After a too-blustery Thanksgiving on the houseboat, where we rock so hard no one can eat, my parents move us to an apartment across from the post office, a two-bedroom sublet from a Rappahannock Community College professor who’s on sabbatical in Nairobi. Kenya, I look it up. It’s an oxymoron, a stable African country.
Dad’s trying to finish an edit for a deadline that has passed. Even I notice he’s moving more slowly than usual.
“Shouldn’t they put him on an IV?” Mom asks Dad when she thinks I’ve fallen asleep watching Scrooged. Bill Murray is such a funny, ugly guy.
It used to be when I watched Murray, he gave me hope that someday a really nice girl-woman would fall in love with me, like his Claire who runs the homeless shelter in that movie. Now that I know Meredith, I’m thinking Murray doesn’t deserve Claire, but where does that leave me?
“Red. I’m talking to you,” Mom whispers.
Through slitted eyes so they won’t realize I’m not asleep, I watch him put down the manuscript. He’s trying hard to smile, but it’s not working.
“What was your question, Sylvie?”
“It wasn’t a question. I think they should put Daniel on an IV. How long can he live without food?”
“It’s been four days. He’s drinking the milk shakes. I think he’s okay.”
“They had him on an IV in the hospital. I’m going to call the doctor.”
“Which doctor? Doctor Morley won’t tell you anything. He’ll just refer you to the ER team who saw Daniel when we went in. You’ll never get any of them on the phone. They work a twenty-four-hour shift, crash, and work another twenty-four-hour shift.”
“Maybe the nurse can tell me something.”
“Maybe.” He’s fingering the pages on the sofa. I imagine a timer ticking away in the background. As long as she’s talking, he’s losing money. And if she stops talking to him, she’s going to be on the phone with the medical people and those bills will go up, so he’s still going to be losing money. I wonder if fathers, even fathers without dying sons, lie awake worrying about where the money will come from to take care of their families.
“Did Walker phone about the new hearing date?” Mom asks.
“Sometime in February, he said.”
“When did he call?”
“He didn’t. He said that before. You don’t remember?”
“No… but I believe you. If the court hears the evidence in February, when will we get a decision?”
“I have no idea. Walker’s the one to ask about that.”
“I can’t. It costs us money every time I ask him a question.”
Dad picks up the manuscript and sets it on his lap. Silence.
Two weeks to Christmas. Although the other tenth graders are scheduled to take exams after Christmas break, the county school board gives me the option. I go ahead and get it out of the way. Partly because I know Mom is still trying to finagle a way to get me to Mexico. And partly because Joe’s coming home for Christmas. But mostly because Meredith’s going to be out of school for ten whole days and her mother works days.
Four exams in one week is a grind. Especially after two blood transfusions earlier in the month. The school people, though, are overly considerate. They let me schedule the exams first thing in the morning because I get so tired by the afternoon. It turns out Stepford-Hanes proctors two of my exams, English 10 and World History to 1600. She doesn’t even blink when I turn the World History exam in early.
“You found the course work easy enough without a teacher?” she asks afterward. We’re just shooting the breeze while I wait for Mom to come back and pick me up.
“History is almost straight memorization.”
“It won’t be like that in college. You have to draw conclusions and apply them to other events. They’ll want your opinion, not just regurgitated dates and places.”
“You think I’d like college?”
“Of course you will. It’s the time in your life when you figure out where you’re different from your parents, what you’re good at, how you can alter other people’s opinions with your expression of ideas, not just by what you’re wearing or how many goal kicks you can get past the goalie or what friends you hang out with.”
“I’m not going to college.” This is not something I’ve said right out loud before and it’s harder than I thought to make the words loud enough for her to hear.
“There are scholarships.”
She means well, she’s just not used to kids with my particular predicament. It seems too incredible that she can’t have heard about The Disease.
“A scholarship isn’t the only thing I need.”
“Daniel, I… I don’t understand. Both your parents went to college. Joe’s at the University. Why wouldn’t you go to college too? Don’t you want to go?”
“It’s like number thirty on my list.” From her face I see maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. It may change her opinion of me as a serious student. Loving Meredith endlessly and forever is at the top. I haven’t told that to anyone, except Meredith. To be honest, going to New York City used to be second, but now it’s having children with Meredith. I know, I know, a sixteen-year-old boy can’t possibly be interested in children. But the idea of Meredith and me creating something that will last beyond me, into the unseen future, that’s too amazing, like sci-fi, when I know that I won’t even be able to swim come June and there’s no English 11 in my future.
Meredith would be the coolest mother in the world. I can see her lining up three or four little blond kids on skis at the edge of the mountain and having them shout “Life is glorious” before they bullet down the slopes. It’s not the Landon male heir thing. I know Nick can carry on the family name, but having kids of my own who look and act like Meredith would be exponentially cooler. It’s as close as I’m going to get to growing old. But it’s only a dream. I can’t ruin Meredith’s life any more than I already have.
Stepford-Hanes isn’t ready to change the subject from college. “Well, I daresay your list will change more than once before you get to graduation.”
Mom looks in from the hallway and waves, then disappears immediately. Since Thanksgiving she’s been making a conscious (and obvious) effort to let me have my own relationships, without second-guessing every decision. Dad must have read her the riot act. There’s no other logical explanation.
“Mrs. Landon?” A summons from Stepford-Hanes. She stands up and rests her hand on my shoulder for just a second as Mom steps back into the room.
“How’d it go?” Mom asks me while they’re shaking hands. She’s doing that brave-parent thing, a dead giveaway that Stepford-Hanes does know the whole truth and has all along. I’m confused now about our conversation. If she knows about the leukemia, why does she talk about things she knows are impossible?
“Daniel and I were just talking about how different college classes are. Have you started looking at schools with him?”
Mom looks blank. Her fingers work themselves around the car keys in her hand, the way a blind person tries to familiarize herself with something new. Stepford-Hanes waits for another second or two for an answer. Her face puckers at Mom’s silence.
“Well, it’s a big decision. Whenever you do start, if you decide you want some suggestions… I think I could steer Daniel to a couple of schools that would really fit well with his interests and talents.”
“Thanks, thanks a lot.” Grabbing my book bag, I move toward the door, hoping to get Mom out of there before she breaks down.
“Don’t be a stranger.” Stepford-Hanes says, her face creased into a zillion wrinkles over the whole incident.