Devoured (5 page)

I shrug. “No problem.”
Given the fact you were already in the car when Ryan picked me up, what choice did I have?

With great effort I maintain my smile to mask the bitterness eating at my gut. I know
part
of this is my fault. I should’ve let Ryan know I don’t bring just anyone to see Dad, but still.

At least Ryan seemed genuinely psyched to hear about my new Land of Enchantment gig. And getting to see Samantha’s jaw drop when I shared the news almost made it worth having her here.

Almost.

Ryan squeezes my hand and I look up at him. He gives me the same soulful “I’m sorry” look he had on his face when I saw Samantha waving from the front seat of his car.

“She really wanted to come when I told her about this,” he said in a hushed voice on the front steps of my house. “I felt bad saying no because she’s been all freaked out about getting her hours done for graduation.”

“She still has all of senior year,” I said.

Ryan’s shoulders slumped and he squeezed his green eyes shut for a second. “I know. And I know I need to talk to her about giving us some more space, and I will. She just doesn’t have a lot of other friends, and she’s used to doing everything with me. But I’ll talk to her. I promise.”

“Whatever.”

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. “You’re the best,” he whispered. “And I’ll make it up to you; dinner and a movie tonight—just us—and we can make plans for our next hike.”

A real smile comes to my lips at the thought. And at least he made her get in the backseat with Fergus, who never fails to drool copiously during car rides.

We get to the entrance and Fergus sits as the doors slide open. “He’s waiting for the okay to go in,” I explain as the overly warm nursing-home air—smelling of a mix of disinfectant and urine—rushes out and hits me in the face.

Samantha elbows Ryan. “Awww, isn’t that cute? I should’ve brought Muffin.”

“Oh, please. There is absolutely nothing therapeutic about Muffin,” I snap. “And you can’t bring just any dog into a nursing home. You’d have to have him certified as a therapy dog, which involves a test of basic manners and commands, which, I might add, Muffin is sorely lacking!”

I shake my head. The thought of that fifteen-pound nightmare cutting it as a therapy dog is laughable.

Of course, my plan to get Fergus certified so I could try to reconnect with Mom is laughable too. I’d hoped if I was involved with the only thing she showed any real interest in—Fergus—she might remember there was someone who survived the accident intact. Instead of suggesting we work on it together, she worried that new training might affect their freestyle routines. God forbid!

I realize no one is talking and turn to see Ryan and a wounded-looking Samantha staring at me. “I have read that Jack Russell terriers are one of
the
toughest breeds to train, though,” I say, trying to do some damage control.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I’ve read that too.”

Ryan puts an arm around my shoulders and I relax. “And, Sammy,” he says, “Muffin barks at anything that moves. He’d set off a string of cardiac arrests if you brought him in.”

She pouts at Ryan. “Muffin’s not
that
bad.”

I’m tempted to say,
She sure as hell is that bad,
but I think I’ve played the shrew card enough for one day.

“Okay, Fergus,” I say, and we step onto the welcome mat. The receptionist, Mary, looks up from her laptop and waves.

“Here’s my two favorite visitors,” she says. “With reinforcements!”

“Hi, Mary,” I say as I sign in. “This is my boyfriend, Ryan, and his neighbor Samantha. They’re going to work on some of their service hours.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mary says. “We always love visitors.”

Ryan signs in and then reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. “And I finally get to meet Mr. Sones!”

“Oh yeah, Ryan told me your dad works here,” Samantha says, looking around like my dad might be wandering around in a white coat, waving at us.

Mary quickly turns away to get our visitor tags, and I shake my head. “My dad’s a
resident
here. He has been for the last ten years. He never woke up after a car accident.”

Samantha’s jaw drops for the second time today as she glares at Ryan. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Ryan looks at me with panic in his eyes. “I didn’t say he worked here, I said he
was
here.” He turns to Samantha. “I thought you knew about Megan’s dad.”

“How would I know about her dad?”

“Ryan,” I say, “Samantha didn’t move here until
after
the accident.”

“Oh, shit,” he says, and then his eyes flash to Mary. “Sorry, Miss—uh, Mary!” He rubs his hand nervously across his jaw. “I’m such an idiot.”

Samantha starts to back away. “I am
so
sorry, Megan, I thought this was just about getting hours! I never would have come along if I knew you were bringing him here to meet your father. Why don’t I go and wait in the car.”

I reach out and touch her hand. “Don’t go. A lot of the people here never get any visitors; they’d be really disappointed if you left. And Mr. Archulata on the second floor keeps asking me when I’m gonna leave Fergus home and bring him some hot chicks.”

She gives me a half smile. “Okay, but I wish Ryan had told me,” she says as she swats him on the arm.

I smile back at her, thinking that even though it’s hard to hate her sometimes, I’m not going to warn her about Mr. Archulata and his wandering hands.

“Megan,” Mary says as she hands us our tags. “Mr. Peck passed away on Tuesday.”

I sigh. I’ve lost track of how many roommates Dad’s had. They keep dying while he lingers on and on, thanks to a feeding tube.

I push away the thought that they’re the lucky ones.

“He was my dad’s latest roommate,” I say finally.

Mr. Peck loved having Fergus jump up into bed with him. He’d stroke his fur and tell me about all the dogs he’d had. I heard the same stories so many times, I’m sure I could repeat them verbatim. “Thanks for the heads-up, Mary.”

I straighten Fergus’s therapy-dog bandanna and tilt my head toward the meeting room. “We’ll start down here—there’ll be a bunch of people who always like to get out of their rooms to see Fergus do his tricks, and then we can split up or you can come with me while we visit some of the people who aren’t mobile.”

Ryan and Samantha nod, but from their pale faces, I’m guessing neither of them is ready to strike out on their own. I don’t blame them—being surrounded by people on the verge of dying is a scary thing.

Ryan and I leave Samantha in the hall with Mr. Archulata and head to Dad’s room. I open the door and take in Mr. Peck’s stripped-down bed. Fergus sniffs it on his way over to Dad and then he sits while I pull a chair up next to his bed. Fergus jumps up, puts his paws on the side rail. He drops his head gently across Dad’s chest, which is moving up and down slowly—his exhalations sounding wheezy and labored. I make a note to tell the nurse so they can keep an eye on him in case he might be developing pneumonia. I pick up Dad’s left arm and drape it gently over Fergus.

Suddenly, Remy appears, wispy and unfocused on the other side of the bed. She flickers in and out view, twisting and wringing her braids.

What is going on?
Besides the fact that she’s never shown up at the nursing home before, I can’t remember a time when she’s shown up twice in one day! I’ve always counted on getting at least a month or so reprieve between visits, which keeps me from going crazy.

Remy walks toward the window and disappears.
“Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight.”
Her voice echoes around the room.

I purse my lips. Remy and I used to sit on the back deck and scan the sky at dusk for the first evening star; as soon as one of us spotted it, we’d race through that poem—each of us hoping to finish first and claim the wish.

Ryan shuffles his feet next to me and I know I should say something, but I’m frozen in place as I listen to Remy’s singsong words.

“I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.”

She appears again by my side and I catch my breath as her icy ghost hand reaches out for mine.

I need to block her out. I can’t let on that anything is wrong.

She starts the rhyme again and I study Dad’s sunken face and the dark stubble on his cheeks and chin. The nurses usually give him a shave when they know I’m coming in, but maybe there were more pressing things to take care of today. Tears well up in my eyes as I visually trace the length of his arm—atrophied from lack of use—as it hangs limply on Fergus.

Persistent vegetative state.

“I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.”

My heart sinks as Remy’s words drive home what I’ve avoided thinking about all these years—that deep down I’ve always known that what the doctors have been telling us was true, and the miraculous recovery we’ve been wishing for is never going to happen. This shell of a person lying in the bed is not my father, and no matter how many times we come here and try to bring him back with our touch, our voices, or even Fergus, no matter how many times we’ve wished for it, he’s never waking up.

“Meg?” Ryan whispers.

He threads an arm around my waist, and Remy vanishes again. He draws me close to him. His touch warms me and I realize I’m shivering.

I try to remember how it felt to be in Dad’s arms.

I can’t.

“Meg? Are you going to introduce me?”

“No.” Tears finally overflow and stream down my cheeks. “No, there’s no point.”

Remy solidifies in front of me, her panicked eyes locked onto mine. She’s so clear I can see each and every freckle on her nose. “Meggy, where’s Daddy?” she says, her voice quavering.

I shudder as my body grows colder. “He’s right here,” I whisper.

“What?” Ryan asks.

Remy balls her hands into fists, and water sprays out as they shake at her side. “Where is he, Meggy? I’m so scared and I don’t know how to help you.”

The lightbulbs on the bedside tables pop, sending a shower of glass and sparks cascading down. Dad’s monitor sputters and smokes, and an alarm sounds.

“Where’s Daddy?”
she screams.

“Oh my God. We have to get out of here. Fergus! Come!” I pull on Ryan’s arm and drag him out of the room.

“Where do we get help?” he asks, looking wildly around the hall.

“They’ll hear the alarm,” I say, gasping for breath. Remy’s shrieks echo in the hallway.
“Daddy! Help me! Daddy!”

Nurses run toward us as I fumble in my purse for my inhaler.

“Meg, it’s going to be okay,” he says, reaching out for me.

“No, it’s not—Remy’s getting worse.”

FOUR

I lie on the couch with a blanket drawn up to my chin to ward off the cold Remy brought with her. Fergus is curled up at my feet, his eyes tracking Remy as she paces back and forth in front of the TV. At least she’s transparent right now, so she’s not blocking my view. Not that I can really pay attention when she’s muttering to herself like this.

Fergus lets out a series of whimpers, hops down to the floor, and trots off to the kitchen.

“Are you happy? You scared the dog!” I yell at her.

I throw a pillow at her, but she doesn’t miss a stride and continues looking aimlessly around the room. “Bad. Bad. Gotta find Daddy. Daddy will know what to do. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Dad’s in the nursing home. Don’t you remember, you destroyed some very expensive monitors in his room today?”

Remy keeps pacing and I shake my head, wondering when Mom will get back from the nursing home. No doubt she’s ripped the director a new one for not being able to explain Remy’s pyrotechnic display this afternoon. I feel bad for the guy—it’s not his fault Remy went bonkers. And from past experience I know no electrician in the world would be able to explain the spontaneous blowup.

Of course, also based on past experience, Mom should put two and two together and recall that exploding light-bulbs and faulty electronics have been a fairly normal occurrence at our house since the accident. Maybe she’ll even remember I told her years ago it was Remy who was causing all the trouble—before I adopted her “sane” explanation about the lighting industry bilking consumers by making shoddy products. Of course, I would’ve agreed to just about anything to avoid extra sessions with Dr. Macardo.

I shake my head. It was bloody brilliant of me to mention Remy’s name at the nursing home. Ryan probably thinks I’m some sort of freak now. “If he breaks up with me, it’s all your fault!”

“Bad. Bad. I don’t know. Star light, star bright—”

“Shut up!” I scream.

Remy stops suddenly and jerks her head toward me. She solidifies and the temperature in the room dips even more. “Meggy!”

I roll my eyes. Nice going. I
had
to get her attention.

Remy walks toward me and gives me a crooked smile. I watch a drip roll down her forehead and hang for a second at the end of her nose. I listen to the sound of the river pounding against the car so many years ago. “That boy can help.”

“Luke?”

The doorbell rings and Remy laughs. “I wish I may, I wish I might,” she says as she turns and skips away, fading as she goes.

I shudder uncontrollably as I pull the blanket off. “Uh, I’m coming.”

I look out the window and see Ryan’s car parked at the curb. Did Remy know Ryan was there? Is that who she meant? I open the door and he’s holding a large brown bag with a Chinese menu stapled to the top and several DVDs.

“Since you said you weren’t up for going out tonight, I thought I’d bring the food and entertainment to you.”

He gives me a wide-eyed, hopeful look, and just seeing his green eyes chases the cold from me. I lean in and kiss him. “You’re the best.”

He smiles. “I’m trying, and I hope this helps make up for that boneheaded move I pulled earlier with Sammy.”

I nod as I lead him in. “This definitely helps.”

I take the food and put it on the coffee table.

“Wow, it’s cold in here,” he says as he sits on the couch.

“Uh, my mom had the AC cranked up. I just lowered it, though.” I do a quick scan of the room and see Remy standing at the window, her back to us. I wonder if Ryan will mention how cold Dad’s room got before the fireworks started, but if he’s anything like Mom, he won’t. No one seems capable of connecting the dots.

I sit next to Ryan and he wraps an arm around me. “I’ll keep you warm.”

I lean into him and breathe in his freshly showered, soapy smell. He kisses my cheek and then traces his lips down my jaw to my neck. My stomach flutters and I hug him tighter.

“Are you doing okay?” he asks.

I sigh as reality crashes back in. Do I tell him I’m utterly exhausted from pretending everything is A-OK, despite the fact that Remy’s revved up the ghost stuff a thousand notches? That she scared the crap out of me at Land of Enchantment, before she trashed Dad’s room, and yet I’m still compelled to smile like nothing’s wrong?

I snuggle in tighter. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

I hate that I can lie so easily to everyone, but I guess I’ve had a lot of practice over the years. I want to ask Ryan if he thinks it’s easy to carry on a conversation while ignoring Remy babbling like a crazy person in the background, or how I’m supposed to keep from going insane living with this secret day after day.

I tilt my chin up and he kisses me hard. I want to lose myself in the moment, but I can’t. I pull away and take a deep breath. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

My heart pounds as his smile falters.

“Um, I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I guess I don’t
not
believe in them. Why?”

I turn my gaze to the window and see Remy rocking back and forth on her heels. “Sometimes … sometimes if feels like Remy is here.” I hold my breath, waiting for his response.

He reaches out and takes my hand. “That’s natural. I mean, she was your twin—of course you’d wish she were here, especially with what happened today.”

“Yeah, but …”
Do it, Megan. Do it.
“Sometimes I see her. Like today in my Dad’s room—she was there.”

Ryan kisses my hand but doesn’t say anything.

I pull my hand away and look into his eyes. “You think I’m nuts, right?”

Ryan shakes his head and reaches for my hand again. “No, of course not. I mean, I can’t imagine what it was like for you; I’ve never lost anyone really close. But as long as you’re not hearing voices, I think you’re fine.”

I force a smile on my face and sit up to open the bag of Chinese.

“You’re
not
hearing voices, are you?”

I roll my eyes as I hand him an egg roll. “Ha! No! That
would
be nuts!”

He laughs and stuffs the egg roll in his mouth, biting it in half. “Okay,” he says with his mouth full. “For movies I brought a little of everything. You pick.” He spreads the DVD boxes across the table. “We have eighties:
Pretty in Pink
; romantic comedy:
Made of Honor
…”

I give him an incredulous look. “You asked Samantha to help pick out movies, didn’t you?”

He swallows hard. “Uh. Sort of.” He looks down at the DVDs, avoiding my eyes. “I thought she might know some good chick flicks.”

“You do know the theme of these movies is unrequited love, don’t you?”

“Oh, God.” He picks up
Pretty in Pink
and looks at the back. “Oh, God.” He gives me that hangdog/I’m-sorry look I see so often. “We talked after I dropped you off. Seriously, she said everything was cool. She was gonna give us some space.”

I sink my face into my hands. Could this day get any worse? “Ryan, you know the girl is
head over heels
in love with you, and even if she tells you everything is cool, it’s not! And what kind of a person has a ‘remember we’re just friends’ talk and then immediately asks for help picking out movies for his girlfriend?”

His cheeks flush and he starts to stammer. “I don’t, uh, know—”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘insensitive.’”

“Uh—”

“Look, Ryan, you’ve got to be honest, because I have enough crap going on in my life without worrying about Samantha twenty-four/seven. Do you have feelings for her?”

Ryan’s mouth drops open like this is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “No! She’s never been anything more than a friend to me. Really!”

“Fine. Next question—and you need to be totally honest.”

He furrows his brow. “Okay.”

“Does a part of you get off knowing that Samantha is always waiting in the wings?”

He laces his fingers together, hangs his head, and looks sideways at me. “No!”

“It’s not like it’d make you an evil person—being flattered is part of human nature. As is being jealous.” I shrug. “I guess it just bugs me that you two keep having these talks about needing space, and yet this romantic evening you planned has her fingerprints on it.”

“It’s hard because she’s right next door—it’s not like I can avoid her, and she has been my friend for a long time.”

“I know.” I pick up
Pretty in Pink
. “And maybe I over-reacted. Molly Ringwald does end up with the hottie at the end of movie and
not
the best friend.”

Ryan gives me a smoldering look. “Just like me!”

“You get brownie points for that,” I say. I toss the case on the table and give him a quick kiss. “What else did you bring? And if you say season one of
Dawson’s Creek
, I’m gonna punch you.”

“
Dawson’s Creek
?”

“It’s an old TV series Nicki made me watch a gazillion times freshman year. Six seasons of unrequited love revolving around a guy in desperate need of hair intervention.”

Ryan shakes his head. “No
Dawson’s Creek
, but
I
picked these out:
Shaun of the Dead
and
Stardust
. I remember you said you like reading Neil Gaiman’s stuff, but given my talent for screwing up …” He holds out
Shaun of the Dead
. “Maybe watching guys getting their brains eaten out would be more therapeutic right now.”

I look around and see that Remy’s nowhere in sight. “While that sounds appealing, I have a better idea.” I kiss him lightly on the lips. “I don’t know how long my mom will be out, but she always parks the car in the garage at night, so we’ll hear her when she gets home.”

I kick off my sandals, lean back on the couch, and pull Ryan down on top of me.

“Yeah, this is better than zombies,” he whispers into my neck.

He kisses me and I slide my hands under his shirt. I run my fingers across his back, and I know I’ll be able to shut out the madness for a while—at least until Mom comes home.

The garage door rattles up, and Ryan jumps off the couch. I pull my shirt back over my head and straighten the couch cushions. “Put a movie on. I’ll get the rest of the Chinese out!”

Ryan fumbles with a DVD case, and I giggle as I take containers out of the bag and open them. “Hurry!” I say as I unwrap the chopsticks. I run into the kitchen and grab a couple of plates and then rush back into the living room.

Ryan sits back on the couch and I hand him the fried rice. He turns to me as he dumps the rice out onto our plates, and his eyes pop. “Your hair!”

I get up and look in the mirror. Total bed head, or couch head—either way, my hair screams make-out session. “I’ll be right back.” I go into the bathroom and pull a brush through my hair. My cheeks are flushed, but hopefully Mom will think it’s from the chilies in the General Tso’s chicken and not from fooling around with Ryan.

I go back into the living room and cringe. Mom is standing next to the couch with her arms folded against her chest, staring at Ryan.

“My lawyer may want to talk with you, is that okay?”

“Mom!”

Mom turns to me, her face pinched with anger. “Well, no one at the home could give me a satisfactory answer about what happened and how they can keep it from happening again, so I think I am perfectly justified getting our lawyer involved to make sure your father is getting adequate care.”

I roll my eyes. “I think contacting a psychic would be more appropriate.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” she says, giving me a look that tells me a good head-shrinking with my therapist is just a speed dial away.

Before I can answer her, Ryan stands up. “I really didn’t see anything, Mrs. Sones; it seemed to happen all at once.” He looks at me. “And actually, I should probably head home. We’re going to a christening in Portland tomorrow, so we have to get an early start. I’ll text you from the car and we can plan that hike.”

“Great. I’ll walk you out,” I say.

Mom stares daggers at me, and Ryan shifts uncomfortably. “That’s okay, Meg. I’ll, uh, give you a call tomorrow.” He reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Bye, Mrs. Sones.”

He shuts the door and I brace myself before turning to face Mom.

“Do you want to explain yourself, young lady?”