Dark Night

Treatment

When I woke up next, it was late afternoon and the condo smelled delicious. Grandpa had been in at some point and there was a carafe of water with a glass over the mouth, a new box of tissues with moisturizer, and the trashcan had been moved over. I rolled out of bed reluctantly, put on my robe, and padded to the bathroom before going out to the front room. I could see the pot of soup simmering on the stove and a bowl of bread dough rising on the counter. My hopes rose for dinner. Grandpa was sitting on the sofa reading a book, and looked up when he heard me shuffle in.

He patted the sofa next to him and I sank down, cuddling up. He put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head. "You don't look a whole lot better, but it will take time for the antibiotic to kick in," he said.

"My sinuses feel like they're packed with concrete," I rasped, and he nodded.

"Why don't we just sit here for a bit, and I'll do the talking for a bit." I hunched a bit. "First, I've offered to help with Stan's expenses before, but your mother insisted that they could manage. She's a lot more stubborn than I realized," he said ruefully. "But I put my foot down last night, and we came to an agreement that will take us all through the skating season next year. First of all, I'm going to move down here." I jolted back, feeling excited, then a bit worried.

"But you're having a good time at your retirement community," I fussed. "I only have what's left of this semester and next year, then I'll be in college."

"That's a significant amount of time for you, punkin," he said, smoothing my hair. His finger got caught in a snarl, and he got up and quickly returned with my comb. He had me turn and started working out the knots I'd gotten. And I hadn't showered after gym. I was a mess in more than one way.  "Besides, I miss my family. When I decided to move there, I thought you'd still be living in town. It's not as much fun as I anticipated. Part of that is that I retired too quickly," he conceded. "I should have taken a leave of absence when your grandma got sick. So I'm kind of bored. And there are a lot of weird little dogs there. Trembling chihuahuas, yappy poodles, hyper Jack Russells, and the older owners don't always pick up after them. I don't want to make a fuss about it because they provide a lot of love and companionship for their owners, and some of them don't have family, but I don't care for it. I can easily sell my place, there's always a waiting list there and I'll find a job or volunteer work. This way, I get to spend more time with you, keep an eye on things.

"Now, I know you're worried about paying for college, and I'm not saying that you don't have a right to, but let me assure you that your savings account is just what your grandma left you. I have always intended to contribute, especially after I saw how much money your folks were putting into Stan's skating. It's just gotten out of control lately. Now, there's nothing that can be done about the money that's already been laid out so far; the costumes have been made and delivered, all the services at that rink have been rendered. However, Stan will be presented with a budget. You're right that he hasn't had to give up anything to pursue skating, but he's going to. If he wants to exceed the limits with all the extras he's gotten used to, he's going to have to get a job, and that really isn't going to be possible until he graduates from high school. I'm going to be contributing toward his expenses as well, so that your parents don't have to work so much and hopefully will lessen the pressure on them. This will take Stan through the next year, then he's got some thinking to do. Additionally, your allowance will be reinstated and there will be a division of chores between you and Stan." He finished my hair. "So what do you think about that, punkin?"

"It's a really nice start, but I'm a little wary about how long things will last," I said honestly. "And I'm pretty sure that he's going to whine about the chores and the new limits on spending, probably blame all this on me. He's gotten used to having what he wants over the past five years or so. Every year he asks for more and he's gotten it. But--" I stopped and bit my lip.

"But?" he encouraged me, putting his arm around me again and stroking my hair.

"It doesn't address what's happened, or the effect that it had on me. It seems like ever since he started pursuing skating, I've been an inconvenience. I had to stop Girl Scouts because it cost money, I haven't been able to do anything outside of school that cost money if I didn't pay for it. Movies with my friends, the odd meal out. But finally, with my job, I can afford to do more, even though I try to save half of each paycheck. My skateboard. It's been, like, ten years of this. And Mom and Dad are just defensive. They don't seem to want to admit what it's done to me."

"And what has it done to you, Delia?" His voice was gentle. My lip started to tremble and my eyes filled up, despite my best efforts.

"I don't feel like I matter," I whispered. "Especially since we moved here, nothing I do is enough. There's always more laundry to do, or I'm not doing something right. I always have to explain myself. They ask me stuff occasionally, but it's never more than two questions, and it's on to the endlessly fascinating topic of the skating. I'm constantly told that I have to sacrifice. For Christmas, you were the only one who seemed to put any thought to my presents. The clothes mom and dad gave me didn't fit, and two of the shirts were pink. Pink! I've always had this hair, and it's always looked bad with pink. Mom fusses about safety of me on my skateboard, but I'm not the one in and out of medical care because I've hurt myself. I'm careful and responsible and I have and use safety gear. He gets mean when he doesn't get what he wants, but nobody else seems to see that side of him because they all give in to him. Mr Tiller is the only one who's really working with me  about college and what it means for me. I'm so angry now, Grandpa. I've tried to keep a lid on it but I can't anymore. I'm resentful and angry, and I don't even want to look at any of them. They did this, and they don't even seem sorry." That kind of eroded my last bit of self control and I started to sob. Grandpa pulled me onto his lap and started to rock me until I started to calm down.

"Well, it's good that I've already decided to move here," he said, sounding angry himself. "This isn't right." I snuffled the snot back, then winced as my sinuses started to pound. "We can't do anything about this just this minute, so we need to get you feeling better. Things always seem worse when I'm not feeling well. The pharmacist told me that a nice hot steamy shower might help your sinuses, and I got some tablets that smell like eucalyptus to help unclog your snout." He booped my nose, making me smile. So I got up and took the shower. It did seem to help. When I went back out in a cloud of eucalyptus steam, having also conditioned so my hair wouldn't snarl again, Mom was home and sitting at the table with Grandpa, who waved me in and moved toward the stove. I sat gingerly.

"Why didn't you tell me you were getting sick?" Mom said, and I rolled my eyes, feeling oppressed. The question put my teeth on edge.

"Because I thought my sinuses were stuffy from crying so much and my throat was sore from the drainage from my sinuses," I muttered. My throat did hurt. Grandpa brought me over a steaming bowl of his homemade chicken soup and a whole-wheat roll, soft and fluffy, hot out of the oven, with butter. I started to eat, but I wasn't really hungry, especially with Mom being all critical.

"I see what you mean, punkin," he said as I finished. "Now why don't you go get some more rest? I'll come check on you in a bit." I nodded and shuffled off to my room, feeling drained again. I found that he'd fluffed up my pillow and turned down the sheet and blankets nicely. I drank some of the water and crawled into bed.

"What did you mean when you said you saw what she meant, Dad?" Mom asked. I rubbed my forehead, but I didn't want to take any more aspirin for the headache, not after what had happened earlier.

"She said she feels like whatever she does is wrong or insufficient, Jane," Grandpa said crisply. "And while you might have been concerned, it came out as blaming her for her condition. Strep's going around that school, the nurse said--" I floated off to sleep.