Leaving Paradise

Page 18

"What do you think you're doing?" an adult voice from the staircase calls out.
Shit, it's Tristan's mom.
I would try to hide the beer, but that'd be pointless. We've already been busted.
She storms down the stairs and rips the Michelob out of Tristan's hand. "Not in my house, you won't," she says, then points her finger at me. "You may think you can just come back here and suck everyone into your lifestyle, Caleb, but I won't let that happen."
Tristan steps forward. "Ma, stop."
"Don't protect him, Tristan." She looks down at the beer can in my hand, then shakes her head in disgust. "Caleb, please leave my house."
I put the unopened can down on the table. Mrs. Norris doesn't even look at the can. She's too busy staring at me and sneering. "Stay away from my son," she orders as I head out.
There's no use even defending myself. Mrs. Norris already has her mind made up about me. Verdict: Guilty.
Besides, if I explain the truth she won't believe me. The way she glared at me says more than words ever will.
"That was a buzz kill," Brian says when we're back in his car. "Where are we gonna watch the game now? It's probably close to halftime."
"We can go back to my place," I offer.
Ten minutes later we settle ourselves in my basement and watch the game. The Bears are up by three, but the Packers have the ball and it's the fourth quarter.
I'm totally into the game when Brian says, "I need to tell you something."
"Shoot," I say, taking a handful of potato chips and shoving them into my mouth. My attention is still on the game, but I chance a small glance at my friend.
Brian is leaning forward, the expression on his face totally serious. "She'll kill me for telling you."
I glance back at the TV. The Packers just fumbled and it's the Bears' ball. This could clinch a victory for them. "Who?" I say, only partially listening to Brian.
"Kendra."
Kendra was recently in my arms and a willing partner in my bed. It wasn't the most romantic reunion; I guess I expected it to be like old times. It's been anything but.
"Did you see that?" I ask Brian, getting totally riled about the Bears game. You can't blame me for being excited when I'd been restricted from watching football for the past year. I missed a whole season. "They just sacked Edmonton!"
"We're together, CB. I just thought you should know." I look at him, confused. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Me ... and Kendra."
It hits me like a brick smacked into my head at lightning speed. " You and Kendra?"
"Yeah."
Jeez. The word comes out of my mouth faster than my brain can comprehend it. "When?"
"You don't want to know."
That means it was before I was arrested. Maggie wasn't lying to me that night I freaked out on her.
Maggie had told me the truth while Kendra looked me right in the eye, feeding me lies. Kendra was the manipulative one and I fell for it.
But it all makes sense now, why Kendra is desperate to keep our relationship a secret. Perfect time to fuck with my head once again.
Brian is watching me, gauging my reaction. There's no way in hell I'm going to tell him I've been messing around with Kendra.
In a matter of seconds, I lose my demented perception of reality. There is no getting back together with Kendra, there is no hanging out with the guys like before. My life now has no resemblance to before. How could I ever have thought it had?
I have to ask. "Are you guys, you know ..."
"Yeah."
I close my eyes and lean back into the cushions of the couch. Wow. My girlfriend was screwing both of us and I was oblivious. But Maggie knew and tried to warn me. As a thank-you, I insulted her and then the night spun out of control, ending up with Maggie in the hospital.
The Bears game forgotten, I shake my head and stare at the ceiling.
"At first it was just a hook-up, a mistake," Brian continues. "We both didn't mean for it to happen."
I wish Brian would just shut up. Now I know what Damon means about taking the blame. "You were probably so stoked I was convicted, you could finally have my girlfriend all to yourself," I say.
"It's not like that." Brian pauses. "I love her, Caleb. Jesus, I'd marry her right now if I could."
"Damn," I mumble. I wonder who's going to be there when Brian comes back from la-la land and falls flat on his face. Kendra told me there were no guys that mattered. Or was that all bullshit, too?
"She made me promise not to tell you about us. But I think it's cool if we're all up front about it, don't you? Then we can be a couple at school again, instead of pretending we're not together."
I stand, needing some distance. This is my best friend from when I was in kindergarten. I remember when Drew took a crayon away from Brian in first grade and I pinched Drew on the arm in retaliation.
And when I had chicken pox in sixth grade and had to stay home for over a week from school, Brian secretly came over and played Dungeons & Dragons with me. And we never told our parents, even when Brian got stuck with the pox two weeks later.
Id never thought Brian would betray our friendship.
"You're a prick," I blurt out.
Brian stands and grabs his car keys. "I knew you wouldn't understand. That's why I didn't tell you."
"Dude, you were screwing my girl behind my back. How'd you think I'd react?" A shiver just ran up and down my spine when I actually put the truth into words.
"I thought you'd listen. And try to understand without wanting to rip my head off. This is real, Caleb."
I give a cynical laugh. "I'll tell you what's real. Real is that I was in jail for the past year, rooming with drug dealers and eating crap food your dog wouldn't touch. Real is not being able to wear your own frickin underwear and showering with twenty-five other dicks every day while guards watch. Real is my next-door neighbor who walks like she's balancing on stilts because her leg is so fucked up from the accident. Brian, your perception of reality is totally off."
Brian heads for the stairs, his back stiff. He stops when he's halfway up. "When you want to forgive me and move on, you know where I am."
My fists are clenched so tight they're getting numb.
That's when Mom walks down the stairs. She smiles wide and says in a cheery voice, "Did you have fun with your friends?"
TWENTY-SIX
Maggie
I wish my mom didn't insist on going to my physical therapy appointment. "You can just drop me off," I say. "Just come back and get me in an hour."
Mom shakes her head. "Dr. Gerrard wants to talk with both of us."
Oh, no. "Mom, I'm fine. Robert expects his patients to do the impossible, that's all."
"I know it's not easy, Maggie," she says. "Don't worry, you don't have to do what feels uncomfortable. Just do your best."
When we enter the hospital, sure enough Robert is waiting for us. "Hi, Maggie, how we doing today?"
We? "Fine."
"Been doing those strengthening exercises I taught you?"
Uh ... "Yeah. Well, sometimes."
Robert shakes my mom's hand. "Nice to see you again, Mrs. Armstrong."
"You too," she responds, then takes a seat while Robert leads me to the workout mat.
"Let's start with stretching," Robert says. "And warm up those muscles to help them work hard. Put your legs in a V."
I do, but my legs resemble an "I" more than a "V" because my left leg doesn't want to warm up right now. It's not me, it's the leg.
"That's the best you can do?"
"I think so."
Robert kneels beside me and says, "Touch your left foot with your left hand."
I try, but I only get as far as my knee.
"Come on, Maggie. A couple more inches."
I reach about another half inch, which doesn't impress my physical therapist.
"She can't," my mom interjects. "Can't you see she's in pain?
"Mrs. Armstrong," Robert says. "Maggie has to push herself in order to retrain those muscles."
Mom is about to respond when Dr. Gerrard walks in. "Hello ladies. Robert."
My mom stands and hugs my surgeon. After the accident, he was the one who always gave us hope and had the hands to reconstruct the inside of my leg. I remember the first time I met him in the hospital. He came in with a big white coat, a big smile, and big fingers that were going to cut my leg open and fix it.
Dr. Gerrard kneels next to me. "How's it going, Maggie? Run any marathons lately?" I raise my eyebrows.
"I'm just kidding," he admits. "Bad surgeon joke."
"Dr. Gerrard, you need new material," I mumble.
"That's what my interns say, too." Dr. Gerrard has me sit on the examining table and inspects my scars. "Looks good," he says, then looks up. "Robert tells me you're a little timid in physical therapy."
Robert stands there with his clipboard in his hands, the traitor.
I shrug. "I can't put a lot of pressure on my foot."
"It hurts her," Mom chimes in.
My doctor steps back and takes a deep breath. "Okay, walk to the door and back for me, Maggie."
He helps me off the table while I limp to the door. "Can you put more pressure on your left foot?"
"Not really."
"Okay, come back and sit down." I limp back to the table and sit on it. Mom comes up to me and rubs my back.
"I'm going to give it to you straight," Dr. Gerrard says.
"You've got to start pushing yourself and stop favoring your left side."
"I'm doing my best," I say.
Dr. Gerrard doesn't accuse me of lying, but I can tell he's not convinced by the way he's pursing his lips together.
"Maybe we should let up on the physical therapy," my mom says.
Dr. Gerrard sucks air into his clenched teeth, the hissing sound clearly a no-go to Mom's suggestion. "I'd hate to see her stop physical therapy."
"I have a suggestion," Robert pipes in. "What if Maggie starts playing tennis again?"
My heart pumps faster, the beats within my body thumping in my chest like an Indian tribal dance.
"Are you okay?" Mom asks.
I can't answer. My esophagus feels like it's constricting. "I need to get some air," I say, then get off the table. Robert comes up to me. "Maggie, we're just trying to help you."
"I know. But I can't do this anymore. I just can't." I pull on my sweats, limp past my mom, and head for the exit. I'm passing people in wheelchairs, doctors, and nurses. Do they think I'm as crazy as I feel?
When the doors open I suck in fresh air and try to breathe deeply.
Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
Isn't breathing supposed to be something you do unconsciously? Right now I'm hyperconscious about it. So conscious, in fact, that I think if I stop concentrating, I might just forget to do it. I close my eyes. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
I felt this way the day my dad left the last time, when I realized it might be his last visit. I wasn't strong then, either.
I blink back tears as I try hard to forget. Because it hurts too much knowing his love for me wasn't strong enough to make him stay. I wasn't worth being loved enough.