by Ann Herrick
We both got small cones then walked around some more, listening to music and storytelling, watching dramas and folk dancing, and wandering through the art show featuring Scandinavian artists. It was fun seeing the Fair through Glynnie's eyes. Now and then we spotted Kirstin and Rolf in the distance, but we never did catch up with them.
Finally, I had to stop. "Uff da! My feet are killing me. I've gotta sit down."
"'Uff da?'" Glynnie looked puzzled as I steered her toward a bench. "I've seen little signs and plaques at almost every booth that say "Uff da." What does it mean?"
I let out a small exhausted laugh as we plunked down on the bench. "It's kind of an all-purpose Norwegian expression. The meaning is kind of like … well … getting out of the wrong side of the bed. Or trying to waltz to hip-hop. Blinking just as you get your picture taken. It's what my Mom would say right after she gets a good look at my room and just before she tells me I'd better clean it. Mostly, it gets said around Fair time."
"Hmm … Uff da." Glynnie rolled the words around on her tongue. "I'll have to spring that on Mother some time."
"I'm sure she'd totally appreciate it." I grinned.
Rolf and Kirstin walked by and gave us a wave. Rolf wore a Viking helmet and Kirstin a headband of flowers, and they both carried sacks of souvenirs. I shook my head. "You'd think they'd never been to the Fair before. They both act like kids sometimes."
"Mmm," Glynnie said. I thought she was going to say more, but she didn't.
We sat and people watched for a while. I was tired, but in a good way. Totally relaxed. I had fun at the fair. I had almost forgotten what it was like to have fun.
Then I saw them. Mom and Mr. Lundquist. He probably just came to the fair with her after she closed up her shop for the evening. Still, the sight of Mom with that guy instead of Dad made me want to hurl. Even though they disappeared into the crowd without seeing me, it cast a cloud over the evening. At least, it did until Glynnie stood up and pulled me to my feet.
"Eric. C'mon." Glynnie tugged at my arm. "Do you hear that polka music? Let's dance!"
Without waiting for an answer, she dragged me to the dance platform. By the time we got there, the music had worked its magic. I forgot I was tired. I was ready to whirl.
"It's been forever since I had to take Miss Pomerantz's dance classes," Glynnie shouted over the sound of several accordions, "but I'm pretty sure I remember how to polka!"
Next thing, we spun and twirled, almost flying around the dance platform. Lights and sounds and threads of color flashed by. Dancing with Glynnie was like holding a breeze. Not only did she remember how to polka, she was great at it. It was all I could do to keep up with her, and, like most of the kids in Crystal Lake, I'd learned the dance by the time I was three years old.
When the music stopped, the crowd applauded. I think Glynnie was ready to go again, but I was exhausted.
"C'mon." I huffed as I waved her off the platform. "I'm ready to drop. This is too much after two practices today."
"Sorry. I forgot!" Glynnie slapped her forehead. "While you were at practice I was sitting on my butt, writing. I need the exercise, but I guess you don't need another workout."
"Understatement." I yawned. "In fact, if I don't head home soon, you might have to carry me."
"Right." Glynnie smiled. "I don't know how we'll ever find Rolf and Kirstin though."
"They'll be fine without us," I said. "They've probably left by now, anyway."
"Let's go then."
The sights and sounds of the fair faded as we strolled the tree-lined streets toward home. Slats of light from a full moon slanted through the branches and lit our way. Crickets serenaded us with their soft chirps.
As we walked, Glynnie pulled her music box out of the sack and slowly lifted the lid. I recognized the soft lilt of Mendelssohn's Lullaby from all the times Kirstin used to play it on the piano when she was still taking lessons. "Careful," I said. "That might put me to sleep."
"Sorry." Glynnie let out a soft laugh as she closed the lid. "I thought I'd send it to Dad and Nicole—for the kid. I'm not the type to knit booties, but I figure this'll clue them in to the fact that I'm getting used to the idea of a half-sibling."
"You're used to it already?"
"I said, getting used to it. I'm not completely sold on the idea. I try to tell myself that it's not a competition. Dad doesn't have to choose between the baby and me. He can love both of us." She paused, and took a breath. "It's gonna happen whether or not I'm ready. Why fight it?"
"That sounds … logical."
"What? Is there something wrong with that?" A tone of anger underlined Glynnie's words.
"No," I said. "I meant it as a compliment."
"Oh. Well." Glynnie's face relaxed into a smile. "In that case, thanks."
We'd reached Glynnie's house. I walked her to her front door.
"I'm glad you called," Glynnie said. "It was fun."
"Yeah … it was …." I kind of wanted to say more, but I wasn't sure exactly what.
"Well … goodnight," Glynnie said.
"Yeah … goodnight." I stood there for a second, and then lightly punched her arm.
Glynnie gave me a puzzled smile. Then she went inside.
Man, I thought as I headed down the steps. Why'd I punch her arm? What a dork move.
Exhaustion enveloped me as I walked home. I felt a dull ache as sudden memories of Dad and Mom and me and Kirstin at a blur of fairs floated through my mind. A year ago who would've pictured the way it was this year? Me with Glynnie, Rolf and Kirstin hanging together, Mom showing up with Mr. Lindquist ….
I shivered from the fatigue. I had to get home and hit the sack. When I got there, the house was dark. Rolf's truck was still in the driveway. I figured everyone else was still at the fair. Just as well. I could go upstairs and fall into bed without anyone bugging me.
When I started into the kitchen for a glass of water, I thought I heard something in the back yard. Voices? I peeked out the window.
I saw the outline of two people.
Chapter Thirteen
I tiptoed to the front door, slipped outside, and sneaked around to the back corner of the house. Maybe that Rock guy had been scoping out the antique store. Maybe he and that other guy were going to try to break in and rob the place. If they were planning a break-in, maybe I could scare them off. If it looked as though they were armed, I wouldn't try any heroics. Nothing was worth getting shot. I'd go to a neighbor's and call the police. Maybe I could use this to get my cell phone back from Mom!
I leaned against the side of the house, listened, and stared into the moonlit yard, trying to locate the suspects. There! There they were. What the—?
Slivers of silvery light shone off a Viking helmet and headband of flowers. Rolf and Kirstin stood there, pressed together in a hot-and-heavy kiss.
A chilling anger twisted through me. I peeled myself off the wall and lunged toward them, grabbing Rolf's arm and ripping him away from Kirstin. "What the hell do you think you're doing with my sister?"
"Wh-who? What?" Rolf stammered.
"Butt out, Eric," Kirstin said, her voice low and edgy. "It's just Rolf."
"I know it's Rolf. That doesn't give him any right to paw—"
"Hey, take it easy." Rolf placed his big hand on my shoulder. "We were just—"
I shoved him." "Don't touch her ever again!"
"Eric," Rolf said quietly. "You've got it all wrong. I … I love Kirstin."
"Yeah? Is that the line you hand her when you're doing her?"
"Eric, you jerk!" Kirstin shouted. "You self-centered jerk! Anyone could see how Rolf and I feel. If you weren't so totally wrapped up in yourself—"
"Yeah, come on, Eric," Rolf said. "We're best buds."
"Some friend—"
"Look, Eric." Kirstin jabbed her finger at me. "Just because you want to wrap yourself in your misery and shut out the rest of the world, doesn't mean I have to!"
"I'd never do anything to hurt Kirstin," Rolf in
sisted.
Kirsten shook her finger in my face. "You think that just because you're Daddy's pride and joy, the whole world revolves around you!"
"Me? Me! What about you? Daddy's little girl."
"You think you're the only one who misses Dad?"
Kirstin's words echoed in my mind, but I couldn't answer. My head spun. A deep pain in my chest made it hard to breath. My hand curled into a fist and smashed into Rolf's nose. I heard his yowl of pain, and felt his blood on my fingers.
He could've flattened me with one punch. But he didn't move. He stood there looking like a puppy who'd been hit with a rolled-up newspaper.
"Omigod, Eric!" Kirstin cried. "What've you done? Rolf, are you—? All that blood! We've got to—"
"What on earth is going on?" It was Mom. No Lindquist, thank God.
"Oh, Mom. It's Rolf. Eric punched him in the face and he's bleeding!"
It sounded as if Mom said, "Eric, what happened?"
But I wasn't listening. I was backing away, turning, running. I couldn't hear. I couldn't think. All I could do was run.
Chapter Fourteen
A cold knot tightened in my stomach. I staggered as my feet hammered the sidewalk. My mind reeled. I didn't know where I was going, only that I had to get away. Away from Kirstin, away from Mom, away from the look on Rolf's face when I punched him out.
Away from home and all my pain and misery and confusion.
I ran until I could hardly breathe. My chest ached. I slowed to a walk and tried to catch my breath.
I still didn't know where I was going. I just followed the moonlight and the soft scents of summer. Suddenly, there I was—in front of Glynnie's house. The front porch light was on, but it was dark inside.
I found myself walking along the gravel path to the side of the house and staring up at Glynnie's room. The lace curtains fluttered in the open window. I didn't know why, but I had to see her, had to talk to her. If I could just tell her what happened, admit what a jerk I was, maybe I'd feel better.
I was about to yell Glynnie's name, but I changed my mind. I didn't want to wake up her mother. I scooped up a couple pebbles and threw them at Glynnie's window. One hit the sill, the other sailed inside. A corny maneuver. But effective.
A yawning Glynnie stuck her head out the window. "Who … Eric?"
"Shhh." I touched my finger to my lips and motioned for her to come down.
I thought she'd duck inside and come out the back door. Instead, she climbed out the window and started making her way down the trellis. Watching her pick her way through the Gypsy Queen Clematis, dressed in an oversized T-shirt, boxer shorts and big fuzzy slippers, for a second I almost felt like smiling.
"So," Glynnie said as she lightly hopped down the last couple of feet and brushed a leaf out of her hair, "what's up?" Without her glasses, she surveyed me with an out-of-focus stare. "You didn't really take my talk of using the trellis to elope seriously, did you?"
"No." I took a deep breath then told her all about what'd happened with Kirstin and Rolf and me. By the time I was done, I was shaking. "The really dumb thing is," I said, "I don't even know what the crap I was so angry about. How could I hurt Rolf like that? I must be losing my mind."
"Oh, no, Eric," Glynnie said soothingly. "No." She hugged me. Her strong arms and gentle hands smoothed away some of the hurt and confusion. It wasn't long before I was very aware of every inch of her body pressed against me.
I buried my face in her hair and pulled her even closer. She tilted her head back and started to say something. I pressed my lips against hers, covered her mouth with mine. I ran my fingers down the soft line of her back, slid my hand up her T-shirt and traced a path across her skin, responding to a flush of feelings I hadn't had for months.
Glynnie pulled away from the kiss. "Eric …."
Her voice jolted me back to reality. What was I doing? The girl offered me some sympathy, and suddenly I'm all over her!
I backed away, raised my arms in a gesture of apology. "Sorry. I didn't mean to … I'm sorry."
I couldn't stand there and wait for her to tell me what a slob I was. I turned and started running again. It sounded as if maybe she was calling my name. But with blood pounding in my brain, I wasn't sure.
Why did I have to make a mess of everything?
My side ached. My feet hurt. I had to stop and catch my breath. I couldn't keep running. I didn't even know where I was going.
I looked around. The school was just ahead. I staggered in that direction.
I found myself standing in front of the fence surrounding the football field. Usually I could have climbed the chain link in seconds. I moved in slow motion, almost as if I was swimming upstream, and scratched my arm as I dragged myself over the top. I followed the shadow cast by the light of the moon until I dropped to my knees at the center of the field.
I looked up at the sky. A cloud drifted to cover the moon, and the darkness pressed around me. I was alone. So alone.
I stared over at the empty stands. I could almost picture Dad there, on his feet, his loud voice cheering me on, just like on the DVD. I could hear him, sounding so alive. Don't be dead, Dad. Please! Be there for me. Be alive.
I pounded my fists into the ground. "How could you leave me, Dad? How could you go and get yourself killed? I hate you for doing that to me!"
I curled up on the damp grass, covered my face with my hands and cried until I was wrapped in a dark cold stillness.
Chapter Fifteen
It was just getting light out when I woke up. My eyes stung from crying.
I sat up. The morning breeze was sweet. As the sun rose, it cast a peaceful light across the misty football field. I stood and stretched. The sun's rays warmed me.
For a moment I listened to the silence. Then, the whisper of the air, the warble of a thrush, the whistle of a distant train. The world had not ended in the still night.
I was alive. Dad was dead, but I was alive. If I could hurt so much and still see the sun arching across the sky, then I was definitely alive.
I started to walk, and found myself headed toward the stands. I climbed the stairs and took a seat where Dad always sat. I looked out over the field.
Maybe I'd have a kid someday. Maybe he'd play football. Maybe not. Maybe he'd like basketball. Or gardening. Maybe he'd be a she. He or she would be Dad's grandkid, but Dad would never know. Or would he?
Maybe Dad knew how I felt. Maybe he knew how bad it was for me. If he were here, what would he do? What would he say?
I couldn't go back and stop that drunk driver. I couldn't bring Dad back.
But maybe I could do something about myself.
I headed home.
***
As I approached the house, I saw Mom huddled on the porch swing. Her mouth was set in a worried frown. Then she saw me.
If I'd expected her to jump to her feet with cries of joy and relief at the site of me, I'd have been dead wrong.
Mom stood slowly, deliberately, one vertebra at a time. "How dare you stay out all night and worry me half to death."
What could I say? There was too much to explain, so I just said, "I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't cut it. Get in the house. Now. We have to talk."
I went inside and flopped down on the couch. "Mom, I've been doing a lot of—"
"I'll talk." Mom paced around in a tight circle. "You listen. I should've had this talk with you months ago. Instead, I tried to pretend that everything was all right. I guess I thought I was protecting you with my silence."
She sat next to me and poked at some daisies in a vase on the coffee table. "Maybe I was protecting myself, because it hurt to talk about it."
I wondered if I should tell Mom about last night, but she wanted me to listen, not talk. Besides, I didn't know if I could explain that struggle in the dark, because I didn't completely understand it myself. At least, not yet.
"However," Mom said, "Paul Lindquist convinced me—"
"Lindquist!" Coals of anger deep
inside flared at the mention of his name. "Why do you listen to that wimp? Why go out with a guy like that? He's nothing like Dad—"
"Eric! That's enough! I mean it!" Mom slammed her hand on the coffee table. She took a deep breath and let it out in a long, low sigh. "I'm not going out with Paul. He and your father were more than business partners. They were very good friends. You know that. He misses your Dad almost as much as we do. That's why he hangs out here so much."
I rolled my eyes.
"Really, Eric. He has no romantic interest in me whatsoever. I am not now … and for all I know, may never be … interested in "dating." He's certainly not trying to take your father's place. Paul Lindquist is a fine man, a good friend. He is very concerned about you. He says … and I agree … that it's time for you to confront your grief."
"Yeah, maybe …." I shrugged. I wasn't convinced, but I decided to keep the peace for now about Lindquist.
Mom blinked with surprise. I guess she'd been expecting an argument.
Suddenly I felt another surge of anger. "What about Coach Horton!"
"Coach Horton?" Mom blinked again. "What about him?"
"I saw you talking to him at practice one day. You were all smiles … and he…." I paused and pointed at Mom. "He smiled at you!"
"So …?"
"Horton never smiles!"
"Oh, for heaven's sakes, Eric." Mom slapped her forehead. "I'm not one of his players. I'm your mother. He's your coach. I introduced myself, welcomed him to Crystal Lake and wished him good luck on the season. That was it. We were just being friendly and making polite small talk. Adults do that, you know."
"Mmmph," I mumbled. I wasn't completely persuaded about that either, not with the kind of smile Horton had on his face, but I didn't give her any more grief about it.
"Back to what I wanted to talk about in the first place," Mom quickly said. "I've made an appointment for you this afternoon with a grief counselor in Eugene. It was just luck there was an opening due to a cancellation."
"This afternoon?" I grumbled. "Mom, I'm beat."
