“But I can’t think of a more fitting place to make this announcement than here in the mountains among the pines and birches, where countless Americans have trekked to refresh their souls and minds. And so I am asking Congress to form a committee—”
Mira claps her hands. “You, Aidan! He was talking about you!”
“Shhh!”
“The cost and negative effects of worker burnout are higher to employers than paid vacations. Our European counterparts have proven that a better-rested workforce results in higher productivity. And the health benefits and savings are not even worked into that equation—”
“That’s my idea! He listened! He listened!”
“Shhh!”
“And so the committee will investigate implementing a law that mandates minimum paid vacation times for the U.S. worker. . . .”
We listen to the rest, stunned and silent. Because of Aidan, the president is asking a congressional committee to look into a mandatory vacation law. A chance meeting. An absurd thought from a kindergarten flunkie. And now this.
When the president signs off, Seth and Mira hoot and shout and hug Aidan. He hugs them back, smiling like he might never be able to stop. And then he looks at me.
“Congratulations, Aidan,” I say.
His mouth is open, but no words come out.
“You don’t have to say anything, Aidan. I know. Some things can’t be explained.”
We exit the store, leaving behind the smiling salesman, who doesn’t seem to mind our brief, sale-less intrusion. He nods to me as I exit, and I offer an awkward nod in return, noting his thin dated tie that looks older than most of Langdon. Mira and Aidan walk ahead. She is still bubbling over with the news and rehashing every word. I can see the back of Aidan’s head nodding, his arms flailing, filling in every gap.
“That sure is something, isn’t it?” Seth says to me.
“I think the Universe of Truly Large Numbers just had to expand to accommodate that one.”
“Nice that you didn’t say anything.”
“I didn’t need to. Aidan said it for me. He had it written all over his face.”
At the end of the street we spot a dog park. “Should we?” Seth asks.
“Why not?” I answer. “Lucky deserves a little play time.” And I still need a little more time to face what is to come.
We let ourselves in through the gate, find an empty bench to sit on, and Seth unleashes Lucky. He is the hit of the dog park. He is instantly surrounded by three dogs wanting to herd him. He appears to enjoy the attention. He runs, carefree, his feet kicking, jumping, turning midair, driving the dogs trying to follow him into fits. He finally stops on a knoll in the middle of the park to munch on a thick tuft of grass, surrounded by befuddled, panting dogs. They don’t know why they are compelled to chase Lucky. An ancient primal urge overpowers their domestic-flavor-of-the-month breeding.
“Lucky must be used to dogs.”
“Maybe dogs herded the flock he came from.”
“They didn’t do a very good job, did they?”
“Or maybe Lucky just outsmarted them.”
“Yeah, I bet that’s it,” Seth says proudly, like he raised Lucky himself.
Mira crosses her arms. “Instead of running Lucky ragged, he’s running those pooches ragged. Looks like everyone’s getting justice today.”
Seth looks at his watch. “Not everyone. It’s getting late. We better get going. Des still needs to set a few things straight.”
I exhale. And the old Destiny is back.
29
AIDAN AND MIRA WAIT in the park with Lucky while Seth and I go to retrieve the car. I find myself counting the lines in the sidewalk as we walk. Counting my breaths. Counting the clicks of our steps. Searching for yet another thing to count, something I should count, and losing track of them all, wondering if I have finally, truly lost my mind. Or maybe the opposite—maybe today all the days, tears, waiting, and numbers are adding up to something just right. Something fair. It could be. If I am careful. If I don’t stray too far this way or that. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen . . .
“Nervous?”
I catch my breath. “No. Of course not. What’s there to be nervous about?”
“Hey.” Seth stops and squeezes my arm. “It’s a good decision, Des. You wanted a fair day. This will be part of it.”
“I know, Seth. I know.” Instead of the firmness I intended, I hear the rattling breathiness of my voice, like I am already vanishing because of my choice. His grip remains tight on my arm, and I’m glad he doesn’t let go. It feels safe, like as long as he holds on, I can’t disappear. Is that what I’m doing? I look up at him. “I’m okay. Just out of breath. Your legs are longer than mine. Let’s slow down.” He nods and we resume at a slower pace.
“Do you think they’ll be angry when they see you?”
My parents. Angry? Hardly. “No,” I answer. “I don’t rate enough importance for anger.”
“But you are angry.”
“Maybe. I wonder what that says about me. I guess I don’t have my priorities straight like they do.”
“And cynical.”
“Think so?” I smile, a tight deliberate smile, to top off my pessimism. “Aren’t you angry at your parents for abandoning you?”
“They haven’t exactly abandoned me, Des. It’s only been two months, and it was my decision too. I mean, eventually everyone has to move away from their parents, right? It’s normal. Part of growing up. A lot of kids count the days until they can get a little freedom.”
“Well, I got to grow up at the ripe age of seven.”
“Is that when they sent you off?”
I hear the disbelief in his voice. I look away and nod. He is probably already reevaluating me, wondering what makes me so repugnant.
“Some people really stink at being parents. You don’t need a license, you know?”
“A license might not be a bad idea.”
“But you at least have your aunt Edie. That’s her name, right?”
Aunt Edie. Because no child should be alone. Everyone needs someone. “Yes. At least I have her.” She’s everything an aunt should be. Understanding, fun, a good listener. The ideal aunt.
“She’s always been there for me,” I tell him. “At least as much as she can be, considering that my parents bounce me around from boarding school to boarding school—always at a great distance from her. She tried to get custody of me once. She loves me that much. She’s poor, but she has a little farm and an extra bedroom—a perfect place for a child to grow up—a pond and ducks and everything. But my parents wouldn’t hear of it. Too humiliating, I suppose. But she would have me if she could.”
“She sounds great. I’m sorry I missed her at the parents’ day picnic. Did she come?”
“Yes. Of course she came. But she and I didn’t sit with everyone else. We took a long walk. We don’t get to see each other often, so we’d rather spend the time alone.”
“Why was she coming today?”
All this talking, it’s going in directions I can’t control. Another reason why it is best to stay to yourself. Why leaving Hedgebrook was too risky. At least the routine there was safe.
“A visit. Only a visit.”
“I guess in some ways it turned out okay, after all. If she had come today, you wouldn’t have come to rescue me, and we wouldn’t be here right now. You’d probably be off with her somewhere instead.”
“Rescuing? I’d hardly call it that.”
“Was to me. How long have you had the car? Was it a gift?”
Now would be the time to tell. Before I dig myself in any deeper. But it is his own doing, really. He assumes too much. I never said it was mine exactly. One should never assume. It only gets you into trouble. The end of the day is just as good a time to tell as now. But he’s asking now. Outright asking. “Seth—”
“Yes?”
“Today. I just got it today. It was a surprise.”
“A guilt gift from your parents?”
We are almost back to the car. Last sidewalk lines. Last steps. Last breaths. So important. And I’m missing it all. Seventeen, eighteen . . .
“What are you counting?”
I walk faster. How could he know? “I wasn’t counting anything.”
“I saw your lips moving.”
“It was a song. I was humming a song.”
“No, you weren’t. It was numbers.”
“Drop it, Seth.”
He breathes out a loud grumbling breath. “Like everything else? Why do you always have to push everyone away?”
I walk five steps, three breaths, two sidewalk lines before I answer. “If you knew me. If you got close. You might vanish.”
“Vanish? That’s crazy.”
I stop. He gives me the look again. The demented look. The fragile-twit look. I prefer scorn. I can gain strength from that. Fragility weakens me.
“Des, I didn’t mean—”
I begin to walk on, but he grabs me and pulls me into the shadow of a storefront nook. His hands firmly grip both of my arms. “Destiny, I don’t care what you were doing. You could be reciting the periodic table in pig latin for all I care. I was just trying to connect with you. Is that so bad?”
He is a head taller than me and so close I must tilt my head back to see him fully. I feel the heat of his fingers on my arms. The tautness of my neck muscles. What was his question? So bad? My knees are shaky. Hot. And yet they continue to bear my weight. His face is close. Ten inches. His lips part. His head tilts. Nine inches. Eight. Seven. My chest is on fire. Six. Five. I turn away, my eyes looking down at the ground beside me. Four. The unholy number. He retreats. His hands drop from my arms.
“Mira and Aidan are waiting,” I say.
He steps back, looks away like he sees something at the end of the street, his eyes narrowing, his hands shoving into his pockets, and then he looks back. “And Lucky too,” he adds. He looks away again briefly and then turns back with a smile. Close to a smirk but a smile, nonetheless.
An offering. At least a truce.
And at that moment, for that unearned smile, I would gladly tell him every thought and secret that was ever in my head. But of course, he wouldn’t really want to know them. We all think we know what we want until it is too late.
30
EAST. I KNOW TO GO EAST.
“That way,” I tell Seth. The buildings of Langdon become scattered and few. Houses. None of them familiar. The wind is brisk. We should put the top up. Can a season turn in just one day? In just a few hours? We pass fields of golden flowers. Forests of birch. White rail fences. The colors, angles, and memories of home. But it isn’t. Not anymore. After today, it will never be mine again.
“Another toast!” Mira says. We stopped for cherry slushes at the market, and now Mira has turned the simple act of drinking into yet another game—anything to keep out the silence and keep us bonded. We have already toasted Mrs. Wicket, Lucky, the president, and the Victorymobile, as she has now dubbed the car. What could be left to toast?
“Here’s to Miss Boggs and miscounting tests!”
“Here’s to Bingham and comb-overs!”
“Here’s to bloody noses!”
Seth and Aidan seem as enthusiastic as Mira. I raise my cherry slush. “If we’re really going to toast our reasons for being here, we must include Mr. Nestor.”
They all lift their cups. “To Mr. Nestor and fair days!”
I finish my drink. So does Seth, and he passes his empty cup to me. I stack them together and shove them beneath my seat. This will surely put an end to Mira’s toasting.
“Who do you think Mr. Nestor really is?” she asks.
“A serial killer,” I answer. “That’s what I told him.”
Seth laughs. “Sure. He systematically kills his students by boring them to death? We already have one of those at Hedgebrook. Bingham. We don’t need another one.”
“He was probably just a sub,” Aidan says.
“Lost in the garden?”
“No. Ditching like you.”
“Right,” I answer. Aidan can never quite let go of his concrete world. But, then again, I can never quite let go of the one I am in either. It’s disconcerting to think that he and I might be a good balance.
“Which way now?” Seth asks.
I look at the crossroad. “Straight,” I answer. “No, left. Left.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I think.
The road becomes narrower and curves and bends. Houses are set back, mostly obscured by acres of foliage.
“Pricey part of town,” Aidan observes.
“This the way?” Seth asks.
I nod. But I am not sure. How can I tell him I don’t exactly remember where my house is? I was eight the last time I was here, and eight-year-olds don’t pay attention to directions. It is not streets and road names that matter to children, but landmarks, like a windmill, a rusted-out wagon, a long row of mailboxes, twin stone pillars with lion sculptures topping them. Where are these guideposts?
The road twists and dips, winds and curves.
And stops. We are at a dead end. No house.
The car idles. “I don’t think this is it,” Seth says. “Unless your parents live in a rabbit hole.”
“Why don’t you ask directions?” Mira asks.
We all turn and look at her. We are in the middle of nowhere, and there is no one around. Mira shrugs. Point taken.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “We must have made a wrong turn.”
“No problem,” Seth says, turning around the car. “What did you say the address was again?”
“It’s 829 Ravenwood.”
We backtrack to the last cross street we passed, and Seth stops and looks both ways. He looks at me. I shake my head. I want to slide beneath the seat with the empty cups. What seventeen-year-old doesn’t know where her house is?
Seth eases out onto the road. “Let’s try—”
“Over there!” Aidan’s arm juts between us and points to the right. “There’s someone.”
Several yards down the road, an elderly man with a wide-brimmed hat sits in a chair between two baskets. One holds apples, and the other, bunches of miniature sunflowers. A sign facing our direction reads: FRIUT AND FLOWRS 4 SAEL.
“Funny. I didn’t notice him when we passed by before.”
“Poor old guy,” Mira says. “Not too much business way out here in the boonies.”
“Wait here.” I hop out and run over to him to ask directions. “Excuse me? Do you know—”
He waves his hands and shakes his head. “No English. No English. Flowers? Flowers?”
I try my rusty French. He repeats: “No English. No English. Apples?”
My almost nonexistent German.
“No English. No English. Cheap. Cheap.”
I walk back to the car.
“That was fast. What did he say?” Seth asks.
“He doesn’t speak English or any language that I recognize. Maybe we’ll find someone else—”
Seth puts the car in park and opens his door. “Let me give it a shot.”
We watch Seth talking with the old man. I see the same gestures he gave me. No. No. No. And then suddenly the old man smiles. He laughs and stands and gives Seth a hearty slap on the shoulder. Many nods. Laughter. It is like they are old friends. He pulls an apple from the basket, rubs it on his shirt, and gives it to Seth. They shake hands, and Seth returns to the car.
“What was that all about?” I ask.
“Tagalog. The old guy speaks Tagalog.”
“What!” Aidan says.
“Did he give you directions?”
“Yep. Second left. Veer right at the fork. First left.”
“Tagalog,” Aidan mumbles. “We’re lost, and the only person in sight speaks Tagalog, which Seth happens to know.”
Mira, Seth, and I look at each other. Mira’s brows rise. Aidan is speaking to his lap, not us. The universe a
nd its numbers are clearly expanding at much too fast a rate for him.
Seth puts the car into gear. “Hold on,” I say. I open the glove box, grab three of the hundred-dollar bills, and jump out of the car. A few yards away, I turn and call back to the others. “We’re his only customers. It should be his fair day too, right?”
The old man’s jaw drops as I place the three bills in his hand. I choose a small bunch of sunflowers from his basket and run away before he can stop me. As soon as I jump back in the car, Seth heads down the road.
Mira offers one more toast. “Here’s to sunflowers and directions!”
Seth turns at the second left. The road is narrow, trees hugging close, their fallen leaves providing a carpet of orange and yellow for us to drive on. Still not recognizable. “Very generous of you,” Seth finally says. “Why do you carry so much money in your glove box? It’s not the safest place, you know?”
“Especially with a convertible,” Mira adds.
Aidan grunts. “But I bet the old guy is glad that you keep it there. He can quit for the day.”
I shift in my seat. I glance sideways at Seth. “The money?” My fingers run through Lucky’s woolen coat. “Oh, the money. That. It’s there because. Well. It’s not exactly mine.”
“What do you mean, it’s not yours?” Seth asks. “You’re carrying somebody else’s money around in your car? And spending it?” I notice his last three words are an octave higher.
The world dims. Can time stand still? In these few seconds, I am convinced it can—that the world really can defy logic. At least the logic we know. That the unexplainable is part of the science that makes the world spin, like mystery is the blood running through its veins. I move forward and backward in time at lightning speed, thinking, weighing, remembering, while the three of them are caught in a timeless fog. We’ve come so far since this morning. Nice car, Des. Can Aidan come? Whose car? Go. Go.
And then time circles back around, the way it always does. It catches the gear that left it suspended, and there is no way around it. “I have a secret.”
The Miles Between Page 11
