“Good for you, Hudson.” Mom smiled.
“Thanks.” I turned to leave, hoping this feel-good moment had wiped out whatever she’d wanted to say.
But it hadn’t. “So, you don’t have any questions about today?” she asked. “About the genetic-counseling appointment?”
“Nope.”
“You understand your risks?” she persisted. “What you need to do?”
“I know that there’s a good chance I’m not affected. And that either way, I need to take care of my asthma.” And then, to prove that I understood, I told her that I hadn’t been using the peak flow meter, even though I’d been having more attacks. I did it mostly to hurry the conversation along. But I have to admit, it felt good to come clean.
As she listened to me talk, Mom looked more sad than mad. When I was done, she said, “So we need to go see Dr. M., again.”
“I guess,” I said. “Sorry, Mom.”
“It’s okay,” she said.
“I’m proud of you, kid,” said Uncle Vic. “And because of you, I’m going to stop taking all those pills. Even if I need help doing it.”
Embarrassment, the good kind, burned my ears. “Uh, Uncle Vic? I’m sorry I accused you of, you know —”
“Forget it, kid.”
I looked down at the sofa, tracing a crack in the leather with my finger. “Can I go now?”
“What about firefighting?” asked Mom.
“We’ll see.” I shrugged. “There are other things I can do.”
“Wow.” She looked like she was about to cry for the second time that day. “That’s very mature, Hudson.”
I shook off the compliment, knowing that she wasn’t ready to hear about the cool (but dangerous) careers E. O. had suggested. “Now can I go?”
“There’s still something I want to discuss with you.”
“Can it wait?” My mouth was watering for Gran’s rice-and-sausage-stuffed cabbage rolls. Plus, I’d had enough of this emotional stuff for one day. Probably for the next decade.
“It’s about your dad …” Mom cleared her throat, like it wasn’t possible to say his name without choking. “Josip Novak.”
My heart slam-dunked to the bottom of my overgrown feet. I shoved my hands in my pockets and glanced at Uncle Vic, sitting in the armchair across from Mom.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, Hudson, Vic, but …” She folded her hands in her lap. “He’s dead,” she said quietly, her eyes still a bit misty.
I froze. So did Uncle Vic.
The news came as such a shock that it almost bounced right off me. I’d never really known the guy, so what did it matter that he was dead? I’d gone looking for him because it felt like something was missing. But how can you miss something you never really had?
Except … it did matter. And not just to me, but to Mom and Uncle Vic, as well. Someone they knew — someone they’d both loved in one way or another — was gone. My dad.
As the frozen sensation wore off, pain began to creep through me. I sat down.
“I should’ve told you …” Her voice trailed off again. “I don’t know why I didn’t. I was trying to protect you, I guess. But since we’re getting things out in the open …”
“I don’t believe it.” Uncle Vic rubbed his hands up and down the tops of his legs like he was trying to start a fire.
I couldn’t believe it either. I couldn’t believe Mom was finally coming clean. And I couldn’t believe that Uncle Vic hadn’t known.
“I’ll be right back.” Mom stood, wobbled a little and then stumbled toward her office.
I listened to her open the drawer to her desk, followed by the closet door, and then the muffled clang of the metal filing cabinet.
“You didn’t know?” I asked Uncle Vic, even though his body language made the answer more than clear.
He shook his head. “He was my best friend.”
Guilt gnawed at me. Why hadn’t I left well enough alone?
Mom returned, carrying a thick envelope. “I got this over the summer,” she said as she dropped heavily back onto the sofa. “We’d been in touch on and off, before …” Her eyes filled with tears. “Joe, your dad, was on the road to recovery. From his, uh, addiction.”
Uncle Vic’s face turned as white as my Halloween mask. “I should’ve reached out. I could’ve helped him …”
Should’ve. Could’ve. Wished I’d never … Uncle Vic was doing the same thing as me — regretting everything, as if doing so would bring my dad back.
One tear escaped Mom’s eye, gaining speed as it fell down her cheek and dropped off her chin. It was the only one. “The addiction center sent me the death certificate and a brief letter he wrote to each of us.”
“Cause of death?” asked Uncle Vic.
“Overdose,” whispered Mom. “Probably intentional.”
“Suicide.” Uncle Vic pulled at his goatee. “Sh — shoot.”
Mom cleared her throat. “There were no assets to distribute, and the letters are sealed. I’m sorry I didn’t give them to you sooner.”
The color was slowly returning to Uncle Vic’s unshaven cheeks. “Have you read yours?”
“No.” She handed him an envelope with Victor Pickle scrawled on the front. “Not yet. I guess I was protecting myself, just like I was trying to protect … I’ll read it when I’m ready.”
Uncle Vic took the envelope from her. “Thanks, sis.”
“You should know, Hudson …” Mom hesitated and handed me an envelope with the same scrawl. Hudson. “It wasn’t his fault. Addiction is an illness, not a choice. And like so many diseases, it can be genetic. That’s why I don’t want you to get involved in drugs. Ever.”
“I haven’t — ever.” I reached for the envelope, and for a moment, I didn’t think she was going to let go. “And I won’t.”
“Thank you,” Mom said quietly.
My heart pounded in my ears as I turned the envelope over in my hands. I felt exhausted, like I’d just finished a shorthanded shift on the ice.
“Whatever questions you have …” Mom picked at her nails. “Please ask. I’m sure you’ll want to talk about —”
“I do.” I swallowed. “I will. But not now.”
Mom raised her eyebrows as I handed back the envelope. “Hudson?”
It was like I’d been seeing things through a fog of craziness, but now everything suddenly became clear. “I’m not ready, either.” My heart was still pounding, but my chest didn’t feel tight — not at all. I had enough going on with my asthma, our family history of alpha-1 and not making the basketball team. I’d convinced myself that knowing about my dad would somehow help with all of it. Instead, it had only made things more complicated. Too complicated. I was ready to let it go. For now.
“Okay. Let me know when you are.” Mom leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Hudson.”
“And that goes double for me, kid.” Uncle Vic’s letter lay in his lap. The envelope was already opened. Had Mom hid the news from Uncle Vic because she was trying to protect me or him?
“Thanks.” As I said this, Willow’s words came to mind, as if she were haunting me like a ghost. Family is what you make it.
“You better get going to that dance, kid,” said Uncle Vic. “Make some girl happy with a dose of that old Pickle charm.”
I felt bad leaving but, at the same time, relieved.
I was ready for some cabbage rolls at Trev’s.
Chapter Twenty-Five
When we got to the school, neither basketball coach was there. I was surprised. In elementary school, every teacher had to chaperone our silly little dances. But then again, none of those dances happened outside of regular school hours.
Strike one.
We started circling the gym. Trev’s eyes scanned the crowd, searching for his math girl. “She said s
he was coming with friends,” he grumbled. “That she’d be here by seven.”
“Maybe she’s in a costume that disguises who she is?” I suggested. But as I looked around the room, I knew it was unlikely. Most of the girls were dressed in skimpy outfits that didn’t hide much. It was the guys who were wearing full-face masks, like me, or no costume at all, like Trev.
“Maybe.” Trev sounded as unconvinced as I was.
Strike two.
Trev and I picked what we thought was a safe spot in the corner. I barely recognized the gym. In the dark, with the spooky decorations and the thumping beat of the music, everything seemed transformed.
I spotted Willow dancing with a group of friends, each of them dressed like one of the seven dwarves. Willow, standing almost a foot taller than the rest, wore a fake white beard, a pointy red hat, a matching belted tunic and a huge grin — partly real and partly painted — on her shiny, freckled face. Happy.
I tried not to stare, but they were making quite an impression as they danced around Snow White. I wasn’t the only one watching.
“Hey, look who’s here. It’s Mr. Kung Fu.” Aidan’s new nickname for Trev was a huge improvement over the flapping and clucking, especially since he said it with a degree of respect.
I wasn’t so lucky. Aidan pulled down my mask. “And good ol’ Wheezy.”
I glanced over at Willow to see if she was watching. I didn’t want her to see Aidan getting in my face — again. Aidan followed my gaze. “I have no idea what that girl sees in you.”
“Me?” I croaked in surprise.
Aidan smirked as he pointed his chin to the ceiling, exaggerating our height difference. “I guess you’re kind of hard to miss.”
There was a friendly tone to Aidan’s voice. Or, if not exactly friendly, at least a little less cruel. Still, I’d had enough of his bullying. It was time to stick up for myself. I still had a strike left. “Why don’t —”
But Aidan interrupted before I had a chance to figure out what I was going to say. “I guess it’s time to call a truce.” He thrust his arm forward. For a second, I thought he was going to punch me in the gut. Instead, he grabbed my hand and twisted it into a thumbs-up handshake. “Since we’re teammates now.”
“What?”
“You better be as good as Coach thinks you are, Wheezy.” There wasn’t even a hint of sarcasm in Aidan’s voice. “Last year the senior team went all the way to state finals.”
Numb with disbelief, I pushed my mask back into place as Aidan sauntered away. Trev nudged my arm with his shoulder. The warm feeling of victory swept through me as I realized what had happened. “I only looked at the junior list,” I said.
As Trev and I crossed the gym, I tried not to let myself get too excited. We scanned the senior team list, still hanging where Coach Koniuk had posted it three days ago. I couldn’t believe I’d missed it — right there under Aidan Pace was Hudson Pickle. I felt like tearing the piece of paper off the wall and holding it high above my head like it was the Stanley Cup.
I’d made the team! I’d made the senior boys’ basketball team!
I was still recovering from the shock when the music changed. I looked out over the dance floor, but I had lost sight of Willow. Did she know that I’d made the team?
Beside me, Trev was scanning the crowd as well. A frown spread across his face as he scratched his head. I’d never seen him so disappointed. I was about to ask if he wanted to split when Willow appeared in front of us.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing my hand and Trev’s at the same time. “This is a dance. You too, Trev!”
Willow dragged us across the gym until we were right in front of the DJ, in the middle of her group of friends. “Now dance!” I could see her lips move, but the words got carried away by the music.
“Nice costume,” I said, leaning in close to her ear.
“Thanks for the inspiration,” she said. Or at least I think that’s what she said.
Talking was a waste of time, so I moved my feet back and forth, feeling self-conscious. I glanced over at Trev. His frown had disappeared and he was working the dance floor like it was the dojo. Trev could really groove — I hoped his math girl was somewhere, watching.
Willow leaned toward me and spoke right into my ear. “Move your arms, too. Like you’re dribbling the ball.” She flicked her hands up and down to demonstrate.
I tried to get in the zone, but it was impossible. Dancing was definitely not my sport.
“Having fun?” Willow asked when the music finally changed.
I wasn’t about to tell her that I’d rather be stuffing my face with Halloween candy in celebration of my basketball success. Instead, I nodded and said, “I know I said it before, Willow, but really, congratulations on making the team.”
“Congrats to you, too!” Willow looked happy enough to float. “I knew you’d make it, but I didn’t know you’d make the senior team!”
The deep bass of the next song drowned out any chance of further conversation. I tried to move my hands in time with the beat the way Willow had demonstrated. But instead of being smooth and natural like Trev, I felt like I was doing the chicken dance.
I finally started to relax when a song Uncle Vic had shared with me came on. It was a bit slower, but not too slow. My dancing still sucked, but at least I wasn’t flapping my wings anymore. Willow gave me the thumbs-up. I shrugged and did an exaggerated butt wiggle just for fun. I didn’t care if I looked like a dork — I liked to hear Willow laugh.
The music stopped and Willow was still laughing. Not at me, but with me.
After a few more songs, Trev caught my eye and made a motion toward the door with his head.
“We’re going to split,” I said to Willow quickly, before another song drowned me out. “But listen, can I call you sometime? So we can talk about … stuff?”
“Of course.” She pulled me into a hug, fast and tight. I could feel her breath on my neck for a moment, and then it was gone. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said as she let go.
Walking across the gym with Trev, I didn’t even try to wipe the happiness from my face. Because for the first time since I’d started junior high, I was happy. Truly happy.
From the top of my head, right down to my Pickle genes.
About the Author
YOLANDA RIDGE worked as a genetic counselor before becoming a children’s book author, and she uses her knowledge of both fields to great effect in Inside Hudson Pickle. She has also played multiple sports over the years, including basketball. These days, she lives in British Columbia, where she loves to bike and ski with her husband and two sons.
Inside Hudson Pickle Page 16