Never Enough (33 page)

He snickered, pulling to the side of the road and slowly bringing the car to a stop. “Actually, I didn’t bring you out here to put your heart in your throat.”

I gritted my teeth. “Why, then?”

“You ever heard of a Chinese Fire Drill?”

“Yeah,” I said, tentatively.

He gave the horn two quick honks. “Ready, set, go!” he said, louder than I’d ever heard him. The sheer volume of his voice shocked me into obedience. Marcus opened his door and hopped out. I did the same and he raced around the back of the car, while I took the front. We slid into opposite seats and slammed our doors.

“One problem,” I said. “I don’t know how to drive.”

“My point exactly.” He dangled the keys in my face.

Marcus took the next hour to show me not only how to drive, but how to drive a
standard
. At first I spent more time laughing than driving. Or trying to control my heart rate when he put his hand over mine to help me shift gears.

“My mom would kill me if she knew I was driving with another teenager.” I started the stalled vehicle and practiced shifting again, trying to coordinate the clutch with the gears. It was all very entertaining. Or at least it must have been for Marcus.

“You’re pretty good, for a beginner,” he said.

“Right. You being the professional, having had your license for what? A whole week?” The car stalled and I cranked the engine again. I looked down the road both ways, but it was still empty.

“You should’ve seen me my first time,” he said. “I didn’t
have the help of an expert instructor or anything.” He glanced my way with a smirk and stroked the dash. “I’m surprised my poor baby here didn’t choke to death.”

I never did understand guys who treated their cars like real people. When I tried again, I had a better handle on it. I got my bearings, and soon we were sailing down the straight highway at nearly twenty miles per hour.

“You know, you can go faster if you want.”

I’m sure he didn’t mean to sound patronizing. “Yeah, I know that,” I said, and stepped on the gas. It jutted us forward and the engine revved noticeably louder.

“Third,” he said, cringing.

I backed my foot off of the gas.

“Don’t go slower, just put it in third.”

I didn’t want to look away from the road to find out where third was. I backed my foot off the gas pedal again.

“Well, I guess you’ll have no problem driving around Alder Grove,” he said. “But I’m thinking road trips to Chicago are out for you. It’d take you two weeks just to get there.”

I hit the brakes. Hard. Marcus jolted against his seat belt, and now it was my turn to laugh. I, however, was in no mood for laughing. “Just cut me some slack, Mr. Mario Andretti. I’m doing the best that I can here.”

“No, you’re not.” Marcus raised his eyebrows and leaned back into his seat, not even giving me the courtesy of looking
my way. “You’re just scared. You’ve got to relax and learn that the car isn’t going to freak out if you have to look down at the gearshift for a second.”

Sometimes it pissed me off that he knew me so well. I put the gearshift back in first and started to edge away from the shoulder. But this time I kept my eyes on Marcus as I did it.

Marcus laughed and said, “Yeah, okay, Loey.” Then, as I sped up, his laugh wavered. I kept my eyes on him, very happy about how I had turned this situation around.

“Faster?” I asked. I don’t know what had come over me. Maybe it was the way Claire was so reckless with her life and I was tired of being the safe, sensible one. I gripped the wheel harder. I couldn’t sit back and be Claire’s audience anymore.

“Come on, Loann. Watch the road.”

I pressed the gas pedal farther down, feeling a rush of . . . something. Exhilaration? No, it was more than that. Panic, fear, release—all of it. Marcus kept watching the road and glancing back at me every three seconds. I hit the gravel shoulder and overcompensated back onto the far side of the road.

“Okay, that’s it. Pull over!”

“Oh, I’d better put it in third,” I said, and made a big deal of looking down at the gear shift. “Is this one third?” I asked. My voice came out angry.

Marcus reached over and grabbed the steering wheel. “You know it is, Loann, now just watch the road.”

Something snapped me back and I turned my eyes straight ahead. Even though I was still pretty close to where I should be on the road, I felt bad. It wasn’t Marcus I was mad at. By the time I slowed down, my breathing had returned to normal.

“Sorry,” I said once we were stopped. I turned off the engine and handed Marcus’s keys back to him. “I . . . needed that.”

“For what? I should be thanking you for making me reevaluate my mortality.”

I didn’t have the words to explain it. Marcus reached over and touched my arm and I sensed he understood, at least a little.

On our way back to civilization, Marcus took the driver’s seat again. “I’ll have to sell it soon, but I’ll give you lessons first, until you get your license.”

I didn’t put up a fight. I was happy Marcus was finding time for me. And when we got back to town, he didn’t have to rush off for work, so we went straight for the Arts Club. I wasn’t sure what had changed, but at the moment, I didn’t much care.

That evening, I skipped most of the way home, feeling like a little kid again.
Mom was out at a counseling session and dinner was on the stove. Dad had still not come home, which brought me back to my sober thinking. It would be my fault if he didn’t come home at all. As if there wasn’t enough stress flying around the house without me arguing with him about my college money.

Well, Claire’s fault, really. Her fault and my fault.

After knocking back a bowl of Hungarian goulash, I trekked up the stairs in search of Claire. I felt so much stronger after hanging out with Marcus and didn’t have any fear of Claire bringing me down. In fact, maybe my positive energy would be contagious.

I knocked on her door and didn’t hear anything at first.
A picture flashed in my head of her passed out by the toilet. I knocked again, louder, and called her name. A faint “Come in,” came from the other side.

I cracked open the door and peered through. Claire was in bed, the covers up around her throat, and even from across the room, I could tell she was shivering.

“Are you okay?” I walked closer.

“Yeah,” she said, as if convulsions were a normal part of life.

“You’re shaking. Are you cold?” I grabbed the blanket from the foot of her bed. Her skin had a greenish hue and she looked worse than the normal frailty and paleness that not-eating brought on.
Was this from the problems with her liver?

“No,” she whispered. “Just thirsty.” The water bottle beside her bed was empty.

I took it to the bathroom to refill it.

She whispered from behind me, “No, Loey, could you go get the filtered?”

I dumped the water in the bathroom sink and headed down the stairs, muttering to myself the whole way. “She’ll abuse her body, puke I don’t know how many times a day, but water . . . has to be filtered!” That was when I knew she had lost it.

I brought the water back upstairs, trying to recapture my positive attitude. Claire had stopped shaking and had pulled the blankets down. Sweat covered her forehead and seeped into her cropped hair. The long-sleeve white T-shirt she wore
was the same one I’d seen on her yesterday. She looked like she’d fallen back asleep, but when I stood at her bedside, her eyes opened slightly.

“Have you been up today?” I asked.

“Oh, Loey, I’m just so tired.”

“I should call Dr. Quinton.” I stepped toward the door.

“I’m okay.” She forced a bit more volume “Hey, Loey?”

She was trying to change the subject again. I took a deep breath and sighed it out. “Yeah?”

“Will you take my picture?”

I thought she was kidding, but I didn’t laugh. There was nothing funny about it. Her hair was matted and frizzy. Her face was gaunt and pale without makeup. But looking in her eyes, somehow I knew she was serious.

The old Claire was back. At least for the moment.

“For real?” I asked, probably sounding callous, but I couldn’t help myself. I was still me.

“You know,” she said, and I wondered if she was changing the subject again, “the only time I think I’ve ever felt worthwhile was when you were taking my picture.” She let out a little sad-sounding laugh.

I couldn’t stop hearing her words over and over again in my mind. “I’ll be right back,” I said finally, my voice rising at the end.

“Take her picture. Picture, picture, picture,” I murmured,
trying to keep my mind busy as I went to get my camera. “Photo, film. Tripod. Let’s take some pictures.”

Back beside her bed, I asked Claire, “Do you . . . Do you just want me to take it here?”

She lay still, her eyelet bedspread pulled back to her shoulders again.

“You tell me,” she said quietly. “You’re the photographer.”

“Can you get up?” I felt like I had to ask, since she looked so weak.

Claire pulled the blanket back and I looked away from her legs, only partially covered by shorts. They looked like those bone charts in the science classroom.

She placed her spindly legs over the edge of the bed and tried to push herself up to a seated position. I swallowed, not believing what had happened to my sister in mere days. I put my tripod on the floor so I could help her.

“Sitting’s good,” I said, once she was upright. I set up my tripod and camera, desperately running words through my head.
Picture, picture, picture
. Anything to avoid the moment.

Claire smiled meekly, one of her hands brushing her hair behind her ear.

Picture, picture, picture. Just take the stupid picture
. “Okay,” I said, but my voice seemed to have no volume. “Why don’t you look over at the window?”

She did as I directed.

“Tilt a little to the left,” I said. “Not so much. There. Perfect. Stay there.” I made sure the film had forwarded, then brought my eye to the viewfinder.

My breath caught. Through the camera I saw something other than my withering and frail sister. Claire’s eyes lit up and seemed to take over the whole frame. She was every bit as beautiful as I’d ever known her to be. I didn’t pull away to see the lifeless frame of a girl who was sitting on the bed. I was mesmerized.

“Don’t move,” I whispered, “That’s it.” I snapped a picture. “That’s it, Claire. Don’t move a muscle.” I snapped two more. “Okay, now, head a little to the right. Uh-huh.” I snapped again. “Beautiful, Claire, just beautiful.” My voice trilled louder. “Okay, now bring your hand up to your hair.” She did, and I snapped three more. Tears started spilling down my face. I couldn’t stop them. Didn’t want to. “Now straight at the camera, Claire. That’s it, that’s perfect. Wow, stunning.” Her smile became bigger and my tears fiercer. I kept my face pressed to the camera.

I snapped a whole roll of pictures, knowing with the last one, it would be the end of our photo shoot. I wouldn’t go back to my room and get another roll of film. This reprieve, with one more click, would be over.

After the last snap, I stared through the viewfinder for a long time. I don’t know how long, but eventually Claire asked, “Are we done?”

“Yeah, I think so.” I nodded against the camera. “That’s the end of the film.”

Claire lay back down and I quickly swiped the tears from my eyes. I packed my camera into its case.

“Thank you, Loey.” Claire’s voice was louder, stronger than it had been all evening.

“I—I didn’t do anything,” was all I could reply.

But for the first time in ages, I felt like I had.

*   *   *

After the night I took Claire’s pictures, she only left her bedroom when Mom was out. When I first saw her descend the stairs, I could understand why. She looked like a flamingo trying to climb down Mt. Everest. When she finally reached the bottom, she came over and sat beside me on the couch. I couldn’t help but stare.

“
Star Trek
?” she asked in an obvious attempt to divert my attention to the TV.

“Yeah, you want me to turn it?” Claire hated Star Trek. I had the remote up, poised and ready when she said, “No, no . . .
Star Trek
’s fine.”

I let it play and kept my eyes on the screen, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. The actors moved across the TV, but their words seemed muted. All I could hear was Claire breathing beside me.

In a whisper, I asked, “When will it be enough, Claire?”

She didn’t say anything for a long time. “You don’t understand, Loey.”

“You keep saying that.” I looked at her. “Okay, so make me understand.”

Her eyes fell to her lap. “I can’t stop. That’s it. It sounds so simple, doesn’t it?” She laughed a halfhearted laugh. “I always thought I could stop, you know? I always thought I was strong and I knew what I was doing. Sometimes I actually believed this made me stronger than everyone. I’d start again . . . to toughen up. But now, I don’t know. It’s not what I thought it would be. Not at all.” She stopped and took a long breath.