The Harder the Fall

by Lauren Barnholdt

  But she doesn’t say it like, Oh, what a fun day we’re having. What do you think we should do? She says it like, You big jerk, Bob, why don’t you tell us what we’re going to do next?

  Brandon and I exchange a look. I wonder if my dad and Cindy are fighting. What could they possibly be fighting about? All they were doing was standing in line, waiting for doughnuts.

  “We could go on a hayride,” I try. Hayrides are kind of lame. But maybe it will get them out of their funk. I take another bite of my doughnut. So. Good. How can anyone be fighting when these doughnuts are so delicious?

  “I don’t think so,” Cindy says. “I think I just want to go home.”

  “Cindy—” my dad starts.

  But Cindy holds up her hand, stopping him. “Bob,” she says. “Don’t. We can talk about this later.” And then she mumbles something that sounds like “Since apparently we’re not allowed to talk about anything in front of the children.”

  Wow. This is getting bad. Cindy’s really mad. (And why is she calling me a child? I’m not a child. I’ve kissed a boy, for God’s sake. Not that Cindy knows this. I mean, can you imagine? That would be humiliating.)

  Cindy starts to walk away, and Brandon and I exchange another glance. How awkward. I’m just about to call after her and tell her not to go when my dad beats me to it.

  “Wait!” he yells. His voice is so loud that a couple of other people at the orchard turn around and look at him. Wow. He’s actually kind of creating a scene, if you want to know the truth. “Cindy, please, don’t go.”

  She turns around, but you can tell she’s still mad. I take another bite of my doughnut.

  “Cindy, please,” my dad says.

  “Bob, let’s talk about this later,” she says. “I don’t want to make a scene.”

  They’re already kind of making a scene. An apple orchard is a family place. It’s definitely not the type of venue where you should be having a big fight with someone.

  “We should all just go on a hayride,” I try. “Don’t you want to go on a hayride, Brandon?”

  “Oh, yeah, a hayride would be fun,” he lies. I shoot him a grateful smile.

  “No.” My dad shakes his head. “Kendall, I have to tell you something.”

  Oh, God. Here it comes. My dad is going to tell me that he and Cindy are, like, an item. Or whatever it is you call it when old people are dating. And he’s going to do it right here, in front of everyone. “Dad, I really don’t think that right now is the, um, right time for this.”

  “No.” My dad’s voice is quiet now, and he shakes his head. “This is the exact right time for it.” He turns and looks at me. “Kendall,” he says, “Cindy and I have decided to take our relationship to the next level.”

  Shocker. “Oh,” I say, “how nice for you both.” Honestly, I don’t think it’s really that nice, but whatever. If my dad’s happy, I’m happy. And besides, a crowd is starting to form around us. I smile, in what I hope is a reassuring way, at a man who’s ushering his little boys away from us, like he’s afraid we’re crazy or something. “Now maybe we should—”

  “I hope you’ll be able to support us as we start this new chapter in our lives,” my dad says.

  “Of course I will,” I say, trying to look shocked that he would think otherwise. We can talk about this later. At home. Away from Brandon, and the random people at the apple orchard. Although, like I said, I’m really not even that worked up about it. In a way it’s actually better if my dad and Cindy start dating. Because then they’ll eventually break up, the way every couple does.

  Except then my dad does something that’s so totally unexpected that I almost faint. He drops down to one knee, not even caring that he’s getting mud all over his jeans. And then he reaches into his pocket.

  “Oh my God,” Brandon says next to me.

  “What?” I ask, confused. Why is my dad getting down on one knee? Is he really going to beg for Cindy’s forgiveness? That’s a bit much, especially in front of all these people. I really don’t think that a small fight really warrants a big display like that.

  “What’s he doing?” I whisper. I look down and see that I’m clutching Brandon’s arm. But Brandon doesn’t answer me. “Brandon,” I say desperately. “Brandon, why is my dad down on one knee like that?”

  But Brandon still doesn’t say anything. It really is like a scene from a movie where something horrible is happening but no one wants to tell the heroine, because they know she’s going to flip out.

  And then my dad pulls out the ring box.

  “Is that a ring?” I ask Brandon.

  He still stays quiet.

  “Brandon!” I yell. “Answer me!”

  “Yes,” Brandon says. “I’m pretty sure it’s a ring.”

  My dad holds the box out in front of him and opens it. The crowd gasps. Which is a good thing, because I gasp too, and the fact that they’re all gasping drowns out my gasp. Actually, I’m not really sure if I even gasped. I might have screamed a little bit. Or, like, shrieked.

  “Is it an engagement ring?” I ask Brandon. Even though the answer is pretty obvious.

  “Well . . . ,” Brandon says, apparently not wanting to break the news to me.

  “Now, this isn’t an engagement ring,” my dad says to Cindy.

  I let out a sigh of relief. It’s not an engagement ring. Phew. Dodged a bullet on that one. I loosen my grip on Brandon’s arm.

  “It’s a promise ring,” my dad continues.

  My grip tightens back up.

  “It’s a promise that I’m committed to you, and that I want to share a future with you.”

  “Share a future with you”? My stomach turns, and for a second I’m almost positive I can feel my apple doughnut rising in my throat.

  “Cindy,” my dad says, staring at her solemnly. “Will you accept this ring, and a promise of a future together?”

  The crowd goes quiet. The only thing I can hear is the beating of my own heart in my chest.

  For a moment I think maybe Cindy’s going to say no. She’s just standing there, looking down at the ring in shock. Or maybe confusion. I’ll bet confusion. I mean, honestly, who gets someone a promise ring? It’s kind of ridiculous, if you ask me. And I’ll bet she’s going to tell my dad that too. Guys are so clueless sometimes. It’s like when—

  “Yes!” Cindy says, breaking into a big smile. “Yes, I will accept your promise of a future together.”

  Cindy holds out her hand.

  My dad slips the ring onto her finger.

  He stands up.

  They embrace.

  And the crowd goes wild.

  First of all, I would just like to say that I am not one of those people who harbor some secret hope that their parents are going to get back together. I know that’s ridiculous for a few reasons.

  The main one is that my mom left when I was a baby. She’s gone. I haven’t heard from her in years and years. I don’t know the reasons why she left. I suppose it’s because she fell out of love with my dad, but I don’t know why she left me. Maybe she fell out of love with me, too? That explanation doesn’t make too much sense, though, because honestly, how can you fall out of love with a baby?

  Anyway, my dad and I don’t talk about my mom that much. I think it’s too painful for him. And any questions I have aren’t really worth bringing up, because they’re not important enough to risk making him upset.

  One time, when I first learned how to use the internet, I googled her. I found a listing for someone with her name and birth date living in Camden, which is a town two hours away.

  I never told my dad I did that. And I never googled her again. What would have been the point? It’s actually totally useless to know something about someone if they don’t want to see you.

  So it’s not that I don’t want my dad to be dating Cindy because I think he’s going to end up back with my mom. In fact, I think it would serve my mom right if my dad went off with Cindy and started some big serious relationship. (Not that I th
ink my mom would even care. Obviously, she left us, so how much is she really going to get upset if my dad’s with someone else? Not to mention, how would she even know in the first place?)

  The real reason I think I don’t want my dad to be with Cindy is because I don’t want things to change. I’m happy with the way things are. My dad and I take care of each other.

  He makes sure I do my homework and that I have clean clothes and that I’m brushing my teeth and all the other stuff parents are supposed to do. And I make sure he’s not eating things that are bad for his cholesterol.

  And now he and Cindy are going to be together, and everything’s going to change. I mean, think about all the different questions that need to be answered. Will they get married? Is she going to move in with us? Are we going to move in with her? Are they going to have a baby someday?

  These are the questions that are running through my mind as my dad and I walk to the car. I think my dad kind of knew I was stunned after that ridiculous scene.

  I mean, pretty much as soon as it was over, he led me off to the car, even though a bunch of people in the crowd were still clapping. There was no talk of hayrides or more apple picking, or anything like that.

  “Don’t worry,” Brandon whispered into my ear right before my dad led me away. “I’ll call my dad to come and pick me up.” He kissed me on the cheek right in front of my dad and everything. Then he squeezed my hand. “I’ll call you later.”

  I didn’t even have time to appreciate how sweet he was being, because I was too shocked to really comprehend what was happening.

  When I get into the car with my dad, everything is suddenly very awkward. After that whole scene back there, Cindy hurried off to her own car, which was weird too.

  I mean, why did she have to scurry away? Shouldn’t she and my dad be running off to have some kind of celebratory meal or something to cement their commitment? Obviously, the reason they’re not doing that is because of me. Which actually makes me feel awful.

  Well, 50 percent of me feels awful. The other 50 percent is angry my dad would do something like that just out of the blue. I mean, he couldn’t have come to me and told me he and Cindy were dating? He had to announce it in front of the whole apple farm? And then I feel guilty for feeling that, and just . . . ugh. All my emotions are mixing around inside me like an out-of-control tornado.

  For the first half of the drive to our house, my dad and I are silent.

  I’m not going to be the one to talk first, I decide. My dad is the one who made this big mess. He can be the one to fix it. I won’t speak to him. And if he doesn’t start the conversation, I’ll just stay quiet. I won’t talk to him at all.

  I don’t care if it takes the rest of the day. Or the week. Or the month. I’ll be quiet for a whole year if I have to. People do these kinds of silent protests all the time, don’t they? Of course, they’re usually protesting something like world hunger or genocide or something. But still.

  To distract myself from not talking, I think of all the times I should have realized something was going on between those two. Like the time Cindy mentioned how my dad loves grape jelly, when I’d never heard him mention it in front of her. Or the time I came back from spending the weekend at Ellie’s and my dad was all tan and rested, and he told me he’d gone to the beach by himself. Or the way Cindy would always know what kind of music my dad liked to listen to, or what shows he liked to watch on TV.

  I look out the window and watch the trees go by, thinking about what it will be like when Cindy moves in and I’m not talking to anyone. Probably it will be very silent.

  “So,” my dad says finally, shifting on his seat. “Do you want to talk about what just happened?”

  I don’t say anything. Maybe I’ll just be silent anyway, even though he was the first one to talk.

  “I can imagine that you’re probably very angry,” he says.

  Of course I’m angry! I feel like screaming at him. But I don’t. Because obviously that would defeat the point of being silent.

  But then I can’t take it anymore.

  “Of course I’m angry!” I yell. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He nods, then glances at me out of the corner of his eye. He looks concerned. I don’t want him to look concerned. I want him to be wary of me, like maybe I’m about to freak out and maybe not talk to him for months.

  “That’s fair.” He sighs. “I don’t think I’ve handled this the right way.”

  “Definitely not,” I say. Tears well up in my eyes.

  We’re pulling onto our street now, and I roll the window down a little bit and let the brisk autumn air into the car. It blows against my face, and when hot tears spill down my cheeks, the air cools them immediately.

  I keep my face turned toward the window, not really wanting to hear what my dad’s going to say.

  When we pull into the driveway, he cuts the engine but doesn’t get out of the car.

  “Do you want to go inside and talk?” he asks.

  I don’t say anything. I don’t care if I’m being a baby. Why should I talk to him after the way he’s been keeping things from me? He didn’t want to talk to me before all this, so maybe now I don’t want to talk to him.

  “Okay,” he says. “I just want you to know that I love you very much, and I never meant to hurt you. I’m here to talk whenever you’re ready.”

  He waits another moment, like maybe he’s waiting for me to change my mind. Which I’m not going to do.

  Then, finally, he gets out of the car.

  “Wow,” a voice behind me says. I jump and turn around. The ghost from this morning is there. The girl ghost. Lyra. “That was completely ridiculous.” She tilts her head. “But I wouldn’t worry about it. They’ll probably break up, anyway. They’re obviously having issues if your dad felt it necessary to do something so over the top. So you probably won’t have to worry about good old Cindy being around for too long.”

  “You were spying on me that whole time?” I ask.

  “Not spying,” she says. “ ‘Spying’ makes it sound like I was trying to do it without you knowing I was there.” She moves up into the front seat and slides into the driver’s side. She shakes her head sadly. “I can’t believe I’m never going to be old enough to get my license.”

  “You were spying on me,” I say, opening the car door. If she’s so upset about not being able to drive, let her stay in the car and think about it. I know that’s a mean thought, but I’m cranky.

  “No, I wasn’t,” she insists. “I was there the whole time. It’s not my fault you didn’t see me.”

  “You were there the whole time?” What whole time? Just the car ride? Or was she there when I was in the maze with Brandon?

  “The whole time,” she says, and then grins. “Your boyfriend’s really cute.”

  I can’t help but be pleased. Brandon is really cute. And it’s nice of her to notice. But then my bad mood overtakes me again. She really shouldn’t have been spying on me. Not to mention the fact that my dad is making a huge commitment to someone that he just conveniently forgot to tell me he was dating.

  “Whatever,” I say. “I’m going inside now.”

  She nods. “Okay, sounds good.” She makes a move like she’s going to follow me, but I stop her. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t follow me.”

  She frowns. “But then what am I supposed to do?”

  “I dunno.” I step out of the car and slam the door behind me. She floats through the car and appears on the sidewalk. “Go visit your mom or something.”

  “I can’t go visit my mom!” she says. “Do you know how upsetting that is? All she does is sit in the storeroom of her salon and cry.”

  I frown. “Why is she crying?”

  “Because.” She shrugs. “She misses me. And she can’t pay the bills on the salon.”

  “Oh.” Wow. Suddenly I feel a tiny bit selfish. I mean, talk about being a spoiled brat. Here I am, getting all upset about my dad being with a woman who’s actually been
perfectly nice to me, when there are people in this world with real problems. Like bills they can’t pay and loved ones who’ve died.

  “Okay.” I sigh and rub my temples. My head hurts a little bit from crying. “I’m going to help you to move on.” Maybe helping her will get my mind off this whole relationship thing with my dad.

  “Move on?” She frowns.

  “Yeah. But first I’m going to need some more information. So let me go grab my notebook. And then I’m taking you to the cemetery.”

  Chapter

  4

  The cemetery across the street from my house is where I do my best work. I know it sounds creepy, but I think it might be because there are all those bodies around. Just bodies, though—not ghosts. Ghosts don’t congregate at the cemetery, despite what all those ridiculous ghost stories will have you believe.

  I mean, why would ghosts be at the cemetery? The only reason ghosts are even in this world is because they have unfinished business they need to take care of before they can move on to wherever it is they’re going. So why would they spend all their time hanging out at the cemetery? That’s not going to help solve their problems.

  As soon as I come back outside with my notebook and my purple sparkly feather pen, Lyra starts in on me.

  “Where are we going?” she asks.

  “I told you, we’re going to the cemetery.”

  “But why?” She has this totally terrified look on her face, like maybe she’s going to be sent into a grave or something. Which makes no sense. She’s a ghost. She can move through things. If she got put into a grave, she could just float out of it.

  “Relax,” I tell her. “It’s just where I do my best thinking.”

  She gives me a skeptical look, and I want to tell her that she’s the one who’s dead, so she can’t really judge me for doing my best thinking at the cemetery. But I don’t.

  I have to be careful not to take my bad mood out on her. I’m just being cranky because when I went in to get my notebook, my dad didn’t even try to stop me or ask me where I was going. I guess he wanted to give me space, but still. He could have at least tried.