Hiding From Us

46. adrian

‘‘This is a terrible idea,’’ Grace said. 

     ‘‘This is a wonderful idea,’’ I countered. ‘‘It’s not my fault that you happened to be in town at this hour.’’

     ‘’I told you—I almost sliced my finger off while making that stupid quiche, so my dad rushed me down to the emergency room.’’ She held up her left hand and showed me the two fingers that were taped together. I took her wrist, brought it to my mouth, and kissed her knuckles. Her skin smelt like hand sanitizer from the hospital. 

     I said, ‘‘Why were you making quiche at ten-thirty p.m.?’’

     She said, ‘‘Because I felt like it and I could. Why were you hanging around the hospital at ten-thirty p.m.?’’

     ‘‘Because Rosie needed more painkillers,’’ I replied. I’d walked a few blocks and purchased them, and on the way back, I noticed Grace emerging with her father, Stuart, and I ran to meet them. Stuart had been in a hurry, apparently, because he needed to get to an emergency thingy at his job, so I volunteered to take Grace for a movie or something. 

     I said, ‘‘This isn’t a bad idea. You know it’s not.’’

     Grace raised an eyebrow at me. ‘‘Going to see a late night movie at eleven p.m.?’’

     ‘‘Well, they don’t call it ‘late night’ for nothing.’’

    ‘‘Shut up. This is such a brilliant idea, A.’’

     But it was, really, so we got two tickets to the film—Titanic, the most recent version with Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet—and I bought us popcorn and a soda to share, and we went into the theatre.

     Grace said, ‘‘It’s empty.’’ 

     I said, ‘‘It’s Saturday night.’’

     Grace said, ‘‘This is actually a pretty nice idea, now that we’re here.’’

     We got a seat right in the middle, and the movie started. I pushed the armrest up so that Grace could lean against me, and we shared popcorn and we shared the soda and we shared a couple kisses, too, which were a lot better than the popcorn or the soda. We laughed and cried at the movie—well, Grace did. I consoled her—and when it ended and we came outside, I found Jared waiting for me.

     I said, ‘‘Were you stalking us?’’

     He said, ‘‘Dad’s willing to give Grace a ride, but he says you need to come home. Rosie wants you.’’

     My throat got tight. Even thought it was past midnight, Rosie would usually come to see me. Her parents would drive her and she would run into my arms and she would sing me her zebra song. I would take her home and put her to bed, and then as Rose was falling asleep, I would kiss Grace in the hallway, carefully, quietly. I wanted it to be real so badly. 

     The truth was this:

     Rosie was at home, in her bed, with an IV thrust into her arm. Before I’d left to get painkillers, I’d put a hand on her forehead: it had been alarmingly hot, even though her skin was pale and she claimed to be freezing beneath her mountain of blankets. 

     ‘‘Fevers are often just a side effect,’’ Mrs. Connolly told me as I put on my coat. ‘‘It’s not what we have to worry about. The painkillers will help, though.’’

     Now, as we stopped in front of Grace’s house, I clenched the bottle of painkillers in my hand until my knuckles turned white. I kissed Grace goodnight, and I told her that I loved her, and she told me that she loved me, too, and we drove back home to see Rose. I gave her the painkillers and lay with her as they slowly did their magic. She hugged her zebra; she smelt like bubblegum, a result of the drugs.