Lovely, Dark and Deep Page 24

  She rolls out of bed. Stretches.

  “How was work? Another crazy day at the library?”

  Exactly. Gosh, Meredith, work was great, except for the freaking out part, pacing the floor like a demented obsessive.

  I don’t say it. Make a face instead, like work is so dull.

  “You think you’re so funny.”

  “Yes. Well, I am,” she says. “And I’m finally ready for a shower.”

  She pulls a silky little robe from her bag and heads to my bathroom.

  “I have to head back tomorrow morning at the latest,” she calls out to me. “Okay with you if I stay another night?”

  “Of course.”

  “Let’s find something fun to do in this place—if there is such a thing?”

  “There isn’t.”

  I’m dying to ask about Nick, what they did, but I don’t. Better to pretend last night didn’t happen at all. I look around my room. She left her jelly jar with a sour-smelling inch of flat champagne in it on my shelf. I hold my breath and take it to the kitchen sink.

  “Hey, thanks for cleaning up, making the bed,” I yell in to her. “When you were so pressed for time, I mean. The place looks great.”

  Sarcasm. The language of friendship. I force a smile onto my face. Will myself to feel it.

  “Say what? Can’t hear you,” she singsongs back, laughing.

  I try Cal. Right to voice mail. His phone’s off. Must be. I text him again, even so.

  OVER IN A FEW. BRINGING SURPRISE.

  That feeling again.

  Rise and fall.

  I go back into my room. At least I’ll look good. Meredith’s in town.

  After about an hour of goofing around, trying stuff on—you let him see you in that?—rejecting it, trying something else, we’re out the door. I’m back in my own jeans, but she’s loaned me a supersoft, loose cashmere sweater-wrap thing she brought and, after feigning horror and tossing my ancient bra into the kitchen trash—must be love—gives me a dove-gray lacy one of hers. I let her straighten and pull my hair into a perfect tousled ponytail and put on a pair of her earrings. I look pretty, but I don’t feel exactly like myself. Of course, I didn’t before I got dressed, either. And Meredith’s happy.

  just

  say

  it

  I SHIFT INTO A LOW GEAR and we four-wheel it up the mud-rutted road to Cal’s. I feel like a hard-ass, driving his Jeep, and I’m proud of the woods—how beautiful they are.

  She likes the house.

  “Hey, it’s like your dad’s place woke up and took a shower . . .”

  I hit her.

  The garage is closed. I click it open. Cal’s car’s tucked neatly in its spot. A jolt of excitement or trepidation or something zips up through my stomach into my throat. Everything’s happened since I saw him last. Meredith hauled me out, dragged me back into my life, and I have this terrible feeling if I don’t see Cal soon he’s going to disappear, fade into memory like a fever dream.

  Deep breath at the door. Meredith’s with me. To meet him. It’s a big step. Too big. One I’m not ready for, but definitely something a normal person would do. Fake it till you make it.

  I punch in the code. Wait for the little green eye to blink awake. Open the door.

  We step inside. For a minute I’m flooded with relief. It’s no dream. His house feels like home. I’m exactly where I want to be.

  Meredith lets out a little whistle of appreciation.

  “This is more like it.” She eyes me with a new respect. “And you come here dressed like you do?” she teases.

  “Ha, ha.”

  I open my mouth to shout to Cal, let him know we’re here, when I notice him on the couch, on his back, asleep. Arm over his face. He looks like hell. Sleeping hard.

  All kinds of details rush at me at once. The house is too dark, thermostat low. Crutches on the floor next to him along with some dirty dishes and his phone. Pieces of a broken plate by the kitchen. He looks like he’s been there a day or more.

  “Cal?”

  Nothing.

  I drop my keys and coat and go over to him.

  Meredith’s frozen in place.

  “Cal?” I say again, quietly.

  He doesn’t answer.

  I kneel near the couch and touch his face. Not sure if I should wake him. But I have to see if he’s okay.

  “Cal.” I touch his cheek again. His shoulder.

  He shifts a little, opens his eyes, and it takes a second before he registers me. Looks like he’s swimming up from someplace really deep.

  He raises a hand to his face. Pushes his hair back. Tries to sit up a little.

  My heart sinks. I lean in close, put my lips near his ear, “How long have you been on this couch?”

  His phone’s right there on the floor next to him. He just looks at me, like he’s not sure how I got here.

  “Why didn’t you call me? I would have come over,” I say.

  Now he’s awake. Angry. Sits up a little more. I slip a pillow in behind him.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, cold.

  It takes me a second to understand the question. His tone.

  “What am I doing here?”

  “You just let yourself in?”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” I ask again, starting to feel completely disoriented.

  “Battery died.”

  Looks away from me.

  “Battery died . . . ?”

  It dawns on me slowly.

  “Oh my God, Cal.” I start to cry. “You couldn’t make it across the room to plug in your phone? Let me help you get to Dr. Williams.”

  He shakes his head. Annoyed.

  “He’ll come here, to the house. My dad set it up. He’ll come if you call.”

  He makes another face, like he can’t stand what he’s saying. Then looks at me, furious, like it’s my fault, like I’ve done something unforgivable.

  I’m stunned. Can’t move.

  Beyond us, out the window, the sky’s graying. The fading afternoon light dulling everything.

  “Fine,” he says, voice tight. “Give me a hand—getting to the bedroom?”

  He looks terrible—like he’s losing what little’s left of his color right before my eyes.

  “Oh my God,” I say it again. “Of course—why? Why didn’t you tell me last night? Why didn’t I just come over here yesterday? God, I had the feeling something wasn’t right all day.” I wipe tears off my cheek with my sleeve. My nose is running now too.

  “Shut up,” he says, sharp. “And stop crying. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. You’re making it worse. This has nothing to do with you. I blew it. I’m not supposed to let it come to this. Just help me up, will you?”

  He grabs the back of the couch and sits up. I hand him the crutches. But he just looks at me.

  It takes me a minute to get it.

  They’re not enough. He can’t do it on his own. For a second, I think I’m going to lose it.

  Deep breath.

  I wrap my arm around his waist instead. He puts an arm over my shoulders, leans on me, and we stand up, sit back down fast, try again. It takes a second for him to get his balance.

  Meredith clears her throat.

  Cal and I both look up in surprise.

  “Oh,” I say, “I forgot you were here.”

  “Is everything okay?” she asks in a shocked voice. “Should I call 911?” Her phone’s bright in her hand.

  I shake my head. Freeze a second. Cal’s heavy against me. Then I introduce them like everything’s normal.

  “Cal, this is Meredith. She came up to see me. I wanted you guys to meet.”

  “Good timing,” Cal says. “My finest hour.” He’s so pissed off.

  Meredith’s lips are thin with a forced smile.

  “Help me,” I hiss at her. He’s really leaning on me. I can’t do it without her.

  She drops her bag and comes over, face frozen in a polite horrified expression.

  I wrap her arm
around his waist.

  “We’ve got you,” I say.

  We flank him, help him to the bedroom. He smells sick.

  At the door, Cal says quietly, “I’ve got it from here. Call Dr. Williams.”

  “Okay. When was the last time you ate?”

  He shuts the door in my face.

  I can hardly work my phone, I’m so freaked out, I keep hitting the wrong contact. Maybe this is how it went down with his mom. Maybe Cal’s MS is like hers after all, maybe he’ll end up in a nursing home.

  Finally my fingers find Dr. Williams’ number, and I get through. They’re coming. Will be here in twenty minutes.

  Meredith’s speechless when I hang up.

  Then: “This”—she hustles me by the arm back toward the living room—“is your new boyfriend?”

  And: “Have you lost your mind?”

  I stare back at her. It’s hard to focus on what she’s saying. I just want Dr. Williams to get here. Check on Cal. Tell me everything’s going to be okay.

  “Mamie.” She’s loud. “What the hell are you thinking?”

  I wince. She sounds so bitchy.

  “Will you please keep your voice down?”

  “I thought you came up here to take care of yourself, to get your shit together,” she hisses, not much quieter.

  It’s fully dark now. I step away from her and start to walk around the room, turning on a few lights. It only helps a little. It’s like the cold evening outside the window is tarnishing everything, tugging our light out with it.

  She waves her hand toward Cal’s room. “This is how you’re taking care of yourself? This guy? What the hell is wrong with him?”

  She looks like an angry doll. There’s an obscene contrast between her beauty and the expression on her face.

  “It’s not usually like this, this bad. And will you please, please lower your voice?” I plead.

  She clatters one of the chairs away from the table and drops into it.

  “You’re really something, Wren,” she says. “Really. What was all that stuff you said about not being able to deal with the terrible things in the world? Because this looks like it’s about as bad as it gets.” Her face is wild with accusation.

  I’d like to tell her to get away from his table, get out of his house, but I have no fire in me. I really just want Dr. Williams to get here and check on Cal.

  “Seriously, Mamie, this is the last thing you need. I thought you came up here to feel better.”

  “I did. I am.”

  She shakes her head like I just don’t get it.

  “I’m worried about you.” But she doesn’t sound worried. She sounds mad.

  “Well don’t be.”

  I turn away. I can’t look at her anymore.

  “Does your mother know about this guy? Because I don’t think you can see too clearly right now.”

  “You have no idea—” I start, again. But it’s pointless.

  “About what? That you’re too afraid to come back to your real life?”

  She doesn’t understand. Won’t. How Cal makes it worth it for me to stick around and not just drift away quietly into nothing like I was trying to do.

  “You’d rather hide out up here with—” She waves her hand toward Cal’s room. “This guy? He looks like a real party.”

  “Shut up, Meredith,” I say in a low voice.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. You’re fragile. Am I saying things you don’t like? Things you want to cut up into fucking snowflakes?”

  Angry red circles burn on each of her cheeks.

  I open my mouth to defend myself, then close it. This is where I usually shut down. Tell myself it doesn’t matter. But it does. Then I open it again.

  “Making me read letters I’m not ready to read isn’t going to fix anything. You can’t just come up here, snap your fingers, and expect me to be the way you want me to be. I’m sorry my reaction to what happened—to Patrick dying in a car with me—doesn’t fit your expectations. I’m figuring it out. It’s not like they gave me a guidebook in the hospital. What else do you want me to say? I didn’t know I’d feel like this. I’m sorry I didn’t ask your permission before I freaked out.”

  She puts her face in her hands a minute. Then pulls them away. Looks at me, eyes wet and accusing. “You walked away from us. Not just me. Everyone. Emma. You didn’t die in that crash, you know. And you’re not the only one who got hurt last year.” Her voice breaks, “We all lost Patrick.”

  There’s no air. Darkness stole it with the light, extinguished everything. I’m trapped. Right back where I was when I got here. Caught in this terrible place where there’s nothing to say that will make anything different. Better.

  Something heavy shifts in me. I take a deep breath, hold it, let it slip out slowly. I can do this. Face these feelings, live through them, like Zara said, even the hard parts. I sink into a chair next to her.

  “I know; I know you did; I’m sorry,” I say, finally. “But I can’t go back to how I was before.”

  As I say it, I realize it’s true. I’m not waiting to return to my old self. It’s like the room just got brighter.

  Tears stream down her cheeks. She stares at me wide-eyed like she’s never seen me before. Finally she stands, pushes away from the table.

  “I don’t understand you,” she says, shaking her head.

  She walks to the door, slips into her enormous jacket, picks up her purse and my keys.

  “I need to go back.”

  She holds the keys out, waiting.

  I don’t move.

  She takes one more long look at me like she’s trying to figure me out.

  “Wren, don’t get caught up in someone else’s nightmare. You don’t need this.”

  Whatever.

  “We’re not the same anymore. I don’t know who you are.”

  She’s right. I say nothing.

  She turns and leaves.

  I sit quiet a minute at the table. Shake.

  When I’m sure I can stand again, I go back to Cal’s room. Knock lightly on the door.

  No answer. I knock again.

  “Cal? Can I come in?”

  Silence. I lean on the frame. Listen. Nothing.

  “Can I get you anything? Cal?”

  “Get out of here,” he says, his voice so close he must be just on the other side. “Your friend’s right. Get out of here, will you? Go home. Leave the house unlocked for Dr. Williams.”

  Fucking Meredith.

  where

  we

  live

  DR. WILLIAMS and a nurse I haven’t seen before are at the door less than ten minutes after Meredith leaves.

  I lead them back to Cal, then head out to the living room, try a quiet call to the studio. No one answers. So I wait. But I can’t sit still. I pull clean sheets out of the linen closet and leave them on the hall table by his bedroom door. Then I go out to the kitchen and wash all the dishes. Check the fridge. It’s pretty empty.

  After what seems like forever, I hear a shower start.

  Dr. Williams sets his bag on the dining room table and joins me in the kitchen.

  “We meet again,” he says, looking at me kindly. “How are you, Wren?”

  “How’s Cal?”

  “I’d like to admit him, but he wants to stay put,” he says. “It’s his call. I can arrange to have someone out here tomorrow, but somebody needs to stay with him tonight.” He stops a minute, assesses me. “He’s pretty adamant that it not be you.”

  “We didn’t fight, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I say. “I just came over and found him like this. And I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care what he says. I’m fine here. I’ll stay. Sleep on the floor outside his door if I have to.”

  Dr. Williams nods with a little smile like I’ve said exactly what he wanted me to.

  “I probably shouldn’t talk to you about this without his permission,” he says, raising a brow at me, “but I know you two are close.”

  My chest feels too tight
and my stomach drops. It’s bad news, I know it.

  Dr. Williams sees I’m freaking out, because he gives my hand a little squeeze.

  “It’s okay.”

  I’m not reassured. Swallow, hard.

  “I told Cal the MS is recurring too often. He’s going to get progressively worse.”

  I think I’m going to pass out.

  Dr. Williams notices.

  “Deep breath.” He takes me by the elbow and leads me to the couch.

  “Cal didn’t like the sound of that much either.” Sad smile. “I admit, I said it partly to get his attention. Because, the thing is, it doesn’t have to be like this for him.”

  He walks over to the table and opens his bag. Pulls out a chart. Cal’s chart. Flips a few pages.

  “There is a new treatment he’s been refusing. A few new ones, actually. Possible game-changers. He could research them for himself if it would make him feel better. They’re showing great results.”

  I nod and try to memorize what he’s saying. For when I calm down a little and can actually understand it. I think he’s telling me Cal’s not dying. Or something.

  “The new drugs could greatly decrease the number of relapses Cal has. For some people, they go away all together. He doesn’t realize it now, but he’s in a good position. We’re at the front edge of this thing. He’s young. Fit. We can do so much more than we could when his mother was ill.”

  He stops. Looks at me. I nod so he’ll go on. I’m more calm.

  “Unfortunately he has this idea that taking this step toward treatment somehow means he’s sicker than he wants to think he is. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  I nod.

  “But, the reality is, without it, he’ll get worse. We have a chance here, to modify the course of this thing.”

  I nod again. The room brightens a little more. Cal has a chance.

  “He let me start him on one. We’ll go once its done and we’re sure he’s okay. He’s not going to feel great tomorrow, but talk to him, if you can. Make sure he understands how important it is. It’s time for him to make a commitment to taking care of himself. My PA will talk to him more about it tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll convince him.”