[2014] Ten Below Zero

by Whitney Barbetti

  So I said what I told all the little kids who ever asked. “Shark attack.”

  There was silence from Everett and Bridget, but Clark’s entire face lit up. “Cool!” he exclaimed. He turned to Bridget. “Mom, isn’t that cool?”

  Bridget nodded slowly. “Sure is. Why don’t you go play some more in the arcade and check back here in a few minutes?”

  Clark didn’t need to be told twice. He was gone from the table, leaving us adults in our awkward silence.

  “Thanks,” Bridget finally said. I looked up at her. “You’re going to be his hero now.”

  “It’s a nicer story than being attacked with a knife,” I said, sipping my drink. I watched Bridget exchange glances with Everett. This was becoming unbearable.

  Bridget sighed. “Everett, can you go check on Clark?”

  Everett climbed out the booth. I could feel him looking at me, but I aggressively avoided looking at him. I knew Bridget had asked him to leave for a reason. After he left, I looked at her. As someone who enjoyed studying people, I was able to pick up on a lot of body language cues. And Bridget’s body language was telling me to be prepared. I sat up straight.

  “Everett’s told you about his cancer.” It wasn’t a question.

  I nodded. “And his decision going forward from his diagnosis.”

  Bridget nodded. “What do you think about it?”

  This was going to be a heavy conversation. “When he first told me, I didn’t understand.” I took a sip from my straw, formulating my response. “And then he told me,” I started. Ugh. This was going to be even more uncomfortable. “He told me about when he had this cancer as a teenager. And how he felt like his family fell apart because of it.”

  Bridget pursed her lips, nodding slowly, absorbing all that I was saying. “Well, our family did fall apart. But Everett likes to blame it on himself. He’s got a touch of dark on his soul, just a touch, but you’d think his soul was black with how he won’t forgive himself for something he had no control over in the first place.”

  “Everett likes control.”

  “He does,” Bridget agreed. “That’s why he’s choosing this. Choosing not to have the surgery, choosing not to fight. He wants the choice. But it’s the wrong one.”

  Whoa. I didn’t know how to respond to that.

  Bridget sighed and sat back in the booth. “How much has Everett told you about his tumor? The one he has right now?”

  “Not much. Just that it’s decently sized and in his forehead, where I’m assuming his last one was, based on the scar.”

  “Everett hasn’t had the tumor evaluated. Not extensively. His doctors are here in Texas, the doctors that treated his cancer the first time. He saw an oncologist in California a month ago. Had a CT scan. The doctor recommended a biopsy, but Everett said no. He said he was done. But,” Bridget put her hand on the table, “he doesn’t even know what kind of tumor it is. He has no clue! It could be something so treatable, and he’s choosing not to do anything about it.”

  This was all new information. I had assumed Everett had checked it out thoroughly before deciding not to deal with it. “Then why was he so quick to decide not to operate?”

  “You didn’t see him go through cancer when he was a teenager. It was, well, devastating. He lost so much weight. He lost a lot of himself. He lost friends and his family fell apart. Physically, the cancer weakened him. Emotionally, in his mind, the cancer destroyed his life itself. And treating his cancer took away his memory.” I watched her fingers trace the wood grain on the table top. “Everett had an exceptional memory growing up. He remembered people he’d met only briefly, years later. He always did well in school. After the surgery, he had trouble with his short term memory. He forgot everything that had happened in the months prior to the surgery.”

  I nodded, letting this all sink in.

  “Everett,” she continued, looking to the arcade that was adjacent to the restaurant. “Everett is a good man. A very good man, Parker. He’s kind, he’s giving, and he’s selfless. But he doesn’t see those things in himself. He sees a man who tore apart a family. I wouldn’t say he is depressed, but like all of us, he does have his demons. But his demons are robbing him of a future that may very well exist.”

  This conversation was causing me pain. I felt betrayed by Everett. For not telling me about having visited all those locations we visited. For not telling me his real, more meaningful reasons, for not having the surgery. But again, I didn’t feel like I had the right to be upset, to feel betrayed. I sat back in the seat.

  Bridget leaned across the table. “I haven’t told you anything in confidence. You’re free to discuss this with Everett if you’d like.” She looked to the arcade before looking back at me again. “I’ve never met any of Everett’s girlfriends before.”

  My eyes widened. “I’m not his girlfriend.”

  “I know.” She licked her lips. “But you’re the closest thing he’s ever had to one.”

  Before I could reply, Everett had joined us at the booth again. Bridget and I lapsed into silence while Everett looked between us both. “Did you have a nice chat?” he asked, seeming unconcerned. He had to have known we talked about him.

  “Sure did,” Bridget said, winking at me. “We talked about what an idiot you are.”

  “Parker doesn’t think I’m an idiot,” he said, pointing a thumb at me.

  “No. You’re just an asshole.”

  “A rude asshole,” Everett clarified, angling his head towards his sister.

  “Well you are that,” she agreed with a straight face and a wink to me.

  The waiter delivered our food, but Clark was still in the arcade. “His dad fed him lunch before we came, so he’ll likely spend the entire lunch in the arcade,” Bridget apologized.

  “He’s a kid,” I said, shrugging. “He’s got his priorities.”

  “He does.” Bridget smiled softly. “Where are you two headed next?” She seemed genuinely interested.

  I was still conflicted in my feelings towards Everett, so I stayed quiet while he spoke up. “We’re headed to New Orleans next.”

  My head popped up at that. New Orleans was like a gold mine for people like me, people who loved to watch other people. But I kept my eyes away from looking at Everett.

  “What are you going to do there?” Bridget asked between bites.

  I felt Everett’s shoulders shrug next to me. “Stuff,” he replied, before taking a bite of his slice of pizza.

  “Stuff?” Bridget asked, an eyebrow raised. “That’s it? That’s all I get?”

  “I’ll take pictures. I’ll send them to you,” he said, waving his hand to brush the conversation aside. That reminded me of the photo we took in the Picketwire Canyon.

  “We’ve already taken one photo,” I said, staring at my plate, “of us under an arch.” Everett stiffened, halting in taking another bite. He knew what I thought of, what I would think of, every time I looked at that photo. But it felt personal, too personal to say aloud.

  “Oh?” Bridget asked, apparently unaware of the thoughts that were sucking up space in mine and Everett’s memory. “I want to see.” She leaned over the table. “The arch in the canyon?”

  “Here,” Everett said, handing her the camera from under the table. I didn’t know he’d brought it with him.

  Bridget set her fork down and wiped her hands on her napkin before grabbing the camera greedily. I watched her start to scroll through the photos. She stopped and looked up at Everett for a second before focusing again on the camera. I hadn’t realized Everett had taken more than one photo.

  “Ah,” she said. She looked up at us both. She seemed to want to say something, but stubbornly set her lips in a line before handing the camera back to Everett.

  “I want to see,” I said, reaching an arm out to intercept the camera. Everett tried to take it from me but I yanked it away. I stared down at the screen on the back of the camera. I saw the arch, and I saw Everett leaning towards me, an arm wrapped around me. His
face was facing mine, his lips at my ear. The expression on my face could have been described as serene. I couldn’t help but close my eyes, remembering.

  “Everyone who sees this photo will see us under the arch. But when you see this photo, you’ll see the canyon and the water and all the beauty in front of us. Remember that, Parker. When you look at this photo, remember looking at purgatory with me. While everyone else was looking at the arch, we were looking at that.”

  I opened my eyes and looked at Everett for the first time since he’d left the table. He was staring at me with feeling. I wasn’t sure what the feeling was, but I knew it was likely the same thing I felt. I licked my lips, unable to look away.

  “I already took care of the check. Clark has soccer practice, so I have to get going.” Bridget’s voice interrupted the haze I was in while staring at Everett.

  “We’ll walk you out,” Everett said, reaching a hand to pull me out. There he was again, tugging me. I followed.

  When we got to the parking lot, I let go of Everett’s hand, lagging back so he could visit with his sister a bit. Clark ran ahead to the car while Everett and his sister talked.

  “I wish you’d come to dinner with us tonight,” Everett said, putting an arm around her shoulders. I watched her look at him wistfully. “It’s my shift tonight, and I can’t get anyone to cover. And besides, you know how dad is. I’d rather not watch him embarrass himself or attempt to embarrass me.”

  Everett nodded, sighed, and then ran a hand through his hair. They both turned to look back at me and I turned away, trying to pretend I hadn’t heard.

  “She’s good, you know?” Bridget said, still looking at me.

  My skin itched.

  “Yeah, I know she is,” Everett replied.

  My stomach burned. Everett reached down, hugged her. I turned my body completely away from them, looking at the other people milling about the parking lot.

  “What’s this?” Bridget said. I kept my back to them, feeling uncomfortable witnessing their exchange. There was silence, and then I heard her say. “They say that’s bad luck.”

  Curiosity was whispering in my head to look, to see what they were talking about. But I was stubborn, and kept my back to them.

  “I’ll take my chances,” Everett replied, laughing. I turned around and Everett was hugging Bridget again. I watched her face go from happy to sad the moment she had her arms around him. Her arms were so tight that she shook. I turned my face away again, not wanting to see this moment between Everett and his sister. Too much.

  “Parker,” she said. I opened my eyes and looked at her. She had her arms out for me. Reluctantly, I walked the few feet towards her and let her wrap her arms around me. My own arms felt awkward, like sludge, so I lifted them up and self-consciously patted her back. I looked at Everett while she hugged me, curious by the way he was staring at us.

  “I hope to see you again,” she said, pulling away and looking me in the eyes. It was a loaded goodbye. I didn’t know how to answer so I just watched her walk away towards her car.

  “Have you been hugged often?”

  I shook my head and looked at Everett. “What?”

  “It’s a simple question. Has anyone hugged you? Growing up, did your foster parents hug you? Did your teachers? Boyfriends?”

  I didn’t need to think about it. “No.”

  Everett nodded as if he expected that answer. “Not even your boyfriends?”

  I thought of my boyfriends. I’d never had an emotional connection with any of them. It was never about that. So we didn’t hold hands, hug, or be affectionate unless it was a prequel to the main event.

  “No.”

  “That’s a damn shame.”

  “No it’s not.”

  He stepped closer to me. I took a step back. “Don’t run,” he whispered, his eyes engaged with mine.

  “I’m not.”

  “You want to.”

  He wasn’t wrong. He reached his hand for mine and I placed it in his with a little apprehension. “Let’s go,” he said, breaking the spell he’d had me under.

  I let him lead me towards the Jeep. He walked me to the passenger door but before he opened the door, he pulled me to him and wrapped his arms around me.

  My heart fell, landing in the pit of my stomach. I closed my eyes, felt his lips at my ear. “You haven’t be hugged enough, my precious.” His joking nickname for me didn’t feel like a joke this time. He squeezed his arms tighter, so tight I couldn’t move.

  At first, I resisted. I tried to pull back. The feel of his arms around me, squeezing me was overwhelming. But then something changed within me and I found myself relaxing.

  Even more shocking, I found my arms gliding up his back, holding on to him myself. It was comforting. And warm. I wanted to live, really live, in this moment. So with my eyes closed, I committed this moment to my memory. His cool water scent. The muscles of his back under my fingertips. His breath at my ear. When he pushed his lips to my hair, my heart was volleyed from my stomach to my throat.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  We checked into a hotel before dinner with Everett’s parents. I thought it was a little odd to go to dinner with both of them, considering they were divorced, but Everett seemed like it wasn’t a big deal. But it made me curious of Everett’s father, about what Bridget had said.

  I dressed in the pink dress I’d borrowed/stolen from Jasmine, the one I’d worn the night I met Everett. When I exited the bathroom, Everett was sitting in the chair by the bed, rubbing his head. I watched him from the doorway a minute, worrying about him. The range of emotions Everett brought out of me ranged from good things to things that hurt. The worrying hurt. I never wanted this, this pull of responsibility, to make another human happy.

  His head lifted up and he stared at me, blinking. “You’re not Sarah.”

  “No.” A smile ached to spread my lips, remembering the night we met.

  He stood up and walked towards me. “You’re beautiful, you know. I’ve told you before, but you like to shake your head.” He put a hand on the side of my neck. “Stop shaking your head. Let me give you a compliment.”

  His hand was warm around my neck and a second later, his other hand went to my waist. My eyes opened when his fingers rubbed there, right over the bandage.

  “This is where your tattoo is,” he said, a smile playing on his lips.

  I nodded. “Where’s yours?”

  “You’ll see it later.”

  I frowned, a little annoyed. His finger came to the space between my eyebrows and he rubbed. “Don’t frown. I’d rather see you smile.”

  “You said I’d look weird with one,” I reminded him.

  “Doesn’t mean I still don’t want to see it. Or be the reason for it.” He dropped a kiss on my lips. “Let’s go.”

  When we arrived at the restaurant, Everett’s parents were already waiting. I watched them with interest before the hostess led us to them. His father had his arm over the back of his mom’s seat and was watching her as if she was the only thing in the world he could focus on. His hair was black, like Everett’s, speckled with white. Everett’s mom looked soft, youthful. She had pale blonde hair, curled softly around her face. Her eyes were the same blue as her children. When she saw Everett, it was as if something awakened in her. Her smile filled her face and she stood up to hug him. I watched her hold him tightly, as Bridget had, before I turned my attention to Everett’s father.

  Where Everett’s mom was warm, Everett’s father was cold unless he was looking at his ex-wife. He didn’t glare daggers at me, but he seemed very impersonal, reaching a hand to me with a little reluctance. His eyes roamed my face without a smile. It was the first time in my life I was self-conscious about my scar.

  Everett’s mother hugged me next. The hugging was weird. A comforting kind of weird. While she hugged me, I watched Everett and his father exchange handshakes. It seemed odd again. But I remembered Everett saying his father was distant.

  After introductions,
I sat down with Everett to my left, putting me directly across from Everett’s mom, Patricia.

  Patricia propped her elbows on the table and set her chin on top of her hands while she gazed at her son. There was no doubt of her love for him. And by the way he’d hugged her, there was no doubt of his for her. It made me a little breathless, to be a part of this, to so closely witness a mother and a son who loved each other. Parental love was foreign to me. And this was my first experience, witnessing it so closely.

  Everett’s father, whom Everett had called by his first name, Robert, had yet to warm up. He drank whiskey in a short glass and when the waiter came by the table, I noticed he asked for another. “Everett will have one too, and-”

  “No, actually water is fine,” Everett interrupted.

  Robert looked over at him. “I’m buying,” he said, as if that would be the only reason Everett would turn down a drink.

  “I’m not drinking,” Everett said, his voice firm. He looked over at me. “Water? With limes?”

  I licked my lips and nodded. Maybe the acid from the limes burning my throat would keep my mouth shut from the acid that would want to spill out during this dinner. Judging by the way Robert looked at Everett, it was going to be a long dinner.

  When the waiter left, Patricia looked between us. “Everett tells me you’ve been to the Grand Canyon,” she said, looking at me with excitement, her eyes sparkling.

  Before I could open my mouth, Everett said, “Yeah, but it was just a big hole in the ground.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” Patricia answered, her forehead creasing in disappointment. I kicked Everett as discreetly as possible from under the table. “We never made it there on our trip. Everett got too sick.”

  “When you went to the Four Corners?” I asked, remembering what Bridget had said about visiting there with Everett once before.

  “Yes,” she said, smiling wistfully. “It was his wish trip.”

  “Waste of a trip too,” Robert butt in. I tried to suppress my shock, but Patricia merely tsked him.