Joe’s holding court. “In my geography seminar about colonialism, Professor Abelard says it’s all economics. You’d like him, Daniel. He uses novels to teach history.”
Mom nudges Joe, elbow to elbow. He shuts up as if they planned this. The silence is telling.
“What?” I say.
After a sharp nod from Joe, Mom speaks. “That was Meredith on the phone just now.” They’re looking anywhere but at each other, another dead giveaway.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I ask.
“Joe can drive you over to Meredith’s house. I’ll finish here.”
He grabs the towel from me and dries his hands, halfway to the door before he turns and lobs it overhand toward the sink. I catch the towel before it lands on the floor.
“What if I don’t want to go?”
Joe snorts. “Don’t be an idiot. She’s waiting for you.”
“How the hell do you know? What is going on?”
Mom’s swiping at her eyes with her fingers, pretending to laugh, fooling no one.
“Okay, okay. I’ll go see Meredith, but I don’t get why my life has to be everyone else’s business.” I wipe the perspiration off my face, but when I put the towel down, there’s red stuff all over it. I look at my hands. Streaks of red.
“What the…”
Mom starts screaming. I’m trying to remember what I ate with cherries or tomatoes in it. When I turn to grab the sponge, Joe pivots back into the kitchen, his head peeking out of the fleece as he tugs it into place.
“You cut yourself?” he says.
“I was drying plates, cups, like I’ve done a million times before. I didn’t cut myself.”
Enter Dad. “Oh, my God. Sit down, Daniel.” Arms open, palms up, he steps close in one long stride, arches my head back and assesses my face, then puts both hands on my head and pushes it down between my knees. “Okay, okay. He’s going to be okay. It’s a nosebleed, folks, that’s all. Sylvie, calm down.”
“A nosebleed? Since when do I get nosebleeds?” I garble the words and watch the drops splatter in rapid succession on the scuffed linoleum.
Nick’s sneaker toes poke into the edge of the picture and then a towel is thrust up from my ankles.
“Thanks,” I mumble, slime thick in my throat. A choking cough sprays crimson across my boots and Nick’s sneakers.
With Mom’s sobs as background noise, I wait for Nick’s “gross,” but it doesn’t come.
“Sylvie, call Misty. She’ll know what to do,” Dad barks. “Joe, ice in a plastic bag. Nick, another towel.”
Basic nosebleed care, I had no idea Dad knew anything about medical stuff beyond how to treat poison ivy from the Scout manual. Once Joe’s back and Dad gets him into position with the ice pack, he leaves to check on Mom.
Joe talks in my upside-down ear. “Your timing stinks. Mom was trying to make your Christmas perfect. She and Meredith planned the whole thing and you had to screw it up. How does Meredith put up with you? Falling off bridges and bleeding all over everything.”
The fake rant is meant to fill the time and I appreciate it. Joe tells me about a date where the girl threw up on him between dinner and dessert. When Nick laughs from the other side of the table, I realize they’re all just standing around, waiting for me to stop bleeding. Like so much else in my life, we’re all just waiting for frigging Daniel to straighten up and fly right.
By the time the bleeding stops, Dad’s back. He and Joe walk me to the bedroom where extra pillows draped in towels form a sultan’s throne. I’m half asleep before they’re done propping me up.
Meredith’s voice in the living room floats into my conscious. I hope it’s not just a dream.
“Can I come in?” she asks from the doorway.
“Better ask the border patrol if you can cross into the ‘no flu zone.’ Though I’m not too dangerous right this minute.”
“Your mom said it was okay.”
“I heard you and she were buddies.”
She pulls the desk chair over so she’s facing me. “Merry Christmas.” She’s fighting tears.
“Meredith Christmas, you mean.” I will her to laugh. “It was only a nosebleed.”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry’s back again? And no bridge in close proximity?”
This time she does laugh, mostly to accommodate me, I guess. I’m trying to be upbeat even though this kind of setback is bound to ruin our plans for ten days of unsupervised time at her house over vacation.
“So much for TV movies and popcorn in your basement while your mom’s at work.”
She doesn’t answer right away and I think maybe she thinks I was really only interested in movies and popcorn. What do I know about how you proposition a girl? It’s been two months. She must know how much I want her. I’m scrambling to think if I’ve told it to her flat out like that, or if I’ve somehow misled her into thinking I’m not into repeat performances.
When she speaks, her voice is low. “I’ve been meaning to call you about vacation.”
You gotta know with that kind of lead-in, I’m crashing. Nothing good can start with those words.
“Daniel, I really am sorry. I’m not going to be here after all. Dad called and Juliann and I have to go to Colorado to see him over break.”
I’m so relieved, I laugh. “He must have heard who you’re hanging with.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Daniel Solstice Landon, straight-A cutup, definitely the wrong crowd. My dad is worried.” She massages my feet, her thumbs and fingers press each toe and she strokes down to the arch and up again.
It feels incredible. I lay my head back on the pillows and imagine what could happen if we were alone, really alone. The image of me in the bed and Meredith on her knees, her hands on my body, finished with my feet, moving up my legs. It’s amazing I can feel so good after I felt so lousy an hour ago. This could get out of control very quickly.
“Hey, cut that out. I’m not a cripple.”
Her hands snap back and she freezes.
“How long?” I ask.
“Nine days.”
“Oh, well, then. Just the whole effing vacation. He’s definitely pegged me. Merry Christmas to Daniel.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you. He probably thought it’s what divorced parents are supposed to do during vacations. It’s the first school break we’ve had since the—”
“Thanksgiving doesn’t count?”
“Mom made us go then for her job.”
“It doesn’t matter. It looks like I’m stuck here for the duration. Even without parental interference.”
From somewhere she pulls out a velvet bag and lays it in her lap like a puppy. For a minute I watch her stroke it and the tingling is moving up my legs again. One hand disappears inside the bag and comes out with a small flat package with a tiny bow. She sticks it in my hands.
“Open it.”
I fumble with the ribbon one-handed, the other hand maintaining the ice pack on my nose. I don’t get very far, so I abandon the ice pack and take a good long look at this girl who hasn’t given up on me yet. What weird luck. It’s a Holden kind of moment. I’d like to kick the door shut and sweep her into my arms. Take off each piece of clothing and memorize her once and for all. If she leaves tomorrow, I’m afraid she won’t come back or I’ll die in the meantime and I won’t have a chance again.
“Did I ever tell you that I love you?” I say. The nasal twang makes my voice sound foreign and unfamiliar.
Although her eyes never leave mine, she pulls out nine more identical packages and spreads them on the bedspread within reach.
“Daniel Landon, if you have another nosebleed before you open my presents, I’ll never forgive you.”
I bite through the ribbon. The wrapping paper flaps loose. The tape cassette has a small white label. In Meredith’s crazy curly script she’s written DOCTOR ZHIVAGO, TAPE 1.
“You read that book into a recorder?” I ask.
“In English.”
“Y
ou didn’t think I knew Russian?” I hold up the next package. “Tape two?”
She nods, smiling and laughing at the same time. “There are ten. Juliann says she is so sick of hearing about blizzards. You haven’t read it already, have you?”
“No. The real question is, will they last the whole nine days you’re gone?” I ask.
After the knock on the door, Joe’s head pops in and then out. He talks through the door. “Mom and Dad have gone for a walk.” Not such a bad big brother.
Meredith’s asleep next to me when he knocks the next time. “Daniel,” he whispers without opening the door.
Meredith tucks her head into my shoulder and kisses my neck. “Pretend you’re asleep,” she whispers.
Joe’s voice is louder. “Daniel. They’re back. And Meredith’s mother’s called.”
“Drat,” Meredith says and kisses me again.
When she lifts herself up and slides across me, I hold her so she can’t escape. “Wait. I have a present for you.”
“I can tell.” She sinks down into the best fit, her toes at my bare ankles.
“Not that.” We’re laughing, choking and laughing. At the taste of salt, I push her off and grab the towel, jamming it under my nose and lowering my head. Another nosebleed. “God, I’m worthless.”
She hugs my back. “Maybe I’m a vampire.”
“Now, there’s a comforting thought. Eternity in Transylvania.” But it beats Christmas vacation in Tappahannock if Meredith’s in Colorado.
While Joe’s driving Meredith home, Mom deals with the second nosebleed. Without screaming this time. Incredible how quickly a person adjusts.
“She’s a nice girl,” Mom says.
“Nice as in, don’t take advantage of her?”
“I only meant she seems to have her heart in the right place. She really cares about you.”
“Hard to believe a girl like Meredith could like a boy like me?” I ask, confused that, despite Mom’s desire to protect me by isolation, she’s willing to let someone else into the inner circle. Would she be so generous if Meredith were a different type of girl? Does her generosity stem from her desire to let me be happy on my deathbed? Would she have been this understanding if Meredith were simply the first in a lifetime of girlfriends who might skew my loyalty to my parents?
Mom pins my head down to slow the blood flow. “Stop painting me as the bad guy. I didn’t expect nosebleeds. I didn’t call her father either and demand he take her away.”
“I can still be bummed.”
That makes her think. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair.” She circles her hand in encouragement. “Go ahead, let loose. What else is bugging you?”
Suddenly here I am, a little kid again, with his mother’s permission to whine and fuss because he needs a snack or a nap. Holden would be so embarrassed. He’d bolt. Even when Antolini stepped over the line, Holden didn’t whine. He made a decision and dealt with it.
Mom moves my hand to the ice pack and starts straightening the bedcovers.
“Back to bed. Misty says bed rest for a day or two.” She sits and waits while I get settled, then readjusts the ice pack and the towel.
“Go ahead with the rant, Danny. I’m listening.”
“Never mind. It’s not like she’s moving to Colorado. It’s not permanent.”
“No,” Mom says, “it’s not like that.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Senator Yowell parks his white Suburban in the driveway of our apartment on a Saturday morning in January. It dwarfs the Subaru. Since UVA doesn’t go back into session for another week, Joe’s still here, sleeping on one of the camp cots set up in the living room. He’s up late most nights reading books in German and French that were written at least a hundred years ago. When he answers the front door, I’m on the phone with Meredith trying to choose a movie. She volunteers to stop at the video store on her way over later. Nick’s staying overnight with a soccer teammate. Joe’s been scheming to get Mom and Dad out somewhere with him to give Meredith and me some time alone. If I claim fatigue, it’s hard to convince Mom she can leave me.
The truly amazing thing about the apartment is that it’s so much easier than the boat. I’m amazed at how quickly I’ve forgotten land etiquette. We don’t need to cart people back and forth for them to come and visit. We have lots of visitors. And the second amazing thing is the guy who usually lives here left his landline hooked up. No more risk of going over our cell minute limit.
“Joe, good to see you. On break?” Senator Yowell’s voice reverberates like a boom box in a parking garage. The silence means he’s doing his regular handshaking bit. Because politicians insist on shaking hands so much, I told Leonard one time that there must be a secret subliminal message being passed from hand to hand, like that advertising scare in the eighties.
After Meredith says goodbye, I come out to the living room to say hello. Senator Yowell was not expected and he’s never dropped by before. I can only guess it has something to do with reelection or Leonard. Leonard is dating a girl from St. Margaret’s who’s from the Bahamas. Christie. A tiny girl with a big chest and a very rich family, according to Leonard. Whenever I run into him she’s all he talks about. Lately, since he started dating Christie, it’s been on Water Lane where we see each other. I’m usually taking a walk to the used bookstore or the cemetery or Meredith’s, and he’s picking Christie up or dropping her off. She’s the right girl for Leonard, that’s for sure, though I can’t figure how she stays upright and doesn’t tip over onto her face with all that extra weight on top.
The senator has his hand out in my direction. “Good morning, Daniel. Leonard said he saw you up and about last weekend.”
This may be the way the whole town characterizes my walks, “up and about” like some ancient rickety neighbor who’s been in bed for years and suddenly recovers. I prefer the anonymity of last year when I was simply a scraggly-headed boy with no manners. My taking a walk then wasn’t front-page news.
“He was headed to St. Margaret’s basketball game, I think,” I babble.
“Yes, Christie cheers.”
I look sideways at Joe. What the heck?
The Senator must hear his own words on instant replay. “You know what I mean, she’s a cheerleader. She cheers for the team. They played Collegiate. I think that’s what Leonard said.”
You can tell by the way he hesitates between the words that he’s not sure about the game itself, but he’s trying to be hip, to talk about things he thinks teenage guys might be interested in.
“Say hello to him for me.” I step past Joe and through the living room to the kitchen.
“Daniel.” It’s very like an order.
“Yes, sir?” I’m sure the good senator hears the ratcheting up of my irritation.
“You should stay,” he says in an even, steely tone. “I came to speak to your parents about this neglect conviction. It concerns you.”
“Did my parents ask you to come here?” I’m not inclined to hear a lecture from the great Senator Yowell on community responsibility or some such.
Rattling his keys in his pocket, he scrutinizes Joe, as if deciding whether Joe might intercede so the senator doesn’t have to deal with this belligerent teenager.
He doesn’t answer my question. “Are they here?”
Joe motions at a chair for Senator Yowell. “I’ll get them.”
It’s incredible that Joe would offer up Mom and Dad that easily, like sacrificial lambs, to a man who’s made his reputation making deals. Joe, of all people, knows what purists Mom and Dad are. They’ve already paid Walker for the appeal. They’re not going to make a deal that admits any kind of misjudgment on their part. They’ve set up their lives based on their principles. More than any other adults I know, my parents do not compromise, for money or any other kind of personal gain.
Senator Yowell, as much as he is always talking about his commitment to his constituents, can’t be any different from all the other politicians who race around in Richmond. He mak
es deals. In order to get six things he wants, he bargains away five he doesn’t care so much about. I’ve heard Mom talk about the lottery money that’s supposed to go to libraries. He let that payment be reduced in his battle for the repaving of Route 17 and the rebuilding of the West Point Bridge, all to make it easier for tourists to get to Essex County.
Although Dad admits it’s the way of the world, I don’t think either of them voted for him. More traffic and more tarmac hurts the ecosystems and fuels global warming. Two of their favorite causes.
Senator Yowell sits, but he doesn’t stay seated for long. In the back bedroom Joe’s voice slides in and out between Mom’s and Dad’s. The closet door opens and shuts. The toilet flushes. They’re getting dressed after a lazy Saturday morning in bed with the newspaper.
“How are you, Paul?” Dad’s first out, rolling up his sleeves as he comes, barefoot, but smiling. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Between Nick’s soccer games and Daniel’s schedule, Sylvie and I don’t get many chances to sleep in these days.”
Senator Yowell steps forward to shake hands. “Daniel’s schedule is actually what I’m here about.”
“Oh?”
“I’d rather wait for your wife.”
“Sure, sure. How about coffee?”
“Only if it’s already made. I had some at home. Can’t put too much strain on this old heart.”
Dad looks at me perched on the radiator, surveying the street. “Don’t you have some homework, Dan?”
“I asked him to stay,” the Senator says. He’s standing awkwardly in the center of the room, in the duck-duck-goose position of having been too slow. Except for the night of the party when Leonard sent him upstairs, I’ve never seen him look so awkward. The dark suit and striped tie are enough to set him apart in our house. The Yowells and my parents are not the kind of friends who go to dinner at each other’s houses or to movies together. At other people’s parties, though, they must meet and talk. And the Senator knows Mom’s first name.
When she comes down the hall, she’s running her fingers through her hair as if she just realized she forgot to comb it. Dad seems mesmerized by her appearance. Which is a wicked good clue that they weren’t actually sleeping in there. He winks at her, then flushes when he notices I caught the wink. Mom’s oblivious. She goes straight to Senator Yowell and hugs him.
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