by Julia Crane
South Africa is pretty cool. It’s a lot like the States. Kinda. Maybe more like Britain, but we haven’t gone there yet so I don’t have anything to compare it to. I’m sure we will eventually—there are some supposed fountain locations there, too. It’s just a matter of time before Mom picks England out of the hat.
I’m still thinking about how beautiful Romania was! Mom took us to see this castle…man, it was GORGEOUS. We climbed to the very top of the tower and could see out over the countryside. It reminded me of how much I loved traveling, you know, three years ago when we started. I know it’s kinda wearing me down now, but truly, I DO love it.
We’re hiking up another mountain tomorrow. By the time I’m thirty, I’ll probably be good enough to climb Mount Everest.
Please, God, let that never be a place where Mom wants to go. I wouldn’t survive!
It was sixty-five degrees and rainy when the plane touched down in San Diego. For late October weather, it was average. Callie was relieved to find some things never changed.
Gran was waiting outside the security checkpoint. She started waving wildly when she saw them, her big, white smile the prettiest thing Callie could ever remember seeing.
Her grandmother must have been a knock-out once, but of course age had matured her beauty into something different, but not otherwise unattractive. She kept her curly hair cropped short so that unruly white curls flopped over her forehead, and she wore just a hint of make-up to outline her brilliant blue eyes and high cheekbones. Like her daughter, Gran had naturally dark skin, but unlike Callie’s mom, Gran was a plumper, rounder woman.
Callie rushed forward, dragging her rolling carry-on behind her so that the wheels clunked loudly on the linoleum floors. She let it go, not caring if it crash-landed on the ground, and wrapped her arms around her grandmother.
“Heya, Sweetie Pie,” Gran said, squeezing Callie. Her plush embrace made Callie think of home and hot baked cookies and the wood fire Gran always lit in the evenings. “Well, step back, let me look at you.”
Callie obliged and blushed as her Gran scrutinized her. There were holes in the knees of her jeans that had not been put there on purpose, and a weeks-old coffee stain on her fitted purple baby tee. It’d been a long time since they came home and switched out for new clothes.
Emma kissed Gran on the cheek. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hello, dear.” She took Emma’s carry-on and slung it over her shoulder. “Good flight?”
“Relaxing,” Emma answered, her smile more like a grimace. She wasn’t convincing anyone with that.
Braden, who had stopped to tie his boot, finally caught up. He dropped his duffel bag to the ground and grinned, then grabbed Gran for a tight hug.
“Any word from Dad lately?” Braden asked as he pulled away, the tone of his voice suggesting he already knew the answer.
Gran just shook her head sadly. “He’ll contact me when he’s ready.”
“When he’s clean and needs money,” Braden said hotly. He bent down and picked up his bag, gripping the strap so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“Now, now.” Gran took his hand and tsked. “Don’t talk about your father that way.”
“Come on, let’s go get our backpacks,” Emma said, motioning for them to start for the baggage claim and narrowly avoiding one of the only subjects that could set Braden off.
“I hope you’re all hungry,” Gran said cheerfully. She wrapped an arm around Callie’s shoulders, and Callie thankfully sank against her warmth. “I’ve got roast and potatoes in the slow cooker. Should be ready by the time we get home!”
“Sounds perfect, Gran.” Braden rubbed his stomach and smacked his lips dramatically. The women shared a laugh.
“By the way, Mom,” Emma said. “Can you run us by the storage unit?”
Callie remembered their house vividly.
Three stories. U-shaped. Gray siding that made it look like it belonged on the shore of a lake in a romantic comedy. Six bedrooms, four bathrooms, and several great rooms—not to mention the downstairs movie theater. They’d hired the most sought-after interior designer in L.A. and the place was a palace.
Seventy acres. An Olympic-sized swimming pool that was half-indoor, half-outdoor. They’d had the most wonderful parties on that patio….
Callie’d had an amazing room. A four-poster bed draped with sheer, purple material covered in silver stars. Her vanity table had a huge, full-length mirror and special lights for putting on make-up. The walk-in closet…she loved that closet. More clothes and shoes than she could wear in a year.
Standing before the storage unit where all of their worldly belongings were housed, Callie fought back the tears that threatened to choke her.
She wanted her real mother back.
“Cal, where did we move the electronics box last time? Do you remember?” Her mother was shuffling boxes in the far right corner; Callie couldn’t see her, but she could hear her, especially when the thuds were followed by colorful curses.
“Why do you need it?”
Her mother’s head popped over the top of a smaller stack. There was a streak of dirt across her cheek. “The back-up Kindle.”
Callie shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
Her mother’s harassed sigh was obnoxious, and Callie fought the urge to launch her body across the storage unit and strangle her.
Instead, she practiced uber-self-restraint and picked her way through the mounds of furniture and boxes to where “Callie’s Stuff” was sitting.
It didn’t take her long to decide on some clothes. October was nice in San Diego, but it could definitely get chilly. She picked out some T-shirts and capris, but made sure to grab some sweaters and long-sleeved shirts, too.
When she opened up one of the big boxes that held her shoes, she could have done a happy dance. She’d been wearing the same pair of hiking boots for three months. Just the sight of her favorite Chucks and her stiletto ankle boots was enough to make her heart pound like a girl in love.
Callie opened a “Misc.” box, looking for a new duffel bag to carry it all back to Gran’s, and at the very top, she found Fru.
Fru was a floppy-legged, bright pink horse with a mane and tail of soft white faux fur. Callie lifted the stuffed animal from the box with both hands.
It was Christmas, 2001. They thought her dad wouldn’t make it home in time for the holiday because his movie had yet to wrap—it had run over almost a month. Callie was six years old, sitting in one of the bucket seats of the home theater as a recent documentary on her dad played on the giant screen.
“Wayne Bishoff is a delight to work with,” some famous actress was gushing to the documentary’s reporter.
“Wayne Bishoff,” Callie mouthed the words, sinking against the seat and smiling when her dad’s face appeared on the screen. She drowned out the words as she watched footage of him in action and pictured him working at that very moment.
She never heard him come in. A long hallway led to the theater, negating any need for a door. Callie was staring wide-eyed at an image of her father sitting high atop the jungles of South Africa, when a throat cleared behind her.
Turning in her seat, Callie found her father in the doorway. He looked a little worse for the wear—rumpled suit, messy hair. There was a big, red imprint of her mother’s favorite lipstick on his cheek.
“You’re watching that silly movie again?” he had asked, holding out the stuffed horse and waggling it.
Callie had torn down the aisle and jumped into his arms, the horse—for the moment—forgotten.
Back in the storage unit, Callie sank to the floor of the garage and held Fru close as she finally allowed herself to cry.
Callie stood in the shower with her forehead pressed to the cool tile as the water ran down her back. She’d already finished washing up, but she wasn’t ready just yet to get out.
Hot water was definitely something people in the States took for granted. Hell, I used to take it for granted, she thought, tilting her head back
so the warm water rushed down her face. She hadn’t felt so clean in ages.
She stood beneath the heavy flow until her skin wrinkled and the water became cool before she finally shut it off.
Pushing back the clear plastic curtain, she pulled the baby blue towel from the wall rack and dried herself off. It was nice to be home—if she could call her grandmother’s place “home.” It was as close to a home as she’d had for years, so she would take it.
The bathroom held a kind of simple familiarity that made Callie’s throat tighten. It wasn’t a large room: just a perfect square with a hip-high wall separating the toilet from the sink and generic linoleum floors covered by fluffy rugs. The buttercup yellow walls were trimmed at the ceiling by hand-stenciled, blue ducks. Callie could remember—vaguely—when her grandmother had done them, propped up on a stepladder with a white bandanna around her then-golden curls.
Wrapping the towel around her body, Callie gathered her dirty clothes from the floor, wrinkling her nose as she realized they smelled kind of ripe. She opened the thin plywood door and peeked out into the hall. Nobody seemed to be around, though she could hear voices downstairs in the kitchen, so she padded down the hardwood and into the extra bedroom.
It was her favorite room; she always slept in it when they stayed with her grandmother. There was nothing special about the lavender walls or worn, cream-colored carpet, but it felt like home.
She threw her wet towel in the wicker hamper, and then quickly rummaged in her bag for some pajamas, shivering at the cold air. She slipped into her PJs, which smelled like eucalyptus from being packed away in the storage unit, before opening the drawer of the vanity. There wasn’t a hairbrush in sight; all she found was a small comb.
“Ugh,” she whined into the silence of the room. Her hair was too thick. It would break the teeth of the comb.
Abandoning her search for a brush, Callie dug through her backpack for her cell phone and tried to turn it on. Nothing happened.
“So not my day,” she murmured, diving back into the bag to get her phone charger.
One of the first things Callie did every time they came back to San Diego was to call her best friend, Avery. The two had been friends as far back as Callie could remember, and they tried to stay in touch while Callie was away but sometimes it just didn’t work out. It had been months since they’d last talked.
She reached for the house phone sitting on the bedside table and dialed Avery’s number.
As soon as the line connected in her ear, Callie crooned, “Guess who?”
“Callie!” Avery squealed so loudly that Callie had to jerk the phone away from her ear. “You’re home!”
Frowning at the phone, Callie replaced it and said, “How’d you know?” but realized how asinine the question was. Obviously, she was calling from her grandmother’s phone, not her cell. “Never mind, stupid question. The wonders of caller ID.”
“How long are you home? It’s so good to hear your voice! We have so much to talk about!” Avery’s voice got higher with each statement, and Callie laughed.
“I’ll be staying for a little while, I guess. We haven’t really discussed it. You know how organized Mom is.”
Avery snorted. “Right.”
“We really need to get together,” Callie said, collapsing on the soft, white duvet. She sank into the comfy bed with a moan. “Oh, God. Ohmigod, this bed is amazing.”
“You’ve been sleeping on rat-infested hostel cots, of course that bed is amazing.”
“Shut it, you,” Callie said fondly. She already felt better.
“I have so much to fill you in on. I have a boyfriend!”
“What? Who? It’s not Mark, is it?” Mark was a year younger and had been chasing Avery’s affections since they were six years old and Avery kicked him in the back.
“Gross. No, it’s a new kid.” Avery’s voice became wistful. “He moved here from Colorado. His name is Ian, and he’s hot.”
“That’s great,” Callie said brightly, but she felt a pang of envy.
“Oh, and Jordan is dating Amanda now.”
“Whatever,” Callie replied, forcing her voice to remain emotionless. Jordan had been her long-time crush. But, the truth of the matter was she had outgrown that, and apparently, he had outgrown her. She went on. “It’s so nice to hear normal teen gossip. Want to meet at Luigi’s tomorrow for lunch? We can catch up and you can tell me all about Ian.”
“Yes! I’ll be there at noon. Can’t wait to see you.”
“Me too.” Callie hung up the phone just as there was a knock at her door.
“Honey, the roast is ready,” her mother called, but didn’t open the door. “Come down and eat.”
Callie glanced at the clock—it was only six in the evening, but she was so tired. The thought of rolling out of bed wasn’t appealing. “I’m exhausted, Mom. I’m just gonna nap a bit.”
“Alright. We’ll save you some leftovers.”
Callie was too tired to deal with searching for a brush to manage her mass of hair. She listened to her mother’s footsteps fade as she went back downstairs, and then stretched out on top of the covers and ended up dozing off—her hair still wrapped in the towel.
April 30th, 2008
Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean
I’m sick. Which is just freaking lovely.
The problem we’re finding is that there is NO ONE in this far corner of the world who is qualified to practice medicine. I started getting sick as we were leaving one off-the-grid island of natives, and of course we were headed for another island with no electricity or civilization. I’ve been running a fever for two days and the “witch doctors” couldn’t cure me, so Mom FINALLY decided it was time to go do something about it.
We’re on our way to Sydney. It was the closest western civ hospital Mom could come up with. I’m just glad to be back on a real plane and headed for the real world. I never thought I would start wanting STABILITY.
The island we just left was beautiful. Lush, tropical. It was so small I walked the entire circumference in a day. By myself.
Mom wasn’t too excited when I took off without telling her, though. Especially with me being sick and all.
But, for the first time in a really long time, I felt at peace. It was warm but not too hot, and the wind was amazing. I came across a cliff that was SO high. The ocean spread as far as I could see and it was so incredibly blue. The sun reflected off the water and it was even bigger than it was in the sky.
If the search ever ends…if I grow up and become a director like my dad and I’m famous…I’m buying that little island.
Callie woke up to the sun shining on her pillow. She couldn’t believe she’d slept all evening and all night; the jet lag must have been worse than she thought.
The ray of sunshine touching her face was warm and hazy, and it made her not want to get up. She felt like she could drift right back into the same kind of dead sleep…
The smell of fried food, however, was definitely an eye-opener.
Her gran’s breakfast kicked all other food out of the water. Thick, spicy bacon, eggs cooked to order, pancakes with homemade syrup. Just the thought made Callie’s mouth water.
Throwing back the covers that she had somehow managed to make it under during the night, she sat up and shoved her feet in her fluffy slippers. With a big yawn, she grabbed her heavy robe from the back of the door and slipped into it as she walked downstairs.
Her mother and Braden sat at the table with steaming coffee mugs and different sections of the newspaper, while Gran stood at the stove scrambling eggs.
“Over medium, Sweetie?” she asked, glancing up at Callie with twinkling blue eyes. She was already dressed for the day in a pair of nice khaki slacks and a pink cardigan. Callie could smell her flowery perfume.
“You know it,” Callie answered happily. She liked over-medium because she could soak up the yolks with her toast.
“Morning,” Emma said, turning the page of her paper and smiling up at her
daughter. She was reading the “Features” section.
Callie rolled her eyes and thought, Big surprise.
“Morning, Mom.” She took the seat to Braden’s left and nudged him with an elbow.
He grunted and reached for his coffee without saying anything or raising his eyes from the paper. Her cousin was never very verbose before his third cup of coffee.
Callie shuffled through the various sections of the paper that littered the large, wooden kitchen table and extracted the comics. Opening it up, she read while she waited.
When the eggs were done and all the food was spread across the table, Gran took her usual seat at the head and cleared her throat. “We need to have a discussion.”
Callie’s mother raised a perfect, blonde brow at her mother before plucking some bacon from the platter. “About?”
Remaining silent, Callie filled her plate.
Gran spooned some scrambled eggs onto her own plate. “I’m scheduled for a vacation.”
“When?” Emma asked.
“I have a flight out Monday.”
Callie whipped her head around to stare at her grandmother. “But, that’s only in five days. We’ll barely be able to see you!”
Gran spread her hands to the ceiling and shrugged. “I can’t help it, Sweetie. I’m meeting a girlfriend in the Bahamas for a couple of weeks. It’s been planned for months, now.”
“That’s great, Mom.” Emma gave her a tired smile. “You’ll have a wonderful time.”
“Us?” Braden grunted, and then tossed back the rest of his coffee. He grabbed the ceramic coffee pot from the center of the table and filled his mug to the brim. He didn’t use sugar or milk; it made Callie gag.
“Of course you can stay here.” Gran took a crispy bite of bacon and chewed before she went on. “You know I don’t mind. I just wanted you to be aware that I won’t be here.”
Callie could tell the wheels were turning in her mother’s head by the thoughtful smoothness around her forehead. Callie wasn’t sure she liked it. Her mother’s ideas usually got them into trouble.