Every Time I Think of You (17 page)

After a short awkward phone conversation telling him I would be in town for only that afternoon, Mr. Forrester agreed to meet with me and gave me his home address.

Inviting me in, he gave me a soda and himself a beer, which I declined, then sat near me in a chair as I set myself on a long black leather couch. The floor-length windows displayed an expansive view of the city.

On one nearly bare shelf I noticed a few framed photos of a smiling Mr. Forrester with younger versions of Everett and Holly, and another few of him with a different woman; younger, blond and definitely not his ex-wife.

There being so little to look at, I faced him when he said, “So, you’re Everett’s … boyfriend.”

He didn’t seem to have a problem with that prospect, and already knew, but was learning a new term, at least with respect to his son.

His perplexed demeanor matched my own. I hadn’t really got a close look at Everett’s father at the Spring Fling, at least in daylight. Before me sat a taller, older nearly identical version of Everett. I would have thought that this would be how Everett would look in a few decades, were he able-bodied. And yet, there was something missing. That spark, the mirthful light I’d seen in Everett’s eyes, was absent.

Boyfriend? I raced through my few months since meeting Everett. We’d never actually had what could be called a normal date. But there I was, hoping to save his life. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“You know, you don’t have to apologize for the, uh, incident at the club,” he smirked. “Matter of fact, I thought it was kinda funny.”

“That was just one of so many reasons we divorced. I … I was upset and sad about Everett, and the way she treated Holly, and lots of other things you don’t need to know about. But then, I just let it go. It took her a long time to get over it. Maybe she never did. No, I don’t think she ever will.”

I explained our visit, my subsequent stays at her apartment, omitting the drug deal, museum sex, and my night spent in the arms of his son, realizing he’d probably figured out the last part on his own.

“Okay.” I extracted a large envelope from my backpack. “I didn’t see any way to bring this up with her, because of all that. Mr. Forrester–”

I gripped the envelope in my hands. “Everett told me about how you, I guess, provided for the conversion of a downstairs room for him.”

“She put the den furniture in storage, which I’m paying for. Guess I ought to ship it here, but–” He glanced around his home, as if considering that thought.

“Calm down. Look, we’ve been getting a vague prognosis from his doctors for two months. He might heal, he might not. It’s exhausting, and we’re not deluded. We’re being realistic, but we’re not giving up hope.”

“Sorry. Yes. Here. I think this will help.”

He took it, extracted a cluster of brochures. A few fell to the floor, which he retrieved, then splayed across the glass coffee table before us.

“As much as your ex-wife feels she can care for Everett, and as much as I want to see him, to be with him, I did some research and I found several facilities that, um, I think, could really help him.”

“Diana said the nurse and Helen were doing that for now. We were planning on a rehabilitation regimen–”

“Yes, but them doing it with him alone; it’s just… These places, there’s one that’s nearby, but the one, unfortunately, that’s best isn’t, but it has the most going for it. They have dorms or rooms made for– to help people get used to being independent and activities and the best–”

“Well, my mom does let me use her car every now and then, and she and my dad are pretty cool about, well, a lot more cool than your–”

Mr. Forrester, Carl, took a few long sips of his beer, set the glass down, and pored over the brochures. “I think we’ll pass on Wilkes-Barre… Let’s see… Altoona? These are not cheap.”

“If we chose the University of Pittsburgh facility, he’d be right near downtown. He could really use that, doncha think? Us all being close by.”

Actually, by September, I would be hundreds of miles away at college. “He …” and then I choked up, exactly what I’d told myself not to do. “He can’t … you can’t, she can’t just drug him up and pretend he’s never gonna get better.”

“I used to,” he sighed, looking away, as if trying to remember something. “You wanna hear a funny story? Actually, it’s not very funny. Matter of fact, it’s downright corny. His mother? Well, her mother warned her about me, still says it, like some kind of ‘I told you so.’ She thought Diana was fooled by me, that I was nothing but trouble, that she ‘couldn’t see the Forrester for the trees.’”

“That is corny.”

“Yeah, well, it’s better than the usual apple-falling bullshit I got as a kid.”

He paused, and I guessed that this was what older men did, commiserate. I realized that I was giving him the advantage over his ex-wife, geographically and financially.

“You love him, right?”

“He … sir, Carl. My life completely changed since I met him. I have a job this summer. I’m not even going to be able to see him, probably, but I’d quit it if I knew I could see him really recover, no matter what that means. I’m not giving up on him. And I hope you won’t either.”

“Good. Both.” He rose swiftly, rooted around in a drawer in his kitchen, extracted a cluster of take-out menus, made two phone calls, and as we awaited the pair of deliveries, he almost demanded I have a beer with his second, so I relented.

Over our shrimp fried rice, pot stickers and tacos, I listened as Carl told me one funny story after another about the boy we both loved for completely different reasons.

Hours later, slightly buzzed and full of deliciously greasy food, I shook Carl’s hand, then drove out to a sporting goods store and bought myself a few hundred dollars worth of camping supplies.

Chapter 28

Dressed in a black windbreaker and ski cap while carrying a footstool, it would have been rather difficult to explain myself to anyone who discovered me skulking through the woods to the back of Everett’s house. Fortunately, no one did.

Knowing a tossed pebble wouldn’t do any good, since he couldn’t come to the window, and the possibility of getting caught might even lead to my arrest for trespassing, I stood at the edge of the Forrester’s back yard among a grove of trees for nearly an hour. I only had three days before leaving for the summer, so it was worth the wait.

Lights in each room, even after ten o’clock, remained on in the kitchen and den. When I saw windows brighten upstairs from what I figured was his mother’s bedroom, I approached cautiously, set the footstool beneath the den window, and hoisted myself up.

My calculations proved a bit off. Even while arching up, my nose barely cleared the ledge. I looked around behind me, desperate for a log or piece of lawn furniture; nothing.

I lightly tapped a pane. I heard a chuckle, no doubt Everett’s bemused surprise at seeing the ski-capped top of my head. I couldn’t see in.

A crumpled piece of paper hit the window. I heard him mutter, “Damn.” On his third attempt, a crudely folded paper plane sailed through the open slit of the window and past me, falling to the ground.

“I leave on Sunday,” I whispered. “When can I see you?”

Everett whispered back a command. “Tomorrow. Three o’clock.”

I raised my arm, signaled an ‘Okay,’ before nearly falling backward. I stepped down, grabbed the footstool and the paper plane and snuck off back into the woods.

It wasn’t until I had walked home and replaced the footstool in the garage that I pulled the paper from my pocket. Everett had drawn a big outline of a heart. Inside it were cartoon faces of the two of us, our lips elongated in a comic smooch.

Even though I knew the coast was clear, that we’d face no interruptions or maternal diatribes, I felt cautious as I entered the office-bedroom.

“Jerr-affe.”

My expected reply halted when I saw it in a corner; the wheelchair. There wasn’t anything unusual about it. The standard metal parts and black seat shone with a new quality. I knew its presence meant hope, in a way. But it also meant more.

I pushed aside my awkward reaction and drew close to him. He lay above the sheets in a baggy T-shirt and sweatpants. We hugged carefully, and kissed and touched, until I pulled back as my hand brushed against a small tube that led somewhere between his legs.

I stood, just taking him in. Unshaven, his hair a bit unkempt, his skin splotchy in a few places, he appeared to be fighting lethargy for my benefit.

I settled beside Everett and felt tingles as he affectionately rubbed my crew cut. Even though a few of the smells around him were less than pleasant, as I drew closer, I was relieved to detect his own aroma. I didn’t ask him about any medical details. I wanted what might be our last visit together for three months to be good, happy, normal.