Wherever You Go

by Heather Davis

  "Dad," Jason said. "Why do you think Mom stopped sailing with us?"

  "Where's that coming from?"

  "Just wondering," Jason said, stowing the winch handle in the side pocket.

  "I'm not really sure."

  Jason sat back on the bench, watching his father focus on the telltales hanging listlessly on the jib. The telltales told you how close you were to the wind, and if you could get them to fly horizontally, you were right on course. Any more or less, you should adjust your sails or heading.

  "Come in a little bit," Peter said.

  Jason grabbed the winch handle and gave it a few turns to tighten the jib sheet. The jib stopped luffing as the sail better contained the wind they were headed into. The telltales twirled happily in the breeze.

  "Nice." Peter gave his son an appreciative nod.

  Jason put aside the winch handle. "Can I ask you a question?"

  "Course. What's on your mind?"

  "Still Mom. What's going on with you two? I mean, are you moving back to the house? You know, when you stop splitting your time at the Portland office?"

  "I don't know. Things are difficult between us." Peter gave Jason a sympathetic look.

  "I just want to know what's going on."

  His dad let out a long breath. "The truth, son? Well, I don't know that your mother and I are in love anymore."

  That was hard to hear. He hadn't ever imagined that things would sound so over, so Cd sem">

  "How does that happen?" Jason asked. "How do you just decide that you don't love someone anymore?"

  Peter laughed uncomfortably. "That's a good question. Maybe people aren't who you think they are. Or maybe they just change over the years."

  "Mom's not who you thought she was?" Jason said, shielding his eyes against the dying sun.

  "No. I mean, it's not that simple." Peter shifted at the helm, reaching for the open beer can in the cup holder. "Let's tack again."

  They brought the jib to the other side of the boat, and Peter steered toward Gas Works Park, the landmark that anchors the north end of the lake. "People change. I can't put it more simply than that."

  "So, you changed," Jason said.

  "We all change." He motioned for Jason to come take the wheel. "I'll always love your mother, but that doesn't mean we belong together."

  Peter handed off the helm to Jason and took a seat on one of the benches in the pit. Jason brought the boat around and they headed downwind, jibing on a broad reach. They took their time, sailing in near silence except for commands. When the sun began to dip, Jason headed the boat back toward the dock.

  "Dad, do you think we could take some friends out this week?"

  "Out on Lucy?" Peter said.

  "Yeah," Jason said as they furled the jib. "My friend Holly and her grandpa."

  "Maybe. We'll see."

  "Dad, it's not a 'we'll see' kind of thing. This dude is old and Holly takes care of him. She'll need a firm plan."

  Peter let out a long sigh. "I've got client meetings for the next few afternoons." They lowered the mainsail, flaking it over the boom and fastening it with the sail ties. "This is a really bad week."

  He slid the cover over the sail. "This is important. It's not like I'm asking for much, Dad."

  Peter started up the engine and motored toward the slip while Jason got out the fenders.

  "This girl someone you're trying to impress?" Peter gave Jason a playful smile.

  "Seriously. Can you do this for me? Can we just take Holly out on the boat and you'll promise not to be a total nerd?"

  "I've never been a nerd," Peter said.

  "Right." Jason jumped from the boat to the dock to secure the bowline.

  C nee d"I just mean that you can't embarrass me."

  "Uh-oh. You've got it bad," Peter said.

  "Ha." Jason secured the spring lines that would keep the boat from rocking around in the slip. "She's not my girlfriend or anything. We're friends."

  "Not girlfriend material? Well, I guess after Faith she'd have a lot to live up to."

  "No. No. It's not like that. Give me a break. She's nothing like Faith. She's just a girl."

  "So she's pretty amazing, then," Peter said, fastening the mainsail cover.

  "Yeah," Jason admitted. "But she's, um, well—she used to date Rob."

  "Oh." Peter slid the hatches into place and locked up the cabin. They grabbed their gear and walked up the dock toward the parking lot. "Listen," Peter said, "don't you think if Rob had his say, he'd let you know he'd rather see Holly happy than miserable over someone who's gone for good?"

  "Yeah, maybe. But it's not me who's got the problem about this whole thing."

  "So you do like her. All right, how about Tuesday? I promise not to embarrass you," he said, throwing an arm around Jason's shoulders.

  "I think that's impossible, but okay. Deal."

  Peter unlocked the BMW and hopped inside.

  Jason went around to the driver's side of his Audi and looked out toward the dipping sun. The horizon was as vivid as a melted pile of crayons. There wasn't any warmth left in the air, though, and he shivered, watching the sun turn blood red as it sank.

  His dad was probably right, that Rob would want them to be happy, so why should he feel guilty for liking her? She was amazing. She cared deeply about other people. She was dependable. She had this laugh, rare these days, that made you want to laugh with her. She wasn't obsessed with her appearance or fancy clothes, and yet she was beautiful. He knew that was one of the things Rob had loved about her.

  At least, he thought he remembered Rob saying something like that once. Rob hadn't talked much about Holly. Jason's main impression of Rob and Holly together was of Rob protecting her. Socially. Physically. He'd taken care of her. And in the months before Rob died, Holly seemed to be the only thing that made him happy. Of course, Rob would never have admitted that. He was perfect. Had the perfect life. Perfect family. Perfect future all picked out, when the rest of them had all been flailing about trying to find what the hell they were going to do next—or what they actually wanted to do next, which was sometimes a completely different thing.

  The breeze kicked up again, swirling dust in the parking lot, and for a second he imagined what Rob really would say if he was there. He would want Holly to be happy, right? She sure could use a friend. And frankly, so could Jason. Rob couldn't disapprove of him helping her C he.

  Peter revved the car, breaking Jason from his thoughts. He started up the Audi and followed his father out of the parking lot, sunset fading in his rearview mirror.

  Chapter Six

  "I'm pretty sure you have to actually bake the batter to make the cupcakes," Marisa said, giving Lena a chiding look.

  "But it's good," Lena said as she swiped her finger across the side of the chocolaty bowl.

  "Um, why are we doing this again, little one?" Marisa put a hand on her hip, her bracelets jingling. "Tell me."

  "Duh! You're supposed to take cupcakes to school on your birthday!" Lena jumped up and down with the wooden spoon held out like a scepter. Batter dotted her cheeks and the front of her jeans. "I'm the birthday girl—do my bidding!" Lena moved toward her with the dirty spoon.

  Marisa shrieked as if she thought her new sweater was about to be splattered.

  Over at the table, Grandpa Aldo laughed.

  "Holly, do something!" Marisa pleaded. I totally knew this wasn't what she had in mind when she'd wanted to hang out tonight, but I was on duty. And Marisa, as always, was enough of a sport to put up with Lena—except when it came to her clothes being destroyed.

  "Okay, okay," I said, laughing. "Queen Lena, you go wash your face and hands. Marisa and I will put these in the oven."

  "When do we do the frosting and sprinkles?"

  "When they're done baking, obviously," Marisa said in an im-patient voice, now that the threat of outfit destruction had passed. "You can't frost a raw cupcake."

  "How long?" Lena asked.

  "Like, twenty minutes," I sa
id. "We'll keep an eye on them."

  My sister threw the spoon into the sink, and ran off down the hallway, giggling.

  "Can you handle this for a minute?" I asked Marisa, pointing at the half-poured tray of batter.

  Marisa sighed and pushed up her sleeves. "Don't you remember the cinnamon roll disaster in eighth grade home ec? I'm so not domestic."

  "I know, and that's why I love you," I said. "Come on, Grandpa." I took Aldo's hand.

  He rose from the chair and let me lead him into the living room. It wasn't one of his better days, and I wasn't quite sure what to do, but maybe the TV would entertain him for a while. We only had cheap cable, which we were usually a month behind in paying for. I clicked on the set and flipped through the channels, finally settling on a stati F help cable, on that was showing an old Audrey Hepburn movie. "Here, this should be good. Lena will watch it with you, probably."

  Aldo settled into the recliner, and I handed him the remote.

  Lena was drying her hands in the bathroom, leaving big streaks of chocolate on the sink and the mismatched pink hand towels hanging on the chrome bar. I was tired, so I let her get away with leaving the mess this time. "Watch a movie with Grandpa when you're done, 'kay?"

  "Yeah."

  When I walked back into the kitchen, Marisa was pouring the last of the batter into the tray's cups. There were flecks of cupcake batter all over the pan.

  "How's that?" Her dark brown eyes looked so sincere, I almost giggled. "Did I do it right?" she asked. "I've never baked cupcakes before."

  "Pretty good for a first try," I said. I grabbed a paper towel and wet it under the faucet. "Here." Taking the cupcake pan from her, I wiped off all the stray batter blobs.

  "What, you can't bake cupcakes with a messy pan?" asked Marisa in a defensive tone.

  "The batter cooks onto the pan, and it makes it harder to clean up later."

  "Oh."

  I slid the cupcakes into the hot oven and set the timer, but I knew that once I started to smell the chocolate smell filling the air, it'd be almost time to take them out. It wasn't the first tray of birthday cupcakes I'd baked for Lena.

  Once, Mom had promised to help do it, but she had ended up taking an extra night shift at the grocery store. She'd turned up at breakfast with a tray of day-old cupcakes from the store's bakery and a sheepish smile on her face. Lena had been five then, so she was too little to really care where the cupcakes for her kindergarten class had come from—but she'd missed out on the opportunity to decorate them herself. While Lena had stood there frowning at the already sprinkled cupcakes, I'd grabbed a pack of gummy bears from the snack drawer and we'd spent the next few minutes shoving them into the frosting. I walked Lena and the treats to school that day. She presented the tray of cakes to her teacher, explaining with pride how she'd gummied each one. It was times like that that I really liked my sister. Sure she was a little spoiled in some ways, but she was also just a little kid who wanted people to acknowledge her. I couldn't blame her for that.

  Marisa took a seat at the table and reached for her diet pop. "Is your grandpa going to be okay by himself?"

  "Yeah, Lena will be out there parked in front of the TV any minute. She's good with him."

  "He seems nice. It's a bummer that you have to be in charge, you know?"

  I shrugged. "It's just the way it is."

  Marisa took a sip of her drink and set Kdri/p> it on the table. "So, tell me what's going on with you and Jason." Her brown eyes sparkled beneath her long, dark lashes. "Is he really taking you sailing?"

  "I think he was probably saying that to be nice. Forget I told you about that."

  "Uh-uh. No way." Marisa tucked her hand under her chin and leaned forward. "Did you see him after school?"

  "No. I had to hurry home to meet Grandpa and Lena."

  "Did he call you?"

  "Marisa. I'm not interested in Jason that way."

  "That's crap. He's great. And you're great. In love with a ghost, but great."

  "I'm not in love with a ghost."

  "Yes, you are. Geez, I feel like we need to do some kind of exorcism or something to get him out of your mind."

  I got up from the table.

  "Oh, come on. Don't be pissed." Marisa reached for my hand and pulled me back over. "I wouldn't be your friend if I didn't point stuff like this out to you."

  "Right." I glanced toward the living room, listening for Aldo and Lena over Audrey Hepburn's giggling. "I'm just not ready to date someone."

  "Jason is not a someone. He's freaking perfect." Marisa gave me a pitying look. "You are so cute together! And have you noticed how he gets all nervous around you? It's adorable."

  "He gets nervous?" I sat down in the chair again.

  "The other day at the lunch table, he was almost shaking when he sat down with us. That can only mean one thing." Marisa smiled gleefully.

  "Yeah, I don't know..."

  "You're blind! He's right in front of you hoping you'll notice him."

  "I do notice him. I talk to him." The chocolaty smell of the cupcakes perfumed the air. They had about another five minutes, I guessed.

  "I know you're scared, but I think you should take a chance," Marisa said.

  "I'm not scared." The words felt dry in my mouth.

  Marisa shook her head. "You're scared that you'd like him and something would happen to him. When people lose someone they always think the worst. I've seen too many Lifetime movies not to know that."

  "Right."

  "Or maybe you're worried about his friends. Our old friends."

  "They hate me. There's nothing I can do about that."

  "You know, I was wondering more about that night. About Rob's accident. About the drinking."

  I glanced back toward the living room, not wanting to speak too loudly. "You and I both were drinking. Rob told me he wasn't going to have anything that night, but maybe he had one or two when he was out on the porch with the guys."

  Marisa frowned. "I didn't see him drinking at all. Did you?"

  "I don't remember." I shut my eyes against the flood of memories. "They did a blood test after the crash. There was a little bit of alcohol in Rob's system." My shoulder tensed up, but I forced myself to breathe. "Why are we talking about this again?"

  Marisa put her hand on my arm. "Just that everyone blames you because Rob was driving you home when he went off the road. But Rob wasn't hammered. Probably not even buzzed. Was there something in the road? A dog or something?"

  "I don't remember that part," I repeated. "I know we were in a fight that night. And I got a little wasted. Okay, a lot wasted. Then, one minute I was sleeping in the passenger seat and the next we were in the trees and there was blood everywhere." My hands curled into fists beneath the table. I felt my chest constricting, my body heating up.

  "You never told me you guys were fighting that night," Marisa said. She scooted her chair closer and put her arm around my shoulders.

  "We were fighting a lot then."

  "Everything seemed like it was going great. I swear you would have made Homecoming Court."

  I gave Marisa a weak smile. "Things weren't going great. He was really quiet toward the end of summer. He was a little off then, you know?"

  Marisa chewed her lower lip. "I wanted to ask you before, but it never seemed like you wanted to talk about it."

  "Well, sometimes talking about it just makes things worse, you know?"

  "Yeah," Marisa said. "But not always."

  I got up from the table again and went to check on Lena and Grandpa.

  "I'm telling you, though," said Marisa, following me into the living room, "you and Jason would be a great couple. If only you could get over Rob."

  The TV was at full volume in the corner, but for once in her short life, Lena wasn't paying any attention to it—she was staring at Grandpa Aldo. Sitting up in the recliner, he was mumbling in Italian. Hands gesturing like he was having a normal conversation. I watched him for a moment, listening to try to pick out a w
ord or two, but the Italian was fast and garbled. His gaze was fixed right in front of him.

  "What's the deal?" whis Ke d">"We werpered Marisa. "Who's he talking to?"

  Lena got up from the couch and came and stood next to me. "He's been doing this for a few minutes."

  The timer sounded.

  "Will you and Lena take the cupcakes out? Stick a knife in them and see if it comes out almost clean."

  "Huh?" Marisa gave me a funny look.

  "Right. You don't bake. I'll be right back. You keep an eye on Grandpa Aldo."

  "Sure."

  I ran into the kitchen, tested the cupcakes for doneness, and then set them out on the counter on a cooling rack. I switched off the oven and took the frosting I'd made earlier out of the fridge. I laid out spatulas and the sprinkles and got some paper towels ready for the mess to come. Then I walked back into the living room.

  Lena and Marisa were on the couch, both watching Aldo with concern.

  "He's still doing it?"

  "Yep."

  I knelt down next to Aldo's chair and took his hand. "Grandpa," I said softly, "are you all right?"

  Grandpa Aldo stopped abruptly and turned his head toward me. "Cara mia?"

  "Yeah, it's me, Holly."

  "The boy," he said. "He was here again."

  My heart quickened. I didn't want to hear that. I didn't want to know anything about any boy visiting my grandpa, especially not the one I was afraid he was about to mention. "It's just us," I replied, squeezing his hand, trying to ground him in reality.

  Grandpa Aldo shook his head. "He is my friend."

  "What is he talking about?" whispered Marisa.

  I ignored her, not wanting to take my focus from Aldo. "You're all right. You're here with me and safe," I told him.

  "Roberto speaks italiano," my grandfather said.

  Goose bumps pricked my skin. "Sure."

  "Who's Roberto?" piped up Lena.

  "Shhh. Hey, Marisa, can you guys go start on the frosting?"

  Lena got up slowly from the couch, all the bounce from the birthday project gone from her step. "Grandpa?" she said, stopping in front of us.

  Grandpa Aldo let go of my hand and reached out to touch Lena's K toiv> cheek. He didn't say anything, but he gave her a sweet smile.