“Hi, Dad,” she said.
#
And the gurney pulled away.
Wait. The panic struck again: We found something in the X-ray. We’re rushing her into surgery. Sign this consent form, while there’s still time.
“Taking her to her room,” the orderly said. “317. Follow me.”
He twisted the gurney like it was a stubborn shopping cart, sending it back the way Shawn had come. They passed the waiting annex, Jack’s parents still seated. Edward had his hand atop Charlotte’s arm, gently holding her down.
A few more doors, 312, 314, then a twist in the corridor. At 317, instead of pushing the gurney forward the orderly turned it abruptly, backed into the room while pulling the contraption after him.
Shawn followed inside. The orderly brought the gurney next to the waiting bed, lowered the safety rails, and put an arm near Celia’s shoulder.
“I can do it,” Celia said. Her voice was weak, and she moved as if underwater, a roll and sideways crawl into the bed. The orderly checked her wristband and the IV needle in her left arm, and transferred the saline bag from her gurney hook to the pole beside the headboard.
The orderly made more adjustments, explained some of the mechanics of the room to him and Celia at once: the call button, controls for the bed, the television remote. Celia seemed too groggy to process the information, and Shawn was too relieved to care.
His daughter was fine. That’s all that mattered. “I’ll take you home tomorrow,” he told her. “As soon as the doctors give the okay.”
“Camp.” Celia’s eyes fluttered. “I want to go back.”
Yes, that made sense—though the idea hadn’t occurred to him. He’d expected Celia to come directly home, perhaps a projection of his own fears for her well-being. But she’d said how much she enjoyed camp. She always liked to finish things she’d started.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he told her. “Get some rest.”
“Something happened at my grandparents’ house.”
“I know.” He didn’t know what, exactly, but Celia needed a quick, calming response. He smoothed her hair, patted her shoulder. “We’ll sort it out.”
Her eyes widened, and he felt her shoulder push up against his hand. “Where are they?”
“In the waiting room. They’ll check in later.”
She eased back down. “They were nice to me. I’ve caused so much trouble.”
“No trouble at all.” Shawn squeezed her shoulder, let go.
He lifted her backpack, put it in a guest chair and then pushed the chair up to the bed where she could reach it easily.
“Dad?” She was confused, her thoughts fogged by sedatives and exhaustion.
“Get some rest.” He bent forward, kissed her on the cheek. “Love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Do something for me, okay?” he said. “Pleasant dreams only. Can you do that?”
“Sure.”
And she drifted off.
Chapter VI
In her dream, Celia watched herself go insane.
She stands at the start of the hallway and holds a half-full glass of water. This is how her grandfather must have seen her: she lifts a dazed hand toward the wall, her fingers pinching the air. She’s trying to catch a butterfly.
Her hand darts back. She’s pinched a lit match, and she shakes her betrayed fingers.
She’s teeters in a ridiculous dance, trying to maintain balance on a steady floor. Her mouth opens, and she gasps like a beached fish. She drops the glass of water.
Celia’s image grows closer as her grandfather rushes toward her. “What’s wrong, dear?” he says, hands outstretched. Perfectly normal hands.
And she’s screaming, as if these gentle, old-man hands will tear into her, rip her to shreds. Her eyelids flutter, the sockets going white, and she falls toward him, falls screaming off the tightrope, arms flailing.
Pop Pop catches her. He cradles her against his chest, whispers soothing words, calls to his wife for help. Although Celia’s eyes are closed her face twitches, her mouth curls into a sneer.
Grandmother Pruett tends to her, two fingers on her wrist then against her neck; lifts her eyelids to check her pupils; places an ear close to her mouth to listen for breathing.
Pop Pop raises her, cradling her like precious cargo. Celia’s unconscious body clenches. He is taking her toward the kitchen, where his wife has preheated the oven. Together, they will stuff Celia inside.
Instead, they lay her on the couch in the den. Grandmother Pruett places a pillow behind her head. Celia twitches again. Her legs scissor in the air, the motion of running.
Her eyes open wide. She turns toward Pop Pop, screams at him in fear as she tries to wriggle free. They hold her down, and Celia curses them both with a spiteful inventory of cruel, forbidden words.
That dream filled her with shame and confusion.
Other dreams followed.
#
The next morning, Celia woke to the sound of raised voices from the other side of the closed hospital door.
“She should stay with us,” her grandmother was saying. “We’ll take good care of her.”
“No.” A rude dismissal that didn’t seem like Dad Shawn at all. He would explain to her later why the offer upset him—referring to portions of his conversation with her grandparents last night, a sprinkle of context from years ago, and she’d know he was holding back, giving a charitable spin to Celia’s rediscovered family.
“You could stay, too,” Pop Pop said. “We have a guest room for each of you.”
“Thank you, no.” Her dad was calmer now. “She wants to finish camp.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” her grandmother said. “I’d feel better if we asked the doctor.”
“I can ask the doctor,” her dad said.
“Of course.”
A long silence followed, and Celia expected them to enter her room.
“Camp would be too much exertion.” Grandmother Pruett, pressing the issue. “It makes sense for her to stay with us for a few days. I can watch her. We still have some of the medical equipment from when Jonathan—”
Dad Shawn cut her off, angrier than she’d ever heard him. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it.”
An exasperated sigh, then footsteps clicking away on the hospital tile. Celia scootched up in the bed and used the pull chain to click on the overhead light. She watched the door to her room, waited for a visitor to enter. The door didn’t open.
#
The bedside digital clock read 9:07.
From what Celia remembered of the camp schedule, Nora had some dorm time after breakfast, before the first weekend activities. This could be a good time to call her.
She reached for her backpack, on the chair where her father had placed it last night. She pulled it by the top loop, expecting to drag the pack onto the bed. Instead, the front half of the main compartment folded down, the rest of the bag weighted by its contents.
Why wasn’t the zipper fastened? She pulled harder, grabbing the back flap as well, and she set the pack in her lap. It was the right weight—nobody’d taken anything. She reached into the main compartment, took out the most important thing.
The box with the stories. She opened the flaps.
The wrong story was on top. Someone had gone through them, then replaced them out of order.
Her father? Her grandparents?
Awkward enough if they were the ones. But what if somebody at the hospital read them? She’d be getting a visit from a staff psychologist.
She unzipped a side compartment and retrieved her cell phone. Nora answered after a few rings.
“Hey. Celia.” Her tone expressed more concern than was appropriate for a friend simply visiting grandparents. “I just heard, or I would have called sooner. You’re okay, right? You sound okay.”
“Yeah. How did you . . . ?”
“Our hall monitor found out from the office, since they had to fax your medical forms last
night. Breakfast was all abuzz.”
“Camp’s a small world.” It was a joke they shared with camp veterans: friendships formed quickly; gossip spread even quicker.
“Tell me what happened.” She asked out of genuine concern, but Celia understood Nora would share the news with fellow campers, unless instructed otherwise.
“I don’t exactly know. I got dizzy at my grandparents’ house. I fainted.”
“Wow. Do you know why?”
“Dehydration, is what I heard. I didn’t drink much water at dinner. Maybe I was overexcited from the long drive.”
“No offense, and they seemed nice enough, but I wouldn’t exactly describe your grandparents as exciting.”
“They are nice,” Celia said. “But there’s other stuff going on.”
Nora waited for Celia to elaborate, then gave up. “Another one of your secrets, I guess.”
She’d never heard this kind of complaint from Nora before. Your secrets, in plural. Celia hadn’t been as discreet as she’d thought. How long had she been hurting her friend’s feelings?
“I’ll tell you more,” she said. “Someday soon, I promise.”
She heard laughter from another dorm room—camp life going on without her.
“Okay,” Nora said. “Hey, you’re coming back, aren’t you? This carnival might not be so great—Jules told me it was like, ‘one hour of fun packed into six hours.’ But we’re reading some cool stuff in class next week.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Great. It’s more fun when you’re around.”
“Thanks. I’m not loving this hospital room.”
“You’ll be out before you know it.”
“My dad’s here.” She let that piece of information drop, hoping Nora wouldn’t make a big deal about it. In the silence that followed, Celia guessed she’d made a mistake: Nora would worry she was sicker than she’d been letting on, since her dad drove all that way in the middle of the night.
“Wow,” Nora said. “He knows you met your grandparents without his permission. He must be pissed.”
“He hasn’t yelled at me. That’s one of the advantages of being sick. My grandparents aren’t so lucky. Their argument woke me this morning.”
“About you?”
“Partly. There’s a lot of history there.”
“Your other dad, right?”
“Yeah.” She always felt better after talking to Nora. Her friend did a pretty good job figuring out what was most important, especially considering how much Celia left out. Wouldn’t it be better to tell her the full truth, so she could benefit more from Nora’s insight? Tell her about the frightening hallucination at her grandparents’ house, and last night’s dream of insanity. Tell her about the other dreams that followed, making her even more confused about what really happened. Tell her about the connection between her fathers, their magical life together. Nora was her friend. She’d believe her.
She could give advice about what Celia was planning next. Convince her it was the right thing to do. Or talk her out of it.
There wasn’t time. Plus, it was far too complex to discuss on the phone.
She’d have to settle for a vague question, and Nora’s usual advice. “You’re always telling me to face up to my demons,” Celia said.
“Sure, that usually works.” Nora paused, sensing the serious undercurrent in Celia’s statement, and added a qualification. “With dumb stuff, though—like public speaking or being shy around boys. Stay away from real demons.” Then she laughed off the absurdity of her last comment.
If she only knew.
#
Celia stretched her legs and walked around the room, carrying the saline bag above her head the way the orderly mentioned last night. They’d given her a kid’s gown, with metal snaps in the back, and her socks had a rough, nonslip tread on the bottom. In a cubbyhole beneath the nightstand, she found her clothes from last night bundled in a cinch-top plastic bag. She dressed part way, under her gown, then slipped her sneakers over the padded socks.
There was another bed, unoccupied, closer to the window. She opened the blinds, letting in more light.
Three quiet raps sounded against the door. This was how her father knocked at home, as if to wake her gently—even though Celia was usually up before him.
Dad Shawn opened the door and stepped in.
Her grandparents followed.
“Look who’s up,” Pop Pop said, beaming.
Grandmother Pruett asked how she was feeling, and she squinted as Celia replied. She was probably resisting an urge to check Celia’s pulse, take her temperature.
Her father was pleased to see her moving around, but he grimaced a bit, too: the argument with her grandparents had followed them into the room. He got an extra guest chair from the unused half of the room, held it for Grandmother Pruett to sit, but it was a mechanical courtesy. Part of a truce, agreed upon for the child’s benefit.
They all sat in chairs; Celia took the edge of the bed, returning the saline bag to its metal post.
“They’ll take that off soon.” Grandmother Pruett leaned forward, inspecting where the needle went into her arm.
Her father’s wince was almost imperceptible—like he was afraid she’d lift the tape or adjust the flow from the IV line. “The doctors can check that.”
Grandmother Pruett leaned back into her chair.
“You’re going back to camp.” Pop Pop spoke in his usual upbeat way, but there was sadness in his voice, a hint of goodbye.
“I have to go back to your house first,” Celia reminded him. “Get my things.”
“We brought them last night.” He hooked his thumb in a vague direction, seeking the parking lot. “Your overnight bag’s in our car.”
“Oh.”
Her father nodded, his expression firm. It’s been decided.
“But I have to go back,” Celia said. Face her demons? No. She needed more time with her grandparents, whether Dad Shawn liked it or not. He wouldn’t contradict her in front of them, she knew it. “I left . . . ” She thought about her bag, hoped her father hadn’t searched it thoroughly enough. “I left my thumb drive there. I’d taken it out, so I could download some pictures after I scanned them.”
“A thumb what?” She counted on Pop Pop’s limited computer skills. He wouldn’t be able to find the drive for her.
She rarely asked her father for anything, so she pushed it now. “They have pictures of you and Dad Jack. Of me. Please.”
She’d backed her father into a corner. He won’t refuse—not in front of them. He’d look like a tyrant if he did.
Pop Pop smiled. Grandmother Pruett said, “I’ll fix us lunch.”
#
The rest of the morning involved more strained pleasantries, wondering aloud when the doctor would visit, how long before Celia could be discharged. The weather clouding over, and not too hot. Directions to their house, how long the drive would take. Musings about what kids might be doing at camp today. Be sure to drink plenty of water, her grandmother reminded her.
Her father grew silent. Fuming, perhaps.
Then he slapped his hands on his knees and stood. “I need to talk to Celia for a bit. The two of you could get coffee in the cafeteria.”
Pop Pop nodded agreement. Her grandmother looked ready to say we’ve already had coffee this morning, but she stood at her own pace, then let her husband escort her from the room.
Her dad went and shut the door behind them. He stood with his back to her. It took him a long time to turn around.
This was going to be bad. He’d held back last night, and while her grandparents were here. Now he knew she was well. She could take it.
He walked to her, shoulders slumped, a disappointed expression on his face.
He put his arms around her, him standing and Celia seated on the bed, her cheek pressing against his shirt front.
When was he going to say it? Accuse her of betraying him. Lying. Manipulating him. He needed to speak first, and then Celia co
uld try to defend herself.
He hugged her tight, then raised one hand to pat the back of her neck. He let his arms drop and stepped away.
The silence was awful. She was ready to start crying, to confess to anything. He’d never behaved like this toward her before.
Her dad sat in the empty chair adjacent to the one where he’d placed her backpack last night. “I left it open on purpose. Put the stories out of order, so you’d figure it out.”
“You read them.”
“Skimmed. Your grandparents read them.”
Celia flushed. She hadn’t expected him to raise this issue first. Maybe it was because she’d worked on the stories for so long, never getting caught. Over time, this betrayal of her father’s trust had grown familiar, losing its seriousness.
“I always told you not to repeat those stories to anyone else. They wouldn’t understand. I waited until you were the right age—mature enough to hear them, but still young. Able to believe.” He sighed. “Your grandparents think I’m a terrible father. They think I’ve given you nightmares, caused your fainting spell.”
“You didn’t.” Celia couldn’t bear it. Her grandparents thought badly of Dad Shawn, and it was her fault. “I love those stories. That’s why I wrote them down.”
“They weren’t meant to be written.”
Tears started to well in her eyes. She tried to blink them away. “I was never going to show anybody. I always guarded those pages. When I was done, they’d be a gift for you. Just for you, Dad. Maybe later, with your permission, I’d share them with somebody special. But only if you approved.”
He’d been a stone judge, keeping his emotions in check. Now, something broke through. “That’s really sweet.” He reached for the tissue box on the nightstand, gave one to Celia and took one for himself. “I think Jack would be proud.”
“There are more stories I haven’t finished.” She dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. “The one at the carnival. That strange museum. The werewolf one—that might be my favorite.” She quickly added, “I won’t write them if you don’t want me to.”
“Oh, we’ll figure something out. Maybe change the names, omit a few incriminating details. God, I just wish Jack’s parents hadn’t read them.”
Odd Adventures with your Other Father Page 20