Vital Signs

Part 21

9:12 PM. Megs peeks out the front window when she hears the racket of my hood banging as I steer the car into the driveway. My headlight casts a weak, wobbly single beam of light. She turns on the porchlight.

I did a lot of thinking on my four-hour train ride back to Pittsburgh. But the most troublesome thought is how to tell Megan about my meeting with Brenna in Harrisburg. Like a plunge into a cold lake, maybe the best course of action is to dive right in without overthinking. Accept that it's going to be shockingly horrible when you hit the icy water, but if you flail and flounder long enough, eventually, the pain becomes bearable.

Hey, Megs, you'll never guess who I saw in Harrisburg today!"

Even an insane person would realize that's a terrible opening line. I know that the longer I put it off, the worse it's going to be when I tell her. As I cross the lawn to my front door I'm emboldened. Suck it up and just rip off the bandaid.

The door opens and she meets me on the porch, smiling warmly.

"Hey, babe. I missed you," she says and gives me a quick kiss. "You get your documents?"

"Yeah."

Jillian pops into the doorway dressed in pajamas. "I missed you, too."

So much for the bandaid ripping.

"Isn't it past your bedtime?" I enter the house, scoop Jilly-bean into my arms and twirl us both around.

Megs follows me inside and closes the door.

"Mom said I could stay up until you came home."

I set her onto the floor. "Well, I'm home."

"My work is done here," she says and starts up the stairs. She stops and retraces her steps. "I've been reading about those lawn chemicals we were talking about."

"That's good." I don't know what else to say.

"I'm glad we don't have those chemicals all over our yard."

"Me, too."

"Let's talk about this some other time," says Megs. "Don't forget to brush your teeth." 

"I won't." Those are some heavy footsteps climbing the stairs from such a little person.

"Are you hungry?" Megs asks me.

"Yeah, I guess I could eat something."

She leads me into the kitchen.

"We had tacos."

"Yeah, it smells like tacos in here."

She opens the refrigerator. "There's a leftover pork chop and some mashed potatoes. Not exactly sure how old that pork chop is."

"That's not a great sales pitch for the pork chop."

"I'm sensing risk aversion. The safe bet is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

Before I can answer, I hear shouting from next door. The neighbor's exterior lights illuminate the yard.

My neighbor shouts, "Look what you've done to my gardenias! Do you know how hard it is to grow gardenias?" 

Megan's eyes go wide.

I've never heard Josh raise his voice. I jog to the front window and peer out. Holy crap! There's the white van! A split second later, the blonde-haired guy scurries out from between our houses headed for his vehicle.

I throw open the front door and burst outside. The blonde guy runs like a woman on a broken high-heel shoe. In four long strides, I'm on him. I launch myself. As I'm airborne, hurtling toward my target, I remember my Pop Warner Pee-Wee football coach's words. "Keep your eyes on the runner's belt. Keep your head up. Tackle with your shoulder, not your head. Wrap your arms around the runner and ride him to the ground."