by Nick Day
“Okay!” the girls said in unison. “Turn right!” Pete looked over at me, smiling broadly. I sighed and tried to resist putting the kibosh on the whole trip.
“Okeydokey,” I said, with an edge to my voice. “A right turn it is.”
Surprisingly, the girls managed to get us most of the way there—at least, until we were on the freeway and looking for our exit. Landmarks were scarce out there. It was classic suburban sprawl, the land littered with homes that looked completely identical. They looked like they had dropped down from the sky all at the same moment, landing in perfect order.
“What do you think? Creekside Lane, or Lyndon B. Johnson Parkway?” Pete asked. There was no response. The kids had grown bored with the “find the mall” game and were sucked back into their screens.
“Well, it was good while it lasted,” Pete muttered. The car fell silent for a while.
“So . . . which is it?” I asked eventually. “I do need to get off sometime.”
“Oh,” Pete said. “It’s LBJ Parkway. Sorry.”
I shook my head and smiled tightly in his direction, as if to say, Don’t worry about it.
Pete’s expression hardened a bit. “Are you okay?” he whispered.
Took you long enough to notice, I thought grimly. “Fine,” I managed. “Just a little tired.”
“Yeah.”
I said nothing, offered him no thanks for asking. Then, obviously getting a little desperate, Pete reached over and placed his hand on mine, on top of the steering wheel.
“Whoa!” I said, unable to control myself. I sharply snapped my hand away. “Whoa! Pete, don’t do that! Driving this stupid thing is hard enough as it is!”
Taken aback, Pete uttered a sharp, “Oh,” and flopped his hand into his lap. I could tell his head was swimming, wondering where he went wrong. I knew I owed him an explanation for why I was suddenly so cranky—it was Dad’s fault, not his—but I decided not to risk having the girls overhear. I gave Pete a curt smile but he didn’t notice. His gaze was focused hard out the window.
Somehow I steered the giant SUV all the way to the mall, and my temples throbbed at the mere sight of it. It was an endless, hulking structure. Broad groups of big-boned Texas families strolled across the steamy parking lot. They all looked positively blissful, ready to shop and play and eat.
I pushed my head back against the headrest, groaning. How long do I have to put up with this?
The Wild Western lived up to Dad’s description all too well. The amusement park sat directly in the middle of the mall, the eye of the hurricane. It was three stories high, crowned by a glass roof that let in the cloudless sky. But the air conditioning was kept at an arctic level. It was so cold I immediately wished I had brought sweatpants and a sweatshirt, as opposed to my denim shorts and tank top.
I was granted a little relief when Pete took the girls on the giant Ferris wheel. I stood at the exit, holding the twins’ half-full Icees, staring upward, trying to find the trio among the many swaying compartments.
“Sara!” came Pete’s voice from above. I searched around the Ferris wheel, looking for his waving hand.
“Sara!” he called again. Then I spotted him waving frantically toward me, with the girls screaming happily on either side of him. They were swinging around towards the bottom of the wheel, only about fifty feet from where I stood. I forced a grin and waved toward them, still holding the sweating Icees.
“Take a picture!” Pete bellowed.
“I can’t!” I said, gesturing with the drinks.
“What?” Pete yelled back.
“I can’t take your picture!” I barked. “I’m holding all this crap.”
Pete heard me. He just shook his head, bemused. He sat back and told the girls to do the same. They looked up at him, disappointed.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket, startling me. I set the cups at my feet and put my phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey Sara,” came Dad’s voice from the other end.
“Hey,” I said, relieved to talk to anyone other than Pete or the kids.
“How’re things?”
“Things are fine,” I said. “They’re on the Ferris wheel, I’m . . . supposed to be taking pictures, I guess.”
“You’re a trooper,” he said.
I paused, wondering what was coming next. He can’t have just called to tell me how great I am.
“So, listen,” he said.
“Yeah?” My heart kicked up a couple beats.
“Things are really hectic down here,” he said. “Way crazier than I thought they would be. I’m gonna have to be here a while.”
My stomach sank. Are you kidding me right now?! I wanted to scream. Instead, I managed a quiet, “How long?”
“At least midnight,” he said. “Maybe later.”
“Really?!” I spat, before I could stop myself. I was irritated, I couldn’t hide it. This wasn’t exactly why I made this trip down here. I could babysit at home, and be paid for it.
“I know,” he said. “I’m really sorry, Sara. I can’t thank you enough for covering for me. Obviously none of this was part of the plan.”
“Yeah, no duh.”
He sighed. “How can I make this up to you?”
I looked toward the Ferris wheel and saw Pete and the girls were walking towards the exit, and towards me. “I have to go,” I said tersely. “Just let me know when you’ll be home.”
I hung up the call without waiting to hear whatever he had to say next.
“Hey, sourpuss,” said Pete as he walked up to me.
“Sourpuss! Sourpuss!” the girls chanted in unison. They took the Icees off the floor by my feet.
“I had blue!” Lily shrieked, picking up a cup.
“No, I had blue!” Anna screamed in return, trying to wrest the cup from her sister’s sticky hands.
“Anna, look at Lily’s mouth,” Pete said evenly. Anna did, and so did I. Her tongue, teeth, and cheeks were antifreeze-blue.
“Okayyyy,” Anna said, picking up her red Icee.
“Who was that on the phone?” Pete asked.
“It was Dad,” I said. The girls looked up at me, their eyes wide. “He has to stay at the office awhile longer I guess. So . . . ”
“Party time!” Pete cheered. The girls giggled and jumped up and down. I wanted to slap him. Again, it was like he was showing off. For whom?
“Can we stay up until he gets home?” Lily asked.
“I don’t think so,” I said, trying to nip that idea in the bud. “He might not be home until late.”
“Sourpuss! Sourpuss!” the girls chanted again.
“Where to next?” Pete asked the girls, trying to pull the focus off of me.
“American Girl dolls!” they cheered together. Pete gazed over to me expectantly.
“It’s not my thing either,” I said to him dryly. It was not a smart thing to say. The girls’ jaws dropped like I had just uttered every swear word known to mankind.
“What?” Anna asked sadly.
“You don’t like American Girl?” Lily said, her eyes as wide as saucers.
“I don’t . . . ” I stammered. “I just . . . I don’t know anything about it!”
Anna smiled broadly. “Oh! We’ll teach you!”
And with that, we were off, charging towards another corner of the mall. The girls knew the way all too well, and they sped off ahead of us, weaving among the shoppers. Pete and I walked as fast as we could behind them, just barely keeping an eye on them amid the crush.
Eventually we found our way into the store, and though the girls only beat us inside by about ten seconds, we found them chatting with other girls their age. Like adults over cocktails, they seemed to be comparing notes about their particular dolls. I couldn’t help but shake my head in amazement. The store was massive. It covered two sprawling floors, the shelves packed with dolls and miniature clothes and books and so much else. At least a hundred girls of all ages led their frantic families around the aisles
and displays—desperately pleading to buy it all, I was sure.
Pete and I, still silent, trailed behind Lily and Anna as they walked the aisles. Together with a few new friends, they made their way over to a TV that was playing one of the American Girl movies. Luckily, there were a few open seats, and the girls immediately plopped down to watch, enthralled. Hopefully it just started, I thought.
As Pete and I stood there silently, I realized this was my opportunity to let him know why I had been such a pain for the last hour. “Hey,” I said, “can we talk?”
He nodded, obviously a little nervous. I gestured toward a corner of the store on the other side of a bookshelf. We walked over to the corner and I made sure I could keep an eye on the girls around the shelf. After I made sure they were still watching the movie, I turned to Pete.
“Hey, so,” I started. “I know I’ve been pretty testy here for the last couple hours—back at home, in the car, here at the mall . . . ”
“You can say that again,” Pete said, chuckling. But his smile faded when he noticed that I wasn’t playing along.
“Why do you keep doing that?” I said, a little too harshly. If I had thought for one more second, I wouldn’t have asked the question.
Pete stammered. “I . . . well, I’m just trying to, you know, help . . . ”
“By what? You don’t need to be—” But I cut myself off, because I was coming close to flying off the handle at Pete, and he wasn’t even the problem. “Sorry,” I said, rubbing my eyes and taking a deep breath. “I’m just angry with my dad. It’s really nothing about you, and I’m sorry I’m taking it out on you.”
Pete smiled, obviously relieved to hear he wasn’t the problem. “Hey,” he said, shrugging, “that’s what I’m here for.”
“No, it’s not,” I said. “You are not here to be my punching bag.”
Pete smiled but said nothing. Suddenly his face was flush with anxiety and his eyes looked wildly from floor to ceiling. “Well, I’m glad you wanted to talk, actually,” he started. “Because . . . ”
What is he about to say? I panicked. The only other time I had seen Pete so suddenly anxious was when the barista at the Starbucks in Evanston told him they were out of blueberry muffins, and asked him if he'd rather have banana or chocolate chip.
“Sara,” he started haltingly, “I’m so glad you asked me to come down here with you.” He paused and I stayed silent, waiting for more. I tucked a strand of my wispy hair behind my ear nervously. “I know this has been such a hard time for you, and I want to be there for you however I can.” He took another deep breath. “Sara, I know you probably think of me as just a friend—and don’t get me wrong, I really like being your friend, but . . . ”
Oh, God. No, he can’t be doing this!
He gulped and took a step toward me, reaching his hands out to mine. “Sara, I’ve loved you since the moment I met you, and I just had to say something, because . . . ”
I slapped his hands away with my own, backing away, in a panic. “Whoa, Pete, I . . . ” I turned away from him, my face burning. Why did you have to do this now? You idiot!
“Oh, gosh, sorry,” I heard Pete mumble from behind me. Part of me wanted to comfort him—who doesn’t want to comfort their best friend when they’re in agony?—but I knew I couldn’t do that without making him think I loved him, too. Which I definitely, definitely do not.
With my back to Pete, my eyes spun wildly, searching the ceiling and the floor for answers as my face burned. My eyes darted over toward where the girls were sitting, and—
They weren’t sitting there anymore. They weren’t sitting anywhere.
They were gone.
“OH NO,” I SAID UNDER MY BREATH. I BRUSHED past Pete and walked over to the area around the TV. Lily and Anna were nowhere in sight.
“Uh oh,” Pete said, coming up behind me.
“Did you see where they went?” I asked.
Instead of answering my question, Pete started, “Hey, can we just—”
“Later,” I said sternly. “I really, really can’t right now.” I sped off to a corner of the store. “Go that way!” I yelled back at Pete. He nodded and turned off away from me, his gaze lingering just slightly in a desperate apology.
I frantically searched the aisles of the store, stopping every few seconds because many of the kids were the girls’ height—but I was wrong. Over and over again, I was wrong.
After I had made a lap around the first level of the store, I bounded up the stairs, but Pete was standing there to greet me. He was white as a sheet. “Nothing,” he said.
“Oh my God,” I said, my stomach churning. “Great. Just great.”
“What do we do now?” Pete asked.
“They can’t have gone far,” I said sternly. “Keep your phone on. Let’s split up.”
We bounded down the stairs toward the exit. “What are their other favorite stores here?” Pete asked. “Any ideas?”
“I literally just met them, Pete,” I said. “The exact same moment you did.”
“So—”
“No,” I said. We had reached the exit. “Okay, you go left. I’ll go right.” I sped off.
Soon after I left the American Girl store, I realized how impossible this task seemed. The mall was huge, and I had no idea where anything was.
I passed by the Sharper Image, slowing down to peer inside and make sure they weren’t playing in the massage chairs. Nothing. I charged onward, passing by a Men’s Wearhouse. I blew past it, but immediately realized they could be in there—maybe they were hiding in the tie racks? Maybe they’d found one of the fitting rooms and were hiding out inside?
They could literally be anywhere.
I jogged over to a directory of every store in the mall. I scanned it, looking for places kids might be drawn to. Since the girls knew the layout of the mall like the backs of their hands, it wasn’t impossible they could have taken off for somewhere far away.
I read the list of stores frantically—Apple, Nike, Bath & Body Works—then it leapt out at me: Disney. That had to be it. And it wasn’t far! I sped off again, more of a pop in my step.
As I hustled towards an escalator to the third floor, I silently cursed all the men in my life—none of whom, apparently, could be trusted. Dad manipulated and used me, just like both of his wives. Pete thought this was the perfect moment to completely blindside me with—
I couldn’t even finish the thought in my head. It made my stomach twist into a thousand knots. Pete knew how I felt about Anthony Troy. That was the kind of guy for me. He was taller, broader, deeper-voiced than Pete. So why did he have to go and make this so complicated? Why put that on me? Especially now?
Was anybody on my side?
Suddenly the Disney Store—or, what used to be the Disney Store—appeared in front of me. Rather than a brightly lit expanse accompanied by cheery Mary Poppins tunes, all that greeted me was a wall of plywood and a big sign that read, “We’ll miss you, Wild Western! Thanks for 17 great years!” Mickey’s cheerful face sat next to the sign, really twisting the knife.
I felt completely out of options. My legs, after pushing me onward for the last ten minutes, were trembling. My upper lip soon followed suit, and my eyes burned, welling up. I wasn’t even sad, just frustrated. At Pete, at this mall, at these irresponsible and ill-behaved little girls, at Dad for abandoning me here—just like he had abandoned me so many years ago.
I slumped down against the plywood wall, right beneath Mickey. I took out my phone and hopelessly called Pete.
“Hello?” he said softly.
I asked the question, but I already knew the answer. “You found them?”
“No,” he said. “I take it you haven’t either?”
“Argh!” I bellowed, barely restraining myself from tossing my phone down the carpeted hallway.
“What should we do?” Pete asked weakly.
“I have no idea.”
“I’m so sorry,” Pete said.
“About what?” I asked bitte
rly. About your ill-timed declaration of love for me? I wondered. About ruining our friendship?
“I should have watched them more carefully,” he said.
I couldn’t help but laugh sharply, wiping tears from my cheeks. “Great,” I said. I hung up.
I quickly scrolled through my contacts, and called Dad’s number. It rang once . . . twice . . . three times . . . and went to voicemail. I swore bitterly in my head, and tried again. Nothing.
Deciding a voicemail was better than nothing, I left a short message. “Hey Dad, it’s Sara, call me back as soon as you get this, thanks.”
Feeling deflated, I got back up and started walking towards another directory ahead of me. I wasn’t hopeful. Nothing had stuck out to me on the list as a particularly kid-friendly place, other than the Disney Store.
Then a different idea sparked to life in my head. I pulled out my phone and Googled Dad’s business, Jackson-Flowers Industries. I quickly found a phone number, and dialed.
“Jackson-Flowers Industries,” answered a cheery young man’s voice, “how can I help you?”
“Hi, this is Sara Jackson,” I said quickly. “I’m calling for my dad, Danny? It’s urgent.”
“Oh. Uh . . . ” the man seemed flustered.
“Danny Jackson,” I said again, sternly. “The CFO?”
“Here, let me transfer you to . . . ” he trailed off.
A woman’s voice picked up quickly. “Is this Danny’s daughter?” she demanded.
“Yeah, I need to talk to my dad, tell him it’s—”
“It’s great you called,” the woman said. “We’ve been looking for him all day.”
I felt like someone had slapped me in the face, hard. It took me awhile to recover from what the woman had just said—so long that she hesitantly made sure I was there. “Miss?” she asked. “Did you hear what I said?”
“He’s . . . he’s not there?” I managed.
“Right,” she said, sounding impatient. “And it’s extremely busy down here. Tell him we need him right away.”