Summer on the Short Bus

by Bethany Crandell

  He glances back and forth between me and the fork, before giving the empty bar stool beside him a shove.

  I hesitate for a moment, but go over to sit down. I grab my fork and dive in to the opposite end of the tray. We don’t speak. We don’t look at each other. We just eat.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Saturday morning greets me almost as gently as a box of rocks to the head. Almost.

  As much as my body appreciates the thirteen hours of carb-induced sleep last night’s gorge-fest provided, I still wake up feeling tired and pissed. Not to mention fifty shades of bloated.

  I somehow manage to roll my fat ass out of bed and into the kitchen. The lasagna pan Dad and I killed last night is still soaking in the sink. Ugh. Just looking at it makes me feel nauseous. I dig a couple of Tums out of the medicine drawer, chew them up quickly, then wash them down with a bottle of Evian, and am just headed back to hibernate in my bedroom when the faint sound of an Eric Clapton song stops me dead in my tracks.

  I follow the music through the kitchen and down the hall and come to a stop just outside the media room. Once again, I am shocked to find my dad somewhere other than his office. He’s sitting on the sofa, with his attention fixed on the flat screen mounted on the wall in front of him. Thanks to the crack-head architect who designed our house, I can’t see what he’s watching, so I take the tiniest step inside, careful not to hit that squeaky spot on the floor that will give me away. I drop my bottle, nearly fainting, when my eyes land on the screen.

  “Mom.”

  Before I can process what I’m seeing, Dad whips his head over his shoulder and looks at me. His eyes are red and swollen, his face sagging like his skin grew two sizes overnight.

  “She found that dress at a street market outside of Tuscany,” he says. His voice sounds scratchy and raw. “She could have had any dress in the world.” He turns back to the screen, his voice fading away like the lyrics of a sad country song.

  I’d given up asking about a wedding video long ago. You can only hear “it doesn’t exist” so many times before you finally call it quits. But as I stand here now, witnessing the full and vibrant life I’ve only imagined in my head, I feel the need to pinch myself. Too captivated by the image on the screen to know better, I cross the room and sit down on the edge of the cushion beside him.

  “She’s so beautiful,” I say. The way her blonde curls bob like birthday ribbons when she laughs, swaying over the thin, antique lace of her peasant-style dress. Calling her beautiful should be a crime. She’s so much more than that.

  I watch with bated breath as the images of my youthful father and the woman I know is my mother dance across the screen. Him with his strong chin and proud smile. Her smiling more brightly than the center of the sun. You can actually feel the love between them; it’s exactly the way Carolyn described. “Why didn’t you show me this before?”

  When he doesn’t answer, I ask again. “Why didn’t you show me this before, Dad?” I turn to look at him and find fresh tears streaming down his face.

  “I wanted to,” he says. “I did. I wanted you to know everything, I just . . .” His attention shifts from the screen to the floor, “I couldn’t.”

  “I get that it was hard for you,” I say, now blurry-eyed myself. “But I had a right to know her, too. Don’t you know that?”

  “I do,” he says, nodding slowly. “You’re right. You had every right to know about her. I just couldn’t. Seeing her . . . talking about her . . . it just reminded me of how I screwed everything up. How I took her for granted.” He pauses to look at me, his swollen eyes locking on mine. “How I took you for granted.”

  Something deep inside my chest begins to ache, and I’m not sure if I’m going to break or implode. I’ve always wanted him to own up to what he’s done, and to feel like shit for doing it, but now that we’re here it doesn’t feel right anymore.

  “I get it,” I blurt out, shocking both of us. “But that still doesn’t make it okay. I didn’t deserve to be excluded from her life. Just because she wasn’t here doesn’t mean I didn’t want to know her.”

  He nods his head. “You didn’t deserve that. I don’t know what else to say to you other than I’m sorry. I am, honey. If I could go back and do things differently I would.”

  “Well, you can’t. The damage has been done and there’s no way to take it back.” My words force his expression fade from sad to utterly wounded. “But you can make it better from here on out.”

  “How?” he says, a twinge of hope coming through his voice. “What do you want me to do?”

  “You can start by giving me access to her—to this.” I motion to the image in front of us. “I need to know who she was even if it’s hard for you. She’s part of what makes me who I am.”

  “Okay,” he says with a slow nod.

  “And I need you to get over the whole Rainbow thing. I know you don’t like her, but she was a big part of Mom’s life and I think she might be a big part of mine, too.” This obviously catches him by surprise and his eyes grow wide. “I haven’t figured out exactly what kind of relationship I’m going to have with her,” I say. “But I will have one. And I’m also going back to work there next summer.”

  “You want to go back?”

  “Yes. You might not believe it, but I’m now officially the best kid in the world because of that place.”

  His brows arch high into his forehead and he lets out a short laugh, offering a glimpse of his friendlier side.

  “Okay, maybe not the best kid in the world, but I’m definitely a lot better than I was. I get that you were trying to protect me by insulating me in a world you had control over, but that doesn’t work for me—not anymore. You can’t keep me all bottled up anymore.”

  “Wow,” he says, taking in my demands with a quick shake of his head. “You weren’t kidding about changing—”

  “And then there’s Quinn,” I say, saving the most important condition for last. “You need to be okay with him, too.”

  “No,” he says. “That’s one I can’t budge on. He’s a bad influence, Cricket. There’s no telling what kind of trouble a boy like that will get you into.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He crosses his arms over his chest.

  “Dad, I know you can’t see it yet, but Quinn is probably the best influence I’ve ever had in my life. Once you get to know him, you’ll see it, too.” He opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, so I quickly cut him off before he has the chance. “It’s non-negotiable,” I say with more conviction than I’ve ever said anything before. “Quinn’s part of my life now. You accept him or you lose me. That’s all there is to it.”

  Looking like he’s just been kissed by a fastball, he settles back into the cushions and takes a deep breath. It’s the kind of breath you see men in movies take before they agree to buy their kid a car even though their grades are in the toilet. The kind of breath that says I’m going to trust you, so please don’t let me down. “Did you know your mother was prelaw when we first started dating?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “I had no idea.”

  “Well, she was.” There’s a hint of a smile breaking through his tired face. It looks good on him. “And in all the years we were together, I never won an argument. You sounded exactly like her just then.”

  I feel my heart swell beneath my chest and I swallow hard. “Okay,” he says, raising his palms in surrender. “I’ll give the boy a chance. Is there anything else?”

  “Actually, yes. There is one more thing. . . .”

  TWENTY-NINE

  “Are you sure we’re going the right way?” From her shotgun position, Carolyn leans forward and gives the GPS a smack.

  “Maybe this thing is broken—”

  “Stop!” I say, swatting at her. “We’re going the right way.”

  “Are you certain?” She drops her head slightly and peers through the windshield into dusky night. “You were riding in the backseat the last time you came
here. And it was daylight.”

  “I’m positive,” I say, casting a subtle glance at the map illuminating from the dashboard. “At least I think I am.”

  According to my sometimes-accurate navigation system, we should be coming up on the Camp I Can turnoff any minute now. Although with the way my nerves are bouncing around, it wouldn’t surprise me if I missed it thirty miles ago.

  “Maybe your father was right,” she says. “If we had just let Sean drive us, we wouldn’t have to worry about any of this.”

  “God, we’re going the right way,” I say again. My wingman’s dwindling confidence is starting to get annoying. “It should be around one of these corners.”

  Her heavy sigh only adds to my own uncertainty. Because it took a few hours to convince Dad to let me and my sixty-year-old chaperone take this battle-of-the-bands road trip, we got out of the house later than I would have liked. And despite the extra hours of daylight a Midwestern summer provides, it’s still tricky navigating through all the shadows and turns that make up this highway.

  “Oh, there it is!” I whip my arm across Carolyn’s chest and point to the sign that says, CAMP I CAN, 1 MILE. The first time I saw that sign it made my stomach turn. Tonight it just makes me giggle.

  We pull off the highway and onto the dirt road that leads to camp. Stupid as it sounds, I roll down my window and inhale the familiar air.

  “Slow down,” Carolyn says. “Are you trying to kill us?”

  I glance down at the speedometer and cringe. “Sorry,” I say, easing up on the pedal a smidge. “But we’re already late, and I’m dying to get there.”

  “To see the boy,” she says.

  I feel my cheeks flush. “Among other things . . .”

  Though I’ve only traveled this road four times before (three sober), I know at exactly what point the mess hall will come into view; just around this bend. . . . My hands tighten on the wheel, and I exhale a nervous breath.

  “Anticipation is good for the soul,” Carolyn says, patting my leg.

  “Then my soul must be pretty freaking happy right now.”

  We make the final turn and, as expected, the rickety building comes into view. “There it is,” I say, a smile erupting across my face.

  “Oh my. That’s not hard to miss, is it?”

  Her tone suggests that her first impression isn’t too different than mine was. But that’s the beauty of first impressions—before you know it they’re forgotten.

  “Wait until you see the inside,” I say. “We were designing different sets for every act. We made this huge Eiffel Tower for the full group routine, and Colin had this whole underground, industrial thing for his. They were going to install colored lights if they could find any. I wonder if they did,” I say, interrupting my own train of thought.

  “Oh, Constance, she would have been very proud of you,” Carolyn says, chuckling at my enthusiasm.

  I glance over at her. “Who?”

  “Your mother.”

  Emotions prick at my eyes, forcing me to swallow hard.

  “It’s okay,” she says, patting my leg. “Your mother was sensitive, too.”

  “She was?”

  “Mmm-hmm. It’s a gift you know. Not everyone has that kind of connection to things . . . and people.” She motions to the parking area that comes into view in front of us and I smile. There are at least a dozen cars in the lot, which means all the parents showed up as hoped. Awesome.

  Sniffling back my emotions, I pull up beside the beater camp pickup, and before I even cut the engine I hear the all-too familiar lyrics of “Radioactive” thumping from inside the building.

  “We gotta hurry,” I say. “Colin’s group is on right now, and I’m not sure what order they’re going in.”

  “Go ahead,” she says, fumbling with her seat belt. “I’ll catch up with you.”

  I hesitate for a moment, but the sound of applause puts me back in motion.

  “I’ll see you inside,” I call over my shoulder, already halfway across the lot. I clear the weathered steps two at a time, round the rickety porch, and blow straight through the front doors. Besides a strand of white Christmas lights lining the perimeter of the stage, the room is dark. And other than the whispers of audience members, completely quiet as well.

  Crap. I’ve missed Colin’s performance.

  “You’re here!”

  I turn over my shoulder and find Rainbow standing just a few feet away. Illuminated only by the last remnants of daylight seeping in through the open door behind me, she looks paler than ever. And completely surprised.

  “I’m so glad you made it,” she says. “I can’t believe he let you come.”

  “That makes two of us,” I say. Rainbow leans forward and pulls me in for a hug. It’s a little awkward, but not completely horrible. “So what’d we miss?”

  “We?”

  “Carolyn came with me. She’s still fighting with her seat belt in the parking lot.”

  “Carolyn’s here? That’s . . . wow,” she says. It takes her a moment to regain what little composure she had. “Okay,” she clears her throat. “So, what’d you miss? Uh, nothing actually.” She nods toward a flashing red light in the corner. “We’ve been recording the entire thing . . . for you, that is. We started with the group performance, and Fantine’s and Colin’s groups just finished. . . .”

  “Aw, man. I wanted to see everybody’s.”

  “I’m sorry. But you know how it goes around here. If we don’t stay on schedule the whole thing gets thrown off.”

  “Right,” I say. Once a schedule Nazi . . .

  “They all went beautifully, though,” she adds. “Especially the group performance. Fantine filled in as Madonna and really worked that cone bra.”

  I can’t help but laugh. Of course she did.

  “So Quinn’s up next?” I ask hopefully.

  She shakes her head, but any verbal response she’d planned to give me is interrupted when the boy in question’s soothing voice interrupts her over the aging PA system.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says. “Please welcome to the stage, Team Daniel-san performing, ‘Hollaback Girl.’”

  “They’re still doing our act?” I say, my eyes growing wide as the stage lights flicker on in a sea of color. I turn my attention back to Rainbow. “Who’s filling in for me?”

  “See for yourself !” she says, pointing to the stage as the audience begins to cheer.

  I reface the front of the room and my jaw instantly drops like it’s loaded with concrete.

  Meredith is still sporting a cheerleader uniform as originally planned, but it’s Claire who has taken a major detour with her choice of costume. Shimmery silver leggings are stretched tight across every inch of her ample bottom half, while her top is poured into a white sports bra that could probably double as a hammock at this point. Beneath the colorful lights, the rolls of belly fat sandwiched between the two garments gleam like dough waiting for the oven, but based on the size of Claire’s smile, she doesn’t care. Good-bye, chunky cheerleader, hello, plus-sized Stefani.

  “Holy shit,” I sputter, fanning my hands over my eyes.

  “Isn’t it that something?” Rainbow says, smiling.

  “Oh, it’s something all right.”

  The drumbeat moves quickly, and much to my surprise so do both of them. Just as we’d rehearsed, Meredith kicks off the routine by showing off her upper body strength. She’s hand-standing her way across the stage, while Claire plods along beside her, punching her fist through the air as she spouts off the opening monologue like a rapper. Much to my surprise, she’s on top of the lyrics, and is about to deliver the last lines before the actual melody picks up, when she suddenly stops in her tracks. Eyes squinted beneath the brim of her black beanie, she clomps to the edge of the stage.

  “Cricket!” she says into the microphone. “Is that you?”

  My cheeks flood with embarrassment, as every audience member turns their head in my direction. I nod quickly, encouraging her to ca
rry on with a wave of my hand.

  “You came back!” she says, pointing at me. “Meredith, look. Cricket came back!”

  Meredith drops to the ground, and from the push-up position smiles broadly in my direction. “Hiiiiii, Cricket! Hoooooow are youuuu?”

  “I’m fine!” I shout over an eruption of laughter from the audience. “I’ll talk to you later. But now you need to keep going!”

  “What?” Claire yells.

  “Finish the song!”

  “Oh right,” Claire says, nodding. “We need to finish.”

  “Riiiiight,” says Meredith.

  “Do you want to sing with us?” Claire says.

  I shake my head. “No. You’re doing great!”

  It takes a moment, but after a few stutters and stumbles the girls manage to get relatively back on track with the music, and that’s when I begin to laugh.

  “They’re pretty amazing, aren’t they?” Rainbow says, leaning against me.

  I nod. “They are.”

  As anticipated, the word bananas poses a problem for Claire, and the routine has more than a few hiccups including one collision in front of the yellow convertible prop, but no one seems to notice. In the end, it’s as tragic as it is funny, but it’s still a home run and I’m like a proud parent watching from the bleachers.

  “That was so awesome,” I say, swiping tears from my eyes. “They did such a good job.” I look to Rainbow expecting to find her nodding along in agreement, but she’s no longer beside me. I turn over my opposite shoulder and through the dim light find her near the doorway with Carolyn. They’re tittering like school girls on the playground. A smile pushes its way across my face. They’ve got a lot to talk about.

  “Hey, sexy,” a familiar voice says against my ear. I turn over my opposite shoulder and find Fantine standing right beside me, still wearing the tongue-depressor bra.

  “Me, how about you?” I say, pulling her in for a tight hug, which isn’t easy given her pointy boobs. “You are so rocking that bra, girl!”

  She steps away from me, grinning. “I do what I can,” she says. “So how in the hell did you manage to get back here? I heard your dad was pretty pissed the other day.”