The Shortest Way Home

by Juliette Fay

  “That was my new boss.” Sean told him about the six-week sub-nurse assignment. He never bargained for the look of horror on Kevin’s face.

  “You’re going to be there? At my school? Like, every day?”

  “Geez, I thought you’d be glad!”

  “Why would I be glad? Everyone’ll know we’re related—it’s weird!”

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” said Sean. “I’m sorry to be such an embarrassment.”

  “It’s not you. It’s just, you’re like a . . . a parent or something. Nobody wants their parent at school. It’s creepy!”

  Sean drove to the middle school, muttering to himself. What the hell had he gotten himself into? He didn’t want this stinking job, he’d only done it for Kevin, and the kid was acting like he’d be showing up to work in a Speedo and high heels.

  He found tiny Penny Coyne dwarfed even further by teetering mountains of files. Though it was only ten-thirty, she looked as if she’d accept a cocktail if someone offered. Sean felt a momentary temptation to walk out and never come back. “How can I help?” he said.

  “Oh, you can’t do anything,” Penny sighed. “Subs can’t touch the files, it’s a confidentiality thing. But thanks,” she added. “They just wanted me to get your paperwork started and give you a little run-through on protocol before school starts on Wednesday.”

  She gave him the work forms to fill out and toured him through the supplies and the emergency card drawer. “This is the only file you’ll have access to. When a kid comes in with any kind of allergic reaction, or, say, if a parent needs to be called, you pull his card. All the information you need should be right on there.”

  Around noon, Penny slid some files onto the floor and spread out her lunch on the desk. She handed him half her tuna sandwich. He politely declined, but then she said, “Seriously, take it. I rarely eat a whole sandwich even on a good day.”

  “So,” said Sean, after he’d polished off the half sandwich, most of her cucumber slices, and all of her cookies. “What do I really need to know?” She glanced at him. “Come on,” he said. “There’s official protocol, and then there’s all the little unwritten shortcuts. I won’t be here long enough to figure them out myself, and it looks like your hands will be pretty full.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Okay. The real job? It’s about figuring out what’s true and what’s adolescent BS. Does the kid have conjunctivitis or is he high? Are the girl’s cramps really a ten on the pain scale, or is there a French test she’s blowing off? And then there are the frequent flyers—the kids who don’t even have much of an excuse, they just need a dose of nurse attention to make it through the day.”

  “That’s kind of a drag, huh?”

  “Yeah, but think of it this way—they could stop in here, or they could go smoke cigarettes behind the cafeteria Dumpster. Personally, I’d prefer to have the nurse’s office be their drug of choice.” She nibbled at a cucumber slice. “Can I tell you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Stan Girardi was worried about hiring you because you’re a man. We’ve never had a male nurse before. You can see how parents might feel a little funny about their sweet innocent daughters getting their spines checked for scoliosis by a guy.”

  Sean nodded. “I get it. And not like this means anything, but just for the record, I like adult women. Period.”

  “It would help if you were married and had kids of your own.”

  “Hey, plenty of pedophiles are—”

  “I know. I’m just saying what makes people feel more comfortable. I don’t get a sketchy vibe from you, otherwise I wouldn’t have pushed for the hire. But please, for everyone’s sake—yours most of all—keep the door open, and don’t have physical contact with a student unless you absolutely have to.”

  “But you’re around most of the time, right? It’s not like I’d be alone with kids that often.”

  “Lead nurse is an administrative position. I’ll be going to meet­ings and chasing paperwork around the main office a lot of the time. Believe me when I say, of the two of us, you’ve got the better job.”

  * * *

  On Wednesday, Kevin took the bus to school.

  “This is silly,” Sean told him. “I’m driving right there.”

  Kevin refused even to consider it. As Sean pulled into the parking lot, he saw Kevin step off the bus he’d boarded forty minutes earlier. Kids were hanging out the windows calling to one another. Kevin had that squinched-up, pre-freak-out look on his face. He’d never ridden a bus to school before—he lived close enough to Juniper Hill Elementary to walk.

  Poor kid, thought Sean. It was tempting to catch up with him and say something encouraging, but Sean knew it would only make things worse. Hang in there, buddy! he called out silently. And to his brother he prayed, Toss him a few times. He’s going to need it.

  The nurse’s office looked like a ticket window at a Red Sox game, with kids lined up out the door, and Penny Coyne standing behind the desk collecting emergency cards and medication forms. The crowd cleared by the time the first-period bell rang. There was a brief lull, and then kids began to trickle in again. A nosebleed, a stomachache, a weird pinching feeling at the back of the neck that turned out to be the kid’s shirt tag. Sean snipped it out with scissors and sent him on his way.

  “The kid’s got sensory issues,” he murmured to Penny.

  “Don’t we all,” she told him.

  A girl came in with the most gorgeous pale blond hair and light blue eyes Sean had ever seen. “Frequent flyer,” Penny whispered as the girl approached the desk. “Hi, Amber,” she said.

  “Hi, Ms. Coyne. I don’t feel that good.”

  “This is Mr. Doran. He’s the new me and I’m the new Ms. Krasmus until she gets back.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  “Mr. Doran, can you help Amber? I have to run these forms over to the office.”

  “Sure thing,” said Sean. “Amber, why don’t you tell me what’s up.”

  The girl took a moment to look him over, and when she was done, he felt as if he’d been taken apart, inspected for parasites, and put back together again. “I don’t feel that good,” she said, as if this were new information.

  For the next five minutes, Sean asked questions about where the pain was and how it felt, and Amber gave answers like “kind of” and “a little.” Finally, she said, “Can I just lie down?”

  “Should I call your parents?”

  “No.” And she went to one of the sick bays—a vinyl-upholstered cot with a sheet of exam paper over the pillow area—and pulled the curtain closed. At one point, he peeked in to check on her and she was just staring straight ahead.

  Three headaches and a kicked shin later, Amber got up, signed out, and left.

  When the last bell rang, Sean could say this for his new job: the time passed quickly and it was, in fact, easier than filling complicated drink orders at the Confectionary. At least for him.

  When he got home he changed into shorts, checked on Aunt Vivvy, left a message for Rebecca inviting her over for dinner, and went out on the porch to wait for Kevin. He put his feet up on the railing and paged through the latest edition of The Journal of School Nursing Penny had given him. He’d read the articles on trichotillomania (pulling out one’s own hair), identifying lice, and the signs and symptoms of sexual abuse by the time the bus stopped up the street. When the engine idled, Sean could hear the yelling and horseplay reverberating out the bus windows. Kevin got out and trudged up to the house; when his foot hit the first stair, tears came leaking down his face. Sean followed him up to his room.

  Kevin lay on his bed with the pillow over his head, weeping. Sean spread the weighted blanket over him and sat in the desk chair. After a few minutes, Kevin quieted a little and took the pillow off his face.

  “Anything super awful, or j
ust the usual?” Sean asked.

  Kevin inhaled a juicy sniffle. “My English teacher, Ms. Crosby, has this really loud high-pitched voice.”

  “Do it for me,” said Sean.

  Kevin screeched, “PLEASE SIT IN THE SEAT ASSIGNED TO YOU!”

  “Ouch!” Sean laughed.

  “And there’s this kid, Davis Dixon. He’s like a human Ping-Pong ball.”

  “Bump into you?”

  “Four times. The last time, I shoved him away and said, ‘Dude! Seriously!’ Then he went off and bounced into someone else.”

  “Excellent strategy.”

  There was no hope for the lunchroom with its constant roar of voices and hideous scrap heap of smells, but he sat with Ivan from Boy Scouts and they talked about knives, which distracted him a little. When Kevin was done off-loading his school day, they went out and jumped on the trampoline for a little while. Then Kevin returned to his room to do homework, and Sean made dinner while he waited for Rebecca to come over after work.

  Aunt Vivvy walked slowly into the kitchen with George.

  “What did you do today?” asked Sean.

  “I was about to ask you that very question,” she said.

  “I went to work in the nurse’s office at Kevin’s school. Remember how I told you I’m subbing in for a while?”

  “No, I do not remember that. And that was not my question. My question was, what did I do today?”

  CHAPTER 53

  No amount of talking would convince Aunt Vivvy to go to a doctor. Sean went so far as to threaten to have her declared legally incompetent, to which she replied that she understood it to be an arduous process, one that would likely delay his departure for weeks, possibly months. And what if he was successful? Wouldn’t it require far greater responsibility on his part? Game, set, match. She was still sharp as a tack—when she was mentally in the building.

  “Okay, well, here’s another item for the Aunt Vivvy agenda,” Sean said peevishly.

  Eyes blazing, she waited for him to draw.

  “Kevin needs a special ed evaluation for sensory processing issues. I’ll get the forms. As his legal guardian, you’ll sign them.”

  “Agreed,” she said, smiling pleasantly. “I’ll also call my lawyer and initiate the process to have guardianship of Kevin transferred to you.”

  Game, set, match.

  * * *

  Later, after Kevin and Aunt Vivvy had gone to bed, Rebecca headed home and Sean followed her in the Caprice. Her living room was full of drop-cloth-covered furniture and paint cans. One wall was painted a sage color she said was called “folklore green.”

  “Folklore has a color?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Apparently this is it.”

  He offered to help her paint for a little while, but she slipped her arms around his waist. “You want to paint?” she said, smiling up at him. “That’s what you really want to do?”

  “It’s not my first choice,” he admitted, pulling her in tight. “I’d say it’s a distant second.”

  They walked up the half flight to her bedroom, and while she went to brush her teeth, he undressed and settled into her twin bed. When she came back he watched her take off her clothes, admiring her subtle musculature. A strong, healthy female body, he thought. He’d seen relatively few of them over the course of his life.

  “Kevin seems good,” she said, snuggling into the crook of his arm.

  “Yeah, Ireland really built up his confidence. He got along well with my father, too. I was thinking maybe he could go over there next summer for a couple of weeks.” Sean shifted toward her and reached up to brush a lock of hair away from her face. “I’d have to lay down some rules, though. Sometimes Da wants to talk about stuff that’s not necessarily helpful.”

  “Like?”

  “Like he was practically giddy to tell Kevin about the blood in black pudding.”

  “Ew!”

  “Yeah, and he thinks I should tell Kevin about Huntington’s. We don’t even know if he’s at risk, because we don’t know about Hugh. If you don’t have it you can’t pass it on.”

  “It might be worth talking about it in general terms,” said Rebecca. “Like about your mother. Just so it’s not out of the blue when the time comes.”

  “When the time comes for what?”

  “To talk about getting tested.”

  “Jesus, he’s just a kid—he’s not getting tested! Every major medical organization advises against it. Kids can’t handle a bad diagnosis, and it’s not like there’s anything medical science can do for him if he’s positive.”

  “I’m not saying to test him now,” she said quietly. “But at some point when he’s older he’ll have to at least consider it.” She took a breath as if to say something else, but then didn’t.

  “What?” Sean demanded.

  “You’re not going to want to hear this.”

  “Say it anyway.”

  “If you’re going to be his legal guardian . . .” It was her soothing voice, he realized. “. . . you might want to consider getting tested yourself.”

  “Christ, where is this coming from? I told you I’m almost sure I don’t have it. My mother was ten years younger than I am now when she first had symptoms.”

  “Sean.” She put her hand on his chest, and he could feel his heart revving just beneath it. “It’s less likely as you get older, but it is possible to have a late-onset case. When you’re responsible for another person, that could be important to know.”

  “Someone’s been doing research,” he muttered. He felt her body receive the gibe. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just stuff I don’t like to think about.”

  “I’m on your side, Sean.”

  “It sure didn’t feel like it, for a minute there.”

  “Being on your side doesn’t mean I won’t ever talk about things you don’t want to talk about. It just means I’m with you.”

  With me. It sounded nice the way she said it, but there was a downside, wasn’t there? It wasn’t all hot sex and witty banter. They lay there quietly, and when his pounding heart decided it wasn’t actually under attack after all, he turned and kissed her. And she kissed him back.

  * * *

  Kevin was already up and dressed when Sean’s alarm went off at 6:20. He threw on shorts and went to have breakfast with Kevin, though he could have used a few more winks of sleep. Being in his own bed for a mere four hours was no easy way to start the day.

  School woke him up pretty fast, however. Fifteen minutes into first block, two boys came in from phys ed. They had collided playing kickball and it soon became apparent that Alejandro with the split lip laid the blame squarely on Davis, who had a growing lump on his forehead.

  By the time Sean had cleaned up the lip and given Alejandro an ice pack, Davis was breathing fast, and when Sean applied ice to his head, he burst into tears.

  “Maricón,” Alejandro muttered at him.

  “Hey,” said Sean. “None of that!”

  Penny looked up from the desk. Sean mouthed the translation, faggot, behind the boys’ heads.

  “Alejandro,” said Penny. “Do you need to spend a little time with Mr. Girardi? I’m sure he’d be very interested to know what you just said.”

  “No, Ms. Coyne.”

  Alejandro left with his ice pack, but Penny told Davis to stay for a moment. “You didn’t come in for your Ritalin yesterday,” she said. “What’s going on?”

  “Yes, I did!” he said quickly.

  “No, Davis, you didn’t. What’s the deal?”

  “I just forgot. I’ll come in today, I promise.”

  When he left, Penny explained that Davis had attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder—“emphasis on hyperactivity”—and was supposed to take a dose of Ritalin every four hours. “Ju
dging by his behavior, I don’t think his mom made him take it this morning.”

  “I don’t think she made him take it yesterday, either.” Sean told her about Kevin’s account of Davis bouncing into people.

  “She may have ADHD herself—it runs in families,” Penny said. “By the way, you speak Spanish?”

  Sean shrugged. “Not fluently. At least not anymore.”

  The reference to unfortunate family inheritances had reminded him of his late-night talk with Rebecca. But then three girls came in, two leading one in the middle. “She has a migraine—it really hurts—she might throw up—” They talked over each other, faces grave, competing to show the most concern. And Sean was back in work mode.

  Around lunchtime, Davis came back. Penny was at a meeting, so Sean pulled his meds. Davis took the pill and turned to leave. Sean held out a paper cup. “Here’s some water.”

  “I can take it in the cafeteria.”

  “How about you just take it here?”

  “I don’t like water.” Davis’s eyes darted from the cup to Sean and back to the cup. “I have a Coke in my lunch.”

  Amber came in, pale blond hair spread like a silken shawl around her shoulders. Davis stared at her, and she silently rebuked him with a look of disgust. His gaze dropped to the floor.

  “Mr. Doran, I don’t feel that good,” she said.

  As soon as Sean turned to her, Davis slipped out the door. Sean sighed. “What’s up, Amber?” He went through a slightly shorter round of questions this time, none of which she answered with any actual information, and she went to lie down on the same vinyl cot as before.

  * * *

  After school, Sean waited on the porch for Kevin, reading an article on ADHD in The Journal of School Nursing. Kevin walked directly past him, and Sean let him be for a few minutes while he finished the article. Kevin’s face was red and damp when Sean went up to his room, but he wasn’t crying anymore. The bus was loud and the lunchroom disgusting, he said. But the worst part of the day was science. “I had to be lab partners with Davis Dixon! And he just kept breathing—like he was running a race or something! It was so loud and annoying.”