Wishful Thinking (15 page)

“Hon, what are you doing home?" she asked.
 

"I have a budget meeting at two with the Mayor figured I’d dress the part of a fire marshal. He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. She blushed.
 

His green eyes turned to me, "James," he said, "your dad said you were moving again, how you feeling?"
 
He slapped a hand on my shoulder. He wasn’t a small man but his hands seemed more appropriate on a man seven feet tall than
 
five-foot eleven. Add in that he used to be a cop and he could be intimidating. I however, never saw that side of him I only saw the man who made me a light saber and treated me like one of his own. Even after my breakdown
 
he didn’t stop treating me like a part of his family. I wouldn’t have survived my mother’s death without the Kingslys.

“Better. It’d take a lot more than a whack to the head to keep me down," I said making sure to drop the tone of my voice as manly as it would go.
 

He smiled, "Good, we need our star lock once rugby starts up again."

"Dean said they wouldn’t have a vote until next week, but it doesn’t look good."

"I have faith the sport will continue," he said and patted me on the shoulder, "Don’t worry about that though, just get better."

He kissed Maureen again, grabbed an apple off the counter and left the kitchen.
 

“Mister-star-player, you better take it easy," she stood up, "Finished?"

"Yes, thank-you that hit the spot."

"Good," she said picking up my plate. "Why don’t you go lie down upstairs in the guest room?"

"I have my keys," I said standing. "My dad should be home in a while I’ll just go––”

"Absolutely not, you are in my charge until your father gets home now go upstairs and lie down." Her hands were on her hips the don’t-argue-with-me look on her face. She had that look down to an art form.
 

“Yes, ma’am,” I said pushing my chair in.
 

"Good boy, and for heaven’s sake don’t call me ma’am makes me feel old.”

It was impossible to sleep at Dean's, my mind kept coming back to the image of that girl skipping down the aisle in Ms Perry’s class. Even knowing it was a hallucination didn’t shake the dread. I rubbed at my scar.
 

I could ask about it at my check-up tomorrow, but I was nervous of doing that with my dad there. Lately, he was freaking out at the strangest things and I wanted my restriction over. I turned the idea over and over in my head until I heard Becca’s voice downstairs. Dean's middle sister was home her feet bounding upstairs at a speed only eight year olds can reach.
 

Her footsteps stopped outside the bedroom door and it creaked slightly as she pushed it open, "Shouldn’t you be in school right now? Dean's at school. Why are you at our house when Dean's not here? Don’t you have your own home, or did you lock yourself out? Dean’s done that a couple of times. I didn’t see your car out front is it broke?"

"Hey kiddo," I said turning over.
 

"I’m not a kid I’m a young lady." She curtsied as if that proved her point.
 

“Well, then if you’re a lady now
 
I guess Dean and I will have to find another kid to take to the fair next weekend. Since you’re not a kid you wouldn’t have any fun. Hmm, maybe we’ll take Tea instead."

She rolled her eyes, “Mom already told me you and Dean have to take me no matter what. So there." She put a finger to her nose and made an oinking sound.

"That’s not very ladylike.”

"You’re a boy so what do you know about what’s ladylike and what’s not."

"I guess I can’t argue with that logic," I said sitting up.
 

"So how come you’re here?" Becca moved closer to the bed.
 

"I wasn’t feeling well."

"Was it on account of your … attack?” she whispered the last word as though she wasn’t supposed to say it.
 

"Kind of."

"Oh—"

"There you are," Maureen said catching her breath. "Honey why don’t you go downstairs I made you a snack."

Becca shrugged and left without another word. Maureen waited until Becca was out of earshot, "Sorry about that sweetie."

I stretched, "No worries I was getting up anyway."

"Good, your dad’s downstairs."

✩

I woke up panting unable to catch my breath. I must have screamed too, because my dad came barreling into my room. I flinched seeing him tear through the doorway in a pair of black silk boxers brandishing a gun. His gun held steady, clasped between unwavering hands.
 

“You all right Junior?" he asked rushing around my room and peering behind my closet doors and out the windows. When did he get a gun? And why did he look so comfortable with it?

“Yeah, just a bad dream."

My dad relaxed, the gun––held in his right hand––falling to his side, “You scared me."

“I see that," I said my eyes locked on the gun. "When did you get that?"

“What was this dream about?" my dad asked ignoring my question.
 

“I don’t know just …" I shrugged, "it’s nothing really."

“Tell me about it––please." My dad sat down on the edge of my bed.

Somehow being under my father’s curious stare always made me revert to act-like-a-child mode. I picked at my comforter, "It’s just me at the park swinging with this woman who I think is supposed to be mom but she doesn’t look right, and she’s talking to someone, a kid or something and then there’s these headlights that come from nowhere and they’re headed straight for me and,” my voice got lower almost to a whisper, “I die. At least it feels like I do because everything gets colds and bright.”

My dad scratched his five o’clock shadow, “That sounds quite scary, tell me do you have this dream a lot?"

Try every single night, “Sometimes,” is what I told him.

"Hmm," dad said scratching harder at his chin, "you talk to Doctor Patterson about it?"

“Sort of.”

“Sort of? Can you decipher that for me?”

"It’s nothing, just a bad dream that’s all."

"When’s your next appointment with the good doctor?"

"Dad, please, Doctor Patterson’s file on me is long enough, besides she doesn’t put much stock in dreams."

My dad slapped my arm, "You’re probably right but tell her anyway."

Why wouldn’t he let this go? "Fine," I mumbled.
 

“Thanks,” he said getting up, the bed creaking as he did. “Don’t forget you also have a check-up tomorrow."

“Whatever,” I said.
 

“Now I know you’ll be okay," he said and closed my bedroom door behind him. I kicked back the covers and moved to my desk turning on the desk lamp. I opened the top drawer, pulled out a leather-bound book, and flipped it open. I grabbed a pen and started writing. I’d had the journal for over a year and this would be my second entry. I needed to talk even if it was just to me.
 

I hadn’t told a soul about ghost girl in fourth period or the fact that she was the same little girl who always appeared in my nightmares right before headlights. Headlights that were now showing up on a black charger. Nor did I mention that little girl rather reminded me of myself.
 

 
Part of my brain was telling me I was crazy for thinking there was a connection between it all, but a deeper part of me believed I was remembering something my mind had been desperately trying to forget.
 

I wrote all my paranoid delusions down. If nothing else writing it out might take it from my mind so that it didn’t have a chance of slipping out during my next session. Seeing those thoughts on paper made me see how silly it all seemed and I closed the book and tucked it back into the drawer and decided to give sleep another try.

At my followup appointment Saturday Doctor Martin ran a bunch of tests; verbal, physical and machine related. Dad said they were being cautious, but it sounded like double-speak for overreacting. They made me go through the details of Friday over and over until I was beyond annoyed. How many different ways can you say the same thing?
 

Maybe Dr. Martin figured I was leaving something out, he had inquisitive eyes. Maybe he thought with a bit more pushing I’d reveal my deepest secrets, but he didn’t know me. Dr. Patterson could confirm my lock jaw as she called it. I wasn’t going to tell anyone about seeing a little girl as clearly as seeing Dean sitting next to me in class even if it meant my brain was bleeding. They’d have to figure it out through x-rays.
 

More scans and blood work meant I played lab rat for the better part of two hours. At least when it was all over I got the thumbs up that everything looked fine. People should quantify with the word fine, because it’s too vague. Does having nightmares, seeing little girls that aren’t there skipping in class, and being scared to be alone in your own home qualify as fine—then, yeah I’m fine, but then what is considered not fine?

In the end, my theories on fine didn’t matter, because I was getting my freedom back. As soon as I felt the leather seat of my dad’s Mercedes G63 AMG beneath my ass I relaxed. My hand held out to him waiting as he slid in behind the wheel.
 

He looked at my hand and grunted, “In the glove box."

I opened it and smiled at the sight of my cell and car keys sitting on top of his owner’s manual. I’m pretty sure no matter what the doctors said my dad would have given me my freedom back. He didn’t fancy himself a chauffeur.
 

“Sweet,” I said, "No more babysitting.”

“All I ask is that you’re careful, if you feel a headache or—anything call me, okay?” Dad said in that quiet faraway voice he was using a lot more lately.

"Dad come on—”

"And don’t forget you promised to talk to Doctor Patterson about last night."

Dammit he wasn’t going to let that drop. Should I also bring up to her the gun? "Yeah, yeah I said I would didn’t I."

"Young man," dad started. Here we go. "You may think you’re a man but I’m still your father and I can still take you over a knee."

I started going through my phone, checking who I had missed calls from and what texts I’d missed. "Please, you’d have to catch me first and you’re old.”
 

Dad started laughing, and the sound surprised me and I looked up at him. His focus was on the road ahead but he was laughing. "Grandpa Joe always threatened me with that when I was your age, never scared me either, though he did try it once after he caught me necking with Rita in his old barn."

“Necking? Really dad? And in a barn, god you’re old," I said and started laughing with him. My attention returned to my phone. I didn’t want to make a big deal about it but these were the moments my dad and I didn’t have enough of.
 

“And just so you know I hit the gym everyday so you might be surprised by what your old man can do.”

“Ha, I’m sure, does Maggie say the same thing?”
 

Dad didn’t respond to my jab but if I weren’t mistaken he was blushing.

A bunch of obscene texts from Nate, a few updates on rugby from Kyle and Dean, an invite to Ian’s party, and a video message from Claudia sent yesterday. I opened it and laughed when I saw a tumbler of a man whacking himself in the eye over and over with a set of nunchuk.
 

At the very bottom of my texts was one from Summer, left this morning. I debated reading it. Way things were left on Wednesday between us made me nervous to read it. I didn’t think she’d dump me via text. Summer wasn’t cold like that, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t text me to meet her to do it in person. I had enough going on right now and I couldn’t handle hearing her say the words “we’re over" on top of it.

My anger over her accusations of cheating had morphed into hurt. Couldn’t she see I cared about her, loved her, even if I wasn’t the best at expressing it? It wasn’t my fault I’d spent so many years pretending I didn’t feel that I forgot how to show it.
 

Should I read it or not? I turned to my dad, "Who’s Rita?"

"A girl I dated in high school long before your mom."

Claudia’s comment about my mother being a six and my dad a ten surfaced. It brought up things I tried to ignore as a kid, made me realize I romanticized my parents relationship. I think I exaggerated exactly how happy they were together. "You always said mom was it."

"Son there’s something you need to know,” oh great, “never. Ever. Tell your current girl about other girls you’ve been with. As far as they need or want to know, they’re it."
 

"Isn’t that—"

"Never," he said again looking at me now, “look how things have soured between you and Summer. Is she still your girlfriend or did she dump you?"

Damn, he did pay attention. "What? No, we’re still together.”
 

"So you groveled and begged?"

"Why would I do that?"

Dad was shaking his head, "Summer’s a nice girl. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’s the kind of girl you might settle down with—"