What We Lost

by Sara Zarr

  “Oh, no, I got it.” She takes a glass down from the cupboard and fills it with water from the tap, then leans against the counter and smiles at me again. Apparently she’s staying. “Your dad said you’ve got a project going on in the yard. Can I see?”

  “If you want.”

  I lead her through the sliding glass doors and point to the black plastic sheeting. “There’s not really anything to see. That’s all I’ve done so far.”

  “That’s okay,” she says, crouching down and lifting a corner the plastic. “What’s your vision, here?”

  “My vision?”

  She stands up. “For how it’s going to look after?”

  “I’m not sure.” I readjust the plastic where she lifted it. “Not so messy and wild, I guess. More like…” The rest of that sentence is what they have at New Beginnings. I don’t want to talk about my mom, not with Erin. “Just not so messy.”

  “Sam,” she says, “about yesterday, I’m sorry if I nosed in where I don’t belong. It’s sort of my job, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “I mean it’s literally in my job description: ‘Befriend and spiritually mentor the teenage participants in church life.’ ”

  I nod. “Okay.” Thinking: But it’s not in your job description to be my dad’s substitute wife.

  “So if you want to talk to me about anything…” She looks toward the house. “I promise you it’s confidential.”

  “I know,” I say again, even though it’s way too late for me to trust her now, with how she’s made herself so pretty to come here and cooked my dad’s favorite meal. I add, “Thanks,” so that we can end this conversation.

  The door slides open; my dad comes out, scrubbed and happy. “Maybe we should eat out here,” he says. “It’s marginally cooler than inside the house.”

  “No,” I say, “let’s eat in.” Eating outside would feel too much like a celebration, a real summer night like real families have. “Mosquitoes.”

  After dinner, Erin wants to play Scrabble. I wait for my dad to say no, that it’s late and we’re tired, or that he has to go see the Shaws or make phone calls for work. Instead, he practically jumps up. “You’re on. House rules say we can swap out blanks at any point during the game. I need to check my handheld for anything life or death, then I’ll grab the board.”

  I clear the plates.

  “I’ll rinse,” Erin says, standing.

  “I got it. You cooked, I’ll clean.”

  “I don’t mind.” She reaches for the stack of plates in my hands. I pull them more tightly to my stomach. A fork that was balanced on top clatters to the floor. Erin bends down to pick it up, and so do I, and as I grab it out of her hand more silverware falls out of my stack. I gather it all up and take it to the sink, turning my back to Erin as I run the steaming hot water. I know she’s watching me. She puts her hand on my shoulder.

  “Let me help, Sam.”

  I keep rinsing, and loading the dishwasher. Eventually Erin takes her hand off me and I can see from the corner of my eye she’s quietly wiping off the table. My dad comes in, rattling the Scrabble box, asking, “Ready to lose?”

  “Actually,” Erin says, “I think I’m going to head home. I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

  Dad’s whole body sags with disappointment. “It’s not even eight,” he says.

  But Erin has already slung her purse over her shoulder. “I really am exhausted. I’m sure you guys are, too.”

  “I am,” I say.

  “Well, thanks for dinner. It was great.” Dad glances at me. “Sam?”

  “Thanks.” I barely turn from the sink where I’m washing my hands.

  “No problem. Anytime.”

  “Samara. Turn around and thank Erin properly.”

  I dry my hands and face them. “Thank you for dinner.” Then I toss the towel onto the counter and walk past them, down the hall, and to my room where I sit on my bed for a long time, waiting for my dad to knock on the door and have a talk with me. I plan out what I’ll say. But he never knocks. And I won’t come out.

  With nothing else to do, I spend the rest of the evening cleaning my room. I go through my drawers and closet, trying everything on, getting rid of clothes that don’t fit, wondering what I’m going to wear if I end up in the public school. In my sock drawer I find a mini cross-stitched potpourri pillow I made for 4-H a long time ago. It’s pink and green, my old favorite colors, and in neat block print reads: FAITH, HOPE, CHARITY.

  I hold it to my nose and close my eyes. Wanting to smell lilac, wanting to smell freesia. None of the good scent is left; it just smells old. I open my eyes and toss it in the trash can, wishing that there was something to have faith in, hope for, or be charitable about.

  Day 11

  Tuesday

  The air-conditioning suddenly starts working again. I wake up freezing cold and find my dad in the hall, staring at the thermostat. “Wow,” he says. “That’s weird.”

  I fold my arms and squint at it with him. “You didn’t do anything?” I ask.

  “Nope. It just kicked back into gear, I guess.”

  It’s a miracle, I almost say, then change my mind. “It’s too cold now.” I go back to my room to pull on a hoodie. Dad follows me.

  “I’ll make you hot chocolate. Hot chocolate in the dead of summer. To celebrate our frozen house.”

  What does he think I am? Twelve? “Summer’s practically over.” I get back under the covers.

  He stands there, arms hanging. All I want is him to say something to let me know he might have even a tiny inkling what I feel. All I want is for him to be as confident and right and real with me as he is when he stands up in the pulpit. Instead, he’s mute.

  So I ask, “Am I going back to Amberton Heights or not? I need to know one way or the other.” I’ve already made the transition in my mind, but I just want him to come out and say it.

  Dad sits on my bed, which means the answer is going to be long and complicated and not good. “The money’s just not there. They give us tuition assistance, but it’s not enough. And now with your mom… insurance covers some of that but not all.”

  “But what if she doesn’t stay?” Ralph walks down the hall and past my door but doesn’t come in. “What if Mom comes home next week when she’s supposed to? Then could we pay tuition?”

  He shakes his head. “We couldn’t really pay it last year. An anonymous donor at church paid it.”

  “What?”

  “Someone at church heard we needed help and helped.” He tucks the sheet around my knees. “It’s not the first time.”

  I kick out from the sheet. “Random people at church are always giving us money?”

  “I wouldn’t say ‘always,’ but, yeah, we get help.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You shouldn’t have to worry about money.” But I’ve been worrying about everything else—about Mom and about Dad and Erin, and about money, and he could let me in on at least two of those three things. I’m just figuring out how to put all that into the right words to say to him when he says, “I’ve got the pastor’s fellowship meeting in Lawrence Springs this morning. I missed it last month, and I really should go. I know they’ll all want to know what they can do to help the Shaws. The head of the board at Amberton Heights will be there; I’ll see if there’s any way we can get you in.”

  “Forget it,” I say. “Don’t beg.”

  “Expressing a real need isn’t begging.”

  “Maybe you should express your real need to our church, for a raise.”

  “Everyone is having a hard time right now. Maybe next year.” He gets up and looks at his watch. He’s always getting up and looking at his watch. Always on the way somewhere that isn’t here. “You’ve got two options for today: come with me, or I can drop you at Vanessa’s.”

  “Why can’t I just stay here?” I want to call Nick, or stay here and think about him.

  “You did that yesterday.”

  “That’s oka
y.”

  “Not with me.” And he smiles his I-know-you-don’t-like-me-right-now-but-I’m-your-father smile. “So which is it?”

  The choice is easy. “Vanessa’s.”

  We go to Daniel’s for the pool while Mrs. Hathaway takes Robby shopping for school clothes. Vanessa is a lot less mad at me than she was, but still not happy, and tells me as we unroll our towels on the pool deck, “I’m not asking any questions. If you want to tell me something, you have to tell me. Because I’m done asking.”

  I decided on the way to Vanessa’s that I’m going to be easygoing today and not think about school or Jody or my mom or Erin or anything that will make me feel bad. I’m only going to think about Nick.

  “Okay?” Vanessa asks.

  I say, teasing, “That’s a question.”

  “Ha, ha.”

  We watch Daniel do the backstroke across the pool, his pale flab showing above the blue water line. “I’ve never figured out how Daniel stays so white,” I say.

  “SPF 50.”

  It goes like that for a while, Vanessa and me laying out and Daniel getting in and out of the pool, us talking about nothing, joking around, being normal. And it’s easy, somehow, to just choose to stop thinking about things that feel bad. I can choose to sit by the pool and not think about the billboard of Jody, or the look on my mom’s face when she said she didn’t think she was ready to come home, not sit here and try to make myself believe in God, not worry about how I’m going to adjust to public school. Only a little more than a week after Jody being taken and the world changing forever, it’s actually easy to let life go on.

  I don’t like it.

  Life shouldn’t just go on, not with everything that’s wrong. How can we lounge around the pool? We should be doing something, anything, other than relaxing.

  “Hey,” I say. Daniel paddles over, Vanessa sits up. “I’m trying to fix up our yard before my mom comes home. Maybe you guys could help me.”

  “Sure,” Daniel says.

  I stand up. “We have ice cream sandwiches in our freezer.”

  “You want us to go now?” Vanessa asks.

  “Well, yeah.”

  Daniel hoists himself out of the pool, his slick body landing awkwardly on the edge. “Let me dry off.”

  “I think we should wait until my mom comes back to get us,” Vanessa says. “And ask her.”

  She’ll say no, especially after how I ran off last time.

  “We’ll ask Daniel’s mom.” Daniel’s mom is busy watching soap operas and will let us do whatever.

  “Sam…” Vanessa is pleading.

  Daniel stands there with his towel around his shoulders, like a cape. “What’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal,” I say, “is that Vanessa doesn’t want to get in trouble, or break rules, even though I know she breaks rules when she’s with her other friends.” Vanessa opens her mouth to protest. “No,” I say, looking at both of them, “I know, like when you guys went to that party at the lake at the end of the school year. I know. You’re only being this way because my dad is the pastor, and I’m me. You say I don’t tell you things, but you don’t tell me things. Only certain things. You’re… Good Vanessa and Good Daniel when you’re with me.”

  They’re speechless for a few seconds, then Daniel says to Vanessa, “It’s kind of true.”

  “But I like Good Vanessa,” she says with a pout.

  “We’re just not supposed to go off alone,” I say to her. “We won’t be alone. There are three of us all together. It’s close. We’ll do some work in the yard, have ice cream, and come back before your mom even gets back from shopping.”

  She sighs. “Fine.”

  We all go in and change, then Daniel calls to his mom, “Mom we’re going to Sam’s for a little while okay thanks bye.”

  On the walk to my house I’m starting to feel a little bit hopeful. The temperature has dropped just enough that you can imagine a taste of fall in the air if you try. Nick Shaw thinks I’m beautiful. Daniel and Vanessa are going to help me make progress on the yard, and there is the air-conditioning miracle. Maybe going to a new school won’t be so horrible. Kacey Franklin goes there. We could be friends. I can reinvent myself a little. Be less shy.

  Then we round the corner. My dad’s car is in the driveway. He’s supposed to be forty-five minutes away in Lawrence Springs. My first instinct is to look around for Erin’s car, maybe parked down the street, or maybe we already passed it and didn’t notice.

  “I thought your dad was gone,” Vanessa says, recognizing his car.

  “Maybe there was an emergency. With the Shaws or something.” I slow down. “Maybe we should go back.”

  Daniel says, “We can’t, because I have to pee. Seriously.”

  “He wouldn’t really be mad, Sam. Like you said, we’re all together and Dan’s mom gave us permission.” She pulls on my hand. “Come on.”

  It’s just his car. There isn’t any sign of Erin. This will be fine. I keep walking, and when I get to the door of my house, put the key in and make as much noise as possible. “Dad?” I call, tossing my keys loudly into the metal bowl near the door where we keep keys.

  I look at the empty living room, and into the empty kitchen.

  The house is completely quiet.

  Then I see a purse on the kitchen counter. Erin’s.

  “Let’s go,” I say quietly to Vanessa and Daniel, who have followed me this far.

  “What? Why?”

  I push them toward the door. “Because.”

  “Let me just use the bathroom,” Daniel pleads.

  “No.”

  I finally get them all the way out the door, grab my keys, and close it softly. Vanessa and Daniel give me confused looks.

  “There was a note,” I say. “He’s… sleeping. He got… food poisoning. It said don’t bother him.” I start to walk away from the house, fast, and realize they aren’t following me. “Come on.”

  “I said I have to pee, no joke.”

  “You’re a guy,” Vanessa says, impatient. “You can pee in the gutter.” She catches up to me. “Are you sure your dad’s okay? Maybe you should have checked on him.”

  I don’t answer, and break into a jog. I don’t know where I’m going or where I want to go or who I want to see right now. But I can’t tell this to Vanessa and Daniel because it affects them. It affects everyone. Stopping, I turn back around to face them. “You’re right. I should go back.”

  “You want me to call my mom?” Vanessa asks. She looks worried for me, like she can tell there’s something I’m not saying.

  “No. It’s fine. You guys go back to Daniel’s. It’s okay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” I’m walking backward toward my house, making sure they keep going the other way. “Call you later.”

  I go around the side of the house, as if I’m going to go in the back door. Then I crouch down, and pull out my cell phone. With unsteady hands, I call Nick. He answers on the third ring. “Hey.”

  “Are you busy right now?” I try to keep the tears out of my voice but I can’t.

  “Sort of, but… are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Never mind.”

  “No, wait, it’s okay. What do you need?”

  “Can you come get me? At the corner east of my house?”

  “Um, sure, yeah.”

  I pull myself together enough to say, “I need you to take me to see my mom.”

  I wait for Nick at the corner, the whole time thinking: what if I’m wrong? I need to calm down, not jump to conclusions. There’s no sign of Erin’s car anywhere. Maybe she left her purse at our house last night. But then, I’m sure I remember her putting it over her shoulder before she left. Maybe she came to pick up the lasagna pan and left her purse. Maybe my dad’s car broke down and Erin gave him a ride to the meeting. Maybe a lot of things. I didn’t see or hear anyone in the house, I could just go back, walk in, and look around better this time.

  But then Nick’s truck comes
into view and all I want is to be driving far, far away from Pineview and everyone in it. We don’t have to go see my mom. We could just drive and drive.

  Nick pulls over, and I climb in. The cab smells like fabric softener. “Hi,” I say.

  He smiles but mostly looks concerned. “Hey there.” After I get buckled in, he asks, “So, what’s the urgency level here? Am I driving ambulance speed, the posted speed limit, or normal Nick?”

  “Normal Nick.”

  “And you know where this place is?”

  “Yeah.” I think I can remember the way. “Just head toward Dillon’s Bluff.”

  As soon as we’re on the highway, the rational part of me feels stupid, almost sure that there’s got to be some explanation. I should call my dad right now and ask. But I’m afraid. And that makes me think about Cal yesterday in the hardware store, and how I hate thinking everyone is doing something wrong. Tears come to my eyes as I wonder if there’s anyone in the world I can actually trust.

  When Nick asks me, “What’s the story?” I only say, “I just really, really need to see my mom,” and that’s enough for him.

  We listen to country radio and make small talk and for the most part I’m able to keep calm, wiping away a tear now and then before Nick can notice.

  When we pass a car dealership outside Dillon’s Bluff, Nick looks at it longingly and says, “I want to get a shell for the truck. You know, something to put over the back? I could put an air mattress and a sleeping bag back there, and a cooler with some food and stuff. Then my truck would be like my own traveling apartment. I could go anywhere.”

  “That would be nice.” I picture going with him.

  “They’re expensive, though. I can’t ask my parents for any money right now. I’d have to save up. The problem is they don’t want me to have a job during the semester.”

  “So you’re going?” I ask. “For sure?”

  “Almost for sure. My parents don’t want me to put my life on hold.”

  Even the Shaws are starting to let life go on. How do you know when to do that? How do you know when to move on without exactly giving up?