The Way We Fall

by Megan Crewe

  “Good to meet you,” he said.

  “You fixing up the charts?” Gav asked, and then said to me, “We’re heading out this afternoon to do another round.”

  Warren nodded, his hair falling into his eyes as he showed us the pad he’d been working on. It was graph paper, divided into a grid of days and addresses, boxes crossed out or checked off beside notes like 4x soup, 1 peas or wait 1 week in tiny handwriting.

  “I crossed off all the places we’ve tried at least three times with no answer,” he said. “Should cut down on the time.”

  “Wow,” I said, looking from him to Gav. “You’ve really gotten organized.” It looked like they were doing a better job of figuring out who was still around and who needed what than I had with my official phone list.

  “It’s Warren who put it together,” Gav said, with that little smile he’d given me before. “I’m the idea guy, but he’s the real brains.”

  “Hey, ideas come from brains too,” Warren said, raising his eyebrows, but his cheeks had gone a bit pink at the compliment.

  Standing there, with the sun shining down and the two of them leaning against the side of the truck, for a moment I felt like everything was all right. We didn’t need the government’s help if they stopped giving it. We could look after ourselves and get through the epidemic just fine. Even if our heroes were a bunch of teenage guys who spent their free time coming up with new ways to knock each other out.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s get you some gas. Can you bring the truck and whatever else over to the station in, say, an hour?”

  The pumps worked just like Mom had said. Warren brought the truck around, and Gav and a couple of his friends showed up in cars, and I watched through the café windows as they filled them up. When Gav came over to thank me, I made him take a few of our spare face masks.

  Then they went off to bring food to the desperate, and I headed home.

  When I got there, I folded up Meredith’s cot, dragged her into my room, and turned on some old dance music I haven’t listened to in ages. Because if we don’t celebrate the things that are going right, what’s the point in hanging on?

  No dancing today. Mom’s gotten worse.

  Dad must have suspected it was coming. He told me he was only going in to the hospital to check in, and he’d be back in a couple of hours. He’s been wearing this old pager he dug up sometime last week, and he reminded me about ten times that I should page him if we needed him for any reason.

  At the time, I assumed he was just having one of his paranoid moments. But his mood infected me too. After he left, I was cleaning up the dishes from my and Meredith’s lunch, and I started wondering how safe our kitchen is. I mean, Mom was in there when she first realized she was sick. Even if she wasn’t symptomatic yet, in any way we could see, could she have left the virus somewhere in the house? Why hadn’t I thought to ask Dad about that before? It could be anywhere.

  Somehow the worrying got me thinking about turkey vultures. They pretty much never get sick, even though they’re standing on dead animals all the time, because they have this super-acidic urine that kills off any bacteria that try to come creeping up their feet. Which is gross but also kind of cool. It would be awfully handy if all we had to do is pee on ourselves and, voilà, protected!

  I started giggling kind of hysterically, picturing it, which is probably why I didn’t hear Mom coming down the stairs.

  She swept into the room, out of nowhere, and threw her arms around me. Her favorite perfume prickled in my nose, vanilla and berries, but too strong, like she’d sprayed it all over. I returned the hug tentatively. I hadn’t done anything more than talk to her through a door for days. How could I push her away?

  As she squeezed me, the full realization of what this meant washed over me in an icy wave. She wouldn’t have come down if she was still in her right mind. She’d gotten worse. None of the treatments had stopped it. The virus was digging its way deeper and deeper into her brain, and there was nothing I could do.

  “Kaelyn! It seems like forever since I’ve seen you, hon,” Mom said. She pressed her cheek against my forehead. Her skin was hot. Then she turned away to sneeze, and coughed a few times into her elbow the way Dad always taught us to. I guess some habits stick, even with the virus in your head.

  I wanted to call for Drew, for some sort of backup, but he was in the living room playing a video game with Meredith. The most important thing was keeping Meredith away. If she knew Mom was downstairs, she’d want to come see her. And if I reminded Mom that Meredith was here, she might get the idea that she needed to hug her niece too.

  I was terrified. For Mom, for me, for Meredith. But at the same time I felt…relieved, to see her. Like part of me had started to believe she didn’t exist at all anymore, except as a voice behind a door, and now I had proof that wasn’t true.

  “It’s good to see you too, Mom,” I said, hoping if I pretended to be calm, maybe I’d start feeling more calm. “Let’s go talk upstairs.”

  She screwed up her face. “I’m tired of staying upstairs,” she said. “Do you know how long I’ve spent up there? I’d be perfectly happy if this whole house burned down and I never had to see that bedroom again.”

  “Then we’d have nowhere to live,” I said. “Come on. We’ll run you a bath. With that oil you really like. When was the last time you used it?”

  She huffed, putting her hands on her hips. “You’re just like your father,” she said. “Speaking to me like I’m a child.”

  “I’m just trying to help,” I said.

  “You probably didn’t even mind that I was stuck up there all this time,” she said. “I don’t know how my daughter turned into such a cold person. Talking to you the last few years has been like pulling teeth. You think you’d be better off if I died and never bothered you again, don’t you?”

  Tears sprang into my eyes, and my plan to stay calm went out the window. I couldn’t believe she could say that, even now, even sick. “Of course not, Mom,” I said. “I want you to get better.”

  “I’ve tried to be patient,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve tried to give you your space. And the thanks I get is, ‘Mom, go back up to your room and leave me alone.’”

  “I never said that,” I started, but then she looked toward the living room and I panicked. I pushed in front of her, trying to motion her in the other direction. “Let’s go in the backyard, then,” I said. “You’ll feel better if you get some fresh air.”

  She might have shoved right by me if a coughing fit hadn’t doubled her over. I took a second to wipe at my eyes, and then I eased her toward the other end of the house with my hand on her back. “It’ll be okay,” I said. “Dad will be home soon, and he’ll bring you some more medication that’ll help you feel better.”

  “I don’t want any more of his medicine,” she said hoarsely. “It never does anything. Why isn’t he here? I want to talk to him. Is he at the hospital? I’ll go get him.”

  She hustled past me before I could stop her. But as she stepped into the front hall, with me hurrying after her, Dad came in the door.

  “Gordon!” Mom cried, and threw herself at him the way she’d done with me a few minutes before.

  “Here, Grace, I brought you something,” he said gently, but his voice wavered a little.

  As he guided her toward the stairs, I heard her whisper, “I’m so scared.”

  I don’t know what else he said to get her back into her room, but the second I heard the door close, I bolted up to the bathroom and jumped into the shower with my clothes on. When the water was steaming hot, I scrubbed soap everywhere, then stripped off the wet clothes and scrubbed again. And then, after I’d gone over every inch but the inside of my mouth and the undersides of my eyelids, I really started crying.

  I touched my mother for the first time in a week, and it made me absolutely petrified. That’s how warped my life is now.

  Dad said the virus breaks down people’s inhibitions. He didn’t mention whethe
r the things they say without those inhibitions are necessarily true. I mean, Mom doesn’t really want the house to burn down, right? So she can’t be that angry at me, can she? Yeah, I haven’t talked to her about half of what I’ve gone through since we moved to Toronto. I never let on that I was lonely, or how hard it was to fit in, or that I’d fought with you, Leo. But what teenage girl doesn’t keep secrets from her mom? It’s not fair. How could she expect me to tell her everything?

  How could she think I’d want her to die?

  Dad put a new lock on the bedroom door. He gave Mom something to help her sleep last night, but she’s spent all day jiggling the knob and calling to us, one after the other, begging someone to let her out, or at least come in and talk to her. Meredith tried to open the door once. Thankfully, Dad’s holding on to the key, to make sure no one can.

  “But she sounds so sad,” Meredith said to me when I caught her.

  “I know,” I said. “But she’s really sick, and we’re all safer if she stays in one place—her too. We wouldn’t want her to go wandering outside, right?”

  I say that, but I feel awful too. It’s like hearing a cat or a monkey clawing at the bars of its cage in one of those anti-animal-testing ads. Except a million times worse, because the animal is Mom, and just a couple of days ago she was talking to us like a rational human being.

  I haven’t said a word to her since yesterday. I can’t. I’ve been doing my best to pretend I can’t even hear her. I know it’s not really her anymore. She’s there, but she’s already gone.

  And maybe I’m a little scared of finding out what else she might have to say about me. Which really does make me an awful daughter, doesn’t it?

  Drew sat by the door and talked to her for a bit this afternoon, and when he passed my room afterward, his hands were clenched and he was blinking fast. He took off a half hour later, and he hasn’t been back since.

  Dad stayed home since she got like this, but he slept on the couch last night, and he only went in to see Mom for a little while in the morning. She was yelling when he left, so maybe she’s had some angry words for him too.

  He spent most of the day at the dining room table with his laptop, scrolling through files and rubbing his face. His hair’s getting scraggly because he hasn’t had it cut since the summer. He used to look young for a dad, with his sandy blond hair that hides whatever gray he’s got, but his skin has gotten so pale and washed out, it’s like he’s fading.

  I made him tuna on crackers while I was putting some together for myself, because I don’t know how much he’s been eating. And we’re out of bread. I sat across from him, and we both ate without saying a word. He hardly glanced up from the computer. When I couldn’t stand the silence anymore, I pushed my plate aside and forced out the words: “She isn’t going to get better, is she? The special plants, the medicine, none of it works.”

  He looked at me then, like I’d slapped him, and I wished I hadn’t said anything. But the thought had been rattling around in my head since yesterday, getting louder and louder. I needed to know.

  “We don’t know that,” he said quietly. “We’ve had a couple people recover at the hospital. And we’re doing everything we can.”

  “A couple,” I repeated, my gut knotting. “All those people who’ve gotten sick, and only two have gotten better? What makes you think Mom’s going to be that lucky?”

  “The alternative is giving up,” he said. “I’m not going to do that.”

  I didn’t say it, but I wonder if it wouldn’t be easier to give up. Easier than putting all your heart and energy into fighting an impossible battle. Because he looks half dead himself already.

  But a couple hours ago, when Meredith leaned against me on the couch and asked, “Is Aunt Grace going to be okay?” I said, “Of course she is. No puny little virus could beat her.”

  So I am an awful daughter and a liar.

  This afternoon it was so sunny, we all went out in the backyard. At least that’s why we said we went. I suspect it was mostly because we can’t hear Mom at all back there.

  Dad sat on the swinging chair with his laptop, and Drew and Meredith and I threw a Frisbee between us, and then Drew, in a rare show of benevolence, told Dad he was going to go brain-dead if he didn’t take a break, so why didn’t they toss around the baseball for a bit. They haven’t done that since before we moved to Toronto, and I don’t think Drew’s asked Dad to do anything with him since the boyfriend discovery. So Dad got up and dug out the gloves.

  Around the same time, one of those news helicopters passed overhead, close enough that I could see the shape of the cameraman peering down at us. Meredith looked up, frowning at the noise.

  “What are they doing?” she asked.

  “Checking to see how we are,” I said. I suppressed the urge to raise my hand and let them film my middle finger. They come and take their footage, and then they zip back to the mainland like they were filming some sporting event, not people’s actual lives. I hope they drop their cameras in the strait on the way back.

  To distract both of us, I found a bag of stale peanuts to throw to a couple of squirrels that had crept over the fence.

  “You hear how that one’s chattering right now?” I said. “He’s trying to tell the other one to back off, this is his yard. But the other one knows he’s bluffing, so he’ll keep sneaking down the fence whenever the first one’s back is turned. Look, here comes another that heard there was food.”

  I kept talking about squirrels until my throat started to feel scratchy, pulling up every fact I’ve ever learned or guessed from watching them. At least Meredith seemed sort of entertained. Dad and Drew were throwing the ball back and forth with a satisfying thump as it hit their gloves.

  And then the shrieking started.

  At first I figured it was another neighbor, someone down the street. My voice hitched in the middle of whatever I was saying, but I kept going. Then the shrieking got a little louder, so you could make out a word here and there, and Dad froze. He dropped his glove on the grass and hurried into the house.

  My throat closed up, and Drew looked at me wildly, and Meredith sucked in a breath. I think we all realized at the same moment it was Mom.

  Her voice peaked for a minute. “No, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t,” she screamed. And then she was quiet. We waited silently, listening. After a bit, as long as it took Dad to get her downstairs after he’d given her whatever medication he had to keep her calm, we heard the car engine rumble.

  “Where’s he taking her?” Meredith whispered.

  “To the hospital,” Drew said. “Where the doctors will continue to be totally useless.” He hurled his glove at the fence, and the squirrels scattered.

  Meredith started to sob. I wrapped my arms around her and tugged her closer. “Don’t say that,” I said to Drew.

  “Why not?” he said. “Because it’s true? Why shouldn’t we talk about what’s really happening? The whole island is dying and it’s been weeks and they still have no idea what to do about it! Which one of us is going to be next?”

  He stomped into the house, and Meredith’s crying turned into little gasps. I hugged her as tightly as I could and blinked back my own tears. “It’ll be okay,” I said. “It’ll be okay.” Even though I can’t imagine how anything will be okay ever again.

  I made it through last night. I felt kind of stiff and cold going through the motions, but I calmed Meredith down, and cooked us dinner, and got us to bed, and even when the lights were out and she was breathing softly, I didn’t let myself cry. I was afraid if I started I wouldn’t be able to stop, and I’d wake her up.

  What’s the point of crying anyway? I know I’m sad. Why does anyone else need to see it?

  Dad didn’t come back all night. Over breakfast, Drew said he was going down to the hospital. I would have gone too, but I didn’t want to leave Meredith on her own—and I can’t stand the thought of bringing her into the hospital the way it is now.

  So instead I put on The Littl
e Mermaid, her favorite, and we were halfway through when the doorbell rang.

  I assumed either Drew or Dad had forgotten to take their house key with them. We never used to lock up. I was so sure, and I guess in a bit of a daze, that I opened the door without checking.

  Gav was standing outside. His shoulders were hunched like he wasn’t sure how he’d be welcomed. I stared at him, and he stared at me, and then he straightened up and gave me that little smile. “No interrogation this time?” he said.

  “Hi,” I said. “I…” And then I stopped, because I had no words. It was like all the walls I’d put up to keep me from falling apart were getting in the way of thinking too. My brain switched to autopilot.

  “Come in,” I said.

  He stepped inside and I shut the door. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “I told you I’d show you some of those self-defense techniques,” he said. “If it’s a good time for you.”

  “Sure,” I said again. I didn’t really see the point right then. But I thought, I said I’d do this; I’ll just get through it, no problem.

  Then he glanced around and said, “House seems quiet today.” Which reminded me how much I’d wanted Mom to just be quiet the last few days, and now she was quiet because she wasn’t even here, and probably she was never coming back. It was the first time I’d let myself think that far, and before I could stop it, this sob burst out of my throat. I sank down and wrapped my arms around my head and pressed my face against my knees, as if I could hold myself together if I squeezed hard enough. But I’d already lost it. Everything spilled out. Tears, snot, I don’t even want to know what I sounded like.

  After a while I registered a pressure by my arm, and a while after that I realized it was Gav’s hand on my shoulder. Like an anchor, bringing me back into place. There was a floor under my feet and a wall behind me. I was home. I wasn’t alone.

  The sleeve of my sweater was totally soaked. I wiped at my face and at my jeans, which were pretty damp too. Gav took back his hand, but I could still feel him crouched down in front of me. I didn’t want to look at him.