21: That Child That Went Away

It was bizarre, Arnold thought. It was stranger than fiction, how everyday life continued to go on at the boarding house, as though the people inside of it hadn't just had their worlds irreversibly shaken. Suzie and Oskar continued to fight. His grandmother continued brewing lemon-herring-hibiscus teas. Abner went on eating bacon, and Cadence curled up in all the same spots - behind the radiator, on top of the washing machine, under Arnold's bed.

Grandpa suggested he stay home on Monday, try to get some rest. "It will all be waiting for you tomorrow, short man," he reminded him.

Arnold sighed heavily. "I know, Grandpa. But I can't just sit around all day, worrying. I'm already making myself sick."

True to his word, he left for school early in the morning, his backpack heavy with books. It was freezing out - so cold that his fingers went numb, even wearing gloves. Ice crystals flowered over the asphalt and cracked their way across store windows, silver-white against the inky pink sunrise.

"You ready, man?" Gerald asked him. Arnold was panting by the time he arrived at his best friend's house. The cold made him feel like his lungs were constricting in his chest.

"No," he admitted as they set off down the sidewalk together.

"Just remember, your dad is strong. Real strong."

"I know."

"He wouldn't've survived ten years of sleeping sickness in San Lorenzo if he wasn't."

"I just can't help but feel like this is different, Gerald. This time he needed something he didn't get. And what if it's too late now to give it to him?"

"How could it be too late? He's still alive, isn't he? Is he going into surgery today?"

"Tomorrow morning." Arnold took another anxiety-ridden breath. They arrived at school twenty minutes later, tugging off their jackets and stomping the mud from their sneakers. The pre-homeroom clamor seemed especially extreme, even though it was no more so than usual. Arnold had barely shut his locker when he heard the familiar voice cut through the noise.

"Yo, Geraldo! Football Head!"

He turned to see Helga and Phoebe heading towards them, caught in a rippling crowd of students. In spite of himself, he felt his heart begin to flutter rapidly.

"Any more news about your father, Arnold?" Worry pooled in Phoebe's eyes as she looked him up and down.

"Not yet."

Beside him, he felt a soft, lightning-speed squeeze to his hand. But by the time he looked down, Helga had already pulled away, her face flushing bright pink. Gerald glanced at her and cleared his throat. "Well, we got high hopes, all of us. And there's gonna be news soon. Good news. I know it."

"Alright, ladies, listen up. Our team bonding session is this Friday night, and if any of you dare to not haul your sorry butts there you'll be paying extra in planks next weekend. If you had plans, cancel 'em. If you had a hot date, tell him to reschedule or else date a ballerina instead."

There was a smattering of light groans from Helga's teammates.

"Aw, come on Helga, can't it be Thursday instead?" Nadine begged, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No!"

"Some of us actually have social lives, ya know."

"So do I!" Helga snapped. "But I prioritize my damn team when I need to."

"Why did we vote to make you co-captain again?" Nadine muttered.

"Because I'm a freaking inspiring leader, that's why. And when I say it's time to bond, it's time to bond." She turned expectantly towards her partner, Patty, who shrugged and nodded.

"I agree with these girls," Coach Tish spoke up. "And Friday should be a potluck dinner, too. You all gotta cook something."

Helga slapped a hand to her forehead. "I didn't say that."

"I think that sounds like, well, kind of like a nice idea," Patty spoke up, rubbing her arm shyly. "There's this special recipe my family has for lasagna. My mom and I could make some."

"Oh, criminy."

"I'll bring meatballs," Daphne added, while the other girls began chiming in with their assorted ideas.

"Good. We're close to the season," Tish said firmly. "We need to start acting like it. Friday night, you all bring your dish, and then we talk strategy. Cold, hard strategy."

"Our strategy is we whip everyone's asses," Helga announced. "No ifs, ands, or buts. It doesn't matter whether this team was formed in 1997 or 2007 or 2028. We'll be winners, or else you'll all be sorry."

"And you'll also be sorry if you don't cradle that ball," added Tish threateningly. "I'm looking at you, Helga."

"Okay, okay, I get it. By the way, I'm just gonna bring cookies, alright? Like, an economy-size tray from Sam's Club."

"Not a chance, Pataki," said Coach Tish. "It better be homemade, and we all better love it, or else you get booted from your leadership role."

Rhonda had always liked the football hallway, long before her - whatever it had been - with Samuel.

It was a special passageway at Hillwood High. There was something enthralling about it, particularly during the fall season, and especially at Spirit Week in October, when the cheerleading squad decorated it with red and white balloons. Even throughout the rest of the year, however, the hallway remained a revered place. You couldn't be a student at the school without walking through it, given its location just before the entrance to the main gymnasium. It was lined with glass trophy cases, which displayed every award the team had won since 1966. Also included was a section featuring the photos of each current member on the team.

It was close to five P.M. by the time the school had finally quieted down enough for Rhonda to feel safe. Slipping out from the library, where she'd been pretending to study, she mouthed each of her options' names as she ran her pointer finger across their engraved plaques: Samuel Smith… Wolfgang Walker… Ludwig Van Dyke… Cristiano Amberlane...

"Hey."

Rhonda jumped when she heard the gravelly voice behind her. She whipped around so fast that tendrils of her hair flew in her face. She'd have recognized those humungous brown eyes anywhere.

"Rhonda." Samuel swallowed audibly. "We have to talk."

Rhonda stumbled backwards, clutching her Louis Vuitton purse to her chest.

"Can we go somewhere private?"

"No!" Rhonda hissed. "How dare you just… just innocently traverse this... this hallway created for you, dedicated to you, and featuring you?" She trailed off lamely and then turned on her heel, trying to flounce off in the other direction. But Samuel grabbed her by the arm, throwing her off balance so violently that she almost tripped.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked, prompting him to let go of her immediately.

"Look, Rhonda, I get why you're upset and I don't blame you. I would be too."

Rhonda crossed her arms over her chest. She could feel her heart slamming up against her skin, but she tried to ignore it as she glared at the boy in front of her.

"What I wanted to say is I'm sorry. I've been trying to track you down for weeks to tell you, but you haven't been answering any of my texts."

"You're sorry," she grimaced, releasing a short, nearly hysterical laugh.

Samuel drew closer to her. She could smell the spices in his cologne. "I know how you feel about me."

"I feel nothing for you, Samuel Smith. Absolutely nothing. Zero. Zilch."

"Okay." The pity in his voice enraged her.

"Don't say it like that!"

"Like what?"

"You think you're so special, don't you? Like every girl you meet just falls at your feet?"

"Well, yeah." Samuel scratched his head.

"Typical."

"I'm still sorry and I always will be. Look, Rhonda, I didn't mean to use you and I didn't mean to lead you on. It's just... you don't know how it is. Wolfgang and Torvald and all of the guys - they're on me every second. Getting girls… it's a competition with them."

"Did I ask to hear this?!" Rhonda snapped.

"No. But I felt terrible and I wanted to have the chance to explain. I know what everyone thinks of me. I know what they think of Connie, too. But it's not like that with us. I really care about her. Connie - she's really messed up in a lot of ways, but she's not a horrible person and I don't think I am, either."

Rhonda tried to swallow the burning sensation in her throat.

"I mean, people act like she's some kind of… I don't know what," he continued. "Heartless bitch. But that's not how she really is. They don't get to see her like I do."

"Are you trying to say you really like her?"

"Yeah, I am. And she really likes me. That's been the case for a long time."

She felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes, but she bit them back quickly as she straightened her back. She was Rhonda Wellington Lloyd and she would not cry in front of him. "And how exactly," she said quietly. "Did this not come up even once during the whole time that you were - that we were..."

"It did. It came up a lot. I haven't been able to stop thinking about Connie for a year. I kept telling myself I'd get over it, and so would she. But then she showed up at my doorstep crying after your New Year's Eve party, and I knew I'd been kidding myself into ever thinking I could be what the guys want me to be. I'm not whipped," he added almost defensively, as if Rhonda had accused him as such. "I just don't want to be with other girls anymore. Only her."

Rhonda's fingernails dug into her arm. "Oh," she said blankly.

"I still think you're beautiful. I wasn't lying about that."

"Does that matter now?" She shook her head. "Did it ever?"

"I… I don't know."

Don't cry, don't cry, don't – "Okay. Well, now you got the chance to tell me, so can you just leave? Wherever you were going, Samuel, just go there."

"I was coming from track practice," he said. "And I guess I'm going home now." He paused. "I'm sorry again."

Samuel had just disappeared when Rhonda heard more footsteps coming from behind her. She whirled around to see Nadine emerge from where she may or may not have been waiting in the gymnasium doorway.

"Rhonda," Nadine said softly. Rhonda could feel her lower lip trembling.

"What on e-earth is everyone doing here so late?"

"I just came from the locker room. We wrapped up lacrosse practice about twenty minutes ago. And I… I couldn't help but overhear."

"Oh, s-so you think I'm pathetic, is that it, Nadine? Are you coming to tell me you told me so?"

Nadine stared thoughtfully at her, resting her lacrosse stick and backpack down on the floor. "Well, I did tell you so, but –"

"I wish they'd just been evil. Pure evil," Rhonda said, unable to mask her bitterness. "Both of them. Now it hurts m-more than before. I thought she was the other woman, but it's so much w-worse than that. I'm the other woman."

"It's okay," Nadine told her in a small voice. She wrapped her arms around her friend, stroking Rhonda's hair as her tears finally fell.

"No, Curly, I'm not joking," Helga rattled impatiently. "I really have to cook something for the team dinner on Friday."

"Oh man, what are you gonna make?"

"How should I know? I'll have to look up a recipe for brownies or something."

"I'd love to be here to help, I really would," Curly said somewhat frantically. He was arranging his trail mix and pillow meticulously beside his duffel bag. "But I think I have to go home, Helga."

"What?"

"My mom called me while you were at practice," he explained. "She's coming back from Montana again. Her plane gets in at nine forty-five. I can't just not be there, Helga."

"No, you're right. You gotta get home to her."

"And besides, I think Dad might be gone for good now. Haven't heard from him at all."

"You have to swear me," she said urgently as Curly began to roll up his sleeping bag. "I mean, you have to swear, Curly, that when you go home you will not hurt yourself. No knives – no razorblades – nothing. So help me God, I will report you and get you thrown in that adolescent psychiatric ward again if there's even the slightest scratch on your wrists tomorrow."

Curly shuddered. "I promise."

"I said you have to swear!"

"Okay, I swear."

From downstairs, the two of them heard the doorbell ring. Helga groaned. She'd actually almost forgotten that Olga was supposed to come over tonight.

"Good timing, I guess," she muttered. "Use the window, alright?"

She descended the stairs just in time to see the Miss America Wannabe making her entrance, dressed in some sort of ridiculous Spandex catsuit. Marina was at her side, trying to work the zipper on her coat.

"Baby sister!" Olga leapt forward and squeezed her so tightly that Helga could feel her blood circulation cutting off.

"Mmrph – hi."

"You will never guess where I just came from. A French Pilates class! The foreign stretches are so wonderful for you. What with Ricky being away for so long on his important business conference, my body just needed the therapy. Marina and I, we are so happy to be here." She clasped her hands together. "Where are Mommy and Daddy?"

Helga wrenched out of her sister's grasp, rubbing at her strained neck. "Bob's still at work. And Miriam, she… uh - well, you know."

"No, I don't," said Olga, her face taking on a sterner quality. "Don't tell me she -"

"She's fine, she's fine. She's prolly just on the couch or something, completely sober. Yeah, super sober. Couldn't be more sober."

"Oh, goody. I'm going to be making us a soufflé."

"Aunty Elggggggaaaaa!" Mina roared impatiently with her jacket hanging precariously off one arm. She held out her hands in a desperate plea to be picked up.

"Oh, quit your whining," Helga said. She scooped up the little girl and ran her fingers fondly through her curls.

"Aunty Helga loves Mina. Mina and Aunty. Aunty and Mina go play."

"Marina, sweet pea, you can play with your aunt, but you must'nt get your dress dirty," Olga told her. "You'll need to look sparkling clean when we all enjoy our dinner together, as a family."

"Hey, Olga, speaking of dinners... you wouldn't happen to have frozen a bunch of your home cooked pot pies or something, would ya? Like say, enough to feed fifteen or so people?"

"...Why in the world would you need enough pot pies for fifteen people?"

"No reason," Helga grumbled.

"It's your little boyfriend, isn't it?" Olga clasped her hands together in delight. "Oh, Helga, did you finally agree to cook a meal for him and his family?"

"No!" Helga retorted sharply, feeling her face turn red. "God, what is this, the eighteenth century? And besides, we broke up like a hundred years ago."

"Oh, Helga," Olga clapped her hand over her mouth. "I'm so sorry, pumpkin. I didn't know." She threw her arms around her sister again.

"Enough with that!" Helga snapped as she squirmed away, stroking Mina's back protectively. "I need food for my lacrosse team dinner on Friday night."

"Lacrosse? You play lacrosse now? On a team?"

"No, Olga, I play lacrosse for the traveling circus. Yes, on a team."

"I always knew my baby sister would make a fantastic athlete. Oh, that's so wonderful. You must be just the fastest little thing on the field."

Helga rolled her eyes. "So are you gonna help me figure out what to cook, or not?"

"I would absolutely love to. Ooh, I just love cooking. We can make something scrumptious together."

Lila exhaled softly as she began to lay her books out on the tiny wooden desk in her room. Truthfully – though she liked school – she'd never exactly loved Mondays. The time always just seemed to drag on when she knew the weekend was five whole days away again. Such had been the case today, and now that she was finally home, all she really wanted to do was curl up in her bed and get some sleep.

"Lila, are you almost ready for dinner?" her father called.

"Yes, Daddy, I'll be there in a minute." Her fingers stumbled over a crumpled sheet of loose-leaf paper, which seemed to have been surreptitiously stowed inside the latest book for Mr. Turner's class, The Great Gatsby. Blinking, she folded open the page and began to read.

Lila my, darlin

You sure is charmin

Lovely as, a flower

Better tastin then whiskey, sour

Probably, only I don't really know how you taste.

~From, Anonimous.

Lila shook her head slowly. "That's certainly a lot of misplaced commas."

But she smiled as she placed the poem on her desk and headed towards the kitchen, suddenly feeling much more awake.

"I think he's ready," Stella said to Dr. Fisher. She kept her voice low. Miles was in his room with the TV tuned into Animal Planet. The screen flickered blue while lemurs and mice and night monkeys killed their prey.

"Yes. I think so, too."

"He's a lot stronger than he looks."

"Oh, he looks very strong to me, Stella."

She offered him a lopsided half-smile, close to rupturing with fear.

"As strong as can be expected," Dr. Fisher said again, more firmly.

"It hasn't been easy for us."

"I know."

"You say that. But you don't know. An entire decade of our lives went missing. And when we woke up, we had lost so many people. Neither of us will ever be able to hold that alone." She turned away from him, facing the large black hands on the wall clock across from them. Dr. Fisher was quiet for a moment.

"I'm so sorry, Stella."

"All of our friends dying. Arnold growing up without his parents. Not being able to find steady work. The depression and the panic attacks. Miles felt, inside of himself, that all of it was his fault. He blamed himself for everything."

"No one could live with that burden."

"No."

"He'll have the chance to start again," Dr. Fisher said carefully. His eyes flickered as the primate on the TV screen picked up her young with her teeth, carrying him up tree branches, away to freedom.

"Man is it nice to have you home, Olga. Feels like this place is finally complete again." Big Bob shoveled the last of his food into his mouth and sat back in his chair, arms folded behind his head.

"Soup is hot," Mina offered, blowing dramatically at the soufflé on her plate.

"Soufflé, honey," Olga told her. "Soufflé is hot."

"Mina!"

"You what?"

"Soup is hot, Mommy!"

"So, Ricky still makin good money?" Bob burped loudly.

"Oh Daddy. You're such a silly. There are more important things, you know. I bet the two of you simply can't wait for Helga's first lacrosse game."

"Eh?" Bob raised his eyebrow.

"You will be going, won't you?" Olga asked, her voice suddenly taking on a fretful edge.

"I'm a business executive, for crying out loud. I can't just take off work for every little thing."

"Mommy?" Olga directed her question to Miriam, who accidentally knocked over her glass of water as she rubbed sleepily at her eyes.

"Oh… what did you say?"

"Just forget it, Olga – " Helga growled, but her sister interrupted, "Helga's first lacrosse game. Are you going to go?"

"I don't need or want Miriam there!" Helga protested. Her mother blinked, suddenly looking vaguely alive.

"Dessert!" Mina demanded, flinging her fork across the kitchen.

"I… I'd like to be there, honey." Miriam's voice was so tiny Helga almost missed it.

"Mom, seriously. It's not that exciting. We're gonna be running back and forth across a muddy field with a bunch of sticks."

"You... so you... don't want me to go?" Miriam looked down at her hands. "I won't go if you don't want me to."

Helga couldn't help or even begin to explain the guilt that suddenly pinpricked at her heart.

"Of course she wants you to go, Mommy," Olga said firmly. "You've been doing such a fantastic job. Going to all your AA meetings, refraining from driving until your license is restored, staying healthy and sober. Don't you think for one second that Helga doesn't keep me updated. She tells me all about it. We're all so proud of you." She wiped a tear from her cheek. "Knowing I can trust you with my daughter means the entire world to me."

Bob choked into his cup. Across from him, Miriam's face filled with some semblance of understanding as she gazed back and forth between her two daughters.

"Dessert," Mina protested again. "Mina eat dessert?"

"Marina, darling, we can't eat too much sugar."

Helga stabbed at her soufflé. "If you really want to go to my game, Miriam, then you can. Just don't feel obligated, alright?"

She figured her mom would forget about it by March, anyway.

"Are you alright, Eugene?"

Eugene Horowitz stared across the dining room table at his father, whose eyes were slightly large as they trailed the movements of his son's fork across his plate.

"Huh?" he said distractedly.

"I don't want to pry. It's just - your mother and I - we're concerned about you. You haven't seemed like yourself for a long time now."

"You haven't, sweetheart," his mom added.

Eugene swallowed the dry turkey in his mouth. It tasted like metal as it went down his throat.

Author's Note:

Re: Miriam Pataki… not that anyone asked, lol, but I'm obsessed with her, which I guess is why she features somewhat prominently in all 3 HA stories I've ever written. That's because my mom has struggled with alcoholism throughout my life, so even watching the cartoon as a child I felt an emotional draw to the complex, problematic, and sometimes fleetingly warm relationship between Helga and Miriam. I really hate when fanfictions turn Miriam into a one-dimensional negligent parent, because I see her as a much more interesting character than that, with a lot of love underneath her issues (like Helga), and vast potential to be a better person if she could just get her shit together (also like Helga).

Anyway, thank you so much for reading. If you want to review, that would be great and very appreciated. I wish much love to you, and a happy Monday.