Look How You Turned Out (8 page)

We are not declaring ourselves. That is what we decide. He has a girlfriend, and he must first speak with Artie. He won't disrespect Artie. He says my dad has higher hopes for me than marrying some older guy with a kid.

I say first off it's not a kid, it's Juney, Dad's grandson for all intents and purposes. Second of all Marcus is not some older guy, but Dad's son, for all intents and purposes. And lastly, he is not speaking to Artie, but we are.

He might have found Jessica pushy, but I wrote the book on getting your way. Only child here.

He considers what I've said and agrees. But he's been the recipient/victim of so much of Artie's gushing over me for so long, he's programmed to think I deserve, 'more.' More of what I don't know. He and Juney exceed what I'd hoped God had for me in the great universal scheme. I guess I'll spend a lifetime letting Marcus know. Am I talking marriage? I'm not. But I don't know where else these kinds of feelings can go. Add Marcus's love…eventually, and there you go, a hundred miles an hour pitch straight to the glove.

One thing at a time. We know we have a meal to produce. Juney gets up all fuzzy and sleepy, and he and Marcus wrestle a little cause yeah, I get it, the pent up energy. Then Marcus makes his pancakes. He's already peeled the apples, and I've added the goodies, and I'm putting them into a couple of pie shells as we speak. It's like I feel so creative, like the big cog in my wheel is gone, and it's spinning madly, and I'm giddy. So giddy it's hard to concentrate, but I'm starting to and pretty soon the pies are going in the oven.

I teach Marcus and Juney to make noodles. It's so much fun with the tension gone, and we haven't kissed, and we both seem to know we can't. If we kiss, we'll make a baby. I believed that in grade school, and I believe it now. If I kiss him, I'll boink him, and his sperm will join and swim like an Olympian to my egg and the two shall be one and…baby! There will be no stopping us. Not even Juney could as we'll just lift the ban on Call of Duty, fulfill his dreams and turn him lose. We could bring the house down then, and that kid wouldn't even blink as long as that controller was in his hand.

So the kiss must not be unleashed when seventeen people are coming to dinner tomorrow. And Marcus has his process—break up with J (I'm no longer saying her name) and talk to Dad.

Marcus takes the call. Dad is sitting in his cruiser on the square when he's t-boned by an elderly man who's possibly had a stroke. The elderly man is in Lowland to visit his daughter. Other than the perils of a stroke, he comes through without a scratch. As for Artie, Marcus says his hip appears to be broken, and possibly some ribs. "Get ready. Find your shoes," he says firmly.

Marcus had just finished taking the turkeys out of the brine and putting them in the refrigerator in the mudroom when the call came in. Now he is moving with authority as he pulls on his flannel shirt over his white T-shirt. He'd taken the flannel off hours ago because we'd been knocking out the food and it got too warm in here.

"Will he be okay?" I call out as I go in search of my shoes.

"Yes," Marcus says firmly.

I've been waiting for this all my life. Waiting for it and not waiting for it. Now it's here. "His hip and what else? His ribs? How many? Is he conscious?" I'm looking for my shoes. Marcus yells for Juney to 'turn that thing off,' and grab his coat.

He's asking what, and Marcus is saying Artie is hurt, and I'm thinking, oh God.

So we get ourselves together, and Marcus is calm and humorless, telling me what to do, and I'm doing it. I'm in the truck now, Juney in the middle, and he's telling us to put our seatbelts on. Once we do Marcus barrels us toward the hospital.

We park in front of emergency, and I'm out with Juney as Marcus rounds the front. He waits for me, takes my arm and in we go. We're taken back, no problem on that. Dad is conscious and saying how ridiculous it all is, and I'm not to worry.

He is in agony. X-rays show a mangled hip and two busted ribs which are not, thank God, poking his lung. They are taking him into surgery as soon as the surgeon gets there.

"It'll be okay," Dad says patting my hand. Juney is there too, and he's patting both of us. Juney leans over Artie and grips him in a hug. Marcus makes to pull Juney off, but Artie says, "It's okay. I'll be okay champ."

Juney pulls back and whispers, "Hugging in the kitchen."

Artie shoots a look at me as he's patting Juney. "Ditto Champ. That's my boy."

"Your vacation is over," he tells Marcus.

Marcus doesn't make the proverbial joke about Dad going to great links to get some time off and get Marcus back on.

He tells Artie not to worry about a thing but to get better.

"Son of a bitch," Artie blurts out. "Better save me some turkey."

We are shuttled into the waiting room then, and Marcus brings us each a Coke. He'd turned the oven off before we left home, he said, so I shouldn't worry like I give a flip about the oven.

"Better start calling people and telling them there's a change of plans," he says sitting next to me.

"I can't do that. People are counting on that dinner. It's too late for them to thaw a turkey."

"Suit yourself, but how are you going to be here and at home doing the Martha Stewart?"

"I'll call Teresa," I say. I walk to the other end of the room, and that's what I do. Teresa has me go over it, what I know about Artie, what he said, how he is, the surgery, how long the surgery, do I need her to come. She's coming if she can get someone to come into work and cook the dinner shift.

I say, "No. I'll call you."

She says not to worry, she'll move the whole dinner to Billy's place. No problem at all. That will work out fine. People can come and eat then visit Artie, she says, but I don't like that last part so much.

"It depends on how he's doing," I say. And in a flash, I know…over the mystery of a cell phone, through the tower from me to her, I know…comes to Artie…she's got shares.

We finish the plans and hang up. I am one bewildered girl as I notice Marcus is also on his phone. He has a lot to do now. I can hear it being laid on him…the pressure.

"Go on," I tell him.

He's shaking his head no.

"You go," I whisper. "Juney can stay with me. There's nothing you can do here. I'll call you soon as he's out."

He's looking at me, finishing talking to switchboard Brenda. There's sure to be some domestics with the holiday. That's the thing about it. Domestics are potentially the worst.

He hangs up. "This town can go to hell until Artie gets out."

See, Dad would never do that. He would go. That's why the people elect Artie every four years and no one even tries to run against him. "You have to go, Marcus," I say. "That's what he'd want, and we both know it."

"Me too," Juney says. "He'd say that Dad."

"So this is how it is?" he says.

"Teamwork," I say, but I don't mean a word of it. I want to be this woman, this stoic, strong woman, but I want him out of here so I can run to the john and sob.

"Call me as soon as he's out okay?" Marcus says, and I see the conflict in his eyes. I don't want to send him out conflicted.

"It's what he'd want," I repeat.

Marcus nods. "Be good," he says to Juney. For me, it's this approach, this grip on my hand, his face moving toward mine, quickly, and this kiss that hits the corner of my open mouth.

Juney's mouth is open too. I have to grin. Marcus has squeezed my hand and moves off awkwardly, looking back at me before he pushes out the door. "Call me," he says before he lets the door close.

I have stood here like a very addled person who's on overload. Dad in surgery, Juney gawking, my first kiss from Marcus, Thanksgiving dinner plans blown to hell, and Teresa hooking up with Artie. These things aren't all equal in gravity or importance, but they all rank. Wow.

I tell Juney I'll be right back, and I walk quickly to the restroom. Through my fog, I can still feel Marcus's half-on kiss. I touch my lips and instead of crying I smile. I'm looking in the mirror at a real dummy, but it's going to be okay, just like Marcus said. "God," I pray, "help Dad. Help Marcus. Thank you."

I wash my face then, just the half Marcus didn't touch with his lips. I don't want to lose his DNA any sooner than I have to.

Back in the waiting room I sit next to Juney and he moves closer, and I put my arm around him and he very magnanimously works his long skinny arm around me and we sit uncomfortably entwined for a few seconds. "It'll be alright," he says, just like his dad but I think he's been crying some.

"Oh sure. They do this stuff all the time," I say.

"Yeah," he says kindly.

I lay my cheek on his hair and for a few minutes we sit silently that way, and that's when I remember his whisper to my dad, "Hugging in the kitchen."

"Hey Bedilia, do you think boys my age should have their own cell phones?"

"Not really," I say. "Why?"

"Oh," he sighs hugely, "just wondering."

"Nice try," I say.

"Are you and Dad…like in love?"

I laugh a little. "We're…good friends. You know."

"Friends who love each other?"

"We're like family. So that's love, right?"

"You should tell Grampa Artie. He'll be so happy."

"Will he? Like…hugging in the kitchen?"

He is very still for a few silent beats. Then, "I'm not supposed to tell but since Operation Love Boat is complete and Artie's hurt…."

"Operation Love Boat?" I say flatly.

"It's our secret."

"Wait a minute. Did your dad say I was the…you know…the prettiest girl in Washington?"

He looks like it's judgment day. He's playing with his fingers like they're a bunch of fat worms. "Almost."

"What did he really say?" I might have moved my consoling arm into a headlock.

"Well, he said there goes the most infuriating girl in the state of Washington. Like that." He'd mimicked Marcus, catching his father's self-righteous tone perfectly. Now I know he's telling the truth, and I ease my hold and pull away from the little turd.

"Don't be mad. It worked, didn't it? Grampa Artie said he'd activate his old cellphone for me if I said that thing about you being pretty and watched for hugging and kissing and reported back to him. Like we're working a case, he said."

"You little motherless sociopath." I might pull his hair a little.

"Grampa Artie said my dad wouldn't know love if it fell on him in an explosion." He seemed to like this idea a lot, and he was laughing now, no conscience at all about singing like a canary.

"And Jessica?"

"Well…that's how I earned the ten dollars. It wasn't like I did anything. Grampa Artie just noticed what I was already doing. For services rendered, he said."

"Diabolical," I say in a kind of awe. "But Juney…let me tell you something. From here on out I will be around. And it will be my mission to make sure you're a good boy. Got it?"

He stares at me, his father's eyes, his father's concentration. "Alright, Bedilia."

"Alright, Juney."

They pin Artie's hip. It isn't an overly long surgery, long enough, but after four hours he is out of recovery and back in his room.

"Most brutal thing I ever went through," he tells me. He says he isn't in pain. He is still feeling the effects of the anesthesia. It will be wearing off soon.

"You still here buddy?" Artie says to Juney.

"Yeah," Juney says allowing Artie to pull his head in for a hug. "Does it hurt?"

"Nah. I'll be out of here in no time," Artie says.

That's not what the surgeon told me out in the hall. With even the beginnings of Parkinson's thrown in the mix, Dad is looking at a good month of recuperation and rehab. It's a nasty break, and even though pinned it remains to be seen if he'll walk as ramrod straight as he always has.

He lets Juney go and starts on me. "You need to get this boy home. I know you've still got lots to do."

"Teresa is helping me," I say.

Dad misses a couple of beats staring at me.

"Okay. She's a real trooper…Teresa," he says. Then he gulps. I guess he's been asexual too. We're puritans.

"I know Teresa," I say, then I change the subject. "So Dad, the anesthesia is going to wear off real soon, and they'll give you the good stuff to control your pain. So don't worry about a thing. Marcus is taking over at the station."

"Oh…he knows the ropes. Not a better man."

"I know," I say, and right in front of me, he winks at Juney.

Teresa does come then, and I borrow her car and drive Juney home to meet Elaine. Much as he doesn't want to leave Artie, he consents to go home with his grandmother. After Elaine picks him up, I rush around making sure everything is secure enough to be able to leave. I run up to my room and freshen up and gather some toiletries for the hospital as I'll be spending the night in Artie's room.

By the time I make it back to the hospital, Artie is writhing in pain and Teresa has a chair pulled up to his bed. "Oh God," I say upon seeing him, and worse hearing him moan in agony. "Have they given him something for pain?" I ask Teresa as I approach his bed. But just as soon a nurse and a CAN enter to help move Artie because he's carrying on about being in the wrong position. Teresa is unseated, and the best thing we can do is get out of the way. Artie yells out when they attempt to move him and pack that leg with more ice and pillows.

Teresa seems as upset as me. Artie is no baby. To hear him yell like that is unnerving.

"Bedilia, come here," he says as soon as we get a few minutes alone. "Look up there at that light."

I look up at the fluorescent.

"Is that a fish swimming in there?"

I look at him sharply, and he is sincere. "No Dad. No fish."

"I know what I see," he says.

A nurse comes in then. I tell her about the fish, and she fiddles with the valve to lessen the pain meds. "Are you seeing fish, Sheriff?"

"I know what I see," Artie insists.

"There's no fish Dad," I repeat.

Teresa comes back from the restroom then. "He loves to fish don't he?" she says.

I explain he sees fish.

"Oh," she says. "He be trippin'. He be trippin'," she says all jivey.

It's a little cute the first couple times she says it, but she keeps saying it and Artie keeps saying he sees fish, and he knows what he sees with his own eyes, dammit.

I suddenly feel very tired and like I need to cry.

It gets worse for a while. Dad is no crybaby, but he's in so much pain he can barely stand to be moved. When they ask him to number his pain from one to ten, ten being the worst, he yells out, "Eleven dammit."

I end up spending the night. There's no way I can leave him alone as miserable as he is. Teresa also wants to stay, but she has to fill in for me with the Thanksgiving meal so she has no choice but to leave. His caregivers are keeping a close eye on him, and they are in here round the clock. It's around two in the morning, and I am lying on the most miserable couch ever designed by humans for humans and staring at Artie. It seems he's fallen asleep, finally. I am exhausted, but so revved I can't close my eyes. All of a sudden Artie lifts his head, and he's wide awake again.

"Bedilia! Bedilia!" he yells looking straight at me.

I sit right up. "I'm right here, Dad."

"Are we in Chicago?"

"No Dad. We're at Lowland General. We're safe. We're fine."

He is glaring at me like I'm telling a lie.

"We're fine Dad. You can lie down."

"That Myron White making trouble?"

"No Dad. Myron White is not a trouble maker."

"What did he do to Marcus?"

"Nothing, Dad. Myron doesn't know Marcus. We're in Lowland. We're fine."

Artie lies down, but every couple of minutes he looks over at me like he's worried.

"What's the matter, Artie?"

"Ranita?"

"It's me, Dad. Bedilia."

"Oh. I thought you were Ranita," he says more subdued.

"It's Bedilia. You and I are in Lowland General. They operated on your hip, and I'm staying with you."

It goes that way. Basically, Dad is high as a kite. They're working to regulate the pain meds, but it's a while before they get it right. During their struggle, I learn that Dad thinks I should marry Marcus. I thank him and tell him Marcus hasn't asked. We're just friends, I say. When Dad persists, I concede and say I'll get right on it.

I learn how sorry he is over Ranita leaving me. I didn't do a thing to deserve it, according to him. I tell him it's alright I never blamed myself.

Then I also hear how he's dating Teresa, and he meant to tell me before now, but I was busy in Chicago. He ends his diatribe by saying Marcus has no business dating a girl like Jessica. I have no idea what that means.

He's also decided I shouldn't be in Chicago. He doesn't want me sorry I stayed in Lowland like Ranita was. He's worried

I'm meant for more, meant to travel and see the world. But he's also seen sadness in me since I left. Well, he heard it when I called.

"I wasn't sad," I say. Was I?

The last thing he says is, "That boy was good for nothing when you left…moping around."

"Juney?"

"Marcus dammit."

But I don't trust a thing Dad says, especially when he be trippin'.

Somewhere after that, I must doze off. I awaken with a start to see a man standing over me. My startle reflex is on hyperdrive, and it scares me half to death. I sit up even though some part of my brain recognizes Marcus. He's in uniform, and he'd been touching my cheek I think, and he's pulling his hand back and says he's sorry he didn't mean to scare me.

He sits next to me. It's as overwhelming as Artie's been, having Marcus so suddenly near.

Marcus asks how Artie is doing, and I update him. We're speaking in whispers cause Dad is snoring loudly. Marcus shares a couple of things that happened during his shift. "You must be beat," he says.

"You too," I say, establishing how in sympathy we are with one another. Juney is settled with Elaine so Marcus is free to work, and I am free to be with Dad.

Marcus sits hunched forward, elbows on knees. He is looking at me all the time and naturally I know I look a mess so I move the rubber band off my wrist and quickly tie up my hair. It's me being interesting again.

"Guess I'll go home and get some sleep," he says. We stare at Artie, open mouth, sounding like a bear.

"You could come with me," he says. Then he breaks right through my indecision. "Some real sleep. It's a marathon," he says quick nod toward Dad.

I look at him, and a nurse is already pushing her station into the room. The sun will be up soon, and they'll be all over Artie. If I look at this through the eyes of Jesus, I imagine Marcus's trying to take care of me. It's nice.

"When's the last time you ate? C'mon," nod of his head toward the door. "They got him for now."

"I guess…maybe for a couple hours," I mumble.

The nurse wakes Dad, and he seems more oriented, but miserable. There are three of them moving him, questioning him, fussing over him when we leave. I am walking down the hall, Marcus beside me. I follow him out to the truck. He's left the cruiser at the station. Artie's has been towed to the yard. I haven't seen it yet, don't think I'm ready to.

He opens my door, and I get in. Pretty soon we're pulling out of here, and my head is back, my eyes closed. He pulls on my arm, and I let it flop open, and he takes my hand. He puts a Twinkie in it. It's still in the wrapper.

I laugh, but I set it on the dashboard. We both love those things, and it's been a running joke for years. He tries to eat all of them at the house, and I hide them in ridiculous places around the kitchen. Sometimes he pulls a box out of his jacket before he leaves. Once I found a box of them in the washing machine.

I resume my napping position. It's only three miles to my house, but I think it's like this—we're clinging to one another. I keep my eyes closed.

When we get home Marcus pulls into Artie's, and I practically fall out, and we go in the front door. It's left unlocked so Teresa could get in there and pull the food. I don't look right or left but go straight up the stairs. "Come on," I say to Marcus, not even turning to look.

"I'm going home, Bedilia," he says.

I wave without turning around.

Upstairs I kick off my shoes and fall face first on Artie's old bed. But there's no sleep. I have so much to process, Artie's pain and Artie's vulnerability. My Dad, my strong dad.

Should I even be here? Shouldn't I be there? I don't know. It's a marathon, Marcus said, but how can I think about myself at all?

I hear the first sound of Marcus's return and realize I've been straining to hear it. I quickly get under the covers, wish I'd kicked off my jeans at least, but I can't. I can't.

I turn away from the door, roll onto my side. I can't watch his approach. I can't do it.

Pretty soon he is walking across the floor. It's Marcus, I try to imagine. Pretty soon the bed dips and rustles and I am wrapped in his arms, and I smell the clean and feel the soft, because he's taken off the uniform, the uniform that makes my mouth water, as in drool. I feel that safety again, that new environment he pulls me into, him, solid and definite and directive about where he wants to be and where he wants me to be. No one but Dad has ever made me feel safe.

Myron…no. Any safety I felt with him soon became a box with a heavy lid. I couldn't breathe.

It wasn't his fault, and I don't want to think about him now.

Marcus is home. I know he can handle what comes. He can handle me. He doesn't require I become less under the guise of becoming more. He seems to appreciate what I already am, as if it's enough, more than.

"My turtle shell," I mumble, and I'm smiling.

"What?" he laughs, and I hear the sleep already weighing his voice.

I can't repeat it. "Dad…."

"He'll be okay," he says softly. He squeezes me a little.

"Oh, Happy Turkey Day," I remember. My forearm is aligned with his, my fingers around his wrist.

"Thanks," he says.

He tells me to go to sleep, but even so tired there's a smile in his voice. Finally, he's here. Finally, for a moment…with me. Two stars in the universe have collided…and it's us.

I love you is what I think but cannot say. Well, I do.

It's then we hear the car pull up. It's then we hear the knocking.

"It's just Teresa," I slur, but he is up quickly and at the window. He's tall and strong and freaking straining his neck.

"No, it's not," he says. And then he curses. He goes quickly to the stairs, and I hear the rapid steps he takes. I am up too, and I'm following. It must be some guy in a black ski mask. Marcus knows we have guns, their location and the metal box of ammo. It's like he's that stealth-lightly and rapidly descending the stairs.

Masculine voices at the door, but both familiar. Marcus blocks the doorway by holding onto the door's frame. "Turn around and head back to where you came from," he's saying.

"Bedilia," the visitor calls out, and Marcus pulls the door tighter, filling the gap with his body.

"Marcus," I say. "I'll see him. It's okay."

Marcus seems to think about it, "Conflict of interests," he says to Myron. "I don't like the way you treated Bedilia. The only reason you're not slapped with a lawsuit for harassment already is because Bedilia is too kind. But I'm not. And I think she should go for it. You took advantage of the situation. You should pay for it."

"Are you Artie?" he says. He knows Marcus is too young to be my father. And he's seen Artie's picture. But Myron's a winner, and that means…he uses everything. "Bedilia I came all this way to see you," he calls out.

"It's alright, Marcus. I'll see him."

"You're lucky she's a better person than you," Marcus says as he slowly stands back, "but you're on her turf now, and she's not alone so you can't bully here. Or you could. Try."