~~~~~
The next day at school went very similarly, though since it was our last practice before the show we did a costume rehearsal. It was a long show, so even with all the solos being cut out of practice - Brittany and Lindsay also had solos of their own - we still went past four thirty. When I got home I was nervous – it was almost five, and dad was sure to blow his top when I walked in the door. I was sure I was going to have at least another week added on to my punishment.
I opened the door quietly, hoping that I could sneak past my dad and that maybe he would be distracted like he was the day before. Instead I was greeted immediately by Arvin, who had been sitting anxiously in the living room.
He rushed up to me and said, “There’s something wrong with Dad. He’s been in his workshop all afternoon. Come here and look!”
I followed him to the garage and up the stairs to the studio apartment that my parents set up as their workshop and research room. Dad was hunched over the desk, rocking back and forth, frantically scribbling away. I watched for a minute as he filled a page with sketches, then immediately crumpled it up and tossed it to the side. I walked over to the pile of scrap paper and uncrumpled one of the sheets. I was sickened by what I saw – they were obviously wards, but nothing stood out as being good to me. There were fierce –looking animals, like lions and bears, poised to kill; tools like hammers and nails that looked a bit too spiky; a skull that was missing teeth. All around these pictures were variations on the letters used to give meaning to the wards. I knew nothing about the language, yet I could feel that these letters did not spell out good things.
I went to my father’s side and gently put my hand on his shoulder. He didn’t respond, so I leaned down and gently and quietly said, “Dad, what’s going on? This isn’t good. You know you can’t use these.”
Arvin, who was still next to the door, said, “He can’t hear you. I even yelled at him once today and he didn’t even flinch. All he cares about are those pictures. Do you know what they mean?”
“I have no idea,” I honestly replied.
I tried talking to dad again, staying quiet enough that Arvin couldn’t hear me. “Dad, I don’t know what you’re trying to make, but it’s not good. You’re getting very, very sick. Mom will be back soon. I promise you that. But please, don’t try to do this on your own. You’re spiraling out of control.”
That seemed to get his attention. He didn’t look at me, but he shook his head, over and over, and muttered almost too quietly for me to hear, “I’ve got to get Lucie back. Just this once I can break the rules. Then I’ll get her back and I’ll get better. That’s what I need to do. Yeah, that’s all. Then she’ll be back and all will be well. All will be well. All will be well.”
I could feel my heart breaking. The man that raised me, the one that had been so supporting and so loving, the one that taught me to have a sense of humor, was completely lost. I could see it in his face – he was too pale, his eyes were too dull. I allowed my chin to quiver and my eyes to water a bit, then resolved to be strong for my siblings. I stood up and went back to Arvin’s side.
Quietly, so dad couldn’t hear, I said, “We’ve got to get some of these tools out of the workshop. We need to hide them. Maybe leave them with the neighbors. We can’t have them here, though. I don’t want dad to hurt himself.”
Arvin nodded and without further question he gathered up as many tools as he could carry. I grabbed what I could, too, making sure to keep an eye on dad. He didn’t notice us taking his tools. He was completely oblivious to everything that was going on around him.
We put all the tools in a box, went across the street to the McGwyns and asked if there was a corner in their garage we could use, just for a little bit. We knew it was an odd request, we explained to them, but it was really important that they stay out of our house. They were free to say no, we added, but they were kind, if a little confused, and cleared a spot on a shelf for the box.
When we got back home we sat at the kitchen table and stared at the surface in silence for a few minutes.
“Should we call the hospital?” Arvin finally suggested.
I shook my head. “No, I have the feeling it would only make it worse.”
“Do you think there’s anyone that can help?”
“I don’t know. Wait! There might be someone!” I realized that there was a person that could possibly help, someone that knew what dad was facing. (Not Jack. The thought crossed my mind, but I quickly squashed it. Besides, he was constantly getting new pay by the minute phones so he was hard to track, and I didn't have his newest phone number, so I wasn’t sure how to reach him anyway.) “There’s a man named Calvin Briggs that works with dad. I haven’t seen him, but I know he’s come by at least once to talk to dad in the last couple of weeks. Maybe he can help!”
“What makes you think he can?”
“I… well… I think that dad’s really frustrated with work right now. Maybe this guy can help.” It wasn’t a lie, but apparently the wards for truth on the table didn’t put up with half-truths, either, and it was obvious that Arvin didn’t believe me.
“I thought that dad was upset about mom being gone.” He said pointedly.
“Well, yes, I think that’s mostly why he’s upset, but I think that work is making it worse.” That was closer to the truth, and apparently passed well enough to get past the wards.
“Okay. Well, do you know how to reach him?”
“Umm… no. But that’s why we have phone books, right?” I got up off my chair and grabbed the phone book from off the top of the fridge. I flipped through the white, then the yellow pages. The name Calvin Briggs didn’t turn up anywhere. I told Arvin to use his computer to look up the name while I called the operator, hoping that she could find him. I had no luck, and while Arvin found plenty of Calvin Briggs on the internet, none were even close to where we lived. Odd, I thought, that a man that could find my parents halfway across the country couldn’t be found himself.
We gave up the search after calling all the operators within fifty miles of our house. It was getting late, and we were hungry. Apparently Dad wasn’t going to take breaks for eating, and when I found my phone and texted Terra, she told me that she was staying with a friend again. She had only spent one night here since she first left – apparently she was getting ready to be someone’s roommate.
I found dad’s wallet on his night stand, and used some of the cash he had to take Arvin and myself out for pizza. It was an indulgence, but good comfort food on a crappy day. On the way home I stopped by a smoothie place and ordered one of the super food drinks for dad – the kind with every imaginable vitamin and packed with protein. I didn’t see dad eating any time soon, but hopefully I could coax him to at least drink enough of the smoothie to keep him somewhat nourished.
When we got home we found him exactly where we left him. I put the smoothie and a stack of plain paper next to him, and said, “Please drink this, dad. I’m worried about you. And I hope that you can just get this out of your system, because I don’t know what else to do. I’ll be by to try to get you into bed later.”
He didn’t acknowledge me, but I thought I saw him quickly glance at the cup, so I was at least hopeful of that.
I went to my room and sat at my desk despondently. I was, for all intents and purposes, parentless. I could feel anxiety starting to fester in the back of my throat. Who could I possibly ask for help? I couldn’t think of anyone that wouldn’t just turn right around and let child services know that the one parent in the house was unfit for caring for children. I had started to think, once dad was starting to get super restrictive, that I could handle taking care of myself, but all of the sudden the realization of what that meant flooded my brain. How could I take care of the house payment? I had no idea how to access my parents’ bank account, and even if I did I had no idea how much they had saved up. And what about grocery shopping, an
d paying the bills?
It was getting late, and I wanted to start getting ready for bed, hoping that a good night’s rest would help me get everything sorted out in my head. I went back to the workshop to check on dad. His head was down on the desk, his pen still in hand. I panicked, hoping he wasn’t hurt. I put my hand on his back and could feel it slowly rise and fall. He was still breathing, thank goodness. I checked the smoothie cup and found the contents were over half gone. Well, that was good, anyway. I took the pen out of my dad’s hand and set it next to him, then ran down to the living room to grab a throw pillow and blanket. I wasn’t nearly strong enough to try and take dad down a flight of stairs, across the house, and up another flight of stairs to get him into bed, plus I didn’t want to wake him up any way. I wrapped the blanket around him, then slowly and carefully lifted his head to slide the pillow beneath it. He didn’t disturb at all, which did worry me. I would have to check on him in the morning to make sure he actually woke up.
When I got back in the house Arvin was in the kitchen, making some hot chocolate for himself.
“Dad’s asleep,” I said as I put the leftover smoothie cup in the fridge and grabbed a mug so I could make up a cup for myself. “He’s really out of it. It didn't bother him at all when I moved his head to put a pillow under it.”
“Do you think he’s going to wake up at all?”
“Yeah, I think so. I’ll make sure that he’s up before I leave tomorrow.”
“You’re not going to stay home and make sure he’s okay?”
“No. All I would do is just pace around the house and worry about him. I think he and mom would just want us to spend the day like we normally would. You should go to school, too. I know you’re worried – I am, too – but I honestly can’t think of anything we can do. Hopefully mom will be home soon and she can help him.”
Arvin nodded sullenly. “I guess you’re right. Good night, Kenna.” He walked out the door, taking his mug with him up to his room.
I finished my hot chocolate in the kitchen, then turned off all the lights in the house and made sure every window and door was locked. As I got in to bed I realized how secure I had always felt with a parent in the house – now that dad was essentially gone, I was alone in the house with Arvin. It felt too big, and the shadows seemed too dark. I don’t remember how long it took for me to fall asleep, or if I even fell completely asleep at all. It felt like I was tossing and turning all night, waking at the smallest sound.
“To whoever is listening, please help dad get better,” I prayed. “And please bring mom home safely and soon.”