Scrap Everything

by Leslie Gould

  “Maybe it will come back.” Mark sat down.

  “Maybe.” Pepper pulled a piece of grass through her teeth. “I’d like to see it again. Do you know how rare it is to see a cougar? I feel chosen.” She grinned. “But if it comes back, it might get shot. I don’t want that to happen.”

  Rebekah adjusted the cinch strap on Sky’s belly.

  “They like horse meat,” Pepper added matter-of-factly.

  “Their first choice is deer, though,” Rebekah said, sitting across from Pepper and Mark, “and there are lots of them around here. A deer a week and then supplemental meals, such as raccoons.” Rebekah made a scary face at Pepper.

  Pepper wrinkled her nose.

  “And girls.” Mark jumped to his feet.

  Elise threw a dirt clod at him.

  They rode along the creek. The sound of rushing water grew louder. “It’s right after this bend,” Rebekah called back. A fallen, rotting tree blocked the trail, and one by one the horses jumped over it. The mare nicked her hoof against the trunk, stumbled, and then caught herself. “It’s okay, girl.” Elise bent forward and patted the horse’s neck.

  The trail curved, and Elise gasped. Rebekah leaned back in her saddle and smiled. A sea of water tumbled over a high cliff, crashing off a granite wall and then splitting into two separate falls before it plummeted into a pool that fed the creek. Giant rhododendrons and sword ferns grew along the banks of the pool, and towering old-growth fir nearly obliterated the sky. Boulders and fallen logs lined the creek, and moss covered the rocks. Mist flew into their faces.

  Mark stopped the quarter horse.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Rebekah smiled.

  Elise and Mark nodded. “It’s enchanting.” Elise breathed deeply.

  “What’s the matter, Pepper? Are you speechless?” Mark asked.

  She giggled. “I’ve been here before.”

  Mark turned the quarter horse onto the trail that led under the falls. Pepper followed.

  “I came here once at night, in the summer—the night I lost my hat,” Rebekah said. “Don’t tell Patrick.”

  “By yourself?” Elise looked stricken.

  “There was a full moon.”

  “What was it like?”

  “Light reflected off the pool. The water glistened, and the trees were silhouetted against the starry sky.” Rebekah took out her digital camera and shot a photo of Pepper and Mark under the falls, then she pointed it at Elise. “Smile.” Elise grimaced, but the mare held her head high.

  Rebekah clucked her tongue and directed Sky to follow Pepper and Mark, who rode ahead, laughing. Mark plucked a pine cone from a low branch and tossed it at Pepper. She caught it and threw it back. Rebekah took a photo of their backs and the rumps of the two horses.

  “Brush the horses down.” Rebekah hung Sky’s bridle on the peg. “Then we’ll all muck out the barn.”

  “I’ll brush Sky.” Pepper leaned against the saddletree. Mark flashed her a dirty look.

  “I’m going to make some lemonade for everyone.” Rebekah pushed open the barn door and squinted at the sunlight. Michael and Reid were shooting free throws. Patrick stopped his car across the road at the mailbox. It was Sunday; there wasn’t any mail. He pulled a handful of envelopes out. Rebekah sighed; she’d forgotten to get it yesterday. She waited as he steered his Honda under the elms. Patrick unfolded his long legs from the car and waved a piece of paper at her. He wore gray slacks and a white dress shirt. “It’s from our insurance company. They denied payment.”

  “It’s just a snafu. We were late with our reenrollment, but it’s no biggie. They just reenrolled us for what we had last year.”

  “It’s more than that, Rebekah. It says denied. D-E-N-I-E-D.”

  Elise stood in the center of Mark’s room, resisting the urge to pick up the damp towels, dirty socks, and wrinkled jeans that covered his floor. “Mark, you need to get up now.” His alarm had gone off thirty minutes earlier. “Michael is ready to leave. You’re going to be late.”

  Mark’s yellow walls, walls he deemed too happy and wanted painted, were bathed in sunlight. Elise closed the window. Had he been out on the roof last night? A robin landed on the ledge and pecked at the wood. She took a closer look. Breadcrumbs. Had Mark been feeding the birds? Or maybe the squirrels.

  He poked his head out from the covers. “My hand really hurts. I did too much yesterday. I think it’s infected.” He flung his hand over the side of the bed.

  She examined his wound. It looked exactly the way it had the day before. “Your hand is fine. Take a couple of Tylenol. Hurry or you’ll be late.”

  “He’s stubborn, Mom.” Michael swallowed the last of his orange juice. “You need to be stricter with him.”

  Elise refilled her coffee cup. This was why she wanted Ted out of the army. The boys needed him more and more the older they got; she needed him more and more the older they got.

  “You’re going to miss playing rugby in PE,” Michael yelled up the stairs.

  “What?” Elise stood in the hallway, her robe cinched around her waist.

  Michael held his finger to his mouth. “Not really, Mom. I just thought it might get his attention.”

  “I’m not going,” Mark yelled back.

  “I’m out of here.” Michael grabbed his lunchbag off the counter and hurried to the garage.

  Elise climbed the stairs again. “Come on, Mark. I’ll drive you.”

  “I said I’m not going.”

  Elise sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I hate that school.” He pulled the covers over his head again. “The only reason I said I liked it before was because of football. But the only reason I said I wanted to play football was to make Dad happy.”

  “Mark, you have to go to school. It’s the law.”

  “How about if I go work at Rebekah’s barn today? That’s all I really want to do. I don’t need school for that.”

  “If your hand hurts too badly to go to school, then you definitely can’t work with the horses. You’ll have to wait a few days.” She resisted the urge to slam his door as she headed down the stairs.

  Elise pulled the shoebox of photos from the closet and sat at the table. Had Mark reached the age where she couldn’t make him obey? couldn’t make him go to school? Having him home made her uneasy. She slipped the photos of Mark into an envelope. Next was a newborn photo of Michael with his full head of wild hair. He’d weighed nine pounds at birth, three pounds more than Mark had, and he’d slept through the night after the first month. Ted thought newborns were the easiest thing in the world.

  Maude and John had flown out in June when Michael was six weeks old. Maude pointed out, every chance she got, that Michael was an easier baby because Elise was more relaxed. She said it over and over. Was that why she could nurse Michael but Mark had stopped at three months? Was that why Mark clung to her, climbing on top of Michael when she fed the baby? Why Mark cried at loud noises? Why he had to have an old ratty flannel spit rag wrapped around his hand and wedged against his cheek in order to fall asleep? She hadn’t felt very relaxed with Michael, but she guessed she was, at least compared to when Mark was a newborn.

  Michael was constantly being held in his photos—by Ted, by her, by friends who worked with Ted at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, by the older ladies at the church they attended, and by his grandparents. Mark had adored his brother—loved him too much. If Elise left them alone for a second, Mark would try to carry Michael, squeeze him, or cover his face with kisses. Blond, big-eyed Mark with his chubby hands and thunder thighs was constantly mauling Michael.

  Maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise that the unruly toddler had turned into the stubborn teen upstairs. She wished she could pull the darling little boy from the photo; he would let her hug him. She sorted through a group of photos of the boys wearing red cowboy hats with strings under their chins. In the last one, Mark was buck naked except for the hat and a pair of black boots. Maude and John had brought the boots—one of the few gift
s from them that weren’t handmade. She moved the photo to the bottom of the box.

  Where were those boots? She hoped she had stashed them away as a memento. If Mark continued to ride, maybe she would buy him a new pair. He had done a good job brushing the horses and mucking out the barn yesterday.

  She sorted the photos again, stacking all the ones of just Mark. She would find more of his photos and make him his very own album, as a surprise. Women at the shop spoke of the deeper connections they had with their children by creating books for them. Some of them even claimed that scrapbooking had brought healing to their relationships. She would work on a family album later.

  An hour later Mark, wrapped in a blanket, stumbled down the stairs and collapsed on the family-room couch.

  “I’m going downtown for a few minutes.” Elise buttoned her jacket. “I’ll be right back.”

  Mark grunted.

  “Rebekah?” Elise climbed the stairs to the shop balcony. “Where are you?” Rebekah usually rushed to the door the minute she heard the buzzer.

  “Down here.”

  Elise hurried down the stairs.

  Rebekah stood in the doorway to the storeroom with her cell phone to her ear. “I’ll be right out.”

  Elise spun the rack of western stickers.

  “What kind of mistake?” Rebekah’s voice carried from behind the door. “But we don’t have secondary insurance. I already told you I faxed that form this morning.” There was a pause, and the storeroom door opened again. “And it shouldn’t be reenrollment. I was told that since you didn’t receive the form in time you rolled over our choices from last year.” Another pause. “Of course.” Rebekah’s eyes were tired. “I’m on hold,” she said to Elise. “What do you need?”

  “Another scrapbook. One for just Mark.”

  Rebekah nodded. “Oh, just a second—” She leaned against the counter. “Oh, good. I knew it couldn’t be the enrollment. So it’s been a big mistake?” Rebekah’s face fell; she headed back to the storeroom.

  Elise pretended to be engrossed in the spiral scrapbooks.

  After a minute Rebekah’s voice rose again. “It isn’t a preexisting condition. We adopted her eleven years ago.” Another pause. “My husband has worked for U-Tech for fourteen years.” A longer pause. “A different plan? You’re kidding!” Rebekah shoved the storeroom door open.

  Elise stepped to the backside of the display.

  Rebekah stood at the counter and scribbled on a notepad. “Dialysis isn’t good for children. Their kidneys play an important part in brain development and growth and red blood cells.” Another pause. “She’ll definitely need a new kidney before then.” Rebekah’s face reddened as she spoke.

  Elise peeked around the scrapbooks.

  Rebekah clenched the pen. “She’s not going on dialysis.” Rebekah held the phone tightly against her ear. “I need to speak with your supervisor.” Another pause. “Fine, I’ll call back in the morning.”

  Elise examined a few more albums. “Everything okay?” she asked, holding a midnight blue album in her hand.

  “It will be. The insurance company is claiming that Pepper’s kidney disease is a preexisting condition and that we have a waiting period of two years—so we have fourteen months left to go.”

  Elise shook her head.

  “However, they will cover dialysis. Does that make any sense?”

  “Ridiculous.” Elise placed the album on the counter. “What are you going to do?”

  “Contest it. What else can I do? And find Pepper a kidney.” Rebekah picked up the album. “This is perfect for Mark. How is he?”

  Elise shrugged. Mark’s problems seemed minuscule compared to what Rebekah was going through. “He didn’t go to school again today.”

  “Send him back to the barn. The work and fresh air will do him good.” She rang up the amount on the cash register. “Seriously, if he doesn’t go to school tomorrow, take him to the barn. You two can ride.”

  Elise pulled out her MasterCard. “Thanks, but he says his hand is too sore to go to school. I told him that it’s too sore to go to the barn then too.”

  Elise snipped the dead yellow roses into the bucket. Her hand slipped, and a thorn stabbed through her glove. Mark and his bike were gone, again, but it was the middle of the day. Maybe he’d just gone for a bike ride. She was too embarrassed to call anyone anyway. She would wait until Michael got home, maybe until dark.

  “Mom?”

  “Where did you go?” Relieved, Elise jabbed the clippers toward Mark.

  “Football practice, just to watch.” Mark took the bucket from her.

  “Why didn’t you leave a note?”

  “I did. By the pictures on the table.”

  “I didn’t see it.” She stooped to pull a weed that grew in the crack of the sidewalk. It had grown chilly, and dark clouds were gathering on the horizon.

  “Coach Davis asked me if I wanted to play in the last two games of the season.”

  “And miss only one game for hitting your brother?’

  Mark nodded.

  “That doesn’t seem like much of a consequence.” Elise headed toward the side of the garage.

  “But you’re making me do community service,” Mark said, following with the bucket.

  “That’s not for hitting your brother; that’s for running away.” Was one afternoon at Rebekah’s enough?

  Mark was silent.

  “Did Coach Davis bring it up with you?”

  “Yes.” Mark dumped the bucket of wilted roses into the yard debris bin. “Michael feels all right about it.”

  “What made the coach change his mind?”

  Mark shrugged.

  Elise thought it had been a fair consequence. She rubbed her forehead with the tips of her glove. If he gets back on the team, will he think it’s okay to be violent? To react in anger and attack others? If I don’t let him play football, will he refuse to go to school?

  “If you play football, you’ll have to give up things at home, like the computer and TV.”

  Mark nodded. Was that a hint of a smile?

  “Let me think about it some more and talk to Dad. And talk to your coach.” This was when she really missed Ted. She hated talking to coaches, the kings of boy world. She didn’t even know the language. She had as good as decided, and Mark knew it.

  An afternoon of work at Rebekah’s was probably enough. In fact, having him go out there more would only make things harder—for her. What if he didn’t want to come home again?

  Elise took the bucket and walked to the front of the house to prune the rest of the roses. The shears slipped in her hand and fell to the lawn. She bent to pick them up and then straightened slowly. Why did it bother her that Mark enjoyed being at Rebekah’s? Elise positioned the shears again. Was it that Rebekah knew how much he wanted to be there? Was she afraid that Rebekah thought she was a bad mother? Did she care more about what Rebekah thought than what was best for her son?

  Rebekah thumbed through the shop’s mail: a catalog from Inky Fingers Stamping, a flier from Scrapbooking Disney Style, and the letter that she had sent to Polly. NOT AT THIS ADDRESS was written in block letters in the corner of the envelope.

  She sank onto a metal chair and put her head in her hands. Now what? Why hadn’t Polly let her know that she had moved? Rebekah sat up straight. Yikes. She hadn’t let Polly know they had moved, either. She dialed information and asked for Sparks, Nevada. No Polly Gaines listed. She tried Adrianna Gaines. No listing. Adrianna might have married. How would she track Polly down?

  She needed to pick up Pepper in fifteen minutes to go to Portland for a doctor’s appointment. Sandi was coming by to watch the shop. She pulled out her address book from her purse and then tried the phone number she had written down. Maybe Polly had kept the number. The phone rang ten times. Rebekah tried again. “Hello?” a scratchy voice asked. A child cried in the background.

  “Is Polly available?” Rebekah doodled Pepper’s name on the pad of paper.

&nbs
p; There was a rustling, and the woman coughed. “I think she’s at work.” The phone went dead.

  Rebekah dialed again. “Is this Adrianna?” She thought of the girl at her older sister’s graveyard service all those years ago.

  “This is Rebekah—”

  “Listen, I work nights. Could you call back later?” The phone went dead again.

  Rebekah circled the number in her address book. At least Polly was still alive. Sandi waved through the window. The door chimed. “Cool paper.” Sandi held up a sheet with a white and brown cow design and then a sheet with a leathery look from the western section, which was positioned just inside the door. “I can just imagine what Pepper has planned.”

  “Speaking of, I promised we would stop by Old Navy on the way home.”

  “Take your time. I brought my scrapbook to work on, and John is going to bring me lunch.” Sandi held up a handful of puffy stickers in sun, star, and moon shapes. “You’re going to have to hide these from Pepper.”

  “I know.” Rebekah tucked the returned letter into her purse.

  “Do you have any homework to do, sweet pea?” Rebekah leaned her head against the clinic wall and closed her eyes.

  “I need to finish my Spanish, madre.” Pepper kicked the exam table and unzipped her backpack. “Will Jamie meet with us all the time, or will other nurses too?”

  “Jamie is the transplant coordinator. She’ll guide us through the whole process.” Rebekah opened her eyes.

  “It seems like a good job.” Pepper kicked the table again.

  It did seem like a good job—except for those people who died waiting for a transplant.

  Jamie smiled as she came through the doorway. “Ooh! Cute outfit, Pepper!”

  Pepper grinned. She wore a blue shrug over a long-sleeved, brown T-shirt.

  “I like those colors together.” Jamie sat on the swivel stool.

  “Me too. All my stuff this year is blue and brown—clothes, notebooks, scrapbooking stuff.” Pepper sat tall.

  “Cool.” Jamie opened the file. “Dr. Thomas will see you in a few minutes, but first I wanted to check on how things are going. I know that you’re on the cadaver list. Rebekah, you mentioned looking for a live donor.”