Chapter 34

Tell Me Where It Hurts

" Fernie? "

Fern had stopped pretending to sleep. At some point, she had simply allowed her eyes to open, and she stared straight ahead as she continued to lie still, propped up on her gurney, thinking about the damage she had caused, the trouble she was in, and the possible consequences that might be ahead of her. No matter how hard she tried, she had not been able to force herself to slumber again, not after overhearing her parents' argument, and trying to keep up the act had become tiresome, not to mention it was fruitless. She was only delaying the inevitable, which was sure to be unpleasant. However, if being stuck in the basement at Van Houten had taught her anything, it was just how inescapable inevitable unpleasantness was. Now or later, she had no choice but to face it, and it was not as if she had anywhere else to be. She had been dreading the moment her mother finally took notice and spoke up. Now that she had, Fern braced for impact. There was a moment of rustling movement, then her mother's face came into view, painted with concern, her eyes red and puffy. She clung to the bed's railing with one hand as she hovered over Fern, holding her phone close to her heart. She was still dressed for the event she had abandoned while on her expo trip. Judging by the long camel overcoat she wore over a spruce-green dress with her fine jewelry, including the opal necklace her father had given her last Christmas, the event had been dinner with colleagues.

"Honey?" she said. "Say something."

What should she say to her mother? This was one thing Fern had not thought about. Perhaps that was because her thoughts had been highjacked by worry. Perhaps it was because she had never believed her mother would give her a real opportunity to speak, not if her track record of outright dismissal and cutting Fern off was anything to go by. To see her waiting with bated breath for a response, for her daughter to open talks, was new and strange, both in concept and realization.

Start with an apology? Fern considered it. It's trite, but it's a classic for a reason.

"I'm so sorry, Mom," she said, or she would have if her voice had not come out as a dry rasp, stalling on the word "I'm". The effort to raise her volume made her side twinge, and she stopped, wincing.

"Ooh," her mother said sympathetically, and she sucked in a breath through gritted teeth as if she had felt the pain along with Fern. Her voice went up a register, and she adopted an infantilizing affectation. "Don't force it, okay? Does it hurt to talk? I'd imagine so. You have two cracked ribs. My poor baby…."

Fern did not know if her mother was informing her of or simply reflecting on the fact that she had two cracked ribs. She had been awake long enough for her results. Talking did not hurt very much, but breathing was another story. She supposed her medications must be helping her, but the difference they were making had to be minimal at best. In addition to broken ribs, Fern had sustained a hairline fracture in her left tibia, accompanied by torn ligaments in her ankle, which was now the size of a softball despite elevation, ice packs, and wrappings that would make a mummy envious. Her swollen fingers were merely jammed, and they now sported neatly-wrapped splints.

"Would you like some water?" her mother said.

In truth, Fern was parched, and she had not even taken note of it. Simply by asking, her mother had shed light on her burning need, and Fern could think of nothing she wanted more at the moment. She nodded, a couple of slow, earnest bobs.

"Yes? All right…all right. Give me a moment, sweetie, okay? I'll get you some." As if told she only had a matter of seconds to clear the room before a bomb detonated, her mother launched into a frenzy, dropping her phone on the bed next to Fern as she turned and made a mad dash toward the door, the tail of her long coat trailing behind her as she skirted around the frame. A frazzled, disembodied, "Nurse! Excuse me, Nurse…!" immediately followed.

Fern stared after her mother, but her attention was quickly captured by the glowing screen of her phone, now inches from her fingertips. The lock screen faded to black as she reached for it. Fern wanted to be sure of what she had seen. The difference a few hours had made was astounding. As she brought the phone closer to her face, she discovered just how sore her good side was from dragging herself up the stairs. Every muscle in her arm felt spent like a worn-out spring. Nevertheless, Fern held the phone close and tapped the screen twice with her thumb to wake it up. Her mother had already changed her lock screen to one of the Autumn Ball pictures her father had sent her this afternoon. In it, Fern and George sat on the front porch bench, each with an arm draped across the other's back. The satiny magenta of the dress really was a lovely shade on her. The whole dress was lovely. Really, it was. Fern just had not appreciated it at the time. George had not even bothered to hide his braces when he smiled, which meant he truly must have been happy about the dance. He could not fake a smile like that. Even while acting, his smiles were not that huge. Fern remembered how warm George's arm had been, shielding her shoulders from the cool air. What had he done after she failed to return? Did he know? She blinked back tears and placed the phone down when her mother returned to the room with a sizable lidded Styrofoam cup and straw.

"Here you go, honey," she said sweetly, holding the cup so that the straw was close to Fern's mouth. "I've got it. You go on. Now, if that's too much ice, just say so and I'll have someone fix it right away."

Fern drank and drank. She was about four long sips in when her mother reminded her to slow down and make sure the water would not upset her stomach before continuing. Fern stopped and nodded again, knowing it was a wise idea. She did not wish to throw up again tonight, especially when her body was craving life-giving basics. Her mother lowered the cup and picked up her phone, glancing at the screen herself before addressing Fern.

"George went home," she said, as if she had somehow known the private questions Fern had just asked herself. "Dad called him after they loaded you into the ambulance. He didn't want to scare anyone, not until we knew something, so he told him you were with him and asked if he could call Ingrid—Mrs. Lundgren, that is—for a ride. George told him that he was already on his way home, that Francine's grandmother was taking him."

That last bit of info made little sense, but Fern accepted it. She figured perhaps George's parents had been busy elsewhere, leaving him to find someone, anyone, who was willing to give him a lift. He probably thought Fern had abandoned him at the Autumn Ball, just walking away as if he did not matter, when all he had been trying to do was help. Just how upset had he been? That was just one more bad thing she had done to an innocent person, like Jenna, who probably was not getting her stolen GymMaster back. It happened suddenly, and Fern was unable to stop herself. She broke into a fit of keening sobs, crumbling under the weight of her mistakes.

"Shhh, Fernie, honey…." her mother soothed. The phone dropped to the gurney's pad again. Her mother left her side briefly to pull her chair as close to Fern as she could manage. She sat and took Fern's hand in hers, stroking her knuckles as she continued to speak softly. "Honey, it's all right. Everything's all right."

"Stop," Fern said with a watery whimper. "Why are you being so nice to me? The things I did today—there will be repercussions for them, probably from school, maybe from the law, definitely from you. I know I'm in for a world of punishment. I sneaked out of school, trespassed, wound up in the hospital and made you and Dad fight for the first time…all because I couldn't stand to see my crush with another girl. Everything is the opposite of all right. I'm not stupid, so stop telling me it is."

Fern had never seen her mother look this helpless and at a loss for how to respond. She seemed to be processing everything Fern had unloaded, finally settling on one thing in particular.

"You think your father and I fought for the first time today because of you?" she murmured.

"I heard you arguing," said Fern. "I know Dad walked out. That wouldn't have happened if not for me."

"Oh, honey…don't worry about that. Your father and I argue all the time. You're just never around to hear it." Her mother paused, apparently mulling over her words. "That's not a very reassuring statement, is it? What I mean is that was far from our first argument, and it's not because of you. I'm…not always the easiest to deal with, but I am grateful he has the forgiveness of a saint."

Fern found this difficult to believe, but it took a lot for her mother to admit her faults, never mind fabricate them, so Fern supposed she must be telling the truth. This was very insightful. It would seem she had misjudged her father to be someone who would let his wife walk all over him. Maybe he really was just a laid-back individual who chose his battles and stuck to his guns when he was willing to fight. When had her parents argued so much? Over the phone while they were both working? While Fern was out of the house? The question was intriguing.

"Tell me about your crush," her mother continued softly. "I had no idea. I wish you had told me when I asked you why you didn't want to go to the Autumn Ball. I really wish you had."

"I…I didn't think you would understand," said Fern, looking down at her lap. "You're a master at socializing. How could you possibly?"

Her mother sighed deeply. "Mine was named Tommy Balaskas," she said. "He was something else—charming, well-liked, made varsity basketball freshmen year, and quite handsome too. You could get lost in those chocolate eyes. I prayed he would ask me to homecoming harder than anything I had ever prayed for. I was absolutely devastated when I found out he had a girlfriend. Cried all night. It was the only school dance I ever missed."

Fern wished she could learn all these new and interesting details about her parents when she felt well enough to absorb them. To hear her mother speak wistfully about a man from her past was so unexpected and bizarre, she almost believed she was dreaming again. But here her mother was, admitting her failures once more, that she had not been the one to snag the perfect specimen known as Tommy Balaskas. It was so mask-off and human. Fern wondered why her mother did not open up more often. Then she realized something.

Maybe she thinks she can't, Fern thought. Maybe she's more like me than I imagined. Or I'm more like her….

"I can't believe you had an unrequited crush," was all Fern said in response.

"Oh, yeah. Happens to most of us, sweetie, at some point. Your grandma thought I'd spend the rest of my life pining over Tommy, but I eventually got over him."

"How?"

"He and his family moved away, to Pittsburgh. I had no choice."

"Oh," said Fern. "Somehow I don't think moving away is in Buster's future, not with his dad back in Elwood City."

Her mother's eyebrow quirked, and she said, "Buster Baxter? Really?" Her tone was the casual disappointment of someone who had just been informed meatloaf would be served on pizza night, though she maintained her sympathetic expression. "Bitzi's son? The one with the shirts?"

"He's not afraid to be who he is," Fern said defensively. "And he believed in me at a time when I didn't even believe in myself. Buster's incredibly nice and generous, and he's a lot deeper than you would expect once you get to know him." Fern paused, sniffled, and continued. "I was so mean to him when he really didn't do anything wrong, and he spent weeks trying to make up for it, just to see me happy again. We made up in the end, but, I mean, those were weeks I lost being angry over something silly, when I could have spent that time hanging out with him instead."

She was crying again, her nose runny. Her mother drew a packet of tissues from her coat pocket and offered two of them to Fern. She took one for herself and dabbed at the corners of her eyes, which were tearing up. There was no need to be so prim. Her eye makeup had run and been wiped away hours ago. Fern supposed it must be her mother's habit by now.

"I tried to be friends with him again, but I suppose things just weren't the same. I thought he might see something in me and ask me to the Autumn Ball. When he didn't, I threw caution to the wind and decided to ask him. But Ladonna kissed him before I could say anything, and now everyone calls them 'Luster'. They'll probably always be a couple."

"Do you know what happened to Tommy Balaskas?" said her mother.

Fern had not known Tommy Balaskas existed five minutes ago, so of course she did not know what had happened to him. She shook her head.

"He has a history of DUI, and he fights with his ex constantly on Facebook. She's suing him for child support. He has two children he never sees. In my opinion, any woman who didn't end up with him dodged a fairly large bullet."

"Agreed. But that's not Buster. I think he'd be a great father."

"What I'm saying is that sometimes a dashed hope can be a blessing in disguise. Maybe you just can't see it now. You're only fourteen. Someday, something even better than you hoped for is going to come your way, and I know it will because you're wonderful…. I'm so sorry I ever made you feel like anything less than that, Fernie. I hope you'll forgive me. I'm not going to punish you for today. You've been through so much. You're so brave, and I'm so grateful you saved yourself. Dad and I are going to be there with you for whatever comes next, but we'll cross those bridges when we get to them. Right now, I want you to heal."

Tears spilled down her mother's cheeks as she stood, leaving the tissues and water cup in her now empty chair. Doria Walters cradled Fern's face in her hands, looking down at her as if she were seeing her daughter for the first time before leaning down to kiss her forehead. The action was awkward, but she managed to hug Fern without hurting her. Her mother's voice was muffled when she sighed, "I love you so much, honey." Without hesitating, Fern, for the first time in a long, long time, reached up with her good arm and hugged her mother in return.

"I love you too, Mom."

To be continued…

A/N: More like a question, really. I try my best to respond to reviews, and I have no intention of stopping that tradition. How it works, though, is reviewers without an account get public responses on new chaps because there's no other option. However, signed reviewers with accounts get PM responses. What I want to know is, would you rather all responses be public, posted along with new chaps, or would you prefer I keep things the way they are, with responses to signed reviews kept private? My fear is that, if I answer privately, I'm unintentionally withholding an answer from someone else out there who might share a reviewer's question. To be honest, I'm leaning toward public responses for all, but I thought I'd throw the question out there for anyone who feels strongly one way or another to have a voice. If you do have an opinion, you're free to voice it whichever way you feel most comfortable. I'll give everyone a few days to speak up. Thanks.