Girl Out of Water(27)

“Morning,” he says.

I nod and swallow a bite of my cavity-certified cereal. “Morning.”

He pulls a carton of eggs and shredded cheese from the fridge. Even though it’s already nine, he’s still wearing pajama pants. “Want an omelet?” he asks.

I stare at my giant bowl of cereal. Then I think about the frosted brown sugar cinnamon Pop-Tarts I ate before it. Then I shrug my shoulders. “Sure.”

He starts heating a pan. “Don’t you have work?” I ask. Most days he leaves for his job before I’m even awake.

“Not today. There was a delay in supplies because of delay in payment because of delay in someone signing off on paperwork. Gotta love working for bureaucrats.”

“Wait a second,” I say. “You don’t have work today.”

“Correct.”

“Which means you’re free.”

“Correct.”

“Which means you can watch the kids.”

Extraordinarily long pause. Like a Rocky Horror antici…pation pause. Dad looks at me. “Well, I was thinking we could all go visit Jacks.”

“As in all five of us?”

“Yes…”

I sigh. It’s not that I don’t love my cousins. I do. I really do. Especially Emery, who I’ve established a nightly routine of popcorn and Netflix with. I still can’t believe she’s never watched The Office. I’m just not used to being responsible for three kids almost twenty-four hours a day. When my cousins visit us in Santa Cruz, Aunt Jackie is around to take care of them, and I pitch in. I’m not the sole caretaker. Keeping the boys from destroying the house on a sugar rampage all by myself takes up more energy than a full day’s surf in hostile waves.

Since Dad doesn’t have work today, I want to take advantage and grasp a little responsibility relief. “How about this,” I say. “I go to the hospital to hang with Aunt Jackie, and you take the kids to the pool or whatever.”

I glance at the omelets. Dad is sprinkling on the cheese. “More cheddar, please. No, like more, more. Like personal cow more. Thank you. Now does that sound like a deal? Me, aunt. You, kids. Me, hospital. You, pool.”

“I don’t know…” Dad says, drawing out the words like it’ll help him make a decision. “Jacks probably wants to see them…”

“So come after. After they’ve exhausted themselves swimming, they won’t have energy to wreak havoc on innocent hospital patients. We’ll avoid a Destiny’s Child repeat. Come on. Please, please, please?”

“Getting in some swimming does sound nice…”

“Yes!” I hop off the stool, rush forward, and give Dad a hug from behind. “Thank you! Love you!”

“Careful! Melting cheese here! And love you too.”

? ? ?

When Dad drops me off at the hospital, I feel like a little kid getting dropped off for a playdate or camp. For years now, I’ve walked everywhere or gotten rides from friends, so being dropped off in a minivan by Dad feels like I’ve taken a time machine and am seven years old all over again.

And yet, as the van pulls away, I’m relieved. This is the first time in a week that I’ve been completely alone. Sure, I’ve had a room to myself every night, but is privacy really privacy when at any moment Parker and Nash can bang on the door, wanting to know if it’s bad they accidentally cracked the box that makes the Internet be the Internet? This is the first time in days I don’t have to be responsible for anyone. I’m here to spend time with Aunt Jackie, but she has doctors and nurses to look after her. I’m just visiting. I’m not responsible for Aunt Jackie.

I take a deep breath. The air is warm as always, but clouds cover the sun, and a light breeze whips through my hair. I sit down on a wooden bench near the hospital entrance, close my eyes, and try to replace the sounds of the hospital with the sounds of the beach. Not a car rushing to the emergency entrance but a Jet Ski slicing through the spray. Not sneakers thumping down the concrete but flip-flops smacking along the sand. Not pigeons cooing but seagulls crying.

“Excuse me, miss?”

I crack open my eyes. No ocean, just an elderly man wearing a fleece jacket, despite the heat. “Yes?”

“Do you know what time it is?”

I glance at my phone and tell him, “Just past eleven.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” The man smiles at me before leaving.

I nod and smile back, but now my oceanside illusion is ruined. I stand and head toward the hospital entrance. As I walk, I watch the old man in front of me, dragging a rolling oxygen tank along with him.

Ocean air is good for the lungs, I want to tell him. May I suggest moving to the beach?

? ? ?

Aunt Jackie is sitting up and reading when I enter the room. Her black-framed glasses remind me of Lincoln’s glasses, which make me think of his face…and his lips.

Aunt Jackie looks up. “Anise!”

“Hi! Book any good?”

She grins. “Terrible, but I love it.” Her voice is smooth today. Perhaps they lowered her painkiller dosage. She slips off her glasses and cocks her head to the side. “Are you trying to copy me?”

“What?” I ask.

“That collection of bruises you’ve got could rival mine.”