From Ant to Eagle

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From Ant to Eagle Page 15

by Alex Lyttle


  “Don’t let him give up hope,” he said, then winked at me.

  I couldn’t help but smile back. Oliver thought that Sammy was going to be okay. In my mind, that was just as good as any test the doctors could run.

  When I went back to the room Sammy was awake, though his eyes had the familiar glaze from his medicines. They’d started treating his stomach pain with morphine so sometimes he looked a little dopey. He didn’t so much smile as open the side of his mouth ever so slightly when I entered.

  “I don’t imagine you feel up to going to the games room?” I asked.

  His face contorted momentarily then returned to its half-awake state. “No, thanks,” he muttered.

  “Well, how about I read some?”

  He paused before shaking his head.

  “Really?” I said, walking over to my cot and grabbing a book from underneath. “I was thinking we could start Cuckoo Clock of Doom.”

  His mind was drugged. It took him a few seconds to register.

  “Oh, I thought you meant The Secret Garden.”

  “Nah, that book is horrendously boring.”

  Sammy smiled. “Yeah.”

  “Promise you won’t have nightmares?”

  “Promise.”

  “Shove over,” I said, giving him a playful punch in the arm. He whined but shifted over the best he could amid the wires and tubes. I sat down next to him, opened the book and read the first sentence through in my head.

  Okay, I thought, here goes.

  Sammy was fast asleep in a few minutes but I kept reading for over an hour.

  Later that night, as I lay quietly awake in my cot, I heard Sammy shift in his bed and his breathing turn irregular.

  He was awake.

  I sat listening for a few more minutes to be sure but it wasn’t necessary, I had spent six years sleeping in the same room as my brother, I knew when he was awake.

  I rolled over in my cot and got up as quietly as I could.

  I walked over beside his bed and looked down at him. The room was dark but I could see two silver reflections looking up at me.

  “Hi, Sammy,” I said.

  “Hi, Cal.”

  “You can’t sleep?”

  I saw the dark silhouette of his head nod.

  “You having nightmares?”

  He didn’t answer. He probably thought I would be angry if he said yes. For years I’d been telling him I would only read to him if he promised not to get nightmares.

  “It’s okay to be scared,” I said, sitting down on the side of his bed.

  Still no answer.

  “How about tomorrow I bring Elligator? I think I saw him under the dresser in our room. He must have got lost. I bet he’d make you feel better.”

  I could make out his shadowy face thinking hard. In the end it was too much to resist—he nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll grab him tomorrow. How about if tonight we lie together? I’m feeling kind of scared myself.”

  Sammy moved over in his bed and let me crawl in next to him. It was squishy but comfortable. I felt his warm, bony body pressing up against mine start to relax and his breathing turned quickly from irregular to rhythmic as he fell asleep.

  Not long after, so did I.

  CHAPTER 29

  AFTER MY TALK WITH OLIVER, THINGS WERE BETTER—NOT great—but better. Sammy was still getting noticeably sicker by the day but at least when he was awake he wanted me around. He’d ask me to read to him, he wanted to play cards (even though I stopped letting him win) and at night, we slept side-by-side with Elligator crammed between us.

  When the weekend finished and it was time to go back to school I wanted to carry things forward. I wanted to fix things with Aleta like I had fixed things with Sammy. I’d spent the previous weeks ignoring her so I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but we’d grown close enough over the summer that I knew it was still possible.

  Steam rose from my lips as I waited for the bus—winter was coming. I looked at my watch and started counting the number of times I breathed in a minute. Twenty-three. I’d have to ask one of the nurses if that was normal.

  The bus arrived with a screech and a pop and the door opened to reveal the bus driver staring down at me. I climbed on and gave her a shallow smile and she smiled cautiously back. I took an empty seat about halfway to the back and scooted over to the window. I was really looking forward to seeing Aleta so when we pulled onto Thornton Road and she still wasn’t in her usual spot at the end of the driveway I felt myself deflate like a balloon.

  On Tuesday she wasn’t there again and I began to worry. I thought about her walking listlessly around at recess, her vacant stare during class, and my absence. I remembered the first time we’d met, the scars on her arms, and the worrying worsened.

  I spent recess in my chain-linked chair thinking. By the time the bell rang I had decided on a plan.

  Dad was already waiting in his usual spot after school, car fumes sputtering out the exhaust pipe while he left the car running. He was reading a newspaper over the steering wheel as I opened the door and hopped in.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “Yeah, but I need to make a stop on the way.”

  “Where’s that?” he asked.

  “I need to bring Aleta her homework from today,” I lied. “She wasn’t at school. Can we stop by her house?”

  “Sure, it’s not much out of the way.”

  As we pulled into the Alvarado’s driveway I had an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. It felt like only the day before that I had walked that same driveway for the first time. Only back then I’d had my little lamb beside me, ready to sacrifice had anything gone wrong. I remembered Chloe’s slobbering attack and the fear of meeting Mr. Alvarado for the first time. Man, things had changed so much since then.

  I had to knock twice before anyone answered. Soft footsteps, the clinking of dog tags on dog collar, the gentle swing of the door, then Raquel greeted me with a surprised look on her face.

  “Cal,” she said, with an uneasy tone, “good to see you. I…I’ve heard about everything that’s been going on.” She looked like she might actually start to cry on my behalf. “I’m so sorry. I hope you’re doing all right.” She pulled me in and suddenly I found myself wrapped in the arms of someone I’d only met twice.

  “I’m guessing you’re here to see Aleta?” she asked, letting me go.

  “Yeah,” I said, brushing the hair from my eyes.

  She stepped aside, letting me pass. “She’s in her room.”

  And there I was again in the world of déjà vu. I walked up the same creaky steps, opened the same creaky door and saw the same sad wisp of a girl I’d seen in a dream long ago. Or at least that’s how it felt, like reliving a dream.

  Aleta must have heard me coming because she sat cross-legged on her bed and was watching the door as it swung open. She was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a plain white tank top hidden beneath a sweatshirt that was more or less falling off her shoulders. Her dark brown hair was tied over one shoulder and she was staring at me with her green, green eyes, only they were red and puffy so I knew she’d been crying. In front of her lay the notebook she carried everywhere.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey,” she said back.

  “I wanted to come by and make sure you were okay since you haven’t been at school.” I waited for Aleta to say something but she just sat watching me. “So yeah, I also wanted to apologize. Ever since everything started happening with Sammy I just felt like I needed to be alone. But…I dunno…you know how you said some things are easier not to talk about? I feel like the more I keep everything inside, the more it just seems to hurt. I guess I just wanted to come here and tell you I’m sorry for what I said. I liked it better when we were talking.” I walked in and sat on the end of her bed. “I don’t think I’m really making sense, am I?”

  Aleta smiled. “You are.”

  “Good.”

  For a while we sat there quietly thinking. I was thinking about Sammy, I
think she was thinking about something else, but then she interrupted my thoughts.

  “You know when I said some things are easier not to talk about?”

  I looked at her and nodded.

  “I was wrong. It is better to talk about it. And that’s what I’ve been doing—all summer.”

  “You have?” I said. “You mean when you went to London on Fridays? When you talked to your mom?”

  Aleta shook her head. “No, when I was with you at the Secret Spot.”

  “Huh?” All I could remember was specifically not talking about the things that made her sad.

  “With this,” Aleta said, holding up the notebook. “I was using this as a way to talk about my problems.” She put the notebook back in her lap and stared at it. She was biting her bottom lip like she always did when she was nervous. “I actually wanted to show you this a long time ago but I was…I guess I was self-conscious of it.” She held the notebook out toward me. “Here,” she said, “I want you to read it.”

  “You sure?” I asked, hesitating.

  “Yeah.”

  I grabbed the book, feeling the cover beneath my fingers. It was soft and worn, obviously having had a lot of use.

  “Just don’t be too judgmental, I’m not a great writer.”

  I opened the notebook to the first page. There was a neatly written title in the centre with a short passage below.

  Sarita Juana Alvarado.

  This is a book about my mother. It contains all of the memories I have of the most wonderful woman this world has ever known. Though she is gone in person, these memories now written will stay with me forever.

  By: Aleta Alvarado.

  I looked up at Aleta. “But your mother,” I said, thinking this through in my head. “You said she was still in London.”

  “She is—she’s at the Mount Pleasant Cemetery. We go every Friday to visit her.”

  As I read on, I found that the journal was full of memories of Aleta’s mother—a brief synopsis of a trip to the Toronto Zoo, a thorough description of her favourite outfit, even details on the sound of her voice. It felt like I was meeting a person that had died months before.

  I learned that Aleta’s family hadn’t always been the way I knew it.

  There were stories about Aleta and her sister and parents from when they’d lived in Mexico. Of trips to the beach and sunrises over the ocean. Of Aleta and Raquel yelling at tourists learning to surf in an attempt to make them fall. Of laughing and smiling and living. Everyone and everything seemed different. Even the stories about her dad made him sound almost…nice. A far cry from the stern-looking man who gave me the shivers when I looked at him in church.

  There was too much to read so I began skimming pages. Apparently Aleta had moved to Canada when she was seven but had gone back to Mexico every year to visit. At least until her mother had died. Her father had refused to go back since. He had said it reminded him too much of Aleta’s mother. Her sister had agreed. And this had infuriated Aleta. So she had withdrawn from school and running and friends. She had distanced herself from her father and spoken as little as possible to her sister. She described it as feeling “sunk”—like she had been thrown into the ocean with her hands and legs tied. Eventually her father and sister had come up with the plan to move to Huxbury, hoping that a change of scenery would lead to a change in heart.

  Parts of the journal were written as if she were talking to her mother and near the end I came across my name. I looked up at Aleta, expecting her to grab the book back. I knew as well as anyone that you shouldn’t read a girl’s diary, but she didn’t reach for it, she just sat there watching me, chewing her bottom lip.

  I read on:

  At first I was so mad that Dad and Raquel had made us move. I thought I would hate Huxbury. But to be honest, it’s not too bad. The fields and openness and Lake Huron remind me of Mexico and getting away has helped somewhat in moving on with my life. I get out more, that’s for sure. And guess what? I met a boy. His name is Cal and you would really like him. He’s sweet like you and there are parts of him that remind me of Raquel—the old Raquel. The Raquel before she started acting like a mother and stopped acting like a sister. He has a younger brother, Sammy, separated in age by the same difference between Raquel and me, and though he sometimes pretends to be annoyed by Sammy, it’s easy enough to see how much he loves his little brother. He’s always looking out for him, even when he’s acting like he’s not. It reminds me that Raquel and Dad love me, no matter how much they frustrate me. Oh, and we found a secret spot! We go there often to swim and read and write. I hope that you can see it from wherever you are. I hope that you’re still watching.

  Miss you more than yesterday,

  Aleta Alvarado

  I stopped reading. There were a few more pages but they had become a blur. For the first time since Sammy had been diagnosed with cancer I was crying. A drop landed on the open book right next to the word Sammy so I shut it.

  I wanted to say something to Aleta—something about how sorry I was that her mom had died and that she felt like her sister didn’t understand and that her dad had changed, but I couldn’t—all I could think about was Sammy. I opened my mouth to speak but instead a loud gasp came out. I had to fight to pull in more air and my chest felt heavy.

  Aleta crawled across the bed and hugged me, her head lightly resting on my shoulder so that I could smell the vanilla scent of her shampoo.

  As we sat, I realized she was crying too. My shoulder grew wet from her tears while mine continued to drop to my lap. For the first time I was no longer feeling sad for Aleta, I was feeling sad with her.

  I think I could have stayed like that forever—right there on that bed with Aleta on my shoulder and Sammy safely frozen in time—not getting better but not getting sicker either. But then I remembered that time hadn’t stopped and Dad was still outside waiting.

  “Dad!” I said. “Shoot!” I climbed from the bed and turned to Aleta. “Come with us, Aleta. Come to the hospital with us. Please?”

  She lifted her head, her thick brown hair a mess in front of her face so that her bright green eyes were half hidden.

  “I, I don’t think I could, Cal,” she said.

  “Please, Aleta?”

  It looked as if I’d stuck a knife in her stomach and turned it. Guilt washed over her face but she sat unmoved on the bed.

  Finally, I turned to leave. “Okay, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at school.” I waited briefly for a reply but when it didn’t come I left the room.

  I walked down the stairs to find Dad standing in the kitchen talking to Mr. Alvarado. They both turned and looked at me but neither looked upset. Raquel was sitting at the kitchen table with a textbook and a notepad open in front of her. She smiled nervously at me.

  “Sorry, Dad,” I said. “I’m ready to go.”

  He nodded and said goodbye to Mr. Alvarado before turning to the front door. Just as we were about to leave there was a cascade of footsteps down the stairs and Aleta appeared behind us. She had changed her sweatshirt for a nicer looking sweater and was panting from her dash down the stairs.

  “Dad,” she said. “Can I go with Cal to the hospital?”

  Mr. Alvarado opened his mouth to reply but instead looked at Dad.

  “Please?” I said, holding my hands together and giving Dad the most innocent look I could.

  “It’s fine with me,” he said.

  And like that, Aleta was coming to the hospital.

  CHAPTER 30

  WHEN WE FIRST WALKED INTO THE HOSPITAL ROOM, I KEPT STARing at Aleta, trying to judge her reaction. I knew she must have been shocked. How could she not have been? In two and a half weeks Sammy had transformed from a healthy-looking, albeit skinnier kid, to a mostly-bald, tube-attached-to-his-face, exhausted-looking ghost of a child. But Aleta’s emotions were always hard to read. She had spent months practicing the art of hiding emotion and it served her well.

  Sammy was asleep so I walked over and sat on his bed, intentionall
y flopping down a little harder than usual to wake him. He opened his eyes and for a second didn’t seem to recognize Aleta. Then he smiled, his lips dried and cracked.

  “Hi, Aleta,” he said.

  “Hi, Sammy,” she replied. “I see you have a ton of new toys.”

  It was true. Sammy’s room was slowly becoming Oliver’s. It seemed like every day of the week there was some group or team or fundraiser that dropped off a bunch of stuff for everyone on the floor. Bingo nights were only one of the many giveaways.

  Aleta picked up the baseball Sammy had gotten from Dr. Parker and read the inscription.

  “This ball is pretty neat,” she said, looking it over.

  “Cal has one too,” Sammy said, his eyes suddenly bright. “They’re from the London Hurr…what are they called?” Sammy asked, looking at me.

  “Hurricanes,” I said, stepping up beside Aleta.

  “Yeah, Hurricames,” he repeated.

  While Aleta and Sammy continued to talk about the various toys around the room I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. The whole distraction thing seemed to come so naturally to her. She never once asked how he felt or what any of the various tubes around the room were or commented that he looked like a zombie even though he really did look like a zombie.

  Dad had gone to sit next to Mom but she had quickly stood up and said she needed a coffee. It might have just been Oliver’s conversation but I was acutely aware of Mom and Dad’s interactions—watching for further signs of the cancer crumble.

  On her way out Mom smiled and said hello to Aleta. There was still a level of awkwardness between them but at least now I understood.

  Finally, Aleta and Sammy seemed to be running out of things to talk about and I could tell he was beginning to have trouble keeping his eyes open because they kept fluttering closed.

  “So how are you liking Huxbury?” Dad asked.

  “It’s okay,” Aleta said, moving around the bed.

  Dad and Aleta talked for a few minutes and I waited to make sure Sammy was asleep before grabbing her by the sleeve and pulling her toward the door. “We’re just going to go to the games room,” I said to Dad and he nodded and grabbed his magazine. But just as we were leaving the room Sammy’s eyes snapped back open with a scared look on his face.

 

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