Going Places

by Kathryn Berla

  “Turn him in for what? It’s not like he committed a crime or anything. I’m just trying to find out if there’s someone who can step in to help. Family or close friends.”

  “And?”

  “So far, I haven’t been able to find out anything. It’s like he has no one. Or at least nobody he wants to tell me about. But I’ll keep trying.”

  “I never see anyone go over there.” Fritzy put down the empty glass and belched. I must have grimaced because she looked right at me and belched again. “I’ll watch out for any unusual activity. It’s like that movie where the kid’s spying on his neighbor who turns out to be a killer.”

  “Slow down. Pirkle’s not a killer, and we’re not in a movie.”

  “So, what do you want from me?” she asked.

  “I was wondering if you know the people in the house that backs up to his. And if you know anything about the little girl who lives there. Maybe I could have the parents bring her by to prove to him she’s not his daughter. Or at least I could be ready if it ever happens again. I’d know what to say to him.”

  “I know some of the people in the neighborhood. I used to have a paper route when I was younger. Show me which house you’re talking about.”

  We walked around the block until we got to the street behind Pirkle’s. Then we counted back until we were at the house which would have been directly facing his backyard. I recognized the brown shingles and steeply-sloped roof. The front yard was unassuming. Manicured hedges lining the sidewalk. Flower beds along the walkway leading up to the front door. A few ordinary-looking trees here and there. No sign of kids’ toys or tricycles.

  Fritzy stopped in front of the house, hands on hips, and gave the house a once-over.

  “Congratulations, Wheeler, this is Scolari’s house you were spying on. You peeping Tom.”

  “Scolari?”

  “Your future piano teacher.”

  “Woah! I guess it’s good we know him. That’ll make it easier to explain to Pirkle if it happens again. How old is his daughter?”

  My gaze strayed to the second floor.

  “He doesn’t have any kids,” Fritzy said. “He moved here a few years ago, and he doesn’t even have a wife or a girlfriend that I know of. Wanna go for our run now?”

  People usually take the path of least resistance . . .

  . . . which often translates to wishful thinking. At least, it did for me.

  Days disappeared, one behind the other, and suddenly I was looking at Thanksgiving weekend—four days of homework catch-up, family turkey feast at my aunt and uncle’s, and a youth group retreat which was so far removed from anything I’d ever do on my own, but I was going as Fritzy’s guest.

  I loved the whole holiday season starting with Thanksgiving and finishing with New Year’s Day which signified the beginning of the end-of-school-year countdown. But this year I thought about it in a different way. Mrs. Dickinson would be flying to Chicago where her daughter lived, and Lady was coming to stay with me for the long weekend. But as far as I knew, Liza and Mr. Pirkle would be alone. That took a little of the glow off that warm feeling I usually carried around inside of me that time of year.

  Speaking of Pirkle, it had been five days since I spoke to him, and the idea of reaching out and digging slipped a few notches on my priority list. I was going to do it. It was still important. It still really bothered me when I allowed myself to think about it, so I just didn’t allow myself to think about it too much. Then that Wednesday before Thanksgiving, something was bothering Alana during yoga class, and I knew I’d hear about it during passing period. Hoping it was bad news about Bryce, I ditched Gus in the locker room, knowing Penelope would wait for him.

  “What are you doing this weekend?” Alana asked. The mope in her voice was audible.

  “We’re going to my uncle’s for Thanksgiving. But I’ll be around except for Sunday.”

  “What’s happening Sunday?” she asked like a jealous wife.

  “I’m going to a youth retreat with a friend.”

  “What friend?” Alana knew me well enough by then to know I only had a handful of meaningful friends.

  “Fritzy,” I answered, wondering why I should feel guilty about it.

  “The big girl?”

  “Yes, the big girl, Alana. You know who Fritzy is, so you don’t have to say that every time I mention her name.”

  She looked down, and when she looked up again, I saw her eyes were soft with the shine of tears.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it.” She had that nasally snotty sound when she spoke like she was holding back a floodgate. “Seems like you’re a little touchy about her.”

  “Okay, sorry for jumping on you. So what are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

  “My dad and I are going to the restaurant at the Hilton on Thursday. They serve a Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “That sounds like fun,” I lied. It sounded like the most depressing thing I could imagine, but I couldn’t invite people to my uncle’s house.

  “Guess what Bryce’s doing?”

  “Um . . . do I have to?”

  She ignored my sarcasm. “He’s going with his family to their house in Palm Springs.”

  “Cool. Must be nice to have a house in Palm Springs.”

  “He didn’t invite me.”

  “Oh. Well, sorry about that.”

  I didn’t care. I didn’t care. And yet, I so cared about her unhappiness.

  “I didn’t really expect him to. I mean, we hardly ever spend any time at his house. With his family. But . . . it just hurts, you know?” Her nasally, snotty cry-voice got all quivery.

  I wanted to reach over and grab her hand and squeeze it, or put my arm around her shoulder and draw her close to me, or tousle her messy hair and tell her everything would be all right. But I couldn’t touch her that way. Those were our unspoken rules.

  “I’m sorry,” was all I said.

  “Thanks.” We’d reached the door to art class. “Hudson . . . I decided I’m going to see my mother this weekend. I’m going to leave Friday and come back Sunday.”

  “Your mother?” She hardly ever talked about her mother, and I certainly didn’t know her mother was within visiting distance. “Where does she live?”

  “In the foothills . . . gold country. It’s about a four-hour drive from here. I haven’t seen her in over a year.”

  “Are you going with your dad?”

  “Are you kidding? My dad doesn’t want anything to do with her. But he doesn’t care if I go. He actually wants me to visit her more often than I do.”

  “So how are you getting there?” I knew Alana didn’t have a driver’s license, and Bryce was going to Palm Springs.

  “There’s a Greyhound Bus that goes there. It takes a lot longer, about seven hours each way, but it’s fine, I’ve done it before.”

  “Seven hours? You’ll practically just get there and have to turn around.”

  Could I see the trap being set for me? No. Eighteen-and-in-love equaled “stupid.”

  “It’s fine.” Her thick lashes were dewy with tears. “It’s something I have to do even though I’m completely freaked out by the idea. But I know it’s probably the last time I’ll see her for . . .whenever . . . a long time. I mean, if I go . . . if we go traveling after graduation, I don’t know when I’ll be back. I don’t know if I’ll ever want to live in this country again.”

  The trap was set and had already been sprung. I was already thinking about how I was going to get out of the retreat with Fritzy. Who was going to take care of Lady? Who was going to cover for Distress Dial calls? How was I going to catch up on homework?

  Sometimes, even now, I wonder why I stuck around hoping for as long as I did when it was obvious to everyone, including me, I didn’t stand a chance. The answer is, undoubtedly, that my addiction to her was so strong I was willi
ng to accept her on any terms, even if it was much less than what I needed. And there was always the hope I’d be the last man standing and win her love through sheer perseverance.

  >>>

  Mom was furious. I didn’t expect her to be happy, but I didn’t think she’d be that mad.

  “Who’s supposed to watch the dog? I hope you’re not thinking I’m going to do it. Who’s going to take your business calls if they come in? Again . . . not me.”

  “I’ll take care of it, Mom. Don’t worry. You don’t have to do anything.”

  “And you’re going to take care of it, how?”

  “Fritzy’s my business partner,” I lied. If Fritzy could only hear me throwing that out so easily after we’d just argued about it. “She’ll step up. It’s just for three days.”

  “She’s going to take the dog into her home?”

  I hadn’t asked Fritzy, but I was counting on it. Without her, the trip couldn’t happen. I also hadn’t told her I wouldn’t be going to the youth retreat.

  “She’ll do everything. It’s fine. The business is on auto-pilot.”

  “Auto-pilot? Last I remember your Mr. Pirkle was in the middle of a meltdown. So you’re going to saddle Fritzy with that responsibility just to give Alana a ride which, by the way, I hope she’s at least paying for gas.”

  Hearing her talk about Pirkle’s meltdown made me flinch. I’d been pretty good at burying that somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind for the past week. Hearing Mom put it that way made me think about the gerbils I got when I was twelve. I’d begged Mom for a pet when the goldfish wasn’t quite cutting it. She didn’t want to deal with a cat or a dog so we agreed on a gerbil—actually two. They were fun at first but soon started fighting. Every morning I’d wake up and check on them only to find one or the other bloodied. My duty to the gerbils quickly evolved from pleasure to ball and chain. Why had I asked for them? Finally, I convinced Mom we needed to return them to the pet store. I wasn’t equipped to handle the devastation that occurred inside their cage on a daily basis. I never asked for another pet again.

  When I first started my business, I didn’t think of it as a ball and chain. But that was before Alana Love came into my life.

  “She’ll pay, Mom. Her dad gives her all the money she needs. She has her own credit card.”

  Mom stood before me, hands folded across her chest, casting the evilest eye she could muster in my direction. I knew it was almost over.

  “Isn’t that nice for her?” she dripped sarcasm. “Okay, Hudson. You’re eighteen and you’re obviously going to do what you’re going to do. Since you’re an adult, behave like one and drive responsibly.”

  >>>

  Fritzy didn’t yell at me like my mom did. But then again, she didn’t have to. Fritzy was pretty good at conveying her feelings with the arch of a disapproving eyebrow or the curl of a skeptical lip.

  “You’re going to owe me big time, Wheeler,” she said.

  She wasn’t kidding. When we’d finished negotiating, I’d agreed to pay her the equivalent of one month’s Distress Dial profits for being on standby for Pirkle (who probably wouldn’t call). I’d keep up my calls to Liza who wouldn’t know where I was as long as we had daily contact. Pirkle’s calls would come to me and only be routed to Fritzy if he required an actual visit. Even then, Fritzy would only have to walk across the street. She’d get all the money for taking Lady into her home for three days. In addition, I’d owe her one big favor sometime in the future.

  “I’m sorry about the youth retreat,” I said. “I was really looking forward to it.”

  “Don’t even say that. It just makes you sound stupid.”

  “I mean it.”

  “Well then don’t go with Alana. It’s not like someone’s holding a gun to your head.”

  “If you were in trouble and needed a friend to help you out, wouldn’t you want me to be there for you?”

  “I am being there for you.” She flipped her heavy braid from one shoulder to the other.

  “I mean Alana. She’s having a really tough time with all this. Her mom has practically been non-existent in her life, and it’s not easy for her to face it alone. Her dad won’t go with her. You don’t know what it’s like. You have a mom and dad who love you.”

  Fritzy shook her head in disbelief and then spoke slowly and deliberately. “Wheeler, please spare me the drama. Why are you always making excuses for that girl?”

  “I’m not always making excuses.”

  “You’re always making excuses. And you’re always getting caught up in her drama. Do you actually think she’s going to dump her boyfriend just because you’re driving her to see her mother? Think again.”

  I knew she was right, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care that I was making a fool of myself. I was about to have three days away from home with just me and Alana. And her mother, of course.

  “I . . .”

  “Just go, Wheeler. I’ll see you when you get back. And don’t worry about the retreat, I’ve got plenty of friends there. Just too bad you’re not going to be one of them.”

  >>>

  It was drizzling and gray when we pulled onto the freeway the day after Thanksgiving. With all the negatives weighing on me, the weather was a perfect match for my mood, although Alana’s happy chatter slowly chipped away at my wall of doom and gloom. The path of least resistance . . . it was looking pretty good to me right then. But I was committed, and there was no turning back.

  As the freeway turned into a smaller freeway which turned into a freeway in name only, I felt a little bit lightened from the heavy load of guilt I’d been carrying around. We drove on country roads through towns that looked like they hadn’t had makeovers since the gold rush days. That was a good thing in my mind.

  “It’s like another world out here.” I imagined a life where Alana and I lived on a ranch, grew all our own food, tended a zoo’s worth of animals, and wrote graphic novels in our spare time.

  “It’s pathetic.” A bucketful of cold water on the imaginary ranch and all its animals. “I can’t believe my mother and sister choose to live out here.”

  “Wait. Your sister?”

  “Yeah, my sister lives with my mom.”

  “You never mentioned you had a sister.”

  “I didn’t? I’m sure I must have. Well, anyway I have a sister . . . Chloe.”

  “How old is Chloe?”

  “Fifteen.”

  I was astonished. A bad parent is one thing. Okay, I guess I could understand how you avoid seeing them for a year. But a sibling? I’d prayed for a sibling my whole life and felt cheated for not having one. Alana had a sister and chose not to have contact with her? Bizarre.

  “How about your dad? Does he ever see Chloe?”

  “No, she doesn’t want to see him. When the divorce happened it was like battle lines were drawn, and on one side was me and my dad. On the other, my mom and Chloe.”

  “Sad.”

  “I don’t know about sad. Sad would be if any of us cared and wanted things to be different. But we don’t.”

  “I still think it’s sad.” We stopped at a red light on one of the main streets of a small town, which was actually a named freeway though you’d never know it. “You wanna stop to use the bathroom or get something to eat?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Alana answered tersely. Prompted by the tightness in her voice, I looked over at her, but she stared straight ahead. “I don’t think it’s sad, Hudson. I don’t need your pity.”

  “I’m not pitying you. I just meant that I think it’s sad when family members don’t want to be together, that’s all.”

  “Families are made up of distinct individuals. They don’t all march in lock step and they don’t always like each other or have anything in common with each other for that matter. We don’t get to pick our family members. Don’t you ever fight with
your mom?”

  “Of course I do. But I wouldn’t ever cut her out of my life. She’s my mom.”

  “Well, to me, sad is more like when your dad dies when you’re ten years old. But you don’t hear me saying that, do you?”

  I exhaled heavily. I never expected retaliatory pettiness like that from Alana Love.

  “Okay, Alana, you’re right. I’m a sad case. Now can we move on?”

  The car behind us honked to let me know the light had changed. I pulled forward. Neither of us said a word. I popped in a CD and turned up the volume.

  “I’m sorry, Hudson,” Alana said after about a minute. “I’m an idiot. You’re right, it is pretty sad. But I’m just freaking out about seeing my mom. Forgive me?”

  She reached over and put her hand on my thigh. Not high enough to send any kind of message. Just more next to my knee. But even my knee was thrilled. Alana, it seemed, could break the unspoken rules of no-contact at will. Apparently, only I had to abide by them in Alana Land.

  “Yes, I forgive you,” I said, placing my right hand on top of hers. But she quickly withdrew her hand at that violation, and we reconstructed our wall.

  We don’t get to pick our family members. We do get to pick our friends.

  >>>

  The foothills were dwarfed by the Sierra Mountains, but they were still high enough to make our ears pop while we ascended. They were cold but not frosty. Warm but not balmy. They were fairy tale lands where every home looked like an old log cabin. Where tall pines pierced the sky like bayonets and icy streams carved out routes through ancient rock formations on their way to crystal blue lakes. They radiated dust—lots of it. And tangy air.

  The foothills were an in-between world for people who wanted to disappear. From truth. From lies. This was where Alana Love’s mother brought her daughter, Chloe, to firmly and permanently put her stamp of disapproval on Alana’s father and everything he stood for. This was where she drew her battle line, as Alana put it. And it was a battle line that wasn’t easy for Alana to cross.

  Twenty minutes before we arrived, Alana called her mother to let her know we’d be visiting.