There’s more of this waiting for you when you get here.
The last page of the magical little book was the one that made me cry. I’d cried an awful lot this summer. I’d cried an awful lot in the last year, actually. I’d been upset at what had become of my life, and rightfully so. But this time, it was the possibility of what could be that started the waterworks.
Tatum cleverly chose a photograph from my family’s annual Christmas party a few years ago. Every December, Mom and Dad had the house decorated with glitter and snowflakes and lights and at least five trees throughout the house. Though the party was for Dad’s clients, this was Mom’s baby. She was in her element, choosing the food from the caterer’s menu, selecting the perfect outfit and jewelry, checking off the RSVPs. I had to admit, I loved it too. Getting ready for that party—when I was small, with Mom, when I got older, with Tatum—was so special. It was the first time I was allowed to wear makeup. It was the first time I was allowed to wear shoes with heels. Sometimes I was allowed to carry drinks or trays of appetizers to the guests. There was always an overwhelming feeling of being almost an adult at that party. It was the most special night of my year.
In the photograph, I stood at the bottom of the curved stairs in our foyer. The railing was decorated with pine boughs, red velvet ribbons, and white lights. I was wearing a navy-blue dress; my dad’s pearl hung, floating on its silver chain at my neck. Tatum, in a white and gold sweater dress, stood next to me, our elbows grazing, with Tilly on her other side in a pale pink dress. Behind us, up the staircase, were our parents. Moms in the middle, dads at the top. My dad’s hand rested on my mother’s shoulder and her face was turned, just a little, to the side, as if she were trying to catch a glimpse of him. Around us, all over the foyer, were guests holding champagne glasses, raised in a toast. We were smiling. Our cheeks were pink. We looked happy. We looked like a family. The family I always hoped we would become.
Sneaky Tatum. She knew exactly what she was doing by making this photo the grand finale of her little book. This photo was hard evidence that we’d been that happy family, even for the half a second it took for the flash to go off and capture our image forever. It happened once, it could happen again.
I turned the last page over and noticed there was more. Written on the jacket page were messages. Handwritten. There was one from Tatum, of course, telling me she was counting the days until I got back and she’d have a pint of mint chocolate chip ready and waiting. I loved her for knowing just what I needed.
But it was the messages that followed hers that left a lump in my throat. One was from Abby telling me she was going to recruit me to write for the paper next year. One was from Seamus telling me to hurry home so he didn’t have to listen to Tatum say how much she missed me all the time. Another was from Hunter, which wasn’t actually a message since we didn’t really know each other, but song lyrics from Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.
Home is wherever I’m with you.
There was even a note from Tatum’s step-grandmother, Blanche, whom I’d met last summer and liked instantly. She wrote a phrase in Spanish and then translated it for me.
¡Levántate! ¡El sol sale para todos! Get up! The sun rises for everybody.
They were more Tatum’s support network than mine, but there was the promise that I would be welcomed into the fold when I got home. Goosebumps ran up and down my arms as I closed the book and hugged it to my chest. It was enough—just the thing I needed to push me over the edge and leap. Hannah and Baxter were right. I needed to find my voice and use it. I’d spent so much time saying things in my head, never letting those thoughts come off my lips. I’d used the words of others to express myself, protecting myself. I wrapped myself in an armor of silence and the written words of other people. But now? I could draw strength from those words in a different way. I could use them to give me courage to break out and say what I needed to say.
Dear Tate,
Thank you for the book. It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever given me. I’m lucky to have a friend like you in my life. Please thank the others for their messages as well. I’m looking forward to seeing them. And because I know you’re wondering, I’m going to ask. Soon.
Love always,
Ash
I picked up the envelope to throw it away and heard something rattling. I shook it and a pen fell out, along with a tiny folded piece of paper.
Give this pen to Hannah and your friends from work. They need to sign this book too.
XO, Tate
My breath caught in my throat as I gripped the pen. There was only one way to repay her kindness. Call my mother and tell her I was ready to come home.
Chapter 28
It took a few days of missed messages before I finally connected with my mother. In that time, I had reserved new touring packages for a group of local school board members, the employees from a restaurant supply company, and another family reunion, though not quite as fun as the Patels. I also went on another bike ride into town with Hannah, this time to get souvenirs—a fridge magnet for my mom and a package of soup mix for Uncle Ed and Aunt Greta. A thank-you gift, really. I had no idea what to get for my relatives who had taken me in, no questions asked. Nothing quite said, “I appreciate you more than I can say, and I hope you invite me back soon because I need more family,” but I hoped it was a start.
I had also spent a lazy afternoon with Baxter, just lying on the bridge at the ropes course and listening to the stream burble beneath us, reading—him, a biography of Theodore Roosevelt, and me, the copy of Leaves of Grass I’d bought on our first trip into Sweetwater. It was nice to just sit near someone and say nothing and feel no pressure to fill the space with small talk. It was more than nice, actually. I tried not to steal glances at Baxter, but I know he caught me more than once. Which meant he was watching me too.
As I was walking into the office to print out an itinerary for the family reunion’s day trip, the phone rang. Mr. Allen, looking much more authoritative than Deb ever did sitting at the big desk, now cleaned off and organized, held the phone out to me.
“Your mom,” he mouthed. He got up to let me sit down in his place and left to give me some privacy.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, a little breathless.
“Hi, Honey, I’m glad I caught you,” Mom said, sounding clear. Mindful. Energized. I felt like the woman from earlier in the summer—the one who couldn’t get out of bed to pack a suitcase—had vanished. I knew enough about depression to know that she wasn’t gone forever, that she’d put in an appearance from time to time, but it was comforting to know that my mom would be prepared for the next time she showed up.
“You sound good,” I ventured.
“I feel good. I feel like me again. Isn’t that amazing?”
“I’m glad,” I said, smiling into the receiver.
“And how are you? Work still going well? Are you getting along with Hannah?”
I smiled again. I hoped she could hear it in my voice. “Yeah, everything is good here too.” And it was the truth. Everything at Sweetwater, for once, was great. My side-gig as our guest’s local travel agent had been well-received. Hannah and I were not just cousins, but real friends. And now that Deb was out of the picture, and I was no longer sneaking around with Marcus, I felt a little more like me again too. The me I wanted to be anyway. Hanging out with Baxter didn’t hurt either.
“I’m glad. I know this hasn’t been the summer we wanted, but maybe it was the summer we needed.”
It felt like there was more she wanted to say. “What do you mean?”
“Well, that’s partly why I wanted to talk to you today. My therapist has been helping me formulate a plan. For when I get back home, which should hopefully be soon.” My heart leapt into my throat. Did that mean I would be going home soon too? I hoped, I hoped, I hoped. “She’s already got me connected with a therapist not far from our house.”
“That’s great, Mom.”
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to meeting her.
” I was so proud of my mom, putting herself out there in such a vulnerable way, without pride or shame. “Your father will be gone for some time still.” I knew. I was painfully aware of that fact. “And while there’s money for me to live on and for your tuition . . .” I winced. “. . . I’ve been learning a lot about how to be self-reliant. I’ve depended on your father, and the people he hires, for entirely too long. If I had been more involved or aware, I might have been able to prevent what happened. So, I’ve made appointments with our bank, our financial adviser, our realtor, and a number of other professionals so I can understand more about running our family.”
“That makes sense,” I said quietly. I was still stuck on the word tuition.
“And, here’s the big news. I’m getting a job.” Her voice rose with excitement as she said it.
“That’s fantastic,” I said, making sure I matched her tone. My mother hadn’t had a paying job my entire life. She had a degree in something like communications or English, I wasn’t exactly sure, but hadn’t used it. Mom spent most of her spare time getting her nails done, having long lunches with friends, going to yoga and spin classes, organizing open houses for my dad to drum up new clients—her ways of comforting herself and trying to tune out the bad moments like I did with quotes and ice cream. Occasionally, she assisted with charity events, which I’d always thought was to send some good out into the universe to counteract Dad’s awfulness, but maybe it was Mom’s way of staying connected to her skills and strengths. “What are you going to do?”
“I think I want to be a librarian.”
“Really?” I couldn’t hide my surprise. It was so different from the mother I’d had in the last several years. And yet, when I gave it a little more thought, I realized my mom had just as much influence on my love of learning as my dad did, she was just subtler about it. She took me to the bookstore and the library when I was little. She shared her favorite books from childhood. And, on my eleventh birthday, she bought me my first diary, which evolved into my quote journal.
“Yes. I already have a lead as a library assistant and I’m thinking about going back to school. Librarians need a master’s degree and there’s a good program nearby.” I pictured my mother at the rehab center, sitting at a computer doing research on grad school. It made my heart swell.
“I think that’s amazing, Mom. Really and truly.”
“Thanks, Ash. I’m hopeful.” I could hear her sniffle a little on the other end.
“Will you still work when Dad comes home?”
“I think so. Part of what I’ve been talking to my therapist about is building my self-confidence. She says I need to believe that I’m useful and that I have a purpose. I think I had convinced myself that helping out with the occasional charity luncheon was good enough.”
Or Dad convinced her, was probably more like it. But I knew exactly how she felt. Until I decided to be brave and plant that seed here at Sweetwater, helping guests plan excursions and standing up to Marcus, I too had convinced myself that my old way of life was good enough. “But what about Dad?”
“What about Dad?”
“Well, I think he likes having you and me behave a certain way.” I was trying to be diplomatic. “Dad feels pretty strongly about what behaviors are acceptable and which friends are worthwhile.” I was choosing my words carefully. I didn’t doubt that Mom would agree, but she was married to the guy after all. She picked him, whereas I’d had no choice.
Mom paused long enough for me to wonder if I’d hit a nerve. “We talk about that too. In therapy, I mean.”
“And?”
“And your father is a very proud man. It’s much easier for him to focus on what he sees as faults in other people than on his own faults. I think it’s painful for him to look inward. He doesn’t like what he sees, so he steers clear.”
“That doesn’t make it right,” I muttered. I pinched my pearl necklace between my thumb and forefinger, making two pink indents.
“No, absolutely not. And some of that is my fault too. It has always been easier for me to just accept that’s the way he is and be glad he comes home to me every night and isn’t out drinking or flirting or who knows what else. And that he provides.”
Provided, I didn’t say.
“But I’ve realized that a lot of things have to change if we’re going to be a fully functioning family. I’ve been told family therapy is commonly recommended to help reintegrate loved ones back into the home after they’ve been to prison.”
I gulped. It wasn’t the first time someone had told the Zanottis they might want to talk to a professional. “Like, all of us? In one room? Together?”
Mom chuckled a little. “That’s generally how it works, yes.”
“Okay.” I’d do it for her. For us. For the family in that Christmas party photo. And, if Mom was expecting all of us to make some changes, maybe this was the time to ask for the one I wanted most of all. I knew without question that home was where I wanted to be, even if what that meant, with Dad still gone and Mom taking on new roles, was still a little murky and uncertain. Would she enforce Dad’s rules? Would she go the other way and have no rules? I couldn’t even imagine what that might be like. Logically, I couldn’t see either option becoming a reality. Mom would be somewhere in the middle. And we could figure out what home was together.
“So,” I started, my hands sweating and my throat dry, “what about me?” My voice cracked. “About school this year, I mean.”
Mom paused. “What do you mean, sweetheart? Dad took care of it already.”
“I know,” I said, dragging out the O, like a little kid might. “But I was hoping I could come home. I was planning to ask before everyone . . . left. And then Dad mentioned tuition was paid for and I felt guilty and I didn’t ask. But I really want to come back. I miss my friends. And I miss you too. Even Dad.” Just a little. “I’ve done everything you asked. My grades are perfect. I made good choices. I think I deserve it.”
There it was, poured out of me. It was the most I’d said to my mother about how I was feeling in a long time. A really long time. All the words I’d kept hidden inside fled my mind, leaving it deliciously free and empty. It felt good to let it out. Good to tell my mother how I’d been feeling. Good to trust her.
Mom was quiet for several beats. I clasped my hands to keep them from shaking. She finally sniffed again and said in a tiny voice, “It would be nice to see your face every day again. Especially since you’re going to be in college so soon.” Her voice trailed off. “I had no idea, Honey.”
“So, is that a yes?” I sucked in a silent breath and held it tight. That breath was hope, hanging in the balance, like that little girl deciding to jump from the wall.
Mom sniffled twice and then spoke again. “Yes. You’ve more than proven you deserve it. And, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to living in an empty house, I must admit.”
My heart exploded. If a human being could burst into confetti, my whole cabin would’ve been covered in bits of red and yellow and blue. If there was room to do backflips in the office, I would’ve done so many, I’d have been dizzy.
When the tears came, there was no anger or fear or shame. Only hope. For so long, longer than the last year, I’d felt unwanted. And here was my mom, admitting that she needed me. She wanted me. It was almost more than I could bear.
“We’ll have to say something to your father,” Mom said.
“I know,” I said through hitching breaths.
“But,” she said, a slight smirk in her voice, “he’s not really in a position to argue now, is he?”
We both laughed. Knowing that my mom was on my side, and that we were going to move forward with changing our family dynamics—hopefully for the better—was empowering. I felt powerful. I felt strong.
Mom sniffed. “How about I come pick you up on your last day? We can go see Dad together.”
“Sounds like a plan. I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, baby.”
Chapter 29
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Planning a sunrise hike was something I never imagined I would do, but I also never thought my dad would go to prison, so never say never. I originally hoped to keep my plans secret but trying to get every single employee at Sweetwater Overlook Retreat Center to agree to wake up before dawn on the last day of the season, for some unknown reason, was nearly impossible.
Hannah’s little alarm clock went off at four in the morning. She banged on the bottom of my bed with her fists.
“Why are we doing this again?”
“Because it’ll be fun. And because it’s my way of saying thanks.”
“You couldn’t thank us with a cake or coffee delivery like a normal person?”
I slid off the top bunk with a thud. “Nope.”
I picked a hike because I knew it would push me out of my little indoor box. I thought it would make all the people who lived in an outdoor box—Baxter included—happy. And, if I was being really honest, I knew it would make an amazing photograph. Because I wanted that one in a frame, to prove that I’d done it and to remind myself that I could do it again one day. Whatever the challenge. With any luck, everyone else would want to be in the picture too and they’d be part of my memory. And with a little more luck, I’d be able to put that framed photo on my dresser. At home.
No Place Like Here Page 19
