Tessa appeared next to me and offered me a glass of iced tea.
“Nice, huh?”
I nodded and took the glass. “It’s beautiful. I’d never get sick of it.”
“You would. Believe me,” Tessa said as she turned, swung her hair and headed toward the family room. I followed her and plopped down across from her on a comfy, sectional leather sofa. Tessa switched on the big, flat screen TV.
I felt awkward. Jaques was nowhere in sight and I didn’t know what to talk about. I didn’t want to just sit there in silence and watch television.
I sipped my tea. “Where are your parents?”
Tessa continued to watch television, but answered. “In Portland. My father’s working over at the hospital and my mother is busy running one of the dozens of charities that she inherited from her parents, along with all their money.”
She shrugged and took a drink of her tea. “Who knows? My dad will probably end up spending the night at our other house in the city. My mom’s supposed to catch the last ferry back here. She has some stupid charity breakfast in town early tomorrow morning.”
“Do you stay in Portland a lot, too?”
“Yeah. My parents make me. They won’t let me stay overnight if only Jaques is here. I don’t really mind ’cause I hate taking that freakin’ ferry back and forth to school anyway.”
Tessa turned away from the TV and stared out the window.
“My parents don’t know it yet, but I’m planning on spending every night here in the summer with or without them.”
I nodded. No wonder I had never seen Tessa on the ferry before, but I guess having all this wealth and privilege didn’t mean much if no one was around to share it with you. I was usually home by myself anyway, I figured, and would have loved the chance to live among this kind of luxury, if even it was for one day. Just sitting there, I was able to think of plenty of things I could buy in order to make myself happy.
As I looked around and imagined my life surrounded with such opulence, Tessa caught me.
“It gets old. Fast. Trust me,” she said.
From somewhere, deep within the house, a grandfather clock chimed. I took my cell phone out of my coat pocket, checked the time and panicked. I hadn’t realized how late it was. I sprang up, accidentally spilling some of my tea on the Oriental rug.
“I’m so sorry. Do you have towels I could use to wipe it up?”
Tessa sat, unmoved. “Leave it. Katia, the maid, will clean it up.”
“Are you sure?”
Tessa didn’t answer.
“I’m sorry to ask, but is there anyway for me to catch a ride back to my house? It’s getting late and I should be getting home.”
Tessa clicked off the television and walked over to the granite-covered island. She put down her glass of iced tea and grabbed a set of keys.
“Let’s go.”
“What about Jaques? Isn’t he gonna drive me?”
“No. I will. I know how to drive. I’ve been doing it for years,” she answered casually.
My eyes widened with fear and I remained, frozen in place, on top of the iced-tea-covered rug.
I panicked. “Why not your brother?”
“Believe me. After what he’s been smoking, you’d rather have a dog drive you than him.”
I walked toward the kitchen, figuring I had no choice and put my empty glass on the counter next to Tessa’s.
“That’s one of the perks of not having your parents around,” Tessa said as she turned, flung her hair and walked away toward the foyer. “Nobody gives a shit what you do.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Winter vacation was about to begin and most of my teachers were thoughtful enough to give projects, due right after the break, as Christmas presents. I couldn’t imagine why they felt the need to saddle us with assignments over the winter recess. What if someone’s family planned on going somewhere warm for the holidays or on a skiing trip? As usual, I had no plans to go anywhere except to the bleak and boring house on Juniper Drive.
The last week of school was a complete waste of time, especially the last day. No one was in the mood to be there, not even the teachers.
Mr. Winkler was feeling unusually merry and gave our class an additional week to hand in our World War II history project instead of the normal deadline he’d given to all his other students.
Erica, who sat behind me in class, tapped my shoulder. I leaned back and she whispered into my ear.
“Do you think Tessa will choose ‘Hitler and His Lovers’ as the topic for her paper?”
I didn’t respond and leaned forward in my chair. I didn’t feel it necessary to pick on Tessa at every opportunity even if it was somewhat entertaining. Plus, I felt guilty gossiping about her after going to her house, especially because I still hadn’t told Erica and Taylor that I even went or about how petrified I was when she drove me home.
I ignored Erica when she tapped me again. Just then I felt a pair of eyes burrowing into me. I scanned the room and looked for the source. From the opposite corner of the classroom, Tessa Anderson shot daggers at me.
Erica had such a big mouth! Even though I may have agreed with her, she didn’t have to say it out loud, in class, to me, with Tessa right there. Besides, Erica’s whisper was equivalent to another person’s shouting. I was beginning to think she was actually deaf.
Thankfully the bell rang. As Mr. Winkler wished us a happy holiday, I ran from the room, leaving Erica and her insults in the lurch.
I stood at my locker and grabbed books for my next class. I was just about to close my locker door when someone else slammed it shut for me, almost cutting off my thumb in the process.
Angry, I spun on my heels and came face to face with an even angrier Tessa.
“What the hell did that bitch say about me?” she spat.
I needed to do damage control. “Nothing.”
I walked away toward my biology class and Tessa followed.
“Don’t say ‘nothing.’ I heard her say my name and know she was talking shit about me.”
I stopped abruptly and looked at Tessa. “Does it really matter what she said or what anyone else says about you, for that matter?”
For once, Tessa was speechless.
“You can do one of two things,” I told her as I held up two fingers. “Either ignore what people say and let it go or, if you do care, don’t give them any ammunition to use against you.”
She thought about it, huffed and walked off. “Whatever!”
I rolled my eyes and continued on my way toward my very last class of the Old Year and another assignment, which in the spirit of giving, my science teacher was about to bestow upon me.
• • •
Christmas was going to be uneventful as my mom, brother and I were stuck all alone in Maine. The weather was too unpredictable, so my uncle didn’t want to risk driving north and getting stuck at our house, especially since it was crucial that he be at his New York restaurants during their busiest time of year. My grandparents wanted us to drive to Massachusetts and stay with them, but my mom was petrified of driving on the snowy roads. Regardless, my mother did her best to make sure it was special for James and me.
She made popcorn the old-fashioned way by heating vegetable oil on the stove, tossing in the kernels and quickly moving the kettle back and forth so it wouldn’t burn. That’s how she made popcorn when she grew up, she said, because microwaves didn’t exist back then. We melted butter and set it aside, which we would later pour over the popcorn we were going to eat. The remaining plain popcorn would be strung together in long, thin rows.
My mother was in an unusually good mood and hummed along with the Christmas carols that rang out from the old-fashioned stereo. She moved in rhythm with the music while popping the mouthwatering smelling popcorn.
She wore a pretty, flouncy red dress and took the time to style her thick, auburn hair in a French twist and fastened it at the nape of her neck with a delicate rhinestone clip. She even p
ut on makeup. I hadn’t seen my mother make such an effort to get all gussied up since my father had died.
About once a month, when my dad was still alive, he and my mother would go on a date, taking turns picking their favorite restaurant and hiring a babysitter to stay at home with us kids.
I watched my mother as she bopped and sang along to the 1950’s hit, “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.” I thought my mom was attractive for her age. She had fine wrinkles around her pretty green eyes, wrinkles that would appear only when she smiled. That was the one thing about my mom; when she was truly happy, her eyes smiled the most. Her complexion was darker than mine, like those born in the Mediterranean because her mother, my grandmother, was Italian. She was very thin compared to most of my friend’s moms and petite like me.
For some reason, my mother seemed to be radiating outwardly lately, almost glowing. I was beginning to realize that my mom’s external attitude depended on how she was feeling on the inside. I just couldn’t figure out why she was so darn happy on Christmas of all days.
Unlike my mom, I found myself getting the saddest around the holidays, especially when I started to think about my father and how much he enjoyed celebrating them, whether it was Christmas or even the Fourth of July.
Even when I was a baby, my dad would take off from work the day before the Fourth so he could travel all around the state in search of the newest and safest fireworks. He’d invite all the neighbors and their children to come over and set up folding chairs on our front lawn to watch his special, multi-colored light show. He called it the Flynn Family Extravaganza.
With the popcorn finished, my mom moved over to the counter and separated it into two separate bowls. As she poured the butter over one batch, she called to my brother who was playing a video game in the family room.
“James! Come and help Willow and me string the popcorn.”
Earlier that morning, “Santa” had brought my brother the latest and coolest video gaming system that all the neighborhood boys were wishing for, including James.
He hadn’t peeled himself away from the television set yet and I doubted that the task of sewing together pieces of popcorn, even with the tempting aroma coming from the kitchen, would entice him.
“In a minute!” he yelled back.
I had never understood why we had to wait until Christmas night to string popcorn for the Christmas tree, but my mother said that was the tradition in her family and that she felt it was important that she pass some of them along to my brother and me.
My mother sat down beside me at the kitchen table, daintily snacking on the bowl of yummy popcorn while helping me string the other.
“You’ve been rather quiet all day,” my mom said.
I shrugged. “I guess I’m just missing Daddy ’cause it’s Christmas.”
“I completely understand, Willow, but your father has been gone for over five years now,” she said as she patted the top of my hand. “Five years.”
She stared at me and kept her hand still on top of mine, as if five was the magic number, as if five years was long enough to grieve. I was confused. My mother could barely function as a human being for years after my dad had died and now she’s sitting here telling me to basically get over it.
I pulled my hand away as if her words scorched my skin. “Why would you say that? Don’t you miss him anymore?”
I could tell she was shocked by my reaction. She changed her approach and gently caressed my forearm. She chose her words carefully this time before she spoke. “Of course I do, dear, but I also know that it’s time to … to move on.”
Move on? I was speechless. My mouth hung open as the doorbell rang, interrupting the unimaginable scene before me.
James shouted from the other room. “Mom! Someone’s at the door!”
“Coming.”
My mother jumped up and suddenly seemed anxious as she smoothed down the bottom of her festive dress. I stared at my mother who now seemed like a stranger to me.
The doorbell rang again, but she stopped herself and met my gaze before she left the room. “It might seem impossible, but all of us need to move forward, Willow. All of us.”
I turned away from my mother and wondered why she was so intent on making it the worst Christmas of my life.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
The temperature rarely reached above twenty degrees during the latter part of December. It seemed as if there was some sort of precipitation falling from the sky everyday whether it was snow, sleet or freezing rain. I thought I would be stuck inside the house with my mother and brother during the whole week of winter break, but instead I was just stuck with James. Even though the three of us had off for vacation, my mother was never home and the mysterious visitor on Christmas evening was the reason why.
After my mother informed me that I should basically move on with my life and forget about my father, I quickly realized why she had been so insensitive. The reason was at least 6’6”, had thick, brown hair, graying at the temples and had to duck down before entering the kitchen where I had remained. This giant of a man proceeded to brush the snow off the top of his very tall shoulders.
My mother stood next to him, cleared her throat and spoke nervously.
“Willow, this is my ummm … friend, uhhh, Mr. Roberts. Brian, this is my daughter, Wil …”
Mr. Roberts held his hand up and kindly interrupted my mom.
“Brian. I insist you call me Brian.” He leaned his massive frame toward me and extended his huge hand.
“Nice to meet you, Willow.” He smiled widely as if trying to impress me with his straight, yellow teeth. His teeth reminded me of horse teeth, which, like the rest of him, were big and tall.
His hand was so enormous I could barely wrap my fingers around it, so I just held onto the tips of his fingers and shook. I couldn’t bring myself to return the fake grin or enthusiastic greeting. I could only stare at my mother in disbelief.
“Mr. Roberts and I,” my mother started, but stopped when Mr. Roberts frowned and shook his head.
She smiled and continued. “I’m sorry. I mean Brian and I work together over at Orchard School.” My mother turned back toward “Brian” just in time for a friendly wink.
I sat there, silent. What did she want me to do? Congratulate them for working together or for the fact that they were obviously more than “friends” since it was the first time my mother had groomed herself in years.
I still wouldn’t respond. I just stared. All three of us felt the tension and my mother politely excused the two of them, but not before Mr. Roberts ended the awkward introduction with, “It was very nice to meet you, Willow.”
I didn’t answer. I just kept on staring. Finally, they left and went into the family room where my mom promptly kicked James off the television so she could spend some time with her gentleman caller.
Immediately, James pitched a fit, which delighted me. I hoped she was embarrassed in front “Brian.” My mother bargained with my bratty brother. She helped him disconnect his gaming system and told him he could hook it up to the TV in her bedroom and play for a little while longer.
James was somewhat content, but stomped up the rickety old stairs anyway. I was so surprised by how powerful his scrawny, little legs were and thought he might crash to the cellar below.
My cat, Princess, ran into the kitchen and hopped onto my lap. I could tell she wanted me to pet her. She rarely wanted to be touched. I assumed she was wary of the stranger in our home just as much as I was. As I sat there, I could feel my blood boil with each stroke of her fluffy, orange fur and had to control myself, afraid that if I kept going, I might skin the poor thing alive.
• • •
By mid-week, I was going stir crazy. My mom was off and running around with her new man and I was stuck home babysitting my brother. I told her it wasn’t fair that I had to stay in, but she promised I could go wherever I wanted on the weekend; that she’d stay home with James.
I passed the time
by chatting with my friends back in Massachusetts on FunForum. I told them about my mom and her friend and how I couldn’t understand how she could date someone else. Gabby’s parents were divorced, so both her parents had been dating others for quite some time and she assured me that I’d get used to it. I told her that I doubted it.
One afternoon I sat on my bed surrounded by my comfy pillows, on the Internet, connected only to Becca.
“And now Sarah is mad at Gabby for talking to her boyfriend, Pete, while she and her family were away for Thanksgiving visiting her grandparents in New York …” and on and on Becca went with her tales from Mass.
Becca said she felt like she was stuck in the middle of their fight. Even though I was actually glad to be away from all the drama, I still missed them very much, especially during times when I was feeling lonely.
Talking about Thanksgiving made me think of my own holiday fiasco and how Michael had shown up on my doorstep. I had not seen nor heard from him since. He hadn’t returned to school and his MyWeb page was untouched, no new updates or postings. I was very worried about him, but I didn’t know what to do.
I was supposed to hang out with Erica and Taylor over the weekend. If I got enough nerve, maybe I’d ask them what they knew about Michael and his situation. I figured that if he had grown up on the island like he had said, they would know him well. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I’d have to wait and see.
I signed off FunForum with Becca so I could go and grab lunch downstairs. Earlier that morning, my mom took the ferry over to the mainland to spend the day with Brian. She said they were going to take advantage of “after Christmas” sales and have lunch together. How sweet. I wanted to vomit.
I was on my way to the kitchen and about to pass my brother who was, once again, glued to the television and his Vampire Hunter game, when I stopped.
“Want lunch?”
Nothing.
“James!” I yelled.
“What?” he turned to me.
“Want me to make you some lunch?”
He shook his head. “Already ate,” he said, as he held up a paper plate with hard, uneaten crusts from a peanut butter sandwich.
In the Middle of Nowhere Page 5
