“Do you think I shouldn’t watch?”
“Oh, Candy, I think you should watch your mom over and over if you want.”
“Will you watch with me? Maybe it won’t hurt so much if we do it together.”
Please tell me I’m doing the right thing, Mom. If this is a mistake and it ruins everything, I’ll have to give up on all of my attempts. I couldn’t handle another bad reaction right now.
Dad doesn’t answer in words, but he does sit down on the chair in front of the computer. He pulls up the folder he mentioned. I lean over the side of the desk.
“You pick,” he says.
I bite my lip and scan the dates. I have to be strategic. I decide to avoid the most recent ones, because they’re too real, too close, too much. Instead, I think about the journals, and I’m curious, so I point to a file with a date that lines up closest with the first journal entries I read. Me as a toddler. It’s bound to be funny, and Mom is not likely to be at her best.
In the video, Mom is trying to get me to say all the words I know. “At nearly eighteen months, Andie now has sixty-two words.” Of course, my mom counted things that weren’t actually words, like “Whoo!” and words I say almost correctly, like “Ca” for cat. She gets frustrated when I refuse to show off my impressive vocabulary after only sixteen words. She tries offering me a snack as a reward, but I shake my head and say “No.” In the background, you can hear my dad say, “I guess that’s number seventeen.” My mom busts out laughing.
But mostly the videos are short, and there aren’t many.
“We got lazy about the video with you. Sorry, Candy.”
“It’s okay.”
Finally we find a good one. It’s my first birthday party, and Paige actually has the camera. I would have known even if she hadn’t provided a running narration all throughout, because the camera is particularly shaky.
The good news is that because Paige is the one behind the camera, this time there are lots of shots of my mom, smiling and clapping and cutting cake and licking her fingers and carrying me around. I keep looking over at Dad, and he seems to be handling it okay. His eyes are fixed on the screen, but his shoulders are relaxed.
“Your mom hated that dress you’re wearing, but Grandma Wilson had sent it, and she felt obligated to take lots of pictures of you in it.”
“Grandma Wilson forgot my birthday this year.”
He nods. “She always forgot unless your mom reminded her a few times.” He leans back in the chair. “Your mom did so much that I never think about.”
A thought explodes in my head. “You know you don’t have to be her, don’t you?”
His head tilts to the side.
“You can just be you, and that’s okay.” And I can’t help myself, I crawl onto his lap and fall into his chest and I feel my tears dampen his pajamas. He wraps his arms around me and kisses my head.
“You’re growing up too fast, Andie Candy. Too smart and too fast. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I sit up and sniff while I wipe the tears from my face. “I like hearing her voice again.”
My dad stares at the paused screen in front of him. My mom is making a goofy face, trying to get me to eat some of the Cookie Monster cake in front of me. I wonder if this will help or make things worse for him.
I tell him I’m tired and slink back upstairs. I reach down under my bed and pull out that journal, the one I already read about me turning one. Now it’s time to do something for Paige.
I haven’t heard him come up the stairs yet, so I quietly make my way down the hall. Opening Paige’s door slowly, I can see her mouth is open and her arm is draped awkwardly over the side of the bed. She’s out. So I sidle in and place the journal on her desk. In plain sight.
Chapter Seventeen
Watching the home movies with Dad may have been the right move, because the next morning he’s sipping coffee at the breakfast table.
“You’re up,” I say.
He smiles. “I’ve got a meeting, and then I thought I should get this house in order before I start back to work. That office was looking pretty dusty.”
“That’s … good,” I tell him. I don’t mean to hesitate so much, but it seems too good to be true. I grab a Pop-Tart and lean against the counter. He glances down at his lap and then rubs his hands on his thighs.
“Well, I’m running late.”
As he stands and carries his cup to the sink, I see his fingers shaking slightly. I say, “Good luck at your meeting.”
“Thanks, Candy. It’s not about luck, though.”
And then I realize what kind of meeting he’s talking about. I’m not stupid; I’ve heard of AA. We talked about addictions in health class, and I know there are meetings for issues other than alcohol—like gambling … I just never really thought of my dad as meeting material. But, of course, he is.
Once he leaves, I realize this is perfect timing for the next phase of my plan. I’ve decided to speed things up. Everything is happening quickly, and I don’t want to miss an opportunity. And the sunroom is the perfect place for another direct message. It’ll tie in with the movies from last night, and he’ll see the sign when he goes in to dust later. I can hear water running upstairs, which means Paige is in the shower, so I go straight to the office and use my fingers to write in the dust on the desk. Just one word.
Whoosh.
It was dark last night, so Dad won’t necessarily know when the word appeared. Whoosh. All my life it was something my parents said to each other, and I never knew what it meant. They said it was an inside joke. No matter how hard Paige and I begged them to let us in on the punch line, they never did.
But in the last journal I read, my mom told the story. It wasn’t so much a joke as it was a way of saying I love you. Mom and Dad met at college. The sociologist and the business major. They were debate partners in speech class. She was not impressed with him. He thought she was flighty. They had to spend two weeks together, prepping for their first debate.
My mom wrote that he annoyed her the entire first week of preparation. He was so uptight and his views on the topic of whether or not the United States government “should significantly increase space exploration beyond Earth’s mesosphere” were just as rigid. My mom, being the dreamer, was all for expansion. Apparently Dad was all about the dollars.
We could barely focus when we met, because we fought over the issue itself. I couldn’t imagine how we would come together to defend the same position in such a short period of time. The hate was a thick fog, clouding my vision. It lifted on the eighth day. I’d begged him to let us work outside, as it was one of those gorgeous October Indian summer afternoons. I knew we’d only have a few warm days left. He’d grumbled about it not being very efficient, but for whatever reason, he relented.
We worked quietly for a while. I admit, I kept stealing glances at him. How had I not noticed how unique his eyes were? That rare shade of brown was such a nice complement to his olive skin. And that chin. Not quite square, but solid.
Then, a gust of wind came. Whoosh. Papers scattered. We scrambled to pick up all of our notes. He shrieked, and I laughed as I chased the papers. He said it was the image of me laughing and reaching for the papers that did it. He said the wind stirred up more than our homework. Whoosh.
I turned around once I’d caught most of the papers. A few were a lost cause. I shrugged and smiled.
His grin was bigger than I’d ever seen it. “You know, you’re really pretty.”
Whoosh went my stomach.
So, it stuck. From the beginning, it’s what he would say to me whenever he wanted to let me know he loved me but didn’t want to say the words. Just, whoosh.
I hoped he would see the word before he wiped it away with a duster.
Paige came out of her room in a daze. She barely said a word in the car ride to school. About a block away, she spoke without even glancing at me. “Andie?”
“Yeah?”
“Were you in
my room this morning?”
I don’t want to lie. I tried a trick I had actually learned from my mom. “Why?”
“Just wondering. So, were you?”
“Paige, why would I go in your room? I’m well aware that you would kill me if I stepped more than my toe in.”
She laughs, but it’s an absent sound, like she’s not really in the car with me. It’s okay. I know where she is.
As I get out of the car, she finally turns to me. “Can you walk home? I think I might go run after school today.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s too late to join the team, but I bet the coach will let me tag along for some training.”
I smile at her. “Have fun.”
I’d almost forgotten about my own issues at school, but when I turn around I see my “friends” huddled not far from the car. Were they waiting for me?
I choose to look away and walk a straight line toward the building. I hear their feet behind me.
“You’ve got to listen to us,” Becki calls out. “You’re not being fair.”
Her voice churns my stomach. “Fair?”
“The things you said last night. It’s not that we can’t talk about what’s going on with you, but you’ve got to realize we still want to have a normal life, you know?”
I actually laugh. How could I not? It sounds so crazy. I turn around to face her. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. The problem, Becki, is that my life will never be normal again. Not the normal I knew before. And you know what? Neither will yours. Acting like you know everything and being mean won’t bring your parents back together.”
I know I’m being a jerk and I don’t care. She deserves it.
“Oh my gosh, Andie,” Becki says. “My parents have nothing to do with this.”
“Yes, they do. You just haven’t figured it out. You’ve changed too, and it’s not fun anymore.”
“Um, hello, I could say the same thing about you.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you could. It’s amazing how things like death and divorce can change you. I know I’m different. But I like to think I’m still me. I don’t know who you are anymore.”
Leah stares at her feet. She’s never been good with conflict. She’s always the friend who smoothes things over. She must know this isn’t going to be so easy to fix. Or maybe she won’t care enough to try this time.
Gisela is as red as a cherry. “Would you two just stop?” And then she marches off. Leah follows.
I’m not surprised. I stare at Becki, waiting to see how she reacts. “Are you happy now?”
“No, but neither are you.”
“Is it a contest? To see who can be more miserable?” I snort. This is just like a Transitions session. “If it is, you can win if you want. I’m trying to find my happy again.”
She rolls her eyes. “You sound like a greeting card.”
Or a guidance counselor, I think.
“Anyway, maybe you should spend some time with your new friend instead of us. Maybe he’ll make you happier.”
I won’t lie—it hurts. I’m too young to have been dumped by a boy, but this definitely feels a lot like a breakup. My lip quivers, and I have to ball my fists to keep my hands from shaking.
“Okay,” I say.
“Have fun with your geektastic boyfriend.”
The shaking stops instantly, and I turn on my heel and walk into the school.
I’m able to lie low most of the day. Except of course, I have group. I almost don’t go, but I figure if I’ve ever needed therapy, today’s the day.
I try to hide behind Amanda—the anger management girl—but she turns around and growls at me, so I get up and move. Since the two rows of seats are in a semicircle and all of the other back seats have been taken, I have no choice but to be visible. Only two open seats remain. One is next to Brian, which I refuse to take, and that means I end up sandwiched between a girl who probably hasn’t eaten in two days and Dylan. He pats at the desk, knowing I’ll choose that one.
Mrs. Carter breezes in just before the bell rings. “It’s so good to see so many of you here today. With the end of the year coming, I worry a little about how everyone is going to be coping during the summer, so I’m glad you’re checking in now.”
Her chipper tone is a mask. She rustles her papers too many times for it not to be obvious that she’s nervous. What’s bugging her?
And then she clears her throat and sighs. “So, last week was pretty rough. I think we should talk about it.”
Brian sits as straight as a steel rod, staring at the wall in front of him. “Andie should apologize.”
“For what?” Dylan asks.
I try to sneak a peek at Dylan out of the corner of my eye. He’s got his arms crossed as he smirks. “She didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
Brian sits up taller. “She said my problems didn’t matter.”
“No she didn’t,” Amanda’s voice is matter-of-fact, but it’s so surprising to hear her defend me that I can’t help but turn at look at her with my mouth open wide. “She said your problems aren’t the only ones that matter. Big difference.”
Mrs. Carter shuffles her papers and taps her pencil. “Well, Andie, do you have anything you’d like to add?”
I want to say no. I want to keep my head down and pretend none of this is happening. But Amanda and Dylan eye me expectantly. For the sake of everyone in this room, I probably need to talk.
“I had a really bad day last week. Really bad. And I’ve had some bad hours in between. But it’s not all bad. In fact, I’ve been more hopeful than I had been in a long time. So, yeah, I lost it, and I get that I hurt your feelings, Brian. I’m sorry I yelled. But Amanda’s right; I really do think we’ve all got something that sucks. It’s just that if all we ever do is sit here and complain about it, it’s not like it’s going to get any better.”
“Oh great, now she’s Little Miss Sunshine,” Amanda says.
Dylan laughs but his eyes narrow. “So, wise little one, what do you suggest?”
“I-I don’t know exactly. I guess it just depends. Like, I’ve been trying to remind my family what my mom would have wanted and maybe it reminds them about who they used to be. Who they should be. It’s probably stupid, but it makes me feel better, and my dad and I watched videos of her and he got a job, so it can’t be all bad. But I can’t say what would work for you because you’ve got different issues.”
“Like psychosis,” Amanda barks.
One side of Dylan’s mouth curves up, and he nods slowly.
“Dylan,”—Mrs. Carter must have decided she should take the floor back from the thirteen-year-old—“what would you say your biggest problem is?”
“Duh, having to sit with all these freaks every week.”
And there’s the Dylan I know and don’t love. Things were getting too real for a second, and anyway I’m just happy the attention is off me for a while. Brian is still pouting. We’re so different—I guess we were never going to be best friends. But maybe group therapy doesn’t always have to be so bad. Today was actually okay.
Chapter Eighteen
I figure there’s no way I’ll attend rec night now that Becki and I aren’t talking, which is too bad because rec night is really fun. It’ll just be another Friday night home alone. Now that I know where to find videos and I have the journals, too, I don’t mind as much. After all, I’ve lost the last two days to late nights reading and rereading the same journal over and over. I’m so tired during the day that I have to fight to stay awake in class, and I don’t do any more haunting at home. That probably doesn’t fit in my whole do-something attitude that I preached to the group yesterday, but change takes time, right?
Then a couple of things happen to change my plans. At this point I feel just like I’m in a snow globe most of the time. Whenever things finally calm down, someone comes along and shakes everything up again.
I get home later than usual Thursday night, because Isaiah and I meet at the library after school to
work on our report. This time, we didn’t even mention my family or my side project. The actual science project is due soon, so believe it or not, we focus on the real assignment.
Just as I start walking up the driveway, I see the garage door open, and I hop on the grass as my sister backs out of the driveway full speed, then guns it once she gets to the street, not even bothering to wave at me.
“Dad?” I call out as I step into the house.
His voice cracks as he answers. “In here.”
He’s on the couch, in her spot. His eyes are a little red but he smiles at me. “Hey, Candy, how was your day?”
“Fine. Is everything okay?”
He takes a breath and his face contorts through at least three different expressions, but I can’t figure out what he’s thinking.
He pats the couch next to him, and I sit down.
“Paige is upset.”
“About what?”
He raises an eyebrow.
I snort. “I guess I mean about what today? Besides the usual.”
“Well, me, for one. She’s not quite ready to open up with me, and I get it. Believe me, I do. I messed up pretty bad, and she doesn’t trust me.”
This is the first time he’s admitted how bad he’s been. I don’t know what to say.
“I don’t expect either of you to trust me yet. I don’t even trust myself. Dealing with teenage girls, though, it’s not really my thing. I wish I were better at this stuff.”
“You know, Mom wasn’t really all that good about dealing with Paige either.”
His eyes narrow and his lips press into a line.
“I’m just saying maybe that’s more about the teenager thing than Mom not being here.”
He draws a long, slow breath, and then lets it out quickly. “Do you ever feel like Mom is trying talk to you?”
I raise one eyebrow.
“For a long time, I hated coming into this house because I couldn’t feel her anymore, you know?”
I do, and I nod to show it.
“But it’s been different lately. Not easier, but different.”
“I like it when I smell her. Even when I know it’s not her, it makes me feel like she’s giving me a hug. I hope I never forget what she feels like.”
The Haunted House Project Page 11
