Second to No One

by Palmer, Natalie

  “You’re dad?”

  “I don’t know, I guess he doesn’t feel like my dad anymore.”

  “He’s getting worse?”

  I nodded. “He sleeps most of the time. But even when he’s awake, it’s like he’s far away. Like he’s focusing so much on death and heaven and what that means that he’s forgotten about life and earth and the people around him.”

  “Have you talked to him about death?”

  “Yeah, a little.”

  “Maybe you should talk to him again.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I know that if I were your father and I knew you were spending your extra time with a strange old man in a rest home, I would feel pretty jealous.”

  “He doesn’t know where I am. I honestly don’t think he knows when I’m home.” I looked up at Tag, who was scrutinizing my every word. “I’m not trying to feel all sorry for myself. I know he’s going through a lot right now, and so is everyone else. I know it’s not all about me. I know that.”

  “Maybe it is all about you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Maybe you should be doing more than you’re doing. Maybe it’s your fault that the people in your life are all struggling so much.”

  I narrowed my eyes. I didn’t understand how he could be accusing me of something like that. “I can’t stop my dad from dying, Tag.”

  “No, but you can give him something to live for while he’s still here. You can be more help to your mom. You can be there for Bridget.”

  “I’m there for them, Tag. You don’t even know them. You don’t even know me.” I stood up and grabbed my coat off the chair. “I’m doing all I know how to do.”

  “Avoid them?”

  “I’m going to go.” I slipped my arms through the sleeves of my coat. “I have a lot of homework to do, and I really don’t have time for this.” I moved toward his propped open door. “Have a good night.”

  “Gemma,” Tag said just before I stepped out.

  I stopped and turned around. “What.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know you very well. But I do know one thing.”

  I took a deep breath waiting for him to continue.

  “I know that there are a lot of people in your life who think of you as the single most important person they have. And yet here you sit, night after night, playing cards with an old, dying man you hardly know. I know it’s not easy facing life head on. But if you run away from it, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Trust me, I know.”

  I watched him for a moment as a cloud of gray swept over his leathery, worn out eyes. I thought maybe I should go back in and ask him what he meant by that. But from the way that he turned his back to me and slowly moved some old coins around his night stand, I knew that he wanted to be alone. I stepped into the hall and let his door click behind me. The halls were empty and humming with the sounds of breathing ventilators and soft television voices flooding from the rooms. I made my way outside and to my car. The air was freezing, but I was warm with frustration. I got in my car and turned the key, but I couldn’t think of any place to go.

  I didn’t want to admit to myself that Tag might have been right. He was just an angry old man who didn’t know anything about me or my life. But still, what he said irked me, and I just couldn’t shake it. Ten minutes later, I found myself pulling into my driveway. Jess’s car still wasn’t in his, but I knew it wouldn’t be. So why was I here? I got out of my car and moved slowly along the path to my front door. I jiggled the lock with my key and stepped inside. As always, the front room was black except for the white bouncing lights of the muted TV. My dad was asleep on the couch, where he spent most nights now that he didn’t have enough energy to move to his own bed. The rest of the house stayed perfectly still, afraid to wake the sick man with cancer. Even though he was sicker than I’d ever seen him, he never really went to the hospital anymore. Mom said that he just wanted to be home now, and every once in a while a hospice nurse would come to make sure he was comfortable.

  It had been days, weeks even, since I had rounded the couch and sat beside him. He was almost always asleep when I got home, and if he wasn’t, he looked much too exhausted to carry on a conversation. That’s what I told myself anyway.

  But tonight, instead of making my way directly upstairs, I slowly and quietly lifted up the red-and-white quilt that was draped on the couch behind my dad’s small body. I carefully sat down on the cushion next to his feet and curled myself into a ball between the arm of the couch and his legs. I wrapped the quilt around my shoulders and let my head fall against the cushion. I watched him in the darkness and wondered what he could possibly be dreaming about. I wanted so badly to wake him. I wanted to tell him about my life. There were so many things he didn’t know. I wanted him to tell me about his. There was even more of that that I didn’t know. But he didn’t wake up, and I didn’t wake him, and soon I fell asleep to the steady sound of him breathing.

  Chapter 21

  It was strange to see my dad sitting up at the counter the next morning with one of his old work shirts on and a new pair of slacks. He said he woke up feeling, spry and he had a list a mile long of things he had been putting off until a day like this. I was at the sink washing a green pepper that he had instructed me to pull from the refrigerator. “Now cut it into long strips,” he said. “It’ll be better than tiny little diced cubes.”

  The first item on his list had been to go for a walk. It had been weeks since he’d been outside, so Bridget and I draped him in sweaters and a winter hat even though it was eight o’clock in the morning and almost seventy degrees out. He made it to the end of the street with the two of us flanking him, and by the time we made it back to the house, he was coughing so hard I was worried I was going to have to call an ambulance. He took a long nap until eleven o’clock, after which he insisted he was ready for the second item on his list. He led me to the kitchen and told me to put on an apron, then explained that he was going to teach me the secret recipe to his chili relleno casserole. It was the one meal he ever made, but it was everyone’s favorite, and no one knew how to make it the way he did.

  “Now take that can of chilis,” he said, “and drain them really well. You don’t want any water sneaking into the dish.”

  I did as he said then followed the rest of the directions on the recipe card. He said the secret was coming up later once it was ready to be put into the oven. He watched me carefully though as I poured each item into the casserole dish. It was his favorite meal in the world, and he wasn’t about to watch me mess it up.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I said as I grated two cups of cheese onto the mixture.

  “Does it have to do with chili relleno casserole?”

  “No.”

  “Then it better wait. You need to concentrate.”

  I completed the instructions on the recipe card and wiped up the counter around us. “Okay,” I said holding the dish in front of me. “Now what’s the secret?”

  Dad stared at me with tight lips. “Well, if you’re going to be flippant about it, I’ll share the world’s biggest secret with Bridget.”

  “I’m sorry.” I laughed softly then set the dish back on the counter. “Can I pretty, pretty please know the secret to your amazing chili relleno casserole?”

  Dad narrowed his eyes at me. “You can’t ever forget it.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And you can’t tell it to another soul.”

  “I wouldn’t dare.”

  “You can’t even write it down.”

  “Okay, Dad. What is it?”

  “Cinnamon.”

  “Cinnamon?”

  He pointed to the small canister next to the refrigerator that held our cinnamon. “Sprinkle a bit of that over the top of that baby, and people will think you’re the best cook since Jul
ia Childs.”

  “That’s it?” My shoulders fell with disappointment. “You just add cinnamon?”

  But Dad looked proud. “Who would have thought that you’d put cinnamon in a chili relleno casserole? But let me tell you, some kind of magic goes on there when you combine the spicy chilis with the sweet taste of cinnamon. It’s heaven-sent.”

  I shook my head at the newfound information and grabbed a pinch of cinnamon from the jar. “I can’t believe you’ve been putting cinnamon on this all along. I honestly had no idea.”

  “Careful now.” He lowered his head and watched every ounce of cinnamon drop from my hand onto the casserole. “It has to be even and ever so slight, or people will start to suspect.”

  When I was finished, I put the dish into the oven and turned back to the counter to start cleaning up.

  “Okay,” he said with a satisfied grin. “Now what was your question?”

  I swept a pile of crumbs into my right hand and dumped them into the sink. “It’s about mom,” I said. “Do you want her to remarry.”

  Dad took a deep breath, and I could tell he wasn’t prepared for that question. “Well, I don’t want her to be alone.”

  “So you want her to fall in love with someone else?”

  I could tell this wasn’t the first time he had thought about it. “Well, yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Doesn’t it make you crazy to think about her with another man?”

  “Well,” he rubbed his hand over his neck and down his chest, “I don’t sit around thinking about her with another man. It’s not a particularly satisfying thought. But,” he shifted slightly in his chair and winced at the pain of the movement, “the thought of her being alone for the next forty years of her life is even worse, and unless I find a handful of magical beans that can cure this cancer, I’m going to have to deal with one or the other.”

  “Okay.” I rested my elbows on the counter. “But you have to be honest with me, Dad. Doesn’t it make you a little jealous to think of her with someone else? What if she falls in love with him? I mean, she’d have to, right, if she’s going to marry him and really be happy? And what if they have this amazing life together? What if she loves him more than she loves you?”

  “Gemma.” My dad’s voice was soothing. “Love isn’t a competition. It’s not about coming in first or second or last. It’s not about how much they love you back or making sure that they love you the most. When you truly love someone, you care more about their happiness than your own. If your mom finds someone else that she can love and who will love her back and make her happy, then I will be glad. Love isn’t about coming in first place, Gemma. Love is about putting someone else first in front of yourself.”

  I cringed at the truthfulness of his words. I knew he was right. There was no room for jealousy in love. But that didn’t mean letting Jess go to Charleston and date other girls without bursting with envy was going to be easy.

  “It’s kind of like my casserole,” Dad said, and I stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what he was talking about. “The two of us have shared a love so deep and so true for such a long time that it would be a horrible thing to not share that love with somebody else. And so I’m passing the secret on to you.” He pulled his list from his pocket and put a line through item number two. “She’s your responsibility now. I’m trusting you to treat her with care.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was referring to Mom or the casserole. But either way, they were my responsibility, and I couldn’t live with myself if I let him down.

  “Pella Methodist Hospital, this is Tina. How may I direct your call?”

  I hesitated for an awkward amount of time. I didn’t expect an actual person to answer the phone. “Um, I’m not exactly sure. I’m trying to get ahold of a patient there.”

  “What department?”

  “Department?” What department did crazy people go to? My hand was shaking the phone against my ear. Why was I so nervous? “Um, I’m not sure. Psychiatry, maybe? Or psychology? Her name is Lauren James.”

  “I’ll connect you to psychiatry. One moment please.”

  My heart beat a million times per minute as the phone beeped twice then began to ring once again. A male answered, “Psychiatry, this is Jason.”

  “Hi, I’m, um, trying to get ahold of Lauren James?” I had no idea why I phrased it like a question. “She’s a patient there, but I don’t even know if I’m allowed to just call and talk to her or what.”

  The guy, Jason, laughed slightly on the other end of the line. “No, not unless you’re on her list. What’s your name?”

  “Um, Gemma Mitchell. But I’m sure I’m not on her list.”

  “Gemma…” I could hear him flipping through some papers. “Give me just a second.”

  I waited impatiently. Of course I wasn’t on her list. This was just making me feel like an idiot.

  “Hey, there you are. Gemma Mitchell, Franklin North Carolina.”

  “I’m on the list?”

  “You’re on the list.” His voice was congratulatory like I had just won a car on The Price Is Right. “I’ll put you through to her room. Hang on.”

  My heart nearly leaped out of my chest, and I almost hung up the phone. What was I going to say to her? And why was I on her list? Was this a good list of people she hoped would call? Or a bad list, maybe of people she wanted to kill someday?

  “Hello?”

  It was her. There was absolutely no doubt about it. Lauren was on the phone, waiting for me to say something…to say anything. “Lauren?”

  “Gemma?”

  “Yeah, how did you know it was me?”

  “Jason told me before he put you through.”

  “Oh yeah, okay. So um,” I let out an awkward laugh, “I’m on your list.”

  “Yeeeah.”

  “I mean, I’m flattered. I just didn’t expect…”

  “I could have five people on my list that I’m not related to. I don’t have a lot of friends. But I don’t really want these people to know that. So I wrote down you and Jess and Drew. I think Trace and Kit made the cut as well, so don’t feel too flattered.”

  “Oh, well. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. You know, how’s Iowa and all that?”

  “Oh, Iowa’s great.” Her words were drenched in sarcasm. “The views of brain-dead crazies in straitjackets wandering around the commons area outside my window is a wonderful thing to wake up to every morning.”

  I tried to conceal my heavy sigh. “How long do you have to be in there?”

  “Too long. Look, why did you call?”

  “I’ve been thinking about you. I mean, I think about you…all the time. I feel really bad about what happened.”

  A few seconds passed without Lauren saying a word, but I could hear her biting her nail on the other end of the line. Then finally she said, “Don’t beat yourself up over this, okay?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you shouldn’t live the rest of your life feeling all guilty about sending some crazy chick to the loony bin. This wasn’t your fault.”

  “You’re not some crazy chick, Lauren. You were my friend. You’re still my friend.”

  “I don’t think we were that great of friends.”

  “Sure we were. We hung out all the time.”

  “We were both hanging out with Drew. You and me…we weren’t that great of friends.”

  “But I’m on your list.”

  “I was desperate.”

  “We ate lunch together every day, and I helped you get ready for the Christmas dance.”

  “I hated you.”

  “You did?”

  “It was worse than hate. I loathed you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to be you. I wanted everything you had.
And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get it. I couldn’t beat you. I wanted to destroy you, Gemma. I wanted you out of my world and out of my way. But don’t be scared, I’ve told my psychiatrist all of this. They won’t let me out of here until they know you’re out of danger.”

  “Danger?”

  “Don’t lose any sleep over this, Gemma.” Her voice was dry and devoid of life. I wondered what they were doing to her in that hospital.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I hated you too.”

  “Yeah, I kind of knew that already.”

  “I think if we would have met under different circumstances, we could have been good friends.”

  “Yeah, like if you were Tom Sawyer and I was Huckleberry Finn and we lived a hundred years ago.”

  “Yeah, maybe then.”

  Silence. And another fingernail bite.

  “Lauren?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I really am sorry.”

  “My group knows everything about you.”

  “You’re group?”

  “They’re eight people I meet with every day to discuss our problems.”

  “Oh.”

  “They know you by name.”

  “Do they know where I live too? Please say no.”

  “Jason is actually our group leader. He was pretty excited that he got to talk to you.”

  “I can mail him my autograph.”

  “I tell them every day how bad I feel about what I did to you.”

  “You didn’t do anything to me, Lauren.”

  “Please, just let me finish.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “You are a really good person.”

  “No… I’m not.”

  “Gemma.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You don’t see it, but you are a really good person, and that’s why people like Drew and Jess and Trace can’t help but want to be around you. And because you’re such a good person, good things are inevitably going to happen in your life. And for a long time, I hated you for that. I despised the fact that my parents were divorced while yours were still together. I hated that you had a sister while I was an only child. I had dreams at night about hurting you because Jess looked at you in a way that I knew he would never look at me no matter how hard I tried.”