The gray chair is hard and cold, and I perch on the edge of it, leaning forward to rest my hands on the bar along the side of the bed.
“Hi, Granddad,” I say, softly, so whoever’s on the other side of the curtain behind me can’t hear.
His eyes flutter open just a crack, eyelids struggling against fatigue or drugs or maybe even another stroke. I sit back, surprised. “My Katharina,” he murmurs.
I still clench Meg’s button in one hand, but I reach out my other hand and slip it into his, trying to ignore the IV piercing his paper-thin skin.
I squeeze, gently. With his bony, fleshless hand, he squeezes back.
And I realize, with relief, that we really don’t need to say anything more than that.
CHAPTER 18
MEG
“WE HAVE A DOORBELL, YOU KNOW,” GRAYSON SAYS WHEN HE ANSWERS MY tap tap tap tap on his front door.
I take off my coat and hang it in the ridiculously orderly front closet. “You’ve used that joke before,” I tell him as I throw my mitts and scarf onto the bench in the entryway.
He scowls. “It’s not a joke.”
I reach down and pluck a pair of pink knit mittens out of their mitten bin. “Are these mine?”
He just shrugs.
“Someone got up on the wrong side of the manure farm today,” I say. “Did your competition thing not go well or something? No, don’t tell me. Your mom recorded it, right? I want to watch.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. What was your big emergency, anyway?”
“Dude! Kat’s granddad had a stroke. We were at the hospital until like midnight.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” The scowl relaxes out of his face. “That’s awful. Is he okay?”
That’s closer to the reception I expected. “Yeah, I think so. Kat went over there again this morning with her parents. She said there doesn’t seem to be too much brain damage or whatever, and he can talk and stuff. But he hurt his hip again when he fell.”
Grayson nods, all traces of bad-day grump gone from his face. “I hope he didn’t hurt it too badly,” he says. Then, after a pause, “So, you wanted to watch the video from last night?”
“You bet! I’m sure you were the archeriest of all the archers. Even that big Hell’s Angel guy.”
“Well, he wasn’t in my division. Hang on, I’ll have to find my mom’s camera. My parents aren’t home.”
I make myself some hot chocolate while he searches for the camera. By the time I settle myself on the wide navy-blue couch downstairs, mug heaped with mini marshmallows in hand, he has the camera connected to the big screen and ready to go.
“Okay,” he says, “this video is of the first guy in my division, Kyle. He’s from Beaumont. I thought he was a dick at first, but once you get his sense of humor, he’s not so bad.”
The video starts and a short, scrawny Asian guy steps up to the line and rolls his neck back and forth as if he’s about to duke it out with someone.
My phone beeps with a new email, and I pull it out and unlock it, glancing at my in-box as Kyle raises his bow.
“Oh my God. OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod!”
Grayson jabs pause. “What? Is it Kat’s grampa? Is he okay?”
“LumberLegs!”
“What?”
“LumberLegs! He emailed me back. OhmyGod. Oh my God. Oh my God. I never dreamed he’d actually email me back. Look!” I hold the phone out to Grayson, but before he can even look, I pull it back to study it again. I tap on the email, fill my screen with LumberLegs’s words. “Listen to this!” I stand and read it aloud:
Meg—
“Did you hear that? He called me Meg. He knows my name.”
Meg—
Thanks for the kind words. I’m glad you enjoy my Let’s Play.
Box turtles can go completely inside their shell, fully protected. Your local pet store or zoo can probably help you figure out if your turtle is a box turtle, and how best to care for him if he is. Please don’t just release him in the wild. Your climate might not be right for box turtles.
I hope you keep watching and enjoying.
Be awesome.
Chow for now,
LumberLegs
“He wrote me back!” I do a little hopping dance as I scroll back up to read it again. Kat is going to lose her mind when I tell her! I can’t wait to tell her! I’m never not talking to her again.
“Yeah,” Grayson says. “To tell you that you shouldn’t release your turtle in the snow. Real Einstein, that one. I could’ve told you that.”
I glance up. Grayson’s scowl is back. Combined with the darkness of his eyebrows, he looks almost—but not quite—ugly. I’ve never noticed that about him before.
“Well, he doesn’t know it’s snowy here, genius. I could be anywhere. Borneo or Libya or Hawaii.”
“Borneo? Really?”
I kick lightly at his shin. “Stop being such a downer. This is a big deal!”
“To you. I know. He’s all you ever talk about.”
“He’s not—”
“He is. All you could talk about after every practice was whatever email you wrote to him and whether he’d read it. You’d think you were dating him, not me.”
I drop my hands—and my phone—to my sides. I thought he liked hearing about LumberLegs. And it’s not like I wasn’t paying attention, but his practices were so boring. Even someone without ADHD would need a distraction, wouldn’t they? Maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe this is another way my ADHD scares people away. Another way I scare people away.
I slide my phone into my pocket. “I’m not dating him,” I say uselessly.
“Look, all I know is this random gamer who has no idea who you are and who doesn’t care about you at all is way more exciting to you than your effing boyfriend’s archery competition!” He huffs out a breath and sags back against the couch.
I want to snap back that he’ll have other archery competitions, whereas LumberLegs emailing me back is probably a once-in-a-lifetime event, but somehow I manage to bite my tongue. “You’re right,” I say instead. “I’m sorry. Your competition is more important. Let’s watch that first.” I settle on the couch beside him, slide my hand along his thigh. I’m getting good at this—this girlfriend thing.
“Meg,” he says, lifting my hand off his leg and sliding away to create a cavern of space between us, “I don’t think this is working.”
It’s not the answer I expected—the answer I expected being more like, “What a good idea, Meg. You’re so caring and understanding. You earn three hundred and two girlfriend points.” But that’s okay. I haven’t lost, not yet. I can still fix this.
“Of course it’s working,” I say. “This is just a fight. Couples fight. And now we make up.” I grab my shirt, pull it upward and over my head. I glance down. Ugly gray bra. I thought I threw this one away. No matter; it can come off.
I pull at the snaps at my back and let the ugly grayness fall away into my lap. I slide closer to Grayson and reach for his belt buckle.
“Meg,” he says, laying his hand on mine. “I don’t think we should.”
I lean into him, press my lips against his ear. “We should. I know we should.” I can save this. I know I can save this. I kiss his ear—once, twice—and then he turns his head and presses his mouth firmly against mine.
LEGENDS OF THE STONE
KittyKat has logged on.
[]Sythlight: Hi
KittyKat: sorry about the other night