by Carrie Mac
That was fine with her. She could play the denial game. She was even good at it, and was improving her skills this whole week with the debacle that was her family’s current situation. Eva would not talk to Oscar, while Oscar was waiting for her to make the first conciliatory gesture. Stalemate.
“Just tell Mom to call him.” Phoenix was playing two-person Deer Hunter with Gryph. She hated this game, but was pretty good at it. Not as good as Gryph, though. But that was just the way it was. He was the always the winner, she the runner-up, if she was lucky. She levelled her sight on an eight-point buck in the cyber-distance and pulled the trigger. The bullet sailed up and over the deer, startling it. As it took off, Gryph nailed it. The holographic deer fell with a thud that shook the platform they stood on.
“Just stop shooting if you’re not going to concentrate,” Gryph said as they turned north in the forest. “Save your bullets. Stay behind me.”
“Or tell her to come over and see him,” Phee said. “She’d give up then, seeing how miserable he is. And lonely. He is sorry.” Phee shot her gun at another deer in the distance, missing grandly this time. “You know he’s sorry. I know he’s sorry. She knows it too.”
“I said stop shooting,” Gryph said as the deer took off at a run.
Gryph pulled the trigger. The rifle shot blasted in her headset. The buck on the ridge reeled back.
“Too low,” Phoenix said. “And too near the rump.”
“Yeah?” Gryph cocked the rifle. “Well, you suck, so don’t tell me how to play.” He let the deer—fake, yes, but three-dimensional and realistic in every way, and whose suffering still hit Phoenix hard— stumble down the hill until his knees buckled and he collapsed onto the forest floor with a heart-wrenching whinny.
“Come on, Gryph. Shoot him.” Phoenix had the holographic deer in her sights but knew Gryph would be mad if she shot his deer. He’d yanked off her visor and shoved her to the floor when she’d dared step on his game before. That had most certainly been a Bad Gryph day. She lowered her gun. “Please, Gryph. Come on. Put him out of his misery.”
Gryph held his gun tight, butted against his shoulder. His head was tilted, eye to the scope. “It’s pretend, Phee. Buck up.” He glanced up at her and winked. “Get it? Buck up?” Turning his attention back to the writhing deer, he repeated, “It’s just a game, Phee. Chill out. Always with the drama. You and Mom.”
Gryph walked, and Phee followed out of habit. He stopped just shy of the animal and looked down at him. So did Phee. The deer was panting. Blood seeped from Gryph’s first shot, which had landed in his gut, under his flank. The deer looked up at them, his big brown eyes moist and cloudy.
“Shoot him, Gryph.”
“It’s weird that death is final in a game, but not in real life.” He kept his eye on the deer as he spoke. “This is what it’s supposed to be like. Forever. Bloody, painful, and final.”
It’s not real, Phoenix told herself. It’s only pretend. But the virtual game was so real that she could practically smell the deer’s fear. “Just shoot him. Please.”
“What do you think it’s like?” He glanced at her now. “Death?”
“Better than his suffering, that’s for sure.” Phee raised her own gun. “And if you don’t shoot him, I will.”
“He’s mine.”
“Then do it, already!”
“It’s a bizarre thing …” Gryph stood at close range, set his crosshairs between the deer’s wide, blinking eyes, and pulled the trigger. With a spray of blood, the buck’s head flung back, and then he was still. “We’ve conquered death, but it’s still such a mystery.” He paused. “You really don’t remember anything at all? From when you were dead?”
Instead of answering, Phoenix raised her visor and tugged off the headset. “I’m done.” Gryph had never played like this. Dirty, mean. Cruel. She couldn’t stand it.
“The game’s not over!” Gryph paused it with a tap of his foot.
Phoenix stabbed the rifle back in its slot, which cancelled her game.
“Why’d you do that? Neko would’ve finished.”
“All you care about is this stupid game and waxing poetic about a dying holographic deer when our family is crumbling for real.”
“Again with the drama.”
“It’s not drama. It’s real!”
“Why don’t you go home, Phee,” Gryph said with a shrug, “if you’re so concerned about everything.”
“I’d like to go home, only it doesn’t exist right now!”
“You’re overreacting, as usual. Give it a rest. It’ll all work out.”
“And you’re underreacting, as usual.”
“You’re done? But—” Neko came up behind her, about to protest the parked rifle. She glared at him over her shoulder.
“I don’t want to hear it, Neko.” To Gryph, who’d resumed the game, she said, “It’s easy for you—you’re hardly there. And you won’t be there at all, come September. But I’m there every day, for several more years. And Fawn has another decade, at least. You should be doing your part to keep the family together.”
“It’ll all work out,” Gryph said again, eyes on the inside of his visor, back in the make-believe world of the game. “You should get your priorities straight. Some things matter more than others, Phee. Some things are actually a matter of life and death, and this one is not.”
“What do you mean?”
Gryph didn’t answer her. She backed away without saying anything more. What did he mean? Was that a cloaked reference to Saul? Did he know? Or did he only mean that Eva’s reaction to their visit to the no-per zone was out of proportion? That she overreacted. The way Phee so often did, in his eyes.
Phee texted Nadia that she was leaving. Nadia, still hanging off Saul on the other side of the arcade, replied with a single “K.” She didn’t even look up, let alone come over and see if Phee was okay or why she was leaving in such a hurry. They were supposed to leave together, she and Nadia. She didn’t know about the other boys for sure, but Saul and Gryph were going in the other direction, each having lied to his parents about staying at the other boy’s house. She’d asked where they were going, but they didn’t say. They never did, and it always pissed her off. Well, Nadia could find her own way home for once. Phee wasn’t going to wait.
THE PORCH LIGHT WAS ON for her at her grandparents’, along with almost every other light, giving a warm glow to the house. She walked right past it though, across the green to her own house, dark, except for one light. She found Oscar in his study, reading at his desk.
“Fawn phoned,” he said as a greeting.
“Yeah?”
“She’s called a family meeting.”
“Fawn did?”
Oscar put his book down. Neuroscience and Theology. “She did indeed.”
“Wow.” Neither Gryph nor Phee had ever called a family meeting. That was such a parental thing to do. Or a Fawn thing, so it would seem. “She’s a ballsy kid.”
“She is. So, family meeting. Tomorrow morning.”
“Great!” Bizarre that a six-year-old could put an end to the stalemate, but so be it. Phee hugged her father. “Everything will go back to normal, right?”
“I hope so, kiddo.” Her dad kissed her forehead. “I hope so.”
It had been less than a week since Eva had stormed out with her and her siblings, but it felt as if it had been a year. Most nights Phoenix stayed with Oscar at the house, partially because she missed her dad, and she missed their house, but mostly because she wanted to demonstrate to Eva that she’d forgiven Oscar for taking her to the no-per zone, and if she wasn’t mad, the rest of them shouldn’t be either. She was the one whose life had been at stake. If she could forgive, why couldn’t Eva?
“Dad didn’t know,” she told her mother the night before when she walked over to her grandparents’ house to visit after dinner. “He’d never intentionally put us kids in danger.”
“Doesn’t matter whether he meant to or not.” Eva collected the dishes f
rom the table. Phoenix’s mouth watered at the lingering smells of pot roast and cheesy scalloped potatoes. Back at the house the best she and Oscar could put together was a plain old grilled-cheese sandwich and heated-up tomato soup from a tin. And a plate of pickles, if they were feeling gourmet.
“Homemade pickles,” Oscar boasted. But it made no difference. They both missed Eva and Fawn. And Gryphon too.
“Are you hungry?” Eva would ask. “I can fix you a plate.”
And every time Phoenix would shake her head. “No thanks. Dad and I had a good supper.”
“What’d you have?”
“Chicken fajitas.” Phoenix lied every time, claiming they’d had chili con carne, or chicken parmesan, or lamb kabobs. All of which Oscar could make quite easily, when his heart was into it. He just wasn’t inspired, and neither was Phoenix, so it was tinned soup most nights. A box of crackers and a stack of cheese slices. They even ordered pizza one night, even though Oscar normally swore against fast food and was quite creative when it came to making homemade pizzas. Caramelized onions, pulled pork, and feta cheese went into one of his specialties. But they actually had straight-up, oil-slicked ham-and-pineapple from the pizza shop on his route home. He’d picked it up and they ate it right out of the box, not even blotting off the oil, which pooled on the surface of the pie and dripped off their chins.
After the pizza she’d broken out with a faceful of zits, either from the crappy food or the stress, but either way enough was enough. She was looking forward to the family meeting and everything going back to normal.
SATURDAY MORNING DAWNED as a glorious day, as if prepping the world for the Nicholson-Lalonde family reunion. The sky was blue, birds were chirping, and the smell of flowers already warmed by the sun woke Phoenix up with a smile. Shortly afterwards, the front door slammed, and footsteps sounded on the stairs. Clunky and light at the same time. Unmistakably Fawn. With a grin, Phee pulled the covers up over her head and feigned sleep. Fawn flung open the door and pounced on Phee.
“I’m home, Phee!” She poked Phoenix under the blanket. “Wake up! We’re having a meeting because I said so, and Daddy’s making waffles, and Gryph is coming in a couple of minutes, so you should get up and come downstairs now.”
“Uhn,” Phee replied with an exaggerated snore.
“You’re only pretending.” Fawn sat on her chest. “I know it.”
“You knew I was pretending?” Fawn squealed when Phee grabbed her and pulled her under the covers. “And still I caught you.”
The girls wrestled for a while, Phoenix aiming for Fawn’s ticklish spots in particular. Fawn giggled so hard that she finally screamed that she had to pee and fled the room in a hurry. Phoenix sat up and set her feet on the floor and stretched. Hopefully, today was the day her family got glued back together.
THE BREAKFAST TABLE was laid out as if it were Christmas morning. Tablecloth and fancy runner, places set with the good dishes, maple syrup in the fancy decanter and the juice in a crystal jug, napkins folded at each place, and atop each plate, save one, sat a tiny envelope—no bigger than a business card—with a name written on it in Oscars’s neat block printing. Inside each was an apology.
“I’m sorry. I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have taken you. I’m sorry for that.”
“No need to apologize to me.” Gryph flicked his envelope back at his father. “I thought it was awesome. Beats my boring life, that’s for sure. I’d go again, right now.”
“Boring?” Eva frowned at him. “You think a warm home and loving parents and a good education and a safe community are boring?”
“That’s not what I meant, Mom. You’re overreacting. Again.”
“I’m not.” Eva took her seat at the table, carefully keeping her tone in check. “I’m just curious why you think your life is boring.”
“If I left my life up to anyone but me, it would be boring.” Gryph half laughed. “But thanks to me”—and here he gave a little bow— “Mr. Gryphon Nicholson-Lalonde … my life gets less boring every day.”
Phoenix frowned at him. What did he mean by that?
“What exactly do you mean?” Her mother echoed her thoughts. Eva’s hands were poised over her cutlery, as if preparing for a knife and fork quick draw against her son.
“Why do you think I enter all these competitions?” Gryph grabbed a trio of waffles with his fingers and arranged them on his plate. “Not because I have something to prove. Not because of the prize money.” He carved a hunk of butter from the dish and plopped it on top. “I like the adrenalin. That’s why. It makes me feel alive. And if you guys had your way, I’d be some chess champion or mathlete or something like that.”
“What terrible parents you have,” Eva said. “Oh, such horrible jailers. How unbearable for you.” Abandoning the cutlery, Eva put her hand out in a silent, stern request for the butter instead. “It must be excruciating for you to put up with a loving mother and father who want to keep you safe, who want to see you grow up into a healthy man. And how confusing, to have us be such tyrants, yet still let you engage in your high-risk sports. What an oppressed life you must bear, dear Gryphon. Such burdens.”
“I might wonder every now and then where I inherited my need for adrenalin from …” Gryph gave his mother a thin-lipped smile and a cock of the eyebrow. “But there’s no doubt where I get my sarcasm from.”
Eva exhaled a short, frustrated breath from her nostrils. “I’m simply trying to understand why you resent us for wanting to keep you safe.”
“Because I have three recons, that’s why. Why else are they there if it means we all still live our lives so goddamned carefully?”
“Son—” Oscar started to admonish him for his language, but Gryph cut him off.
“Sorry, Dad. It just slipped out. But really, Mom.” He finally passed Eva the butter she’d been waiting for. “Have I ever hurt myself?”
“Plenty of times.” Eva held the butter but made no motion to help herself to any. Instead, she punctuated the air with the little dish while she talked. “You’ve had two broken arms, a broken leg. More sprained ankles than I can remember. You blew your knee out last winter. And let’s not forget the time you fractured your skull.”
“Minor stuff.” Gryph shrugged. “I mean, I’ve never really hurt myself. Not badly. Not ever a life-or-death situation. Which is pretty amazing, considering the shit I get up to.”
“Gryph—” Oscar once again took aim at his son’s language.
“Sorry, sorry.” Gryph laughed.
Fawn piped up. “You have to pay the swear jar.”
“Twice,” Phee added.
“All right, all right.” With an impatient groan, Gryph whipped out a dollar and slapped it on the table. “Here’s for the two, and two on credit. I just don’t see what the big deal is … even if I did get so badly hurt to need a recon, that’s what they’re there for. Right?”
“No,” Eva said. “We are not free to squander the life we have in the first place. Recons are expensive and still have their risks, as your sister can attest to.”
“Whatever,” Gryph said with a shrug. “Fact remains, I’ve never really hurt myself. And even if I did, I’d be back to normal before you know it. I just don’t see the big deal. When it comes to me, anyway. Phee, I get. Me, not so much. I’ve never even been sick a day in my life, never mind even coming close to needing a recon.”
“Because you are blessed,” Oscar said quietly. “Truly blessed.”
“No, Oscar.” Eva shot her husband a pointed look. “He’s lucky.”
“He is blessed … with talent, strength, innate athleticism, bravery, ambition. And he is—I would argue—watched over by God.”
“And what about Phee?” Eva’s eyes darkened. “When she was just a baby? And then when she was six? Where was your God then? Clearly not watching over her!”
“Please,” Phoenix whispered, her cheeks going red. She didn’t want to be the reason for another fight. Not again. Not when it had been going so well. Phoenix g
lared at Gryph, who was oblivious to the tension, mouth full, concentrating on his breakfast. “Please?” she said again, turning her eyes to her parents. “Please don’t make this about me.”
“Phee, honey.” Oscar reached for Phoenix’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s not about you—”
“No?” Eva sighed, exasperated. “Oscar, if it’s not about Phoenix, what is it about? There is only one person in this room who is only one recon away from true and everlasting death.”
Fawn, who’d been following along with her mouth open, waiting to jump in with her two cents’ worth, promptly clamped her mouth shut. Phee, likewise sensing their parents drifting away, off on their own, even as they sat there just inches away, dropped her eyes to her lap and debated the pros and cons of leaving the table. With a huffy flourish? A discreet slip? Or sit still and disappear, try to tune out her parents’ squabbling.
“What is it about? You and me, and this family we both love so fiercely …” Oscar trained his eyes on his wife. He reached for her hand and—Phee slumped with relief—Eva let him take it. “Even if we have different ideas about life and God and raising our children. And I love you. That’s true too.”
“And I love both of you!” Fawn piped up with impeccable timing. “And for one thing, this is my family meeting. So no fighting.” She scrambled onto her knees on the chair and leaned across the table and took hold of her parents’ hands. “Now hug and say you’re sorry.” With that, she sat back and dug into her syrup-soaked waffle. Phee grinned at her little sister. Future diplomat in training. She wanted to give Fawn a grateful hug, but her limbs still felt sluggish and wary. She wanted to say thank you, but her mouth felt as if it was stuffed with wool. When Fawn looked in her direction, Phoenix winked at her instead. Fawn winked back.