Swimming Through Clouds (A YA Contemporary Novel) (20 page)

Knowing I cannot stay here all night, I gather myself off
the floor, gritting my teeth as I hug my arm to myself, friction heightening
each sensation. My hands shake as I fumble to replace each dress correctly on
its hanger.

I can’t help but blurt out my anger in a train of questions:
“Why? Why did you take away my pain? Only for a little while? I’m hurting. It
hurts. Will this pain ever go away?”

An answer comes. But not the one I expected.
The
pain was paused for a moment. To give you time to feel other things.
  

“But I thought when the pain disappeared... Actually, I
don’t know what to think anymore.” I tell the truth.

 
I am shaking my
head no. I want more. I don’t know if I have a right to ask. And I’m not sure
how much longer I can wait.
 

I open the door to return the dresses and sweater to the
nearest sales clerk, asking her to discard the tights. I spot Lagan by the
store’s exit. I’m ready to leave, too. School lunches will be served in less
than ten minutes.

Lagan looks outside, one hand on the door, the other
fiddling with his car keys. Disappointment tastes less bitter when you dine
alone. I wince in pain when a shopper bumps my arm in passing. Feeling
vulnerable inside and out, I wish I could walk back to school on my own, but
time robs me of even this tiny mercy.

“We should hurry back.” I break the silence as we walk
across the parking lots to find the Civic.

We’ve been circling around the mall outdoors, Lagan walking
slightly ahead of me. Silently. Once again, I’m rich with doubt and affliction.
Poor in hope and time. Story of my life.

“I’ll never forget today...” Lagan finally speaks as he
opens my car door and closes it when my feet firmly set themselves on the mat.
“For the rest of my life.” Lagan takes the driver’s seat. “Talia?”

“Yes.” I stare at my lap.

“You’re precious.” Lagan touches my arm.

“Ouch!” I let my pain slip out.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”  

“I hurt you. Your arm hurts. What happened?”

“Finish what you were
gonna
say.”
I beg him with my eyes. “Don’t worry about my arm. I’ll be fine...”

Lagan tries to roll back my sleeve, but I pull my arm to me
quickly and slide the cloth over my arm and hand. I can’t be exposed. I’d have
no out.

“What I was
gonna
say...” Lagan
begins again awkwardly, then pauses. We are talking about things that we can
talk about, because my reaction bolts the door he cannot walk through, yet. And
maybe ever.

“What I was
gonna
say was that you
don’t need a crown to prove anything. You’re precious to me.”

The car ignition starts and we’re back at school in less
than five minutes. We pull into the driveway, and Lagan lets me walk back
inside alone. He’ll see me tomorrow. I’ll finish the day out. Alone.

I sit in the cafeteria and push my food around the plate
with my plastic fork. I hunger and thirst for things not on the menu today. Or
ever, for that matter. To voice my desires always seems so futile. My arm
throbs, daring me to ask. The tattoos taunt louder. I swallow, pick up my
imaginary boxing gloves and hear my heart take three swings: “I. Do. Dare.”

The cursing images mute with shock. I’ve never talked back
before.

I begin inside my head with my eyes lowered to my lap.
I
need Lagan. I know Lagan will come if I invite him. I feel like a little girl
about to cross her first busy intersection. I need a hand to hold. I guess that’s
what I’m really asking: Can I hold his hand? So I don’t have to cross alone?

I don’t hear an answer, but I’m glad I asked. And I’m not
scared to ask. For once in my life, I’m not scared. I own this moment. And no
one—not even Dad–can take this away from me.

I reach down into my bag to grab a Sticky notepad and pen. I
begin writing out a quick question to Lagan before I chicken out. I’m so
absorbed in how to word it that I don’t notice Lagan approaching my table.

Until he speaks, startling me. “Is that for me, by any
chance?”

The
e
in the word
please
ends off the paper when my pen slips. Good enough. I peel
the note off and smooth the note down in front of him before I walk out of the
cafeteria. I’m probably the only person in
Phys
Ed,
so I don’t bother swinging by my locker to retrieve my uniform.

Before I ascend the stairs leading to the gymnasium, Lagan’s
voice echoes from behind, calling my name. I turn around to face him.

“Yes. On one condition.” He shakes his head, dimple in full
effect. “And you thought you were the only one with conditions.”

I laugh. My mind fast-forwards to May 17. In the garden. I
hope it doesn’t rain.

“Aren’t you
gonna
ask what that
condition is?” Lagan prompts me.

“Okay.” I say my line on cue. “On what condition?”

“No more secrets.”

I look down. I know he’s talking about my arm.

His voice softens to a husky whisper. “Unless you tell me
what’s going on with you, I can’t really know you. And I want to know you. I
don’t expect you to tell me everything all at once. But will you tell me the
truth, little by little?”

I swallow and look away. Then take a deep breath, look down
at Lagan, and nod. I know it’s the only way. I turn and walk up the rest of the
stairs. Panting as I reach the top, I accept that the actual journey I agreed to
travel with Lagan makes this climb look like an anthill in comparison.

I turn to look back, and Lagan still stands at the bottom of
the steps. He holds up one finger and then seven using both hands, as a smile
releases that heart-stopping dimple. Yup. May 17, 7:00 p.m. About one hour
before sunset. Two weeks away. I hope my arm and lips are fully healed by then.

I plan to get all my work done in order to enjoy the last
hour before the garden closes with Lagan—under our waterfall willow.
Funny how numbers have never been significant to me, like how some folks have a
lucky number, but I’m tickled at the fact that we are both seventeen years old
right now. If I choose a favorite number today, right now, that number is
one-seven. Seventeen.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO

May 17
on the calendar takes up so much space inside my head that I actually forget
about the letter I stumbled upon on Dad’s desk until I pass his den on my way
to Jesse’s room after school. Tempted to see the envelope to make sure I hadn’t
dreamt the whole scenario, I turn the knob to find it locked. The glass windows
reveal Dad’s desk is clear, bar a few stationary items. The pile of letters no
longer covers the corner. Dad came home once already today. Maybe twice.

“Jess?” I call his name, worried Dad might have seen him
somewhere besides his bed.

I find Jesse in his bed, lifting his body up and lowering
it, his face muscles tense when his elbows lock. He lowers himself and turns to
face me, sweat beading off his forehead. “Talia.” He says my name perfectly for
the first time since the accident.

“Did Dad see you?” Small talk can wait. “Did he see you?
Stronger? Trying to walk?”

“No.” Jess shakes his head at the same time. “But I
al-most...got…busted.”

My anxiety level drops and surges like a car’s revving
engine. “What do you mean by
almost
?” I need the whole story. Quickly.  

“I inched...to the
kitch
-en,” Jess
says slowly but clearly. “
Fal
-ling. Pull-
ing
back up. Hold-
ing
walls,
furn-i-ture
. Push-
ing
my legs. I
fell a lot. I wasn’t
giv-ing
up. I kept going. Know-
ing
I’d have to crawl back. Well...”

“Can you fast forward to when Dad shows up?” My
enemy—the clock—fiddles with its trigger finger, and my arm cannot
handle another bullet so soon.

Jesse shakes his head at my impatience. Then he speaks. Broken
phrases, but I understand. “I heard Dad. Unlocking the door. On my way back. My
legs felt like jelly, but Dad was home. So I lifted back to my feet. Lunged
toward my room. Landed on the floor. Face down, near my bed. Dad saw me and
assumed I had fallen. He put me back in bed. Cursing how lucky I was that he
stopped by. Then he left again. That’s all.”

“Wow.” Sigh. “That was a close call.”

“Yeah.” Jess agrees with a wide grin.
Is
he proud of his adventure?

“He locked his office,” I say.

“What’d
ya
expect? After catching
you in there yesterday.”

“That’s true.”  

I don’t have time to tell Jess about the letter. Or my arm.
Or my slow dance with danger. Soon, maybe at night after Dad goes to sleep,
I’ll sneak to his room and tell him everything. Or even better, when summer
vacation starts while Lagan leaves for his internship and Dad works late.

***

The
future reels toward me like an animated movie. Days turn to weeks. May. Then
June. Lagan and I secretly meet under our waterfall willow twice, but each
occasion leaves me wanting. On June 23, graduation arrives and leaves like a
ghost. I barely notice, because my family doesn’t attend. Dad had a very
important meeting with a client from New York. So important, you couldn’t
reschedule for your daughter’s graduation. No surprise there. The school mails
me my diploma. I’m official.

Lagan’s graduation party is on June 30, not on the
seventeenth. If I find some way to visit, I risk unraveling future
opportunities with him, but he reminds me every day up to the last day of
school. “It would mean a lot. Just stop by for a quick minute.”

On June 30, I dismiss any chance of leaving the house when
Dad arrives home on that Friday like clockwork, at 4:45 p.m. By seven o’clock,
dinner is done, the dish rack sits empty, and the floors sparkle. Dad reaches
in the fridge for milk to add to his nightly cup of chai right before the
startling bellow of my name leaves his lips. “Talia?”

I jump, thinking maybe cleaning out the fridge was on the
list and I forgot to throw out old leftovers. “Where’s the milk? I just bought
a jug two days ago.”

I shrug, but Jesse points to the kitchen sink while Dad’s
head remains buried in the fridge.

“Oh yeah.” I steady my voice. “Jess accidentally knocked the
jug over this morning from the counter after I poured some into his cereal.
Don’t worry. I get paid this week. You can take the money out of my salary to
cover the loss. I’m sorry, Dad. I should have paid attention to Jess’s
clumsiness.”

My brother and I exchange a stolen glance. Dad slams the fridge
door shut.

“I am tired.” Dad bores holes into me with his eyes. “Not in
the mood to run out to the store just to buy milk.” Then he glares at Jesse and
says, “So the one time you decide to move, you waste my money? What a waste you
are.”

Dad, just because
he can’t walk and talk, doesn’t mean he can’t hear you.
I swallow my words and wait for the fire
in Dad’s eyes to simmer down, just a tad, before suggesting something I’ve
never offered before.

“Dad.” I choose my words carefully. “Do you want me to run
over to the nearest deli, across from the high school, and pick up some milk?
It takes about twenty minutes to walk there, and it doesn’t get dark until
close to nine these days. I’ll bring back the receipt and exact change, and I
can make you a fresh cup of tea when I return. If that helps?”

“Okay.” Dad blurts out as he marches past us to his office.
“I’ll be busy at my desk. Just leave the change on the counter and put the
kettle to boil when you get back. And, Talia?”

“Yes, Dad?” I speak to his back.

He turns to look at me from down the hallway, holding a
ten-dollar bill out, and warns, “Don’t talk to anyone. Get the milk and come
straight home.”

I approach him, palm open to receive the money. Dad drops it
a few centimeters in front of me. The bill sails to the floor, and Dad turns to
enter his bat cave. Except he’s the evil Joker, and Batman awaits at his
graduation party, a few blocks from the high school. My mind swirls as I pick
up the cash and stare at my dingy jeans and stained green sweatshirt.

I run upstairs and change my clothes to my nicest jeans and
a clean white, button-down, long-sleeve shirt. Wearing a dress, the one black
dress I own from Mom’s funeral, would draw too much attention. This will have
to do. I brush my hair and slip on my black flats, anxious and terrified to see
Lagan in a social setting.

Think
Cinderella,
I remind myself.
Get in. Say hello. Get back. And don’t forget to buy the
milk.
I decide to buy the
milk first, afraid that after seeing Lagan, my mind will malfunction, and I’ll
run home empty-handed. The carriage turning back into a pumpkin does not
compare to the consequences of a botched up return.