I cover my mouth with my hand so I don’t catch what she has.

  She needs to be at the ER. Not me.

  The old lady gets wheeled back. I wait, wait, wait. By the time the nurse calls “Gilbeaux,” I really do have a headache. Pounding. Throbbing. Maybe it isn’t a bad idea to have my head examined.

  Some skinny doctor looks me over and asks me to tell her everything that’s happened and asks me those silly questions Ambulance Guy asked and makes me touch my fingers to the tip of my nose. She gets close to my face and examines my pupils. Her breath smells like sausage.

  “To be on the safe side, I’m going to order a CT scan,” Dr. Sausage Breath tells Mom.

  “Are you sure I need it?”

  “Calli, please just do what the doctor says.” The rash on Mom’s face is back. That malaria medicine isn’t helping.

  I don’t argue with Mom, and I don’t argue with Dr. Sausage Breath. I begin to shake when a nurse wheels me off in a wheelchair like the one the old coughing lady was sitting in. I’d like to wipe it down with Mom’s alcohol wipes or a whole bucket of vinegar.

  “I love you,” Mom says, walking us out.

  I wish she could stay with me. “I love you too.”

  The nurse wheels me down a few hallways to a dark area where some older guy smacking his gum makes me lie on a table in front of this big white machine.

  “Do you need a blanket? Looks like you’ve got the chills,” the gum smacker says, placing a pillow underneath my neck.

  “No.” I’m thinking of how Cherish had been so abused that she ended up at the hospital and probably had to have similar tests. She had to have felt entirely worse than I’m feeling now.

  I want to be home now more than ever. I should’ve stayed at school. I should’ve told Gunner off. I should’ve waited for Dub. I should’ve done everything differently.

  Gum Smacker explains the procedure. I cringe as he pokes an IV into my vein and injects some medicine. My brain is going to glow like a jack-o’-lantern.

  The table moves into a tunnel that spins around and the doctor takes pictures of the insides of my head. The whole room feels like it’s moving.

  “Hold your breath,” he says into a microphone a couple of times. I hold my breath for a few seconds even after he tells me I can breathe again. Other than the needle and the glowing brain aspect, the scan isn’t too bad, and I’m finally wheeled back to the room where Mom’s waiting.

  She looks ashen, like she’s about to either throw up or pass out. “You okay?”

  “My chest,” she whispers. “Pain in my left arm.”

  I jump out of the chair and the nurse rushes over to Mom, checking her pulse like Ambulance Guy checked mine. “Code Blue!” the nurse yells. “Code Blue!”

  EMERGENCY ROOM: PART III

  Thursday, May 1

  MY LUNGS FEEL LIKE THEY’VE QUIT WORKING as a team of doctors and nurses rushes in. Mom lies down on the ER bed. They put a mask over her face. A nurse escorts me out of the miniscule room.

  I don’t want to leave my mother, but I need to call Liz. I pray as I head to the nurse’s station. Be okay, Mom. God, please tell me she’s going to be okay.

  The nurse lets me use her phone. As soon as Liz picks up, I manage to say, “Mom’s really sick. Come to St. David’s Hospital. Now.”

  Please God. Please be okay, Mom.

  It seems like an eternity before Liz gets to the emergency room and finds us. Her whole body droops as she asks, “How’s she doing?” Mom’s sleeping with her mouth slightly open and she’s wired up to a heart monitor, oxygen machine, and IV pole pumping several different kinds of liquid into her veins.

  “Better now. The medicine’s making her sleepy.”

  Liz hugs me. I can feel her nerves vibrating.

  “Are you Brandi Clovis’s family?” Dr. Sausage Breath asks Liz when she returns a while later to check on Mom.

  Liz shakes the doctor’s hand but leaves the question unanswered. Places like hospitals have weird rules about these sorts of family-only things.

  “Yes,” I answer for Liz. It’s the truth. We’re not blood related, but she’s more than my mom’s partner. She’s a better parent than my own flesh-and-blood father.

  “Brandi’s symptoms mirrored that of a heart attack,” Dr. Sausage Breath explains. “But she has a condition known as pericarditis. The sac around the heart is infected. Some medication should help relieve the pain and inflammation. Antibiotics will take care of the infection.”

  “Will she be all right?” I need her to say Mom’s going to be fine.

  “I suspect she’ll make a relatively quick recovery.” Dr. Sausage Breath goes into detail about how the sac protects the heart, and how Mom’s got inflamed from an infection caused by lupus. “The inflammation should improve without causing damage to the heart. I suggest she take things easy for a while and minimize stress.”

  Liz squeezes my hand. Is she trying to tell me something? That I’m the one most responsible for minimizing Mom’s stress? Liz isn’t shaking anymore, but her hand is icy.

  Dr. Sausage Breath looks at Liz and says, “Calli’s CT scan came back normal. I suggest she take it easy as well.”

  I’d almost forgotten about why we came in the first place. “Praise God,” Liz says, burying her face in her hands. Her hands cover her eyes, but they don’t muffle her sniffles.

  After we’ve waited around for hours, Dr. Sausage Breath discharges us. Mom’s groggy and her head lolls forward when the nurse wheels her to the front of the hospital. I don’t leave her side as Liz brings the station wagon around. It’s dark outside, and I feel that way inside.

  Mom stumbles when she crawls into the passenger seat. Liz buckles her in and pushes the hair out of her face and kisses her on the forehead. “I’ve let you down,” she whispers.

  Mom’s so sleepy she doesn’t respond.

  I’m the one who’s let everyone down, but now isn’t the time to announce it. I stare out the window and press the inside of my lips against my braces. The pain in my mouth is nothing compared to the ache I feel everywhere else.

  The refineries at night look like a space city�
�glowing yellow from the many lights. A flame shoots from a lone tower, like a giant match about to wreak havoc.

  I know in my heart that Mom wouldn’t be this sick if it hadn’t been for me. I’m more toxic than the refineries.

  Liz leads Mom to bed, and I take Sassy outside. After my dog does her business and comes back in, she dances circles around me for attention. I find her plush rabbit on the living-room floor and toss it across the room. She zooms back with the stuffed toy hanging from her mouth. I pull the rabbit from her strong jaws and chuck it down the hall right as Liz walks out of the bedroom. It pelts her in the side.

  Sassy runs after the rabbit, knocking into Liz too. “Good aim, both of you.”

  When Sassy brings the toy back, I throw it again, this time careful not to hit Liz as she walks over to me.

  Her voice sounds exhausted when she asks, “You up for some tea?”

  “Sure.” I need something warm, something soothing after today. I follow Liz into the kitchen and continue playing with Sassy. I hold the rabbit, now wet with dog slobber, for Sassy to tug. She’s so strong that I lose my grip. Sassy runs away with it in her mouth.

  Liz heats some water and then drops tea bags into the pot. Chamomile, not peppermint. My stomach grumbles but I don’t want to eat. Not even if Liz offered me an assortment of candy bars.

  “You were really strong today,” Liz says as she brings our cups to the table.

  “No, I wasn’t.” It’s hard to swallow. Sitting at the kitchen table reminds me of what happened with Cherish. This whole situation feels like one nightmare after another. “I couldn’t even handle school today, so I went to the nurse to get out of it. I almost killed Mom.”

  “That’s not true. Things happen for a reason. Brandi’s been complaining that she hasn’t felt good lately, and I should’ve made her go to the clinic awhile ago. If she hadn’t been at the hospital today . . .” Tears fill her eyes yet another time. Mine too. “You didn’t make her sick, Calli. Lupus did.”

  “But I’ve stressed her out.”

  Liz’s silence confirms my guilt. She sips her tea and stares into the living room as Sassy flips her toy up into the air and pounces on it.

  The tea is too hot for me to drink. I blow on the steam, watching it circle in the air. It reminds me of the video Mr. Hatley showed of bubbling crude oil turning into gas.

  “How can I make things better, Liz?”

  She shrugs. I want her to have the answers. To take charge like she did when the hurricane hit, keeping us all safe from the high winds and flooding downpours. To fix things like she’s able to repair complicated machines.

  It isn’t up to her though. The responsibility is mine. “I tried calling Michelle,” I admit before daring to take a sip of the tea.

  Liz raises her bushy eyebrows. “You did? About what?”

  “I left her a message, but she hasn’t called back. I wanted more information about Cherish and to tell her that I think you and Mom are making a mistake. Fostering has been your dream.”

  Liz’s silence bothers me once more, and then she says something surprising. “I went to Cherish’s hearing. From what I understand she’ll have additional hearings, and the judge wants her to get help since she’s been abused and is now displaying negative behavior patterns.”

  So that’s where Liz must’ve gone the other morning following the big fight and why she couldn’t pick me up from school. Anger swirls inside me like steam. “Why didn’t you or Mom give me an update?”

  Liz doesn’t even bother shrugging. “We didn’t want to upset you any more than you’ve been already.”

  “How is not knowing going to help me?” I should lower my voice so I won’t disturb my mother, but I can’t hold my feelings in any longer. “You and Mom keep telling me that I can talk to you, but you have to talk to me too! We have to be honest with each other if we’re going to get through this.”

  Liz clasps her hands together sort of prayerlike. “You’re right, Calli.”

  I really can’t believe Liz saw Cherish and didn’t say anything to me. Questions flood my mind. “Did you get to talk to her? Is she okay?”

  “We didn’t have a chance to talk, but she waved at me and seemed sorry for her actions.”

  Sorry isn’t going to change the outcome, but I hope it helps Cherish’s case. This conversation makes me want to talk to Michelle even more to see if I can visit the girl who used to be my foster sister.

  BALLOON

  Friday, May 2

  SASSY’S JUMPING BY THE DOOR, barking after the UPS guy drops off a package for Mom. Then my crazy dog crashes into the boxes that Michelle still needs to pick up. Mom’s in her room, and I wonder if I should wake her. It’s two in the afternoon and she’s been sleeping since we got home last night. Maybe this package will lift her spirits.

  The UPS driver is long gone, but Sassy barks a few more times. I don’t tell her to hush because maybe the racket will make Mom wake up on her own. Plus, the house has been so quiet, so vacant, that it’s good to hear Sassy’s familiar, protective noise.

  Mom and Liz had both suggested I stay home from school today, and I agreed it would be for the best. I’ll have to make up a lot of homework since I’ve missed so much school, but it’s important to be here in case Mom needs me. Liz took the morning off but got called in this afternoon.

  When I talked to Dub last night, he was as understanding as I’d hoped he’d be. He promised to help me with my assignments.

  The package isn’t heavy. A pound, maybe two. Sassy sniffs it, wary after running into Cherish’s boxes.

  I knock on Mom’s bedroom door, but she doesn’t answer. I knock again, louder this time, and I hear her faintly say, “Come in.”

  Mom sits up when I enter. Sassy jumps onto the bed so lightly, so gracefully, it’s like she can sense Mom’s illness. “This came for you,” I explain, passing her the box. As soon as she rips it open, I wish I would’ve refused the package or thrown it away without her knowing. What’s inside doesn’t add a bit of cheer. It’s a tutoring book Mom had ordered for Cherish awhile back.

  Mom’s face tightens like she’s trying to hide her emotions from me. I look away, and a photo on her nightstand of me, Cherish, and Sassy catches my attention. Our heads are crowned in sparkly Happy New Year’s hats. Cherish and I are both smiling cheesy smiles. It even looks like Sassy is smiling too because the photo catches her midpant. I wasn’t happy, I remember, but I pretended to be for Mom’s sake.

  “I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’ll put this with Cherish’s stack of things.” I turn to leave with the book in hand, but I can’t move. I’m overwhelmed by a memory.

  When people at the Academy of the Holy Rosary found out about my moms’ relationship, the school board held a meeting.

  I told Mom and Liz, “I can lie if you need me to.”

  “That would be wrong,” Mom had said. “We are who we are and want to live an honest life with as few deceptions as possible.”

  I knew what she meant at the time, but now I finally understand why she said it. “Can I talk to you?”

  Mom taps the bed for me to join her. I set the book near the picture frame and climb into the bed like I used to do when I was younger. The mattress is cushy, and the sheets smell like lavender. “What’s on your mind, baby girl?”

  I pick at a small bump of fabric on the comforter. “I wish you would’ve said something to me about not fostering anymore or mentioned Cherish’s hearing.”

  Mom’s eyes don’t meet mine. She runs her hand over the pilled comforter too. “We did what we thought was for the best.”

  “That’s what Liz said. I don’t think it’s for the best though. I know you’re trying to protect me—I keep thinking I’m protecting you when I don’t tell you things, but it’s only made things worse.” I should stop talking. I’ve already said too much. Liz will be upset with me for stressing Mom out. My mother’s heart sac is infected, and she needs rest. But I’m tired of holding back. Pretending. Deceiving. “I�
�ve already talked to Liz, but there’s some stuff I want you to know.” Sassy jumps off the bed like she can sense the tension. Mom stops rubbing the comforter and looks at me while I explain how badly I’ve screwed things up. By the time I stop to catch my breath, I feel drained but somehow renewed. Like a deflated balloon blown back up again.

  I search Mom’s face for any extra pain I might have inflicted, to see if her rash has worsened. She seems no worse. Her eyes, dull last night, have regained some of their normal sparkle. The medicine already seems to be working.

  “What Cherish did was inappropriate, but two wrongs don’t make a right. I’m sorry for not being there for you like I should’ve been.” Mom chokes up when she reaches for my hand like she did at the park. The vein on the top of hers is lumpy and bruised from the IV. I thank God she’s okay and cuddle up to her like old times.

  When Mom asks me if I’d like to talk to a counselor, I tell her maybe and add that there’s something else I want to say.

  Mom pulls her hand away like she’s afraid of what I’ll admit next. “You and Liz should rethink being foster parents.”

  “But Calli . . .”

  “I know you’re not feeling well and the timing is horrible, but you’re such a good mom. Other kids need your help.”

  Mom doesn’t hide her emotions right now. She reaches for a tissue to dry her eyes. “I lost you in a store, and I let you get attacked.”

  I remember something else—a quote Grandma liked to recite. “Circumstances don’t make a person . . .”

  “They reveal her,” Mom says, finishing the sentence.

  “You know how much fostering means to Liz. I’ve been thinking about this a lot. A second chance with Cherish is impossible, but there’s hope with Lemond. He needs us. It’s a short-term placement, and we could treat it like a trial. If it doesn’t work out then we can all agree that it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “It might not even be possible, but I’ll give it some serious consideration,” Mom says.