“What else am I?” he asks, chuckling.
“Weird.”
He’s laughing now. “Weird as in how? Give me examples.”
“Really?”
“Yes, tell me. I like hearing these things, ’cause I know I need to change some oddities I’ve acquired.”
“Well . . . weird like when you handed me that flyer at school. No explanation, no talking much at all. You don’t say hello or good-bye; you hardly ever do. There’s, like, no small talk with you. It’s straight to the point and then it’s over and you’re gone.”
“See? I need to hear these things, even if they hurt.” Kaden puts a hand over his heart like he’s been shot, but with the same small grin on his face.
“I’m sorry.”
“You say ‘sorry’ a lot—do you realize that?”
“I do?”
“You say sorry for things you shouldn’t be sorry for.”
“Hmm.”
“But at least you aren’t weird.”
This makes him chuckle, and I nearly apologize again when I realize maybe “I’m sorry” is an auto-response I speak more than I realize.
“You know what’s really weird is that I was a really happy kid. People always said that about me—what a happy and friendly boy I was.”
“You?”
“Yeah, I know. Your little brother reminds me of myself—well, the old me. My social skills have gotten pretty rusty. I’m better with kids and the elderly now.”
I push the lasagna pan closer to Kaden and find a Ziploc bag of chocolate chip cookies in the bread box. “You keep saying now. What’s that about?”
“There’s the before and the after—or the then and the now.” The smile remains, but sadness falls through his features like a curtain dropping.
I hand Kaden two cookies and sit on the bar stool next to him. The hum of the refrigerator is the only sound beyond the two of us, our breathing and voices and movements.
“I bet it’s like that for you and your brothers. There’s the before the divorce. And then the now.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah. It’s like some tragedy or something that changed us all, and yet we’re all still here. There wasn’t a funeral or any single event to be sad about. I think there should be a funeral when families die. It might make it easier. Did your parents get a divorce?”
“No. Not a divorce.”
I don’t know if I should ask, and then I just do. “So what did happen to make the before and the now?”
He nods as if to himself, as if knowing I’d ask and that if I did, he’d answer. “You really want to hear this story?”
I nod.
“Okay, well, where to start?” He rubs his forehead and pinches the skin between his eyes. “In eighth grade I was having trouble in school. There was this bully and this girl—but that’s another story. Anyway, my parents were fighting a lot. I know they talked about divorce. And then they were being dragged to my school because of my sudden drop in grades and this big fight I started.”
“You? A fighter?”
“Yeah, sometimes I can be. But it was to defend this girl, but—”
“That’s another story,” I say, which makes him smile and nod.
“So at home, the fighting between my parents continued and was really affecting me. I was angry all the time, and so I had to see the school counselor.
“Then, almost overnight, my parents stopped fighting. My dad wasn’t home very much, but he promised it was for a short time. He brought my mom flowers every single night for two weeks. The house was so full of flowers that my older brother had a major allergy attack. Then Dad surprised us with a vacation snowboarding in Canada. He hadn’t taken us on vacation in years. It was the only family trip I could remember since I was pretty young. And during the trip, my dad went all-out, which wasn’t like him. We ate at expensive restaurants, bought souvenirs, went boarding five days in a row. And he bought us each a gift to remember the trip by.
“Then we came home, and a week later my father killed himself.”
“Oh,” I hear myself gasp. My mind replays the words killed himself as if to really believe it’s what Kaden said.
“No one knew he’d killed himself at first. It looked like an accident. His car went off a cliff. This highway patrol officer came to the house and told us. It was a minimum day at school, and Mom and I were looking at pictures she’d printed out of our trip. She wanted my opinion on which picture to use for our Christmas cards.”
“Oh,” I say again.
“You think things can’t get any worse after something like that. Then a few days later my mom got a letter from Dad in the mail. His suicide note. He told her not to let anyone see the note because the insurance company wouldn’t pay the life insurance.”
He’s quiet for so long, staring down at his hands, that I worry I’ve upset him. “You don’t have to tell me any of this, you know.”
“The note said how much he loved us. That he’d made a lot of really bad mistakes in his life, but it wasn’t my mom’s fault or mine or my brother’s. He said he knew it wasn’t right to kill himself—but he felt it was the right thing to do for us. For us—isn’t that crazy?”
Kaden looks at me then. His jaw clenches and releases. “My dad thought we’d be better off without him. Later Mom found out about some illegal things he’d been doing at work, and about some other women in his life. She hasn’t really told me a lot of that, and I haven’t asked.”
“I’m so sorry, Kaden.”
“In, like, one week, our dad was gone, everyone was there, supporting us, helping us out, and then my mom told us about the letter. She let us read it, saying that we were old enough to know the truth. Then she called and told the insurance company. We talked about keeping his suicide a secret from our friends and family, but before we made any family decision, someone found out, and everything changed. People acted weird around us, and we had several families come over who were also ‘suicide families,’ and we had to hear their sob stories. My brother dropped out of college to work; then we moved here when Mom got a job at a mortgage company and we moved in with my uncle.”
“If you had gotten it, how much was the insurance for?”
“Two million dollars.”
“Wow. You gotta admire your mom for that one.”
“At first I didn’t. I was so angry.” He pauses a moment. “I’ve never told this to anyone. Not anyone.”
“I’ll never tell.”
“I’m not trying to keep it a secret. And maybe it’s easier talking to you because I’ve talked with your family. They told me so much about you that I felt like I knew you before we met.”
He takes a slow, thoughtful bite of the cookie, and I hold back my questions about what exactly my family said about me.
“I don’t care if people know about my dad, as long as they don’t pity me.”
“I can understand that. Rob said you were gone a lot last month because of family stuff.”
“Family stuff, huh?” he says with a tired smile. “It was the two-year anniversary. We went back to Portland. My brother lives there and needed help. The three of us went to the cemetery, and he had this breakdown. They think he has some psychological problems.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t really surprise me. Daniel never dealt with my dad’s death. He dove into work and then into drinking. He won’t admit it, but I think he’s been doing some pretty serious drugs. All of that has a big effect on a sensitive soul like Daniel. But I think he’s going to be okay.”
“Sad.”
“It is. I, on the other hand, had a lot of help. My pastor in Portland was incredible. He helped me a lot and partnered me with this guy who lost his son in a car crash. We sort of adopted each other. We still keep in touch.”
“My life feels so easy compared to all this.”
“You’ve had losses. It’s important to grieve them. Makes moving on easier. I’ll never ‘get over’ my dad, but the pain doesn�
��t control me now. And honestly, Ruby . . .”
He thinks for a few moments, and there’s comfort now in waiting for his thoughts to materialize into words. I like how he thinks long before speaking.
“Without my faith, I might be like my brother.”
“But if you go away from it, how do you get back?”
“I don’t know for sure. But I guess you start seeking again and again.”
It’s surprising how quickly Sunday comes and everything is being packed up. My house slowly looks like my house again as we pick up the equipment, empty cartons of Chinese takeout, dozens of empty aluminum cans, clothes, sleeping bags, and dishes.
And except for some minor tweaking, the film is done.
The group sits together and watches it on Kaden’s laptop.
Even with my limited professional experience, I know it’s good. Really good.
Kaden and I look at each other when it’s over, as everyone gives high fives and congratulations. Except for Rob, who is still evaluating and writing thoughts on perfecting what to me is perfect.
I imagine Rob’s father standing as the credits roll, and the entire crowd applauding so loudly it shakes the upstairs. The cast and crew are brought up to the front amid further accolades and whistles of admiration.
And this summer our team will be filming on some tropical location. Kaden and I can walk the beach at midnight. Maybe we’ll swim in the warm waters beneath the moonlight. Stranger things have happened.
chapter twenty-four
After school as I wait by London’s white MINI Cooper, Blair walks toward me with a cold look on her face. Even colder than usual.
And did I really think time would make this all disappear?
It’s been so long, I hoped she either didn’t know or didn’t care. Since I dropped International Cooking for Intro to Film, I don’t have lunch with Frankie and friends.
My phone vibrates, and I look at the message from Rob.
ROB: I'm sick and still working on the program, SG's grandma passed away so he's on his way to Iowa, Cass and the others are helping set up and print the brochures. I need you to pick up the final cut from SG and get it to the Underground this afternoon.
“We need to talk.” Blair is standing in front of me.
“I can’t right now. Rob wants me to pick up the film for tonight.”
I hold up my phone as if to prove it, and she frowns.
“Soon then.”
“There you are,” London says. “Oh, hello, Blair.”
“Bye,” Blair says, giving me one last glance that reminds me this isn’t finished.
“I think Blair could take down a UFC fighter with one of her looks,” London says as she unlocks her car doors with a touch of her finger to the lock. “I think you deserve a short spa afternoon before the big night. My treat.”
I laugh at that—it’s always her treat, or I couldn’t afford it. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you lived at that spa.”
“It’s been said before.”
“I have to work a few hours before the big night begins.”
“You can’t work,” she says with a funny little whine. “I want a spa buddy.”
“And I would love to be that girl. But I have to pick up the film, go home and get my stuff, get to work, get ready, and be ready for tonight and the Pellegrini Filmmakers Competition.”
“Please, stop, stop. Too much for the brain.”
I laugh. For a short while after the “party night,” I didn’t hang out with London. She deserted me, after all, even if she did apologize again and again. But her persistence won me back. And she is fun.
“Hey, could you drive me by SG’s house to pick up the film?” I ask.
“Of course, darling,” she says with a British accent. “Your chauffeur at your service.”
As I’m looking for the key under the doormat at the side entrance of SG’s condo, Mom calls.
“Aunt Jenna asked if you could come in a little early.”
“Uh, yeah, sure. We just got to SG’s house. I’ll grab the film, get my stuff at home, and go straight over.”
“And you know that your brother can’t come down? Your dad has some shipment arriving tonight for the hardware store . . .”
I unlock the door and peer inside. SG’s parents moved to Washington earlier in the year and set him up with his own condo that he shares with two college students who are currently on a weeklong trek for the environment—or something like that. Stepping inside, I try to remember all the instructions he gave me when I called him on the drive over.
“Yeah, I talked to Carson on Monday or sometime.”
“Your dad said to tell you good luck and that he wants to see the movie when you come up.”
I go down the hall, glancing around at the decor a la bachelor. Overstuffed couch, plasma TV, and mess of pizza boxes and half-empty glasses.
“Okay. I’ll try to call him soon.”
“What time do you want us there?”
On a desk in one of the rooms, I see a disk with the title Solitude on top. I grab it and hurry back to the car.
“Mom, I’m on my way home now. Can we talk then?”
London zips down the road quickly. At home I race inside, dump out my book bag, and reload it with my makeup, shoes, curling iron, and jewelry for tonight. I nearly forget my little black dress that’s become a little tight lately with all the food I’ve been eating. But it still complements my curving hips in a good way—not like the way some of my low-rise pants are starting to fit.
London’s talking to Anthony when I get back in the car.
“To the Underground!” I say with my hand pointing forward.
When we arrive, London helps me gather my purse, duffel bag, camera, phone, and dress.
“Where’s the film?” she asks.
I find the disc partway down the side of the seat. “Oh my gosh, can you imagine if something happened to this?” I say, holding it close to my chest.
Work passes at a snail’s pace. I keep checking the clock. Members of my team and the other film groups arrive and go up and down to the theater rooms with little to do and anxiety exuding from every pore.
Finally I change quickly in the back room, wash my face, and redo my makeup. I decide on smoky eyes for a night like tonight, but my favorite gloss isn’t in my makeup bag. I think of London’s perfectly organized travel makeup “station” and smile as I dump my makeup bag out and finally find the gloss. Tossing everything in the corner under the small desk, I’m about to leave when I hear a text come in.
KATE: I'd like to talk.
ME: Oh yes. Me too! I can't right now though. Later tonight?
KATE: Yeah.
ME: Are you okay?
She doesn’t respond, and I need to find my team.
Rob isn’t his normal, easygoing self. He’s more like Simon from American Idol on steroids and with a cold—he’s grouchy and constantly moving while blowing his nose occasionally.
“Ruby, meet us downstairs,” he calls and disappears.
Mom, Austin, and Mac arrive. I wave and tell them I have to go. “You might want to get seats soon,” I tell them before following Cass and Darren Duke to the theater rooms.
It’s time. The air nearly crackles with the anticipation.
Three of the teams are seated at the back, with the one whose film is showing sitting in the front row. The leader of each will stand and offer a brief Q&A session after the showing. Our group will present third. The judges sit in a row in the middle—two other men and a woman whom people are impressed with but whom I’ve never heard of.
After finding a seat with my team, I lean around Cass, who is talking to someone behind her, and wave at Kaden. He’s staring forward in one of his deep thought moments.
“Pretty exciting, isn’t it?” I say.
“Yeah, it really is. The stakes are pretty high for all of us.”
The lights dim and then rise to settle people into their seats. Then Rob’s father stands. He r
eminds me of Tony Soprano in size and demeanor.
“I’d like to welcome you all to what we hope will be the first of an annual event, the Pellegrini Filmmakers Competition. It was certainly thrown together in a hurry, but in this business time has no weight. As filmmakers our patience is stretched often for years as we push a project. Other times we’re expected to work miracles within days or weeks. And so the first requirement for these films tonight was that they were not previously completed in production, and they’ve never been shown before. You’ll see in your program the complete rules.
“We have a distinguished panel of judges . . .” He introduces each one to the applause of the crowd. “And so let us begin.”
The first film is a story of a couple at an Italian restaurant hiding under a table during a mob hit. The man and woman see how their relationship isn’t working only by this intense situation.
The second film is like an abstract painting come to life. There are no actors, no story, just an artistic rendition of . . . something. I don’t know what, and the audience doesn’t appear to either. There’s mediocre applause, though one of the judges is clapping loudly.
Our group moves to the front row, replacing the last team. Kaden squeezes my arm as I pass him to sit a few seats down. I wish I were next to him, holding his hand through this momentous event.
Applause, lights fall. And then from the darkened screen, the music rises. Our title, Solitude, and then . . .
A voice.
I don’t remember a voice at this part.
“We’re here to view the creation of a creation. The filming of a film. The teamwork of a team.”
The camera whirls and rocks, making my head dizzy a moment before SG’s face appears only inches from the screen. He says, “The making of Solitude.”
My mouth drops as it hits me. At the same moment, the film is shut off and the room is in darkness. Cass says, “What happened? Where’s Rob?”
There’s a low rumbling from the crowd. Then Rob’s voice calls from the back room. “I apologize, there’s been a bit of a mix-up. If you’ll just hold tight a moment . . .”
Ruby Unscripted Page 19
