by Vicki Grant
B Negative
Vicki Grant
orca soundings
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
Copyright © 2011 Vicki Grant
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Grant, Vicki
B negative [electronic resource] / Vicki Grant.
(Orca soundings)
Electronic monograph in PDF format.
Issued also in print format.
ISBN 978-1-55469-843-1
I. Title. II. Series: Orca soundings (Online)
PS8613.R367B12 2011A JC813’.6 C2010-908063-7
First published in the United States, 2011
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010942086
Summary: When Paddy discovers that the man he thought was his father
isn’t, he struggles to put his life back together.
Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on paper certified by the Forest Stewardship Council.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Cover design by Teresa Bubela Cover photography by Getty Images
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
PO BOX 5626, Stn. B PO BOX 468
Victoria, BC Canada Custer, WA USA
V8R 6S4 98240-0468
www.orcabook.com
Printed and bound in Canada.
14 13 12 11 • 4 3 2 1
To Linda Alexander,
for always being positive.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter One
Everything’s fine.
There’s a big slab of barbecued steak in front of me. The sun is shining. My girlfriend’s here. The little kids are happy.
So why am I so pissed off then?
I don’t know.
No. I do know. It’s Anthony. (Like that’s a surprise. When is it not Anthony?)
Can’t he shut up?
Does he honestly believe I’m interested in his advice?
Mom married him—what? Thirteen years ago? That means he’s known me since I was five. You’d think he’d have a clue by now.
But no. Having a clue would require him to actually listen to someone other than himself, and that ain’t gonna happen anytime soon.
“If I were you,” he’s saying, “I’d forget about doing something practical for the moment. I’d pursue my music. I see real promise in you.” He turns down his chin and looks me right in the eye.
Another person might mistake that for sincerity, but I’m not that easy to fool. I know what he’s doing. He’s checking his reflection in my pupils. The guy’s so full of himself I’m surprised he has room for the steak.
And that reminds me. Isn’t he supposed to be a vegan? I distinctly remember him ruining another family dinner over his new diet. He kept nagging us about all the toxins we were shoveling into our mouths. Meanwhile, he was “honoring” his body with raw bean sprouts.
He has a hunk of meat on the end of his fork and is pointing it at me. Blood is dripping onto the table.
“I could have gone into law. That’s what my parents wanted me to do, of course. Follow the family tradition. But that just wasn’t my thing. Instead I decided to follow”—big pause here— “my heart. I chose the theater. I’ve never regretted it.”
He tosses back his hair. He loves his hair. Tara says there’s no way those blond streaks up front are natural. That used to embarrass me. Now it just makes me laugh. I love picturing him in the black cape with the little pieces of tinfoil all over his head, looking like the total conceited jackass that he is.
Anthony takes a bite and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Follow your heart,” he says again, only this time he’s chewing right in my ear.
Nice.
My mother looks up from her salad and her eyes go watery. This touching little moment has obviously moved her.
I don’t get it. She’s a smart woman. How can she still believe his crap?
I keep eating away as if there’s no problem, but the truth is I’m dangerously close to exploding. Would he just get his frigging hand off me? I’m one second away from telling him to shut his face. I wouldn’t mind blowing a few giant holes in his story while I’m at it too.
For instance: He chose “the theater”? Please.
Playing “satisfied homeowner” in a thirty-second tv commercial for a miracle toilet plunger is not the theater. You don’t have to be Brad Pitt to say, “Yours for just three payments of $19.95!”
And as for not regretting his decision— why would he? Life’s good for Anthony Paul Wishart. He sits around the house all day doing nothing.
No, I’m sorry. That’s wrong. He doesn’t do nothing. He does yoga. He does some serious time in front of the television. And, of course, he does his hair. That’s very important. He has to look his best for his “career.”
Just thinking that makes me want to kill him. How can a grown man with two little kids, a wife and a stepson live like that?
Why do I even ask? I know the answer.
Chapter Two
My father. That’s the answer.
Like, I mean, John Armstrong. My real father. He works hard because he actually feels responsible for someone other than himself. He lives in some crappy little apartment and never goes out or buys himself anything new. All his money goes to child support payments.
Which just happen to be enough to cover the mortgage on the house Anthony hangs around in all day. How convenient.
Mom pays the other expenses by working as a receptionist at Child Welfare International. It’s a nonprofit organization so they don’t pay much, but it’s something. (So much for her acting career. She, at least, had enough pride to go out and get a real job when the bills started piling up.)
I only get a couple of shifts a week at the hardware store, but I pitch in what I can too.
I look across the table at Tara. I thought I was doing a pretty good job of faking nice, but I clearly haven’t fooled her. I guess after three years with me she knows what’s going through my head. She dips a French fry in ketchup and puts it in her mouth. She’s looking at me the whole time. Her eyes are telling me to calm down.
Anthony drops his hand onto his thigh with a big slap. He leans back in his chair and stretches his legs out in front of him. It’s only June and they’re already seriously tanned.
“So, Paddy, what’ll it be? There are lots of great music colleges who’d be lucky to have you, you know. Or perhaps you’d rather just take the band on the road. Given any thought to that? The year I spent touring Grease with the Colchester County Musical Theater
Society was perhaps the most interesting—and exciting—period of my…”
I can’t listen to this again. He’s crazy. He wants me to go to music college now? Who’s going to pay for that? Not Anthony, that’s for sure. He’s just assuming Dad will foot the bill.
As for his other suggestion— please. Go on the road? Like our lame band would make any money that way. Anthony might have trouble understanding this, but being able to support myself actually matters to me.
I’d love to bring that up right now but I can’t. It would get too ugly. I stop chewing and clamp down on the meat in my mouth. It’s like biting a bullet to take your mind off the pain. The smear of ketchup on my plate makes me think of blood. I stare at it and try to blank Anthony out. Tara drops her fork. The noise makes me look up. It wasn’t an accident. She says, “Sorry. Clumsy me!” but she’s got that look in her eyes again. I don’t know if I see her shake her head or I just sense it. She picks up her fork and makes a big point of sawing off a piece of meat. Steak, she’s reminding me. Your mother paid a lot of money for it. Ignore Anthony. Don’t ruin this for her.
Fine. I start chewing really loud like I’m some cartoon slob. Tara’s eyes go all shiny and she has to bite her lip to stop from smiling. I put a big grin on my face and say, “Mmmm. You’re some cook, Mom. This is delicious.”
“Aw, thanks, honey,” she says. I can see how happy that makes her. Never hurts to keep the ladies happy.
I look around the table.
Olivia is drawing something on her plate in ketchup. She loves to draw.
Marlon is standing beside Mom with his hands on her face, begging to stay up to watch Power Ponies tonight. Mom’s shushing him but she’s laughing too. She knows she’s going to give in.
Everyone’s enjoying themselves. Life is good—even if Anthony has started yammering on again about my “brilliant future.”
Tara’s right. The guy’s a douche bag, but pointing that out would only upset the non-douche-bag members of my family.
I wink at her. She stabs at her salad and puts a giant piece of lettuce in her mouth. She gets bright orange dressing all over her chin. “Aw. Gross,” I say. People forget about Anthony for a second and look at Tara. Everyone laughs.
You’d think Anthony would take this opportunity to shut up—but no such luck.
“Seriously, Paddy,” he says. “High school’s behind you. You can do anything you want with your life now. So what’ll it be? Music college or the tour?”
I try to concentrate on dinner, but my brain is suddenly just, like, flooded with rage.
Those are my choices? Says who?
Anthony?
How does he know what I want to do? What does it even matter to him? He’s not my father.
Tara’s face has gone flat and white. She mouths the word, “Don’t.” She can feel the pressure ramping up again even if Anthony can’t.
I take a breath. Olivia is braiding Tara’s hair now. Marlon’s on Mom’s lap. Dinner’s almost over. Just hold on.
All I have to do is answer. Say something. Anything. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like Anthony actually cares what I think.
I almost get my mouth open, but then I make the mistake of looking at him. He’s leaning back with his hands behind his head. He’s got this “rugged guy” smile on his face, like the one he used in that so-called modeling job for the Dugger’s Menswear flyer. He has one too many buttons undone on his shirt.
He better not be doing that for Tara’s benefit.
He sticks his foot out and jabs me in the leg. “C’mon, Paddy. What? What’s it going to be?”
He’s either totally stunned or he’s taunting me.
I can’t stand the guy. I can’t even stand the thought of him thinking I can stand him.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I sort of smile. Tara gives me that little headshake again.
“Neither, actually,” I say to him. “I’m joining the Army.”
Chapter Three
Anthony thinks I’m joking. He throws back his head and laughs. (Even his laugh is bullshit.)
The truth is I didn’t really mean it. I just wanted to say something that would irritate him but still sound like an answer. Joining the Army just sort of popped into my head. I knew he’d hate it. He likes to think of himself as a pacifist. Actually, he’s just too lazy to fight for anything.
But now that I’ve said it, I realize it’s not a bad idea. It’d be a regular paycheck. And it would make Dad happy. He likes the military. He was in the Navy for twenty years until he retired and took a job as a commissionaire.
I can always play in a band in my spare time.
“I’m not kidding,” I say. “I’m signing up next week.” I use my baby finger to pick some food out from between my molars. That’s how much Anthony’s opinion means to me.
His chair slams back onto the floor.
“The Army!” He makes it sound like I’m joining the circus—though knowing Anthony, he’d probably think that was perfectly fine. (Just what we need. Another freak in the family.)
I shrug. “Yeah, the Army.”
He stretches out the fingers on his right hand and turns to Mom. “Maura!” he says. He’s too lazy to even fight his own battles.
I’m loving this. He’s so helpless— he’s so hopeless. Anthony’s big problem is that he thinks he’s so frigging gorgeous he should rule the world. He’s obviously watched too many Disney cartoons. That’s the only place they make you prince just because you’re pretty.
I make sure there’s no smile showing on my face and then I turn and look at Mom too.
She’s fussing with her collar and her eyes have gone all teary again.
Damn.
I didn’t mean to upset her.
Marlon says, “Paddy’s joining the Army? Yay!”
Mom says, “Quiet, Marlon, please,” but he jumps off her knee and starts racing around the table pretending to shoot everyone.
“Bang! Bang! Bang! You’re dead!”
Anthony looks at me. “Is that what you want to do? Kill people? Huh? Or maybe you’d prefer to get killed?”
Olivia stops braiding Tara’s hair. She looks at me. Her bottom lip starts to quiver. Then she bursts into tears. “I don’t want Paddy to die!”
Anthony puts on this fake smile. “Good work,” he says to me. “Look what you did to your little sister…” Olivia runs into his arms, sobbing.
I turn to look at Tara. I’m sort of hoping she’ll be laughing at this. I mean, it’s so ridiculous. What else can you do?
Tara’s got three scraggly braids on the side of her head. Her arms are crossed so tight that her collarbones are all sticking out and webbed with skin. They make me think of a bat’s wing. She’s not laughing.
She’s mad at me too.
Chapter Four
We’re in the car outside Tara’s apartment building. It’s dark now. She’s staring straight out the windshield, playing with her gum. She pulls it out in a long string, then chews it back in. She’s doing that so she doesn’t have to talk to me.
“What?” I say.
She looks at me then turns back and looks out the windshield again.
“C’mon. What?” I say. I’m trying not to laugh.
We do this sometimes. We get in these little fights and we both say we hate it, but the truth is, it’s kind of fun.
Tara’s one of those skinny girls who doesn’t smile much. I remember when I first met her, I used to think she was always pissed off about something.
I didn’t like her very much. Then I got to know her and realized she’s not mad. It’s just the way she holds her face. She’s actually prettier when she smiles.
I know she’s dying to tell me what a jerk I am for upsetting everyone. I can handle that. Eventually I’ll come up with something that will make her laugh, and we’ll be okay again.
No use wasting time. The sooner we get things started, the sooner we can get this over with and move on to the good stuff.
“C’mon,” I say again and give her a little poke in the ribs.
She slaps my hand away.
“Asshole,” she says.
It’s not the first time she’s called me that, but her tone is different now. It takes me a second to process it.
“Seriously?” I say. “You’re actually mad?”
She turns her head toward me really slowly. She squints up her eyes, then drops her jaw. I take that as a yes.
“What?” I say. “What’s the problem?”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Anthony’s the idiot.”
“Oh, yeah? Really? He’s not the one joining the Army.”
So that’s what she’s pissed about.
I sort of laugh. “Look,” I start, but then I don’t know what to say. If I admit I said I’m signing up just to bug Anthony, I really will look like an asshole. Worse, she’ll make me un-say it. She’ll make me back down and not go. There’s no way I can do that now. Not after the fight Anthony and I had. He went totally insane. I don’t want to give him a reason to think he had any right to.
She leans her back against the car door and glares at me. She’s a master of the silent treatment. I clear my throat. “It’s just the Army. Lots of people join the Army.”
She coughs like that’s a stupid thing to say. It’s so typical Tara.
Now we’re both mad.
I try to keep my temper under control. “It’s a real job,” I say. “Real money. I could learn a skill too. The Army pays for your education, you know.”
Truth is, I’m not a hundred-percent sure about that, but it worked. It softens her up a bit. Tara understands money. Or at least what it’s like not to have any. If I ever feel sorry for myself, I just have to look at how she and her mother live. At least I have a father helping out.
She brushes her hair off her face. That’s a good sign. She still wants to look nice for me. I go in to close the deal. “And I think I’d really like it too.”
She spits out her gum and squeezes it into a little scrap of paper. “Oh, please. Cut the crap, Paddy. What kind of moron do you think I am? You wouldn’t like the Army. You like getting up at six am? You like following orders? You like shooting people?”