Fear of Falling (7 page)

“What about all the blood that was on his face?” Mom asks.

“Just a nosebleed,” the doc explains. “Always looks scarier than it is.” He scribbles something on a prescription pad and hands it to Mom. “Call if he has any dizziness or nausea. But I expect he's going to be just fine.” He smiles at me. “Take care and get some rest—and stay off those horses for a few days!” He turns to go.

“Thanks, Dr. Michaels,” Mom says, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

I glance up at my parents. Dad's face is pale and tight, and Mom looks positively sick with worry.

What can I say? “Sorry, Mom, sorry, Dad. I totally blew that jump,” I mumble.

Mom's never been all that wild about me riding horses. Unlike Dad, she doesn't ride at all, and she's always been fearful that I might get hurt, especially once I started jumping. Now I'll probably never even get to
see
another horse as long as I live, much less learn to jump.

“I'm really, really sorry,” I say again.

Mom glares at Dad and then bursts into tears. Dad looks really uncomfortable and clears his throat a few times.

This is totally weird. How come they're not getting on my case? How come Dad's not telling me how badly I messed up?

And then I hear the strangest thing. Dad is apologizing—apologizing to
me.
“God, I'm so sorry, David,” he says. “It's all my fault.”

I blink, suddenly feeling dizzy. “
Your
fault? But—”

“I was stupid,” he says harshly. “I pushed you too hard, too fast. You never would have tried that jump in a million years if I hadn't pushed you to do it. I—I just wanted—” He holds out his hands helplessly. “I'm sorry.” He turns to Mom. “I'm so, so sorry.”

I look at Mom. She's so angry with him she's about to explode. I can tell because she's real quiet. But then she takes a deep breath and her face softens a bit. “Well, Charlie, I'm glad you got him to the hospital so fast. And I appreciate you calling me right away so I could be here when you arrived.” She turns to me and smoothes my bangs out of my eyes. “Now, let's get you home and into bed.”

Dad swallows. “Right, that's a good idea.” He squeezes my hand. “I'll see you tomorrow, son. All right?”

Somehow I have the feeling he's asking Mom for permission as much as he's promising me he'll be there.

W
hen I wake up the next morning, I get a clear picture in my mind of the life-size plastic skeleton model in Mrs. Nelson's science class.

That's because I can feel every bone in my body. I shift positions and find a couple more bones I forgot I had.

Then I notice a little munchkin standing beside my bed, wearing a purple sundress over a turtleneck and tights. Ashley stares at me, her eyes as round as saucers. Finally she whispers, “Are you still alive, David?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “You guys aren't getting rid of me that easily.”

Her eyes get even bigger.

“I'm just kidding, Ash!” She looks so worried, I open my arms for a hug.

She hugs me very, very carefully, as if she's afraid that I might break.

So what can I do? I just
have
to tickle her!

She shrieks in delight and jumps out of my reach. “Mo-om!” she screams, giggling.

That's better.

“I brought you some breakfast,” she announces and carefully picks up a tray that she has set on the floor. She carries it over at an impossible angle. I hope some of the juice makes it all the way over to me.

I take the tray. She's made very, very dark toast with about a half a jar of strawberry jelly mounded up in the center of it. “Thanks, Ash. It, uh, looks delicious.”

“Can I have a bite?”

I hand her half the toast, and she happily stuffs it in her mouth.

I remember then that it's Wednesday—no school today. That's a relief. And Mom's taken the day off work to get everything ready for Thanksgiving tomorrow.

Something flies through the air and lands with a thump on the bed right next to me. What in the world?

It's a tube of sports cream. I look up to see Brian standing in the doorway. “This stuff is mostly useless,” he says, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed, “but maybe it'll help those aches and pains a little. At least the smell will keep the girls away.”

I laugh. “Thanks.”

“Heard a horse tried to play Frisbee with you.”

I shrug. I don't want my big brother to think I'm a wimp. “They say you have to fall off a horse seven times before you're a
real
rider,” I tell him.

“Really? Man, and I thought football was hard!” Brian says. It's almost as if he's impressed.

Suddenly the doorbell rings and Ashley jumps, dropping jelly toast down the front of her dress.

Her eyes light up. “Maybe it's Daddy!”

“Ashley, wait!” I say.

But she's already flying out of the room.

Brian's eyes lock with mine. He knows Dad's back in town. Mom hasn't told Ashley yet. I guess Mom's been waiting, to make sure he shows up.

“Have you seen Dad yet?” I ask Brian.

Brian shrugs, his face a mask. “Nope. And I don't particularly want to.”

“Brian, he's moving back to Pennsylvania!”

“Yeah, right. Keep dreaming, kiddo.”

“No, I mean it, he says he's moving back,” I insist. “I think he's trying to…I don't know, make things better.”

Brian looks down at me, and I'm shocked by the raw anger suddenly revealed on his face. “Well, maybe things are better the way they are.”

“Brian! How can you say that?”

“Easy. I've got things worked out just fine, thank you. I've got a job, friends—I've got a life, man. Who needs him?”

“Daddy!” Ashley squeals from the front hallway.

Brian turns his head, listening for a moment. Then he jumps off the bed. “I'm outta here.”

“Brian, wait—”

“Hey, I've got to get to work,” he says. “Do you know how many cute girls show up at the movies when there's a school holiday?”

And he's out the door. I hear him greet Dad briefly in the hallway, as if it's just another day, and then the front door slams. Brian's gone.

I throw back the covers and dress as quickly as I can, but I'm so stiff and sore that it's a painful process. I'm groaning and pulling a T-shirt on over my head when I hear footsteps on the stairs, and suddenly Dad's standing there in the doorway. Ashley's holding on to his hand, smiling like she's going to burst.

“See? I
told
you it would be Dad!” She looks up at him and heaves a big, exaggerated sigh. “He
never
believes me.”

Dad and I laugh. Then I notice Dad's holding something—a big box with a large orange bow on top. He hands it over and I rip off the lid. “Sweet!” It's a fancy new riding helmet with a bright green Lycra cover. “It's excellent, Dad. Thanks!”

“Well, you put a few dents in the old one,” he says. “Can't have you riding around in a banged-up helmet. What would the horses think?”

I smile and try it on. “How do I look?” I ask Ashley.

She cocks her head, twirling a finger in her hair. “Kind of like Kermit the Frog,” she decides.

We all laugh, and then I notice Mom in the doorway, watching, a half-smile on her face.

“Did you see my new helmet, Mom?” I ask.

Mom nods. “Very nice. Looks expensive,” she adds.

Dad shifts from one foot to the other, then quickly says, “I was thinking of taking Ashley out for a bit.”

Mom hesitates, as if it's something she wants and fears at the same time. She doesn't want Ashley hurt. But at last she says, “Sure, why not. Only—” She peers more closely at my sister and shakes her head. “My goodness, sweetheart!” Ashley has strawberry jelly all over her face and down the front of her dress. There's even some in her hair. “We'll have to get you cleaned up first. Come on, missy, you need a bath. I hope I can get that jelly out of your dress.”

“I'm not taking it off!”

“Oh yes you are, young lady.”

“Do as your mom says, pumpkin,” Dad chimes in. “I'll wait. You look so pretty in that dress—don't you want it washed so you can wear it tomorrow for Thanksgiving?”

Ashley nods and dashes for the bathroom, and Mom gives Dad a grateful smile.

I try not to be jealous of all the attention Ashley's getting from Dad. After all, I had him to myself yesterday. But still, I can't help wishing I were the one he was taking out this morning.

Then I have an idea. “Hey, Dad, while you're waiting for Ashley, want to see the animal clinic where I volunteer? It's just across the street.” I want Dad to know I'm not a total failure at everything. Maybe he'll be impressed when he sees what I do at Dr. Mac's Place.

“Well…” He looks back over his shoulder. “Ashley will be ready soon—”

“It'll only take a minute. Come on…Please?”

“All right, David. Sure, let's go.”

“I'll bring Ashley out when she's ready,” Mom tells us.

Dad and I walk across the street to the clinic. “I work over here several hours a week,” I explain. “Like I told you about in my letter.”

“Terrific,” Dad says. “How much do you make?”

“It's volunteer work, Dad.”

“Oh.” Dad nods. “Well, that's good, too.”

When we walk in, the waiting room is empty of patients. Maggie and Zoe are at the front desk, looking for something in Dr. Mac's overflowing pile of papers.

Dad says hi to Zoe, and I introduce Maggie. “This is Maggie MacKenzie, Dr. Mac's grand-daughter.” I turn to the girls. “Are Brenna and Sunita around?”

“Not yet,” Maggie says, munching on a muffin. “Things are pretty slow today, anyway.”

“Want one of these?” Zoe offers a plate of muffins. “Cranberry-orange. I just baked them this morning.”

I grab two—I never did eat the half jar of strawberry jelly on charcoal toast that Ashley brought me for breakfast. And Zoe is a great cook. She says the housekeeper who raised her taught her how to make everything. Before Zoe moved in, about the only things Dr. Mac and Maggie ate were cold cereal and frozen pizza.

Dad starts to sit down on one of the chairs in the waiting area, but I tug him back up. “Come on, I want to show you around.”

We head back toward the examining rooms. “Dr. Mac named her rooms after veterinarians from favorite books,” I explain. “This is the Herriot Room. And this one's named after Dr. Dolittle.”

Just then Dr. Mac comes out of the Dolittle Room with a broom and dustpan. I cringe a little. Here I'm hoping to show Dad what a fast-paced medical clinic this is, and Dr. Mac's playing janitor!

“Good morning, David. How are you feeling?” Dr. Mac inquires.

“What's wrong?” Zoe and Maggie ask at once.

I guess they haven't heard yet. “Well, my dad was giving me some jumping lessons. I cleared the jump perfectly. But my horse stayed behind.”

Everyone laughs.

“Look on the bright side,” Zoe says. “Only six more falls to go.”

“Well, feel free to look around, Mr. Hutchinson,” Dr. Mac says. “Maggie, would you mind going upstairs and getting the folders that are on my nightstand?”

“Sure, Gran.” Maggie hops up and heads through the door that connects the clinic to their house.

Dad looks around politely. I wonder if he's bored. I sure wish something would happen so he could see what we do here.

Dr. Mac turns back to my dad. “It's not usually this quiet around here,” she explains, as if reading my mind. “Guess it's the holidays. I'm actually enjoying the lull for a change. Gives me a chance to get caught up on my research.” She chuckles. “That is, I
was
getting caught up, until my modem threw a tantrum. Now I can't get on the Internet at all.”

“Don't look at me,” I say. “That's Sunita's department.”

She nods. “I keep telling myself I'm going to take a computer class. I guess I'll have to add Sunita to my Thankful List.”

“Your what?” I ask.

“Just what it sounds like—a list of all the things I have to be thankful for.”

You'd think Dr. Mac has the perfect life. She gets to work with animals. She loves what she does, and everybody loves her. And she even writes a column for the newspaper. But she's had her share of hard times. Maggie's parents, her own daughter and son-in-law, died when Maggie was little. And from what I can tell, she doesn't even speak much with Zoe's mom. So now she's raising two granddaughters
and
running her clinic.

“So I write a Thankful List every November,” Dr. Mac continues. “It helps me stay focused on all the good things in my life, not on what's going wrong at the moment.”

“Sounds like something we could all stand to do,” my dad is saying, just as the door flies open and a woman rushes in.

“Dr. Mac—Omar is choking!” Andrea Moore, a young woman who lives a few doors down, holds up a large Siamese cat that's making horrible gagging noises. She's got the cat wrapped in a towel to protect herself from scratches, but he's almost clawed his way out.

Everybody moves into action. Clutching Omar, Andrea follows Dr. Mac into the Herriot Room.

“Hands!” Dr. Mac calls over her shoulder.

We know what that means. Even in an emergency Dr. Mac insists on clean hands. We wash up while Dr. Mac swipes the stainless steel examining table with an antiseptic.