Gulp. “Yes.”
“For the entire weekend?”
I stare at my feet. Obviously, he knows something. If I keep lying, chances are things will get worse for me. So I take a deep breath.
“We were also driving up to Chicago.”
“And why is that?” Dad says in a creepily calm way, while his face turns brilliant shades of red.
“Because . . . Mom is going to be there.”
“Excuse me?” His eyes look wild now.
“Yes. I found her. Well, Jack helped. She has a bakery in 178
Sault Sainte Marie.” Funny, but I feel myself calming down as the facts pour out of me. “They told me she is going to a cake competition in Chicago. This weekend.”
“Sheridan.” He shakes his head and smiles, but not in a normal way. More like in a pissed off, what-did-I-do-to-deserve-a-kid-like-you way. “Just what is your plan here?”
Something shifts inside me as I watch his mouth move.
For once I am in control, able to see things clearly. My breathing is normal; my heart isn’t pounding inside my chest. But I am angry. And the anger is so deep and wide and high that suddenly I can’t see anything else.
“You knew where she was al along. You’ve always known.”
He sputters. I’ve thrown him. “It’s my responsibility to know the whereabouts of your mother.”
“It’s your responsibility to tell me where she is if you know I’m looking for her. You owe me that much.” I cross my arms. “It’s funny. You don’t want her in my life. But you don’t want anything to do with me, either.” My face is burn-ing hot.
He staggers backward, just a little. His top lip is quiver-ing. I take a teensy step backward, too. He looks like he might blow.
“I owe you?” A manic chuckle erupts from his mouth. “I owe you? Really, is that so?” He lifts a finger and points it directly in my face. “When . . . ? How . . . ? You . . . You un-grateful little brat. Everything . . . I mean, everything I have done since the day you were born has been for you. And you 179
pay me back by planning secret trips to find that woman?”
His voice is loud, and I glance to my left to see if anyone in the waiting room heard him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you. You owe me that much.” I gulp again. “Don’t you dare do anything to sabotage this show. I will not have it. And don’t you dare tell me I don’t want anything to do with you. There isn’t a minute that goes by that I don’t think about what she put you through and what I can do to make up for it.” His voice shakes and his eyes are glassy.
The anger in me is now oozing out of every pore. My chin is up. My eyes are set, my voice even.
“You want me to just forget about her? Like you have?” I take a step closer, propelled by this wave of courage. “Well, I won’t. She said she wants to come home; that she misses me.
You are wrong about her.”
He stands a little taller, sticks his hands in his pockets, takes a deep breath, then turns away from the waiting room.
“Right.” He sneers. “The cards. When did that last card come?”
I shake my head and look away. “Fourteen,” I mumble.
“When!” He blasts the word into the hallway. Everyone is looking at us now.
“When I turned fourteen!” I yell back at him.
He smirks. “She was ready to come home, right? Two years ago? So where is she, Sheridan?” Now he’s looking at me with pity. Like I’m a total loser. “Leave it alone, I’m warning you.”
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I laugh. He’s got to be kidding me, talking to me like this, thinking he can squash my hope like it’s an ant on the sidewalk. “You’re wrong, Dad. You’re wrong. She hurt you—I get that. But that was between you and her. She loves me, and I will always be her daughter. She’s coming back.
And that’ll work out well for you, since it’s your turn to leave now.” These words slip out of me so easily, and they cut him like a big fat meat cleaver. I can see it.
“Go home,” he says over his shoulder, shaking his head and walking toward the stairwell door with a red exit sign over it.
I watch him, wondering if he’s going to turn around, come back, hug me and tell me he’s sorry. Say that he’ll never leave me. But he keeps walking, and he flings open the door with so much force that it slams into the wall.
And I am left here in the hallway. Alone.
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Chapter 15
nutty as a fruitcake
Lori’s mom drives me home so that I can get my duffel bag. It’s all packed, sitting on my bed, ready for our trip to go find Mom. I grab it, disgusted, not believing the mess I have made of everything.
We ride to Lori’s house in silence. My plan is blown to bits. Dad hates me. And if I lose Nanny now, I might as well curl up and die. Tears build in my eyes, and they drop one by one down my cheeks.
On the big comfy chair in Lori’s room, I sniff and wipe my face with the back of my hand. We turn on some music and wait for the phone to ring with an update on Nanny.
I text Ethan to tell him what happened, but he doesn’t respond. I dial his number and get voice mail. Lori makes a bowl of popcorn and brings in a couple of drinks, but I’m not hungry. My gut is filled with worry.
The doorbel rings, and Lori turns down the CD player.
We hear a deep voice from the living room. I close my eyes.
Don’t let it be bad news.
In another minute, there’s a quick knock on the bedroom door. My palms are damp; I can’t breathe.
“Come in,” Lori says. Jack peers around the side of the door. He puts his hands up in surrender.
“I come in peace,” he says.
“Get in here, idiot.” Lori has a way with words. Jack’s got on his Geronimo’s T-shirt, and the scent of coffee enters the room with him.
“Hey,” he says, facing me but looking at the carpet. “I heard.” He peeks up quickly, then lowers his eyes again just as fast. “How is she—”
“She’s going to be fine,” I say, cutting him off.
An uncomfortable silence settles in the room. I never thought it would be like this with Jack.
“Here, I brought you this.” He smiles with his jaw clenched and holds out a small, rectangular box wrapped in metallic pink paper and stuck with a pink bow. “I wasn’t sure I’d still be invited to the party. Or if you’ll even have one. So I thought I’d give it to you now.”
“There weren’t going to be any presents.” I sound so rude. “But thanks,” I add, too late.
He raises his eyes and stares at me full on. “Look, I’m 183
trying to cheer you up.” He tosses the box on the bed.
“Chill, dude. No need for drama,” Lori interjects, trying to break up this horrible tension. I sit up and reach across the bed to grab the gift.
“You want me to open it now?” And again my words are like sandpaper on skin, rubbing him raw.
He’s silent, then he sighs. “Open it, don’t open it—whatever. Do whatever the hell you want; you always do anyway.”
And before I can process his words, he’s gone and the front door slams.
“Jerk!” I shout, as if he can hear me. Though I suspect I am the real jerk here. I can’t help myself, though. I feel like an empty bag, crumpled up and thrown away.
“Oh, come on,” Lori says. “Stop it.”
“What?” I shrug.
“Sheridan.” She rolls from her back onto her stomach and faces me. “I love you like a sister, but you can be a real moron.”
I settle myself back into the soft chair cushions, way too tired to argue with that statement. “And why am I such a moron? Please enlighten me.”
She laughs. “Because you are as blind as a freaking bat.
That boy is so in love with you. He’d do anything for you.
He does do anything for you.”
“Right.” I pick at the blanket draped over the arm of the chair. “Well, I do stuff for him, too. We’re friends.”
/> “Oh, you bring him coffee in the middle of the night and 184
do his chem labs? You spend hours searching the Internet for his AWOL mother? You go for a run whenever he calls, just because you want to be with him—even though you hate to run?”
“He hates to run?”
“See, what did I tell you? Blind as a bat.”
“No. I’m not totally blind,” I sulk.
“You mean you know?”
“I suspected.”
“I mean, really, look at that gift. For my last birthday he gave me a bag of M&M’s wrapped up in the Sunday com-ics.”
I moan, hold my head in my hands, feel its weight. Tears start brewing again, getting ready to drop.
“I can’t think about this right now.”
“Yeah, you need this like a hole in the head. But it’s Jack.
And he’s trying to figure stuff out, too. He hates Ethan for a reason, besides the fact that he is kind of an ass. . . .” My head snaps up. “Well, he is, honey. But that’s a whole other conversation. The problem is, Ethan’s your boyfriend. This is not just a crush; this is the real deal. Jack’s freaking out.”
I sniff. Shake my head. Could things get any worse than they are right at this moment? I suppose I could contract the bubonic plague or something. That might make it worse.
“You know,” Lori continues, “I’m all for playing the field.
I mean, we’re only teenagers once. But I think you need to remember who your friends are.” She stands up and shoos 185
me out of my chair. It opens up into a sleeper and will be my bed tonight.
“I know you’re my friend.”
“You’d better.” She picks off the cushions and throws them in the corner, then pulls out the bed. “But you know, you can get a bit, um, distracted, with your cakes. And now Ethan.”
“I’m sorry.” My throat tightens. “I know. I just wish he told me he liked me. I mean, before Ethan happened.”
“Right. Sheridan. He’s scared. You know, like what happens if your best friend rejects you? Where does that leave you?” She picks a pillow off her bed and fluffs it, then throws it at me. “You may not have to deal with it for long, though.
He had a date last night.” She stares at me, her eyes bugging out of her head.
“A date?” I try to act casual, but Jack has never asked anyone out. Never even had a crush that he talked about. I guess now I know why. “With who?”
Lori plops down on her bed. I sit on mine. “With whom.”
“Whatever. Who was it?”
“You really don’t want to know.”
“What do you mean? Of course I do.”
“Fine.” She lies back on her bed and covers her face with a pillow.
A muffled word comes out that sounds a lot like . . . but no, I must have heard wrong.
“Who?”
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Lori lifts the pillow. She says the name slowly. “Haley Haversham.”
“Nuh-uh. That is so not funny.”
She sits up. “I am totally not kidding.” Her lips form a thin line, and she nods her head. “Yup. He went out with her.”
“Why?” I stand up. “There’s no way he would go out with her! Why would he do that?”
“Because she asked. And he’s a stupid guy. And you were otherwise occupied with Haley’s ex. A match made in heaven, eh?” She walks to her bathroom door. “I gotta pee. You gonna open that thing or what?” She points to the shiny gift box on her bed.
“No! No way. I am not opening it.”
“Jeez, relax. But just for the record, I think you and Jack would make a perfect couple. You’re both a couple of fruitcakes.” She goes into the bathroom, closes the door. I grab the box, tempted to throw it against the wall. But instead, I sit back on the chair and close my eyes.
I see Jack, coming over, bringing me coffee, helping me with homework, helping me find my mom. See his dark hair falling into his dusky brown eyes. Feel that zap of electricity that passed between us the other day.
Wait. I need to stop. I have a boyfriend. And what is up with Jack dating Haley? I think of her sideways glance in the hall at school. She did this on purpose. She’s got it in for me.
And Jack knows how much I can’t stand her. Oh, I hate him!
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I open my eyes, sit up, and rip off the pink ribbon and tear the lovely paper. Inside is a long midnight blue velvet box. I flip it open. My stomach churns. It’s a charm bracelet.
I see a bird, small and silver, attached to one of the links. It’s beautiful. There’s a piece of paper, too, folded to fit inside.
I open it and see Jack’s familiar scrawl.
Happy fake birthday to my best friend. I hope you get everything you’ve ever wanted. Love, Jack.
I pick up the bird charm, see a word etched on its side.
Dream.
I flip the lid down and stash the box in my bag just as Lori comes out of the bathroom. Can’t think about that right now.
“You all right?”
“Just tired.”
“Yeah. It’s late.”
She crawls into bed, but I get up, grabbing my bag. “Why would he go out with her?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Not like they’re getting married or anything.” She punches her pillow. “Bothers you, huh?”
“No. I just wish he had told me he liked me.”
“Yeah. That would have made it easy for you.” She laughs. “Not that I’m an expert or anything. I mean, Jim drives me crazy with that stupid tuba practice. But that’s the thing about love, or like, or whatever it is; I don’t think it’s supposed to be easy.” She smiles.
“She’s only dating him because she hates me.”
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“Well, then he’ll learn a lesson, too.”
“Good. Because she’s like one of those bugs that eat their mates when they’re through with them.” Lori laughs and I go into the bathroom, open up my bag. The velvet box sits on a nest of my pajamas.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I know I’m not especially pretty. There are girls at school who are better looking than me by a mile. I grab my brush, run it through my hair. Mom used to brush my hair, every night before bed. It put me into some sort of trance. Something about the pressure of the bristles on my head and the sound of her voice, so peaceful, like a smile and a hug and an “I love you” all rolled into one. As frustrated as I can sometimes get with her, I can’t forget those moments. They are always reminding me that what we had was real.
I pull the brush through my hair again and again, but it’s not the same. My eyes tear up. I wonder if I’ll ever stop crying. My life feels like an enormous whirlpool; I’m swirling downward, powerless to fight it.
I put down the brush and sit on the toilet lid, my feet sinking into Lori’s fluffy red bathroom rug. It looks like Elmo’s been skinned.
“Please,” I whisper. Then I sink to my knees, lean my elbows on the edge of the bathtub. Assuming Nanny is right, about God watching out for me, about a plan for my life, I squeeze my eyes tight.
“Please.” I look up. At what? I don’t know. The bathroom 189
ceiling? “Help. Make Nanny better. Make us a family again.”
I want my mother. I don’t say this out loud, because I can’t speak through my tears; the words are coming from my heart. It’s the truth. I want what we used to have, all those years ago. Maybe it’s impossible. But I can’t give up this dream. I just can’t.
I sit backward, with my legs crossed, and cry some more. I pul up my knees, hug them with my arms. Tears fal free, run down my thighs and onto poor Elmo beneath me.
And that’s when I hear it. Maybe it’s the voice in my heart, the one that Nanny tells me never to ignore. It’s like a whisper or a breath; it starts in my head but flows through my entire body.
Let go.
I hear the words as clearly as if there’s someone else with me in that little bathroom. It’s kind of freaky. But then I hear it again,
more insistent this time.
Let. Go.
I inhale deeply and breathe out. My muscles relax, and I feel wrapped in warmth, as if I’m in a fluffy robe after a long bath. This is so close to what I used to feel when my mother took me on her lap and brushed my hair. Comfort.
Safety. Peace.
But it’s fleeting.
I grab the doorknob, walk back into Lori’s bedroom. I don’t mention the voice to her. There’s no reason for me to prove her whole fruitcake theory. She’s sitting up in bed, 190
paging through People.
I lie down, pull the quilt over me, and turn toward the wall.
“You okay?” she asks.
“I’m good.” I wipe at my eyes one last time. “Night, Lori.”
“Night.”
She flicks off the lamp. I don’t know if it’s exhaustion or that crazy voice I heard, or just the result of living through the most horrible day ever, but I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. Maybe the best sleep I’ve had since she left.
I sit up and gasp when my cell phone rings. Lori’s alarm clock across the room reads 3:18.
I don’t even look to see who is calling. “Dad?” My voice is stuck somewhere in my throat. I feel numb. I will not let go of Nanny.
“Hello.” His voice is hoarse. I can hear how tired he is.
“She’s out of surgery. Looks like she’s going to be okay. She’s going to make it.”
I can’t speak because the voice stuck in my throat un-clogs itself and turns into weeping. Lori turns on the light. I look at her and smile through the tears.
“So yeah. It’s good news.” His voice cracks, and I can tell he is crying, too. “I gotta go. They’re moving her to ICU.”
“Okay.”
“Yeah, the doctor wants to talk to me. Get some rest. I’ll call you in the morning.”
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“Okay.”
“Sheridan?”
“Yeah?” I sniffle and wipe my eyes.
“It’s not my turn. I love you.” He hangs up before I can say a word.
When I wake up in the morning, before I can recall that Nanny is in the hospital, that I can’t go to Chicago and get my mother, that Jack likes me, and that I said horrible things to my father, I notice the sunlight streaming in through Lori’s blinds. A mysterious stillness surrounds me. Makes me feel lighter, somehow.
The Sweetest Thing Page 14
