Panic

by Sasha Dawn

  Chapter 35

  Saturday, June 10

  It’s been strange not communicating with Dylan Thomas. It’s hard. I really got used to talking to him.

  Even though we don’t know for sure that he was the guy who followed me, odds are he was. Who else could it have been?

  Funny how someone you don’t know, have never known, and never will know can become so addictive, such an important part of your life.

  And while the origami moons sort of freaked me out at first, I also really enjoyed finding them. Or rather, I enjoyed what finding them led to.

  They were a crucial stepping-stone on my path to producing my own music. And while there’s no way I’m going to collaborate with Dylan Thomas now, I did learn something from him.

  I learned that I can put myself out there, I can create beautiful things, and creativity can be contagious.

  It’s hard not being able to bounce ideas off him.

  Brendon and McKenna help fill the loneliness. And we share in a great production, which will open at the end of the month. My name will be in a program at the Chicago Theater. God, I’m still in awe.

  And soon, if I do what I know I can do, I’ll be on Broadway.

  “Are you still awake, Mom?”

  We’re FaceTiming. Her blood counts were low this morning, so Ted brought her to the hospital. They’re going to keep her overnight at least, but I wish they’d let her come home so I can sing to her in person.

  “Play it again,” my mother says. “You sing so beautifully.”

  For a second, I stare at the screen—my beautiful mother. Even with a scarf where her hair used to be. Even with her face drawn and hollow. Her eyes are the same . . . and they’re the same as mine.

  I take a screenshot, crop it close to her eyes, and post her image to my Instagram: A hint of chocolate, evergreen rims, and golden slivers of wisdom . . . the windows to my mother’s soul. The most beautiful eyes a story ever told.

  I play and sing for her. The song still needs work, but it’s close.

  Soon Ted’s looking into the camera, placing a finger on his lips.

  “She’s sleeping?” I whisper.

  He nods.

  “I’ll come see her soon,” I promise. “But I want her to sleep.”

  She used to sing me to sleep all the time. Now I’ve returned the favor. And the song I just sang . . . It’s her song. I wrote it for her.

  And someday, we’ll be onstage together. We promised each other.

  Ted gives me the bye sign, and we terminate FaceTime.

  Five minutes later, while I’m recording the song, my phone won’t shut up.

  I go to turn my ringer off, but I see a message from my sister.

  Hayley: Been thinking about what u said.

  Hayley: We have to fix this between u and Dad.

  Hayley: Maybe we should stop by Dad’s for lunch today.

  Me: . . .

  Hayley: You have to move past this.

  Hayley: He’s our dad.

  Me: He’s probably busy today.

  Me: That’s why I’m in the city instead of in Kenilworth with him.

  Me: It’s his weekend.

  Hayley: He’s so crushed that you’re angry at him that I’m not surprised he’s stopped trying to see you.

  Me: I have no interest in going there right now.

  Hayley: You have to talk to him sometime.

  Me: I want to stop in to see my mom today.

  Hayley: Go to the hospital after.

  Hayley: I’ll go with you.

  Me: Really?

  Hayley: Yeah.

  Hayley: She’s my mom, too.

  Me: <3

  Hayley: We’ll take the Metra.

  Hayley: I’ll be in the third car.

  Hayley: Get on at Clybourn.

  Hayley: I’ll be looking for you.

  Chapter 36

  “Sister!” Hayley stands and waves when I slide open the door leading to the third car.

  I wish I’d worn something other than dance shorts and a tank top, because Hayley looks awesome from her messy bun to her open-toed sandals. She’s wearing a cute blue sundress, which makes her eyes look positively cerulean. I assume she made the dress herself. The girl can teach herself virtually any sort of craft after watching even half a video on YouTube. She and Nana used to paint and sew and create together all the time. Once they even took a pottery class together.

  But once the divorce was final, she and Nana stopped doing that sort of thing.

  I try to put myself in Hayley’s shoes. Would I suddenly shy away from someone I used to love simply because my dad decided he wanted out? Like, if I get to know Miss Karissa and her kids, and we get along and become family, and in a few years, she and Dad break up, would I decide they’re not my family anymore?

  I don’t know. I miss the days when things were simple, when I had a mom and a dad and a sister—and we were all part of the same family.

  I let her hug me. Her apple-scented shampoo mingles with her cinnamon-flavored gum. She smells like a late September orchard and looks like she just stepped off the pages of a magazine.

  My gorgeous sister.

  She moves an elegantly wrapped present from the bench to her lap to make room for me next to her. The train lurches forward.

  I sit. “What’s with the gift?”

  “It’s a wedding present.”

  “Oh. Show-off. I didn’t get them anything.”

  “Yes you did. We got them this cookie jar. I signed your name on the card.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So I figure we’ll stop for a snack. Maybe some ice cream at Homer’s, then we’ll cut down Woodstock and have a nice leisurely walk to Dad’s place.”

  Dad’s place. It used to be home. We all lived there.

  “Sound good?”

  “Sounds good.” I hand an earbud to my sister. Together we listen to my favorites on shuffle: Nirvana, Prince, the Beatles, the Thoroughly Modern Millie soundtrack. And when “Forget About the Boy” comes on, we sing. Or rather, I sing, and Hayley tries to.

  The only other person still in the train car by the time we reach Kenilworth, a man in his fifties, smiles and claps when the song is over. “Bravo.”

  “My sister,” Hayley indicates me, as if I’m a prize on a game show. “See her in Annie at the one, the only, Chicago Theater!”

  We get off the train and walk a few blocks to Homer’s, which is crowded, so we get our ice cream to go. We take turns carrying the present and eating as we walk down Woodstock. It’s a nice summer day: blue skies, the same color as the crayon boasting the name, and it’s pushing eighty degrees. But the closer we get to the lake, the cooler the wind.

  “I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” I say. “Just dropping in like this.”

  “If we told him we were coming,” Hayley says, “he’d tell us not to. He’d make other arrangements, which you would likely blow off. He’d meet us in the city weeks from now, and nothing would get accomplished. Besides, this way, we’ll get to jump-start the blending process. He can’t keep us separated from Karissa and the kids if we’re all in the same house together.”

  “Maybe we should have at least texted so he’d know we’re on our way.”

  “Lainey, you’re missing the whole point of this.”

  “Maybe you should tell me what the point is, then.”

  “I want to see him in his element, you know? I want to catch him off guard, so he doesn’t have a chance to prepare for our visit. I want to see these kids when their mom doesn’t have time to sit them down and remind them of their manners.”

  I shrug. It’s a good plan, I guess.

  But the jagged remnants of what used to be our family are spinning in my gut right now. Something tells me this is not going to go well.

  When we’re about a block away, with Dad’s house in sight, that spinning sensation kicks into high gear. The gate is closed across the driveway. “We’re going to have to call,” I say. “He’s going to hav
e to buzz us in.”

  Hayley waves away my concerns and opens the keypad. “It’s our house, too, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t think so. When was the last time you were here?”

  Hayley’s fingers fly over the keypad.

  “Do you have the code since he changed it?” I ask.

  The light on the keypad flashes red, denying our entry and punctuating my point. “Why would he change it?”

  “He said he didn’t trust that Mom wouldn’t stop in.” And he didn’t share the new code with me because I’d covered up Mom’s cohabitating with Ted. He was afraid what I knew, my mother would know.

  “We’ll climb through the hedge,” Hayley decides. She shoves the present into my arms and leads the way. When she’s made it past the hedges, I shove the present at her. The branches snag on the shiny wrapping paper.

  “Well, it used to look nice,” Hayley says.

  I come through after her, and together we follow the winding driveway to where the house sits on a bluff overlooking the lake.

  Dad’s on the large, circular driveway steadying a bike while one of Miss Karissa’s sons rides it.

  Miss Karissa is standing in the doorway, smiling at the whole scene. A proud mom. A satisfied wife. “Okay, a few more minutes,” she says. “But then lunch, okay?”

  The other boy is directing a remote-control car.

  And a little girl, who must be Jennica, wiggles and spins a Hula-Hoop around her waist near the sidewalk.

  I stop in my tracks.

  I recognize her. She’s the little girl in the Gap commercial. The little girl jumping rope. That means . . .

  My dad probably manages her career.

  He’s probably running her all over the city for auditions, which is why he’s been sending Giorgio to shuttle me.

  He never was present for me. He left it to Mom to run me from casting call to casting call. And now . . .

  Hayley looks at me over her shoulder. “Come on, Lainey.”

  But I can’t move. I gaze at these ordinary, humdrum events taking place along the lakeshore, the secret lives woven beneath the surface.

  There’s no reason Hayley and I can’t be here for this. No reason we can’t be part of it. Yet we’re never invited. Dad surely can chisel out some time for us amidst this mundane idyll—more time than a rushed dinner at insert-name-of-a-downtown-steakhouse.

  “No.” I turn and decided to head back before he notices our presence. “I changed my mind.”

  The next inbound train won’t leave for another hour, but I don’t care. I’d rather sit at the station than watch this life of his unfold without regard for Hayley and me—not to mention my mom, who’s battling for her life again.

  “Where are you going?” Hayley’s suddenly in step beside me, whispering as we round the bend in the drive.

  “Don’t you get it? He doesn’t want us here!”

  “Lainey, wait.”

  “Look at them! Does it look like he needs his old daughters interfering? Does it look like he’s missing us at all?”

  Hayley grabs my wrist. “Hang on. I want to follow through with this. I need him to come clean. He owes it to us to welcome us into his life here.”

  “You say that as if he’s actually going to do it!”

  “Who are they?” The voice of a small child echoes across the vast motor court.

  “Girls?”

  Simultaneously, we turn to see our father, one hand on the handlebars of Boy 1’s bike and the other at the base of the bike seat.

  Boy 1—I don’t even know his name—stares up at us with mouth agape.

  “What are you doing here?” Dad asks. “How did you—”

  “Daddy!” Jennica yells from the porch. “Watch!”

  Dad swallows hard. His Adam’s apple noticeably bobs in his throat.

  “She calls you daddy?” Hayley asks. “Doesn’t she have a dad of her own?”

  “Who are they?” Boy 1 asks again.

  “Tell you what.” Dad kicks down the kickstand, pulls the kid from the bike, and crouches at the kid’s side. “If you run all the way up to the door and back, I’ll let you stay up ten minutes past your bedtime tonight.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.” Dad tousles the kid’s hair.

  “Okay, Daddy.” The kid takes off.

  “Why are they calling you Daddy?” I ask. A tornado of inadequacy slams into me. He didn’t care enough about Hayley and me to stick around. But he’s playing with these kids. And they call him Daddy.

  “Is Jennica your daughter?” I force the words out. “Are the boys . . . what are their names?”

  “Daniel and Karl.”

  “Are they your sons?”

  When he looks at me, his eyes are wide, his expression somber. He doesn’t say anything.

  I could take this to mean that I have a half-sister and half-brothers. That I’m no longer the littlest sister. But I didn’t come here to make assumptions. I want him to tell me in his own words.

  “Well?” My voice is shrill. “Are they yours?”

  His jaw clenches. He finds his voice—not the Fun Dad voice, the Stern Dad voice. “This isn’t the place for this conversation, Madelaine.”

  “What does that even mean? It’s your weekend. I’m supposed to be here—”

  “I deposited an extra hundred and fifty into your mother’s account for your expenses this weekend.”

  “Dad, I don’t want you to pay someone so you don’t have to see me—”

  “And you haven’t been returning my texts, which tells me you don’t want to see me.” Dad says. “The last time I tried to see you, you embarrassed me in front of your friends—”

  “Oh for God’s sake.” Hayley shoves the present into our father’s arms. “Congratulations on your recent nuptials, jackass.”

  Dad looks from me to my sister and back. “You told Hayley about the wedding, when I specifically asked you not to—”

  “Of course she told me!” Hayley cuts in. “Because you chose not to!”

  “I was going to tell you when the time felt right . . .”

  “How long were you going to wait, Dad? It’s been over a month.”

  “You were busy with finals and interviews for your internship.”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Hayley says.

  Jennica’s staring at us inquisitively. While Dad and Hayley snipe at each other, I pull up the browser on my phone and search Jennica Gap commercial.

  Dad sighs. “I’ll come to the city tomorrow, and we can talk about this. Over lunch. What do you say? We can hit the aquarium, maybe. You used to like the belugas.”

  Within seconds, pages of links load onto my screen. I click on one of them, and the little darling’s face fills my screen. Her name: Jennica Joseph.

  Chapter 37

  “I’d like to go inside before we leave.” Hayley plants her hands on her hips and doesn’t budge.

  Dad looks nervous.

  “What? I can’t go in? I used to live here, but you don’t want me in your house?”

  “It’s not that,” Dad says. “It’s just that the kids have had a busy morning, and—”

  “What are you hiding? Kitchen remodel? Prized artwork? Assets Ella can’t know about?”

  “Lunch!” Miss Karissa appears in the doorway again. This time, she sees Hayley and me. And the color flushes from her cheeks. “Jennica, boys. Come inside.”

  No one moves.

  “Inside,” Karissa says again. “Now.”

  This time, the little minions jump to it. Karissa takes a step toward us, but Dad holds up a hand to keep her in her place. “A minute, Kari?”

  “For Crissake, Jesse.” Karissa folds her arms across her chest. “Let the girls come in.”

  “A minute, okay?”

  She shakes her head but disappears along with her children.

  “Why don’t you want us inside?” Hayley asks. “Maybe you don’t want us to see the pictures of the wedding in Italy. In a mansion on th
e Isle of Capri, I’m guessing. During your trip in March. Am I right?”

  “Hawaii.” Dad says, dangling the gift in one hand, pinches the bridge of his nose with the other. “Early April.”

  “And you’re calling Mom’s three-day visit to Mayo Clinic a vacation?” I ask. “You think Mom’s spending irrationally?”

  “We wanted to have another ceremony, one that would include all of you, but then Ella’s court case came, and—”

  “So you lied to us,” I say.

  “I didn’t want you to feel the way you’re feeling right now,” Dad says. “As if I didn’t make the effort to involve you.”

  “Then maybe you should have involved us!” Hayley’s eyes are even bluer now, with tears swimming in them. “But we’re just burdens to you, aren’t we? If my mom had her shit together, if she’d been capable of taking care of me, you would’ve turned your back on me a long time ago.”

  “No. You’re my daughter. Nothing can change that.”

  “And yet my mother lives in a one-bedroom apartment in Waukegan. And Lainey and Ella are crammed into Nana Adie’s three-flat, while you’re spreading out in a house that Ella made a home, playing family with someone else.” Hayley shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re casting us out.”

  Dad shakes his head. There might be a bit of helplessness creeping into his eyes, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part. “You’re older. You have your own lives to live. I do want to continue to be part of your lives—”

  “But you don’t want us to be part of yours,” I say.

  “Maddy, that’s not true.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Hayley wipes away a tear. “Don’t talk to us like we’re stupid. Like we’re overreacting. Hell, I can’t believe I defended you for so long. Come on, Madelaine. We don’t have to listen to this.” My sister takes my hand, and we walk back down the driveway.

  ***

  I aim my phone at the floor of the Metra car and snap a picture—my Chuck Taylors and Hayley’s sandals, side by side.

  I’m about to caption it and post it to my Instagram, but nothing comes to mind.

  I delete the post. I have nothing clever to say, no color to assign to my feelings.

  I flip back to Jennica Joseph’s bio. “You know, it could just be a stage name,” I say to Hayley.