Here Where the Sunbeams Are Green

by Helen Phillips

  “Hey,” Roo whispers to me as the plane brakes, her breath smelling like orange Tic Tacs, “do you think Dad is coming up with something special for when he sees us?”

  Suddenly there’s a huge hard lump in my throat. I can hardly wait to see him. I can’t believe it’s been seven whole months.

  “Something special?” I say. “What kind of thing?”

  “Well”—Roo pauses, thinking—“like, a song he made up just for us. Or a cake with our names on it.”

  Sometimes I feel so much older than Roo.

  “I have no idea,” I snap at her. “He’s probably doing actual work right now.”

  I don’t want Roo to know that my heart’s swelling with excitement. It scares me to be this excited about seeing Dad. It makes me feel superstitious, like things might go extra wrong the more excited I am. I know if Dad were here, he’d tell me to take a deep breath. Slow and steady wins the race, Madpie. Slow and steady.

  But slow and steady is really hard to do, because we’re finally here, we’re finally going to find out what’s up with Dad. Roo and I have been begging Mom to take us to Dad in the jungle since March.

  “I don’t care if he’s in the middle of the middle of the middle of the jungle!” Roo said back then, digging her fork into her mashed potatoes but not eating any. “I don’t even care if he’s in the middle of the middle of the middle of the volcano. I. Just. Want. To. See. Dad.”

  “I can’t pull you out of school right now,” Mom informed her. “You’re learning about the solar system.”

  “Solar system schmolar system,” Roo said.

  “It’s a work trip,” Mom said quietly. “It’s not like Dad’s on vacation. He’s very busy. He wouldn’t be able to hang out with you. Besides, it’s dangerous for kids.”

  I looked across the table at Roo to see if she realized that Mom wanted to visit Dad just as much as we did. But she was too young to notice.

  “What’s dangerous for kids?” Roo demanded.

  “Roo,” Mom said, looking suddenly exhausted, “please.”

  A few times, when Roo was out of earshot or over at a friend’s house, Mom said to me, “Mad, what do you think? You think we should go and …?” She always trailed off, not quite wanting to say figure out what the heck is going on with Dad.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” I told her, and once we even sat down and got online to look for plane tickets, but right then Ken/Neth called to ask if he could drop by with some ratatouille he’d just made. He’d accidentally doubled the recipe.

  Things kept on happening. The lady with the beautiful voice would call again from La Lava to assure Mom that Dad was doing groundbreaking work in the inner jungle and his one regret was that he couldn’t be in touch with us personally, but he knew we—more than any other people in the entire world—understood how much this work meant to him. Mom would hang up and say, “We’ve been overreacting, girls. Everything is fine.”

  Or Ken/Neth would stop by with a chocolate cake and three tickets for Cirque du Soleil. “It’s the least we can do,” he said, “given all that Dr. Wade is doing for us. You’re very generous, ladies, to lend us your dad and”—with a wink at Mom—“husband for all this time.” I don’t know why I didn’t say, Hel-lo, we didn’t lend him to you; it’s not like we had any choice, and besides, we had no idea it would take “all this time.”

  And then there was the night Mom opened the monthly bank statement and gave this enormous gasp, and I was like, “What’s wrong?” After not being able to talk for a few seconds she said, “Well, Mad, La Lava is being exceedingly generous, that’s all.”

  So weeks went by, and then months, and we never bought plane tickets. When Roo bugged her about it, Mom would say that as far as she knew, Dad might come home tomorrow, and business trips get extended all the time, and we just had to be patient and calm, and this is Part of What We Love Him For, Right, Girls?, and it really didn’t make sense for us to leave school and for her to take time off from the library right in the middle of the semester, and Dad would be furious if we did.

  It wasn’t till May that Mom decided we really did have to go to the jungle. Ken/Neth had gotten in the habit of coming for dinner once a week or so, which was pretty much starting to get on my nerves. So he was there at the dinner table when Mom announced that the time had come—she was going to book the plane tickets.

  But Ken/Neth insisted that she let him book the tickets.

  “Are you sure?” she said, though I could tell it would be a relief for her if he’d take care of it. “I don’t want to burden you.”

  “Sylvia,” he said in that really sincere way of his, “it’s not a burden, it’s an honor.”

  I noticed Mom slightly rolling her eyes, but Ken/Neth didn’t see.

  “Not only that,” he continued, “but it just so happens that today my contacts at La Lava informed me that they wish to invite you ladies to the Gold Circle Investors’ Gala in early July.”

  “The what?” Mom said.

  “It’s La Lava’s huge annual celebration for all of their investors, where they honor the ‘Geniuses’ who have contributed to the success of the organization in the past year. It’s basically the party to end all parties. I know you girls will get a kick out of it.”

  “Oh!” Roo yelped with glittering eyes. “I love parties! When’s July?”

  “Roo,” Mom said severely. “You know when July is.”

  “May, June, July,” Roo recited. “Wait, that’s not soon!”

  “The time will fly,” Ken/Neth said with a grin. “It’s just a little over a month.”

  “July is good,” Mom said. “We can all finish out the school year. And James very well may be back before then anyway.”

  “Maybe so,” Ken/Neth agreed. “Maybe so.”

  And from then on it was all: Ken booked the tickets, Ken says we should head down the Sunday before the gala, Ken is going to notify La Lava that we’re coming, Ken said we should be sure to bring some special dresses for the party, Ken this, Ken that.

  And every day Mom’s been telling us, “Look, girls, we’ll see Dad soon and everything will be normal.”

  But I know the truth. The truth is that Mom is mad, and hurt, and confused, and lonely. She thought I’d left the kitchen when she said to Aunt Sarah, “When I married James I never thought I’d be a single mother. And look at me now. Months now my kids haven’t had a dad.”

  “Okay, okay, okay,” Roo is saying as the plane glides to a stop on the runway. She shrugs and kicks gently at the seats in front of us, still offended that I snapped at her about Dad. “Jeez, I was just wondering if Dad’s as excited to see us as we are to see him.”

  And the truth is: I’ve been wondering the exact same thing.

  CHAPTER 2

  The airport is by far the tiniest I’ve ever seen. We just walk right off the plane onto the ground—we don’t go through one of those detachable hallway thingies. The second I step out onto the little staircase, I get slammed by hot, heavy air. I look over at Roo and see that her face is already shimmering with moisture.

  “Man,” Roo says, “what is up with this air?”

  “Welcome to humidity, Roo,” Mom says with a giddy laugh. Happy that we survived the tiny-plane ride. Happy that she’s about to see Dad.

  I feel like the air here is green. I mean, it’s not actually green, but it has this thick, green smell as though the jungle leaves are breathing it out. Which I guess is what’s happening, though it’s been a while since Dad reminded me exactly how photosynthesis works.

  We wait as the flight attendant and copilot pile everyone’s luggage next to the plane, and before they’re even finished Ken/Neth picks up his suitcase, and Mom’s, and then grabs the rolly suitcase Roo and I are sharing.

  “That’s not necessary, Ken,” Mom says. “Let us carry something.”

  But he just gives her his goofiest grin and starts walking toward the airport building, which looks sort of like a one-room schoolhouse. That’s when I realize that, excep
t for the runway and the building and the small parking lot, everything is jungle. All along the edges it’s jungle, jungle, jungle, and there’s a great noise rising from the jungle, or bunches of noises that add up to one.

  “Hey,” Roo says, “what is that growling sound?”

  I’m impressed she can pick one sound out of everything.

  “Howler monkeys.” Ken/Neth grins. “Loud little buggers, aren’t they?”

  “Wow! Wow! Wow!” Roo says with each step. “I didn’t know this is what it’d be like.”

  I definitely have to agree with her there. I didn’t realize it would feel like we were on a different planet.

  Ken/Neth moves quickly (his long legs are so long), and we rush to keep up. Inside the airport, a man dressed in white pajamas is holding a sign that says:

  SEÑORA SYLVIA WADE

  SEÑORITAS MADELINE Y RUBY WADE

  “That’s us!” Roo whispers loudly. “Fancy-pantsy!”

  I’m waiting for Mom to mention the fact that she kept her maiden name, so she’s actually Ms. Flynn, not Mrs. Wade, but she doesn’t say anything. I look over at Ken/Neth to see if he’ll say something, since he’s sort of in charge, but he doesn’t seem to notice—he’s busy greeting the man in pajamas by holding up two fingers in a peace sign.

  The man smiles quickly in our general direction without actually looking at us. He doesn’t say a word as he leads us outside and loads our luggage into a van that’s pure white, aside from a pair of elegant gray Ls on the side. He opens the side door and Roo clambers eagerly into the van, followed by me and then Mom. It has a sky-blue interior and is deeply air-conditioned.

  “This,” Roo announces, “is the most beautiful van in the entire universe.”

  Ken/Neth sits in front with the driver and they talk very softly, in English or Spanish—I can’t even tell from the way backseat where Roo insisted we sit. Roo is in one of her wiggly moods. She grabs my hand and squeezes it, then drops it so she can put her nose up against the window to look out, then grabs it to squeeze it again as the van heads down a long, badly paved road lined with walls of jungle.

  The cold air is giving me a headache, so I press the button to roll down my window and stick my head out into the humidity. I decide right then that I like humidity. It smells like flowers growing.

  Roo is babbling to Mom, asking about how many different kinds of monkeys we’re going to see, when I realize why this road is so bumpy—thick jungle vines sneak up between cracks in the asphalt, breaking the road apart. I get this creepy vision of the jungle as a gigantic monster with millions of octopus arms.

  “Mad,” Mom is saying, “Mad, the driver wants you to roll up your window, please.”

  I look up and see that the driver is staring at me in the rearview mirror.

  “Okay,” I say, embarrassed. I press the button. “Sorry.”

  But I don’t like having glass between me and the outside, even though I’m already scared of the jungle. I stay quiet for the rest of the ride and let Roo shout the questions up to Ken/Neth.

  “Hey, are those pineapples in the middle of those plants?”

  “Yep, that’s a pineapple plantation,” Ken/Neth replies, grinning, as usual.

  “I thought pineapples grew on trees!”

  “Well, those are pineapples, Roo-by.”

  “Man, doesn’t it look like Dr. Seuss invented that plant?”

  And on and on. I tune it out, stare at the jungle. After half an hour or so, we turn onto a different road. Now we can see the silhouette of the volcano, as blue and perfect as before.

  “Gettin’ close,” Ken/Neth announces.

  The volcano seems bigger and bigger as we approach it on the very straight road. I close my eyes for a few seconds and then open them again, close, open, close, open, and I can create the illusion that the volcano is actually pushing its way out of the earth, growing with each passing second. Sometimes it’s kind of fun to freak yourself out.

  Then we turn right and suddenly we’re too close to the volcano to really see it. Now we just have to imagine it. Which somehow feels even freakier, as though there’s a monster standing right behind you.

  “And here we are,” Ken/Neth proclaims as the driver steers into a parking lot. “Welcome, ladies, to the Selva Lodge.”

  “The Selva Lodge?” I say, confused. No one ever mentioned a Selva Lodge. “I thought we were staying at La Lava.” With our actual dad, I stop myself from adding.

  “Oh shoot,” Ken/Neth says apologetically. “I thought you knew. Kids can’t stay at La Lava, so you’ll be staying here. They have a pool!”

  What? We seriously aren’t staying with Dad? I turn to Mom, waiting for her to correct Ken/Neth, but she just shrugs at me.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” she says. “I thought I mentioned to you that kids aren’t allowed to stay at La Lava.”

  First of all, Mom most definitely did not ever mention that to me, because I obviously would have remembered an annoying fact like that, and second of all, I hate places that don’t allow kids. What’s their problem?

  Roo looks at me and I look at her. We’re together in our rage, and that feels good.

  “La Lava is such a jerk!” Roo says. “Why don’t they want us?”

  “Girls!” Mom says sharply. “Be grateful for where you are. The Selva Lodge is lovely too.”

  “Sure,” Roo mutters, “whatever. But Dad isn’t here.”

  “Ruby,” Mom says in that threatening way of hers, and Roo has to shut her mouth.

  From the van I can see that the pink 1950s-style sign for the Selva Lodge is missing some letters so it reads SELV L DGE, which is just real nice.

  Then I hop out and get a better look at the Selva Lodge, which is pretty much like any old American motel except for all the weird animal sounds coming from the jungle.

  Ken/Neth has already made it across the gravel parking lot. He opens the gate and I hurry over to follow him and Mom and Roo into a concrete courtyard. A few kids are splashing around in a pool, and the hotel forms a square around it, with three rows of orange numbered doors plus a little souvenir shop and café area on the fourth side. The café just has a half wall enclosing it, so the dining area is basically open to the jungle. I have to admit, it looks like a nice place to eat, sitting right there looking out at the layers of green.

  “Ooo, pretty!” Roo says, and at first I think she means the big barrels of flowers placed throughout the courtyard, which are overflowing with red and orange and purple blossoms. But then I notice that she’s pointing at the little neon-green lizards painted on the orange doors. So I guess it’s not quite like any ugly old motel. But still.

  Ken/Neth is yanking some papers out of his computer bag and flipping through them and making exasperated sounds. He’s very talented at looking totally discombobulated (one of Dad’s favorite words).

  “Aha!” he says after a moment, holding up a piece of paper. “Here we are. Mad and Roo are in room number four, and Sylvia’s in number five, and I’m in number eight. I’ll just run and get us checked in.”

  “You’re staying here, Ken?” Mom says, surprised. “You don’t need to do that. You should stay at La Lava.”

  “Hey,” Ken/Neth says, grinning, “anywhere that doesn’t want kids doesn’t want me!”

  I can’t help smiling—which bugs me, but hey, he’s got a point there. I look over at Roo to exchange a giggle, but she’s staring at the pool.

  “Very cute,” Mom says, “but I really don’t want to inconvenience you. You should stay wherever you usually stay when you come here for work.”

  “My most important work is to keep you ladies company. The best job ever! La Lava wants you to have an excellent time while you’re here, so I should be as close as possible.”

  “As you like,” Mom says, gently shrugging. “Where’s the front desk, then?”

  “Pool, pool, pool?” Roo says hungrily.

  As Mom and Ken/Neth go to check in and Roo runs over to dip her toe in the pool, I stroll t
oward room number four—and suddenly realize that the little neon-green lizards aren’t painted onto the orange doors. They’re actual, honest-to-goodness, living, breathing neon-green lizards that scatter as I approach. I’m pretty proud of myself for not screaming.

  Roo and I are already pulling on our Speedos in our room (there’s a bunk bed—weird for a hotel, but still cool, I guess) when Mom bursts through the door, half yelling “Surprise!” and holding up a pair of brand-new two-piece bathing suits—red polka dots for Roo and green stripes for me. She herself is wearing a maroon bikini I’ve never seen before. Actually, I’ve never seen Mom in any kind of bikini. She’s always worn a navy-blue one-piece swimsuit. And she’s always said that women who wear bikinis are silly, because bikinis fall off so easily that they’re useless for swimming, and no daughter of hers was going to wear such absurd swimwear. When I remind her of all that, she just says, “Oh, lighten up, Mad! We need to have some fun finally. This is an exciting day.” Meanwhile Roo’s already pulled her Speedo off and is tugging her bathing suit bottom on and waggling her red-polka-dotted bum. I leave the new green-striped two-piece on the concrete floor beside our bunk bed and stay in my good old gray Speedo.

  Before Mom and Roo and I are even settled into our lawn chairs at the pool, Ken/Neth brings Mom a pink drink with a pink umbrella in it. She looks like a lady on a postcard, lying there beside the pool at the Selva Lodge with her pretty drink and big sunglasses and straw hat (even though the lawn chair is sagging and some of the plastic strands have snapped).

  “Isn’t this great, Sylvia!” Ken/Neth says in his peppy way. “You look so happy. Relaxed. Madame Librarian, away from all those dang books. You’ve sure earned this.”

  I can agree with Ken/Neth on that one at least. Ever since The Weirdness began, Mom’s lips have had this squeezed look to them, and right now they don’t. Actually, it’s a pretty big relief to look at Mom and not see squeezed lips.

  Next Ken/Neth quizzes me and Roo about whether or not we know what selva means.

  “It means jungle, Ken,” Roo says as though she’s never been so bored in her entire life.