Recovering (6 page)

 “Whatever
you want to do.”

“Well, let’s
see…” I rock with her, and she’s pulling herself together pretty well. “It’s
cold as hell outside, so…”

 “Ice
skating?”

I was
thinking of something more bed-related, but I’ve never been ice skating before.
This could be good too. “Sounds fun. Any place we can do that around here?”

 “There’s a
rink just a few blocks away.”

“Let’s do
it.”

Her lips
spread into a slow smile, so I back off and let her make dinner.

 
I’m better in the morning. The
migraine has backed off enough that I can sort of pretend it’s not there. I
wake up when Amanda shakes me. My girl already has breakfast prepared. We eat
it together in bed, after I’ve thrown on some clothes. Nothing like the cold
light of day for the self-esteem issues to kick in.

 Mandy keeps
insisting on helping me with the dishes, but I’m not having it. She cooked. I
clean up and sing
Walking on Sunshine.
I tell her the only way she can
help is by singing with me. After a good dose of over exaggerated begging on my
part she actually does. Terrible voice, that one, which makes it all the
better.

 After dishes
and a round of heavy petting, we’re bundled up and on our way to this outdoor
ice skating rink that Mandy says is only ten minutes away from the house. The
place is nice. Smells like snow and looks like a picture you’d see on a
postcard or on the wall of a nicer hotel than we usually book. The rink isn’t
too crowded, I guess because it’s a school day, but a few people still go round
and round. A girl with a shiny brown ponytail skates backwards like she was
born on the ice, and some kids at the end push a hockey puck back and forth.

This is humanity.
The good parts. The parts that Maya and Tarren are trying to protect up in
Peoria. After a new Chuck Norris joke this morning, Maya texted about trudging
through cold days and colder nights with nothing to show for it. I let her know
I was still alive and almost sent her a Chuck Norris joke in return – I’ve got
a hot one I’ve been saving up – but I just couldn’t do it yet. Not after the
hat.

I decide to
kick Tarren and Maya out of my thoughts. Let them freeze their balls and lady
parts off, respectively. I’ve got Mandy to keep me plenty warm. I lace up my
skates hoping this won’t be a disaster of the viral YouTube,
Tosh 2.0
variety. The whole gliding over ice on tiny metal blades thing would usually
appeal to the stupid in me. I’d always been one for jumping right in and learning
from scraped knees and ass landings. But now I feel anxiety creeping up. Wow,
so I guess the coma turned me into a pussy.

 Amanda already
chided me about how my awesome duster wasn’t warm enough on the ride over. As
she sits down on the bench next to me with her rented skates in one hand, she
produces an extra pair of mittens and a ridiculous purple knit cap from her
coat. I’m not about to put that fugly thing on my head. Mandy gives me her
worried eyes, like somehow this hat is an invincible shield against death by
head cold. I put it on. This is karma justice for the stupid straw hat we
always made Maya wear when her missing person case was all over the news last
year. Tarren was dead serious about it, but I would harp on her because the
damn hat just looked so stupid.

 Mandy and I
make our way to the ice. The skates are clunky and awkward, and my ankles
struggling for balance. Then we’re off the mats and, whoa...

 We glide…kinda.
I keep trying to walk, so we do this sort of clumping-gliding thing. And Mandy,
damn, it’s like I just threw a fish back in the water. She
swish swishes
next to me. We’re arm-in-arm, but I’m the one clinging to her for dear life,
not the other way around.

 “You’re
good,” I pant at her as two young boys rocket by us.

 “I took lessons,”
she says, and a shy smile lights up on her face. “A long time ago. I know I
don’t look like it.”

 I wish she
wouldn’t do that, put down all her achievements.

 We take a
few slow laps, and Mandy coaches me. I don’t usually go for someone telling me
what to do, but in this case I need all the help I can get. Plus, Mandy’s
nowhere close to an automaton, know-it-all brother I could mention. God, if
Tarren were a policeman, I bet every being on the planet would end up
incarcerated for littering, not flossing twice a day, or failing to sneeze at
the correct octave.

 After a few
more laps, I make myself let go of Mandy. No time like the present to grow a
pair and ice skate like a man. A few laps later, I’m doing alright for myself,
pushing against my skates, relaxing my body as I propel forward. I keep my arms
a little out from my sides, and things get magical for a while. Here we are,
Mandy practically soaring at my side, the two of us intermingling with all of
these total strangers. I close my eyes and pretend, just for this minute of
this hour of this day that I’m normal as fuck just like everyone around me.

 Eye
closing…ice skates…one of my lesser bad ideas, but still…bad idea. I cut one
corner a little too hard. My skate lands wrong, and I go down. The pain is
instant and deep, clawing up my hip and ankle. For a minute, I’m just on my ass
panting, wondering where all the air went in my lungs.

 Mandy is at
my side asking worried questions.

 I crack up
laughing, and I’m more than a good enough liar to fool her into laughing with
me while I take her hands and stand up. Fire dances inside my hip, and I feel
yesterday’s migraine still lingering in the back of my brain like a brewing
storm cloud. I force myself to complete a few more tender-footed laps before I
clump off to the bench. The skates are digging into my ankles anyway, but
really it’s because my legs feel like they got stuck in a tar pit.

Mandy makes
to sit with me, but I can tell she wants to be on the ice, so I order her back
out to the rink. She skates around for a few lackluster laps. When she comes
back around, I stand up and stop her.

 “Do what you
want to do,” I tell her. “All of these people are just background noise. Props.
Plastic.”

 Mandy nods,
her corkscrew curls bouncing. I put my gloved hand over hers.

“Show me what
you got.”

She laughs,
but I see a glint in her eyes that I like. She finds a rounded corner of the
rink out of the flow and spins on her skates. She even hikes her leg up like
one of those fancy skaters on TV. I sit on the bench and watch. As Mandy spins
and smiles and her orange curls whip around her pink cheeks, she really is
beautiful.

 The day goes
by like water rushing out of a spilled cup. After ice skating we make it back
to her place, and because we can’t think of anything else to do, we build a
snowman together. We have to pack the fine snow together hard to get it to
stick. But it’s one of those things where it’s the journey, not the
destination. The destination turns out to be a small, lumpish pile of snow with
embedded pebble eyes, a carrot stick nose, and mismatched twig arms. Mandy loops
a pink scarf around his no-neck but can’t find a top hat. She names him Tyrion
Lannister.

 Afterwards,
I take her out to dinner, because Mandy’s probably bought out a whole grocery
store feeding me these last two days. If my credit card was really as beefed up
as I’ve implied, I would have ordered six entrees. As it is, I go with a
cheaper pasta dish. Amanda just wants to order an itty bitty salad, insisting
that she’s on a diet, but I call BS all over that. She can go on a diet next
week.

We laugh. We
eat. I try to find out how many different ways I can make her blush and giggle
(answer: a lot). The big dessert I order for us includes a brownie and ice
cream and probably other stuff that would have tasted real good if I hadn’t
inhaled it. Mandy manages to get a few spoonfuls in and makes a happy little
moan with each bite.

On the way
back to her place, I feel the quicksand of exhaustion pulling me down.

 “This has
been, like, the funnest day of my whole life,” I say to Mandy and rub her thigh
when she stops at a light.

 “Me too,”
she says. “It’s so cold.” She cranks the heat higher.

 I hadn’t
even noticed. Actually I’m sweating. I know what that means. “I have to leave
tomorrow,” I tell her.

 “Oh.” She’s
looking down at my hand.

 “Doctor’s
appointment.”

“Of course.”

 “You got the
green,” I tell her just before some asshole honks behind us. With the heat
rumbling in the vents and some girly music pulsing through the radio, I lower
my eyes and that’s it for me. I only barely remember taking zombie steps up the
stairs and collapsing on her bed.

 I wake up to
her whispering something in my ear. “Lee? Lee?”

 “Who’s
that?” I mumble.

 “Amanda.”

“I know,” I
say.

 “What?”

 My eyes are
sinking shut. I couldn’t prop them up with steel two-by-fours.

 “Lee, I know
you’re tired. But can I…can I…” Her voice is a whisper, so far away.

 “Yeah?”

 “Touch you?”

“Sure baby.
Do whatever you want.” I’m about to fall asleep again, but the touch of her
cold fingers jolts me back. She hesitates.

 “Go ahead,”
I tell her, “S’ okay.”

 She lays her
hands on my lower back, under my t-shirt, then slides them up across my
shoulder blades. That’s the last thing I remember before going dark for the rest
of the night. I have no idea what she did or how far she went, but I hope she
got some pleasure out of my chicken bone body.

 When I wake
up the next morning, it’s early. Too early. I’m shivering, and my bones ache
like someone used them in croquet practice. Sick. Again.

 Mandy is
pressed against me, breathing slow and loud. I stroke her arm, studying all the
golden hairs I’d never noticed before. Being close to someone. Feeling the heat
of another body radiating onto mine. I want this. Every night. I want
Francesca. To stroke her arm. To play with her hair while she sleeps. To make
the bedroom our total world.

I get up quietly
and take a cold shower to wash all the fever sweat off my body. I check my
phone. Another Chuck Norris joke from Maya, this one sent at 1 AM. Jeez. They’ve
really been keeping crazy hours.

Make sure he sleeps
, I text her back.

I pack up my
bag, put Sir Hopsalot in his cage, and, after searching through every cabinet
in the kitchen, get the coffee going. It’d be easier for me to just walk out
right now. Amanda would let me too. Wouldn’t say a thing about it next time we
got online together. But I know she doesn’t deserve that kind of slinking exit.
I set two mugs of steaming coffee on the nightstand, get back in bed, and lay a
big wet kiss on her face. Then, right as she’s starting to rouse, I tickle her.

 Mandy
screams and flails and ends up smacking me pretty hard in the ear.

 “Gotta go
pretty soon,” I tell her, and this sobers her up. I pass her the coffee. She
winces at the first sip, and I wonder if she’s one of those crazies who dilutes
their caffeine hit with cream and sugar.

“This was
great though,” I tell her, laying a kiss on her collar bone. “I forget how much
I like being here. Being with you.”

 I think I
said the wrong thing, because she stares at her coffee. Whatever she’s thinking
though, she doesn’t say it. I put my things in the truck, and when I get back,
she’s standing in the kitchen in the beat-to-shit bunny slippers that I
absolutely love. My fav is the left one with the missing eye, which I’ve named
Captain Fury.

 “Stay for
breakfast?” she asks.

“I can’t.”
Really. My joints are rusty, and my stomach isn’t even close to appreciating
the thought of solid food.

 “But I’ll
stay for one more kiss. It’s got to be a good one though.” I almost add, “cause
I have cancer,” but decide at the last moment not to be a total ass. “Can you
lay a good one on me?”

 “Yes,” she
says, shy and sad again. Amanda walks up to me, brushes back her kinky orange
hair, and gives me a long, lasting kiss with some tongue. Her breath is a
little funky, but I make like she’s the sexiest thing on the planet, pressing
my body into hers, stroking her amazing breasts.

 “Well,
that’ll certainly tide me over for the duration,” I say as I pull back. I give
her another quick kiss. “Bye Mandy.”

“Bye Lee.”
She doesn’t ask me when I’ll be back. The girl’s really more than I deserve,
though I know she doesn’t see it that way. I honestly think I do more good than
harm, otherwise I wouldn’t come at all.

 She turns
away so I can’t see her face as I close the door.

 
The drive back home is about as
pleasant as getting Force-choked by Darth Vader. My bones are a thousand years
old, and apparently my brain has taken up percussion lessons in my head. An
hour and a half later, Bubba and I cruise through Pueblo, CO, the last refuge
of civilization before I plunge into the sprawling backwoods of my town, Farewell.
I’m at a stoplight right next to the WalMart when my phone rings.

 The hell?

 Only three
people on the planet have this number, Tarren, Maya, and Dr. Lee, and Maya’s
the only one who ever uses it, sending me her endless Chuck Norris texts and
short mission updates.

She doesn’t
call. Ever.

Could be a
wrong number or a telemarketer, but in my world it’s more likely someone I love
is bleeding…or worse. I pick up the call and nudge my way into the left turn
lane, ignoring the honks as I swing Bubba into the WalMart parking lot. I’m
pretty damn sure I don’t want to be on the road for this conversation.

 “Yeah?” I
say. My fingers tap on the wheel.

 “We have a
situation.” Tarren’s voice is cold and empty. Someone’s dead. Maya’s dead. Or
Maya’s hurt someone, but she wouldn’t…

 “Could you
be a little more fucking specific?” I say, and my voice is stupid loud.

 Epic pause.
“Maya has been taken.”

 I twist the
wheel and screech to a halt, parked crooked across three spaces in the back of
the lot. Tarren’s words light a fire inside me. I look at my hand on the wheel,
see the bones of my knuckles trying to push their way through my skin.

 Angels are
going to die for this. As many as it takes.

 “So we’ll
get her back.” My voice goes into hyper speed. “Tell me what we need. Guns,
knives, scopes, whatever, and then I’ll come out there and…”

“We need to
initiate Styx,” Tarren interrupts. Still that cold, robotic voice, like we’re
trading stock tips or discussing TPS reports.  If I could punch his stupid face
through the phone, I swear I’d do it.

 “I’m coming
and you’re not stopping me.” My voice is getting louder, trying to make up for
all his bullshit calm.

“If she
talks…”

“Maya won’t
talk!” I holler.

“If she does,
then everyone is in danger, Lo, Dr. Lee…” Tarren pauses for just a heartbeat,
“…and Francesca.

“Damn you,” I
choke.

“Get them
out,” Tarren says.

 The phone is
shaking against my face. “Don’t you fucking leave her Tarren. You find her, you
bring her back.”

We both know what
I’m asking. Styx. I hate that word. Hate it so much I might just give my left
nut to never hear it again. Mom created Styx. I have to believe she did it out
of love even though that word is like a nightmare, always stalking the very
worst moments of my life. Styx is the code word we use when capture is
imminent. It is a warning to the rest of the family to cut all lines of
communication, abandon the house, get our allies out. It means we run and never
look back so the angels can’t find us no matter what information they pull from
the captive.  

Abandon one
to save the rest.

 Well, I
don’t do the abandon thing. Not ever. Better we all go down fighting and
bleeding and cussing like sailors together than walk away from one of our own. I
sure as hell won’t let Tarren walk away either. He may act the cold-hearted
hero on the outside – might have even been playing at it long enough to believe
it – but I know the deepest parts of him are as squishy, human, and irrational
as the rest of us.

 “Tarren,
promise me you won’t leave her,” I say into the phone. “Promise on Mom’s
grave.”

 A pause on
the other end; one of those long, lingering Tarren pauses. “Don’t go back to
the house,” he says finally. “Dispose of all the phones. Pick up a different
vehicle…”

“I know how
it works!” I’m screaming now, totally losing it. Maya’s hurt. She’s getting
tortured, and I’m not there to save her, because she thought I was too weak.
She and Tarren both, and they were probably right.

Tarren
rattles off two email addresses he just set up so we can communicate without
using our old phones, but I interrupt him again.

“Get her
back!” I holler at the phone. “Get her…”

 The dial
tone hums on the other end. “No, no, no, SHIT!”

 I pound the
wheel with my fists, feeling the impact jar up my bones, but what does that
matter when my sister is gone?
Just like Tammy.
I can’t breathe. They
have Maya. They’ll hurt her.
Just like Tammy, just like Tammy.

 My brain is
in full meltdown mode, but one thought finally gets me to stumble out of the
truck and start stomping across the parking lot. I’m going to Peoria Fucking Illinois.
Nothing’s going to keep me here knitting a pair of socks for the soldiers
overseas while Tarren plays the hero…assuming he doesn’t turn tail with Mom’s
rule book up his ass. We’re going to rescue Maya. There’s just no other
alternative that I’m willing to live with.

 My strides
turn into a jog.
I haven’t been making Maya laugh.
This realization knees
me in the balls. I’ve been so caught up in my own pathetic-fest that I haven’t
even been trying. It’s my job to make sure she cracks that crooked smile and
doesn’t go sailing off into the sea of despair. I can’t ever get Tarren back
the way he was before Tammy died, but I can make Maya laugh. And I will. I
swear I will.

I come up to
the automatic doors, and damn, when did that they start moving at the speed of
glaciers? I get in, grab a basket, and manage not to punch out the dentures of
the WalMart greeter who has the audacity to be pleasant and happy. 

 I head to
the mobile phone department and drop a handful of cheapo, pay-as-you-go phones
and some prepaid minute cards into my basket. I always carry an emergency $300
prepaid credit card in my wallet. This pretty damn well looks like an emergency
to me. Next, I load up on snacks, piling protein bars into the basket and
enough energy drinks to fuel the entire World of Warcraft community for a week.
I hurry past the outdoor section on my way to the counter, stop, and backtrack.
I go down the aisle, and my heart clobbers in my chest as I set eyes on a
beautiful piece of equipment. I have just enough on the prepaid card to cover
it. I tuck my prize under my arm and rush to the cash register like all of
hell’s fury was at my heels.