|
He calls her the next morning. She is washing dishes. It is Pancake Saturday and she is about to start making the batter. She needs clean dishes first though. Tyler answers the phone. "Ella, it's Jonathan!" he calls. Ella is drying her hands and Tyler keeps talking. "Are you really from New York?" he asks. "Sure am," Jonathan says. "Jacob said it's dangerous there." "Like how?" Jonathan doesn't want to tell him that it can be a frightening place. He doesn't want to put those thoughts in a child's head. He is feeling around to see what Tyler already knows. "I don't know," Tyler says. "I'll have to ask." Tyler is set on doing this, but Ella snatches the phone out of his hand. "Later, Ty," she says. And then into the receiver, "Hello?" She wonders why she says it as a question when she knows who it is. "Thank you," he says. "I was getting a little worried I'd scar him for life." "You're welcome," she says. "Hi." He smiles. She can hear it in his voice when he says, "Hello." "What are you doing?" she wants to know. "Just got up," he says. Now that she thinks about it, she can tell. He sounds like he hasn't been up long. "About to find some breakfast." "You should come over and eat pancakes with us," she says, as if he were in the next house, not the next state. "Ooh," he says, salivating, "that sounds so good." "It's a tradition," she says. "Pancake Saturday." "Where'd that come from?" "I'm not sure," she says. "My mom instituted it a long, long time ago. For years I thought the week went Thursday, Friday, Pancake Saturday, Sunday, etc." She laughs at the thought of her younger self. "My teachers must have thought I was nuts." "You really make pancakes every Saturday?" he asks. "Sure," she says. "Well, you know, within reason. If there were an emergency, we wouldn't die trying to observe Pancake Saturday." "Man, look what you're making me do," he says. "Now I want some pancakes so bad that I'm going to have to get dressed and go find an IHOP." "Sorry," she says. "Let's talk about something else." She cradles the phone between her ear and her shoulder and finishes the dishes. "Okay, what?" he asks. He has not been up as long as she has. His mind is still a bit slow. "How was the show last night?" "Good," he says. "I was sending good thoughts your way," she says. "Thanks," he says. "It was slightly above average. I did 'Angie' for you. Well, I did most of it. I forgot some of the words. But I did say, 'This is for Ella.' No one except the band knew what I was saying." "I don't know the words either." She begins to gather the ingredients and line them up on the counter. He begins to sing roughly, "Angie-- No wait." He clears his throat. Ella hears him moving around and then he strums an acoustic guitar. He clears his throat again and starts over. "Angie, Angie, when will those clouds all disappear?" Ella closes her eyes and listens. "Angie, Angie, where will it lead us from here?" He goes on, singing about half of the song. Even on a rough, morning voice it sounds wonderful. When he finishes, Ella opens her eyes. "Wow," she says. "I wish-- Well, just wow." She almost says, "I wish I could hear you sing like this every day," but doesn't want to go too far. She starts putting ingredients together in a bowl. "How about this?" he asks. "How about if I come over and you can make me some pancakes and I'll sing for you? Will that work?" "Sounds great," she says. "But I doubt Tour Daddy will approve." "Yeah, he never lets me have any fun." Ella starts to say something, but Tyler comes in. "Ella, can we have blueberry?" He always asks for blueberries in his pancakes. "Yeah," she says, "get them out for me." "Hey, Ella," Jonathan says. "I've got to go. Tour Daddy calls and I don't want to be grounded." Ella is disappointed. "Okay," she says. She wishes she knew him well enough to argue for more phone time, but she doesn't. "I'll talk to you later." It borders on being a question. "Definitely," he says. She hangs up and focuses on the pancakes. "Is Mom coming?" Tyler asks. He is watching her stir the blueberries into some of the batter. Ella doesn't even know if her mother is home. "Go see if she's here," she tells Tyler. She refuses to make excuses for her mother anymore. She'll let her brothers draw their own conclusions. He runs off to go check. "She's not there," Jacob says after Tyler has gone. "I looked already." He comes into the kitchen and pulls out a chair to sit in. "Ella, where does Mom go when she doesn't come home?" he asks. "I think she's at the office," Ella says. She doesn't want to entertain any other ideas on this matter. "Why does she like it better there?" he asks. Ella has spent a lot of time thinking about that same question. "She's not there!" Tyler says as he runs back into the kitchen. "I don't know," Ella tells Jacob. "Know what?" Tyler asks. "Know what I'm going to do with you," she says. "What did I say about running in the house, especially in the kitchen?" "You said not to," he says, as if he wasn't just breaking that rule. "Right, so please don't do it anymore." "I won't," he says. The phone rings. "Maybe it's Mom!" Tyler says. Simultaneously, Jacob says, "Mom?" Ella hopes for someone else, but for their sakes hopes it is their mother. It's bittersweet, then, when she hears Jonathan's voice. "Sorry," he says right off. "I had to go take care of some technical junk. How are the pancakes coming along?" "Just fine," she says. "The whole kitchen smells good." "Why has no one invented a smellophone?" he asks. "If I can hear what's going on there, why should I not be able to smell it?" "That's an interesting idea," she says. She look at her brothers and shakes her head. They look disappointed, but not surprised. "Phillip is mad at you," he says. It is so random that Ella doesn't understand at first. "Huh?" she asks. "What did I ever do to him?" "You made pancakes," he says. "I just sent him to get me some pancakes from McDonald's. He not too happy about it." "And you told him to blame me?" "Well, not like that. I told him you were making some and I wanted some. It's not like he doesn't like McDonald's, and I did tell him to get whatever he wants. He just is not a morning person." Ella is not sure what to say. Jonathan goes on, "While I'm making you feel bad, I just have to tell you that you indirectly kept me up all night." "How so?" "That lyric, that idea for a song. It's like right there, but it won't come. It is making me crazy." He is fully awake now and Ella can tell. "I mean, the line itself isn't great, but that idea, that theme. That we're all terrible in different ways, and that should just kill us, but we have each other, so it's all good. I feel like it should be something. And it's like it doesn't want to be anything yet." Ella loves that his songs have personalities. "So, the song decides for itself when it's ready?" "Sounds stupid, doesn't it? But that's how it works. Sometimes, they have minds of their own." Ella tries not to gush. "You sound like you're describing your children," she says. "How cliche is that?" he asks. "You could just see me sitting on some cheesy set in a VH1 interview saying, 'My songs really are like my children.' What a loser. Don't let me get like that." "So, they can think for themselves and you made them, but they aren't your children?" "I hope to one day have children. Like actual people who came from me. How bad would that make them feel? They'll probably be in therapy anyway, but let me not add to that." He pretends to sob, mocking these theoretical children. "My father loved his songs more than he loved me. He called them his children." Ella is laughing and flipping pancakes at the same time. "Poor kids," she says. "They're messed up because you're famous, but you couldn't afford the therapy if you weren't." "Exactly," he says. "I lose either way, or they do anyway." "The question is: Would they still need therapy if you weren't famous?" "I can't answer that objectively, but I'm inclined to say they would." His self-deprecating humor displays humility. "I doubt they would," she says. "That's why the situation is interesting. Rich people have expensive problems?" He is amused. "You sound unsure." "I've never been a rich person." "I don't know," he says. "Your home is pretty nice." "Well, that doesn't make me a rich person. My mother has money, yes, but as far as I'm concerned, I'd rather be poor and have her around more." Ella realizes after has already said this that her brothers are listening. "That's the problem, I guess," he says. "You work to give your kids nice things, but you don't have time to enjoy them together." That doesn't apply to her situation. Her mother isn't working excessively to provide for her children. She works so much because she wants to escape. But Ella doesn't say anything about this. "Jacob and Tyler, breakfast is ready," she says. "Go wash your hands." "Save me a blueberry pancake?" Jonathan asks. He knows she changed the subject intentionally. He knows her mother is a very touchy subject. He wants things to be light and fun again, like they were before. "Sure," she says. "You'll have to come get it soon though. I can't imagine it'll be any good by the time you come back here on tour." He laughs. "If I don't pick it up, can you send it to me?" "Like your pumpkin bread?" she asks. She thinks it is interesting that he has just indirectly compared her to his mother. Or maybe she made the comparison. "Yeah, like that. You can send pictures and books too, if you want." He picks up on the comparison and runs with it. "I'm afraid my pictures would mean nothing to you and my taste in books would never measure up." "I'll have to come get it then." That sounds better anyway, he thinks. "So, what's next? After the pancake part of Pancake Saturday is over, what do you do?" "Normal Saturday stuff," she says. He says, "Normal Saturday stuff for you is different than normal Saturday stuff is for me, so I was just wondering. "So, what's a normal Saturday like for you?" Ella asks. "That's just the thing," Jonathan says. "There's no such thing as a normal Saturday for me. Not until I go home." "Well, at home, then," she says. "Probably not much different than your Saturdays. It's been a while though, I can't exactly remember." He has only vague notions of what he'd be doing if his life were more normal or average. "Probably watching TV alone in my apartment." Ella is fascinated by the differences between their lives. "Where are you going in Europe?" she asks. "All the normal places," he says. Then, he realizes that most people don't know what that includes. "Um, London, Berlin, Munich. You know, the bigger cities." "What's it like?" she asks. She has always wanted to go to Europe. She has always wanted to travel. "Europe?" There is a long pause. Ella can hear lots of background noises. "Hey, Ella? I have to go." "Why?" she asks. Maybe she is ready to argue for phone time. "I'm really sorry," he says. He does not answer her question. "Watch your mail." These words are cryptic and final. He hangs up before she can protest any further. "Watch your mail?" Ella says to herself. Tyler hears her. "Watch it do what?" he asks. "What are we talking about?" Jacob wants to know. Ella joins them at the table where they have just started eating. "He said to watch my mail." "Watch it do what?" Tyler asks again. "He's going to send you something," Jacob says. "Yes," Ella says, "but what on earth could he want to send me?" "Maybe a frog," Tyler says. He is serious; there is no trace of a smile. He says it and takes a bite of blueberry pancake as if this is a perfectly natural thing to send through the mail to someone. Jacob laughs though. "Maybe a love letter!" he says. "Yuck! Ella has a boyfriend!" The words are not unpleasant, but Ella says, "I do not. Please calm down." Ella is about to eat a triangular piece of pancake. The fork is halfway to her mouth. The phone rings. For a second her heart leaps and she is sure that it is him again, but she reminds herself that it could be anyone. It could be another friend. It could be a relative. It could be a telemarketer. It could be a wrong number. She refuses to be one of those girls who jumps up and runs every time the phone rings, but it is not easy to stay composed. She lets Tyler get it. "Who is it?" he says, shunning the typical greetings. He listens carefully and then holds the phone out to his sister. "Ella, she wants to talk to you." She? Ella tries to think of who it would be. She takes the phone. "Hello?" There is more question in this than there usually is. "Annabella, this is Cheryl. I'm calling on behalf of your mother. She'd like you and your brothers to have lunch with her at Giovanni's this afternoon at one. Are you available?" What else would I be doing? Ella thinks, but she says, "Yes, of course." "That's Giovanni's on Park Avenue. Do you know where that is?" Duh, Ella thinks, what do you think I am? A moron? She says, "Yes, I know exactly where that is." "Thanks, Annabella," Cheryl says. "No, thank you," Ella says. She wishes her thoughts were as nice as her words. "Who was it?" Jacob asks. "We're going to have lunch with Mom," she says. "But it's Pancake Saturday!" Tyler says. "We can't have lunch. Unless we're having pancakes for lunch! Are we?" "No, I think it's Italian food, Ty." "Ella, that's dumb," Jacob says. "Why would she change it?" "We can take her the leftover pancakes," Tyler says. "Are there leftovers?" "No," Ella says. This is not true. There is one blueberry pancake. It is for Jonathan. But Ella knows that even if she was not saving one for him, she would not give one to her mother. If the woman can't make it to the one event her children count on her to be there for the most, she should not be able to share in its goodness. This reasoning feels just to Ella. # It is Saturday afternoon. Ella has had lunch with her mother and brothers. She now has a headache and the strongest desire to fold herself into a ball and hide under the covers of her bed. She wants to sleep all afternoon. Instead of coming home with her children, Ella's mother is back at her office and Ella is watching her brothers. "Ella, are we going to check the mail?" Tyler asks. "Yeah, you might have a frog in there," Jacob says. "Or a love letter." He still thinks this is hilarious. Ella does not. "You can check it if you want," she says. "I don't care. Just hurry." She watches them run down the driveway toward the mailbox. She watches the street very closely. It is not busy, but she worries about the traffic. There is none. When they come back, the boys go through the mail together. "It's mostly for Mom," Jacob says. "I think these are bills." "Ooh, what's that?" Tyler pulls something from the pile. It has a picture of a woman holding a sleeping baby that zoomed in on the baby's face. It is a postcard. "Probably from Ella's work," Jacob says, uninterested. Everything to do with babies reminds him of Ella's job. He continues to flip through the envelopes and sales papers that make up the mail. "Give it here," Ella says. Tyler hands it to her. She studies the picture closely. It is beautiful. She is already thinking about hanging this in her room somewhere. Then, she turns it over. She audibly gasps. Tyler and Jacob both look at her. "What's wrong?" one of them asks. "Nothing," she says. She no longer wants to go to bed, but she does go to her room. There, sitting at her desk, which faces out a window, she reads the postcard. Dear Ella,
Ella turns it over and looks at the front. He obviously bought this the night they met. She is in awe. She reads through it again. Then, without thinking about it too much, she grabs a pen and begins to write a reply. Dear Jonathan,
This is all she can write. Her eyes are blurred with tears and she is afraid her sobs will attract her brothers' attention. She puts the pen down and goes to her bed. Clenching a pillow to her chest, she cries until there are no more tears. She falls asleep with tear-stained cheeks. When she wakes up, it is evening. Only darkness comes in through the windows and the house has a quiet stillness about it. Ella is in a fog. She gets up and looks around for Tyler and Jacob. Jacob is reading in his room. He has a deepening interest in mystery novels. There is something about the inevitable resolutions that he likes. There is a little bit of light that comes from a faded football-shaped night light. It has always been in his room. He leaves it there, not because he is afraid of the dark, but more as a relic of his first years of sleeping alone. Ella flips on his overhead light and walks on to find Tyler. He is in his room as well, but is playing with four or five action figures. The voices he does for them, as they engage in some combat situation, are hushed. Ella watches without him seeing her. Satisfied that they are okay, she goes back to her room and sits in front of her desk. She stares down at the letter she has written and tries to clear the haze of her mind. Reading the letter helps and soon her thoughts are racing and she is itching to add to the letter. She reads back over it once more for clarity and then picks up her pen to finish it. I am sorry, though, because I know these things are unpleasant. Depressing, even. I do not want to hurt you or bring you down, but rather, I want you to see my pain. Not because I want pity or really even understanding. It is just that in order for you to know me, you must know these things. They are such a part of who I am. Yet, I still feel bad sending this sadness to you. So, to atone for it, I am also sending a joke, courtesy of Tyler.
She folds the paper into thirds and tries to remember where the envelopes are. Then she stops. She has no idea where she'll send this letter. She doesn't know how he'll ever get it. He is always on the move, never in one place for long. It seems impossible to send him mail. She almost lets herself get upset over this, but then remembers that she has a phone number. Somewhere. She thinks back and wonders to herself if it is stored in her phone. She checks. It is. She calls and the phone rings many times. Just when she is ready to give up, someone answers. The voice is gruff and hurried. "Yeah?" She does not recognize it. Ella does not know what to say. She stammers. "Can I talk to Jonathan or Phillip please?" "What?" the person demands. "Jonathan Lewis or Phillip-- Please?" She doesn't know Phillip's last name. "Yeah," he says. "Hold on." Ella is embarrassed and is wondering if this was a wise decision. She wants more than anything to hang up and pretend this hasn't happened. Then, she hears Phillip on the line. "Yes?" he asks. "Why do you never answer your own phone?" she asks. "Pardon me? Who is this?" He sounds more confused than annoyed. "Sorry," she says. "It's Ella. I just had a question." "Sure, what is it?" He is so nice to her, Ella wonders why this is. "I just need to know how to write to Jonathan. He sent me a postcard and I want to send him a letter." "How to write to him?" Phillip thinks this is fairly obvious. "I mean, how to write to him where he'll get the letter right away." "Oh," he says. "Oh, I get it. You should definitely fax it to the hotel. Unless you can email it. Can you do that?" "I was thinking of an envelope and a stamp," she says. "It's all hand written." "The best I can do right now is say to fax it. I would fax it. Tell you what. I'll call you back with the number later. Is that okay?" It is not ideal, but it is acceptable. Ella is learning to take what she can get. She knows that being Jonathan's friend will always involve a certain amount of compromise. His life is nothing like hers. His is unpredictable. Hers is always the same. His is hard to keep up with. Hers is hard to stay interested in. She wonders how long it will be before the differences catch up with them, how long until they become too hard to deal with, how long this relationship will last. # Ella and Phillip work out a way to get the letter to where he is. Jonathan replies promptly. It is late the same night. Dear Ella,
There are so many things in this letter that make Ella happy. She could go through and pick them out one at a time. She could savor each one slowly and separately. The best one, she thinks, has to be the secret song dedications. She begins to scribble a list of songs along the same lines as "Angie" and "Beth." Eric Clapton - "Layla"
This is all she gets. It is late and she, too, is tired. She gets into her bed and falls asleep with a smile on her face. # In the morning, she is awakened by a phone call. At first, she ignores the phone, but it is persistent and she thinks that if she gets it she can go back to sleep for a few more hours. She turns the phone on and mumbles, "Hello?" "Ella, it's Jonathan. Sorry it's so early, but I didn't think I'd get another chance to call you today." "It's no problem," she says. Had it been anyone else, it may have been problematic, but now she feels fine. Even if it is only a quarter after five in the morning. "I thought I could give you my email address and then we don't have to hassle with the fax or whatever." "Okay." "I really liked writing to you. And getting your letter." He sounds shy. "I enjoyed that too," she says, as if reassuring him. "Great," he says. "You should write this down. It's jlew82@yahoo.com J-L-E-W-8-2 at yahoo.com." "Interesting," she says. "What's the 82 about?" "It's actually a reference to my parent's address. Not the actual house number, but... Well, I'll explain later. You probably want to go back to sleep." She does, but would rather talk to him if that's an option. She is thinking about this when he says, "See, you're tired. I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep." It is an order, but a mild one. It is one she is willing to take. It is Monday morning. Ella is in the nursery knitting. She is sitting near Brooke Barnham, who is no longer the smallest, weakest baby at the hospital. She is thriving. She has taken a turn for the better and is doing so well the doctors no longer consider her to be in danger. At this rate, she will go home soon. Ella glances at the child periodically and thinks about her future. Many babies like Brooke grow up to be like any other child. Many, once they stabilize, are healthy and happy. The rhthym of her craft is soothing and lends itself to a wandering mind. She is beginning to wonder what Brooke will look like at five, ten, fifteen and trying to visualize this when the baby stirs. The noise she makes is somewhere between a coo and a whimper. It does not alarm Ella, but she is still concerned. She puts down the blanket she is working on. Brooke is waving her little arms and Ella feels the sudden urge to hold her. She knows this contact is good for the child, but that is not her motivation. It is more primal than that. She can feel the pull in her arms, the need to have them occupied by this little girl. She very carefully lifts the baby up and sits with her in the rocking chair. "You are so beautiful," she tells Brooke, in a soft whisper. As if she understands perfectly, the baby looks up at Ella. Ella thinks she sees her smile. "I could hold you forever," she says. They sway slightly in the chair for several minutes before someone eases the door open. "Ella, could you come here a second?" the person asks, sticking only a hand inside the door. Ella doesn't respond verbally, but takes a last look at Brooke and places her back into her warm bed. She goes to join the person in the hall. "What is it?" she says as she slips out the door and closes it carefully. "Ella, you have to come here." The person, a fellow nurse, is louder and more urgent. "Hurry. They said they'd be right back with him." "What? Who said that?" Ella is confused but is following the woman "That singer you like. He's going to be on CNN. I just saw it in the lounge." Ella is slightly embarrassed. She wonders if she has been so obvious in her interest in him that everyone knows about it. She has clearly been less private about this than she would have liked if someone would pull her out of the nursery to watch a television blurb about him. The woman leads her to the lounge where a few other nurses are sitting. The television is turned to CNN, but no one really seems to be paying much attention to it. Ella pulls a chair away from the table and angles it so she can see the screen. She wonders how many people know she came in here just to watch Jonathan Lewis on TV. She feels like all eyes are on her. She feels like a teenager. She feels like it is hours before the anchor begins to introduce the story. The anchor says, "The adage goes, 'There is more joy in giving than in receiving' and today singer-songwriter Jonathan Lewis proved that he believes that to be true. In a statement released by his management, Lewis announced that he plans to make a donation of five hundred thousand dollars to Washington Memorial Hospital's neonatal program. The program is highly regarded as being one of the best in the country." Ella is riveted and every person in the room is paying attention. There is murmuring. Things like, "Did they say Washington Memorial?" and "That's our hospital!" and "That's our floor!" and "Someone tell Marcie. Quick." The anchor goes on, "When asked about the donation, the singer said this." They go to a clip of Jonathan talking. He says, "Although I haven't known about this program for very long, it is something near to his heart. I'm happy to do what I can." The clip ends and the anchor picks up, "The sizable donation will be presented to the hospital in a ceremony later this month." Ella turns away as the news moves on to something else. She is still trying to digest the information, even as the buzz grows all around her. This is the biggest thing like this to ever happen to the hospital and everyone is instantly excited. Ella wants to talk to Jonathan so badly that it physically hurts her that she can't. She is stunned. She wants to be alone. She slips away, back to the nursery. Brooke is still awake and alert. She looks at Ella as if to say, "Where did you go?" and "Why?" "I'm sorry about that, sweetie," Ella says and picks her back up. "But we have great news. A very nice man is helping us out so that we can help other babies like you." Saying these words out loud helps Ella to organize in her head what has happened. "Isn't that wonderful?" she asks. Brooke smiles and after seeing this, Ella catches herself smiling. If she has never thought it before, she thinks it now. She loves him. # Near the end of Ella's shift, Marcie calls a brief meeting of all available staff. She says, in a loud, clear voice, "I'm sure by now everyone has heard about the considerable donation we are being given. We are obviously very grateful to Mr. Lewis and I'd like to suggest we show our appreciation by making a special effort to be in attendance at the presentation ceremony. More details will be made available soon, so everyone stay alert to further developments." Ella tries to leave with the crowd, but Marcie stops her. "Could you hold on a minute, Nurse Welsh?" Ella wonders if there is some possible way she could be in trouble for this. All Marcie says is, "If you had some hand in this, I think I should be made aware of it." She is very nice about it. Ella says, "No, ma'am, I am just as surprised as you are." "Very well, then," Marcie says. Ella breathes a sigh of relief when she is alone. But Marcie comes back. "Ella, before you leave, can you visit with Mr. Kelley? You can do it on your way out and leave early if you like." This is not really a question. It takes Ella a few seconds to place the name. Then she remembers. Brooke's grandfather. Why is he still here? He should have gone home by now. The old man is very happy for the company. "My pretty nurse. I thought you'd never come back to see me," he says. Ella tries to figure out what is going on with him that would keep him here this long. "I had to come see how you're doing," she says. "I worry about my favorite patients." "I worry about my granddaughter," he says. Ella likes that he says this even when his own health is suffering. "She is doing so well," Ella says. "I wish you could see her." His whole face lights up. Ella says, "I held her today. And she was so alert, so responsive. I think she'll be home before you know it." He is smiling. He says, "That is the best thing I've heard all day. Thank you." "No problem," she says. "I'm actually on my way home, I've got to get my brothers, but if I can get you anything before I go..." He cuts her off. "Darlin', you just gave me the best thing anyone ever could. You go on home now." There is a new peace about him. Ella leaves smiling and is glad she got to see him. # In the car, she checks her voice mail. Nothing. She is used to there being at least one or two messages. Even if they are only from Ambrey about some random thing or another. She is expecting something from Jonathan, some explanation, some "Surprise!" There is nothing. She wonders if it is because she has not yet written back to him. She is working on a letter, but it's not finished. She hopes he isn't mad, but thinks it would be pretty silly if he was. He's not like that. When Ella gets home, the school bus is right behind her. "You were almost late," Tyler tells her. "I know," she says. "We had a pretty exciting day at the hospital today." He hugs her and says, "I'm glad." He doesn't care what has happened. Exciting translates to good for him and that is all that matters. Ella figures that he wouldn't get the significance anyway. "How was your day?" she asks. It is directed at both of the boys. They are at the front door and Ella is finding her key. "Exciting," Tyler says. He is only repeating Ella's word. "No, it wasn't," Jacob says. "It was boring. I hate Mondays. We always have to write spelling sentences on Mondays. Fifteen of them. That's too much." He is whining more than usual and Ella wonders if he is feeling ill. "Maybe I can help," she says. They are inside now and the boys spread out their homework on opposite sides of the kitchen table. "You want something to drink," Ella asks them. "I do," a deep voice says. It startles Ella. She jumps and as she turns to look, it says, "Got any milk?" "Jonathan!" She runs to him and throws her arms around his neck. It doesn't occur to her to be more reserved. She is so happy to see him, all of her normal reservations have disappeared completely. "What are you doing here?" Many things run through her head. The tour and the distance he must have traveled to come, the donation and the pancakes, the unfinished letter and her empty voice mail box. Her mind lands on one thought. She says it, "I'm so happy to see you." "Sorry," he says, "for letting myself in. I saw you come in, though, and I thought I'd catch up with you." "Don't worry about it," she says. She is beaming. "I want some lemonade, Ella," Jacob says. He is watching Jonathan carefully. It bothers him that Ella is so happy to see him. She pulls away and asks Jonathan, "You really want some milk?" "No," Jonathan says, "lemonade is fine. I'll just have what my man Jacob is having." Jacob smiles. He isn't often treated this way by older people, like an equal. Jonathan wins him over in that one sentence. "Ty?" Ella asks. "Yeah, me too," he says. He is not really thirsty, but doesn't want to be different. "Ella, what is this a picture of?" Ella is pouring lemonade for everyone and can't see what Tyler is talking about. Jonathan moves to stand behind the boy and says, "Which one?" Tyler points to a small picture. It is one of a set of six. He is to identify what letter the word represented by the picture starts with. Jonathan studies it. "I would say... Hmm... It looks like a cross between a rabbit and a monkey." Tyler laughs. "Would you call that a mabbit or a ronkey?" Tyler is laughing harder and slaps his thigh. Ella finishes pouring the drinks and carries them to the table. "It's a rabbit, Ty," she says, after a quick glance. Having fun is perfectly fine, but he still has to get his homework done. Ella and Jonathan take the two unoccupied seats at the table. They are across from each other. "You know," she says, "every single person I work with is in love with you right now." "And yet I only care that you are," he says, and then drinks his lemonade in two long gulps. Ella looks down at her glass. "Thank you," she says. "For doing that. It means so much to me." "It's my pleasure," he says. "That money is only worth something if it's being used for a good cause. I'd do it again in a heartbeat." Ella watches him for a long moment. The kitchen is silent, except for Jacob and Tyler's pencils against their papers. In the quiet, an idea comes to Ella. "I'll be right back," she says. "Where are you going?" Jacob asks. Ella doesn't answer. She goes to her bedroom and heads straight to a large picnic basket that sits in a corner of the room. In it are all of Ella's knitting supplies. There are several balls of unused yarn in different colors, a variety of needles of different types and sizes, and a few pattern books. Also in the basket are some finished projects that she never uses herself, but she has also never given away to anyone. At the very bottom of the small pile is a scarf. It was one of the first things she ever made, second only to a lopsided yellow dishrag that she made when first learning the stitches. It is a dark grayish-blue and is far from perfect, but it is very dear to her. She is going to give it to Jonathan. She doesn't think to wrap it or put it in a gift box. She runs back into the kitchen just as Jacob asks, "Why did the squirrel cross the road?" Jonathan and Tyler both think about this and come up with nothing. Jacob delivers the punchline with excitement that is unusual for him. "To show his girlfriend he had guts!" Tyler doesn't get it. Jonathan doesn't get it either, not at first. But then a smile creeps across his face and he says, "That is the best joke I've heard in a while. It's a bit of a thinker, but it's still funny. Those are the best." To Jacob, this is the highest compliment. "What does that mean?" Tyler asks. "I don't get it." He's angry that he's left out of the loop. "He was trying to impress her," Ella says. She's not entirely comfortable with her six-year-old brother hearing a joke about road kill. "That's not funny," Tyler says. Jonathan and Jacob exchange knowing glances and both of them have the tiniest of smirks on their faces. "What's that for?" Jacob asks. He has seen that Ella is holding the scarf. "It's for Jonathan," she says, holding it out. Then, to Jonathan, she says, "I want you to have this. As a token of my appreciation." "You don't have to do that," he says. "No, I want you to have it." "I remember when you made that, Ella," Tyler says. Jonathan takes it into his hands and holds it close to his face, inspecting it. "You made this?" Ella nods. "It was one of the first things I ever made actually." "Wow, Ella, this is great. Thank you." He loops it around his neck although it is far too hot for this. "I mean it, this is the coolest gift, like, ever." Ella feels her cheeks flush. There is a silence that is almost awkward. Tyler doesn't sense this and unknowingly breaks it. "Ella, what's for supper? I'm hungry." "You're always hungry," she says. "Supper's not for a couple of hours." "What are we having?" he asks. Jacob asks, "Is Jonathan staying?" He looks at his new friend. "Can he? Please?" To Tyler, Ella says, "I don't know yet." To Jacob, "He can stay if he wants to. It's up to him." "Do you want to stay? Come on stay," Jacob says to Jonathan. He is so enthusiastic, no one could say no. "How can I refuse that invitation?" Jonathan asks. "What are we having?" Tyler asks again. "I'm open to suggestions," Ella says. She is a bit shy at having to cook for a new person. "Pizza!" Tyler says. He would eat pizza at every meal if he could. "No, Tyler," Jacob says. "We had pizza the other day." "So? That was a long time ago." Tyler pleads, his voice bordering on whiny, "Please, Ella, please." "No, let's pick something else," Ella says. She shifts uncomfortably. She doesn't want to have to raise her voice to her brother, not in front of Jonathan. "How about this?" Jonathan says, cutting Tyler off before he can increase in volume and intensity. "How about if I cook supper and you all relax?" No one knows quite how to react. "Of course," he continues, "I'll need some help from my assistants here." He gestures at Tyler and Jacob. They suddenly love the idea. "Yeah!" they say in unison. Jacob asks, "What can you cook? I know how to use the microwave." Jonathan responds like a pro. "You guys finish your homework and then we'll look around and decide what to make." Ella is impressed. # While the others prepare the meal, Ella is banished from the kitchen. Jacob and Tyler have been instructed to not let her even come close to the room. She has a hard time concentrating on anything else and walks aimlessly around the house. She considers working on a reply to Jonathan's letter, but with him in the house, it seems ridiculous. She calls Ambrey. "Jonathan Lewis is in my house for the second time in a week," she says in a conspiratorial tone. "Jonathan Lewis? You're joking." Ambrey's interest is piqued. "No joke. He's making supper with my brothers and they won't let me in." "He's cooking for you?" Ambrey sighs dramatically. "You are going to be barefoot and pregnant with his babies by this time next year." "Ambrey!" "Well, come on, Ella," she says. "You met him less than a week ago. What is he doing here? Doesn't he have a life?" "Sure he does..." "Then, how would you explain it?" She stammers. "I-- I don't know. Does it have to be explained?" "Don't fall for him, Ella." Ambrey sounds genuinely worried. "He's okay to have as a celebrity crush, but don't get attached. He will break your heart." "Ambrey, I--" Ella begins to argue, but her three chefs appear in the doorway. "I have to go," she says. "I'll call you back later." "We're done," Tyler says. He is standing in front of the others. "It's all ready, we just need our guest of honor," Jonathan says. He stands back and pulls Jacob and Tyler out of the way. "After you, Ella." She walks, a little tentatively, ahead of them into the kitchen. What she sees amazes her. There is so much food and so many different things. "Here, Ella, look," Tyler calls out and he runs to give her a handwritten menu that is on the back of a piece of his special, large-lined writing paper. It reads: Breakfast for supper menu:
Ella reads through this and laughs at Jacob's corrections to Jonathan's menu. He meant well when he put pancakes and bacon on the menu, but clearly pancakes belong to Saturday mornings. And Ella doesn't eat meat. "Wow, where do I even start?" she asks. "I'll start," Tyler says. He is proud of himself for helping and is eager to take part in this strange meal. Although there is a menu, they do things buffet-style. Tyler takes a plate and goes down the line of steaming hot food, taking a little of everything. He even mixes some milk with some orange juice for a drink. Jacob is more selective. He takes waffles and eggs and drinks milk. Those are the only things on the menu he likes. "I'm impressed," Ella tells Jonathan. They go through the line together. Ella is only one step ahead of him. "I would never have guessed you could cook." "All I really made was the french toast and the eggs. Jacob and Tyler did the rest. I'm impressed by them." "You're going to have to teach me how to make french toast. I never learned." "It's easy," he says. Then, "I'd love to teach you." They are all pretty quiet after that. Ella is plagued by what Ambrey said to her. She is running over it in her head. Don't fall for him. Don't get attached. He will break your heart. She tries to talk herself out of believing it and is successful, for the most part. There is, however, a sense of doubt. It is faint, but powerful and Ella hears herself ask, "So, Jonathan, what are you doing in town again?" He seems thrown by the question. He thought it was obvious why he had come, but apparently, he was wrong. "To tell the truth," he says, "I couldn't stop thinking about it. I wanted to visit again so badly that I was dreaming about it." Ella feels bad. "What I mean is, how did you get away? I mean, you're a busy guy." "Well, we take a day or two off every few days, and I can generally do whatever I want on those days. I came here." Ella senses his sincerity and hates herself for even questioning his motives. "I'm sorry," she says. It is a whisper, but it is heartfelt. Jonathan doesn't say anything. He doesn't know what to say. He wonders what has brought on these questions, but doesn't ask. "You know what we used to do when I was little?" he says, hoping to change the subject. "What?" Jacob asks. "We'd turn on the radio, really loud, and dance in the kitchen after we ate, while we were cleaning up." "I never danced in the kitchen," Tyler says. "I'm not even allowed to run in here." "Ella, can we do that?" Jacob asks. It is as if he is consulting a lawyer for the law on the matter. "Of course we can do that," she says. She wants to brighten the mood. "In fact..." She gets up and goes to the small radio that sits on the counter. "What station do we want?" she asks. No one has a preference, so Ella goes to the closest station on the dial and adjusts the volume so that they can hear it well, but it isn't too loud. She sits back down and starts to take a bite of a waffle, but stops short when she hears the opening notes of the song and the voice that shouts, "It's electric!" Her fork hits her plate with a loud clanging noise. Ella's mouth is hanging open and her eyes meet Jonathan's. He, too, is surprised. "The Electric Slide!" she says. "We have to." She needs to say no more. They both get up and, standing side by side, begin to do the dance, right there in the kitchen. The steps are automatic and smooth, although neither of them has done it in years. Jacob and Tyler watch them dance with wonder in their eyes. The song is not even halfway over before they are all laughing uncontrollably. Ella and Jonathan laugh so hard that they can hardly keep going, but they do not stop dancing. At the end, Ella falls hard into her chair. Jonathan is still laughing when he says, "I haven't done that in forever. I thought I'd forgotten how." "Me too," Ella says. "How weird was that?" Jacob and Tyler are still stunned. "What was that, Ella?" Tyler asks. "That was The Electric Slide." Jonathan tells him, "When we were young, that was the coolest dance ever." "I've never heard of it," Jacob says. It must not be important, he implies. Ella feels a million times better than she did before they danced. She has forgotten all of the things that Ambrey put into her head. "That was great," she says. "That was so fun." She eyes the scarf. It has not left his neck since she handed it to him, even with the heat he must have experienced while cooking, even with the vigor of dancing in the already too warm kitchen. She feels the desire to kiss him, and is glad her brothers are there to keep her from being rash. Later, when he is walking away from the house, and Ella is watching him, she focuses on the scarf. It is not cold enough, even outside at night, for such a thing. And the scarf really isn't fashionable, but she can see that such things do not matter to him. The last interaction they have that night takes place after he is some distance from the front door where she is standing. He turns around and waves. She waves back. He takes one end of the scarf in each hand and waves with it. Ella could just melt. # The next morning at work, the buzz about the donation has spread. And the connection between Ella and the neonatal unit's benefactor is more well known. Ella is eating lunch in the lounge, a magazine spread open in front of her, when another nurse asks, "Is it true what they're saying?" Ella is annoyed. "What are they saying?" The nurse looks around and says, in a hushed tone, "That that singer gave us all that money because you're dating him." Ella sighs and rolls her eyes, but does not answer. She knows she should respond, but she isn't sure how. She feels inclined to deny everything, but at the same time she wants to tell everyone about her relationship. The nurse watches her for a moment, waiting for a verbal response, but after getting none, leaves. "This is insane," Ella mutters to herself. She needs to talk to someone, but there is no one around who she really trusts. Then she thinks of him. Mr. Kelley, her friend downstairs, just a lonely old man who wouldn't care enough to tell anyone's secrets. A few minutes later, she is knocking on his door. "Mr. Kelley? Can I come in?" The old man is laying in bed. His posture suggests sleep, but his eyes are open. He sounds weak when he says, "Come in." "Hey," she says. "How are you feeling?" "Not so good, darlin'." The words sound like they are difficult to even say. Ella wonders again what is wrong with him and why no one will tell her. She resolves to find out. Later. "Mr. Kelley, I wanted to check on you," she says in a soothing voice, one like she'd use for the babies. "Is there anything at all you need?" "No," he says. "Is there anything you need?" He is quite a discerning old man. Ella feels a bit embarrassed coming to him for help when he so obviously needs help of a more important kind. "I just wanted to ask your advice on something, but if you don't feel up to it, I'll come back later." "I'm fine," he says, but it is not convincing at all. "I wish you wouldn't worry about me. Now, what's on your mind?" "I'm almost, kind of seeing someone. And he's high profile, like people know who he is." She takes a deep breath and wonders how to explain it. "And people keep asking me about it, but I just don't want to talk about it. I want it to be mine and his and for everyone else to ignore us, like they would if he was any other boy. Only, I'm afraid it'll get worse. I know it will. And I don't know if I can take it." Ella says things she didn't even know she felt, but once they are said, she feels relieved and empty. Mr. Kelley is silent and, for a long moment, Ella wonders if he heard her or if he was paying attention. Then he says, "Forget about everyone else." He inhales deeply and exhales fully. "If anyone asks you about this, you look them right in the eye and say, 'It's none of your business.' That's all you have to do." The advice sounds so good, so sound. Ella wishes she was able to do things like that. "Thanks," she says, even though she knows she could never say those things to anyone. He closes his eyes and Ella stands. If he is sleeping, she doesn't want to bother him any longer. She is about out the door when he says, "You take care of yourself, sweetheart, and don't let them get next to you." "Thank you, Mr. Kelley," she says. "See you later." She has to know what is going on with him. She has to find out, even if it makes her late getting back upstairs. She goes to the nurses station, but it is empty. Although she feels she shouldn't, she steps behind the desk and glances around for a chart or a file or some kind of clue. "Can I help you?" a short, stout woman in purple scrubs asks her. "I need some information on one of your patients," Ella says, trying her best to sound in control. "Mr. Thomas Kelley." "Are you from Dr. Halliday's office?" the nurse asks. Ella doesn't say anything, she lets the woman assume this. The nurse says, "What do you need?" Ella plays on the nurse's false assumption. "I need to look over his chart briefly. It'll just be a second." "Here you are," she says, plucking a thick file folder from the messy desk. "Is there any word on when we'll be transferring him upstairs?" Ella says, "I couldn't say." She silently adds, because I don't know what you're talking about. She takes the file and opens it in front of her. Her heart stops when, as she is flipping through the papers within, her eyes land on the words, 'Pancreatic cancer. Terminal.' |