by Ann Hood
Headings flashed by. How to Crochet a Vest. Ten-Minute Dinners. The Heimlich Maneuver. Natural Childbirth After a C-Section.
“I wouldn’t miss toasting the graduates,” she said.
“No, I don’t mean just this afternoon. I mean I would like you and Millie to stay at the house.” Tom did not turn toward Renata. He added, “With me.”
“I don’t know,” Renata said. The magazine felt slippery in her hands.
“It’s been good, I think.”
“The sex,” she said.
“No,” he said, his back still to her. “Everything. The trips on Sundays and the nights watching TV and eating popcorn.” He was a big man, tall and broad. When he finally faced her, it seemed strange that he was crying. He said, “The way you made the house smell like cinnamon.”
But Renata just shook her head and kept flipping the pages of her magazine. “Millie and I,” she said, “we’ve got to move on.”
“Where?” Tom asked her. “Move where?”
Renata looked up at him, her eyes bright. “Somewhere,” she said. She let the magazine slip from her hands to the floor. “Everywhere.”
Tom moved toward her, as if to take her in his arms. But she stood abruptly. “There’s so much to do,” she said. “Better get going.”
He stepped back and nodded. “Right,” he said, and watched as she moved past him and out the door.
Caitlin scanned the crowd in front of the high school. Parents all dressed up, being polite to everyone. Some kids were crying, some shouting with joy.
Dana tugged at her arm. “Come on,” she said.
Troy waved to them. “You leaving?” he called.
“What does he care?” Dana muttered. “He’s getting to be a real pain in the ass, isn’t he? Always coming around lately.”
He had unbuttoned his gown and it blew in the breeze as he approached them.
“I want to go to the hospital before the party,” he said.
Caitlin nodded.
“So go,” Dana told him. She pulled Caitlin away from him. “I’ll see you at the house,” he was saying. “Who cares?” Dana said under her breath.
“Roald is taking me for a very fancy farewell dinner as soon as we can get away from my father. He bought a ton of champagne so we could all celebrate together,” Dana told Caitlin as they drove away. “It sure beats going to one of Cindy Tom’s dumb parties and getting drunk and everybody puking everywhere.” She glanced over at Caitlin. “Right?”
Caitlin was sitting very straight in the seat, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes staring straight ahead.
“Just think,” Caitlin said, her voice flat, “when our parents graduated from high school, they went and got married, practically right away.”
“Our mothers got knocked up,” Dana said. “They were idiots.”
“They were happy,” Caitlin snapped at her.
“Right. That’s why my mother left. From sheer happiness over life in Holly, Massachusetts.”
“They were,” Caitlin said, softer now.
Dana glanced over at her friend. “Hey,” she said. “I’m scared too. But together we can do anything.”
Dana led the climb to the roof of Pizza Pizzazz. She had a bottle of champagne and a box wrapped in brightly striped paper tucked under her arm. She reached the roof long before Caitlin.
Below them, girls in those disgusting Pizza Pizzazz uniforms were taking orders for disgusting pizza combinations. Dana held the bottle high. “Goodbye blackened shrimp, goat cheese, and jalapeno pizza,” she said. “Hello New York City.”
When Caitlin finally joined her, Dana popped the cork and took a big gulp.
“Warm and cheap,” she said, “but it does the trick.” She held the bottle toward Caitlin.
Caitlin shook her head.
“You’re not going to toast blackened shrimp, goat cheese, and jalapeno pizza?”
Caitlin smiled. A weak smile, a smile that was hardly there.
“You’re not going to toast New York City?”
“Dana,” Caitlin said.
Something seemed to be falling down inside Dana. In her chest, tumbling around. This is not happening, she told herself.
“Here,” she said, hearing the nervousness in her own voice. “Your graduation gift.”
“I got you something too,” Caitlin said.
They opened their gifts in silence.
“A compass,” Dana said.
“So you’ll always know where you’re going,” Caitlin told her.
Dana smiled. “You have a real knack for symbolism.”
Caitlin held up a crystal apple. It shone in the bright summer light. “It’s so beautiful,” she said.
“It’s inscribed on the bottom. There’s a little silver plaque,” Dana said. “But don’t read it until we get there.”
“There?”
That feeling inside Dana seemed to accelerate. “To New York,” she said.
“Dana,” Caitlin said again.
Dana grabbed Caitlin’s arm, hard. “Don’t tell me we’re not going,” she said.
Caitlin looked at Dana. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“But all of our plans.”
“You can still have them.”
“Alone?” Dana said. She wished she could stop that feeling she had. It was like jumping off a high building, she thought. Not knowing if you’d survive the fall. “I can’t go alone,” she said.
“Yes, you can,” Caitlin said. “You’re the brave one. All along you’ve always been the brave one. Me, I need to stay right here. I want to stay.”
“No, you don’t,” Dana said. “You want to leave town, to have adventures. You want to be somebody.”
“No,” Caitlin said, her voice so soft it was like a whisper. “That’s what you want. I met a guy. We’re going to build a house and get married. I don’t want to go away.”
The feeling was back, only worse. Like skydiving, dropping thousands and thousands of feet from the sky. “But you want to leave. You’re the one who always said so.”
“Dana,” Caitlin said, taking her hand and holding it tight. “The guy. The one. It’s Troy.”
It was like Dana couldn’t get air. She gulped for it, swallowing hard. But her lungs could not get any. Everything was happening too fast, falling apart when it was supposed to come together.
Without even thinking about what she was doing, Dana took the crystal apple and threw it as far as she could. When it hit the ground, it shattered.
“How’s that for symbolism?” Dana shouted. “You traitor. You jerk.”
She threw the compass then too. They did not hear it hit the ground. Dana turned and ran down the fire escape, away from Caitlin, who sat on the roof, not moving.
Roald came to their house for champagne, all dressed up for the fancy dinner. They stood away from the others, watching.
“Finger sandwiches,” Roald said. He rolled his eyes.
“I want to go with you,” she told him. “Cross-country. I want to work at a bar in Montana.”
“You know I’ve got to go alone,” he said. He munched on a carrot stick. “Rabbit food,” he said.
“But I’m not a bother,” Dana said. She sounded as desperate as she felt. “I’m adventurous.”
“That’s for sure,” Roald said. He poked her in the ribs. “Ask any guy at Williams.”
“Very funny.”
Troy and Caitlin came in with her father then, and Dana watched them as if they were in a movie. She could not hear what they were saying but she could guess. Her father kept slapping Troy on the back and hugging Caitlin and everybody looked all starry-eyed and smiling.
“The happy couple,” Dana said.
“What a waste.” Roald finished his champagne. “Let’s blow.”
As they slipped out the back door Dana heard her father banging a spoon against his glass for everyone’s attention. She walked faster so she would not have to hear.
Renata was sitting outside, in the grass, when Dana got b
ack from dinner. Dana went and sat beside her.
“I’m taking Millie to Mexico,” Renata said.
The air was filled with the sounds of crickets and the smell of summer rain on its way.
“I was thinking,” Dana said slowly, “that I might stay here after all. I could go to the community college. Study English or something.”
Renata took Dana by the shoulders. “No,” she said. “You have to go.”
“Caitlin isn’t coming,” Dana said, starting to cry.
“I know all about it.”
“I’m afraid.”
Renata wrapped Dana in a big hug. “We’re all afraid, baby. All the time. But you’ve got to go and do what you’ve got to do.”
“I can’t leave my dad all alone.”
“Your dad can take care of himself,” Renata said. “Everyone has to take care of themselves.”
“I just don’t know.”
Renata released her, cupped Dana’s chin in her wide hand. “You do know. You pack up your stuff and go.”
Dana tried to imagine it, the highway that led south, the buildings shining in the sunlight. If she left early enough, she would be there by noon. Her life could start tomorrow. She squinted her eyes. Caitlin claimed it was only starlight that she saw, but Dana knew better.
Her mother had told Dana that Sue and Mitch had big plans for their little house. An addition in the back, more children, maybe even horses. She used to point out the beginnings of the extension, a low foundation in back that sat empty now, all weedy and overgrown.
Dana sat in her car in front of the house. She could smell the cherry blossoms from the tree Sue and Mitch had planted. In the early morning like this, with the beginnings of sunlight breaking through the mist, Dana could almost imagine what could have been here.
She leaned on her horn, the sound shrill and loud. Three long beeps, one short one. That’s how she and Caitlin always called for each other. In the back seat, she had everything packed in Hefty garbage bags. All of her stuff fit into two. That’s how much she was leaving behind.
Caitlin ran out, still in her lemon yellow baby doll pajamas, barefoot, her hair loose.
She leaned into the open window on the driver’s side, brushing Dana’s cheek as she peered in.
“Traveling light,” Caitlin said.
Dana nodded and got out of the car.
Caitlin straightened, hugged herself in the cool morning air.
“It’s not too late,” Dana told her. “You could still come.”
But Caitlin only smiled and touched her friend’s arm. Her fingers were cool, the nails polished a pale pale pink. On her ring finger was a gold band with the tiniest diamond in the center.
Almost shyly Caitlin said, “Troy gave it to me. Pretty, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Dana said. “It is pretty.” She held on to her friend’s hand hard, as if everything depended on that connection.
Caitlin squeezed hard too. “Blow them away in New York. For both of us, okay?”
“Okay.” She started for the car, but Caitlin called her back.
“Here,” she said, holding out the compass. “I went and retrieved it for you.”
Dana took it from her.
“Use it to find your way home sometimes too,” Caitlin called to her.
When she got back in the car, cherry blossoms covered the seats and floor. Their fragrant smell was everywhere and Dana, sat for a minute, breathing it in. Then she put the car in first gear and beeped the horn, three long, one short. She saw Caitlin in the rearview window, still standing there, waving goodbye.
Dana scooped some blossoms from the empty seat beside her, then held her hand out the window, and watched as the breeze picked them up and carried them away.
First, Renate found the silver dollar from Mrs. Ramone. Then she carefully taped it over Millie’s chest. She thought there should be words to say to make this ritual work. But Mrs. Ramone had not given her any. In Renata’s mind, one word kept repeating. Please.
“Millie,” Renata said, “how would you like to move to France?”
Millie frowned. “The country of France?”
“Right. The country.”
She shook her head. “No.”
Renata smiled. “That’s okay,” she said. “We have lots of options.”
She had spent all afternoon in the library. There were lots of places to go and get healed. Not just Lourdes. There was Chimayo in New Mexico. And small towns in Italy, in Florida, and Portugal and Mexico and Canada. She spread out a map of the world, each country a bright hopeful color, each ocean vivid blue.
“Where do you want to go?” Renata asked her daughter. “Where?”
In the end they had decided on Mexico. Millie liked the food there, and it was far away, but not too far. They would learn Spanish, Renata told her. They would buy bright-colored clothing, beads and ruffled skirts. They would walk barefoot. And Millie would get well.
Renata took Millie back to their rented house. They would waste no time in leaving, she decided. They would just go. “Pack up all your cares and woes …” Renata sang as they drove.
“Remember?” Millie said. “Remember when I used to ask you if you wanted to meet Prince Charming?”
“Yes,” Renata said.
“I still want you to. I want you to live happily ever after.”
“We will,” Renata told her. “In Mexico. Maybe we’ll meet a bandito who will carry us into the sunset.”
Millie rested her head against the car window and closed her eyes. She looked chalky, too pale.
“In Mexico,” Renata said, pulling into the driveway, “you will get a nice tan. To hell with dangerous ultraviolet rays. We’ll live dangerously, won’t we?”
Millie didn’t answer.
“Won’t we, Millie?” Renata said.
“Sure, Mama.”
They got out of the car and walked slowly into the house. All of the herbs had died in their box, shriveled and dry. The sight of them made Renata almost double over in grief.
“Our plants,” she said. She reached for a branch of rosemary, and it crumbled in her hand. Then she remembered all the planting she had done in the winter, the tulips and crocuses. Renata rushed to the kitchen window, to look out at the back yard. The fruit trees were bare, the borders that she had so carefully planted with bulbs were empty. She had fooled herself into thinking for a while that she could keep things alive here.
From behind her Millie said, “I don’t want to go to Mexico.”
Renata did not turn to look at her daughter. She only nodded. Even Millie knew there were no miracles this time. At least not for them.
“Let’s just go back home,” Millie said. “To New York.”
“Is that where you want to be?” Renata asked her. She still didn’t turn around. She did not want Millie to see her crying.
“Yes.”
Again Renata nodded. They would go back to New York then. In this, Millie should be the one to decide.
Everything felt upside down to Tom. He thought he wanted Renata to stay, yet when she refused he felt oddly relieved. He thought being alone again would feel sad, almost creepy after all this time with Millie and Renata and his own kids, but instead it felt almost sweet. He stood in his front yard, with the sun beating down on his back and realized that although he would never be as happy as he once was, in a new unexpected way he was almost happy again.
Sometime this past year he had realized that Holly, Massachusetts, was not the center of everything after all. That Renata needed to find a miracle, that Dana needed to chase stars, that he needed to stay right here. A fuzzy image of Libby floated into his mind. Libby, he thought, had needed to leave him.
And thinking that, another idea crept into Tom’s mind. Maybe it was time for him to leave too. Not Holly, of course, but this house. He turned to look at it, and in that moment it seemed suddenly different. It was no longer the house where he would find happiness—it did not seem to hold some secret about Libby or himself, i
t was just another slightly run-down dark green house in western Massachusetts. In fact, in the warm summer breeze, as the trees bent and their leaves glistened golden in the sunlight, the house seemed to almost sigh.
Something had settled in him. Maybe he would sell the house after all, move to one of those new condominiums that had been built where old man Knight’s farm used to be. Someone had told him they were nice—wall-to-wall in every room, a dishwasher and microwave, and each unit was cable ready.
He did not want to go back inside the house, so he got in his car and drove over toward those new condos. Westshire, they were called, as if they were in England or something, the name on the sign at the entrance written in fancy scroll. Everything there was neat and orderly, speed bumps and numbered parking spaces. Libby would like it here, he thought. And he knew then that he would still take her back if she wanted to come. But that it would never be the same. He would never be the same. Never again could he love someone—even Libby—that way.
Tom stood there, feeling the new and still unfamiliar hardness in his chest, at the very place where he used to believe love settled, the place that used to warm him for so many years. From the distance came the sound of children splashing in a swimming pool, the smell of hamburgers cooking on a grill. He thought again about life here. He could imagine the feel of the new carpeting under his feet, the smell of fresh paint as he closed his eyes to sleep there, the way a night would feel in a place like this.
Libby was thinking about going home. Sometimes she imagined a party awaiting her there, the kind that soldiers in old movies got when they returned from a war. Sometimes she imagined slipping in at night, quiet and unnoticed, in the same way she had left a year ago.
The funny thing was, no matter how she imagined it one thing was always the same—her children were still babies in her fantasy homecoming. They were babies and therefore could not be angry at her for leaving them. Instead, when they saw her, they broke into smiles, ran toward her in the awkward way that small children move, let her scoop them both into her arms, whispered “I love you” in a rush of milky breath.
And when she thought that, Libby got immediately sad, because of course it was so completely untrue, impossible. She knew there would be no hugs, no whispered endearments. Just Dana’s steely gaze, Troy’s look of distrust and betrayal. It seemed unfair to Libby that a person only got one life, one chance. If only she could have frozen time, kept her children small while she came out here to California to try her luck. Then perhaps she could have had the homecoming she imagined.
