All These Things I've Done

  Natty opened the door. “I know you care about me,” she said. “It’s just … I didn’t even know I was one. I thought everyone was like me. Until Miss B. said that they weren’t.”

  “And when you figured it out, why didn’t you mention it?”

  “Because I didn’t want to worry you. You’d just gotten back from that horrible place, Liberty. And I didn’t want to cause any more problems for you. And you were all in looooooove with Win.”

  “But you being a genius? This should have been a good thing, right? Why would you think it was a problem?”

  “I guess because you’re always saying that we should keep a low profile at school. So, I try to keep quiet in class. I don’t raise my hand too much. Half the time when I know the answer, I don’t even say.”

  “You mean you’ve tried to act less smart?” The thought of my little sister trying so hard to be average was incredibly depressing. My skull felt like it was pressing into my eye, so I placed my head in my hands for a moment. “But, Natty,” I whispered, “that’s not right.”

  “I’m sorry, Annie. I was only trying to help. I told Miss B. not to talk to you. That there was no point.”

  I raised my head slightly. My throbbing eye seemed to have resolved itself somewhat. “Do you want to go to this summer camp?” I asked.

  “No,” Natty said. “Maybe.”

  “What about your nightmares?” I asked. “I couldn’t go with you, you know. I can’t leave Leo. Besides which, I’m not exactly a genius.”

  “I don’t know,” Natty said. “I hadn’t thought about that part.”

  “Well, we don’t have to figure this out today,” I said. “But you have to tell me these things, Natty. Especially now that Nana’s dead. I know I’m not Nana or Mommy or Daddy, but I try my best.”

  “I know, Annie. I know everything you do for me. For Leo, too. I wish I was older so that I could help you more. I wish things weren’t so hard for you.” She put her skinny arms around me, and I couldn’t help but think of what Miss Bellevoir had said about Natty being someone precious, someone who needed to be protected. I had allowed myself to be distracted over the last several months, and this was unacceptable, especially now that Nana was dead. I was responsible for this girl in my arms. In that moment, the magnitude of that hit me. Without me, she wouldn’t live up to her potential. She might fall in with bad people—God knows, we were surrounded by those. Without me, she might even die. Or, if not die, fail to be the person she was meant to be, and that might be an even worse sort of death. I pulled my baby sister to me. I felt light-headed and breathless and like I might throw up. My chest was tight and I wanted to punch the wall. I realized that this was love, and it was awful.

  All of a sudden, I really did have to throw up. I let go of Natty and ran down the hall to the bathroom. I made it to the toilet, but barely.

  I threw up for the next ten minutes or so. When it was over, I noticed that someone was holding my hair back. I thought it was Natty, but when I turned around it was Win. I’d forgotten he’d come back with me after school.

  “Oh,” I said, lunging to flush the toilet. “You should go. I’m too disgusting.”

  “I’ve seen worse,” he replied.

  “Where’s Natty?” As in, why wasn’t she the one in here holding back my hair?

  “She went to call Imogen.”

  Considering how my last conversation with Imogen had gone, I doubted she would come.

  “You should go,” I told him. “I don’t want you to catch whatever horrible thing I’ve got.”

  “I never get sick,” he said. “I have an excellent constitution.”

  “Bully for you,” I grumbled. “Would you go already? I just want to be sick by myself, thanks.” I got up off the bathroom floor. I felt a little unsteady, but Win took my elbow and led me to my room.

  I collapsed into my bed and fell asleep.

  When I awoke, Imogen was by my bedside. She had placed a cool washcloth on my forehead.

  My brain throbbed against my skull. My eyes were watering and my vision was blurry. Colored spots floated across the room. My stomach rumbled with acid. My skin was insanely itchy. I felt like I was dying. “Am I dying?”

  “You have the chicken pox, Annie. Natty was inoculated, but you and Leo never were because there were vaccine rations those years.”

  (Were you worrying I was pregnant? That I had had sex with Win and didn’t tell you? I would never do that to you. Unlike some, I pride myself on being a very reliable narrator.)

  Imogen continued. “Maybe you caught them at your cousin’s wedding? Did you notice anyone looking sick?”

  I shook my head. I went to scratch my face, but Imogen had put cotton gloves on my hands.

  “I can’t be sick. I have a wake to plan. And there’s so much to do with Nana’s death. And school. And Natty and Leo need me. And …” I sat up in bed. Imogen gently but firmly pushed me back down.

  “Well, you won’t be doing any of that until next week at the earliest.”

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  “Because Natty called me.” She slipped a straw into my mouth. “Drink.” I obeyed.

  “No,” I said. “I meant, why are you here after the horrible things I said to you?”

  She shrugged. “I had time on my hands. I did just lose my steady paycheck.” She shrugged again. “You were upset,” Imogen replied. “Drink more. You need fluids.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m really sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”

  “You’re a good girl, and I accept your apology,” Imogen said.

  “I’m so tired,” I said.

  “Then sleep, baby.” She stroked my hair with her cool, clean, dry hand. It felt comfortable and comforting. Maybe Nana’s last moments had been like this. Maybe her death hadn’t been so bad.

  I closed my eyes, then I opened them again.

  “Did you know Natty’s a genius?”

  “I suspected as much,” Imogen replied.

  I wanted to scratch but instead I said the secret horrible thing I’d been carrying in my heart since my conversation with Mr. Kipling. “I think I have to break up with my boyfriend.” There it was.

  “Why? He seems like a very nice young man.”

  “He is. He’s the nicest young man I’ve ever known,” I told her. “But a long time ago, his father warned me that if I dated Win my business would become his business. And now that Nana is dead, I’m worried that his father might try to interfere with us. You and I both know that if we went to court, Leo would never be proven a fit guardian.” I coughed. My throat was so dry. Imogen pushed the straw into my mouth.

  “The only way I can keep Natty and Leo and me safe is if we manage to fly below the radar until I’m eighteen.”

  “Hmm,” Imogen said. She pushed the straw toward me again. “Drink.”

  I drank. “But if I’m not in a relationship with the son, the father will have no need to bother with me. With us.”

  “I see,” Imogen said. She set the glass on the nightstand, apparently satisfied that I had had enough to drink.

  I was beginning to be horribly itchy again. I moved to scratch my arm. Imogen pressed it down. “This will make you feel better,” she said. She took a tube of lotion from the nightstand and began applying it to the welts that had sprouted on my skin. “You don’t know for sure that the father will do anything,” she continued. “Most parents want their children to be happy above all things.”

  I thought of Charles Delacroix that day on the way home from Liberty. I knew at least one parent who would do whatever he had to do to win, regardless of his child’s happiness. I shook my head. “I don’t know for sure what the father will do, but I think being with this boy puts us in danger. And as much as I”—Did I love Win? Did I really love him? Yes, I suppose I did—“love Win, I love Natty and Leo more. I can’t put them in jeopardy for my silly high school love affair. If Nana were still alive … But I just can’t risk it.” I knew what I had to do. It
wouldn’t be easy, but I would do it. I moved to pull off my glove, but Imogen stopped me by taking my gloved hand in hers.

  “Remember, high school love affairs aren’t always so silly, Annie. And you can’t do anything right now. Your sickness will give you a couple of days to think.”

  “I really miss Nana,” I said. “I know most people saw her as some old woman in a bed, but I still really miss her.” I was itchy and weak and my eyes began to tear. I missed having her to go over things with. I missed talking to her. It was inconceivable that I would never hear her voice again. “I just miss her,” I said.

  “Try not to speak. I miss her, too,” Imogen said. “Would you like me to read to you a bit? It always helped your grandmother to sleep. I have one of my favorites with me.” She held up her book so that I could see the title.

  “Isn’t that about an orphan?” I asked. I hated those kinds of books.

  “You can’t avoid orphan stories, child. Every story is an orphan story. Life is an orphan story. We are all orphaned sooner or later.”

  “In my case, sooner.”

  “Yes, in your case, sooner. But you are strong, and God never gives us more than we can bear.”

  I didn’t feel strong. I felt like burying my head under the covers and never coming out. I was so awfully tired. “Read your story if you must,” I told Imogen.

  “Chapter one,” she read. “There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question …”

  Aside from trying not to scratch, I didn’t do much of anything for the next five days. Because of my condition, I wasn’t even able to attend Nana’s wake. Scarlet and Imogen went with Natty in my place. I had told Scarlet to keep an eye out for Leo, too. (Scarlet had gotten lucky and managed not to catch my pox. Oddly, the only other person at school who had gotten them was Mr. Beery.)

  I didn’t feel particularly bad about not being able to go to Nana’s wake. In theory, I understood wakes—they were about respect for the living as much as they were about respect for the dead. It was the emotional-displays-in-public-venues part that I had trouble with. At Daddy’s funeral, for instance, I had felt observed, and by observed, I suppose I mean judged. It wasn’t enough to be sad inside. You had to look sad for other people. While I was sorry to subject my brother and sister to such scrutiny, I was grateful that my pox had given me an excuse not to go. I had been to plenty of funerals in my sixteen years already.

  I helped my siblings pick out wake clothes: an old black tie of Daddy’s for Leo, an old black dress of mine for Natty. Just before noon, Imogen and Scarlet showed up to meet my siblings. Finally, I was alone with my red spots, which I did my best not to worry. Aside from being itchy and unattractive, I did not feel especially unwell. A touch after noon, the doorbell rang. It was Win, who I had not seen since the afternoon he’d discovered me on the bathroom floor. I still looked terrible. What was particularly annoying about that was how wonderful he looked. He was wearing a long olive-green coat that looked like it must have belonged to a soldier who had served in an arctic clime. His hair was a bit damp—he must have showered before coming over—and parts of it were even frozen into little spikes on account of how cold it was outside. And yes, the spikes were adorable. “I’ve brought something for you,” he said after I’d let him in. He reached into his deep pockets and produced four oranges. “Your favorite.”

  I took one and pressed it up to my nose.

  “My mother’s rooftop experiments are starting to bear fruit,” he joked. “This is called a Cara Cara orange. It’s pink on the inside and incredibly sweet.”

  He moved to kiss me, and I moved away. “Aren’t you afraid I’m contagious?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I’ve had them.”

  “Still, people do get chicken pox a second time. And—”

  “I won’t get them a second time,” he insisted.

  I moved even farther away from him. “How can you want to kiss me? I’m completely disgusting right now.”

  “Not completely,” he said.

  “I am. I’ve seen myself in the mirror and I know.”

  He laughed at me. “All right,” he said finally. “I’m not here to force myself on you. I figured you’d want company while everyone else was at the visitation. Look, I’ll even peel your orange for you.”

  I told him that I could peel my own orange.

  “Not with those,” he said, indicating the cotton gloves that Imogen had insisted I keep wearing. He put his hand over my gloved one and squeezed it. I became aware of my heart in my chest. I needed to end things with him.

  We went into the living room. He sat down on the larger sofa, which was upholstered in brown velvet. I curled up next to him, resting my head against his ribs. He started to run his fingers through my hair, which annoyed me, but I didn’t say anything. My hair is curly and prone to frizz, so I’d usually rather people didn’t touch it. I was glad for the annoyance, which I found fortifying in a way. See, I thought, he isn’t perfect. If I could focus on this one annoying thing he did, maybe I could end it.

  I sat up on the sofa. Then I got up and moved to the red chair.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  I knew that it would be better to tell him that it wasn’t working out, that we weren’t compatible, that there wasn’t always a reason for these things. Unfortunately, I didn’t do this. “Win,” I said. “You can’t be my boyfriend right now.” I laid out my case to him just as I already have to you: I really, really liked him (NB: I did not use the word love.) but my family was more important than my feelings, and now that my grandmother was dead, I couldn’t risk having his father in my life, etc.

  And then he talked me out of it. Or maybe I let myself be talked out of it. Maybe I wanted to be talked out of it. He told me that he loved me and I loved him and that was the most important thing. He told me that I didn’t get to make this decision by myself. He told me that his father wouldn’t bother with me and that he could control his father if his father ever tried to interfere with my family. (Even then, I knew this to be a ridiculous lie—I mean, I had met Charles Delacroix.) He told me that love was the only thing that really mattered in this world. (Another lie.)

  But I was in a weakened state, and lies can sound awfully pretty when a girl is in love with the person telling them. The truth was, I couldn’t, at that moment, bear the loss of Win, too.

  We heard the front door open. It was only one o’clock, and I hadn’t expected everyone back for at least another hour. I walked to the foyer. Leo blazed past me, running straight to his room and slamming the door behind him. Imogen, Natty, and Scarlet stood in the hallway, taking off their coats.

  “What happened?” I asked them, feeling guilty that I hadn’t dragged my pox-ridden self to the wake. “Why are you back so early? What’s wrong with Leo?”

  Scarlet answered, “We aren’t sure. We were all together, but Leo went off with some of the guys he works with at the Pool. I thought it would be okay. But the next thing I knew, there was yelling, and Leo had a black eye—”

  “Wait,” I said. “Leo has a black eye?”

  “I should go put something on it.” Imogen excused herself to the kitchen.

  “Yes,” Scarlet continued. “I didn’t see it happen—none of us did—and he wouldn’t say who did it. And then Yuji was telling all of us to get into a car.”

  “Yuji?” I asked. “Yuji Ono? He was there?”

  “He’s here,” Natty added.

  And that’s when I noticed Yuji Ono standing in the doorway, wearing a black coat.

  “I was still in the States, so I came to pay my respects,” Yuji said.

  “I …” I pulled my bathrobe tighter around myself and wished for a veil to pull over my head. “I hope you’ve had t
he chicken pox.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I was warned.”

  Win was standing behind me. The foyer was getting incredibly crowded. Win held out his hand for Yuji to shake. “I’m Win.”

  “He’s Annie’s boyfriend,” Natty added.

  Yuji nodded. “I saw you at the wedding last weekend. Nice to meet you.”

  “Let’s all go into the living room,” I said.

  “No,” said Yuji, bowing his head slightly. “I must go. I wondered if you might have a moment for us to talk alone before I depart. I was hoping to see you at the funeral, but I didn’t know of your illness.”

  “Yes, of course. I—”

  “Annie!” Imogen called me from the hallway. “Can I speak to you?”

  “Excuse me,” I said. “I’ll only be a second.” I scurried down the hallway to Leo’s room, where Imogen was standing outside, carrying a bag of frozen peas. “Your brother’s locked himself in, and he won’t open the door. I need you to pick the lock.”

  I knocked on the door. “Leo, it’s Annie. Please let me in!”

  No reply.

  I removed the fine nail that we kept above the door frame for exactly this purpose, and began to work on the lock. Despite the fact that my mind was occupied with questions, it only took me fifteen seconds. I hadn’t lost my touch. I took the peas from Imogen and told her I would go in by myself.

  Leo was seated on his bed, facing the window. He wasn’t crying, which I considered a good sign.

  “Leo,” I said softly, “you should put something on your eye.”

  He didn’t reply, so I sat down next to him on the bed. I raised my arm to put the frozen peas on his face. He jerked his body away from me. “Annie, leave me alone!”

  “Please, Leo. You don’t have to talk. Just let me put this on your eye. With your medical history, I’d feel better knowing your head isn’t swelling too much. I don’t want you to have a seizure.”

  “Fine!” Leo grabbed the peas from me and held them up against his face.

  “Thank you. You are very important to this family. To me,” I added. “And you have to take good care of yourself.”