The Beginning Of After Part 13

Chapter Fourteen.

I had arranged to work at Ashland in the afternoons until the end of June. When Eve asked me "How was school?" I'd just smile and say, "Good, thanks."

I'd never said I was in school. They'd just a.s.sumed. It didn't feel like lying.

The end of the year was happening without me. Finals and yearbooks and the exhibition baseball game with our rival high school. Meg would call daily with updates, thinking that I'd want to be kept in the loop. I wasn't sure what I wanted. I didn't like being absent from all that stuff, but working at the animal hospital made me feel like I'd gone away, and I wanted to be away more.

Suzie Sirico had said during one of our morning sessions, "The hardest part about grieving is that people often have to do it in the spotlight. Everyone's watching them to see what they're going to do next, how they react to things. So I'm glad that you got out of the spotlight."

Out of the spotlight, I answered phones and filed paperwork while Eve checked clients in and out. Every minute at work was full of something and kept my mind busy. At night I was so tired that I slept, albeit with dreams so tense and vivid I woke up each morning drenched in sweat.

Walking the dogs only made me miss Masher. Which then made me wonder how David was doing, what David was doing. If having Masher was helping him.

Then I thought of David's shapeless eyes, his bony elbows poking out of a brightly colored but stained polo s.h.i.+rt, and the almost friendly sound of his voice the last time we spoke.

"You saw that a-hole?" asked Meg bitterly during one of our phone calls, when I finally got up the nerve to tell her that David had been here. "What did you say?"

I wasn't sure what to share. It was as if by making some peace with him, I'd handed all my anger to my best friend for safekeeping. Meg knew every thought I'd ever had about every boy we knew, but how could she understand my concern for David when it perplexed me too?

"It was very businesslike," I said. "Believe me, I was in no mood to see him."

The receipt with David's email address was still sitting in front of the computer. After a few days, I found myself drafting a message to him in my head.

Hi, David. How is Masher? Just wanted to see how he's doing.

Hi, David! How are you and Masher? Hope you are both doing good.

Hi, David and Masher. Everyone okay?

No matter how many versions I wrote, I couldn't find the right balance between "casual/friendly/concerned" and just plain lame. But eventually, I had to get it out of my brain, so I sat down to type: Dear Masher, WOOF! I hope you and David are doing well. I just wanted to remind you about your appointment!

The next day, I got this response: WOOF back. Feeling great and planning to be there.

I couldn't bring myself to put the date on my calendar, as if writing it down would make it seem more important than it was.

WHAT REMINDS ME MOST OF THE PERSON I LOST IS . . .

"Their stuff is everywhere."

Suzie and I usually started off each session by her showing me a Feeling Flash Card and spinning a conversation out of whatever answer I came up with. I was honest and serious with my replies now.

"Do you mean their belongings?" Suzie asked.

"Nana cleaned up most of the clutter, but some things she just left. Neither of us can touch them."

I thought of the crossword puzzle my dad had been working on the morning of the accident. It often took him all week to do them, scratching in a few words every day. Nana had left this one, two-thirds finished, tucked between the salt and pepper on the kitchen table.

"Laurel, have you been able to go into their bedrooms?"

"No," I said simply.

"I understand about not touching things. It's too soon. Eventually, you and your grandmother might consider packing up the *stuff' and giving some of it away. It's very cathartic. But for now, one thing you might want to do is go into your parents' room and stay aware of what reactions you have."

For two days after that session, every time I walked down the upstairs hallway I eyed my parents' door. All I could feel was dread and a little fear, which was ironic considering how it used to represent a special kind of haven for me.

On the third night I finally got up the courage to go in.

It was cleaner than usual, with the bed made, the dresser drawers shut tight. My mother was a chronic drawer-leaver-opener, which drove my dad crazy. The books on both nightstands were stacked neatly and the hamper was empty. At some point, Nana must have done the laundry and put away the clean clothes.

I sat on the big king-size bed with the wooden antique headboard my mom had taken from the house she'd grown up in, and I actually had to remind myself that my parents were not alive anymore. They were so here in this room.

Suddenly, I remembered one night when I was probably seven or eight years old. I'd had a nightmare and wandered into the room, then scrambled onto the bed, to find that spot between my parents that was always warm and safe and waiting for me if I got scared.

Not saying a word, my mother held back the covers for me to snuggle in.

"I had a scary dream about hot lava," I'd said.

"I'm sorry, baby. I hate bad dreams."

"Do you get afraid too?"

"All the time."

"What do you get afraid of?"

I'd hoped she would say monsters, or falling off a bike, or her friends not inviting her to their birthday parties. But she was quiet for a few moments and then said, "I'm most afraid of losing you or Toby."

Arrrgh, I'd thought. "That doesn't count. What else are you afraid of?"

Mom was quiet again, a deeper, more intense quiet, then said, "You losing me."

I was little, but I'd known where that came from. One of her friends from college had just died of breast cancer a month or so before, leaving behind two kids.

Now I lay facedown on the bed, sobbing for the woman who once slept here not knowing that someday one of her worst fears would come true.

At the end of June, another day came on my calendar that I knew was the last day of school. It would be a short day, with each cla.s.s lasting only twenty minutes instead of forty-two. Teachers would have parties or show funny movies or, if they were clueless, actually go over what the cla.s.s had covered. That live current of excitement and celebration, of ending and starting.

I tried to distract myself by opening up the journal Suzie had urged me to start. She'd suggested I buy a simple unlined notebook with something silly on it, so I would feel free to write stupid and seemingly meaningless things in it. I'd found one adorned with a kids' cartoon character I'd never heard of, its thin pages a bright, hopeful white, and cracked open the old set of colored pencils I hadn't used since my sketches for the last Drama Club show.

"Draw what you remember," Suzie had said. "Draw what you feel. Write a word on the page, like angry, and then give it form."

So I tried to do that, but my drawing slowly morphed into the faces of dogs and cats I'd met at the hospital.

Finally, Meg called me at noon sharp.

"It's done! I'm free!" I heard laughter in the background. "Wanna play today?"

"I have to work, remember?" I said, then tried to make my voice a shade lighter. "Come up tonight and we'll make ice cream sundaes."

So later, Meg and I sat outside on our back patio, eating Rocky Road topped with frosted cornflakes and whipped cream. I knew the rest of the junior cla.s.s was at a bowling alley for the traditional "Now We're Seniors!" party.

"There's still time to go over to Pin World," I offered after we'd slurped together for a few minutes. "I won't mind."

Meg licked her spoon and tried not to seem like she was thinking about it. "Maybe. But the person I really want to celebrate with is you, so what's the point?" She paused. "It was really weird not having you at school."

"It was weird not being there. But you know . . ."

"I know." She plunged her spoon back into the sundae for another load. "But you're going back in September, right?"

September felt so far away. Far enough that I could say, "Of course," and not think about it anymore.

"What are you going to do about the stuff you missed? Will they let you finish over the summer?"

"I think so. Mr. Churchwell talked to Nana and said I should contact him as soon as I'm ready."

Meg nodded and examined my face. "Let me know if you need help, okay?"

I always got better grades than Meg, but I saw she needed to offer something.

"I would love that," I said, and we smiled at each other.

As soon as I'm ready.

Well, what the heck. I didn't know what ready was supposed to feel like, so now seemed as good a time as any. The next day, I sent an email to Mr. Churchwell through the school website.

Hi, it's Laurel Meisner. I'd like to finish my schoolwork and finals for the year. Can you help me?

He wrote back almost immediately, while I was still online, which made me sad to think he was sitting in his office alone, the school emptied of students.

Laurel! I was hoping you'd get in touch and that you are well. I spoke to your teachers, and since you have an A average in all of your cla.s.ses and you only missed about two weeks of regular course work, they're going to excuse you from that. However, there is the issue of the New York State Regents exams (U.S. History, English, and Trigonometry this year), which I highly recommend you take if you want to stay on track. You can still do that in August. I will send you some information, and please let me know if you need anything; you can reach me at this address at any time.

Ugh, the Regents. I'd forgotten about those, which I would have taken in June with everyone else if the accident hadn't happened. Dad would have quizzed me on the practice tests, and Mom would have bought me a bouquet made of one flower for every point I scored above ninety.

Mr. Churchwell had said, Stay on track.

I had a job and was going to therapy and generally functioning as a human being. Was that staying on track? If it was, I wanted to stay some more.

I wrote back to him to say yes, and please, and thank you.

On the day David was scheduled to come in with Masher, I found myself reluctant to put on either of the two scrub s.h.i.+rts we'd bought. One was black and white printed with dogs chasing one another's tails, and the other was a simple blue with a cat embroidered on the pocket. Both made me look like I was wearing a costume, which I'd liked before today. Now it seemed too obvious.

To feel more like me, I found one of my favorite necklaces: a silver chain with a small silver disk stamped with my name. Toby had given it to me for my last birthday, and I hadn't been able to admit to him how much I loved it.

I also blow-dried my hair for the first time in weeks.

Was I looking forward to this or dreading it?

You're going to show him you're doing just fine, I thought, knowing that it probably didn't even matter to him whether I was fine or not.

The appointment was for two o'clock, and the morning went slowly. I tried not to keep checking the time. Now that school was out, I was working full days, and it was taking some getting used to. Fortunately, Eve asked me to join her for lunch. It wasn't an invitation, it was more like, "Tamara said she'll watch the front desk while we go eat."

We'd been friendly, but the busy and sometimes tense hospital atmosphere didn't allow for much chitchat. Which was one of many things I loved about being there, and now I was nervous about having a real conversation with Eve.

She was nineteen, going to the community college and living at home while she "worked on the animal thing," as she called it. "There are a lot of paths I could take. I'm trying to figure out which one," she told me over burritos at Taco Bell, with a straight, serious face, and offered no additional explanation. She didn't ask me any questions about myself, and I didn't offer. I was just supposed to be some girl in high school, and not have any stories yet.

When we got back, it was one thirty, and although I settled in to do some photocopying, I glanced up every time the front door opened.

David could be early. He could show up late. I didn't know him well enough to make a call on that.

Eve noticed my antic.i.p.ation. "Expecting someone?"

"Masher's coming in today. His owner . . . my friend . . . is bringing him."

My friend. That felt like another little lie.

At two exactly, the door opened and I looked up, and there they were. I pictured David sitting in his father's Jaguar in the parking lot, watching the minutes change so he could pinpoint the exact punctual moment to get out of the car.

The waiting room was empty, but Masher seemed to remember getting bullied before and sniffed the air nervously. David saw me and sort-of waved with one hand, pulled off his sungla.s.ses with the other.

"Hi, Laurel," he said, sounding formal, his eyes sweeping the s.p.a.ce. He was dressed in a long-sleeved thermal s.h.i.+rt and black corduroys, even though it was easily eighty-five degrees outside.

"Welcome," I said, giving formal back to him.

I came through the half door that separated the front desk area from the waiting room, and as soon as Masher saw me he ran over and jumped up. I caught his front paws in my hands and let him lick my face. David seemed puzzled.

"How's he doing?" I asked after I finally got the dog off me.

"Good." He paused. I noticed now that he'd put something in his hair to slick the sides back behind his ears, which looked newborn pink and too exposed. "I think he's been a little sore or something. That's actually the first time I've seen him stand up like that."

I nodded, and now that the moment had turned awkward, I wondered how I could smoothly get back behind the safety of the front desk.

"How's the job?" asked David, and looked me in the eye.

"I love it," I replied, loud enough so Eve could hear.

I wasn't sure what to do next but fortunately, Eve piped up, "Why don't you take them into room two? Dr. B will be there in a minute."

So I led David and Masher to the exam room, David holding onto Masher's leash but Masher walking close to me. Once we were in, I wasn't sure whether to stay or go. I waited for an invitation from David, but it didn't come. He just examined the poster of two golden puppies in football jerseys and blackout under their eyes-"Wide Retrievers"-and let out a little laugh.

I had no idea what to say so I didn't say anything, which seemed the worst choice of all, as I left the room and closed the door behind me.

Fifteen minutes pa.s.sed. I spent most of it on the phone with a client who was disappointed with the grooming her Persian cat had received at a pet store, and wanted a promise from Dr. B that he could fix it.

"They were supposed to give him the lion cut, but he looks more like a poodle!" the woman said, on the verge of tears.