by Cari Noga
Lexie’s body is warm and vibrates with her purrs. Out the window, stars dot the inky sky that stretches down to meet the black depths of East Bay. I think of stargazers on another cold Christmas night, two thousand years ago, searching for a child. The window reflects my smile. In a few days, mine is coming home.
Chapter 57
LUCY
After I leave the voice mail, I stare at Lexie’s picture. I might never see her again. I grit my teeth against the tears.
“Come on, let’s go to my room.” Phoebe pulls on my arm.
“I’ll make you girls a snack,” Mrs. Solomon calls after us. “Ozzie, stay here,” she orders. He patters behind us a few steps but turns around when she calls him again. Phew.
In her room Phoebe turns on a light switch. “Ta-da!” In front of her window is a tabletop Christmas tree with white lights.
“Wait, you’re Jewish!” It’s one of those predecorated ones like at the airport. The star on top is crooked, and there’re not many ornaments, but it’s still a Christmas tree.
“Do you like it? Do you like it?” She bounces on her bed, and her boobs jiggle. Has she already grown bigger than in summer? “We got it for you. So you would feel more at home. Mom wanted to have it in the living room, but Ozzie kept knocking it over, so we moved it in here. He’s not allowed to come in here.” She flips onto her stomach, waving her feet in the air.
I nod, but my stomach is clenching with all the mix-ups. At the airport I saw signs for an international terminal, and I don’t know if I should go there or stay in the domestic terminal, since I have to go to Dallas before Mexico City, and if I do have to go to the international terminal, how do I explain that when the Solomons drop me off? Now there’re Christmas trees that don’t belong at Phoebe’s, and noisy dogs. Phoebe getting bigger while I’m still flat. Mrs. Solomon acting so nice, making snacks and buying theater tickets and stuff, but no snow out the window and no Lexie and Sarge curled up together on the couch with Aunt Jane in the kitchen, humming and puttering around.
“Rachel’s party is going to be awesome. It’s a night party,” Phoebe says. “She’s going to get a karaoke machine, and we’ll sing and dance and probably play truth or dare.”
I nod. I can’t really remember what Rachel looks like.
“She and Eli are boyfriend and girlfriend now. And Veronika’s dating Hunter.” She rolls over onto her back, crossing her legs, jiggling her foot.
“Eli? Eli—” I can’t remember his last name. The one from that day. The field trip.
“Eli Moore.” Her foot is really close to the Christmas tree.
That was him. I can feel his knees poking my back. Now he’s Rachel’s boyfriend? “You mean they go places together? Like movies and stuff?”
“Sometimes. Mostly they just hang out together, you know, at lunch. After school.”
“Everybody does that with their friends.” Some of the ornaments are shaking.
Phoebe shrugs. “So, do you still hang out with the boy you told me about in the summer? Gerald, I think his name was?” She asks carefully, but I see she’s stopped jiggling her foot.
“Jared,” I say.
“Jared, right.” She waits another few seconds. “So, do you?”
I shrug. “We hang out. It’s no big deal.” I think about sitting at lunch together, and Digital Communications class, and going sledding after Thanksgiving. Buying the plane ticket. We did it at lunch one day on his iPad, using his dad’s frequent-flier miles. He even found an airline that let twelve-year-olds fly alone, so I didn’t have to pay unaccompanied-minor fees and stuff. We do a lot of stuff together, I guess. Pete said he was my boyfriend, but he doesn’t know anything. He’s just Jared.
“Oh, good.” She sighs and starts jiggling her foot again. “Sometimes I feel like everybody but me has a boyfriend.”
“Girls, snack’s ready.” Mrs. Solomon pokes her head around the door. Ozzie starts barking again. “Ozzie! Lucy, dear, Phoebe’s emptied a couple drawers for you to unpack your things.”
If I unpack, Phoebe might see the photos and everything.
“I’m keeping everything in my suitcase. I’ll just have to pack up again in a few days,” I tell her as we get ready for bed. “Sorry you had to clean out your drawers.”
“That’s OK.” She shrugs, yawning as she takes off a real bra, not one of the stretchy tank kinds. “I had so much old stuff that didn’t fit anymore.”
After Phoebe falls asleep I check the inside pocket of my bag. The gray velvet jewelry bag is still safely tucked away. The printout of the Mexico City ticket is inside my notebook. I kiss the phone picture of Lexie good night. After a second, I open up the photos folder and start scrolling.
There’s Jared at the sledding hill—we went again the first day of vacation. There’s Miguel, in the bus driver’s seat. I took it on the last day of school before vacation. Lexie by the Christmas tree. Aunt Jane is in the background of that one, in the kitchen. I zoom in on her face. She’s looking our way, smiling.
I swipe it closed, quickly, and scroll through more. Lots of Lexie in my room. The birthday party at Osorio’s, with the slice of chocolate cake in front of me, and empty plates in front of Jared and his family, Miguel, and Aunt Jane. Her cake really was better. The last picture I see before I finally fall asleep is the one Jared took of me at the farm stand, beaming beneath the Plain Jane’s sign.
Mr. Solomon is right about the busy schedule. It’s so busy I can mostly forget about the extra ticket in my bag. We go to Rachel’s party, where nobody is kissing or acting like boyfriend and girlfriend. Eli is there, but Joel Griffin isn’t. We go to Broadway for the show and the Y for the flick and float. We don’t go to my old street or to school or to Rockefeller Center to skate. We go to an Indian restaurant, because I haven’t had dal or chapatis for months, and a deli and buy hot dogs from a stand. We ride the subway and buses and a hansom cab in Central Park, where the horses clip-clop past the John Lennon memorial and I try to imagine that I still live here, on Fifty-Sixth Street, but I can’t. By the last day Ozzie stops barking when he sees me and I don’t feel like a stranger in a noisy, smelly, gray city anymore. But I don’t belong, either. I don’t feel like anybody. Like if a teacher called my name in school, I wouldn’t even know whether to answer. Maybe in Mexico I will.
Chapter 58
JANE
Rebecca’s number pops up on the caller ID.
“Jane! Thank God you’re home.” She sounds breathless.
“What’s going on?”
“Have you heard from Lucy since she left for New York?”
“Just a voice mail after she arrived. I’ll pick her up tomorrow.” I can’t believe how empty the house feels without her, or how much I’m looking forward to her return. There’s still a few days of Christmas break left. Maybe we can go sledding again. Today’s perfect, not too cold or windy and that rarest of December gifts up north, sunshine. It feels like confirmation of the new light Matt shed on myself as a mother. Both he and Gloria, now. Double absolution. And now, entering a new year together, I resolve to let the past stay in the past. Lucy isn’t Nina or Matt, and I’m not the same, either.
“You need to call her friend’s family right away. I’ve got bad news—oh, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, Jane! I can’t believe this is happening, and Jared played a part—”
“Tell me what? What bad news?” My pulse quickens. Airline travel these days, so risky. But wait, she doesn’t return until tomorrow. What could Jared know?
“Paul was in his Delta frequent-flier account today, booking some upcoming travel. The mileage balance was lower than he expected. It showed a ticket purchase about a month ago, one-way from New York to Mexico City, and he hasn’t used the account since—”
“What does that have to do with Lucy?” I interrupt.
“Getting to that. He thought it was a mistake, so he called Delta. They said there was no mistake. Someone legitimately used his account to buy the ticket. Departing tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Fear freezes my bloodstream for a moment, then starts pumping double time. “LaGuardia?”
“Yes.” Rebecca starts talking faster. “Jared sometimes uses Paul’s iPad. The Delta account information is stored on it. And he’s told us about Lucy’s family in Mexico. So we asked him, do you know anything about it?”
Oh my God. She was in touch with her cousin on Facebook. Would she really go so far as to show up on their doorstep in Mexico?
Rebecca sniffles loudly. “Eventually he admitted it. He bought that ticket for Lucy. She’s planning to use it tomorrow, instead of her return ticket to Traverse City.”
My legs start trembling, and I slump onto the blue velvet couch.
“Paul’s on the other line right now, cancelling it. There’s no way she’ll be able to use it, Jane, I swear. And I can’t apologize enough for Jared’s role in this.”
A one-way ticket. Lucy wasn’t planning to come back. She was running away. Memories tumble in my head. High-fiving on the stepping stump. Cleaning the farm stand. In my arms after the awards banquet. Braiding her hair. Sledding. Lexie jumps onto my lap, purring. Lucy’s giant smile when I brought Lexie back the first time. And the second time. She was even going to leave her precious cat behind! I’m going to lose her. Another child. Niña.
The moving sidewalk at Detroit Metro is a mercy since my legs feel like they cannot function. I slide past neon signs and throngs of people. Buddy’s deep dish Detroit-style pizza has a line even at 10:30 a.m., Motown Bar and Grille, Motor City Shoeshine. The lines are longest at Starbucks, in all its green generic comfort. I wish for a cup but don’t want to take the time to stop. Lucy’s flight from New York is due at eleven.
It took me hours to reach the Solomons yesterday. They were “out on the town, celebrating Lucy’s last night,” Mrs. Solomon explained when I finally reached her. At first she was incredulous. The visit had been wonderful. Lucy had seemed fine, not nervous, uneasy, or unhappy. Planning to run away? Impossible.
Then she put Lucy on, who first insisted it was a mistake. When I told her Jared had fessed up, though, that did it. She started crying, which quickly turned to incoherence. Mrs. Solomon got back on and agreed either she or her husband would personally see that Lucy was escorted to the flight to Detroit today. I caught the first flight out of Traverse City down to Detroit to meet her and got a seat on her same connection back. The day-of ticket price was jarring, but I couldn’t risk that she wouldn’t concoct some plan B when she reached Detroit. I considered asking for a bereavement fare—after all, haven’t I lost Lucy?—but just handed over my credit card.
Bewilderment at the plan, relief at intercepting it, and guilt that I could have avoided it all jostle in my head. Memories now stand out like red flags: Lucy bunkered in the truck the first day, unable to get out. Making a face at the rhubarb taste. Yelling at me over the banquet invitation.
The sign by the gate door is blinking: “Now arriving flight 2908, New York LaGuardia.” Arriving physically, but what about her spirit? Will she be scared? Resentful and angry? If only I’d tried harder. If only I’d tried sooner. If only I can get a second chance.
Chapter 59
LUCY
I’m in the last row on the plane. One by one everybody files out the aisle silently, the same way people ride elevators. That’s how it was last night, after Aunt Jane called. We had just seen a movie and were eating ice-cream sundaes.
“Jane!” Mrs. Solomon said. “Why yes, she’s right here . . .” She looked over at me, smiling. Then her smile got smaller, and her teeth disappeared, then flatter and flatter, and her forehead wrinkled, and then she put her palm to her lips, and then she turned away and stood up, and I knew I wouldn’t find out if Mexico felt like home.
Everything was really awkward at the airport this morning, too. Mrs. Solomon came to the airline counter and paid extra for the unaccompanied-minor fee, then gave me a hug. “Bye, Lucy. Happy New Year. We’ll plan a visit for 2012. And Phoebe’s bat mitzvah will be here before you know it.”
“Bye, Lucy.” Phoebe hugged me, too. “See you.”
“OK.” But I know I won’t see her again. No way is Aunt Jane going to let me come back to New York, not even for a bat mitzvah. Probably she won’t even let me Skype, she’s going to be so mad. Adiós, amiga.
It’s almost my turn. I check the inside pocket of my carry-on. The jewelry bag is still there, snug and safe. When I get to the front, the flight attendant, who watched me like I might crawl out on the wing, follows me.
“I can find her. You don’t have to follow me,” I say.
“Regulations. We have to check ID,” he says.
Down the Jetway. It feels like a gangplank. Into the terminal. There she is, off to the side, her arms crossed over her green fleece vest. I see her before she sees me. When she does, her whole body sags, her arms falling to her sides, her face relaxing. I even see a tiny smile before she takes three long steps and pulls me into a hug. Wait, is she not mad?
“Jane McArdle? ID, please,” the flight attendant says.
She holds me a second longer, then rummages for her wallet. She finds a tissue, too, and blows her nose.
“All set, then,” he says, handing it back and folding up his papers. “Have a nice day, ladies.”
“Well.” Aunt Jane looks at me, and I see her body relax again. “You’re safe and sound, at least. We’ve got a lot to talk about, huh?”
I look down, then up, over her shoulder, not meeting her eyes. Uh-oh.
“But let’s find our gate first. And coffee.”
The moving sidewalk is silent like the airplane aisle and elevator. It gives me time to think. Worry. What is she? Mad, or not mad? We step off at a Dunkin’ Donuts.
“We’re just a couple gates down, and we’ve got an hour. Are you hungry?”
I shake my head, heading to a table. She brings over a tray with a coffee, a bagel sandwich, and a blueberry muffin. “In case you change your mind,” she says.
She still seems calm while she eats, but facing her, I can see she’s trying hard to stay that way. She’s acting, like she did in the parking lot of that social worker when it upset her that I wouldn’t go in but she pretended it didn’t. I’m in the seat facing out, toward the terminal. The restaurant’s pretty full, and there’re lots of people walking around. I guess Aunt Jane can’t kill me here, with all of them around. I can’t stand not talking about it anymore.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly, looking at the little silver stand thing that has stacks of creams and sugar.
“I didn’t catch that.”
“I said I’m sorry.” I look up at her quickly, then back at the packets. Nondairy and dairy. Yellow Splenda and white real sugar.
“For what, exactly?”
“For—” What do I say? For wanting to feel like I have a family again? “For making you worry.”
“Worry?” She barks a laugh that sounds half like a sob. “Try terrified. If you had gotten on that other flight, if something had happened to you . . .” Her voice quavers for a second.
Her knuckles are white where she’s gripping her coffee cup. If she was terrified, that means she cares, but—
“What was your plan? You had a ticket to Mexico City. And then what?” Her voice sounds sterner now.
“Visit Graciela and Aunt Bonita.” I toy with the sugar packets, alternating them yellow and white. That’s not a complete lie. It was just going to be a long visit. And is she mad at me or glad I’m back?
“Visit? Did they invite you?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what were you doing, exactly?” The quavering is gone, and her voice is a little bit angry now. “Did your Aunt Bonita even know?”
Slowly I shake my head.
“You were just going to show up there and hope she’d let you stay?”
I nod, then shrug. But she would have! Wouldn’t she? “Well, we’re family.”
She stares at me. “So are we.”
“But you don’t act like it!” I burst out.
Her eyes go wide and her head jerks back like I hit her. I duck my head down, staring at the table.
“Whew.” She blows her nose into her napkin. “I don’t know what to say.”
I don’t, either, so I take a bite of the blueberry muffin. She thinks of something pretty fast.
“Using Jared’s father’s frequent-flier miles, that’s basically stealing, you know.”
“But it didn’t cost anything.”
“It did! It cost him the miles. If he doesn’t have enough left, he’ll have to pay the next time he needs a ticket.”
“So we can pay him back.”
“We?” Her eyebrows are up to the middle of her forehead. “A ticket to Mexico during the holidays has to be several hundred dollars.”
Eight hundred fifty, actually. “You’re supposed to be getting the payments from the estate soon,” I shoot back. “There’ll be plenty of money.”
“Payments from the estate?” Aunt Jane looks shocked, banging her coffee cup on the table. “What are you talking about?”
“I heard Mr. Langley telling you about it. A long time ago, in New York,” I say, feeling satisfaction at the shock on her face. “He said it would start coming in January.”
Aunt Jane looks like she swallowed all her know-it-all words. I press my advantage. “I hate it here. You’re always busy, working. That’s why I did it.” I push away the memories of the birthday party, sledding, and setting up the Christmas tree. “It’s cold.” Who cares if the snow’s pretty and covers up the grass. “All I have is Lexie, and she doesn’t even want to stay with me much.” I shove aside thoughts of Jared and Miguel and Esperanza.
“Lucy.” Aunt Jane is squeezing my arm on the table. “Lucy. You’re shouting.”
People are looking our way. So I’m making a scene. Like at the dry cleaner’s with Deirdre, like with the real estate agent in our apartment. Like when Lexie escaped the first time. Scene after scene after scene, but I can’t change the story. Mom and Daddy are still dead, I still stepped on the grass and made their car crash, and now I’m stuck back in Michigan.