“Don’t talk like that,” I warned, glancing around. “Shane hears you talking like that and he’ll give you hell.” I felt sick just thinking about it. The only thing worse than Shane sic’ing Merle on me was the idea he’d do it to Garrett.
The little boy nodded. “My teacher says bullies are scared. When they’re scared, they get mean.”
“They’re mean anyway.” I wanted to reach out to Garrett. Hug him tight. I held back. Since Woodside, no one touched me and I didn’t touch them, as if emotional breakdowns were contagious.
After the kitchen was cleaned up, Garrett joined Harris and Norma watching TV in the den. The laugh track of some sitcom blared. Merle was in his room, probably playing Grand Theft Auto. Shane was in his room, doing whatever he did before bed. Lay around hating life, I guessed. He was a bright guy but didn’t study any more. I guessed he figured there was no point—the disease was going to get progressively worse. But it was horrible to think about him giving up already. I caught myself on the way to my room, wanting to stop and talk to Shane. To call a truce at least. Or let him know he didn’t have to hate me.
I paused outside his door then kept going. Maybe he did need to hate me. Maybe lashing out at me was better than keeping it in, letting it eat away at him as much as his disease did.
I went up to my room that overlooked the street. I had to step around stalagmites of books to lay down on my bed under the window. My room and sanctuary. Bed, desk, chair and dresser. Books stacked all over. Books were my escape until money and time made actual escape a reality.
Books and that water park they’d built last summer.
We’d visited as a family when it first opened and I’d hated it. The noise, the crowds, the churning water. I swam in the smallish pool with fifty other people and thought I was drowning. But alone, at night, when the water was still and quiet…then it was perfect. I don’t know what drew me there the first time, but once I started sneaking over at night, I couldn’t stop.
Through the window, I watched the night deepen. I waited.
By nine in the evening, the house was quiet. Norma and Harris were early risers. They never checked on me. I slipped downstairs and out the back door. Past the detached garage, down the gravely drive and out into the street.
I half-jogged to Funtown Water Park through a night thick and stifling with heat. I hit the perimeter and scaled the fence easily, having done so nearly every night for the last four months.
The park was empty. The three slides—short, medium, and tall—were shut off. The stand of water guns, sprinklers, and spraying arches was quiet. All the bored teenagers who worked there had cleared out. As winter came on, it would be closed permanently, and maybe locked up tight. That thought used to curl my guts, until I reminded myself I’d be long gone by winter.
I headed to the northeast corner, to the rectangular pool reserved for adults to dip in and where private lessons were sometimes given. It was only fifty feet long, and nine feet deep at its deepest, but that was enough for me. I kicked off my boots, stripped off my socks and jeans. Wearing just my boxers and t-shirt, I jumped in.
Cool water slipped over my skin. I felt calmer, at peace. I swam to the deep end, weightless. I held perfectly still and emptied my mind, while huffing a few deep breaths, sucking air deeper and deeper. When I couldn’t hold any more, I slipped under.
The underwater lights cast faint glows in the dimness, turning the water a greenish hue.
I pushed the breath in my lungs down deep, where my body took what it needed, molecules at a time. I held very still, waving my arms only enough to keep me under.
Under the surface, I closed my eyes. I don’t know what prompted it, but an old memory—my oldest memory—played out like on a newsreel or home movie.
The man was huge, tall like the tallest tree. The boy was small—maybe three years old, staring up at the man, unblinking.
The man put his hands on his knees and bent low, a confused smile on his face. “Where’d you come from, little man?”
The boy’s words burst out on a current of barely restrained sobs. “Are you a fireman? Mama said to find a fireman. If you ever need help, that’s who you ask.”
“I am a fireman. Just not in uniform yet.” The man’s eyes took in the boy’s dirty overalls, his mussed hair, and the note pinned to his shirt. He hoped this wasn’t what he thought it was. “Where is your mama now?”
The boy’s face crumpled into tears he tried to hold back. “I don’t know. I think she said goodbye.”
The man straightened and looked around, praying this wasn’t happening, that the kid’s mom would coming running up, calling for him, thanking God he was all right, she’d been worried sick…
The man unpinned the note from the boy’s shirt.
Take care of him, please. Please.
His heart sank. He called over his shoulder. “Harry? Better call Gloria at CPS. We got a safe haven situation here.”