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A Thousand Shades of Blue

Page 8

by Robin Stevenson


  I don’t have anything to say.

  Dad seems to think that this noise shouldn’t interfere with Tim’s or my ability to study, so we sit at the table for a while, staring at our books. All I can think about is how to see Col. I can’t call him with my folks on the boat. I guess I could ask to use the dinghy and go over to his boat, but what excuse would I give my parents? Going snorkeling, maybe? But then Tim would have to come with me. We’re not allowed to snorkel solo.

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  Dad keeps poking his head in and checking up on us, so I lie down on the berth and pretend to study. I’m real y reading a book of plays: No Exit, it’s called, by Sartre. It’s Tim’s. Not the kind of thing I usual y read, but it’s actual y sort of interesting. More interesting than doing the history paper I should be working on. The people in the play are al trapped in this little room together and the idea is that it is actual y, literal y, hel . I can relate.

  Tim gets up and pours himself a cup of water. Then he comes and sits back down at the table. He turns his pages violently and makes these gross noises while he gnaws on his fingers.

  “God, Tim. Can’t you go outside or something?”

  He looks at me and blinks.

  Suddenly I can’t stand it anymore. Tim, my parents, this boat, this whole stupid fucking trip. I want to scream.

  I take a deep breath and glare at Tim. “You’re in my personal space.”

  He blinks again. “Where exactly do you want me to go?”

  he says slowly. Then he glares at me. “Hey, that’s my book.”

  “Have you read it?”

  “Sure. Of course.”

  I scowl. “You know what Sartre said?”

  He shrugs. “He was a philosopher. He said lots of things.”

  “He said, Hell is other people. And you know what? He was so fucking right.” I toss the book at him, stand up and climb the companionway steps, and walk past Mom and Dad in the cockpit.

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  “I can’t concentrate with this noise,” I say. “I’m going for a walk.”

  Dad says something, but I tune him out. I can’t stand being on this boat for another second. I climb down the ladder.

  “Be back by five,” Mom cal s after me. “We’ve got that thing to go to at the Peace and Plenty this evening.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” I say as I walk away.

  96

  Fourteen

  I walk back into town, kicking my feet at the dry sandy dirt along the edge of the road. I hope Becca is still around. If I don’t talk to someone, I think I might explode.

  But I can’t see her anywhere. I walk the loop of road, check the Two Turtles patio and shops and the library.

  She might have gone back to her boat. In the end, I just walk around all afternoon, thinking. I can’t stop thinking.

  There’s not much point trying to make sense of what Mom did, or of why my family seems to be falling apart.

  Even if I could figure out what went wrong, I couldn’t change anything. Still, I can’t stop going around in the same stupid circles.

  Final y I buy a skinny blue notebook and a cheap pen at Exuma Market and sit down under a bare-branched tree. Maybe if I write it down, I can get it out of my head.

  Dad used to get me to do this when I was a kid and stuff was bothering me, but I haven’t done it in years.

  Why everything is so fucked up, I write.

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  1. Mom and Dad…I don’t know. Growing apart? Total cliché.

  2. While we’re on clichés, how about mid-life crisis? Maybe that’s what Mom was doing with Will. Having a mid-life crisis. It sure looked like kissing though. It sure looked like cheating on Dad.

  3. Family time. I don’t get it. Mom and Dad barely talk for months and then al of a sudden it’s Family Dinners, Family Mission Statements, Family Game Nights. What the hel could have made them think this trip was a good idea?

  4. Emma?

  I stop writing. Emma’s accident, Emma moving out.

  Was that what everything came back to? Maybe Emma had been the only thing holding us together. Maybe she was the glue. I stare at the page for a moment. Fuck it.

  I don’t know the answers. I tear the page out, rip it up and stuff the pieces in my shorts’ pocket. I won’t think about it.

  There’s no point.

  I stare at the blank page and let my mind drift. After a few minutes I pick up my pen again and write Col. Col.

  Colton. Flyer. I trace the words with my fingertip. The sun is hot and silky against my skin. I wrap my arms around my knees, close my eyes and wonder if it’s possible to get high from the sunlight and my own thoughts.

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  A Thousand Shades of Blue

  Z

  At five thirty, I wander over to the Peace and Plenty Hotel.

  It’s a pink building, kind of fancy compared with anywhere else here, but not so fancy that I’m worried about showing up for a wedding reception in shorts and a T-shirt. Mom won’t appreciate it, but I’m sure I won’t be the only one. It’s not like anyone has formal wear stowed on their boat. Mostly I’m hoping there’s some food happening. I’m starving.

  The reception is on the patio area around the swimming pool. It’s the tiniest pool, but it seems odd to have a pool at all when you’re surrounded by clear blue sea.

  I’m not late, but a lot of people are already here. They’re buzzing around the food table like flies. The newlyweds are there, of course. Tina’s wearing a long, pale blue dress, and Carl’s wearing cream-colored pants and a button-down shirt. I guess that’s casual for your own wedding reception, but it’s the most dressed up I’ve seen anyone in a while.

  I nod and smile at them. Tina waves back. I’m not sure if I should go and say hi or anything. I don’t know them that wel . They’re my parents’ age, and I imagine they’ve both been married before. Their boat is called Cat’s Meow, and they’re from Toronto. I’ve noticed that a lot of the Canadians here act like they’re all old friends, even if they have nothing else in common. That’s probably why we were invited. Although, looking around, it looks like just about everyone was.

  I’m standing there feeling awkward when my parents arrive, right on time. It’s one thing they do have in common 99

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  I guess—they both hate being late. Tim is walking between them as usual, stiff-looking in a long-sleeved shirt that I didn’t know he’d brought.

  “Hey,” he says to me. “Have you checked out the food?

  I’m starving.”

  Mom and Dad wander off to mingle, and Tim and I head for the food table.

  “You’ll never guess what happened this afternoon,” he says. “Um, let me think. Nothing?”

  He makes a face. “Ha ha. No, seriously. Some guy had a heart attack over on Volleyball Beach.”

  “Real y? Who?”

  “Not anyone we know. A guy from South Africa.”

  “Wow. Was he…is he okay?”

  Tim shrugs. “No one knows. I guess he sort of col apsed during the volleyball game and some people did cpr. And then they got him on a plane to Nassau, to go to the hospital there.”

  “Wow. That sucks.”

  “I know.” He piles conch fritters onto a plate. “Dad said it just goes to show.”

  “Show what?” I ask, instantly feeling irritated.

  “You know. That you don’t know what the future holds.

  So, ‘gather ye rosebuds while ye may.’”

  My brother, the freak. “‘Gather ye rosebuds’? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You know, Carpe Diem.” Tim pops a fritter into his mouth without looking up at me. “Hey, there’s your friend.”

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  For a heart-stopping second I think he means Col. But of course, he hasn’t even met him. I turn and see Becca approaching.

  “O
h. Hi. I was looking for you this afternoon,” I tell her.She grins. “I went spear fishing. It was so cool.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. I got a grouper. And the guys I went with caught two lobsters.” She grabs a plate and starts helping herself from an enormous bowl of macaroni and cheese. “So why were you looking for me?”

  I hesitate, glance at Tim, and then look back at Becca.

  “Nothing major. I’ll tell you later.”

  Tim piles a slice of tomato on top his mountain of food. “Don’t let me interfere. I’m going to talk to Mango anyway.” He turns away, careful y balancing his plate as he weaves through the crowd.

  Becca looks concerned. “What is it, Rachel? Is everything okay?”

  I feel an awful wave of self-pity and try to shrug it off.

  “It’s just a bit hard, sometimes, being here with my family.

  And, I don’t know. I miss my sister.” I stare at my plate.

  Conch, grouper, lettuce and tomato swim before me, and I blink back the tears. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to dump al this on you.”

  She starts to say something; then she breaks off.

  “Parent alert. Yours are headed this way.” She touches my arm briefly. “Look, I’ll make sure we get a chance to talk, okay?”

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  I nod grateful y. I don’t know how much I want to say, but if I don’t talk to someone about at least some of this stuff, I’ll go nuts.

  Becca dumps a huge scoop of macaroni and cheese on my plate. “Eat up.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “Thanks.”

  My parents have found a table and beckon to me to join them.

  Mom’s hair is tied up in a knot, with loose curls spilling out around her face. She’s not wearing makeup or anything, but she looks good. She’s so tall that even in a faded denim skirt and a slightly wrinkled sleeveless top, she looks like she’s modeling an outfit for a fashion magazine. She smiles at Becca. “Why don’t you sit with us too, Rebecca? If you don’t already have a table.”

  I expect Becca to make some excuse, but to my surprise she says, “Thanks,” and sits down. I take a bite of mac and cheese and practically choke as the two empty chairs at our table are filled by Will and Sheila. I can’t sit here and make small talk with him. I can’t do it. I look around a little wildly. I guess I could go to the washroom, but I’d just have to come back again. I’m trapped.

  Will flashes me a big clueless grin. I notice that he has some food stuck to his front teeth. Gross.

  “So how’s Rachel?” he says.

  I shove a huge conch fritter in my mouth and shrug apologetical y.

  Becca comes to my rescue. “So the rudder repair’s going well?” she asks my mom.

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  Mom looks surprised, probably because for some sexist reason people usually only ask my dad about the boat. “Oh, wel , I think it’s going wel . They were working on it today.”

  “Yeah, I heard. I went fishing with Terry—you know, from the boatyard—this afternoon, and he said he’d got the first coat of fibreglass on a rudder repair and might as well do some fishing while it dried. I figured that it was your boat he was talking about.” Becca smiles at my mother. “Are you going to head back out then? On to the Turks and Caicos?”

  Mom hesitates. “We’re taking it one step at a time.”

  This is news to me. “You mean we might stay here longer?” I blurt out.

  Will slaps his leg and grins widely at my mother.

  “That’s wonderful news,” he says. “I’d sure love to see you stay a little longer.”

  I bet you would, I think. I just bet you would.

  Mom shifts in her seat and changes the subject.

  “Where’s your brother?”

  “I don’t know. Around.” I keep my eyes on my mother and avoid looking at Will. “I think he went to talk to Mango.”

  Dad frowns. He looks tired. The lines in his forehead and around his mouth are deeply etched. All frown lines, no laugh lines. He’s always so serious about everything.

  Kind of like Tim. “I don’t know why a man that age would want to hang around with a twelve-year-old.” He clears his throat. “It makes me more than a little uncomfortable.”

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  “Mango’s a good guy,” Becca says easily. “I don’t think you need to worry.”

  I nod. “He and Tim read al the same stuff. Seriously, I think Tim has more in common with Mango than he had with any of his friends back home.”

  Dad stands up and looks around. “I can’t see him.”

  “I don’t blame you for being concerned,” Will says.

  “The man is definitely strange. I certainly wouldn’t trust him.”

  I snap. “You’re telling my dad who he should trust?”

  There is an awful silence. A terrible silence. My mouth is dry as sand, and no words will come. Everyone is staring at me.

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  Fifteen

  It is Becca, who has no idea what is going on, who comes to my rescue.

  “I think Rachel’s a bit upset because Mango is a good friend of ours,” she says. “Mitch, I can total y understand where you’re coming from because Tim’s your kid. I mean, it’s your job to protect him.” She gives him her easy smile.

  “But honestly, Rachel’s right. Mango is the last person you need to worry about.”

  Dad sits back down slowly and looks at me. “I didn’t realize you knew him so wel .”

  I don’t, really. But Becca has thrown me a lifeline, and I’m clinging to it. I nod, eyes on my plate. “Yeah,”

  I whisper. “He’s a good guy.”

  Dad seems like he might have forgotten about my rudeness to Wil . I slowly look up and flick my eyes around the table, quickly taking in all the expressions. Dad’s jaw is stil clenched, but he’s calming down. Sheila’s lipsticked mouth is open in bewilderment. Will is red-faced and angry. And Mom? She’s staring at me, and she’s gone completely white.

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  I wonder how much I have given away. She must guess that I know something. Or maybe she’s just shocked by my rudeness.

  Becca smoothly changes the subject, somehow managing to get everyone talking about the heart-attack guy on Volleyball Beach. I just sit there for a few minutes, not hearing a word of the conversation. I can’t believe what I almost did.

  Final y Becca grabs my arm. “I’m going up for dessert,”

  she says. “Come with me.”

  I’ve barely eaten anything on my plate, but I stand up and numbly follow her across the patio. She steers me past the buffet table, past the washrooms, away from the crowds and into a little alcove in the side wall of the building.

  “Okay, Rachel.” She looks at me hard. “Do you want to tell me what is going on?”

  I shake my head helplessly. I do want to, but if I talk, I’ll start crying. My throat aches from holding back tears.

  “Come on. Spill it. What’s wrong?”

  “Can I stay on your boat tonight?” I blurt out. “Please?”

  I push my fists against my eyes for a few seconds. “Fuck.

  I’m sorry. I don’t want to do this.”

  Becca grabs me and gives me a hug and that does it: I start crying like a baby, in great shuddering gulps. It’s a relief, in a way. We just stand there like that for a couple of minutes, me leaning against her with my head on her shoulder.

  Finally, I run out of tears and pull away. “I’m sorry.

  I don’t usually, you know…” I wipe my face with my T-shirt. “I bet I look awful.”

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  “You look fine,” Becca says. She is frowning: two vertical lines forming deep creases between her eyebrows. “You’re welcome to stay on my boat if your parents will let you.”

  “They probably won’t,” I say despairingly. I can’t stand the tho
ught of going back to Shared Dreams with them tonight. I don’t want Mom to know that I know about Wil .

  I don’t want her to admit it.

  “Rachel…did Will do something to you? Was that what you meant?”

  Her voice is low and serious, and for a second I wonder what would happen if I said yes.

  I shake my head. “Not exactly. I can’t tell you. But please…if I could come to your boat…”

  Becca nods. “How about I go talk to your parents for a few minutes and see what I can do, okay? I can be pretty persuasive.”

  “Should I come?”

  “No, just stay here, and I’ll be back.”

  Z

  Becca is gone for what seems like ages. I sit in my little alcove, legs folded underneath me on the warm concrete.

  I don’t know if Mom and Dad will agree, but just the possibility makes me feel a little better. It occurs to me that if I stay on Becca’s boat, I could call Col. I remember the feeling of his hand in mine and that moment when we were saying good night and I thought he might kiss me.

  It was only last night, but it feels like days ago.

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  When Becca returns, she has a wide grin on her face.

  “They said yes?”

  “They did. You can stay with me tonight, but they want you home by dinnertime tomorrow.” She raises her eyebrows. “Impressed? You going to ask me how I did it?”

  I am impressed. Staying out until dinnertime means she got me out of an afternoon of schoolwork too. “How did you do it?” I ask obediently.

  “Wel …I told them you were having a hard time. I said you were real y homesick and finding it hard not having friends your own age.”

  “All true,” I mumble.

  “And your dad went into a long spiel about adolescents and peer relationships—hey, how come you never told me he was a kiddie shrink?”

  I shrug. “You never asked.”

  “Anyway, I listened and agreed with everything he said.” She laughed. “I said how lucky you were to have a father with that background—that he obviously really understood what you were going through.”

  I pretend to gag.

  “I know, I know. It was a bit over the top. But it worked anyway. You’re staying at my place tonight.”

  “Thanks. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

 

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