Six (11 page)

Bowveld didn't wait for a response. Without so much as a backward glance, he walked away, leaving Dr. Banks alone in the room with his world crashing down around him.

Parker felt bad leaving Michael on his own, but Dr. Banks had called Hilda and arranged for him and Emma to be taken home by seven p.m.

“Have fun?” Dr. Banks asked as they both wheeled their bikes into the house. Parker noticed how pale his dad was. He looked exhausted, even more so than usual.

Parker nodded and Emma grinned, holding out her bike to show him.

Where did you get that from?

Michael gave it to me!

Parker's dad looked surprised but said nothing. Instead he waited until Emma had rested her bike against the wall and then went over to them both, arms outstretched, and swept them up into a hug.

I've missed you,
he said, not letting go.

We've only been gone for the day,
said Parker. He tried to pull away, but his dad's grip held firm.

It's been a long day,
said his dad. He said this out loud, though it came through Effie also, and Parker heard the tightness in his voice.

Emma kept her arms tight around her father's waist.
What happened, Daddy?

Dr. Banks didn't answer. He nestled his head between Parker's and Emma's.

Parker pulled back firmly and looked up at his dad. He saw his dad's eyes were glistening.

Dad, what's the matter?
asked Parker.

Parker's dad hesitated.

Dad?

Emma was now staring up at him too. She looked scared. Parker's dad looked down and, upon seeing the expression on Emma's face, he shook himself.

I'm okay. I'm sorry. It just didn't go very well today. And I'm tired, that's all.

What were you doing?
asked Emma.

For the first time, Parker's dad seemed to consider answering her before deciding against it.

I will tell you, but not today.
He smiled and changed the subject.
I have a present for you.

Emma's eyes widened.
Really?

What about me?
asked Parker.

For you, too—but more for Emma. You'll see what I mean.
He turned to Emma.
She's waiting for you outside.

She?
repeated Emma slowly. She had a puzzled expression on her face, which changed suddenly as the meaning behind his choice of word began to dawn on her. Her mouth dropped open and she jumped up in delight.
She?

Before their dad could say anything more, Emma was running to the back door. She flung it open and scanned the backyard, her eyes squinting to focus in the night's darkness. The moment she set her eyes on her gift, she froze. She snapped her head around to her dad, then back outside—as if she needed to check whether it was real—back to their dad with an incredulous look on her face, and then back outside again. Then she let out a piercing squeal.

Parker ran forward to see what it was. Surely, he thought as he stepped out into the night, Emma wouldn't be quite this surprised if his dad had gotten her a chicken, considering they'd discussed it the night before. Of course, she wasn't.

Parker stared at the white pig standing in the middle of their backyard—shining under the moonlight like a ghost ship at sea.

“You got us a
pig
?”

“I did. Her name's Polly. Do you like her?”

Parker's wide grin said it all. Leaving his dad in the doorway, Parker ran out to join Emma, who was sitting on the grass, stroking their new pet's snout.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Can she sleep inside?
asked Emma, staring out the window.

Their dad glanced up from his laptop.
We are not having a pig living in the house,
he said.

Then why's Parker here?
asked Emma.

Ha ha,
said Parker.

Emma looked over at her dad and attempted her bottom-lip sulk.
But she looks so sad.

How does a pig look sad?
asked Parker. His dad and sister ignored him.

She looks delighted,
said Parker's dad firmly.
She's been in a cage since she was born. I know it's not perfect but, for tonight, that kennel will feel like paradise to her. We'll get her a proper shed tomorrow and whatever else she needs.

Were they going to kill her?
asked Emma.

Parker's dad winced at the unexpected question.
No . . . ,
he said.
That wasn't the intention at all.

I wonder what white bacon would taste like?
asked Parker.

Emma wrinkled her nose in disgust.
That's not funny.

Parker grinned.
I was just joking.

Parker's father glanced up from his laptop. “Parker . . .” he warned.

“Sorry, Dad,” said Parker.

His dad gave a small nod and turned back to his work. Parker pressed down on his father's light to stop him from listening in on the argument that he and Emma—who was now storming over in his direction—were clearly about to have.

So animal testing is a joke to you?
asked Emma with her hands on her hips.

Parker shook his head in exasperation.
You're being oversensitive.

Tell that to all the dead monkeys—I'm sure they'd find it hilarious.

I hear monkeys have a good sense of humor.

Not dead ones,
answered Emma.

Well, they won't mind me joking about it then.

As soon as the words left Parker's mind, he regretted thinking them. He didn't think animal testing was funny—not in the slightest—it was just that when Emma got too serious about things—which was a
lot—
he sometimes couldn't help but make a joke about it. At times, however, like now, his jokes crossed the line.

Emma was staring at Parker.
What is
wrong
with you?
she asked finally.

Parker sighed.
I'm sorry—I didn't mean that. But you can't take every little thing wrong in the world so seriously.

If everyone were as stupid as you, then nothing would ever get better.

Parker looked at his sister and saw tears forming.

Really, Emma, I'm sorry. You know I don't think it's okay to test on animals. And I like the pig—I shouldn't have made a joke about it.

And it was true, he thought, as Emma let out a loud
humph
and walked away; he was thrilled with the pig, even if he didn't jump up and down about it like his sister did. In fact, while Emma had been filling the kennel with blankets and teddy bears, he had spent the last two hours researching pig care.

“Dad, I can't find much about albino pigs,” said Parker. “Was she born like that?”

Parker's dad pulled a slightly pained expression and looked over at Emma. “Do you mind if I don't answer that?”

“Did you know that you can teach them to sit?”

His father didn't look up. “I didn't,” he mumbled.

Parker glanced over at the clock. His dad had barely looked up from his laptop all night.

“Dad, come watch television with us for a bit.”

His father looked up and rubbed his eyes. “I'm sorry, Parker, I can't. I have so much to do.”

“Can I help you?” asked Parker, walking over to the kitchen.

His dad breathed a deep sigh and closed his laptop.

“I wish you could,” he said. He pressed down on his wrist.
Emma—come over here.

What, Dad?

Here,
he said, ripping out two sections of his lined note pad and handing one to each of them.
Go write your letters to your mum.

Parker took the papers.

Do you really think she reads them?
he asked.

Definitely,
said his dad.

Parker knew his dad couldn't possibly know with any certainty whatsoever what his mother could or couldn't do. She was dead. He also knew that there wasn't any logic behind delivering the letters to the random location that they'd picked; if she was in heaven, and she could read a letter that they had dropped into a lake, then she could read it at their house.

Two weeks earlier, when his father first suggested writing the letters, Parker had been about to say this before he'd stopped himself. The fact that it made no sense was irrelevant. It was symbolic, a way of keeping her close to them all. And he was okay with that. He gave his dad a smile and took the papers up to his room.

*  *  *  *  *  *

What's in here?
asked Parker's dad, bouncing the envelope in his hand as if he were weighing it. He looked concerned.

I wrote twelve pages,
said Emma with a wide smile.

Twelve pages?
What did you write?
asked Parker as he handed his dad a flat envelope containing a single folded piece of paper. It seemed inadequate now next to Emma's effort.

I don't know—just girl stuff, really,
answered Emma.
School, friends. And I told her about Polly, too, of course. Oh! And I told her about what's happening in the news—just the important stuff: the hurricane in the Philippines, the explosion in China—that kind of thing. I don't know if she'd keep up-to-date with that stuff in heaven. Did she watch the news, Daddy?

Always, just like you,
replied their father. He looked down at the envelopes, one in each hand, and considered his words.
Perhaps, Emma, you don't need to write all of that though. Couldn't you maybe get it down to two or three pages?

Parker and Emma looked at each other in confusion.

Why?
asked Emma.

Yeah, Dad. It's not like we have to pay extra postage,
added Parker.

His dad gave an awkward laugh.
No, of course not. I don't know why I said that.
He placed the envelopes on the table.
Okay, go get ready for bed.

Can I go say good night to Polly?
asked Emma.

Yes, but don't stay too long. We have an early start.

Why?

I thought we could go to the lake before church tomorrow. Then we can go get the stuff for Polly, have lunch, and then I'll have to go back to work.

But you said you weren't working tomorrow,
said Parker and Emma at the same time.

I know. But things have changed. I'm sorry. I'm going to have to go in, but I'll be home for dinner.

Emma looked upset.
You work too much,
she said.

Parker's dad clenched his jaw and swallowed.

I know it doesn't seem like it,
said his dad finally,
but I'm doing this all for the two of you. It won't always be like this. I promise.
He gave Emma a kiss on the top of her head.
Go get ready for bed.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Parker couldn't sleep that night. All the excitement of spending the day at Michael's house and even the arrival of their new pet had been canceled out by his father's sadness. He had seen his dad upset many times—too many times—over the last few years, but he hadn't seen him like this since just after his mother had died. Even then, in those awful days after they'd received the news, Parker had seen the effort his father had made to keep a brave face on for their sakes. But today was different. Today was the first time that he had seen his father unable, unwilling even, to make any attempt to snap out of his unhappiness. Nevertheless, Parker couldn't put his finger on why it was concerning him this much. It wasn't as if they had come home to find their father curled up in a ball, sobbing. In a way, though, this was worse. It was as if—Parker tried to think of how best to describe it—as if his father were broken. And the more that Parker thought about it, the more he came to realize that this wasn't something that had happened in one day; his father's downward spiral had begun not long after their move here. Was this, wondered Parker, the lowest point, or was there worse to come?

Eventually, after another hour of tossing and turning in his bed, Parker gave up his fight to sleep. The light from the hallway was glowing in a thin line at the bottom of his bedroom door. It was a sure sign that his dad hadn't gone to bed yet, though it was possible that he had just fallen asleep in front of the television. He did that sometimes. Parker threw back his bedcovers and stood up.

*  *  *  *  *  *

The landing was silent. For a moment Parker wondered if his dad had gone to sleep and forgotten to turn off the light, but then he heard the faint yet unmistakable clinks of a teaspoon stirring liquid in a mug.

Parker padded down the carpeted stairs and into the kitchen. He wasn't being intentionally quiet and he certainly hadn't been intending to surprise his father, but that was exactly what he did.

The time between Parker walking into the room and his father realizing that he was there couldn't have been more than a few seconds. It was time enough, however, for Parker to see the letter to his mother sitting next to his father's laptop. The single page was folded open next to the envelope that Parker himself had sealed earlier. Emma's letter had also been opened, and the twelve pages, covered in her distinct colorful doodles, lay stacked one on top of the other in an untidy pile. Parker watched as his dad looked down at Parker's letter, then back to his laptop, as if he were typing it up.

“What are you doing?” whispered Parker.

At the sound of Parker's voice, his father's head snapped up, and his eyes almost popped out of their sockets. He looked down at the table and, on seeing how exposed the letters were, he grabbed the first thing he could find—a notebook—and slammed it down on top to hide them.