Free Dive by Stacey Donovan Page B

transfusion was like a Band-Aid. It didn’t fix anything, though after the nurses removed the drip twelve solid hours later, my dad walked out of his room and sauntered up to the nurses’ station to say that he was checking out. It was a big joke at the time, supposedly, like the hospital was a hotel, but the next several days were less than funny because he couldn’t even sit up, much less say anything.
     
    Instead, he began to sleep nonstop. They had to wake him up for meals. He even slept through the changing bloom of my mother’s black eye. Actually, she covered it with makeup when she went to see him. Yesterday was the first time in days he was fully conscious, and yesterday is also when he started to gag and twist all over his bed.
     
    As I look out the kitchen window, my brain has a mind of its own. It tosses the reminder of yesterday into my head and starts this roaring behind my ears. Oh, the questions. Not that I even need to ask them. Who hit my dog? What’s wrong with my dad?
     
    The phone rings. It’s Baby Teeth.
    “Have you ever seen a red spider?” she says.
    “Not lately. Where are you?”
    “I just came out of the Connors’ bathroom. He’s in there now, crawling up and down. What should I do?”
    “Who’s in there?”
    “The spider, on the wall, V.”
     
    I worry about my sister. Especially about her being worried. “Why do you have to do anything?” I say. At least it’s Eileen’s house, someone I know.
    “It goes up and down on this invisible thread, up and down.”
    “So you’ve been watching it. Does it look unhappy or wounded?”
    “I’m watching it, uh-huh. No, it’s okay.”
    “Good. So why don’t you leave it alone? You should get back here soon, anyway. Lucky needs you to sing to him—he misses you, I can tell. Is Eileen home?”
    “No. That’s a good idea; I don’t have to do anything—I miss him too.” There’s a big silence. Did she hang up?
    “Hello?” I say.
    “Hello. Are we starting over?”
     
    “Baby Teeth.”
    “What? Is Mom home?”
    “No. So where’s Eileen?” That hat surfaces in my brain again. “I don’t know. Should I mention this?”
    “Mention what?”
    “The spider. Eileen’s mom made me a ham sandwich. So you don’t know how Dad is.”
    “No, clamshell, I don’t. But don’t say anything, okay?
    Maybe that spider’s just moving in, setting up its web in there. I guess it likes the wallpaper in their bathroom. Which bathroom is it? The blue one downstairs?”
    “Downstairs, yup. It’s so red. Do you think he’s okay?”
     
    “Red is a good shade to be, so . . . so vibrant.” I look out the window. The grass does not move, but something sad happens in the air. “Yeah, I bet Dad’s okay. He’s been sleeping a lot and maybe the sleep will help him.
    So promise me you’ll leave that spider alone.”
    “I will. What’s vibrant?”
    “Alive, nutshell. Do you want me to come get you?” I might cry. I am such a good liar.
    “No, I’m coming.”
    “What about the spider?”
    “I already promised. Then what will happen? After the web, I mean?”
    “Well, maybe, Baby Teeth, that’s the talking spider we’ve all been waiting for—maybe when you go back to visit she’ll introduce herself.”
    “Oh, sure, V. I have to go if I’m coming home.”
    “Hurry up,” I say, but it’s the dial tone I’m talking to.
    “Don’t be scared.” Maybe the spider can hear me. Or maybe I’m talking to myself.
     
    | | |
     
    There was a book I read once, about this huge guy who used to kill little animals by accident—because he didn’t know how strong he was and he would love them to death. What was that book? Of Mice and Men. But Baby Teeth is not incredibly strong—is she?
     
    I look out the window again. The grass still does not move. There’s nothing sad out there. The algebra problems loom before me. I hate algebra. It’s all about calculation, which has nothing to do with real life. I open the James book instead.