Saying Good-bye to London
Page 10
When Sawyer had introduced them, she’d used his last name. It began with an M. Mandor? Mundy? Meneer…that was it! He grabbed his tablet and found eighteen Meneers in Canada 411. Hell, why not try them all?
He struck out on the first, but got lucky on the second call. A gruff voice snarled, “Yeah.”
“Hello. Is this Mr. Meneer?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Um, I’m actually looking for Jack. Jack Meneer. I know he’s not there, but I need his cell number.”
“You his boyfriend?”
“Uh…no. I’m his boss at work. He forgot his…his wallet here, and this is the only number I have for him.”
The guy on the other end of the line coughed, a phlegmy smoker’s hack. “I haven’t seen Jack for a month. I kicked his sorry ass out. No fags in this house.”
“Mr. Meneer. Sir. Do you know Jack’s cell number?”
Pause. Francis met the silence with silence. Mr. Meneer cleared his throat. “What the hell—555-987-0987.”
“Thank you.”
A click and then the dial tone. Francis stared at the phone. What a creep. Before he could change his mind, he dialed the number. After four rings, he heard Jack’s familiar voice. “This is an answering machine. You know what to do.”
“Jack, Francis here. Uh, can you call me?”
Jack called as soon as his shift ended. “I’m on my way to Sawyer’s. Did you talk to her yet?”
“No,” Francis admitted. “I’d like to talk to you first.”
“Sure. Is there any point in asking you why?” He sounded slightly suspicious. “Okay, I can be on your side of town tomorrow afternoon. Your place. Where do you live?”
Francis paused. He’d thought they would meet somewhere else, not at his house. If he suggested that now, Jack would be insulted and he’d have every right to be, so he gave his address.
“Got it. I’ll be there between five and six, and Francis, this better be good.”
• • •
Francis felt better after his phone call to Jack the night before. He knew his dad would be home today and that helped his spirits. For the first night in weeks, he had slept well. When his dad walked in the front door, lugging his bags, Devon and Nate bowled him over in their excitement.
“Daddy!” they shouted. “Daddy!” He swept them up into his big arms. “Bike ride in ten minutes, boys! Just let me get out of my uniform.”
“Yay!” they screamed. “Bike ride and park!” Ralph joined in the chaos, running in circles and barking happily. For a second, for Francis, perched halfway down the stairs, life felt normal. He chuckled. The twins’ excitement was infectious.
“What about Francis?” his dad said, spotting him on the step. “What are you up to? Do you want to come with us?”
“Thanks, but I’m going to visit Kevin, and then I’ve got a friend coming over around five. Can we catch up later?”
“Are you sure? We haven’t been riding together for a while.”
“It’s hardly a bike ride with them, Dad. So, no thanks.” He grinned. “But thanks for asking.”
“How is Kevin?”
“Not good. I guess Mom told you…”
“If there is anything I can do…” His dad hoisted a twin into each arm.
Francis shook his head. “I wish, but there’s nothing anyone can do.”
“I know. And I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“Okay, if you’re sure you don’t want to come, we’re off like a herd of turtles. Get those helmets on, boys!”
Once the door closed behind them, Francis and his mother breathed a sigh of relief. “I love my boys, but they are exhausting,” his mom admitted. “So, who’s coming over?”
“A new friend. His name is Jack. I met him through Sawyer.”
“You haven’t mentioned her for a while.”
“We’ve kind of broken up.” He knew he sounded shattered. “But it’s okay.”
“I’m sorry, honey,” she said, sounding insincere. “Well, at least you’ve made a new friend.”
Sometimes she treated him like he was five, not fifteen. “Mom, I know you didn’t really like Sawyer, so you don’t have to pretend.”
“Well, they say the first heartbreak is the worst. Give it a little time and you’ll be fine.”
If only.
For the next hour, he lounged around in front of the TV, played a few video games, ate some chips. He didn’t call Sawyer.
There was something else he had to do. Something important. Hopping on his bike, he rode over to Kevin’s house. More and more, he’d come to dread these visits; the heavy smell of sickness that permeated the house, the hushed voices, and whispered conversations all added to the sense of tragedy surrounding Kevin’s family.
When Francis rang the doorbell, Kevin slipped outside, still in his pajamas. He pulled the door softly shut behind him. “This isn’t a good time,” he said, his voice ragged.
Francis nodded. “Tell your dad I stopped by.”
Kevin’s face clouded. “I can’t. He fell into a coma this morning.”
They stood on the doorstep awkwardly, neither boy knowing what to say to the other.
“I’m sorry.” Francis wished he could find the words Kevin needed to hear. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right? Call or text me if you need anything.”
“Yeah,” said Kevin. “If I can.” His shoulders slumped. “See you around.” He went back inside and shut the door.
Francis rode slowly home, his heart heavy. Kevin seemed almost zombielike, and who could blame him? When he got home, he knew he had to see his dad. He found him out in the back garden planting bulbs. For a few minutes, he stood and watched him work. Only when he thought he could control his voice did he try to speak.
“Dad…” It was no good. His voice quavered.
His dad dropped his tools immediately. “Is he gone?”
“He’s in a coma.”
His dad wrapped him up in a big bear hug. “I’m so sorry.” He held him tightly. “But I’m glad you had the chance to say a proper good-bye.”
“Bon voyage,” corrected Francis, licking his dry lips. “We said bon voyage.”
“Hmm.”
“Mr. Croyden thought it would be better that way.”
• • •
At five-thirty, Jack showed up. As soon as he walked through the front door, he whistled. “Nice digs.” His eyes drank in the plush surroundings. “Seriously nice. You are a rich kid! Sorry, that was kind of rude, but I thought maybe Sawyer might have exaggerated. You know her.”
Francis shrugged. “Yeah, whatever.” He was getting tired of being labeled by these two all the time. “Follow me.” He took Jack into the den, hoping he wouldn’t be as impressed with the little room where the family liked to watch movies together, as he would have been with the living room. “Sit.” He pointed to a tattered chair and closed the door.
But Jack didn’t sit. Instead, he picked up a Scotch decanter from the mahogany sideboard and turned it over in his hands. He replaced it reverently. “Hey. Question. How did you get my cell number? You said you didn’t talk to Sawyer, and I’m sure as shit I never gave it to you.”
“I called your father.” Francis didn’t want to think about the ugly voice at the other end of the line. “He didn’t want to give me your number, but I told him I was your boss and that you’d lost your wallet.”
“Serious?”
“Yeah.”
“I bet that was a real pleasant conversation.” Jack laughed. He plunked down into the chair. “So what’s up? I assume it has something to do with Sawyer.”
Francis blushed. “I liked her a lot. I still do. And I’m sorry. And I don’t have anyone to talk to.”
“No hard feelings. Clearly you’re not used to dealing with shit.”
Jack covered his eyes with his hands in mock distress. “Jesus! And you thought I might be able to help you out?”
“Kind of. At least, I hoped you might have some ideas.” He knew he didn’t have the right to ask for help, but he kept his eyes steady under Jack’s questioning gaze.
Finally, Jack spoke. “You’ve come to the right person. Let’s start with Sawyer and go from there.”
Chapter Eight
By the fifth month, your baby weighs about 13 ounces (360 g) and is about 10.5 inches (27 cm) long. If you talk, read, or sing to your baby, you can expect your infant to hear you!
Excerpt: From Conception to Birth
“Call her,” Jack had said.
Francis had ignored his advice.
Two weeks later, on December 21, Francis and his family traded Vancouver’s damp cold for Hawaii’s hot sun and turquoise surf, but for the first time in memory, Francis wasn’t looking forward to their annual Christmas vacation on Maui’s sandy white beaches. He’d expected to feel remorse about leaving Kevin in such a bad way, but the guilt that haunted him about Sawyer and the baby and no solution came as a surprise. After all, they’d had no contact with each other for weeks.
In truth, Jack’s visit had made everything so real. It had left him cold and scared. Suddenly nothing seemed important, not Maui, not Christmas, and especially not his family. In fact, the energy it took to act like his old, carefree self drained him.
In contrast, his little brothers couldn’t control their excitement at the thought of three glorious weeks on the beach. When they arrived at the airport for their early-morning flight, it took the full attention of both their parents to contain them.
Francis had no patience for their craziness. To his mom’s surprise, he snapped at them, before escaping into his headphones. “Leave me alone!” he threatened, and not even Nate’s tears or Devon’s hurt expression softened him.
With both of them out of the way, Francis decided to send a text to Sawyer. Have to go to Maui. Back Jan 12. Talk then?
She shot back a reply dripping in sarcasm: Poor U. Forced to spend 3 weeks in paradise, while we’re all stuck here in the gray, cold rain.
No mention of any baby.
Kevin dropping off Xmas gifts, he texted. He hit send. No response.
Buying her a Christmas present had been a last-minute idea, but he’d put a lot of thought into getting the perfect gift. Sawyer was easy, because he knew how much she loved to read. Although he’d spent hours poring over books, he’d been unable to settle on a title that he could be sure she hadn’t read. In the end, he got her a gift certificate for her local bookstore on Main Street, along with a journal and a fountain pen, because he knew she liked to write. He hoped she’d see this for what he meant it to be—a peace offering.
His dad shook him out of his thoughts. “Wake up, Francis. It’s time to board. We haven’t even left the ground, and you’re a million miles away.”
“Sorry, Dad.” He gathered his things and followed the other business-class passengers onto the plane. There were definitely perks to having a pilot for a father. With only two wide, comfy seats per row, Francis could sit alone.
But Nate had other ideas. “I want to be with Francis,” he cried when he spotted the empty seat beside his big brother.
“Not a chance.” Francis scowled at him. “Get lost.”
Nate stuck out his tongue and scuttled back to his seat. “Meany,” he called over his shoulder.
Francis pretended not to hear him, but he felt like a jerk. Too bad. He had one goal: to block out everything and everyone around him. Finding a movie, he upped the volume and sat back with his glass of orange juice and a plate of cookies—another perk of business class. Behind him, his parents sipped on champagne.
Despite all these creature comforts, he still found it hard to concentrate. His mind was racing, and he couldn’t control it. Once airborne, he turned his thoughts to Kevin, picturing him and his mom in their big house. The last time he’d seen Kevin, he’d been fraught with tension. In an effort to help, Francis had the bright idea to ask him to join them in Maui. He’d come with them a few times over the years and they always had an excellent time.
“Are you serious?” Kevin had responded, his voice raising to a fevered pitch. “It’s going to be our last Christmas as a family. Obviously I can’t take off, and I don’t want to.” He tacked on, “But thanks,” not meaning it.
As usual, Francis felt like a stupid jerk. What a dumb idea. “No problem. I guess I’ll see you in three weeks.”
As he turned to go, Kevin stopped him. “Are you okay? I mean, the Sawyer thing? You’re acting kind of weird. You seem, I don’t know, different.”
Francis wanted to shout, No, I’m not okay. But instead he shrugged. “Don’t worry about me.”
They arrived in Maui in the early afternoon. Francis made a feeble attempt to feign some enthusiasm over their oceanfront suite, but he failed miserably. His parents didn’t confront him, but his mother’s quietness and his father’s set lips betrayed their worry. The twins kept their distance, still angry with him for the way he’d behaved toward them earlier. “You’re no fun anymore,” Devon accused, and Francis couldn’t deny it. Nor could he explain the confusion and anger that boiled inside of him. How could he explain the guilty relief he felt at being an ocean away from Sawyer? He felt like a coward, but he kept reminding himself that none of it was his fault, not really. She’d screwed up. Not me.
• • •
With the passing of each sunny day, his temper darkened. As their vacation approached its end, he began to dread returning to Canada. He both fretted that he didn’t hear from Sawyer and thanked his last few lucky stars that he hadn’t. Didn’t she like his gift? Did she not get how much effort he’d put into finding the right things?
Finally, on January 10, she texted: Xcellent presents. Hope U R not suffering too badly on the beach. Haha. His mood brightened. No mention of a baby. If she really hated him, she wouldn’t contact him at all—would she?
The day before their departure, Francis sought out some alone time on the beach. He loved the feel of the wet sand between his toes and the warm sun on his shoulders. The repetitive motion of the waves lulled him, so when his dad plunked down beside him, he started.
“A penny for your thoughts, son.”
“I was just wishing we didn’t have to leave tomorrow,” Francis replied wistfully. “I wish we could stay here forever.”
“You say that every year,” his dad pointed out, but then his tone grew more serious. “Your mom and I can’t help but notice how preoccupied you’ve been. At first you didn’t want to be here at all. Nate and Devon are hurt. They think they’ve done something to anger you, but I know that’s not it. Is there anything you want to talk about?”
“No, Dad.” He stood up. “I just need you all to leave me alone. Is that too much to ask?” He stormed away, leaving his father stunned. Francis had lied. He wanted nothing else but to talk to his dad, but he didn’t know how or where to begin. Obviously, he couldn’t solve this problem on his own, but he couldn’t find the words or the courage to tell his parents the truth. If they knew what he’d done, they’d never forgive him, and why should they? He couldn’t forgive himself.
Part Two
I choose to love this time for once
with all my intelligence
—Adrienne Rich (Splittings)
Chapter Nine
The baby weighed heavily on Sawyer’s mind. Every time she thought about it, which was all the time, an image of what sh
e might look like popped into her mind. Tiny, round, red-faced, wailing, smiling, gurgling, spitting…but her daydreams and thoughts were always interrupted by the same niggling ugly thought: I’m not ready to be a mother. I’m sixteen years old. Then the tears came, always the tears.
The wail of police sirens and red lights outside her window painted a pattern on her blank face as the emergency vehicles circled the street below her. She watched, her fists clenched and her lips pale. For a nightmarish second, she thought they might be coming for her. Then she remembered. I’m pregnant. I’m not sick.
She needed to talk to Francis. Didn’t he have a right to know what she’d decided? Shouldn’t he share this? He was as much to blame as she was. But he’d been such a jerk—except for the presents he’d given her for Christmas, she’d heard nothing from him. Not a word.
She’d been working hard to build up her strength, following the doctor’s orders, taking her vitamins and iron pills religiously. She’d also made a real effort to improve her diet and get enough sleep so that she could go to school every day and concentrate on her work. The morning sickness had subsided, but she still got sick now and then. She looked forward to a vomit-free day in her near future.
Eventually, she’d broken down and told her mother about the baby. She’d thought it would be the hardest thing she’d ever done, but it wasn’t. In the end, she realized she hadn’t given her mother the credit she deserved.
“I’m not eating at Joe’s anymore,” she’d said, by way of an opener.
“I didn’t know you were eating there at all,” her mom scolded. “That’s disgusting. It’s all nachos with processed cheese and hotdogs. We’re surrounded by really good fruit and veggie stores. You can get good food a stone’s throw from our apartment. You know how to cook.”
Francis’s mother feeds her children. Why doesn’t mine?
As if reading her mind, her mother said, “You’re almost seventeen. Surely you can cook for yourself without pouting.”
“And, I’m taking vitamins,” Sawyer pressed on.