Rules for Life (14 page)

“I'll be back,” he said, his hand brushing my arm on the way by.

I leaned my head back until it touched the window and closed my eyes. I wanted to pray but I couldn't think of any prayers other than “Now I lay me down to sleep.” I settled for silently asking God to take care of Jason. No one else had been able to do it—not even Jason himself.

Anne and I sat there without talking for what seemed like a long time, although it couldn't have been. “Jason will be all right,” Anne said suddenly.

“You don't know that,” I said without moving or even opening my eyes.

“This isn't your fault.”

“It is. I should have told Dad that Jason was drinking.”

“Uh-huh. You should have.”

I opened my eyes and turned my head to look at her. That wasn't what she was supposed to say.

“You should have said something.” The front of Anne's hair was still sticking up. “I know you didn't because …” She stopped and swallowed. “We were all so … hurt. I understand why you didn't want to make things any worse. But even if you had told someone, it doesn't mean we wouldn't still be sitting here. You don't know if Jason would've stopped drinking.”

“And you don't know that he wouldn't have,” I said.

Anne propped an elbow on the armrest and leaned her head on her hand. “That's right. I don't know and you don't know.” She sighed. “You can't control what other people do, Isabelle.”

I stared at the ceiling—even rows of pebbly rectangular tiles. “I didn't do anything. I didn't even try to help him.”

“You can't stop Jason drinking. That's up to him.”

“I know but—”

“You can't always make things work out the way you want them to. You tried pretty hard to stop your father from marrying me, but you couldn't.” Her mouth moved, but for a moment no words came out. “You did everything, everything, for me and for … the baby and you couldn't …”

She didn't have to finish the sentence. My eyes began to burn. I pressed one fist against my mouth.

“Horrible things happen, Isabelle. You can't always stop them. No matter how much you want to.”

“I don't want him to die.” My hand was trembling even though my fingers were clenched so tightly the blood had drained away from the skin on the knuckles. All of me was shaking. “I told him I didn't care what he did and I thought I meant it … but I didn't.”

This time I couldn't stop the tears from spilling over. Anne put both arms around me. I was rigid, tears flooding my face. Anne let go with one arm long enough to fish a Kleenex out of her pocket. I wiped my face and took a couple of deep, shuddering breaths.

“You were the one who knew where to find Jason,” Anne said. “You might have saved his life. Think about that.”

I sat up. My eyes felt swollen and scratchy. I rubbed them but that just made it worse.

“Why don't you go splash some water on your face?” Anne said, pointing. “There's a bathroom over there.”

I hesitated.

“If anything happens I'll come get you.”

The washroom walls were neon yellow. The buzzing fluorescent light over the sink gave off a pinky-yellow glow. The combination made me look like I had jaundice—or maybe the plague.

I filled the basin with cold water and splashed it on my face until my cheeks were tingling. I dried off with scratchy brown paper towels and fixed my ponytail.

Anne looked small and scared sitting by herself in the waiting room. But she was stronger than she looked.
If it looks like a duck and it quacks like a duck, it's a duck—or a chicken with a good acting coach. Rule # …
I couldn't remember.

“Better?” Anne asked.

I nodded. My top lip seemed to suddenly be stuck to my teeth. “I … uh …” The words I wanted to say felt like they were stuck too. “If you hadn't got me thinking about where Jason hung out I might not have remembered about the park.” The rest of it came out in a rush. “You're the one who saved Jason.”

I almost hugged her. I could feel myself starting to move toward her. No one would have been able to see it, but I could feel it.

Then out of the corner of my eye I saw Rafe stopped at the far end of the waiting room, by the breezeway, balancing three cardboard cups and looking everywhere but at Anne and me. I took a step back. “There's Rafe,” I said. “I'll just go … help … him.”

“Go ahead,” Anne said. She shooed me away with one hand.

I walked over to Rafe and took the top container off the stack.

“That's coffee,” he said. “Bottom one's yours.”

We switched cups.

“You want me to go and … go?” he asked.

I tucked a stray bit of hair behind my ear. “It's all right. Anne and I are okay.”

He studied my face as though he could tell by looking whether or not I was lying. I touched his arm and made myself smile at him. “Really,” I said. “It's okay.”

We walked back to Anne. “Thank you, Rafe,” she said, taking the cup he handed her and standing up. “I'm going to see what I can find out about Jason.”

“Okay,” I said.

Anne hesitated. One hand moved as though maybe she was going to touch me, but she didn't. The hand slid into the pocket of her jeans. “I'll be right back,” she said.

I sat on the edge of my chair, pried the lid off my cup and blew on the hot chocolate.

“Are you really all right?” Rafe asked.

“Yeah,” I said automatically. I looked over at Anne, standing at the triage desk. “No,” I said, and then I turned back to Rafe. “But I'm getting there.”

33

I fell asleep with my head on Rafe's shoulder and the arm of the chair jammed against my ribs. I woke to the sound of my dad's voice, low and quiet, talking to Anne.

I sat up. My mouth tasted sour and sticky.

“I'm sorry,” Dad said. He leaned across Anne. “I was trying not to wake you.”

“It's okay,” I mumbled, pushing at my hair. “How's Jason?”

“All right. He's awake. They're getting ready to take him up to a room.”

I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The waiting room whirled around me. I grabbed the chair arm and squeezed my eyes shut for a moment.

“Take a deep breath,” Rafe whispered.

I reached for his hand and opened my eyes. “Can I see him?” I asked.

“After he's settled,” Dad said. His eyes were bloodshot and he needed a shave. “I'll come get you.” He gestured in the direction of the triage desk. “I have to get back to Jason.”

“We'll be right here,” Anne said.

Dad shot me a quick glance before he started back. I thought he was going to say something else, but he didn't.

It was close to an hour before we got to see Jason.

The second week of school my history class had spent the afternoon at the Highland Games. Propped up in bed, Jason was the same color as the haggis (which I'd discovered was sheep organs and oatmeal boiled in the sheep's stomach). The scrapes on his cheek glistened with yellow ointment. They looked worse with all the gravel cleaned away.

I moved over beside the bed. Behind me, Dad leaned against the doorframe as if he was too tired to stand up by himself. Anne had a hand on his arm as though she was helping keep him upright. I'd persuaded Rafe to go home.

“Hey, you're here,” Jason croaked. He stopped to swallow and grimaced. “I figured you'd be so pissed off you'd … ” another swallow, “ … go home.” He pushed himself up a little higher and sucked in a sharp breath as he moved his right arm. “Izzy, I'm sorry. Won't happen again—”

“—swear to God it won't,” I said, cutting him off before he said the words. I knew the speech by heart. I'd heard it enough times.

A rushing, drumming sound, like water beating on my head, filled my ears. I moved to the side of the bed. Jason wasn't different, but this time I was. “You just had a little too much, right?” I said. “A little too much to drink, a little too many pills. What's the difference?”

“I had some drinks,” Jason said. His eyes kept sliding off my face as though they couldn't stay focused. “Sorry.”

How many times had Jason said that? When you say a word over and over and over again, eventually it stops meaning anything. Just the way “sorry” did when it was coming out of Jason's mouth.

I heard Dad move behind me. “Shut up,” I said, working to keep my voice steady.

Jason sighed and closed his eyes for a second. “Iz,” he started.

I didn't let him finish. “Shut up.” I said it louder this time and then I leaned over the bed and shoved him back against the pillow. He made a garbled sound full of pain and shock. I hit him on the side of the head.

He clenched his teeth and moaned. His lips were blue.

Dad grabbed both my arms. “Jesus, Isabelle. What's the matter with you?” he shouted.

Jason had rolled half onto his side. He clutched his right arm and tried to get his breath.

Dad twisted me around to face him. “Wait in the hallway,” he said. A tiny tic twitched at the corner of his left eye.

I wrenched out of his grip. My hands were clenched into fists so tightly it looked like the knuckles would pop through the skin.

Anne stuck an arm between us. “Marc, let her finish,” she said.

Dad looked at her as if she'd suggested we throw Jason out the window. “Christ, Anne. He just had his stomach pumped.”

Anne looked at me. Her eyes flicked over to Jason for a second. “No more hitting,” she said.

I gave a slight nod and my breath came out in ragged bursts like I'd been running.

Anne took hold of both Dad's arms, the same way he'd been holding me. “Let Isabelle say what she needs to say.” She looked up at him and he couldn't seem to look away. “Please.”

“Say whatever you have to say,” he said after a long moment, his eyes never leaving Anne's face. “And do it quickly.”

I turned back to Jason.

“I don't know … what your problem is,” he said, the words coming out in a raspy whisper. “You wanna beat on me? Later. I'm tired.” He slumped against the pillow and closed his eyes.

“Oh, boo-hoo,” I said. Jason's eyes came open again.

His leather jacket lay across the arm of a blue vinyl chair that was pulled up next to the bed. We'd found it underneath him when the paramedics lifted him onto the stretcher. I grabbed it and hugged it to my chest. The jacket smelled like beer and puke. “This is mine, Jason,” I said, my voice shaking. “Consider it a down payment on all the money you bummed from me to get wrecked.”

“Don't start, ” Jason wheezed.

“You're a filthy, stinking, gross drunk,” I continued as though he had never said a word. “You're a lousy brother and a lousy human being. You're a piece of crap, Jason.” I had to shove my hands into my pockets because I really did think I might hit him again.

“Isabelle, you need to go home,” I heard my father's exhausted voice say behind me.

“Let her … ” another ragged swallow “ … Dad.” Jason had that cocky look he got whenever he thought he'd pulled one over on someone. I couldn't make him stop. I couldn't make him change. He didn't care how I felt. Or Dad. Or Anne.

I thought my legs would buckle. I put one hand out behind me and found the wall. “I thought you were dead,” I whispered. “When I came around the side of the fountain and saw you, I thought you were dead this time. And I didn't want to touch you because I knew the moment I did it would be true.” My voice cracked. I felt Anne's hands on my shoulders. She was almost holding me up, my legs were shaking so badly now.

“But you weren't dead. Not this time. So will it be the next time? Or the one after that?”

Jason turned away from me and stared out the window.

“I can't give you any more chances, Jason,” I said. “And I can't love you anymore.” My eyes filled with tears.

I pulled away from Anne and ran out into the hallway. The green tile floor shimmered under my feet. Tears dripped off my chin onto Jason's jacket.

Anne came out of the room. Tears were sliding down her own face. She reached over and wiped my cheek with the heel of her hand. “Let's go home,” she said.

She put both arms around me and I sagged against her. And I didn't pull away.

34

We didn't talk on the way home. Anne paid the taxi driver and we climbed the front steps and went into the house, still without saying a word. I took off my sweatshirt and draped it over the bottom stair post. I didn't know what to do. All the tears were cried out and all my fury was gone. I was empty.

Anne hung up her jacket and wiped her palms on her jeans. “Would you like something to eat?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Thanks, but I just want to get out of these clothes and have a shower.”

She studied my face for a moment, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Okay,” she said. “I'm here if you need anything.”

I felt awkward, weird, as though coming home had changed everything back to the way it used to be between us.

Anne disappeared in the direction of the kitchen and I started up the stairs. Halfway up I stopped. A déjà vu, goosebumps-up-my-back feeling came over me. How many times had I done this to Anne since the wedding? Even before then it had always been “No, thanks” and off to my room.

I sat on a step and leaned my head against the banister railing. I couldn't figure out how I felt about Anne now. Guilty, that was for sure. Because of the baby. Because Anne had always been nice to me and most of the time I'd been a brat.

I thought about all the mornings I'd sat at the table and pretty much ignored her. I thought about her telling Dad that she was going to look for Jason. I remembered her face, the way it glowed when she showed me the sonogram, and I remembered the way she'd looked the day she'd come home from the hospital with no baby.