Chapter 28 Anything and Nothing
twenty-eight
Anything and Nothing
I’m lying on my bed. My own bed in my own house. Vague memories come crowding in—a car ride, Michael carrying me in the house. Two soldiers standing on our porch. My parents talking in low voices. Mom’s face, pale, her eyes rimmed in red.
Tyler. Where was Tyler?
I focus on the form lying on my floor. Mom? Her arms are wrapped around a pillow and a blanket is lying in a heap next to her. Her breathing is even, but her face looks haggard. What is she doing here? Why is she asleep on my bedroom floor?
I adjust my position. The noise wakes her. She sits up and rubs her eyes, kneels beside my bed, and touches my forehead. “Jessica, baby, you’re still so hot. How do you feel?”
How do I feel? The irony of what she said is laughable, or it would be, if everything wasn’t so horrible. “Mom.” I try to sit up, and my pulse hammers in my ears. “Why are you here? Did you sleep on the floor? You need to rest.”
She stands up slowly and sits on the chair beside my desk. “I need to be a mom right now. I can’t do anything for... for Matt.” Her face twists, and she turns away.
“What about Dad and Tyler?”
“Dad slept in Tyler’s room last night. He hasn’t come out since we told him.
You looked so sick when Michael brought you in.
I needed to be with you to make sure you're okay.” Her voice is halting, as if every word takes an effort.
She needs to sleep. She needs to get away from me.
I can’t make her sick. Maybe Karen was right.
My being here is making everything worse.
There’s a soft knock at the door. Michael comes in. He has two glasses in his hands, with some kind of brown liquid. “I brought you guys some protein drinks, something to keep your strength up.”
Mom takes hers. “Thank you, Michael. And thank you for bringing Jess home.”
He walks over and sits on the edge of my bed. “How are you doing?” Dumb question. He touches my cheek. “You still have a fever. Have you taken anything?”
I shake my head. I wish everyone would stop fussing over me. It makes me feel guilty for insisting that I come home. Mom looks like she’s aged a hundred years. Somebody should take care of her.
“Drink this,” Michael coaxes. “You need liquids.” He’s holding the glass like he’s going to press it to my lips and hold it for me while I drink. I take it out of his hands before he can.
I stare at the brown liquid. I can’t imagine anything less appealing.
Mom is swirling hers around in the glass.
Michael is watching me. Mom is watching me.
I take a tentative drink. It’s chalky, completely tasteless, and it hurts my throat on the way down.
I take another swallow and then set it down on my nightstand.
Mom gives up on hers too and sets it on my desk.
Michael stands up. “I made some phone calls,” he says delicately. “I’m working on travel arrangements for the memorial service, things like that. They put me in charge of your family, in charge of taking care of you. Whatever you need, let me know.”
Mom takes his hand. “Thank you so much, Michael.” She stands. “We should let you rest, Jess. Drink your breakfast. I’ll bring you something for the fever.” She carries her glass with her.
Having the flu is my salvation. The phone rings and rings, the doorbell too.
I get to shut it all out, stay locked up in my bedroom.
“Michael is fielding the calls and the visits.” Mom says when she brings me lunch.
“Keeping the newspeople away. I don’t want to talk to them.
” She sighs and sets the tray down on the nightstand.
Nothing looks good to me. “Becky called, and Taryn. Jasmine has called about a hundred times.”
I want to know whether Jacob called back. I’m not sure where my cellphone is. Michael comes in before I get the chance to ask Mom.
He sits on my bed again. “I talked to Karen. She said to give you this.” He hands me a glass of pale pink liquid. “To keep you from getting dehydrated.”
“Thanks.” I take the glass and take a sip.
Dad walks in. “How are you doing?”
“I’m still alive,” I grimace at my poor choice of words. “I feel better.” I’m mostly lying. “Where’s Tyler?”
Dad shakes his head. “He won’t come out of his room. He’s not eating.”
“He wants to shut down,” Michael says softly.
His face goes dark. “He doesn’t know how to handle this.
He feels like he should be tough, be a man about this, but he’s not sure how.
” We’re all watching Michael. He looks up at my dad.
“My sister died when I was about Tyler’s age. I reacted the same way.”
Mom looks at Michael. “Maybe you could talk to him.”
Michael nods. “I will later. Right now he needs his space.”
Mom stands up. She takes Dad’s hand. “You need to rest.”
“So do you,” he answers.
“Sleep, all of you.” Michael takes the untouched drink from my nightstand. “I’ll take care of the calls and the door.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He touches my face. “Anything, anytime.”