Once he is down the hall, Mrs. Ferguson looks at me with concern. “What is it honey?”
I fiddle with my fingers, nervously. “We were in the work shed, developing pictures.” I can’t keep the smile from blossoming just thinking about it again. “I touched Gavin... accidentally... and he said it was okay.”
“Oh sweet Jesus!” She throws her hands up, then looks at me like I have just spoken some foreign language and rights herself. “Are you sure Evan?”
“What?”
“He didn’t flip out like he normally does. Are you sure he knows you touched him?”
“Yes.”
Seeming to ignore me she continues to speak, “Sometimes he has seizures and he doesn’t know what is happening.”
“Yes, I know.”
“But you said you were in the workroom and he wasn’t having a seizure, right?”
I giggle at Mrs. Ferguson’s growing elation. “Right. He wasn’t stuck... I mean having a seizure. He felt me touch him.”
She jumps up from the sofa and takes me in her arms, hugging and swaying with me, “Oh my Lord, this day’s news keeps getting better and better! Thank you, sweet girl! Thank you so much for telling me!”
I wonder what she means by this day getting better and better, but before I have a chance to ask I hear her sniffle and her voice quivers, “Thank you so much. Oh my sweet boy... thank you Evan for being there for him.”
I tighten my arms around her and feel tears swell in the corners of my eyes. My nose starts to run and I breathe in deeply to keep from making a mess all over Mrs. Ferguson’s shoulder. “You are welcome, Mrs. Ferguson.” I pull back from her gently and wipe my eyes. “I don’t want Gavin to know I told you. It might upset him.”
She wipes her own eyes and covers her mouth before she whispers, “You are right. It might be too overwhelming for him to know that we know.”
I nod, agreeing with her as I glance down the hall to make sure Gavin hasn’t resurfaced and heard what we were saying.
The front door swings open behind me and Brody steps through the doorway, looking from me to his mom. “What is going on?”
Mrs. Ferguson swats at him to join us in the living room. “Shh, come over here,” she says.
“What is it, damn it?” he says in a whisper.
I can’t contain it. “It’s Gavin. I leaned against him in the work shed. I didn’t realize it until it was too late, but he didn’t react!” I say it all so quickly.
“What?” he chuckles a little and smiles wildly. “Are you serious?”
I nod and mother squeezes his arm before she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her level, which only makes him chuckle louder.
Still flabbergasted, he laughs and asks me again. “Serious?”
“Yes,” I say, smiling as wide as my mouth will allow.
His mom pulls away and wipes her eyes; the waterworks flowing again. “Isn’t that amazing Brody! First the call from the insurance, now this!” She looks up seemingly at the heavens and places her hands together in prayer. “Thank you so much.”
Insurance?
“Well, where is he?” Brody starts to move away from us toward the hallway.
We both grab after him and call to him at the same time, “No!”
He looks back at us confused. “What is it?”
“He doesn’t know we know. Evan thinks it might be overwhelming for him,” Mrs. Ferguson replies. I’m of honored that Mrs. Ferguson thinks so highly of me to agree with my thoughts on Gavin.
Brody nods, then looks at me. “Yeah, you are probably right.”
I can’t refrain from asking. I look between Brody and his mother. “You said you got a call from the insurance? Is it good news for you? For Gavin?”
They both look at each other with a cautious and worrisome look, then look back at me.
Just then, a door down the hallway open. Mrs. Ferguson taps Brody’s shoulder in an attempt to hush him before Gavin is in ear shot. Brody gets the hint and leans in to me and whispers in my ear, “I’ll tell you later, all right?”
I nod and follow Mrs. Ferguson’s lead as she smiles and asks about the images Gavin took today on his new camera.
Gavin is oblivious to Mrs. Ferguson, Brody’s, and my secret discussion about him as we move on to another subject. Well, secret makes it seem like we were keeping it from him in a malicious way. We aren’t at all. We are trying to protect him. Just like any friend or parent would want.
I think of my parents and to what lengths they might go to protect me. Dad made a comment days ago about thinking this move might have been the wrong idea, like it was done solely for me. I think about Dad and Mom moving us half way across the country for me while making me believe it was for some kind of job relocation.
“Um, I just remembered. I have to go; family dinner.” I smile a little as I back away toward the door.
“Mom, Evan is coming to Thanksgiving second dinner!” Gavin exclaims like he suddenly remembers.
“Oh that is great, Evan! Please tell your parents to come as well! I would love to visit with your mom again. Haven’t had a chance to talk since the party.”
My gut wrenches a little as I think about all that has transpired since with Mom and Mrs. O’Keefe. How far Mom sunk to her level, judging and alienating the Ferguson family. I know she has changed, but it still makes my stomach turn.
“Okay, I will tell them you asked,” I say weakly as I open the door, slip through, and attempt to close it behind me. Brody catches it though and pulls it back open.
He looks back in at his mother before he closes the door. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Once the door is shut and we step off the porch together, Brody comments, “Wow, the Gavin whisperer. I would have never pegged you, California.” He nudges me with his elbow.
I play along. “Yeah, well you know us California hippies have a way about us.”
He stops walking and I stop as well. “Yeah, you do have a way about you,” he says tenderly as he rocks back on his heels and bows his head to look into my eyes.
I clear my throat and change the subject, “So, the insurance company called. Is it good news?”
Brody’s playful smile sinks and he lowers his eyes to the ground as he speaks. “Yeah, it isn’t a sure thing, but we have a meeting to sign documents with the old insurance and we hope to initiate the new one at the same time. The meeting is next week. I’m suspended so Mom thought I should go to hear the ins and outs and all.”
I don’t understand why he seems so dismal about this. “This is great news Brody. Why aren’t you as happy as your mom?”
He shrugs and tucks his hands deeper into his jean pockets. “It’s not that I’m not happy. I’m just... I will be happier when the new insurance is in place for Gavin, that’s all.”
I nod, understanding and respecting that wholeheartedly. I tend to try not to get my hopes up quite often so I can’t give him too much of a hard time about it.
“So, you are coming to Thanksgiving,” Brody says.
I feel strange about going now that Brody has brought it up. “Yeah, Gavin invited me... it is kind of hard to say no to him.”
“No reason for you to say no. We want you there.” His eyes meet mine and he steps closer to me as he corrects himself, “I want you there.”
I don’t back away or stiffen or try to avoid his touch when he takes my hand in his and walks me home.
“GREAT, YOU MADE IT HOME just in time for dinner! I went out to the work shed but you weren’t there. I figured you were over at the Fergusons,” Mom says as she sets the table.
I pass by the living room just as Dad yells at the football players on the television.
“Yeah, I was visiting with Mrs. Ferguson.”
My mind is hyper focused on asking her the burning question, did they move us here because of me, rather than Dad’s job?
Mom walks back over to the kitchen and I sit on a barstool at the counter. She looks at me, sensing something
is up. “Everything okay?” she asks as she rinses some of the dishes before loading them in the dishwasher.
Here it goes. “Why did we move?”
She turns off the faucet and looks at me a solid two seconds before answering. “Because Dad’s job relocated us.”
She took too long to answer. I try a different approach, “Did you move here because of me?”
She shifts her weight onto her other leg and puts her hand on her hip, like she is put out by my questions. “It wasn’t only because of you, Evan.”
Fair enough. “But you did move here partly because of me?” I ask trying to clarify.
Dad pulls the chair out from the table at a place setting. “Yes Evan, it was because of you.”
“Aaron,” Mom interrupts him, but he shakes his hand at her. “No Lucy, she asked us directly and I’m not going to lie. Too many secrets around here lately. Not anymore.”
I look from Mom to Dad, then move to the open seat at the table. “So, your job...”
Mom brings the casserole and places it in the middle of the table. Dad picks up my plate to dish out the food. “My job wasn’t intending to relocate me. The day after you... lost it at school...” The way he says it sounds like he is ashamed of my actions. “...your mother and I talked about moving, leaving San Francisco. The effect the school, your classmates, were having on you. Your mom’s and my neighborhood friends, they started to ask questions about you, if you were all right.”
Mom speaks up, “Rather than put you through further ridicule, risk more pain for you and us, we decided that moving, starting over somewhere better maybe might be the answer.”
I poke at my casserole with my fork and work up the nerve to say what I am feeling. “So you thought running and hiding was the answer.”
Dad puts his fork down loudly and folds his hands in front of his face. He stares off into nothing. “We aren’t running and hiding, Evan. We are trying to give you, our daughter, a better life and if that means relocating and taking a pay cut, then so be it.”
He’s getting paid less, that is why Mom decided to go back to work so soon.
“Look honey, it wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. We took time to talk about it, weigh all the options. We knew you weren’t happy and we thought that changing where we lived, where you went to school would help you.”
I shake my head, slowly. “You can’t change me by changing were we live or where I go to school.”
“Evan, we aren’t trying to change you.”
I put my fork down and sit back in my chair. “You hoped I would change. Hoped I would start over, have a “fresh start” at Braxton Springs. Well, Braxton Springs is no different from Paramount High. Moving here, hiding...”
Dad mutters over me, “We aren’t hiding, Evan.”
I speak louder over him, “Hiding, running, keeping secrets hidden, whatever... a different setting can’t change me. I am me, clinically depressed and supposedly diagnosed with the early signs of bipolar...which I will fight any doctor on. Yeah, I’m moody. Yeah, I’m sad one moment and happy the next. And, yeah...I flip out on asshole teachers and students alike, and I hear this little voice inside my head telling me that I am just not good enough, but in my book... in my life... I don’t believe I have the disorders or conditions that have been stamped on my forehead by two doctors. Two people that haven’t had to live in my shoes.”
I push away from the table and start to get up, but decide I have one more thing to say, “What if I’m not the one that is flawed? What if everything thing around us, the people, the community, the mentality of every single person involved in what has been going on around us here in Braxton Springs, back in San Francisco, is flawed? I’m not perfect, but who is? Not the O’Keefe’s. Not the Morietti’s. Not any single family anywhere. I’m not hiding anymore and you shouldn’t either.”
I push away from the table and just before I rise I add, “Mrs. Ferguson would like all of us to come to Thanksgiving second dinner. I plan to go and she would love it if you did as well.”
The three of us wait, silently. I think Mom and Dad aren’t sure of what to say exactly. To be honest, I’m not sure where that came from; it was building up over the last few months, I guess.
“Second dinner, huh?” Dad asks as he picks his fork up again.
It did sound strange.
“It’s what Gavin calls it since everybody comes over after they have already eaten their first dinner with their family.”
“Mrs. Ferguson asked for us to attend?” Mom asks carefully.
I bow my head. “Yes, she did. Said she would look forward to talking with you since you hadn’t since the Bar-b-Que.”
Visibly humbled, Mom closes her eyes for a moment. All of a sudden she tilts her head, reopens her eyes, and fixes them on me. “I think it is a great idea. We will be there.”
“We will?” Dad asks as he chews a mouthful of casserole. Maybe he notices the determined looks in our faces as he seems to change his tune. “We will.”
WEDNESDAY, I SPENT MOST OF the day helping Mom in the kitchen while the other part is spent in the work shed, developing Gavin’s and my films and getting some prints. I want to take them over to him tomorrow at Thanksgiving second dinner. I realize, working in the shed, that I probably spend more time in here at night then I do during daytime hours, well, up until two days ago.
After almost a week, of the new dose of my antidepressant, I seem to be sleeping well. I don’t dwell on it. Doing that usually jinxes me to fail and fall off the “sleep” wagon.
Grandma and Grandpa come over Thursday morning. Grandma starts helping Mom get the turkey in the oven and Dad and Grandpa sit side by side in the two recliners, watching football. After dinner #1 with Grandma, Grandpa, Mom and Dad, the three of us start over to the Fergusons.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out with one free hand as I balance pecan pie in the other; it’s a text:
Nikki: Are you on your way over?
Evan: Yes. Walking over now.
Nikki: Okay. We need to talk when you get here.
I’m a little worried by her text, but respond mindlessly.
Evan: K
Mrs. Ferguson and Nikki’s mom greet us at the door, taking the two casseroles from Mom, the bottles of wine from Dad, and the pie from me. Nikki snags me by hooking her arm in mine before I can even say hi to Brody who I spot carving the turkey with Asher in the kitchen. He gets out a wave, just as Nikki pulls me onto the front porch.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“They have taken it to the next level,” Nikki says, arms crossed.
I’m not following. “What are you talking about?”
She pulls her phone from her back pocket, seems to open a screen on it, then shows it to me. “Spencer, Celine, Chad, and all of their followers.”
She holds her phone up so I can see the screen. “This shit is all over Facebook.”
I take the phone from her and hold it between my two hands.
“It’s like a cyber-slam book for our school. Just went up yesterday,” Nikki adds.
I notice a picture of Gavin walking on campus, his head down and slightly behind Brody. Under the picture is a caption. It says: “Fucking Tard. You should disappear like your father.”
I see the number of likes next to it - five. Five people in this group liking this comment makes me want to throw up.
A comment below that says: “I hate that stupid hat he wears every day.”
Below that: “He shouldn’t have the right to wear it. His dad is a traitor.”
Eight likes next to that one.
Another comment: “Probably joined up with the Afghan militants!” Four likes below that one.
Shaken by what I am seeing, I ask her urgently, “Why are they doing this? Who is doing this?” I look at the name, Sugarpenny7.
“I don’t know, maybe because passing judgment is ingrained in their DNA? Fuckers,” Nikki mumbles and pauses only for a second, before explaining.
&nbs
p; “Sugarpenny7 is an assumed name to keep their identity hidden. All of them are bogus profiles too.”
Under that is another comment by a different user, Eyebasher: “Don’t touch him, he might fall to the ground and throw a fit like last year! lol”
Beneath is a picture of Lia sitting in the cafeteria with her lunch in front of her. I see a small portion of me in the picture and realize that this had been taken recently. Lia’s picture has a caption under it as well. “1800-IPUT-OUT.”
Beneath that, a chain of slams fill most of the screen of Nikki’s phone.
I look back at the caption on Lia’s picture and click on the user name, Dandymancan.
Wearily, I ask, “Has Lia seen this?”
“Unfortunately, she saw it last night,” says Nikki.
I think of Lia cutting and look up from the phone to Nikki. “Did she talk to you? Did she seem okay?”
Nikki tilts her head. “Yeah, she did.”
“Is she okay?”
Nikki shakes her head. “No, but that is why she called me. I told her I was going to tell her parents what she is doing to herself if she doesn’t get help.” She snickers somewhat to herself, then says slyly, “I told her that if she didn’t, I would fucking go over to her house, knock on their giant ass wrought iron door and tell them.”
I can’t explain how relieved I am. “I’m so glad you did that Nikki.”
She points at the Fergusons’ door as she says, “She is in there. So are her parents. She said they are going to see a shrink tomorrow.”
I am proud of Lia for getting help and feeling safe enough to tell Nikki. Then I feel remorse for not telling Nikki about my trips to the shrink.
Nikki looks at me with interest. “Don’t say anything about it to her, all right? Let her tell you.”
“I won’t,” I say and look down at the phone as I scroll the page.
“I can give you three guesses though,” Nikki says snidely.
She is talking about Celine, Spencer, and Chad. They are the likely accusers. I stop when I get to a picture of Brody leaning over the side of a car with the hood up; he is working on it. “Wait, somebody took this of Brody at work?”
Dismantling Evan Page 32