Chapter 26

 

Mom came home and everything should have felt back to normal. She convalesced and Ron and I climbed back into our respective caretaker roles. I suppose there was a small amount of comfort in the fact it was all so familiar.

I think I trusted John not to make a big deal about it, but it was too easy to envision him saying something careless. I wanted control over how this came out, so over lunch, I shared a few grudging details. I guess I did a good job. Everyone looked at me with wide, sympathetic eyes and told me they hoped my mom was okay.

At home, Sharon made herself a supportive presence. Visiting frequently, she left behind fresh gossip and a portion of one of her industrial casseroles. I tried my best to behave, not to cause concern or invite undue questions. Sharon and I sat vigil together, and in those obliged conversations, I said the things I knew I should say. It had been unexpected. Mom could be so absent-minded sometimes, but it sure had caused a scare. I hoped the doctor would be able to help her with her migraines.

I called off from work for the rest of the week. Brian took the call and I could hear something unaffected and human in his voice. He understood that of course I would need to stick close to home for a few days. He looked forward to seeing me next week. I told myself it was misplaced work ethic but it still felt like I just lost something important.

I spent a Thursday night at home for the first time in months. Propped up with pillows on the couch, Mom watched television and looked happy. She said she felt so much better surrounded by her family. Apparently, we were more effective than painkillers. She started forgetting to ask for her next scheduled dose and I neglected to remind her.

During lunch on Friday, John gave me a card made from construction paper.

“It's from Nina. She said she hopes your mom feels better soon.”

An unexpected stab of emotion hit me, my eyes welling up. “I'm so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? Your mom needs you.” He endeavored to comfort but his face told me I wasn't making sense. “You're being a good daughter.”

It was a compliment. It shouldn't make me want to throw up.

Sunday night, we reached the one week mark. Stepping back from the couch, I adjusted Mom's television tray so it remained within easy reach. Taking an uncomfortable seat in her recliner, I shifted unhappily through my couch-side vigil. Mom laughed at something on the television and I reminded myself to uncross sulking arms.

“Is Sharon still able to drive you to your doctor's appointment tomorrow?” I waited until the commercial break to ask.

Mom frowned, not in the mood to entertain serious conversation. “No, Ms. Fussypants. Before you get all sour, though, it's ‘cause I rescheduled it.”

“Mom, this is a really important part of the doctor's follow up instructions.”

“I know. Good god, girl, I'm not stupid. That's why I said I rescheduled it.”

She muttered a bit until the show started again, complaints to no one that she was just fine, that everyone treated her like a child and that she was fully capable of doing things for herself.

“I think I'm going to go to the library tomorrow then, since you're feeling better.” I deliberately spoke over a punchline, childish antics because I was angry.

We both knew this wasn't the way it was supposed to go. I was to fuss and pamper, not take her at her word. Mom crossed her arms, stiffening amid her nest of pillows. She was feeling cornered, ruminating over the limited ways she could respond. Anticipating this, I started piecing together anticipatory replies. Realizing we were having a fight three arguments in advance, it occurred to me why I disliked chess so much.

“Fine, but I need you to stay home Thursday. I need you to come to that doctor visit with me.”

“I asked them to schedule the appointment on Monday because I didn't have school and could go with you. I can't go Thursday. I have an important test in the morning and I'm scheduled to meet with one of my teachers in the afternoon.”

“But I need you there.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I can't go.”

Mom tried a different approach. “Oh, you can make that stuff up later. Besides, Sharon and I are going to go out for lunch afterwards. We'd even have time to go out to a movie if you wanted.”

I shook my head. “It's not that Mom. I'm sorry, I can't miss school that day.”

Teasing but irritable, she said, “I can't believe I have to try and talk a kid into taking a day off school. Why are you so serious all the time, Layla? Why don't you ever act like a kid?”

The option existed to remind her of the warning to take my education seriously, but maybe now I was supposed to focus on snagging a man. Or would that make me a whore? I made myself count to ten before saying anything. “If Sharon's driving you, couldn't she sit with you through the appointment?”

“I don't want her hearing all that private talk! It's personal. I'd be embarrassed.”

“Why can't Ron go with you then?”

Mom stared at the television, tuning me out.

“Well?”

“Bruce's got work for him to do. And, if you're not interested in helping me, you don't have to make a bunch of excuses or try and hang it all on someone else. I'll take care of it myself.”

“Mom, I—”

She interrupted, her voice a little louder. “I said I'll take care of it. Don't worry yourself. It'll be fine.” In case I didn't get the hint, she turned up the volume on the television.

___

 

Pointless and ineffective, I still tried to cater to her all day Monday. With every gesture, Mom's response was to stiffen and turn away. I tried harder. It wasn't what I wanted to do, but I couldn't seem to stop myself.

Clock close to two, I gathered my things to head to the library. Mom watched me with narrow, judging eyes.

“I'll be back in a couple of hours. If you need anything, Ron's working out in the garage and Sharon said she'll be by at around four.” I kept my voice even and reasonable.

With a sharp twist of the neck, she sniffed and banished me from her consideration. I took a deep breath and considered my options. I knew what the correct choice was but, straightening my spine under the weight of five textbooks, I left anyway.

After a repeated series of knocks, Miles opened the door.

“You can just come in, you know.” He waited until I'd gotten myself and my bag in before shutting the door.

“I'm sorry.”

“He's upstairs.” Miles pointed, then walked back towards the living room.

“Who was it?” A muffled voice questioned. Kicking my shoes to the rug, I braced to haul my backpack back up from the floor.

“John's girlfriend. She's here to study.”

“Girlfriend? Wait, we're talking about your brother, right?” A third voice spoke, followed by the muffled voice. “Did hell freeze over and no one told us?”

Miles hissed sounds meant to shut them up. I walked towards the staircase and pretended I hadn't heard. I couldn't resist looking in. Miles sat on the floor with a group of friends, all of them crowded around the game console plugged into the television. Save Miles, all of them were openly gawking.

“Um, hello,” I said.

One of them blinked once, then a second time. Another opened his mouth to speak but the arid words never seemed to arrive. Leaving them in slack-jawed silence, I bounded up the stairs.

“But she looks normal.” A confused voice traveled to the top of the stairwell. Shaking my head, I walked to the end of the hall.

I heard the music coming from John's room before I reached the door. It wasn't loud and I don't know why it surprised me that he would listen to the radio. Reaching the door, I recognized the song. He was about a third of the way through the album we'd listened to together months ago. I looked in and saw him on hands and knees, rummaging along the bottom shelf of his bookcase.

“Looking for something?”

Twisting around too fast, he knocked himself off balance. Luckily it wasn't far to the floor. He tried to cover with a smile. “Hi. I didn't hear you come in.”

Dropping the bulk of my backpack at the foot of his bed, I sank down beside him. He stared, giving an odd sort of half smile. I bent my neck, craning down to look at the shelf. “What were you looking for?”

He grabbed a mess of loose paper wedged on top of the row of books. “I'm trying to find my books about Jupiter.” Unsure of what to do with the dislodged papers, he shoved them on top of a different row of books.

Digging around, I found one of the books facing backwards on another shelf. Handing it over, I asked, “Is there anything in here you don't already know?”

He pointed to the poster of the solar system tacked onto his wall. “They found ice on the moon, Layla.”

I looked to the poster, then back at him, already flipping through chapters of the book. Whatever connection he'd made, it wasn't apparent to me. I stood, walking over to the wall to look more closely. Raising a hand, I touched my fingertip to the little grey rock orbiting Earth.

“Ice?”

“Yes, ice. As in frozen water, as in an essential element for life.” His thoughts came out so rapidly, he was barely able to speak them. “So there's no atmosphere and I get the frozen state of the water is an important point. I'm not saying they'd discover life on the moon but think about it Layla. Water.” He stopped searching for whatever he was looking for, staring at me. “Water we humans would need.”

I looked at the poster again. The little grey rock, just a small jumping distance from Earth. “You're thinking instead of something like a space elevator, a moon base?”

“It would be really exciting.” He rose, book in hand, walking over to join me. “Not perfect, you'd still have to get a lot of materials and resources up there, but look.” Starting where my finger pointed, he drew an orbital loop. “With the right spacecraft and the right timing, we could start getting around this star system.” His finger followed an invisible path that collided with Jupiter.

Looking down, I saw he held the book open to the section on Jupiter's moons.

“And if there's a critical element like water on Earth's one little moon, on a planet with over fifty—”

He nodded, smiling at the poster, smiling at me. “It's exciting to think about.”

Noise erupted from downstairs. Jolted in surprise, I looked behind me and out into the hall. One big loud yell tempered down into many quieter grumbles. A game had ended and someone was an unhappy loser. Turning back, I found John already re-seating himself on the floor. A special moment had slipped away.

John appeared content rereading all the information he had on Io, Europa, Ganymede and Callisto. I unwedged my Chemistry book from the tight confines of my bag. We immersed ourselves in the study of our respective topics and the remainder of the album played in the background.

I finished my first round of homework, then attempted to read more from my English book. John's hand made a slow trip of it, but it came to rest on my leg. His attention remained fixed on his book, still captivated by all the possibilities he could imagine. I tried to focus and take in information from the assigned reading but found myself feeling shifty and unsettled. Realizing it was the absence of background noise, I rose to restart the music.

His arms encircled me, the familiar scent of cologne growing stronger as John hugged me from behind. I turned to face him and he once again wore that strange and lingering half-smile. My head full of half a dozen shouldn'ts, I didn't know what to do to make his weird, tense look go away. I recognized the movements of his dropped gaze and lowering jaw and leaned in to meet his kiss. Stronger than I'd anticipated, I felt a barrier being crossed. I realized the soft, low sound was coming from me.

“Um, where's the other bathroom?” The gape-mouthed boy from downstairs shifted and twitched in the hall.

Unclasping his arms, John walked to the hall to direct him. I squeezed past, making for the stairs. “I'm going to grab a drink. I'll be right back.”

Outside the living room, Miles and friends appeared to be taking a break between games. Three guys lingered in the entry, abruptly silencing themselves when I walked by. I ducked into the kitchen. I couldn’t explain why, but I felt relieved to see Miles standing there. He acknowledged me with the slightest of nods, not bothering to pause in his explanation of where the other guy had gone wrong at the end of the game. His friend listened patiently. I shivered, feeling a phantom gaze follow me from the door to the cupboard and then over to the sink. Turning to face them, I saw that I hadn't been imagining it.

Catching his friend staring staring didn't seem to cause him any distress.

“So you're really dating Miles' brother?”

Staring at the counter, I mouthed a silent, 'yup'.

“I don't think you two have met,” Miles intervened. “Jordan, this is Layla. Layla, Jordan. Hey, we're not being too loud down here, are we?”

I shook my head no, shifting in preparation to head back upstairs.

“Do you have Mr. Barre for English?” Jordan asked.

I again signaled my answer with a wordless nod.

“I think one of my buddies was talking about you.”

I found that statement all kinds of alarming. I shook my head, confused by what he meant.

Jordan shrugged that it was irrelevant. “Quiet girl, sits in back, she's dating a senior. It's funny, he mentioned it a while ago and I never put it together that he meant your brother.” He directed a playful punch at Miles' shoulder.

Straightening and taking a step back towards the stairs, Jordan caught me off guard. “He calls you the smart ass in the back of the class.”

My head snapped back in his direction. There was something I couldn't read in his look, but he seemed pleased with my reaction.

“I wouldn't worry about it.” Jordan’s mouth curved in a slow smile. “He thinks it's clever because it rhymes. Though he probably is a little fixated on your ass.”

Placing the glass on the counter, I backed up against the wall, hands instinctively dropping down and back. Jordan watched me, waiting for the realization to sink in. I would eventually need to leave the room. Exposure was only a matter of time.

Voices from the living room called out a challenge to Miles. He gave me a look of reluctant apology and left. Jordan shifted, leaning against the other side of the counter. I coached my face into a bland, neutral look. Neither of us spoke and we stood there in an odd sort of stand-off. It felt aggressive, but I stared at him. Jordan tried to cover with indifference, then arrogance but he found it unnerving.

“There you are.” John wandered in, joining me at the counter. “I wanted to show you something.”

Jordan snorted and John looked at him, confused. “Hey, Jordan.”

Hoping he caught the pleading look on my face, I wrapped my arm around John’s back. “Then let's head back upstairs.” Keeping my arm firm, I forced us to move as a single unit. I ignored Jordan's leer, instead focusing on John's hyper smile.

“They're going to do it.” An obnoxious falsetto called from the living room. Beside me, John's back tensed.

“Can you not be an asshole?” Miles spoke in a low voice to his friend, but then called out to the hallway. “So we're clear, no one would rat on you if you did.”

“We're going to study now.” John called back without turning.

Miles mimicked his exact intonation. “You guys are weird, you know.”

Taking the stairs slowly, we made clumsy progress towards his room. We wouldn't both fit through the door together so I withdrew my arm. John maintained a hold on my hand and, pausing to consider, closed the door behind him. Leading me to his bed, I saw a book planted face down on the covers. Moving it, he guided me to sit beside him. I reached for the book, curious what he'd meant to show me. He grabbed it first, closing it and tossing it towards the bottom shelf.

“Sorry about that. I was being dumb.” The forced smile wouldn't stay put. I could see it in his eyes, the way he stared at the wall.

“No, you weren’t. What were you going to show me?”

“More of the same.” He shrugged. “It's not important.”

Reaching for the book myself, it fell open to the place where he'd cracked the spine. The print described the known composition of Jupiter. A familiar script inked the edge of the pages, filling the margins with notes.

“What is this?” I pointed. From his expression, he seemed conflicted by how much he wanted to answer. Recognizing most of the written notes as elements, I picked my Chemistry book up from the floor.

“It's some of the new information coming from the Galileo spacecraft. It's been orbiting around Jupiter for a few years now.” He took the book back from me. “This is information from the probe launched toward the planet.” He turned a few more pages. “Here's a little more about some of its moons.”

I passed my finger over a note describing clouds composed of ammonia. Speaking slowly, looking from his book to mine. “Similar elements, but all mixed up, like an inside-out Earth.”

The crooked smile emerged. “Each moon has a distinct environment. This one's volcanic, this one might be icy. You're right though, elements we know, but mixed up and spread around its own planetary system.”

I remembered to force the corners of my mouth upward. Whenever he got this particular look in his eye, I had to actively remind myself he had neither means nor opportunity to leave planet Earth. I felt my empty smile fade. If he did, he wouldn't hesitate.

Leaning over, I gave him an abrupt kiss on the cheek. It wasn't for me to get in the way of anyone else's destiny. John's crooked smile remained, though I swear he blushed.

The sound of deep yells permeated the house. Amid the general sound of movement came distinct footfalls taking the stairs two at a time.

“We're heading out now.” Miles called through the closed door. “You know, if you were waiting for a private moment or something.”

I frowned into my lap, unable to stop the flush of red moving up my neck and into my cheeks. A burst of indistinct laughter was cut short by the sound of the front door shutting. Then, there was only silence.

Beside me, I felt the tense, unblinking gaze. Shy to meet it, my eyes sank ever lower to the floor. John’s hand came to rest on my leg, the warmth bleeding down through the denim of my jeans. Reasoning this wasn't anything that hadn't happened before, I watched my feet. Near the toe of my sock, I'd worn a perfect little circle into the cotton. The bed creaked a little, John shifting his weight. Extending my hand, it came to rest near John's knee. It seemed to be the signal he was waiting for. I could hear the downstairs clock ticking all the way up here. Gentle in guiding my chin towards him, he kissed me the way they kiss in movies. He looked so earnest, I clamped my eyes shut. I didn't want to see. I considered that I should stop this. Even over the close sound of him breathing, I heard all the little noises coming from downstairs, the humming of the heater, a batch of ice dropping in the freezer. Light fingertips traced up towards my waist but, again, this wasn't anything that hadn't happened before. I began thinking that I really ought to stop this. Another low murmur welled up from somewhere in my lungs.

John shifted himself further onto the bed, leaning his back against the wall. One hand still at my waist, the other at my knee, he motioned me to come closer. Hesitant in following his unspoken cues, I moved my knee, reluctant in straddling his outstretched legs. He had placed me at the focal point of his attention. It felt uncomfortable and wrong. He kissed me again and I got distracted. I forgot to over-think.

The sensation of his left hand at my waist became familiar and I didn't notice the movement right away. First down, warm skin brushed over a small gap between my sweater and jeans. Now burrowing upward on an unknown course, his touch felt almost hot. His quickening kisses covered my mouth and I panicked at thinking I wouldn't be able to breathe. I couldn't hear anything over the pulse in my head and I should most definitely stop now. Except I began helping to shed my outer wooly layer. Escaping the heat of it, I dropped my sweater on the bed. I felt the weight of my necklace fall back into place and the thin strap of my tank top slide from my shoulder. I bowed my head, hiding my eyes in his boney shoulder. I wanted to spare myself seeing him witness so much of me. First came the kiss placed at the base of my neck, then that weird combination of absences and presence of sensation on my shoulder, a numb tickle as his finger traced imperfectly along my scar.

“I love you, Layla.” Even in a whisper, there was always a certain way he held the sound of my name.

Straightening, I forced myself to look up. Waning sunlight reflected in his eyes and he still wore the crooked smile. There were places that smile would take him, places I could never follow. “I love you too.”

His oxygen-starved kisses smothered the lingering shouldn'ts in my head. It wasn’t what I meant for and I don’t think anything he planned, but his hands plotted more new courses. In time, so did mine. He kissed me and I forgot to remember everything I wasn't. I eased the bottom of his shirt upward, my hands meeting soft skin. I felt a rush of unexpected panic, recognizing the sensation of the two tiny little hooks unclasping over the knot of my spine. I retreated a small way back and saw him looking at me with both daring and terror in his smile. A laugh bubbled up from way down in my belly. I pulled upward on his shirt, easing it the rest of the way over his head. Leaning forward into his embrace, I heard the small sound of fabric hitting the floor. We both heard the creaking floorboard in the hallway.

We turned in time to see the door open. Linda stood there, holding an empty laundry basket. Her eyes and mouth formed three perfect little circles. Every part of me froze except my eyes, which felt like they were tripling in size. A strangled, gurgling noise came from John's throat. In one glacial movement, Linda pulled the door back closed.

I had my sweater half on before John could even stand. Grabbing my backpack, I moved like a weather system through the door and down the hall. In all the bluster, I passed and dodged Linda, racing forward, desperate for the door. Stopping to put my shoes on slowed me down, so she made it midway down the stairs. Her mouth moved in a soundless motion. I grabbed my coat and fled.

It took the better part of five blocks to get myself to rights. It was mortifying trying to re-hook the clasps because, even under my jacket, there was no discreet way of doing it. Despite getting everything properly buttoned, zipped and tied, I couldn't shake the feeling of still being exposed. I slapped the walk signal at the intersection, realizing I needed to choose a direction. Heading right would take me towards school or the bus stop. A left would take me towards the library. School was closed and I didn't want to go home, not like this. Roasting inside my coat from the red hot shame of it all, I turned left.

In the library, I gravitated to the study table John and I always sat at. I found a chair, hugged my backpack and stared at the wall. I couldn't even begin to comprehend what I'd done, everything I had thrown away. My eyes felt wet but I would not allow myself to cry in public. I started to think maybe I should pull a book out and at least pretend to study. Untold minutes went by and I didn't move except to breathe.

Some passively alert part of my brain sensed that when the door opened, the person walking through would be looking for me. Sniffing, I straightened but wouldn't look away from the wall. The moment elongated and curiosity got the better of me. Positioned at the entrance, Linda scanned the room. Her wide eyes locked onto mine and I wanted to die. Sniffing again, I stood instead. Still hugging my backpack, I retraced my way back out. Whatever was waiting, I deserved it. It was better to just get it over with.

“John said you'd likely be here.” Linda’s posture was stiff as she walked beside me towards the door. Hefting my backpack onto my shoulder, I stared at the tile on the floor, the metal of the doorway, then the textured concrete of the sidewalk.

“You're...you're not in trouble, Layla.” Usually so composed, her voice came out uneven. Her steady gait ushered us both along the path. “I'm not saying I'm happy but you're not in trouble.”

Her restraint screamed disappointment and I wanted to wither away because this was far, far worse.

“Look, I get it. You two are young, you really care about each other, and I—” Her voice slipped a little out of control again. “Well, I may not like it, but it's not that I don't understand.”

The movement of her hand startled me and I flinched at her attempt to touch.

Stopping, Linda looked at her hand and let it drop back down to her side. “Layla, I need you to understand that I'm not angry.”

I stared at my feet and a wad of fossilized gum on the sidewalk.

“And even if I was a little upset, well, Bill gave an unhelpfull reminder.”

“He knows too?” I couldn't help cringing as I asked. She nodded and, mortified, I covered my face with my hand. I could never go back. I'd never be able to face any of them again. I felt gentle hands on my shoulders, Linda encouraging me to stand straight and look at her.

Seeing her face, her smile was not unkind. “Yes and he was delighted to remind me how many times I said I wished John would get in trouble like a normal kid.”

I couldn't suppress my confusion and Linda laughed for a moment. “We've come home to more than a few science experiments gone awry. Last year we had to replace the sink after some heinous chemical reaction and don't get Bill started on the rocket John set off in his room. It tore a hole through the roof. It's a wonder he hasn't set the house on fire. In over a decade's worth of coming home to things he genuinely didn't understand would upset us, well, this one I can at least understand.” Lifting her arm slowly, her open expression conveyed she meant no harm. I nodded, allowing the gesture of comfort. With her arm around my shoulder, we continued the walk back. Her smile was thin but she didn't seem mad at me. “Look, there’s a certain amount of uncomfortable reality Bill and I are prepared to live with. With Miles, we set some basic rules, he's kept under the radar and we haven't had to talk about it. We should've been more up-front with John. I don't know why.” She shook her head. “We just didn't think of it.”

I began to trust that maybe she didn't hate me. We reached the crosswalk and Linda withdrew her arm to press the signal. “I'd love to pretend nothing happened.” She smiled at me. “Hope you two would pick up on the unspoken rules and we could all ignore this until it felt less awkward.”

Crossing the street, she again put her arm around me. “John's head doesn't work that way, though. Something tells me, neither does yours.” She gave my shoulder a slight squeeze. “I know this is uncomfortable but I got the feeling that if I let you leave our house like that, you'd never come back.”

Linda walked beside me every step of the way back to their house. She felt me hesitate at the bottom of the stairs leading to the front door.

“We’re going to get through this.”

Once in the entry, she hung up my coat while I untied my shoes. Nina called a careless hello from the living room. Arms crossed and looking somber, Bill stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen.

Linda wiped her palms on her pant-legs. “Alright, let's get this over with. Where's John?”

“In his room.” Bill pointed up. “Sulking, I believe.”

“Get him down here.”

Bill projected a booming voice up through the ceiling. “John, will you come down here please?”

Petulant footfalls descended the stairs. Seeing me, John's dour look brightened a little.

“Okay you two, in the kitchen.” Bill directed us with a tip of his head and arm, for a moment looking like an exaggerated butler. Once in the kitchen, John seemed unsure and defensive. He stood next to me, broadening his stance, taking hold of my hand.

“All right.” Linda stood next to Bill, her palms pressed together, ready to instruct. “You two have been dating for a while. You clearly care about each other and those feelings are clearly coming out in physical ways.”

Beside me, John shifted his weight a little, still prepared for this to turn into us getting into trouble.

Bill tried to cope with his discomfort with a variety of emphatic hand gestures. “We understand that as young people, you have a lot of emotions...lots of, um...hormonally driven...well...you may be feeling certain urges—”

Even Linda looked repulsed. Shaking her head, she gave both of us pointed looks. “How about this: anytime Layla's over, clothes stay on and your bedroom door stays open.”

Bill gave her an incredulous look. “Do you seriously want to leave that kind of loop hole open? Because I really don't want to listen to the detailed argument about how they weren't technically breaking those rules.” Bill looked at us. “How about this, you two don't have sex in this house. And then we don't have to have this sort of conversation again.”

John nodded urgent consent. I voiced a low but clear yes.

“Okay, good. Go.” Bill shooed us from the room before rubbing the heel of his palms into his forehead.

Linda saw us heading for the stairs. “Door stays open though.”

John and I nodded. Before turning at the landing, I saw Bill's arms parting, prepared to wrap Linda in a hug. His voice was muffled by the walls and ceiling. “That was fairly unambiguous, right?”

I stayed about half an hour. Linda was right. It was long enough for things to feel a little more normal, for me to leave and feel like I could come back. I by-passed any discussion of John giving me a ride home by stating intent to take the bus home. Bill was too clever to have missed a loophole like that. I wasn't interested in figuring out what that meant right now.

___

 

Mom was still asleep when I left for school Thursday. I made more noise than usual that morning, hoping I'd wake her. Missing her appointment because I let her oversleep would be too convenient an excuse. I even knocked on her bedroom door but never heard any indication that she got up. I taped a note to the television letting her know all the records she'd need were on the table and that I hoped it went well.

I made the decision to go to school, but thinking about her appointment consumed most of my morning. Looking at the clock, my test started at the exact time she was scheduled to be seen. I scolded myself for getting distracted, but still kept wondering how it went.

Lunch was uncomfortable. On one side of the table, Nora attempted to extract details from Paulson as to why things hadn't worked with Jen S. He clearly did not want to discuss this in front of everyone, but Nora wasn't picking up his cues. Mark tried to run interference, changing topics and asking random questions. Thinking he was acting like a doofus, Nora looked pissed. Things on the other side weren't quite as bad. Briar asked me for help with something from her math class. Disoriented, though a tiny bit flattered, I agreed and we worked together over her textbook. It wasn't urgent but John's face never lost those little signs of having something he wanted to talk about.

Whatever it was, it went unsaid. I excused myself to head upstairs early. I was supposed to meet with Mr. Barre today and I wanted to be prepared.

Marta laughed when she saw me lugging my thick binder of notes into English. “I told you, you're not going to need all that.”

“But you and Kelly both said he asked you a bunch of questions about your research.”

“And I also assured you that anyone who paid attention to the research they were doing would be able to answer the questions without a problem.”

I slipped into my chair and crossed my arms.

“Don't psych yourself out by over-thinking this, Layla.” Marta chided.

Kelly landed in her chair. “Oh man, are you so nervous?”

I frowned at Marta.

“Alright class, let's begin.” Mr. Barre announced from the front of the class. “Ms. Nolan, I believe I have you scheduled to begin.” He pointed to the wooden chair sitting next to his desk. When I rose, I saw one of the guys in the front row turn to watch me. On the short walk to Mr. Barre's desk, I tried to come up with a descriptive way of referring to him, but couldn't think of anything that rhymed with pretentious cretin in the front row.

“All right Ms. Nolan,” Mr. Barre seated himself, “I've had a chance to review the work you submitted on your topic. I can see you utilized the research methods we discussed in class and you found a number of varied sources. As you yourself mentioned, the historical information all seemed to corroborate the same main facts, dates and figures. I'd also like to state my appreciation that you tried a few different approaches to the topic and didn't try to fill space by repeating the same few facts.” The slightest smile cracked the serious facade of his expression. “As to the biographies, it sounds like quite the cult of personality with some of these tech guys, huh?”

I smiled into my lap. “Most of the ones I read didn't come across as being too neutral.”

“I liked the bit about how the technology is advancing. You did a nice job documenting all this focus on improving speed and capacity but also pointing out that the so-called archaic computers available in the 1960s were sufficient to get us to the moon.”

He closed my research folder and looked satisfied.

“Did you have any more questions for me?” I couldn't help the nervous lilt in my question.

“About this research? No.” He pulled out the second, smaller folder I'd turned in. “On this, absolutely.”

He leafed through the first page, face alit with the same excitement I'd felt trying to piece the information together. “After looking through this, I understand why it sparked your interest. The line of reasoning seems clear, from Charles Babbage's analytical machine to Ada Lovelace and her theoretical algorithm for said theoretical machine. Her renown as a mathematical genius is impressive in its own right but, add in that her father happened to be Lord Byron, and she sounds like a dynamic historical figure to learn about.” He looked at me, eyes crinkling a bit. “So why did you become so interested in her mother?”

I shifted in the hard chair. “Because so often, they didn't even get her name right.”

Mr. Barre crossed his arms, curious. I gestured to the folder. “You can see in the notes, sometimes she's called Anne, sometimes Isabella, and other times Annabella. She seemed to be at least as an important influence on her daughter but she seemed so overlooked and misunderstood. About half the descriptions I found of her paint her as some sort of simpering idiot who pursued Byron like a crazed poetry groupie. Even at best, writers didn't seem to think she realized he married her for money. Did you know she refused his first marriage proposal?”

Mr. Barre shook his head no.

“The way she went about it, it sounded like someone trying to be rational. She considered the offer for days before deciding. It almost sounded like she made a pros and cons list, weighed the available information and concluded it wouldn't be a good match.” I smiled, looking at my folder lying open on his desk. “They stayed in touch for two years, writing letters, developing a friendship. He asked again and that time she said yes.”

“So love eventually beat out logic?”

I nodded. “Reading about her, I got the impression that she really did love him. She called it her imperfect attachment.”

“I know this was more about fact collecting and you weren't trying to make an argument one way or the other, but it almost seemed like you felt her influence was more important than Byron's.”

I shook my head. “I can't say that. I suppose she had some inherent influence by virtue of being the only parent there. I also think her mind worked in very clear, rational ways. It makes sense she would try to encourage that in her daughter. Considering some of the things she wrote, though, I don't think she discounted Byron's influence. In fact, it seems to be why she pushed so hard for Ada to study rational, logical topics like math and science. I think she thought he was too abstract. Maybe even crazy.” I dropped my gaze to my lap, knowing this might be sanctimonious to say to an instructor of literature.

“Maybe she wasn't wrong,” he said.

Eyes scrunched, I sensed a trap.

“No, seriously. She would have had a period of close observation to draw from and biographies of him do seem to note periods of depression and withdrawal. His contemporaries would have focused more on those periods of intense creativity and energy. Maybe she saw better than anyone that his moods cycled and suspected mental illness. If you look through any history book, I don't think it's such an uncommon thing, especially when you start looking at creative types in art, music and literature. It can be such a small step from genius to madness.”

I bit my lip, considering this.

“It made sense too, considering that the relationship ultimately dissolved after Ada's birth.”

I gave a questioning look. Mr. Barre leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps there were things she'd resigned herself to living with that didn't seem as tolerable when there was a small child to consider.”

I thought more about everything I'd read and then what Mr. Barre was saying. My voice came out low, letting the thought shape. “Maybe it wasn't the influence of one parent over the other. Maybe it had to be the combination of both of them, the artist and the scientist. I mean for me, right now, it's not impossible to reason out how a computer might work. I keep thinking about then, though, with nothing more than the theory of what this machine would be like. It seems like maybe it would require a rational, scientific mind that could imagine fantastic things.”

“Well Ms. Nolan, I can honestly say I've enjoyed reviewing your work. You've done an excellent job. So, thank you.” He noticed my odd smile. “Was there anything more?”

“No.” I almost laughed with relief. “I just can't believe this assignment is finally over.”

“There’s always more learning to look forward to, Ms. Nolan.”

I returned to my desk.

“How did it go?” Marta mouthed her whisper.

“It's done.” I whispered back and felt a little more at peace about it this time.

___

 

My plan for after school was impossible. I knew I should go home to check in with Mom but it also felt important to establish that I wasn't running away from John's house or parents. As it was physically impossible to be in both places at once, I tried to split the difference.

“Will it be weird if I don't stay very long?” I barely kept pace with John's long strides. The combination of wind and rain soaked both of us by the time we covered the short distance to his car.

He appeared to put a lot of thought into my careless question. He shook his head. “I don't think so.”

It took him until we reached the house to consider asking for details. He stood at the coat rack while I pulled off my drenched socks. “If you're going to be late for something, should you have come over?”

“It's not exactly being late. My mom had a doctor's appointment today. It felt like I should go home sooner than usual, you know, in case there was any bad news.”

“How's she doing? You've never said anything since she left the hospital.”

“Hey kids.” Linda's voice called from the kitchen. Peeking in, she sat amid huge stacks of paper at the counter. “How was school?”

“Fine, Mom.” John leaned against the doorframe. “Are those all term papers?”

She gave a tense smile. “I don't think I can complain that my students were all so thorough. How was your day, Layla?”

I leaned against the other side of the entry. “Actually, pretty good. I finished the final review for my research project.”

“How did it go?” John's face brightened.

“Will I jinx myself if I say really well?”

Linda laughed. “I highly doubt it.”

“Mr. Barre said really positive things and it's so nice to be done with it.”

Linda rested her chin in her palm. “You seem like you feel a lot lighter. Well,” she straightened, “I guess I've got a bit of paperwork to attend to. You two will be all right on your own?”

John crossed his arms in a huff. Before he could speak, I grabbed for his elbow, pulling him along with me. “We will. Good luck with your grading.”

In his room, John watched while I seated myself on the floor. “Layla, how is your mom?”

I pushed a thick strand of wet hair behind my ear. “I think she's as healthy now as she's ever been.”

Watching him, I could tell he wanted to know more but didn't know what to do with my answer.

I handed him a deck of cards from the bookshelf. “I always feel weird talking about her being sick. I feel like I'm only supposed to talk about it a certain way.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's like I need to use specific words. It's hard to explain but do you know people who get sick instead of throw up?”

He sniffed a small smile, beginning to deal out a set number of cards.

I picked up the cards in front of me. “I guess I always worry if I don't use the right words, she won't get the right help.” Throwing the first card, I pulled my legs close, wrapping my free arm around my knees. “It doesn't seem like it matters though. She gets into the hospital, they talk to her about preventative treatment, she listens to the parts she wants to hear and ignores the rest. Then everything goes back to the way it was.” I tried to swallow but my throat felt a little raw.

John threw a card, neutral in waiting for me to speak more.

Shaking my head, the words came out hushed. “I sometimes think she'd be upset if she actually got better. It’s like she needs it, needs to have something to blame.”

I think I only said it because I trusted him to react the way he did. Face neutral, he gave thoughtful consideration to every word. Seeing the tears I couldn't suppress, he raised a comforting hand, scooting himself closer and wrapping an arm around me. I'm pretty sure I felt a clumsy kiss on the top of my head.

When I looked up at him, there was no sign of judgment, not even one of surprise. He'd reacted to the signs he recognized that meant I was upset.

Sniffing and smiling at the same time, I found my voice pretty well under control. “I shouldn't talk that way. It's a horrible thing to say.”

He responded by rubbing my left shoulder.

I brushed the wet off my cheeks. “Just so you know, I fully intend to take advantage of seeing all your cards.”

Internal gears whirring, he processed this was a joke. He smiled for my benefit.

After half an hour, the rain still hadn't let up. John offered a ride and I accepted. Slogging home through a downpour seemed like an act of pointless martyrdom. He stopped in the bathroom and I descended the stairs in search of my already wet socks and shoes.

“It seems to be okay. She came back anyway.” Linda's voice was distinct in the quiet of the house.

“We set some clear expectations but we're not idiots. Bill had 'the talk' with him later.”

Silence indicated the person on the other end of the line spoke. Linda mumbled vague agreements.

“Look, there’s no clear way through this. I told you what happened after we saw you at Christmas. We're doing our best to keep this a safe place to come back to. It's like you said, she'll open up about the rest of it when she's ready.”

I lowered myself down, sitting on the bottom step.

“Look Barb, they're upstairs. I'll give you a call later tonight, okay?” The phone clicked into its cradle. The stool scrapped on the floor, Linda pulling her seat back, then scooting it up to the counter.

I hugged my arms across my abdomen, stripped of those invisible powers I'd believed myself to possess.

The top three steps creaked as John hurried to catch up with me. Forcing a smile, I joined him the rest of the way down. I don't know why, but it felt important to pretend.

On the ride home, the sick and vulnerable feeling was superseded by anxiety. My thoughts were once again consumed with worry about Mom. I shouldn't have said that about her. It felt so reasonable that I'd tempted fate and caused something bad to happen. I became convinced she'd received bad news at the doctor's office. Exchanging the briefest of goodbyes, I ran for home, the falling rain and careless splashed puddles saturating my shoes and jeans.

Passing the garage, I took in the continued odd sight of Ron at work. His coat shed and the garage door open, the day's mild temperature cooled him within the tight little structure. He looked up from two partially unpacked boxes of automotive guts, greeting me with only a look. I nodded back, continuing on toward the house.

Mom turned at the sound of the door opening but, seeing it was only me, she turned back towards the television.

“Hey, Mom. How was the appointment?”

Shifting in her recliner, her response was to change the channel.

Hanging my coat, then stripping off my drenched socks and shoes, I stopped in the living room and tried again. “Were they able to tell you anything helpful?”

She rose, brushing past me on her way to the kitchen. “Get in here and help with dinner if you're not gonna eat with your friend tonight.”

I tossed my wet things into my room, quick to comply. Her displeasure filled the small kitchen and it made me feel clumsy. We both grabbed for the boiling saucepan, the scalding water splashing up onto my wrist. I scurried around her to the sink, thrusting my whole hand under cold running water.

“If you're not gonna help, can you at least get out of the way? Why don't you go hole up in your room like you always do?” Her voice was flat, as though exhausted of ability to even be angry with me.

Pressing a towel to the tender skin, I saw it redden but not swell. “What can I do that's not going to be in your way?”

“Just forget it.” She grabbed a box from the cupboard. “Go to your room until dinner's ready.”

Blunt sounds of the door opening indicated Ron came in. From my room, I tracked his heavy steps down the hall, past my door, and toward the bathroom. The shower started running and there came more noises of people entering the house. Not yet permitted to leave, I lowered myself from the bed to the floor so I could hear better. The low sound of Sharon speaking was punctuated by Bruce's big laugh. It was hard to hear all the way to the kitchen, but I swore I heard traces of Mom's twittery sort of laugh, the false one she used when talking to people she was tired of. The small talk was cut short by the sound of Ron lumbering back down the hall.

“Layla, come get dinner.” Mom called to me in that same flat tone.

On the way to the kitchen, I stopped by the hall closet to pull out our one remaining folding chair. The metal of the seat bowed upward a bit and it felt like sitting on a cold bubble. Sharon moved her seat over to allow me space at the table.

“You joining us for card night, dear?”

I shook my head, confused.

“I'm sure Layla has lots of important homework to work on.” Mom's face gave no signs of her mood. “Isn't that right?”

Wide-eyed, I nodded.

Dishes were passed around the table, uncomfortable silence momentarily broken by the clatter of silverware on dishes.

“Almost got that job finished for you,” Ron said, handing a serving dish to Bruce. “Can't thank you enough. Those hospital bills always hit pretty hard.”

“Anything for a friend.” Bruce smiled, handing the dish to Mom. “If you're done by this weekend, I can lend you the truck. You can deliver it down to my buddy at the station.”

Ron bobbed his head in agreement. “Sure. Sounds good.”

“What's going on with all that hospital stuff anyway, Angie?” Sharon asked, oblivious to the look passed at the far end of the table. “Weren't you supposed to see some specialist this week?”

“They won't send me to see one.” Mom's spine straightened. “It's the same story over and over. The pain gets so bad I end up in the emergency room and they send me to a doctor that tells me to go home and take an aspirin.”

“You didn't go today?” My voice came out in a husky whisper.

Mom looked at me for a moment, her face still impassive. “For all the good it'll do, it ain't worth the money. I got a bottle of pills right there.” She pointed toward the kitchen cupboard. “If that doctor can't do better'n that, what’s the point of wasting my time.”

I couldn't help myself. “Mom, the thing about the aspirin, it's not like that—”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Dr. Layla. Is there something you knew that the rest of us don't? 'Cause I'm sure we'd all be real interested to hear it. No please, enlighten us.” Mom pronounced the words with exaggerated disdain and I sank down into myself. She looked satisfied and her face eased back into an icy neutral. I staved off tears and picked at my food. Sharon brightened the moment, reverting to that trusty old topic of what a terrible witch that one wife had been back in January. Bruce rewarded her effort with a big laugh. I excused myself to the kitchen to clean my plate. The atmosphere of the room benefited from my absence. Even Ron joined in the conversation.

Walking past them back to my room, Mom didn't bother trying to misdirect her statement. “Damn I wish we was all still teenagers. It must feel so good walking around all the time knowing all the answers, huh.”

I listened to the sound of them talking and playing cards through the night. Mom always flowered under the light of male attention and her voice seemed to precede each bout of Ron and Bruce's raucous laughter. I squeezed and strangled my pillow until I calmed down. I even talked myself into understanding I wasn't mad at her. She hadn't done anything unexpected. I'd been the one to let myself get all caught up in hope.