Read Online Tell Me Something Real by Calla Devlin - Free Book Online Page A

bedrock. By planting her feet on the floor, she strengthens the whole structure, even if she nags us a little too much, earning her the nickname Bossy Barb. After a late-night conversation with Barb, Dad insisted on meeting with the president of his firm, goingover Richard’s head. He came home victorious. Mr. President granted him family leave, plus weeks of the vacation time he accrued over the years but barely ever used. He just has to finish one project, the university arts and letters hall, which shouldn’t take more than a month. Maybe two.
    In the meantime, he devotes his attention to Mom and Marie, who need him most. Marie enrolls in soccer camp and vacation bible school. As soon as Dad changes from his suit into shorts, they practice, running the length of the yard until he comes in sweaty. It isn’t until then that he can sit still, reach for Mom’s hand, and talk about the week’s medical schedule. He remains out of breath.
    Adrienne escapes to the beach with Zach. After breakfast, she packs her backpack with her magazines and sketch pad and bolts out the front door. She refuses to allow Zach to pick her up at the house, stopping him at the bottom of the hill, where she climbs into his pickup. She comes home full of stories about how they spend their days at the beach, hanging out at one of the cafés where the staff treats them like adults, serving them free coffee refills. But her giddiness wanes quickly when she asks about Mom, disappearing altogether amid talk of Mom’s appetite and energy and mood. Barb relieves us of our responsibilities as nurses, cooks, and housecleaners. We’re almost kids again. An impossibility, but we try anyway. It is worth it when Mom smiles at our daily reports of swimming, soccer, and skateboarding. The luxury of boring details.
    I’m content to stay at home with Caleb, playing cards on the front porch and taking skateboard lessons. The incline of the driveway functions as the beginner’s slope as I learn to balance my body on the board. I circle the driveway until I do it ten times in a row without falling. Mastering that initial skill, turning the board without crashing, takes an entire week, and Caleb instructs me on distance, on how to ride beyond the driveway, beyond a block.
    A couple of weeks ago, it was inconceivable to spend hours outside, to do anything that didn’t require caring for Mom or Marie. However fragile Caleb may be, he’s not my responsibility. Caleb is teaching me the difference between desire and obligation.
    He looks so much better, barely like the boy who nearly fainted on the beach. Swirls of dark curls sprout on his scalp, and I have to resist the urge to trace the tendrils of growing hair. He doesn’t have tons of energy, but he has enough to keep him out of bed until eight or nine at night. After dinner, we lounge in my room, door open due to Barb’s strict rules, and play one of our clinic waiting-for-Mom board games. I lose over and over again because of the close proximity of his legs against mine. I catch him looking at me as I assess the Yahtzee dice or weigh the cost of the crown jewels of Monopoly: Boardwalk and Park Place. I glance up in time to catch him, and instead of bashfully looking away, he meets my eyes.
    â€œYou don’t have to let me win,” he says.
    â€œI’m not letting you win.”
    He taps my naked toe with his own. “You don’t have to be so nice.”
    Without thinking, I laugh and repeat something Mom often says: “Adrienne’s the pretty one, I’m the nice and quiet one, and Marie’s the baby.”
    He places the dice on the Monopoly board and stares at me a little too seriously. I can’t read him, which happens sometimes when he isn’t feeling well but refuses to tell me so. “What?” I ask. “Are you okay?”
    â€œWhy would you say that? It’s totally messed up.”
    I straighten the neat piles of