Guthrie McFadden did not sleep well that night, and awoke to the sound of pouring rain. "Perfect." He thought, dreading the day ahead. He trudged through the mud to the bus, trying to stay dry, but got soaked anyhow. He hung back from Ford and Evan who rushed ahead trying to get to the safety of the bus stop quickly.
"Aww, hell!" Evan said. "I forgot my math work!"
"Go back and get it." Guthrie said angrily.
"No way, stupid. I'm not going back out in the rain."
"The bus is here, anyway." Ford said. He glanced at his younger brother. "What's your problem, man? Feeling cranky?"
"I don't want to go to school today." Guthrie confessed.
"Quit whining." Evan said. "Geez, you are such a baby sometimes."
"Why not?" Ford asked him, ignoring Evan.
"It's just this stupid essay . . ." Guthrie began softly.
"Come on! Let's go! The bus is waiting!" Evan interrupted.
"Never mind." Guthrie said. "Let's go." And they all sprinted through the downpour to the bus.
***7***
Guthrie McFadden hesitated in the hallway just outside his 2nd period math class. English was his 4th period class, and he was already filled with anxiety. It wasn't so much that essay wasn't done but the fact that everyone, absolutely everyone would make a big deal about the fact that his essay wasn't done. He remembered with clarity when he'd been upset in 2nd grade because his friend Kenny said, "You ain't got no mother for mother's day." He'd punched Kenny in the mouth, filled with a rage he hadn't understood. There had been ENDLESS meetings over that! Counselors, teachers, principals - everyone to help him "process" what had happened. He wasn't about to go through that again!
Truthfully, he had initially intended to walk to the school library and work on the essay until 4th period. He didn't go in though. He just walked past it; past all the buildings, and down the steps, across the empty football field, toward town. He didn't care that he was ditching school. He didn't care that he had no idea where he was going. He didn't even care that the rain had started up again. He just walked away.
***7***
"Look, who finally go out of bed!" Crane McFadden said to his sister-in-law.
"Don't tease." She said, sitting down at the kitchen table, wearily.
"You want something to eat?" Crane asked. "I can cook you up something? Soup?"
"For breakfast?" She asked.
"It's 10:45." He pointed out. "I'll fix you a bowl, and then back up to bed."
"Excuse me?" She glared at him.
"Listen, Adam left strict instructions, and you don't know this 'cause he's sweet on you, but his temper is legendary."
"I've heard." She sighed, and leaned on the table, resting her head on her arm. "I guess going back to bed isn't a bad idea."
"How do you feel?" Crane asked her, as he put a pot on the stove.
"I can breathe without coughing now, so better, I guess."
"Breathing's good." Crane chuckled.
"Did you see the boys off this morning?" She asked him, sitting up.
"Yup. They had lunches and everything. You know before you came, we used to run this place." He winked at her.
"Yes," She grinned up at him. "I saw the evidence of your housekeeping."
"Oh, that wasn't my jurisdiction." He explained.
"I don't think it was anyone's." She laughed lightly, but then began to cough. "What about Guthrie? Did he seem . . ."
"He seemed okay. If he's worried, he's worried about you, Hannah."
"I don't know about that, but . . ."
"Trust me. Guthrie is not that complicated of a kid. He adores you and you are sick. He is worried you are right, but it is about you."
"Okay, I guess you might be right." She smiled at Crane. "I'll talk to him when he gets home from school." She sighed and rested her head on her arms again. "Man, I don't know when I've ever felt so tired."
"You know, if you want, you can go back on up to bed. I'll bring the soup to you."
"That sounds nice. Thanks, Crane."
"No problem."
***7***
Ford McFdden had looked for Guthrie at lunch because he wanted to switch sandwiches. He had ended up with peanut butter and grape jelly, so he figured that Guthrie had ended up with the strawberry jelly which Ford loved. He hadn't been able to find him everywhere. It seemed that every place he went, Guthrie had just left. He was irritated. He really hated grape jelly, and it was just that Guthrie hadn't paid attention when grabbing lunches because Guthrie didn't care what he ate. It was such a cold, wet day, and now his lunch was crummy too. He couldn't wait for the last bell to ring.
***7***
"I see you've decided to behave reasonably for once." Adam McFadden told his wife. He had come inside from a morning of chores to find her snuggled down in their bed; an unbelievable scene. "You must really be sick."
"Actually, I'm faking it." She said to him, as he sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. "Look at the extreme measures I have to take just to get a day of rest."
"Well, about that . . ." He teased her. "The fellas really need you to go ahead and get moving on that laundry and those dishes won't wash themselves."
"You are kind of a jerk, Adam." She said, reaching out and taking his hand.
"I know." He agreed. He leaned over kissing her cheek. "And you still have a fever. I'm calling that doctor. Those meds aren't strong enough."
"He said it would be few days, Adam. Try not to overreact."
"Remaining calm is not really my strong suit." He pointed out.
"This, I've noticed." She lay back on the pillows. "I feel so much better than I did, already. I think I was really sick."
Adam said nothing, but lifted her hand, and kissed her fingers, and she was hit with a flash of lying on a hospital bed, and him doing the exact same thing. She pulled her hand from his almost instinctively.
"Hey . . ." He began, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What's wrong? Do you feel worse?"
"No, uh . . . I guess I just got tired all of the sudden." She lied, rubbing her face with her freed hand. "Are the boys back from school?"
"Not for another hour or so." He told her. "But you don't need to worry about anything. We got it all covered. You should just sleep."
"Yeah, I guess you are right." All the cheerfulness of tone was gone now, and she could tell he was puzzled by the sudden shift in mood. She wished she had the ability and bravery to explain it. She knew it hurt his feelings when she turned suddenly cold.
"I should let you rest." He said, standing up. "I've got some more work to do. You need anything?"
She felt unexplainable tears sting her eyes. He was so loving and sweet. She hated the silence between them; the chasm created by their lost child.
"Hon?" He moved closer to her. "If you are feeling real bad, we should go back to the doctors or maybe the hospital."
"It isn't that." She said softly but gave no further explanation. "I . . . I'm sorry. Maybe it is the medicine or . . ."
"Oh." He said softly, after a long moment of studying her. "Sweetheart, it's . . ." He sat back down beside her on the bed.
"I don't know why I'm . . ." She wiped at her face. "I'm just tired and sick."
"You don't have to apologize; especially not to me." He said softly, his hand reaching again for hers. "Seems to me you ain't cried near enough - you never seem to stop and take care of yourself. You never give yourself a break."
"I'm taking a break, right now." She said, through tears.
"You've got bronchitis, Girl. That's not taking a break. That's a full body shut down because you haven't taken a break."
"I just . . ." She hesitated, not wanting to bring him pain, but longing to be wholly open to him again. "I just feel sad sometimes, you know?"
"Yeah." He agreed softly, scooting closer to her on the bed. "I do."
They said little else, both lost in a shared grief. He understood and there was no need for more words. It was enough that he was here. She moved closer to him, her head in his lap. "I love you, Hannah." He said softly. He said it often; had said it often since they'd married, but lately he said it even more. Maybe he thought she needed the reassurance. And maybe she did, but she knew it to be true - could feel the truth of it down to the marrow of her very bones. It comforted her deeply and she fell asleep as he soothingly ran his fingers through her dark hair, humming softly as he did.
***7***
"Ford! Wait up!" Mike Robertson called as Ford ran to catch the bus home.
"What is it?" Ford paused watching for the bus out of the corner of his eye.
"I've got Guthrie's homework. Can you give it to him?" Mike asked.
"Did he leave it?" Ford asked confused.
"No. He wasn't in class. He was home sick." Mike said. "This is for our group project. I guess he is sick or whatever, but I don't want to fall behind."
Ford stood confused. "But he was . . .he came to school today. He wasn't sick."
"I don't know about that. But he wasn't in class today. I've got three classes with him, and he wasn't in any of them."
"That makes no sense."
"Maybe he went home. Maybe he got sick right when he got here." Mike offered. "Just give him that, okay?"
"Yeah, sure, Mike." Ford told him. He was so lost in thought, he almost missed the bus.
"Hey, genius." Evan said, as Ford sat down across the aisle from him. "You nearly missed the bus while standing right next to it."
"What?" Ford asked.
"What happen? A girl talk to you?" Evan laughed.
"Did you see Guthrie today?" He asked Evan.
"This morning at breakfast. Is he staying for the late bus?" Evan asked. "I'm not driving back for him."
"No. I don't know where he is."
"He probably stayed late for the stupid AV club. Isn't it on Thursdays?"
"Tuesdays, and Mike said he wasn't in class." Ford asked.
"Ha ha! If he's been cutting class, Adam'll hand him his ass! 'Bout time little Mr. Perfect gets cut down."
"Do you think he went home sick? Wouldn't they tell us if he did?"
"I don't know." Evan said.
"He was acting weird this morning, remember. He said he didn't want to go to school. He was worried about something."
"Oh, Jesus, Grandma! You've been too much time hanging around Crane. Listen, he probably cut class and went to hang out with Kenny or Mike down by the river. Don't get all twisted up over it. Man, he's fine."
"I don't know." Ford responded. "He's been weird the last couple of days."
"He's been weird since birth, Ford." Evan told him. "Calm down, okay. Everyone cuts class sooner or later."
"I never have." Ford said softly. He stared out the window of the bus into the gray afternoon. The rain was coming down in steady sheets. He sure hoped Guthrie was somewhere out in it.
***7***
Guthrie McFadden couldn't quite pinpoint the moment when everything went haywire. Everything felt like it was piling up and steamrolling toward disaster. Maybe it started when his English teacher handed out the assignment, or maybe even before that when yet another stupid Father/Son picnic was mentioned and people glanced his way with looks of pity. He knew things started to get messed up when he saw Hannah lying in a hospital bed, or maybe it was seeing Adam leaning in the hallway just outside her room, sobbing. All he really knew was that for the last few days, it had become nearly impossible to take a breath. He couldn't remember the last time he'd really slept and it felt as if there was no way around the mess he was making of things. He'd cut class. He'd left campus without permission. He'd actually cut class. He was soaked to the skin, shivering and alone without any purpose or direction. He'd skipped an entire assignment, missed his afternoon chores, and no one in the family knew where he was. Hell, he wasn't even sure where he was. He glanced around himself and coming face-to-face with the large sign in front of him, he recognized his accidental destination.
"Aw, shit." He muttered out loud. Things couldn't possibly be worse.
