All That's True

by Jackie Lee Miles

  Her father says they’re leaving at the end of the month. Well, actually, Bridget’s father is leaving at the end of the month. He’s put the house up for sale and is having the furniture auctioned. Bridget is going to North Carolina to stay with her mother’s sister Ellen, until her father gets settled in London. So, in addition to losing my father, I’m losing my best friend in the entire world.

  “You can visit, Andi,” my mother says, trying to comfort me. “Won’t that be nice?”

  “It’s not the same,” I wail. “Now we see each other every day.”

  “Can we have her dog?” I ask. My mother has never been a dog person, but if we keep Rudy, then Bridget can come here and visit and get a chance to see him, and then maybe later her father will let the dog come to London. They have a lot of dogs over there. The queen has like six or something. My mother says she’ll think about the dog.

  I know what I’m going through with Bridget leaving is nothing compared to what my mother’s going through. My father came over last night and explained that he was filing for divorce, but would make sure everything remained the same at home.

  “Of course, you can stay in the house,” he says. “And you’ll be well taken care of, Margaret. I’ll pay all the bills. You’ll have a generous settlement. I’ll do everything I can to make this as easy as possible for you.”

  Right! Like there’s anything he can do now that he’s destroyed her entire world. What’s going to become of my mother?

  She’s sitting on the sofa, not saying a word. She nods her head that she understands. Tears are rolling down her face, but she doesn’t make a sound. I go over to her and put my arms around her.

  “I’m sorry, Margaret,” my father whispers. And then he leaves. Just walks out the door and leaves! Only then does my mother break down. She starts wailing like the world has ended. My poor mother—in a way, her world has ended. At least the one she’s always known. I think of what Vivian said on the ship, “Winner take all.”

  My mother should get a good attorney and take my dad to the cleaners.

  Chapter Sixty-two

  Next week is my birthday. My mother says we’ll have a birthday party and I can invite all my friends. What for? Bridget won’t be here. But then I realize I’ve got to let my life go on. There’s no other choice. I tell my mother a party would be fun. I’ll invite Allison Whitley, you remember, the girl I met who volunteers at the nursing home who has the regular family with the real nice kitchen and the two younger brothers. And Joey and David—I can invite them, too. They were a lot of fun at the Sadie Hawkins dance even if they did laugh at me all the way home. They told jokes that were pretty funny and had no problem with the dancing part.

  I help my mother decorate the terrace level of the house. Most people call it a basement, but there are windows and doors down there so I can understand my mother not wanting to call it that. I’m sort of excited. I’ll be fourteen—I’m almost full grown. I have to start acting mature and that means handling the divorce. Beth says, “Andi, grown-ups get divorced all the time. It’s sad, of course, but there’s nothing you can do but accept it. That’s the key.”

  That’s what I’m trying to do. In between I’m working on not hating my father. So the party’s a good diversion.

  I haven’t had a real party since I was ten. The week before the party drags on. Each day inches forward, longer than a ball of yarn. Everything is ready. The cake’s ordered, the decorations are up, and there are plenty of snacks lined up in the pantry. Finally, I wake up on August 8 and here it is. It’s my birthday. I’m fourteen years old! But it’s a major disappointment. I don’t feel any different than I did the day before. Nothing happened when I was thirteen either, but I counted on it being different when I turned fourteen.

  At the party, everyone seems to be having a pretty good time. David and Joey are off in a corner telling jokes and you can hear laughter every other minute. I’m talking to Allison Whitley. She tells me her father has lung cancer. What do you say to that?

  “Will he be okay?” I ask. My eyes are big as grapefruits.

  I hope it’s not terminal.

  “We don’t know. But he never smoked, ever,” she says.

  That makes me wonder how he got lung cancer. And then I remember he cooked those delicious hamburgers on the grill. I hope that’s not what caused it. All the cooking out he did and the fumes from the charcoal and all. I try to change the subject.

  “Should we put some music on?”

  Everything seems to be going real well. The food’s great, the music’s good. Everyone is laughing and talking and some are even dancing. Then my father walks in and ruins everything.

  “Anyone seen my little girl?” he says. He still thinks of me as his little girl. He has a large package in his hand. If it’s a Barbie Doll House I’ll kill him. “There she is,” he says. He walks toward me and holds out the package.

  I’m about ready to open it, when I hear a commotion on the staircase leading downstairs to where we’re all gathered. It’s my mother. She has Rudy on a leash and is leading him into the room. He licks happily at any hand extended to him. He’s such a great dog.

  “Happy Birthday, Andi,” my mother says gaily and hands me his leash. It’s the best birthday present ever. I can’t wait to tell Bridget. And I’ll let her know I’m only keeping him until she can convince her dad they need him back.

  ***

  My father stays upstairs with my mother until the party is over. He stands by the door while everyone leaves and says good-bye and pats some of them on the back, like he still lives here. If he still did, it would make me very happy, since I rarely saw him when he did. But the fact that he’s divorcing my mother and then comes over and plays host, has me very upset.

  My mother seems so happy to see him, like maybe she’s going to win him back or something. That upsets me even more. It’s not going to happen.

  “Andi,” my mother says once everyone has left. “Your father would like to take you to dinner. Isn’t that nice?”

  I’d rather have my nails torn off. I stand there and don’t say anything.

  “I think it’s a good idea for you two to spend some time together, don’t you, Andi?” my mother adds. She gives me a big smile.

  I don’t want to make her more unhappy than I know she already is, so I agree it would be nice. If lies were pimples, I’d have a serious case of acne.

  My father opens the door. I get in the front seat of his car and he pulls away. My mother is standing in the window of the library at the front of the house. She smiles and waves. All I can think of is what she’ll do when we’re gone. Probably lie on her bed and wail like a baby who’s way beyond needing a diaper change.

  Chapter Sixty-three

  I get a letter from Bridget. She’s been gone for exactly two weeks. Finally I have her address. I tear open the envelope praying that by some miracle she is coming back to Atlanta. Maybe her father hates his promotion, or better yet hates London.

  Dear Andi,

  Charlotte is the pits. Not that there’s anything wrong with the city. It’s my Aunt Ellen. She is driving me bananas. She’s some kind of history nut and insists I need to learn all about Charlotte, like I could care that it’s known as The Hornet’s Nest, or the reason why. Which in case you’re interested, is because this British General was driven out of this place during the American Revolution and he wrote that Charlotte was a hornet’s nest of rebellion. Where am I ever going to use that fact? I don’t plan on being on Jeopardy. This city is also known as the City of Churches. Take one guess why. It’s also where Billy Graham was born. Every morning at breakfast I get a quiz from my Aunt Ellen. “What is Charlotte the historic seat of?” she asks. Ashley, that’s my cousin, doesn’t wait for me to answer, even though this time I know it. It’s the seat of Southern Presbyterianism. Ashley just butts right in and gives the answer which makes my Aunt Ellen light up like a match. Ashley’s twelve years old and has never had a sister. So guess who’s nominated? She hang
s all over me. Worse, she is a Camp Fire Girl and now my Aunt Ellen insists I have to join, too. Ashley’s been in it since she was a Blue Bird, which is what they call the younger ones. Each year the organization does something different to further their cause. This year they introduced the second phase of “Teens in Action.” That part’s kind of cool. You learn all about serving your community. But the uniform’s awful. I told my aunt I really don’t want to wear it. She said, “Nonsense. A uniform creates a sense of belonging. You’re going to be part of something important.” This means I have no choice in the matter.

  They’ve been letting boys join for a while so now it’s known as Camp Fire USA. Our group doesn’t have any boys. What does that tell you?

  One nice thing is we get snow here. Last year they got four inches. But I probably won’t be here then. At least I hope not, but if I am at least I’ll get to see snow.

  That’s all for now. Are you doing okay? Do you see your Dad and Donna? If my Dad had never married her none of this stuff would be happening. Who would have thought that saying “I do,” especially when she didn’t, would change entire lives?

  Bridget

  I put the pages back in the envelope. I need to show them to my mother, so she can see how unhappy Bridget is. Then maybe she could come and stay with us until her father gets settled and maybe it would take him years to get settled and me and Bridget could finish growing up together. There are so many maybes.

  ***

  Tonight my father is taking me to dinner again. You’d think he could think of something else to do for once. I’m only going because my mother wants me to. I have three outfits laid out on the bed and I can’t decide which one I want to wear. It really shouldn’t matter, but I’m thinking maybe my clothes could make a statement like all the fashion magazines refer to. My clothes could jump out and say you’re a low-down dirty rat and you’ll be sorry.

  I decide on a black skirt with two T-shirts worn one over the other, a white one underneath and a pink and black paisley one worn on top. It’s the new look—layered. I just got my hair cut and it’s clean and shiny. All I need is some gloss and mascara and I’m ready. I look in the mirror. Beth stares back at me. I blink. It’s hard to believe but I look more and more like her with each passing month. A year ago I never thought I’d grow up looking so good. It’s a miracle.

  “Well, don’t you look nice,” my mother says. I shrug my shoulders. I guess the statement I wanted to make is a lost cause. The door chimes ring. My father’s right on time. Rosa opens the door. I can hear her chattering away.

  “So good see you,” she says.

  My father walks into the library like he owns the place and then I realize he does. It won’t really be my mother’s ’til after the divorce, which won’t be long. Turns out you can get a divorce in Georgia quicker than you can get a dentist appointment.

  “Hello, Andi,” my father says. “Margaret.” He nods his head at my mother and offers a slight smile. My mother doesn’t smile back, but she doesn’t frown either. She just stands there looking like an animal that’s jumped in front of a car. I’m thinking it still isn’t real to her, my father not being here, my father divorcing her, my father getting ready to marry Donna.

  There’s a lump in my throat as big as Texas.

  “All set?” he says.

  I don’t bother to answer. I sling my purse over my shoulder and head for the door.

  “Have a nice time,” my mother calls out.

  I climb into the front seat of the car. My father pulls out of the circular driveway. “I have a reservation at Chima Brazilian Steakhouse,” he says.

  Whatever.

  “You’ll like it. They serve sixteen meats tableside and have the largest salad bar in Buckhead.”

  The thought of food starts to dissolve the lump in my throat. I realize I didn’t have lunch and I’m starving. At least I’ll get a good meal.

  “All of the artwork on the walls comes from Brazil as do most of the furnishings,” my father explains. “It’s a very impressive place. You can tell your friends about it.”

  He is so out of it. My best friend is hundreds of miles away all because of him and he expects me to chatter away about what restaurant I’ve been to.

  “Bridget’s in North Carolina,” I say. “There’s no one to tell.”

  “Surely she’s not your only friend,” my father says as he pulls into the restaurant parking lot. “What about all your friends at your party?”

  I just nod my head. No sense getting into it. He comes around and opens the door of the car for me. He places his hand in the small of my back and escorts me to the front door of the entrance. His hand feels warm. It makes me feel safe. I want to turn and throw my arms around his neck and beg him to come back to us. The very thought of it makes me catch my breath.

  “Here we are,” he says and reaches for the door.

  The maître d’ greets us. My father steps forward, “Reservation for St. James. Party of three,” he says.

  Party of three—he’s so used to having my mother with us when we dine out. Tears gather in the corner of my eyes remembering just how many times we’ve done that and will never do it again.

  I follow the maître d’. The dining room is enormous. It could easily seat three hundred people. Even so it feels warm and cozy. The lights are low and the tables are placed close together. There are crisp white tablecloths and candles. The salad bars are islands located on one side of the room. On the other side is a wall of windows to the kitchen where you can see the meat being cooked rotisserie-style. The meat is brought in by gauchos who wear Brazilian cowboy outfits, including tall boots, black pants, a white shirt and a red scarf. They’re constantly in motion. They’re carrying skewers of meat and stopping at tables here and there to cut slices of meat directly onto the customers’ plates. My father is right. It really is an interesting place.

  We’ve reached our table. At first it’s hard to see in the dim lighting that someone is already sitting at it. Party of three—I should have known. I’ll give you one guess who is already at our table.

  “Hello, Andi,” Donna says. “How nice to see you!” She’s trying to be so sweet. I turn to my father.

  “You didn’t tell me Donna would be here.” I’m being a brat but I can’t help myself. If I act nice I’ll feel like I’m being disloyal to my mother.

  “We wanted to surprise you,” my father says. “We have some exciting news.”

  Nothing they say can be exciting for me. My whole life is one big mess and they’re all smiles. Plus Donna looks especially beautiful. She has on a white eyelet sundress and a simple silver chain around her neck with a heart edged in diamonds. It looks very simple, but elegant, and I wonder if it’s a gift from my father. Of course, my mother is also very attractive and elegant, but Donna is a lot younger and it makes me mad. My father’s fifty-three. He has to be old enough to be her father, which is totally disgusting, even if they do this in Hollywood all the time. Atlanta is not Hollywood.

  Menus are placed in front of us. Our gaucho explains that we may select the all-you-can-eat meat option at $48.50, which includes continuous service from the gauchos along with the salad bar.

  “Or you may select to fill your plates only from the salad bar for $28.50,” he says, and hands us a menu that has the full selection of meats available.

  “We’ll each have the full selection,” my father says.

  Good. At least it will cost him plenty and I won’t eat a bite. If I’m going to be a brat I might as well be a big one. I’m going to cut up the meat and scatter it all over my plate. I’ll mush it around with my fork. Let them see what a mess I’ve become. Let them know they’ve totally ruined my life.

  But when our gaucho brings our first order—filet mignon—I remember how hungry I am, that is, my stomach remembers. I’m drooling. I can hardly cut up the pieces fast enough. Our server brings side dishes of fried bananas, and tasty fried polenta with Parmesan cheese and mashed potatoes that melt in your mouth,
along with a huge basket of cheese bread fresh from the oven. It’s no use. I’ll have to find some other way to be a brat. Right now I eat like I’ve never seen food before. They place a medallion by the side of our plates. If one side is up, the gaucho appears again with a large selection of meat to choose from. If the other side is up they pass you by. They don’t pass me by. The next go around I choose the leg of lamb. It’s smothered in spices and is heaven on a stick.

  Chapter Sixty-four

  I’ve decided that I am going to bury myself in the other parts of my life and pretend my father and Donna don’t even exist—though I must admit this is going to be difficult to do. Already they are entangling me in their plans. The good news they had at dinner is they have decided to get married in Mallorca and would like me to go with them for the ceremony and to stay for a few days afterwards to tour the island. Then I can fly back and they will continue their honeymoon.

  “I’ve never heard of Mallorca,” I say, making a face.

  “Certainly you’ve heard of that. It’s a beautiful island off the coast of Spain. You’ll have a very good time,” he insists, and pats my hand.

  “There’s a magnificent fourteenth-century Gothic cathedral in nearby Palma,” Donna says. Her eyes sparkle like sequins. “That’s where we want to be married. It’ll be a trip of a lifetime, Andi. You’re going to have the best time.”

  It’s hard to have a good time when your mother is sitting home newly divorced and all alone.

  “I can’t go,” I say. “It would be hard on my mother.” I stare into her eyes and try to put out the sparkle.

  “Nonsense,” my father says. “She and Vivian are planning a trip to the south of France. I’ve already talked with her about it.”