Conor took a drink of his Coke. His mum had been really poorly when they’d got to the hospital. They’d had to wait for his grandma to help her out of the toilet, and then she was so tired all she was really able to say was “Hi, sweetheart,” to Conor and “Hello, Liam,” to his father before falling back to sleep. His grandma ushered them out moments later, a look on her face that even his dad wasn’t going to argue with.
“Your mother is, uh,” his father said now, squinting at nothing in particular. “She’s a fighter, isn’t she?”
Conor shrugged.
“So, how are you holding up, Con?”
“That’s like the eight hundredth time you’ve asked me since you got here,” Conor said.
“Sorry,” his father said.
“I’m fine,” Conor said. “Mum’s on this new medicine. It’ll make her better. She looks bad, but she’s looked bad before. Why is everyone acting like–?”
He stopped and took another drink of his Coke.
“You’re right, son,” his father said. “You’re absolutely right.” He turned his wine glass slowly around once on the table. “Still,” he said. “You’re going to need to be brave for her, Con. You’re going to need to be real, real brave for her.”
“You talk like American television.”
His father laughed, quietly. “Your sister’s doing well. Almost walking.”
“Half-sister,” Conor said.
“I can’t wait for you to meet her,” his father said. “We’ll have to arrange for a visit soon. Maybe even this Christmas. Would you like that?”
Conor met his father’s eyes. “What about Mum?”
“I’ve talked it over with your grandma. She seemed to think it wasn’t a bad idea, as long as we got you back in time for the new school term.”
Conor ran a hand along the edge of the table. “So it’d just be a visit then?”
“What do you mean?” his father said, sounding surprised. “A visit as opposed to…” He trailed off, and Conor knew he’d worked out what he meant. “Conor–”
But Conor suddenly didn’t want him to finish. “There’s a tree that’s been visiting me,” he said, talking quickly, starting to peel the label off the Coke bottle. “It comes to the house at night, tells me stories.”
His father blinked, baffled. “What?”
“I thought it was a dream at first,” Conor said, scratching at the label with his thumbnail, “but then I kept finding leaves when I woke up and little trees growing out of the floor. I’ve been hiding them all so no one will find out.”
“Conor–”
“It hasn’t come to grandma’s house yet. I was thinking she might live too far away–”
“What are you–?”
“But why should it matter if it’s all a dream, though? Why wouldn’t a dream be able to walk across town? Not if it’s as old as the earth and as big as the world–”
“Conor, stop this–”
“I don’t want to live with grandma,” Conor said, his voice suddenly strong and filled with a thickness that felt like it was choking him. He kept his eyes firmly on the Coke bottle label, his thumbnail scraping the wet paper away. “Why can’t I come and live with you? Why can’t I come to America?”
His father licked his lips. “You mean when–”
“Grandma’s house is an old lady’s house,” Conor said.
His father gave another small laugh. “I’ll be sure to tell her you called her an old lady.”
“You can’t touch anything or sit anywhere,” Conor said. “You can’t leave a mess for even two seconds. And she’s only got internet out in her office and I’m not allowed in there.”
“I’m sure we can talk to her about those things. I’m sure there’s lots of room to make it easier, make you comfortable there.”
“I don’t want to be comfortable there!” Conor said, raising his voice. “I want my own room in my own house.”
“You wouldn’t have that in America,” his father said. “We barely have room for the three of us, Con. Your grandma has a lot more money and space than we do. Plus, you’re in school here, your friends are here, your whole life is here. It would be unfair to just take you out of all that.”
“Unfair to who?” Conor asked.
His father sighed. “This is what I meant,” he said. “This is what I meant when I said you were going to have to be brave.”
“That’s what everyone says,” Conor said. “As if it means anything.”
“I’m sorry,” his father said. “I know it seems really unfair, and I wish it was different–”
“Do you?”
“Of course I do.” His father leaned in over the table. “But this way is best. You’ll see.”
Conor swallowed, still not meeting his eye. Then he swallowed again. “Can we can talk about it more when Mum gets better?”
His father slowly sat back in his chair again. “Of course we can, buddy. That’s exactly what we’ll do.”
Conor looked at him again. “Buddy?”
His father smiled. “Sorry.” He lifted his wine glass and took a drink long enough to drain the whole glass. He set it down with a small gasp, then he gave Conor a quizzical look. “What was all that you were saying about a tree?”
But the waitress came and silence fell as she put their pizzas in front of them. “Americano,” Conor frowned, looking down at his. “If it could talk, I wonder if it would sound like you.”
AMERICANS DON’T GET MUCH HOLIDAY
“Doesn’t look like your grandma’s home yet,” Conor’s father said, pulling up the rental car in front of her house.
“She sometimes goes back to the hospital after I go to bed,” Conor said. “The nurses let her sleep in a chair.”
His dad nodded. “She may not like me,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean she’s a bad lady.”
Conor stared out of the window at her house. “How long are you here for?” he asked. He’d been afraid to ask before now.
His father let out a long breath, the kind of breath that said bad news was coming. “Just a few days, I’m afraid.”
Conor turned to him. “That’s all?”