Me, Myself, and I

creases and contamination

"Why does he keep all this stuff in here like it's some sort of piggie bank? Is he twelve?" Kyle muttered.

I shrugged as he dug for the next file in the safe. I could feel the sins of the deed crawling around me, frowning saints and deities and karma and anything that could possibly feel like a slap across the mouth. When he'd suggested this deal, this inhumane, illegal, undeserving deal, I'd thought through the possibilities, the only paths that seemed laid before me.

Wait around like a dead fish in that hospital room

Go with Alex's plan and pretend nothing is happening

Do something

The "something" possibility Kyle offered was not an ideal something. But the "something" meant, if he kept his word, I'd see Ben. Cross open, God forgive me, cross close. I wanted the aching in my stomach to go away; I wanted to see him before his mind stopped circulating. I wanted this foggy picture in my head to have lines and color again.

So we shook on it.

Dad didn't see me leave, probably thought I was headed to my third class for the day. Delcoph Community College had grown smaller in my mind, a small piece of the puzzle I didn't know how to put together. It existed enough to guilt trip me, not enough to feel real enough to attend.

Another stop for hospital coffee, and Kyle drove me to my place in his convertible. The aroma was gone with the liquid long before our overgrown lawn came into view. Our gravel driveway was empty, curtains partially opened, no light through the windows. I felt like a babysitter taking a problem child on a dangerous field trip.

Actually, I was the parole officer.

We had pulled the safe from Dad's room out to the kitchen table. I fidgeted with one of the recipe cards I'd left out that day and watched Kyle pluck the papers one at a time, carefully placing file after file into a growing pile, criss-crossing papers like a bunch of blocks. He'd grunt every now and then, look closer. He sifted with experience.

I looked over his shoulder, tried to catch a glimpse of the latest file. Dad always dented the corners of his books, but these files were crisp, most laminated in a shiny seal. Mom had always been the messy one in conversation and practice. Misaligned cupboards, a hoarder's closet, mismatched socks. Dad was more subtle about his messes, hidden in a messy laptop desktop, crinkled corners, and sticky napkins.

"I'm so confused," he said. "What does this man actually do for a living?"

I peered at the latest file, nothing but a name atop with a couple of scribbled notes. "He volunteers way more than he should. I don't really know what he does or doesn't do for profit anymore. I know he doesn't give out medicine and he goes to a lot of meetings."

"So you don't even know what your dad does for a living." He snorted, "You mean to tell me people don't pay for that therapy thing Ben was going to?"

"Support group. And no he doesn't charge for that."

"Bull. What does he charge for then?"

I frowned. "I don't know. He's a self-employed, self-righteous, charity-loving licensed therapist and a former brain surgeon. If he was really about making money I can tell you which one would be a better business model."

Kyle frowned and threw the next half-filled sheet aside, starting through another pile. I pretended to look at the document he'd just tossed over. Dad's handwriting was nearly as bad as my mother's. I lined it up with the corners of the previous sheet, fixing the criss-crossed pattern he'd created. I peeked at the windows every so often, kept my ears perked for a car's engine. The safe would be easy to place back where I'd found it, looking unscathed. Kyle...well, we'd deal with the problem if it came.

He grunted and chucked the next paper aside, snatching the next one.

"Who are you looking for?" I asked.

He shook his head, sifting through the next set of papers. "Doesn't matter. Just sit tight and I'll hold up my end of the bargain."

"You told me you were looking for Ben's files. Before we left the hospital." The safe was already halfway empty. "But now..." He shushed me. "If you just tell me—" Shushed again. I rolled my eyes and stared at the next file that had grabbed his attention. But he hunched away from me, squinted over the paper. "I can help, you know? Maybe my dad mentioned..."

Pressing his lips together, Kyle pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the file. But he kept it fisted in his grasp, wrinkled the sides. This one wasn't laminated.

I reached for the paper. "Careful. What—"

He refolded the paper along its creases and started piling the rest of the papers back into the safe, tried to stick the rectangles in the wrong way. "Forget it."

"Kyle—"

"No." He created a new crease in the paper. Tossed more into the untidy pile. "Forget it. Deal's off."

"Why? What did you see?"

Kyle folded it over again, small as the palm of my hand. "I mean it." I grabbed after him, and he shoved the piece in his pocket.

"You can't take any files. Give it here. Or I'll—"

"You'll what? Tell anyone and they know who gave me access." His voice lowered. He rubbed his temple. He'd put the paper back in his fist. "This family is...so screwed."

I closed the safe. "What are you talking about? What were you looking for? What did you see?"

"Like I said, wanted to see what he'd written about Ben. But, you know, nothing. So forget it."

"You're a terrible liar, Kyle."

He opened his mouth, slowly unfolding the creases, when the front door swung open. There, holding a to-go box from Stacks, and a large coffee cup, hidden beneath his usual large Kalpesh business baseball cap, stood my boyfriend.