“How’s Mike?” Jess asked. She was dressed, thankfully, in her own clothes—a short black skirt so tight I could see the slightest rounding of her stomach, black tights, and a gray, off-the-shoulder sweater. Her skin was clearer than I’d ever seen it, and her black hair was combed and held back with a headband, even though that didn’t mask the striking blonde roots.
She must’ve noticed me staring because she said, “Prenatal vitamins or whatever.” She waved a hand in the air then snapped her fingers. “You should try them! They’re amazing for hair and nails.” She shoved her fingernails, for once without polish, in my face.
“They’re very nice.” I pushed the end of one of her nails. “Wow. It doesn’t bend at all.”
“I know. Those vitamins are amazing. I should sell them on the black market.” She snickered as she went to the refrigerator. “I’m starving.” She grabbed a soda and plopped down at the table. “So, answer my question. How’s Mike?”
“He’s good.” I dumped some food on my plate then used my fork to move it around, making small piles of the brownish noodles. Jess shoveled spoonfuls of it into her mouth.
“Aren’t you supposed to be nauseated or something? Have an aversion to food? Morning sickness,” I glanced at the clock, “even though it’s not…morning.”
She couldn’t answer because her mouth was full, but she gave me a shrug that clearly told me to mind my own business. I busted out laughing and she smiled, food stuck in her teeth.
“You don’t get to talk to him much, do you?” she asked after she took a long drink.
“No. I guess I don’t.” I stopped the fork full of food as I lifted it to my mouth. I really hadn’t wanted it anyway.
“Is it worth it?”
My fork fell to the plate with a clang. “Is what worth it?”
“This.” She waved her hand through the air. “This relationship. Don’t get me wrong.” She took another large bite. “I like Mike.” Her words were muffled by food. “He was amazing last year. And Mrs. A.? I mean, I wish she were my mom. But, you know. He’s so far away.” She swallowed.
I wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but I could feel my stomach weaving into a knot. This wasn’t a talk I wanted to have…mostly because I wasn’t prepared to have it with myself.
“But you’re young,” she continued. “You’re hot. Do you really want to go off to college with a boyfriend? Even if you end up at the same school as him?”
The thought of not having Mike in my life was probably the worst thing I could possibly imagine. He was my life, my anchor, my Mike. I shoved the plate away.
Jess’ eyes, which I expected to widen at my reaction, watched me, calm, patient. “I know you probably don’t want to talk about this, but don’t you think you need to?” She paused then continued, “Is it worth it?”
I shot up from the table, knocking over my chair onto its back.
“Rowan?”
I was out of the kitchen and up the stairs before she could say anything else. Her concern should not have bothered me. She was my best friend asking about my boyfriend. But it was too much, leaving me with a sinking, suffocating feeling that I was afraid I would never shake.
THE NEXT day I sat in Miss J.’s office, my legs restless; my soul restless. “Any word?”
“Rowan, slow down. You won’t hear anything until at least February. We just talked about this, did we not?”
“I’m just ready to move on, I guess.”
“Uh-huh. Is something else going on?”
“I went by that college the other day, Berkeley.”
“Well, what did you think?” She stapled papers together and filed them in the cabinet.
“It was…really cool. I think I liked it.”
Miss J. nodded. “I’m glad you decided to apply there. I know you wanted to leave this area, even go to the university where Mike is. But this college is small and has a very good reputation. You have to go through undergrad before you can go on to veterinary school, so as long as you pick a good college that will give you all the classes you need, you’ll be well prepared for that next step.”
I was only half listening. Instead, I heard the musical notes of guitar strings.
“Rowan?”
“Hmm?”
“Why are you blushing?”
I slouched in the seat. “I’m not blushing.”
She chuckled. “Oh, but you are.”
I shook my head and stood. “I can’t be late. I may be waiting to hear from colleges, but I’m still in high school.”
“That you are, Rowan. That you are.”
I left her office with my cheeks warm. When I slid into the girls’ bathroom, I saw that they were flaming red, as was my neck.
“ROWAN, YOU’VE been here for several months now.” Janie stood on the other side of a dog cage, her long, gray hair held back from her face by a headband. Her reading glasses were nestled on the tip of her nose.
Inside the wire box was a tiny mutt that came to the shelter two weeks ago, starved, half-dead, and terrified. He huddled in a corner of the cage on a fluffy towel and had yet to show any response other than fear. We kept our voices soft as we spoke so we didn’t scare him.
“I have. Since June. And I love it. There is nowhere else I’d rather be.” I glanced down at the little dog who we’d named Charley-bear because he looked like a bear cub.
“You’re doing a great job. Which brings me to a question I’ve wanted to ask you.”
“Okay.”
“I want you to become the assistant manager.”
“What?” My voice rose and the little dog started to shake. I dropped to a whisper. “Really?”
She smiled, the small gap between her front teeth on perfect display. “I don’t think there is anyone better suited than you.”
“Wow, that’s amazing. I’d love to. Um, what does that mean exactly?”
I put a finger through the grate and touched his velvety side. He was tense and shaking, but I kept my touch light.
“It means that you’ll need to work about twenty hours a week, more than you do now. I know you have another semester of school and those hours can be in the evenings, and if you work two full days on the weekends, you can make the time.
“You’ll also be in charge when I’m not here. You can take in animals, adopt them out, anything I do that you feel comfortable with. You’ll be in charge of the volunteers when I’m not here as well.”
Excitement bubbled through my blood.
“And you’ll get paid more, too.”
“I will?” That was just an added bonus. I could get new tires on my old car. The extra money would help pay for college. I’d still need help with the cost even if I got financial aid. “Janie, I’d love to. I mean, I can’t thank you enough. You don’t know how much I needed this. I’ll do a good job. I promise.”
She laid her hand on mine. “I know you will. This is why I asked.” She smiled and my face lit up with a wide smile in return.
POSSIBILITIES. THAT was what this promotion bought me. I wasn’t a person who had a lot of those. It was almost a word whose meaning I didn’t clearly understand. The day I was born to parents like mine was the day that possibilities took on an elusive meaning.
But now I had them—these unattainable possibilities. The salary increase wasn’t huge, but it was a huge help. The hours were going to be difficult, but maybe I could finally take Miss J.’s advice and let up on the manic schoolwork pace I’d set my freshman year.
It meant that the financial aid colleges offered me didn’t have to be a deal breaker. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but it did give me some breathing room.
I nearly skipped through the door to the shelter and barely felt the cold air that blew across my skin. Assistant manager? The sound of that sent goose bumps up and down my arms completely unrelated to the freezing temperature outside. I even started humming, but stopped with a jolt when I saw my dad standing by a bench that sat outside of the door.
He said nothing as I walked toward him. He watched me, unblinking.
“Hi,” I said.
He nodded.
“Did you want to see me?”
“Can we talk?” His voice sounded strained, forced. It was a surprisingly hospitable question coming from a man like him.
“Sure. I guess. Isn’t it too cold for you out here? Would you like to go somewhere else?”
“I’m fine. Is this where you work now?”
“Yeah. I’ve been here for months. I, uh, just got promoted to assistant manager.” Sharing personal information with him was something I couldn’t remember ever doing voluntarily. It felt foreign, strange…nice. If he was surprised, it didn’t show on his face.
“When did you stop working for Dan?”
I shuddered. I had been working for Dan at his used car lot when everything happened last year. He became, at least in my mind, a quick fix for my problems. I had even gone so far as to ask him to marry me. I didn’t like to think about him, though he was for the most part an innocent bystander.
“Right after you left. I haven’t seen him since.”
“You were always good with animals.” His monotone words belied his compliment.
Sickness oozed out of his pores so strong I could almost feel it, smell it. Even if he hadn’t said he had cancer there would be no doubting it. The color of his skin had grayed, making him look like a living ghost.
“Thank you. That’s…kind of you to say.”
“I see your face is bruised.”
I touched the sensitive skin.
“Trina told me what happened. I don’t want the two of you girls fighting.”
I kicked at a pinecone that was lying on the sidewalk. Did she tell him she was high on drugs at the time?
“You’re all each other has. You hear me?”
I nodded and pushed my hands in my pockets, wondering if her face was bruised, too. I hadn’t seen her since our fight and despite his words I didn’t care if I ever did again.
But then he started to cough and pulled out a handkerchief. When he removed it from his mouth, there were patches of blood tainting the white cloth.
“Oh my God, Dad.” Without thinking, I reached out and put a hand on his arm. His eyes shot up to meet mine, and I yanked my hand away. There were no caresses of affection between us; no hugs, certainly no kisses on the head. What made me reach out and touch him, I could never say. Other than he seemed so fragile at that moment; so dying right in front of me.
I’m not sure if I imagined it or not, but I think he nodded. Or if he didn’t, he didn’t jerk away when I put my hand back.
We stood there for several moments, staring down at the sight of my hand on his arm.
“Um, how long have you been coughing up blood?”
He shoved the handkerchief into his pocket. “A while. It’s getting worse.” His eyes settled on mine. “That’s why I’m here.”
My insides clamped into a tight, painful ball. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. I can’t handle it if you say it.
“I don’t think it’ll be much longer now and neither do the doctors. The first estimate was too…generous.”
He said it. I bit my lip to keep my eyes from tearing. It didn’t work.
“They want me to go into hospice care.”
I nodded and couldn’t stop the tears. They rolled down my cheeks like droplets of rain.
“It’s time to go. I’m ready. This life has proven to be one disappointment after another.”
I started to sob because I was one of those disappointments that he was referring to. He knew it and I knew it. He’d never wanted Mom, and he’d certainly never wanted me.
As if reading my thoughts, he said, “You and Trina don’t fall into that category. You especially, Rowan. You…you are a good girl. You’re going to do all right.”
Those words sent me into a tailspin. Time passed with my hand on his arm, my head on my hand, and sobs racking through my body. At some point I felt the warm pressure of his hand on the back of my head.
Janie walked out. “Rowan? Are you okay?” Her footsteps were heavy on the concrete. She stopped in front of us, frowning. She stared at my dad as she handed me a tissue from her large bag.
“Janie…” I sniffed. “This is my…”
Dad held out his hand. “I’m her father, Jack Slone.”
“Hello.” Janie shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Janie Shue, manager of the shelter.”
Dad nodded.
“Well, I’ve closed up. Rowan, do you need anything else?” She stared at me hard. I could tell she was trying to find out if everything was okay, if she could leave.
I cleared my throat. “I’m just going to talk to my dad a couple more minutes then head out.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow after school. Call me if you need anything.”
Her eyes searched our faces for a clue. If I could explain, I would. But I wasn’t even sure what to say. There was so much more than just my dad dying. So very much more.
TEN MINUTES later, Dad was in the front seat of my car and we were driving toward his friend’s house on the outskirts of town. Ron lived in a trailer park, his home halfway down on the right. There was a shiny red pickup truck in his dirt driveway that looked brand new.
“Nice truck,” I said as I pulled in.
“Yeah. He spends his money on trucks instead of his house.”
I could see what Dad meant. There were several patches of rust along the trailer’s side and the screen door hung off the hinges.
Dad opened the door. “I could use a ride to the hospice. They are expecting me tomorrow.” His voice was hoarse as if he had a sore throat. He didn’t look at me.
At first I didn’t realize he was asking for a favor. When I did, I was so stunned I couldn’t find my voice.
When he huffed and got out of the car, I said, “I’ll take you. How does four o’clock work?”
“Fine.”
He shut the car door. I rolled the passenger-side window down and leaned over. “Should I pick you up here?”
“Fine.”
He walked away up the rickety wooden steps that led to the front door. He didn’t knock, but the door wasn’t locked because he opened it and passed through.
I sat there until I finally had a clear enough head to drive to the Anderson’s.
THE NEXT day, I parked my car and walked toward school. My thoughts were full of my Dad and our outing this afternoon. I was looking at the ground as I walked and didn’t see Trina come out from behind the corner of the building.
I tensed when I saw her, but she went past me like she was a zombie. The circles under her eyes were so dark it looked as if she wore stage makeup. Her hair hung in limp, unwashed strands down her back. Even from a few yards away I could tell her clothes were crumpled and dirty.
There was a brief urge to reach out, to ask her what was wrong. She was my sister after all. But my survival was a greater urge. Trina was nothing but trouble and I kept that in the forefront of my mind as I hung back and let her pass into the school. She didn’t lift her head once.
Maybe she knew Dad was going into hospice. Maybe she missed Mom and couldn’t mask her sadness. Maybe she needed a fix and didn’t have the money to pay for it.
I pushed Trina out of my mind and made it to class just before the bell rang.
IF SOMEONE completely awake and conscious could have an out-of-body experience then surely that’s what I was having. There was no connection to my body as I drove my dad to a hospice center. Instead, I felt like I was floating somewhere high in the sky, right in the middle of a storm cloud heavy with promised downpours.
Dad gave me directions to the hospice in clipped, one syllable words. It was in the same town as Berkeley Mountain College. If I went to this school and if Dad was still…alive, I could visit him every day. Or as often as he would allow.
“Around that corner.” He pointed with a finger that shook when he lifted it.
Soon we p
ulled up in front of a white, wooden building that looked like someone’s home. “Is this it?”
He looked out the window. “Yeah. This is it.” He pulled his gaze away and turned to me. With a sigh, he opened the door. “Thanks, Rowan.”
As he got out of the car, a flash of fear shot through me. What if this was the last time I ever saw him? The thought sent terrified tremors through my body. It was strange. These past months with him gone and me living at the Anderson’s, I hadn’t missed him at all. But now, with the thought of never seeing him again, of him dying, I found I desperately wanted more time.
“Dad?”
He bent down and peered through the window.
“Call me, okay?”
He nodded.
“Dad?”
If there was a slither of irritation behind his gaze, it was gone in an instant. He almost seemed too tired to be irritated. I felt my heart start to crack.
“Can I come in with you? Look around?”
He nodded again. I put the car into park and got out. The sidewalk was empty except for an older man walking a white miniature poodle. They passed by and soon we were alone.
Dad held the door open for me, and we stepped into the small entrance side-by-side—just a daughter and her father. Though the tears didn’t fall from my eyes they were inside of me, waiting for the dam to burst.
There was a small desk ahead where an older woman sat, her head bent over a notebook. I could see the patches of thinning brown hair on the top. “Can I help you?” she asked when she looked up.
“Jack Slone.”
She nodded. I guess there was no need to ask if he was checking in. By merely looking at him, it was obvious that he was not going to live much longer.
“Your room is ready, but I need you to fill out some paperwork first. And who is this beautiful, young lady?”
My Name Is Rowan: The Complete Rowan Slone Trilogy Page 28