CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

"Hey, Andy, wanta come home with me? We can play Mortal Kombat."

Only half listening to his friend Brandon, Andy shut his locker in the school hallway. His backpack was heavy as he hoisted it over his shoulder. "Nah. I gotta go home."

"Again?" Brandon lifted his own, obviously lighter, backpack. He hustled after Andy as he started toward the street. "You haven't been able to come over in weeks."

Andy shrugged.

"Come on, Andy. It'll be fun."

"Fun is great...when you have the time for it."

Brandon scowled. "Boy, you've gotten boring lately."

Yeah, well, causing your dad to almost die will do that to you. Andy shrugged again. "Gotta lot to do."

"All work and no play..."

"Is better than flunking out."

"Get out." Brandon grinned. "That isn't about to happen to you."

Oh, no? "Maybe some other time," Andy said, managing a friendlier tone.

Brandon sighed. "Sure." He turned to walk in another direction. "Some other time."

Andy trudged out to the street and turned toward the public bus stop. All he could think about was putting one foot in front of the other. Get on the bus, go home, lock himself in his bedroom.

And fall yet further behind.

He was starting to get scared that what he'd told Brandon might come true, that he might not pass ninth grade.

And there'd be no hiding that from his dad.

Andy didn't notice the car creeping up on his left until the curbside window rolled down. He jumped, startled, until he recognized his dad's car.

"Hey, Andy." His dad was behind the wheel, looking out at him. "Why don't you hop in?"

Andy gaped. What was his dad doing here? He never picked them up from school.

Meanwhile, a line of cars was starting to pile up behind his dad's stopped Cherokee.

Andy opened the door, threw in his backpack, and climbed in.

"Surprised you, huh?" Ian said.

Andy looked out the front windshield. "Yeah." To put it mildly. Dread sank into his bones. What was this about? Had his dad learned some bad news?

"Kathy called to see if she could stay over at a friend's house and I thought it was a good opportunity for us to spend some time together." Ian glanced over at Andy. "Just the two of us."

Andy chanced a glance over. Yeah, beneath the surface calm, he could see his dad was worried. Oh God, what now? "Uh, sure," Andy muttered. His backed-up homework didn't matter if his dad was having some horrible health problem.

"What do you say we go over to The Fun House, catch a few video games?"

Andy flicked another glance at his dad, this one thunderstruck. He wanted to play video games? With Andy? This was too scary to understand. "Okay," he agreed, his voice small.

Ian grinned at him. But Andy wasn't fooled. There was definitely worry behind the grin. Panicked, Andy asked himself: had he done something recently to worsen his father's condition?

Twenty minutes later they walked into The Fun House. The noise was deafening. As tense as Andy already was, he tensed more.

"So, where do we start?" Ian stuck his hands in his back pockets and acted like all he had on his mind was video games.

Stiff, Andy pointed. "Primal Rage is a game for two guys. Brandon and I play it a lot." He didn't add it was one of the less violent of the games he played. His dad would probably have plenty to say about it as it was.

But Ian didn't remark on the number of explosions in the game. He tried to act like he was having a great time. It was so fake.

Not knowing what else to do, Andy did his best to go along with it.

"I think I've worked up an appetite," Ian said, after their fourth game and the fourth time Andy had whupped him. "You want to get something to eat?"

"Sure." As if Andy were going to argue with his father now. But then he remembered and hastily added, "But all they have here is pizza and junk. Not, you know, what you want to eat."

"Ah." Ian frowned into the crowded room, apparently considering this information. "I think I'd like to escape to somewhere a bit...quieter, anyway. How about that Mexican place over near Broadway?"

Andy gulped. His dad wanted a quieter place. So they could talk, presumably. "Sure, Dad," he said, barely a whisper. "That sounds great."

The Mexican restaurant was, indeed, a great deal quieter than the video arcade had been. They were about the first people there and had their choice of tables. Ian asked the waitress for one of the booths tucked between the bamboo poles that marched across one side of the restaurant. Nice and private.

Andy felt a fresh wave of dread.

But of course he had to wait until they'd looked at their menus, caught the waitress, and ordered before there was any hope of his dad finally talking. By that time, Andy felt like one big knot.

"So." As the waitress walked off with their order, Ian turned to Andy. "That's what you do when you're at the arcade. You sure got a wicked way with that joystick. Blew me away."

Andy's heart was beating so hard he couldn't believe his father couldn't hear it. "Mm hm," he hummed.

His father's expression changed then. From casual jocularity it turned terrifyingly serious. "All right. You know I have something on my mind."

Andy's throat became too tight for him to reply.

Ian leaned over the table, looking straight at Andy. "I got a phone call today. From your geometry teacher."

Andy continued staring at his dad. It took him a few seconds to process his dad's words. He was talking about Andy's geometry teacher. How could this have anything to do with his dad's heart?

"He's worried about you, and so am I," Ian went on. "Mr. Jordan says you haven't turned in a homework assignment in two weeks."

Slowly, Andy started to understand. His dad wasn't talking about himself, but about Andy and all his backed-up homework assignments. Nothing about a heart problem.

Oh. Oh-h-h. It didn't take long for Andy to switch gears. He'd already been worrying about school before his father had surprised him outside school. "I'm working on catching up," he now told his dad. It was true. He was working on it. Just...not very effectively.

Ian lowered his lashes halfway. Andy could tell his father didn't believe him.

"I am," he hotly declared. "My backpack is full of every single book from my locker."

Raising his lashes, Ian regarded Andy with deep concern. "I know you aren't fooling around with your friends. You're home every afternoon and evening." His lips pressed together. "Closed in your bedroom."

Andy didn't know what to say. This sounded like an accusation, though of what he didn't know.

Ian gave Andy a very direct look. "What are you doing in your bedroom every day?"

"My homework."

Ian lifted his eyebrows.

Andy moved his hands. This was so embarrassing it was painful. "My book is open. I just...can't seem to get anything done."

His father gazed at him for a long time. "That's what you're doing," he finally said, "sitting in front of your open book...doing nothing?"

Andy could feel his face flame red. "Well...yeah."

Slowly, Ian leaned back in his seat. His eyes stayed on Andy. "Huh."

Andy had to look away. "I'm sorry. I know it's stupid. I should be applying myself. Focusing. I know."

"Huh," Ian said again.

Andy glanced past his father's shoulder, searching for the waitress. Maybe if their food came, they could end this horrible conversation. "I'm sorry," Andy said again.

"You don't have to be sorry," Ian said quietly.

Andy was so surprised, he actually looked back at his father.

Ian was shaking his head. "You don't have to apologize, Andy. Clearly, you're trying to do your homework. God knows, I've seen the hours you've been putting in. But...just as clearly, something is getting in the way." Ian paused. "Something on your mind."

Once again, Andy averted his gaze. He stared at the colorful clay jugs lining a shelf near the ceiling. A fine trembling started in his hands. "I...don't know about that."

"I'd like to help, if I can." His dad spoke in such a gentle, careful tone that it made something hard rise in Andy's throat.

"There's nothing you can—" Andy had to pause to push back the pressure building in his throat and behind his nose. "It's not your problem."

Ian laughed softly. "If it's your problem, kid, it's my problem."

Andy nearly lost it then. He turned his face toward the inside of the booth. "It's not— Really—"

His dad reached over the table. Andy was afraid he was going to take his hand, but he just put his palm down on the linen tablecloth in front of Andy. "Let me take a guess, okay? Maybe it'll be easier if you can just nod yes or no."

Andy managed a tight, tiny nod.

"Does what's bothering you have something to do with me? We told you not to worry, but I suppose that was sort of dumb. If you're worried, you're worried."

Andy tried to nod his head. It would make everything simpler if his dad thought that's all that was bothering him. But it didn't quite come out a nice, clean nod. There was a bit too much of a shake to his motion.

"You're worried," his dad said. "But it's more than that."

Andy stiffened his mouth. He really didn't want to break down. God, that would be embarrassing.

"What else is it? Please, Andy. I think it would help if you could tell me what's wrong. Obviously, it's really bothering you."

He wanted to hold it in. This was his problem and only he could deal with it. But it was like his dad was reaching in and grabbing his vocal chords. "It's my fault," Andy burst out.

His father didn't say anything at first.

Andy stared down at the table, wishing he could sink into the ground. Suddenly the words sounded almost arrogant.

Then he felt his dad put a hand on his shoulder. "It's your fault? What's your fault?"

Andy didn't answer but his father seemed to get it anyway.

"You think my heart attack was your fault?" he asked, sounding incredulous.

So his father thought the idea was arrogant, too. But Andy knew what he knew. He spoke through his teeth. "You were fine until I started talking back to you that morning. Then you got this funny look on your face." He shot his father a glance. "That's when it started, isn't it?"

As a matter of fact, his father was getting the same sick look right then.

Andy's stomach fell. He hoped someone in the restaurant knew CPR.

"Andy—" Ian began.

"Never mind," Andy said quickly. "Forget I said anything."

"Oh, I'm afraid I can't do that," Ian replied. "Listen, I— All right, it's true I was starting to get symptoms then, symptoms I should have paid attention to, but it had nothing to do with you."

Andy's gaze shot to his father. "You just admitted it. Your symptoms started when I swore at you."

"Andy." His dad was sounding way too patient, condescending, one might say. "A heart attack is caused by a clot in an artery. The clot takes years to develop. It has nothing to do with emotions, or what somebody might say to somebody else. I didn't like the way you were acting that morning, but it had nothing to do with my heart attack."

Andy felt like his jaw was set in stone. Sure there'd been a clot. He knew that. It's what the angioplasty had been about, reaming it out. "But I started it," Andy maintained. "Maybe it was going to happen anyway, but I started it."

"No." Ian sounded definite.

Andy glared at him. "Then why did it start just then?"

Ian lifted a shoulder. "Coincidence."

Andy made a rude noise.

Ian went on as if he hadn't heard anything. "My time had come. No way any of us could have known. Andy, it was going to happen, one way or another. It was going to happen."

Andy had never felt so helpless in his life. Here he was, coming clean—and his dad refused to take him seriously. "I can handle the truth," he insisted.

Ian frowned. "Andy, listen. You aren't responsible. That's the truth."

Andy's eyes narrowed. His dad sounded pretty definite. Heck, maybe he was being sincere. Maybe his father truly did not believe Andy had started his heart attack.

Oddly, the idea made Andy's stomach sink. If he had caused the heart attack, at least it would mean he could affect his father, that he wasn't completely insignificant. But, no. How could he have been so stupid? Of course he didn't have that kind of power—not over his dad.

He should have known. He totally should have known. He could not have impacted his father. He just wasn't important enough to do so. And all this time he'd thought— God, he was an idiot. Feeling a horrible weight increasing inside him, he mumbled, "Whatever," and looked away.

"Whatever?" Ian gave a frustrated laugh. "Andy, you need to understand—"

"I get it." Andy waved a hand. He didn't want to hear any more about how unimportant he was. His eyes were starting to burn. "I didn't cause your heart attack." Of course not. "But it doesn't matter anyway," Andy went on, deliberately probing at another sore spot. "Because you're all better now, right?"

As a matter of fact, his father was starting to look sick again.

Andy suppressed a flutter of panic. His dad was trying to convince Andy that he didn't have the power to give him a heart attack. Let him convince Andy by avoiding one now.

"I am better," Ian claimed. "We keep trying to tell you. The operation in the hospital cleared everything."

Sucking in his lips, Andy nodded. Uh huh. Go on. Tell him another one. His dad wasn't better.

"Andy. I'm telling you the truth." Ian's voice was low, urgent, as he gave this most classic line of the bald-faced liar.

Andy shot him a skeptical gaze. "If you're so okay, then why aren't you back at work?"

Bull's-eye. His dad suddenly looked like a cornered rat.

Ha! Andy wanted to shout. Ha! His dad hadn't been telling the truth about his health since they'd wheeled him into the recovery room. Finally, he was about to hear proof of it.

A grim determination banished Ian's sick look. "That's a good question, Andy."

You bet it is, Andy thought.

Ian tapped his thumb on the tabletop. "And it's funny you should bring it up, because the fact is I'm going back to work...tomorrow."

No way!

Ian's gaze shifted. "My boss called this morning. You remember, he interrupted breakfast."

Andy's brows dipped. He had to admit, he did remember the phone call and his dad suddenly leaving the room. But he'd never dreamed..."Why didn't you say anything?" he now asked.

Ian sucked in his lips. "I had to think about it. Last time I talked to Howard he really pissed me off."

Andy was agog. "You mean, you were thinking of quitting?"

Ian shrugged. "I don't know if I got that far in my thinking. But then he called this morning and offered me a new project, a pretty cool one, actually."

"But you wouldn't quit," Andy claimed. His dad didn't believe in quitting anything.

Yet now Ian laughed, nonchalant. "I could quit. I've got plenty or money in investments, or I could find another job. The only question was whether or not I wanted to."

No, Andy thought, frowning harder. There were a few other questions, like how his father could have entertained for one minute the idea of quitting at all. It certainly couldn't have been because of a pissy boss.

No, the only reason his father would quit a job was if his health were so bad even he had to admit he couldn't hack it. But his dad was deep in lying land now. He wasn't going to admit anything real or true.

"Anyway, the project Howard offered me is a new music center in Kansas City," his father went blathering on. "It's got an amazing architect. The whole thing is going to look like a big, flying bird—built out of steel. It'll be quite a challenge."

"Mm." Bull-cracky. Just today his dad had gone off to be babysat by Aunt Maggie. Now he was suddenly in charge of some big, huge music center?

"So." Ian held out his hands. "I'm going in to the office tomorrow morning to talk it over with Howard."

"Mm hm."

Ian lowered his hands. "I'm all better, Andy. Maybe you're not ready to hear that, not ready to believe it. But...at least start to consider the idea. Maybe everything can go back to normal, huh?"

Andy regarded his father, his totally lying, unbelievable father. He felt an emotion he never dreamed he'd be feeling that evening: anger.

His dad wanted everything back to 'normal?' First of all, he was lying through his teeth. He wasn't normal. And secondly, he was going to go off to build this freakin' music center as if the lie were true. As if he was okay. He wouldn't listen to Andy. Why should he? Nothing Andy ever said was worth anything. He was completely insignificant. For sure he didn't have the power to cause a heart attack.

His own helplessness made rage a hard knot in Andy's throat. He didn't have any power at all with his dad. Certainly, he couldn't persuade him to take it easy and take care of himself, to stay alive. Instead, Andy was worth nothing. Nothing.

His dad was looking at him. "So. Think you can do that? At least consider it?"

Andy looked back at his father. The rage was tight in his throat and in his chest. "Sure, Dad. I'll think about it." In fact, he'd not only thought, but also decided. If his father didn't care about Andy, then Andy wouldn't care about his father. He. Would. Not. Care.

"Good." Ian smiled.

Andy smiled back. Sure, why not? His dad would only keep bugging him if he didn't act normal. Well, hell, this actually was normal, him not caring about his dad. If he could keep this up, he could get rid of his embarrassing anger and hurt, too. Just don't care.

Andy kept smiling. "I'm hungry. Suppose the waitress will come soon with our food?"

"I hope." His dad looked real happy, probably thought everything was normal.

And it was, Andy thought, making sure to keep his smile. In a way, it actually was.

~~~

In her kitchen, Maggie took a dish towel and wiped dry the pot she'd used to cook her vegetarian supper. It had been many hours since her altercation with Ian at the nursery, but she still burned every time she thought about it.

The nerve of the man. The nerve! First he pushed his way into her life, using his indisposition as an excuse, trading on her natural sympathy. And then he thought, having insinuated himself into a place nobody'd wanted him in the first place, that gave him the right to start issuing critiques and ultimatums. The same kind her father had dished out to her the whole time she was growing up.

Maggie set the dry pot down on the counter. Her father had never been right in criticizing her and neither was Ian. She knew what she was doing with Corporate Edges. It was called keeping the customer happy. This was a measure Ian, obviously, knew nothing about. Sometimes a small business owner had to take a hit in order to entice a big customer like Corporate Edges.

Maggie picked up the lid of the pot and firmed her jaw. She was not letting Corporate Edges take advantage of her. They certainly could go to another nursery, though the only ones as big as hers were a hundred miles away in Los Angeles. Still, it could happen. She was being smart, smart, to let Corporate Edges buy on credit.

Maggie opened a cabinet door and set the pot inside. She was glad she'd told Ian off. Glad she'd run him out of her nursery. It had been about time.

Outside in the backyard, the leaves of the oak tree were fading into the dusk. The birds had hushed. It had become so quiet Maggie could almost hear her ears ringing. Slowly, she folded her dish towel. She was alone, she realized. Very alone.

The ringing in her ears was suddenly broken by the sound of a car slowing in front of the house. Frowning, Maggie moved to the kitchen window. Her heart jumped as she looked outside. Ian's Cherokee was pulling to a stop in her driveway.

She jerked back from the window. Surely he didn't intend to continue their argument? Not even Ian could be that bull-headed. Surely not.

Yet her doorbell rang.

Maggie stood in the kitchen, paralyzed. It wasn't so much that Ian had shown up, apparently not done bossing her around. It was that...she felt a tiny drop of joy he'd shown up, bull-headed tyrant and all.

She spent another two seconds bemoaning her abject weakness, then straightened her shoulders. Ian didn't threaten her. She would never let him, or any other man, tell her what to do. She let out a deep breath and walked to her front door. She drew in another deep breath and threw it open.