Wherever You Go

by Heather Davis

  Midmorning, you find a perch in one of the elementary school's classrooms, just near your sister's desk. Kayla's drawing pictures to go with a story she wrote about riding on elephants. She had probably watched a National Geographic special about Thailand with Dad last night.

  For a kid, she's good at making the elephants realistically, shading the folds of the ears, the underbelly. You hope she'll be an artist, but you know your dad will keep pushing all the hard science classes, the advanced math, on her. You've seen the violin in her room, heard her practicing with the screeching cat noises of beginning players. Thank God they're not making her turn out for sports, too. Kayla, except for a few years fumbling around on the soccer field, hadn't shown any interest in keeping that family tradition alive.

  "Riding an elephant," you say wistfully. You can imagine Kayla growing up and traveling to Southeast Asia and climbing up the rope ladder onto one of the giant's backs. She could do it, too. She's got her whole life ahead of her, after all. The only place you'll be riding elephants is in your imagination. Or in heaven if you can get there.

  Once you arrive at the pearly gates, don't you get to do all the things you wanted to in life but never got to? The nerd guy gets to hook up with the hottest chick imaginable. The old people get to be all young again. Teens get to grow up. Yeah, maybe that is part of heaven. Maybe you'll live out a life that should have been yours on Earth. Funny how that hadn't seemed so important while you were here. Sometimes all you wanted to do was to leave it all behind. But now it seems like something you want to do. Grow up, have adventures, travel, see things like elephants in the wild, do something important to help people, all that world-peace stuff.

  "Kayla, that's beautiful," says the gray-haired teacher, Mrs. Nelson. You think you had her for second grade too. You remember her tie-dye socks and sandals, her wicker rocking chair, the smells of lavender air freshener and cinnamon tea perfuming her classroom.

  "Elephants can carry a whole family," your sister says.

  "Is that them on his back?"

  "The elephant is a her," Kayla says matter-of-factly.

  "Is that your family on her back?"

  "Yep. Me and mom and dad. And I left a space for Rob," she says, looking up at her teacher.

  "That was kind of you," she says, patting Kayla on the back. "Angels need room too."

  Angel.

  The word echoes in your mind. Is that what you are? Maybe you're not some pathetic ghost. You are an angel. You bring tidings, or something like that. "Unto e te wyou a child is born" flashes through your mind. You know that's leftover from Christmas pageants at the Methodist church.

  You don't actually know the difference between an angel and a ghost. But somehow the thought that you have work to do—angel's work—makes you realize that you need to get it together, suck up your courage, and figure out how to help people. The minimarket clerk. Aldo. Whoever.

  It is about helping others. It should never have been about you at all. Angels are there for a reason—to help guard someone, to comfort them, to lead them through something. Yeah. Someone needs you to watch over them.

  Your heart beats with new purpose. And your soul almost feels like it could fly.

  "Hey," Jason said into the intercom. "Can I come up?"

  "Who is this?" A woman's voice came out from the speaker.

  "Oh, sorry, Mrs. Mullen. I thought you were Holly. It's Jason."

  "Holly took her grandfather to the pharmacy," she said. "She'll be back in a little while."

  "Um ... could I come up and wait for her? She's hard to get ahold of on her cell."

  The buzzer sounded, and Jason pushed through the glass door and into the lobby of the building. Worn brown carpet showed the traffic pattern to the inset metal mailboxes that lined the far wall. A few dying palm plants stood sentinel on either side of a single elevator. The inside of the place looked a little worse than it had from the other side of the glass. Pressing the button, Jason waited for the elevator to come down. He studied the swirls of textured paint on the interior walls, counting down until finally the lift arrived.

  A moment of shaky riding later, he emerged on the sixth floor and saw Holly's apartment straight ahead. A dusty grapevine wreath with birdhouses and butterflies decorated her door. When he knocked, the door swung open and Holly's mom stood in front of him in a green polo shirt and khaki pants.

  "Hi," she said. "C'mon in."

  "Thanks." He stepped inside, and she shut the door behind him. The hallway was small, cramped, with a coat rack, a pile of shoes and boots and backpacks, a kid's scooter. Even though it was only about six o'clock, the place seemed a little dark, like there weren't enough lights on.

  "Why don't you wait in here," Mrs. Mullen said, motioning him onward. Passing the sound of TV playing some sitcom in the other room, he followed her into the kitchen.

  It was cheerful in this room, and Jason sensed Holly's hand there. Yellow dishtowels on the oven handle, a set of chickenshaped salt and pepper shakers on the table next to a simple jar of daisies and a pile of mail. Something savory, like onions and meat, scented the air.

  <. "Wow, dinner smells great," he murmured.

  "Holly's got stuff going in the slow cooker," her mom said. "Some kind of stew, I think."

  "Wow. I don't think we even own one of those," he said.

  Mrs. Mullen smiled. "Here, sit. Can I get you water or something? I think we've got a diet soda, maybe." She gestured toward the fridge, but took a seat at the table.

  "No, I'm fine. You're sure this is okay? I don't mean to impose," he said, sliding into a chair across from her.

  She moved aside a People magazine and a small stack of bills and took a sip from a nearly empty wineglass. "They'll be back in a little while. You're fine. I don't work until seven thirty anyway."

  Jason offered a smile. "Thanks for letting me wait." They sat quietly for a moment. "So, actually, I'm glad you're here," he said. "I'm planning a surprise for Holly—well, Aldo really—and I'd like all of you to come. This Friday, do you think you could do dinner at my house?"

  She gazed at him with the same blue eyes as Holly, although there was something different behind them—weariness, acceptance. "Hmm. Friday. I'm not sure I'd be able to get the night off."

  "Well, what night would be good for you?" Jason asked. "I mean, I could change things around a little to make it so you can come."

  "That's awfully nice," Mrs. Mullen said, looking genuinely pleased.

  "It's no big deal. Maybe Saturday, then?"

  She nodded. "I'll check the schedule tonight when I go in to work. I might be able to do it."

  "Great. It's something on Aldo's list—and I'd like you to be there."

  Mrs. Mullen stared at Jason for a second, a puzzled look on her face. "Plus, I'd like you to meet my mom," Jason said.

  "I think I've met her," Mrs. Mullen said, after a pause. "You know, at the funeral."

  "Oh, I guess you're right. Yeah, she was definitely there with me."

  "Here, let me get you something," she said as she rose from the table. "You can't be a guest in our house and not have anything. How about that soda?"

  "Okay."

  She opened the fridge but then turned back to him. "Or water. We're out of the soda."

  "That's fine," he said. "Really, I don't need anything."

  Mrs. Mullen took a seat at the table. "It's nice of you, you know, to be helping Holly with my father. She told me how you picked themou don't nee up at the doctor's office yesterday."

  "I was glad she called me," he said. "Surprised, actually."

  Mrs. Mullen fidgeted with the collar of her polo shirt. "We've got a lot going on over here. Anyway, I appreciate your helping her."

  "It's hard, what she's doing," Jason said.

  She nodded but didn't say anything.

  "Aldo's a real cool guy," Jason said. "I mean, I can tell he used to be a lot of fun."

  Mrs. Mullen let out a sigh. "He ruled my childhood with an iron fist," she said.
"He's a very sweet grandpa, though. When parents are raising their kids, they're not always the person they'll eventually become. They have growing up to do, too."

  "Sounds like my dad."

  She smiled and saluted him with her glass.

  Just then, he heard the sound of the front door. "A few more steps," Holly's voice coaxed. "All right, you're there. Okay, why don't you give me your hat and coat? Now, go on ahead. I'll hang up this stuff."

  Aldo shuffled into the kitchen. His hair was windblown, like gray and white feathers standing on end. He gave Jason a nod of recognition, or at least it seemed like it, as he came over and lowered himself into a seat at the table. He looked at Holly's mom with a neutral expression but then returned her smile.

  Holly came into the kitchen holding a drugstore bag, saw Jason, and froze. "Oh, hey," she said in a quiet voice. "What are you, uh, doing here?"

  "He came by to see you," said her mom, getting up from the table and walking to the sink with her glass. "Isn't that nice?"

  Holly's eyes were still wide as she came over and stood next to him. "She let you up?"

  "Yeah, I've been here for a few minutes. You weren't answering your phone."

  "I don't—um, can you come with me for a second?"

  "Sure," he said, getting up to follow her. He thought they were going to Holly's room, but instead she led him out into the hallway and shut the door.

  "You can't—I mean, you shouldn't just stop by here."

  "Why not?"

  "Our place isn't the best to hang out at, you know. You couldn't just wait to see me at school tomorrow?"

  He got it. Saw it in her eyes, in her quiet voice. "Holly, there's nothing wrong with this place. It's just an apartment. I don't care about stuff like that."

  "Right, but Jason, can you just listen to me? It's weird having you here."

  "Fine. I'll go," he said.

  "No, wait a sec." She reached for his hand. "I'm sorry. I just don't want you to see us like this. I mean, this place is a mess and—"

  "You don't want me to see how things really are?"

  "You know what I mean." She pulled Jason into a hug.

  Instantly everything was better. He didn't feel like such a jackass for showing up. In fact, he didn't feel anything but Holly's warmth against him. He held her as tight as she'd let him.

  "Hey, at least there are people at your house," he whispered.

  "Your mom's around. She loves you."

  "Yours loves you, too. She said you all can come to dinner this Saturday."

  "Oh, she did?" Holly said, breaking away, her blue eyes searching his. "She's going to make plans for a Saturday night?"

  "Yeah, that's why I came over. I wanted to make sure everyone got the invite. She said she's gonna try to get the night off."

  "Right."

  "No, really," Jason said, gathering her back into his arms. "You're coming to my house for dinner. I'm just learning to cook, but it's going to be great, I promise. I'm cooking Hawaiian stuff."

  "Really?"

  "Yep."

  Still in Jason's arms, Holly glanced back at the door. "I should go back inside. I've got to finish making dinner. Any minute, Mom could be oversalting my handiwork."

  "All right, all right. I'm going now."

  Holly lifted her chin and lightly brushed her lips across his, and then, surprising him, returned for a real, deeper kiss. A kiss that started his blood humming. He imagined things when they kissed like that. Things he wanted to do with her. The way he would hold her. How her bare skin would feel against his.

  "Just so you know—you can't come here again," she said, pulling away after a moment.

  "Got it." He turned, a little shaky on his feet from the kiss, and punched the button for the elevator. Holly shut the door, rattling the birdhouse wreath and his heart.

  ***

  "Mom. Ohmigod." I went back into the kitchen, full of exhilaration from kissing Jason and embarrassment about him coming over. "Why would you let him up here?"

  Mom smirked. "He's your boyfriend, right?"

  "No comment." I went over to the slow cooker and lifted the glass lid. The meat was almost falling off the bone. Spooning pieces of chicken onto a serving dish, I tried to gather some calm. "I'm just saying, well, it wasn't a good surprise. I mean, to come home and find Jason with you in our kitchen."

  Mom wrinkled her nose at me. "He came over to invite us to dinner at his house. How is that not a good surprise?" She got down a stack of plates from the cabinet. One by one, she set them down at the places around the table. "I don't understand you, Holly. Why wouldn't you want him to come over? He seems like a really nice guy."

  "Jason lives in the Heights," I said softly.

  "So did Rob," Mom countered.

  "Yeah, but this is different."

  "Of course it is. But obviously he's not a snob or he wouldn't be interested in you. And, by the way, not everyone who lives in a big house in Lake Heights is a snob."

  "I know that. I just—"

  "I work really hard so that we can live here, Holly. Are you really that embarrassed by us, by this place?" Mom's voice was steely sharp.

  Silently, I scooped out potatoes and carrots and nestled them around the chicken pieces on the platter. I needed chopped fresh parsley to decorate the plate, but of course there wasn't any, so I grabbed a few green onions from the fridge. Stripping away the wilted outer layer, I washed them under the tap and then grabbed a chopping board and a knife.

  "There's no crime in not having money," Mom continued, coming over to stand next to me. "You shouldn't feel ashamed of the way we live."

  "It's not that I feel ashamed. It's just that every time Jason sees me, I'm taking care of Grandpa or Lena. It's kinda awkward."

  "Well, that's the reality, honey. You're helping your family. You want to pretend that isn't what you're doing? You want to be someone else around him?"

  "No. I just want to see him ... away from all that," I said quietly.

  Mom set down the water glasses she was carrying to the table. "A date?"

  I shrugged. It wasn't like I ever had a night off from everything—not like Jason could just swing by and take me to dinner or the mall. "In the regular world, he would pick me up, we'd go to the movies, hang out together. Instead, he's helping me with Grandpa, seeing me here at home cooking like some kind of whacked-out housewife. It's not normal."

  "It's our normal," Mom said.

  I started slicing the green onions into thin rounds. I didn't feel like talking to Mom about Jason anybou that more. It seemed pointless. I couldn't even muster up any emotion at that moment to explain further, anyway. It wasn't worth having yet another fight where my mother decided the outcome for the both of us.

  "He said something about a list," Mom said. "What did he mean?"

  "Grandpa has some things he wants to remember," I said.

  "He made a list?"

  "Yeah. He sort of gave it to me to hang on to."

  Mom frowned. "He gave it to you?"

  "Yeah, it's got stuff on it like growing tomatoes, sailing, his favorite restaurant with Grandma."

  "He never told me about it," Mom said, her voice low.

  "Well, he probably thought you had a lot going on," I said, scooping up the green onions and sprinkling them over the chicken.

  "And you didn't show it to me either."

  "It's no big deal, Mom. I'll show it to you after dinner."

  She got out the silverware for us, laying it out on the folded paper towels that would serve as napkins. "Lena!" she called down the hall. "Go wash your hands for dinner."

  I set the platter of chicken on the table and went to the fridge to get the salad I'd cut up earlier. Grandpa Aldo shuffled in and took a seat at the table, looking neither happy nor sad.

  "Holly," Mom said, taking my hand as I sat down at the table.

  "Maybe you should go on a real date. I can probably find a night off to stay in and watch everyone. It may be a Tuesday or something, but I could
make it work." She squeezed my hand and then let go. "I like him," she added.

  I allowed myself a real smile. "Me too."

  ***

  You ride in the back seat of the Escalade, not sure where your dad is taking everyone. But you're hanging with the family, watching over them. It's a Wednesday afternoon, and except that you're dead, it seems perfectly normal to be riding next to Kayla. She's busy flipping through the joke book she checked out from the library, probably getting ready for school tomorrow, when she'll see that quasi boyfriend of hers, Kevin Park.

  "What's black and white and read all over?" she says.

  "A skunk with a rash?" your mom guesses.

  "No!" Your sister giggles. "Guess, Dad."

  "A penguin with a sunburn?"

  She snorts out another laugh. "A newspaper, sillies! You know, read all over."

  "Oh, that's a good one," says your dad. He pulls into a parking space in front of a small office building. Everyone hops out, and with a beep on the key fob, Dad locks up.

  Inside, a receptionist says hello and shows your family down the hall. They pass a glassed-in play area that has one of those plastic kitchen sets—fake oven, fake refrigerator, sink—and a beanbag chair sitting next to shelves nearly overflowing with picture books. The next room, which looks in on the play room, seems like a normal office. Opposite the glassed wall is a black leather couch and a desk. A giant Georgia O'Keeffe flower print decorates the wall behind it, along with diplomas reading DR. JENNIFER MARTIN.

  "Counseling?" you murmur, in disbelief that your dad would agree to something like that. That's so not him. He's more of the do-it-yourself variety.

  A small woman with long, dark hair and chic glasses comes in to the room. She's younger than you'd think a doctor of anything could be. "Hi, folks," she says in a friendly tone, shaking your mom's and dad's hands. "I'm glad to see you all again. How has everything been going?"

  "Hi, Dr. Jennifer. Um, can I play next door like last time?" asks your little sister.