Caroline paused for a moment, realizing how close she had come to changing everything that was to follow. If she had just ignored Lucy like she had wanted, everything would be different.
“But she was yelling my name,” Caroline said, pressing on. “Screaming it. Crying it out, really. And in that split second, I remembered the way Emily had just walked away from me in the cafeteria and how I’d felt being left behind. So I stopped.
“She told me to wait up. That’s what she used to say all the time. Wait up. ‘Let me get my bike,’ she said. So I told her that I was going past Federal Street but I promised to ride with her when I got back. But she said she still wanted to go. Just as far as Federal Street, she said, so I agreed. But when we got to the end of Federal Street, she started crying. Asking me to stay. Asking me to ride with her just a little bit more. And when I said no, that’s when she asked if she could come with me. She’d never asked that before. She’d always thought of everything past Federal Street as no-man’s-land. But for some reason, Lucy chose that day to get brave. And she promised that she wouldn’t tell Mom if I let her, and she promised not to be a PITA.”
Polly scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. “PITA?”
“Pain in the ass. It’s what I called Lucy when she was annoying me. She promised to listen to me and not get in the way. She begged and begged and I finally said yes. I let her come with me. All the way to Bellingham. And when we got to Strawberries, she was the one who talked me into T-shirts instead of music. She said I could always find the songs on the radio, and she would record them for me on her tape recorder. But the T-shirts were way cooler. That’s how she said it. ‘Way cooler.’
“On the way home, she was getting tired. She wasn’t used to riding so far. She was struggling up the hills and had to walk her bike up a steep one on Elm Street. I tried to go slow so she could keep up. I even rode behind her for a while on that road with Log Cabin Pizza, just so I could keep an eye on her because of all the traffic. Then she fell behind, and I didn’t watch her carefully enough, and—”
“It’s okay, Mom. You don’t have to say any more.”
“Yes, Polly. I do.” Caroline took a deep breath and continued. “I didn’t watch my little sister carefully enough and she got hit by that car and was killed. Killed right in front of me. In the same spot where I agreed to let her break the rule and come along. All I had to do was say no. I’d said it a million times before. A billion times before. All I had to do was tell her to go home and watch Super Friends and wait for me. If I’d done that, Lucy would be alive today.”
Caroline had thought about these things before, but until this moment, she had never said any of them aloud. She had hoped that doing so would alleviate some of her guilt. Release her from her secret. Maybe even come to the realization that it was crazy to blame herself after so many years. But it just made everything more real. Made her guilt seem even more justified. She had broken her mother’s rule, and as a result, her little sister was dead. She’d been dead for twenty-five years. But somehow, in this room, in this moment, it was as if Lucy had died all over again.
“So you’ve been blaming yourself since the day Aunt Lucy died?” Polly asked. “’Cause that’s crazy, Mom. You were just a kid.”
“I don’t believe that, and you don’t, either.”
“How do you know what I believe?”
“You said it yourself,” Caroline said. “There’s no bright red line between childhood and adulthood. We are who we are. Emily is still the bitch from the high school cafeteria, and I’m still the big sister who got her little sister killed on Summer Street.”
“Bullshit,” Polly said. There was real anger in her voice, and it caught Caroline off guard. “What happened to Lucy was an accident. There was no way of knowing that she would get killed. The only thing you’re guilty of is bad luck.”
“My mother made a rule to keep Lucy safe. I broke it.”
“No,” Polly said. “That’s stupid. Do you have any idea how many times kids break rules? I break them every day. Am I supposed to be worried that every time Kate and I don’t use the crosswalk, Kate might get run over by a bus and I’ll end up blaming myself for her death?”
“You’re not responsible for Kate. I was responsible for Lucy.”
“No,” Polly said, her voice at a near shout. “You were fifteen. You weren’t even responsible for yourself.”
Caroline opened her mouth to speak but Polly cut her off.
“Do you know how stupid this whole thing is? We’re sitting here in your dead sister’s bedroom, arguing about whether or not it’s your fault that she’s dead, and you sound like a crazy person. Every single person on the planet would agree with me. But you’re sitting here, dripping tears on perfectly good vintage T-shirts, blaming yourself for something that isn’t your fault. When you’re fifteen, you’re allowed to make stupid mistakes. You’re supposed to make stupid mistakes. Even if they turn out terrible. But when you’re forty, you’re not supposed to be this stupid.”
Caroline found herself with the simultaneous urge to ground her daughter for a month and hug her as tightly as possible.
“I’m sorry,” Polly said, her voice returning to its reverent state. “But I’m right. You’re acting like a complete idiot.”
“Even if you’re right, and I’m not saying that you are, do you think that I can just erase a lifetime of guilt in five minutes?”
“Yeah, I do. Just decide that you’re an idiot, and you’re not going to be an idiot anymore. It’s not that hard. Look at Grandma. You said she was a disaster when you were a kid. Now look at her.”
“She didn’t change overnight, either.”
“Yeah, but you’re a lot smarter than Grandma.”
Caroline smiled. “I wish it could be as easy as you think. Things always seem a lot easier when you’re young.”
“They always seem a lot more complicated when you get old.”
Mother and daughter sat in silence for a minute, each staring down at the shirt in their hands.
Finally, Polly spoke. “If you’re going to keep blaming yourself, why did you bring me here in the first place?”
“I thought that telling someone might make it easier to live with.”
“Did it?”
“Maybe it has. Or it will.”
“Good,” Polly said with finality. “You should tell Dad, too.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. He’s good with that stuff. He’s a pain in the ass when you don’t actually have a problem, but when you do, he’s good to have around. And he won’t call you names like I did. And he’s your husband. He should know.” She paused and then added, “But don’t tell Grandma.”
“No?”
“No way,” Polly said. “She’s a total drama queen. She’d find a way to make it about her.”
Caroline now understood why she brought her daughter along on this adventure. It had nothing to do with Emily Kaplan-turned-Labonte. It had everything to do with this moment.
twenty-eight
There were fewer people around the table this time. George Durrow was absent, of course, as were Spartacus and Agnes. Spartacus (with Agnes by his side) had played in a poker tournament the night before and had begged off in favor of sleeping in.
Jake and Randy were also not present. “Fishing,” Emily had said, though for some reason Caroline didn’t think she was telling the truth.
The only addition to the table was Tom. She was glad that he was here.
“Don’t worry,” Polly said to Emily as she stepped into the room. “Plenty of seats this time. I promise.”
“Good to know,” Emily said.
Caroline knew that Polly’s pleasantries were not to be confused with actual friendliness or even tacit approval of her presence at this meal. Despite their “come to Jesus” moment in Lucy’s bedroom—as Polly was now referring to it—she was still angry about Caroline’s civility toward Emily.
“After all that you’ve been through these l
ast couple days, you still can’t tell her to fuck off?”
“I did,” Caroline said. “Or I came as close to it as I needed to. That’s the difference between adults and teenagers. Adults don’t see everything as black and white. Also, we’re allowed to swear and you’re not, so knock it off.”
“That’s the problem with the world,” Polly said. “Adults make everything so complicated. Sometimes a bully is nothing more than a bully.”
She wasn’t going to tell Polly that she was right, but the girl had a point.
Caroline’s mother was serving eggs, bacon, and pancakes this time. Brunch before she and Polly and Tom made their return trip home.
“It’s kind of like old times,” Penelope said to Emily as she passed a serving dish of scrambled eggs across the table. “Do you remember all those mornings you spent at our old place as a kid, eating breakfast with us?’
“I do,” Emily said. “Some of my favorite childhood memories were made in that house. I hated it when you guys had to move.”
“Me, too,” Caroline’s mother said.
“Why did you move?” Jane asked.
Caroline saw her mother hesitate for a second and rushed to fill the gap. “My father took a drive to Florida and never came back. Mom did an amazing job taking care of us.”
“Us?” Jane asked.
This time it was Caroline who faltered, so Polly quickly jumped in. “My aunt Lucy. She died when she was still a kid. Grandma was like some kind of superhero. Dealing with all that.”
“I’m so sorry,” Jane said. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s all right,” Penelope said. “Long time ago. Many days since then. We still miss her, but we’ve come a long way.”
We have come a long way, Caroline thought. And in that moment, as she came a little bit closer to accepting the random nature of her sister’s death, Caroline thought of what Polly had said. And she supposed that she had somehow understood it all along. If you nudge an asteroid off course by just a tiny bit and give it enough time, it will end up in an entirely different place. Life is no different. Nudge someone one way or the next and a person’s life trajectory can change forever. The events of the last few days were the direct result of a moment in a cafeteria a long time ago. A small act of cruelty made large by time. Caroline couldn’t blame Emily for Lucy’s death, even though it was Emily who had set things in motion that day so very long ago.
But Polly was also wrong, because unlike the asteroid, which floats through the void on a specific trajectory, there is no predetermined course for a human life. No intended destination. Emily might have nudged her life off course years ago, but had Caroline not been so hell-bent on winning her friend back, things could’ve turned out very different. It didn’t make what Emily did any less cruel. Just less profound.
And even though she would’ve given anything to have Lucy back, Caroline had more than enough reasons to feel fortunate about where life had brought her. The accumulation of decisions and choices and random acts had led her to this place and this time, and it’s wasn’t all bad. She had a husband who she loved dearly. She had a daughter who she had grown to like as well as love, and someone whom she admired. Somewhere along the way, Polly had become Polly. Her own person. Not some hybrid version of her mother and father, as was the case for so many children, but her own self. Unlike anything Tom or Caroline were or could ever be.
Had her life been different, there might have been no Polly, and that would’ve been just as terrible as no Lucy.
“Maybe when you come back, we can do this at our place,” Emily said.
“That would be great,” Tom said. “We should probably make an effort to visit more often.”
“I’ve been telling my parents that for years,” Polly said.
“Yeah, we should,” Caroline said. She was surprised by these words, but they felt right. She had avoided this place for so long, but now it felt … better. Not exactly good, but not awful, either. Just a place filled with memories. Some terrible, but some good ones, too. She hadn’t seen the good ones in a long time, but they had begun to peek out from the thawing ground like spring’s first flowers.
An hour later, they were saying their good-byes. Emily and Caroline were standing on the front porch, watching as Tom loaded what little luggage they had acquired during the trip into the trunk of his car.
“I feel like I should say more,” Emily said. “Like good-bye isn’t enough.”
“We’ve said more than enough. For now, at least.”
“So this isn’t good-bye forever?” Emily asked.
Caroline laughed. “I don’t think so. Not if you don’t want it to be. I’m not saying that we’re going to be best friends again, but I’ll at least save you a seat at the table.”
Emily reached out and hugged Caroline. They held each other for a long moment. Caroline breathed in and caught the smell of Emily’s hair and skin. So many things had changed, but somehow, underneath everything, the past still lived and breathed as well.
“Enough, already,” Polly said, exiting the house and walking past the two women. “Get a freaking room.” Polly walked over to Emily’s car and knocked on the window. Jane lowered it.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry that I was such a bitch to you.”
“It’s okay,” Jane said.
Then Polly leaned her head into the window, said something that Caroline couldn’t hear, and stepped away.
“Ready?” Tom asked.
“Yup,” Caroline said. She turned back to Emily. “If you need to talk, call me.”
“I will,” Emily said. Caroline thought she would. Sooner than later. She wondered if Emily regretted the loss of her friend as much as Caroline had.
“Sorry for everything,” Polly said to Emily, who had stepped down off the porch with Caroline. “But not really.”
“Polly!” Caroline said.
“It’s fine,” Emily said. “Is there anything better than a daughter who is willing to defend her mother to the end?”
Caroline thought not.
She got into her car and put the key into the ignition. The passenger-side door opened. Polly climbed in.
“You’re not driving with Dad?” Caroline asked.
“Maybe I’ll switch when we stop for lunch.”
“Are you sure?” Caroline asked.
“Yeah. We need to talk. I can’t end up as the next Max Brod.”
“Who?”
Polly signed. “Max Brod. The guy who promised Kafka that he would burn all of his unpublished manuscripts when he died.”
“And did he?” Caroline asked.
“Are you kidding me?
“Fine,” Caroine said. “He didn’t burn them. What does that have to do with you?”
“You and Kafka are a lot alike. A couple of talented cowards. Actually, I think Kafka’s overrated. That giant cockroach story is a joke. But you? You might be the real deal, Mom. If you’d ever let someone see your work. I don’t want to be showing people those spider photos after you’re dead. You need to find some eyeballs now.”
“And you’re going to make that happen?”
“It’s called the Internet,” Polly said. “I’ll explain on the way.”
“Sounds good,” Caroline said. And it did. “But I get to listen to my music.”
Caroline shifted the car into reserve and started backing out. “Sorry. It’s fifty-fifty in this car. Your mother is no pushover.”
“Relax, Mom. You’re not exactly Helen of Troy yet.” She was silent for a moment, and then she added, “But you’re a lot less Neville Chamberlain than I thought you were.”
Caroline wasn’t sure who Neville Chamberlain was, but she assumed it was a compliment. She’d double check later on the Internet. “By the way,” she said. “What did you say to Jane? When you stuck your head through her window?”
“I told her that her mother was a hamster and her father smelt of elderberries.”
“Did she know what that meant?
“Nope,” Polly said with a giggle. “She just stared at me.”
“What does it mean?” Caroline asked.
Polly sighed. “It means that you and I are going to sit down in the living room tonight and watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail, so you’ll stop asking such dumb questions.”
That sounded just fine to Caroline.
Acknowledgments
Stephen King suggests writing the first draft of your novel with the door closed.
I suspect that Mr. King, whom I respect a great deal, did not spend his youth toiling away in the dim confines of an arcade or sitting in front of a television with an Atari 5200 controller in hand. Videogame junkies become hooked on immediate feedback and require it constantly. Though I have overcome my addiction and play sparingly nowadays, the need for immediate feedback never left me.
As a result, I write every sentence with the door open. In the process of completing this novel, I invited about a dozen friends and family members to read along as I wrote. While their helpful suggestions, generous praise, and private counsel were critical to my success, the most important thing was the knowledge that someone was reading and anxiously waiting for the next chapter.
For that, I am forever grateful.
Special thanks to my wife, Elysha, who gave me the idea for this story during one of our frequent conversations in bed with the lights out. Finding a best friend whom you constantly want to kiss is a wondrous thing.
Thanks to my in-laws, Barbara and Gerry Green, for continuing to fill my life with their enthusiasm, excitement, and unsolicited counsel. About once a month, Gerry will say, “Tell us something exciting, Matt! Give us some news!” He has no idea how long I have waited for someone to ask me questions like that.
Many thanks to Brenda Copeland, my editor and friend, for helping me find this story. From an awkward hand hold two years ago to our recent bout of smugness, she is a partner whom I never take for granted.
Lastly, thanks to Taryn Fagerness, my agent and friend, who makes my creative life possible. She makes my stories better and, as a result, my life better. Our relationship is the envy of so many of my author friends, and I brag about it whenever I can.
The Perfect Comeback of Caroline Jacobs Page 19
