See You at Harry's(30)

“They think he must have hit the back of his head,” my dad says. “And it caused a blood clot that went to his brain. If . . . If we had just taken him to the hospital yesterday . . . Maybe . . . Oh God . . .”

Holden looks at me. “How hard did he fall, Fern?”

Sara and my dad are looking at me now, too.

The Big Bad Wolf.

“He . . .” I start to say. “I didn’t see . . .” My face starts to burn. I can feel them accusing me. I let him run in the parking lot. It’s all my fault.

“He was OK!” I say desperately. “He got right up! He ran! He — he wasn’t even hurt!”

“Then why? How could this happen?” Holden stands up and starts pacing, pressing his fingers against his temples.

“They said these kinds of injuries are some sort of fluke,” my dad explains. “The brain can hit against the skull just the wrong way and cause a concussion. Or something.”

“I didn’t know he was going to run!” I yell. “I didn’t know he was playing a game with me! He just took off!”

They all stare at me.

My body is tingling all over. I feel like I am turning inside out.

“We know, Fern,” my dad says. “It’s not your fault.”

“He just ran away from me! I didn’t know what he was doing!”

Sara starts to cry again.

“He and Doll were playing! I was just doing my homework!” I yell louder because Sara won’t look at me, and I know that must mean she blames me. “Mom should’ve taken him to the hospital! He should’ve had X-rays! Charlie never complains when he’s hurt. Mom should have known!” I choke on the unforgivable words.

“Shut up!” Sara screams, finally facing me. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“Stop it!” Holden yells. “It’s no one’s fault!” He pulls at his hair, then looks up at the ceiling. Up where my parents’ room is. Where my mom is.

My dad reaches out and takes Holden’s hand. Sara hides her face against his shoulder again. And I still sit alone.

“Come here, Fern,” my dad says quietly. “It’s no one’s fault.”

But I just shake my head and pull my knees to my chest so I can hide my own face. No, I keep thinking. No.





AFTER A WHILE, my dad gets up and goes to the kitchen. I imagine him coming back with a huge smile on his face saying he called the hospital and it was all just a big mistake. But instead, he comes back carrying the anniversary tray. It has a glass of water, a plate with toast, and a bottle of pills.

“I need to bring this up to your mom, but I’ll be back,” he says. As we watch him slowly climb the stairs, I remember all the anniversaries the three of us — and then Charlie, too — quietly climbed the stairs with that same tray, stacked with special treats for my parents. We’d knock on the door and say in our exaggerated lovey-dovey voices, “Room service!” and then giggle as we’d run down the hall and back downstairs to watch hours of bad TV that we normally weren’t allowed to watch.

When Charlie was born, as a joke we left him in his bouncy seat asleep next to the tray of food in the hall. It was Holden’s idea to remind my parents to be a bit more careful celebrating their anniversary that time around so we wouldn’t have another unexpected surprise. Sara thought that was crude, but I thought it was pretty funny, once Holden explained the joke to me. Unfortunately, Charlie woke up before my parents retrieved their tray, so we had to go get him. Holden wanted to leave a dirty diaper in the baby seat instead, but Sara put her foot down.

While my dad’s upstairs, we sit and stare. We don’t look at each other. We just wait and wait. I imagine my dad giving my mom those pills. I guess they must make her sleep. I wish we could all take them.

When my dad finally comes back downstairs with the empty tray, his eyes are red and his cheeks are shiny with tears. It seems to take all his effort to walk down the final steps and sit on the couch between Holden and Sara. He pulls them to him on either side and sobs. They bury their faces in his chest and cry, too.

“Fern,” he whispers. “Come here.”

I look into my dad’s watery, bloodshot eyes and stay where I am. I know I’m supposed to be crying. But I won’t. I won’t if it means what they’ve already accepted.

Holden gets up and walks over to me. He pries my hand from the armrest and pulls me up. I try to pull back.

“No!” I yell.

But now my dad is at my side, too. His strong arms pull me up and hold me close around his huge, soft belly. As he presses me into him, I feel like I could disappear.

I feel like I am breaking.





THAT NIGHT, Holden and Sara both go to their rooms to sleep, but I stay in the chair. My dad tries to carry me upstairs after I fall asleep, but I wake up and make him put me down. After he leaves me, I curl up in the chair and wait. But Charlie doesn’t come back.

In the morning, my dad makes us a breakfast we don’t eat, then goes upstairs to check on my mom. We still haven’t seen her since she came home. I don’t understand why she doesn’t come down and hold us. I don’t understand why we can’t go up and crawl into bed with her. My dad says we need to give her some time. But I need her now.

“I have to get out of here,” Holden tells Sara and me.