Brave Story - Miyuki Miyabe [98]
“Of course you’re scared, after that horrible thing happened to your friends,” his mom said, sniffling. “But it was our responsibility to see you got the support you needed at home, and we could do nothing. We did nothing. I’m so ashamed. I let you down.”
Calming down at last, his mom went and got the first-aid kit, and treated both of their scrapes. Wataru thought she should go to the hospital, but no matter how much he pleaded, she only smiled and said they had enough medicine at home—they’d be fine.
Fine at home, with no doctor to look at her scrapes and bruises. No doctor to ask what happened, to see the truth. I did this to Mom. That’s what she’s afraid of.
Wataru left his room, and lay down on the bed where his father used to sleep.
“At night, I’ve heard you moan in your sleep,” his mom called in to him. “Did you notice?”
“Not at all.”
“You must not be sleeping well at all. You look so pale, Wataru. There, you try to sleep. I’ll be right here.”
He didn’t feel tired in the least, but he pretended to sleep for his mom’s sake.
While he lay on the bed, eyes half closed, his mom made several phone calls. One of them was to school. She was talking to his teacher. Since the incident with Kenji and the others, all the teachers had been stuck at school, summer vacation notwithstanding. He couldn’t hear exactly what she was saying, but he caught the word “counselor.”
She talked to his grandma in Odawara too. Then she cried again. The next call was to Uncle Lou. This time she didn’t cry, she was angry.
Wataru let his mind drift, and watched a dark winged thing slowly glide through the depths of his memory. A strange, pungent odor seemed to waft past his nose.
“If you won’t come, shall I go to her office? Is that what you want?!”
His mother was shouting. She was on the phone again. Who is she talking to? Wataru sat up and listened, but his parents’ room was farther away from the living room than his own, and not as convenient for eavesdropping.
“Come…see…yourself. I don’t…how hard…Wataru.”
From the few snippets he caught of what she was saying, it was clear his mother was furious. About thirty minutes later, the door opened, and his mother walked in. “Did you get some rest?” she asked gently.
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad. Do want to eat anything? I can make you an omelet.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
His mom smiled.
“Your father’s coming this evening. We’ll have a talk, the three of us.”
Surprised, Wataru looked up and immediately saw from her expression that the questions he wanted to ask, questions like “Really?” or “Did Dad offer to come by himself?” or “Was that Dad you were yelling at on the phone?” would be ill-advised. His mom was quiet, but it wasn’t the tranquil quiet of someone calm and composed. She wasn’t at ease, or relaxed. She was wound up tightly in a ball. The brightness of her smile could only be measured on a scale with units that hadn’t been invented yet—that’s how bright it was.
His mom spent the rest of the long afternoon by herself in the kitchen. She was cooking. Wataru stuck his nose in once to find that she was making all of his and Dad’s favorite dishes.
Wataru’s chest hurt. He was short of breath. He had to stop and take deep breaths or he felt like he might collapse. His mom was cutting vegetables, frying things, and grilling chicken until a delicious smell permeated the apartment. Wataru’s feet felt cold. He knew something terrible was going to happen, and worse, he knew that half of him was actually waiting for it. Not that he wanted it to happen, but he was waiting all the same.
His heart pounded.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe nothing bad is going to happen at all.
Dad’s coming home.
But the tiny Wataru, deep inside him, lurking down at the bottom of his heart, was cupping his hands together like a megaphone and shouting: Calling Dad now, like this, is a mistake. Nothing good will come of it. Can’t you see that? Can’t she see that?
No, thought Wataru. No, we can’t.
His mom worked furiously, her back turned to him.