Along Came Jordan (16 page)

****

Sarah shook me awake at six. "Emili, where's Mom and Dad?"

I struggled out of the twisted afghan. "Hey, Sarah."

"Where are they?"

"Dad got worse in the night. Mom took him to the hospital so he could get better."

Her eyes grew huge. "The hospital?"

I nodded and took her hand, pulling her to the couch beside me. "Don't worry, Sarah. It's all under control. Mom said he'll be fine." The lie slipped easily off my tongue.

She slumped against me. "When's he coming home?"

"We don't know yet. Mom will tell us more when she gets back." I patted her shoulder. "In the meantime, let's get some breakfast, okay?"

"Not hungry," Sarah said. She got up and padded her way back down the hall.

I followed her, stopping at my bedroom to put on more clothes. The furnace kicked on. I stared down at my crumpled dress lying in a heap next to my closet. The dress was a perfect replica of my life — a big mess of wrinkles and stains. I bent and picked it up. It didn't hang straight anymore. The creases drew up the hem in a zigzag fashion.

I'd had such high hopes for the evening. My chest tightened with disappointment, and I laid the dress over my desk chair.

My phone buzzed — a text from Margo.
U ok?

 

 

I texted back,
Ok
. Dad in hosptl. Tell more ltr.

Ooo. Sorry. hope ok. Ltr.

Margo and Sally's niceness were my oasis. Changing schools hadn't been all bad. My thoughts went to Jordan. He'd probably spend the whole day with Pamela. I wondered where she was staying and if her whole family had come. If not, how had she gotten here?

Laine would know. Yeah, right, as if I'd ask her.

I'd left my bedroom door open, so I heard Mom the minute she came through the kitchen door. I flew out there. "Mom! How's Dad? What's going on? Why didn't you call?"

Mom held her hands up. "Give me a minute. I'm beyond exhausted." Her eyes were smudged black, and her hair hung limply, all curl gone. She looked ready to fall over.

I hurried to her, put my arm around her waist, and guided her to a chair. "Sorry, Mom. Sit down."

Sarah stood in the doorway, fear stamping wrinkles on her forehead. If ever there was a time for her to speak, it was then. But she didn't.

So I asked again, for both of us. "Is Dad okay?"

Mom nodded. "He will be. He's under an oxygen tent. It could be two weeks." Her face crumpled.

I rubbed her back. "But, Mom, he's going to be okay, right?"

She wiped at her face. "Two weeks. Our insurance won't begin to cover it."

I sank down into the chair next to hers and glanced over to make sure Sarah was all right, but she'd disappeared. Mom scooted back with a screech across the linoleum and stood. "I'm going to take a shower. You can see your father later this morning. I'll take both you and Sarah, but I need to rest first."

"I could ride my bike."

"It's sleeting outside. You wouldn't make it down the driveway." She stood, moved her shoulders in a low, stiff circle, and left the room. The image of my dead grandma swept over me. Right then, Mom looked freakishly like her right before she died — shoulders stooped, feet shuffling, all energy drained. I peered after her through the doorway, watching her drag herself toward the hallway. Not long ago, my heart would've been flooded with love and concern, but now, the main thing I felt was nothing. My heart was encased in stone, and the realization scared me to my bones.

I took a shower after Mom got out. Even though we have two bathrooms, we can't bathe at the same time, or one person will have freezing cold water. I dressed in a hurry and went to check on Sarah. She was sitting on her bed with a closed book on her lap.

"You okay, Sarah?"

I could see the naked fear in her eyes.

"Dad will be fine," I told her.

"I know." She clenched the book, and I could see how tightly she held on.

"Mom is going to take us to see him in a bit."

Sarah shrugged and traced the drawing on her book cover with the tips of her fingers.

I walked to her bed and sat close to her. "He
will
be fine. You don't have to worry. And it isn't anyone's fault he's sick." Her body tensed. "It happens."

She stared at me, her face pleading. "It's not because I won't talk to him?"

"Oh no, honey." I gathered her against my chest. "Don't even think that way for one minute. He got a virus or something. It has nothing to do with you not talking."

She went limp in my arms. I laid my cheek on her hair. Though she was still, I knew she cried, for silent tears dripped from her face onto my shirt.

After a few minutes, I pulled her from me and searched her face. "Better?"

She nodded.

"Want to go visit him?"

Again, she nodded.

"Good. Get some shoes on so you'll be ready. I have to go get some stuff. We can wait for Mom in the living room, okay?"

"Okay."

A plan was forming in my mind. I went back to my room and opened my top dresser drawer. Way in the back, tucked under my socks, was a business envelope. I took it out and looked inside — fourteen dollars. I opened it wider, hoping more money might be stuck in the corners.

Fourteen dollars.

Was it enough for a down payment on some counseling? If Sarah and I were going to be at the hospital anyway, I could take her to the mental health wing and set up an appointment. Even though it was Sunday, surely someone would be manning the desk. I dug in my purse, opened my wallet, and found three more dollars.

My first paycheck from Chi Chi was scheduled for the next Friday. I couldn't wait, but I could tell the mental health people I'd pay more soon.

Surely, they'd make an appointment for Sarah with my seventeen dollars and the promise of more. My stomach churned in anticipation. I was sorry Dad was sick, but I was relieved for Sarah. Now, she and Dad could both get better.

I looked down at my outfit. If I was going to talk to the professionals, I should look older, more mature. I pulled off my tee shirt and put on my black sweater. In the back of my closet, I found a pair of gray slacks that still fit pretty well. I shoved aside my tennis shoes for my low-heeled black boots. My thick hair was almost dry from the shower. I brushed it again, pulled it back in a low ponytail, and put on my wool coat.

I surveyed myself in the mirror. Not bad. They'd surely take me seriously in this outfit. I looked at the time. It was already ten o'clock. Mom should be rested some.

I left my room and stood outside her bedroom door and listened. I heard nothing. I rapped my knuckles against the wood. There was some shuffling, and then Mom pulled open the door. Her hair was damp, and the bags under her eyes hadn't improved.

"Are you ready?" I asked.

"I was hoping for a short nap first."

"Please, Mom, Sarah and I are ready to go. You know we wouldn't have this problem if I had my license."

She glowered at me, and I bit my tongue. What was I thinking — bringing that up now?

"Sorry, Mom." I backtracked. "Whenever you're ready is fine." I turned away.

"Wait," she said. I looked at her. "I know you're anxious. Sarah, too. Give me a minute, then we'll go."

"Thanks. We'll be waiting."

I decided not to tell Sarah about my plan to get her some help as I didn't trust how she might react. I guess I'd find out soon enough.

We arrived at the hospital within half an hour. We approached the front door, and Sarah grasped my arm. I gave her a reassuring smile, and we followed Mom through the double-glass doors and down the hallway. The smell of cleanser and floor wax were overpowering, making my eyes water. How was someone supposed to get well with such an odor?

I couldn't help but notice the different patients in each room we passed. I tried to keep my eyes straight forward, but I couldn't. Some of them looked scary bad. More than once I wondered if they had already died, but no one knew it yet.

Our pace slowed as we neared Intensive Care. Mom stopped and faced us. "All right, girls. Your dad's probably asleep, but at least you can see him. Sarah, since there aren't any isolation or limited contact provisions for your dad, you can go on in, too. But remember, you're only eleven years old, and this is a hospital."

Sarah nodded, her eyes huge.

Mom reached out and took her arm. "And if he's awake, this would be a good time to say something."

Sarah's face tensed. She took a step away from Mom and closer to me. Mom's gaze tightened, and I saw a surge of anger flicker in her eyes. Then it was gone, leaving only exhaustion and impatience.

"Fine," she said, her tone sharp. She dropped Sarah's arm and continued leading us down the hall.

Dad's room was right off the nurse's station. The front wall was large squares of glass. There were beeping machines everywhere. Dad lay still and pale under the plastic tent. Sarah refused to go in. She stood at the door and shook her head over and over. I tiptoed in, although I didn't wake him.

"He's sedated to stop the cough," Mom told me. She pulled a cushioned metal chair up to the side of his bed and sat down. "We can stay if you want."

"I want," I said. I needed time to take Sarah to the mental health wing. If we went back home right away, my plan was over. "I think I'll stay with Sarah for a while out in the hall, if you don't mind."

Mom glanced up at me. "I shouldn't have said anything about her talking. I feel bad."

"It's okay, Mom," I said, but it wasn't. It wasn't okay at all.

I touched Dad's shoulder through the plastic. "Be back, Dad. I love you," I murmured even though he was sleeping and couldn't hear me.

Sarah was sitting on a bench right outside Dad's door. I reached out my hand to her, and she jumped up and grabbed it. "Sarah, we're going to another part of the hospital. Come on."

She followed me. When we were out of hearing distance of Mom, she asked, "Where are we going?"

"I'm going to get you some help."

She yanked on my hand and stopped walking. "What do you mean?"

I stepped closer to her and leaned down. "Sarah, I know life has been horrid for you lately. I get it. I also know you miss Bates and your old friends. I can't help you with that, but there are some people here who can help with your talking."

Her expression locked up as tight as a slammed door.

"Don't be mad. It's going to be fine. I have it all planned out." I pulled on her arm, but her feet were planted into the floor. "Come on, Sarah, please."

"I'm talking to you right now, aren't I? I talk."

"I know you talk to me, but wouldn't you like to talk with other people, too?"

Her nostrils flared and tears sprang to her eyes. "No."

I put my face right up to hers. "Not true," I whispered. "Not true at all."

She blinked rapidly, and her lips quivered.

"Come on. It's going to be fine."

Getting there was like walking through a maze. We followed the signs to Aspirations Mental Health Wing. Sarah did me proud. Something must've clicked, because she stopped clutching on me. Instead, she walked gracefully, like the ballet dancer she wanted to be. I had to keep looking at her from the corner of my eye to believe it. My heart swelled — I was doing the right thing.

We entered the wing and before us stretched a curved desk behind a glass partition. The bottom third of the partition was cut open. I approached it, bending slightly to speak to the youngish man with black hair and square glasses.

"Excuse me, but I'd like to get some counseling for my sister." I tried to sound grown-up, official.

He glanced up and did a double take. "It's Sunday. There are no appointments today."

I squared my shoulders. "I know. I want to make an appointment for later in the week, the sooner the better."

"And you are…"

"I'm the sister, Emili Jones. I'm taking care of this appointment for my mother." My confidence was sagging, so I tried lying.

"Well, well." He motioned to some woman behind him to come.

I kept my face smooth and managed what I hoped was an authoritative smile.

A large toothy woman joined him at the counter. Her grin was so wide and so fake it fell off the sides of her face. "Hello, honey."

I stiffened. This couldn't be good.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"There's no problem. I'm trying to make an appointment for my younger sister. She needs counseling for selective mutism."

The lady flinched, her eyes widened, and her eyebrows raised to an upside down
V
. "I see. We'll need to have a parent."

"No, you don't understand." I leaned down and spoke under the glass partition, pronouncing every word as if she were deaf. "I have money. I can make a down payment right now."

I rummaged in my pocket and drew out my carefully folded dollar bills. "Here's seventeen dollars. I know it's not much, but I get paid next Friday and then I'll have more."

The man and woman looked at each other.

"Emili!" Mom's voice was sharp.

I froze and Sarah gasped. We both turned around to see Mom, and her expression was livid. I wadded up my money and shoved it back into my pocket.

"Mom," I said, grabbing Sarah's hand and walking toward her. I pasted an innocent look on my face. "How did you find us?"

Her eyes drilled into mine. "I followed you. I thought you were going to the restroom. When you passed it, I kept following. What are you doing?"

I glanced around. There was one woman standing against a wall, and her eyes were glued on our happy little scene.

"Getting Sarah some help." My voice was low.

Mom grabbed my arm. "You've no right…"

I threw her arm off. "I have every right. You've done nothing. Nothing! All you do is come home late and pretend everything is fine. Well, everything isn't fine."

Sarah had let go of my hand and was backing away from us. I glanced at her startled face then back at Mom. "She doesn't talk. Do you hear me? She doesn't talk!"

My voice was getting higher and louder. The guy behind the desk had stood up and was peering at us through the glass shield.

Mom pivoted on her heel and marched down the nearest hallway. I ran after her.

"It's true, Mom." Then to my horror, I heard the reception guy coming after us. I clamped my hand over my mouth and stopped moving.

Mom stopped, too, and turned on me with a look to kill. She was breathing rapidly, and her chest was heaving.

"We're fine," she called over my shoulder to the guy, putting on her calm voice. "A tiny misunderstanding is all."

I twisted to see him study us for a minute, shrug, and return to his post.

Mother focused back on me. "For your information, I come home late because I'm trying to get us more money. Every lousy day, I've been working with Tyler, trying to come up with new software for small businesses. Last week, we thought we had the bugs worked out. We stayed late every night testing it." She took a step closer. "And for what? Nothing. We were wrong — so wrong. We're nowhere close."

We locked eyes. I shook my head and stared at her, incredulous. "Software? You were working on software?" My voice climbed the scale again. "Then why didn't you say so? Why the big secret?"

My mother pursed her lips, and the tiny wrinkles around her mouth popped out like a relief map. "It's hard enough on your dad right now. If he knew what I was trying to do, he'd tell me to stop. He thinks he's going to get another job any day, which is delusional. I'm not sure the software will ever pay off. But if it does, I wanted it to be a surprise — a good surprise, for a change."