Just Fly Away

by Andrew McCarthy

  In the morning my dad didn’t even ask me if I wanted to drive to the small airport in Owls Head with him.

  By the time he pulled back into the driveway with my mother and Julie, Monique was already at the house having coffee with Angela, and I was hanging around in the front yard, waiting, I suppose. Getting out of the car, my mother looked older than she had a week ago, but perhaps that was just the stress of everything.

  We carried the bags into the house. My mom had brought me some clothes, thank God. She handed me the bag, but then didn’t let go when I grabbed it. I looked up at her. “We have a lot to talk about still, Lucy. Don’t think because of this, that your running off is all done and forgotten.”

  “I know,” I mumbled.

  She let go of the bag and I went inside to change. Angela had insisted we stay with her and I brought my stuff upstairs. People continued to come by the way they had the day before, hanging out, talking and not talking. The old man with the white hair took his spot at the percolator, refilling everyone’s coffee cup before they even asked. Julie spent most of her time drifting in and out of the kitchen where people were gathered, in her own world, almost as if nothing was wrong. My parents sat in the kitchen greeting everyone.

  The white-haired coffee man was shaking his head as he refilled my mother’s cup. “To think that I’ll never see Harold again,” the man said to no one in particular.

  “You think that’s strange,” I heard myself say. I was leaning in the doorway to the kitchen. “What about Thomas? His grandfather just died and he never even got to meet him. And now he never will.”

  Everyone turned to look at me.

  “Who?” Angela asked. She was standing over at the stove, warming up hot cross buns someone had brought over.

  I could feel my mother’s and father’s eyes on me.

  “Thomas—” I started to say.

  “Lucy,” my mother cut in.

  “He’s this eight-year-old boy who lives near us.”

  “Please stop it, Lucy.” My mother’s voice was harsh now.

  “Dad is his father and Grandpa never got to meet him.” I was looking directly at Angela, but I could feel all the eyes in the room on me.

  I’d had enough of the secrets, the lying. I was tired of everyone else dictating how things were going to go. The room was silent. But you could sure hear the cow clock tick in that kitchen.

  “Please come outside, Lucy,” my father said softly, and he got up. He had to turn sideways to squeeze past me in the doorway.

  My mother eyed me with daggers as she stood up.

  We left everyone in the kitchen and I followed after my dad through the dining room, then the living room and into the den where I had found the yearbook. Once the three of us were in there, my father closed the door softly.

  “What exactly was the point of that?” he said.

  “I don’t know, I just think it’s a shame that Grandpa never got—”

  “Cut it out, Lucy,” my mother scolded. “You did that deliberately to be hurtful toward your father.”

  “Well, ditto you to us, Dad.”

  “I never meant to hurt you, Lucy. I—”

  “Too late for that one,” I snapped at him. “You don’t even care. You act like nothing happened—after all that we’ve been through.”

  “I care very much, Lucy, I have been trying—”

  “Oh, spare me, Dad.”

  “You never betray our family like that, Lucy.” My mother was furious.

  But that statement really made me laugh. “Are you kidding me!” I screamed. Then I turned on my father. “You betrayed everyone.”

  “Lucy—” My mother stepped toward me, but my father put his arm out to stop her.

  “It’s okay,” my dad said. “Let her talk.”

  “This isn’t fair. I didn’t do anything and now I’m to blame. So typical. This sucks.”

  “Yes it does, Lucy, you’re absolutely right,” my father said. Then his voice was calmer. “It sucks. I am very aware of that. I hurt you, I am very aware of that, too. But we are here at your grandfather’s funeral and we need to get through it and be respectful, if not to me, then at least to his memory. You are absolutely entitled to your feelings, but we need you to gather yourself for the next few days.”

  “Fine,” I said at last. Then I started to walk toward the door.

  “And nothing that has happened entitled you to run off like that, Lucy,” my mother added.

  “I couldn’t take it anymore,” I said, without turning around or even looking back at her.

  “Take what?” she asked.

  “Just . . . everything.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” My mother shook her head.

  “It’s not ridiculous,” I said. I turned back to her, my face hot. “It was a totally insane thing to have happened. Dad has another kid, for God’s sake! And you never even told us! How does that make any sense?”

  “You’re right,” my father said. “I certainly could and should have handled it much better.”

  “You’re always telling us to be honest and admit when we’re wrong and all that crap, and it turns out that you’re just one big lie! No wonder we’re so messed up.”

  “Lucy.” My mother had calmed down a bit. “I truthfully don’t think we’re ‘so messed up.’ ”

  “Oh, please.”

  The air settled around that comment. The afternoon sun was coming in through the one window and I could see the swirling dust motes, the same as when we had the discussion about Thomas in the living room back home.

  “Is that the way you really feel?” my father asked. His voice was soft.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Sort of. Sometimes. Yes.”

  No one said anything for a while, then my father started nodding his head to something only he could hear, just the way my grandfather had done. I never noticed that habit in my dad before, but now I realized he had always done it too.

  “Okay, Lucy,” he said softly. “We hear you.”

  “A lot of good that does,” I mumbled. I didn’t really need to add that; it was childish, I admit, and I could tell when I said it that I probably shouldn’t have, but my parents let it go.

  “We’ll talk more about it later.” He looked around the room and nodded again. “Shall we go back out to everyone?”

  “At least I got to spend Grandpa’s last days with him,” I reminded them as my father went to open the door.

  “You did,” my father said. “And I’m proud of how well you’ve handled everything.”

  Just as I stepped out of the den I heard the front door slam. I guess my little announcement had sent a few of the guests packing. But right there in the living room, my sister was sitting all alone in my grandfather’s chair, beside the stack of papers and magazines. She wasn’t looking at us, and she didn’t say anything, but I could tell she’d heard every word.

  Later, when we were in bed, it was a different story.

  The last time my sister and I had had to share a bed was when we had come up to Maine a few years earlier—it wasn’t as uncomfortable as it might seem. The night was cool, and we were under the heavy quilts. The telescope was by the window. The house was very quiet. It was one of the things I really liked about Maine—how quiet it became once everyone settled down.

  We had been in bed for a while. I thought Julie was already asleep; she hadn’t moved in a long time. I was in that space between being awake and asleep when I heard a voice. I was drifting and wasn’t sure who was talking.

  “I knew,” the voice said.

  “Huh?” I mumbled, then snapped back awake.

  “I knew,” Julie said again.

  “Knew what?”

  “About Thomas.”

  “What? How?”

  “I heard them. Talking. I heard Dad tell Mom, years ago, when I was little. They were in the kitchen. They didn’t know I heard.”

  The moon was out. I couldn’t see it, but there was light coming into the room, and I could
see Julie’s face now. Tears covered her cheeks. I realized in that instant that I had almost never seen my sister cry. How could I never have noticed it before? She never cried, and now here she was, tears pouring from her eyes. She turned to me, and the dam broke. She started sobbing, really sobbing. Her whole body started shaking so much that the bed shook with it. Seriously. She was convulsing—like she was having a seizure or something. She wasn’t making a lot of sound—she was holding that in—but her face was contorted and the tears were flowing. I didn’t know what to do. Finally, I reached out and grabbed hold of her and wrapped my arms around her as tight as I could. It seemed that if I didn’t do that she would just shatter apart into a thousand pieces.

  Finally, she started to calm down. She was still crying, but it wasn’t so scary now. Eventually she caught her breath.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I asked her finally.

  “I thought it would upset you,” she said.

  I laughed. “Well, you got that right.”

  Julie laughed at that too. Then her laughter turned into more crying, but not like before. After a while she was quiet.

  The moon had moved across the sky and was coming into view out the window. It was nearly full—it had been getting bigger after all.

  “You never told anyone that you knew?” I asked.

  She shook her head and looked at me. Her eyes broke my heart. I saw how scared she had been, keeping her secret for so long. No wonder she never said much. She looked so tired. Then from deep inside Julie came a massive sigh, the biggest sigh I had ever heard, as if she was getting rid of a breath she had been holding for years and years. Which, I suppose, she had been.

  “You won’t tell Mom and Dad?” Her forehead was all scrunched up.

  “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  22

  The next morning was the funeral. There was bright sunshine. Usually it’s raining for funerals, or maybe that’s just in the movies. I wouldn’t really know; this was my first funeral. My mother had brought my dark blue dress. It felt good to be clean and dressed nice, even if it was under less than desirable circumstances. I was ready before everyone else and so I went out onto the front stoop to get some air. I was sitting on the top step watching the birds on the lawn when I heard someone call my name.

  I looked up and there he was, striding up the driveway, goofy grin plastered across that beautiful face. Simon’s long stringy arms swinging like they weren’t attached to anything solid, and that wavy hair of his swooping across his forehead even more than usual. He looked like a movie star wearing a dark blazer, white shirt, and dark pants.

  “Hi-ho,” he said softly as he took me into his arms and kissed me—very heroic.

  When we pulled apart he held me at arm’s length, looked deep into my eyes, and said, “I’m really sorry to hear about your grandfather, Lucy.”

  In the midst of such a pool of sorrow I couldn’t have imagined being happier.

  My parents were as surprised as I was to see Simon, especially since they didn’t know he existed. He was incredibly respectful to them. He said he was sorry for our loss and didn’t want to intrude in any way. He had merely come up to see me and now that he had, he was fine to get the bus back home. I couldn’t believe he could be so impressive in front of my parents. There was no trace of his awkward outsider persona. And it didn’t seem like an act; it seemed like Simon, just Simon.

  “Where do you live, Simon?” my mother asked him.

  “New Jersey,” he said.

  “New Jersey?” my mom nearly shouted. I guess she had expected him to say “two towns over” or something like that.

  “He lives a few blocks from us, Mom,” I told her. “Simon is Maxine’s brother.”

  “Oh,” my mother said. She looked as if she were trying to understand a foreign language. Her confusion was understandable enough, considering that a strange young man whom she had never heard of had just traveled hundreds of miles to see her daughter, only to say hello, and having done so, was now content to leave. I suppose what she was really doing was trying to compute that her daughter had a boyfriend, and by evidence of the long trip just endured, a fairly serious one.

  My grandfather had never gone to church, but Angela did every week, and so they were having the funeral where she went. It was a modern kind of church, all wood, with slanty angles. It was about a third full, with people scattered around the pews. There was a skylight and a ray of sun was shooting down at an angle, right onto the front row where Angela, my parents, Julie, and I were sitting. The sun got very hot until it moved along.

  Angela must have mentioned to the priest some things about my grandfather, because he told some stories, but the man the priest was describing didn’t seem a whole lot like the man I had gotten to know. Maybe that’s just what Grandpa had meant—one person saw something or someone in one way, and another person saw that same thing or person another way.

  A few times during the service I looked over at my parents, who were gazing forward, holding hands. I’m not sure they were even listening. My sister was on the other side of them, fiddling with her hair. She had gotten up before me and we had not had a single second alone, so I hadn’t spoken to her about the night before. But I have to say, Julie looked beautiful. Usually when I cry like that—not that I have ever cried like that, but when I have a big cry before bed—in the morning my face is puffy and my eyes are like slits. But Julie looked radiant—that’s the only word for it.

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw Simon a few rows back, next to Davis. He nodded to me and gave me a small smile. It was nice for everyone to just be in the same place, and be still for a while, thinking about my grandfather—or whatever else it was they were thinking about.

  The graveyard was another story. Seeing the coffin and the hole in the ground—it was quite graphic. Not a ton of people from the church went to the graveyard, but those who did circled the grave. There was a large mound of dirt nearby under a blanket of fake grass. The priest was more solemn than he had been in the church. He didn’t look up from his Bible as he read.

  Pretty much everyone was crying to one degree or another, except my mom. She didn’t shed a tear. I knew that look on her face; she was keeping an eye on everyone else, making sure we were okay.

  When I glanced up I knew right where Simon was without even having to search—off to my left, standing in the back. His hands were folded in front of him and his head was down.

  Two men in work clothes stood nearby. They were going to fill the hole with dirt once we left. After the priest finished, people slowly began to shuffle toward the waiting cars. It felt wrong just leaving Grandpa there. I understood that his spirit was gone, but what did we really know about it? I reached into my pocket and grabbed my three flattened coins. Before I turned to go, I tossed all three into the deep hole. I couldn’t hear them land.

  I had no idea what we were meant to do after that. How were things supposed to get back to normal after seeing a coffin being put in the ground? But Davis suggested we go to a place called Waterman’s Beach Cottage. Apparently it was one of my grandfather’s favorite places, and Angela liked that idea. So the caravan that had gone from the funeral to the cemetery set out again. The road to Waterman’s Beach Cottage wound past rolling green fields that looked more like farm country than the rocky coast, but suddenly, there was the water.

  We turned into a large gravel parking lot beside a crazy building that looked like two small shacks stapled together. With the sun shining and some small fishing boats out on the placid bay, it was quite a spot. A good many small islands were dotting the sea.

  There were several picnic tables outside, and we took over the two closest to the water. A few people went to the window to order steamed lobsters, chowder, lobster rolls, a whole assortment of food. It felt strange, after all we’d just been through, to be getting on with such an ordinary thing as eating, But down there by the sea I felt like I could breathe for the first time in days.

 
; The lobster rolls were really just fresh lobster and some mayonnaise crammed onto a regular hamburger bun. It didn’t look that appetizing, but it was without a doubt one of the tastiest things I had ever consumed. The second was even better.

  Then one of Grandpa’s friends who I recognized from the house started laughing at something someone said. I felt like telling him to show some respect for the dead, but then someone else made a comment and the whole table burst into laughter, including my dad. I watched his face. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen my father laugh. And then suddenly I could see that boy who had been staring out at me from that yearbook page, so carefree. Even with the sadness of the day hanging on us, I felt glad to be alive, glad to be here with everyone. Especially Simon.

  After a slice of delectable cherry pie topped with some homemade ice cream, while everyone was just relaxing in a way they never do back in the real world, Simon and I wandered off. We climbed down onto the rocks. They were pretty slick and barnacles clung to a lot of them. There was a real salty smell to the ocean. Simon picked up a long piece of seaweed and held it up in my face.

  “Get that away from me,” I shrieked. “It smells disgusting.”

  He laughed and threw it toward the water. When we were around the point and out of sight from everyone, he kissed me. He had to bend way over to kiss me—he looked like a stork, like he always did when he was leaning toward me, and I was reminded of the first time he kissed me behind the garage.

  While we were kissing, I opened my eyes and looked past his shoulder. The sun’s reflection was shimmering bright on the surface of the water. Far out, I could just make out a fisherman leaning over the side of his tiny boat. A white seagull dove into the deep blue water. The wind blew.

  The lobster party went on long after any trace of the sun was left in the sky. That evening, my dad had stayed up talking with Angela. As far as I knew, he had never had much contact with Angela, but it was as if he was making up for lost time concerning my grandfather, or maybe he was just getting some more stuff off his chest.