“I like you a lot too. Darn parents. Why do they have to screw things up and then the kids have to do so much of the work?”
“But if they hadn’t split up, then you would just have been one of the summer people I never would have met,” he says, picking up his fortune cookie and breaking it open.
“What’s your fortune?” I ask, wanting to change the subject.
He reads, “Boy who dates girl riding the Divorce Express will find happiness weekdays.”
I grab the cookie.
It really says, “You will meet a tall dark stranger.”
I open my cookie and read, “Girl who rides Divorce Express will look forward to Mondays.”
He glances at my real fortune. “You will have many children.”
I blush when he reads that but say, “I promise if I do to warn them about the eagles.”
After he pays the check, we go back to the car and ride to Woodstock.
Trying to window-shop, we realize that it’s too cold.
I hear music coming from the Joyous Lake, but we’re too young to go there. It’s a drag not to have places to go.
I wonder if my father’s gone there but don’t want to think about it.
When we get back to the house, my father’s car is gone.
Dave comes in for a while.
We put on some music, pull up some cushions to sit on, and look out at the reservoir.
The full moon makes the whole area light up. It’s beautiful.
Dave’s a good kisser, a really good one.
I put my head on his shoulder.
He kisses my hair.
I turn and we kiss again.
I can hear a car pull up in the driveway. “My dad’s home.”
Dave stands up, grabs my hand, and pulls me up.
My father makes a lot of noise opening the door, more than usual.
“Hi, Dad.” I realize that Dave and I are still holding hands.
“Hello, Mr. Brooks.” Dave brushes his hair back into place.
My father runs his hand over his bald spot.
Men must have a real thing about hair, sort of like the story about Samson and Delilah.
My father looks at us and smiles. “How about some tea or hot chocolate?”
Dave and I follow him down into the kitchen.
It’s a little uncomfortable at first, but soon the three of us are having a good time.
Dad and I tell Dave the saga of Rocky and her babies.
He tells us about the time mice got into the kitchen, and his mother refused to cook another meal until traps were set. Then none of them could stand the sound of the traps snapping, so they put out poison. Gross.
Finally Dave looks at his watch. “I’ve got to go. My parents said the car had to be back by one o’clock or I can’t borrow it again.”
We all walk up the steps to the living room. I’m afraid my father’s not going to give me a chance to be alone with Dave, but as we get to the door he says, “Good-bye, Boy Scout. See you soon.”
I walk out to the car with Dave.
“I’ve got a feeling that your father came back to check on us.” He gives me a kiss.
“He did.” I kiss him back. “And if I’m not back in the house in a few minutes, he’ll start blinking the porch light off and on.”
One last kiss and I go back inside.
My father’s sitting in a chair, pretending to read.
I go over to him. “Did you have fun tonight?”
He puts down the paper. “Yes—but I did worry about you. Some days it’s not easy being a parent. Not some nights either.”
“You don’t have to worry,” I say.
He looks at me. “You really are growing up.”
“I’m still your one and favorite daughter.” I hug him.
Hugging my father is definitely not the same as hugging Dave. I guess I am growing up.
When I go to my room, I hear my father dial the phone.
I listen.
He’s saying, “She’s home safely.”
I continue to listen but he’s talking softly. It’s impossible to hear what he’s saying.
I wonder who my father’s talking to. I know it’s not my mother. Who is he reporting my life to? I don’t think I like that. I hope it’s not that creep Martha who was at the Expresso. I guess that he just does it because he cares.
As I lie in bed I think about Dave and how I can’t see him next weekend because it’s Thanksgiving and I’ve got to be with my mother.
CHAPTER 19
Thanksgiving vacation.
One thing I’m thankful for is that Rosie and I got seats on the Divorce Express.
That’s more than a lot of people can say.
It’s the day before Thanksgiving, and lots of people are going down to the City, more than there are seats. There were even some people left behind, waiting to catch the next bus.
Passengers are standing in the aisle with their suitcases and packages. They’ll have to stand all the way to New York. It’s a real bummer.
The first real snow of the year is starting to come down.
I’m exhausted. So’s Rosie. We went to the school cafeteria meeting last night, and it didn’t end till real late. It’s hard work, planning nutritional meals on a small school budget. I’m beginning to see why the school had trouble.
Rosie’s sound asleep next to me and I keep nodding off. Why did we have to go to school today, even for half a day? It’s such a waste. No one really does anything. Half the kids have already left on vacations. The other half just sit around and play Hangman and stuff.
All of a sudden the bus makes a funny sound.
I sit up straight.
So does Rosie.
The bus driver pulls over to the side of the road, just past the end of the New York Thruway. He gets out and checks the bus.
People start yelling, “Oh, no—not this too.” “What’s going on? I’ve got to catch another bus after this one.” And: “This is the last straw.”
The bus driver returns, talks into his radio, and then turns around to make an announcement. “Okay, folks. Sorry for the inconvenience. We’ve got a flat, and with the weather getting worse, I can’t take a chance on driving with it. Another bus is on the way. Just sit tight.”
Someone yells, “How the hell do you expect us to sit tight when we’re standing?”
“Then stand tight,” some wise guy calls out.
The bus driver tries to calm everyone down.
I feel kind of sorry for him. It’s his Thanksgiving eve too.
Some people from the front of the bus are trying to work their way to the back to go to the bathroom. They have to get through the aisles, trying not to step on or push anyone.
The snow’s coming down worse.
Rosie says, “Maybe we’ll get in so late that my father won’t make me go to my grandmother’s house tomorrow.”
“I didn’t know you didn’t like her. I don’t like mine either. My father’s mother. My mother’s mother I love.”
Rosie says, “I kind of like her, but it’s a real mess. She’s always making cracks about my mother.”
“How can she? Mindy’s wonderful.” I can’t believe it. I think of all the times I’ve been able to talk to her about all sorts of things.
Rosie shakes her head. “My grandmother doesn’t think so. She hates Mindy because she’s white and Jewish. And Mindy’s family hates my father because he’s black and Christian. Me—I’m not only black and white, I’m also Jewish. The whole combination is enough to drive each side a little nuts.”
I nod. “My grandmothers get upset because even though both of my parents are Jewish, neither of them practice and they never sent me to any organized religious thing.” I look out the window and see that the snow is coming down faster.
Rosie continues. “My life’s like a soap opera, only without breaks for commercials. I’m used to it. I’ve lived with it all my life. And it’s always going to be a little like that. Well, at least
it’s not boring.”
The second bus pulls up.
People cheer.
The bus driver tells us not to all pile out at once. It’s too cold out and everyone could get sick standing around. Anyway he says that they want to try out some new seating arrangement.
Rosie and I end up sitting next to Stevie, the little kid who throws up a lot. I hope he manages to make it to Port Authority without losing his lunch. It’s a little tight, three people in a two-seat place. I think they put us together because we’re all pretty skinny. Then they hand us Gina Raymond, five years old and another Divorce Express regular. She sits on my lap.
I hope none of us has to get up to go to the bathroom.
There are still people standing, but not as many. And later they’re going to switch places with people who are now sitting. One of the good things about sitting with four people in a two-seat place is that we won’t have to get up.
Someone starts singing a Christmas carol. Lots of people join in.
Then Rosie begins a Chanukah song. People join in again.
The bus skids a little.
I hope that Stevie’s stomach is okay.
The driver’s going very slowly.
One of the high school seniors starts singing “Trees,” the regular version. I guess that some of the adults went to Kilmer or just know the song because there are a lot of people singing.
Then Rosie and I start to sing “Cafeteria.” The other Kilmer kids join in.
People on the bus laugh and applaud. They start passing out food that they’ve brought along for the holidays. I contribute the granola cookies my father gave me. We get some great cookies, fruit cake, and pumpkin pie.
The pumpkin pie’s so good that I get the recipe for my father. He’s going to love it.
The bus creeps along.
On the side of the road I can see cars pulled over.
Gina’s fallen asleep. She’s got her head on Rosie, her middle on me, and her feet on Stevie and she’s sucking her thumb.
The closer we get to New Jersey, the less snow.
It’s always worse upstate, at least at first.
Finally we reach the Lincoln Tunnel, go through it, and pull into the Port Authority building.
Stevie hasn’t thrown up, something else to be thankful for.
“We’re here because we’re here because we’re here because we’re here,” everyone sings.
We’ve been on the bus for four and a half hours, two hours late.
People get off the bus stiffly, like they’ve been in a rolling sardine can.
We’re in the middle of the bus, so it takes awhile for us to get out.
“Free at last,” Rosie says as we step off the bus. “I can’t believe I’ve still got a subway to catch.”
I hear someone call my name. “Phoebe.”
It’s my mother. She’s got this worried-changing-to-glad look on her face.
She hugs me. “Where’s Rosie?”
“Here,” Rosie says, raising her hand.
People who go to school raise hands instinctively. I’ve noticed that.
My mother hugs her even though they’ve never met before. I guess she’s been really nervous. It’s the first time since the very beginning that she’s met me at the bus.
She stands up, catches her breath, and says, “Rosie, you are to spend the night with us.”
“Yay,” Rosie and I both say at the same time.
My mother continues. “Your father has to work late, and your stepmother couldn’t leave her children to wait for you. It’s too late and dangerous for you to get downtown by yourself. Your parents and I’ve decided that staying with us is best. Your father will pick you up tomorrow morning.”
Rosie and I look at each other and smile. It’s all arranged. Somehow they’ve all been talking.
As we gather up our suitcases my mother says, “You two know all the kids who ride the bus alone. Are any of them not being met by their parents? It’s not safe for them to be here alone. Let’s make sure they’re all right.”
That’s like my mother. Sometimes she can think only of herself. Other times she can really come through.
She checks it out, in a very logical way. That’s like my mother too—superorganized and take-charge personality. Once she sees that everyone’s accounted for, she says, “Time to go. Anyone hungry?”
“Starved,” Rosie and I both say at the same time. I’ve noticed that happens a lot with friends. You get to the point when you start to say things together or sometimes not even have to say some things out loud.
“Okay.” My mother pulls back her hair. “We’ll get some food as soon as we call your father and Rosie’s parents. When the snow started to come down so hard and the weather reports predicted problems, we made these plans.”
“I’ll call Daddy,” I say.
“And I’ll call my parents,” Rosie says.
My mother walks to the phone booth with us. “Rosie, call your father first.” When Rosie finishes talking, my mother says, “You don’t have to call your mother’s house. She and Jim said that no matter how late it is, to call Phoebe’s father’s house. That’s where they’ll both be.”
No matter how late it is, they’ll both be there—at the same place.
I look at Rosie.
She looks at me.
My mother looks at both of us.
Finally my mother picks up the phone, dials Woodstock, and tells them we’re safe.
Rosie and I each talk to our parents.
Neither of us asks what they’re doing together, no matter how late it is.
I want to talk to Rosie about what’s going on . . . and I bet she wants to talk to me about it.
It’s not a good idea in front of my mother.
I can’t wait until Rosie and I are alone.
CHAPTER 20
We’re finally going to get a chance to talk.
It was so hard sitting through dinner with my mother when all I wanted to do was talk to Rosie about Mindy and my father.
Somehow it didn’t seem like a wise move to bring up the subject in front of my mother.
Now we’re alone. Or at least we will be as soon as Rosie gets out of the bathroom.
I look around my room. It’s pink and frilly and kind of preppy-looking. Everything’s in place and doesn’t show much personality.
My room in Woodstock is different. During the time I’ve lived there, the room has changed from when it was just a summer place. There are pictures all over the walls, candles, stained-glass pieces on the window. It feels like it’s mine.
This room in the City doesn’t feel like the me I’ve become.
I think about my father and Rosie’s mother. Is it possible? What’s the story? Are they going out? Was Mindy the person he called to say I was home safely from my date? Is my father the person that Rosie thinks is making her mother so happy or were they just worried about us and decided to worry together?
Why didn’t they tell us? I thought my father and I had a deal to discuss important things like this.
Rosie returns, toothbrush in hand.
“Do you think our parents are going out with each other?” I ask her.
She flops down on the lower part of my trundle bed. “I was thinking about that while I flossed my teeth. I think they are. Something strange is definitely going on. Usually when Mindy starts going out with someone, she tells me. This time she’s said nothing.”
“My father hasn’t either.” I bite my fingernail.
“Are you upset?” Rosie asks. “I think it’s great. I like your father. We would really be sisters if they were together.”
“That part’s great,” I agree.“And I like Mindy a lot. It’s just hard to think of him involved with anyone.”
“We could ask them,” she says, fluffing up her pillow. “Anyway you’re going out with Dave now and in a couple of years you’ll be going away to college. Your father’s going to have to make his own life. That’s the kind of stuff that Mindy and I
talk about.”
“Do you think I could be jealous?” That sounds right as I say it.
“Maybe,” Rosie says. “Fathers and daughters. I know I have trouble with my stepmother. Maybe that’s part of it.”
It’s definitely something to think about.
Rosie puts the blanket around her body and yawns. “Let’s get some sleep.”
“You can go to sleep soon,” I promise. “But first let’s talk a little more. They probably are spending the night together. Can you imagine our parents—”
“Doing it?” Rosie finishes my thought. “I don’t want to think about it right now.”
I touch the satin part of my blanket just like I did when I was little. “Do you think they’re serious?”
“You keep asking for answers to things that we’re not even sure are questions. Maybe, if it is, they’ll decide to live together. If they do, we won’t have to keep trading the unicorn shirt back and forth. It’ll stay in the same house.” Rosie lies down.
I decide to let her go to sleep. “I’ll keep quiet now.”
“Thanks, pal.” She pulls the cover over her head. “I do have one question . . . . Your father doesn’t really believe much in religion, does he?”
“Not the organized kind,” I answer.
“My grandparents will really love that,” she says from under the pillow.
After I turn out the light, I stare at the ceiling. There is still a fluorescent universe pasted up there. Before the divorce my father helped me put up all the little pieces. When the light goes out, all the planets, stars, moons, and sun shine.
I think about the world—the one on the ceiling . . . the one in New York . . . and the one in Woodstock. I’ve always kind of thought of myself as the sun—the one that all of the others revolved around.
It’s not true, I guess. It feels like someone’s ripped the sun out of place but everything is going along anyway.
I sure hope that I’m still part of everything. If my father is going out with Mindy, that means that he’ll want to spend more time with her and do more things together. I won’t have him to myself.
Maybe it won’t be bad, but it sure will be different.
How can Rosie take the whole thing so calmly?
I wish I could.
The Divorce Express Page 9
