Twist (19 page)

I stretch my head to one side and wiggle my arms. “I actually feel better. We knew this might happen. I do remember that conversation. Don't make me go see the doctor again,” I say.

“Let's make sure,” Mom says as she picks up her cell phone and punches the doctor's speed dial number.

I hear her going back and forth with the nurse. When she's on hold, I ask, “Can I go with Dad to fix George's sink?”

Mom shakes her head and then walks away, talking into the phone.

Dad says, “Wait and see what your doctor recommends. George can be without a sink for a day. Let's just settle down.”

“I don't want to settle down,” I say.

Dad gives me a stink eye look, but I ignore him. My memory is wide open now, like the flea market on first Sundays. I can find almost anything I want as soon as I scan the aisles. I remember when Bea showed up at school a few weeks before I officially met her. I looked for her after that, but didn't see her again until Charlotte's house, when she made my insides feel like I was carving a perfect wave in the best billabong on earth. I shiver, thinking about her skin touching mine. “What exactly is wrong with her?”

“I don't know,” Dad says. “But I hear she sometimes has a twisted recollection of things. Maybe even hallucinations.”

“An inoperable brain lesion,” Mom says as she enters the room.

“I know that, but how?—where'd it come from?” I ask.

“
Don't know,” Mom says.

I remember Dad telling me on the very night I met Beatrice about her Mom. His words bounce around my skull.
Grace had some type of brain disease. She literally went mad
. So I say, “Is Bea's sickness like her Mom's?”

“What do you mean?” Dad says.

“You told me about the crazy brain disease.”

Dad turns to Mom and she looks down. “I don't know,” she says.

But something rings true in what I've asked, because Mom won't look at me. She's doing that parent thing, guarding me from the truth. I can tell because I feel supersonic. I've got my strong powers of observation back now, and a nice guy like Lou on my side.

Dad and Mom have a conversation, but I don't listen because my mind's strolling down memory lane. Simon was right! I had a lot of girlfriends, that's for sure.
Had
is the key word here, because Bea is the one for me.

“Answer me, Lou.” I look up and Mom's looking at me. But I have no idea what she asked. “Are you dizzy? Do you feel like you're going to vomit?”

“No,” I say.

“We're going to stay close to home tonight. Keep an eye on . . .”

“Me?” I say. “We can do that anywhere. This is bullshit.”

“Watch your mouth,” Dad says. “We're just following the doctor's orders, which is to take it easy.”

I stomp off to my room and call Simon. “I need a favor.”

Ten
minutes later I climb out my window and sneak down the block around the corner. When Simon rolls up to the curb, he asks, “When you going to get a car? You're Dad's going to kill me if he finds out.”

I jump in the front seat. “Don't tell him then, because I'm not going to.” I don't even bother sharing with Simon that I've remembered everything. I just want to see Bea.

“Go away, young lad! Conquer thy woman,” Simon says with the worst fake accent and then he slams on the brakes a few houses before the Hoffman's.

“Watch it!” I say, because it was so unexpected my entire body lurched forward and there came the dizzy spell.
Crap!

“You can walk a few steps. I'm not your Taxi service?”

“The jolt, not the walk. Idiot! I told you I'd give you ten. Here it is,” I say, handing him his money. “Don't answer your phone if my dad calls.”

I stand on the curb and gesture for him to leave.

Simon yells out the window as he screeches away. “You're welcome, douche bag! Enjoy the walk home.” I hear his laughter as his car zips away.

The house is dark, exactly like the few times I convinced Simon to drive by. I knock. The door swings open and George is standing there. He looks me up and down. “Swimming looks good on you.” Then his eyes look out at the street. “Where's your dad?”

“He's on his way.” I lie. “Simon dropped me.”

Charlotte comes at us from the back part of the house. She squeezes me. “I knew your hair would lighten up. You look handsome.” She touches my arm, as if to see if I'm real.

I
peek into the living room but I don't see Bea.

“Sit down,” Charlotte says.

“Can I see Bea?” I ask.

“She's having a bad day. The headaches are less frequent, but when they happen it puts her in a mood,” Charlotte says.

“I really want to see her.” I plead with my eyes.

Charlotte nods. “We told her you might be stopping by.”

On the way upstairs, I ask, “What about school?”

“I'm homeschooling her for now.” She grunts and adds: “Though she could homeschool me. Smart girl.” Charlotte points to the door. “I'll leave you two alone.”

I tap on the door.

“Come in,” Bea says.

My scalp tingles at the sound of her voice. As I open the door I have the strangest sensation in my body, it's as if my skin peels away and I'm part of a giant rainbow, radiant and shining. My pulse is off the charts. I try to walk slowly to her bed and stay calm but all I want to do is scoop her up and yell
Hallelujah
!

I hear a dorky voice say, “Hey.” And I can't believe that's all I say and in that wimpy tone!

“Hey,” she says. She has a TV remote in her hand but her sparkling blue eyes are examining me.

I feel breathless as I sit in the chair next to the bed. “I've been asking to see you for weeks. How are you feeling?” My voice is wobbly.

“You're so familiar,” she says. “Are you . . . famous or something?”

“
I'm Lucas Drake,” I say. “Call me Lou.”

“You can call me Trish.”

“Trish?”

“Charlotte says my name is Beatrice, and she keeps calling me Bea. So does George, and my nurse, Jessica, and the doctors . . . and everyone,” she says. “I'd rather be Trish.”

I scrunch my nose.

“What's with the kooky face?” she says. “It's a lot like Lucas to Lou, right?”

She doesn't look like she's in pain.

“How are you feeling . . . Trish?”

“You just asked me that. I'm on pain medicine, so I'm loopy. A little chatty, but I think I know you, Luke.” Her crooked smile makes my heart thump so hard it might hit China. She's propped up on pillows and her body is wrapped in a purple blanket. She's wearing lip-gloss and eyeliner. I'm excited that she's made the effort.

“Bea, you look really good,” I say. “Your hair has gotten longer, and you . . . don't look like what I expected.”

“Trish,” she says, and then she grabs onto her forehead and squints.

I rise up in the chair and put my hand on her arm.

The pain seems to subside because she stops squinting. “What'd you expect, Luke?”

“Lou,” I say.

“I know you as Luke.”

“You know me,” I say.

“
Yes,” she laughs.

“I know you as Bea,” I say.

“Touché, smarty pants.” She puts her hand on top of mine. “You can call me Bea. I'm just messing with you.”

“What?”

“Aunt Charlotte told me about the ‘Lou' thing. So I made that up.”

“Not cool,” I say. Her hand is warm and soft and I resist the temptation to kiss it.

“It's nice to see you,” she says.

I grin. “You know that I forgot who I was for a while?”

“Yes,” she says. “It's not fun having no memory.”

“I seem to have it all back now.” I lick my lips. My mouth is so dry that I'm practically croaking at her. “You sound like you remember some things.”

She puts her hand out flat and wiggles it back and forth, meaning so-so. “Some of it's here.”

I don't know what to say so I look around her room. It's just a room in Charlotte's house. It's not Bea's room. “You have a nurse?”

“Yeah, she's Amilee's mom.”

“The Seattle people?”

“Yeah. And apparently I'm a trust fund baby. When Dad died, he left me a lot of dough.”

“Your dad's dead?” I ask.

“Years ago,” she says.

Now the wacky is coming out. Here we go
.

“
I guess I never knew that.” I try to play it off.

“Luke, Teddy isn't my dad,” she says.

She grabs her forehead again and her face contorts. “Give me a sec.” Her pale skin comes out in splotches. “It'll pass.” She's holding her breath and then she exhales. Her eyes are suddenly bloodshot and watery.

She yanks her hand away and pulls the covers way up to her chin. Pouting now, she says, “What are you doing here, Grant? Why aren't you in Seattle?”

I'm confused. “Grant?”

She pulls the blanket in tighter. She's not shining from the inside anymore—it's a complete withdrawal. So I answer her because I want her back, the way she was a few seconds ago. “Thought I'd visit.”

She frowns and says, “It was only a single night. You almost killed me.” She examines me. “Have you been in Cali for a while? You're really tan.”

I nod.

“Where are you staying? Seaside Inn?”

I nod. I know I'm gaping at her, but she doesn't notice. Her eyes are vacant.

“I've been meaning to tell you, it was not completely your fault.”

“Refresh my memory?” I say.

“You're so silly. You know I love Luke.” She nudges my hand away. “Go away. I need to sleep.”

I go downstairs and Charlotte says, “Your Mom called.”

I shrug.

“
You should have told me.” She wrinkles her forehead. “They're coming to get you.”

I'm so distracted. I don't care if they punish me for life. “I think Bea remembers me, but she's a little twisted.” I look at Charlotte and tick off the list. “Teddy isn't her dad. Her real dad is dead. Amilee's mom is her nurse. She has a trust fund. And then she confused me with Grant.”

Charlotte winces.

“Who's Grant?” I say. “And does Beatrice go by Trish?”

Charlotte groans. “She did that to you? She's high on pain medicine. I told her about your situation.”

“She made that up, right?”

“Yeah, sorry. She thought it'd be funny. She remembers you, Luke. I spend hours with her, answering questions about her mom and dad, and pieces of her life. I think she's slowly remembering other things, too. But she's always remembered you. Grant was a boy at her school in Seattle.”

I can't stand the idea of Beatrice Malcolm with anyone but me.

“She's scattered at times . . . She has these illusions. But she'll remember. Just like you did.” Charlotte puts her hand on my chin and inspects my face.

I blink my eyes separately and flare my nostrils, but she keeps looking so I raise one brow then the other. I wiggle my nose, crinkle my forehead, and now I'm all out of facial spasms, so I say, “What are you looking for?”

Her eyes refocus on me, as if she's been in a trance. Then, she pinches my chin. “Seeing if you're in there. You look better than ever,” she says. “And I'm trying to build
up
the courage to tell you . . . Why don't you swim, go to college, and walk away from all of this?”

“Because of Bea,” I say without a second of consideration. “I'd do anything for her.”

George is sitting at the table with the newspaper spread out and a beer in his hand. He chuckles and says, “Your dad's truck just pulled up. Don't run.”

“Whatever,” I say to him, and then I turn to Charlotte. “Can Bea come to my swim meet?”

George and Charlotte lock eyes, and he answers, more serious now. “Might be too soon.”

“When can I see her again?” I ask. “This weekend? After the meet . . .”

“Let's see how she's feeling,” Charlotte says.

Dad taps on the front door and enters with his toolbox. “You can thank my son for getting me over here,” he shouts toward George. Then he walks up to me and I'm ready for a punch, but instead he hugs me. “Don't run off like that without telling me where you're going.” He gently pushes my chest away and walks toward the kitchen.

Cool
. I feel like I was just given a
get out of jail free card
. Then Dad whips his head around and says, “I wouldn't smile so bright. You will be grounded.”

“What was I supposed to do, tell you I was leaving? You—“

Dad waves his hand. “Not here. Not now. Later.”

Then Mom steps inside. I thought he'd come alone. But she's standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “I'm sorry, Charlotte.”

Mom
points her finger at me, and she's about to say something but Charlotte takes her arm and guides her toward the table.

“Can he swim?” George asks.

“Olympics,” Dad says. “He's really good.”

“No, I mean since he got his memory back. Any issues?”

I snap my tongue on the roof of mouth and say, “Try and stop me. I'm swimming tomorrow.”

Everyone's talking at once, even Dad from under the sink. George raises his voice. “Alright, I'm sure he's fine. Look at him.”

I stand there with tight fists hanging at my sides, gnawing on my lower lip.

Mom stares at me and then says, “They just want us to keep an eye on him. If he has no symptoms of dizziness or vomiting he can swim.” She moves near me and squeezes my arm. “You scared me. Don't run off like that again.”

I look away from her.

“Why don't you guys come to the meet?” Dad says from the edge of the dining room. His hair is standing straight up.