by Kai Strand
Rod nods while stuffing half a soft taco in his mouth in one bite. He studies the second half like it requires a strategic approach for completion, but then stuffs the rest in his mouth all at once, eliciting a laugh from me.
His gaze meets mine and my stomach plummets. Or maybe my heart. Yeah, probably that. I look down at the last tiny bite of taco in my hand and pretend it’s as fascinating as his was to him. Am I going to think of warm caramel drizzle every time I see him from now on? And why does my mind immediately jump to thoughts of licking the drizzle and the whipped topping? I’m blushing now. Staring at the little bite I hold and blushing. Nothing crazy about that!
“So why didn’t you just go home?” I ask, hoping to steer the conversation into something that will cool my cheeks.
“Oh, uh…” Rod glances at Jay, who looks just as curious about the question. “I, uh, have to put in at least 6 hours each weekend.”
“Six hours of what?” I ask. Did I miss part of the conversation when I was imagining the Rodney color-schemed dessert?
“Um. Community service.”
What an idiot I am. Of course. I mean, I knew that. Kind of. What I don’t know is why, but I’m not about to ask.
Jay doesn’t have the same hesitation as me though. “Did you get caught with pot or something?”
“No, dude. Nothing like that.”
I practically watch the big cinder block walls stack up around Rod as he closes himself off from us. What did he do?
Jay, who seems to lack all powers of observation, presses further. “Then what are you doing your time for?” His eyes pop wide. “You didn’t, like, really do time? Spend time in juvy, did you? Man, that’d be nuts!”
Rod pushes his plate away and sits back in his chair. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
Jay laughs. “Are we safe around you?”
I glare at Jay. I want to strangle him for being so insensitive. But he remains oblivious. When I can’t catch his eye, I look back at Rod who’s watching me with a strange expression on his face.
“Yeah, you’re safe,” he all but whispers.
The pain—torment or loss, or maybe anger—on Rod’s face sends chills down my spine.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here, man,” Jay says, still seeming oblivious to the discomfort thickening the air around us. “You can help us lay flooring. My back is killing me.”
I’m glad to have a normal subject to talk about and jump on the chance by teasing Jay. “So, not only are you slow, but now you’re hurt? I’m glad Rod’s here too then. Otherwise we’d never finish that floor.”
“Hey now.” Jay throws his wadded up napkin at me. “Not all of us are as seasoned as you. Heck. If they had a Volunteer of the Year award, you’d qualify.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head, then flick the wadded napkin, making it roll back across the table toward him. Unfortunately, it stops way short. “They do have a Volunteer of the Year award. Lots of places honor volunteers. The non-profits who use the volunteers, some businesses—like that bank,” I nod in the direction of the red shirted people laughing and eating the catered lunch, “honor the employees who do the most volunteer hours on their own.”
“There’s even some presidential award or honor or something,” Rod says.
He’s staring at the group of volunteers, watching them interact, but I don’t really think he’s paying attention to what they’re doing or our conversation. I raise my eyebrows. “How do you know that?”
His gaze slides lazily in my direction and he shrugs a single shoulder. “My mom’s friend got it once.”
He goes back to staring at the other people in the tent while I consider what his life is like. I’ve gotten tiny little peeks into it. Not nearly enough to be able to make a qualified assumption, but I do it anyway because this latest little hint is so…normal. Like now I’m imaging him and D sitting at home watching T.V. and their mom comes home from work and shares the news that her friend won some volunteerism award. Normal. I mean, maybe they’re sitting on a ratty couch in threadbare clothes with overlong hair. And maybe his mom is obviously exhausted from a long day and maybe makes another frozen pizza for dinner because she’s too tired to cook a full meal. But it’s still a nice, normal scene.
It doesn’t quite fit into the doom and gloom images I’ve been painting in my head: a constant struggle for food because of little money, the heat being shut off in the winter, Rod turning to crime because of the stress.
His relationship with D doesn’t fit the doom and gloom image either. Rod’s very protective of his brother. I don’t think he took his eye off of D the entire time I was with them. And it isn’t like D is an obnoxious kid who wanders and explores and needs constant monitoring. So why the paranoia?
I tried not to make any indication of how uncomfortable I was in Rod’s neighborhood the other night when I dropped them off, but I’m pretty sure he could tell. It’s not like there were drug dealers hanging out on the corner or anything, but the street was packed on both sides by run down four-plexes. Cars crammed bumper to bumper along the curbs, many parked the wrong way because…why? The drivers were disrespectful of the law or maybe just too lazy to take the time to turn around and parallel park appropriately? Trashcans, decorated with colorful graffiti, appeared to have permanent residence on the side of the street. No streetlights, so everything was dark and shadowy. Lots of dogs barking angrily from behind tall, dilapidated fences. Even the abandoned bicycles and scooters looked more like trash than evidence of children playing happily.
Rod’s life is most definitely different from mine, but letting the scene of his mother returning from work with news about her friend play in my mind again I think maybe it isn’t as different as I originally thought.
Hank walks into the tent. “How about we wrap up this party and get back to work?”
Several people from the large group nod or cheer enthusiastically. I see a half-smile form on Rod’s face as he watches people jump into action, tossing trash, wiping tables, and covering the food. My heart skips a beat over his obvious humor. Holy heart mummer. I’ll twist any ole thing into a reason to be more attracted to him.
Suddenly my mom’s expectation that I be ready to grow up in a few months seems logical. I can’t get distracted this close to graduation. So, I metaphorically throw my rose colored glasses on the floor and crush them under foot as I stomp out of the tent and toward the Hampton house.
Chapter 29
I push through the door of the convenience store and I’m immediately assaulted by its distinct smells of overcooked hotdogs, burnt coffee, and tobacco. I need to stress eat. Ding Dongs, Cheetos, and diet Pepsi are in order. I know Mrs. Belter, a resident at the assisted living home I volunteer at monthly, didn’t choose this week to die specifically to make me sadder, but that’s what happened. I didn’t really know her well. She didn’t talk much, but she was always sitting in the community room when I got there and would sometimes clap during sing-alongs. Obviously, volunteering there for over a year, I’ve known a few members who have passed away, but none of them very well. I guess the difference is that you expect it in that situation opposed to Mr. Whitman at the kitchen. Anyway, Mrs. Belter’s loss has struck harder than I’d expect and I’m sure it’s because it’s just another loss to add to the pile of suck sitting smack dab in the middle of my life lately.
I grab more than I came in for, not able to choose between chocolate and peanut butter or carbonated and high sugar. I dump it onto the counter to dig my money out of my purse. Declining a bag, I pile everything in my arms. I’m just going to stress eat all the way home anyway, who needs to dig into a bag when I can scatter it across the passenger seat of my car?
I push through the door backward and hear a grunt just as the door comes to a jarring halt against a person.
My slippery snack bags and sweaty drinks threaten to spill to the ground, so I scramble to adjust the cradle I’ve made with my arms to avoid spillage, but I feel the Ding Dongs squish betw
een my arm and side when I attempt to save them from falling.
I turn to apologize to the person I hit. “Rod!” There are dark circles under his eyes and a frantic look within them. “Are you okay?”
His gaze darts to the door. “Yeah fine.”
“No, you look like something’s wrong.” A line of sweat stains his chest and his brow is beaded with it. “Did you run here?”
He nods. He’s helping to reset my precarious bundle, but his eyes are scanning the aisles inside the store.
“Rod, what’s wrong?”
My stern tone finally draws his full attention. “D’s sick. I’m hoping…I’m here for aspirin, or whatever helps with a fever.”
I follow him into the store. “How high is it?”
“What?” Rod reads the signs that describe what’s in each aisle.
“His fever? What is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s high though.”
I follow him down the aisle to the small selection of medicines the convenience store offers. He stares at them, picks one up, reads the label, and then puts it back down. He hesitates before picking the next one up. Reads the label and shuts his eyes in frustration.
“What’s wrong? Can’t you find one that’ll work?” The label of the one he holds says fever reducer.
“No. That’s not it.”
He puts the box back and walks away.
“Rod!” I run after him, wishing I’d gotten a bag for my stuff.
He stops. When his explanation finally comes, it sounds like the steam engine of an old locomotive releasing pressure before it lurches into motion. “I don’t have enough money.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“No.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Lola, I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t. I offered.”
“No. I’ll figure something else out.”
“What? Leeches? An ice bath? Just let me pay for the dam medicine. And get a thermometer too.”
When he hesitates, I dump my burden into his arms and stalk back to snatch the medicine off the shelf. I grab a digital thermometer before striding to the counter to pay. On my way to the car I call over my shoulder, “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
It’s much easier to fumble the two items into one hand in order to dig my keys out of my pocket and press the fob to unlock the doors. I’m halfway into my driver seat when I see Rod eyeing my car skeptically. I pause mid-sit and glare at him over the roof. “Get in.”
For some reason when he settles into the seat next to me, still cradling my burden of junk food, I feel silly. Shallow. Like spending money on such an indulgence is a personal affront to him. When I tell him to toss the stuff onto the back seat, my voice is a growl.
As I back out of my space and pull out of the parking lot, I see him reach back to carefully place each item on the seat. His extra care of my bag of corn chips makes me feel even guiltier, though I can’t identify why.
“Is your mom with D now?”
“Uh, no.” Rod slumps forward in his seat and rests his arms on his legs, as if he’s afraid to touch the leather with more of his body than necessary.
“Is she at work?”
A heavy sigh escapes him, surprising me. “No, she’s…well, she hasn’t been home in a couple of days.”
I consider if I should ask where she is, even though it’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk about it, but he talks first, his voice a mumble as he stares out his window.
“She and her boyfriend du jour are up at the casinos.”
“Oh. But that’s only like four or five hours away, right? Is she on her way home?”
“She doesn’t even know D’s sick. So, no.”
His voice is heavy with a history of disappointment.
I turn onto his street and he points to a parking spot that I should take. He reaches into the back as if to grab my junk food.
“Leave it.” I hand him the medicine and thermometer that I tossed onto the center console.
He leads me up the sidewalk almost a full block before turning to weave between two buildings. The noise of the nearby freeway, squealing kids, and barking dogs is muffled as soon as we step between the houses. He shoves through a tall wooden gate and I’m surprised to find a very cozy patio. Tall potted plants ring the cracked concrete. A charming wrought iron table with two chairs sits under a bright red patio umbrella. Their sunny yellow cushions glow cheerily in the evening gloom. Several wind chimes ring lazily from the roof overhang. An empty hummingbird feeder waits patiently for the return of warmer weather. The scene resurrects the image I have of a tired but normal mom entering an otherwise normal family life, but Rod’s admission that his mom hasn’t even been home for a couple days belies that.
Rod unlocks the screen door with a key. The thick door bangs heavily against him as he reaches in to unlock the main door. He seems to remember me at the last minute and catches the screen door with his foot to hold it open for me as he pushes into the house.
“Thanks,” I mumble out of habit, pulling the screen door closed behind me. Rod reaches past me and turns the deadbolt. I try to ignore the reason behind why he feels he has to lock us inside the house.
The living room is small, but alive with houseplants. Big potted plants, long hanging plants, pots on tables, windowsills, shelves. It makes me smile until I remember why I’m there. Rod has trudged across the small living room and up the hall. He pauses outside a bedroom and motions for me to follow. His simple invitation all but has me running to catch up. Something in his desperation makes me want to perform miracles and ease his anxiety.
He’s already on one knee next to a bed when I step into the bedroom doorway. He’s pulling the covers back over his brother.
“You’ve got to stay covered up, buddy. I know it’s hot, but you’ll get chilled if you’re uncovered.”
D’s jaw is chattering. Obviously, Rod’s advice has come too late.
Rod tears open the box of medicine.
D’s pale with flushed cheeks. Glassy eyes stare at his brother. His hair is plastered to his forehead and cheeks with sweat even though his lips seem to be tinged with blue. I bite my lip. I’ve never seen anyone who looked so sick, let alone taken care of someone.
“We should probably take his temperature first.” I step into the room to help by opening the thermometer. We grab it at the same time. Rod’s hand closing over mine. He freezes like he’s afraid he might spook me. “I’ll get it.”
Rod squeezes my hand. His voice is gravely with emotion. “Thanks.”
“D, slide this under your tongue and hold it there. Okay?” I place my hand on his forehead as I slip the thermometer in place. I can’t help the gasp that escapes as I register how hot he is.
Rod swallows audibly. “I can’t take him to a hospital.” He pushes D’s bangs off his sweaty forehead and tucks the covers over his shoulders again.
“We may not need to.” I assure him.
Rod looks at me like he wants to say more but doesn’t.
The thermometer beeps and I’m almost nervous to read the results.
“102,” I say. “I think that’s a temperature we can work on ourselves.”
I don’t really know what I’m doing, but seeing Rod’s shoulders relax makes me hope like hell that I’m right.
“Be sure to read the instructions on how much to give him.” I nod at the bottle in Rod’s hand. “Follow those directions. I’ll get a cold cloth for his forehead.”
It takes a bit before D stops thrashing and mumbling and falls into a quiet sleep. His temperature hasn’t broken, but it’s better, so we leave him to rest.
“Keep an eye on the time and give him another dose of medicine right at the four hour mark,” I whisper as I lead us down the hallway and back toward the living room. I look around for my purse, which I tossed somewhere on my way back to D’s room.
“Want something to drink?” Rod asks, heading into the small galley kitchen.
“Oh.” For some reason I didn’t expect him to want me to stick around. I suddenly feel awkward. Almost like I’ve walked into a date, which is completely ridiculous.
Rod seems entirely at ease as he stares into his bare refrigerator. “Uh. Maybe not. Looks like we’ve only got water. Want some?”
“Do you by chance have tea? I’d love a cup of hot tea.”
He slams the fridge and pulls open a cupboard. A smile lights his face and he plucks a small box off the shelf. “Will this do?”
“That’s perfect.”
“Make yourself at home in the living room. This shouldn’t take me more than a minute.”
“Okay.”
I wander into the living room. Before I sit, I study the plants. I don’t really know anything about houseplants – or plants in general, really—but I recognize healthy thriving plants when I see them. The viney plants have long arms twined up around floor lamps, repelling from shelves all the way to the floor, and snaking along curtain rods. There’s a huge plant hanging in the corner. I think it’s called a spider plant. The main plant is vast and shoots of leaves spring out in all directions, hanging half way to the floor. Long shoots of pretty white flowers add to the attractive two-toned, grass-like foliage.
Rod walks in, handing me a steaming mug, a tea bag steeping within. He’s holding a glass of water for himself.
“Wow, your mom has a green thumb, huh?”
A blush colors his cheeks, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes. His gaze sweeps the room. “Actually, it’s me.”
“You?” I turn in a circle taking in the enormity of work that must go into caring for so many plants. “Really? You?”
“Yeah.”
There’s a selection of small, mismatched containers artfully arranged on a long table behind the couch.
“Are these cactus…es?” I ask.
“Cacti. But they aren’t. They’re succulents.”
The plants come in several shades of green, some waxy, some furry. One is leafy in a deep burgundy color. There’s a plant that looks like a pile of rocks, and a spiny one with a pretty coral tint to the fuzz. I smile at the cheery yellow and magenta blooms. All the plants around the room are so well tended.