Chapters 14 to 16

Chapter 14

Billy paced from the kitchen to the living room, alternately running his fingers through his hair or kneading them into the back of his neck. He paused only to pull the drapes back from the front window to open the side door, on the lookout for Justine. He reminded himself of Mr. Whiskers, a pet gerbil he had when he was a kid who would endlessly search his glass cage for an exit. Mr. Whiskers twitched his nose constantly, like a rabbit, which is how he got his name.

‘Where is she?’ he thought. ‘And why hasn’t mom called? Something’s gone wrong. I know it.’

He eyed the telephone. Calling the hospital was useless. He tried that already. There were no phones in intensive care. The only one person he could get through to was a woman staffing the information desk. The desk was not aptly named.

“He’s been admitted from the ER,” she said.

“I know that. What’s his condition? Can I talk to him?”

“His condition is…let’s see…serious.”

“I know it’s serious!” he yelled. “He’s had a heart attack!”

But hearing that he had been moved to a room made him feel a little better. Maybe that meant he wasn’t in any immediate danger. Maybe that meant that Billy could relax. At least enough to spend some energy worrying about Justine. It was almost 8 o’clock. Justine was practically two hours late for dinner. Not that there was anything to eat. Nor was he hungry, which might have been a first.

“If something’s happened to her…” he began to say out loud, but then he opened the side door to check if she was coming down the street and saw her wheeling her bike into the yard. She disappeared into the metal shed and locked her bike. Billy went out on to the porch to meet her. It was taking her forever. “Where have you been?” he asked, testily.

“I’m not that late,” said Justine, giving him half of a sneer with her upper lip. “What’s for dinner?”

“We’re not having dinner tonight,” he announced.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Mom’s not home. You can have a sandwich or something.” Billy was pissed that she couldn’t tell he was upset.

“That sucks.”

Justine went inside, grabbed a packet of pretzels from the snack drawer and headed towards her room.

“Listen to me, Justine. I’ve got something to tell you.”

She turned towards him but he didn’t meet her gaze. Justine could tell her big brother was struggling to speak.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. The muscles in her face contracted in anticipation.

“It’s not that bad,” started Billy. He grimaced at how false and stilted he sounded.
Justine flew into a panic. “Oh my God! What is it? What is it?” Her eyes were instantly big with fear. Her hair, always wild and unkempt, seemed to be charged with electricity. Billy braced himself. Now the words came quickly.

“Dad’s in the hospital. He’s going to be OK. He’s not in critical condition anymore.”

“Critical? What happened?” She leaned back against the kitchen countertop with her elbows tucked into her waist and her fingernails digging a little circle of red crescents around each eye.

“He had a heart attack.”

Justine bolted upright, strode over to a chair and collapsed into it, and then bounced back up again, hugging herself. She was shaking.

“A little one,” said Billy quickly, following her around the room. “He’s going to be OK. Mom’s with him.”

“Oh my God,” said Justine. She kept mumbling “Oh my God” as she walked out on to the porch and started frenetically pacing around the furniture.

‘No,’ thought Billy to himself. ‘She's the one who looks like Mr. Whiskers.’

“It will be OK,” he said.

She brushed past him with each lap around the porch without making eye contact.
“I have to call him,” she said.

“You can’t,” said Billy, clumsily trying to follow her around the porch without getting bumped into.

“I am going to call him,” she said, angrily, and stormed into the kitchen. She went over to the phone and lifted the receiver. Holding it next to her ear but without looking at him she asked, “What’s the number?”

“He doesn’t have a phone,” said Billy.

“Liar!” she snapped, whirling to face him.

“He’s in intensive care. The intensive care rooms don’t have phones.”

“Intensive care!” she gasped. “Oh my God!”

She slammed down the phone and started crying, her back against the wall.

“Justine, please. Calm down. He’s going to be OK.”

Billy approached her slowly and awkwardly put his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged him off and walked over to the refrigerator, opening the door and closing it without taking anything out. Trying to calm herself she sat down at the kitchen table but then leapt off the chair as though it were red hot.

“They’re going to say it’s my fault!” she screamed. She wrung her hands together in front of her. Some of her hair found its way into her mouth and she started gnawing on it furiously.

“What are you talking about?” asked Billy.

“They’re going to say I drove him to it, but I didn’t, right? Right? It’s not my fault he had a heart attack.”

‘It’s always about you, right Justine?’ thought Billy. But he said, “Don’t panic. Trust me. Of course it’s not your fault.” He wondered, though. Just look at her.
The more her anxiety grew the calmer he became. His focus was on Justine and not wanting her to explode.

“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked.

“To you?” He was annoyed, but he said, “He’s with the doctors now.”

“It’s not my fault!”

“I know. Look, Justine, calm down.”

“You think it’s my fault. Well, fuck you!”

“Justine…” started Billy.

“Leave me alone,” she said and ran past him to her bedroom and slammed the door shut. He went over to it as he heard the lock click. He knew where his parents kept the key but he thought it better to wait and see what happened. He half expected to hear her throwing things against the wall. Instead, the stereo came on full force. It was Carly Simon crooning her heart out. He didn’t need to open the door. He knew she was on the bed rocking, mumbling the lyrics like a mantra.
‘Let her listen to her music,’ he thought. ‘It’s probably the only thing that will keep her sane.’ Just then the phone rang. Justine didn’t hear it. Billy gingerly picked it up, holding his breath, sure it was bad news.

“Hello?” he said weakly.

“Hi, Billy.”

“Mom! I was waiting for you to call. Is everything all right?”

“Your father’s resting. Thank God the doctors say he isn’t in any danger. He dodged a bullet.”

“That’s great,” sighed Billy, and sat on the floor.




Chapter 15

The next morning Carol and her two children rode in silence to the hospital. She was glad they were silent, and she was glad she had the excuse of focusing on the road so she didn’t have to speak, either. She didn’t have the strength. Actually, she wasn’t even paying attention to the road, at least not consciously. Her mind was filled with the image of Frank lying in the hospital, delicate as an eggshell, trying unsuccessfully to not seem scared. His complexion was like paste. During the course of one day his wrinkles, or what had been just the hint of wrinkles, had sprouted tiny tentacles that fanned out across his face. His eyes still seemed young, but maybe that was the fear.

The previous night Carol had lain awake in the flickering light of her television set. She turned the sound down, but she didn’t want to be in the dark. The Late, Late Movie had ben on. It was a picture with Dick Powell and Myrna Loy.
‘They’re both dead.’ she thought. At least they probably were. But their images danced across the screen in black and white, looking very debonair.
She rolled over so she wouldn’t have to see them – those ghosts – elegantly acting out the scenes of some comedy, no doubt, judging by all the takes and coy glances they exchanged. She was sure she had seen this movie before, but couldn’t remember the actors’ names. Normally, that would have driven her nuts.

‘Twenty years,’ she thought. ‘September will be our twentieth anniversary. Where did the time go?’

A light and tentative knocking at her door startled her. It was morning. At some point – she couldn’t remember – she must have fallen asleep. The light from the window outshown the television. “Come in,” she called out, and rose from the bed. It was Justine. She was eager to see her father. Billy, too , was awake. She could hear him moving around upstairs. Without saying much they all got dressed and piled into the Buick Wildcat. For an instant she had thought about putting up a cheerful front, but then dismissed the idea. She would probably come across as desperate.

They arrived at the hospital and pulled into the parking deck. Being early Sunday morning, they had no problem finding a spot. Carol parked the car, turned off the ignition, and exhaled. It was time to enter mother mode.

“OK, we’re here!” she said. “Now I don’t want you guys staying too long. Daddy needs his rest.”

“Is he hooked up to lots of machines?” asked Justine.

“Yes, I was going to tell you about that,” said Carol, shifting in her seat so she could address her children in the back seat. They were each crammed next to their respective windows, looking very young.

“It’s a little scary at first,” she continued, “but the machines are mostly there to monitor him. There’s a heart monitor, an oxygen tube, and he has an IV.”

“He’s not, like, in an iron lung, or anything?” asked Justine.

Carol laughed. “Where do you get these ideas? Of course not.”

“What’s an IV?” asked Justine.

“It’s a tube with a needle that’s attached to his arm that drips medicine.”

“Is he in pain?” asked Billy.

“No, not anymore. He’s mostly tired and uncomfortable. The doctors said they may let him sit up in bed today.” She put her keys in her purse and snapped it shut. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“I’m scared,” said Justine.

“What have you got to be scared about?” Carol tried to smile. “Now let’s go.”
They locked the car and began walking to the hospital entrance. Billy shoved his hands deep in his pockets. He and Justine trailed their mother by half a step. When they entered the building Billy tried to sneak surreptitious glances at the nurses and doctors that they passed in the hallway. ‘They’ve seen dead people,’ he thought. He concentrated on keeping his breath steady and not letting his mother see he was afraid.

“I’m scared that I’m gonna freak out when I see him,” said Justine.

Carol stopped walking and put her hand on Justine’s arm. She saw Billy’s eyes narrow and his jaw go hard, but she ignored him.

“Now Justine,” she said tenderly. “He’s still your same old Dad. And he is going to be fine. Do you hear me? Don’t be scared by this hospital stuff. The doctors are going to fix him up good as new.”

“So he’s going to be OK?”

“He’ll be fine. And you can help him by just trying to stay relaxed. OK?”

“I’ll try,” said Justine.

Carol gave her arm a little squeeze and smiled. “Good girl.”

They walked passed the information desk and continued on to a bank of elevators. A delivery man holding an oversized basket of flowers had already pushed the up button. As the elevator arrived, an orderly zipped down the hall and got on with them.

“Which floor are you going to?” he asked.

“Seven,” said the man with the flowers.

“Three,” said Carol.

The ICU unit was on the third floor. Billy sneaked a peek at the orderly’s face for a reaction but he saw none. He looked back at the number three button all lit up. It gave him a sick feeling of status. ICU. Their visit was serious.
The elevator doors opened and they stepped off. Carol led them through a small waiting area outside the unit. A young couple was sitting on a blue vinyl couch drinking coffee from paper cups and talking softly enough to avoid being overheard. As they passed them Justine said, “It’s so weird. Everybody here knows someone who is dying.”

“Your father is not dying,” said Carol, firmly.

“I wonder if it’s their kid or something,” said Justine, glancing back at them.

“I’m sure it’s not their child,” said Carol.

“How do you know?” asked Billy.

“Believe me, if it was their child they’d be bawling their eyes out. It’s probably their parent.”

Billy flinched. What did she mean by that?

“But you said Daddy is going to be OK, right?” asked Justine.

Carol could see Justine’s hands trembling, but before she could say anything Billy jumped in. “Yes, Justine,” said Billy, sharply. “How many times do you have to ask that?”

“But mom said people here are dying!”

Billy’s voice grew louder. “You said that! Mom, said that the doctors said –“

“Please! Children!” interrupted Carol. “Your Dad is right down the hall. Let’s try no to fight in front him. Let him relax.”

“If we fight and he’s not relaxed,“ said Justine with a sense of urgency, “will he have another heart attack and die?”

Billy stepped off to the side and tried to calm himself, tugging at his hair.

“Will he?” asked Justine. “Answer me!”

“No,” said Carol, fighting to stay calm herself. “He’ll just feel better faster if he thinks we’re not all panicky. Talk about everyday things. He wants to see you and say hello, but then I’m sure he’ll want to rest.” She placed her hand on Justine’s shoulder. “It’s OK, honey, just relax.”

Justine closed her eyes and nodded her head a couple of times. “I’m ready,” she said. Carol smiled weakly and continued down the hall. Billy tried to inconspicuously peek at the other patients. One man was on a respirator. His chest heaved unnaturally in time with a machine near his bed. After passing a few doorways, Carol stopped. “Here’s his room,” she said.

Billy eyed the crash cart in the hallway and the large, red trash bag labeled “Biohazard.”

“Let’s go,” said Carol.

They entered to find Frank sitting up in bed sucking on some ice cubes. “And here he is!” continued Carol. “The man of the hour. Hi, honey.”

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Carol walked over and gave him a peck on the forehead.

Billy surveyed the room. His father’s bed was raised so he could lie back at a forty-five degree angle. Hanging from the ceiling in front of him was a television tuned to the Yankee game. Perched on a shelf behind the bed was a heart monitor. An IV ran into his father’s arm, and under his nose he wore a little plastic tube that delivered oxygen. There was one chair in the room, a high-backed one covered with orange vinyl. His dad’s street clothes were piled neatly on top of a small dresser by the window. It was a tall, thin window that looked out on the parking deck. From the bed, though, all Frank could make out was the top of a large brick factory with a couple of smokestacks and a patch of blue, cloudless sky above it.
“You’re looking better,” said Carol.

“Oh yeah,” said Frank, trying to sound upbeat. “I’m practically ready to hit the dance floor.”

Justine hurried over to her Dad’s side, sat down in the chair next to his bed, and held his hand. “You’re going to get better, right?” she asked.

Frank let out one chuckle. “I’m planning on it.”

Billy stood shuffling his feet. “Hey, Dad,” he said. He didn’t know where to look. His eyes were drawn to the heart monitor. He tried to avert his gaze but failed until he saw his father’s heart skip a beat or something. His own heart followed suit, and he quickly moved to the other side of the room so he wouldn’t be able to watch.

“So,” said Frank. “What are you guys going to do today?”

“I’m going to stay right here by you. I’m not going anywhere,” said Justine.

Frank looked at Carol, who approached Justine. “Now, honey, you don’t have to do that – “ she began. ‘Yeah, that would finish him off for sure,’ thought Billy.

“But I want to. I want to be here for him. Don’t you want me, Daddy?”

“Of course, honey.”

“See?” said Justine, raising her chin in defiance.

“But I also need rest,” said Frank.

“I won’t bother you! I’ll just stay right here in case something happens.”

“Nothing will happen,” said Carol.

Frank pulled up his hospital gown, which had slipped, revealing a shoulder. Carol pulled some pajamas out of the bag she brought, as Frank continued speaking to Justine. “And if it does, the nurses will be in here in a flash. See, they have me on TV.” He pointed to a camera that hung down from the ceiling next to the television set. “As long as that little red light is on they can see me in the nurses’ station.”

“I don’t care. I’m staying right here,” said Justine, patting her father’s hand.

“Your father needs his rest,” said Carol.

“I said I won’t bother him.”

“I can’t rest if you’re here, Justine. I just want to watch TV and fade in and out of sleep. If you’re here…” His voice trailed off.

“What?”

“I’ll feel like I have to talk or something.”

“I won’t even say a word,” she said earnestly. “I’ll only sit here and hold your hand.”

“Justine…” Frank tried to re-position himself on the bed and grunted with the effort. One of the wires leading to the heart monitor grew taut, and his father’s gown slipped.

“Are you all right?” asked Justine, leaning forward and grasping his hand.

“I’m fine. Really,” said Frank. “I just want a little space.” He pulled his hand away, and unsuccessfully tried to secure the hospital gown. Carol came over and put her hands on Justine’s shoulders, gently but firmly pulling her away. “Come on, honey," she said. "Sit over here on the other chair. It’s much more comfortable.”

Justine twisted out of her mother’s grasp. “I don’t need to be comfortable.”

“Justine,” said her mother a little sharply. “Your father asked for some space. He’s uncomfortable.”

“Oh, he doesn’t want me near him. What? You think this is my fault?”

She was standing now, gesturing wildly. Billy stared at the IV, mentally picturing what he would do if she knocked it over. He shook his head in disbelief. “Justine! Why can’t…”

“Billy, be quiet,” said Carol in a harsh tone. “Let me deal with this.”

“Deal with what?’ asked Justine, her arms akimbo. “I’m always something you have to deal with. What the hell did I do wrong? Everything I do is wrong. You blame me for this. I know it.”

“That’s not true,” said Carol, moving towards her, but Justine stepped back, almost bunking into the table with the ice chips. Billy inched closer to the IV.

“Justine...” said Frank.

“Frank, please. Relax,” Carol ordered.

“Carol, let me talk!” said Frank.

“Go ahead, talk,” said Carol. “I’m trying to spare you.” She picked up her bag and angrily started unpacking.

‘Oh man!’ thought Billy, ‘Big tactical error there.’ Why can’t they ever learn? He knew Justine was sick, or spoiled, or something. Out of control, anyway. But they always made it worse. It was as if they purposefully pushed her buttons in an effort to get over the preliminary tension and move on to the main event as rapidly as possible.

Justine shouted, “Spare him? Oh, excuse me if you need to spare Daddy from me.”

Carol slammed down some underwear she was unpacking down on the foot of Frank’s bed. She was visibly shaking. “Justine, we’ll talk about this later. Don’t upset your father.”

“Carol…” said Frank.

“Come on, let’s go,” said Carol. She threw the clothes she had brought into a dresser drawer, and picked up her purse. She pointed towards the doorway, staring down Justine.

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Justine.

Carol’s eyes shot ice daggers. “Now! Let’s go. We’ll talk about this in the waiting room”

“Carol,” said Frank.

“Let me deal with this, Frank.”

“Please, Carol,” said Frank.

“What?”

“Justine, honey, I know you love me and want to help me but I don’t need any help, OK? I don’t want Billy to stay long either. You came, you saw me, that’s enough. Now, I want to rest.”

“We just got here!” said Justine.

“Come on, Justine, let’s go,” said Billy.

“Billy, be quiet,” said Carol.

“I’m trying to help,” said Billy.

“I don’t need any help right now,” said Carol.

Justine stuck her tongue out at him.

‘You, asshole!’ he thought. A million obscenities careened inside his head. ‘This fucking heart attack probably is your God damned fault.’ How badly he wanted to say that out loud. Hurt her. Maybe shock her into thinking about somebody else for a change. His face turned red and he sat down on the window sill, looking out at the smoke stacks, hugging himself.

‘See if I ever help you out again,’ he thought, looking back at his mother. ‘You’re always asking me to help with Justine. Well the next time you need help you can do it your damn self.’

One of the nurses swept into the room carrying a tray with little paper cups filled with pills. She was probably in her twenties – she had a few faint acne scars on her face but she moved athletically, with an easy grace. She commanded the room.
“Hey, hey, hey. What’s all the commotion? You’ve got company Mr. Rogers?”

“My family.”

“Well, you’re making lots of noise. We can’t have so much excitement around here.”

Carol motioned for Justine to move away from the bed. Justine rolled her eyes but she obeyed.

“Here’s your meds,” said the nurse. She handed Frank one of the little paper cups. He reached for his water and started downing his pills.

“And let me fix those pillows,” she said. She put her tray down and leaned over to re-arrange Frank’s bedding. As she did, her dress slid up to reveal white tights stretched over a long muscular thigh. Billy stared at her as she moved around the bed. He couldn’t help but imagine his hand sliding up those thighs and under that dress. She picked up her tray and started backing out of the room. “And no more commotion or I’ll make you leave your Dad alone. He needs his beauty rest.” She winked at Billy and left. A flood of embarrassment poured over him.

‘She saw me looking at her,’ he thought, ‘and me with my Dad lying in the hospital right in front of me. I’m a pig.’

Carol retrieved her purse and pulled out her wallet. “You heard the nurse,” she said. “I’m going to give you kids cab fare.”

“Why can you stay here?” asked Justine.

“Because I’m his wife and because I know how to be quiet.”

“I was being quiet until you started yelling at me,” said Justine in a whisper loud enough to be heard in the hall.

“Please, honey, I need to sleep,” said Frank.

“Let’s go Justine,” said Billy. He wanted out of there.

“Fine! Just fine!” She stormed out into the hallway and made a beeline for the elevators. Carol shoved some bills in Billy’s hand, saying “Catch up with her and take her home.”

“Bye, Dad,” said Billy. “I hope you feel better.”

Frank gave him a salute and Billy ran after his sister.

“You better not die,” said Carol, “and leave me alone with her. God help me I’ll hunt you down in the afterlife and scratch your eyes out.”

Frank sighed, “Don’t laugh. It’s no joke.”

“I know,” said Carol. “I’m not joking.”




Chapter 16

It was 8 o’clock and Billy had already logged several miles through the streets of Fairfield. Darkness was still about an hour away. He kept circling around the end of town where Shari lived, passing her house every ten or fifteen minutes. Her driveway was empty, though, and the house was dark. He hoped there wasn’t some nosey neighbor spying on him from behind the curtains as he paraded up and down the street ready to call the cops.

The gang was probably playing ultimate at the school but Billy wasn’t up for it. He wouldn’t be able to hide the fact that he was upset from his friends, and he didn’t want to talk about it. It would be even worse if nobody asked how he was doing or what was up with his dad. Either they didn’t care or the whole time they’d just be wondering about it, and then talking about it when Billy wasn’t around.
Billy looped around the Sunoco station and headed back in the general direction of Shari’s house, kicking some loose gravel into the street. For the first time in Billy’s life, his dad felt like a stranger. He lay in that bed with all those tubes and wires and stuff. Billy wanted to say something but he didn’t know what. What if his Dad really was dying? What do you say to someone who may die? It’s not like he had a cold or the flu or something. You can’t say “Get well soon”, can you? But his father wasn’t dying. That’s what his mom said. Yeah, but one day it will happen. Then what do you say?

“What’s that old saying’, thought Billy, “everyone dies alone.’ He wished he believed in God. Then he wouldn’t have to be so scared.

He stared at his watch. 8:12. Maybe he should swing by Shari’s again. He took a right at the next street and ran his hand along the top of a hedge. He was so lost in thought he almost tripped over a busted up toy car some kid had left in the middle of the sidewalk.

‘She better not be with Margaret,’ thought Billy. ‘Once they start talking they never stop.’

Billy’s father had grown up dirt poor in Newark. His grandparents barely had any schooling and his grandfather had died relatively young. Billy never met him. He had died in a work-related accident when Billy’s dad was still in grammar school. All Billy knew of the man came from a handful of worn photographs and a series of stories his dad always told about how hard it was working down at the docks and how often Billy’s grandfather was injured or sick. His dad had five brothers and sisters, but except for Aunt Kate his memories of them were faint. One uncle had died in Viet Nam way at the beginning of the war and the other three had moved out west. Billy’s mother had confided to Billy that his oldest uncle, Uncle Ted, used to beat up on his siblings – and even his mother, Billy’s grandma – after his grandpa passed away, but she made Billy swear that he would never let Frank know that she had told him.

Whenever Billy’s dad talked about his childhood, Billy felt like a spoiled brat. His father’s family had nothing. One summer when Frank was a boy he had went away to a welfare camp. The most amazing thing about the camp, according to him, was that you could drink as much milk or orange juice as you wanted. When you finished your glass, somebody just poured you another one. It was heaven. By the end of the summer, though, it had become somewhat routine. So when Frank got back home and went down to breakfast that morning, he gulped down his milk and asked for more. His mother didn’t say a word. She went to the cabinet and got down her emergency change jar. As she counted out the pennies, Frank had said, “No, mom. That’s OK.” She shoved the change at him anyway and told him to go down to the store and buy a quart of milk.

“Worst damn milk I ever drank,” Frank always said. “The whole time I drank it I thought of my mother hunched over, making beds in that old hotel and mopping floors. Walking three miles to work. Let me tell, you Billy,” his father would say. “You don’t know what hard work is.”

The other story of his father’s that always stuck in his head involved a clarinet. During a different summer, Frank and Kate, being the youngest, were sent to a distant cousin’s house down in Vineland. Frank had been scared to go. It was for the whole summer, after all, and the only one he’d know there was Kate. Frank’s mom said that they’d have a secret signal. If Frank thought it was best that they come home early, he should write a postcard asking her to bring his clarinet. That way his mom could come get him and the cousins wouldn’t have to know why.

Frank and Kate loved the house in Vineland. There was tons of space to run around in, including a wooded area complete with a creek. The food was good, and best of all his cousins had a German Shephard puppy named Luke who loved to chase balls and have his tummy rubbed. Frank felt like he was Tom Sawyer, walking in the woods with his dog, and chomping on candy.

There was also an older cousin, named Jimmy, who played the clarinet in his high school band. A few weeks into the summer, while Jimmy was practicing with his instrument, Frank mentioned that he had an old beat up clarinet at home.
Jimmy said, “Hey, ask your mom to send it down. I’ll teach you how to play.”
Frank was thrilled. He completely forgot about the signal and sent his mom a post card asking her to ship the clarinet. Two days after she received it, she was down in Vineland to retrieve her children.

“Why are you taking them back early?” asked her cousin.

“I miss them,” she said, “and my boss said he could start giving me more weekend hours so this may be the last chance to pick them up without having to miss work.”
Frank and Kate were crushed. Frank took his mother aside and desperately explained his mistake, but his mother said she didn’t have money to waste on extra train fares and besides if she changed her mind she’d come off as a liar. The three of them took the train back to Newark. Kate was in tears, and Frank felt as low as muck on the bottom of the lake. That fall when Frank returned to school he got a job as a soda jerk at a drug store. The era of unfettered summer vacations for him was over.

As Billy made his way down Shari’s street he saw her car pull into the driveway and her family get out -- her mom, her dad, and her two little brothers.

“Finally!” he whispered. He set aside thoughts of his father and waited until they were inside. Then, trying to appear nonchalant, he walked up to the house and rang the bell. One of her brothers answered the door. He had on a Mets shirt and was sucking a lollipop. He stared at Billy through the screen door.

“Is Shari home?” asked Billy.

A mischievous glint appeared in the little boy’s eyes. He was probably nine or ten years old. “Hey Shari!” he yelled over his shoulder. “There’s a boy here to see you!” Shari came running down the stairs.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“Shut up, squirt,” said Shari, brushing past him and on to the porch.

Her brother laughed triumphantly. “He’s your boyfriend!”

“Shut up!” said Shari. Then to Billy she rolled her eyes and said, “Sorry.” But Billy wasn’t upset. He kind of liked it.

Her brother came out on to the porch and started dancing around. “Shari’s got a boyfriend! Shari’s got a boyfriend!”

“I said, shut up,” Shari pleaded. “Mom, can you call Paul in?”

“Shari’s got a boyfriend,” her baby brother taunted.

There was a booming yell from inside. “Paul! Get in here! Now!” Paul stuck his tongue out and ran inside.

“You know little brothers,” Shari apologized.

She checked to make sure Paul went back inside and caught him lurking in the entryway. She flashed him an icy stare and he scrambled up the steps to the second floor.

“Mom, I’m out of here,” called Shari, back into the house.

“Wait!” came her mother’s voice from somewhere inside. “Where are you going?”

“For a walk.”

“Be back by ten.”

“Ten?” she asked, not trying to hide her annoyance.

“Yes, ten,” was the reply.

“Fine.” She walked up to Billy. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

Shari took him by the hand. He wiped a piece of lint from her shirt.

“Ooh, yuck, you really are boyfriend and girlfriend,” said her little brother with his nose pressed up against the screen.

“Shut up, you little brat!” said Shari, releasing Billy’s hand.

Paul giggled and bounded back up the inside stairway.

“Let’s get out of here, Billy.”

“Fine with me. Where do you want to go?”

They headed down the steps and held hands once they were out of view. Billy could hear a dog barking in the distance. It would be dark soon. He wanted the sun to go down and give them some privacy. He wanted everything in the world to go away. Everything except Shari.

“Well, I don’t know if we have time for the park,” said Shari, stressing the last word. The pressure in Billy’s pants was immediate.

“Say,” said Shari, abruptly changing tone, “I’m sorry about your Dad. Is he OK?”

“Yeah,” said Billy. “How did you know?” He let go of her hand and rubbed his palms down the sides of his pants to dry them off. He couldn’t look at her.

“Oh, news travels fast in this town. There’s no such thing as privacy.”

“No, really, how did you find out?”

“Mitchell told me.”

“You know Mitchell?”

“I came by Foodtown looking for you.”

“Oh,” said Billy. She really was his girlfriend. Unbelievable.

Billy took Shari’s hand in his again. He clenched it so hard their hands were both sweating in no time, but this time neither of them let go. They walked on in silence for a little while.

“But he’s going to be OK?” asked Shari.

“Yeah, they said it was a little heart attack.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing as a little heart attack.”

“Me, neither. Maybe they were trying to keep us from panicking. I mean, he was in intensive care and everything.”

“Oh, Billy.”

“Yeah. He was just lying there. He looked so frail in his little nightgown thing.”

“Those things are humiliating.”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

“What do you mean?”

“My Dad was lying there and I felt like I should try to make him feel better but I…I…I felt like a little kid. I mean, I’m not a kid anymore. But I only said, like, ‘Hi, Hope you feel better.’ That’s it.”

“What were you supposed to say?”

“I don’t know. That’s the point. Anyway, I didn’t stay long,” said Billy. “My sister started freakin’ and we had to leave.”

“You mean she was crying?”

“No, she was being Justine. Aggravating as all hell.”

“What was she doing?”

Imitating her in a mocking voice, he said, “She ran up to him and said, ‘Oh Daddy, Daddy, I’ll stay right here holding your hand until you’re better.’”

“Sounds nice to me.”

“She aggravated him so much I was expecting him to have another heart attack.”

“She sounds sweet.”

“Oh, she is definitely not sweet.”

“What did she do that was so terrible?”

Billy sighed. He didn’t know where to begin. Anything he said would sound mean. In truth, what had she done that was so bad? It was that they all knew what she was going to do. How she could suck the life right out of you. “It’s hard to explain,” he said.

“Can you try?”

Billy stopped walking and sat down on a little stone wall that bordered somebody’s yard. It was dark now. “Can I tell you some other time? It’s such a long story and I can’t deal with it now. I can only deal with one thing at a time.” He buried his face in his hand. “I feel like shit. And I’m scared.”

“Scared about your Dad?”

“Yeah, of course, but other things, too.” He brought his hands down and stared off into the night. Shari sat down beside him and brushed some hair off his forehead.

“Like what?” she asked.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He couldn’t look at her. He sat with his hands in his lap and his feet crossed at the ankles, hunched over.

“Hey, Billy.” Shari put her hand on his shoulder. He wanted her to hug him, to embrace him, to take him in her arms and let him cry his heart out, but he didn’t move a muscle. All he could feel was the pressure of her hand on his body.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” she said.

“OK.”

She took her hand off him and put it back in her own lap. Billy’s heart sank to his feet. ‘I’m sick,’ he thought. ‘My Dad’s in the hospital and all I want is to hug Shari.’

“Do you want to go home?” she asked.

“No,” he said quickly. “I want to be with you but I don’t know what to say. Story of my life. I walked around town for over an hour waiting for you to get home.”

“We went shopping for luggage, of all things. We’re going down to North Carolina at the end of the summer. Why we all had to go out together to look at suitcases, God only knows. My Dad said it’s a family thing.”

Billy tried to force a laugh.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to go off about the suitcases like that.”

“No, no it’s all right,” said Billy. He started playing with some of the loose stones in the wall they were sitting on. He scraped out the cement that held them together and wiggled some of the smaller stones free.

“Hey, are you trying to tear down the wall?”

“What?” Billy looked down at what he was doing. “I’m sorry. I get fidgety.”

“Don’t apologize to me. It’s not my wall.”

“Sorry.” He re-arranged himself on the wall and stared at the sidewalk. Shari took his hand. It was warmer than his, and it was soft. He studied the way their fingers interlocked. “I should say something,’ he thought. ‘Anything.’ But nothing would come. What else could he say about his Dad? He wanted to say how special Shari was but he was sure that it would sound dumb. Besides, his father was hooked up to a heart monitor. It seemed a little too self-absorbed, even for him.
Shari gave his hand a little squeeze and stood up. “It’s almost ten,” she said.

“That’s when you turn into a pumpkin, huh?”

“You bet.”

“Sorry I wasn’t such great company.”

Shari jumped up. Through clenched teeth, she shouted, “Aaargh!” and spun around. With her hands on her hips she looked Billy straight in the eye and said, “Jesus Christ, Billy Rogers. What do you think? I want to be entertained?”

Billy started to hem and haw but Shari cut him off. “If you say ‘sorry’ one more time I’ll kill you. I swear to God!”

Billy’s tongue felt two-sizes too big for his mouth. “Um. Uh.”

“Kind of leaves you speechless, huh?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder with a toss of her head and crossed her arms in front of her. “Take me home, OK?”

“Sure.” He stood up and started walking back to her house. After a few steps she stopped.

“You can still hold my hand.”

He gingerly took her hand and she let out another “Aargh”, grabbed him around the waste with one arm and pressed her head into his shoulder. He squeezed her back.

“Don’t try to talk, Billy, OK? We’ll talk tomorrow. Just walk me home and when we get there kiss me or I’ll slap you.”

They arrived back at Shari’s house and stood facing each other.

“My little brother Paul is probably watching from his bedroom. Make it worth his while.”

Billy grabbed her and kissed her for dear life. His chest burned. After a few moments she took his face in her hands and pulled gently back.

“I gotta go,” she said. “We’ll talk tomorrow, OK?”

“OK.”

“But don’t worry so much about what you’re going to say.”

“I’ve got a lot going on right now, I’m just…I mean… My Dad…I don’t know what my Mom would do. He seemed so delicate in that bed. I kept imagining his heart like some big balloon about to pop. It was so scary to think of, but it was so real.”

“I know.”

“I mean…What I’m trying to say…”

She pulled his head down next to hers and he collapsed into tears, his chest heaving as they stood clutching each other. Her hair was like a pillow against his ear. Through her shirt he could feel her shoulders and her shoulder blades. He was afraid her frame couldn’t support his weight leaning against her, but he couldn’t let go. His sobs were almost inhuman. They were deep, hoarse gutteral sounds. Then they were over as quickly as they started. He stood back and looked at her. She had been crying, too.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

“Yeah.” He wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve. “I’ll be all right. Thanks.”

She leaned forward on her toes, and kissed his cheek. “Good night,” she said. She climbed the porch stairs and went inside with a brief glance back.

Billy stood alone on the street trying to hold on to the essence of her. Her smell was still on him. He could almost see her image moving on the porch. He could almost feel her back on his hands as he hugged her.

She was there and then she wasn’t.

‘Like life,’ he thought. “Here and gone. You want to hold on but in the end it just evaporates.’

He started walking home.

‘But at least I’ll get to see her tomorrow.’