From Ant to Eagle(62)

Mr. Alvarado opened the door but I was too cold to be scared. Anyway, he looked more worried than scary at that moment.

“May I please talk to Aleta,” I said, through chattering teeth.

He brought me inside and told me to sit at the kitchen table while he made me hot chocolate and wrapped a blanket around me. Aleta came downstairs looking just as worried and sat next to me. After we had finished our drinks and the feeling returned to my fingers and toes, we were allowed to go upstairs to Aleta’s room.

We sat on her bed and I told her everything.

“I can’t stand it. They fight all the time and it drives me crazy. I shouldn’t have thrown the rock but…I dunno…sometimes I just feel so angry. Angry with Dad for never being around, angry with Mom for nagging, angry with myself for…for…well, for being the reason Sammy’s gone.”

Aleta looked shocked. “What do you mean?”

I took in a deep breath—I hadn’t told anyone. “You know how Sammy died from pneumonia? Well, I’m the one who gave it to him. I…I didn’t know, I mean, I did but I didn’t think about it. I had a cold and went to the hospital. He got my cold and it turned into pneumonia. I’m the reason he’s gone.”

Aleta shook her head. “Don’t say that. It’s not right. And it doesn’t help, that’s for sure.”

“How would you know?”

“I used to say the same thing after my mom died,” Aleta said.

“You did?”

She nodded.

I’d wanted to ask her a thousand times how her mother had died but it had never felt right. Suddenly I felt like she wanted to tell me.

“How did she die?” I asked.

She paused. “In a car accident,” she said. “She was driving me to school. It was snowing that morning and the roads were covered. As we turned into an intersection I saw him coming. I remember thinking he was coming toward us so fast that he might not be able to stop, but I didn’t say anything—at least not until it was too late. There was no time for my mom to do anything.” She stopped for a moment, still staring down at the bed. Finally, she looked back up at me. “It took me a long time to remember even that much, afterwards it’s only blank. I woke up in the hospital.”

I wanted to say something intelligent. Something to make her feel better but all that came out was, “Oh.”

She didn’t seem to mind. Maybe it felt good to finally tell someone.

“Afterwards I blamed myself. Why hadn’t I yelled sooner? Why had I lived and she died? I started to wish I was dead too.”

“And that’s why you have these?” I said, reaching forward and pulling up her sleeve to reveal the rows of thin scars on her arm.

She nodded.

“So what makes those thoughts go away? What makes it better?”

“Honestly,” she said, “nothing.”

I had hoped for some revelation. Some magical way to make the pain go away, but who was I kidding, Aleta was still hurting and always would be. I knew that.

“It gets easier though. It’s almost sad in a way but you stop thinking about it as much and start thinking about other things. You start to remember the happy times instead of focusing on the what-ifs and whys. And you can do some things to help that.”

“Like what?”

“Like writing down all the memories—when you’re ready.”

I didn’t feel ready.

“And you can start doing things you enjoy again. Which brings me to something else I wanted to ask you.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve put in an application at the Children’s Hospital to start volunteering there. I was wondering, or hoping, that you’d want to come as well. I know it might not be easy to go back there but—”

“I don’t think I could right now,” I said, shaking my head.

She nodded that she understood. “Okay, just tell me when you’re ready—for both things.”





CHAPTER 40

ALETA AND I SPENT THE REST OF THE EVENING DOING A PUZZLE on her floor when Mr. Alvarado poked his head in to say that Dad was waiting out front to take me home. I was dreading the conversation I knew was coming. I figured I would be in trouble for breaking the window.

But when I got in the car Dad didn’t look mad at all. He looked something else—nervous maybe?

We drove a little ways without saying anything but I knew he wanted to speak because he kept glancing at me in the rear-view mirror and seemed to be driving illegally slow.

“Cal,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “I, umm, about what happened.” He cleared his throat. “About what you said. Umm, you’re right about your mother and I—we shouldn’t be fighting. It’s not fair to you. I know how hard this has been on you so I’m—”

“How could you know?” I interrupted. “You never leave your office.”

Dad stopped talking and I immediately regretted what I’d said. I knew how hard everything had been on him. I knew how hard Mom was on him. I shouldn’t have joined her side but I just had.

For a minute Dad drove on then suddenly the car pulled over and stopped—right on the side of the highway. I was sitting in the back seat and couldn’t see Dad’s face but I knew by the soft sobs that he was crying.