“No,” I said rigidly.
“'No' meaning that you haven't thought about it, or that you don't want to do it?”
“'No' meaning that I haven't thought about it,” I said.
“You and Karl haven't spoken about it at all?”
“Karl thinks that I'm doing fine as I am,” I told him. “He's more concerned with how I'm adjusting.”
“Right, adjusting,” my father said. His face pulled further into a frown. “It's just, it's been four years, so ...”
“So …?” I repeated, mimicking his tone of uncertainty.
“So you've had a lot of time to think about it.”
I threw him a look as I chewed the insides of my cheeks, wondering what he could possibly be expecting me to say. Perhaps he still envisioned that I would go to law school like he had planned and that we could simply skip over the past few years as though they had never existed, feigning that I had never been diagnosed in the first place. He might have thought that I had been cured, even, but it was only because he had never known me well enough to realize how much of normalcy I was accustomed to dissembling and using for parts.
“I'm not going to college, Dad.”
“No, I didn't mean that you had to.” He waited as though hoping that I would offer an alternative, but when I gave nothing other than silence, he continued, “I just thought … It's important to think of your future, is all, Enim.”
“Right. Well, I'm doing fine right now.”
“I know – I can see that, but … it might be good to make some plans.”
“Plans?”
“Yes; I think it would be good for you to think about what you'll do or what you'll be doing a few years down the line. Do you have any ideas?”
“About what I'll be doing?” I repeated. “Probably the same thing I'm doing now.”
“Living with Karl, you mean?”
I shrugged.
“I guess.”
My father sighed.
“It's just … I don't want you to get too comfortable with the idea unless you also have a backup plan,” he said.
“I don't need a backup plan.”
“You do, Enim. You can't expect people to take care of you forever.”
I looked at him oddly, a strange sensation weighing down my tongue as I struggled not to say what I was thinking. I certainly didn't expect him to take care of me indefinitely: he never had.
“I think it's a safe bet with Karl,” I said slowly. “He's pretty good at taking care of people.”
My father closed his eyes.
“Of course,” he said after a moment. “I just … I just thought that you might like to think about it some more. I … I worry about you, Enim.”
I fixed my gaze on him.
“I don't need you to.”
He faltered momentarily, and I was so certain that he had for once understood my meaning completely that I hurried to change it.
“I mean, I'm doing fine now,” I said. “And Karl looks out for me, so ...”
“So?”
“So there's nothing to worry about.”
He nodded, but the frown was still firmly set between his eyes.
“Of course,” he said. “But I worry about you regardless. Especially in light of the fact that you don't take medication.”
“I don't need medication,” I said, finally letting the annoyance drip into my voice. “Is this what you wanted to discuss with me? My treatment?”
“No, no, that's not … that's not what I wanted to talk about,” he said hurriedly, though his throat was so sore that it was making the action difficult. Clearing it, he said, “I just wanted to – to tell you something. To explain myself, rather.”
I gave him a blank look.
“Alright,” I said, waiting for him to go on.
“I … Well, I … I've been thinking a lot lately about – about this whole thing with your mother.”
“'This whole thing?'” I repeated the statement blandly; he made it sound like a business protocol.
“Yes. This – I mean, the way that it was handled. The way that I handled it, rather.” He sighed and shook his head, realizing that he was stumbling over his words and rendering his point unmade. “I – what I mean to say, Enim, is … What I want you to know, rather, is that … despite what happened at the end, I did care for your mother. I did take care of her, until ...”
“She jumped off a bridge?”
“Until I couldn't take care of her anymore,” he finished, ignoring my comment. He looked at me intently, wondering if he had made himself clear. “Do you understand what I'm trying to say?”
“Not especially.”
He let out a breath.
“I just … I'm just trying to explain that there's a certain point where … where you can't take care of people anymore. When you know that you can't help them.”
He was still staring at me steadily, but nothing in what he had said would break through. It occurred to me in that moment as strongly as ever how opposite he and Karl were in every way, from the deep brown of his eyes compared to Karl's blue ones to the way that he could so easily turn away from people when Karl held on, no matter what the cost to anyone else, and I realized that I couldn't find where I fell in between.
“I just don't want you to be alone, Enim.”
I shrugged.
“Well, I won't be,” I said, but it was every bit as clear to him as it was to me that the statement wasn't true.
A knock sounded against the wood before the door swung open, and Ava's head poked into the office.
“Dan? Can we give Enim his present now?”
My father straightened and cleared his throat.
“Of course,” he said, forcing a smile. “Why don't you show it to him?”
Her face lit up excitedly.
“It's in the living room!” she proclaimed before running off in that direction, and I threw a last glance at my father before stepping out of the office to follow her.
I found her crouching beside an open cardboard box when I entered, and she waved me over with a toothy smile stretching across her face. Melinda had come into the room as well and offered me a smile, though it was as forced as the one that I returned to her. As my father stepped around me to stand beside her, Ava ushered me forward again.
“Come closer, Enim,” Ava said. “You can't see it from back there!”
“Alright.”
I inched forward until I was standing just a foot from the box, readying myself for an appropriate reaction. Ava had sent me birthday cards with little handmade gifts enclosed for the past three years, including an oddly misshapen flowerpot complete with a plant that had only survived due to Karl's diligence in watering it regularly, though none of the gifts were quite as prized as the horribly beaded bracelet that she had made upon first meeting me. I still wavered on which way to flip the beads even now, turning them to read my name before changing my mind and having them spell out mine instead despite how Karl protested. As I leaned forward to peer inside the gift box, I vaguely wondered what sort of colorful item I would be adding to the collection in the drawer in my bedroom this year, but the thought had barely crossed my mind when I saw what was inside and automatically made a face.
The thing sitting before me was the size of a large spool of yarn, and was white in color except for large patches of brown and gray. At first I thought that it might be some sort of throw pillow that she had badly crocheted for me, but then – quite unexpectedly – it moved.
I jumped back.
“What is that?” I said, afraid to look again.
“It's a dog,” my father said simply.
“It's a puppy!” Ava corrected, scooping the thing up and holding it out for me to see. Surely enough, it was a puppy – a very small, furry, sad-looking puppy – and I took another step back.
“But – what's it for?” I said numbly.
“It's for your birthday,” Ava said.
I glanced at my father, wondering what I had done wrong to deserve such
a present, and tried to decipher whether he had actually thought that it was in any way a good idea or if he simply hadn't had the heart to decline his youngest daughter's suggestion.
“But what it is?” I said again, still convinced that there was another explanation for the thing being presented to me.
“It's a mix-breed, Enim,” Melinda said. “She's half husky, half retriever.”
“We picked her because she has bright blue eyes, just like you,” Ava continued excitedly. “And she'll get a lot bigger.”
“That's what I'm afraid of,” I said lowly, but Ava was too busy petting the thing to hear me.
“Do you like it, Enim?” my father asked, giving me a look.
I glanced at him before returning my gaze to Ava.
“Yeah, no, I love it.”
“Her,” Ava corrected. “What are you going to name her?”
“I … will have to think about it,” I said numbly.
“Here, hold her.”
Ava stood up and placed the thing in my arms before I could make an excuse, and I quickly locked my arms together to keep from dropping it. The little creature's nails dug into my sweater to keep from slipping, tearing at the skin, and I tried without success not to grimace at the feel of it there.
“Hold it like a rugby ball,” Melinda told me, not seeming to realize that I had no idea how to do that, either.
“I thought that was for infants,” my father said, frowning at the creature, as well.
“I think it's the same concept, really,” she said thoughtfully. “My father used to hold them by the scruff, but I think that that's been outlawed.”
Light pooled in through the window from the street outside, and we all looked over at the driveway simultaneously.
“That must be Karl,” my father said.
“Karl,” I repeated, resisting the urge to drop the creature and run my hands through my hair. “He's going kill me.”
“Does he not like dogs?” Melinda asked, glancing at my father. “Dan didn't say.”
“No, he'll be fine with it, I'm sure,” he said. “Come on, Enim: we'll walk you to the door.”
Melinda wished me happy birthday again before returning to the kitchen, and my father and Ava followed me into the front hall. I handed the dog back to Ava as I put my coat and shoes on, and as she returned it to me, I said, “Thank you, Ava. I really like it.”
“Her,” she reminded me. “Call me and tell me what you name her!”
My father put his hand on her head to smooth down her hair.
“Or why don't you just come back, Enim? At the end of the week, maybe?” He looked at me with another frown, and I chewed the insides of my cheeks as I considered how to say no. “There was something else that I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Couldn't you just tell me now?”
My father continued to pat Ava's head, whose eyes were still fixed on the puppy.
“No, it's something … Not on your birthday,” he said. “How about Friday?”
It was hardly a question, and he didn't even wait for me to answer before pulling the door open to allow me outside. As I stepped down the porch steps, careful not to drop the wriggling creature in my arms, a jet of cold air came from the street and slipped around my neck to chill me. The street lights were so bright that they appeared like orbs hanging in the sky to light the way to nothingness, and the ground lit up in white for as far as I could see.
Once on the path I turned back to the house to give it another look. My father and Ava were still standing at the window to watch me walk to the car, their faces filling both the highest and lowest frame, respectively, and one looking as young as the other did old. I wondered if my father was planning to tell me again why he had not stayed with my mother after her accident, perhaps feeling as though his initial plan had not turned out the way that he had hoped, and I shook my head at the thought of another wasted conversation. I wasn't angry at him anymore – that sort of emotion had long been used up and run dry through my bloodstream – but I wouldn't excuse him for what he had done in exchange for a few family dinners and well-thought out words.
It wasn't lost on me that the only reason he had chosen to come back to Connecticut was because he finally felt that he could now that my mother's presence had left the place and he had a new family to fill in the spots that he had wasted no time erasing, nor was it incomprehensible that the reason that he was allowing me back into his life was because I was outwardly every bit as normal as he had always hoped for me to be. And I didn't blame him, not anymore, because it was far too difficult to blame anyone after all that I had done, but I would never forgive him, either, and nothing that he would ever say could change that.
Ch. 3
“What is that?”
Karl had frozen midway through asking me how the dinner went at the sight of the animal curled up in my arms. As I took a seat beside him, the dog peeked out from beneath my sleeve to look at him and his expression turned to one of horror.
“It's my birthday present.”
“It's – it's – is it a dog?”
“Appears to be.”
“And this is – your father gave it to you?” He made a face as the thing began to paw at his seat cushion and visibly flinched and pulled away. “Why?”
I shrugged.
“He's afraid that I'm lonely.”
Karl threw me a look.
“Jesus, couldn't he have given you a fish?” he asked. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Hold it like a rugby ball, apparently,” I said.
“Is that like a football?” he said. “I thought that that was for children.”
I smiled in spite of myself at the remark, surprised to finally see some similarities between him and his brother.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
He put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway, paying more attention to the dog than where we were actually going.
“Make sure you hold onto it,” he told me as it began to squirm in my lap.
“Should I buckle it in?” I asked dryly.
“Perhaps.”
He made me stand by the door when we returned to the apartment so that he could rearrange the room to accommodate our new house guest. Going to the recycling bin, he pulled out a week's worth of newspaper and began to lay it on the floor, careful to cover every inch of the hardwood, and then closed all of the doors to ensure that it wouldn't be running around the other rooms.
“Maybe we should just keep it in the bathroom,” I said, watching as he checked over his work.
“No, I'm not sure that's sanitary.”
“You mean for us or for it?”
He glanced over at me warily, but gave no response.
“I suppose we'll have to feed it,” he said instead. “I'll get some proper food in the morning. And a bed. And a leash.”
I knelt down and slid the thing from my arms to allow it to walk around. It sniffed at the newspaper for a moment before beginning to paw at it, and had successfully torn a hole through it before Karl had turned back to it.
“No, no, no,” he said, holding up his hands as though the creature could possibly understand him. “Don't do that. Just sit still.”
The dog cocked its head at him, its blue eyes staring up at him curiously.
“This might not work,” he said.
“The newspaper?”
“The dog,” he replied. “Maybe we should just keep it in a box.”
“I think that might be considered cruel.”
“A large box,” he clarified. “Or a – a playpen, or something.”
The dog began to circle the area, sniffing at the table legs and sofa before biting down on the rail of the kitchen chair. Karl hurried forward and scooped it up beneath the front legs, holding it at arm's length as he debated what to do with it.
“I just don't understand why he would get you a dog,” he muttered.
He would only consent to go to bed that ni
ght after barricading the dog into one corner of the room with a small bowl of water and another of thawed peas from the freezer. I stood at the edge of the makeshift fence and observed it before going to my bedroom, eyeing the gray and brown patches covering the white and its bright blue eyes with mild interest. It peered back at me with a similar expression, and for a split second I considered that I might be a bit fond of it after all.
It was all that I could do the next morning to convince Karl to go to work. He was under the impression that he should take a sick day solely so that he could keep an eye on the dog, whom he had spent the morning cleaning up after, but finally donned his jacket and left for the day when I repeatedly promised to keep an eye on it. Once he was gone, I edged around the area that it had been confined to and made myself a cup of coffee. The dog watched me fixedly.
“What?” I asked it over the rim of my cup. It's tail flopped back and forth several times as though asking for something, and as it let out a small, pathetic whimper, I sighed and moved one of the overturned chairs aside to allow it out into the house.
Skidding across the floor, it pitter-pattered through the room and into my bedroom. As I entered the room behind it and shut the door, it hopped up onto my bed and circled the area twice before lying down.
“Make yourself at home,” I muttered, putting the coffee cup down on the desk and taking a seat in the chair instead.
The phone beside me was buzzing, and I reached for it and clicked it on thinking that it was Karl calling to see how much damage had been done in the ten minutes that he had been away. As I raised it to my ear, though, a familiar greeting sounded instead.
“Nim.”
“Hi, Jack,” I said, swiveling the chair around in order to keep an eye on the dog. It had begun to chew my pillow, but I only watched it rather than moving to take it away.
“So? Have you asked Karl yet?”
“Asked him what?”
“What do you mean, asked him what? About visiting. Think he'll drive you up this weekend?”
“Oh. Right.” I hesitated momentarily. “I forgot.”
Jack sighed into the phone.
“How could you forget?” he asked. “Honestly, I tell you the most exciting thing to happen in four years, and you act like I was reading a weather report. Was dinner at your father's that bad?”
When I Am Laid in Earth (Damnatio Memoriae Book 3) Page 3