by N. K. Smith
“Why is she involved in all this?” I hoped he understood that “all this” meant “The Damascus Friday Night Screw-Up Club.”
Rusty Dalton seemed to think for a moment. I had no idea if he’d tell me, since it was clearly not my business. But after a few moments, he opened his mouth and looked straight at me.
“J-J-JJJJJJaaane’s m-mind w-works d-differently th-th-than m-m-most people’s.” He stopped, running a hand through his hair. “Sh-she’s fr-from Ch-Chicago too.”
“Did you know her before you both were adopted by Dalton?”
He nodded and smiled. It was more of a tight-lipped smile than he’d given me before. “I-I-I w-w-wouldn’t g-g-go wwwithout her.”
I wanted more information in spite of myself, but wondered how long it would take to get it. It wasn’t like Rusty Dalton could just tell me quickly what the deal was. I hated that I felt like I didn’t have the patience to sit around and listen to him fumble for words and that made me just as bad as Jason or Chris. I didn’t want to be frustrated. It wasn’t fair to him.
“So, Dr. Dalton adopted you and Jane at the same time? Were you both at the same…I mean, he found you both at the same place?” I felt naive. I didn’t know how the whole adoption thing worked.
He looked away. “Y-yeah, we-we were with the s-s-saaame f-f-foster fa-fa-family.”
Glancing at his wall of music, I asked, “Do you only listen to Classical?”
He shook his head emphatically. “N-no, b-bu-but my sp-speech…,” at this point he started using his hands, motioning to his mouth and throat, “therapist…” He sighed after finally getting the word out, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. “It h-helps me relax.”
“So what else do you have up there?”
He looked at his music collection, and then went to his bedside table, and tossed me an object. “Look.” When I caught it, I realized it was his iPod. I’d never had one, which I didn’t mind, since I’d never had much use for music. I must have been looking at it weirdly because Rusty Dalton said, “P-push tttthe bottom bu-button.” I did as instructed and it lit up, showing me various pictures and words. “N-now sc-scroll.”
I messed around with it for a while before looking back up at him with an amused expression. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a country fan.” He looked at me like he had no idea what I was talking about. “Johnny Cash?”
Again, he shook his head and gave me a smile. “C-Cash isn’t c-c-country, S-S-SSSSophie. C-Cash transcends genre.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Y-you d-d-don’t llllisten to Johnny Cash?”
“Not one song.”
“Y-you’ve never h-heard RRRRing of F-Fire? Never h-heard A Boy N-Named SSSue?”
I smiled. I could tell how much the idea of my Johnny Cash ignorance offended him. “Sorry. You’ll have to educate me in the car tomorrow. Speaking of which, do you know where I live?”
He shook his head, so I gave him directions. “The first movie starts at ten.”
“It-it’s at llllleast an hour drive.”
“So you’ll pick me up at like eight-thirty?”
“I-if th-that’s what you waaant.” Then he seemed to be thinking real hard. I went back to flipping through the art book until he said, “S-Sophie.” When I looked up, I could tell that something was really bothering him, like more than usual.
“S-S-SSStephen ssssaid I h-have to tell y-you ab-about m-m-my at-at-at…” He stopped, looking even more frustrated. It was painful to watch, but I tried to keep my face neutral as I waited patiently. I didn’t know if me looking at him helped or hindered his speaking process. “I-I sometimes,” he began again, “h-hhhave p-p-p-panic at-at-at-at…” his eyes closed as he tried to say the word.
I had no idea if I should or not, but I went ahead and finished for him. “Attacks?”
He opened eyes and swallowed hard while nodding. “If-if it ha-happens to-to-tomorrow, y-y-you sh-sh-should c-c-call…”
I thought that the music was supposed to help his stuttering, but perhaps it was the subject matter that was making it worse. I’d already figured out what he was going to say, so I waved my hand dismissively. If I stuttered or had anxiety attacks, I wouldn’t want anyone to dwell on it much. “Yeah, I’ll call the EMTs or whatever, and Dr. Dalton. But you’re not going to have an attack of any kind tomorrow.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’ll be with me. I’m super non-threatening and if anything makes you anxious, I’ll punch it for you.”
That earned me a little crooked smile. “You sure you don’t want any money for gas?” He shook his head. I got up to put the art book back on the shelf when glanced at his clock. “It’s time to go.” I crossed the room and looked over my shoulder before leaving. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I went downstairs and found Jason sitting on the couch, next to Olivia. I plopped down beside them, not caring if I was interrupting their conversation. “What’s up?”
“Waiting to be released from hell,” he scowled.
“Don’t you have your own car? Can’t you just leave?”
He nodded to the large clock on the wall. “There’s five minutes left, Sophie. God knows I don’t need Jerry getting a call about how I failed to stay the entire fucking time.” He turned to me now, completely ignoring Olivia. “So do you want to do something tomorrow?”
“I’m going to D.C.”
“Really?” He seemed overly interested. I nodded. “It’d be a good trip for smoking out, if you want--”
“Yeah, actually, I’m going with Elliott to see a couple of foreign films and I don’t think he smokes.”
It was strange the way his face fell. “Elliott Dalton?”
“Do you know any other Elliott’s?”
“It’s going to take the entire trip for him to even say good morning.”
I sighed. “I don’t like it when you’re a prick, Jace. Stop it. We can do something on Sunday, okay?”
He held up his hands. “Oh no, I’m not down for Elliott’s sloppy seconds.” I punched him in the shoulder and finally his smile was back. “Ouch, jackass, it was just a joke. I’ve got a book by the Dalai Lama that might help you with your violent tendencies.”
“Shut the hell up, dick. Do you want to do something on Sunday or not?”
“What will you tell your dad? He won’t want you going out with me.”
“It’s not going to be a date. I’ll just tell him that I’m going out to explore the great town of Damascus. Besides, he’ll be at the station all day.”
“There’s this cave near the Monocacy River where I’m just dying to have my way you.”
I turned to him and whispered, “You could always come over tonight and climb the tree to my window. Tell me it wouldn’t be a rush to do me in Tom’s house.”
“Sophie, your dad’s here!” I looked up at Pinny Dalton and smiled before looking back at Jason. I figured I’d be seeing him later tonight. I’d have to remember to leave my window open. Typically, I made sure everything was locked up tight.
Tom was waiting in the driver’s seat. He gave me a tentative smile when I slid in. “How’d it go, kiddo?”
“Like therapy, Tom. You know, you didn’t have to leave the firehouse. There are plenty of people who could’ve given me a ride.”
“Do you think you might be able to call me ‘dad’ again sometime?”
Had I ever called him dad? I kept my eyes forward, refusing to look at him. I didn’t want to see any Daddy puppy eyes. I wasn’t required by any legal agreement to call him dad.
“I’ve seen you for a total of maybe five hundred days in the past fifteen years, Tom.”
“Soph, you know if I could’ve changed things, I would have. If I’d have known what was going on in Tampa…” I turned to glare at him. Obviously he was still working through the conversatio
n he’d had with Dr. Dalton after my physical.
“What? What would you have done, Tom? If you wanted me so bad, you could’ve…you could’ve fucking fought for me.”
“There was no judge in the U.S. that would have given you to me when you were a baby, Sophie. A single father raising a daughter on a fireman’s salary? They would’ve said that my line of work was too dangerous and would have taken me away from you too much and…”
“But you didn’t even try. Did you have any idea what type of person Helen…” I was getting tired and my heart was pounding. It was hot in the car, so I rolled down the window, hoping the air would stop the mental fuzz in my brain. “Shit,” I whispered as I remembered.
“What? Sophie?”
Reaching down, I fumbled with my bag until I found my glucose meter. “Calm down, Tom, I just forgot to check my blood sugar and I didn’t eat dinner.”
“Sophie! It’s nearly nine thirty!” Thomas Young, firefighter and paramedic, was speaking now.
Thank you, Mr. Clock. Even through my haze I rolled my eyes. Quickly, I pricked my finger with the lancet and got a decent-sized drop of blood onto the strip. My head was hurting now and the five seconds it took for the meter to analyze the blood seemed incredibly long.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit. It was fifty. Pretty damn low.
At this point, I realized that Tom had pulled the car over and was speaking to me, but I couldn’t really understand what he was saying.
“Could you get into the front pouch of my bag and get me one of those sugar packets?” They weren’t as convenient as the diabetic glucose tabs, but they were more efficient and tasted better. Plus, Helen never bought the tabs for me. I could steal the sugar packets off of any restaurant table. Tom placed it in my hand and I ripped it open, wasting no time pouring the sugar into my mouth.
He said something again.
“Quiet.” I wasn’t trying to be rude and I knew as a trained paramedic, he probably had something valuable to say, but I just needed him to leave me alone. “One more?”
He handed me another one and I poured it into my mouth, starting to feel just a little better. It was another few minutes before I felt somewhat normal. “We can go home now.”
Tom just sat there, and then pointed out of the window.
Oh.
We were home. Slowly, I opened the door and got out of the car, holding onto my book bag, still a little shaky. Tom rounded the car quickly, grasping my upper arm. Although it was a gentle offer of help, I flinched, yanking my arm away. “I’m fine. I just need dinner.”
He was silent until we got inside and watched as I grabbed food so I could make myself something to eat. “What?”
“What exactly just happened, Sophie?”
“I told you; my blood sugar dropped too low, so I got it back up.”
“I know it was too low. You have to eat. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened?”
I wanted to tell him to shut up because of course I knew what happened and what it could have lead to, but my energy level forced me into silence. My hands still shook a little, but I started giving my regurgitated answers. “My brain would suck up all of my energy and start shutting down some non-essential functions. I know that. I injected too much insulin, that’s all. I keep the sugar packets around because it goes directly into the bloodstream, counteracting the insulin.”
“And what happens when you don’t get sugar?” He sounded so amazingly condescending when I didn’t fully answer his original question of what could’ve happened, like I hadn’t been dealing with this stuff on my own since I was four or five years old.
I sighed and shrugged, trying to spread the mayo on the bread with my shaky hands. I’d been living with this bullshit for years. I already knew this and so did he. I resented having to say it. “I go into shock, and possibly a coma.”
After I ate, I felt a hell of a lot better, but it still took another hour before Tom got off of my ass and went back to work.
I barricaded the door after brushing my teeth and had just gotten into my pajamas, when there was a soft knock on my window. I jumped and my heart rate accelerated. Shit. Breathing deeply, I calmed myself. It was only Jason.
I went to the window and slid it open. “I can’t believe you actually came. Why didn’t you just use the door? He’s not home.”
He hopped from the tree and into my room with ease. “Banging Tom Young’s daughter in his house is too good to pass up. He’s such a hard-ass. This is the shit I’ll remember for the rest of my life; how could I not climb up the fucking tree? It wouldn’t be as epic.”
Immediately his hands were on me and I found myself stumbling back until I was pressed against my low dresser. The force of my body pushed it against the wall with a thump.
“Be good, Jason.”
“Be good?” he whispered. “Be good when you’re wearing what I can only describe as the worst pajamas I’ve ever seen in my entire life? Those clothes deserve to be ripped to shreds and you need to be punished for even putting them on. They do nothing to show off your tight, little rockin’ body.”
Perv.
I smirked. I had my reasons for wearing sweat pants and an old shirt. It would hardly be appropriate to wear a thong and half-shirt to bed when I lived alone with my father, would it? I mean, what if I had to get up in the middle of the night to pee? What if I physically bumped into him? A shudder ran through me. “Sorry, Jason,” I said, all sweet and nonchalant, “but I forgot that you were even coming over tonight.”
He actually growled as he went for the stretched collar of my shirt. I grabbed his hands. “Don’t actually rip it. It’s my favorite shirt, asshole.”
Sophie had just left my bedroom and I was left alone to reflect. It was the most talking we’d ever done. Whatever she and Robin discussed in her session this afternoon had left her extremely agitated. I had to shut my eyes when she spoke during group because it was too painful to watch. Most everyone in the room had gone through those emotions at one time or another, and many of them had expressed it in the same way. Still, it was painful. She’d been so angry.
Then she’d grabbed my wrist and yanked me out of the living room. I didn’t know what to do when she stopped at my bedroom; even though it was obvious she wanted to go inside. My heart started racing, and although she’d been in it the week before, I still panicked just a little.
We’d talked about art and music, which were fairly safe topics and ones I enjoyed talking about. When she asked about my parents I couldn’t say anything, so I kept quiet and she quickly changed the subject.
I was thinking about what songs to play for her in the car tomorrow when there was a knock on my door. It had to be Robin, reminding me of my session. I went into the hallway, making sure to close my door behind me.
Once situated in Stephen’s study, Robin gave me her warm smile. “Elliott,” I begrudgingly looked at her, but in reality I was fearful of a repeat of last week, “I want to apologize for what happened last time. I didn’t mean to upset you like that, but walking around with those secrets buried inside does you no good.”
I closed my eyes. “B-b-but y-y-you already kn-kn-know.”
“I’m only aware of what’s in the file, and we both know not everything is in there.”
She sighed and I opened my eyes. “I don’t have to be the one you tell. I’m not oblivious to the fact that you’re not entirely comfortable around me, but you should tell someone. You should let someone help you.”
I was about to protest. I wanted to tell her I didn’t need help and these things inside of me were going to stay there until I died. It didn’t matter how many people I told, or how many people wanted to help. Robin continued, “I understand you not wanting to confide in Stephen and David, but you always have Jane.”
“Sh-she’s g-got her own th-thing
s to-to-to deal with.” It was true. Jane had guessed some of it, since she’d been with me when I was fresh out of my father’s house, but she had enough to worry about with her own memories, lost or not.
“Okay.”
I looked back at her in surprise. That was it? She was letting it go? “Stephen tells me you’re going to D.C. tomorrow?”
I nodded, happy with the change of topic.
“Foreign films with Sophie?”
Again, I nodded.
“That should be fun. I take it you’ve hit it off then?”
Shrugging, I answered, “I d-don’t know.” There was something I had to ask her, even though I knew I wouldn’t get an answer. “W-why’s sh-she here?”
“You know I can’t tell you that, but I hope she’ll tell you herself.”
I wanted something more eloquent to say, but the way it came out was, “She’s lllllliiiiike me?”
Robin leaned forward. “I think you two have a lot in common.” She sighed and cocked her head, studying me the way Stephen sometimes did. “D.C. is a bit of a drive. What do you think you two will talk about?”
I shrugged. I actually had no idea, but I wanted to talk to her about something, even if my stuttering would make it painful. “S-sh-she likes aaaart. Sh-she d-doesn’t kn-know Johnny C-Cash.”
She leaned back. “So you’ll share your musical expertise with her?” I shrugged and her smile faded. “Elliott,” she began, her voice oddly careful and even, “as I said, you and Sophie have a lot in common. I don’t know her complete history, but there’s… I want you to be careful. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be involved with her.”
This woman baffled me. She was the one who paired me with Sophie in the first place. She was the one who said interacting with her would be good for me; now suddenly she was warning me against being involved with her. This made no sense. “W-w-w-what d-d-ddddo you m-m-mean?”
“David and Jane have someone, and it’s perfectly normal for you to want something similar, but your situation is quite different. You need to be careful.”