by Leigh Irwin
“So, do you forgive me for being such a jerk?” I asked.
“What? Did you apologize to me for something? If you did, I didn’t hear it,” she responded, grinning. I slugged her on the shoulder, and we chatted happily about nothing the rest of the way home. The sun glinted off the ocean, variations of blue spread before us as far as we could see. I never tired of it; just the sight always calmed me. I took a huge breath of cool air.
Mom had left me a note on the kitchen counter, reminding me that she’d be working till 9:00. I felt the familiar letdown, but pushed it away and groped through the refrigerator for something to eat. I took out an apple, rinsed it and wandered into the den, flopping down on the couch with the day’s newspaper. I paged through it listlessly as I ate. Homework awaited, but I was still hungry, so I made myself a sandwich and poured a glass of milk. I slung my backpack over a shoulder and slowly climbed the stairs to my room in the gathering dusk, not bothering to turn on any lights. The stairs were still bathed in the last, soft golden glow of the day, but it was fading fast.
Homework each night took me a couple of hours, and normally I didn’t mind. But that night I was restless. I couldn’t resist texting James, checking social media and generally screwing around. The quiet in the house seemed more pronounced, too, and somehow ominous. My safe haven, my room, felt especially empty, and despite turning on every light I had, it wasn’t welcoming. What was it? Was I nervous, scared, something else? I couldn’t put my finger on it, but things didn’t seem right. I jumped at the sudden sound of squirrels chasing each other, thundering across the roof overhead, then felt foolish.
I wondered where Dad was this week. He flew out so often that I couldn’t keep track anymore. Nearly all of his assignments were overseas, to Europe, China or even Australia. When he was home, he looked worn out, and he was so grumpy that Mom and I tiptoed around him. The last thing I wanted was another fight between my parents or with either one of them. I figuratively held my breath whenever we were together, constantly on edge and hyper-aware of their moods. The family boat was rocking, and I didn’t want to risk falling out.
The garage door opener rumbled to life, making me jump again. I glanced at my phone: just 8:00. Who was it? Someone came into the house.
I walked to the head of the stairs and started down, noting Dad’s crew bag, abandoned in the foyer, before I saw him in the kitchen. I put on my brightest smile and went to greet him.
“Hi, Dad. Where have you been this week?” I asked in a chirpy voice. My hands felt cold as I edged into the room, wondering what kind of a mood he was in.
“Oh, hi there, Sam.” He turned and gave me a weak smile that only emphasized the dark circles under his eyes. “I was in Shanghai again. A long trip, but at least I’m off till after Thanksgiving now. Where’s your mother?”
“She’s still at work. She should be back in an hour or so.”
“Figures,” he said unhappily, and walked into the den to make himself a drink at the bar. I heard liquor pouring into a glass, followed by a heavy grunt as he sat, and then the sounds of a basketball game on TV. Fighting disappointment, I walked to the doorway of the den, stopped and stood silently until he glanced up. He seemed surprised to see me, but said nothing and stared at the TV again.
“Well, I guess I’ll finish my homework,” I said lamely. He nodded. I backed away and climbed the stairs to my room.
Chapter 12
I woke up early on Thanksgiving morning, looking forward to sharing the day with Emma and her family. Half-asleep, I texted James to see if he’d left yet, but I didn’t get a reply, so maybe he wasn’t even awake. Finally, I padded to the bathroom in my thick socks, washed my face and ran a brush through my tangled hair.
Mom and Dad were downstairs in the den, drinking coffee and reading the paper, and the first of countless football games was on the TV.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Mom called as I rummaged through the pantry for cereal. “Sorry I missed you last night. I worked later than I expected. We’re short-staffed because of Thanksgiving.”
“It’s fine. I went to bed early.” I poured myself a bowl of cereal, added milk and sugar and joined them in the den. Perched on the couch, I glanced at the TV screen.
“So, Dad, are you rooting for any team in particular?” I asked.
“Not really, but you know watching football is required of all red-blooded Americans on Thanksgiving Day, and I plan to do my patriotic duty,” he said with a grin.
“Sure thing, Dad,” I said and gave him an exaggerated wink. But some of us have work to do today.” I turned to Mom. “Emma’s making the pumpkin pies for dinner, and I said I’d help her, but do you need me to do anything here before I go?” I asked, slurping the last of the milk from my cereal bowl and setting it on the coffee table.
“No, but thanks. There’s really nothing left to do. We’re bringing green beans, and I already stringed them, and I’ve got some rolls that I’ll bake right before we go over.” Mom’s eyes shined happily.
I sat back and crossed my knees on the couch and soaked up the pleasant feelings in the room, appreciating them like a treasured gift. I daydreamed as I stared at the game, not really seeing it. When my phone buzzed, I looked down. James was on his way to Santa Barbara. His text ended with a heart emoji, and I smiled to myself.
When I got to Emma’s, the kitchen was once again a mess. Emma and Pam were up to their elbows in turkey and fixings, and so I pitched in, chopping onion and celery for the stuffing. Keith was in the den drinking a beer, probably watching the same game as my parents. He popped into the kitchen once in a while to grab another beer from the refrigerator, making a point of asking if we needed his help. Pam just laughed and rolled her eyes. It became a running joke between them.
Thankfully, Pam didn’t expect us to make the pie crust, and we discovered that making pumpkin pies was one of the easier things we’d attempted. The directions were right on the can of pumpkin, and all it took, really, was some stirring.
At 4:00 the doorbell rang, and I ran to open the door, knowing it was my parents. They breezed in smiling, arms full, and after putting down their contributions, the adults all hugged. It had been the same between our families as long as I could remember, but for some reason, our close connection especially touched me this year. I started to tear up, and worked to keep my feelings at bay. We gathered in the den, shared appetizers, drinks, with the ever-present football game on in the background. Emma and I checked on our pies, while Pam and Mom finished the last minute details on dinner.
Just as the sun was setting, we all sat. The dining room table was resplendent with a rust-colored table cloth, Kim’s best china and crystal and a beautiful flower arrangement. Emma and I sat next to each other on one side of the table, with my parents across from us, and Emma’s parents at each end. Keith carved the turkey, all the side dishes were passed, and we ate till we were stuffed. We decided to take a break before dessert, and Emma and I volunteered for clean-up, while the parents retired to the den again for more football.
At one point, I noticed Dad rush upstairs, but I didn’t think anything of it. I was drying a platter not five minutes later, and Keith mounted the stairs, pausing halfway up to look behind him. It was like he was making sure no one saw him. What was going on? Both of them stayed upstairs for about ten minutes. Then Keith sauntered downstairs again, followed a couple of minutes later by Dad. I tried to put it out of my mind as Emma and I served the pie, but I couldn’t help noticing that Keith and Dad avoided making eye contact for the rest of the evening, and Dad’s face looked unusually pale.
Everyone complimented us on our pumpkin pies, and we all ate too much again. After the football games wound down, we traded hugs, and then Mom, Dad and I walked home. I followed them out, feeling full and content. I took in a breath of crisp, fall air, let it out, and gazed up at the clear night sky. The moon was just rising, a brilliant crescent against a blanket of stars. It was windy, and leaves clattered and danced along the sidewalk as we
walked. Mom and Dad were walking arm-in-arm, talking together softly. What a perfect day!
The Sunday after Thanksgiving, Mom and Dad were at it again. They must have thought I was outside and couldn’t hear them, and I had been, sitting in the backyard in a lounge chair, reading and enjoying the warm afternoon under the shade of a tree. As I walked into the house to get a Diet Coke, I heard raised voices coming from their bedroom. I cringed and my stomach clenched as I debated slipping outside again or escaping to Emma’s. Instead I froze halfway to the refrigerator and eavesdropped. What were they arguing about now? Everything had been so pleasant for the past few days.
“Who was that on the phone? I know it had nothing to do with work!” Mom asserted angrily.
“It did, too. I have a trip next Tuesday, and I was talking to the scheduler about it, just like I always do,” Dad said furiously.
“Then why were you practically whispering? You never whisper! What was it that you didn’t want me to hear?” Mom asked, her voice shaking.
“I’m not discussing this anymore. You’re letting your imagination run wild again, and there’s no reason for it. Just leave me alone!”
I heard their balcony’s screen door slide open and then close with a bang. Then it opened again, more softly. It sounded like both of them were on the balcony.
“John, you’re not being honest with me. What’s really going on? I know you keep denying it, but I still think you’re involved with someone.” Her voice had started out resolutely, but by the time she finished talking, I could hear her crying.
I left by the front door, opening and closing it quietly, and ran up the street as fast as I could. Tears ran down my cheeks, and by the time I’d reached the top, sweat poured down my face, mixing with the tears. Still, I ran on, all the way to the top of the hill, where we caught the bus in the mornings. Across the street from the bus stop was a small park, and I ran there like I was being chased, before slowing. Tears blinded me as I walked across the wide grassy expanse to the far side of the park, struggling to catch my breath. I collapsed onto a bench.
Was Dad really having an affair? Was that what had been going on all this time? Did this mean they’d get a divorce? I started shaking, disaster scenarios flying through my mind, each one worse than the one before it. Finally, I stood, stretched against the bench and forced myself to focus on the ocean in the distance. My breathing returned to normal, and a soft breeze cooled me and dried the remains of my tears. I closed my eyes, then sighed and exhaled, in and out, again and again. Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I texted James.
I’m not sure why I felt the pull to connect with him at that moment, since I wasn’t about to tell him what I’d just heard. I guess I just craved something positive.
“Hey! R U home yet?”
“No. Just left an hour ago. Stopping for dinner. Home late. R U OK?” he responded a second later.
“Sort of. See you tomorrow. No worries.”
I pocketed the phone again and followed the trail that traced the perimeter of the park, appreciating the sparkling ocean and the view up and down the coast before turning downhill toward home. After entering the house through the backyard sliding door, I tiptoed upstairs to my bathroom, where I stripped off my sweaty clothes and took a shower.
When I came downstairs, Mom was making dinner, her face tear-stained. Her shoulders were slumped again as she moved around the kitchen in slow motion.
“Mom, what were you and Dad fighting about?” I asked, settling onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter.
“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure I know.” She turned from the sink and looked at me sadly, not faking her feelings for once. “There’s something going on with Dad, but he won’t discuss it. I just don’t know what to do.” She leaned against the kitchen counter and cried. I jumped off the stool and hugged her, not sure who I was trying to comfort, Mom or myself; probably both of us.
“Where’s Dad anyway?” I asked after a moment, reasoning he couldn’t be in the house, or Mom would never have let her guard down.
“He left. His next trip isn’t till Tuesday afternoon, but he won’t be home till afterward. He’s staying at a hotel somewhere near the airport tonight. I’m so sorry, Sam. I wish I knew what to tell you.”
Chapter 13
One thing was certain: Things were a lot more pleasant with Dad out of town. Mom relaxed again, and she let go of her frantic need to clean. However, the day before Dad was due home, the tension started building, and she resumed her manic routine. I didn’t discuss what was going on at home with Emma, partly because I really didn’t know, and I also brushed James off when he questioned me.
“Then why’d you send me that text? ‘Sort of’ isn’t the answer someone gives when they’re fine.” He looked at me, staring so intently that I had to turn away. I felt ashamed, but of what? That my family was imploding? Was that my fault?
We were at the beach, sitting in the damp sand, shoulders touching. It was a Saturday, and for once I didn’t have soccer practice or a tournament. The sky was overcast, so opaque that the seagulls were reduced to invisible, squawking things that briefly came into sight only if they flew directly overhead. Dull gray-colored waves foamed in front of us, cresting and breaking with a crash. We huddled and watched the surf, warm in our jeans and sweatshirts, despite the less than ideal weather.
Mom had dropped us off on her way to work, and we’d spent the morning walking the shoreline, skirting clumps of seaweed that marked the high tide line. Time sped by. We laid back on the sand, hoods pulled up, and gazed at the sky.
“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Wanna go to Winter Formal with me?” James asked, turning to his side and reaching out to stroke my cheek.
“Of course I do! I was hoping you’d ask,” I said, grabbing his hand and hugging him.
“Do you think Emma’s going?”
“Not yet, as far as I know. Why?”
“Well, Tom was thinking of asking her, but he’s terrified she’ll turn him down. They’re in Geometry together, and they’ve seen each other at parties, but he’s not sure what she thinks of him.”
“I know she doesn’t have anyone special. He should ask her. We could all go together!”
When I got home, all sandy and salty, the house was empty. I sighed, grabbed a bunch of grapes from the refrigerator, and ate them at the kitchen sink, staring out at the gloomy day. My phone buzzed.
“Where R U? Can I come over?” It was Emma.
“Just got home. Sure,” I texted back. She pounded on the door not a minute later. We sat on opposite ends of the couch in the den.
“Where’ve you been all day?” she asked, looking a little flustered.
“At the beach with James. Why? Is everything okay?”
“The weirdest thing happened just now. I got a call from this guy in my math class, Tom. Do you know him?”
“Not really, just that he’s a friend of James’.” I decided to play dumb.
“Anyway, out of the blue, he asked me to Winter Formal!” I studied her, trying to gauge her reaction, but Emma had long ago perfected her poker face, and it was always impossible to read her if she didn’t want to be read.
“So, what’d you say?” I asked. Emma played with her ponytail, twisting it into a tight coil, then letting it go, her “thinking” habit. I waited.
“I said I’d go, but now I’m not so sure. He’s nice enough, but I don’t really know him. What do you think?” she asked, turning her dark blue eyes on me.
“I think you should definitely go. James just asked me at the beach this morning. We could go together—it would be fun!” Although Emma smiled, she still didn’t look convinced.
Just then, Dad came through the front door. He called “Hello” on his way past the den, loaded down with his golf clubs, and I heard the garage door open.
“So, what’s up?” he asked, pausing on his return trip.
“Hi, John,” said Emma with a smile. “Not much. When’s you ne
xt trip?”
“I’m leaving again in a couple of days,” Dad said with a long-suffering look. There was an awkward pause, and I raced to fill the silence.
“We were just talking about Winter Formal. I’m trying to convince Emma it’ll be fun,” I said. Emma rolled her eyes.
“Well, don’t let me interfere with your deliberations,” he said, smiling. We heard him whistling cheerfully as he climbed the stairs.
“How are things around here lately?” Emma whispered, after the bedroom door closed.
“Kind of weird still. But at least they haven’t had another fight in the past few days. I keep waiting for it though.” Emma looked at me sympathetically, and jumped to her feet.
“Let’s go for a run. I need some exercise. I’ve been stuck inside studying all day, and I’m going stir-crazy.”
We jogged slowly up the hill to the park and arrived just as the sun broke through the clouds, bathing everything in honey-colored light. After a couple of loops around the park, we ran along the sidewalk for a mile or so, cars rushing past us on Hawthorne Boulevard. At the gas station, we turned and ran back to the park. We stretched and rested on the grass, catching our breath, before walking home. I felt relaxed and loose again, like I’d run all my worries out of me. Emma smiled next to me, but said nothing. I waved goodbye and let myself back into the house, a big mistake. Mom and Dad were at it again.
Chapter 14
“I know what I heard; don’t you dare try to deny it this time!” Mom was saying. I shut the front door as quietly as I could and stood in the foyer listening. Their bedroom door was wide open, so I could hear clearly.
“Come on! You can’t really believe I’m doing anything illegal,” Dad said, but his strange, pleading tone belied the words.
Chills ran through me, and my hands tingled. This wasn’t the same old fight. Now what was going on? I sat down on the cold tile of the foyer, my back against a wall, knees pulled to my chin. Mom let out a strangled sob.
