Secret for a Song (18 page)

W
e
were in my car, backing out, when Drew’s and my cell phones beeped at the same
time with text messages. Mine said, simply:

Don’t
forget our arrangement.—N.P.

As
I read mine, Drew said, “It’s Jack; he says they’re home now. He wants to know
if we can make it over there anytime soon.”

“We
can be there in twenty minutes,” I said.

I
was putting the car in park in Jack’s driveway twenty minutes later when Drew
pressed something into my hand. I looked down and saw a little guitar-shaped
USB stick. “What’s this?”

“Your
soundtrack,” he said.

I
laughed. “What?”

“You’ll
see.” His eyes actually twinkled. I could tell he was greatly enjoying being
mysterious.

I
kissed him on the mouth. “Okay. Thank you, whatever it is.”

“You’re
welcome,” he said, smiling against my lips.

Inside,
Jack’s dad greeted me with a big hug. I returned it, tentatively, but it was
hard to breathe with his Santa Clause-esque belly pressing into me. He smelled
like bacon and cologne, and finally, I pulled back.

“Thank
you,” he said, releasing me but grabbing my face in both his warm hands. “You
are an absolute angel.”

Drew
laughed softly behind me. “So the meeting went well?”

“It
went really well. Noah Preston has agreed to take on Jack’s case,” Jack’s
mother, Jeannie, said from somewhere behind his dad. Then: “Oh, Dave. Move out
of the way so she can come in.”

Dave,
still smiling broadly, raised his hands in apology. “She’s right. Sorry. Come
in, dear.”

Drew
and I followed them down a narrow hallway and into Jack’s bedroom. He was in
his bed, sleeping, his head tilted on his pillow, mouth open. His bony chest
moved shallowly up and down, as if each breath was only half there.

“He
was awake a moment ago,” Jeannie whispered.

“It’s
okay. Let him sleep,” Drew said.

We
moved back out to the living room where we could talk.

“Noah
Preston decided to take your case,” I said carefully. “That’s great. But...can
you afford his services?”

“He’s
deeply discounting them for us,” Jack’s father said. “He said it’d be good to
have a case like Jack’s heard in New Hampshire. Legal precedent and all that.”
He looked at Drew. “So you don’t have to schlep all around town doing the
petition anymore, son.”

I
wished Noah Preston had taken on the case for free, but benevolence belonged in
children’s books, not the real world.

“Mr.
Preston said you made an arrangement with him so he’d agree to meet us,” Jeannie
said. “That’s so kind of you, sweetie, but we wouldn’t want you to put yourself
in a hard place for us.”

“No,
I promise it was nothing.” I flushed under the penetrating gaze of three pairs
of eyes.

Drew
had tried to get me to tell him more about my “arrangement” with Noah Preston,
but I had refused. It felt like the least I could do, to step out of the
limelight and let Jack’s fight be his own. I didn’t want any of the glory. I
suppose, too, that some part of me wanted the least amount of things be sorry
for when the truth came out about who I really was.

After
the visit, when we got in the car, I looked at Drew. “What do you want to do
tonight?”

He
pointed to the clock on the dash. “Did you forget? It’s TIDD group night.”

“Right.”
I felt my heart flutter in anxiety. I forced myself to remember Linda Adams
didn’t seem to venture down to the basement very much. And Dr. Stone hadn’t
said anything about calling the hospital about me. But just to be safe I
decided I’d go up and see her, tell her things were going fine.

We
walked in the double doors and I gestured to the stairs. “I’m actually going to
go up and visit with Linda Adams first.”

“Who?”
Drew paused.

“Oh,
um, just...someone my parents are friends with. I told them I’d stop by and say
hello. You can go ahead without me; I’ll meet you down there.”

“Okay.”
Drew kissed me on the forehead and ambled toward the elevators.

I
waited until he got on even though there was no way he could possibly follow me
up the stairs. Guilt is a powerful, though illogical, motivator.

I
bounded up the stairs, my heart pounding furiously, and not from the exercise. Waving
to Shelly, Linda’s assistant, I said, “Hey. Can I go in and see her?”

She
nodded, so I knocked on Linda’s door, and when she called out, I went in.

“Hi,
Linda.” I wiped my palms on my jeans, thinking, She knows. Dr. Stone called her
to make sure I wasn’t doing exactly what I am doing. She knows, she knows, she
knows.

But
Linda looked up from her computer screen smiling. “Ah, Saylor. I’ve been
thinking about you. How have you been doing?”

I
fiddled with the zipper on my hoodie, relaxed a little. She was smiling, not a
hint of hostility about her face. Maybe she didn’t know. “Okay.” Drew’s face
came into my mind and I smiled. “Really well. I’ve met some cool people.”

Linda
leaned back in her chair. “Yes, the groups have incredibly dynamic people. Any
ones you’re particularly enjoying?”

I
knew I shouldn’t have said it the moment it left my mouth. “The TIDD group.” I
shouldn’t give her information she might want to check up on. But I told myself
to chill. Dr. Stone hadn’t called her, and why would he? I wasn’t in the
medical part of the hospital, where I could pilfer supplies or pick up medical
books. He had no reason to breach patient confidentiality and tell her about my
Tylenol saga.

“The
TIDD group—yes, they’re a fun bunch. Young people. Mostly your age?”

I
nodded.

“I’m
glad you’re enjoying your time with us.” She sat upright again, like she was
ready to get back to work.

“Okay.
Well, I just wanted to check in, let you know everything’s going well.” I waved
and walked out, a huge weight lifting off me. I sprinted back down to the
basement, whistling a tune from the Carousel Mayhem CD.

Downstairs,
the TIDD meeting had already begun. Drew had saved me a chair right beside him,
and I sank into it. Zee was talking about her new wig, a light lavender one
with big curls we’d bought at Wigs and Twigs. I smiled at her story, and my
eyes drifted across the room. I hadn’t really recognized the person sitting
across from me. I’d assumed it was someone new. But it was Pierce.

He
was curled in on himself, his skin riddled with large grape-colored tumors in
more places than the last time I’d seen him. His eyes had a scary vacant look
to them, as if he wasn’t really there with us. His hair was plastered to his
scalp because he was sweating. And yet he wore his big outdoor jacket, which
just accentuated his hollow cheeks and the chin that jutted out too much. He
met my eye and didn’t smile.

When
Zee was done with her story, he sat up a little straighter. “I have to get home
early,” he said in a voice that sounded like dry stick scraping cement. “But I
wanted to invite you guys to something.”

He
handed out little envelopes to me, Zee, and Carson. Drew didn’t get one. We
opened them simultaneously. There were little invitation cards that said,

You’re
Invited

Come
Hang Out With Pierce at Sphinx. Say Goodbye. Celebrate His Life. 8 PM Tuesday.

“My
mom made these,” he said. “Drew’s singing. You guys’ll come, right?” He
exploded into those barking coughs like he had at Sphinx, and when he was done,
I noticed that his mask was pink-tinged. Blood.

I
nodded. “Of course.”

“Wouldn’t
miss it for anything. You know that.” Zee swallowed compulsively and then
looked away.

Carson
nodded. He didn’t look very strong himself, but he didn’t look as bad as
Pierce. “I’ll be there, man.”

Nodding,
Pierce got up. I looked to the doorway and saw his mom there. She waved to us
and we waved back. Arm in arm, they walked slowly to the elevators.

We
didn’t really speak too much after that. Drew updated everyone on Jack’s lawyer
situation. Carson said he was fine, though he didn’t look it. And finally, Drew
spoke again to tell Zee and Carson about his chair prescription.

Zee
punched him lightly on the arm. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? I would’ve gone
with you.”

“I
kind of wanted to be by myself at the appointment,” he said. He was graceful
enough to not tell her that I’d known already.

She
got up and hugged him.

“I’m
okay,” he said.

But
he looked at me while he said it, and I remembered him in his apartment,
drinking and listening to Carousel Mayhem. I wanted to hold him and kiss him
and make love to him at that moment, for protecting her.

I
took a deep breath and looked away, wanting to give them a moment of privacy.
It was then that I saw her. Linda Adams stood at the entrance to the room,
something like half-confusion and half-alarm on her face from seeing me sitting
in there.

I
jumped to my feet. Drew and Zee looked at me, confused. Pointing to the doorway
and Linda Adams, I said, “I just have to go talk to someone I know. Um, I’ll be
waiting outside for you guys.”

My
heart raced as I speed-walked to the entrance, and with a big grin on my face,
pulled Linda Adams by the elbow to the side. “I don’t want to bother them by
talking in there,” I muttered, leading her to the doorway.

“Oh,
of course.” Linda Adams still looked confused, as if she wanted badly to
understand what I was up to. I’d encountered people like her before in my life;
people who were so inherently good that they had trouble understanding those of
us who were rotten inside. They simply seemed unable to get that we were
different than them, that not everyone barfed rainbows and shat diamonds. “Saylor,
may I ask what you were doing in there?”

So
polite. She’d caught me out, and she was still being so fucking polite. I
brightened my smile a couple of notches. “Sure!”

I
opened the basement door and as we began to climb up, I let myself relax
because I knew there was no chance any of the TIDD group would venture out
here. There wasn’t any chance that they’d hear my lies or Linda Adams’s truth. “You
know how I told you I’ve met some great people in that group?”

She
nodded.

“Well,
one of them came in today and he’s not doing so well. He wanted to invite his
friends to a sort of last party for him, and he was insistent that I come,
too.” I shrugged. “Maybe I shouldn’t have gone in there with their group, but
when he invited me...I felt like it was okay to do that. Sorry, Linda. It won’t
happen again.” I gave her my most sincere apologetic look.

We
were at the first floor landing. Linda smiled, her face sagging a bit in
relief. “That’s okay,” she said. “Believe me, I know what it’s like to become
attached. You grow used to it as time goes on, and learn how to distance
yourself better. I’m just glad I’m not a doctor or a nurse because I’d be a
wreck every time one of my patients passed.”

We
laughed together, enjoying a moment of camaraderie. I saw clearer then than I
ever had before what the shrinks had been saying since my first appointment:
that Munchausen Syndrome is usually accompanied by a personality disorder of
some sort. I’d been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, among other
things, but I’d never much paid attention to it. It was just another label they
wanted to slap on me, to say that I was damaged goods. Now, for the first time,
I looked at what that label meant. Perhaps it meant that I was more willing
than the average person to lie, to cheat, to try to cover my hide when I was at
risk. Perhaps it meant that I was unworthy of the love and attention I’d been
getting from the TIDD group. But it also meant that, even in the face of these
revelations, I refused to do anything to rectify it.

Linda
Adams returned to her office and I went outside to wait for Drew.

Z
ee’s
mom picked her up. Apparently her breathing issues were getting bad enough that
her mom was worried she might black out from lack of oxygen while driving. Zee
kept playing it off, insisting that her mother was overreacting. After she
left, Drew sighed. We were outside, sitting on a bench in the hospital’s
courtyard.

“Feels
like everyone just got sicker all the sudden,” he said. “Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”
I took his hand. “But I think our perception’s colored because of you being
prescribed the wheelchair. Pierce was diagnosed with the sarcoma before we went
to Jack’s party.”

He
leaned over and kissed me in the fading light. “Thanks.”

“For
what?” Guilt churned in my stomach. It was almost a constant feeling now, like
a blackened tumor that was growing exponentially, taking up space and weight in
my body.

His
eyes had that rim of gold around them they did in this kind of slanted
sunlight. He curled his fingers under my jaw, his thumb resting at the corner
of my mouth. “For being so extraordinary.”

I
couldn’t look at him. I felt like I was going to cry.

“Look
at me,” he said, tugging gently on my chin.

I
did.

“You
are, you know? Fucking extraordinary.” A breeze blew a strand of his hair
across his forehead.

“I
have something to tell you.” The words tumbled out like river rocks, my voice
catching on the word “tell.”

Drew
stared into my eyes a moment, and then nodded. “Okay.”

I
shook my head. “Not now. Um, after Pierce’s thing Tuesday. Okay?” In spite of
the cold, I was beginning to sweat.

“Okay,”
Drew said again. His eyes probed mine, looking for a hint of what I was hiding.
“Hey. Nothing you tell me is going to change how I feel about you.”

I
wished I could believe him, but I knew better.

Some
things, things that were supposed to be universal facts, were actually
universal lies. For instance: A mother’s love is unconditional. Turns out it
does have conditions after all. For another instance: All human beings strive
for good health. Turns out some of us are like photographic negatives; jarring,
discordant, wrong.

I
kissed him because I didn’t want to answer.

“I
should go,” he said. “I told the guys at Sphinx I’d go play there tonight.”

“Okay.
Do you want me to drive you?”

“Nah.
My friend Zach’s giving me a ride. He’s headed the same place.” He grabbed my
fingers as I started to get up. “Don’t forget to listen to your soundtrack.”

I
kissed him again. I wondered if I should start counting the number of times I
kissed him from the moment I said the words “I have something to tell you.” I
wondered if I could reach a hundred before Tuesday. Then I realized it didn’t
matter anyway because a hundred wasn’t enough. A thousand wasn’t enough.

I
left him sitting there on that bench. Then I drove home to convince my dad to
meet with Noah Preston.

When
I got home, my dad was in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink. Mum was at her crafting
nook, putting together a new dollhouse. I thought about the yellow gingerbread
one that was gone now, donated to some charity store. Was some little girl
playing with it, imagining happy families and sunshine for her dolls? The irony
made me want to laugh. Instead, I cleared my throat so they’d know I was there.

Dad
looked up. “Hiya.”

Mum
didn’t say anything. The air was thick and soupy with disapproval,
and I wondered who the cause was—my dad or me.

The
dining table was set with cloth napkins, flowers, and silverware. Dinner Code
situation #1. I smelled food in the oven. “Hi, Dad. Um, are you eating dinner
here tonight?”

“I
am indeed,” he said. Whenever he spoke when my mother was around, he bolstered
his voice so it sounded more jovial than it usually was, round and loud and
jolly. “Why? Have you missed your old dad?”

“Yeah.”
I smiled and leaned against the doorjamb, feeling more like a stranger in my
house than ever before. Why did everything have to be so awkward? We tried so
hard in certain ways to be a family unit, but the more we tried, the more
garishly we stood out. “Something like that.”

“Dinner
will be ready in half an hour,” Mum said, prying open a pot of paint.

“All
right. I’ll go wash up.” I turned and went up to my room.

I
fired up my Mac and checked my email. There was one from someone I’d been
conferring with. It was one I’d been waiting for, hardly daring to hope. What I
read made me smile. I typed in a quick response and hit send.

Then,
reaching into the small pocket in my jeans, I pulled out the guitar-shaped USB
stick Drew had handed me. My soundtrack, he’d called it.

I
felt pulled hard in two directions simultaneously. On the one hand, this was
the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me. This was the stuff of
romance books, chick flicks, and middle school daydreams. I wanted to listen to
the songs that reminded Drew of me. I wanted to know how he really felt. Even
though I’d never been a music addict, I knew the power of those sound waves. I
knew the kind of emotion they could invoke. And I wanted, so badly, to hear
what Drew heard when he thought of me.

On
the other hand, I was afraid. It was ironic, but I was afraid of hurting
myself. What was the point of listening to these songs, of attaching this
memory to all of this music? Every time I heard these songs in the future, I’d
think of Drew. Every time.

I
thought of myself aged thirty and grocery shopping with three kids in the
buggy, hearing a song come over the supermarket speakers and breaking down in
the tampon aisle, crying over lost love. Why would I intentionally do that to
myself? Physical pain was my nearest and best friend; emotional pain I tried to
anesthetize myself from any chance I got.

But
I plugged the USB stick in. I was curious. I was in love. And I figured I’d
deal with the pain when I got there.

Drew
had recorded an hour of music for me. I laid back on my satin duvet, closed my
eyes, and listened.

When
I got halfway through the playlist, I had to stop to go eat dinner. I’d been
crying continuously since the midpoint of the first song, which, naturally, was
Secret For A Song by Mercury Rev. It wasn’t an all-out, gut-wrenching sobbing.
It was just a quiet, steady trickle of tears out of the corners of my eyes.
Staid and stolid, a mingling of emotions, of love and sadness and guilt and
longing. I imagined them mixing together like smoke above my heart, just
hanging in the air as the music played.

Downstairs,
Mum had lit tapered candles and set them in the middle of the dinner table. It
was as if she was setting the table for an honored guest, someone who rarely
had the chance to drop in but was always welcomed when he did. I sat down in my
chair and shook out my napkin.

Dad
was at the head of the table, checking his Blackberry. Mum took her place and
quietly cleared her throat.

He
set his Blackberry aside and smiled at us, bright and big. “So. Saylor. Tell me
what’s been going on with you. How’s the hospital?”

I
served myself some lasagna so I wouldn’t have to look at him. His too-bright
eyes and his too-bright smile were making me nervous. And how sad was it that
he had to down a shot or two of whiskey to sit down to dinner with his family?

“Um,
it’s going really well. I’m enjoying it.” I thought of Drew and the breath
whooshed out of me. Tuesday. I had five days before it all came to an end,
before the guy I loved began to hate me. With good reason.

Dad
didn’t notice the change in my expression. “Great!” He took the spoon from me
and served himself.

Mum
served herself last; just a small silver, barely big enough for a two-year-old.

“Um,
actually, Dad, I wanted to ask if...if you could meet me for lunch tomorrow. At
noon.” I kept my eyes on my food.

I
felt Mum’s eyes on me. Dad chewed, swallowed, took a sip of water. I could tell
he was buying time. “Really?” he said, finally. “Don’t get me wrong, honey. I’d
love to chat. It’s just, my schedule is packed.”

Even
though I was lying to him, it hurt. It hurt that my dad didn’t want to spend
time with me. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d had lunch just by ourselves,
and yet, here he was, making excuses.

“Right.
But, um, it’ll be really quick. I have to ask you some questions about...law
school. I think when I go back to school that I might want to go pre-law.”

That
got his attention. His wayward daughter, pre-law? Finally something about me he
could share with his golf buddies. He sat back, dabbed at his mouth with his
napkin. “Well! Isn’t that something? In that case I think I can spare twenty
minutes. It’s for the education of a future lawyer, after all!” He laughed that
round laugh of his. It echoed against the walls, fell flat onto our plates.

We
ate.

After
dinner, I headed back upstairs to text Noah Preston.

It’s
set,
I wrote.
Be
at The Pearl at noon tomorrow. And thanks.—SG

Then
I laid back down on my bed and listened to the second half of Drew’s playlist.
When the strains of the last song faded, I sat up. Grabbing my car keys, I
headed out to the twenty-four-hour store to buy a few things.