What We Knew

by Barbara Stewart

  “Do you remember when I used to take you guys sledding?” he asked, tearing the candy rope in two.

  I did. Back before he left, before Scott left. Back before Scott and I were old enough to choose our friends over our family. Back when doing stuff with my parents felt like a reward instead of a penalty. Swimming. Ice-skating. Saturday matinees. We tripped along the shore, pulling our strings, our dad pulling us back in time. “How about the ball games I used to take you to?”

  “I just remember the nachos,” I said.

  “I don’t remember nachos,” Scott said. He smiled up at the princesses dancing and twirling. “Oh right, that’s because I never got any. You’d have them all eaten before we got back to the bleachers.”

  I sucked my finger and aimed for Scott’s ear, but my brother was fast. I chased him down the beach and around a log. Round and round we went, slipping, screeching, getting dizzier and dizzier, the world spinning. With my laughing and Scott’s howling, neither of us heard our father’s warnings. “Hey guys!” he shouted, pointing out over the water. “Stop!” I skidded to a halt and gazed up. Our kites spun, tangling together, falling. I tossed my spool to Scott, but it was too late. The pink and yellow diamonds dropped from the sky. Scott pulled them in and fished them out of the water and then stood there giving me the evil eye while our dad examined the snarl of wet string. Teasing them apart was impossible. One of the lines had to be cut. Our dad sacrificed the princesses.

  “You suck,” Scott said, driving his knuckle into my arm. “You always ruin everything.”

  I stuck out my tongue.

  “Knock it off, you two,” our dad said, giving Scott his spool and kite. Chuckling to himself, he went to the truck and came back with a blanket and stretched out on the grass. He looked so happy with his fingers laced behind his head, soaking up the sun, offering his advice to Scott and me as we tried to get the alien and the smiley face airborne again.

  “You think maybe next time we could get the kind with two strings?” I glanced back at my dad but his eyes were closed. He’d been up all night. “You must be tired, too,” I said to Scott.

  “I slept on the bus.”

  “What time did you get in?”

  “Four something.” Scott pointed out a hawk cruising the tree line. It soared out over the reservoir and shadowed our kites. “Mom made coffee and we talked until Dad showed up.”

  “Was it a good talk?” I asked. “Did she tell you she’s not angry about you being gay? She loves you, Scott. She was shocked, is all.”

  “And disappointed.” Scott skipped a rock across the water. “You can’t tell me she wasn’t.”

  Disappointed with herself maybe, for not knowing, but not with Scott. It was like our mom went Scott’s whole life assuming he had brown eyes, just like hers, until he pointed out that, no, his eyes were blue.

  Scott shrugged. “Dad took it better. I think he knew.”

  My eyes drifted from my kite to my brother. “You shouldn’t have left the way you did,” I said.

  Scott collapsed to a squat. “Can I be honest?” he said. His spool between his knees, he cast off more line. “I needed to go, but leaving’s hard. It was easier to pretend Mom wanted me gone. You’re right, though, I should’ve found a better way. I couldn’t find my old duffel bag. I couldn’t find any bags. I looked ridiculous, with all my stuff tied up in a bedsheet.”

  I laughed, and Scott laughed, too, the alien kite sailing away, shrinking into the blue. Racing to catch up, I let my spool spin. “How high do these things go?” I asked.

  “Let’s find out,” he said. Dragging his kite back to earth, he severed the knot at the bridle and tied his string to mine, doubling the line. Up it went, higher and higher, the diamond tugging at the spool, greedy for more freedom, until it was just a yellow fleck against the neon clouds. It’s a strange sensation controlling something so far away. Powerful. I knew it was only an illusion—if the wind died suddenly, my kite would plummet—but that didn’t stop my heart from believing it was all me, radiating some invisible force that sent it climbing toward the sun.

  “We couldn’t have asked for a better day,” Scott said to the sky.

  It was true. I would’ve stayed there forever—with the birds and gray stones, surrounded by trees and sun-dazzled water … forgetting—but Scott had a bus to catch. I started reeling in the kite—slowly, gently—but then the wind gusted. The spool jumped from my hand. Snatching at the line, my calm evaporated. As I scrambled for the spool bouncing down the shore, my father called, “Don’t sweat it! It’s only a kite!” But I kept going, my panic spinning out with the line until I reached out and hooked the white vein drifting toward the water. The string raced across my palm, burning my skin, but I couldn’t let go. Wincing, I dragged the line, hand over hand, the slack pooling at my feet until Scott ran out and retrieved the spool. The diamond grew bigger and bigger, the plastic snapping loudly in the wind, but then the current shifted and a great whoosh flung the kite behind us, out over the trees fencing the shore, where clawing branches threatened to shred the face to pieces.

  Angry and sweating, my palms stinging, I surrendered. I opened my fists, but I couldn’t watch. Head lowered, I stalked toward Scott, still on his knees, winding the slack around the spool. My dad shook out his blanket and stepped into his shoes. I was about to slip on my sneakers when a powerful flapping drew my eyes skyward. I squeaked like an idiot as the line arching over the shore rose straight up. The yellow diamond smiled down. I smiled back. Scott passed me the spool. After I’d reeled it in, my dad inspected the angry welts bisecting my palms. “You know those kites only cost a couple of bucks?” he asked.

  “I have attachment issues,” I said.

  Scott flicked the back of my head. “Ya think?”

  My dad cleaned my burns with an antiseptic wipe from the glove box and then checked his watch. He needed to eat before work, so we headed back to the city, to the drive-in down by the river, the one with the grinning jester and every surface colored in neon yellow. I’d expected an explosion of notifications when we reached civilization, but my phone sat silent. As my dad trolled the lot for a place to park, Scott shook his head at the lines. I didn’t mind. I wasn’t in any hurry to return to my life.

  “One of you go snag a table,” my dad said, locking the truck.

  I told Scott what I wanted—vanilla soft serve, rainbow sprinkles—and then we split up, our dad making a beeline for the burger stand, Scott charging toward the ice cream window. I grabbed a pile of napkins from the condiment station and wound my way through a Little League team, seeking something that didn’t exist: a clean picnic table with an umbrella. Settling for a spot in the shade of the bridge, I waved to my dad. He gave me a thumbs-up. It was better than nothing, even if the benches were sticky with ketchup. I spread out a couple of napkins and plunked down, then put my elbow on the rest of the stack to keep them from blowing away. Squinting against the wind, I stared out at the crowd.

  My breath caught.

  I gulped.

  His hair was a little longer. Still pale. Same white oxford. Same faded jeans. My pulse quickened. Two more faces followed his gaze. Trent and Rachel. My hand shot up before my brain could stop it. Rachel’s face brightened until she realized her mistake. Trent flashed me a hard look, dismissing me with his middle finger. I didn’t expect Adam to run over and give me a hug, but it stung when he looked through me and turned away. Maybe I never loved him, not like that, but I did miss him, I did care.

  “What are you looking at?” Scott asked, thrusting a melting cone in my face.

  “Nothing,” I said. “I thought it was somebody, but it’s not.”

  I licked around the edge and tried not to watch the three of them horsing around on the riverbank, laughing at something—me, probably—all their gestures a wildly exaggerated pantomime of fun. I knew they were doing it on purpose, but it still hurt. Loneliness tugged at my insides. I turned to Scott. “You’re not coming back, are you?” I asked.

&n
bsp; My brother gave me a lopsided grin. “To visit? Yes. To live?” He frowned. “Probably not.”

  I licked faster, round and round, trying to stem the vanilla dripping down my knuckles. The wind blew my hair into my ice cream. My eyes flicked to the riverbank. No one was watching. As Scott was cleaning me up with a napkin, my dad came marching over with a red tray piled with burgers and fries and a giant coffee to keep him awake. He shooed a pigeon strutting beneath the bench and asked, “What’s with the long face?”

  My eyes drifted to the bank again. It was a mistake. A pixie-cute blonde in big, black sunglasses collapsed in Adam’s lap. I knew her from school, but only the halls. She’s wasn’t anybody. I guessed it was better to get it over with—the shock of seeing him with someone else—than have it play out at the lockers on the first day of school. But then Adam caught me staring and stole her sunglasses. He looked so good my face flushed. My dad said something I didn’t catch and touched my wrist.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “You’re a million miles away.”

  “I’m fine,” I lied, my heart aching fiercely. I focused on my dad devouring his burger and raised what was left of my cone. “Thanks for the ice cream,” I said. “And for the kites.”

  It’s absurd to think about snow days when it’s eighty degrees and muggy as hell, but the whole afternoon felt like one—a sweet surprise that blasted me out of my ordinary life. I love them—snow days—but I hate them, too, right after dinner, when the slow sadness of reality kicks in. Because tomorrow will come—it always does—and you’ll be right back where you started.

  That’s what I was thinking as I suffered through Adam kissing a girl who wasn’t me, and when Scott asked me to keep him posted on Lisa and Katie, and again when my dad pulled up in front of our house. He shifted to park, but he didn’t turn off the engine. He wasn’t coming in. Scott and I collected our kites and started up the walk, but then my dad called me back to the truck. Leaning in the passenger window, the knocking motor vibrating my insides, I asked, “What’s up?”

  “Just so you know, I told your mom I’m not going to the reunion.” My dad rubbed his eyes, red and tired from being up all night. “I thought about what you said and you’re right: she needs her space. I don’t know if she’ll go, but it won’t be me stopping her.”

  I picked at the rubber window seal, stiff and cracked with age. “Cool,” I said. “Thanks.” While my dad exchanged waves with our across-the-street neighbors, I stared down at the floor. I’d missed a couple of mints. I popped the door and brushed them into the grass.

  “Did you ever get your permit?” my dad asked.

  I shrugged. “Yeah. But I’ve only been out once. Mom says I’m a road hog.”

  “I’ll teach you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. Give me a call.”

  “When?”

  “Whenever. Soon.” My dad patted the door of the truck like it was a loyal old dog. “I’m thinking of getting something newer. I won’t trade this in if you want it.”

  I looked at him, smiling, and said, “Wait here.”

  I ran inside to my room and raised the lid on the trunk. Beneath my sweaters and Adam’s oxford was the picture I’d sketched, still wrapped from last Christmas. I tore off the paper and unrolled the tube, slumping with disappointment. It wasn’t nearly as good as I remembered. Except for the eyes. They were definitely his. Soft and gentle, laugh lines forking from the corners. Rolling it up, I tucked it under my arm and ran back out.

  “Happy birthday,” I said, passing the tube through the window. “Sorry it’s late. I wasn’t done. And sorry it’s not … better.”

  My dad flattened the stiff paper against the steering wheel and leaned his head back for a better look. “You drew this?” he asked, sounding impressed. He leaned out the window and kissed my nose and then reluctantly checked his watch. If he didn’t leave soon, he’d be late for work. Climbing the front stairs, I expected to see my mom peeking around the curtains, staring longingly at my father, but she was in the kitchen with Scott, the two of them laughing about something.

  Sometimes things are broken beyond repair. But that doesn’t mean you can’t make something new out of the pieces.

  twenty-seven

  His lawn was the first thing to go, the bright green grass fading to a sickly yellow. My mother thought I was on a health kick—all the walks I was taking—but really it was a sickness that drew me to Larry’s house. Two, three, four times a day. I would go there at night, too. I’d see his shambling silhouette moving from room to room, hunched against the cold blue light of the TV. The same sour wish kept pulling me back: to see the police shoving him into a cruiser.

  I wanted so badly to text Lisa. He’s gone. Come home. But that never happened. I texted her when I got my class schedule, but she never responded. She missed the audition, too. She even avoided me in my dreams.

  It’s weird how quickly a place can look abandoned. All it takes is a week’s worth of newspapers piled on the welcome mat, a few cans and wrappers cowering against the fence. Their house no longer stuck out as the nicest on the block. It was an illusion, what Larry had created, like putting makeup on a corpse. Now it looked the part: just one more soulless husk in a stretch devoid of life.

  twenty-eight

  Listening to my mom clunk around the bathroom in her new heels, I tried to imagine my life in thirty years, but I could barely visualize next week. Was Lisa going to contact me before school started, or just show up at the corner like always? Odds were against us walking together. Earlier, while Larry was at work, I’d crept down the driveway and peered in Lisa’s window, hoping to find nothing changed. But my hope of everything being the same this next year faded when I saw the blank walls, the bare floor, everything gone except her blue striped mattress sagging against the closet door.

  “How do I look?” my mom asked, twirling in the doorway. “Be honest.”

  I touched my finger to my tongue, then touched the pocket of my shorts and hissed.

  “Really? I’m feeling dumpy.” She plucked at the arms of her dress and then loosened the belt. “Believe it or not, I used to be skinny. Skinnier than you. This is what you have to look forward to.”

  I’d never really given much thought to Future Me, but a vision of myself as fat and gray, with a husband and a house, doing community theater on the weekends, made me shudder. No point in thinking beyond the present anyway. I’m sure my mom never predicted she’d be going to her reunion with someone other than my dad. And yet there she was, peeking around the curtain every five seconds, waiting for Jim. It was strange seeing her so happy again. She actually giggled when she spotted his car coming down the street. Checking her makeup one last time, she grabbed her clutch and tottered out the door, calling, “Make sure you eat dinner!” and “Don’t wait up!”

  I don’t think it’s ever easy seeing your parents with anyone but each other. Watching from the window, I thought it was sweet when Jim jogged around the car and opened her door. I thought it was sweet the way he touched my mother’s shoulder and she straightened his tie. I thought it was sweet when his hand trailed down her arm and made the leap to her waist. But my mother leaning forward, eyes closed, lips divided, was a shock. They kissed. The curtain fell. I fell, my insides tumbling in gray confusion.

  After they drove off, I picked myself up and trudged to the kitchen for something to fill the hollow gnawing. I’d been doing it with Lisa, too. Blaming myself. For her silence. For things that had nothing to do with me. Why wouldn’t she respond? Scott had said she needed time. But how much? I sat on my bed and reread the note she’d written me, trying to understand. It wasn’t true, the part about me refusing to let her face that storm alone. I wish I’d been that kind of friend. I had followed out of fear. The selfish fear of being left behind.

  Wandering the house with a can of chocolate frosting and a spoon, I kicked myself for ever listening to my brother. Lisa didn’t need space. She needed me. Her silence was her message.
She expected more from me than a bunch of lame texts.

  I was studying the bus schedules—getting to her grandmother’s was more complicated than I’d thought—when the doorbell rang. Lisa. There I was, trying to figure out how to get to her and she had come to me—our hearts were that perfectly synched—but the hazy shape behind the front door curtain crushed that sentiment. My insides caught fire at the sight of Foley leaning against the porch post. I opened the door but kept the screen between us.

  “I hadn’t heard from you in a while,” he said through the mesh. “I wanted to see how you’re holding up.”

  I shrugged. “I’m okay, I guess.”

  “How’s Lisa? Have you heard anything?”

  I shook my head.

  Foley frowned. “You probably don’t need any more shit to deal with,” he said, his face foreshadowing the bad news he was about to deliver. “But Adam’s back. I ran into him at a party.”

  “I know,” I said flatly. “I saw him.”

  Foley shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. More bad news. “He’s seeing someone,” he said.

  When I told him I knew that, too, he looked mildly surprised. I guess my calm threw him. He aimed his thumb over his shoulder and backed down the steps. “If you’re fine, then … you know … I’m around if you need me.”

  “I don’t need you,” I said coldly, my heart shutting down. “That must’ve been somebody else’s distress call you heard.” I unlocked the screen door and stepped out onto the porch. “Go if you want.” I plunked down on the step with my frosting and sighed. “Or stay.”