Five Minutes More (19 page)

He grabs the waist of my jeans and bumps my body against his. “Nobody's home.”

“I like it out here.”

He runs his finger down my neck and down between my breasts. “I bet you'll like it in here better.”

I push his hand away. “Brendan. Cut it out.”

He just looks at me, a long look without saying anything. People seem to be doing that a lot all of a sudden. Or maybe they were always doing it and I just never noticed. I notice different things now.

I turn away from him and go sit on the front steps of the porch. Brendan comes out and sits down, squeezing next to me on the step. I slide down one so there is more room. I think I'm getting a little claustrophobic. I need more space around me.

“I need to ask you something,” Brendan says.

I look at him. He is staring straight ahead. “Okay.” I wait.

“Do you still love me?” He finally turns his head and looks right at me.

Why did he have to ask me that? “Why are you asking me that?” I say. “Because I didn't want your hand up under my shirt?”

He sighs. “Just tell me. Do you?”

I'm quiet almost as long as he was before he asked the question. “I don't know,” I say at last.

I watch his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows and breathes out. He's stopped looking at me again.

“I'm sorry.” I put my hand on his leg. I can smell his skin, clean from the shower, and that spicy deodorant he uses. I know it's important to explain. I'm just not sure that I can.

“It's not you,” I say, rubbing the toe of my shoe over a bare spot on the step below me where the paint's worn off. “I don't think I love anyone right now. There are a lot of things I'm trying to figure out.”

“What things?” He sounds angry. I glance up at him. His jaw is clenched.

“Stuff about my dad.”

“I know it's been hard since your dad...died. But I thought by now things would be getting back to normal.”

“I don't know what normal is anymore.” That's the truth. “I feel like this is all I'll ever be. I've been waiting to be normal again.” I laugh and get to my feet. “Waiting for normal. I don't even know what that is.”

“He was a jerk,” Brendan spits.

There is a
whump, whump, whump
sound so loud in my ears I must have heard him wrong. “What did you say?” I ask.

Brendan's head whips around to face me. “I said he was a jerk. Your father was a jerk.”

“That's an ignorant thing to say.” I'm almost out of breath. “My father was a wonderful person.”

“Yeah. So wonderful he killed himself. He was a coward. He didn't give a shit what that would do to you.”

I feel like someone's sitting on my chest. “You...knew,” I manage to choke out.

“Yeah. Your father was a loser. I knew.”

My left hand hits the side of his face just below his eye. I get the side of his head with the other one. “Shut up,” I say. “Shutupshutupshutup!” My arms are swinging wildly, and I can't manage to hit him again before he grabs them and pushes me away. I stumble down the last two steps.

“What's the matter with you?” Brendan shouts.

“You're the loser,” I fire back at him.

He jumps down the steps. He's breathing hard. “D'Arcy, I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry.”

He tries to hold my hand, but I pull it away. “You're wrong about my father. He...he was sick.”

Brendan grabs my shoulders and swings me around. “Okay. Okay. Whatever you say.”

“He was sick.”

“It doesn't matter. I'm here. I love you.” He is almost whispering now. He tries to put his arms around me, but I shove him away as hard as I can.

“I don't love you.” It comes out louder than I meant it to. Brendan closes his eyes for a second. “You don't mean that,” he says.

I can feel the tears running down my face. “Yeah, I do,” I say. Then I turn around and start walking.

I go home.What else is there to do?

Seth's CDs are in my backpack. I don't have any way to play them. Now I wish I hadn't put my CD player in with all the other things I dumped in the hall in front of Mom's bedroom door.

By six o'clock it's pretty obvious she isn't coming home for supper. I prowl around the kitchen, looking for something to eat. It's pretty obvious she hasn't bought groceries for a while either. There are a couple of rolls wrapped in waxed paper in the bread box. They're hard and dried out, but there's no blue fuzzy stuff growing on them. In the fridge I find one slice of plastic-wrapped cheese. The edges are like white plastic, but the middle part is okay. And hidden behind the cornflakes box in the cupboard, I find a can of cream corn.

I heat the corn in the microwave and nuke the roll too until it's soft. Overall, not a bad supper. I've hit three of the four major food groups.

I eat in front of the
TV,
flipping between the Channel 7 news team, the Shopping Channel and reruns of
The Simpsons
.

The house is so damn empty. So am I. It doesn't matter what I eat. Nothing fills the hole inside me. I miss my dad. I miss the way he always sang just a tiny bit off-key. I miss his stupid jokes. I miss the way his beard always scraped my cheek, even if he'd just shaved.

There's wine in the refrigerator. I walk from room to room, drinking from the bottle, but this time it doesn't work, it doesn't burn away the aching empty feeling inside me, no matter how much I swallow.

In my room I lie across my bed in the dark, holding on to Seth's CDs with one hand. When my dad was here, nobody ever ate stale bread and cream corn for supper. It was never this quiet. It was never this dark and cold and empty.

Math class. No Seth. Where is he? I keep shooting glances at the door. Midway through the class, someone knocks. We all turn at the sound. Malibu Barbie counselor is in the hallway. Mr. Kelly steps outside to talk to her, and we eye each other while we pretend to work, wondering who did what.

Mr. Kelly comes back in and looks around the room. His face has no color. It's as if all the blood has gone somewhere else in his body. He looks at me. Standing there in the doorway, he keeps swallowing and swallowing. He just stands there, like his legs don't work anymore, and he looks at me.

I hear myself taking shaky breaths.
Look somewhere else
, I say in my head. But he doesn't.

Finally he finds his voice. “D'Arcy—” He stops and clears his throat. “D'Arcy, may I see you for a moment? Outside.”

I get up.

“Bring your things.”

Everyone's eyes are on me. My heart's racing, trying to jump out of my chest. My hands don't work. I knock my math text on the floor, and when I bend over to pick it up, I bump the desk and my pencil rolls off into the aisle. I scrabble around on the floor and manage to gather up everything.

It feels like a mile from my desk to the door. I look out into the hall and I keep my eyes there. I don't look at Mr. Kelly. “Keep working on those problems,” he tells the class. Then he closes the door.

I hold my books tight against my chest, like a shield between us. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “D'Arcy,” he begins. “It's...you need to go wait in the guidance office.”

“Why?” I ask.

Mr. Kelly's face is ashen. It really is a color, I realize, not just an expression. “Your...uh...your mother's on the way. She'll explain.”

“Why can't you explain?”

“Just go down to the office.”

“No.” I've never talked back to a teacher in my life. “It's about Seth, isn't it?” I say. I don't know how I know that, but I do. Maybe it's because Mr. Kelly is so upset.

He looks down at the floor for a second. “I'm sorry. I know...you two...were close.”

“Was Seth in an accident? Was he out running? Did a car hit him?”

Mr. Kelly rakes a hand back through his hair. “Your mother will be here—”

“What happened to Seth?” When he doesn't answer, I ask again, only louder. “What happened to Seth?”

“Seth tried to kill himself last night,” Mr. Kelly says quietly. “He's in the hospital...it isn't good.”

I hear the words but they don't make any sense. It's as though he's said them out of order. “No,” I say.

“I'm so sorry.”

I take a step back from him. “Seth...No.”

“Your mother's on her way and—”

“No. You have this all wrong.” My voice echoes down the hall. “He wouldn't. Did she tell you?” I gesture over my shoulder. “Malibu Barbie? No.”

Mr. Kelly reaches out a hand toward me. I back way up and hold up my own hand to ward him off. Wordlessly I shake my head. It sounds like I'm crying or something, but I'm not because they've got it all wrong.

“D'Arcy, please.” Mr. Kelly's eyes are red, as if he's going to cry.

“No!” I throw my books at him, and then I turn and run.

My fingers can't make the combination on my lock work. I remember when that happened and Seth came and opened it for me.

It isn't true.

I finally get the lock open. I grab my jacket and purse and head for the outside door. There must have been some kind of accident. That's what it was. Ms. Wilson is just too stupid to get it right.

It isn't true.

Maybe they'll fire her over this.

I cut across the street. I'll just go to the hospital and I'll find Seth and I'll tell him what she's saying about him.

It isn't true
. Then I'll come back here and I'll tell Mr. Kelly and I'll make Ms. Wilson take back what she said.

It isn't true.

A tear slides down to the corner of my mouth. I swipe at it with my hand. This isn't sad.

It isn't true
.

I stop at the information desk just inside the hospital doors. “Seth Thomas's room, please,” I say.

The woman behind the counter is wearing some kind of blue smock thing with a red volunteer button pinned to the front. Her hair is in perfect tight gray curls all over her head, and her glasses are on the end of her nose. She looks like somebody's grandmother, and she probably is.

She types something—probably Seth's name—and watches her computer screen. “I'm sorry, dear,” she says after a moment. “I don't see anyone by that name.”

“He would have just come in, not very long ago.”

“Oh,” she says. There's a clipboard by her elbow. She runs her finger down the page and stops about halfway. She looks up at me. “He can't have any visitors, dear. Sorry.” She looks past me and smiles at a man in a suit who is carrying a bouquet of flowers wrapped in green tissue.

I wait until she's typing on her computer again. Then I head for the elevators. The up arrow pings on just as I get there, and one of the sets of elevator doors opens. I step inside and push the button for the fourth floor. I've been able to read upside down since I was ten.

Seth is on four, southwest. There's a different color for each direction away from the elevators. I follow the green line.
It takes me to the nurses' station. How am I going to find Seth's room?

There's some kind of receptionist sitting behind the curved counter. I wait until she's on the phone. Then I walk over. “I'm looking for Seth Thomas's room,” I say, keeping my voice low. “I'm his sister.”

She has the phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder. She flips through a stack of papers in front of her. “Four seventeen,” she says. She points down the corridor to my left. “Your family's in the waiting room down at the very end.”

“Thank you,” I whisper. I walk down the hall watching the numbers next to each door. 405. 407. 409. 411. There's no 413. I come to a small waiting area. A blond woman is sitting alone on an ugly orange vinyl chair. She's leaning her head back against the wall and her eyes are closed. I'm about to walk past when I notice she has Seth's gray sweatshirt on her lap and his backpack underneath her chair.

I walk over to her and touch her shoulder. “Excuse me,” I say. She opens her eyes, blinks a few times and straightens up. “I'm sorry to bother you...um...are you Seth's mother?”

“I'm his aunt,” the woman says.

“I...”How do I explain this? “They said at school that he...that he was here. Is he okay?”

“Excuse me. Who are you?” the woman asks.

I jam my hands in my pockets because all of a sudden I don't know where to put them. “I'm D'Arcy Patterson. I'm... Seth and I are friends.”

“You're D'Arcy.” She looks away. She's twisting her right index finger with her other hand as though she's trying to twist the skin off.

“I just was wondering if I could see him for a minute,” I say.

She presses her lips together and slowly turns back to me. “He's on a respirator,” she says slowly. “Only his mom and dad are...” She lets the end of the sentence trail off.

The room begins to go dark from the edges in. The woman grabs me and eases me into a chair, pushing my head forward. “That's it. Nice and easy. Just breathe.” She keeps one hand on my back.

I concentrate on breathing. In and out. In and out. The darkness slowly disappears, and after a couple of minutes I sit up.

“You all right?” she asks.

I nod. “Could I just see him for a minute?” I ask. My voice sounds strange—raspy and thick.

“I'm sorry. The only people allowed in are his parents.”

“I don't understand. At school they said he...” I can't say the words. But I can see from her face I don't have to. She knows what I mean.

“You know about Seth's brother.”

“Yes.”

“It's been very difficult for Seth—for his whole family. Just days ago it was the one-year anniversary.” She clears her throat. “He...um...He wanted you to know he was sorry.”