by Claire Cook
“Ooh,” B.J. said, “I don’t get the tingly thing. I get this queasy feeling in my stomach and I feel like I’m going to pass out. And sometimes my heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest.”
“I get the heart thing, too.” I took a deep breath. “And then this baby elephant crawls onto my chest and sits down.”
“Ohmigod, I get the baby elephant, too,” B.J. shrieked.
I looked over to see if she was making fun of me. It was hard to tell in the dark. “Are you sure you’re not making that up?”
“No, really. It sits right down like it’s trying to squeeze all the air out of me. Mine is a girl elephant, and its toenails are painted pink.”
“Mine is gender neutral,” I said. “And you, my old friend, are insane.”
B.J. let out a soft Tab burp. “I would say, based on this conversation, we both are.”
I reached for her Tab and took a small sip. “Do you think maybe people just get crazier as they get older? My father had this ancient uncle Kenneth who used to come over for Sunday dinner sometimes. And every once in a while he’d just start to bark.”
“Bark?”
“Yeah, bark. At the dinner table. My parents and sister and I all just pretended it was completely normal and kept eating our mashed potatoes. And eventually dinner would be over and my father would take him back to wherever it was he came from.”
B.J. snorted. “The kennel?”
It wasn’t that funny, but I totally cracked up anyway.
“Did he bark like a Labradoodle?” B.J. said. “Or more like a shih tzu?”
This was even less funny, but we laughed harder.
I wiped my eyes. “I think you’re supposed to say sheet. You know, like sheet-zoo.”
“Shit,” B.J. said.
“Sheet,” I said.
B.J. shifted in her seat. “No, I mean, did you see that?”
“What?”
“Over by that tree. Something just ran across.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “Not that fruckin’ tucker again.”
“It was probably just a dog,” B.J. said. “Either that or your father’s uncle Kenneth.”
“Funny,” I said.
We heard a branch crack. A chill tickled the back of my newly bare neck.
“Mel,” B.J. said. “Maybe—”
Something rained down on the Mustang’s canvas top. Pebbles?
It stopped. We waited.
“I think there’s something on top of the car,” I whispered.
“Roll. Up. Your. Window.”
I reached for the handle.
An upside-down head appeared in the windshield.
“OOB,” it screamed.
CHAPTER 22
We were still shrieking when Veronica came into view.
B.J. and I flung open Mustang Sally’s doors in perfect tandem and jumped out.
Veronica reached up and scooped a little girl off the roof of the car. She buried her head against Veronica’s shoulder, then peeked up at us and grinned.
“Well,” Veronica said, “what a nice surprise. And it looks like you’ve already met Fawn.”
“Ohmigod,” I said. “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod.”
“Wimp,” B.J. said. She shut her car door and gave Veronica a big hug, partially enveloping Fawn. “Nice to meet you, honey. I’m B.J.”
I shut my car door. “Oh, puh-lease. You were just as terrified as I was.” I gave Veronica my own hug as Fawn wiggled to the ground and ran in the direction of the house. “I’m Melanie,” I yelled.
“Come on in,” Veronica said as she took off after Fawn.
“The kid’s adorable,” B.J. said once we were settled around the kitchen table, “but she scared the shit out of me.”
“Sheet,” I said. “She scared the sheet out of you.”
“Teehs,” a voice said from the other room.
Veronica shook her head. “Little pitchers have big ears,” she whispered.
“Srae gib evah srehctip elttil,” the voice said, louder this time.
Veronica shook her head again. Judging by the way her frizzy hair looked, she’d been shaking it a lot lately. “Fawn,” she yelled in a singsongy voice, “come say good ni-ight.”
Fawn appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. She had shiny, saucerlike brown eyes that seemed to take up most of her face. They reminded me of those paintings of big-eyed children everybody had on their walls when we were kids. She was holding a huge laptop, which made her arms and legs look spindly and frail in comparison. “Syad eerht ot pu rof yenom repap no evil nac smreg ulf,” she said.
B.J. and I looked at Veronica.
“Flu germs can live on paper money for up to three days,” Veronica said. “It’s one of her favorite sayings.”
“Wow, is that true? They can really live for three days?” I said. “Oh, I get it. It’s backward, right?”
“Is she . . .” B.J. hesitated. “D-y-s-l-e-x-i-c?”
Fawn fixed her enormous eyes on B.J. “C-i-x-e-l-s-y-d,” she said.
Veronica had that kind of reddish blond hair that just got lighter and whiter as you aged instead of turning gray. It was pulled back into a ponytail and looked like it hadn’t been brushed in at least a few days. Her greenish gray eyes had dark circles under them, and she looked like she could use a good nap. She was wearing baggy sweatpants and a faded WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS T-shirt with stains on the front.
She took a sip of her Tab and put the can down on the kitchen table. “Wow, I haven’t had a Tab in a million years.” She grinned. “Still sucks like it always did.”
“Isn’t it great?” B.J. said. “It’s like a direct line to high school. So, is it kind of a Rain Man thing? Or is she normal otherwise?”
“Have you had her evaluated?” I asked.
B.J. popped open another Tab for herself. I was busy turning the rest of the six-pack sitting in the center of the table into a centerpiece by circling it with pieces of sea glass I’d found in a mason jar on the counter.
“And not to pry,” B.J. said, “but whose kid is she anyway? I mean, is that why you’ve been blowing me off? She’s not yours, is she?”
Veronica grinned some more. “I love you guys.” She took another sip of Tab and made a face as she swallowed. “Fawn is my granddaughter. She’s my daughter Julia’s child. Who is currently in rehab for the third time since Fawn was born.”
“Wow,” I said, because it was the best I could do.
“I know this isn’t the main point,” B.J. said. “But I can’t believe you’re a grandmother.”
“Beej,” I said.
Veronica smiled. “That’s okay. It kind of floored me, too. Especially since Mark and I didn’t even find out about her until she was almost two and a half.”
“Wow,” I said again.
“Where is Mark anyway?” B.J. asked.
“His company restructured so he’s working down south right now. Rehab’s insanely expensive and money’s tight, but he tries to fly home a weekend or two a month.” Veronica crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s been tough on Fawn. She loves her pop.”
“Pop,” I said. “It’s the same thing frontward and backward.”
Veronica reached for the mason jar and poured herself a handful of sea glass. “Yeah, they joke about that all the time. Sometimes she calls him Spop.”
“What does she call you?” I’d always wondered what my own grandkids would call me one day. For the first time it occurred to me that they’d probably have to call Crissy something, too.
“Mom.” Veronica shook her head. “She calls me Mom and she doesn’t call her mother anything. She doesn’t talk about her, she won’t read her letters or let us read them to her, but she carries Julia’s laptop around with her everywhere she goes. She even sleeps on it like a pillow.”
“Wow,” I said. I couldn’t seem to stop saying it.
“Well, the good news is you’re a teacher,” B.J. said. “At least you’re plugged into getting her everything she needs
. Have you ruled out anything neurological? What about Asperger’s?”
“It seems to me,” I said, “that if she’s smart enough to reverse all those letters, she’s probably really, really smart. Maybe she’s gifted and just bored. Can you get her into some kind of accelerated program? How old is she anyway?”
Veronica waited until we’d finished. “I have nothing but respect for the fields of education and medicine, but the last thing this kid needs is a diagnosis to follow her around. I’ve got the whole summer to spend with her, and we should know more about Julia by the fall, too. I’m looking into taking a sabbatical next year if it comes to that—maybe I can homeschool her for a year and tutor on the side to make ends meet. Or something.”
The three of us looked at one another across the kitchen table. I tried to think of something to say besides wow.
Veronica reached back and pulled her ponytail tighter. “Okay, enough about me. Sorry to hear about you and Kurt, Mel. You were always too good for him.”
“Dah-dah-dah-duuuuh,” B.J. sang.
I’d taken off my T-shirt and Veronica had given me a beach towel to wrap around me. Veronica and B.J. each held one end of my Band-Aid and pulled it off slowly.
“How’s it look?” I said.
“I’ve had one on my ankle since college,” Veronica said. “It’ll be pretty puffy and angry looking for the first few weeks or so, but once the scab falls off—”
“Scab?” I said.
“Puffy and angry?” B.J. said. “Really? Mine, too?”
I turned around to look at B.J. “How could you not know that?”
“Don’t look at me like that,” B.J. said. “You didn’t know it, either.”
“I wasn’t planning on getting a tattoo. You were the mastermind behind the whole thing.”
“Oh, please, I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do. Ha, my first boyfriend used to say that. Okay, wait a minute.” She reached over and pulled a sheet of paper out of her purse. “Can either of you read this thing without glasses?”
Veronica and I shook our heads.
“Shit,” B.J. said. “Where the hell did I put my reading glasses?”
Veronica got up and found a pair in one of her kitchen drawers. She handed them to B.J.
“Your New Tattoo and You,” B.J. read.
“Catchy,” I said.
B.J. cleared her throat. “ ‘Two hours after your new tattoo is complete, remove the bandage.’ ”
“Oops,” I said. “We’re a little late.”
“Shh,” B.J. said. “ ‘Wash gently with lukewarm water and a mild antibacterial soap.’ ”
“Got it,” Veronica said. I followed her over to the sink, and she went to work on my tattoo.
“ ‘Pat dry,’ ” B.J. continued, “ ‘being extremely careful not to rub. Then work a thin coat of antibacterial ointment into the skin. Make sure you don’t use too much or it might remove some of the color from the tattoo.’ ”
“Great,” I said. “Just what I need—an angry, scabby, polka-dotted broken heart on the outside to match the one on the inside.”
“Almost there,” Veronica said behind me. The antibacterial ointment was soothing, and she had a mom’s gentle touch.
“Noooo,” B.J. said.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing.” B.J. folded the paper in half and stuffed it back in her purse. “I think that’s pretty much it.”
I crossed the room in three big steps and yanked the paper out of B.J.’s purse. I grabbed Veronica’s glasses from her.
I hiked up my beach towel and scanned the list. “ ‘Avoid soaking the tattoo in water or letting the shower spray pound directly on it. Avoid the sun.’ ”
“Too much water dries out your skin anyway,” B.J. said. “And we both have more than our share of sun damage.”
“Speak for yourself. ‘Avoid swimming in both pools and in the sea.’ Gee, thanks. I finally see the ocean again—”
“It’s not like you even went in when we were at the beach earlier today.”
“That’s not the point,” I said. “The point is that I could have. Okay, ‘Use ice packs to minimize redness and swelling.’ Eww, ‘Refrain from picking at scabs.’ ”
B.J. reached for the paper. “See, it’s all pretty much common sense.” I turned and blocked her with my good shoulder.
I let out a gasp. “ ‘They will fall off on their own as the tattoo heals, usually in two. To three. Weeks.’ ”
“I forget,” Veronica said. “When is the reunion anyway?”
I looked over Veronica’s reading glasses at B.J. “Tell her.”
B.J. shrugged. “Pretty soon.”
I shook my head. “Try the day after tomorrow. You might want to call Macy’s and take the hold off those sexy little peasant blouses. Maybe they have some surgical wrap we can wear instead.”
“Or,” B.J. said, “we could bank on the fact that we’re both quick healers.”
The only good news I could think of was that it was my turn to take off B.J.’s bandage. I pulled a little bit harder than I had to.
“Ouch,” B.J. said.
“Guess what,” I said to Veronica as she dabbed on the antibiotic ointment. “B.J. and I have been discussing phobias. She’s terrified of nee—”
“Don’t say it,” B.J. said.
“Needles, needles, needles,” I said.
“Highways, highways, highways,” she said.
“Oh, grow up.”
“You grow up.”
Veronica shivered. “Sn . . . uh . . . akes. I can’t go near them at the zoo. Or the nature center. I can’t look at a picture of one. I even check under the bed for them when I’m traveling.” She shivered again. “There is nothing else in the world I am afraid of like that. If you told me there was a snake outside, I would never leave this house for the rest of my natural life. I hate, hate, hate sn—”
There was a loud thud in the next room.
We all jumped.
B.J. and I looked at Veronica. She took a step toward the doorway.
We heard a long hiss, low to the ground.
Fawn wiggled into the kitchen on her stomach and hissed again.
CHAPTER 23
“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,” B.J. said.
Fawn looked up from her Frosted Mini-Wheats and rolled her eyes.
“She probably had that one down before she could crawl,” I said. “Didn’t you, honey?”
“Come on, Fawn,” B.J. said. “I double-dog-dare you.”
Fawn put her spoon down and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Suoicodilaipxecitsiligarfilacrepus,” she said.
“Good job, sweetie,” I said. I wasn’t sure if reinforcing this behavior was the way to go, but if there was one thing I’d learned as a parent it was that your kids needed you to tell them how wonderful they are. And if you did, they would rise to the occasion.
Fawn jumped up from the table, put her cereal bowl next to the sink, and walked backward out of the kitchen. I took a bite of my own Frosted Mini-Wheats.
“I wish these were french fries.” B.J. grabbed the Mini-Wheats and started eating them out of the box. “God, I just remembered I had a nightmare about that trucker. He was chasing me around at the reunion and it turned out I went to the prom with him. Terrifying.”
“Ha,” I said. “I wouldn’t worry too much about him showing up. After all, you’re going to report him to the big wheel truckers’ association.”
She reached for another handful. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Big Wheels are those toddler cars. Remember? Trevor and Troy had a whole convoy of them.”
B.J. stretched. “Well, whatever. We called the cops on him, so they can figure out which association to turn him over to. Do you want the next shower or can I have it?”
“Go ahead,” I said.
From the depths of my shoulder bag, my cell phone rang. I took my time walking over to the kitchen counter to get it. Kurt was noth
ing if not persistent. Even if I’d actually managed to block him after all, he could be calling from his work number, or even from Crissy’s phone. Maybe I should talk to him, at least to get the credit card thing squared away. But, really, why should I? I mean, I was on vacation, after all, the first vacation I’d had in forever. Not that he knew that, but still, he had absolutely no right to interrupt it. I hadn’t seen my old friends in ages, and while I couldn’t technically blame him for that, it was my life now and he certainly didn’t have the right to intrude on it anymore. Enough was enough.
I found the phone and pushed ACCEPT. “What?” I said.
“And a top o’ the mornin’ to you, too,” Ted Brody’s voice boomed.
I took a moment to wrap my brain around non-Kurt’s voice.
“Me, too,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, you, too.” My caffeine kicked in and fueled a major blush, or possibly a hot flash, or maybe even a hybrid. Sometimes it was hard to tell.
B.J. was watching me with interest. Great. The last thing I needed was for her to find out about Ted Brody and make too big a deal of it. “Let me just step outside so I can hear you,” I said a little louder than necessary. “Cell service and beach towns, well, you know.”
I pushed the kitchen door open and stepped out onto a wooden deck. Across the backyard, a squirrel perched on the bird feeder was chowing down, and two mourning doves were ground feeding on the seeds it dropped to the pine needles below. Hostas and ferns and daylilies clumped in the shady corners of the yard. Hydrangeas, heavy with blue snowball-size blooms, edged the deck. A Slip’n Slide with a garden hose attached almost knocked me over with nostalgia.
“Hello?”
I looked at the phone in my hand and then put it to my ear.
“Hi,” I said. “Sorry, I just walked outside and there was this Slip’n Slide in the yard. My kids used to live on theirs in the summer. I think we must have gone through half a dozen of them—they just wore them right out.”