“Dad, I don’t know if I’m even going, it’s just something I want to apply for. I might not get in,” Mir said, feeling small and troublesome for making her parents argue.
“Henry,” said Stella, the word a warning. “This is a decision that was very difficult for Miriam. We need to support her in it. Don’t be selfish.”
“It’s selfish to want to see my kid more than once every five years?” Henry said, his voice rising. “I’ve seen this happen to so many families here. Kid goes away for school or work, promises to come back when debts are paid off or they’ve got their degree, but they never do. Families are split up, spread all over the country. Everything is breaking apart.”
“There’s nothing here for young people,” Stella said. “There’s so little industry, nothing besides what the shipyards and tourist trade provide. Can you blame them for leaving?”
Henry’s hand scratched frantically through his hair. Stella reached for him, pulling his hand away from his head and lacing her fingers through his. Mir huddled on the couch, trying to burrow into it. She had finally chosen between staying and going. Her foot was on the path, the first step taken. Behind her was her father, telling her not to go.
“I’m sorry,” Mir said. I’m sorry I don’t want to stay. I’m sorry I didn’t fall in love with a boy at my high school, the way Mom and Raleigh did.
“I need a little time to get used to this,” Henry said, staring down at his hand laced with Stella’s. He gently unwound her hand from his and walked away from them, out of the living room. Mir heard the door to her parents’ bedroom close.
Stella turned to Mir, her eyes bright and almost watery.
“I want to make an appointment with your guidance counselor. What about Monday?”
“Sure,” said Mir. “Monday’s fine. I think she’ll be really happy to see you.”
Stella reached out and touched Mir lightly on the shoulder, walking past her into the kitchen. Mir lay down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. She felt scraped raw, but also lighter, so much lighter.
I made the decision that was right for me at this moment, she thought. Mir closed her eyes, half smiling.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Summer was trying its best to come to Sandford. A sunny day as clear and warm as a spring day in California was followed by a double-digit plunge in temperature. To Weldon it felt like the weather was deliberately toying with him.
Weldon ran in the park every day, so often that he got to know the other joggers, nodding at them when they passed one another. He surfed the internet, reading all the news about the TomorrowMen movie on comic blogs and movie news sites. He watched a million TV shows about the intricacies of owning a pawn shop. And he tried to accidentally bump into Miriam.
The Emporium of Wonders was gone. Physically the store still stood, the posters in the window slowly curling from the heat as summer crept into Sandford, but the front door was locked, the CLOSED sign turned permanently outward. Weldon had returned to the store the day after running into Miriam at the park, and wandered in conspicuous circles in front of it, hoping someone might venture out. No one had. Not Mir, not her manager with his sad ten-dollar haircut and worn-out khaki pants. For the following three days he walked by the store, pretending to head to the Running Realm, always eyeing the darkened windows of the former Emporium of Wonders.
At the Running Realm, Ellie had frozen him out, taking extreme care to talk to him only when she had to. Weldon felt guilty and bought a new pair of shoes, hoping the commission would ease the tension between them. It didn’t.
A week passed with no sign of Miriam. It was as though the magnetic force that had been pushing them together had suddenly expired. In desperation, Weldon considered going to her house. He imagined walking up the porch steps, knocking on the door, and then—what? Weldon tried to picture it in his head.
SCENE 1: Weldon Warrick walks up the stairs of the Kendricks’ house. He knocks on their front door. Stella Kendrick answers the door.
WELDON: Hello.
STELLA: Hello, Weldon! Come in, come in! Miriam’s been expecting you. She’s decided she doesn’t hate you anymore and would like to be your friend. She is flattered you decided to show up unannounced at her home. Would you care for a homegrown organic tomato? Or a hug?
Or—
SCENE 2: Weldon Warrick walks up the stairs of the Kendricks’ house. He knocks on their front door. Miriam Kendrick answers.
WELDON: Hello.
MIRIAM: Ugh, why are you here? I said I don’t hate you, but it doesn’t mean I want you hanging around. Explain yourself.
INCREDIBLY LONG SILENCE THAT ENDS WITH THE UNIVERSE COLLAPSING IN ON ITSELF LIKE A DYING STAR.
Weldon shuddered. If he was going to show up at Miriam’s house, he’d need a reason. Until that reason occurred to him, he was stuck wandering the streets of Sandford, hoping to run into her.
* * *
The second Saturday of June was glorious. Fluffy clouds dotted the sky, and the river below the bridge gleamed as Weldon jogged into town. It felt like summer, a real, proper, American summer.
Weldon jogged down Sandford’s main street, eyes sweeping the sidewalks and storefronts for Miriam. Summer tourists had started to pour into the town, taking up space in the Starbucks and filling the front window of the make-your-own-pottery store with misshapen mugs. Many of the tourists were doggedly stereotypical, wearing wide floppy hats and T-shirts with the names of the places they’d visited on them. They spilled off the cruise ships that docked at the waterfront and swept into Sandford, eager to spend their American money on an authentic piece of East Coast Canadiana.
Weldon continued jogging, skirting past a couple taking pictures of a tiny maritime museum that had recently popped up, ready to teach the new influx of people about the history of the waterfront. Weldon jogged down to the park and watched a sleek white boat sail away from the harbor, tourists relaxing on its deck. He took the long way out of the park, the way he and Mir had walked together the last time he’d seen her.
Weldon reached the road that led to the Kendricks’ house and stopped, looking down it. The road snaked away from him, rising and then falling out of sight. He couldn’t see Miriam’s house, but he sketched it out in his mind: patchwork yellow paint job, sloping front porch. He took a step down the road, then stopped and turned back.
A grimy truck turned down the road and drove past Weldon. It stopped suddenly and reversed, shooting backward so the cab was level with him. Weldon looked up, surprised. Miriam’s father leaned out the driver’s side of the cab, a smile already locked in place.
“Weldon!” yelled Henry. “Hello! How are you? It’s been a while! About time we got some proper spring weather! I always forget how long it takes for summer to finally get here, even though I’ve lived in Sandford all my life. You’d think I’d know by now. But it looks like it’s finally here!”
Weldon blinked, the torrent of words flying over his head. Henry remained leaning out the cab window, beaming at him.
“Yeah,” Weldon finally managed.
“Going for a run?”
Weldon glanced down at his clothes, double-checking that was what he was doing.
“Yeah. Almost done. I ran through the park earlier.”
“Did you see the cruise ships?” Henry said. “They’re predicting a record number of tourists this year. There’s life in the old town after all.” He laughed, leaning back in the front seat.
“That’s great,” said Weldon, not sure how else to respond. Tourists were great, weren’t they? They brought money in exchange for misshapen coffee mugs.
“It is!” Henry beamed. He swiveled his attention back to the road, preparing to drive off. “Nice seeing you! Enjoy the weather.”
“Um, wait—” Weldon said desperately. “Um, I haven’t seen Miriam in a while … she told me she lost her job at that store downtown?” He flicked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the Emporium of Wonders. “I was just wondering if everything
was okay?” Weldon finished with a shrug.
“You know about that?” Henry said.
“Yeah,” said Weldon. “I ran into her in the park two weeks ago. She told me.”
Henry stared at him, thoughtful.
“You don’t have many friends in town, do you?”
Weldon shook his head.
“No, sir.”
“Please call me Henry,” said Henry. “‘Sir’ is someone … well, someone not me. No one who chased an already castrated bull around a pen for three hours when they were eighteen is called ‘sir.’”
“Okay,” said Weldon, grinning. Henry reached over to the passenger’s side of the truck and unlocked the door.
“Hop in. Miriam’s at home and I don’t think she’s busy. You guys can hang out.”
Weldon scrambled into the truck, fishing behind his shoulder for the seat belt. He’d just clicked it into place when Henry took off, hitting a nearby pothole with a heart-stopping thunk. It took barely a minute for them to reach the house at the end of the road, Henry bringing the truck to a screeching halt in the gravel driveway out front.
“It’s less damaging for a car to hit a pothole at high speeds than slow speeds,” Henry yelled, hopping out of the cab. “Science!”
“I’m not sure that’s true…” Weldon muttered under his breath, trailing behind Henry. Henry threw open the front door and barreled into the house, shouting that he was home. The kitchen was empty. Henry looked around, a puzzled expression on his face. From the living room beyond came Miriam’s voice.
“Mom’s in her studio,” Miriam said. “Nate’s out back. You’re so loud, stop yelling.”
“Yelling is good for the lungs and heart and probably the kidneys,” said Henry. “Science says so! What’re you gonna do.”
“I would like to see the data on that,” Miriam’s voice said. Weldon stood in the doorway, Henry blocking his view of the entrance to the living room. He hesitated, not sure if he should walk past Miriam’s father.
“I found your friend Weldon,” Henry said, stepping to the side. Weldon saw Miriam sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room, a mass of paper spread out around her. Her hair was tied in a bun on the top of her head, shaped like a lightbulb of inspiration. She looked up at him and smiled.
At the sight of her smile, light filled his chest, pressing his ribs outward. He worried he might float upward to bump against the ceiling, radiating light through his T-shirt. That would be embarrassing.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” Weldon said. “Your dad ran into me.”
“Oh god, I hope not. I was driving the truck.” Henry laughed uproariously. Miriam stared at her father, expression deadpan.
Henry thumped through the living room, taking an exaggerated step over Miriam and her pile of papers. He waved, grinning at Weldon and his daughter.
“I’m gonna see what my woman is up to. You kids have fun hanging out.” The screen door banged loudly as he walked through the back door. Miriam sighed. She leaned an elbow on one knee, chin on her hand, peering down at the papers next to her.
“He’s so loud,” Miriam said. “I used to think it was funny when I was a kid, but now I’m kinda over it.”
Weldon walked toward her, pausing at the living room entrance to remove his shoes. In the living room he sat in front of Mir, outside the halo of paper strewn around her.
“My dad thinks my mom married him for his sense of humor—she really does think he’s hilarious—so if he’s not funny all the time she’ll, like, leave him for a funnier man,” Miriam said, her expression still deadpan.
“That’s actually really funny,” Weldon said. Miriam nodded, looking down at the papers spread in front of her. They seemed to be printouts of some kind, listings from a database.
“What’s this?”
“We don’t have decent internet on our computer, so I got our neighbor to print off a bunch of job listings. It’s just easier,” said Mir. “But she charged me for the paper and ink, if you can believe that.”
“You don’t have the internet?” Weldon was genuinely shocked.
Miriam glanced up at him, pointing over her shoulder at an ancient beige computer on a desk in the corner of the living room.
“Oh, we have internet, if you think dial-up is internet. Our house is outside of the wired area of Sandford, so we can’t actually get fast internet. Unless we want to pay a ton of money for it, and my parents are not those kind of people.”
“But the internet’s a utility,” Weldon said. “I didn’t think anyone was still stuck with dial-up. I mean, you’re only a half hour walk outside of Sandford.”
“Welcome to rural Nova Scotia,” Miriam sighed, fiddling with one of the papers in front of her. “You can be a ten-minute drive from a proper town, and the phone companies still won’t bring the good stuff to your neighborhood because it’s not profitable enough.”
“I’m appalled on your behalf,” Weldon said. “No one should have to surf the internet on dial-up. You should, I don’t know, start a petition.”
Miriam looked up at him, the edge of her mouth turning up in amusement. She shrugged.
“I’ve made my peace with it. No proper internet for me until I live somewhere other than this house.”
Weldon gestured at the strewn halo of papers. “So this is job hunting for the internet deficient?”
“Yeah,” said Miriam. She reached for one of the printouts and held it up. “It seems like a lot of job openings, but it’s pretty slim pickings. Most of the summer jobs in the area are physical, and they want to hire giant dudes with muscles. I am not a giant dude with muscles.” She tossed the listing aside and stared at the papers surrounding her.
“There’s gotta be something in there,” said Weldon. He picked up one of the listings and saw it was for a barista at a coffee shop and required three years’ experience. He put the listing down.
“Maybe,” said Miriam. “I haven’t been looking as hard as I should. Finals are coming up and I’ve been studying a lot. But I need to find something before the school year ends, or I might be out of luck.”
“Why is it important you get a job this summer?”
Miriam looked up at him.
It’s important she get a job for the summer because her dad isn’t the producer of a two-hundred-million-dollar superhero movie, dummy. Don’t ask such stupid questions, Weldon thought, trying to keep the grimace off his face.
“Have you ever been to Toronto?”
“Toronto? Once, when I was a kid, I think,” Weldon said, relieved Mir had decided not to be offended by his stupidity. “That’s the city with the giant tower, right?”
“The CN Tower, yeah. I want to go there for school. Well, not the actual tower; I want to go to the city it’s in for school.”
Her tone was casual, but he could hear the eagerness underneath it. Something had happened since he’d last seen her, something she was excited about. He wondered if she’d smiled at him earlier only because she’d been thinking about Toronto. He hoped not.
“Cool,” he said. “I’ve heard it’s a great city.”
“It’s huge,” said Miriam, her hands fluttering to her mouth like she was trying to prevent a bubble of joy from bursting outward. “It’s the largest city in Canada. It’s full of artists and writers and lawyers and … so many people. Different kinds of people.”
“I always liked that about LA,” Weldon said. “Every kind of person there.”
“I keep forgetting that’s where you’re from,” said Miriam. “You don’t know the simple pleasures of being trapped in a small town.”
“Guess not. I mean, San Diego’s small in comparison to LA—”
“It’s not small compared to Sandford,” Mir laughed. “Nothing is as small as Sandford.”
“True,” Weldon said.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Miriam shuffling through the printouts strewn on the floor. Weldon thought it would be very nice to keep sitting on the floor for se
veral more hours, as long as he could watch Miriam sift through her papers.
Eventually Miriam sat back from her halo of papers, leaning against the front of the couch and putting her head in her hands.
“This sucks. There’s nothing. I’m gonna be stuck working for Evan’s dad all summer. He’s gonna yell at me, and not the way my dad yells. Not in a fun way.”
“Want to hear about my shitty summer job?” Weldon said.
Miriam turned her head toward him, peering between her fingers.
“You had a shitty summer job?”
“Several.”
“Aren’t you rich?”
“Ha,” said Weldon. “I guess compared to most people. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t have to work. My dad had summer jobs, so of course I had to have them too.”
“Let me guess: it builds character.”
“So much character,” said Weldon.
Miriam pulled one hand from her face and gestured at Weldon. “Tell me about your crappy summer jobs.”
“First my dad put me to work in Warrick Studios. None of the artists or writers who make the TomorrowMen comics work in-house. Pretty much everyone works either from their home or their own private studio, but most of the preparing of the comic pages for print is done in-house at Warrick Studios. All the editors work there too. So one summer my dad made me work at the studio. I got paid a tiny amount of money and I got to shred paper, fetch coffee, and run errands for these editors who hated me because I was the boss’s kid.”
“Nobody likes nepotism,” Miriam said.
“I would’ve worked any other job,” Weldon said. “I don’t like hanging around Warrick Studios. It’d probably be interesting if you’re really into the comic industry, but I’m surrounded by that stuff all the time. I can’t escape it.”
He shrugged.
“The next summer I told my dad I’d find a job on my own, and went to, like, the worst coffee shop in our neighborhood to see if they were hiring. I got paid minimum wage to work their drive-through. Half the time I got the order wrong because the intercom was so terrible, and people would literally go through the drive-through wearing nothing but their bathrobes. But it was better than getting dirty looks all day at my dad’s business.”
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