by P. D. Cacek
Crissy heard a male voice shout something when Frank turned off the engine, but she wasn’t about to look. She slid down in the seat.
“Now – ” he turned off the engine and twisted toward her, “ – what the hell is going on?”
Full frontal confrontation was never her strong suit. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? Come on, you’ve been acting like a blister ready to pop since you got in the car. What happened? You were fine when I dropped you off. Did someone say something about your acting?”
Why did he say that?
“NO! Nothing happened! Everything’s fine! Except I can’t play old and I giggle.”
He leaned back against the door. “Ah.”
“It’s not ah! You’re lying to me.”
There was enough light from the hotel sign for Crissy to see the confused look on his face. Good.
“About what?”
“About everything!”
Frank took a deep breath. “Could you be a bit more specific, please?”
“I’ve read those pamphlets the hospital gave me and I’ve looked things up on the internet – you know, WebMD – and it’s been over four weeks.” He shook his head. Crissy continued. “Four weeks…F-O-U-R. That’s how long a person who had a heart attack shouldn’t drive and it’s been longer than four weeks for me, Frank.”
He blinked then nodded.
“Well, yes, you’re right. People who have suffered certain types of heart attacks can resume driving after four weeks…with permission from their doctors.”
Despite the warm air blowing from the car’s heater, a very cold, un-California-like chill raced up Crissy’s spine. She pulled the sleeves of her coat up over her arms “You just want to keep me a prisoner, don’t you? You want me to be dependent on you so everyone will think you’re my boyfriend!”
“Oh. So everyone thinks I’m your boyfriend, huh?”
“DON’T CHANGE THE SUBJECT!”
“Crissy, stop yelling and calm down. Listen to me. Yes, it’s been over four weeks, but your body didn’t just suffer a cardiac event, okay? It needs to be taken care of and if this whole acting thing is going to get you this upset, maybe you should drop out.”
“Drop out? Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you could keep me a prisoner full-time, huh?”
“Jesus, Crissy….”
“It’s not fair. It’s not my body!” Why is this happening to me? “I shouldn’t have to suffer for someone else’s problem. I’m not supposed to have hamburgers or Coke or french fries or chips or anything that has too much salt on it or is too greasy or tastes good!”
“Crissy, I didn’t say you can’t have those things, you just can’t eat like a typical teenager anymo—.”
“But I AM a teenager!” Crissy took a deep breath. “I have to take pills for the rest of my life, you know that? And you won’t let me drive or get a job.”
“I didn’t know you wanted to get a job.”
“That’s not the point! Besides, I can’t get a job. I don’t know how to do anything.”
He reached for her. “Crissy, calm down.”
“DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE I’M A CHILD!” She screamed so loud it even hurt her ears and she could feel her heart – Helen’s heart – pounding like a drum.
“I’m sorry, but listen to me, you don’t need to work. Helen’s finances can—”
“Don’t say that name! I hate Helen and I hate her money. Why did she have to die in the first place?”
“Maybe because if she didn’t you wouldn’t be here.”
If he’d stopped there, if that had been the last thing he said, Crissy might have said she was sorry…but that wasn’t the last thing he said.
Frank leaned forward and cocked his head. “Are you on your period?”
* * *
He’d tried to explain.
He’d tried to apologize.
He’d tried to joke her out of it.
He’d failed.
Hurricane Crissy stormed through the apartment, kicking at the piles of dirty clothes on the floor that she hadn’t gotten around to picking up, slamming doors, throwing trashy YA romances and fashion magazines against the walls, and swiping the accumulated and incriminating evidence of pizza cartons, McDonald’s wrappers and take-out containers off whatever piece of furniture she’d left them on. She was making a mess but so what? It was her place, wasn’t it?
In answer to her own question, Crissy grabbed what she’d thought was an empty kung pao chicken carton off the breakfast counter and hurled it at the Love Never Dies Bram Stoker’s Dracula poster she’d put up over the fireplace.
It wasn’t empty.
When she moved in, the whole place was off-white with beigey-tanny carpets, beige furniture and ice-white appliances. Boring! There were a few paintings on the walls – all pastels and grays – a few framed photos of people she didn’t know, books she would never read even if someone put a gun to her head, all carefully lined up in their built-in cases. In the white-and-chrome bathroom, the beige and tan towels were hanging neatly, and the white queen-sized bed was made. There weren’t any clothes on the floor, no bananas or anything else going overripe in the empty cut-glass fruit bowl, and not so much as a glass sitting to air dry in the rack next to the sink.
If it hadn’t been for the thin layer of dust on the tables and flat-screen TV Crissy would have thought she’d walked into one of those ‘model’ homes her mom was always dragging her to for ‘fun decorating tips’.
Crissy decided Helen Louise Harmon the First had been one boring middle-aged woman without any imagination whatsoever. And she’d also decided to change all that.
Keeping the furniture, window treatments, and ‘neutral’ floor coverings in the kitchen and bathroom – who cared about furniture, floors and windows anyway? – Crissy had the condo repainted according to her own sense of color and to reflect the fact that she was living near the ocean.
D’oh.
Purples, lavenders and pinks covered the walls and piles of floor cushions that looked like seashells and surfboards and beach towels made the place look cozy and covered a lot of the boring carpet. There were no pictures of unicorns or sappy inspirational sunsets for her – no, ma’am – just a lot of framed movie and Broadway show posters because they made her happy.
Just like the Dracula poster over the mantelpiece had made her happy…before she’d splattered it with week-old fuzzy kung pao chicken.
Eeuwe.
But at least the poster was under glass, so she could clean it.
Later.
When she felt like it.
IF she felt like it.
And if she didn’t?
“Who the…fuck cares? This is my place now!” she yelled at the poster because it was the only thing staring back at her. “I can do anything I want. And I can eat anything I want! Frank doesn’t own me.”
And to prove that to the poster, Crissy stomped her way through the clutter to the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator door. The cans of Coors rattled in the holders, reminding her of their presence. Thus reminded, Crissy grabbed one and popped the top. She’d been so nervous when she’d bought them she almost dropped the six-pack, but the man behind the counter didn’t even ask for her ID. He just took her money, thanked her, bagged the beer and told her to have a nice day.
Maybe looking forty-two had some advantages, after all.
Hoisting the can to her lips, Crissy took a long swallow and choked it down. Just because she could drink didn’t make it any easier.
She bought Coors because it was the beer her father and all his friends drank. It was the only beer she was used to snitching, but it wasn’t any better tasting than she remembered it.
Still – it was beer and she wasn’t supposed to have any.
Crissy finished the can, grimacing after eac
h swallow, burped, and tossed the empty into the dish-filled sink. The can bounced out and landed on the floor as Crissy thumbed open a carton and grabbed a slab of the pepperoni and sausage calzone she’d had for lunch.
The cheese was hard and the congealed grease clung to her teeth like an oil slick, but that didn’t stop her from taking a second huge bite as she slammed the refrigerator door shut and….
Her heart fluttered.
Crissy set the calzone down on a Chinese take-out menu next to the coffee maker and took a deep breath.
This time her heart skipped a beat.
Then another.
And another.
And suddenly her face was hot and she got dizzy and had to sit down, right then, right there on the kitchen floor.
It was so weird. She didn’t hurt, but when she tried to get up she couldn’t – her legs and feet were tingling and wouldn’t work right. Leaning forward, Crissy got to her hands and knees and crawled into the living room, making it all the way to the couch before her left arm cramped.
“Oh, God.”
She knew what was happening; she’d read about it in the hospital pamphlets and online. Her body was having a heart attack; it was going to die and take her with it.
“No please! I’m sorry…I won’t do it again. I’ll eat better, I promise.”
But Helen’s heart didn’t believe her and kept fluttering and pounding and twitching as Crissy dragged her purse off the couch and upended it onto the coffee table. Her new cell phone – with all the bells and whistles and Frank’s phone number programmed into it as her emergency contact – slid off the table and into her lap.
Sobbing because she was really scared even though there wasn’t any pain – except for her arm but that was good because real pain meant something was really wrong. Right?
He answered after the fourth electronic ring.
“Hey, Crissy…look, I’m sorry I said—”
“Help!”
“Crissy, what’s the matter? What’s wrong?”
“My heart…it—”
She started to cry because she couldn’t think of how to describe the pain-not-really-pain and the cramp and tingles and dizziness and how hot her face felt. Crying was easier than explaining.
“I’m not that far away.” Frank’s voice got louder and softer in time with the pounding sound in her ears. “I’ll be right there.”
“H-h-h-hurry!”
“I am. Just try to relax, okay? Crissy? Crissy!”
Crissy nodded and lay down on the floor between the couch and coffee table.
And that’s where he found her – still clutching the phone even though she’d managed to turn it off somehow – when he let himself in. He had a key and that had been one of their first real fights, the fact that he thought he should have a key to her place just because he was a doctor. But she was glad now…even though she’d probably never tell him that.
“Crissy…can you hear me?”
She felt him pick her up and carry her into the bedroom, where he put her on the bed and then got a wet washcloth from the bathroom to wipe her face. Frank was sweet and worried and made sure she was comfortable, but then Dr. Stanton showed up.
“All right, stop crying and take a deep breath,” Dr. Stanton said and flashed a pen light into her eyes. “Now tell me where it hurts.”
Crissy told him and pointed to her left arm.
“Describe the pain.”
She did the best she could.
Dr. Stanton sat back down on the edge of the bed and picked up her left hand, checking her racing pulse against his watch. When he was finished he grunted and put her hand down, then reached over and squeezed her upper arm and shoulder.
“Ow!”
“Your muscles are tight. What did you do last night?”
“Nothing?”
“Crissy.”
“Kate took me bowling.”
Dr. Stanton took a deep breath. “Bowling. How many beers did you have tonight?”
She blinked her eyes innocently.
“Stop acting and answer the question.”
“Only one.”
“I saw the carnage, so let’s skip the denial on this next question: besides eating like the careless little sixteen-year-old you are—”
“Seventeen.”
“How much water have you been drinking?”
Crissy shrugged.
Dr. Stanton sighed. “Have you been drinking any?”
She shrugged again.
“How about your medication? Have you been taking that?”
“Yes!”
“Well, thank God for small favors,” Dr. Stanton said and his voice got softer when she started to cry. “Okay, calm down. I called for an ambulance from the car. They’ll be here soon and then we’ll run a full series of tests at the hospital.
“Am I…going to die?”
He looked at her. “Do you want to die?”
“N-no.”
“Good, then stop trying so hard to kill yourself.”
“I— I’m not!”
“Yes, you are. Look, Crissy, you can’t….” He took a deep breath and she could almost see him counting to ten. “Your body can’t handle what you’re doing to it, okay? It survived a major stroke and cardiac surgery and, unless you decide to make some pretty drastic and important lifestyle changes as of this moment, all my work will have been for nothing. Think of this as a wake-up call. You get with the program or you die. It’s as simple as that.”
She was so scared she couldn’t cry.
“And to answer your immediate question, no, I don’t think you’re dying or having another attack. You’re probably dehydrated and your blood pressure is undoubtedly through the roof. Most of the junk…most of the things you’ve been eating contain large amounts of sodium – just like it said in those pamphlets you said you read. Your arm’s cramping because you went bowling and I think you might just have the worst case of indigestion known to man. At least I hope so.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“No, it’s not, but it might make you think about some things. I’ll have more answers after I’ve run some tests and got you on IVs. Which means, miss, you will be spending the night and following few days at the hospital. Then, if everything checks out—”
“But I’m supposed to help build the set on—” He glared at her. “But I don’t really need to be there.”
“Good. Now, let’s just take this one step at a time, shall we?” Frank turned his head toward the bedroom’s double window and stood up. “I hear a siren…I’ll go wave them over. You going to be okay for a minute?”
“It’s not fair, Frank.”
“I know.”
“I’m only seventeen, Frank. I’m supposed to be seventeen.”
“Crissy, stop it.”
“But this isn’t my body and it’s sick and old. I’m trapped in here and I’ll never be able to get back all the years I lost. I’m only seventeen and I’ll never even date again…no guy’s going to want to go out with me now.”
They both heard the EMTs come in. Frank shouted at them to come back into the bedroom and then kneeled down and put his face close to hers.
“I wouldn’t say no guy would want to go out with you, Crissy. I happen to know one who very much wants to go out with you.”
“Art?”
“Who?”
“No one.”
“Well, I don’t know who this Art character is, but you just get better and I’ll introduce you to this other guy. Okay?”
Crissy smiled and really hoped Frank was talking about himself.
“Okay…cross my heart.”
PART SEVEN
EPILOGUE
DECEMBER 24, 2017
Chapter Thirty
Bess
Gatherin
g up the last of the gaily wrapped presents she’d hidden behind the sundries on the topmost shelf of the linen closet, Elisabeth stepped from the chair and quietly tiptoed down the hall. She allowed herself only a moment’s pause at the open door of Emily’s room to gaze in at the face of the sleeping child, illuminated in the band of warm yellow light from the hallway.
“God bless and keep you, little one,” she whispered before continuing down the hall.
Daniel was sitting like a raja in front of the tree they’d strung with fairy lights and decorated with glittering glass ornaments. He was leaning forward, elbows resting on the knees of his flannel lounging pants, a screwdriver in hand and a frown on his face. Before him lay an assortment of gears, knobs, springs and brightly colored pieces of wood of various sizes that would, when built, become something called an ‘activity center’.
Daniel’s parents had bought it for Emily.
“Is it going well?” she asked as she crossed the room to place the presents under the tree.
“Oh, yeah, this is so simple only a child can do it.” He smiled at her. “More presents? She’s only four months old, you know.”
“I do,” she answered and placed a gift wrapped in blue paper with white flocked snowflakes next to one wrapped all in red, “but how do you know they’re all for Emily? Mr. Claus may have left one or two for you.”
Daniel set the screwdriver down and scooted on his hands and buttocks toward the tree.
“Really?” He picked up a present decorated in smiling snowmen and shook it. “Have I been a good boy?”
Elisabeth took the present from him and used it to tap him lightly on the head. “You have been…tolerably good, but this one is for Emily, from Mrs. Claus.”
“Oh – Mrs. Claus.” Straightening his legs, he rolled onto his belly and began pointing to one present after another. “How about this one? Is this for me? Or this one? Oh…what about that great big one back there with the reindeers?”
Elisabeth folded her robe beneath her and sat down next to him. “Don’t you remember, I told you – the presents wrapped in reindeer paper are presents to Emily from Santa, the ones wrapped in paper with snowmen are presents to Emily from Mrs. Claus.”