Tight Knit (11 page)

“Sorry Nan. I was just lost.” I lift the half-done hat, trying to suggest that’s what I was lost in. Nan doesn’t fall for it. She purses her lips and I sigh. Busted.

“I can’t talk about it, Nan. It’s not mine to talk about.” 

“Is it about that boy?” 

She’s good.

“Yeah, I’m struggling with this planning thing. He’s making it worse. He’s supposed to help but he spends most of his time sneaking around and missing meetings and kidnapping me.” I intentionally leave out the part where I feel like I’ll disintegrate every time he’s close enough to touch.

Nan’s eyes widen. “What do you mean kidnapping you?” 

“Not literally. He just always wants to take me to these places that make me uncomfortable. I’m not his type. I don’t get what he wants with me.” 

Nan’s shock settles into a smile and she scoots to my end of the couch so our knees are touching. The movement seems like it hurts her and she coughs a dry painful sounding cough. I rub her back until she stops.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Nan? This has been getting worse for weeks. Shouldn’t you go to the doctor or something?” My voice is pleading and whiny but she pats my face lightly.

“I’m fine, darling.”

I roll my eyes.

“Maybe this boy likes you,” she continues, “but doesn’t know how to deal with it. From what I know of him, he’s had a very poor up bringing. He hasn’t had many positive experiences in his life.” 

“Well it doesn’t give him the right to be a jerk.”  I’m not really arguing. I know it must have been hard for him. 

“No, you’re right. It doesn’t. But you have to be understanding if you like him back. He deserves a certain amount of leeway. Unless he’s cruel, or violent to you then you stay away from him, okay?” 

My jaw hangs open while I try to think of what to say.

“I, uh, he’s not violent.” Which isn’t entirely true. I did watch him walk Violet out of the church so fast her feet barely touched the ground. But I also slapped him in the face while having a panic attack, so I’m not sure
I’m
not the violent one.  “And I don’t like him. Not like that. We’re... we’re just friends.” 

Which also isn’t entirely true. I remember what it feels like to run my hands along his bare skin, to have his cheek press against mine, and to hold him on his bike. Every time I touch him it feels like more than just friends. It shouldn’t.

Nan raises an eyebrow at me. I know I’m not fooling her but I refuse to say it out loud.

“Have you talked to him? Have you asked him what he wants with you?” 

My cheeks burn. “No way.” Again, not true. But I guess I didn’t ask, I just accused him of using me. 

“Well you can’t be angry at him for not telling you if you aren’t willing to ask.” 

Unable to think fast enough to form words, I just sigh and go back to my knitting. I’m not sure I really want to know. Everything with Deacon hasn’t helped my faith in starting a relationship. Not that Lachlan does relationships anyway. 

I feel Nan’s self-satisfied gaze on me as I continue to knit my next hat. The hat that is quickly making me one of the most noticed people at school, which is just one more thing that makes me uncomfortable. I pride myself on being invisible but it’s getting harder with the hats and Lachlan and I’ve even heard whispers about Janna and me. I've had nine panic attacks since the night Lachlan took me to his meeting, nine, and it’s only been a few days.

The door swings open and my mother comes in the back door. In her hands she holds a tray of coffees and a bag. My father isn’t with her. She’s dressed like she’s going to a cocktail party, in a short red dress, and her high heeled peep toes click on the hardwood floor as she makes her way to us. 

Doesn’t she know it’s cold outside? It’s almost October.

She bends quickly and kisses the side of my head before setting down her stuff on the coffee table. She’s pale, but her make up is perfect, as usual.

Nan holds out her arms and mom gives her a quick hug. Mom isn’t one for physical attention, one thing she didn’t get from Nan. Nan likes to hug for inappropriate amounts of time, not that I mind. But other people do.

“Hey, Mom. Sweetie.” My mom looks from Nan to me. I smile and go back to knitting. 

“So nice of you to visit, Mitts.” Nan says to my mom and she blushes. I still don’t know why Nan calls her Mitts, but Mom and I never talk and Nan says it’s Mom’s story to tell.

“How are you feeling? Are you ready? Are you comfortable? It’s so cold in here. I’m going to turn up the heat.” 

Nan takes hold of Mom’s wrist and pats her hand. 

“Ready for what?” I ask, watching them intently. They both look at me then back at each other. Exchanging a glance of secrecy.

“I’m fine, dear. Really. And I am ready.” 

“Ready for what?” I ask again. 

“You should really tell her,” Mom says with a sadness in her eyes I’ve  never seen before.  

Those words set off a massive string of worst case scenario visions in my head. I block out everything and the thoughts tumble so fast I don’t even realize I’ve stopped breathing. I feel warm hands on my face and Nan’s nose against mine. I find her eyes with mine and suck in a ragged gulp of air so fast I start to cough. 

Mom stands over Nan’s shoulder her face fixed in defiance.

“This is why I want her back on medication. This method of yours isn’t working,”she says. That has my attention. I’d rather die than take that stuff again. It makes me feel like I’m dead, a constant state of I-couldn’t-care-less. 

“No you’re not, she’s doing very well. Give it time, Mitts.”

Like a curtain slides open behind my eyes, I’m suddenly focused.

“Tell me what, Nan? What’s wrong?” I demand. 

Nan slides back down to the end of the couch and I see my mother roll her eyes behind her and she plops down on the armchair.

“You baby her. She needs to toughen up. Stop treating her like a child.” Mom hisses at her.

Nan frowns at mom. “She
is
a child.” 

I disagree with both of them, so I have no idea what to do with the attitude that’s boiling inside of me. I want to tell them both off. I’ve never wanted to tell off Nan before. 

Nan grips my hands and I focus on her, blocking out Mom. 

“I have Cancer, darling. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I wanted to be certain.”

She has concern in her eyes as she watches me, as if she’s preparing to have to pick me up off the floor. I’m confused. 

Cancer. No one I know has ever had cancer. 

“What kind of cancer?” 

“My lungs. I will be starting treatment next week.” She squeezes my hand harder.

My head is swimming. 

“But what if you–” I can’t say it. The treatment might not work. She’ll get sick. Really sick. 

Nan pulls me to her just as the first tears well in my eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you keep this from me? You could–What if you–” I sob into her chest. 

“Die?” she finishes for me and I cry harder.

How can she do this to me? Doesn’t she know how much I need her? 

“It’s not that definitive, darling. Yes, I might not be able to survive but the doctor thinks we caught it at a decent time. I’m healthy, and I’m old, but not that old. There’s also a chance I might live,” Nan coos, running her hand through my hair. She’s trying to make it sound better. I push back so I can see her through my tears. She is wearing a small smile but it’s pasted on. Mom has moved to sit beside me and rubs my back lightly. Mom never touches me like this. It has to be serious. 

I suddenly want the pills again. Then I wouldn’t feel this. My mind tumbles with thoughts and Nan dies in every one of my scenarios. My brain isn’t wired for happy. I can’t control it anymore.

“But,” is all I manage before the breakdown happens. The next sound that comes from my throat is a sound that would embarrass me on any other day. The tears flow freely and I cling to my grandmother as if she were already dead. I vaguely feel my mother pat my back one last time and mutter to Nan that it was probably a mistake to tell me. 

It takes me a long time to calm down. I don’t have a panic attack though, I’m too broken to panic. 

“Do you want to talk about it? Do you want to know about the treatments?” Nan asks after a long and painful silence where I just stare at my hands. My hat is soaked in tears. I’ll have to make another one. 

I shake my head. How is she so calm about this? How can she just sit there and talk about it like it’s no big deal?

I stand and shove my things into my bag a little more forcefully than necessary. Waves of emotion are overtaking my body. Drowning me in fear, sorrow, anger, fear, sorrow, anger. I can’t feel one long enough to grab hold of it. All I can do is try to stay above it, try to breathe. 

I throw the bag over my shoulder and leave the room. For the first time in my life I leave Nan without saying goodbye. For the first time in my life I’m angry with her. 

~

My body’s numb against the cold air as I pedal my bike. When I stop I’m not at my house. I can’t remember when I decided to change the route. I throw my bike down on the small front lawn and don’t even bother walking on the path. I don’t even bother walking at all. I run, sliding to a stop just in front of the door. 

Why am I here?

My finger presses the door bell.

Because I have no where else to go.

I stand cold and shaking on the front step. 

He opens the door. As soon as I see him a fresh river of tears bubbles up behind my eyelids and spills down my cheeks. 

“I didn’t know where else to go,” I sob as Lachlan stares wide-eyed. “I have no one.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Lachlan

I stumble backwards as Talia’s body crashes into mine. I have to support her weight as well as my own. My arms instinctively wrap around her but my brain has stalled. Ten seconds ago I was watching TV, and now I’m holding a sobbing girl. A girl I’ve been avoiding for her own protection. A girl who’s better off without me, but seems to always end up in my arms anyway.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” I reach up and entwine my fingers in her hair. This is not a natural movement for me, but with Talia it feels right, safe. She pulls back.

Her eyes are huge, red, and puffy. She can’t talk between the hiccups, or if she is talking I don’t pick up a single word.

I pull her close and step back into the house so I can shut the door. She lets me guide her to the living room and lower her onto the couch. She practically sits on top of me, her arms still like a vice around my neck. 

I’m trying to piece things together but I’ve never understood crying girls. She could have bumped her elbow or someone could have died. They react the same way to everything. 

I feel her tears soak through my T-shirt and I’m momentarily grossed out that she’s probably snotted all over me. I sit still for what seems like hours, stealing glances over my shoulder at the TV. I can’t do anything until she tells me what’s wrong. Finally her breathing slows and I risk asking her again.

“Talia,” I start cautiously. “What happened?”

She pulls back sharply and the tears fill her eyes again. Her skin is soaking wet and she wipes her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. 

“She has cancer. She has–” The words get stuck in her throat and come out as a gurgle. “How could she not tell me? She’s, she’s gunna die, Lachlan.”

My chest constricts painfully. I can’t imagine. I thought back to when Gram fell in the shower and how scared I was. I reach for her and she sobs again.

“She’s gunna die, and then I really will have no one.” 

She flings her arms around me again and this time I scoop her up onto my lap and press her as tight as I can into me. I burrow my face into her hair and rub her back. 

I can’t fix this, I can’t help her and I ache for her. I understand her, but people hate being told that. People survive Cancer all the time, too. I already know not to say that either. I wish I had
something
to say as she nuzzles closer in my neck, her tears soaking my collar. But words aren’t really my thing.

All I can think of is to hold on tighter, to try and absorb her pain. I know it’s impossible, but I want to try. 

I start to hum Gram’s song. It worked before. Maybe it’ll work now.

~

I gently shake Talia’s shoulder. She cried herself to sleep on my lap. Now she’s snoring on the couch, completely plugged up from leaking every ounce of moisture from her body. She stirs lightly and turns her head to look at me. A smile plays on her lips, but there’s sadness in her eyes. 

“I’m so sorry, Lachlan. I shouldn’t have come. I’m so sorry.” 

She tries to sit up but I press my hand against her shoulder and shush her.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hat Girl. I love crying girls showing up on my doorstep. It’s super sexy.” I try to lighten the mood by pulling half my mouth up into the arrogant smile I know she hates. 

“Oh, God.” She covers her face with her hands and groans. “I bet I look hideous.”

I grab her wrists and pull them from her face.

“I’m not going to respond to that. I feel like I’ll get in trouble no matter what I say.” 

She smiles wider and turns her head, hiding it in the pillow. 

I let her go and stand. 

“I have to go get Gram from her card game.” 

Talia sits up quickly and then clutches her head and lays back down. 

“You’re welcome to stay here. Rest. I put some headache pills and water on the coffee table.” 

“I should go.” She tries to get up again.

“Really, Talia. Stay, please. I want you to.” 

Her mouth pulls up at the corners again. I’m beginning to look forward to that smile. Waiting for it to appear.

~

I don’t tell Gram Talia’s at the house. When we get home and there’s a sleeping girl on the couch, her eyebrows rise but she doesn’t say anything. Gram’s outspoken but she’s also a behind the scenes gal. She doesn’t like public disturbances.

“It’s Talia, Gram. She got some bad news about her grandmother. She came to see you.” I add the last part in because I don’t want Gram to know she had straddled me on the couch and soaked me with tears because she had no one else. Gram’s understanding but I’m ‘still in high school’ and she doesn’t like boy-girl-funny-business, as she calls it, in her house. A rule I’ve always respected, mostly because Violet preferred gas station bathrooms, park benches, back alleys and anywhere else we could have been caught by actual authorities.