Somehow he doubted it.
Kneeling in front of a chair in the dining room, Calvin touched a wet cloth to Jacob’s bloody knee. “Okay, this isn’t bad. You can handle this little scrape, right, big guy?”
Jacob’s mouth trembled into a smile. “I caught the ball. Did you see me?”
“I did! That was awesome. But Dad’s got the smoker going, and there’s a lot of people out there, so maybe y’all shouldn’t be throwing the football in the driveway right now.”
A pout replaced the smile. “It was Zach’s fault. He don’t throw good.” Jacob waved his uninjured leg, his heel thumping the rung of the wooden chair. “Michael said he was gonna teach me to play football.”
The comment stopped Calvin’s hand as he reached for a Band-Aid on the table. Jacob still didn’t quite understand that Michael was gone. On this Memorial Day, when the family was gathered to honor their fallen soldier, could Jacob have misunderstood and thought his big brother was finally going to come home?
Calvin forced his hand to retrieve the bandage. Without lifting his eyes, he tore open the paper sleeve. “Hold still.” He stretched the Band-Aid across Jacob’s knee. “Done.”
Jacob slid off the chair and ran back outside.
Calvin didn’t want to follow him. He wished Mom hadn’t set this whole thing up. It gave her something to do, a way to focus everyone’s thoughts on Michael, because, she said, he deserved it. But would Michael even know, sitting up in heaven? Calvin wasn’t sure about the theology of that question, and he really didn’t care. He’d woke up that morning, with the sun already beating down on the roof of the house, baking the air inside his attic bedroom, and pulled his sheet over his head anyway. Wuss. Coward. He didn’t have the emotional strength to face the day. Whatever he might have had, dealing with Stacey had sucked it right out of him.
Calvin pushed himself to his feet and forced them to carry him outside. Bright sunlight blinded him, and he squinted to pick his way down the two concrete steps to the backyard. Southern gospel music blared from the speakers in the open workshop. Jacob chased Zachary and two cousins toward a soccer net at the back of the yard. Beneath the old oak tree, Grandma Elizabeth fanned herself, overflowing a webbed lawn chair, while Emily toddled over to show off a yellow dandelion. Lizzie lay sunbathing with their cousin Bailey, their beach towels spread across the weedy grass. And all around aunts, uncles, and cousins clustered in every available patch of shade. Kids Calvin didn’t bother to count chased each other around the yard, shouting and laughing as if there was nothing different about the day.
It all felt wrong.
Calvin sighed and leaned against the corner of the workshop. Michael wouldn’t want him to mope around like this. He would’ve been running around with the little kids, acting like a goofball, or cutting up with the uncles talking about NASCAR. He’d make it his mission to cause at least one aunt to blush.
But Michael wasn’t there. And Michael didn’t have an anorexic girlfriend who’d promised she would be there by ten a.m. to help him get through the day.
It was almost noon.
The warm breeze shifted, bringing smoke thick with the aroma of barbecue across Calvin’s face. Standing next to the big metal smoker, Dad pulled meat off a side of pork that had been roasting since before dawn.
Calvin wandered to the top of the driveway and peered toward the street. No blue Honda; she wasn’t coming. All the food had scared her away. How sad—how wrong—that her need to avoid food, even after all her promises, could overrule his need to have her there with him.
Almost choking on the thought, he wandered toward two long folding tables draped with mismatched tablecloths, where Mom and Aunt Sally were arranging the food. Wide mixing bowls and big casserole dishes contained potato salad, slaw, baked beans, macaroni and cheese, and Jell-O salad. Sliced watermelon, peach cobbler, and pie—at least three different kinds. Calvin filled a red plastic cup with lemonade.
His little cousin Morgan, looking so cute in her blonde pigtails and pink overall shorts, reached up to clasp his hand. “Is your bike fixed now, Calvin?”
“Uh, yeah, but I think we’re going to eat soon. Tell you what, though. I bet Lizzie will watch VeggieTales with you.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Go ask her. She’s right over there.”
He pointed, and Morgan scurried off toward Lizzie. Calvin swigged more of his lemonade and ducked around the side of the house before his sister could launch a counter assault. He sat on the front porch steps, where the squealing of playing kids and the chatter of adults who could somehow be happy didn’t surround him. He stared at the street, until gulp by gulp, his drink cup was drained.
Still no Stacey.
He could go inside and call her, but what was the point? She’d just make an excuse, and he’d feel even worse. Calvin certainly didn’t know everything there was to know about love, but he’d learned it involved sacrifice. He’d sacrificed a lot for Stacey. It seemed a long time since she’d sacrificed anything for him. All the drawings and poems and the deep conversations about Michael, the things that made him love her so much and made him feel that she loved him, he hadn’t seen any of it for weeks. Things had got tough for them, and it seemed she was withdrawing—even pushing him away—more each day.
“You said you needed me,” he muttered to the air. “Actually seems like I love you more than you love me. This hurts, Stace. It hurts bad.”
In the backyard, Mom yelled, “Y’all come on. We’re ready to eat.”
Calvin lumbered off the steps and shuffled toward the backyard. There, Dad carried a huge platter of pulled pork to the table and set it in the spot Aunt Sally had cleared for him. People gathered in and formed a circle around the tables. One by one the voices fell to whispers and stilled.
“Let’s pray.” Dad’s voice was barely loud enough to be heard.
Twenty-six family members clasped hands. Calvin set his empty plastic cup on the ground between his feet then took hold of Zachary’s hand to his right, Bailey’s to his left. He swallowed and looked down. Get this over with.
“Father God …” Dad said.
The breeze whispered in the oak tree and birds chirped. Calvin opened his eyes enough to see his father with his head lowered to his chest.
Don’t. Don’t start crying now.
“We’re gathered here on this day … to honor our brave men and women in uniform for their service to our country. Yet our hearts are burdened as we think of … a son, a grandson, a brother … a loved one, who gave the ultimate sacrifice and is with you now. We thank you …”
Dad’s voice failed. Calvin squeezed his eyes tight. He couldn’t look up again, couldn’t bear to see the pain that would be written on his father’s face, the trembling of his lips as he tried to find words. Tears burned beneath Calvin’s eyelids, the pressure built until it felt like the water was behind his eyeballs too. It wouldn’t take much for him to lose it.
Dad sniffed. “We just thank you for Michael, for the time we had with him. Help us to find peace in the knowledge that he’s in your keeping now, healed from all wounds and happy in your presence.”
Happy …
Water rolled down the side of Calvin’s nose. A muscle in his forearm twitched, desperate to wipe the tears away.
Finish! Finish already!
“Would anyone like to add anything?” Dad said.
No. No, please. Can’t we just eat?
Mom started talking. A different prayer erupted in Calvin’s head. Oh, God, please, no. I can’t take this.
“Lord, Michael was a very special young man, and we all miss him so much. He made us laugh and was always there to help out wherever he was needed. We were so proud that he wanted to serve his country—”
“Stop …” Calvin swallowed, choked, and whimpered. “Stop, please.”
Someone whispered. He was attracting attention. His mouth fell open and rasping breaths came out. Hold on. Hold on.
“Cal?” Zachary said softly.
“I’m okay.” No I’m not.
“—but he left a hole in our family and in our hearts that can’t be filled by—”
He broke, and his sob stopped Mom’s prayer. He felt the weight of everyone staring. Calvin let go of hands and turned around without opening his eyes. He staggered and caught himself on one hand, the gravel tearing into his palm. Allowing in slits of light, he could see colors blurred by his tears as he ran toward the cotton field. Voices called after him, so he ran faster.
Michael! Michael, you went away, and I need you!
As he reached the field and moved between the rows of cotton plants, Calvin’s feet bogged down in the soft soil. This was stupid. He didn’t even know where he was going, and now he’d made a spectacle of himself. He slowed down, stopped, put his hands to his knees and huffed. He heard the whispering footsteps of someone coming up behind him.
“Leave me alone. I’ll be fine.”
“Calvin …” Peyton’s hands were on his back and shoulder before he could straighten to look at her.
“I’m sorry. Just give me a few minutes. I’ll be all right.”
“I don’t think so. Calvin, talk to me. This is more than about Michael, isn’t it?”
He coughed out a laugh. “You don’t know everything.”
“I know you’ve been really down lately. I know we don’t see Stacey come around much anymore. I know you had a fight with her a few weeks ago. And I know she’s not here today. So, come on. Talk to me. Let me help you if I can.”
Calvin stood and looked at his sister. Sudden awareness that his face was soaked with tears and snot made him turn in a circle and mop up the mess with his sleeve. He looked back at the house, at the people milling around the tables of food, and wondered what they were saying about him. Poor boy. Losing his big brother has been so hard on him.
Peyton did know more than the others. And maybe—maybe—she’d let go of her judgments for a few minutes to hear him out.
He coughed, stuck his hands in his pockets, and turned to face her. “Stacey is … she’s got … she’s anorexic. And I’ve been trying to help her, but she’s not listening to me. I’m scared …” He sniffed and looked at the sky. “I’m scared she’s gonna die,” his voice squeaked.
“Anorexic? Calvin, are you sure? I mean, I know she’s really thin, but that could be, uh, a thyroid problem or—”
“I’m totally sure.” He looked out over the cotton field, at the rows of green plants. They were doing well. Dad was proud of him. If only the rest of his life could be so simple.
“Do her parents know?” Peyton asked.
Calvin shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
“But how could they not know?”
“She’s good at hiding it. She’s good at lying. She’s got all these tricks to make it look like she’s eating.”
“Did she tell you she’s anorexic?”
“No. I figured it out.” Bones. His fingers touching them where there should have been soft, enticing girl-flesh. No way could he tell his sister how he knew for sure. “I know she is. No doubt about it. Remember that night you thought I was looking at porn on the computer?”
“Cal—”
“I wasn’t, okay. I was looking up anorexia. I wanted to find out everything I could.”
Peyton sighed deeply. “I’m sorry. I saw a picture and I made a mistake. I wish you had told me then what was really going on.”
He squinted into the sun. “Forget it. Doesn’t matter.”
“Maybe you should talk to her parents.”
Calvin shook his head hard. “No. No way. She’ll never speak to me again if I betray her like that. Besides, they have to figure it out sometime if they haven’t already. She’s been sick a lot lately. She’s even in trouble at school because of it.”
“If they take her to a doctor, he’ll be able to see something isn’t right with her.”
“Exactly. That’s what I’m hoping. I’ve begged her to go to the doctor, and she promised me she would, but she didn’t. Just like she promised me she would come to our barbecue today, but she didn’t.”
“Has she said why she’s not coming?”
“No. I haven’t heard from her at all. She probably doesn’t want to see all the food.”
“Wow. I knew there were problems, but I didn’t imagine … Wow.”
“Sweet, huh? Now you know.”
Peyton reached up to stroke Calvin’s shoulder, but didn’t say anything for several seconds. “Would you like me to talk to her?”
Calvin pushed his lips out as his sinuses burned again with fresh tears. He shook his head. “No. She’s not going to want to talk to you.”
“Maybe she will. I’m another girl. She might be willing to open up to me.”
“You’re my sister. She’ll think I put you up to it. Besides, she talks to her friend, Zoe. I think Zoe actually helps her, covering up for her and stuff.”
“That’s awful. What kind of friend does that?”
“She’s weird. Uh …” Calvin looked over his shoulder at the people settling down to eat. “We should get back.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. It was, like … it was too much. You know?”
She smiled a little. “You weren’t the only one crying.”
“That makes me feel a whole lot better.”
“Calvin, come here.” Peyton pulled him toward her and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
He hugged her back, finding that he didn’t want to let go. So good, just to have someone hold him like this, knowing a little bit about what he was going through.
“Calvin, if you’re right,” Peyton said, her voice soft next to his ear, “she’s very sick. She needs counseling. It’s more complicated than just deciding not to eat so she can be thin.”
“I know that.”
“Try again. Do everything you can to encourage her to see a doctor. And if it doesn’t work, you’re going to have to talk to her parents.”
He sagged. He didn’t want to think about what Officer Varnell would say to him, much less about what Stacey would do. They’d be done. She’d never speak to him again.
Would it be worth it if it saved her life?
Chapter 24
The collage would certainly push the boundaries of Mrs. Chandler’s instructions for their final assignment. Except for what Stacey had initially sketched on the eighteen-by-twenty-four-inch illustration board, there wasn’t any drawing at all. Rendering, yes, but no actual sketching by pencil, marker, or brush to create the image. Stacey backed away from the easel and nibbled a torn cuticle.
“Should I do some sketching on top, like, with a marker or something, so it’ll still qualify as a drawing?”
“Stop worrying,” Zoe said. “It’s going to be awesome.”
The girl sat cross-legged on a sheet spread across carpet in Stacey’s room, tearing food labels into tiny pieces. She sorted them by dominant colors and shades and placed them into mason jars Stacey had provided.
Stacey knelt down opposite Zoe and sifted through the stack of canned goods labels that remained. “Keep some of these big, so the words can still be read.”
“Pick out what you want, so I don’t tear it up by mistake.”
Canned spaghetti, vegetables loaded with salt, soups full of cream and starch. The colors were all garish and way too bright to be used to depict a human form, but that was sort of the point. It was all wrong and evil. Stacey sifted through the labels, looking for familiar brand names and icons.
“Thanks for helping me with this,” she told Zoe.
Zoe paused in her tearing and looked up at the image on the board. “So amazing. I would never have thought of it.”
Her knees and ankles complaining, Stacey rolled down to sit on the sheet, where she studied the image from another angle. She’d drawn inspiration from one of those horrible pictures of herself from a few years ago, all pudgy at the beach, wearing a two-piece swimsuit, of all things. She covered the illustration b
oard with torn construction paper in beige, aqua, blue, and white, to represent the sand and the water. When all the glue was dry, she carefully sketched the outline of her figure, and recruited Zoe to help her tear up the labels she took off all the scrubbed-out cans her mother was recycling. Zoe had brought a stack of her own, along with a hilarious story of what happened at home when her mother discovered all her canned goods with the labels gone and Sharpie marker notations telling the contents of the can. Apparently Zoe’s consolation that now their pantry had a unified, modern look didn’t go over well.
“You going to be able to finish it in time?” Zoe asked.
“Thanks to you, I will.” Stacey found enough whole labels she thought would be sufficient to make her point about the conspiracy of the food industry. She pushed herself to her feet, careful to go slowly, and moved to her dresser beside her easel. She placed the labels in the stack with all of Calvin’s recent notes.
He’d made himself her psychologist. With lovely notes of encouragement and his deep, gentle voice telling her how much he loved her and wanted her to be happy and healthy, he tried to get inside her head and undermine everything she was thinking. What, did he read a book or something? Suddenly he was an expert? It was sweet in a way, but mostly it hurt like crazy.
Was it too bold to include his notes with the larger pieces of labels?
They were on white notebook paper. The blue lines with bits of his handwriting showing would be enough. She’d need a lot of white to complete the figure anyway.
Stacey separated the notes from her big labels and started to tear them into tiny pieces. As she tore through his name at the bottom of the first note, she turned her back to Zoe so her friend wouldn’t see her cry.
One week left, with no additional absences that would hold her back. She was going to make it. Too bad that one week was finals week, and she was already beyond exhausted from staying up late to finish her art project.
Grateful to be off her feet for a little while, Stacey plopped into one of the tightly packed desks in the center of her chemistry classroom, next to Zoe. The cold water she’d just swallowed at the fountain trickled through her insides to do battle with the acid burning in her belly. Her fingers trembled as she dug into her purse for one of the brand-new number-two pencils she’d sharpened for her exams. Other students bumped and chattered, milling around their seats as if reluctant to sit. She wasn’t the only one with test-day nerves.
Running Lean Page 22