“How’s your dad?” Maddie asked with an arm still around Laurel’s shoulders.
Her answer to everyone else had been a simple, “He’s okay.” But when Maddie asked, Laurel couldn’t just brush it off. “He looks awful, Maddie. Like skin sitting loose on a skeleton. My mom can’t do anything to help. Nothing is working.”
“Even her hyssop and licorice root?”
Laurel smiled painfully. “That’s what I asked.”
“Well, it’s a miracle cure, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Not for Dad. Not this time, anyway.”
“I light a candle for him every night.” What licorice root and hyssop were to Laurel’s mom, candles were to Maddie. She was a devout Catholic who had a rack of candles in her front window and lit one for everything from a fellow parishioner dying of cancer to a neighborhood cat gone missing. Still, Laurel was grateful.
“Dad sent in a schedule for the rest of the week.”
Maddie laughed. “Sick in bed and still drawing up schedules—he must not be too close to death’s door.” She held out her hand. “Here, let’s have it.” Maddie studied the handwritten schedule. “He’s got us cutting business hours, I see.”
Laurel nodded. “There just aren’t enough employees to maintain regular hours.”
“That’s fine. I’ve been telling him for months it was silly to open at eight. Who wants to buy a book at eight o’clock in the morning?” She leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “Truth be told, I don’t even like to be out of bed at eight o’clock in the morning.”
They worked the next few hours together cheerfully enough, both avoiding the subject of Laurel’s father. But he was never far from Laurel’s mind. She left Maddie finishing up the end-of-day paperwork and taped a sign to the door apologizing for the unscheduled closing of the store that weekend.
Laurel walked home slowly, her whole body tired after two hours of stocking box after box of books. As she rounded the last corner, she saw a large vehicle parked in her driveway. It took a few seconds to register what she was seeing, but her feet began to run the second she recognized the white and red ambulance. She burst through her front door just as the paramedics were coming down the stairs with her father on a stretcher, her mom only a step behind.
“What’s wrong with him?” Laurel asked, her eyes pinned to her father.
Tears were tracing lines down her mom’s face. “He started throwing up blood. I had to call.”
The stairs finally cleared enough for Laurel to reach her mom. She wrapped her arms around her waist. “It’s fine, Mom. He’ll be glad you did.”
“He doesn’t trust doctors,” her mom said distractedly.
“That doesn’t matter. He needs this.”
Her mom nodded, but Laurel wasn’t sure she’d even heard her. “I have to go with him,” she said. “Only one person is allowed to ride in the ambulance. I think it’ll be better if I call you when he’s settled.”
“Yeah, go. I can take care of myself.”
She managed to get her mom’s purse hooked over her arm as she continued walking toward the ambulance, unaware of Laurel’s presence. She didn’t look back as the doors slammed shut.
Laurel watched the ambulance drive away and a sickening, squeezing sensation enveloped her stomach. Neither of her parents had ever been to the hospital in Laurel’s memory except to visit someone. Laurel hadn’t wanted to believe this was more than an acute virus that would eventually pass on its own. But that didn’t seem to be the case.
She walked back into the house and pushed the door shut with both hands. The sound of it clicking into place seemed to echo through the front hallway. The house felt enormous and empty without her parents. She’d been home alone many times in the five months since they’d moved in, but tonight felt different. Frightening. Her hands shook as she turned the key to the deadbolt. She slid down the door and sat on the floor for a long time as the last bits of light left over from the sunset faded, leaving Laurel in murky blackness.
With the arrival of darkness came an unspoken permission to think dark thoughts as well. Laurel pushed herself to her feet and hurried to the kitchen, where she turned on every light before settling down at the dining room table. She pulled out her English assignment and tried to work through it, but after reading the first sentence, the letters swam before her eyes—meaningless gibberish.
She laid her head down on her book. Her thoughts wandered from the bookstore to Tamani to David, then back to her parents at the hospital and around and around until her eyes slowly closed.
A loud ringing jerked her from confusing, senseless dreams. She focused on the sound and managed to press the Talk button on the phone and rasp out a sleepy, “Hello?”
“Hey, sweetie, it’s Mom.”
Laurel snapped all the way awake and squinted at her rumpled textbook. “What did they say?”
“They’re going to keep him overnight and give him antibiotics. We’ll have to wait and see what happens tomorrow.” She hesitated. “He’s not even in a room yet, and by the time he is, it will be late. Can you stay on your own tonight and come to see him tomorrow?”
Laurel wavered for a few seconds. She had the irrational feeling that if she went to the hospital, she could do something. But that was silly. Tomorrow would be soon enough. She forced a cheery tone into her voice. “Don’t worry about me, Mom. I’ll be fine.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Once again, Laurel was by herself in the empty house. Almost of their own accord, her fingers found David’s number. He said hello before she consciously realized she’d called him. “David?” she said, blinking. “Hi.” She looked over at the kitchen window where the moon was rising. She had no idea what time it was. “Can you come over?”
When the doorbell rang, Laurel ran to let David in. “I’m so sorry I called. I didn’t know how late it was,” she said.
“It’s okay,” David said, his hands firm on her shoulders. “It’s only ten, and my mom said I could be home whenever. Emergencies happen. What can I do?”
Laurel shrugged. “My mom’s gone and…I don’t want to be alone.”
David put his arms around her shoulders as she leaned into him. He held her in the foyer for several minutes while she curled against his chest, holding him for comfort. He felt so solid and warm against her and she tightened her arms till they started to ache. For a little while, it seemed like maybe everything would be okay.
Finally she pulled away. She felt awkward after letting David hold her for so long. But he just smiled and walked over to the couch and picked up her guitar. “Who plays?” he asked, strumming a random chord. “Your dad?”
“No. Um…I do. I’ve never taken lessons or anything. Mostly I’ve just kind of figured things out on my own.”
“How is it that I didn’t know this?”
Laurel shook her head. “I’m not that good, really.”
“How long have you been playing?”
“About three years.” She took the guitar from him and balanced it on her knee. “I found it in the attic. It used to be my mom’s. She showed me the basic fingerings and I just kind of play by ear now.”
“Will you play something for me?”
“Oh, no,” Laurel said, pulling her fingers away from the strings.
“Please? I bet it would make you feel better.”
“Why do you think that?”
He shrugged. “You’re holding it so naturally. Like you really love it.”
Laurel’s hands stroked the neck. “I do. It’s really old. I like old things. They have…history, and stories.”
“So play.” David leaned back, his hands behind his head.
Laurel hesitated, then strummed the guitar softly, making small adjustments. Slowly her hands transitioned from tuning chords to the soft melody of John Lennon’s “Imagine.” After the first verse, Laurel started singing the words slowly, softly. It seemed like an appropriate song tonight. As her fingers finished
the final chord she sighed.
“Wow,” David said. “That was really beautiful.”
Laurel shrugged and laid the guitar back in its case.
“You didn’t tell me you sing, either.” He paused. “I’ve never heard anything like that before. It wasn’t like the way a pop star sings; it was just beautiful and calming.” He took her hand. “Feel better?”
She smiled. “I do. Thanks.”
David cleared his throat as he squeezed her hand. “So what now?”
Laurel looked around. There wasn’t much here for entertainment. “Want to watch a movie?”
David nodded. “Sure.”
Laurel chose an old musical where no one was sick and no one died.
“Singin’ in the Rain?” David asked, wrinkling his nose a little.
Laurel shrugged. “It’s fun.”
“Your call.”
Fifteen minutes into the movie, David was laughing while Laurel just watched him—his silhouette brightened by the television screen. His face was in an almost-smile, and every once in a while he would tilt his head back and laugh. It was easy to forget about everything else when she was with him. Without stopping to think about her actions, Laurel scooted closer. Almost instinctively, David lifted his arm and draped it around her shoulders. Laurel snuggled up against his ribs and laid her head on his chest. His arm tightened around her, and he leaned his head so his cheek rested against the crown of her head.
“Thanks for coming,” Laurel whispered with a smile.
“Anytime,” David said, his lips brushing her hair.
Laurel looked up when the chime sounded on the front door of the bookstore. She wasn’t sure she had it in her to smile at one more customer. But a smile of relief crossed her face when her eyes found David’s. “Hi,” she said, and set the stack of books she’d been sorting back on the table beside the shelf.
“Hey,” David said quietly. “How are you doing?”
Laurel forced herself to smile. “I’m alive.”
“Barely.” He hesitated. “How’s your dad?”
Laurel turned back to the shelf, trying to blink away her tears for about the fiftieth time that day. She felt David’s hands rubbing her shoulders and she leaned on him, letting herself relax, feeling better—safer. “They’re transferring him to Brookings Medical Center,” she whispered after a few minutes.
“Is he worse?”
“It’s hard to tell.”
David let his cheek rest against the top of her head.
The chime at the front door sounded again, and even though Jen hurried to help the customer, Laurel stepped away and took a deep, shuddering breath to regain composure. “I need to get this done,” she said, picking up the small stack of books from the table. “The store closes in an hour, and I’ve got four more boxes to unload.”
“Let me help,” David said. “Just tell me where they go.” He grinned. “You can be the supervisor.” He took the stack of books from her and rubbed the shiny cover of the top one for a few seconds. “Maybe I could come in and help tomorrow too.”
“You have your own job. You have to pay for car insurance, you told me.”
“I don’t care about my stupid insurance, Laurel.” His voice was sharp and he paused before continuing in a soft, calm tone. “This is the first time all week I’ve seen you for more than lunch or during class. I miss you,” he said with a shrug.
Laurel hesitated.
“Please?”
Laurel relented. “Fine, but only till my dad’s better.”
“That’ll be soon, Laurel. They have great specialists in Brookings; they’ll figure out what’s wrong.” He grinned. “You’ll be lucky if you get a whole week’s worth of labor out of me.”
EIGHTEEN
DESPITE DAVID’S OPTIMISTIC WORDS, ONE WEEK turned into two, and still Laurel’s dad didn’t improve. Laurel moved through her life like a ghost, hardly speaking to anyone except Maddie and David and Chelsea, who often stopped by the bookstore to chat. They hadn’t gotten Chelsea to help much yet—she was a natural supervisor, she joked—but the company of Laurel’s two friends was comforting.
True to his word, David was determined to work at the bookstore until Laurel’s dad came home. Laurel felt guilty as time passed and he kept working for free, but it was an argument she always lost.
Some days they spent the afternoons chatting as they sorted books and dusted shelves, and for just a few minutes Laurel would forget about her dad. It never lasted long, though. Now that he had been transferred, she didn’t get to see him every day. But the minute David got his license, he volunteered to play chauffeur every two or three days.
He drove her and Chelsea out to Brookings the first day after getting his license, and though Laurel held on to her seatbelt with white knuckles and Chelsea lectured him every time he went over the speed limit, they made it in one piece.
Laurel brought flowers—just wild ones from their yard. She hoped the reminder of home would make her father more anxious to return. He’d been very weak and only managed to keep his eyes open for a few minutes to say hello and accept a gentle hug. Then he slipped back into the oblivion of the morphine.
That was the last time Laurel had seen her father awake. Shortly afterward, the hospital staff started sedating him full-time to keep him from the continual pain that even morphine couldn’t completely take away. Laurel was secretly glad. It was easier to see him there asleep. He looked peaceful and content. When he was awake, she could see the pain he tried to hide and it was horribly obvious how weak he had become. Sleep was better.
The lab tech had been able to isolate a toxin in her dad’s blood, but it was one the doctors had never seen before and, so far, were helpless to treat. They tried everything, filling his body with any chemical they thought might help—turning him into a human guinea pig as they attempted to reverse the effects of the toxin. But nothing worked. His body was getting weaker, and two days earlier one of the doctors pulled Laurel’s mom out of the room and informed her that, though they would keep trying, if they couldn’t cleanse the toxin from his blood, it was only a matter of time before his organs would shut down, one by one.
And it didn’t help that Mr. Barnes had started calling every night. For over a week, Laurel had been able to just say that her mom wasn’t home, but after a while, he wouldn’t accept that answer. After being interrogated twice, Laurel had started letting the answering machine pick up all the calls, snatching it off the hook only if it was David or Chelsea.
She didn’t tell her mom about Mr. Barnes at all.
She felt guilty every night as she erased the daily message—sometimes two—but she had promised Tamani she would do what she could.
It was strange to think of Tamani now. He seemed almost like a dream. A bigger-than-life person who belonged with the glitz and excitement that had come with her acceptance that she really was a faerie. None of that seemed very important now. She considered going to see him, but even if she had transportation, what could he do? Enticing certainly wasn’t going to help her father.
She’d promised that she would warn him if the property was in trouble, but since she was erasing all of Mr. Barnes’s messages, it wasn’t. Lately, she just tried not to think about Tamani at all.
Laurel heard the high-pitched ring of the telephone from inside the door as she was coming home from the bookstore, and she hurried to turn her key in the lock. She reached the phone on the sixth ring and heard her mother’s voice. “Hey, Mom. How’s Dad today?”
The line was silent.
“Mom?”
She heard her mother take a ragged breath and find her voice again. “I just spoke to Dr. Hansen,” she said, her voice quivering. “Your dad is showing signs of heart failure. They’ve given him less than a week.”
David was silent as he drove down the darkened highway. Laurel had managed to catch him on his cell phone just as he was reaching his house, and he’d insisted on driving her down to Brookings that night instead of waiting for
morning. Laurel had the window down, and even though David must have been freezing with the cold autumn wind rushing through the car, he didn’t protest. She felt his eyes flit continually to her, and once in a while he would reach over and run his hand down her arm. But he said nothing.
They pulled into the parking lot of Brookings Medical Center and David took Laurel’s hand as they followed the familiar route to Laurel’s dad’s room. Laurel knocked lightly on the open door and poked her head through the curtain that surrounded the doorway. Her mom sat at the small table with a man whose back was toward them—but she waved Laurel and David in.
Laurel recognized the man immediately. His shoulders were broad and hulking in a shirt that didn’t seem to fit quite right. And something about his presence put her nerves on edge. It was Mr. Barnes.
Laurel leaned against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest as her mother continued talking to Barnes. She smiled and nodded several times and, though Laurel couldn’t hear what the man was saying, her mother kept repeating, “Oh, yes,” and “Of course,” and nodding enthusiastically. Laurel narrowed her eyes as she continued to watch her mother smile and nod—signing papers without a single glance at what they said. It was too weird.
Her mom didn’t like contracts, didn’t trust “legalese,” as she called it. She always pored over forms and agreements, often crossing lines out before she would sign. But now Laurel watched her sign about eight pieces of paper without reading a single word.
Barnes hadn’t even glanced in their direction the whole time.
Laurel’s skin began to tingle and she squeezed David’s hand as Barnes obtained a few more signatures, handed a stapled stack of papers to Laurel’s mom, and swept the rest into his briefcase. He shook her hand and turned, his eyes meeting Laurel’s almost instantly. His eyes snapped from Laurel to David, then back to Laurel. His features broke into a devious grin that made Laurel take a step back.