Tiny Drops

  “Maybe in a few years, when you’ve been dealing with this longer. I don’t want to hit you with all of that right now. I’ll dig through some things, see if I can find anything light in there.”

  I let out my breath, imagining my hope leaving with it. I feel deflated, both literally and metaphorically. I really want to read his stuff. “Whenever you’re ready to let me, I’ll be happy to read it,” I say, hoping he can’t hear the disappointment in my voice.

  He holds my eye for a long moment before a knock at the door startles us both…and Jayden, too, from the sound of the scream she lets out.

  “Are you expecting anyone else?” I ask, my hand clutching my beating heart.

  “Nope. I can’t imagine who it could be.” Bernard walks slowly toward the door. He reaches it, and, leaning in, puts his eye up to the little hole in the center. He pulls the door open with a relieved laugh. I’m surprised to see Harrison and Jesse standing on the other side.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, as Jesse comes inside.

  Things have been weird with Jesse, and weird-times-ten when Harrison’s around, too. I hate it. I’m not sure what happened or how it shifted, but the dynamic of our relationship changed—not just mine and Harrison’s—but mine and Jesse’s as well.

  Jesse and I have always been close—closer than close. Every time I’ve ever been asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I’ve had a flash of my big brother. Every single time. He’s easy. Easy to love and easy to laugh with. He always knows exactly what to do or say, and kindness is ingrained deeply within him. It’s not a way to be; it just simply is who he is. I can’t stand to see him being so nasty to his best friend. It’s not him.

  Bernard places his hands on my shoulders. “I think what your sister means is welcome. This is a pleasant surprise.” He lets go, patting me gently before he removes his hand completely.

  Harrison is lost in the magic of the room. “Your library is fantastic!” he says, spinning around, taking in all of the books. He steps to the shelf closest to him and pulls out a book. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Carefully, he opens the first pages before he closes it and looks over to Bernard, who’s still standing behind me. I let myself believe he’s looking at me that intently. Warmth blossoms in my stomach.

  “This is a first edition. Are these all first editions?” His words are an ice bath to the warmth growing inside me. He’s excited about the books.

  Bernard shakes his head. “Heavens, no. That shelf has some pretty special books, but then what book isn’t a special book.” It’s a statement, not a question. He walks up to Harrison and takes the book from him, running his hand across the cover, as if remembering an old friend.

  “Do you miss it, Mr. Shelton?” Jesse asks.

  “The teaching?”

  Jesse nods.

  “It wasn’t my passion for children that made me want to teach. It was my passion for literature that fueled me. Always. And I believe that’s what made teaching so great. I wanted to tell people about these great stories—these heartbreaking, life-changing stories. And once I got into the classroom, I found I had a gift for it. It’s easy to inspire others when you, yourself, are inspired.”

  A Cheshire grin takes over his face. “This,” he says, bouncing the book in his hand—testing its weight. “This is what I live for. The people inside these books keep me company at night and in the morning while I drink my coffee. And now I am lucky enough to have all of you in my life. I don’t feel like I’m missing anything. Except things I stopped wishing for a long time ago.”

  The room is silent. I know I’m the only one in here who knows about Leila, and the weight of his final sentence steals my breath. Harrison’s eyes find mine, and my heart begins to beat just a bit faster. I look away, hoping Jesse doesn’t see us and freak out.

  The room is flooded with heat, so I peel off my hoodie. I can’t stand being in it a minute longer. There are too many people in this room. “Can I get some water?”

  “Of course,” Bernard replies. Taking my elbow, he leads me into the kitchen.

  His first stop when we enter the kitchen is the window above the sink. He flips the latch and pushes the pane upward. Holding it with one hand, he places a small piece of wood upright in the space between, letting the window drop down on it. He guides me to the spot directly in front of it. The cool air hits my skin, and I feel like I can breathe again.

  Bernard sets a glass of water beside me, never saying a word.

  I pick it up. It’s moist in my hand from the condensation on the glass. There are ice cubes floating inside, and I smile down at them, thankful to have such a thoughtful friend. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” The words surprise me. I didn’t realize I felt that way.

  “How do you mean?” he asks, closing the window when he notices the goosebumps rise across my arms.

  I set down the glass and run my icy fingers across my arms in a futile attempt to stave the sudden cold.

  “I don’t know, it’s like I can’t be around people anymore. I feel like I can’t breathe, especially when it’s Jesse and Harrison.”

  “Ah…”

  “What is that? Ah?”

  “It sounds to me like you need to have a conversation. Whether that means with everyone all at once, or individually, is up to you. But you need to talk to them about how you’re feeling.” He crosses his arms and leans against the counter opposite me. “You leave it to me. I’ll bring it around. You’ll just have to be brave and speak up when the ball’s in your court.”

  “How are your classes? Are you enjoying your education?”

  Bernard’s table is round and normally sits four comfortably. We brought a barstool in from the kitchen, and Harrison graciously accepted it for the night. It sits slightly higher than all the other chairs, so he’s sitting with a bit of a hunch to his shoulders—as if to try to shrink in size, or maybe it’s the weight of the room bringing him down.

  “I don’t know. I can barely see up from down right now. I never knew how hard it would be to work nights and try to go to school, but it’s brutal.”

  Jesse’s answer shocks me—he never once said anything to me about it.

  “Maybe it’s time to think about letting go of the job and just focus on the education,” Bernard answers. It sounds so simple—an easy choice. But I know it’s not like that—not for Jesse, not for us.

  “Ha!” Jesse’s laugh is harsh, bitter. “I’ve been working to help my mom crawl out from under the medical debt that’s plagued her since my dad died. It’s not shitty enough she lost her husband—she’s spent years paying for it.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down before he begins again. “It’s the least I can do for her. She does so much for us.”

  “I understand family obligation. If you need help with any of your school work, come on over, any time. My door’s always open to you.”

  “Thanks, that’s very kind of you. I might just have to take you up on it.”

  I try to relax. Knowing Bernard is going to try to shake the tree, so to speak, has me seriously flustered. I let out a pent-up breath. Jesse looks at me, and ever so slowly, his left eyebrow rises. This is it. This is the start of it. My brows pull together, and I attempt a smile, but I know I can’t pull it off. Not really.

  “What’s up with you, Brice? I barely see you anymore. Not like this guy—” he points his spoon at Harrison, “—he seems to see you every day.”

  “Not every day, but yeah. I’ve been lucky enough to get to spend some time with him.” I’m so surprised at how sure and strong my voice is. It’s okay for Harrison and me to be friends, and I won’t let my idiot brother ruin it.

  “What is it exactly that bothers you so much about us being friends?” Harrison asks, sitting straight despite his tall stool. “I don’t get it, I really don’t. Where’s all of this hostility coming from? I thought I was your best friend. What’s wrong with you?”

  “I see the way you look at her. Don’t you get it? She’s my sister, and she’
s still a child.” His voice is a low rumble.

  “She’s not a child, Jess.” Jayden astonishes me—joining in.

  This whole conversation feels surreal, as if I’m merely watching a movie and none of this is real. I’m glad she’s here; I won’t have to fill her in on this train wreck later.

  “I don’t really know what my feelings are for Brice. Am I attracted to her? Of course! Look at her, she’s beautiful.”

  He may be talking to Jesse, but the only one he sees right now is me.

  “Do I think I could love her? Yes. I think maybe I have since I saw her at that first football game all those years ago—sitting in the grass with dolls spread all around her, talking as if they were each their own person.” His eyes break away from mine, his focus returning to Jesse—whose face is red and shaking.

  I reach over and lay my hand on his arm, but he shrugs me off.

  “But I know she’s not ready for more than friendship. No matter what you think of me, I’d never break that trust.”

  Jesse moves like a flash. He’s on Harrison before his chair hits the ground behind him.

  I jump up, but Bernard grabs me, pulling me back.

  “You need to leave! I don’t want to look at you,” Jesse screams in Harrison’s face, his hands around his neck as they wrestle on the floor.

  Bernard steps in front of me. “That’s enough.” His voice is no louder than it was at dinner, but his calm timbre blankets the room, demanding attention.

  Jesse glances down at Harrison beneath him. His cheeks color as he releases his grip and stands. His gaze fixed firmly on the floor as anger pulses through his jaw.

  Harrison gets up and straightens his glasses. The frame is bent slightly, and it won’t lay right across his nose. He looks at Bernard. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Shelton. I didn’t have any intentions of disrespecting your home like this.”

  With that, he walks out the door.

  I grab my hoodie off the couch, and race after him. I won’t let him leave without saying something first. I don’t want this to be goodbye.

  “You shouldn’t have followed me, Brice. He needs to cool down, and this is going to make it worse.”

  “Did you mean what you said in there?”

  He’s leaning against his truck. I walk right up to him—I want to be looking in his eyes when he answers this question. I grab his glasses from his face and do my best to straighten the frame. His cheeks color when my hands touch him, and I try to imagine what it would be like if he kissed me right now.

  I slide his glasses back on his face. I meant to step back, but I step closer, instead. I can feel the warmth coming off his body, and I shiver in the cold winter air.

  He runs his hands down my arms. “You shouldn’t be out here,” he whispers, tipping my chin up so my eyes meet his.

  What I see there is heartbreaking, and I know this is goodbye.

  “I’m leaving this fall. I got into Central, and I finally have enough saved for housing. I’m really sorry all this happened, Rice. I did mean what I said in there, and one of these days I’ll prove it to you. But I think it’s best if I stay away for a while.”

  I imagine a glass heart shattering into a million little pieces, and even though I know mine is a strong muscle, today it feels just as fragile and as brave. I step closer still, and I let my lips brush against his.

  He grabs me, pulling me closer, his lips parting slowly. And I lose myself in my first kiss—knowing I’ll never kiss another.

  18

  This Is How It Should Be

  The butterflies in my stomach are different today. There are just one or two of them in there, flying lazily in circles. Not like the immeasurable amount that reside there when Harrison is around. Not that Harrison has been around. I haven’t seen him for weeks, and something tells me I won’t be seeing him for a long time to come. I still feel him, though. We’re tethered together by soul-fiber.

  I set the magazine I’ve been holding back on the stand beside my chair. The office is quiet; Mom and I are the only two waiting. The woman behind the desk assured us it won’t be much longer.

  Now that my thoughts have stilled, I hear water trickling and look around to find the source. In the corner of the room, there’s a small water fountain surrounded by plants—some with big, fuchsia-colored flowers in bloom. It’s lovely. The whole atmosphere of the place is so different. I hope the doctor will be, too.

  It’s funny when your thoughts conjure people.

  A small, dark man in a white coat opens the door. “Brice?” He stands, quietly observing me, arms crossed, and a slight smile on his face.

  I push up from the chair, a deep sense of dread in my stomach. I really don’t like uncertainty. Meeting someone new always makes me anxious.

  Mom stands with me, grabbing my arm. “Relax,” she whispers—when she’s clearly anything but.

  I can’t let this moment own me. Whatever happens, when I leave this office, I’ll still be me, and Mom will still be Mom.

  Once I’m standing beside him, his smile grows. He places his hand on my shoulder. “Welcome, Brice. I’m Dr. Banting—not the Dr. Banting, of course—but I like to think I keep the name in good standing.” He winks, turning to walk down the hallway.

  His strides are long despite his small stature. I stand, paralyzed, watching him. I know I’m supposed to follow, but my mind is still trying to sort out the whole introduction.

  I turn to Mom. “What?”

  “Well, come on.” She rushes after him.

  “What?” I whisper again, the whole experience feeling a little bizarre. But, for the first time in months, I feel like I might be able to breathe again. I’m breathing now, but I want to be able to take those deep breaths. The kind you take when you know everything is going to be okay.

  I make my way down the hall, entering the room they’re standing in. “Sorry, I just…” I just don’t know how to finish the sentence—apparently.

  He waves his hand, clearing the air. “No need to apologize.” He chuckles, shaking his head.

  “What’s funny?” Mom asks, a bit of an edge to her voice.

  “I’ve never been able to figure out what it is that makes diabetics always feel the need to apologize. Trust me, young lady, you have nothing to apologize for. If anything, the world should be apologizing to you.”

  I don’t quite know what to say to that, but I know it’s true. It feels like all I do anymore is apologize—for my feelings, for my actions, for all the trouble. I feel like a burden to everyone…all the time.

  “Sorry.” I bury my face in my hands, mortified that my first impression is making me a cliché. I rub my hands down my face. I look up to see he’s watching me. It’s one of those looks. Like all my secrets are his to take.

  “I’m really nervous. My last doctor…” I don’t finish the sentence—I don’t know how.

  “He said she was going to die young,” Mom steps in, finishing it for me. She pauses, takes a deep breath, and when she glances back at me, I can see her eyes beginning to well. She squares her shoulders and takes my hand. “He was insensitive and his pessimism made us feel terrible.” The squeeze she gives my fingers is almost painful.

  “Brice, I am here to help you. To teach you. I believe, as your doctor, my biggest priority is to keep you healthy. Not just physically but emotionally and mentally. If something concerns me, I will speak to you frankly about it. But I am an optimist, and I believe in the power of the mind over the body. So, what I am getting at, in a rather long-winded manner, I’m afraid—” he chuckles, amused by himself and I can’t help but be a bit amused, too, “—I would never say something that would put your mental and emotional health at risk. I’m sorry for what the last doctor said. I’ve reviewed your blood sugar log and your labs, and I can assure you that there is no merit to it.”

  I shake my head, feeling a ridiculous amount of emotion. “What do you mean? Why would he say that terrible thing if it wasn’t true?” I don’t understand why he would be so careles
sly hurtful for no reason.

  “Well, I’m reviewing everything now, and the fact that you have kept such a diligent log is impressive to me. Most teenagers wouldn’t. Of course, it would be nice to try to stabilize your blood sugar levels, but when were you diagnosed?”

  “November fourteenth,” I say, wondering what he’s getting at.

  He laughs and I’m not quite sure what to think. I wasn’t expecting that. I glance at Mom. Her forehead’s wrinkled, and she’s sitting on the edge of her chair, her purse strap in hand. Maybe we’re just going to doctor hop forever and never find someone to help me with this.

  “I’m sorry. That probably seemed incredibly rude, I do apologize. It’s just that November fourteenth is National Diabetes day. It has been since 1991, but the reason they chose that day is because it was the late, great, Dr. Banting’s birthday.” He glances up from my chart, and I can tell he’s waiting for me to say something.

  The problem is, I’m not sure what.

  I look at Mom. She gives me a little half shrug. She must not know the proper response to all of this, either.

  I decide to go with the biggest question I have at the moment. “Who is Dr. Banting?”

  He glances up again. This time, he looks shocked. “I didn’t realize you didn’t know. I probably seem a little silly going on like I have been.” He closes my file. “Dr. Banting was the man who discovered insulin therapy. If it wasn’t for his steadfast persistence in the name of science, they may have never figured it out.”

  “Wow” is all I can say. The notion that insulin wasn’t always around had never occurred to me before. I hadn’t even thought about someone discovering it.

  “Yeah, you should look him up if you ever get a chance. He was quite an impressive man.”

  “I will, the next time I go to the library. So, what is it about my numbers that made him say that, if you don’t see the same thing?” It’s time to sit the history lesson aside and get to the heart of this—before it drowns me.