Canary (27 page)

“You, Julia, and Ali. I tried to tell Jack, but he wouldn't listen.” I started sobbing as I said Jack's name and had to push the rest of the words out. “Jack walked in on the two of us.” I wiped at my swollen eyes. My whole body ached as if I had run a race barefoot over sticks and pebbles that were still stuck in my feet.

“This didn't happen,” Dad said firmly.

“It did, Dad.”

He took a step toward me. “God damn it, Kate.”

I cowered and he backed away.

He walked to the window and yanked the cord on the blinds. They fell with a loud clatter.

I jumped. “It wasn't my fault.” I pleaded with him to listen to me.

His face shifted so he looked less angry. He knelt next to me. “Listen. Do you understand what would happen if you told people about this? It would be worse for you than anyone else. You'd have to tell your story to everyone. Do you really want to talk about it again? Especially in front of Luke?”

“Not at all. That's what I told Julia when she said I needed to tell someone.”

“You're right, honey. It would be awful. Let's think about this for a minute. I'm only trying to protect you.”

Dad sat on an arm of the chair and stroked my hair. His closeness reminded me of the night after Mom had died, when he wrapped me in his arms and held me as if I was a little kid again. He hadn't been this close to me physically since, and it felt nice.

“Not only would you have to tell your story over and over again, but think about the team. It would destroy them. We're so close to the play-offs. Do you really want to ruin everything?”

I shook my head. Basketball was what brought Dad back to me. I didn't want to lose him again.

“You shouldn't have to go through this. It's awful, and I don't want you to hurt any more than you have to.”

“I just want it to disappear.”

“Tell you what. I'll take care of this, okay?” Dad continued to stroke my hair.

I closed my eyes, pretending it was the way it used to be and we would leave the room together to watch a basketball game downstairs.

“I'll make sure Luke knows what he did was wrong.”

“You will?”

“Of course. I'll make everything okay,” he said and stood up. “Let me deal with it. You don't have to think about it anymore.”

I nodded. I should've felt lighter for telling him what had happened, but as I watched him walk out of the door and pull his cell phone out of his pocket, I felt a sense of unease. If Dad said he was going to take care of things, shouldn't I feel safe now?

Eight days later the final bell sounded, and my classmates rushed out the doors, eager to escape and start Christmas break. For the last few days everyone had been talking about vacation plans, trips to tropical climates or skiing in the mountains, vacations that involved planes or boats to get away. I looked forward to my own escape much closer to home, one that involved my room and the option of not having to see, talk to, or interact with anyone. A trip away from the walls of Beacon.

I'd stayed quiet as Dad had asked me to, but I didn't see what good it was doing. Luke seemed to purposely seek me out, winking or licking his lips every time he saw me. Ali made vulgar comments whenever she could, and Jenna just looked on with pity. I tried to avoid them, but Beacon was a small school and they seemed to have made it their mission to remind me of what had happened that night.

Dad had been acting weird ever since I told him about the night at Jack's party. He avoided the house even more than usual, and when he was home, he constantly asked me how I was feeling. It was as if he was waiting for me to do or say something. I kept thinking he'd tell me about what he'd done to Luke, but he hadn't mentioned it.

Julia knew I'd talked to Dad, but I refused to say anything more about it. She wouldn't be happy with what she heard, and I was beginning to wonder if I'd done the right thing by agreeing to Dad's request to stay silent.

I was away from school on break, but it sure didn't feel like the holidays. Dad hadn't put up a Christmas tree yet, and I didn't say anything. At first I thought he was busy with the team and didn't have time to put it up during Thanksgiving break. It had been a tradition in my family to go and cut down a tree the day after Thanksgiving, bundling up in warm clothes and heading to a farm about an hour away. Everyone would sweat in the car the whole drive but freeze once we started our trek into the woods. Brett and Dad would suggest cutting every tree we saw within reasonable size, but Mom and I would search for the perfect one. The two of us would pull everyone deeper and deeper into the woods and make the whole experience last a lot longer than it had to. We'd emerge from the forest with the best tree, though. Brett and Dad would act all proud as if they had found it when they pulled it out on a sled to be paid for and tied up.

Last Christmas, our first after Mom died, my aunt decorated the house. She brought over a tree and boxes of decorations to create a false Christmas wonderland in a house that didn't feel very festive. Dad complained about the needles for weeks after. He'd yell when he stepped on a forgotten stray one and it stuck in his big toe or sock, and he swore off real trees. Brett and I didn't remind him that our trees had always had needles and they'd never bothered him before. Instead, we accepted that real trees were something else we lost along with our mother. The list of these things had grown larger and larger, the hole she left not only the loss of a person but increasingly the loss of what we knew as a family.

I picked up my phone and dialed Brett's number. I figured he'd answer when he saw it was me. I was right.

“You okay?” he asked.

“As good as I can be,” I told him, thinking about Jack, Luke, and everything that sucked about life right now.

“I get worried when you call.”

I thought about how messed up that was. My own brother shouldn't think the worst when I just want to call.

“Dad hasn't put the tree up.”

“The tree?”

“The Christmas tree. Our house is the same as it always is.”

“Cold and without love?”

“Brett.”

“Hey, I'm just telling it like it is.”

“Why don't you come home for Christmas?”

He sighed. “You know I can't do that.”

“Why not? This is your house. You can come back.”

“Sure, after a long lecture about what a loser I am and how I've destroyed my life. I'm not going to be somewhere I'm not wanted. You don't see the way Dad looks at me. It's as if I've betrayed him in the worst way possible.”

I considered telling Brett that I 
did
 know what he was talking about. I thought about how angry Dad was when I first told him about Luke. How he wasn't worried about me but about what my accusations might do to the team. I understood exactly, but I knew telling him would only make his feelings toward Dad worse.

“I wouldn't look at you that way,” I said.

“I can't pretend to be someone I'm not for Dad.”

“Just promise you'll think about it.”

“I'll think about it,” he said but without much conviction.

“Thanks,” I said, even though I knew it was a long shot.

After I hung up, I went into the attic to find the boxes with all the Christmas stuff. I walked around the house decorating as much as I could. I left a Post-it for Dad:
We need to cut down a tree! Let me know when, and I'll pack the hot chocolate in a thermos!

I waited for Dad to mention the decorations or my note, but when he still hadn't said anything on Christmas Eve, I realized there was one way he was a lot like Brett. Holiday cheer and fa la las were not on the top of their lists.

I carried Dad's and Brett's gifts downstairs Christmas morning. I still held out hope Brett would return home. I couldn't imagine him staying away today. It didn't seem right to spend Christmas without your family.

I got Brett a documentary about fighter pilots. He used to watch shows like that over and over again, and I figured it would be a peace offering, something to get us to start talking about the Army. Jack had helped me pick out Dad's gift. It was an old Pistons jersey from the seventies. We found it over two months ago when we drove an hour away to catch a college basketball scrimmage. We'd stopped at a sports memorabilia store that had a bunch of old team jerseys hanging in the window. It was the perfect present, even if it did remind me of Jack.

I left the gifts on the table, unsure of where to put them without a tree. Dad would love the jersey. Despite everything that had been going on during the last few weeks, I was excited for him to open it.

“Merry Christmas,” I said and shoved the bag at him when he walked into the kitchen.

He looked up dazed, as if he'd forgotten it was Christmas, and for a fleeting moment, I wondered if he had. “Oh, Merry Christmas, honey.” He took the present and turned it over and over in his hands. “This was nice of you. To get me a gift, I mean.”

“Open it.”

He pulled off the paper, lifting the jersey out of the box.

“Do you like it?”

He held it against his chest and turned to me. “It's great, Kate. Really great.” He put the jersey back in the box and headed to the fridge. He pulled out a carton of milk. “I have something for you too. It's on my dresser.” He poured himself some cereal and sat at the table.

Really? This was his great reaction to my gift? When I realized he wasn't going to say anything more, I headed to his room. I tried to remember what he'd gotten me in the past: pink-and-green tennis shoes he'd had to special order, a basketball autographed by the Pistons, tickets to a play for Mom and me, a pearl necklace with my initials on the clasp. His gifts always had to do with something important to me, so I looked forward to opening them.

I found this year's gift right away. There was an envelope with my name on it. I ripped it open and pulled out a card with a Christmas tree on the front. I wondered if it was Dad's replacement for the one he hadn't put up. “Merry Christmas,” he had scrawled inside, not even signing it. A plastic card slid out.

A three-hundred-dollar gift card to the mall.

I turned it over and over in my hands as if checking to see if it was real. I thought it was a joke and half expected Dad and Brett to jump out laughing. But I was wrong. It wasn't a prank. Dad had given me a gift card for Christmas. The most generic,
impersonal gift there was.

I took it to my room, shaking. I picked up my scissors, the sharp pair with the orange handles, and sliced the card into small pieces, watching the pointy plastic fall to my floor.

Brett never showed up on Christmas or the days after. On New Year's Eve, my phone rang. It was the song I'd programmed to play when Jack called. My heart pounded as I looked and saw his name. I cleared my throat. “Hello?”

Loud music played on the other end, but Jack didn't answer.

“Jack? I can't hear you. Are you there?”

“Luke is lonely,” a muffled voice said.

“What?”

“Luke is lonely. He's wondering if you'll come over and help him ring in the New Year with a bang.”

There was a bunch of laughing, and the phone went dead.

My hands shook as I jabbed at the End button.

My cell rang seven more times with Jack's number. I didn't have to pick up to know it wasn't him. I ignored the incoming calls and hid it under my pillow so I wouldn't have to look at it. My fingers rubbed over the bruise on my chest, harder and harder. It was now the size of a small apple and a mess of sick, violent colors.

The eighth time my phone rang, I pulled it out and silenced it. I dialed Julia. She answered right away.

“Kate?”

“Hey,” I said, then stopped, unsure of what to say next.

“Is everything okay?”

“Not really. Someone keeps calling me on Jack's cell phone and saying awful stuff.”

“Didn't your dad take care of things?”

“He told me he would,” I said, but I knew now there was a fine line between saying you were going to do something and actually doing it.

Julia must have heard the doubt in my voice. “Did he?”

I started to sweat. “He said he would.”

“But he hasn't,” she finished, and I imagined the disappointment in her face.

“Maybe he still will,” I told her, but it had been almost two weeks since I'd talked to him. People who are serious about things don't take two weeks to do it. I knew I was now just pretending something was going to get done. But isn't that better? How do you face a truth like that?

“Do you want to come over? We're watching movies and waiting for the New Year to start.”

“Is Brett with you?”

“Yep, he's on the couch stuffing his face with popcorn.”

“Does he know about Luke?”

“I would never tell him something like that without your permission, but he worries about you.”

“Thanks for not saying anything.”

“I won't, but maybe you should.”

“Not right now.”

She didn't press me any further.

“Thanks for the offer to come over and hang, but I'm going to stay here. Can you tell Brett I said hi?”

“Of course. And, Kate, happy New Year.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Same to you.”

I hung up and stared at my blank TV. I couldn't bring myself to turn it on. I didn't want to see the images of crowded streets of people smiling, their arms around each other, counting down to a New Year.

My phone rang late in the evening, when I had drifted into sleep. It was Jack's number again, and the voice mail message beeped not long after. I dialed my mailbox and heard nothing but a bunch of people laughing into the phone. I deleted it before the message was over. I didn't need words. I understood what they were trying to say.