Tom scratched his chest. “Well, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, chickie. But it doesn’t hurt to pay a little attention to how your choices affect everyone else. Try putting yourself in their shoes once in a while. No man is an island, and all that.”
“Mom did think about other people,” I said stubbornly. I knew he was right. Mom had thought about me, though maybe not always very clearly. But she didn’t think about Dad.
“She loved you,” Tom said. His eyes were shining and pink-rimmed. “And I miss her too, Fiona. I miss having you and her and Peter over here, playing games and laughing and eating too much. I miss Jennifer’s laugh. I miss arguing with her. I even miss her stupid stubborn pride.”
I swallowed. “Me too. Tom?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to talk to Joni, okay? Make sure she’s okay.”
He nodded. “You do that, chickie.”
Joni was sitting on the edge of her bed, crying. She looked up when I walked in.
“Joni? Are you okay?”
“Just sad,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Which is okay, right?”
I nodded. “Please don’t be mad at Tom.”
“Oh, he can be such an idiot sometimes. No sense of timing.”
“I don’t want you guys to fight.”
“Don’t worry. It wouldn’t be the first time.” She gave me a halfhearted smile. “I’ll get over it. Sorry I stomped off. I’m just not ready to hear him talk about Jennifer like that.” She tilted her head, studying my face. “Has he upset you? He can be so insensitive sometimes.”
“No. Not really.” I sat down beside her. “It sort of helped, in a way. There’s this way everyone talks about people after they’re dead, like they’re suddenly perfect. And it was kind of nice to have someone not do that. It made Mom seem less far away, somehow.” I looked up at her anxiously. “Sometimes I even have trouble picturing her face, you know?”
“Ahh. Yes, I do know.” Joni stood up, walked over to her bookshelf and pulled something off a pile. “I have something for you. If you want it.”
She handed me a book. Big, square, dark blue. A square picture in the center: a tiny sailboat with ocean all around it.
I opened the cover. Blank pages.
“I thought perhaps you could make your own memory book. Writing, photos, whatever you want.” Joni sat back down beside me. “I bought it ages ago, but I wasn’t sure…”
“I love it.” I already knew what was going on the first page: a picture of me and Mom together on Eliza J. It’s not a great picture; Mom took it, holding the camera out in front of us, too close and not very straight. But we’re both laughing, and the wind is blowing our hair across our faces. I remembered that moment so clearly. It was one of those perfect sailing days. “I wish Dad hadn’t sold Eliza J,” I whispered.
“I know.” Joni patted my knee. “You know, I don’t mean to sound like I don’t see how hard that is—but there will be other boats. If you really want to sail, you’ll make it happen. You’re like your mom that way—determined. But Eliza J wasn’t the only boat your Mom loved, and she won’t be the only one for you either.”
“Dad won’t even let me sail,” I reminded her.
“Give it time,” Joni said. “Give it time.”
twenty-four
Joni called ahead first to check whether Kathy was there.
“You have to go home either way,” she told me. “But you might as well feel prepared.”
When she told me that Kathy was spending the evening at home with Caitlin, I felt relieved for about a second before I started getting anxious about being alone with Dad. I knew he’d be expecting me to apologize for worrying him, and I guess for technically stealing the boat. It hadn’t felt like stealing—Eliza J was mine, no matter what it said on paper. Of course, I knew I shouldn’t have taken off in the boat, but I was too mad about Dad selling Eliza J to tell him that I was sorry.
Anyway, I wasn’t entirely sorry. I felt bad about scaring everyone, but in a way I was glad I’d done it. Glad, glad, glad. Even if it was dangerous, even if it was selfish and irresponsible, even though I’d needed help to get home. In some crazy way, it had been exactly what I needed to do. Every time I thought about being out there alone, just me and Eliza J skimming across the waves on our way to Sidney Spit, I felt a flutter of excitement and beneath that, a steady warmth. Someday I would sail around the world. Even if Dad wouldn’t let me sail now, at least I had my dream back again. No one could take that away.
Joni drove me home, and to my surprise, she gave me a big hug goodbye, crushing me against her cushiony warmth. I held on tightly for a few seconds before letting go. “Thanks, Joni.”
“Love you, kiddo.” Her voice was gruff.
“Love you too.”
“Now get in there. It’ll all work itself out, don’t you worry.” She looked me in the eyes. “He loved your mom, you know, despite their differences. And he loves you too.”
I nodded and blinked away tears. Then I got out of her car and headed inside.
Dad was in the kitchen making dinner. Pizza. It was something Mom used to make pretty often, but I robin stevenson couldn’t remember Dad ever making it before. We usually ordered in or went to Paul’s Pizza Palace. I leaned against the counter and watched as he sprinkled cheese over the other toppings.
“The pepperoni goes crispier if you put it on top of the cheese,” I told him.
“Am I making this pizza, or are you?”
“Sorry. Just trying to help.” The pizza had made me hopeful that he wasn’t too angry, but apparently he was. I hadn’t ever done anything as bad as stealing a boat before. Nothing even close. I wondered what Dad was going to do to me. Ground me, maybe. I’d never been grounded before. Dad had always been stricter than Mom, but she had made most of the decisions when it came to me, and she always argued that parenting shouldn’t be about coercion. We can’t expect kids to grow up with their own sense of values if we just demand certain behavior, she said to Abby’s mom one time. Abby told me her mother thought my mom was way out there, but that she liked her a lot anyway. You couldn’t help liking someone who smiled as much as my mom did.
Dad had the pizza stone heated up in the oven, and he was getting ready to slide the raw pizza onto it. He’d stretched the crust super thin and loaded it with toppings. I had a bad feeling as he started to lift it. I opened my mouth to say something and snapped it closed again. His pizza, not mine.
The pizza folded, tore and collapsed in a sloppy mess on the hot stone.
Dad swore under his breath.
“It might be okay,” I said. “If we straighten it out…”
He put on the oven mitts, picked up the pizza stone and dumped the whole thing in the garbage. “I don’t think so.”
I don’t know why, but I started crying. Out of the blue. One minute I was just standing there, and the next I was crying, crying, crying. I felt like I might never stop.
“Honey…” Dad stared at me, his oven-mitted hands hanging at his sides. “It’s just a pizza.”
I shook my head and gasped noisily, trying to catch my breath. It wasn’t just the pizza that was a mess. It was everything. It was me and Dad, trying to muddle on without Mom. I wasn’t sure that we would be able to straighten it out at all.
“Look.” He sighed. “Can you…could you please stop crying? We have to talk.”
I took a few more shuddering gasps, nodding and trying to stop. “Mom always used cornmeal,” I whispered.
“What?”
“Cornmeal. Under the pizza. To make it slide more easily.” I wiped my eyes with my sleeve and sniffed. “She said it worked like tiny ball bearings.”
“Huh.” Dad shook his head. “How’d you feel about ordering takeout?”
“I don’t care.”
“Toast and beans?”
“Fine.” I wasn’t hungry. “Dad, I’m sorry you were worried. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Didn’t you?” He looked at me thoughtf
ully.
“I didn’t! Honest. I didn’t even think about that part.” I sat down, elbows on the kitchen table, and rested my chin on my folded hands. “I didn’t even mean to go. I just went to see Eliza J because…just because. But when I saw the Sold sign, I needed to sail her again. One last time.” I wanted him to understand. “I guess I had to say goodbye.”
Dad came and sat down across from me. His eyes were red and puffy, and I wondered if he’d been crying.
I had only seen my father cry twice. The first time was when I was eight and my grandma—his mom— died. He’d cried at her funeral. I remembered looking up at him and seeing his cheeks streaked with tears and feeling like I was standing on an elevator that was going down really fast.
Dad didn’t cry when we heard that the boat Mom was crewing on had been found, all broken up on the reef, but when the life raft was discovered floating empty, he’d sat down on my bed. “I don’t think we should hold out hope any longer,” he’d said. And then, finally, he’d cried.
Up until that day, during those weeks when Mom was missing, I hadn’t been too worried. I’d been sure she would show up sooner or later. It was Dad crying that convinced me that she wouldn’t ever be coming home.
“Dad.” I hoped I wasn’t going to start crying again. “I am really, really sorry I scared you.”
He shook his head and didn’t answer right away. I wondered if he was thinking of Mom. Safer at sea in a good boat than out on the highway in a car. That’s what she always said.
“It was a stupid thing to do, Fiona. Dangerous and stupid and unbelievably inconsiderate. You could have fallen overboard, you could have drowned, you… do you even have any idea what you put us all through?” His voice shook slightly.
“I didn’t think,” I said. “It just sort of happened.”
“I’ve been trying all afternoon to figure out what to say to you. To make you understand.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “But honestly, I’m not sure that there is much more to say about it.”
“Are you going to ground me? Or something?”
“Do you think that would be helpful?”
“No. But you said we had to talk, so…” I looked up at him. “What did you want to talk about then?”
“Kathy.” He reached across the table and put his hands over mine. “Kathy and me.”
My heart thudded. “You aren’t…she isn’t going to move in here? Is she?”
Dad looked startled. “No. We’re nowhere near that kind of a decision. I’m not even sure we ever will be.”
“You’re not?”
“Honey, it hasn’t been that long. We’re just getting to know each other.”
I frowned. “So why all the business about me and her needing to get to know each other? Why force Caitlin and me to hang out?”
“Well…” He raked his fingers through his hair. “That was a mistake, perhaps. I wanted you to feel included, I suppose. I didn’t want you to think that me seeing someone would mean I wasn’t going to be there for you.”
“I didn’t want to be included. I still don’t. Kathy and Caitlin aren’t family.”
“No,” Dad agreed. “Not now. Maybe not ever. But who knows what the future holds?”
“Not Kathy,” I said.
“Fiona.” Dad banged a fist on the table. “This is what I want to talk about. The constant smart remarks. The rudeness.”
I opened my mouth to object, but he kept talking. “I am quite aware that no one will ever replace your mother. Okay? No one will ever take her place for me either.” He looked down at his hands and touched the gold band he wore on his ring finger. “But life has to go on. I am going to be spending time with Kathy, and I’d like you to treat both of us with respect.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I just…don’t get mad again, but doesn’t it bother you? The psychic thing? That she believes stuff that isn’t…can’t…be true?”
He shook his head. “What about you and Abby? You believe different things.”
“Like what?”
“She’s a Christian, right? She believes in Jesus and goes to church and all that. And to that Christian camp every summer.”
Abby had gone to summer camp for as long as I’d known her, but all the stories she told me were about which boy she had a crush on, or how late the girls in her cabin stayed up talking, or—most often—what they ate. “I guess. We never talk about that stuff.”
“Well, you and Kathy don’t have to discuss her beliefs either.”
It felt different to me, but I couldn’t explain why.
Dad answered as if I had spoken aloud. “The only difference is that Kathy’s beliefs are more unusual. That’s it. The only difference. Spiritualism is a religion, you know. It may not be the most conventional belief system, but it’s been around for an awfully long time.”
Maybe he was right. Either way, there wasn’t much I could do about it.
“Fiona?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think we have cornmeal? Maybe I should try again.”
My stomach grumbled. Maybe I was hungry after all. “Probably,” I said, pushing my chair back and getting to my feet. “I’ll help you look.”
twenty-five
Abby was still angry when I saw her at school on Monday. She gave me a narrow-eyed glare, dropped her backpack in her locker and slammed the door shut. I stood there, waiting.
“What?” she said.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I am so sorry, Abby.”
She wasn’t going to let me off that easily. “About what, exactly?”
“Everything. I’ve been a jerk.”
“Yeah.” She looked at me. “You have.”
“I’m sorry about what I said at the fair. And that I didn’t tell you about Nicole. I know I should have. I mean…I just…”
“Didn’t want me feeling bad for Kathy,” Abby said. “I know.”
I shook my head. “Stop reading my mind,” I told her, taken aback but half laughing.
She shrugged. “It was kind of obvious.”
“Only to you,” I said. Someday Abby would be a great psychologist. I didn’t doubt it for a second. “Are you still mad?”
She didn’t answer right away. I bit my lip anxiously. “Abby, I know I’ve been awful. I’ve just felt so rotten inside and it kept sort of oozing out.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” She sighed. “Saturday night, after the psychic fair, I was so mad at you. I was imagining all these things I wanted to say to you, about how self-centered you were being and how I’d had enough of it. But yesterday when we got back from church and Joni was in our driveway freaking out because you were missing…” She shook her head. “Don’t do anything like that again, okay? I was really worried.”
“That I’d drown?”
“No, stupid. Well, maybe a bit, but I know you can sail. Mostly I was worried you’d be grounded for life.” She punched my arm lightly. “Then I’d be stuck hanging out with people who aren’t you. And that would suck. I mean, total tedium.”
Life at home seemed to settle a little over the next couple of weeks. Nothing dramatic: Kathy still visited, Caitlin still hung around, and Dad and I still argued. It felt a bit better though. It was sort of like the way the waves gradually subside after a storm: you can’t see them getting smaller, but after a while you notice that the wind has dropped and the motion has changed and the boat isn’t getting tossed around like it was before. You realize you don’t feel sick anymore and that you might even be hungry.
I started writing in my memory book. Little things mostly, but dozens of them. Pages and pages. Things Mom said to me, times we spent together. Special things. Ordinary things. Things I wanted to remember. Sometimes writing made me feel sad, but mostly it felt like I finally had somewhere safe to put all those thoughts and memories and feelings, and somehow that helped.
Finally it was the day of the science fair. Dad drove Abby and me to school so we could get our display set up in the gym before our first class.
Abby bounced up and down on her toes. “Our project is awesome,” she said. “It looks way better than anyone else’s.”
I looked around the room. Dozens of tables were set up in rows, and half of them were covered with displays in various stages of completion. “You’re always so competitive,” I said.
“No, I’m not. I just like to have the best one, that’s all.” Abby was putting the finishing touch on our project, sprinkling little gold stars on the black cloth that covered our table. She stepped back from it, studying it for a moment before looking up at me, laughing. “Okay, I guess that could be called competitive. But it’s not like I don’t want other people to do well.”
“Generous of you.” A girl a couple of tables over from us was trying to balance three huge sheets of impossibly flimsy blue cardboard on her table, and I tossed her a roll of duct tape. Our own display was made from three sturdy sheets of plywood: I’d even used Mom’s tools to screw proper hinges onto the boards. Abby had covered the bare wood with black paper, and our research was presented in neatly typed sheets and graphs. Across the top of the display, green and purple letters read: PSYCHIC PHENOMENA : FACT OR FICTION?
Except for the title, it almost looked like something from the psychic fair.
I shoved my hands in my pocket and touched metal. The key to Eliza J ’s padlock. I wasn’t planning on taking off on the boat again, but I kept it with me all the time. Just in case.
Mrs. Moskin came by and asked us a bunch of questions about our research and our experiments. Abby answered most of them better than I did, but I didn’t do too badly.
“So one last question. Just out of curiosity, not for marks.” The Mouse looked right at me, her small eyes bright. “I see from reading your conclusion that your research and experiments supported your hypothesis that psychic phenomena do not exist. Was that what you were hoping to find? Or were you hoping to be surprised?”
I had set out to prove Kathy wrong; to show she was a fraud. But more than anything, I’d wanted to believe that I could someday talk to my mom again. “Both,” I said at last. “A little bit of both.”
Liars and Fools Page 15