Hummingbird Heart

by Robin Stevenson

  Right now, that was better than feeling like me.

  FIFTeen

  Even with Jax’s leather jacket lying beneath me, I could feel the beach’s cold stones, knobby and hard against my spine. The fog made the world seem oddly shrunken, and I felt weirdly disconnected from what was happening. His breath was hot on my neck, one hand thrust between us, fumbling with the button of his jeans.

  “Jax.” I tried to work my hands between our bodies to push him away from me. “Jax!”

  “Yeah.” He kissed my collarbone and unzipped his jeans.

  I couldn’t do this. “I don’t want to, I’m not…”

  “Oh, come on, Dylan.” He started kissing me again, his mouth muffling my words.

  “No. Not here, anyway. Not like this.” I felt a flash of fear—what if he wouldn’t listen? I pushed him away, harder this time, and turned my face away from his mouth. “I mean it, Jax. Stop it.”

  “Shit.” He groaned and rolled off me. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.” I sat up.

  He looked at me and I couldn’t read his face at all. “You know, some guys would call you a tease.”

  “I’m not—I mean, I didn’t mean to be. I just don’t think, you know…”

  He crouched beside me, straightening his shirt. “Come on. You’re not a virgin, are you?”

  “Yeah.” My face burned. I wasn’t about to tell him that, before tonight, I’d never done more than kiss, and not even much of that.

  “No way.” He sat back and looked at me. “I figured everyone had done it by grade eleven.”

  “Yeah, well. Guess I’m a little behind.”

  He grinned. “I kind of like the idea of being your first.”

  “What makes you so sure you will be?” I said, annoyed.

  “Oh, I will.” He winked and held out a hand to me. “Come on, Cinderella. I’d better get you home before midnight.”

  We headed back through the trees and up the long dark flight of stairs. The railing was smooth and cool under my hand, and the sound of waves on stone followed us, gradually growing distant.

  I could still feel his hands all over my body.

  Jax drove me home in silence, and I wondered if, despite his joking around, he was angry. In front of my house, he hopped off the bike and gave me a hand down. He lifted the helmet off my head. “I was hoping you might come out again tomorrow.”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  Jax reached out a hand, tried to pull me close.

  “My mother might be watching,” I whispered, and I pulled away.

  Mom was still waiting for me, sitting outside in the dark on an upside-down ceramic pot. “Come sit down with me for a minute.” She patted another plant pot, gesturing for me to sit beside her. There were empty plant pots everywhere. She was always saying she was going to create this green, sun-filled space for reading and lounging, but she never did anything about it. It was just a narrow wooden porch, littered with dead leaves and cigarette butts.

  I perched my butt gingerly against the railing, far enough away that Mom wouldn’t smell the beer on my breath. There was an empty wineglass on the railing so probably she’d had a few drinks herself. Mom studied me for a moment. My cheeks felt warm and I was glad of the darkness. I felt like she’d be able to tell from my blush exactly what Jax and I had been doing down on the beach. I looked away from her and sniffed the air. “Are you smoking up? You know how much Karma hates it.”

  She shook her head defensively. “Just a little. And I hardly ever do anymore, you know that. Did I tell you, Julia just had a lump taken out of her breast? It turned out to be nothing but still…” She made a face. “Inhaling carcinogens isn’t half as much fun as it used to be.”

  “Right. Well, please don’t let Karma find you doing it, okay? It freaks her out.”

  “Oh relax, Dylan.” She shook her head. “And give me some credit, would you? Karma’s asleep.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  The people who lived in the downstairs apartment of the duplex were home for once, playing country music—a slow sad song, a husky-voiced woman singing about losing the one man she’d truly loved. I waited to see if I was going to get a lecture. For Jax, for the motorbike, for the twenty-five minutes past ten o’clock.

  “Baby. You and that boy…You will be careful?”

  My face was hot. “I’m not you, okay, Mom? I have no intention of repeating the family history.”

  Mom looked stung, but she didn’t say anything. I looked at her more closely. Her eyes looked sad and sort of bruised. She’d been crying. Probably she and Scott had had a fight; that’d fit her usual pattern. I didn’t care and I definitely didn’t want to hear about it. “I’m going to bed,” I said.

  She leaned toward me. “Dylan. We need to talk.”

  My heart sped up. Please don’t tell me about Mark. Don’t tell me, don’t tell me, don’t—

  “Mark called.” She let out a long unsteady breath. “He said you went to see him today.”

  “Oh.” I folded my arms across my chest. “Well, you wouldn’t tell me what was going on and I thought… I wanted to know. And I wanted to see him again.” The last words slipped out, catching me by surprise, and I could feel my face and neck and ears turning red.

  “And he took advantage of the opportunity to manipulate you into doing what he wants. Goddamn it, Dylan. I was going to tell you.”

  I shrugged, not looking at her. I didn’t know whether I believed her. “Yeah, well.”

  “So. You know then. About…”

  “His daughter. Casey. Yeah, he told me.” I wanted to tell her that I was going to do it. I tried to form the words, string them together, but somehow they didn’t come. I didn’t feel much of anything. I sat there, saying nothing.

  “I wish you’d waited. I just needed some time to sort out what I was feeling.”

  My mother was always sorting out her feelings. Apparently it hadn’t occurred to her that this wasn’t really about her at all. Mark wasn’t her father. It wasn’t her bone marrow that Casey needed.

  “You should have told me,” I said.

  “I was worried that you’d be hurt.”

  “Yeah, well. Now I know, don’t I?”

  “Pickle…can we talk about this?”

  “It’s late,” I said. “I have school tomorrow.”

  Mom ran her fingers along the inside of her own wrist, touching the green hummingbird lightly. I hated that hummingbird now that I’d seen its twin on Mark’s wrist. It was visible proof of her lies. Every time I glimpsed a flash of its green and red feathers, another wave of sick anger crashed into me.

  “It’s up to you, you know,” she said.

  But it wasn’t, not really. There was no decision to make. If I didn’t do it and Casey died, I’d hate myself forever. Everyone who ever knew would hate me. Fury swelled in my chest, choked the words in my throat. I looked away from her, out into the darkness. “Why should I do anything for him?” I said. “He’s never even wanted to meet me and now he just shows up and wants my bone marrow? It’s…” I trailed off and turned back to my mother. She was crying. Face hidden behind her hands, shoulders shaking inside her black hoodie. “Mom? What is it?”

  She didn’t answer right away and fear flashed through me. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

  She took a deep shuddering breath, wiped her eyes and looked up at me. “He never knew.”

  “Who? Mark, you mean? Never knew what?”

  “When I got pregnant…he was already with Lisa… and I never…I just left.” She reached over and put her hand on my arm. “I moved out west. I never told him.”

  There was a painful thud in my chest and a roaring in my ears. I flung her hand off as if it were burning me. “About me? He never knew about me?”

  “I thought it would be better. Easier.”

  I stood up, wanting to get away from her. Hating her. “Easier for who, exactly?” I stepped toward the front door. “For you? Because it wasn’t easy for me, thinking he
never even wanted to meet me.”

  “Dylan. I’m sorry. Please listen. Let me explain.” She was crying again, and it made me furious.

  “I don’t want to hear it,” I spat the words out. “You lied. Again. How am I supposed to believe anything you say, Mom? You make me sick.”

  “Dylan, I wanted to tell you, lots of times. I just…”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said. “Just tell Mark I’ll do it.”

  I watched as her fingers traced the hummingbird tattoo. “I knew you would. He was in tears, Dylan. On the phone.”

  I stared at her and slowly realized something: she was relieved. She had actually thought I might refuse. That was the only reason she had told me the truth. But if she could think that I’d let a little kid die just to get back at my father, she didn’t know me at all. She didn’t know me, and I didn’t know her either. I looked away from the bright lie of the colors on her wrist, away from the tentative smile that was starting to lift the corners of her lips, and stared at the fog closing in. “I’m going to bed,” I told her, and my voice seemed flat, as if it could barely travel through the milky thickness of the air.

  SIXTeen

  When I opened my eyes, Mom was standing beside my bed watching me. I groaned, rolled over and pulled a pillow over my head. “Mom. Could you not do that watching-me-sleep thing? It creeps me out.”

  “Sorry, Pickle.”

  I lay still for a moment, hoping she’d go away, thinking about what she’d told me last night. How she’d lied. I could feel her watching me even with the pillow over my head, and I hoped she was feeling guilty. Though she never seemed to feel guilt: that was my specialty.

  I gave up, rolled over and rubbed my eyes. “What is it?”

  “Nothing, nothing. You slept through your alarm, and I was just coming to wake you up.”

  “Uh-huh.” I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, and last night’s conversation came crashing back. “Okay. I’m up. Now can you please leave?”

  She stood there for a moment, still watching me.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. See you downstairs.”

  I got up and pulled my housecoat from the hook on my bedroom door. I usually liked the fall, but this year I hated it. So much darkness. It wasn’t even light out yet. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, turning my head this way and that. I could see flashes of Mark in the angles of my jaw, the curve of my mouth, the slight tilt of my eyes. Weird. It was all so weird.

  I glanced at the clock and picked up my phone to call Toni.

  “Hey.”

  “Dylan?”

  “Yeah…can you still hang out at lunch? There’s some stuff I need to talk to you about.”

  There was a fraction of a second’s pause before Toni answered, “Sure.”

  Like she’s doing me a favor. I bit my lip. “You don’t have to.”

  “I just said yes. I’ll hang out with you.” Toni sounded annoyed.

  I knew I was sounding too insecure, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Only if you want to. I mean, it’s okay if you’d rather be with—”

  “I want to, all right?”

  We used to hang out every lunch hour. It was a given. Just like talking on the phone every morning. Now I felt like I’d annoyed her somehow, and I suddenly didn’t feel like talking anymore. “All right,” I said. “I’ll see you at school then.” I hung up the phone and wondered if all friendships got messed up when people started dating. Maybe they did. Maybe the days of real friendships—the staying up late talking, giggling, planning things, counting on each other—were over. Maybe that was just something you had when you were a kid.

  I stared at a bowl of cornflakes swimming in soy milk. I wasn’t hungry.

  Karma slid her plate toward me. “Want some of my toast?”

  I shook my head. “No, thanks.”

  “Are you okay? You look kind of…funny.”

  If Karma was noticing, I must really look like crap. Though maybe she was still worried because of what happened yesterday. I still hadn’t told her what Mark had said or why I’d been so upset. I tried to smile a little. “I’m fine.”

  Mom put down her newspaper and looked at me with raised eyebrows.

  I didn’t want to get into a conversation about it—actually, I didn’t want to talk to my mother at all, ever—but I needed to know what was going to happen next. “So, do I have to get a blood test or something?” I asked.

  Karma’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to speak.

  “That’s the first step.” Mom poured enough milk into her coffee to turn it almost white. “I just called Mark and told him that you’d do it.”

  “You did? Was he…was he pleased?” I hated myself for asking.

  Karma was practically wriggling off her chair in frustration. “What are you talking about? Pleased about what?”

  Mom’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Of course he was pleased. What else would he be?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t know why I’d asked that or what I’d meant, exactly.

  “Anyway. He’s staying longer than he’d planned. His wife and daughter are flying out on Thursday. Apparently they’re going to take Casey to some naturopath in Vancouver.” She drank her coffee, not looking at me. “Mark says he’s probably a quack, but I guess they’re feeling they have to try everything, you know?”

  “But if I’m a match, that’ll help, right? She could be all right.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Karma sounded like she was about to explode.

  Mom held up one hand to tell Karma to wait. “Pickle…I don’t really know the first thing about it. I guess that’s the hope, but I don’t think there are any guarantees.”

  There never were. I closed my eyes for a moment and stared at the prickles of light in the darkness. Like tiny stars. Reluctantly, I opened them again and looked at Karma. “Mark’s kid has leukemia, and he wants me to get tested to see if I can be a bone marrow donor.”

  “Ohhh.” Her round face was serious. “So that was why he wanted to see you.”

  I realized that I had no idea how he had found out I existed. “Yup. Exactly. That was the reason.” My voice was louder and higher pitched than usual.

  There was a heavy pause. Mom ran one finger along the table edge. “He thought you might like to meet her. Casey.”

  “Me? Why would I want to?”

  “Maybe he thinks you’ll want to help more if you meet her. I don’t know.”

  “I already said I’d do it.”

  “I know. Don’t bite my head off.”

  Karma looked thoughtful. “Maybe he thought you’d want to meet her because you’re, you know, sort of related.”

  I looked across the table at her. It was strange: we’d only been living together for three years and we weren’t even blood relatives, but I loved her, even though she drove me crazy. Somehow we had become a family. We had become sisters.

  But I didn’t think of Casey as a sister at all.

  The first time I met Karma, she was eight and I was thirteen. Mom flew to Toronto to pick her up, and I stayed behind with her friend Julia for a few days while all the legal stuff got sorted out. I’d known for a few weeks that she was coming—we’d rearranged furniture, turned Mom’s tiny office into a third bedroom—but I couldn’t get my head around the idea that she wouldn’t just be visiting. It had been just me and Mom for my whole life, and it didn’t seem possible that a third person could suddenly join our family.

  And finally they’d arrived. Julia and I drove to the airport to meet them. Mom, looking exhausted, was carrying an unfamiliar leather suitcase and pulling her own wheeled one, and this skinny kid was tagging along behind, clutching a small ratty-looking backpack.

  “Karma, this is my daughter Dylan,” Mom said.

  I thought it was strange that she said it that way around—like the introduction was for Karma, not me. I tried to push away a surge of jealousy and forced a smile. “Hi, Karma. Nice to meet you.”<
br />
  She just stared at me with big dark-lashed eyes. She was wearing embroidered jeans that were too short for her and a black T-shirt with Long Live Rock ’n’ Roll written on it in silvery letters. The shirt had ridden up so I could see a strip of her tummy: brown skin and an outie belly button. She stuck her fingers in her mouth and sucked on them.

  I turned to my mom. “Want me to take one of those cases?”

  She handed me the leather suitcase, which I figured was Karma’s, and leaned close to me. “Speaking of cases,” she whispered into my ear, “Sheri’s kid is a bit of a case herself. I think we’re going to have our hands full.”

  And just like that, I felt better again. Me and my mom would always be a team. Looking after Karma was going to be something we did together, and that meant that no matter what she was like, no matter how awful it was, it would somehow be okay.

  And the first weeks and months were awful. Karma had wicked tantrums, screaming like a toddler when she didn’t get her way. Hair washing, tooth brushing, mealtimes—anything could trigger a meltdown. My mom would throw her arms up in the air and yell at her, make threats, offer bribes, and finally give up in frustration. Oddly enough, Karma was more cooperative with me, so after a while, Mom handed off some of her care to me. Dylan, can you get Karma to eat breakfast before school? Can you make sure Karma has a bath? Can you ask Karma if she’d eat pizza for dinner? Karma usually did what I said with no fuss at all. It annoyed my mother, but I found it rather satisfying.

  I wasn’t sure when things changed. It wasn’t dramatic. One day I realized that Karma hadn’t had a meltdown for a long time. She did okay at school, rode her bike everywhere, and started playing baseball. Sometimes I wondered how much she thought about her mom and how she felt about this new life, but they weren’t questions I felt I could ask.