by Calla Devlin
He meets my eyes and reaches for my hand, and even though I’ve spent every hour of the past year wanting him to touch me, now all I feel is the cold. And my anger. I pull away.
“You know, I don’t like talking trash about people, but you need to know that I didn’t do this. I’d never do that to you. It’s your video and it’s your story and he’s your dad. I’d never post that unless you asked me to. Ever. And if you don’t believe me, then I guess you really don’t know anything about me. And that fucking sucks because I thought if anyone got me, it was you.”
“You took the video, Josh. It was on your phone. What, am I supposed to believe Emma’s parents have a nanny-cam or something and someone hacked and posted it?”
Josh hands me his phone with the videos loaded. “Just watch.”
“I don’t want to see this again. I know what I said.”
“Just watch, Charlotte. Please.”
“Fine.” I press play and see my face on the screen. I want to look away or close my eyes or kick him, but then I see it. His thumb totally obscuring the recording for a few seconds. It’s not the same one that was posted. He couldn’t have edited it out. I was midsentence.
“If it wasn’t you, who?”
He doesn’t look at me. Instead, he unzips his backpack and shoves his bike helmet in. “There were two other people in the room, Charlotte. I told you that you could trust me.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond before he turns and disappears into the fog.
Thirty-Three
I open the door to find Mom at the kitchen table, waiting.
“You left,” she says.
“I had to take something to school. I caught the bus.”
She meets my eyes. “You’re grounded. You didn’t tell me where you were going. Please don’t do that again.”
“Mom,” I say. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She glances down at the photos. Unlike Megan’s, hers aren’t spread out. Instead, they’re stacked neatly, as though she plans to bind them into a book. “You’ve been wanting to say that to me for years.”
“Which part? The folktale?”
“Lena. That you thought I only loved Lena. Or loved her more.”
If I told her the truth, that she’s right, I’m not sure who I would hurt more: her or me.
“After the stroke, I couldn’t move the left side of my body. I couldn’t nurse you properly. I couldn’t hold you for more than a little while. I couldn’t speak. Your father did a wonderful job feeding you and getting you to sleep. It was like you knew our limits. You cried, but not like Lena. Never too much.
“When I was strong enough to hold you, I kept getting out of bed just to make sure you were breathing. I barely slept, which made me take longer to recover. Finally, we had a routine. We both could sleep longer than four-hour stretches. Your father worked the city desk so he didn’t have to travel. I got stronger. You grew. Then a tsunami hit Japan, and your dad volunteered to go. Miguel told him no. He had to stay home. We needed him here. But your dad had to go. He didn’t know how to sit back and let someone else report that story. I don’t think it was ego. He really wanted to help people. He went over Miguel’s head. It took them a while to repair that.”
Mom drains the rest of her coffee and rises to get more. “Do you want some?”
“Sure,” I say. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t sleep again once your dad left. I got up over and over to see if you were okay. Finally, I brought you to bed with me, but I still couldn’t sleep. Your dad was gone for nine days. I probably managed an hour or two a night.
“He started traveling more. I slept less. It wasn’t that I loved you less. I loved you so much. I loved you entirely. But I couldn’t contain the fear of losing you. I don’t think you’re a potercha or a ghost. I think you’re a child, a fragile child, and anything can happen to you. If I had my way, I would have slept next to you every night. I would have walked you to school and stayed all day. I had to learn how to give you space. To let you do some things on your own. I had to learn how to let you be a child. In doing that, I created this rasstoyaniye.” Distance. “And it grew and grew. And I’ve been too scared to live any other way. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. “Yes,” I whisper. “I think so.”
“This, though.” Mom picks up the photos. “This makes me think you understand. How did you come up with this?”
“That book you used to read from. Sometimes I pretend we’re different characters from it. This time, I decided to change the story. The original doesn’t really fit us.”
“No, not as it’s written in the book.” She taps the pictures. “You made it into a better story. The family has choices. They can choose to let go. They can choose to take care of each other. I choose you, Charlotte. No matter what happens with your dad, I won’t disappear again. I’m your mother. I’m here. I want you to stay home too. Stay close.”
“I want to go to Berkeley,” I say.
“You always have.” She smiles like she did when we celebrated the day of the Renaissance Faire. A real smile that makes her look young and strong. She’s smiling for me. Because of me. “And I’m so glad you’re choosing home.”
Mom and I walk to the couch, and she pulls me close, like I’m a baby, like I’m still that preschooler she took to Muir Beach. Spooned together on the couch, we finally sleep.
Thirty-Four
The first thing Mom says when we wake is that I’m still grounded. No more leaving.
“Here,” she says as she hands me my phone. “You can talk to your friends, except the one who leaked the video. We’ll talk more about that later. I need to go downstairs and help Nadine.”
She pulls me close and gives me a lingering hug. “You’re everything to me, Charlotte.”
I hold on tight. She releases me with a kiss on my forehead.
As soon as my phone’s powered on, it rings in my hand as if on command. It’s Emma.
“Finally! I’ve needed to talk to you for days and you’re not answering your email. It wasn’t Josh, Charlotte. He didn’t post the video. Isaac did, and he feels terrible. He thought he was helping.”
Relief and rage both hit me at once.
Relief that it definitely wasn’t Josh, even though I believed him this morning. Relief that it wasn’t Emma, because I can’t live without her, and losing her would crush me as much as losing Dad.
Isaac. I love Isaac. How could he do this?
I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m feeling too many things at once, and I’m desperate for a moment of calm. I want to set everything aside, my head and my heart and every sense and feeling they produce, and stick them in one of the trunks upstairs.
I return to my nest and bury myself under the blankets, trying to create some comfort.
“He knew what he was doing, Em. This is Isaac. He’s a savant when it comes to the news. He could have run CNN when he was twelve. I’m sure he really thought he was helping. I think he knew that none of us would post it. The paper wouldn’t let Miguel. The FBI wouldn’t let the paper. If he did it, then it could happen without getting anyone in too much trouble.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Except I’m in a world of trouble and a world of pain. The whole thing might have made it worse for my dad. And I blamed Josh. I ghosted him. Was that part of the plan? To throw Josh under the bus?”
“No! That’s what made Isaac tell. He realized that you were getting blamed and then that Josh was. He went to Megan and he called Miguel and he’s going to call your mom.”
“He shouldn’t bother,” I say, knowing it won’t make a difference. Nothing can fix what I’ve done by making the video in the first place. “He should leave my mom alone.”
“I’m going to be late for class. But can I come over later?” Emma asks.
I’d love nothing more than to hide in my room with Emma, but I need to fix things with Josh. Plus, I’m pretty sure no contact with the outside world
means hanging out with Emma is forbidden.
“I’m still grounded.”
“But she’d let me come over, right? You’re grounded, sure, but not that grounded.”
I let out a long sigh. “If Uncle Miguel could have grounded me, he would have. You should have seen Raj Singh. Boy Wonder was about to lose it. We’ve created a shit show.”
Emma laughs. “I need to meet this Raj Singh.”
“Will you do me a favor? Give me half an hour and then find Josh and tell him to check his email, okay?”
“Sure,” she says. “What about Isaac?”
“I can’t deal with him right now. I’m too upset, and I already said things to my mom that I regret. The damage is done. The FBI and my mom say we put my dad in danger.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re worried that the video might make the rebels retaliate. I feel so awful, Em. What if this hurt him? I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Oh my God. I’m sorry. Damn Isaac.”
I sigh into the phone. “I know. We all thought it was a good plan.”
“When will you be back at school?” she asks.
“I’m not sure—probably not this week.”
“Seriously?” Emma asks.
“Yeah. It’s that big of a deal.” I close my eyes and rub my temples, trying to stop the building headache.
“You’ll tell me when you’re allowed to see people?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Promise.”
“I’m really sorry, Charlotte.”
“Thanks. I am too. We never meant to hurt anyone.”
“Of course not. But at least it worked. You’ve seen all the coverage, right?”
My eyes pop open. “What are you talking about?”
“Charlotte, the story is everywhere. Your dad is in every paper in the country. AP did a huge article.”
I feel a hint of relief. At least we accomplished that. Dad hasn’t been forgotten—for now. “I’ll call when I can, okay?”
“I’m here. I’m here if you need me. Just say the word. We miss you. All of us.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I wish you were here. And go ahead and call whenever you want. Maybe my mom will break down and let you come over. She has a hard time saying no to you.”
“I’ll work on it,” she says.
Thirty-Five
School let out an hour ago. My email to Josh was short and to the point: I was wrong. Forgive me.
Someone knocks at the front door. Probably Raj, here to tell me the many ways I thwarted the FBI’s efforts and put my father in even worse danger.
I open the door to Josh. I still have flour in my hair and under my nails from my project, and I’m certain I smell. I can’t remember the last time I showered. But he smiles at me like I hadn’t treated him like the enemy.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I should’ve trusted you.”
“I would have done the same thing if I were you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think you would have.”
“You’re probably right. Get your stuff.”
“I can’t, Josh. I’m not allowed to leave and you can’t stay. I’m in so much trouble.”
“No, it’s okay,” he says. “I went to the bakery first and talked to your mom. She’s really nice. You look like her. Nadine is nice too.”
“You did what?”
“You have permission to go out for an hour.” He holds up a bag. “She even gave me pastries. Does she give all of your friends snacks, or does this mean she likes me?”
“She gives everyone snacks. She can’t help herself. It’s a compulsion.”
“Glad to hear I’m so special. Get your coat. It’s cold.”
We climb into an ancient Honda, and when I accuse him of stealing it, he laughs and explains it belongs to his brother. Josh hates driving and considers cars nothing but convenient vehicles of death, but he knows I don’t own a bike. We drive through Golden Gate Park, inching through the traffic, and snake up Twin Peaks. The fog is so thick, I can barely see the lights below. My camera will be of little use.
We park as close as we can get to Sutro Tower. He’s right about the cold. I wrap my scarf tight and shove my hands into my pockets. It’s nearly sunset and the wind is so strong, it whips right through our clothes.
“I’m really sorry,” I say again. “I need you to know that. I never should have assumed it was you who posted it. I don’t know why I did.”
“Your friends don’t like me, and it was one of your best friends who posted it. I get it.” He stares at his boots. He says it’s okay, but I see that it’s anything but.
“You didn’t do anything to make me doubt you. I messed up. I jumped to conclusions. I was wrong. I did the same thing with my mom. I’m sorry.”
I reach for his hand, and he meets my eyes. “Okay. I accept. Thanks. For the record, I never would have done that. It was a dick move. Isaac should feel bad.”
I shake my head. “Isaac is the last person I need to worry about.”
We follow the dirt path to the tower and sit at the base. “It’s amazing on a clear night.”
My eyes follow the skyline. Without the fog, you could probably see half the city. “I bet.”
Josh hands me the bag of pastries. Turnovers. That means she likes him. I hand him one.
“We had our first fight, and we’re still good, right? Major milestone,” he says between bites. “Damn, your mom can bake.”
“Right,” I say. “That’s very good.”
When he kisses me, I wonder when touching him will seem common. Everything still feels so new. I lean against him, and he wraps his arms around me. I need the warmth. I need him. “Did you get your college letters?”
“Yeah. I got in to two out of my three. UCLA rejected me, but I expected that. Solid SAT scores but mediocre grades. Good enough for San Francisco and San Jose State, though.”
“So you’ll be staying here. You’re not going off to Princeton or something?”
“I’ll be here, rooming with Ian and going to San Francisco State. They have a film department. When you were mad at me—and no matter what your friends say, I think Isaac set me up—I thought about turning down school altogether and riding my bike to L.A. and interning somewhere.”
“You don’t want to go to L.A. now? Can you do film here?”
“Coppola’s here. DreamWorks and Pixar are here. George Lucas is here. San Francisco has a ton of film festivals and less competition than L.A. And a degree helps. I’d be an idiot to pass up this opportunity. Plus, my parents would kill me, and despite my reputation, I really don’t want to make them unhappy. And now I know you’re staying. I’ve never seen someone fit in as well as you did at Berkeley.”
“You did too.”
“I only took that camp because you did. I never would have spent spring break in school otherwise.”
I pull away so I can look at him. “Why didn’t you ever say anything? We could have been together a year or two ago.”
He kisses me. “Why didn’t you say something?”
He laughs when I roll my eyes. I fill him in on my other acceptances and rejections, tell him how Emma and I always wanted to go to college together, but now it looks like we won’t. “And you should know that I’m off the paper. I’m not going to study journalism.”
“What? You love the paper. Why would you quit?”
“I talked to Megan about all of this. I’m going to try more artistic photography, maybe study fine arts. So I’m dropping the paper and taking Mr. Donoghue’s studio class instead.”
“Can I transfer too? Because it’s taking everything I have to resist kicking Isaac’s ass, and if I get a third suspension, San Francisco State will rescind their offer of acceptance.”
“Will you tell me why you got suspended the second time?” I ask.
“I would, but I can’t.” The smile fades from his face. “I did something to protect someone, and I promised I wouldn’t tell. Plus, that could get me suspended again. W
ill you understand if I can’t tell you?”
I think of how I’d been asked to keep secrets, and what happened when I broke that promise, even if it was to Raj Singh. “Yeah. Of course.” I look up. “I think Sutro is a great name for your production company, by the way.”
“I love it here. It’s my favorite place. How about you?”
“Lands End. The windmill and the tulip garden, too, because they’re my dad’s favorites.” I close my eyes for a second and take in a breath. I can’t imagine a life without Dad or walking through the park and sitting in the garden on my own or just with Mom. I can’t exist in the city without him. “There’s no way I’m going to college if he doesn’t come home.”
“I checked before I came to get you. The video is still on the news. It’s still a lead story. There’s no way the FBI isn’t doing everything possible. It’s probably their number one priority. I know we messed everything up by making the video, but I still think it was the right thing to do. Charlotte, you kind of own the Internet right now.”
He shows me his phone, all his social media accounts. Dad is one of the top trending stories.
“We did it,” I say, trying to hold on to the hope I had when we first decided to make the video. Back when I thought maybe, just maybe, my voice would be enough to bring Dad home. But that was before I understood the full repercussions of our actions. I have to swallow tears in order to speak. “Let’s hope it works.”
“I have a feeling it will,” he says. “I know Isaac screwed everything up, but it’s kind of great that we did this on our own. Made the video. We all did that together. You did that. I think that’s something to be proud of, even though it didn’t happen the way we all wanted. Except for Isaac.”
“Yeah,” I say, “it’s much better to have actually done something than to be helpless. But I am grounded. Speaking of which, you need to keep your promise to my mother and get me back home. I’m in enough trouble as it is.”
He stands and holds out his hand. “I’m happy to be in trouble with you.”