Irene was like a vampire, the longer the divorce went on, the healthier she got and the worse Dad became.
There was talk of exploratory surgery: the cancer was spreading. There had been shunts, catheters he'd dragged around to his court dates like a horse with a feedbag of oats.
She hated her stepmother for that.
Sarah had taken it upon herself to press her father not to fight for custody of Toby, but it was a hard sell. Anyone could see that the fight had been drained out of her father, but he worried what Toby would think if he didn't raise an objection. As the cancer got worse, it actually became an easier decision. Toby wasn't able to visit him because most weekends, Dad wasn't home. He was in the hospital.
Custody problem solved: he'd likely be dead within a couple of years so what was the point? Every time she thought about it, another hole was punched into her heart like a bullet wound.
The idea of losing her father before graduating college--before getting married or having kids or any of that life stuff--crushed her soul.
Daddy liked Sarah McLachlan a lot, so she stopped and bought the new CD from DiscDealers at the strip mall near Grange Center where he was having his latest round of chemo.
It hurt just to look at him, never having been overweight in the first place, he had dwindled fifty pounds or more, and that had been in the last three months alone.
He was starting to look gaunt, like the scarecrow version of his former self, puffy in his own skin, bones sticking out. A knife of secret malice darted psychically towards her stepmother.
"So I hear they raised the price of stamps again."
"Yes, Daddy." She dutifully arranged the stiff hospital sheet around his midriff.
"Thanks for the CD. I love her voice, you know. Reminds me of yours."
"Right, except her singing doesn't sound like a drowning cat. I didn't get Mom's voice."
He laughed and coughed, at first a gentle chuff, it quickly became a wretched attack from traitorous lungs.
"Oh no, Daddy! I shouldn't have . . . "
"Made me laugh? No such thing! They say laughter is the best medicine, whoever 'they' are. Maybe if I laughed more, I could stay out of here longer than a week."
"You'll be well soon. I know it." She lied. Every week her hope for his recovery was exponentially diminished. He was literally shrinking away before her eyes.
"What's this I hear about you having a younger boyfriend?"
"What? Where did you hear that? I don't . . ."
"Your mother told me."
She didn't correct him. In the past, he tried not to call Irene her mother, but nowadays, she gave him carte blanche.
"She's capable of being civil, you know, even if it only lasts five minutes a stretch."
"Not like I would know. I try to avoid her as much as possible."
"That's barely possible. You live in the same house."
Sarah refrained from sharing with Dad the fact that Irene was almost never home. She was over at her boyfriend Chad's house most of the time.
Chad who was young enough to be Sarah's boyfriend, or her brother. Chad, the twenty-something idiot in the black Lexus. He came from L.A. His head was shaved, that old tactic that insecure men used to disguise the fact they had gone bald. His eyes were the small and squinty type so common to men incapable of profound thought.
It was disgusting how Chad looked at Irene, as if life was one big porno and they were the stars, the aging cougar and her mate. Sarah had caught him checking her out like a piece of fresh meat and she had nearly felt capable of murder at that instant.
She had stuck to her room when they were present, glad for Toby and his constant presence indoors, because on the rare occasions Toby wasn't haunting the living room or the kitchen, Irene and Chad were all over each other. Most of the time Sarah was able to jump in her car and hop over to the library or the shopping mall if the library was closed, but once or twice she had been forced to suffer the sounds of their lovemaking--no, humping is what you called it, there was no love involved--and she had turned on her record player until Bartok made it sound like she was performing a live Satanic ritual right there in her room.
"I want to come live with you, Dad. I can take care of you."
"No, Sarah."
The way he said her name, dragging it out until it was three syllables instead of two, was endearing, as if it had been translated from a dead Biblical language and still had the hyphens and commas in it.
It was the same way Jareth had pronounced it, as if it were the name of a beautiful enchanted princess. "You've got to live your life, not tend to a sick old man. Besides, I've got Henry. We don't want Henry to think he's not doing his job, right?"
Henry was Dad's day nurse. He was a Polish guy who was pushing fifty but strong as a bull and built like a brick shithouse.
"Does Henry cook?"
"As a matter of fact, he does!"
"What does he make, bratwurst and deep fried cheese?"
"No! You wouldn't even believe it if I told you!" Dad started to smile and chuff again.
Sarah's face grew very grave. "Dad, I don't want you to start coughing again!"
"Sarah, so serious! Don't worry about me."
"But I do worry, Dad."
He grinned, sucking in his laughter, trying to tamp it down. The thin skin on his cheeks, where a fine net of capillaries and blue veins was visible, vibrated with good humor. "Henry's a tiptoe-through-the-tulips vegetarian."
"You're joking." Henry looked like an old truck driver. Such types usually weren't known for their vegetarianism.
"Everything he cooks is organic-this and soy-that. He gets pissed at me if I sneak a cheeseburger."
"Weird. Proof you can't judge a book by its cover, I guess."
"He takes good care of me."
"That's because you pay him, Dad."
"Well, Henry's a good nurse. He truly is."
"If you say so."
"So tell me more about your new boyfriend, Sarah."
"Uh, he's not my boyfriend . . . "
A petite female nurse came in with ice chips and a bowl of Jello.
"Hello, Sarah. Visiting hours are almost over."
"Right, I'll go. Do you need me to get you anything, Dad?"
"No, Nurse Jo has got it covered." He smiled at Nurse Jo and she smiled back.
She said her goodbyes to Dad and wound her way back down the long hospital corridors to her car. She had finally gotten used to finding it in the three story garage, but not before getting lost and wandering around a few times. It was raining enough to justify an umbrella, but she didn't have one.
She thought about calling Seth but refrained.
Seth was getting to the point where he knew far too much information about her, her past, and her family. Seth was a great listener, always at the ready to absorb some new tidbit or emotional revelation, ready for any ammunition it would take to push their relationship beyond the casual.
He knew about the ding dong ditching that she and her brother had terrorized the neighbors with a year ago, how she and Toby had placed flaming paper bags of dog poop on porches and devised complicated systems of pulleys and fishing line in many successful attempts to exact maximum suburban hysteria.
He knew about the scar on her lower back, when she had fallen out of a hayloft as a kid and almost died.
He knew she was a virgin--that one she had admitted by accident after getting her mildly drunk on beer during a marathon Mystery Science Theater 3000 video binge, when she was so tired she was almost crying.
She hated that he knew that, because now all his friends knew.
To the girls, her virginity explained everything, the uppity nonconformity, the obsession with the European Renaissance, her twitchy awkwardness in casual conversation.
For the guys, she was now the ultimate tease, the great big challenge. They circled around her like dogs, making her the subject of vulgar fascination. She rued the night she had told Seth her confession.
It was none of his business and she hated him for knowing, but not as much as she hated herself for telling.
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