But I was sick of being left behind. So I started walking toward the street. I started jogging. Then I was running, full force, as fast as my legs would let me go.
Brie, what the hell are you doing?
Following him, what’s it look like?!
Patrick was instantly by my side. He grabbed my hand.
Hold on.
Seconds later, my feet smashed into the concrete walkway of the San Francisco Medical University. I went flying backward twenty feet, straight into a hedge.
“Ugh,” I groaned, once the air had finally crawled back into my lungs. “That really hurt.”
“Seven and a half,” said Patrick. “Nice height, good distance, but automatic three-point deduction for the sloppy landing.”
“Give me a break.” I rubbed my bruised knees. “It’s foggy. Bad visibility. And I’d like to see you try that in a dress. I demand a recount.”
“Now, now, let’s not get greedy. You’re lucky I gave you the extra half point.”
He pulled me up, laughing. I dusted myself off and limped over to the curb. Then we waited.
Fifteen minutes later, I finally saw Dad’s old BMW coming down the road. He put on his blinker, turned left, and parked in a spot not too far away from the hospital entrance. I stood up as he walked toward me.
Dad, I’m here.
I reached out to touch him, but just like with Mom, my hand passed right through him. He kept walking. So I followed. I followed him through the automatic sliding doors into the ER, down the hallway that smelled like plastic and tile cleaner, and into the open elevator. He hit the button for the fourth floor and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. I finally got a good look at him.
He was scruffy and unshaven. Permanent dark circles had chiseled themselves under his eyes, and he looked thinner. But he was still so handsome. I reached over and tried to hold his hand.
Dad, it’s me.
He pulled away, slipping his hand into his pocket. The elevator came to a stop. Bing-ed twice. Doors opened.
Patrick and I followed him down another fluorescent hallway and through a pair of swinging doors. We passed the intensive care unit, and finally made a left into the cardiology wing.
I shivered and felt my stomach tense. The last time I’d come through here was on a stretcher. Dad had been holding my hand. Even though I was already gone.
We took another left and arrived at his office door. He rummaged through his coat pocket, pulled out a set of keys, and fiddled with the knob. Patrick and I followed him inside, even though we couldn’t see much, since the room was totally dark. He shut the door behind us, locking us in.
Wait, why did he lock it?
Then he flipped on the light. And I gasped out loud.
It was like a bomb had gone off. The room was a total disaster. Covered wall-to-wall, floor to ceiling with papers. Newspaper clippings. X-rays. Photographs. Journal entries. Dozens and dozens of notebooks. There wasn’t a molecule of white space anywhere.
What is all this stuff?
Maybe he’s got a new hobby? Patrick joked.
I didn’t laugh, because I had a feeling he was on to something. I ran my hands along the messy, collaged walls, skimming the headlines.
HALF MOON BAY TEEN SUFFERS MASSIVE CORONARY.
LOCAL GIRL, 15, DEAD FROM WEAKENED HEART—COULD YOUR CHILDREN BE AT RISK?
Then I got it. Dad did have a new hobby. And the new hobby was me.
Even more framed articles and scattered clippings lined the walls, along with several magazine covers featuring my face front and center.
All of these are about ME?
I didn’t know what to say.
“Hey, look,” said Patrick. “You’re famous.”
I walked over to Dad, who’d sat down at his desk. Watched him as he riffled through stacks and stacks of papers, sometimes pausing to cut out articles, sometimes pulling a reference book from the messy, dusty shelves to look something up. He scribbled endless notes into notebook after notebook—questions and theories and stories he’d discovered in all of his research.
I’d never seen him like this before. He was like some weird, alternate version of himself. Driven crazy by what the medical facts couldn’t possibly explain. Mom was right: He was obsessed. He couldn’t stop until he solved the puzzle.
Oh Dad, it’s just a broken heart. Not rocket science.
I curled up on his black leather couch, the one where Jack and I used to make paper fortune tellers from Dad’s notebook scraps and then read each other’s futures out loud. Three kids. One pet, a goldfish named Flipper. You’ll live in a mansion. You’ll be an astronaut.
But we never could have predicted this. Not in a million years.
Seeing him like this made my chest ache. I’d messed so much up for so many people. Still, in a way, seeing how much he cared made me love him even more. Watching how wrapped up he’d become in answering the biggest mystery of his entire career: Me.
The phone rang. He picked it up.
“Yes?” He paused. “Honey, don’t cry. I know. I’m sorry too.”
I sat up.
It’s Mom. They’re making up.
“Okay,” Dad said. “Good. I’ll be there soon.”
He’s going home, he’s going home, he’s going home!
I jumped up. I was a little kid on Christmas morning.
Dad finished typing an e-mail, packed up his briefcase, turned off the light, and locked his office door. We followed him out to the parking lot and climbed into the backseat. I was so glad to get out of there.
“I can’t believe you’re making me ride in this clunky old thing,” Patrick grumbled. “I’ll be the laughingstock of heaven if anyone finds out. Zooming is so much more efficient.”
I giggled. It was fun watching him get annoyed.
We sped down the road and Dad turned on the radio. Bon Jovi.
“OhmigodIlovethissong!” I cried, feeling more hopeful than I ever had since leaving Slice. “Come on, Dad, turn it up!” I started singing at the top of my lungs. “Whoa-oh, livin’ on a prayer!”
“Wow. My hearing will never be the same.” Patrick grimaced. “Remind me to get you singing lessons for your next birthday.”
“Oh, right,” I scoffed. “Like you’re SO much better.”
He raised his eyebrow. “Observe the master.” Then he threw his head back and started totally rocking out.
“Take my hand and we’ll make it, I swea-ear! Whoa-oh, livin’ on a prayer!”
The crazy thing was, Patrick was good. Like, really, really good. I was thoroughly impressed. “Dude! You should try out for American Idol!”
He smiled and threw me an invisible microphone. “Do we dare try to harmonize?”
I did my best, but after about five seconds of screeching, the two of us broke down into hysterical laughter. So what if he’d discovered my one flaw. Laughing felt good. No, it felt amazing.
Everything’s okay now. It’s going to be okay.
Patrick smiled at me. I smiled back.
Brie? I heard him whisper. Do you remember—
“Hey!” I cried out as the farmer’s market went flying by. I glanced back over my shoulder, confused. “Dad, what are you doing? You missed your turn.”
Is he taking a new way home? Weird.
We sped down the highway, passing familiar street after familiar street.
Maybe he’s stopping somewhere to get flowers for Mom or something?
We hit a red light, and Dad put on his blinker.
“Dad, why are you turning here?”
He waited for two cars to pass, then made a quick left, into the parking lot of the Hilton Hotel.
What’s at the Hilton?
He pulled into a spot, shifted the car into park, and shut off the ignition. He unbuckled his seat belt and climbed out.
What the hell is he doing?
Patrick didn’t venture a guess. He was just as clueless as me.
We followed Dad through the hotel lobby with
the friendly bellhops and the big chandeliers and the fake palm trees. We followed him into the elevator and rode up with him to the eleventh floor.
Eleven, my lucky number.
We followed him down the long, carpeted hallway. Until he stopped in front of room 1108. He knocked twice. I heard someone undo the lock from the other side. The door opened.
It was a woman.
I froze.
No.
Blond hair, cut into a short pixie style. Bright blue eyes.
No.
“Daniel.”
“Sarah.”
Mrs. Brenner?
I couldn’t breathe. My teacher. My neighbor. My mother’s best friend.
Dad dropped his briefcase. Loosened his tie. Before I realized what was happening, he had broken down, weeping. A little bit at first, then more, until he had melted one hundred percent into her arms.
No, please. Please no.
“Unbelievable,” whispered Patrick.
Oh my god, I’m going to be sick.
And then they were hugging.
And then they were kissing.
And then I bolted down the hallway and didn’t look back.
CHAPTER 17
shot through the heart, and you’re to blame
My head was spinning. I wasn’t sure what I was doing or where I was going or what time it was or even what year it was. All I knew was that I had been lied to. My whole world and whole identity and whole existence felt like one huge, enormous, not-even-a-little-bit-funny joke.
If your parents—two people so totally and utterly in love that everyone who ever meets them gets that they’re insanely perfect for each other—if THEY can’t even get it right, then how in the world is a girl like me supposed to keep on believing in things like love and family and forever?
I was so incredibly angry. Angry at Dad for messing everything up. Angry at Mrs. Brenner for stabbing my whole family in the back. Angry at Jacob for coming into my happy, easy life when I never asked him to. I was even angry at Patrick for bringing me back to see it all. I couldn’t even look at him, I was so mad.
Meanwhile in all of my I-just-saw-my-dad-making-out-with-another-woman rage, I had apparently zoomed myself straight from the Hilton right into downtown Half Moon. I hadn’t even crash-landed, which was kind of amazing. Too bad I wasn’t in the mood to gloat.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Patrick asked, once he’d figured out where I’d gone.
“Nope.”
Short. Sweet. To the point.
Across Main Street, an old hippie dude started crooning a Neil Young song I recognized. It was one of Dad’s favorites.
Because I’m still in love with you, I wanna see you dance again.
Because I’m still in love with you, on this harvest moon.
“Shut up!” I yelled at him. “Nobody wants to hear it!”
“So I realize this is probably a bad time,” said Patrick as we passed Pasta Moon, one of Sadie’s favorite restaurants. “But I do sort of have a surprise for you.”
“I hate surprises.”
“Funny, that’s not what I heard.”
“You heard wrong.”
I was headed toward Pilarcitos Creek Park. I needed to disappear for a little while. Sit on the grass. Get some air. Watch the stoners debate solar wind energy or something.
“Oh, come on,” Patrick groaned when he realized where I was taking us. “Don’t you know I’m lethally allergic to sunshine and happiness?”
“It’s my birthday, I get to make all the decisions.”
“Fine,” he said. “Except for tonight. Tonight’s on me.”
I shrugged. “Whatever.”
We walked a good ways into the park, down some twisty-turny pathways, until I found a big field that looked just right. Nice view, good sun, excellent grass-to-dirt ratio. I made my way over to a lonely old poplar tree, flopped down on my back, and pointed my face toward the sky. Tried to erase the mental image of my dad in someone else’s arms. Someone I’d trusted. Someone I’d cared about. The thought of her made me sick to my stomach.
Did Mom have any idea? How long could it have been going on? Dad’s kiss with Mrs. Brenner definitely hadn’t looked like a first kiss.
Ugh, gross.
Here was a man I’d looked up to my entire life. A man who had always been my hero. He’d been a hero for all of us at some point or another. He still was, for Jack.
I decided then and there that I would never forgive him. It was unforgivable, what he was doing. He had betrayed Mom. He had betrayed Jack. He’d even betrayed Hamloaf.
He had betrayed us all.
“And today. On today out of all possible days.” My voice shook and tears stung the corners of my eyes, but I didn’t cry. I was too angry to cry. “Love is such a complete and total crock.”
I thought about how Jacob’s parents had separated for a short time last year. How I’d been there for him, through the whole thing, and how he had literally wept in my arms the afternoon his dad moved out. I’ll never forget Jacob’s face that day. He looked like a little boy, scared and confused and upset that maybe he could’ve done something to stop it. I remembered how I had biked home that night and hugged both my parents, even as they yelled at me for being almost a full hour past my eleven o’clock curfew. I hugged them both and held on tight. I felt so lucky that we were different from all the other families.
We were happy. We were safe. Nothing could ever tear us apart.
But I was wrong.
I was wrong about a lot of things, actually.
CHAPTER 18
16 candles make a lovely light
Patrick and I stayed in that field the rest of the afternoon. Didn’t talk much. Mostly just soaked up the chilly November sun, stretched out side by side, and watched the clouds pass overhead.
“Poodle,” said Patrick, pointing at a big fluffy one right above us.
I snorted. “Are you blind? That is the least poodle-looking cloud I have ever seen.”
“Wow. That’s harsh, Cream Cheese, real harsh.”
“It is so obviously a rabbit,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I mean, COME ON.”
The hours passed. We watched the skaters ride by, their underwear in full view from where their jeans were hanging off their butts. We watched all the nannies pushing strollers with little kids and their three-pound Chihuahuas dressed in fancier coats than anything I had ever owned.
Still, even with all the distractions, my dumb head kept pulling me back to Jacob. I thought about all of the endless summer days he and I had spent together in this very park. Just hanging out. Playing cards. Falling asleep all wrapped up together. Waking up to feel his lips touching mine.
Will this ever stop hurting so much?
Patrick didn’t have a snarky retort for that one. Maybe he was finally staying out of my head like I’d told him to, or maybe he knew I wouldn’t like his answer.
Gradually, the day fell away. Fog rolled in from Sonoma Coast and the sun began its slow decent over the bay.
“I’m afraid it’s that time of day, lil’ lady,” said Patrick, stretching. He stood up and brushed off his jeans.
“Time for what? I’m not going anywhere. I’m sleeping in the park tonight.”
“Like hell you are.” He laughed. “Oh, don’t be such a party pooper.”
He grabbed my arm, whipped me up lightning quick, and I felt that familiar crackling of electricity underneath my ballet flats.
“Not this again,” I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut.
We shot up like a firecracker, and I could feel the earth falling away beneath me. I didn’t open my eyes. I’d rather not know how high up we were.
You’re never going to get better at this, Angel, if you don’t take a look around once in a while.
Ugh, okay, fine.
I cracked an eye open. And got confirmation that yes, in fact, we were ten thousand feet up in the air. “Don’t you dare drop me,” I growled through clenched teeth.
P
atrick zoomed the two of us right out of the park and back in the direction of Slice.
Or so I thought.
When our feet touched down an instant later, I felt sand fill my shoes, all toasty from an afternoon spent baking in the sun. Even in November, the sand stayed warm. That’s California for you.
I recognized the cliff faces—tall, majestic—and the way the surf rolled back from the shoreline and broke into perfect, parallel lines of white water. I knew these wildflowers by heart, little orange, red, and lavender petals dancing in the ocean air, and the way they stuck up in funny places like in between rocks and underneath seashells.
This was Mavericks. This was the place I’d come a thousand times growing up. One of my most favorite spots in Half Moon Bay. The beach where Jacob had taken me on so many dates, and where we’d snuck back with a sleeping bag the last night of summer. Mavericks was the place where he had chased me into the waves and kissed me under three shooting stars, one right after another. Where he’d really, truly stolen my heart.
P.S. I want it back.
Out of all the places Patrick could’ve brought me—out of all of the spots that had meant something—Mavericks had to be the one I never would’ve come back to on my own. Even though it was probably the place I needed to see most of all.
“How did you know?”
Patrick shrugged and gave me his go-to grin. “Wild guess.” He pointed at something behind me. “Turn around.”
I did. And couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Down the beach, silhouetted by the perfect California sunset—rare because of the fog—were my three most favorite girls.
Emma, Tess, and Sadie, all jeans and sweatshirts with pillows and sleeping bags, huddled together on a big beach blanket. Next to them, a small bonfire crackled and sparkled against the orange-pink sky. Seeing them together again brought tears to my eyes. I looked at Patrick.
What is all this?
He grinned. It’s a birthday party. For you.
I was totally speechless. I had no idea what to say or even how to begin to thank him. I even tried opening my mouth, but no words came out.
He put his finger to his lips. “They’re waiting for you. Tonight, my dear, is yours. Enjoy it.”
The Catastrophic History of You And Me Page 10
