I weighed my options. I had planned out my night around my date, but if this was more important, I was willing to end my commitment and stay home. Not exactly a disappointment.
“What about tomorrow night? I can cancel with Der-”
“You’re not canceling anything with him,” she snapped. “The way Derrick looks at you, he will be all over this place in a heartbeat. It’s not going to make a difference if we do this Saturday night or Sunday morning. I can get someone to cover me Sunday morning. We only have one check-in this weekend. It will give me more time to get prepared.”
I didn’t want to know what she needed to be prepared. The knot tightened even more. I could feel it working its way up. I kept my arms crossed, trying to hold it down for now. “I’ll get him something to eat, then. You do what you need to. Are you going to be over tomorrow before I go?”
She hesitated for a moment, the wheels turning in her head, debating whether to visit or not. “No. I have a few things to do. It would be better if I’m not here when Derrick comes over. He might be suspicious, since you are not supposed to be ill anymore. Keep checking his leg, like I have. Keep it packed in ice. If his skin turns pale blue, then we know that the tissue has started to die, and we will need to work fast. Other than that, we are just going to have to wait.”
She didn’t want to go through this any more than I did. It was going to be a struggle to keep this from him. If I could just go back in time and tell Chase he couldn’t bring him over, none of this would have happened. I would be at my boring little job, with my boring little life, and would go on never knowing about my mom’s true passion. Job would never have existed in my life. It would be simple and easy to manage till the day I died. I was having a hard time deciding if I had made the right choice in letting him stay.
Weeks ago, I would have never given it a second thought. Now, I was becoming his friend, and he was becoming mine. I hadn’t been close to anyone for such a long time, but spending time with him, even without the conversations, I couldn’t help but smile. It hurt so much to know I might lose him. The thought of what might happen was getting to me, and I knew that I was in over my head.
9.
I had been bringing him meals for a week and never paid attention to what his favorite food was. All of a sudden, it was important for me to know. The only thing I could come up with was ravioli out of a can.
The one time I had nuked them in the microwave, he had devoured them in two bites, handing me the bowl, insisting on more. I had my own dish that I hadn’t even taken a bite of sitting in my lap. I gave him mine, and after he made a charade of “Are you sure?” he inhaled the second one as fast as the first, with a grin plastered on his face. I couldn’t help but laugh as I motioned to the sauce stuck to the corners of his mouth.
I dumped the entire can into a bowl and set the microwave for a minute. I had lost my appetite, and the smell of overly preserved food was making me sick. Sally was already gone, and I was alone again. I had to face my fear by myself. I wasn’t a great liar like Sally. I knew before I even reached the bottom of the stairs that he would see right through me like a window.
I could starve him for the next couple of days so that I didn’t have deal with it. It sounded like a great plan in my head, except for the fact that the idea was trying to save his life and not kill him on purpose. I know that if I was given the choice of living without a limb or death, I would have a hard time deciding what to do. We were not giving him the choice.
The timer went off, yanking me from my thoughts. Getting everything together, I dreaded each step that brought me closer to the reality of the situation. I could see that Sally had taken the pillows away, setting them at the foot of the bed; the pieces of the splint were cast aside in a small pile next to them. I was grateful that a towel had been draped over his leg, covering the grotesque appearance it had taken on. Bags of ice covered every inch of the towel, in hopes that, by some miracle, there would be nothing to worry about come Sunday.
I was trying not to dwell on the inevitable. He looked happy to see me again; his body relaxed, holding the pillow to his chest, his grin warm and friendly. It could have just been because of what I had made for dinner. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t return the smile, and broke eye contact, looking down at the floor as I made my way around the side of the bed.
Without even looking at him, I handed out the bowl, waiting for him to take it and be done in just a matter of seconds.
“I brought extra napkins this time, so you don’t make a mess.” There was no humor in my voice. It was dry and flat. I couldn’t help it. I just wanted to leave as quickly as possible.
As he grabbed the dish, he paused, holding onto it and bending his head down to look at my face, curious as to why I wouldn’t look at him. I hated his insistence at seeing my face and turned away, letting go of the bowl, not looking back.
“Are you going to stay?” This marked the first time since his apology that he actually went beyond a few words at a time. It shocked me for a second, hearing his voice. If he was willing to talk, I was going to have to be willing to answer. Why did he have to choose now to talk to me? It was the last thing he should be doing. It was already hard enough to face him in his silence, but his sweet, soothing voice was becoming too much for me to handle. I was going to lie to him and he was going to suffer again.
“No. I’m going to go back upstairs. I’ll see you in the morning.” I didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh; I was just using it to hold the tears back. I still hadn’t moved from my spot, looking down at some piece of tape stuck to the floor.
“Why are you scared? Did I do something wrong?” There was guilt in his voice that was tearing at me. I kept staring at the tape, hoping that it would give me the answers I needed.
“No, Job. You didn’t do anything. How do you know I’m scared?” If anything, I thought I was trying to be angry. I had buried the fear as deep as it would go. There was no fear in my voice, and I had refused to look at him so he couldn’t see it in my eyes.
“I can feel it. Like when Sally was talking to me. I could feel that she was scared, but tried to act happy.”
“Maybe I’m still scared of you. Has that ever crossed your mind? Maybe we are all scared of you.” I was still trying to be angry, venting it on the piece of tape. How could he know what I was really feeling? Was I being that obvious? There is no way someone can feel what someone else’s real emotions are.
“You’re not scared of me. You stopped being scared of me a while ago. This feels…different. You are scared…for me.”
It was true. I had let go of my fear of him and actually enjoyed his company. I couldn’t hold back any longer. The waterworks had started, and there was no way to turn them off. I wanted to tell him everything – for him to have a choice. I turned back to him, but still couldn’t face him. I could see the bowl balanced in his lap, still holding it with one large hand. I knew he was waiting for me to look up at him. He wanted an answer.
“Yeah. I am. But you’ll be ok. Don’t worry about it.” I knew in my heart I was lying again.
There was an assurance in his voice I couldn’t grasp. “I know I will. I promised you.”
I couldn’t help but look at him in surprise. He had no control of the outcome, yet was still determined to keep a promise he made. His tender eyes stared at me as though there was nothing to fear. I wanted to believe him. I couldn’t. It was better for him to think he could keep it. I didn’t want to be the one to burst his bubble.
“I–I’ll see you tomorrow.” I looked back at the floor as I walked away. This time I didn’t wait for a response. I didn’t look back to see his reaction. If I was going to be miserable, I wanted to be by myself. I stomped up the stairs and shut the door behind me. I couldn’t let go of the knob. Despite the voice in my head pleading with me to go back and talk to him, I let go, walking back to the couch that I had made my bed. The time on the clock told me it was only eight, and I wasn’t ready to sleep. I tried to distrac
t myself with the television, to no avail. Every show reminded me of him.
The comedies made me think of the time we sat together and he had imitated the way I rolled my eyes when I was frustrated. The expression must have been new to him, since on the first try he had crossed his eyes, almost making me spit water all over him. It was the first time he had laughed, his perfect white teeth gleaming, and it made me more relaxed around him.
Each drama seemed to be focused on themes of death or disaster, and I flipped past them as quickly as possible, trying not to think about the impending task. The romances were no better. Every girl would fall in love with some guy and they faced some inexplicable event, driving them apart or closer together. I had to remind myself that our relationship was only a friendship. It would never be anything more. There was no love – yet I found myself questioning that.
Looking at the clock again, it was only a little after ten. Outside, the sky had gotten dark, but I had no desire to turn on the lights. I turned off the television and laid down in the dark. I closed my eyes, hoping that sleep would come, but as soon as I drifted off, I would wake myself up, thinking I had heard something. Sitting up, I would wait for another noise – anything that would give me a reason to go back downstairs. It never came. The silence stayed and I would lie back down, giving myself reasons why I should stay where I was. The night continued on this way: tossing and turning, waking up, and listening. At some point, I had convinced myself that the silence meant that he had expired during the night and I should go check. Another part of my brain that controlled logic reminded me that it wouldn’t matter, because I would not be able to do anything, and it would be the same in the morning.
I finally woke after a fitful sleep to the light shining through the windows. It looked like it was going to be another August day filled with muggy temperatures and a UV index through the roof. I had rarely gone out to soak up the sun in years unless I was dragged, clawing at the ground, by Sally. I wasn’t afraid of skin cancer, since it was a thing of the past. I just preferred the cozy confines of my own home. I didn’t have to deal with bystanders gawking at my figure, or attempting to socialize with strangers.
I glanced at the clock again. It was a little before nine. I usually served breakfast around ten. Every morning, he had been awake by the time I made it to the basement. It was as if he never slept. Usually, we ate every meal together while I fired questions at him. I was sure that he was bored when he was by himself and was waiting for my visits. Maybe, if I was lucky, I could drop off breakfast and leave before he woke. It was my best shot of avoiding him. I was going to have to make this fast.
Cereal was a quick meal that I didn’t have to put much into. Orange juice in one hand and the bowl in the other, I finagled the door open as quietly as possible. As old as the house was, I was glad that someone had gone around and lubricated the door hinges to stop the squeaks. I had to add that to my list of things to thank Chase for, next time I saw him.
To my surprise, Job was still asleep. He was in the same position as the night before: holding onto the sofa pillow in front of him; the bowl sitting on my chair, full of cold ravioli. I could hear his soft snores as I got closer. Setting breakfast down, I gathered the unused napkins and bowl and made my way back out of the room before he could see me. As I passed the foot of the bed, I could see that the towel had been soaked through by a bag that had not held when the ice had melted. I wanted to leave it there, and let Sally take care of the mess, but then remembered she was not going to be coming over today so she could prepare. The thought made me shudder.
Hoping not to wake him, I took all the bags, including the broken one, and pulled the towel up, dripping with warm water. Underneath, I had hoped his leg would magically look better, but it didn’t. It still had the blue and purple sheen of skin stretched way too tight. It had traveled down his ankle and through the top of his foot. Most of this had been hidden by the elastic wrap. It was painful just to look at. I was wondering how he could stay so calm.
I quickly made my exit back to the kitchen for more ice and a new towel. Most of the stock of ice had been depleted, but I took what was left, filling my arm, and grabbed one of the many large towels from the hall closet. I had stopped worrying about getting anything on them. It was pointless to care. They could be replaced at any time; Job could not.
Carrying my load back down the steps, I half expected him to be awake again, ready to have a real conversation like the night before. His eyes were still closed, though, chest moving up and down rhythmically.
Setting everything down on the floor, I saw the piece of tape that had I fixated on the night before. I peeled it up and crumpled it, shoving it into a pocket of my shorts. Standing up with the towel, I laid it across the battered leg, covering it from sight again. I already felt better, not having to look at the reminder of what tomorrow would bring.
I began to arrange the bags as best as possible, trying to cover every angle. Before I could finish, I heard a loud yawn coming from the other end of the bed.
I had failed my mission of being inconspicuous by just minutes. He had already taken notice of my being there and I waited for him to start talking. He was silent as usual, just looking at me with a questioning look on his face. One eyebrow rose higher than the other, waiting for me to say anything. I looked away and continued my work with the last two ice packs. I could hear the hissing of air being sharply drawn through clenched jaws. As much as I didn’t want to cause pain, it was good to know it was still there. There had been no change since the previous day, but at least the damage had not progressed during the night. There still might be hope, after all.
I took my leave without saying a word. There was nothing to say. If I tried to talk, I would start crying again. He would ask why, and I would tell him. This was not what I had planned. I had planned to avoid him through the day until Sunday morning. I had enough on my plate to deal with tonight, getting through a date with a man I had no desire to be with. It was going to be tough enough keeping secrets from him.
Lunch came and went with the same results. Soggy cereal sat in the bowl, untouched; the orange juice gone warm. Checking him over brought lots of pain and misery, but still no change. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. He was making a silent statement, and I wasn’t going to budge. I knew it would be pointless to leave lunch, but I set a chicken sandwich and a bottle of water down on the chair, hoping his defiance would soon wear down.
Back upstairs, I started getting ready for my forced outing by taking a shower and getting my clothes ready. I had no idea what to wear for a date, since it had been so long since I had one.
As I pulled out each garment, I found that some moths had discovered my clothes and eaten holes through some of my favorites. I sadly piled the ruined ones on my bed, to be thrown out. I finally decided on a short black skirt and one of my favorite sleeveless blouses, which was made of electric blue, silk. It had survived the moth attack, and still looked as vibrant as I remembered. It always brought out my blue eyes, almost matching perfectly. I still didn’t understand why I was going to great lengths to get dressed up, since I knew the night would end in his disappointment, but I was having fun, and I deserved a little bit every now and again.
Crouching in the far back, I found a pair of sling back heels that would go good with the ensemble. I knew everything would fit, since my size hadn’t changed much. I still had the same slender figure that had attracted the boys, back when I was still interested in them. At some point, though, I stopped trying; I started wearing baggy T-shirts and jeans, no makeup, and never styling my hair, becoming a plain Jane.
Letting my hair air dry allowed it to curl up, giving me soft ringlets of curls surrounding my face. I hadn’t worn it down in a long time either; the simple ponytail or bun became my fashion trend.
I dug the makeup, still locked in a large plastic bag, from beneath the sink. I wasn’t sure how much of it was usable. Most of it had survived, and I put a lot less on than I had bac
k in the day. Standing in front of the mirror, I looked at myself. I didn’t think I had done half bad, being out of practice. I had been so vain, trying to be a Barbie doll in every way, and now I had become the complete opposite. I saw for the first time that I needed a middle ground. There was no reason to go to extremes either way.
I stepped out in the kitchen to check the time. It was still only five, and I had plenty of time to finish getting ready. Out of habit, I started dinner for two, forgetting that I would be going out and Job was still refusing to eat. Well, I would still provide him food, whether he chose to take it or not.
There was a boxed casserole I hadn’t opened yet that looked like it would make good leftovers. I prepared everything and stuck it in the oven for the forty-five minutes it called for. It was going to be a boring forty-five minutes, so I decided to make the best of it. I washed what dishes were in the sink, dumping the uneaten meals in the trash. After scrubbing down the counters and throwing out any litter that had collected, I looked at the timer again. I still had twenty-four minutes to kill. Time seemed to be dragging, even as my anxiety was building up.
I began to clean the living room I had been living in for the last week – folding blankets and putting them over the back of the couch, straightening the only pillow left. I wiped rings off the end table, from glasses that had sat there after long nights with Job. Walking back into the kitchen, I saw that I still had over fifteen minutes remaining.
I went back to my room and started to take destroyed clothing off of the hangers, putting them in a black trash bag to go out on Monday. For some twisted reason, I wondered how we were going to dispose of Job’s leg when we had finished. I was hoping it wouldn’t be going out in my trash. It better be part of what Sally was preparing for.
Once the clothes were bagged, I could hear the timer go off, blaring through the house. The smell of the casserole wafted through the rooms. After pulling it out, it was still too hot for anyone to eat – not like he was going to, I thought. I figured it would take a while to cool, and now would be a good time to finish getting dressed, in case he decided to come early. I made my way back to my room and changed into the little ensemble I had thrown together. Everything fit perfectly, as expected.
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