My dad. Silent. Always disappearing.
In a heartbeat, everything inside me was different. As though someone had thrown a switch. Suddenly, all the guilt I’d been carrying was gone. All the glassy fear, the held breath, gone. In its place was thunder building. A rumble of anger. A match striking. It felt like all I needed to do was open my mouth, and flames would burst out. I looked over and found I was pulling on the curtain beside me. Tugging at it, hard. In fact, it was ripping at the seam.
I let go and let the curtain fall. Then I opened the back door. In bare feet and pajamas, I padded out after him, on cracked concrete and dead leaves. I nearly cried out when I stepped on an acorn cap. I stumbled to the door, and before I could lose my nerve, I flung it open.
But when I looked inside, Dad wasn’t painting. He was just sitting there, on the blue tarp, crisscross applesauce, like a kid. He was slumped forward. His head was in his hands. And he was crying. Silently, but shaking, with big heaving sobs.
He had to know I was there. The door had made a big bang when I opened it, but he didn’t look up. He just sat there, crying, alone. Stoop shouldered. Broken. And just like that, my thunder was gone. My flames fizzled.
Dad.
There was a part of me that wanted to go and sit with him, wanted to pat his back, or give him a hug. There was a part of me that wanted to cry too, wanted to ask him the questions I’d been thinking about all day, all year. A part of me that could remember how he used to be, and hoped that if I said the right words, maybe he could be that dad again.
But I don’t know what might have happened if I’d stepped forward. I’ll never know. Because there he was, ignoring me completely, pretending I hadn’t opened the door. So I decided to pretend too. I turned and left, walked back out into the driveway. Where I stepped on the same dumb acorn cap, all over again.
Or maybe it was a different acorn cap. It didn’t really matter.
Like Any Day
The next morning, I woke up hollow. Hungry feeling. Inside myself, I couldn’t find the storm anymore, the thunder. But the tight cold feeling was gone too, the guilt. I felt strangely loose. Ready. And I knew exactly what needed to happen next. Sleep had cleared my head, so I grabbed a granola bar and headed to the farm. To Jasper.
My father might never be ready to turn around, face me. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t right to open the door. And Jasper deserved that chance too. It wasn’t fair to leave her in that hot room alone, feeling guilty or hurt or abandoned. No matter what she’d said. I had her and she had me, and I wasn’t going to walk away.
But as I came along the creek bed, and neared the Vine Realm, I stumbled on a stranger, a man sitting on Sam’s rock, only about twenty feet away from the gap in the kudzu that led to Jasper’s house. He was homeless looking, but not in the old, sad way. He wasn’t mumbling to himself or sleeping with his shirt over his head. In fact, he was young, maybe handsome. He had a guitar and an army pack on the rock with him. He had long blond hair and a deep tan. But as I neared his rock, something about the way he looked at me made me nervous. He turned to me, waved, and said, “What’s up, little lady?” He winked, and I noticed his neck tattoos, all black and swirling lines.
I stopped and waved back. A careful wave—friendly, but not too friendly, I hoped. “Hi.”
He grinned and took a sip from a bottle he had hidden down by his side, where I hadn’t noticed it. One of his teeth was silver. It blinked in the sun.
I didn’t know what to do now. I wanted the man gone. I wanted him to leave the farm and the creek, go away. But I couldn’t think of anything I could possibly do to make that happen. He looked comfortable there in sun, like he had no intention of moving anytime soon. But I couldn’t go to Jasper’s until he left, couldn’t risk showing him the path through the kudzu that led to the house.
Then, from somewhere inside me that didn’t feel like my own brain, ideas formed. Words shot out of my mouth before I even knew what I was saying. The words came out loud. “That’s not your rock!” I said.
“Hey, now, mama,” said the man, laughing easily. “No need to be harsh. I’m just sitting a bit.”
I shook my head. “No. You can’t sit there. That’s my brother’s rock.” My voice was almost a shout. It felt big, like it was rushing out of me from somewhere deep down. “Nobody else should sit there.”
“Aww, I bet your brother don’t mind,” said the man. “I bet he’d say it’s fine.”
“Well, you can’t ask him,” I said. “Because he’s dead.”
The man’s eyes opened wider. He looked surprised. “Oh, sorry,” he said. “That’s heavy.” At the same time, he was annoyed at me. I could tell. He wanted me to leave and let him drink whatever was in his bottle.
I stood my ground. “My brother died here,” I lied, and found that the lie felt good, and strong, almost true. “On that rock. Right there where you’re sitting. Nobody ever sits on it. If you were from here, you’d know that. Sam’s ghost lives there. You should go away. Right now. It’s a . . .” I searched for the words I wanted. “It’s a desecration of his memory.”
Now the man looked genuinely freaked out. Maybe he even thought I was a little crazy or something. He grabbed his pack and guitar with one arm and slid down the rock, bottle in hand. He splashed into the creek in his hiking boots and, in one big stride, stepped out on the other side of the creek.
“Hey, I didn’t mean any harm, really,” he said. And he sounded sorry enough, maybe even kind, but now I could see that there was a gun in a holster by his side. That scared me. I’d never seen a gun up close before. My parents hated them, and I wasn’t allowed to go to houses where parents even owned them.
I pretended not to see the gun, or I tried not to see it. I tried not to stare at it. “Go away,” I said, my eyes focused on his. “Go away and never come back here.”
The man put up his hands in a funny gesture, almost like he was doing some sort of apology dance. “Hey, it’s cool, it’s cool.” He turned to walk away along the creek bed before he added, “Want some friendly advice, little lady? You might try being a little kinder to strangers. Karma, you know?” Then he winked, and I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to think of that.
I stood, my heart pounding up into my throat, and stared at the back of his black T-shirt and his tangled blond hair as he walked away. My legs trembled and my blood thrummed. I was bursting with what I’d done. What my anger had done, and my lie. Maybe a thing didn’t need to be true to be powerful.
But just where the creek bent, where it opened out in the direction of the road, the man paused and looked back at me again. He gave one last wave and then pivoted, to peer up the embankment at the place where Jasper and I had been trampling down the kudzu for weeks, where the gap in the brush was more visible than I’d realized. He squinted at it, glanced back at me again, and then turned, walked quickly away.
I watched him go, waited until he was completely out of sight. Then I waited another minute or two to make sure he didn’t double back before I scrambled up the hill and through the vines. I dashed up to the porch, and around the house to the back door, to Jasper.
But when I pushed it open, I found the house still and empty. “Hello?” I called faintly, and then louder. “Hello?” I poked my head into the bathroom, just in case, but it was empty too.
Without Jasper, it didn’t feel the same. It wasn’t the Vine Realm. It was only a hot shabby kitchen in a falling-down house. I didn’t want to spend another minute there.
Walking home, I felt tangled, anxious, but I couldn’t sort out exactly why. For a year, it had been like my head was full of static, like the sound of cars rushing by on the highway. That had been awful, but in a way it had been simple. The same numb ache each day. Now the static was gone, and I could hear voices again, but it was like there were three blaring televisions on at the same time, all full of shouting. I couldn’t decide which of them to worry about. That’s what I was trying to figure out as I neared home and turned up the walk,
to a sound I hadn’t heard in over a year.
Laughter. Familiar laughter. Mom’s laughter. Bright bursts of it. “Hee-hee!” Even before I stepped inside, through the panes of glass in the kitchen door, I could see where it was coming from. Mom was in my usual spot. And across from her sat Jasper. They were drinking coffee, deep in conversation.
It was unbelievably strange, seeing Jasper there with my mom. Jasper always seemed larger than life to me, with her big smile and that head of curls. She was brighter than anyone else I knew. She had a shine to her. But sitting there with Mom, she looked smaller than usual, and sort of . . . normal. Like any other girl might look, with a tangle of red hair, a black T-shirt, and flip-flops. Laughing and talking with my mom. I liked it, and at the same time, it didn’t feel right.
At last I stepped up to the door and reached for the knob.
They both turned at the sound of the door opening. And when she saw it was me, Mom flashed me a smile. A real smile. Easy. I hadn’t seen that smile in months and months.
“Mom!” I said. “You’re home early from work.”
“Oh, hey, honey!” she called out. “We wondered where you’d gotten off to.”
I stood in the doorway. I had no idea what Jasper had told Mom. I couldn’t figure out what was happening. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing and jinx us.
“Hi?” I said cautiously.
“I was just getting to know Jasper, and we’re having such a nice time. I only wish you’d brought her over sooner.”
“Oh . . . ,” I said. “That’s great.”
Behind my mom’s back, Jasper smiled at me, gave a slight nod. As if to say “It’s okay” and also “I’m sorry” and maybe “I forgive you” too. Most of all, the nod said, “Relax, Leah.”
I tried to.
“Sit down!” Mom said. “Jasper was just asking me about work today, and I was telling her about this interview I did, with a crazy man in Newnan who rescues pythons and keeps them in his house. Hundreds of them. Can you imagine? All those snakes, walls lined with cages. Imagine the poor mice!”
“I think it’s so cool that your mom is a writer,” said Jasper. “She gets to go to all kinds of interesting places, huh?”
“Well, Newnan’s not that interesting,” I said. But I sat down with them and listened as Mom finished her story. I hadn’t heard her talk about work in a long time. But then, I also hadn’t asked her about it in a long time.
Mom kept talking about the snakes for a few minutes longer, but at last she stood up. “You girls probably have other things to do today, and anyway, I need to go to the grocery store. But, hey, can you just rinse out those coffee cups for me, Leah? Before you run along?”
She turned to the fridge and started rooting around in it, tossing out moldy produce, as I grabbed the mugs from the table. A familiar inscription caught my eye. I’d Rather Be Smashing the Patriarchy. When I held it up close, I could see a faint seam running down the handle, like someone had drawn a pencil line along the white mug.
“Hey, you fixed it!” I said.
Mom glanced back at me. “Of course. I’ve had that thing for decades. It’s hardly the first time I’ve cracked it. Won’t likely be the last.”
I ran my finger along the crack. “But you can hardly even tell it was broken.”
“Well, yeah, that’s why God invented Krazy Glue,” said my mom with a little laugh.
As Jasper and I were leaving the kitchen, Mom turned back to us once more, a stalk of broccoli in her hand. “Hey, Jasper.”
“Yeah?” Jasper said.
“Would you like to have dinner with us tonight? I’m planning on cooking a real meal for a change.”
“Oh!” said Jasper. “I . . . don’t want to put you out.”
“It’s no trouble,” said Mom. “Really. And I’m sure Paul—Leah’s dad—would love to meet you too.”
“I’d like that,” said Jasper, nodding. “But some other time? My mom told me we had plans tonight. Can I come tomorrow instead, maybe?”
“Sure,” said Mom, smiling again, easy. “Or another night. Anytime.”
As we settled down on my bed, I found I had no idea what to say to Jasper. I was so glad to see her, but I wasn’t sure where we stood exactly. Who was apologizing to who? I didn’t really care very much, but I didn’t want to screw this up.
“I played the sad game,” I said, after a moment. “And it worked, some.”
“I did too,” said Jasper.
“And I’m sorry. For what I said, about fate. But also I’m sorry if there’s anything else I said that wasn’t right. Maybe I wasn’t totally ready for everything you told me. I didn’t realize how serious it would be.”
Jasper nodded. “I get it. And I’m sorry too, for what I said, about Sam.”
“It’s okay,” I said, and it was, now. “You know what else?”
“What?”
“I’m glad we fought. I thought about it a lot last night, and I really am.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “I’ve spent the last year not fighting or crying with anyone. I think maybe it’s good to be sad, and angry. It’s not fun. But it’s better than not being sad and angry. It’s better than being nothing. Does that sound crazy?”
Jasper shook her head. “Not even a little bit. Let’s make a deal. Let’s promise to get angry and sad when we need to, but always apologize and make up after. How’s that?”
“As long as we apologize quickly,” I added. “Yesterday was no fun.”
“Agreed!” said Jasper. “I felt terrible all yesterday. I waited for you, and I wanted to come here, but I didn’t want to get you in trouble. Then, today, I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I came over. I’m glad I did too—your mom is the best. You didn’t ever mention that she used to live in New York City, or that she has her nose pierced. You made her sound . . .”
“What?”
“Boring,” said Jasper. “You said she was a ghost.”
“Well, yeah, I guess,” I said. “I mean, a boring person can have a nose ring. And New York is probably full of ghosts. But I don’t know. She’s just been . . . floating this year.” I thought of all the pillow forts Mom had helped Sam build over the years, and all the times she’d let us eat dinner in those forts. Then there was the time she took me for a pedicure where tiny fish nibbled at my toes. Most moms didn’t do those things.
“I don’t know,” I said, hugging my pillow as I tried to sort out what to say. “I . . . I . . . don’t know how to explain.”
“Explain what?”
“It’s just that . . . that woman, the person you just talked to, that snappy excited lady . . . who told you a bunch of stories and laughed a lot? I haven’t seen her in a long time. She’s not like that anymore, fun and awake.”
“It sure looked like she was today,” said Jasper.
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “Watching her today, it was almost like the end of a fairy tale. Like there was a curse and you somehow broke it. Like the prince kissing Sleeping Beauty. You woke her up.”
Jasper laughed. “I promise I didn’t kiss your mom.”
“No, seriously,” I said. “I think it’s you. It’s like she met you, and now she doesn’t seem to care about meeting your mom, and you’re invited for dinner, and she’s all cheerful and normal. What’s that all about? How’d you do that? And can you fix my dad too?”
Jasper shrugged. “If your ghost dad is anything like your ghost mom, he’ll turn out to be some fascinating and hilarious rock star.”
I thought about Dad, crying in the garage. His sad back. His peanut butter sandwich. “Not likely.”
“Anyway,” said Jasper, “what do you think she’s making for dinner?”
I laughed and tossed the pillow in my hands at Jasper. “If I had to guess, I’d say something with garlic. One thing to know about my mom is that when she actually does cook, the house smells like garlic. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed since Sam died.”
“Hey, better than stale
peanut butter crackers,” said Jasper wistfully. “I really do wish I could stay for dinner tonight, but it seemed smarter to go home. Things were going so well. I didn’t want to mess it all up.”
“How about this? Whatever dinner turns out to be, I’ll bring you some tomorrow,” I said. “Or you can come back over and have leftovers for lunch.”
“Sure!” She tossed the pillow back, right at my head, got up, and headed in the direction of the bathroom.
Watching her, I felt grateful that it was so easy to be okay. That we’d been able to tell each other these terrible stories, and fight, and make up, just like that. It was like Jasper was more like family than a friend. Or, more like family than family. It was like I’d known her my entire life. Like we belonged together.
Except that deep inside me, somewhere underneath the relief, I couldn’t stop thinking about Jasper’s sister, about Jasper’s mom, about Jasper having no home. How did she do it? How did she walk around all day, laughing and being normal, tossing pillows and drinking coffee like a regular person, when such a terrible and heavy thing was looming over her, always? I wished I could fix it for her. I wanted to take that worry away.
I thought about how Jasper had laughed with Mom at the kitchen table, how Mom had taken to her. Maybe, I thought, maybe Mom could help. Maybe Jasper just doesn’t know how to tell her story to a grown-up, or she hasn’t met the right grown-up. Jasper doesn’t know what safe feels like. But then I remembered how she had reacted to the idea of telling anyone, how scared she was, how she was right, that there was probably no way to tell anyone what was going on without everything else tumbling down. Also, I had made a promise. Now that Jasper and I were okay again, the last thing I wanted to do was shatter everything. So I pushed away those thoughts.
“So,” I asked when Jasper got back. “I have an idea for something we can do, but it’s probably dumb.”
“Eh, I’m okay with dumb,” said Jasper. “What is it?”
“Just that the Vine Realm is so cool, and my walls are so bare . . . I thought it might be neat to paint a mural on my wall too.”
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