Truss Issues
:: resulting from a weakness in the assembled members due to instability or lack of care
Josh
Friday, April 28th, 4:51 pm
Greater Baltimore Medical Center Towson, Maryland
I hate hospital waiting rooms.
Even bright, vaulted-ceiling art deco ones with wide-cushioned armchairs and glass tables. So does Kate, apparently. She scowls at our posh surroundings and sets her coffee down hard. Tiny brown droplets splatter onto the book between us, a journal she’s writing in.
It’s Friday evening and we’re at GBMC waiting for David. He had an orthopedic follow-up which Bennett brought him to. I don’t know why the hell he needed us here, but he asked, so we came.
I help Kate dab at the mess, noting her familiar, tidy scrawl. “What are you writing about in that thing, anyway?”
She chews on the pen tip. “You know, memories, feelings. Remember, I told you? Mia sent me that daily prompt list? It’s therapeutic. You should try it.”
I am no doubt a poster child for therapy, but I’d have to be clinging to sanity before writing in a journal. Just the thought gives me cold sweats. I leaf through her pages, spot reading.
“Your earliest memory? Seriously? That’s a prompt? How is that therapeutic?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t mock. I bet you’ve never even thought about it.”
No, I haven’t.
I consider this, stare into her beautiful kaleidoscope eyes. I take in the wild curls, freckled nose, those full, pouty lips. I’m not sure I have any early memories that don’t involve Kate.
“You,” I say. “You are my first memory.”
An amused smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, but it’s true. She was my world back then. She still is. I’m sure it’s the same for her. I turn to a blank page, take the pen and write her name in all caps, large across the top.
“Look Kath-er-ine,” I say with a smirk. “I’m journaling.”
Her gentle laughter sends warmth surging through my belly like a hug. She rests an elbow on the table, leans her face into her palm, and looks at me.
I have an irresistible urge to touch her in some way—take her hand, brush her leg under the table. But this is way too public for that. I feel a miserable ache for home. Not that we’ve been home much lately. It’s not the same without David.
After the episode in Bennett’s study, we agreed he should stay with their family for a few weeks. He would’ve been fine coming home, but whatever; Bennett insisted. It’s not like I have any medical training or anything. Why depend on me?
So, Kate and I have been keeping busy in his absence with work and the house. There’s the basement mold issue. And the busted kitchen wall—she didn’t buy my explanation that I “fell,” but whatever. Then, last week we noticed a few cracks in her bedroom ceiling, which could mean truss issues. Honestly, the whole fucking roof could collapse at this point. Maybe that would be a blessing.
She’s watching me, brow furrowed. “I know the last few weeks haven’t been easy, Josh. But I think David asking us to come tonight, means—”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” I grumble. “He’s all over the fucking place.”
Her eyes brighten with tears. “I still feel like this is all my fault. Bringing Claire around, news of the baby, all that stress. It was too much. He’d just had surgery! What was I thinking?”
I bite at a fingernail. It’s been a month; does she have to mention the miscarriage in every conversation? As if I need a reminder of how miserably I’ve failed her. And Claire had nothing to do with David, she was my fiancé, after all.
“You can’t blame yourself Kate. David’s a big boy, he makes his own decisions.”
Clearly.
She wipes a stray tear on her sleeve. “Well, he seems to be doing better, at least. Maybe Bennett and Julie were right about him staying.”
I have no response.
David could’ve come home. But whatever. He obviously doesn’t want to be with us. Or me, more likely. Maybe he doesn’t want to come back at all. We’ve certainly given him ample reason to flee. Not the least of which was my near assault on him in the kitchen. I mean, seriously. Punching a wall? What the fuck was that?
Kate’s back to staring at her journal, tracing the letters I wrote with one finger. “Am I really your first memory?”
I give her an exasperated look. “Do you even need to ask?”
First, last, every moment in between. I don’t have many memories apart from her. Or David, for that matter.
Her smile broadens. “Isabelle Keats tripped me on the playground in first grade. Remember? Ms. Shriver didn’t believe I couldn’t walk. You carried me home piggyback. Just walked right off the school grounds without a word.”
“Well, your ankle was broken, that stupid cow. A toddler could’ve diagnosed it.”
“She didn’t know Josh; it was an honest mistake.”
“Well, her mistake certainly cost me.” Nick beat my ass for that little act of heroic delinquency. But he was always looking for an excuse to rough me up.
She nods and closes the journal. We don’t talk about childhood stuff—too painful. What’s the point anyway? It’s all in the past.
“I don’t know if I want to see her again,” Kate’s saying.
“Who, Ms. Shriver? She’s probably dead.”
“Isabelle, Josh. I don’t want to see Isabelle. And David and I, and you and Hadley are going to be in Corolla at her wedding in like a month.”
“Correction, you three will be at the wedding. I will be fishing with Nate.”
I only agreed to David’s ridiculous plan because Nate, a friend of ours from high school, will be there. He and I plan to blow off the festivities and fish. His dad has a small vacation cottage in Corova, a four-wheel-drive-only beach north of Corolla. Nate’s always bragging how good the fishing is there.
Kate’s about to protest when my phone vibrates.
David.
“He’s done,” I tell her, rising from my seat. “Let’s go.”
5:20 pm
David is checking out by the time we make it upstairs to the orthopedic wing.
This was supposed to be a routine appointment—X-rays and a fresh cast. Preferably a brace if he’s healed enough. I’m out of the loop, though. Bennett and Julie have basically taken over.
And I know I should be glad he has people who care for him. But haven’t Kate and I done those things? Aren’t we enough? Anger burns like a hollow flame in my stomach.
That is, until I get a look at him.
He’s at the reception desk, his back to the door, still dressed in work clothes—slim pants and a dark gray sweater. With the sleeves pulled down, you’d hardly know he has a cast. It looks like he’s lost more weight, though.
Didn’t they feed him?
Some cheesy Top 40 song is playing in the background and he’s totally there for it. Shoulders swinging, feet going, completely oblivious—he’s such an idiot. I sink into a chair, weak with relief and worry and a multitude of emotion I have no label for. We’ve hardly seen one another, and I have no idea what to expect.
Kate’s obviously experiencing none of my turmoil. She’s across the room and hanging on him like a koala. He pulls her into a bear hug and holds her close, burying his face in her curls. They fit together, the two of them. They should be together, would be if it weren’t for me. I want that for them. I really do.
And then, I don’t.
He’s glancing around, looking for me. Our eyes meet before I feign interest in a magazine. I’m totally aware how childish this is; he’s my best friend after all. Who knows me better than David?
But I can’t.
After a minute I feel rather than see him take the seat beside me. He smells like Bennett’s house. A Clorox-clean, food-in-the-oven, cozy kind of smell. Of course he wants to stay there.
“So,” he says, strumming the arm rest between us, “I guess this is the part where you pretend to be angry with me.”
I don’t respond and he flicks the cover.
“Can’t we fast forward to a happier scene?”
“Not in this movie.” I glare at an article, which I’ve apparently been reading upside down. He shuts the page and turns it over, chuckling.
“What, I’m gone like two weeks and suddenly you’re reading women’s magazines?” I glance at the cover—two dainty looking mugs and a picture of Betty Boop. Sizzling Skillet Dinners, it says. I hadn’t even paid attention.
“Three weeks,” I remind him, but who’s counting? I turn my focus to his arm, surprised to see a hard cast poking beneath the sleeve. No brace?
“How’d your appointment go? What’d they say about switching to a brace?”
He shrugs and runs his other hand through his hair, exposing the Harry Potter scar. Instinctively, I move to touch it, then catch myself, midair. He grins as my hand drops, and this exhilarating heat passes between us. The air turns thick and heavy, and I’m back in the kitchen, three weeks ago.
I’m staring at his mouth, at the graceful curve of his lips, remembering the soft, irresistible warmth. Suddenly, all I can think about is kissing him, his velvety smooth skin, the press of his body, the…
Ugh. No!
Fuck.
Hours of self-lecturing fly out the window. All right, so I want him. I’m attracted to him. I have always been attracted to him. I mean, who isn’t? The receptionist is currently drooling on herself, just watching him. You can’t control physical attraction.
Only it’s so much more than that.
It’s his gentle approach to everything. It’s the way he reads me, senses my mood, talks me off the ledge. It’s the soothing tenor of his voice, and his ability to calm any situation, and I don’t know, like a million other loveable qualities I lack.
He’s watching.
It’s his eyes.
He always looks at me the same, from the first moment we met. I fail, he forgives. No, scratch that. He doesn’t even let me apologize. I don’t deserve his kind of love. Not after the things I’ve done, the countless times I’ve let him down. How can he stand me?
I can hardly stand myself.
“This is a problem,” I mutter.
“A big fucking problem,” he says without missing a beat. And it’s such a me comment, god fucking damnit. I don’t want to want him like this.
I glare, even though my chest could burst from the crippling ache. It’s infuriating. And how dare he leave for so long after I begged him to stay. After what happened between us. Who does he think he is, asking Kate and I to come here? He has Julie and Bennett now.
I grasp this resurgence of anger like a life raft. “Why are we even here, David? You don’t need us.”
“Of course he needs us,” exclaims Kate, dropping into the seat beside me. “What are you talking about, Josh?”
David tousles my hair. “He thinks I’m not coming home.”
Kate looks at him, puzzled. “You’re coming back with us now, right D? Isn’t that what you just told me?”
He picks up the magazine and smacks my stomach with it. “Only if Josh promises to make one of those sizzling skillet dinners he was reading about.”
She pats my shoulder. “He worked himself to death while you were gone. Hardly slept. And when he wasn’t working, he sulked around the house like someone stole his comfort blanket.”
I shrug away, blushing because her comment is pitifully true. “Shut it, Kate!”
I’m about to unleash some fury, but then Bennett joins us. He’s a presence. The guy is in his forties and can easily out-lift me. He’s a real outdoorsman too—fishing, hiking, chopping wood and stuff. I have a hard time reconciling him to his teaching profession.
We all stand, and he hugs Kate and I with genuine affection. Despite my best effort not to, I generally like Bennett. Aside from all he’s done for David, their family’s been good to us, maybe too good. Makes me feel indebted or something. Plus, he’s a church guy—a little too perfect. But so far, I haven’t found a chink in his armor.
“So, you’re really leaving us? Sure you’re ready to go back with these two?” he asks, elbowing Kate and I good-naturedly.
David nods, eyes still fixed on me. “Well, Josh is reading skillet recipes and Kate’s thinking about quitting her day job. Seems the whole operation is falling apart over there.”
He slows on the last few words, instantly recognizing his mistake. That last piece of information about Kate’s job was not meant for my hearing. Kate stares off to the side, all flush. I tear my eyes away from him and give her a WTF brow lift which she refuses to acknowledge. Bennett, meanwhile, lets out a short laugh in response, but he’s no fool. The tension is obvious.
I watch him exchange a look with David which I imagine is an I told you so of sorts.
I told you those two are causing you stress.
I told you going back home was a bad idea.
In reality, he’s probably just making sure David is okay, like a good dad would. Not that I would know anything about that.
“Come on, Josh,” he says hooking an arm over my shoulder. “Let’s pull the cars around. I’ve got his stuff in the trunk.”
I turn tail on my roommates, I mean, the co-conspirators. How can she consider quitting her OT job? It’s the only stable thing she’s got. He better not be encouraging her. I glance back to find them standing together, watching. I give a little middle finger scratch to the back of my head for good measure and walk out the door.
Saturday, April 29th, 11:32 am
Station 14, Lutherville, Maryland
My father has the nerve to show up at my job of all places.
During an open house, no less. We hold them at the station occasionally—tours, fire prevention education, blah, blah, blah. They raise awareness and benefit the community, but it’s a lot of work. And I’m already exhausted.
We had a major blow up at the house last night, Kate and I. All thanks to David’s accidental revelation at the hospital. It’s all good now, and she’s not quitting her OT job. But I’m pretty sure David is regretting his decision to come home. He and I hardly spoke, and he was sound asleep when I left this morning.
And now, Nick.
During these events we let people tour the ambulance, look around, ask questions, etc. It’s mostly for kids. They’re fascinated by the medical gear and equipment. I’m untangling an exuberant toddler from a loose gurney strap when I see him approach.
He’s alone and dressed down—ball cap, aviator shades, jeans and a hoodie. Men like my father don’t roll up to an open house in casual clothes, unannounced. They bring an entourage of sycophants and a camera crew to capture their act of good will. The fact that he’s alone and incognito speaks volumes.
“Joshua,” he says in a gravelly voice. My stomach rolls at the sound.
Aside from his near constant presence on the re-run channels, I haven’t seen him since December, right after we moved in. And yet, my physical reaction is instant—nausea, rapid heart rate, beads of sweat on my forehead and upper lip. The whole nine yards. I have never panicked on a call. But let the past collide with the present, and I’m a mess.
I glare at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He climbs inside the rig and takes a seat. “Beautiful spring day, open house.” He gestures lazily. “Free country and all that.”
I roll my eyes and his expression hardens. He looks around disdainfully, as though a vehicle equipped to save his pathetic life is somehow beneath him. “I cannot understand why you want to piss your time away doing this. You have an education for shit’s sake, an expensive one at that.”
He scowls and I wonder for the millionth time how we have any relation. I mean, I guess I resemble the man, same olive skin, almond eyes, solid, muscular build. I note with satisfaction his stomach beginning to paunch, though. All the booze catching up, no doubt.
“Shouldn’t you be in Florida playing canasta with the other geriatrics?”
“That’s Vivian’s job,” he says, and I choke on a laugh. Vivian playing cards at a retirement home is something I’d pay to see. She’d rather die first.
“You’ve been ignoring my texts,” he continues.
“I must not have seen them.” I totally have. And deleted them all, unread.
“It’s important.”
Important to him and important to me do not exist in the same stratosphere. I grab a bottle of water and chug it, mentally urging him to leave.
“David hasn’t responded, either. Everything all right with him?”
The mention of David completely sidelines me, and I drop the bottle. Water splashes everywhere.
He snorts. “Guess some things never change, do they?”
I bend to clean the mess, senses on high alert. “What do you want, Nick?”
“I was just trying to follow up with him on our situation. I’m sure he told you about it.” He brushes some non-existent lint off his sweatshirt. “That’s a nice sofa you kids have, by the way. Reminds me of the one we had in our family room, remember? Good place to recover from a broken arm.”
Our situation? His words hit like a punch that sends my mind reeling. I know they talked; David told me. But he saw Nick, too? No. We don’t keep that kind of stuff from each other.
Only, how does Nick know about—
“Is he out of the cast yet? Back on the softball team? It’d be a shame for him to miss the whole season.”
No. No, he wouldn’t.
“Get the fuck out of here. I’m not discussing David with you.”
He chuckles. “You know, he said the same thing. I’ve got to hand it to you girls. You’re loyal, if nothing else.”
My fists clench. Sweat pools at the base of my spine. “Just make your fucking point, already.” It’s taking all my strength to focus on him. David I’ll deal with later.
But Nick’s not done.
“So, I take it he didn’t tell you, then? About the photographs? My new show?”
New show? What the fuck?
“Of course, he told me.” No chance I’m giving Nick that kind of satisfaction, no matter what David’s hiding.
“Uh huh.” His eyes narrow. “Seems Princess and I need to have a few more words.”
Yeah, he’s not the only one.
I am going to wring David’s fucking neck. Like pieces of a puzzle coming together, the picture grows clear. His distant attitude, the little warning comments, staying for weeks at Bennett’s. It all makes sense if he’s hiding shit from me.
Nick’s still going on.
“…supposed to tell you about the photographs.”
“Photographs?” I repeat weakly, but he’s on a roll now, barely listening.
“You couldn’t just marry that piece of ass from Chapel Hill. What was her name?” Oh my God, why is he bringing up Claire? And he knows her name. “…let David and Katherine go their way. You marry Chapel Hill, I leave you alone. Everyone lives happily ever after.”
What does a new show have to do with Claire? And why is he talking about photographs? I don’t understand. It’s like entering a conversation in the middle. I open my mouth in protest, but he cuts me off.
“I warned you, didn’t I? Told you it was a bad idea, you three living together. That it might draw attention. Have you forgotten so quickly, Joshua? Fires don’t set themselves. And I have all the proof—”
“No! Of course not! And shut the fuck up.” I glance around. What the hell is he thinking?
But he’s in my face, eyes steely and flashing. “Don’t test me. I fucking own your ass, and you know it.” He stabs a finger at my chest. I shove him off, but he catches my arm, twisting it painfully. “Watch yourself, son. You don’t want to cause a scene now, do you?”
He releases me hard, and I stumble backward, too stunned to respond. My entire body shakes, shirt soaked all the way through. I can hardly breathe as he straightens and climbs from the rig, jaw tight.
“Talk to David,” he says. “He’ll help you understand.” A little blonde girl runs past, and he watches her before turning back with a mirthless smile. “Oh, and Joshua? Say hi to Katherine for me.”
12:20 pm
I throw up after he leaves.
It’s only by some act of God I don’t have a full-on panic attack. My father has always accused me of weakness, guess I’m proving him right. I feign illness and retreat to the bunk room, debating what to do. I can’t call Kate.
And David?
Anger swells in my chest. At least now I know what’s bothering him, but how could he keep this from me? And how the hell is my lying piece-of-shit father involved with another show? And what did he mean, photographs? From the fire? Those pictures they took of David? Nausea grips me at the thought. I have to talk to him.
I pull my phone out and shoot off a text.
It takes him a minute to respond.
David: Can’t. Driving with Blake.
Me: NOW
David: Later
That little piece of…
Me: CALL ME
No response.
Me: Nick came by the station.
That gets him. Seconds later my phone rings. I pounce on the call. “Thought you couldn’t talk.”
He sighs. “You could have led with that.”
“Yeah, well I was too busy vomiting behind the rig.”
He lets out a slow breath. “Nick really came by?”
“In the flesh. I’ve been ignoring his texts for a week now. Seems that’s not acceptable.”
“You didn’t mention—”
“Apparently I’m not the only one ignoring him.”
“Josh—”
“What the hell, David? I thought you two talked on the phone. He showed up at our house and you didn’t tell me?”
“Well, I—”
“And what’s this about a new show? You were just going to let me, what? Stumble across it?”
“No, of course not. But—”
“He kept going on and on about photographs, like I should know what the fuck he’s talking about. And he asked about your arm like he’s your new bestie or something. And he knew about our couch, and—”
“This isn’t really a good—”
“Just fucking tell me, damnit!”
“Stop interrupting!” he shouts, then lowers his voice. “We can’t have this conversation right now. There are like six kids in the car. I’ll explain everything tomorrow, okay? Relax.”
Kids?
“No, David! That is not okay!”
But then I remember. He mentioned it last night. Some all-day school band competition he agreed to chaperone with Blake.
Oh, fuck me.
And he asked if I’d fill in for him with Bennett, too. Coaching youth basketball or something at his church tonight.
Ugh.
Quite possibly the last place on the planet I want to be—a church.
Awesome.
We’re both quiet. I can hear low chatter behind him.
“Look,” he says after a minute, “I’m sorry, Josh. I can explain, but not right now. Can we please deal with this tomorrow?”
I hang up without another word, then stare at the ceiling as my stomach churns. When did we start keeping so many secrets from one another? First Kate, and now him? Even the house is fucking fractured and crumbling around me.
I sense a door widening. A door that, once fully open, can never be shut again. And my father holds the only key.