Kat's Fall Page 3

  “Kat!”

  I wheel about and race across the room. In the kitchen I see her leaning over the sink, shaking violently. The frying pan has been knocked off the stove and the eggs have left greasy snail-trails where they’ve slid across the floor.

  Being careful not to step on any of them, I gently lift her rigid body and carry her back to the living room, where I lay her on the same couch Dad has just vacated. I cover her with the blanket that we keep there for TV watching. Her eyes are rolled back in her head and she is sweating profusely, yet she’s shivering at the same time.

  “Find me a clean dish towel,” I tell my dad. Actually, it’s an order.

  He does, and I roll it up and manage to jam it between her clenched teeth to keep her from biting her tongue.

  I sit with her, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Dad’s leaning against the doorjamb that leads to the kitchen.

  “A perfectly good breakfast ruined,” he says, glancing into the kitchen.

  “Why didn’t you remind her to take her pill this morning?” I ask him. We’ve been down this road before.

  “How should I know when she takes it?” he answers. “If you’d got your sorry butt out of bed…”

  “She’s your daughter!”

  “Yeah, well, I won’t have to deal with this much longer.”

  I look at him, trying to take his meaning. “You don’t mean…”

  “Listen, Darcy. You know I’m not cut out for raising kids. I’ve done the best I can, given the circumstances. You can stay if you want,” he says, grudgingly. “You’re almost grown anyway. But if your mom wants her back,” he gestures at Kat and makes a face, “I’m not going to stand in her way. You know how this kind of stuff grosses me out.”

  I stare at him, stunned.

  “A girl needs a mother,” he continues, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself as well as me. “She’s going to be going through those difficult years soon, and I don’t know what to do with a teenaged girl.”

  “Probably the same as you do with your teenaged boy,” I say. Which is nothing, I think, but don’t dare say aloud.

  “I’m sure your mom will be completely reformed,” he says. “Kat will be better off with her.”

  “Mom dropped Kat off her balcony, Dad! Doesn’t that tell you anything?”

  “Of course it does. I was as shocked as the next person. I was sure she loved you guys…”

  “Yet you still want to send us back to her?”

  “It’s not like she’d do that again,” he says.

  “No, I guess not,” I say, noticing that Kat’s body is relaxing. I pull the towel out of her mouth. “We’re a bit too big now.”

  Dad comes into the room and sits across from us, in the armchair. “I know I haven’t been the greatest of parents,” he says, actually sounding contrite.

  “No? What makes you say that?”

  “Don’t get sarcastic on me now, Darcy.”

  “Well we didn’t ask to get born, Dad. But we did. And you’re the only parents we have. So how am I supposed to act when one parent tries to kill my sister and the other doesn’t even want us?”

  He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, but he doesn’t say anything.

  “I might be able to understand it if you’d just had me,” I say, deciding now is as good as any time to air a few things that have always ticked me off. “Anyone can make a mistake once, but you went on to have a second kid.”

  “That was your mother’s doing. She swore to me she wouldn’t get pregnant again.” He sits still, lost in thought for a moment. “You know, things weren’t too bad after she was born,” he continues finally. “We had one of each—a boy and a girl. Life was okay for a while. I even thought we might get married and lead some kind of normal life, whatever that is.”

  “So what happened?”

  He thinks for another minute before answering. “One day she realizes your sister is deaf. Your mom was always borderline crazy anyway, but that seemed to push her over the edge.” He lowers his voice. “I won’t swear to it, but I think she may have shaken her a little too hard.” He is looking at Kat.

  The awful truth dawns on me, slowly. “That’s what caused the epilepsy?”

  He just shrugs. “That’s when I got out of there,” he says. “There was no living with her anymore.”

  I feel the anger welling up, and suddenly I hate her even more, if that’s possible. Mom was exposed to German measles when she was pregnant. That’s what caused Kat to be born deaf. She couldn’t help that, but if she’s responsible for the epilepsy—maybe she does deserve to be jailed for life. Or longer.

  KAT IS EXHAUSTED after the seizure, so she goes to bed. I clean the kitchen and put the rest of the food away. Dad’s gone out, probably to get some breakfast. It didn’t occur to him to make his own.

  My plan is to be out of here before the newspaper people show up, but I don’t want to wake Kat. Keeping one eye on the clock, I begin to pace the hall outside her room. I’d like to leave while Dad is still out, but I don’t want to leave her here for the big interview. Mind you, without me here, no one will be able to talk to Kat. Dad will look like the fool he is, hardly able to communicate with his own daughter…

  I grab my skateboard and head for the door.

  I DON'T RETURN until I’m sure they’ll be gone, which is after five o’clock. There aren’t any suspicious-looking cars parked in front of our townhouse so I climb the steps tentatively. Dad’s going to be steamed. I remind myself that he’s never been physically abusive, but a little voice in my head keeps telling me that there’s always a first time. I wonder how Kat has fared. I hope she realizes I did this for her own good.

  The door bangs open. He’s waiting for me.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he demands before I even reach the top step.

  “Out.”

  “You knew the guys from the paper were coming at three o’clock.”

  “And you knew I wasn’t talking to them.” His presence is enormous, it fills the whole doorway, but I slink past him and into the kitchen. I need to find Kat, make sure she’s all right.

  “You little bastard!” he says, following me. “Do you know how stupid I looked?”

  “That’s not my fault.”

  He looks down at me incredulously. “Then whose fault is it?”

  “Yours. You invited them here even though I said I wasn’t talking to them. I’m not just some little kid you can kick around, you know.”

  His face is purple and his fists are clenched. He reminds me of a bull who has just entered the ring at a bullfight—he’s exhaling in angry little snorts. I expect to see him start pawing the ground any second.

  “Where’s Kat?” I ask, craning my neck to look into the living room.

  It’s as if he doesn’t hear the question. “They’ll be back here a week from next Wednesday, at 6:00,” he says. “And you better be here too. Or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  His eyes are narrowed. “Or else I take back that offer to let you stay on. You’ll go back to your mother as well.”

  That’s the ultimate punishment and he knows it. I stare back at him, unable to speak. Eventually I remember Sammy. “I can’t. I baby-sit Samantha. You know that.”

  “Tough,” he says, some of the anger leaving his face when he realizes he’s got me where he wants me. “You can call in sick for once. And you watch what you say to those newspaper guys. You tell them all about how well we’ve done for the past ten years, but how you’re willing to forgive your mom now. She’s paid for her crime, you’ll say, and just in time too, because Kat needs her mother.”

  I really do feel sick. “Where is Kat?” I ask again, desperately needing to get away from him.

  “In her bedroom. With the newspapers. I figured it’s about time she found out what’s going on. And, of course, you weren’t here to break it to her gently.”

  For a second I figure it might be preferable to live with a murderous mother than
a heartless father. I rush down the narrow hallway to Kat’s bedroom and burst in. She’s sitting on the floor with the newspapers spread out around her. Her eyes are red and swollen and she’s clutching her favorite stuffy, a tancolored dog that vaguely resembles a golden retriever. I remember buying it for her when I got my first paycheck from the Kippensteins’.

  “Oh, Kat,” I say, slumping down beside her. I try to put my arm around her shoulder but she shoves me away.

  “That’s not why you said she was in prison,” she signs. “You said it was because of the drugs.”

  “I know. But the truth is so awful I thought I’d wait till you were older.”

  She thinks about that and then her face crumples as a fresh onslaught of tears overcomes her. “I am older!”

  IT' S BEEN A brutal day. I feel like crying now too, but, of course, I don’t. I’d never cry in front of Kat, or anyone else for that matter. But I know I won’t be able to resist the Swiss army knife again tonight. “I guess I should have told you.”

  She doesn’t answer, but she must sense her big strong brother is on the verge of losing it, because she places the box of Kleenex between us. I ignore it.

  “What’s going to happen now?” she asks after a few minutes.

  “I don’t know for sure.” I consider sparing her any more horrible truths, but decide it’s time for complete honesty. “When she gets out of prison, Dad thinks you should live with her. He thinks you need a mother.”

  She looks up at me, alarmed. “Are you serious?”

  I nod.

  “What about you?”

  “He says I can stay because I’m older. And I’m a guy.”

  I watch her face as she tries to digest this.

  “Do you remember her at all?” she asks finally.

  I have to really think about that. I don’t remember a lot, but I do remember certain little things, like the warm curve of her body as I cuddled up to her on the couch while we watched TV, or while I watched TV. She was usually asleep—a drug-induced sleep I realize now. And I remember being a little ticked when Kat was born. Mom never seemed to have time for me after that. She cried a lot then too. Kat seemed to make her sad. And, of course, I remember the fall…

  “Yeah, I remember a bit,” I sign. “She seemed to really love you. I don’t know why she did it,” I add, thinking that if Kat really is going to get returned to her, I’d better not describe her as the total bitch that I’ve come to imagine her as. “I think it must have been the drugs she was doing. She was out of control.”

  Kat stares at her picture. “You look like her,” she says with her hands.

  “So do you.”

  Kat begins to tidy up the newspaper. She’s still sniffing, but I admire the tough façade she’s put on.

  I stretch out on her bed, arms under my head, and stare at the ceiling. There’s a big water stain directly above the bed, and only a plain lightbulb hanging in the center of the room. The light shade got broken years ago and Dad never bothered to replace it.

  I can’t bear the thought of being separated from Kat. My life has revolved around her for so long. But I feel equally strongly about not living with Mom. I can never forgive her for what she did. And if she goes back to using drugs when Kat is with her, I don’t know what I’ll do. Possibly kill her.

  Maybe there is a murder gene after all.

  Kat plunks herself on the bed beside me, and I see her glance at my arm, but before I can pull it out from behind my head, she’s reached over and pulled my sleeve back. I yank my arm away, but not before she’s seen the fresh cuts.

  “You promised me, Darcy,” she says, her eyes filling with tears again.

  I sit up. “It’s no big deal,” I tell her, pulling my sleeve back down.

  “Yes, it is,” she signs. “You scare me when you do that.”

  Just like I scare myself. I wish I understood why it helps. All I know is that it does. “I’m in control,” I tell her. And that, I know, is true. I am in control of the cutting. It’s everything else I’m not in control of, and that’s what’s scary.

  Four

  I feel disorientated and groggy when I wake up. My room is too bright. I try pulling my blanket back over my head, willing the day to go away. I notice the throbbing in my arm and feel a little queasy at the memory of the fresh cuts I made last night.

  An odd noise coming from the bathroom brings me out of my sleepy stupor. I check the clock. It’s after nine o’clock! Where the hell is Kat? Her bus will have come and gone an hour ago!

  Pulling on sweatpants, I stumble down the hall and realize that the odd noise I hear is actually heartwrenching sobs. I find Kat curled up in a corner of the bathroom. She’s in a housecoat and her knees are drawn up to her chest. Her face is blotchy from crying. My first thought is that the truth about what Mom did to her has finally sunk in. Or maybe it’s the realization of what it would mean to go live with her…

  I squat in front of her but she turns away. Grabbing her chin, I turn her head so she has to look at me.

  “What is it? Are you sick?”

  She yanks herself away and continues to sob.

  “Kat!” I say, grabbing her chin again. “You have to tell me what’s wrong!” She doesn’t need to hear to know what I’m saying. She glances at me, and in that moment I see the terror in her eyes.

  “What is it, Kat?”

  She drops her face onto her knees and her shoulders heave. I’m at a total loss. I grab those skinny shoulders and give her a little shake, but remember, as I’m doing it, what Mom did to her all those years ago. I let go of her and move away.

  Finally, she looks up at me, sitting helpless on the edge of the tub. She signs, “I’m bleeding.” Then she begins to wail again.

  Bleeding. I think of the blood-soaked towel I shoved under my mattress last night. I squat down in front of her again. “Where are you bleeding?” I sign in front of her face.

  She shakes her head from side to side. She’s not going to tell me.

  I persist. “Kat, how can I help you if I don’t know where you’re hurt?”

  She finally gives in and picks up a pair of pajama bottoms from a pile of clothes tossed on the floor beside her. She holds them in front of me, and I can see that the crotch is covered in blood.

  Why would she be bleeding there? A horrible thought takes hold of me. “Kat,” I say, taking her by the shoulders again and forcing her to look at me. I speak slowly. “Did Dad do something?”

  “Nooooooo,” she wails. I have no idea if she knows what I’m talking about, but at least I know it has nothing to do with Dad.

  “Then…” I stare at her. She’s not old enough, is she? She’s only eleven. Oh my God!

  “I think I’m dying!” she wails.

  “Kat,” I say. I’m on my hands and knees, trying to make eye contact with her. “You are NOT dying. Definitely not.” I think fast. “I have to go to the drugstore and get you something, something to soak up the blood.” I can’t bring myself to say tampons or pads. They sound like dirty words. “It’s completely normal,” I tell her, trying to recall what they told us in family life class. I hadn’t paid much attention during the girl stuff, thinking, of course, that I didn’t really need to know about it. But how could I have forgotten about Kat? I guess I never pictured her growing up.

  “You stay right here.” I point at the floor, which I realize is kind of stupid. Why should she stay on the bathroom floor?

  She nods, drops her face into her knees and sobs again.

  Now that I know the problem is not life threatening, I realize there is something else I can add to my mental list. Dramatics. Kat’s getting real good at dramatics. Oh yeah. And periods. I can add that too. Shit.

  I pull on some clothes, grab my wallet and jog down the street. Fortunately there is a convenience store nearby.

  Now, I’m not stupid. I’ve seen enough TV commercials to know exactly what to buy. Something with wings. Something with maximum absorbency but minimum bulkiness. Something u
ltra-thin and disposable. But when I find the aisle I’m looking for and see the display, I’m stunned. Christ! There must be thirty different brands and types! What does an eleven-year-old girl who is just starting need? Overnighters? Light days? Medium protection? Heavy protection? Extra long? Extra narrow? All of the above? There are even thong-shaped ones!

  “Can I help you?”

  I find myself looking straight into the eyes of a young salesgirl. She’s wearing a geeky vest, which I guess is supposed to be a uniform. A badge pinned to her chest proves she really does work here. I stare at the badge too long, trying to avoid her eyes. “Uh, no,” I say. “Just looking.” Jeez. I’m so pathetic.

  “Okay,” she says, giving me the once-over. “Just let me know if you need some,” she pauses, “help.” She glances at the display, looks at me once more and then turns abruptly and sashays down the aisle. Oh yeah. Just what I need right now. A smart-ass salesgirl who thinks she’s hot.

  I can’t do this. The display is totally overwhelming and I’m too embarrassed to stand around reading each package, trying to figure out which brand Kat needs. I leave the store and drop onto a bus-stop bench. I have to help Kat. What can I do?

  I decide to call Mrs. K. She’ll help me. There’s a pay phone right outside the store.

  Mrs. K picks up after one ring. “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Kippenstein, it’s me, Darcy.”

  “Darcy.” She sounds alarmed. “Is everything okay? Aren’t you in school today?”

  “Yeah, everything’s okay, sort of, but no, I’m not in school. Kat woke up with this problem and…”

  “What’s the problem?”

  I swallow hard and then let it fly. “She’s bleeding. I think she’s got her first…period. I went to the store to get her, you know, stuff, but I didn’t know what to buy.”

  “No, why would you?” she laughs a little, but she sounds about as uncomfortable as I feel. “Is she at home?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Listen,” she says in a take-charge voice. “I’ll pick up what she needs and be at your house in about half an hour. How does that sound?”

  “That’d be great. Thanks, Mrs. Kippenstein.”