by Darlene Ryan
“Jason’s drinking,” Dad said. His voice was cold.
Anne nodded. “I know. I heard.” She looked tired. There were puffy pouches under both her eyes.
“And Izzy’s been covering for him.”
My own anger finally spilled over. “What should I have done, Dad?” I shouted. “Come back to the hospital and say, ‘Jason’s drunk and he smells like a sewer’? Yeah, I remember what it was like with Jason at the hospital the last time. Don’t you remember what it was like for all of us at the hospital this time?”
He looked away from me.
“I thought you had enough hurt to carry around. And I figured when things got better I’d tell you.” I looked up at the ceiling for a moment and swallowed a couple of times so I wouldn’t start crying. “But they didn’t.”
The silence hung like a haze in the room.
“I’m all through,” Dad said at last, still not looking at me. “I don’t care what Jason does. I don’t care what he drinks, what he takes, what he shoves up his nose or in his arm. I’m done.”
“No! We have to find him. Dad. All of his stuff—it’s gone. The CD player, his keyboard—the furniture.”
Anne shook her head. “Don’t do this, Marc,” she said.
“I. Don’t. Care.” He said each word slowly, carefully, as though he was speaking a different language. Finally he looked at me. There was nothing in his face. No anger. No hurt. No sadness.
I turned away, pulling on my hat.
“Where are you going?” Dad asked.
This time I didn’t look at him. “To find Jason,” I said.
His hand snapped out like a snake striking. He grabbed my right arm just below the shoulder. “No, you’re not.”
I tried to pull back and twist out of his grip, but he held on tightly. “Let go!” I shouted.
“No!” He gave me a little shake. His face had gone white with fury except for two red blotches, one on each cheek.
“I have to find Jason,” I shouted. I was half crying and trying to catch my breath. “He’s in trouble. Let me go!”
Anne stepped between us then. She put her hands on Dad’s chest. “Let go of her, Marc,” she said. “Now.” Her voice grew more insistent. “Let go.” She kept her face in front of his so he had to look at her, and in a moment he dropped his hand. I could still feel his fingers on my arm.
“Jesus, Anne,” he said, almost whispering the words. “What am I supposed to do? Jason’s a freaking screwup. How many times am I supposed to bail him out? How many chances is he supposed to get?”
“I don’t know,” Anne said, her hands sliding off his chest.
I pulled on my gloves and moved toward the door. “I’m going,” I said.
Anne studied Dad’s face. Then she let out a breath and turned to me. “Isabelle. Wait.” She took three steps past me and grabbed her big duffle coat from a hanger in the closet.
Dad swung back around to face us. “Anne, what the hell are you doing?”
She buttoned the jacket and checked both pockets before she looked at him. “Look what losing our baby has done to us, Marc,” she said. “What will losing Jason do?”
“Rescuing Jason won’t make up for losing … for what happened.”
She pressed her lips together and I knew she was trying not to cry. “Maybe. But I don’t want to bury another child.” She turned to me and straightened her shoulders. Her eyes were very bright. “Let’s go,” she said.
I opened the door and stepped outside, keeping my eyes on Anne and not once looking back.
30
I shivered. It seemed a lot colder than it had been earlier.
Rafe was parked across the street. He got out of the car and crossed to us.
“Did you find him?” I asked, even though I knew the answer was no. If Rafe had found Jason, Jason would’ve been here, even if Rafe had to throw Jason in the back and tie him down with the seat belt.
Rafe shook his head. “You talk to your dad?” he asked, his eyes flicking over to Anne for a second.
All I could do was nod.
“So now what?”
“We need to find Jason,” Anne said, pulling a hat and gloves out of her coat pocket.
Rafe turned to face her. “He’s not in front of the liquor store and no one there’s seen him today. I checked the alley and even the dumpsters. I went back to the apartment and checked all around there, too.”
“Isabelle, is there anywhere Jason might go?” Anne asked.
I had to think for a minute, hunched up against the cold with my fingers pulled into my sleeves for warmth. “The diner maybe,” I said finally. “He used to spend a lot of time in the music room at the library. And there was this club—I can’t remember the name, but it’s at the bottom of Alexander Street—he plays there sometimes. At least I think he still does.” It struck me that I knew very little about Jason’s life anymore. That I hadn’t wanted to.
“Let’s start at the library,” Anne said. “It’s the closest.”
“I can drive,” Rafe said.
“Thanks.” Anne gave him what passed for a smile.
Rafe put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me against him as we headed for the car. It was like being wrapped in a warm blanket. “You gonna tell me what’s going on?” he asked in a low voice.
“Later,” I said. “What if we can’t find Jason?” I asked Anne.
“We haven’t even looked yet.”
“What if he’s … ?” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
Anne touched my arm and it seemed as though I could feel the warmth of her hand through my coat and her glove. “Let’s just look, okay?” she said.
“Okay.”
As Rafe pulled away from the curb I couldn’t help looking back over my shoulder at the house. I didn’t really know what I hoped to see—the twitch of a curtain maybe, something to show that Dad was watching. But nothing moved.
Jason wasn’t at the library. Anne checked the music room while Rafe and I searched the stacks on both floors. I remembered that when Jason used to get stoned, sometimes he’d sleep in the upstairs reading alcoves. When I turned the corner at the end of a long shelf of books and saw a pair of knobby-soled black boots sticking into the aisle, I felt a rush of exhilaration. At the same time my legs went all soft, like I was held together by a Slinky instead of bones.
It wasn’t Jason. It was a guy about the same age with his tongue stuck in the mouth of the girl on his lap. I had the urge to kick his feet and knock them both to the floor. I caught my foot starting to move and quickly stepped over his outstretched legs, mumbling “excuse me” as I went by.
There were maybe a dozen people at the diner. And none of them were Jason. “I’ll check the can,” Rafe said. “You never know.”
Anne was at the counter by the cash register. “I’m going to get coffee,” she said. “Would you like hot chocolate?”
“Okay,” I said without looking around. I was watching the sidewalk through the plate-glass window, hoping somehow that Jason would come sauntering past.
“What about Rafe?” Anne asked, just as he came from the back of the restaurant shaking his head.
I turned away from the window then. “Oh, uh, coffee for him. Two cream, two sugar.”
We sat in the car, hands warming around our cardboard cups. “You said there’s a place Jason used to play,” Anne said, leaning forward with her elbows up on the back of the front seat.
“Yeah,” I said. “I can’t remember the name of the place, but I think I could find it.”
“Good. What about his friends?”
“I, uh … don’t know.” I could feel my face getting hot. “I mean, I just know the people he used to get wrecked with. I don’t know who he hangs out with now.”
“What about the guys he was in the band with?” Rafe said. “Maybe he’s back hanging out with them.”
“Good idea,” Anne said.
“Uh, let me see,” I said. “Kevin Meldrum, Shane Roberts and … Michael … Mic
hael … Michael Clark.” Anne’s cell phone rang then. I jerked at the sound, slopping hot chocolate onto the back of my hand.
Anne reached into her pocket and slowly pulled out the phone. She looked down at it and shot a quick glance at the car window. I licked hot chocolate off my hand and wondered if she was going to roll down the window and chuck the phone out onto the sidewalk.
But that wasn’t the kind of thing Anne did. Then it occurred to me that maybe it was. I didn’t know much about Jason and his life. What did I know about Anne?
“Hello,” she said. In a second her head came up and she looked at me. “We’re both fine,” she said.
Dad.
“That’s a very good idea … No … I think you should do what you’re doing … Not now, Marc. Let’s concentrate on finding Jason … All right. I’ll call you in a little while. Bye.” She disconnected and put the phone back in her pocket. Her eyes were still locked on my face. “Your father’s been calling the guys Jason used to … spend time with.”
I studied a tiny cut in the web of skin between my thumb and first finger. I didn’t trust my voice to work. I felt Rafe’s hand touch my knee. “That’s good,” I finally said.
Anne cleared her throat and I looked up then. The smile she gave me was almost a real one. “Let’s see if we can find that club,” she said.
I spotted the building the second time Rafe cruised along the narrow street. We waited in the car while Anne went inside and then came out less than fifteen minutes later. She shook her head as she headed back toward us.
“Now what?” Rafe said as Anne slid into the back.
I slumped against the seat, squeezing the top of my head between my hands, half hoping an answer would pop out. “I don’t know,” I said. “I feel like we’re looking in the wrong places.”
“Why?” Anne asked.
“Well, before, I mean when Jason was getting stoned all the time, it wasn’t a social thing for him.” I twisted in the seat so I could look at both Anne and Rafe at the same time.
“You’re right,” Rafe said. “He was always off by himself.”
I nodded. “And every time he got found out he got sneakier. He never stopped trying to hide what he was doing. It was like if he was hiding it, it wasn’t really a problem.”
“So you think that’s what he’s doing this time?” Anne said.
“Yeah … maybe. The only reason I found out Jason was drinking was because he never expected me to just show up at his door like that.”
“Do you remember where he used to go?” Anne asked, hunching into her coat as though she were cold.
“Mostly didn’t he just stay in his apartment?” Rafe said.
“Uh-huh. Not the one he has now, though.”
My head was too hot. I pulled off my hat and took my hair out of its ponytail. Where are you, Jason? I asked in my head. I closed my eyes and made myself think back to what it was like before Jason went to rehab. It wasn’t somewhere I liked to go. Pictures flashed into my mind, images of Jason one after another as though someone was clicking the shutter of a camera too fast.
“Butternut Square,” I said slowly.
“Excuse me,” Anne said.
“You mean that little park over where the old hospital used to be?” Rafe asked.
“Sometimes Jason goes there.” I opened my eyes. “At least, he did. Before. It’s really small. Not a lot of people even know about it. We used to go … we played there when we were kids.”
I’d almost said the park was where my mom used to take us. It didn’t seem right to talk about my mother in front of Anne right then. When Mom first died I’d go and sit in the park all the time. It was one of her favorite places and it seemed that if anything was left of her, that would be where I’d find it. Later, when it got harder to hold on to her, I’d sit on a bench under one of the big beechnut trees and it was as if all my memories went from being foggy to bright, from just out of focus to sharp and clear.
“I think it’s worth a look,” Anne said, pressing her hands against the small of her back to stretch. She looked at Rafe. “You know how to get there?”
“Not a problem.”
Anne touched my shoulder. “We will find him. I promise.”
I nodded silently. I remembered promising her that the baby would be all right. It wasn’t the kind of promise you could keep.
31
In the orange-pink glow from the streetlights the park looked like something out of a bad horror movie. The damp air had collected in clumps of fog that half covered everything at ground level.
The park sat on the hill, boxed by four streets into a long rectangle. The swings and teeter-totters were at the bottom. A statue of the poet Robert Burns, green with copper tarnish, loomed over a concrete fountain near the top. There were benches stuck all around.
Rafe parked at the bottom of the hill under an elm tree with long, peeling bark and we all got out of the car. I felt like fanning away the puffs of fog so I could see better.
I moved away from Anne and Rafe, leaving them to check the swings and the rest of the kiddie stuff. I looked behind a bench and underneath it, walked slowly around a huge tree. Working my way toward the fountain, my insides lurched every time I saw a dark lump on the ground and then sank when it turned out to be a dirty mound of snow or a ragged bush.
“Jason, where are you?” I whispered, stepping over a garbage bag partly frozen to the ground. In the fog it had looked like the sleeve of a shirt.
I came around the edge of the fountain and almost fell over Jason, lying on the concrete, his head and one arm on the lip of the water pool. “Oh God,” someone moaned. Me? I dropped to my knees beside him. My hand was shaking so hard I could barely get it to his face. His skin was clammy and very, very cold.
“Rafe! Anne!” I screamed, pulling off my sweatshirt, fighting with the sticky zipper at the neck. It came loose and I tucked it around Jason. All he had on was a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans.
“Aw, shit,” Rafe said behind me.
I looked up at him. “He’s so cold,” I said.
“Lemme see.” Rafe bent over Jason.
“Oh, Lord, no.” Anne. She dropped to her knees next to Rafe. I sat back on my heels, hugging myself and shivering.
Rafe felt along Jason’s neck and nodded at Anne. Then he leaned close to Jason’s face and immediately reared back. “Whoa! What’s he been drinking?”
Anne already had her cell phone out. “Where are we exactly?” she asked Rafe, pushing 9-1-1.
“Top of the square. That’s Duke Street,” he said, pointing just beyond the fountain. Anne turned her body away from us and spoke to the 911 operator.
Rafe looked at me then. “He’s breathing. I think he might’ve hit his head. I don’t want to move him to check, though.”
Bits of gravel were stuck to a raw, oozing scrape on Jason’s cheek. I fumbled in the pocket of my jacket, trying to keep it over him, and finally pulled out a Kleenex. I wiped at the dirt, working at keeping my hand steady and not hurting Jason.
“The ambulance is on the way,” Anne said. She looked at me as though she’d only just noticed I was there. “Isabelle, you’re freezing.” She started undoing her coat.
“No.” Rafe held up one hand. He already had his own jacket half off. He pulled out his other arm and handed the jacket over to me. “Here, Izzy. Put this on,” he said.
I hesitated.
“You want to get hypothermia?”
I took the jacket and glanced down at Jason.
“Jason has enough antifreeze in his system,” Rafe said, as though he’d read my thoughts. “C’mon. Put it on before you freeze.”
The warmth of Rafe’s body still clung to the material. I hugged my shoulder and breathed in his scent from the sleeve. In the distance a siren whined.
I bent over Jason again. “C’mon, Jason, wake up,” I whispered. But he didn’t.
“I’ll go stand at the corner and wait for the ambulance,” Rafe announced, getting to his feet.
>
“Thank you,” Anne said.
I just nodded. The lump in my throat had gotten so big I wasn’t sure I could talk. Rafe laid his hand on my hair for a second as he moved past me.
I bent forward and kissed Jason’s forehead. He smelled of sweat, filth and vomit. “Don’t die, you big puke,” I whispered.
One of Jason’s hands was sticking out from under the edge of my sweatshirt. The skin was scraped off two knuckles and the fingers were icy and limp. I laced my own through them and held on for both of us.
32
Rafe drove with one hand and I held on to the other one, as though it were a rope, all the way to the hospital. If something bad was going to happen, it would. It didn’t matter what I did. I didn’t have the power to control that.
The ambulance raced up the driveway, under the breezeway and around to the side of the emergency room. Rafe stopped in the no-parking zone by the front doors. I pulled at my seat belt. The latch wouldn’t let go. He leaned over, undid the buckle and kissed me, catching only the corner of my mouth.
“I’ll park and I’ll be right there,” he said. “It’ll be okay.”
I didn’t bother to tell him how lame those words were. The emergency room doors opened with a swoosh. I followed Anne. That choking lump was back in my throat and I couldn’t swallow it down.
Dad was standing at the registration desk. Anne must have called him, I realized. His face was ashy and I didn’t remember all those lines around his mouth. He still cared about Jason. It didn’t matter what he’d said before.
Dad wiped one hand across his face. “I should’ve seen this.”
“Don’t,” Anne said. She laid her hand against his cheek for a moment. “What matters is we found him.”
“Mr. Sullivan?” The speaker, a nurse I guessed, wore a lavender uniform and a jacket covered with bears in feather boas doing the cancan. “If you come with me you can see your son.”
“Go,” Anne said. “We’ll wait over there.”
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Being here?”
“I’m fine. Go.”
“Izzy, are you all right?” Dad said.
