The Silver Linings Playbook(66)
After a long pause, my mother says, “Tiffany called us from a pay phone and told us everything. We were driving around North Philadelphia looking for you when the hospital called your father. He called Jake’s cell phone, and here we are.”
“So I ruined everyone’s Christmas?”
“That crazy bitch ruined our Christmas.”
“Jake,” Mom says. “Please.”
“Did the Eagles win?” I ask Jake, because I remember that they were winning and am hoping my father will be in a decent mood when I get home.
“Yeah,” Jake says in a clipped way that lets me know he is upset with me.
The Eagles beat T.O. and Dallas—in Dallas—on Christmas Day, locking up a play-off spot, and Jake, who has not missed a game since he was in elementary school, misses perhaps the best game of the season because he was searching all of North Philadelphia for his mentally deranged brother. And now I realize why my father is not with the search team—there was no way he’d miss such an important Eagles game, especially against Dallas. I can’t help feeling guilty, as it probably would have been a really nice Christmas, especially since my father would have been in a phenomenal mood, and I am sure my mother prepared food, and Caitlin is even wearing an Eagles jersey, and I keep messing up everyone’s lives, and maybe it would have been better if the muggers had killed me, and …
I start to cry, but quietly, so that my mom won’t be upset.
“I’m sorry I made you miss the game, Jake,” I manage to say, but the words make me cry even harder, and soon I am sobbing into my hands again, like a baby.
My mother pats my unbroken leg, but no one says anything.
We ride the rest of the way home in silence.
How Is She?
My birthday falls on a Friday. December 29. In the afternoon, Mom helps me tape trash bags around my cast so I can take my first shower since I broke my leg. This is sort of embarrassing to talk about, but Mom has to help me keep my cast out of the shower, so she holds the shower curtain for me, protecting the cast, as I straddle the edge of the tub, trying to keep my weight on my good leg. Mom hands me the soap when I need it and also the shampoo. She pretends not to look at my naked body, but I am sure she gets a glimpse at some point, which makes me feel strange. I haven’t worked out in days, so I feel very small and weak—but Mom doesn’t say anything about my diminished girth, because she is a kind woman.
After my shower, Mom helps me put on a pair of sweatpants she has modified, cutting one leg off at the thigh so my cast can fit through. I also put on a button-down shirt from the Gap and my new leather jacket. I hop down the steps, crutch my way out the door and into the backseat of Mom’s car, sitting sideways so my cast will fit.
When we arrive at the Voorhees house, I crutch my way into Cliff’s office, pick the black recliner, prop my cast up on the footrest, and tell Cliff everything.
When I finish my story, Cliff says, “So you’ve been in bed since Christmas?”
“Yeah.”
“And you have no interest in reading or watching television?”
“No.”
“And you’re not working out your upper body at all? No weights?”
“No.”
“What do you do all day?”
“I sleep, or I think. Sometimes I write, but Danny has been coming to visit me too.” I had already told Cliff all about God reuniting Danny and me, which even Cliff had to admit was a bit of a miracle and maybe the silver lining to my awful Christmas.
“What do you and Danny do when he visits?”
“We play Parcheesi.”
“Parcheesi?”
“It’s the Royal Game of India. How can you not know it?”
“I know Parcheesi. I’m just surprised you and Danny play board games together.”
“Why?”
Cliff makes a funny face, but doesn’t say anything.
“Danny brings his Parcheesi game all the way from North Philly. He rides the trains.”
“That’s good, right? It must be nice to see your old friend.”
“I was sorry to learn that he still can’t rap, even after a second operation, but his aunt got him a job doing the janitorial work at her church, which is also a day-care center. He wipes down the pews with pine oil and mops the floors and empties the trash and vacuums every night—stuff like that. He smells like pine trees now too, which is sort of a nice bonus. But Danny is quieter than I remember him being in the bad place.”
“Did you tell Danny about what Tiffany did to you?” Cliff asks.
“Yeah, I did.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“He didn’t give you any advice?”
“I didn’t ask him for any advice.”
“I see.” Cliff grabs his chin, which lets me know he is going to say something my mother has told him. “Pat, I know how you lost your memory. Everyone does.” He pauses here, gauging my reaction. “And I think you remember too. Do you?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to tell you how you lost your memory?”
“No.”
“Why?”
I don’t say anything.
“I know Dr. Timbers used to tell you the story every day as part of your therapy. That’s why I never brought it up. I thought maybe you would talk about it when you were ready, but it’s been almost five months—and now you have a broken leg, and things seem to have gotten worse. I can’t help feeling as though we need to start trying other tactics. What Tiffany suggested about closure is true. I’m not saying her methods were honorable, but you really do need to come to terms with what happened, Pat. You need closure.”