Death's Curses

by Becca Fox

  I know I shouldn’t be filling out his charts for him, but he truly is no use with papers. I am so limited in my abilities as well. Playing politics with a director who does not like foreigners and probably female doctors, I can barely help any of the patients.

  I am ready to discard these aliases and run. I know Dymeka will agree in a heartbeat. This time we do not run out of fear. We run because this life does not suit us. We have taken everything we could learn from these clinical doctors’ lives, but that is all. We are not clinical doctors. We are healers. We should go out and heal.

  * * *

  Chapter 35

  Esmeralda

  I heard the doorbell ring somewhere in my subconscious. I was exhausted. I’d spent several hours crying, hadn’t fallen asleep until well after midnight.

  I remembered thinking, Who the hell is coming to visit at this hour?

  But I’d fallen back to sleep before the Westminster Quarters had stopped playing. I’d forgotten about the early morning visitor when my eyes cracked open again. There was more natural light in my room this time. I heard my mom’s voice coming from the first floor. Aunt Dinah occasionally spoke too, breaking up the tinkling soprano that was my mom’s idle chatter.

  To say I felt like shit would be an understatement. Worse of all, my knee was throbbing. It took me longer than I cared to admit to sit up and throw my legs over the side of my bed.

  A small papier-mâché toilet was waiting for me, standing like a sentry in front of my bedroom door.

  I stared at it, my sleepy brain trying to figure out what the hell it was doing there. At first I thought it was a prank, something Hunter had brought from Boston that was meant to be a subliminal message to me.

  “Good morning! You’ve flushed your life down the toilet. You’re a loser! Have a nice day.”

  But that wasn’t like Hunter. He would’ve waited to give me something like this on my birthday or Christmas morning so he could sit there and watch me unwrap his clever little present. Then he could say the words to my face.

  My mom wasn’t subtle. If she wanted to convey a message, she would’ve written me a note saying exactly what she wanted me to know, with a few hearts drawn along the bottom. And there was just no way Aunt Dinah had gotten this for me.

  Which left only one other person: Charlie.

  My heart constricted. The pain cleared the remaining sleep haze from my thoughts. I hopped forward on my good foot and bent over to gingerly pick up the toilet. When could he have left this and why? What was he trying to tell me?

  I stumbled back to my bed and sat down to inspect the toilet further. While some papier-mâché projects were made out of newspaper clippings, this was made entirely out of neon yellow sticky notes. It was perfectly constructed; there weren’t any wrinkles or tears or thick globs of paste anywhere. The same three sentences were written on each note. I brought the toilet closer to my face and squinted to make out the words.

  “I ain’t some girl. I’m Esmer.”

  “What kind of name is that?”

  “The name a couple of gypsies thought would be wicked pissah.”

  Our first conversation. Held in the guys’ bathroom at Green Bay Community. He’d remembered it word for word. I gritted my teeth against the emotion building around my throat. Setting the toilet on my bedside table, I got up again. He couldn’t honestly think I’d forgive him that easily. I let Marty get away with treating me like shit for years. I wasn’t going to take that from Charlie too.

  I grabbed my crutches and limped toward the door, blinking back new tears. I poked my head out to be sure the hallway was clear and the bathroom was unoccupied. I didn’t feel like running into Hunter before I was fully dressed and heavily caffeinated. Thankfully, I didn’t catch a single glimpse of my stepdad. I hurried across the hall.

  A tiny easel sat on the sink next to the tap. It was kind of hard to miss. Aunt Dinah’s guest bathroom color scheme was white and brown. This perfect miniature replica of an easel was made of square wooden craft sticks which had been glued together with a hot glue gun. Where the canvas would’ve been on a regular sized easel was a pad of more neon yellow stickys.

  Heat raced up the sides of my face. How’d he convince Aunt Dinah to let him come up here and leave these?

  I was so mad I almost flushed the stupid thing down the toilet. But there was that same emotion clogging my throat, the one that felt suspiciously like homesickness. Deciding I’d wash away my anger and residual sadness, I leaned my crutches against the wall. But after I pulled the shower curtain aside, I jerked back and almost fell flat on my ass.

  A metallic, cartoon-like version of a taco, spray painted yellow sat innocently on the tub floor.

  Grumbling to myself, I took it out of the tub and set it on the toilet seat. I stood under the steaming hot water for a long time, reminding myself again and again that I couldn’t forgive him yet. I had to let him stew at least through the weekend because he had to understand. What he did was not okay and couldn’t happen again if this relationship was going to last. By the time I sat down in the damn stair chair, my resolve was renewed.

  I smiled at my mom and Aunt Dinah, who sat at the table finishing up their breakfast. My mom was already dressed for the day in wool slacks and a bright pink blazer, while the lady of the house was still in her robe.

  “Good morning, sweetheart!” my mom trilled. “Did you sleep okay?”

  “Like a rock,” I lied through my teeth.

  My mom jumped up as I limped over. “Oh, here. Let me help.” She pulled a chair out for me right next to her. There was already a place set with a big cloth napkin draped over the plate.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Hope you’re hungry!” She lifted the napkin with a flourish.

  I choked on my own spit.

  Right next to my juice cup was a tiny clay ambulance. A giant asterisk was painted along the side in bright yellow; the staff and snake were drawn in the center in white.

  “Are you okay?” My mom tilted her head to the side as if to get a better look at me. “You look a little green.”

  I scowled at Aunt Dinah. “Why?”

  The old woman returned her coffee cup to its saucer. “Charles said it was an apology. He seemed to think you would understand.”

  “Well, I don’t understand. What’s with the yellow? Why is it all yellow?”

  I clapped a hand over my mouth. Yellow. It was one of my favorite Coldplay songs. Charlie had printed it out, along with many others, to create the paper roses currently sewed into my bed canopy. And now he was using it to tell me what he was feeling.

  It was so freakin’ romantic; I could hardly stand it. My hand was shaking when I lowered it.

  “Esmer?” my mom asked softly.

  “Should I have said ‘no’ to Charles?” Aunt Dinah asked.

  I looked up to see sympathy on the old woman’s face. “I don’t know.”

  “What happened between you two last night? Was it—?” My mom cringed as if bracing herself for bad news. “Was it Hunter? Did he insult your boyfriend?”

  As much as I wanted an excuse to remind her how terrible her husband was, I couldn’t bring myself to lie. “No. It was just a stupid misunderstanding. Can we talk about something else, please?”

  I settled into my chair and dug into my breakfast. My mom had made my favorite; blueberry pancakes with two sunny-side-up eggs on top. The fruit piled neatly on the side was no doubt added by my great aunt, who believed humanity could live forever if they would only eat enough fruits and vegetables every day. A crystal syrup dispenser sat beside the ambulance. I carefully lifted it away from the little clay car and drowned my pancakes and eggs in syrup.

  My mom and great aunt shared a look. Aunt Dinah was the first to shrug off her concern.

  “If that’s what you want, hon,” my mom finally said before she sat down again. All too soon, she started talking about the things she wanted to do. Like visit Pike Place Market, go to the top of the Space
Needle, and shop at Wallingford Center to name a few. “You should come with us, Dinah,” she added. “We could make it a girls’ day!”

  “I’m afraid I’d only slow you down.” Aunt Dinah glanced at me before cutting into the last bit of her pancake. “Besides, someone has to stay behind and keep an eye on Hunter.” Like he was a puppy that hadn’t been house trained yet.

  I grinned.

  “Speaking of which…” My mom stood with reluctance. “I should probably go check on him.” She waved a hand at my plate. “Eat up, Esmer. We have a big day ahead of us.” She took a few steps toward the stairs before turning around. “Oh, I almost forgot. Do you know where I could rent a wheelchair, Dinah? That way I’ll be able to push Esmer around when she gets tired.”

  “I don’t need a wheelchair, Mom,” I said, already feeling mortified at the prospect.

  My mom gave me a look which clearly said, “Don’t try to be a hero, Esmer.”

  “There is a company that rents out such equipment,” Aunt Dinah said with a nod. “I’ll give you the phone number.”

  “Thank you.” Then she hurried up the stairs.

  I sighed and went back to chewing. The egg yolk, syrup, and blueberry combination was reminding me of Saturday mornings in Boston. When I was a kid. When my dad was still alive. My brother, Robbie, would make gagging sounds while he watched me eat.

  It had been forever since I’d given my brother a second thought. He was the college graduate, the big success. Which meant, of course, that he didn’t have time for us. Every once in a while, my mom got a Christmas card or an edible arrangement on Mother’s Day from him. But maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t around. He and Hunter could’ve been best friends or archenemies, and I wasn’t sure which would’ve been worse.

  Damn, my family was messed up. Well, not all of it. I looked up at my great aunt.

  “Thanks for last night.”

  The old woman gave an innocent, “Hmm?”

  “You didn’t call Charlie out when he talked about the internship or when he forgot to mention he had a twin sister.”

  “Yes, well, I understand his need to leave a good impression on your mother.” Aunt Dinah dabbed her mouth with a napkin even though there wasn’t anything there. “I didn’t think it was my place to bring up Jasmine, especially given her…condition.” She straightened her spine. “Not that there’s any shame in having a medical condition. It’s only that I realize Charles is a lot like me; he doesn’t like answering personal questions when they’re being asked by people he isn’t comfortable with.”

  “I knew there was a reason why you guys got along so well.”

  The old woman scowled.

  “You handled Hunter like such a badass,” I added, grinning at the memory.

  “Watch your language,” was the automatic response. But then she lowered her utensils over her plate, murmuring, “I can’t believe he treated Charles so poorly. After everything that boy has done for you…I had half a mind to kick Hunter out of the house.”

  The protectiveness in her voice made me smile even wider. My eyes strayed to the ambulance, still hanging out by the syrup dispenser.

  “How many more are there?” I asked, nodding at the clay car.

  “Two. One in the sitting room and one on the back porch.”

  I finished up my breakfast and made to stand. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I got to the archway that led into the foyer before I glanced over at her. “You understand why I wanna stay, don’t ya?”

  She smiled wryly. “I imagine it has something to do with the young man who visited before any normal young person would be awake, just so he could leave tiny gifts for you all over the house.”

  “Yeah, but it also has something to do with the bully that’s taking up half of the guest room upstairs.” I returned her smile. “And the badass boss lady who put him in his place.”

  Before I turned away, I could’ve sworn her face turned a little pink.

  A stone hexagon was waiting for me on the coffee table in the sitting room. It looked like a coaster made out of smaller hexagons of different shades of yellow. Pointy mountain ranges, wavy prairie lands and striped fields were carved into the tiles at random, giving it a multi-textured surface. Little numbers were etched into the center of each one and painted black, completing the Settlers of Catan board game replica.

  I spent a minute or two just running my fingers over it and marveling at Charlie’s talent. How long had it taken him to make this?

  It took at least thirty minutes for him to skate over here. He’d gotten here early enough for even Aunt Dinah to be impressed; he must’ve been awake before the sun rose. If he’d slept at all. I pressed the hexagon to my chest as I pictured him tossing and turning in bed, agonizing over what had happened, trying to come up with the best way to apologize.

  Ugh, why did he have to be so adorable? He was making it extremely hard to stay mad at him.

  I slipped the hefty coaster into my back pocket and crutched over to the back door.

  A golden gift box had been left on the porch’s wooden railing. I removed the top and peeked in. Amid the folds of crisp white tissue paper, I found a dark leather strap about two inches wide. A golden star the size of a half dollar was sewed into the bracelet with black string, but it looked like five dots along each point. I brought it to my nose and took a good long whiff. The leather smelled so good, like the inside of a brand-new pair of boots.

  I strapped it onto my wrist without preamble, tying and tightening the strings with my teeth. It fit perfectly. I was about to put the lid back on the gift box when another yellow sticky note caught my eye. More of Charlie’s handwriting had me peeling it away from the bottom of the box.

  I promised myself a while back that I’d never do anything to jeopardize our friendship, but last night I let my insecurity do the talking and now I’m terrified that I’ve lost my best friend. I really hope I’m wrong. When you’re ready to talk again, I’ll be ready to listen.

  His cell phone number was written underneath.

  So all it took to finally get his digits was a stupid misunderstanding.

  A teardrop landed over the note. I quickly dabbed at the paper to keep the ink from running. I wobbled back into a lawn chair and sat. Once I’d yanked my phone out of my pocket, I put his number into my contacts list.

  The door opened behind me. I twisted around to face my mom.

  She rushed over to fall into the chair beside me. “Oh, why do you want to stay here, sweetheart? It looks like all this place has given you is pain.” Scowling at my knee brace, she added, “Emotional and physical.”

  “Mom, these are happy tears,” I said with a laugh. “My boyfriend is…” I ran my fingers over the star on my new bracelet. “My boyfriend is clueless, grumpy, impatient, insecure, brutally honest, and really only likes four people in this whole city, but he’s also one of the kindest guys I’ve ever met.” I shrugged. “I love him.” I placed a hand over my bum knee. “I’m glad this happened to me; I don’t think Charlie and I would’ve gotten together if it hadn’t.” At my mom’s look of confusion, I added, “He’s the one who found me that day. He called 911.”

  My mom pressed her hand against her mouth.

  “He’s stuck by my side ever since. I owe him everything.”

  She slowly lowered her hand into her lap. “Apparently, so do I. But, Esmer, home is—”

  “Home is where I’m happy, safe, loved. Home is here.” I forced myself to look into her face despite the guilt. “I ain’t trading Aunt Dinah and Charlie for Hunter and Marty. Not even if it means living with you again. I’m sorry, but that’s how I feel.”

  My mom stared out at the garden for a long time, pressing her lips together and blinking back tears. “It seems I was destined to be abandoned,” she finally whispered.

  “Come on, Mom, don’t say that,” I said with a groan.

  “First your father, then Robbie, and now you.” The tears finally escaped
, falling hard over her plump cheeks. “It’s not fair. I loved them. I love you with all my heart. Isn’t that enough?”

  I reached for her hands but she pulled them away. It made my whole body ache.

  “Pill-of-a-man that he is, at least Hunter loves me enough to stay,” she said with a sniffle.

  I shook my head, latching onto what would probably be my only chance to speak my mind during her visit. “He’ll never leave because he knows nobody else would put up with his bullshit. You gotta prove him wrong, for your own safety and happiness. You deserve so much better than him.”

  My mom gave a little scoff but it sounded more sad than sassy. “You already said you’ve made up your mind. You’re staying here. If I leave Hunter, then I’ll truly have no one. Is that what you want for me? To grow old and die alone?”

  “No, Mom, I want you to be free. As long as you’re with Hunter, you’ll let your perfect man pass you by.”

  She shook her head. “My perfect man died in Afghanistan, Esmer. I’ve had to settle for the next best thing.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Hunter isn’t even close to—”

  “Let’s agree to disagree.” My mom wiped her face, forcing a big fake smile. Shoving her problems under the rug, going back to pretending like nothing was wrong, protecting herself at all costs. “Let’s respect each other’s choices, all right?” She patted me on the cheek before rising. “I love you, sweetheart.”

  Swallowing the knot of grief and frustration, I murmured, “Love you too, Mom.”

  “Great. Now, let’s go have some fun.” She twirled around and headed toward the back door before I could say anything else.

  I didn’t know why her words hurt so much. We’d argued about Hunter while they were dating. We’d argued about Hunter after they’d gotten married. Did I honestly think one more conversation would change her mind? She’d stayed with him this long; why would she suddenly realize how terrible he was and how unhappy he made her?

  I guess, deep down, I never stopped hoping she’d own up to her mistakes, make things right, recreate the home we used to have.