I fell asleep, and woke up once, but had that heavy, draggy feeling that you get sometimes when you fall asleep in the middle of the day, when
all you want to do is go right back to sleep. Yet you know you shouldn't, because then you wont be able to sleep later.
I ignored that, and let myself fall back into the abyss of sleep.
I was woken up for the second time when Hannah touched my arm, and I looked up to see her standing over me. She was dressed in a denim skirt, and
yellow blouse. She was wearing makeup, and had earrings dangling from her ears.
"Hey," she said, really softly. "I wouldn't have woken you up, but you've been sleeping a long time. I wanted to see if you were
alright."
I roused myself to sit up. "I'm fine," I said. I still felt groggy from sleep, and I still had the blasted headache. But, I didn't want Hannah
to know anything about it. She hardly ever goes out, and I'd been able to tell at lunch that she was looking forward to tonight.
"You slept so long," she repeated.
"Just catching up, I guess," I said, trying to sound light and off-hand.
"Okay. Well, we're getting ready to head out, here in a bit. So, I wanted to check on you first."
"Have fun," I said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
"We will." She studied me. "Sure you feel alright?"
"Yes. I was just tired."
"Okay. Well, see you later then." She paused at the door, looking back at me. "You make sure you eat supper. And a snack later, too."
"I will."
She nodded. "Want the door open, or closed?" she asked.
"Closed."
"Alright. Bye, sweetie."
"Bye. Have fun," I said, again.
After she'd gone, I sighed heavily, feeling like somebody who's evaded the law.
I reached for my book, and laid on my stomach, reading. That probably wasn't the best idea, because it seemed to make my
headache more intense. So, I gave it up, letting the book fall to the floor, and I got up to go to the bathroom to take some Tylenol.
No shock that the bottle only had one tablet left in it. I knew I needed more than just the one. I didn't want to go downstairs, it just seemed
like too much effort right then. So I went down the hallway, to Adam and Hannah's bedroom, to look in their medicine cabinet. I took another
Tylenol from the bottle there, using one of the Dixie cups to swallow them with.
Then as I began to shuffle back down the hallway to my own room, I rethought it, and went back to Hannah and Adam's room.
I turned on the little television that sets on their dresser. It doesn't get very good reception, but there was a game show on. I left it
on, mostly for the background noise, and laid down on their bed, using one of Hannah's afghans to cover up with.
I wasn't asleep. I was just lying there, on my side, with my eyes closed, trying to will the headache away. I heard stomping up and down
the hallway, and voices of my brothers. I heard Gus give a yip, and knew that Ford had let him come inside.
Then doors being closed, and my name being called, and supper being announced.
I could tell whoever it was, was calling from the bottom of the stairs. I laid right there, not getting up.
Then, a bit later, "Harlie!" from closer. Near to the door.
"Where are you?"
I roused myself to call out, "In here!"
Ford appeared in the half-open doorway. "What are you doin' in here?" he asked.
"Just laying here," I said softly.
He stepped in further, going over to turn the sound on the small tv down, to nearly silence. "What?" he asked.
"Just laying here," I repeated.
"It's time to eat. I made scrambled eggs and ham."
"I'll be down later."
Ford came over to stand just beside the bed. "Are you feeling bad?" he asked.
I turned over on my back to look up at him. "A headache."
"Oh. Did you take somethin' for it?" he asked, looking concerned.
"Yeah. It just hasn't helped yet."
"You need to eat," he said, sounding all efficient. "Then we'll see how you feel."
"I just wanna lay here for awhile longer. Okay?"
Ford wrinkled his forehead. "I think you oughta eat."
"I will."
"I mean now."
"What's goin' on?" And there was Evan, standing in the doorway now. He'd already had a shower, because his hair was wet, and he was
wearing sweatpants and a tattered t-shirt that had a picture of the Dukes of Hazzard car on the front.
Good grief, I thought. This was Grand Central Station.
"I'm tellin' her she needs to come down and eat," Ford reported, turning to Evan.
Evan came over closer, giving me a once-over. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"She's got a headache," Ford said.
"Take some Tylenol," Evan said.
"She did," Ford said.
"How come you're not talkin'?" Evan asked me, with a frown.
"Ford's my mouthpiece," I said. "He does all my talking for me."
"Hey," Ford protested.
"Have you checked your level?" Evan asked. "Maybe it's low, or somethin'."
"It's not anything to do with that," I said crossly. "It's just a stupid headache."
"You don't know that for sure. Better check it, to be safe. And then, while you're down there, you
might as well eat somethin'. Come on," he told me.
"I'm not hungry," I snapped. Even at that moment, I knew I was acting like a little kid. Just being contrary. I knew that
I needed to eat. And to check my level, just like he'd suggested.
"Bring me up a sandwich and some milk later on," I said.
Ford would have agreed, I know. But, Evan narrowed his eyes at me, and said, "No. We aren't your servants. You can
come down to the table like everybody else."
"I'm sure Reagan could have a meal brought to her, if she wanted," I said. I was purposely trying to needle Evan at that
point.
"Well, you're not Reagan, are ya?" Evan asked, not rising to the bait.
"You think I act like her," I said, continuing on. "So, let's have a little of the same treatment she would get."
"You're bein' ridiculous," Evan said, still calm enough. He turned to walk towards the door. "Come down and eat."
He was already out the door, and gone from sight, when I hollered, "I'll think about coming down!"
And, just as quick, Evan hollered right back. "And I'll think about kicking your butt if you don't!"
I let out a big breath, and focused on Ford, who was standing there, his hands on his hips, looking at me as though
I was loco.
"I agree with Evan. You're bein' ridiculous," Ford said.
I sat up, letting my feet dangle over the side of the bed. "Well, good," I said, with sarcasm. "I've achieved my life's goal. I've always
wanted to be ridiculous."
7
I did, a few minutes later, follow Ford downstairs to the kitchen. I went, mostly because I didn't want to find out if
Evan would carry out his threat and kick my butt if I didn't. And, even though my headache was lessening somewhat, I
knew I needed to eat.
I slid into my seat at the table, next to Guthrie, with Evan and Ford directly across from us. They were handing
bowls of scrambled eggs, and a plate of ham back and forth across the table. I took it, and scraped some eggs onto
my plate.
I got up long enough to retrieve the peanut butter from the cabinet, coming back to the table, and spreading
it on a piece of toast. It was mostly Ford and Evan who did the talking while we all ate. Guthrie and I were like
a couple of silent slugs. Eating, and contributing nothing.
When the phone began ringing, Guthrie got up quickly. "I'll get it," he said, and I knew he hoped it was Kristin calling.
"That watermelon ought to be good and cold by now," Ford was saying.
"I'm ready for it," Evan said.
"I got a watermelon in town," Ford told me, in explanation. "Put it on ice when I got home."
I nodded briefly.
"You gonna eat some with us?" Ford asked me.
"I'd better not. I'd probably eat a 'ridiculous' amount of it," I said, tongue in cheek. My jab being meant for the both of them.
Ford gave me a 'you're kidding' sort of a look.
Evan paid no attention to my snide comment, at least that I could tell, but just took more eggs off the platter, and offered it to Ford.
Ford took most of the rest that were left, and then held it out to me.
"I don't want any more," I said.
Ford stood up so he could reach, and scraped the remainder of the eggs onto Guthrie's plate.
I finished my food, and my milk, and got up to make some lemonade. Some sweet, cold lemonade sounded really good.
"Check your level," Evan reminded me, reaching for another slice of ham.
"When's Nancy coming over?" I asked him, not responding to his comment.
"Probably not for awhile yet."
I began stirring the lemonade mix with a big wooden spoon. Guthrie came back into the kitchen, his step obviously lighter.
"That was Kristin," he said, sounding glad.
"Everything okay?" Ford asked him.
"Yeah. She's goin' with her mom somewhere tonight. But, she's okay."
"That's good," Ford said.
"Yeah," Guthrie said, sliding back into his seat, and beginning to eat again.
Ford got up to go open the freezer, and peer inside. "I was hopin' there was a pie or something up here," he said, sounding
disappointed.
I knew for a certain fact that there were at least two pies in the downstairs freezer. But, I was still feeling less than charitable towards
all three McFadden males in the room, and so I didn't say anything about it.
"We ought to make some homemade ice cream," Ford said, turning to look at us, and leaning on the open freezer door.
"We've got the watermelon," Evan said. "I don't feel like turnin' the crank for ice cream. Do you?"
Ford looked thoughtful and then said, "Naw. I don't either. We'll survive with the watermelon, I guess."
I was pouring myself a glass of lemonade, when Evan said, "Har, pour me a glass, too, will you?"
I guess 'the mood monster' still had a hold on me, because I muttered under my breath, though still loud enough to be heard,
"I guess I'm your servant." Another jab on my part, referring to what he'd said upstairs to me.
The kitchen got suddenly quiet. I had my back turned, but I knew, even without being able to see, that they
were all staring at me.
I turned to face them, and knew I'd crossed some sort of 'invisible' line. At least with Evan, who looked as though he
was angry. Even Ford looked provoked, his forehead wrinkled in a frown.
But, instead of snapping at me for my 'servant' comment, Evan just said, "Never mind, then."
I was suddenly sorry for being so difficult. Even if Evan had thrown Reagan Clark at me earlier in the day.
"I'll pour you a glass," I said quickly. And, I did, setting it in front of him.
Evan told me thanks, but I still felt his censure. To avoid his gaze, I picked up my plate, going to set it beside the sink.
I took a big drink of my lemonade, so big that I began to cough.
"Okay?" Ford asked me, pausing as he brought his own plate over.
"Yeah," I managed, between coughs. "It just went down the wrong way or something."
"Just stack the dishes," Ford said as he went out the back door. "I'll do 'em in a minute. I'm gonna see if the watermelon's getting cold."
"He's really lookin' forward to that watermelon," Guthrie said, with a half-grin.
"Yeah," Evan said, in agreement.
They were both stacking dishes as Ford came back inside, rubbing his hands together gleefully.
"Nice and cold," he said, with satisfaction.
I went to the kitchen drawer, taking out a clean dish towel, and running it under the cold water at the sink. I squeezed it out, and
patted my face.
"You're sweating an awful lot," Ford said, stepping closer to me at the sink.
"It's really warm in here," I said, in explanation.
"It's warm, but it's not that bad," Ford argued. "Did you check your level?"
Too late, I remembered that sweating, combined with a headache, could mean low blood sugar.
"I'll do it now," I said, and turned to wash my hands with soap and warm water, to make it easier to prick my finger.
"What is it?" Ford asked, leaning closer, after I'd checked it.
"It's low," I said, vaguely.
"Harlie, what is it?" Ford repeated, his tone insistent.
I sighed, and told him.
By now, Evan was standing nearby, as well.
"What do you need to do?" Evan asked me. "Eat somethin' else?"
Before I could answer him, he reached behind me for the bananas lying there. He snapped one off, and handed
it to me. "Bananas raise blood sugar, right?" he asked.
"Yeah. They do," Ford said, answering for me. "Fairly quickly, too."
Evan nodded at me. "Get eating," he ordered.
I peeled the banana and ate half of it, with them both watching me like hawks.
When I paused, just for a couple of seconds, Ford frowned. "Finish it," he said.
I thought about snapping at him, but one look at his sweet face, so close to mine, and looking so worried, made me
change my mind.
"I will," I said, stepping around, and sitting back down in my spot at the table. "I'm just gonna sit down."
Even Guthrie was watching me by now.
"I'm not going to keel over or anything like that," I said. "You can all stop staring at me."
"We're just worried," Ford told me.
"I know," I said, and took another bite of the banana.
They seemed to relax a little bit then, with Ford finishing clearing the table and all of that.
I finished my banana, still holding the peeling. Guthrie had gotten up, going to retrieve a butcher knife and said, "I'll
get the watermelon cut up," as he headed out the back door.
"Don't eat it all," Ford hollered after him, as the door flapped shut.
"No promises!" Guthrie yelled back.
Left there in the kitchen with Evan and Ford, I watched as Ford began running water in the sink.
"So, you need to check your level again, right?" Evan asked me. "When?"
"Twenty minutes or so," I told him.
"Okay." Evan nodded.
I sat there at the table, still feeling a little weird, but definitely better than before. Eventually, all three of the boys
were sitting outside at the picnic table. Evan perched on top, with his feet resting on the seat, and Ford and Guthrie sitting
across from each other, and all of them eating the watermelon.
I was standing at the window, watching them, but they didn't see me standing there, I was sure. I thought about
going out to join them, but wasn't so certain that I'd be welcome, after all my snarky comments that I'd made. I
wandered into the living room, flopping into a chair, and clutching one of the sofa pillows to my chest. I was feeling
really sorry for myself for some reason.
7