by Anna Kerz
Sophie, Gran and his dad were sitting at the table, the breakfast dishes pushed aside. The room was filled with the smell of coffee and slightly burnt toast. Sophie was holding Gran’s hand. They looked…sad? And Gran seemed somehow smaller than usual.
“What? What’s the secret?” he asked again.
The grown-ups looked at each other.
“Aaron,” Gran said. “Aaron, you need to listen.” She motioned him to the empty chair next to hers. There was something in her voice, in her face; he didn’t know exactly what, but it sucked away his happiness. “You know how I had all those tests. The medical tests? The ones the doctor sent me for?”
“Yeah?” He sat down.
“There’s a problem. Probably it’s nothing,” she said quickly. “Probably I’m worrying over nothing at all.”
“You’re sick?”
Gran took a breath. A noisy breath, like a gasp.
He saw Sophie pat Gran’s hand. “That’s just it, Aaron,” Sophie said. “We won’t know for sure how serious it is until after the operation.”
“Operation? What operation?”
“There’s a gland, here in my neck,” Gran said, pointing to a spot at the bottom of her throat. “It’s called a thyroid. Everybody has one, but there’s a problem with mine. All those tests the doctor sent me for showed that there might be some cancer in my thyroid.”
Aaron stood up. “Cancer?” He knew the word. Cancer was what killed his mother. “You’re going to die?”
“No!” all the grown-ups said at once.
“The doctors are going to look at it to find out what’s going on. Probably they’ll only need to take a little bit away, and everything will be fine,” Gran explained.
“Everything will be fine,” Sophie echoed. “Even if they have to take out the whole thyroid, there are medicines to replace what it does.”
“There are treatments too,” his father began.
“You’re sick?” Aaron’s throat tightened. His eyes blurred.
Gran stood up, reaching for him. “My doctor knows what he’s doing. He’ll make me better. It won’t even take long. I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry.”
Somewhere in the middle of Gran’s speech, Aaron’s ears filled with a THRUM-THRUM-THRUMMING sound. He saw her lips move, but he didn’t hear what she was saying. He didn’t want to hear. He raced out of the kitchen and up the stairs. In his bedroom he scrambled into the corner of his closet, where he sat, his chin on his knees, his eyes closed, the blood thrumming in his ears.
It was a long time before the closet door opened and his dad’s outline filled the doorway. Aaron didn’t want to hear anything his father might say. He wanted to cover both ears, but with the cast on his arm, he couldn’t, so he closed his eyes instead. Can’t hear. Can’t hear. Can’t hear, he sang to himself, adding a humming sound to the song in his head.
For a while he was happy that he couldn’t hear a thing. Then he had a new thought: What if he didn’t hear anything because his father was gone? A stab of worry filled his chest. He stopped humming and began to listen. The room was silent. Aaron opened his eyes. He was relieved to see his dad sitting on the side of the bed. Still here. Still here, Aaron thought. He wriggled his way out of the closet and crossed the room.
His father looked up.
“Sorry,” Aaron said, remembering Karen’s advice. “Sorry.”
He peered at his dad, trying to see if the words helped. He couldn’t tell. But, for the first time, he noticed that his father looked older than the man in the living-room picture. His brown hair was streaked with gray. Even the stubble on his face was gray. And there were lines on his face. Lines that fanned out beside his eyes and lines that made brackets around his mouth.
“Dad?”
His father’s eyes looked into his own. Brown eyes. Like mine, Aaron thought. The eyes studied him until Aaron squirmed.
“You do that every time you have a problem?” his father asked.
“What?”
“Run and hide in the closet?”
Aaron let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Only when…when I’m really scared, I do.”
He was afraid his father was going to say, “You’re weird,” but he didn’t. He said, “We all find places to hide when we’re scared.”
The words confused Aaron. He wanted to ask What scares you? and Where do you go to hide? but he wasn’t sure those were smart things to ask. Remembering Jeremy’s advice, he said nothing, just in case.
“Every time I phoned, your Gran told me how smart you are,” his father went on. “She said you know things most kids your age don’t.”
“I’m smart…I’m smart about some stuff.”
His father made a throat-clearing noise. “Then you should know that not all cancers are the same. I know your mother died, but we don’t have any reason to think Gran will. We’ll know more after the operation. But right now we need to make things as easy as we can for her. For that we need your help. D’you think you can help?”
“Help?” Aaron couldn’t think of anything he could do, but he nodded and said, “Yeah. I guess. I guess so.”
* * *
For the rest of that day and all of the next, they stayed close to home. Aaron led his father around the house to examine things that needed to be replaced or repaired. He was happy to see his dad make lists before they went shopping.
They bought a new runner for the stairs because his father said, “That thing was old before you were born. It’s so worn, it’s a hazard.” They bought a couple of night-lights “in case Sophie meets something else on her way to the bathroom.” They bought a whole bunch of other stuff his dad said they’d need. And when he said, “There’s nothing you can’t buy in the city,” Aaron walked a little taller, as if the things for sale in the stores were somehow his doing.
Back at home, his dad showed him how to use a vise grip to change a thing called a washer in the kitchen tap. They put caulking into the space beside Aaron’s window to keep the draft from shifting the curtains and more caulking around the bathtub, where the old stuff had come loose. They fixed a cord on the living-room lamp and glued down a loose corner of the kitchen linoleum.
Together they tightened the screws on the hallway railing, changed the batteries in the smoke detectors and tested them all. When his dad climbed through a hole in Gran’s bedroom closet, Aaron followed and stood on the ladder’s top rung to peer into the dusty space while his father checked the roof for leaks. And, all the time, Aaron listened as his father explained the things he was doing.
The two days passed so quickly that Aaron didn’t notice that none of the things they had done was on either one of his lists.
* * *
Late Sunday afternoon Aaron sat at the end of the couch where his dad was stretched out, arms folded behind his head. “Once that cast of yours is gone, you’ll be a handy fellow to have around,” his father said.
Aaron beamed. No one had ever called him a handy fellow. No one had ever said he’d be good to have around. But his dad…his dad…His father’s words filled him with such happiness, he felt as if he might explode, and he couldn’t sit still a moment longer. He stood up and began to spin, turning, turning, turning, until the room became a blur.
“Aaron! Aaron! Stop!”
He heard Gran calling, but he was so giddy with joy, he wanted to keep spinning forever.
“Aaron!” his father bellowed.
The sound surprised Aaron. He stopped, but he’d been turning so fast that his head kept spinning and he staggered into the edge of the couch. That made him giggle. He staggered again, this time into Sophie, who bumped into the side table, knocking down the picture of his mom and dad. It was Gran who grabbed his shoulders and held him still.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Aaron babbled between giggles.
“Sorry’s not enough!” his father roared.
Aaron didn’t understand. His dad had been happy… he’d said…he’d said…? He
wasn’t sure what his dad had said anymore. “Not enough?” he asked.
“It’s enough for me,” Sophie said. “I’m not hurt,” she assured everybody. “He couldn’t see me. It was an accident. I’m fine. Really.”
She righted the picture, then smiled at Aaron, “In fact, I came to ask you to give me a hand in the kitchen,” she went on, as if nothing had happened. “It’s great to be handy around the house, Aaron, but it doesn’t hurt to know how to cook either. Your father’s a good cook.” She turned her smile at his dad’s frowning face before she turned back to Aaron. “Would you like to learn?”
Aaron glanced at Gran, then at his father. They both wore worried expressions. Sophie was the only one that looked happy. He nodded.
“I’m not sure about Aaron using the stove,” Gran started.
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Sophie said. “I think he’ll be fine. I’ve always believed people are less likely to get into trouble if they know how things work.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Gran said. And later she beamed with pride as she watched Aaron use his good hand to mix tuna and peas into the pasta while Sophie held the pot steady.
When everything was ready, Sophie put the casserole dish on the table and lifted the lid. A cloud of steam escaped, spreading the dinner smells. “Mmmm. Tuna casserole,” Aaron said. “My first meal ever. Maybe I can be a chef.”
“With all the talk about toads and spiders, I thought you’d rather be a scientist,” his dad said.
Aaron’s brow wrinkled. He really wasn’t sure what he wanted to be. But he wanted to say something that would impress his father. Remembering Mr. Collins’s words, he announced in his most grownup voice, “Some stuff I really like. Like science and cooking. And some stuff I’m not good at. Like singing. I can’t sing, so I’ll never be a silk purse. I guess I’ll do my best to be a really good pigskin wallet.”
He was surprised that his words made his dad sputter and cough.
TWENTY - TWO
On Monday morning Gran insisted that Aaron go to school. “But I want to stay here,” he protested.
“You’ll need to practice for that concert,” Gran reminded him. “Now that your dad has come all this way, you’ll want to be able to show him what you can do.” Aaron’s head drooped, but he stopped complaining and went.
Overnight there had been a change in the weather. The thermometer had climbed well above the freezing point, and the snow, which had been a clean and glistening blanket when it first fell, was now a wet, sloppy mess. At every step his boots sank into slush that reached past his ankles, and water seeped into the footprints he left behind.
In the schoolyard, kids were huddled in bunches, talking, laughing, telling about their weekends. Aaron walked toward a group from his own class. As he came closer, they shifted, and somehow the spaces between them vanished. He walked all the way around the circle. There was no opening for him. He stopped behind Jeremy. “Hey, Jer,” he said hopefully.
Jeremy glanced over his shoulder. “Hey, Aaron,” he mumbled before he turned back.
Aaron pulled out the key chain and held it up. “You wanna see what my dad brought? See? It’s a nugget all the way from a Dawson Creek gold mine.”
Heads turned.
“Can I see?” Horace asked.
“Yeah,” Aaron said, passing him the key chain. “But I can’t lose it, ’cause it has our house key on it.”
“I won’t lose it,” Horace said, examining the key chain. Then he said, “That’s not gold, you know. I saw some real gold nuggets at the museum, and they didn’t look like this.”
“Yeah, I know,” Aaron said. “It’s not gold. A gold nugget…a real one…with real gold…that would cost a fortune.”
“Let me see,” Tufan said, grabbing the key chain. “Looks like a rock spray-painted with gold paint.”
“Yeah, but it’s not,” Aaron said. “It’s iron pyrite.”
“Iron pyrite. That’s fool’s gold, right?” Horace said.
“Fool’s gold for a fool,” Tufan snickered.
“Yeah, I know it’s fool’s gold,” Aaron said. “But it came from Dawson. My dad was working at a placer mine up there. He told me all about it. And he told me about this enormous grizzly bear that…”
From inside the building came the electronic buzzing of the morning bell. Teachers rang the handbells. The kids from Aaron’s room surged toward the doors.
“Hey!” Aaron called in a sudden panic. “I need the key chain. Give it!”
Tufan lobbed the key chain back over his shoulder. It sailed toward Aaron in a high, slow arc. He saw it coming and stretched his good hand to catch it, but the nugget hit his palm, bounced and dropped with a wet plop into the soggy mash of water and snow. He bent, groping for it. By the time he found it, the sleeve of his jacket was soaked and his hand was blue with cold. He sighed. At least he had the key chain.
* * *
At noon he hurried home. He was disappointed to find his father gone. “There’s something he needs to buy,” Sophie said. “He’ll be back soon.” But he wasn’t. He didn’t come back while they ate lunch or before Aaron left again for school.
“Is he back?” Aaron asked as soon as he walked through the door after school.
“Not yet,” Sophie said. “But he will be soon. He will.”
Aaron wanted to believe her, but he saw Gran pacing from the kitchen to the living room and back again. Every time she got to the front window, she leaned forward and peered down the street. Then she sighed and walked back again. She was worried. He could tell. Her worry made him think of questions he was afraid to ask. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he thinks I’m just too weird?
He stood in the hallway, mindlessly picking away at the plaster on his cast, pulling out stray threads and watching Gran pace until Sophie said, “Aaron, come and help mash the potatoes for supper.”
Relieved to have a job, he climbed on a chair. Sophie helped him wash his hands. She added milk and butter to the pot before she handed him the potato masher, and he stood smushing potatoes until she laughed and said, “Enough already. I can hear them cry uncle.” He didn’t understand, but he laughed with her because he liked the sound of her laughter. And besides, the laughing made something inside him feel a little better.
“I really could be a chef,” he said, dipping a finger to taste the mashed potatoes.
“You’d be great,” Sophie said as she tasted the potatoes herself.
Aaron thought about making a list of things he might do when he was grown-up. He could start with scientist and chef and add pilot and astronaut, ’cause then he’d really be able to fly. And maybe gold mining. If he was a gold miner, he might find real gold and be rich. While he was trying to think of what else to add, his dad walked through the door.
“Where have you been?” Gran asked.
His father looked surprised. “I was shopping. I told you, there’s something I wanted to buy.”
“Did you get it?” Aaron asked.
His father hung up his coat before he answered. “No.” He sounded tired. “I went from store to store, but when all was said and done, I couldn’t make up my mind. That’s what you get in the big city. Too many stores, too many choices. I finally decided to sleep on it.” He went on then to talk about how much things had changed since he had left Toronto. But Aaron was stuck with the thought that maybe his father didn’t like bigcity stores after all.
TWENTY - THREE
On Tuesday morning Aaron really didn’t want to go to school. He wanted to be with Gran. In case. But a taxi had come early, before he was dressed, and Gran and his dad had climbed in. Aaron had watched them drive away.
“It’s not fair. It’s not fair. I wanted to go. I wanted to go,” he complained to Sophie.
“I know,” she said.
“What if…what if…?”
“Don’t think those thoughts,” she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. He twitched. He didn’t want her comfort. Not today.
�
��Sorry,” she said, taking the hand away. “But just so you know, I think your gran is right. Your place is at school. Sitting in a hospital waiting room is a long, boring way to spend your time. Besides, your dad said he’d call as soon as he knew anything. And as soon as I hear, I’ll let you know. I promise. I’ll let you know.”
So Aaron went.
Talk about a long, boring way to spend your time, he thought as the morning dragged on. There were lessons in spelling and fractions and how to use quotation marks.
“Are you with us, Aaron?” Mr. Collins asked several times. Every time he heard his name, Aaron looked at Mr. Collins and nodded, but all the time he was thinking about Sophie. When was she going to let him know?
Just before recess, Mr. Ulanni announced that it was too wet to go outside. Kids cheered and pulled out cards and board games. They paired up and began to play. Except Aaron. He sat in his chair, waiting.
Some time before noon, Mr. Collins asked the class to take out their journals and write about their weekend. Aaron thought about all the things he could write about— his gran being sick, his dad coming home, the bear story, Sophie, the new baby—but his ideas jumbled together in his mind and he couldn’t decide which one to tell. Something inside him was beginning to run faster and faster. It made his brain feel a little woozy. He stood up and walked to the back of the room and checked out the fish. He peered at the snake and the turtles. Then he slipped to the floor and crawled under a table, where he turned round and round on the spot, until everything outside became as blurry as his insides. When he stopped, he closed his eyes and sat humming softly and rocking. He was so busy humming and rocking that he didn’t hear anything except the sounds in his head, until someone started calling his name. He heard, but he wasn’t sure if the sound was coming from the inside or the outside of his head.
Karima’s face appeared. She was on her hands and knees, facing him. “Aaron,” she said.