NUMB by Judy Colella (tools of titans ebook txt) 📕

Frommer smiled. “You’ll be fine, Jett. Just don’t let any of them side-track you about sports.”

“True. Did you want me to take this home?” He nodded at the file.

“Not all of it.” Frommer opened the folder, licked his middle finger and began shuffling through the papers. After getting past a sizeable number, he pulled these out and set them aside, then went back to sorting. When he was done, three piles of paper were stacked into a crisscrossed pile. What remained was still a hefty amount of sheets, but less than half of what had been in the folder originally. He closed it and handed it to Jett. “There you go.”

“What did you give me here?”

“Last semester’s class plans, notes about the work to be covered this semester, and some source material lists. You can take the books referenced on them from the Teacher’s Archive Library downstairs.”

“Okay.” Jett picked up the folder and stood. “Are we finished for now? I have several errands to run before I go home.”

“Yup. That’s it. You have my phone number if you need anything.” He leaned back, making the chair creak. “Classes start one week from Monday. I don’t know what your schedule is for the Athletics Department, but your first Math class is that Tuesday at nine.”

Jett grinned and headed for the door. “Not a problem. Thanks, Mitch.”

“Say hi to Atarah for me.”

As the younger man went out, Frommer thought he detected a blush making its way up the back of Jett’s neck, and he gave a quiet huff of laughter. What a guy…

Chara Johanan stood in the glare of midday, allowing the blast of Greek sunshine to distract her from the dark reality in the room behind her. Here on her balcony of whitewashed stucco trimmed and accented in Mediterranean blue, she could take herself back to years of peace, of memories with nothing more painful in them than the awkwardness of growing up.

Decisions. Her husband’s failing health had thrust decisions into her mental solar-plexus, an invisible fist leaving her breathless with iron-hard implications. She hadn’t told her daughter what had happened, how only a week after their arrival at her family’s home on Paros her father had fallen ill. Seth Johanan had always been what could only be described as robust, yet now, a mere three weeks after collapsing in their kitchen while looking for a clean glass, he appeared to have shrunken into himself. The rare neural condition that was doing this was reversible, but there were only a few doctors in the world who were skilled enough to operate on his brain with any chance of success.

Naturally, Chara sought these doctors out, consulted with them, and offered to pay whatever they asked. She adored her husband, needed his vitality to fuel her own. Without him, she believed, she’d be unable to continue enjoying anything about her life.

Only one of the doctors had been willing to try and operate – the tests had shown a high level of danger because of the location of what he called a synapse breach that was causing certain chemicals to leak into areas where they didn’t belong. Despite Chara’s assurances that she wouldn’t sue if things went wrong, the other doctors had refused to go near this.

One of the shuttered doors behind her was pushed open. She didn’t have to turn – the doctor was the only one there with Seth. “Well?”

He stopped next to her and cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. You know my price. I did another check through his left eye. It is as I thought. I can help. But it will not be simple. Not…sure.” He shrugged. “You see how poor is my Greek, and English worse. Still. I gave you my price.”

“You did. No language barrier there, eh?”

“No, Mrs. Johanan. Price is in a universal tongue.”

Especially that particular one…“So it seems. I will call you.” She still didn’t turn, wouldn’t turn. Didn’t want to face him for fear he’d read what was in her eyes, in her heart. “Thank you.”

“Yes. Of course. I await to hear from you.”

After he was gone, Chara went back inside and sat on the edge of the bed – the bed in which she and Seth had enjoyed so many hours exploring each other, even after so many years of marriage. The bed in which Atarah had been conceived. The bed where he might die.

A quiet knock pulled as sigh from her, and she stood. “Come in.”

“I have put your call through, Kyria. Can you speak with Atarah now?” The girl who had entered held out a cell phone with one hand, brushing a stray dark curl away from her eye with the other.

“Thank you, Iole. Yes.” She walked to the other side of the bed and took the phone, noticing how the girl was avoiding obvious stares at Seth. No one liked to observe imminent mortality, even someone else’s. “’Tarah?”“Yes – what’s wrong, Mom? Iole sounded strange. Is everything okay?”

“No. Your, uh…” She gulped and tried again. “Your father is sick. He – he needs an operation, and I don’t know if it will do any good. I need you here, love. You should come and see him before, uh, before the operation.” How hard it was to say any of this!

“What? My God, what happened? When did he get sick, and what’s wrong with him? Did he catch something?”

“No, love. Apparently, he had this condition for a long time, but it only just manifested itself. It’s a neurological anomaly, the doctors say. I’m not sure what that means, exactly, except that they must operate if he’s to have any chance of surviving this.”

“Oh, Mom, no!”

Hearing her daughter’s genuine distress, Chara almost lost her already fragile self-control. “Please, dearest, get the next flight. You must get here soon. I need you, too.”

“Of course I will! Do you want Jett to come with me?”

“No! No, too many people will only complicate things.”

“He’s one more person, not many people.”

“I would so much appreciate it if you would come alone. I prefer having you to myself, selfish as that may be.”

Atarah said nothing for several seconds. Then she sighed. “Of course, Mom. I understand. Besides, he’s only a month into his teaching job and they probably wouldn’t appreciate him running off somewhere so early in the semester.”

“Thank you, thank you, my dear, wonderful child.” She was not going to be able to keep from crying if this conversation lasted much longer. “I must go now – I have things to do and have to see to your father. Text your flight information, will you?”

“I will. Not…wait. Since when do you know about texting?”

Chara nearly smiled. “Your father has been educating me in the ways of modern life. He said if I was going to have a cell phone, I should at least know how to make the greatest use of it.”

“Smart.” She got quiet again. “This is horrible, Mom. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“All right. Talk to you soon.” She hit the red phone icon that disconnected the call and handed the device back to her housemaid. “You can put that on my dresser in the other room.”

“Yes, Kyria.” With a nod, the girl left.

Chara sat on the bed again. This was the bedroom she and Seth would normally share, but since his illness began, she’d been sleeping in the guest room. “Our daughter is going to come here, and everything will be – ” She stopped, gulping down a sob, and bowed her head.

A tear fell on the white and lavender sheet. Then another. And then the flood began in force, and Chara slid off the bed to the floor, resting her head on her arms next to Seth’s unmoving hand. Sobbing hard enough to cause her ribs to hurt, she allowed her misery the release it needed to keep from killing her outright.

Oh, Seth…oh, Atarah! Why?

*******

Jett was holding his wife’s hands, the couple standing near the picture window in the living room. Bryson, sitting in his chair near the fireplace, watched them from behind his newspaper, sliding his gaze sideways around it to see them.

“Are you sure you’re okay about not being able to come with me?”

“Yes, ‘Tarah. I get how your mom must feel. I may be family, but not in the way you are. Your mother’s culture is a little more restrained about that kind of thing.”

“True. If she was the one who was sick, Dad would be fine with your being with me.” She had been looking down at their joined hands, but now raised her head, her eyes meeting Jett’s. “I feel helpless.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I know. I do, too. I don’t want you to go, but it’s okay – you have to do this.”

She dropped his hands and slid her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Bryson moved his gaze back behind the paper, not wanting her to see him staring. But her eyes were closed, busy squeezing out tears, and she noticed nothing. He realized this upon allowing himself another brief glance and shook his head, feeling terrible for her.

He also felt awful about her father. Seth Johanan was a jolly, kind, thoughtful individual with a fantastic sense of humor. He was also brilliant in his own way; his antiques dealership was one of unusual success in a field that was currently not doing all that well.

Jett was murmuring something into his wife’s hair, but Bryson couldn’t catch the words. A minute later, they separated after another quick, ferocious hug. As they headed for the foyer, Bryson lowered his paper. “When are you going, ‘Tarah?”

She stopped and turned back, her sadness plain, stark. “My flight leaves at nine this evening. I was going to take a commercial flight, but at the last minute, my mother managed to hire a pilot for me. She said she didn’t trust the airlines to get me there soon enough.” She ducked her head, gulping.

Bryson folded up his paper and put it on the table beside his chair, got up, and went to her. “Our hearts are with you and your family, ‘Tarah.” He gathered her into a fatherly embrace, wishing he could take away some of her sorrow.

“Thank you,” she whispered into his shirt.

When the couple had gone upstairs – presumably to get her things packed – the man returned to the living room, planning to go back to his paper, but changed his mind and went to seek out his wife instead. He found her in the small greenhouse in the backyard inspecting the last of the mums.

“What brings you out here?” She put down the flower pot she’d been inspecting and gave him a surprised look. “Is everything all right?”

“As all right as it can be, I suppose. I think they’re upstairs packing.”

“Hmm. Or something else. Anyway, I heard her taking a call from her mother earlier. Don’t know what that was about.”

“Based on what she told me a few minutes ago, I’d guess it was about her taking a private plane at nine tonight instead of the commercial flight she’d booked for this afternoon.”

Celia frowned. “That’s odd.