“It’s his job to worry,” she says. “I know you’re pissed off at your folks, but I don’t blame them for being concerned.”
I hate it when she starts sounding more like a parent than a friend. Like nineteen is so much older than sixteen.
Then something else occurs to me. “Wait a minute. You said, be careful. Does that mean you think he still might be interested?”
“Oh, Rachel.” She sounds exasperated. “I don’t know.
He might be. I just don’t think he should be.”
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I feel a little better for a second, and then I crash back down. “I bet I wrecked everything. He’s never going to forgive me for lying to him.”
Becca shrugs. “I don’t know. Honestly, I think he just doesn’t want your dad to beat him up.”
“But you don’t think it’s over? You think he’d still talk to me?”
“Maybe. I don’t think he’s really mad at you or anything. He just doesn’t like hassles.” She shrugs again.
“This is a guy who’s probably never worked a day in his life, you know? He’s into keeping things simple.”
For a second, I let myself remember how Col pushed me away when Dad said he’d call the cops, and how he didn’t even say good-bye. My stomach tightens uneasily, and I push those memories aside. Instead I think about our first kisses, up on the windswept foredeck of Becca’s boat.
I think about him piggybacking me back to his dinghy and telling me how he used to get called Birdie. I think about him bandaging my ankle. I think about how it felt to lie so close together, skin to skin.
I wish I could erase the way the night ended.
Z
But I don’t even get a chance to call him. When Tim and I get back to the boat, Mom tel s us that she’s booked us on a flight to Nassau for this evening. As in, the plane actual y takes off six hours from now. Dad’s gone off somewhere, probably to drink beer at Two Turtles. Mom’s fussing 191
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around, packing her stuff and muttering about airport shuttles and hotel bookings. Tim and I throw a few clothes into daypacks, toss in our toothbrushes and then sit there, staring at each other and wondering what to do next.
What I really want to do is to call Col before we leave, but I can’t do that in front of Mom and Tim. Not to mention anyone else who might be listening to their vhf. As usual, there is no privacy at al . Besides, even if I was alone with him, I think I’d be too scared of what he might say.
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Twenty-Six
The airport shut tle stop is right in front of Exuma Market.
We look down the empty road. The sun is low, the sky a dusky dark blue, huge and cloudless, big as an ocean. No bus anywhere in sight.
Mom has a decent travel bag because she planned to fly home to see Emma a couple of times, but Tim and I have only our daypacks. I wonder how long we’ll be gone. Mom is rifling through her purse, looking for something, and I take the opportunity to watch her without her knowing it. She looks gorgeous, as usual. Tall and long legged and effortlessly glamorous. Ever since I saw her with Wil , she seems so unfamiliar. Like she’s got this whole secret life, and she’s not just our mother after al .
Even though it’s starting to get dark, she’s still wearing her sunglasses. Probably because she’s been crying, but you’d never know it.
She looks up and sees me staring at her. I drop my eyes quickly and turn away. I wish Col would come walking 193
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down the road. Then I see that someone is walking toward us. For a second, a half second, I hope—but it’s not him.
It’s Wil .
Tim looks at me, and I know what he’s thinking. “I’m going in to grab a Coke,” he says. “You want anything?”
I shake my head, and I don’t budge. “Nope.” I don’t blame Tim for not wanting to be around Wil , but I don’t see why Mom should get to be alone with him to say good-bye.
“Be quick,” Mom tel s Tim. “The shuttle will be here any minute.”
Will stops in front of us. “Sheila and I stopped by your boat.” He gestures in the general direction. “Sheila made some cookies for the kids. Mitch told me you’re going to Nassau.” He looks bewildered. “Weren’t you even going to say good-bye?”
“It was a last-minute decision,” Mom says.
“Yeah, but stil .”
Mom doesn’t say anything.
Will looks at me, and I can actually see him stifle a sigh. A little intake of breath which he lets out slowly and almost silently, lips still pressed together.
I look back at him and smile like I don’t have a clue.
Behind them, I can see our bus coming down the road.“I guess we have to go,” I say.
Mom nods. “Yes.” She turns to look for Tim.
He’s sprinting toward us, Coke can in hand. He stops a few feet away, looks at Mom, then at Will, then 194
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back at me. He picks up his bag and steps onto the bus, and Mom and I follow.
Z
The plane ride is so short. Forty minutes. It took us days to travel this distance on Shared Dreams. Places seem so much farther apart when you’re traveling by boat. It’s strange to think that we could just get on another plane and be back in Canada in a few hours.
Mom rents a car at the airport and drives us to a hotel. Occasional y one of us points out something interesting as we drive along, but none of us is talking much.
Questions hang in the air, unspoken: Are you going to leave Dad? Is this permanent? Will we all sail home together or is the trip over? Outside the window, the air is hot and heavy, thick with traffic noises. Streetlights and trees flash past; horns honk loudly. I realize I haven’t been inside a car for months.
Z
The hotel is pretty basic, but after months of living on a boat it feels like a palace. Tim and I bounce on the beds, flop down and stretch out like starfish, luxuri-ating in the spaciousness. We wash our faces in hot soapy fresh water and dry them on soft white towels.
Mom sits on her bed and writes in a spiral notebook.
I wonder if she’s writing to Will, or journaling to sort 195
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out her thoughts. Or maybe she’s writing more weird letters to Emma.
I already know that if she leaves her purse behind, I’m going to look.
We eat hamburgers at the restaurant next to the hotel and go to bed early. Not talking about anything is becoming a strain. I’m still waiting for the lecture about taking off with Col last night, but Mom seems lost in her own thoughts. I don’t know why she wanted Tim and me to come to Nassau with her. Still, it beats staying on the boat with Dad, getting one lecture after another.
Despite everything, I sleep well. Being in a real bed, I guess, instead of a foam berth that’s not even two feet wide. When I wake up, it’s dark, and for a moment I can’t think where I am. An obnoxiously loud alarm clock is buzzing—I guess whoever slept here last set it, because I sure didn’t. I fumble around and switch it off.
The digital clock says it’s 8:00 am. I turn on the light and sit up.
Mom’s not in her bed. There’s a note on the dresser: She’s gone for a run.
Tim walks over to the window and throws open the heavy curtains. Sunlight streams in. “There’s a pool. We could swim.”
“I didn’t bring my swimsuit.”
“Me neither.” He makes a face. “We could wear our clothes.”
I grin. What the hell. It’s not like we’re ever going to see any of these people again.
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While Tim’s in the washroom, I check Mom’s purse.
The spiral notebook isn’t in it. I’m desperate to know what’s going to happen, but I don’t want to ask. I don’t want to rush Mom into a decision. If she decides to leave Dad, I don’t want it to be my fault.
Z
The water in the pool
is warm and blue. It’s almost the same color as the water in Red Shanks, but without any subtlety. It’s the turquoise blue of the paint on the cement bottom. We stand on our hands, toss a ball back and forth, swim lengths and turn somersaults. Then we lie on white plastic deck chairs while our clothes cling to us and drip onto the hot concrete.
I turn my head to one side to face Tim. His arms are folded behind his head, his eyes are closed and his face is turned to the sun. For the first time, I notice that my geeky little brother is turning into an actual teenager. I mean, a guy, not a kid. He has muscles in his arms and shoulders that weren’t there before this trip.
He opens one eye. “Are you staring at me?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” He sits up. “What is it?” He looks down at himself.
I look away from him and squint up into the bottom-less blue of the sky. “Nothing. I was just thinking that you look different. Like maybe you’ve grown or something.”
“You think so?” he asks hopeful y.
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I remember his rollerblades and his worries about starting middle school. “You look good,” I say. “If you weren’t my little brother, I’d even say you might end up being kind of cute.”
He rolls onto his side and looks at me suspiciously.
“Real y? Are you being serious?”
“Yeah, really.” I grin at him. “You know, eventually.
Like in ten years maybe.”
Tim picks up his wet towel and tosses it at me. “Thanks a lot.”
“No problem.”
We lie in the sun for a while in a comfortable silence.
Final y, Tim says softly, “Rachel?”
“Mmm?”
“I heard what you said to Dad about not knowing why he and Mom stay together.”
I roll on to my side to face him. “And?”
“Well…it almost sounded like you’d rather they did split up.”
I think about it for a moment, trying to sort out what I feel. “I don’t want them to split up,” I say at last. “It’s just that if they’re going to do it, I wish they’d get it over with.”
I look at him to see if he understands. He’s looking straight up at the sky, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “I hate not knowing what’s going to happen next,” I say.
“But you’ll never know that,” Tim says.
My mind fumbles backward through this past year: Emma moving out, me finding the photos of my one-armed doll, meeting Jen and drifting away from Mom, 198
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my parents fighting all the time, leaving on this trip, Mom kissing Wil …you’d think that there would be clues buried somewhere in the past that could tel us something about the future.
Tim sits up and wraps his arms around his knees. “It’s weird how Mom hasn’t said anything about last night. Me running off, or you being with that guy.”
“Col. Yeah.” I make a face. “Typical Mom. Denial in action.”
He is quiet for a moment. Then he speaks in a low voice, almost a whisper. “Do you think you’ll ever ask her?
You know. About…”
A week ago, I would’ve said something cutting or maybe just told him to shut up. I don’t know why exactly, but something has changed between us. I look at his green eyes, so much like Mom’s. “About what we saw? About Will?” I can’t imagine it. “Do you think I should?”
“I don’t know.”
“If she’s leaving Dad anyway, I guess it doesn’t real y matter.”
“Denial in action,” Tim says.
I stare at him for a moment. Then I pick up my book and pretend to read.
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Twenty-Seven
Mom final y shows up just before noon. She walks along the edge of the pool so that her shadow fal s across our loungers. She stops at our feet. “Look at you two. You know, there’s a great little swimsuit shop next door. Maybe we should pick up new suits for you both. Your old ones were starting to look pretty ratty anyway.”
I squint up at her. Her hair’s wet from the shower, and she’s smiling. It’s like she’s pretending we’re here on holiday or something.
“How long are we going to stay?” I ask.
Her smile slips. “I know this must be hard for you both. I’m sorry.”
I wait.
“I need some time to think,” she says. “I guess you both know your father and I haven’t been getting along so wel .”You’d have had to be deaf and blind to miss it.
She sighs. “Wel , I need to make some decisions. And I couldn’t think straight on that boat.” She pauses and 200
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when she speaks again, her voice is hard-edged. “It was…
claustrophobic. I couldn’t take it anymore.”
All of a sudden there is a cold feeling in my bel y and the buzzing is back, so strong it makes me want to throw up. I can’t stand not knowing, but I don’t want to hear this either. I sit up and wrap my towel around myself, not looking at her.
“Last year, we actual y talked about taking some time apart.” She takes off her sunglasses and folds them up. “We saw a counselor together a few times, and we decided to try to make it work. And to make things better with you and Tim too.”
“All those family dinners,” I say, glancing up at her.
“Yes, all those family dinners. And this trip too.
Obviously that hasn’t really worked out.” She slips the sunglasses into the pocket of her cargo shorts. “I guess maybe it wasn’t realistic to expect it to solve anything.”
“You said the trip was about Tim and me,” I remind her.
“She did?” Tim sits up. I’d forgotten he was there. “Did you say that, Mom? How come?”
Mom shakes her head. “It was about all of us. The whole family.”
It seems to me like she and Dad say whatever is convenient in the moment. “Not the whole family,” I point out. “Not Emma.”
“Emma is an adult,” Mom says. “She’ll always be part of the family, but she’s grown up and moved out.”
“Not real y,” I say. “Maybe you’d like to think that, but she still needs us.”
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“Rachel.” She tilts her head and studies my face. “We’re not abandoning her, but life has to go on. Everything has revolved around her for years. I don’t think that’s been entirely healthy for you or for Tim.”
I think about all the vacations that were cut short because Emma couldn’t deal with the change in routine, al the school plays and soccer games that Mom or Dad came to alone because it was impossible to find babysitters for Emma, all the dinners that ended with Mom in tears because Emma would throw food if she got frustrated at being left out of the conversation.
“I love Emma,” I say softly.
Mom looks like she might cry. “Oh, honey. We all love Emma. That’s why it’s been so hard.”
“Mom.” I dig my nails into my palms. “I was wondering.
I was looking at some old photos and…do you remember that doll I used to have? That one-armed doll?”
Her eyes widen. “Yes, you took it everywhere.”
“What happened to it?” I hold my breath and listen to the thud, thud, thud of my heart against my ribs. It feels like it’s trying to escape.
“I didn’t know you remembered that doll,” she says slowly.
My throat tightens. I glance over at Tim, wondering if he knows, if he real y does remember the accident, but he just looks confused and maybe a bit curious.
Mom looks past us, at the row of palm trees that rings the pool area, but she looks like she’s seeing something else. “When Emma’s accident happened, we all went to 202
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the hospital together,” she says. “It was an awful place to bring a four-year-old, but we didn’t have a choice; we had to bring you.” She looks back at me. “Somehow your dol got left behin
d in the emergency room.”
I swallow. “Are you sure? In the emergency room?”
“Oh, I’m sure. One minute you were sitting on a chair, half asleep with that doll in your arms while we were talking to the doctors. Then we carried you up to the intensive care unit where they took Emma after the surgery and when you woke up, you started screaming because the doll was gone.” She shakes her head. “You were devastated.
You never slept without that dol . We checked the lost and found for days, but it never turned up.”
“So it got lost in the hospital,” I say. I have to make sure. A huge weight is rolling off me, and I can’t quite believe it.
Mom looks at me. “You can’t possibly remember this.”
“When I was making up that col age for Emma, when she moved out, I looked at all the old photographs.”
I look up at Mom and start to cry. “The doll’s in all the photographs before Emma’s accident, and then it’s gone.
I thought I dropped it in the road. I thought that was why Emma turned back.”
She puts her hands up to her mouth. “Oh, Rachel. Oh, honey.” Then she lowers them again. “All this time, you’ve been thinking…Why on earth didn’t you say anything?”
“I don’t know why I didn’t. I guess I didn’t want to know for sure.” I brush the back of my hand across my eyes. “You know. In case it was my fault.”
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“Oh, honey,” she says. “Oh, honey. Even if you had dropped your dol , it wouldn’t have been your fault. You were just a little kid.”
She kneels down to hug me, and for a second, I let her. It feels really good. It feels like maybe everything might somehow end up being okay after all. But then I remember Will and the way Mom’s been lying to us all, and I pull away.
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Twenty-Eight
We eat lunch at a cheap restaurant on the main drag.
“What do you want to do this afternoon?” Mom asks.
I shrug. I don’t much care. We’re in this weird limbo, and she never did answer my question about how long we’re staying here.
“How about new swimsuits then?” she says.
I guess that means we’re going to continue with this vacation charade.
Z
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