Secret for a Song (20 page)

M
onday
night, our last night at the cabin, I lay with my head on his chest, listening
to the deep, steady thudding of his heart. I’d read that a lot of people with
FA had heart problems as a result of it but Drew’s felt solid, as if it was a
rock rather than muscle, pounding out the seconds of his life. I liked to think
of him that way; as virtually indestructible, a force to be reckoned with.

“Are
you asleep?” he asked, his voice rumbling through his bones and into my ear,
sounding like an approaching train on steel tracks before you can actually see
it.

I
sat up. “Nope. And I want to play Boggle.”

He
cocked his head. “You want to play Boggle.”

“Mm
hmm.” I hopped off the bed and rummaged in my overnight bag, pulling out the
orange box of the most fun three-minute game ever.

Drew
rolled on his side and feigned a look of worry. “That awkward moment when the
girl of your dreams says she wants to play Boggle after the best sex you’ve—and
hopefully,
she’s
—ever had.”

My
insides thrilled at hearing the words “girl of your dreams” and “best sex,” but
I kept my face impassive. “It’s only awkward if you lose. Here’s a pointer:
when
you lose, make sure you lose gracefully.” I shook the box, and the cubes inside
rattled. “I’m something of a Boggle champion.” When I was a young kid and made
myself sick, it was the only game I could play by myself for hours without
getting bored.

“Oh,
really?” Drew struggled to sit up, and then pulled himself to the edge of the
bed. “This I have to see.” He grabbed his cane and we made our way back to the
living room, both of us in our underwear.

I
started up the gas fireplace in the living room as we positioned ourselves in
the chairs right in front of it. The heating must not have been working
efficiently; the living room was freezing cold. I wrapped myself in a blanket,
but Drew declined. As I watched his pale body lit up by the orange flames, I
thought he was quite possibly the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. After he
left me, I’d feel the absence of that beauty as a supermodel would if she went
to bed a nineteen-year-old and woke up at forty. It would be something stark
and unpleasant, in my face every single day. Of this I was sure.

“Okay,”
Drew said, trying to read the instructions in the firelight. “How exactly do
you play? I only have a vague idea.”

I
explained the rules to him, and we began the first game. When we finally stopped,
we’d played sixteen rounds. I’d won all of them but the last, when Drew beat me
with the word
caesura
.

I
raised an eyebrow. “Caesura? That’s not a word.”

“Is
too,” Drew said calmly, a small smile on his face.

“We’ll
see about that.” I grabbed my cell phone and opened the dictionary app I’d
installed on it. I typed quickly and while I was waiting for the results to
load, glanced at Drew. “You sure you want to go through with this? A wrong word
means you forfeit all your points to me.” That wasn’t really a rule, but I
wanted to threaten him so he’d feel the possible consequences of his decision.

But
he was unflappable, still smiling in that inscrutable way. “I’m sure,” he said.

The
app beeped at me, letting me know it had found a match. Groaning, I read the
definition out loud: In musical performances, a
caesura
is a complete
break in sound during which time is not counted. Time resumes again only when
the conductor states that it has.

I
looked at Drew. “Wow. I can’t believe you actually beat me.”

“Only
because I’m a music geek.” He grabbed the phone from me and held it up.

“Hey.”
I pulled the blanket up to my chin. “What are you doing?”

He
answered me by taking a picture, the flash blinding in the dim room.
“Immortalizing this moment,” he answered, staring down at the screen, at the me
he’d captured in there.

We
had to leave Icarus Lake early on Tuesday. Drew had a doctor’s appointment and
then he had to practice for his performance at Pierce’s party.

The
idea of a “celebration of life” party felt weird to me, but Drew said he’d gone
to a couple of those in the past, especially for young people with cancer or
AIDS—the biggies, as he called them. I knew he meant that those diseases
claimed the largest numbers of young people, but personally, I thought they
were all “biggies.” If it was something that came in the night, wrapped its
arms around you and stole the breath from your lips, it was big.

I
watched the cabin receding in my rearview mirror as the car made its way
through snow and ice. The farther behind we left it, the sicker to my stomach I
got. It was like we were leaving behind so much more than just the lake.
Tonight we had Pierce’s party. And after that...after that Drew would know who I
really was. Dr. Stone had called again, too. I hadn’t answered because it
didn’t matter anymore. I’d go in and see him again once the truth was out. I’d
come clean.

When
we were an hour away from Ridgeland, I seriously considered pulling over to the
side of the road and throwing up. But I kept my head on for Drew. I didn’t want
to taint any part of his memory of this trip. I wanted this to be something he
could always keep with him, close to his heart. The calm before the truth
erupted like a volcano.

I’d
seen a documentary once, about a volcano in Pompeii. The six layers of ash
settled on the town so quickly and so thoroughly, it had perfectly preserved
the town, down to the fresh fruit and wine. There were spaces where people had
decomposed while sitting at their dinner tables, their food still on their
plates.

I
wondered if it might be like that with Drew and Zee. When I told them, would
they stop moving forward, frozen in their disbelief of the truth? Would they
sit there, staring at me, their illnesses on hold, their health not mended, but
never progressing either? At least that would be something good that would come
out of me having entered their lives. At least that would be something.

I
walked in my house and headed straight for the stairs. After a quick shower, I
had to go over to Zee’s house. She was making a gift for Pierce, and I’d
promised to help.

I
was in two minds about spending time with her the day I would confess
everything to Drew: on the one hand, staying away seemed like a better idea
because it wouldn’t seem so two-faced of me, laughing and talking with her
while I knew it was only a matter of time before the veil of lies slipped off
and she saw me for who I was.

But
on the other hand, the more selfish part of me wanted to spend time with her
while I could, while she still thought I deserved her love and friendship. If
things were different and I was normal, or maybe if I’d had a real disease like
cancer or FA, Zee’d be exactly the kind of person I wanted to hang out with.

I
was on the third step when my cell phone chimed once, twice, three times. Text
messages. Sliding the handle of my overnight bag up to my wrist, I slipped it
out of the pocket of my jeans to check who was texting me so desperately.

It
was Drew.

I

Love

You.
:)

I
smiled, sudden tears clouding my vision, and texted him back.
I love you
too. So much.

“Saylor.”

The
voice startled me so much, I almost dropped my phone. I turned, my hand flying
to the railing so I wouldn’t lose my balance. “Dad.”

“May
I have a word?” He looked like a thundercloud in a video game I’d played as a
kid—eyebrows drawn down, mouth in the typical frowning position, like an
inverted U.

I
stepped down and he turned and went into the den. I followed.

Taking
a seat on the couch, he gestured to the chair on his left. “Sit. Please.”

I’d
known this was coming. I shouldn’t have been nervous. But I was. There was
something about my dad, who, for all intents and purposes, functioned as a
walking, talking bank account being actually
angry
that made the little
kid inside me cower. That he was showing any emotion at all was simply
staggering. That it was anger was more than a little terrifying.

We
stared at each other a long moment and I realized just how many of his facial
features I’d inherited. It was weird, seeing my eyes with lines around them, my
nose, but two shades lighter.

Finally,
he said, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

I
began tracing circles on my knee. “I’m sorry.”

“
I’m
sorry
? That’s it? What about an explanation?” His voice got louder with
every question, hot spots of color appearing on his cheeks. “Why the hell, when
I was expecting to eat lunch with my daughter, was I ambushed by that—that
black liberal assclown Noah Preston?
That’s
what I want to know!”

I
listened to my dad, yelling about me tricking him, and I wondered if what
bothered him the most was that he’d been confronted by someone he didn’t like,
or the fact that the someone he didn’t like was (a) black and (b) a liberal and
had dared to talk to him.

“What
the hell’s so funny?”

I
hadn’t realized I’d smiled. “Nothing. I just...I didn’t realize it was such a
big deal that, you know, Noah Preston’s African American. Or has different
political views than you.”

The
color on his cheeks got brighter. “Don’t you twist this around into something
it isn’t. This is about you, lying to me. Wasting my time. And I want to know
why
.
Why did you set me up?”

I
shrugged, playing at nonchalance, and stood up. “He wanted to meet with you. He
kept calling you; I’d seen his number. So I just decided to set it up. I
admired his resolve.” This was something I’d heard my dad say before, that
“resolve” was something to be “admired.” It was the only thing I could think of
in the moment.

My
dad sputtered a laugh. “Adm—okay. Tell you what. You’re clearly capable of
making all these decisions yourself. You know what’s best. You know what I
should do. Well, how about we speed up that education you were talking about?
Hmm? Pre-law, isn’t that right?”

“What
are you talking about?” Something inside me stilled, as if my brain was
prescient.

“You’re
going back to school.” He stood up too.

“What?”

“Yes.
I’ve taken the liberty of researching the best pre-law programs in the country.
The University of North Carolina has an excellent one. I have a colleague who’s
an alumnus, and he’s made the provisions.” He stuck a hand in one pocket,
trying to appear casual. But the steady tic in his jaw gave away his anger, the
fact that he was doing this out of spite. “You’re enrolled in their summer
program to catch up on the classes you’ve missed.”

“You
can’t do that.” I felt my face drain of blood. The tips of my fingers and toes
felt so cold. North Carolina was far away. Too far. I wouldn’t be able to see
Drew. Not even from afar, from where he wouldn’t know I was looking in on him,
like I’d planned on doing. North Carolina meant I wouldn’t be part of his world
anymore, not even unwittingly. I couldn’t do that.

“It’s
all set up. My colleague had to pull some strings because your grades haven’t
been the best, but they’re willing to give you a chance.” He held my gaze. “If
you have a problem with that decision, that’s fine. You’re an adult. But you’ll
have to find somewhere else to stay. And I’ll need that credit card back.”

He
knew I couldn’t live out there on my own. I’d never had a job; I had no
experience, no skill set to give me an upper hand in this economy. I’d never be
able to afford the deposit on an apartment.

“So?”
he asked. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll
go,” I said, the words soft, falling limply out of my mouth. “I’ll go to North
Carolina.”

I
drove to Zee’s, my hair still wet from the shower, the curling tendrils
sneaking down the neck of my coat and dripping ice-cold water in rivulets down
my back. I didn’t bother moving it. I needed the cold to keep me awake, jar me
out of the fog that seemed to have drifted down over my brain, enveloping all
my thoughts.

On
the seat next to me was the catalog for North Carolina. It was a gorgeous
campus, with smiling undergrads of every color, equal numbers of women and men.
I should be happy to go. Pre-law was a good program; I could follow in my dad’s
footsteps. I had no other plans.

And
yet.

Everything
about it felt wrong on every level. North Carolina had come out of nowhere. I
had no ties to the place. New Hampshire was where I belonged. I’d never even
thought about leaving the state. Pre-law? Did I want to spend the rest of my
life like my dad, rich enough to buy just about everything I wanted, and yet
never home? A family that was so broken, we might as well be pieces of people
instead of people?

And
Drew? What about Drew? Was I just supposed to say goodbye tonight, resign
myself to the fact that I’d never see him again? Be okay with that?

Yes,
he’d said that he’d leave anyway, when it got to the point where he couldn’t
take care of himself anymore. But that felt different somehow. That was
his
decision,
valid because it was his life and his path to take. This was my life, but it
wasn’t the path I was choosing. It wasn’t the path I wanted to go down at all.
I had the distinct, uneasy feeling that if I did go with my father’s choice, I
wouldn’t be coming back. Not just to New Hampshire, but to myself. I felt like
by acquiescing, I’d be losing what little self I had in the first place.

I
pulled into Zee’s driveway and went inside. She was on the couch as usual, in a
chestnut-colored, shiny wig that fell past her shoulders in big curls. She
looked like a supermodel, all cheekbones and elbows and knees.

“Hey,”
she said when I walked in, barely looking up from the paint-by-numbers piece
she was working on. “God, why the fuck did I say I’d do this?”

I
blinked, trying to break out of the fog. “Because you love Pierce and wanted
him to have something nice to look at while he lies on his hospital bed?” I sat
down beside her and looked at the painting, a splash of bright blues and
yellows. “Who’s the artist?”

She
shrugged and made an “I don’t know” voice deep in her throat as she dipped her
paint brush into some more yellow paint. “Some dude?”

I
reached around her for the box on the floor, the memory of my dad already
receding. That right there was why it was almost addicting, Zee’s friendship.
She might’ve had a hard edge, but she was vibrant and bright. She always made
you forget all the shit in your own life.

I
looked at the back of the box, which had a smiling black and white picture of
the artist.

“Carlos
Almaraz,” I read. “A Mexican-American artist and a supporter of the Chicano
arts movement. He died in 1989 of AIDS.”

“Yeah,
I read that part. Makes sense that Pierce would identify with him.”

I
flipped the box over and looked at the front. It was a vivid picture of a car accident,
titled “Sunset Crash.” “Why would an artist paint a car crash in such happy
colors?”

Zee
made that noise again in her throat. “I’m just trying to keep it together long
enough to finish this stupid thing, okay? Art’s not really my strong suit.”

 “I’m
going to look it up,” I said, setting the box down and pulling out my phone.

A
quick search on Google told me what I needed to know. “Almaraz painted Sunset
Crash to signify the reality of the Californian experience from an immigrant’s
point of view. They went there thinking it was this big land of opportunity,
and a lot of times, the realities didn’t match up to their expectations,” I
said, looking back down at the painting, the big clouds of gas with small
orange explosions. The car accident took place on a bridge, and two of the cars
were falling off, suspended in air. “That’s kind of beautiful, in a sad way.”

Zee
sighed and held out the paintbrush. “Would you like to finish?”

I
shrugged. “Sure.”

She
moved over and lay down on the couch while I sat before the small desk, looking
down at what she’d already done. “This isn’t half bad.”

“Thanks,”
she said, putting a pillow over her face. She pulled it off a moment later and
took a deep breath. “Whoa, that’s a bad idea when you don’t have great lungs.”

I
smiled, shook my head, and began dabbing color on the canvas.

“So
what have you been up to?” she asked, rolling on her side, her hands tucked
under her chin.

I
thought of Drew and me at the cabin, playing Boggle in our underwear. “Nothing
much,” I said.

Zee
tapped me on the back with her foot. “So what’s with all the blushing?”

I
laughed. “You might be getting to know me too well.” But that just made me
think of what I had to tell Drew after Pierce’s party, and the smile fell off
my face.

Zee’s
cell phone rang before she could badger me more. I handed it to her off the
table.

“Hello?”
She listened for a few minutes, and I heard the squawk of a woman’s voice on
the other end. “Oh. Oh, okay. How are
you
doing? Mm hmm. Can I bring
anything?” Another pause. “Okay.” She hung up and sighed.

I
glanced at her. “What’s going on?”

“That
was Pierce’s mom,” she said. “He’s not doing so well. We’re going to have to do
the thing at his place instead of at Sphinx.”

I
set the paintbrush in the small pot of water and turned to Zee. “Oh. Oh, no. Is
he...is he going to make it till tonight?”

“She
seemed to think so,” Zee said. “But you know, at the end, it’s sort of hard to
say. The doctor said a month at his last visit a few days ago. But...” She
shrugged. “She said I should call Drew and tell him, see if he’ll play at
Pierce’s house instead.”

I
nodded.