Michael and his sisters and their mother sat alone around the picnic table. Everything in Michael was churning now: memory, mind, guts. He was afraid he would throw up.
Rebecca sighed. “Come on, Michael,” she coaxed gently. “It’s just us now. You don’t have to pretend in front of Kells or set an example for Nathaniel. What’s the story? What did Lily do?”
Michael had to end this. He opened his eyes wide, the way Nathaniel did, so he would look as innocent as a tot. “Nothing happened, Rebecca. I missed everybody here so much that I decided to come home. Lily made a big deal of it. But that’s okay. I forgive Lily, too.”
No wonder teenagers ran away from home.
Lily stormed away from the picnic table and stomped inside the house. She ran through the kitchen, down the hall, out the front door and down the front steps and turned left on the sidewalk where hedges blocked the view and no one in her backyard could see her. She began to run.
She had no destination in mind. She was running away, not toward.
She still had on the heavy white sneakers she wore only at work so they would stay clean and unscuffed. Still had on the slate blue tie-on scrub pants and the smock-top with the smiley teeth. Maybe if she ran fast enough, the stupid clothes would be a blur and nobody would notice how ridiculous she looked.
She did not consider going to Amanda’s, even though it was only a few blocks away. Amanda liked Michael. Amanda would find excuses for him. He didn’t have an excuse. He was a rotten, worthless, ungrateful, hateful, lying little creep.
Lily didn’t stop running until the stitch in her side was so painful she had to walk. But slowing down didn’t mean turning around. “Jesus!” she said, and she knew she was a lot closer to swearing than praying.
She let herself say it again, and in the same way. She had always wondered why everybody—Christians and non-Christians, atheists and believers—swore using Jesus’ name. Now she knew. It worked. His name was real, and swearing by it was really and truly swearing.
A thunderstorm was threatening. The sky got greasy and the air was stifling. She was dripping with sweat. A damp clump of hair crept down her neck.
When she had covered a couple of miles, she found herself at a middle school on whose soggy field she’d played a lot of soccer. Thunder was booming softly in the distance. Threads of lightning split the sky.
Out in the middle of the playing field, Lily Rosetti yelled at God. No roof and no steeple got in her way; no format, no ritual.
“There is no friend at midnight, God! All that stuff about ‘seek and you will find’! Being abandoned is what life is all about. Everybody abandons you, even the ones you went and saved!”
The storm rolled closer but the rain didn’t come. The sky just thickened, like her heart. She knew perfectly well that an open field in a lightning storm was a dangerous place. “Families are a dangerous place,” she muttered. She walked slowly off the grass, daring lightning to strike her.
She circled school buildings, coming out on a wide four-lane road more residential than commercial, and ran again until sweat was coursing down her body and the stitch in her side was torment.
Half of her wanted to grab the next bus into New York City, live in a gutter and show her family a thing or two. The other half of her wanted a nice hot shower and clean hair. She tried to laugh but couldn’t.
I’ll be okay if I can laugh, she said to herself. Jesus, she prayed, let me laugh. Somehow let me laugh instead of rage.
A car pulled up beside her. The driver rolled down all his windows. “Lily?”
“Trey? What are you doing here?”
“I sort of followed you. I went over to Amanda’s house to ask her what was going on with you and she told me and then I drove over to your house just as you were slamming your front door. The house practically collapsed. I figured you weren’t just going out for fresh air. I’ve sort of been driving behind you.”
So Amanda had also betrayed her, telling Trey the family secrets that Amanda absolutely knew were nobody else’s business. But Lily was too tired to stand now, never mind run, so she got in the car with Trey.
They drove around pointlessly until Trey sighted some golden arches. “Two cheeseburgers, two small fries, two vanilla shakes,” he said at the drive-in. There was nobody ahead of them. The order was ready in a minute. Trey pulled into a diagonal slot and divided up the food.
She left her cheeseburger in its wrapper. She despised cheese. She hadn’t asked for it and she wasn’t under any obligation to eat it. He should have asked her first. Everybody in her whole life should have asked her first.
“Hot and salty,” said Trey, downing his burger in two bites. “Never fails me. Although April and Ashley have become vegetarians and claim to be comforted by celery.”
April and Ashley were each other’s best friends, tiresome in the way of twins, with little time for others. They were excellent students and fine athletes and had great hair.
The thunderstorm faded away into the north. Lily sat silently in the dark car while Trey ate her cheeseburger and fries too. She hung on to the milk shake, sipping it slowly. She wanted a vanilla life, cool and smooth and easy. How did you do that? Amanda had it. How awful to be trapped in this car with this person who knew her too well, and yet knew nothing of how terrible one person could be to another. Who had probably never even met a terrible person, let alone had one for a father. And now, as it turned out, Lily had a terrible person for a brother, too.
“What happened that time you were in Anger Management anyway?” asked Trey.
“I got mad at Kells. He was eating popcorn from this big pottery bowl and saying stupid things, so I grabbed the bowl and threw it through the television screen.”
Trey laughed. “Sweet.”
“They said I wasn’t dealing properly with my emotions. But I am dealing properly with my emotions. My family are the ones with the emotional problems. Previously I hated just one person in my family. Now I hate them all.”
She and Trey burst into convulsive laughter, the kind she generally shared only with Amanda. “I don’t want to talk to you about it,” she told him. “I hate anybody with a perfect family. Like you.”
“What am I supposed to do about that? Beat up on Ashley and April? Vandalize schools? Anyway, you do so have a perfect family. You’ve got terrific little brothers and a terrific older sister and a nice sunny life in a nice sunny house, and a stepfather who never lets Michael down and a terrific mother. You’ve got a best girlfriend and you do well in school and you make friends easily. So what is there to whine about?”
“I am not whining, I am right. They want me to forgive Dad. Well, I won’t. Not ever.”
“Okay, so hold off on the forgiveness. Take it one commandment at a time.”
“What one commandment are you thinking of? I haven’t followed any lately.”
“You took care of your brother. Jesus is into that.”
She squeezed the paper cup that had held her milk shake, and when she’d made a rope of it, she twisted the rope into a cable.
“Remind me never to let you get your hands around my throat,” said Trey.
Michael knew better than to let the topic of Lily continue. He ran inside the house and yelled, “Kells! Nathaniel! Dessert!” After coffee, ice cream, chocolate pudding and cookies, they were all quite civil, and then Nathaniel begged to play badminton in the dark.
Kells put up the net, Nathaniel distributed the rackets and they divided up, boys against girls. In the softening dusk, the feathery white birdies whiffled around like tiny slow comets.
Michael helped Nathaniel when it was his turn to serve. Reb screamed the way a good big sister should—“Oh, no! I’ll never get that, Nate! It’s too high!”—and then she hit it good and slammed it back, planning to win, but Kells flipped it as neatly as a hamburger back over the net, and it made a soft birdlike whump on the grass.
It seemed to Michael that he might be stuck forever in this half-light, leading a half-life,
thinking half-thoughts.
Michael was not old enough to pray. He didn’t know how, he couldn’t get at it. Formless desperation filled him instead. Lily had saved him and this was how he repaid her.
He felt himself sliding down into a pit of silence, where he could never talk to anybody about anything, because the wrong words would come out, or the wrong actions, or the wrong test results.
Michael served hard and his birdie soared past Mom.
Lily just had to get over it.
Dad had to come.
“Where do you want me to drive you, O most irritating person in New York State?” asked Trey.
Lily had no answer and she didn’t trust her voice anyway. In the absence of instructions, Trey drove her home.
Churches were extended families, and like families, the people in the pew with you could be so exhausting. She had known Trey forever. Since seventh grade, they’d been in Youth Group together, meeting every Sunday afternoon for activities and prayer. Everybody liked activities and nobody liked prayer. Prayer was embarrassing. Only Amanda was never embarrassed by prayer, and the other kids held her in awe, because her friendship with God was like her friendship with anybody else. She was always yelling at God, giving God orders, confiding in God, chatting with Him as if they were at a slumber party together, and delivering to God her poor opinion of His failure to act again this week.
Amanda’s belief was entire; it was that thing called faith. Maybe Lily wasn’t getting anywhere because there were so many holes in her belief. Maybe you only got hope and help if you were complete to start with.
“In my opinion,” said Trey, when he had pulled up in front of Lily’s house, “not that you asked for it or anything, but you did drink the milk shake I paid for…”
“Fine. Whatever. Give me your opinion.”
“You’re not up to seventy times seven yet.”
Lily got out of his car. She forced herself to say thank you for the ride and the shake. She did not thank him for his advice.
She could tell from the laughter and the whiffling floppy sounds that the rest of her family was out in the backyard playing badminton in the dark. She realized suddenly that none of them knew she’d ever been gone. Probably figured she was upstairs sulking in her room.
“How come you’re never on my side, Jesus?” she said to Him. “I’m the one who’s right.”
Does that matter? asked a still small voice.
Lily had considered Michael a jerk for wanting to please Dad, which was like wanting to please God. You’re never going to hear from him, so why bother?
Lily had just heard from Him.
chapter
14
Saturday morning Lily opened her eyes just long enough to see that the sky was blue and the sun yellow. Turning her face toward the soft breeze coming in her open window, she snuggled herself back in the direction of more sleep.
“Lily!” yelled Rebecca, flinging open the bedroom door. Rebecca dive-bombed Lily’s bed, years of practice giving her the skill to bounce Lily half off the mattress but just miss cracking skulls. “It’s practically lunchtime, Lily. Hope you weren’t planning on straightening any teeth this morning.”
“Oh no!” shrieked Lily, leaping out of bed, thrashing around the room, plunging into things and finally coming up with her calendar. “Whew! I don’t work today.”
Rebecca was laughing. “I knew that. I called your office to make sure I didn’t have to wake you up. It was like old home week, talking to all my old orthodontists and assuring them that I still wear my retainer.”
“You do?” said Lily, very impressed. Nobody bothered with that in real life.
“Of course not. But that’s what you say to your orthodontist, isn’t it? Listen, Freddie’s here. We’re back from our wedding conference. Get dressed, I want you to meet him. Wear pink. We’ll match.”
Their eyes met, declaring a silent truce.
Rebecca blew Lily a kiss and dashed out of the room and down the stairs.
Lily slid over to her open window and looked through the folds of the curtain. Right below her, the man who had to be Freddie was shaking hands with Nathaniel.
Nathaniel said, “Guess what, Feddie. I have a really good Band-Aid.”
Freddie admired the Band-Aid, which Nathaniel peeled back to show off his wound. “Wow,” said Freddie. “Did you run into fifty guys with swords?”
Nathaniel giggled. “It’s a paper cut. You know what? I haven’t learned to read yet. Michael says reading is torture.”
“No, no. You’ll love reading, Nathaniel,” said Freddie. “I love reading.”
“Oh, please, Freddie, you’re an engineer,” said Rebecca. “You hardly know the alphabet.” Freddie and Rebecca kissed each other above Nathaniel’s head. Nathaniel did not care for this waste of time. “Let’s play kokay!” he shouted. “Daddy got me a kokay set, Feddie. It’s yellow and blue and red and green.” Nathaniel offered a huge incentive. “You,” he said kindly, “can be red.”
“Awesome,” said Freddie. “I love red. But I’ve never played croquet. You teach me.”
“Okay,” said Nathaniel, handing out mallets. He smiled up at his future brother-in-law and did an amazing thing, something he had refused to change no matter how Lily coaxed and bribed. He pronounced his l’s right. “Let’s play,” he said. And then, visibly working hard, he added, “Frrreddie.”
The power of a brother. How huge it was. Even a three-year-old knew; even about a brother who wasn’t a brother yet. You did your best for them. You tried to impress them.
She looked around for Michael but couldn’t see him from her narrow view. She studied her sister’s pink, which was very pale this time, and since Lily personally was not featuring any pink in her closet suitable for the weather, she decided white would match, and after she had white shorts and a white shirt, she invaded Rebecca’s suitcases to get a pink scarf and a pink belt. She briefly considered the hideous pink ankle socks Rebecca had in there, but there was such a thing as going too far.
Then she ran downstairs. She paused in the kitchen doorway. Mom and Kells were having coffee at the picnic table on the deck. Michael was still not visible. Freddie was as handsome as his photos. Tall and tan in khaki shorts with many pockets and a khaki shirt with many pockets and a belt with many loops, Freddie was equipped for mountain climbs. He had the half-shaved look of a man who has just climbed a difficult peak.
Lily figured that meeting your in-laws for the first time qualified as a difficult peak.
She went outside laughing at this thought, and Freddie Crumb turned at the sound of her step, and grinned, and opened his arms. “My new sister!” greeted Freddie, giving her a brotherly hug. “Am I glad to meet you at last, Lily. Of course, I’ve read every one of your e-mails to Reb, so I know all about school this year, and Amanda, and Drs. Bence, Alzina and Gladwin. I especially love when you take the Afters and tell us how everybody makes a perfect After.”
“Let’s play!” said Nathaniel impatiently.
Freddie lifted his mallet thoughtfully. “How many of us can play croquet at one time? Freddie, Rebecca, Nathaniel, Michael and Lily. Are there enough mallets for five or do we share? Michael, how about you and I share? Red is a big enough color for two.”
Lily loved him.
Reb had made a good choice. It wasn’t a good choice to drop out of college, but Freddie—he was a seriously good choice.
Freddie extended the handle of his red mallet and Michael stepped forward. He’d been in the shadow and shelter of the high part of the deck, where the flower boxes were built in. She had a ghastly image of Michael seeking shadow instead of sun, stepping back instead of forward, waiting his turn instead of racing to the finish line.
Quicker than her next breath, she thought, Jesus, and He knew, in that strange way of His, what her prayer had to be: Don’t let me get angry.
And blessedly, wonderfully, although Lily held her father completely responsible for the changes in Michael, and although she di
d not soften by one molecule toward denrose, she did not get angry.
“There are plenty of mallets,” said Michael. “Mom? Kells? Want to play?”
From the deck, they lowered the newspapers Lily knew they had not been reading. There was a pause, one of those breathless moments neither light nor dark, just very still. And Rebecca said, “Yes, do! Come on, Kells! Come on, Mom! Let’s all play.”
Everybody played slowly and incompetently so Nathaniel didn’t fall behind.
Every time Nathaniel swung he missed. But Nathaniel never minded. He just kept whacking until he finally connected. Usually he was facing the wrong way. Freddie gave him extra points every time he shot out of bounds and pretty soon, Nathaniel had way the most points. Since croquet didn’t even have points, nobody had any hope of catching up to Nathaniel.
When Nathaniel hit Freddie’s ball out of bounds, Freddie clutched his heart and fell onto the grass, crying, “I’m dead, you killed me!”—nothing could make a three-year-old happier. Nathaniel jumped on Freddie’s chest.
“Ow,” said Freddie, for real.
“It doesn’t hurt,” said Nathaniel impatiently. “You’re dead.”
They were all laughing.
Wedding laughter. Giddy, frothy, blessed laughter.
The grill was dragged out. Cole slaw and potato salad were prepared. Hamburgers were dropped over the coals. Rolls were toasted. “I squirt the ketchup,” yelled Nathaniel, bringing out green and purple.
Freddie gagged. “Our children, Rebecca, will never be permitted green or purple ketchup.”
“A can-do rule,” said Rebecca.
“Are you going to have a lot of rules?” asked Nathaniel.
“That’s my third rule for Rebecca so far,” Freddie told him.
“What are the other two?” Michael wanted to know.
“No tuna fish in the house. I hate the smell. People who want to eat tuna fish have to eat it someplace else and brush their teeth before entering. And no fair reading during a meal. There has to be eye contact and talk.”
A Friend at Midnight Page 13