Not Looking For Love: Episode 5 (5 page)

 
"I'm Gail," I say, because it's all I can manage.
 

He nods and tries to say something, but Scott speaks right over him. "I wish I'd just stayed in prison."

"And then what? You'd be lying here instead of me?" Derek says, coughing slightly, his heart monitor beeping shrilly. "Come on, Scott."

 
"It was my problem to solve," Scott says. "And now you're hurt because of me."

I'm hovering by the window again, keeping as still as I can even though I'm shivering like I'm standing in neck high snow.

"No," Derek says, his voice firmer, though it's laced with sadness. It's like he's trying really hard to comfort Scott, even though he'd rather be screaming. And I love him for it. "You never would've had a problem, if it weren't for me. So stop thinking that way. I don't blame you for this. I had it coming too, if you want to go down that trail of thought."

Scott's shaking his head, but I'm not sure he knows he's doing it. "I fucked up. It should be me in here."

"I told you before, but I guess I gotta do it again," Derek says, his voice hard and level, more anger coming through. "No one was supposed to get hurt, and you weren't even supposed to get involved. I can't believe I let you. I never even thought it through all the way, and then it all just took on a life of its own. I'm glad it's finished."

I squint at him, but don't say anything. Maybe he doesn't know what Mike and Scott have been doing. Or more likely, he's afraid someone might be listening in. Either way, it's not my place to get into this conversation.

Scott sighs and runs his hand through his hair. "How did this happen?"

Derek's face tenses, the vein in his neck throbbing wildly. "A stupid argument that got out of hand. And not even over anything important."

"You shouldn't have picked any fights," Scott mutters, but softly, because it's too late.

"Look on the bright side," Derek says, his soft smile not reaching his eyes. "This is bound to shave off a few years from my sentence. And who knows, in a few years, maybe they can fix it so I can walk again."

"Can they?"

"The doctors aren't ruling it out," Derek says.
 

"My uncle's a doctor," I say, clearing my throat. "Maybe he knows someone who can help you."

Derek chuckles, but Scott looks at me with such hope in his eyes I can't stand it.

"They've got doctors here," Derek says. "I'm sure they're doing their best."

"I'm sure," I mutter, but I will make the call later, have my uncle send someone more qualified.

The door swings open, and Marjorie's chest is heaving as she stares at us.
 

"You," she manages to choke out, but that's where it ends.

"Marjorie, be nicer," Derek says. "They've been saying I might be eligible for home arrest now. Wouldn't that be something?"

She strides in, her hair bouncing, the room filling with the flowery scent of her perfume. "Who said that? Are you joking with me, Derek? Because you really shouldn't. Not about this."

Her eyes are soft with tears, and I almost forgive her for the things she said to Scott.
 

"I'm not," Derek says as she adjusts his pillows. "I'll know more next week, but it's a possibility."

"That would be awesome," Scott says, and the light is finally back in his eyes. They're no longer dark, but soft blue like a lake reflecting the sky. And even Marjorie's angry glare at him can't erase it.

We leave soon after, because Marjorie's not yet ready to be nicer, and she's probably the one who most deserves to stay. I start scrolling for my uncle's number before we even reach the elevator. I haven't spoken to him since my mom's diagnosis, and he lives in California now, but I'm sure he won't say no to me.

"Who are you calling?" Scott asks.

"My uncle the doctor," I mutter, already dialing the number. But it goes straight to voicemail.

"Are you sure?"

I nod, hanging up, because I have no idea how to put my request into a message. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because Derek's a convict?"
 

"They'll all find out eventually," I mutter stuffing the phone into my pocket, trying not to see the anger in my dad's eyes as I tell him about Scott's past. "Besides, he might get put under house arrest now."

Scott shakes his head. "I don't see that happening. I think he's just telling Marjorie that so she'll calm down."

"I hope you're wrong," I mutter, fishing my car keys out of my purse.

"Don't get me wrong," Scott says, climbing into the passenger seat of my car as I unlock it. "I'd like nothing better than for some fancy doctor to fix my brother up, but you might want to think about it."

"There's nothing to think about," I say and start the engine, hoping it worked to drown out the lie in my voice. Because there is so much to think about, I don't even know where to begin.

CHAPTER SEVEN

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" I ask later, as I'm saying goodbye to Scott in front of his house. I've asked him close to a thousand times already, but he's still saying no.

"I'll come see you tomorrow," he says, also for the thousandth time. And I finally give in and drive away. Because I won't force him.

But then on Monday night he makes an excuse, and it's the same on Tuesday. And I'd be crying, ranting and raving about it, if it weren't for the fact that he just won't stop talking to me on the phone each time he tells me he can't come. So I can't get mad, but I can't stop wishing he'd just come already either.

"My uncle found a doctor," I tell Scott on Wednesday morning, as I'm late for my first class. "He can go see your brother tonight."

"Really? And he can help?" The hope in his voice is burning a hole right through my chest.

"We'll see. I'll come see you today, after class, and then we can wait for news together," I say.

"I have to do something this afternoon," he mutters. "It just came up, and I can't get out of it."

I just know his eyes are as black as coal, because his voice cuts worse than the wind.

"Just get out of it already," I huff.

"It's not that," he whispers. "Andrew and Tina are leaving tonight. I'm taking them to the airport. Andrew only told me last night."

I still can't believe how fast his voice can change, but he sounds about ten years old and I don't know if I can fix this.

"I'm coming with you then," I say firmly.

He tries to argue, but it doesn't get him very far, because I'm that determined.
 

"I'm late for class now," I say finally, because we're just going in circles, wasting time. "I'll see you later."

Only I ditch my last class of the day to get there sooner, because I can't shake the terror he simply won't be there when I do come.

At three, I'm sitting in the backseat beside Tina. She's got a wide grin on her face, but I think she's trying to hide it, because she's facing the window the whole time.

"You had these tickets for how long?" Scott asks. The radio's off and I can hear the accusation loud and clear.
 

Andrew takes off his glasses and wipes them on his sweater. "Two months."

"And you didn't think to mention it?"

I meet Scott's eyes in the rearview mirror, expecting them to be dark and cold, but they're almost a perfect sky blue, and soft like he just woke up. I want to cry, and it's not even my brother leaving.

"We made a decision, me and Tina, so there was nothing to discuss," Andrew says and places his glasses back on. But his harsh words don't match his soft, apologetic tone. My head's reeling and maybe I shouldn't be here.
 

I nod to Scott when our eyes meet again, and I want to touch him, let him know everything will be alright, even though I have no idea if it will.

Later, I'm standing on the sidewalk with Andrew and Tina while Scott parks the car. They have a bag each, and there's no way they've packed enough for two weeks, let alone for the years they're planning to stay away.

"I heard this is the best season to visit Thailand," I mutter, which might be a dumb thing to say, since I don't think weather factored into their plans, but the silence is choking me.

"Yes, it is," Tina answers, shouldering her backpack, because Scott's already coming back.
 

I wait with Scott while they check their bags, holding onto his hand, but I'm not sure he feels it.
 

We go for coffee afterwards, because they still have almost two hours before their flight leaves. It's a silent, tense affair, and Scott's leg is shaking so hard the whole table is rattling.
 

Andrew's looking at me in between taking slow sips of coffee, and Tina's reading a thick guidebook, Scott casting her nasty looks. I'm checking the info board, watching their flight inch up in line, and I just know Scott's doing the same.
 

Tina's eyes flick up from her book. "Thailand is truly a paradise on earth."

Scott snorts beside me, and I reach for his hand, but he yanks it away before I can grab hold. "Paradise? Seriously? Is that why you're going there?"

Andrew's glaring at him like he just might strike him, and Tina's shaking her head, her curls bouncing.
 

"I could use some paradise after all these years," she mutters. "And Andrew more so."

Scott leans forward, his cast thumbing against the table. "So, paradise is actually a place somewhere in the undeveloped part of the world? I mean, according to you and your beliefs?"
 

"That's got nothing to do with anything, Scott," Andrew hisses. "We're leaving and that's that."

Scott leans back and gazes off at the flight info board, the numbers and destinations reflected perfectly in his light blue eyes. Tina goes back to reading her guidebook, and after awhile Andrew stops tapping his foot against the floor.

"You should think about leaving too," Andrew finally says.
 

"Maybe I'm not as coldhearted as you," Scott says.

Andrew slams his coffee cup onto the table, and Tina gasps, both of them glaring at Scott now. Their flight will be boarding soon, I realize, in another twenty minutes or so.

"How can you say that to me?" Andrew yells, making the family at the next table turn to us. "When have I ever done anything selfish?"

Scott's scratching at the edge of the table, lifting the veneer. "Sorry."

"Yeah, you should be," Andrew says more quietly and wraps his arm around Tina's shoulders. "I'm doing this for me, for us. You know they're investigating me. And I'd prefer it if you stopped acting like you don't get it. Or not, it'll make no difference."

"I do get it," Scott mutters. "But when will I see you again?"

 
"We'll keep in touch," Andrew assures him.
 

The conversation dies out again, and soon Scott and me are standing by the metal detectors, watching them disappear in the distance.

 
I try to get him to talk, but Scott doesn't say anything until we're almost back at his house.
 

"When do you have to go back?" he finally asks. It's only six PM.

"I thought you were coming with me," I say.
 

"And I thought I might just do some drinking tonight." He grins at me, but it's not a happy expression.

I sigh, and bite my lip to keep from saying the wrong thing. Like that he shouldn't drink to solve his problems, that he should let me be there for him.

"I'll stay here then, and go back in the morning," I say instead.

He shrugs and turns on the radio, loud so we can't talk. But he's not telling me not to bother, so I guess he wants me to stay.

We're sitting on his bed later, the bottle of vodka balanced against the wall between us. I'm on my second glass, and I've lost count of how many Scott's had. We're still fully dressed and he hasn't even tried to touch me yet.
 

"I am happy Andrew is getting to do what he wants," Scott mutters. "I hope he knows that."

I clear my throat, because it's been so long since I used it. "I'm sure he does. But you did call him coldhearted. That was harsh."

I keep checking my phone, hoping my uncle will call with some good news about Derek's exam, since I'm sure that's probably the only thing that might get Scott into a better mood.
 

"Yeah, but I say things like that," Scott says and pours more vodka. "Andrew's used to it."

It's something I should get used to as well, probably, but I'm not sure I ever will.

"Andrew's had it the worst, after my mom died," Scott mutters, his eyes unfocused, staring somewhere beyond the walls. "Me and Mike were so young, Derek was all busy with the business and dad was completely useless. Still is."

"You shouldn't talk like that," I say before I can stop myself. This has to be another example of the things he says and doesn't mean.

"Why not? It's true," he counters. "You realize he hasn't come out of his bedroom since Sunday night?"

"Why?" I mutter.

"It's what he does. He just shuts down when things get bad." He's still staring off at the wall, but his gaze is so intense I know he's seeing something that I can't, or even want to.

"So Andrew raised you?" I can understand his scathing comments from before better, but I don't feel any better. Tears are still expanding in my chest, threatening to surface again. But none of this is about me.

"Yeah, I guess. In between Dad's drinking, his trips to the asylum and his suicide attempts, someone had to," Scott says.
 

I jerk up, sloshing my vodka over the both of us, as I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him close.
 

He takes the glass from me and places it on the chair by his bed, then wraps his arms around me. "I'm sorry for talking about this. It's nothing you need to hear."

My head is still reeling from all the things he went through, is still going through, and how I piled some more on with the abortion and acting like a nympho slut, who just wanted to use him for sex. I'll never be able to make that alright, so how can I fix anything at all?