Then, from behind me, comes a pair of little boys, sprinting down the sidewalk like they’re chasing the fire truck and ambulance, shouting with glee because this is clearly the coolest thing they’ve ever seen. Rory’s in their way. In their rush past her, one of them knocks into her hip and pushes her off-balance.
The sound that Rory makes, at this moment, is full of so much frustration and anger that you know it’s been building up, that some kind of floodgate has burst open. She throws herself to the nearest wall, a narrow strip of brick between a deli and a shoe store, and slides down to the ground. She wraps her arms around her head and closes her eyes.
Felix is the first to reach her and he kneels down, instinctively reaching out to touch her, but then he hesitates. In seconds, Nate is on her other side. I press stop on the camera and join the circle.
“I’m sorry that happened,” Felix is saying.
Rory has not lifted her face yet. It’s almost freakier down here, with all the feet and dog paws and stroller wheels rushing past us.
“Rory?” pushes Felix. “What can we do for you?”
She takes a deep breath, long and slow. Her whole body expands and retracts with it.
We wait.
Finally, she unspools her arms and raises her head. She doesn’t look at us. She doesn’t seem to be looking at anything. Her eyes are blank, unfocused.
“I want to go back to the car,” she says.
Nate glances at me, panicked. I just shrug. Then he digs the car keys out of his pocket and says, “Justine, you should drive her home to Mountain Ridge.”
Nate opens his palm so the keys sit there. Olivia has a tiny Lego man on her keychain and it stares up at me, ready to be claimed. Nate pushes his hand toward me. I understand the sense of it. Nate must stay for Keira, and I must go for Rory. Maybe the extra time alone with Rory will result in an actual Important Conversation. The beginnings of something beyond I forgive you.
The fact is, none of us should be leaving yet. The camera feels warm and eager in my hand. But it’s not up to me.
“I really want to be where you all are,” says Rory, defeated, clearly fighting back tears. “I want to stay part of this.” She’s talking to nobody, looking at nothing. Or maybe just something the rest of us can’t see.
I think of that day we went to Radio City. After the show, after the Endless Rorys in the ladies’ room, we had to somehow get out of the building and back to the car. I watched her mom use Rory’s favorite poem to bring Rory to the point where she could do that. Soon after, I started using the same poem when I needed her to calm down about something. I thought it was kind of fun, just another one of the songs and rhymes we learned in school.
“Rory,” I say now. “Bluff King Hal was full of beans.”
She just shakes her head.
I repeat it, more urgently, ignoring the befuddled looks on Nate’s and Felix’s faces. Knowing how crazy I must sound and almost liking it. “Bluff King Hal. Was full. Of beans.”
Something quiets in Rory and settles into recognition. She closes her eyes and says, softly, “He married half a dozen queens.”
“For three called Kate they cried the banns,” I add, keeping my voice steady, hiding my own amazement that I actually remember this.
Rory takes a deep breath. “And one called Jane.” Another breath, even slower and longer. “And a couple of Annes.”
“You do the next one,” I say gently. Rory opens and raises her eyes to me now and they are no longer focused on nothing. They are right here, deeply pooled with sudden gratitude. She keeps them this way as she starts to recite the next stanza.
“The first he asked to share his reign, was Kate of Aragon, straight from Spain. But when his love for her was spent, he got a divorce, and out she went.”
Our locked gaze must be too much for her because she looks away to continue the rest of the poem, each pair of lines detailing the fates of Henry’s wives. When she’s done, and Henry is dead and survived by lucky Catherine Parr, Rory rests her head against the wall and takes one more shuddering breath.
“Better?” asks Felix.
“Yes,” says Rory, almost dreamily. “Much better.”
In my mind, I enjoy the quickest of victorious superhero moments, because that’s all we have time for. I’m still not sure how we’re going to avoid taking Rory home.
How did we handle it at Radio City? After the show, Mrs. Gold walked to the parking garage to get the car while my mom and I stayed with Rory in the ladies’ room.
The parking garage.
A parking garage takes credit cards, and a credit card is something I happen to have in my pocket for emergencies. Admittedly, this is not a life-or-death situation, but emergencies can come in all forms, and this sure as hell seems like one of them.
“We don’t have to drive her home,” I say to Nate, then turn to Rory. “We can take the car down to Dylan’s. Would you be okay to stay in the city if we took the car?”
Rory finally meets my eyes, holding them there for a few long moments before closing them. “Yes. I guess so.”
“Justine, we shouldn’t move the car—” says Nate, and I hold up my hand to silence him. I stand up. He stands up. I reach into my pocket and pull out the credit card.
Nate stares at it for a long time, and I can feel the leadership of our little group suddenly leap from him to me. Maybe this is why I kept the secret.
“If I weren’t so happy to see that thing,” says Felix, still kneeling next to Rory, “I would try to stab you with it.”
NINETEEN
Back in the car, we put the blocks behind us at warp-drive speed, or at least it seems that way compared with the pace we kept on the sidewalk, where every step was full of too many dangerous possibilities. Nate drives and Rory rides shotgun, navigating us to Dylan’s dorm. She’s in control again, and happy.
We take turns borrowing Nate’s phone to text our parents. Just texts. No need to deal with spoken words that may cause problems. Aside from the click click of the cell phone keys, we are silent.
At a red light, Felix reaches forward to the front seat and tentatively squeezes Rory’s shoulder. He has a younger brother and sister. I’m guessing he sees Rory that way, but what if it’s more than that? Would that be weird? I don’t even know what his type is, but maybe it’s this. I can, if I squint sideways in my mind, sort of see them together. And then I can sort of see the three of us together. As friends.
I’m so grateful I’m pointed south at the moment, barreling down Second Avenue, rather than north and backward to Mountain Ridge.
Rory has Nate make a right turn off Second Avenue and soon, we are pulling up to a medium-high stone building on Fifteenth Street, just a block from what I know is Union Square.
“I see a parking garage up there,” says Nate to me as Felix and Rory get out of the car. “And oh, look, it’s only a bazillion dollars to park overnight.”
I laugh. “Olivia will forgive us.”
Nate drives off, and I see Felix has moved Rory to the nearest wall.
“Let’s get inside,” says Felix, as if it’s raining hailstones. Rory reaches out to take his hand. He grabs hers, examines it for a second, like some strange and shy bird has just landed on him and he’s afraid to move, then pulls Rory forward. As they walk, I linger long enough to start recording and zoom in on their linked hands.
Inside the building lobby, we wait for Nate, and I pan the room. There’s a low orange sofa against the wall and a guy fast asleep in a big chair, a book open on his face. I hold on him for a few seconds, then move on to the block of vending machines humming in the far corner.
Five minutes later, Nate appears, carrying our backpacks. He dumps them on the floor and walks right up to the girl sitting behind a reception desk, says something I can’t hear. The girl smiles, nods, and picks up the phone. Nate turns to us and gives us a thumbs-up. It occurs to me that I have never given a thumbs-up in my life. I don’t think my hands could even form the shape.
&n
bsp; After a few more minutes, a voice shouts “Nate!” and we all turn to see someone standing in front of the elevators. This person could be Dylan Boone, if the Dylan Boone I remember from Mountain Ridge had been upgraded to a better groomed, better dressed model.
“Wow,” I whisper to Felix. “It’s like he got a gaykeover.”
Felix laughs, louder than usual, with a nervous edge. He scoops up his bag and Rory’s, then moves away.
Dylan hugs Nate and then they do that guyish thumb-handshake—another gesture I’ve never made. Dylan turns to the rest of us and holds out both hands, palms upward, and says, “Welcome to the jungle.”
When he sees the camera, he pauses, his head tilted sideways.
“Is it okay?” I ask.
Dylan exchanges a look with Nate, then laughs. “Sure. I’ll make sure not to do anything illegal.”
We take the elevator up to the seventh floor, which I realize is actually the eighth floor because there’s a button L for the ground floor and a button 1 for the second floor. I can’t believe how misleading this is, and find myself wondering who I can write to about it.
Dylan leads us down a long hallway that smells of coffee, bleach, and ramen noodles. The floor is tile and our footsteps echo way too loudly, which makes it seem even more obvious that we don’t belong here. To add to the topsy-turvy-ness of the situation, Felix and Rory are still holding hands, and Nate, carrying my backpack and his, keeps looking behind him to see where I am.
Finally, Dylan opens a door and we’re in a room that seems to be all things at once. There’s a small kitchen and table on one end, a TV and a futon couch in the middle, and a twin bed in the corner. But based on what I’ve seen of dorm rooms in Mountain Ridge, this one rates at least three stars. The futon is on a dark wood frame and actually has throw pillows; magazines are spread out on the coffee table in front of it. There’s a small alcove off this room with two doors facing each other.
Two guys emerge from one of the doors, which I now see is a small bedroom. “Is it you?” asks one of them, auburn-haired, well-gelled, as he stares excitedly at us.
“It’s them,” says Dylan, then turns to us. “Sorry. My roommates studied the Five At series in their class on documentaries, and this is apparently the most serendipitous moment of their lives.”
“Hi,” says the other roommate, blond, holding out his hand to Nate. “I’m Adam. This is Max.” As he says “Max,” he loops his arm around the dark-haired boy’s shoulder and they lean into each other. “Forgive us if we’re a little starstruck.”
I remember what it was like to get recognized, right after Six and Eleven came out. If I was having a bad day, I hated it; on great days, I loved it so much that I almost asked the people for their autographs too. Right now, I’m not sure if this day counts as bad or good.
Max nods. “We knew Dylan grew up with you guys but . . .” He spots the camera in my hand, which I put on pause the second we came into the suite. “Oh my God! Are you shooting the new film?”
“No,” I snap, instinctively moving the camera behind my back. “I’m just . . . this is just personal.”
“That’s a mighty big rig for just personal,” says Adam.
“It’s complicated,” says Nate, in a way that lets them know they need to drop it. That protectiveness. I’ve only ever seen it come out for Keira or Rory. But this time, for me.
Max and Adam look disappointed, so I add, “Is it okay if I shoot some stuff in here with you?”
“Uh, we’d be thrilled. But let us declutter first,” says Dylan. “The place is embarrassing like this.”
As Max and Adam pick up, Nate gathers our bags into a pile in the kitchen and starts talking to Dylan about swimming. Rory asks to use the bathroom. Felix walks the perimeter of the room, checking the place out. I find myself turning the camera back on and following along with him.
If we didn’t already know Dylan was gay and hadn’t just met one of his roommates and his roommate’s boyfriend, the décor would seal the deal. There are art prints of male nudes. There’s a poster of a well-known underwear ad, some athlete I can’t remember the name of, in his tighty whities. I’m looking at a handmade ceramic platter hanging above the crappy, beat-up microwave, and it’s such a contrast that I can’t help but think the placement is intentional.
“Adam’s mom made that,” says Dylan, stepping up next to me. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Somewhere in my exploration I lost track of Felix, but I see he’s now standing near the bathroom door, becoming one with the wall.
“Justine,” says Nate, coming over to me. “Food.”
“Yes. Food.” I am loving our shorthand language.
“Do you feel comfortable using your sister’s credit card for a hunger emergency?”
TWENTY
The sky’s already changed colors when Nate and I step back onto the street. All the lights have that early-evening blurriness along their edges, and it feels like the rhythm of the city has shifted too, at once sped up and slowed down.
We’re headed to get takeout at some restaurant that’s reportedly the second coming of Chicken Kebabs. Felix volunteered to stay in the dorm with Rory. When we left, they were watching some reality show about a matchmaking service for millionaires, and Rory was saying, “If he’s so rich, you’d think he’d have that growth on his eyebrow removed.”
“That’s not a growth, Rory,” I heard Felix say as we shut the door. “It’s a piercing.”
It’s been a while now since Nate and I were alone, and it’s like those few moments of honest conversation at the café uptown have been rewound, and we have to start from the beginning again. It’s awkward and I don’t know what to say to him. I turn on the camera and shoot, but the Wow, look at the city shots are getting a little old.
Finally, I ask a dumb question I already know the answer to. “Nothing from Keira?”
Nate shakes his head. “Not yet. I’ll call in a little while.”
We walk for a few long seconds in silence. We’re parallel to Union Square now, and Nate keeps looking at the crowds of people gathered there. A dance crew is performing in the center of a circle of spectators. He’s so focused on the scene that he doesn’t see a woman with a stroller coming toward him, and he stumbles right into one of the wheels.
“Oh! Sorry!” says Nate. The woman gives him the hairy eyeball and keeps walking.
“Is it really that fascinating?” I ask, indicating the park.
“I sort of have this habit.” Nate steps up to the wall that separates us from the park. “Whenever I see a big group of people, I’m always looking. You know. For him. I can’t stop myself.”
I’m very confused for a second, and then I get it. Him. Nate’s father. All I know is what I saw in Five at Six. When she was still in high school, Nate’s mother had a boyfriend from another town. She got pregnant. He left the scene and moved away from the area. At age six, Nate had never met him. I’m guessing this is still the case.
“Do you even know what he looks like?” I ask, and this comes out harsher than I mean it to. I’m asking for more of the story, but it sounds like I’m criticizing him.
“No,” he says bitterly. “At least, not what he might look like now. My mother showed me some pictures once. Once.” He watches for another few moments, then shakes his head as if it’s an Etch A Sketch and he wants to erase what he drew.
“I’m sorry,” I say. It never occurred to me that Nate would be craving the sight of his father. He has those grandparents who clearly love him so much.
I run my fingers over the camera and Nate must sense it, because he glances at it, then me, and slowly shakes his head no. His pleading eyes mean business. I drop the camera to my side.
“When Keira’s mom left . . . that really got to me,” he continues, maybe feeling safe now. “But I couldn’t process it because of all the things that happened to me in that movie.” He says it like they only happened on film and not in real life.
Suddenly it all makes sens
e. Their connection.
“Did you talk to her, after?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. She disappeared with her dad too fast. But when she came back to town, we ended up at a party together. This one girl was drinking and got really sick. Keira and I helped her and I don’t know, I guess we bonded over that. When you’re fourteen, helping someone find a place to puke in a backyard is a pretty intense experience.” He pauses and makes a silly, cringey face, trying to break the tension. It works. I laugh.
Then he continues. “But she asked me about what it was like, living without a dad, knowing you had a parent who wanted nothing to do with you. Didn’t try to see you or talk to you or anything.”
We’re quiet, looking at the crowd, and now I, too, find myself scanning for someone who might look like Nate, but in his thirties. I actually see two men who sort of fit the bill. This city is full of people who look like my daughter, Mrs. Jones had said. I can’t imagine the feeling that such a huge, lost part of you could reappear at any time. I know there’s more to be told here. What would Leslie ask without asking?
“So now I think I understand,” I say slowly. “Why you wanted to be there for Keira. Are you wondering how it would be, if you ever go looking for your dad?
“There’s that,” says Nate, “and also, well, she always seems to be one step away from losing it completely. It’s not obvious to everyone. But if you see her up close all the time, like I do, it’s pretty clear.” He sighs. “When I found swimming, I found a way to deal. I don’t think Keira’s found any other way except to bottle it up.”
Then he starts walking again, putting a sudden stop to this assault of information. But I don’t yell at him to come back and finish. I don’t call him a jerk for holding the reins so tightly and completely in his control.
I just run to catch up to him.
The kebab place is on the corner and our order is waiting. I pay with Olivia’s credit card, in my head saying, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’ll pay you back I promise as I forge my sister’s name. I know I’ll have to do it again later when we get the car out of the garage.
You Look Different in Real Life Page 19
