by Vicki Grant
The second bell rings. I only have a minute. I don’t know where to start. I fumble around. “You know… I…well…”
Dad puts his hands on my shoulders. “Hold that thought. You’re late already, and Colin’s good looks will only distract the teacher for so long. Why don’t I book a table for two Monday night at Da Maurizio’s, and you can tell me all about it then? Deal?”
Dad and his deals.
“Sure. I’d like that.” I’m trying too hard to be brave, and it shows.
He musses up my hair, then gives me a hug. He hugs me so hard, I can hear a little bone in my shoulder squeak.
I head into class. The last I see of him, Dad’s got his thumb out and is hitching a ride back to his office.
Chapter Three
I’m in the front row, ten feet from the stage, with my boyfriend on one side and my two best friends on the other. I’ve got vip seats, signed cds and some of the most amazing photos you’ve ever seen on my iPhone. Helena and Sophie haven’t stopped screaming since the band hit their first note. Colin is so pumped, he keeps picking me right up off my feet.
I’m the happiest girl in the world—and I’m laughing at myself.
Seriously.
Yesterday, I’m in the total depths of despair, then Dad gives me concert tickets and poof! All my problems disappear.
I’m either easy to please—or really, really shallow.
The music is so loud, I can barely hear it anymore. It probably means I’ll be deaf by the time I’m twenty, but at the moment I’m loving it. In a weird way, that much sound is almost like total silence. You can get lost in it.
My mind wanders all over the place. I think about Colin (of course), about the English paper I should have started last week, about how I’m going to decorate my room in the new house, about whether it’s normal for the drummer to sweat that much, about a fabulous pair of boots I saw at Project 9 the other day.
Mostly, though, I think about Mom.
For three months, I’ve been so mad at her. It’s as if she wasn’t even my mother anymore. She was just bad, mean, inconsiderate, evil.
The truth is, it’s Dad who should be mad at her. He’s the one she kicked out. And yet the only thing he’s ever said to me is, “She’s a good woman.”
Is he really that forgiving—or does he just not know?
I wonder if he’d have said the same thing if he’d seen the look on her face yesterday when I told her about the concert tickets.
You hear about people turning their noses up at something. You think it’s just a figure of speech—but Mom actually did it. She actually put her nose up in the air and said, “Oh”—loud clearing of throat—“I’m afraid I’m too busy for that type of thing at the moment.”
Then she smiled—or at least made an attempt.
Even with the band playing one of my favorite songs and Colin grooving away beside me, I feel mad all over again. That pitiful attempt at a smile. Why even bother?
If Dad hadn’t asked me to cut her some slack, I probably would have yelled at her, but I held back. I knew Helena and Sophie would be thrilled to go to the concert. I wouldn’t have to worry about them having a good time.
Frankly, Mom saying no to the tickets was a good thing. Why fight with her over it? It was her loss. I could afford to be big about it. That’s what Dad would do.
So I just smiled and said, “Oh, too bad.” Then I asked her if she wanted me to help her pack. (The sooner she moved, the sooner we could.)
Mom turned and looked at me. I almost didn’t recognize her. She’d been so blank in the face ever since Dad left. Right then, though, standing by the sink with a pile of dirty dishes, she almost glowed. It was like seeing light coming out from under a door in a dark hallway. I realized there was a human being in there after all.
She went right back to stacking the dishes. I could tell she was trying not to act too excited about my little offer.
“Well, I’d certainly appreciate the help. Are you sure Colin doesn’t have any plans for you this evening?”
“I thought maybe he could help too.”
That did it. She leaned against the counter and her face cracked into this huge smile.
Is spending a night with her kids, packing boxes, really Mom’s idea of a good time these days?
It’s hard not to feel sorry for her.
I bring my mind back to the concert. I look at Colin. His head’s cranking away to the music. He doesn’t have the best sense of rhythm, and he needs a haircut, but that’s why I love him. He doesn’t care about that kind of stuff. He just wants to have fun and be happy and make other people happy. (Maybe it really is true that girls always fall in love with someone just like their father.)
Last night, he actually skipped a hockey game to help us pack. He lifted all the heavy stuff for us and got down all the high stuff and lugged all the gross stuff out to the curb so we wouldn’t have to soil our delicate hands. He even play-wrestled for ages with Elliot to keep him out of our hair.
We were having a great time until Mom went and said, “It sure is nice to have a man around the house.”
She was only joking, but as soon as she said it she realized her mistake. Her face went blank again. We got all awkward. It was as if the words Dad and Divorce and Lonely and Sad were buzzing around our heads, and everyone was too afraid to swat them away.
Colin was the one who did something about it. He reached out and put his hand on Mom’s shoulder. It was such a nice thing to do—even if it was the totally wrong thing to do. (I don’t think she would have actually cried if he hadn’t touched her.)
Luckily, right then, Elliot piped up and said, “Hey! I’m a man and I’m around the house!”
He was so indignant that we all laughed. Mom turned and squeezed Colin’s hand, and I knew she was saying thanks.
The lead singer is clapping his hands over his head, trying to get everyone singing. I stand up and clap too, but my mind is totally on Elliot now. The poor kid is only five. Sometimes I think he doesn’t understand what’s going on at all. Other times I think he understands too much. I see how hard he tries to remember to put his toys away for Mom and how tight he hangs onto Dad when he comes over to visit. It’s enough to break your heart.
Mom’s really going to miss him when we go. I’m sorry about that, but it can’t be helped. It will be better for Elliot.
I’m going to make it better for Elliot.
The crowd starts cheering. I realize the band has left the stage. Colin hustles us out the side exit so we don’t get lost in the crush.
We drop the girls off at Sophie’s place. Helena’s hoarse from screaming, but she manages to croak out, “Tell your father I love him. Seriously. I loved him before he gave us the tickets—but now I want to marry the guy!”
Sophie goes, “In-ap-propriate!” She slaps a hand over Helena’s mouth, then whispers to me, “Though the truth is, I’m crazy for Steve too. You are so lucky!”
We kiss. We hug. We leave. Sophie’s right. I am so lucky.
I’m in such a blissed-out state that it takes me a couple of seconds to realize Colin drove right past our street.
“Hey!” I say. “Where you going?”
He gives that one-sided smile of his. It gets me right in my chest.
“There are two places you absolutely have to go when you’re driving a 1962 LeSabre. The Chicken Burger. And, of course…”
He turns down the road into Point Pleasant Park.
“…Lover’s Lane.”
Chapter Four
Colin glides to a stop in front of the seawall. The moon is high and so bright it makes a long white Adidas stripe on the black water.
He lifts one eyebrow and pulls me across the seat toward him. This is all very tempting—I’m a fool for that pinecone smell of his—but I put both hands on his chest and stop him.
“No,” I say. “Next week.”
He lifts his face off my neck. “Next week?” He looks at me as if I must be joking. “Why?”
<
br /> I tell him my plan. The move. Hiring Manuela again. Learning to cook. The whole thing. Even the part about Dad and his liberal attitude toward young lovers.
Colin leans against the car door, fiddling with my hair, listening, usually smiling—then he says what I was afraid he was going to say.
“What about your mom? Aren’t you worried this will be hard on her?”
I explain all my reasons—the money stuff, how tired she is, how disruptive the move to a new neighborhood would be for Elliot. I’m being as reasonable as I can, but I’m still scared to look at Colin. I can tell by the tilt of his head he’s trying to coax me into being nicer than I actually am.
“But it’s hard on Dad too,” I say. “And remember. He didn’t start this. She did.”
Colin’s quiet for a long time. He plays with my fingers and looks out at the ocean. “It’s sad,” he says. “They’re both such good people. Your mom’s so kind and responsible and everything…”
I don’t say, Or at least she used to be.
“And your father…you’d think someone with all that money would be a jerk or a snob or whatever, but Steve isn’t. He’s nice. He really wants to help people.”
Colin taps his hand on the steering wheel and takes a breath. This must be hard for him to say. “My parents are really grateful for everything he did for us. He changed our lives. If he hadn’t invested their savings for them, they’d never have been able to buy their business. They’d never be able to pay for me to go to university next year.” He looks me right in the eye. “Your dad’s an incredible guy.”
Suddenly, this big sob just kind of erupts out of me. It’s as if Colin accidentally managed to pinpoint the exact center of my pain. We’re both horrified.
Colin groans. “Oh, sorry. Ria. Sorry.” He pulls me into his lap and practically cuddles me like a baby. I’m clenching my teeth together and crunching my abs, trying to kill the sobs.
Colin dabs at my face with his shirtsleeve. I can feel his panic.
I push down my chin and swallow. I take a breath. I promised Dad I wouldn’t cry anymore. I look at Colin. His face is pleading with me.
“I really love you,” I say.
He nods. “Me too.” He’s almost crying himself.
It’s awkward, but I untwist myself from his lap and stretch out on the long front seat. “Come here,” I say.
It’s after three in the morning when I get home. I’m just praying Mom fell asleep waiting for me. I sneak in the back door and tiptoe across the kitchen.
“Ria?” Mom’s just a silhouette in the dark hall.
Damn. She’s going to kill me. I check my shirt, make sure the buttons are all done up right. I don’t want a scene.
“Sorry, Mom, I…”
She turns on the light. Her skin’s so pale, it’s almost mauve. She’s rubbing her hands as if her knuckles hurt.
“Honey,” she says. “You better sit down. I’ve got some bad news.”
Chapter Five
It’s as if she’s speaking a foreign language. I can’t understand her, and it’s making me very agitated.
“What are you talking about?”
She just repeats herself. “Your dad sent an sos at about eight o’clock to say he was having mechanical problems. That’s all they know. They lost contact with him after that. They believe his plane went down somewhere over Lake Muskeg.”
I scream at her in this hoarse whisper. “I know that—but where’s Dad? Is he okay?”
Mom looks out the window. It’s so dark out, all you can see is her reflection looking back at us.
“They don’t know, honey. The rescue team is on its way. They’ll know better by morning.”
She puts her hand over mine. I’m too stunned and scared to pull it away.
“Why don’t you try and get some sleep, Ria? There’s nothing we can do now.”
Sleep? Who does she think I am? This is my father. She might not care about him anymore, but I do. I glare at her until she turns away.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” she says.
I sit in front of a cold cup of tea and watch the sky go from black to navy to pink to blue.
The phone rings. Mom walks into the hall and stands with her back to me. Her voice is too low to hear. I stare at her, motionless. I feel like a dog waiting for my master to give me a command.
She hangs up and turns toward me. Her lips have gone small, but her eyes are weirdly open.
“Ria. That was Search and Rescue. They have some news.”
She sits down next to me and folds her hands on the table. “They found the plane.”
That’s good. That’s good, I think.
“Or what’s left of it…It was a very bad crash.” She says it slowly so I understand, so I won’t ask her any other questions.
“What do you mean?” I say.
I can see her choosing her words. “The plane was destroyed. Just bits and pieces left.”
“Did they find him?” I say.
“No.”
“He could have got out then! He could be in the woods somewhere! He could have made it to shore…”
“Ria. It was a very bad crash.”
“But they didn’t find him!”
I turn and see Elliot standing in the hall, with his hair all sticking up and his little elephant pajamas on backward. Suddenly, Mom and I are on the same side again. I smile and say, “Morning, sleepyhead!”
Mom hops up from the table and says, “Goodness! Look at the time! I haven’t even started your breakfast.” She turns on the radio and rummages around for spoons and cereal and bowls.
Elliot sits next to me. He’s got a big pout on his face. “Why were you yelling at Mommy?”
Mom bounces over. “Shreddies! Your favorite!”
Elliot takes a mouthful but looks back and forth between the two of us. I realize how sensitive he’s become since Dad left. The thought of how much worse this is going to get for him almost kills me.
He says, “I don’t like it when you’re mean.”
Mom says, “Now, now, Elliot. It’s not nice to speak with your mouth full.” I stick my tongue out at him as if I’m glad he got caught.
Mom says, “And that’s not nice either.”
We’re so busy trying to distract him that neither of us notices the news has come on until we hear, “This hour’s headlines. Millionaire stockbroker missing in air crash.”
We both leap up. Mom snaps off the radio and says, “Eight o’clock, Elliot! Time to go. Ria, can you help him get dressed so he won’t be late for school?”
The kid’s not stupid. He knows something’s up. I yank him away from the kitchen table with his mouth still full and drag him upstairs. I pretend to be mad at him for crying, but the truth is I’m relieved to have something else to occupy my mind. He doesn’t stop whimpering until I buy him a Crispy Crunch on the way to school and let him eat it.
I get this weird thought. Will he hate chocolate bars for the rest of his life because they’ll remind him of the day his dad went missing?
The bell rings. Ms. Jordan comes out and takes Elliot by the hand. She doesn’t need to tell me that she’s heard the news. Her “Hey, Elliot!” is too cheery, and her voice, when she’s talking to me, is too soft. “Call if we can help in any way.”
I walk home in a fog. All I can hear is my breathing and my heart beating and this staticky fuzz in my brain. My cell phone rings, but I don’t answer it. I don’t look at anyone I pass. I just keep walking until I get home.
I push open the door, and for a moment I wonder if I’m in the wrong place. The kitchen is full of people—Aunt Cathy, our next-door neighbors, a couple of guys Dad golfs with, his doctor, his secretary. They all turn and look at me. They all have the same look on their face.
Dread.
They dread having to talk to me.
I’m their worst nightmare.
Chapter Six
These people are all adults. They know they can’t just pretend I’m not there. They know t
hey have to say something.
They take a big breath, paste an understanding smile on their faces and, one by one, walk toward me. The women take my hand in both of theirs. The men put an arm around my shoulder. They ask me how I’m doing. (How do they think I’m doing? They heard the news.) They say if I need anything—anything at all!—they’re only a phone call away. They tell me my dad was a great guy, a fabulous person, a brilliant financial advisor. They go on and on, but this is the only thing I really hear:
Your father was.
What’s the matter with these people? No one has said he’s dead. Not the police. Not the media. There’s no body, no witnesses—no proof that he’s not lying wet and wounded somewhere, just praying for the sound of the rescue helicopter.
Why have all of his so-called friends given up on him so easily?
I want to scream and push them away, but I don’t. I just bite my lip and nod. They give me one last squeeze, then walk away, relieved. They’ve done their duty.
Colin’s the only person to get it right. He plows into the kitchen, out of breath, searching the room for me. He pushes past the crowd. He hugs me. He says, “I’m here, Ria.” For some reason, that’s what actually makes me cry. He says, “I’m not going anywhere,” and that makes me cry even more. He just sits there hugging me until I stop.
I feel like a celebrity with my own bodyguard. People still look at me, still smile, but with Colin there, hardly anybody gets up the nerve to say anything to me. I feel calmer. There’s still that crazy thudding in my chest, but it’s bearable.
Ms. van de Wetering arrives from school with a big tray of muffins. (I didn’t realize Dad managed her money too.) She brings one over on a plate and tells me to eat it.
She doesn’t get all soppy on me, thank god. She just says, “This is tough, Ria. Make sure you get enough sleep. And don’t worry about school. I’ll get your teachers to email your assignments or send them home with Colin…If I were as slim as you, I’d have some jam with that. You want some?”
I shake my head. She mumbles something to Colin about letting him off the hook for class today too, then gives me a matter-of-fact pat on the shoulder. “Chin up, kiddo.”
