The Paris Project

by Donna Gephart

  Dad looked happy too, but he had stubble on his face and was even thinner, if that was possible. His clothes were hanging on him. I was glad we’d baked cookies and made lunch for him.

  Miss Genevieve rocketed outside. He jumped on Dad, his front paws up, like he was hugging him. Miss Genevieve yipped and whined so hard it sounded like he was crying.

  Dad pet him hard. “Oh, Roscoe. I missed you so much, buddy.”

  Miss Genevieve turned in circles, then started all over again with the jumping and whining. It seemed like it would go on forever.

  Other people were outside their trailers, some with their arms crossed—still judging us—while others had smiles on their faces over our happy reunion. Ms. Welch was out there, clutching her flowered bathrobe. Didn’t that woman ever wear regular clothes when she came out to spy on neighbors?

  It didn’t matter.

  None of it.

  Let them stare.

  My family was together again!

  Georgia and I ran down the steps and into Dad’s arms.

  Dad wrapped us fiercely in his tight grip, like he’d never let us go.

  My cheeks were wet. I couldn’t help it.

  When I looked up, I saw Dad was crying too. Mom joined us, and Dad tried to wrap us all in his arms.

  I couldn’t have imagined how good it would feel to have Dad home.

  Miss Genevieve jumped and barked, wanting to be part of the family reunion.

  “Oh my God, I missed you all so much.” Dad sobbed openly.

  “We’re so glad you’re home, John.”

  “Yeah, Dad,” Georgia said. “We made you lunch.”

  “And cookies!” I shouted.

  Everyone laughed and cried because…

  Dad.

  Was.

  Finally.

  Home!

  Hope?

  IN LESS THAN A WEEK, my parents were arguing in the kitchen.

  Georgia was at work, but I was home in our bedroom, reading. Our trailer was so small that I could hear every word. I pulled the blanket up to my chin, wishing Miss Genevieve were in bed with me, but I knew he was out with my parents because he kept whining. Miss Genevieve didn’t like when anyone in the house argued.

  “I can’t stand seeing you work this much, Glory. It’s not good for you.”

  I pictured Mom’s hand on her hip. “What do you want me to do, John? We need the money.”

  “I know we need the money, but…” I imagined Dad running his hand through his thin hair.

  I chewed on my thumbnail. Why couldn’t they be happy like they were the day Dad came home?

  “We’re still paying off your lawyer’s bill. I had to take as many cleaning jobs as I could, John.”

  “I’m sorry, Glory. How many times can I tell you that? I’ll build it all back. It’s just that…”

  Silence.

  Then Dad spoke so softly I had to strain to hear. “I can’t get a job.”

  There was something in Dad’s words—a feeling. It was the same feeling I had when those stupid ballet girls laughed at me, when the neighbors looked at us with judgment in their eyes, when women whispered about us in the market, when the girls from my gym class got up from the lunch table—away from me. Shame.

  “You’ll get a job. You’re a great salesman and a talented mechanic. If not, maybe you could work in a restaurant or—”

  “You’re not listening to me, Glory!”

  Miss Genevieve barked.

  “It’s okay, Roscoe.” I figured Dad was petting Miss Genevieve, to keep him calm. “No one wants to hire someone who’s been in jail, Glory. That’s the problem. I know I can do the work. I’ve put in dozens of applications all over town and in Winter Beach, too, but the minute I fill in that part about being convicted of a crime…”

  “John, I’m sure someone will…”

  Mom didn’t finish.

  “I need to find a way to make money right now.” Dad pounded on something—maybe the kitchen counter. “We need money now. You need to work less now. We need to build the college fund back up now.”

  “It’ll be okay,” Mom said in a soothing voice. “I don’t mind taking on the extra cleaning jobs.”

  Nobody spoke for a while, then Mom’s voice: “To tell the truth, John, I worried this would happen when you got out. I worried people wouldn’t give you a chance. At least the court didn’t take away your driver’s license. That was something they could have done too. I’m glad you still have that. We’ll figure it out, babe. It’ll be okay.”

  “No! It won’t be okay. Nothing will be okay anymore. Don’t you get it?”

  Miss Genevieve barked and barked.

  “I’m going out,” Dad said hurriedly.

  “John!”

  Our trailer door opened and slammed shut.

  I shuddered and clutched my blanket under my chin. Why did everything have to be so hard?

  I heard Mom go into the bathroom and run the water. Then she closed the door of their bedroom. Soft sobs erupted.

  I wanted to run to her, but I couldn’t move from the spot in my bed. I waited till the sounds stopped. Then I tiptoed to her bedroom and knocked quietly. No answer. I knocked harder.

  “Come in.”

  Mom was sitting up in bed with a box of tissues cradled in her arms. Her eyes were pink and puffy.

  “I’m sure I look all a mess.” She waved a hand in front of her face.

  Her hair stuck out in a million different directions. “You look great.” I climbed into bed next to her.

  “Your dad went out.”

  “Yeah, I heard.”

  “I guess you did. Not much privacy in our house, is there? Sorry about that.”

  I wasn’t sure if Mom was sorry that I heard them yelling or sorry we lived in a tiny house. Either way, she didn’t have anything to apologize for. I picked at the fibers at the edge of her blanket. “Mom, do you think…”

  She put an arm around my shoulders and sniffed. “What, Cleve?”

  Words choked out: “Do you… think he’s… going to the dog park?”

  Mom pulled me closer to her. She leaned her head against mine. “Well, baby girl, we can’t know that. Can we?”

  “But… I don’t want him to go there anymore. I wish that place closed down.”

  “I know, sweetheart.” Mom kissed my head. “Like I said, your dad needs to figure this out. We can’t keep him from gambling. Only he can do that.”

  My shoulders drooped, because I didn’t know if he could do that. A hopeless feeling crept inside me and nestled deep.

  “All we can do is wait,” Mom said. “And hope.”

  Now there was a word I could hang on to.

  Hope. L’espoir.

  But in addition to hoping, there was one other thing I could do.

  Just to be safe.

  Getting Left… Twice

  I KISSED MOM ON HER DAMP cheek, went to my room, and pulled my Eiffel Tower tin from under the bed.

  The walk to Declan’s didn’t take long, especially with my sure and determined strides. There was no way I was losing my money a second time. I loved all the dogs, but it was hard work to walk them in the heat every day and pick up after them.

  I knocked on the trailer door, hoping Declan was there by himself.

  “Scout!” Dec wore jean shorts and a ripped T-shirt and no shoes. “You look like you need a spritzer. Come on in.”

  I let out the breath I’d been holding and loosened my grip on the Eiffel Tower tin. “Extra lime, please.”

  After Declan had prepared our drinks, and I’d had a few fizzy swallows, I told him all about the argument my parents had had and how Dad had taken off for what was probably the dog park.

  “I hope that’s not it, Scout.”

  “Me too.” I took another shaky sip. “But could you hang on to my Paris money just in case?”

  “Of course.” Dec smiled. “Hey, Scout, your dad probably just went for a walk or something.”

  I shrugged. “This was how
it was when he’d go gamble. He and Mom would fight, and then he’d storm out and not come home till a million hours later. It was awful, and I don’t want to go back to how it was back then.”

  Declan looked down. “Hey, at least you have your dad.”

  He was right. “Yeah, we were all so glad when he finally came home, but now—”

  “No.” Dec pulled at a thread at the bottom of his T-shirt. “At least you have your dad.”

  Then I understood what he meant. Declan wasn’t talking about my dad. He was talking about his mom.

  “Sorry, Dec. Yes. I’m lucky to have him at all. You’re right.”

  He tapped on the table with one finger. “You know the worst thing, Scout?”

  He didn’t seem like he was quite there with me anymore, like he was lost in a memory. Even though I’d never met her, Declan’s mom—what happened to her—was the sad note that ran through everything, like Declan’s cooking, his dad’s music. “What’s that, Dec?” I asked real quiet.

  “I got left not once, but twice.” Dec laughed, but it wasn’t a funny laugh.

  I bit my bottom lip and let a wobbly breath escape.

  He pushed his drink away. “When Mom left with the other cook at that restaurant, I thought it was the worst thing ever. I wondered how she could abandon Dad and me like that. I hated her.… We had to move here since Mom made most of our money, and Dad was only giving a few music lessons and hardly ever got live gigs back then. We ate cheap spaghetti with no sauce and whatever canned vegetable was on sale that week. It was quite a change from the good stuff Mom used to cook for us.”

  I reached across the table and gave Dec’s hand a quick squeeze, so he’d know he could tell me the rest.

  “It hurt getting left like that. For a long time I thought it was my fault and I really did hate my mom. But then…”

  I swallowed hard. “You don’t have to say it, Dec. You don’t.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “I do. When she was riding on the motorcycle with that guy. That jerk.”

  “Jerk,” I said softly.

  “When she was riding on the motorcycle with him instead of being home with Dad and me…”

  I touched the back of his hand.

  He shook my fingers off. “When it was raining… and they were riding together on that motorcycle and… they skidded under that… eighteen-wheeler.”

  Declan’s chest was heaving so hard I thought he might be having an asthma attack.

  It hurt all over to watch how physically painful it was for him to say these words out loud, but I forced myself to sit there and listen.

  “My mom… she… well, she left me twice, Scout. There’s no other way to put it. That last time was for good. And I’m so mad at myself that when she died, when my mom died, I hadn’t forgiven her for leaving us the first time. I had hated my mom, and then she died. I never got a chance to tell her I forgave her, to let her know how much I loved her. That was the worst thing.”

  The sound of our breathing filled the air. There was sadness floating in the air too, as though it were a physical thing that took up space and was composed of molecules.

  “I’m so sorry, Dec.”

  He shrugged. “That’s why you’re lucky to still have your dad. Just to have him. Even if you’re really mad at him or disappointed or whatever. You’re lucky. Understand?”

  I nodded.

  “And he really might not have gone gambling, but even if he did, at least…” Declan’s shoulders bobbed up and down. He swiped the back of his hand across his eyes.

  I reached across the table and grabbed his other hand real gentle and let him cry, because sometimes all you could do was sit with someone and their hurt. And that hurt could be so strong it made you forget about your own worries.

  Declan shook himself off and wiped his nose with a napkin. “I think you need to practice making crepes again, Scout.”

  “Huh?”

  “I mean, if you want to be good at making them, you need to keep working at it. You can’t just do it once and think you’re a master crepe maker. Besides, I’m starving.”

  I got up and fished out one of Declan’s old aprons. It was the one I’d worn at Halloween. “I totally agree.” Threads of hope wound their way up my body and replaced the worried feelings inside me.

  “You’re definitely going to need to be able to make perfect crepes for when you live in Paris.”

  “Absolutely!” Absolument!

  Once the ingredients were on the counter and we were ready to begin, Declan nodded. “And don’t worry, Scout. I’ll take good care of your Eiffel Tower money until you’re ready to take it back.”

  I bumped my hip into Declan’s. “I know you will.”

  And I did, with all my heart.

  * * *

  Dad was home when I got back to our trailer.

  It was as though the argument had never happened, as though Dad had never stormed out.

  He and Mom were sitting at the kitchen table together, playing Monopoly. From the piles of money in front of Mom, it looked like she was winning.

  She was smiling.

  So was he.

  I heard music coming from our bedroom, so I knew Georgia was home.

  Miss Genevieve looked up at me, then put his head onto his paws and let out a happy doggy sigh.

  Maybe Dad hadn’t gone to gamble at the dog park at all.

  Maybe he’d just gone out for a walk… like Declan said. Or to a Gamblers Anonymous meeting.

  I went over and hugged him hard around his neck. He held on to my arms and leaned into me.

  It was so good to have him home.

  To have everyone home.

  It felt right.

  Whole.

  I was so sorry that Declan would never have that feeling again.

  Unexpected News

  MONDAY, FEBRUARY 22, WAS A really great day.

  The air was chilly. The sun was shining. A perfect winter day for Florida. I wished I could save this weather to have in the middle of summer.

  At school I saw Declan and Todd in the hallways two different times each. They always waved or nodded or gave me a quick hug. It made me feel good. Even though I didn’t have friends in my grade, I knew there were two people here who I could count on.

  But the best thing of all happened at lunch.

  Valerie Coombs, who used to sit at Jenna’s table, came over with her bagged lunch and sat with me. Me! We used to be friends in elementary school, before Jenna decided I must have cooties.

  “Mind if I sit here?” she asked.

  “Of course.” I was grinning so hard it hurt. “I mean, of course not. Sit down.”

  Valerie sat and pulled an orange out of her bag.

  “You can sit here anytime.”

  Valerie smiled. “Hey, do you still like all things Paris?”

  Something inside me lit up. “Oui. Oui.”

  Valerie cracked up, and I felt better than I had at school in a long time.

  On the walk home, I kept thinking about Valerie and what I might pack in my lunch to share with her tomorrow. I remembered she used to like baby carrots. I’d have to see if we had any at home. We even talked about going to the movies together in Winter Beach this weekend. I’d definitely dip into my Paris fund for that!

  I planned to grab a quick snack at home, then walk Miss Genevieve and my other doggy customers. Things were definitely looking up.

  But when I opened the door to our trailer, my plans for the rest of the afternoon disintegrated.

  My sister was not supposed to be home. She should have been at work, scanning and bagging groceries at Weezie’s Market and Flower Emporium. She was supposed to be earning money for the University of Vermont in the fall. She was definitely not supposed to be sitting at our kitchen table, staring off into space with rivers of tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Georgia?” I darted in and threw my backpack on the bench.

  No response.

  Miss Genevieve sat on the floor, pressed ag
ainst the bench, with his head on her lap.

  “Georgia!” I yelled to snap her out of her daze.

  Miss Genevieve barked.

  My sister still didn’t move.

  I got right in her face. “Is everything okay?”

  “Nope,” she whispered, fresh tears and snot running down her face.

  I got her a strip of toilet paper to wipe her face, then sat across from her at the table.

  Georgia’s hair was all over the place. Her eyes were red and puffy. Look at me, Georgia! “What’s wrong? You’re scaring me. Did something happen to Mom?”

  She shook her head.

  “Dad?” How terrible would it be if Dad finally got out of jail and something awful happened to him? What if he left us twice like Declan’s mom? My chest ached with the thought. “Georgia, did something happen to Dad?” I knew I was asking a question I didn’t want the answer to.

  She shook her head again, except this time tears dripped down onto the table. “I didn’t get in.”

  “Huh?”

  “Vermont.” She let out a quivery breath. “I didn’t get in.”

  “But how?”

  She threw her hands up in the air. “Guess I suck.”

  “You…” I remembered Mom begging Georgia to apply to other colleges.

  “Wait-listed, Cleveland. I was wait-listed.”

  “What does that even mean?” I wanted to do something to help my sister, but I wasn’t sure what was happening.

  Georgia wiped her leaking eyes on the toilet paper. “It means I’m not going to Vermont in the fall. It means I’m not going anywhere.” She slumped into a heap of despair.

  I wished Mom were here; she’d know what to say. Then I remembered something she did say. “Mom said you could always go to the community college.” And for a moment I was happy, because this meant my sister wouldn’t be leaving me. For a moment I was glad I’d have my sister in the bed next to mine for at least another year. This didn’t seem like the worst news at all.

  Georgia cried harder, and I felt terrible for being happy for even a second that she wouldn’t be going away. I was the worst kind of sister. This was her one and only dream. “George, you’ll figure something out. Hey, maybe it was a mistake. Maybe—”