Girl Out of Water(20)

“Hi.” Her voice is quiet. She fiddles with her phone, flipping it around and around in her hand. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

And then she’s gone.

I wonder if this was the hospital where her dad passed away, if she sat here scared and confused while doctors failed to keep him alive. I want to go after her, console her, see if she needs anything, but maybe all she really needs is to be alone. And I’m not going to take that away from her.

Aunt Jackie tries to smile. “It’s not her fault,” she says. “You know, bad memories and all.”

I nod and move further into the room, perching on the windowsill by her bed. “How are you feeling?” I ask.

“Okay,” she says. “Tired. Loopy. A little queasy from the drugs. The doctors still have me pretty…what was the word again? Ah, toasted.”

“What’s that mean?” Nash asks, looking up from his game.

“Warm,” Dad says, coming over to stand next to me. “Toasty. See? Lots of blankets.”

Nash gives one of those I-know-you’relying looks but goes back to his game, muttering, “Grown-ups are weird.”

Parker, eyes still on the TV, nods his head. “Very, very weird.”

I decide not to point out that they were the nine-year-olds just singing Destiny’s Child at the top of their lungs in a hospital.

? ? ?

About half an hour later, Emery sidles into the room with a magazine in one hand and a giant bag of McDonald’s in the other. Why there’s a McDonald’s in a hospital is beyond my comprehension. The scent reminds me of the fryers in Tess’s family’s restaurant. Maybe she’s there right now, serving coconut chicken curry and panikeke. Parker and Nash launch themselves off their chairs and at the bag, but Emery yanks it into the air and out of their reach. I’m half-expecting them to pull some kind of circus act and climb on each other’s shoulders to get to the food.

“Want some fries, Mom?” Emery asks.

“Well, I had surgery on my legs, not my heart, so I think that’s probably okay.” Aunt Jackie smiles. “Bring ’em over.”

I wonder if, when you have children, your DNA mutates so that you’ll do anything to make your kids happy. Because I know Aunt Jackie is nauseous, and I know scarfing down McDonald’s french fries won’t ease that discomfort. And yet, Aunt Jackie isn’t going to say no to Emery’s proffered fries because rejecting the fries would basically be like rejecting her daughter.

I wonder if my mom’s DNA forgot to mutate.

“Come on,” Aunt Jackie repeats, patting the bed. “There’s room.”

All three kids climb on cautiously. The boys sit at the foot, and Emery sits at the head, scooting in right next to Aunt Jackie. Then Emery opens the bag, and the golden fried scent fills the room. For a few minutes the only sounds are munching and licking of salt off fingers. Dad and I move to the periphery of the room, giving them space for what seems like a McDonald’s-fry-eating family ritual.

Emery seems more comfortable now, less scared. Her mom is still here, still the same person she was before the accident. She was in trouble, but now she’s okay. I want to tell Emery how lucky she is that her mom loves her and will do everything in her power to stick around as long as possible. Aunt Jackie would sacrifice anything and everything for her. But the thing is, I think Emery already knows that. And that’s probably why she’s so scared of losing her.

“What’s this?” Aunt Jackie asks Emery, tapping the magazine with a fry.

“Just a magazine. Seventeen,” Emery says.

“Ah, but you’re only twelve.”

“Almost thirteen,” Emery protests.

“Which, correct me if I’m wrong, is still four years away from seventeen.” Aunt Jackie smiles and nudges Emery in the shoulder. “Read some to me.”

Emery hesitates. “Really?”

“Really.”

Emery glances around the room, as if expecting one of us to protest, but no one does. So she flips open the magazine to a random page and starts reading about “Seven Summer Fruits Guaranteed to Give You a Healthy Boost.” As she reads in a smooth voice, calm envelops the room. Aunt Jackie slowly leans into Emery, and the boys slowly lean into each other, and across the room I slowly lean into Dad.

Maybe hospitals have McDonald’s for one simple reason: fries stitch families back together.

? ? ?

The next few days pass in molasses torture as the reality of my summer sinks in. With Aunt Jackie in the hospital and Dad working full days on the new city hall, my cousins continue to be my sole responsibility during the mornings and afternoons, a responsibility I’m struggling to get used to. Besides the odd summer job helping out at Tess’s family’s restaurant or teaching the rare surfing lesson, I’ve never had any obligations but homework and keeping myself occupied. Now I have three trailing shadows.

We go to the park almost every day, but the sweltering heat usually sends us back home dripping with sweat within a couple of hours. Every time we go, I keep my eyes alert for Lincoln, but I haven’t seen him since that first day when he said my eyes were seaweed-green.

This morning I’m sitting in the kitchen, staring at wave forecasts on my phone because I like torturing myself, contemplating whether to throw together lunch or pray that Dad gets off early and makes us something edible with actual nutrients and vitamins and whatever, when my phone rings—a FaceTime from Tess.