We played 120s, Rummy 500, and Crazy Eights. Elliot and Dad bounced jokes and witty remarks off each other all night long. They were having a great time. And it pissed me off.
The next morning over breakfast, I asked Elliot how he could like my dad so much, after all I’d told him.
“It’s not so much that I like him. I tolerate him, that’s all. It’s better than fighting.”
“Suggesting a game of cards is more than tolerating,” I said, scraping butter across my toast louder and faster than I needed to.
“It’s called making the best of a bad situation. I figured a game of cards would keep him busy. Better than watching him sitting in that ugly recliner getting plastered.”
Elliot poured milk into his cereal. He was using my old Kellogg’s Corn Flakes bowl.
“Hey, that’s my mine,” I said.
“What?”
“My bowl. Nan got it for me when I was little. I always used it when I visited.”
“Oh, do you want it back or something?”
“No, I’m just saying.”
He took a big spoonful of Cheerios.
“His name is Corny, you know,” I said.
Elliot looked around. “Who?”
“The rooster. In the bottom of the bowl.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
He swirled the contents of the bowl so he could catch a glimpse of the bottom. “I never knew that.”
“I didn’t either. Until I got the bowl. It’s short for Cornelius or something.”
“Cool.”
I picked the crust off my toast. “So do you actually like him or what?”
“Who? The rooster? Nah, I prefer Tony the Tiger.”
“Ha, ha, very funny,” I said. “I meant my dad.”
Elliot picked the crusts off my plate and ate them. “Of course not. He’s an asshole.”
“So you don’t like him.”
“Je ne l’aime pas.”
“Wow. Then that was an amazing performance last night. You deserve an Academy Award.”
Elliot put his tea down. “Look, your father is probably never going to change. So you need to find a way to deal with him. I’m not saying fake it and be his best friend, but if you show a little interest in him every now and then, he might be a bit more tolerable. Did you see his face light up when I asked him to play cards? He was in a good mood the rest of the night. He wasn’t so lonely.”
“Lonely? My dad’s not lonely. He has a family. He has drinking buddies. He’s not alone.”
Elliot picked up his cereal bowl and drank the last bit of milk. “Yeah, he has a family—a family who hates him. No wonder he freaks out all the time.”
I slammed my mug down on the table. “He deserves it. Why are you defending him?”
“I’m not. I just—”
I started clearing the breakfast table. Noisily.
“I’m just giving you another point of view.”
“Well, you can stick that point of view where the sun don’t shine, because it sucks.”
I threw the dishes into the sink of water and started washing them. Elliot came up behind me and put his arms around my waist. He whispered in my ear.
“I don’t want to fight with you. I’m just saying, I dunno, maybe you should try not to push his buttons so much.”
I spun around. “Try not to push his buttons? Are you friggin’ kidding me?”
Elliot leaned against the counter and folded his arms. “Regular little Susie Homemaker? Come on, Kit. You know those snarky comments are going to piss him off.”
I threw a handful of cutlery in the dish drainer. “You have no idea what it’s like.”
“No, I don’t. But remember that quote about being a prisoner? Seriously, Kit, being mad all the time is bad for you. You’re going to explode someday.”
“I’m going to explode right now if you don’t stop making excuses for my asshole father.”
“Look, I admit I don’t know what it’s like, but he seems pretty harmless and—”
I gripped the edge of the sink and stared into the dirty dishwater. “Harmless?”
“So he gets a bit obnoxious when he drinks. I mean, you can deal with that, right?”
I took a couple of deep breaths to avoid saying something I’d regret.
“Kit?”
“You just don’t get it, do you?” My voice was angry, hard.
“Then tell me. What’s it like? Talk to me.”
I looked out the kitchen window. “He hit my mom once. Right in the face.”
Elliot paused. “Oh.”
“And he’s come close to hitting me a million times. If flinching were an Olympic sport, I’d probably get gold.”
Elliot reached for my hand. I pulled away.
“But then again, if he gave me a good smack I’d probably deserve it, right? Because of my snarky comments? Because I pushed his buttons?”
“I’m sorry, Kit.”
“I spend my whole life walking on eggshells because I never know if he’s happy or mad or sad or if I’m going to say the wrong thing. My whole life, Elliot. As long as I can remember. The shouting, the swearing, the smell…you really have no idea. None.”
I dried my hands and wiped my eyes with a dishtowel.
Elliot reached for my hand again. I let him take it. “I’m such an arsehole.”
“Yeah. You are.”
“I just…I dunno, I’ve never known an alcoholic before—not that that’s an excuse or anything. I just thought he was a pain in the butt…I didn’t know how bad things really were.”
“Well, you do now.”
Elliot put his arms around me and pulled me in tight. Things got quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
“I don’t know what to do now,” he said finally.
I looked up. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I can’t go back to St. John’s now, can I? I can’t leave you here, alone, with him.”
“You have to go back. You can’t stay here. What about school? You’re already missing two days.”
“Then why don’t you leave? Move back with Iggy?”
“Because Nan needs me.”
Elliot sighed.
“Don’t worry. I can handle myself.”
“But what if he—”
“I have to be here for Nan, and that’s that.”
He put his chin on the top of my head. “I’m sorry, Kit.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Elliot kissed the tip of my nose. “Sit your bum down. I’ll finish these dishes. Then we’ll go see your nan.”
I sat at the table and watched Elliot make a mess of cleaning up. Water sloshed out of the sink and ran down the cabinets to the floor. The draining rack was full, but he kept stacking it with sudsy dishes, one on top of the other like a crazy game of Jenga.
“She’s not the same,” I said.
“Who?”
“Nan. She’s all small and sick-looking. It makes me really sad.”
Elliot turned around. “They’ll take good care of her, Kit.”
“I know. I just feel guilty because, well, I didn’t go to the hospital yesterday after the ambulance took her. I panicked and called you instead.”
“It’s okay to be scared.”
“But she could have died.”
“But she didn’t. You’re going to see her today. That’s all that matters now, right?”
I nodded, but I guess I didn’t look convinced, because Elliot dried his hands and came to the table.
“What’s wrong, Kit?”
“I’m nervous about the whole hospital thing. What if sh
e looks even worse? What if she’s hooked up to stuff?”
“Kit, she’s sick. She’ll probably look like shit. And, yeah, she’ll probably be hooked up to stuff. But I bet it’ll do her a world of good to see you. So once I finish these dishes, we’re going to get ready and we’re going to the hospital. You and me. Together. Okay?”
I nodded and blinked back some tears. “Moptop?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re simply perfect.”
He put his head down and shook it. “Aw, shucks. Je suis embarrassé.”
“Okay, dork, enough of that,” I said, pulling myself together. “You look stupid. Like that bashful dwarf from Snow White.”
He grabbed me by my waist and threw me over his shoulder, hanging my head over the sink full of dirty dishwater. “No one calls me a dwarf! Take it back!”
“Never!”
He put me down and we kissed until we heard the creaking of Dad getting out of bed upstairs.
Nan did look like shit, but she was awake and able to talk. She adored Elliot. He sat by her bedside and listened patiently as she told stories through an oxygen mask. Her voice was breathy and muffled, as if she were channeling Darth Vader, but Elliot leaned in close and hung on every word. He asked her what it was like growing up in Parsons Bay, and in a faint, halting voice she told him how plentiful the fish were all those years ago and how they were happier, simpler times. “What was Kit’s dad like as a kid?” he asked. It was something I’d never bothered to ask.
She looked a bit distant for a minute—sad, almost—then said, “He was a little rascal, rambunctious and rowdy.”
“And now he’s a big rascal, rambunctious and rowdy,” I said.
She gave a strained and sleepy laugh. “Excuse me while I rest my eyes a bit.”
After she fell asleep, I took Elliot up to the top of the cliff. He sat on a boulder and I sat on his lap. It was cold right down to the bone, but we stayed there for ages, looking at the humongous ocean and listening to its waves, rambunctious and rowdy.
We passed Anne-Marie on the way down. Toby was pulling her up the hill. Her face was red from trying to hike in a pair of ridiculously high heels. “Hey, girlfriend!” she shrieked. She held my shoulders and kissed the air on either side of my face.
Elliot looked at me as if to say, “Who the heck is that?” and I felt embarrassed. For me and for Anne-Marie.
“A bunch of us are hanging out at Will Hanrahan’s tonight,” she said. “Wanna come?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Laters.”
We watched as Toby pushed Anne-Marie up the trail by her butt cheeks.
Elliot shook his head. “I’m glad you’re not that high-maintenance.”
“She used to build sheds and install toilets.”
“What? No way!”
“It’s true. Total tomboy.”
When we got down to the cove, I pointed at a fishing boat. “That used to be the Kitty Charmer.”
“Really?”
We went onto the wharf for a closer look.
“Look,” Elliot said. “It’s got a new name: Breakin’ Wind.”
We broke down laughing. When we recovered, I reached out and touched the faded blue shadow that hid beneath the new red letters.
“Can you see it, Moptop?”
He put his hand over mine.
“Yeah, I see it. Does it make you sad?”
“Kind of. My dad used to keep these words freshly painted. They were a beautiful sky-blue.”
“Did he take you out on it much?”
“Once. We shared a Kit Kat.”
“Do you wish your family still owned it?”
I thought about it for a minute. “No.”
“How come?”
“Because if we still owned it, that would mean Dad still had a job and we wouldn’t have had to move to St. John’s.”
Elliot smiled. “And?”
I smirked. “And then I would never have met Mr. Adams.”
“And?”
“And Caroline.”
He grabbed me around the waist and twirled me out and over the water. “How would you like to be thrown into the bay?”
“Okay, okay,” I shrieked. “And then I never would have met you!”
He stopped spinning me and put me back down on the wharf. “And?”
“And that would be bad?”
“Yes, it would,” he said, pulling me against him. “Very bad.”
He wrapped his fingers around the belt loops of my jeans and pulled me toward him. I wondered if he tingled like I did. He leaned in for a kiss, but I stopped him. “Hang on a sec.” I looked around the cove and then clambered over the side of the boat. I tried the door to the cabin. It was open. I signaled for Elliot to follow. He did. Like a lovesick puppy.
We went straight to the bottom bunk, giggling and whispering at first, but then Elliot slid his hand inside my shirt and laid it on my stomach and I kind of stopped breathing. I think he did too. I think he was scared to rest his hand there—it was halfway between hovering and landing. A few seconds later, though, it relaxed, sort of like butter on a warm pancake—at first it just sits there, cold and rigid, but then it melts over the surface. My tummy probably felt a bit pancake-ish too, all soft and doughy. At first I thought, Oh shit, I really should work out more, but then I thought, Who cares? I bet Elliot doesn’t. With the full weight of his hand finally on my belly, he rolled to his side and put his head on my shoulder, and we talked for a bit. The light was fading outside and the boat was getting chilly, so I pulled the comforter up over us, and with the rocking of the boat we got kind of dozy, and it was in this sleepy, dopey state that we allowed our hands to roam. But the problem with things that feel good is they leave you wanting more and more. Like the feel of Elliot’s shoulder muscles underneath his shirt. The taste of his lips. The touch of his fingers as his hand moved just underneath the waistband of my jeans. I didn’t pull away. I just gave him another kiss and said, “We should go, Moptop” and he said, “Okay” and gave me a cuddle that led to a kiss that led to a touch. I could have stayed in that bunk forever. “Seriously,” I said. “We should go.” So he kissed my forehead and helped me up. We sneaked off the boat, stifling our giggles, and ran away from the cove.
Outside Cathy’s Café and Corner Shop, Elliot felt in his pocket. “Wait here.”
He went inside and came back with a Kit Kat. As soon as I saw it, my eyes filled with tears.
He put his arm around me. “Oh, Kit. It’s just a Kit Kat.”
But it was more than that.
“Don’t mind me,” I said, breaking it in half. “I’m just being a huge dork.”
“Nah,” he said. “Chocolate is a very emotional thing. You should see me Easter morning. As soon as I set eyes on those solid bunnies and foil-wrapped eggs, I bawl my eyes out.”
I smacked him on the bum.
“Easy, tiger,” he said. “We’re off the boat now. Time to act respectable.”
I laughed. “I wish you didn’t have to go tomorrow.”
“Me too. Coming for two nights was kinda pointless. I mean, your nan’s still in the hospital. I haven’t done much to help.”
“What do you mean?” I said. “You have been a great help. I was freaking out and you came right away. Just being around you makes me feel, I dunno, calm.”
Elliot closed his eyes and pretended to meditate, his hands held out in front of him, thumb and forefinger joined. “I am the king of Zen. Om.”
I slapped him on the arm. “King of dorks, you mean.”
He opened his eyes. “You have just broken my deep state of thoughtless awareness.”
“I’ll break something if you don’t stop being a freak. Come on, let’s go back to Nan’s.”
We walked
toward home, sharing the Kit Kat. On the way, I showed him my school. We went behind it where nobody could see us and shared a chocolatey kiss.
It was Elliot who suggested we go to Will Hanrahan’s.
“Why not? We don’t have anything else to do.”
“We could play cards with my dad.”
“Very funny.”
“What if it’s lame?”
“If it’s lame we’ll leave.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. We’ll even have a code word.”
“A code word?”
“Yeah, like…banana.”
“Banana?”
“Yeah, banana. Say you’re in deep conversation with Anne-Marie about world peace…”
“And you call me sarcastic?”
“Okay, say you’re in deep conservation with Anne-Marie about hiking in high heels…”
I laughed. “Continue.”
“Then I would interrupt and say something like, ‘Kit, did you know that eating a banana before a hike gives you lots of energy?’ and that would be your cue to wrap things up so we could leave.”
“That’s totally dumb. You can’t fit a word like banana into any old conversation.”
“Try me.”
“Okay, say I’m talking to Anne-Marie about what an idiot my dad is.”
“Then I’d laugh and say, ‘Your dad…he’s such a silly ol’ banana.’”
“Then I’d laugh and say, ‘Moptop, you’re such a dork.’”
“Then I’d laugh and say, ‘But you love me anyway.’”
“And then I’d laugh and say, ‘Yeah, I guess I do.’”
“And then we’d both laugh and start making out right there in front of everyone.”
I smacked him. “Easy, tiger.”
“So, we’ll go?”
“All right, we’ll go.”
Getting down into Will Hanrahan’s rec room required balance, as the stairs were dotted with clumps of kids smoking and drinking. This was clearly a full-blown party…and on a Monday night too.
I grabbed Elliot’s hand tightly. “You won’t drink, will you?”
“Not after last time. My guts are still sore from puking.”
The room smelled musty and yeasty, like old books and spilled beer.
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