by Amy Clipston
“No,” Logan said with a sigh. “She’s still mad about my math test.” He schlepped toward the door. “See you later.”
“Bye, dude,” Zander called.
“Bye, Zander,” Logan called, heading toward the path.
I stood by the bench, running my fingers over the wood and wondering what to say. The silence between us hung like a dark, stifling fog. “Do you need any help?”
“Nope,” he said, his eyes trained on the parts. “I’m fine. I’ve done this plenty of times.”
Gnawing my bottom lip, I studied the engine. “I could bolt on the water pump for you.”
He placed the cleaned parts on the counter. Removing his gloves and safety glasses, he turned to me, and I was glad to see his face, even though he didn’t appear glad to see me.
“I think I got it under control,” he said with a frown.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “I just thought I would offer.”
“I’m good,” he said.
We stared at each other, and I wished I could think of the right thing to say. Although he frowned, I could see pain in his eyes. Was he feeling the same regret that I felt? Did he also wish he could say the right thing to fix what had broken between us?
“I guess I’ll see you at school,” I said.
“Take care, Emily,” he said, turning back to the tool bench. It felt strange to hear him call me by my given name.
Feeling dismissed, I stepped out of the garage. Before I hit the path, I turned back once more and spotted him cleaning the parts without even looking up at me. It was then that I knew I’d really lost him, and my eyes filled with tears.
chapter seventeen
Happy birthday!”
I awoke to my dad yelling and the warm smell of turkey roasting somewhere in the house. Yawning, I rolled onto my side and swept the curls from my face.
“Rise and shine!” he called, crossing my room with something shielded behind his back. “You’re seventeen today. It’s a very special Thanksgiving.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I sat up, stretched, and yawned again. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and handed me a package wrapped in pink paper. “Happy birthday.”
“Dad,” I said, running my fingers over the paper. “You shouldn’t have gotten me anything. I told you not to spend any money on me. We need to save to move out.”
He ran his hand over my head. “You’re my baby girl. Of course I had to get you something.”
“Dad …”
“Just open it,” he whispered. “Please.”
I unwrapped the package and found a brown photograph album with the word “Family” engraved on the front. I looked up at my dad, and he gave me a sad smile.
“Go ahead, Emily,” he said. “Open it.”
I flipped the album open and my eyes focused on a photograph of my mother holding me in the hospital the day I was born. I sighed, tears filling my eyes. Turning the page, I found photos of my mother and me when I was a baby — her rocking me, giving me a bath, holding me the day I was baptized, and sitting on the porch wearing a yellow sun hat.
I kept turning pages, finding photograph after photograph of my mother and me. I laughed, remembering wonderful, special days, and tears streamed down my face as grief overwhelmed me.
“She was beautiful,” I whispered, staring at a photograph of her and my father dressed up to go to their fifteenth high school reunion.
“She was,” he whispered, wiping his eyes. “And you look just like her.”
“No, I don’t.” I swiped my hands over my eyes. “She was much more beautiful.”
“You don’t see it, Emily, but you are too. You have her eyes, her hair, and her smile. I’m so proud of you, and I love you more than I can express.”
“I love you too, Daddy,” I whispered.
We flipped through more photos, sharing stories, laughing, and crying together. When I got to the last page, I studied one of my favorite photographs featuring the three of us sitting on our porch together the summer before we lost her. We were all so happy.
I ran my fingers over the album, marveling at the sentiment he’d put into the special gift. “This must have taken you forever to put together.”
He shrugged. “I just worked on it every night when I was sure you were asleep.”
“Thank you,” I said, closing the album. “This is the most wonderful gift you could’ve ever given me.” I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his cheek.
“Happy birthday,” he whispered, holding onto me. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Daddy,” I said.
My phone began to ring, and my dad let go. “I’m sure your friends want to wish you a happy birthday too. Come down soon. Darlene has gifts for you.”
“Thanks.” Lifting my phone, I read Megan’s name on the screen. I flopped back on the bed and answered it.
By the time I came downstairs, I’d spoken to Megan and Chelsea, taken a shower, and gotten dressed. I found Darlene and Whitney in the kitchen, cooking Thanksgiving dinner.
“Happy birthday!” Whitney said, hugging me.
“Happy birthday, dear,” Darlene said. “Would you like your gifts now or when we have cake?”
“We can wait until later.” I spotted my dad watching television in the den. “Where are Logan and Uncle Chuck?”
“They went to get Grandma,” Whitney said.
“Oh.” I stepped out onto the deck and shivered in the cold as I glanced over at Zander’s house. We’d barely spoken over the past few weeks, and I missed him. He said hi to me in the halls at school and when I saw him at the house, but we barely spoke more than a lame greeting. Last week I’d retrieved Logan from Zander’s garage, as usual, and Zander shared that he’d be away for the holiday. His mother had decided on a family Thanksgiving at the beach, and from my window I’d watched him leave last night. I wondered if he’d remembered today was my birthday and if he even cared. I missed his friendship so much that my heart ached.
A car pulled into the driveway and I inwardly groaned. Just what I need now — Grandma.
The SUV door opened, and Logan jogged up the steps to the back door. “Happy birthday, Emily!”
“Thanks,” I said.
Uncle Chuck and Grandma approached, and I forced a smile. “Happy Thanksgiving, Grandma,” I said.
“Oh, thank you, dear,” she said, climbing the stairs. “My arthritis is giving me a fit. I may have to leave shortly after dinner. My recliner is the only place where I get relief.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” I said. She opened her arms, and I gave her a quick hug. “It’s good to see you, Grandma.”
“You too. I haven’t seen you in a long while. Did you forget to come visit me?” she asked, her brown eyes full of scrutiny. “You’ve only come once since you moved here.”
Does she practice these guilt trips?
“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” I said. “I’ve been busy.” Where’s Dad when I need him? He should take some of this flack.
“How’s school?” she asked.
“It’s fine.” I wondered if she forgot it was my birthday.
“That’s good.” She started toward the door. “Where’s Whitney? I believe she had an advanced placement history test this past week. I bet she got an A.”
As Grandma walked through the door, I turned toward Zander’s garage. I considered sneaking in there later to get some peace and quiet. I wondered if Zander would mind if I went in there and worked on his car for him. He’d mentioned to me that he was close to getting the car running. Would he even care that I’d been in there?
“Happy birthday, Emily.”
I’d forgotten Chuck was standing there until he spoke. I turned toward his smile.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Your grandmother means well,” he said. “She doesn’t think before she speaks sometimes, but she has a good heart — deep down. Way deep down.” He grinned. “Although it may not feel like it, she loves you. She’s
just a little thoughtless sometimes.”
Stunned by his words, I blinked. “Thank you.”
He opened the back door and then turned again. “Don’t stay out here too long. There’s a chill in the air.”
I watched him go inside and looked back at Zander’s garage. I hoped the day would go by quickly, so I could get back to what I missed and craved most for my birthday — working on his car.
“Logan, would you please say a prayer?” Darlene asked when we all sat down to Thanksgiving dinner a couple of hours later.
Logan rattled off his usual incomprehensible prayer, and then everyone began filling the special china plates.
“So, Whitney,” Grandma said. “How did the history test go?”
“It went well,” Whitney said with a smile. “I think I got an A.”
“I’m sure you did,” Grandma said with pride. “That’s my girl.”
Yup. That’s your girl. I rolled my eyes and drenched my turkey in gravy.
“Everything is delicious, Darlene,” my dad said.
“Yes, it’s wonderful, Darlene,” Grandma exclaimed. “You’re such a good cook. I taught you well.”
“Thank you.” Darlene looked at me. “I got you an ice cream cake. Your dad said that was your favorite.”
“Thank you,” I said. “It is.”
“Grandma,” Whitney broke in. “Did you say happy birthday to Emily?”
I glanced at my cousin, and she winked at me. I couldn’t help but smile in response.
“Oh, that’s right,” Grandma said. “Happy birthday, Emily.” She glanced at Chuck. “Did you grab her card? It was on the table by the door.”
“Yes,” Chuck said. He gave me a half smile.
“Thanks,” I said. I bet it has my usual ten dollars from her in it.
“Whitney,” Grandma began. “Have you sent the invitations for your birthday party next week?”
“Yes, Grandma,” Whitney said. “They went in the mail last week.”
“All of the details are set?” Grandma persisted. “You reserved the activity center, right?”
“Yes,” Darlene chimed in. “We also got the caterer and the DJ.”
I glanced at my father, wondering if he agreed the birthday party Darlene had been planning for Whitney during the past month was over the top. He shrugged and grabbed the bowl of mashed potatoes.
“Did you get decorations?” Grandma asked.
“I got some balloons and little party favors,” Darlene said, taking more turkey. “It’s going to be lovely with the centerpieces and all.”
I swallowed a groan. I couldn’t even imagine what Whitney’s wedding would be like if her birthdays were this extravagant. It would probably resemble something like a royal wedding with ten bridesmaids, a ton of flowers, and dresses costing thousands of dollars each.
The rest of dinner was spent discussing Whitney’s upcoming party and the millions of details: appetizers, music, the cake, etc.
Once we were finished eating, I helped Darlene and Whitney with the dishes and then sat in the den with my dad, uncle, and Logan and watched football while the women continued planning Whitney’s party.
My eyes were closed, and I was falling asleep when I heard someone calling my name.
“Emily,” my dad said, nudging me. “I believe it’s time to celebrate your birthday.”
“Really?” I asked with a yawn. “I thought we were planning Whitney’s party.”
He gave me a sympathetic look. “I know that her party is a bit extravagant, but we have to endure it.” He rubbed my arm. “We’re guests here.” Taking my hand in his, he led me into the kitchen, where an ice cream cake reading “Happy Birthday, Emily” and glowing with candles sat in the middle of the table.
Everyone began to sing to me, and I fought back tears when it hit me this was my first birthday and our first Thanksgiving without Mom. When they finished singing, I blew out the candles, and Darlene cut pieces of cake for everyone.
“Open my gift,” Logan said, pushing a small box toward me.
“Thank you.” I ripped it open and found a keychain with a Chevrolet logo on it. “It’s perfect.”
“You can use it when you get your own Chevy,” Logan said.
I laughed. “I will. I promise.”
“Here you go, dear.” Darlene pushed an envelope toward me. “It’s from your uncle and me.”
“Thank you.” I opened the envelope and pulled out a mushy card talking about how wonderful nieces are. Inside I found a $100 gift card for the Cameronville Mall. So over the top. Just like Darlene.
“Thank you,” I said. “That’s so generous.”
Whitney handed me a small box and a card. “This is from me.”
“Thanks,” I said. I opened the box and found a pair of silver hoop earrings. I rarely wore earrings, but these were elegant and simple. Whitney did a good job figuring out what I’d like. “They’re lovely. Thank you, Whitney.”
“You’re welcome.” She smiled. “Maybe I can go with you to use that gift card. I had a blast when you went shopping with Kristin and me that time.”
“Yeah,” I said with a smile. “That would be cool.”
Grandma handed me an envelope containing a card about granddaughters and a ten-dollar bill. The usual. I couldn’t help but snicker.
“What’s so funny?” Grandma asked.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Thank you, Grandma.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie. Enjoy,” she said.
We finished our cake and then I retreated to my room, claiming I needed to rest, even though I planned to write in my journal. I flipped through my mom’s Bible and then stepped over to the window. Sinking down into the window seat, I pulled open the shade and prepared to write, but instead my eyes wandered toward Zander’s garage. The floodlights on the corner of the roof that automatically came on in the dark seemed to beckon me, inviting me to come over and enjoy the solitude.
I pulled on a sweatshirt and hurried down the stairs.
“Where are you going?” my dad asked from his place on the sofa.
“I’ll be back,” I said.
“I know you’ll be back, but where are you going?” he called after me.
“For a walk,” I said.
“But it’s cold out,” Chuck chimed in.
I stopped at the door and slipped on my boots. “I just need to clear my head. I’ll be back soon.”
Hugging my sweatshirt to my body, I jogged over to the keypad and mashed the digits for the code. After hitting “enter” twice, the door lifted. I stepped into the garage, turned on the lights, and hit the button to close the door. I felt like a burglar as I walked past the Dodge, running my fingers over the cool metal.
Standing at the front of the car, I examined Zander’s work, wondering who had helped him get the engine in place. Although it stung that he’d continued his big project without me, I decided to help him get the motor hooked up.
I dropped my phone onto the bench, flipped on the small radio, and then went to work for the next two hours. Crawling under the car, I slid in the starter. I hooked up the engine brackets and then installed the power steering pump and alternator. Finally, I connected the wires for the starter, ignition, and alternator. When I was done, I was exhausted but somehow felt renewed, as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
Since my hands were covered in grease, I stepped over to the sink and scrubbed them with Gojo. While I was washing them off, I heard my phone chirp. After drying my hands, I then lifted my phone from the bench.
When I glanced down at the screen, I gasped, finding a text message from Zander that said: Em — Happy Birthday — Z
I typed back: Thanks
He responded quickly with: And Happy Thanksgiving 2
My heart beat quickly as I typed back: U 2
Lowering myself onto a stool, I stared at the phone, hoping that he’d text again and say something like: I miss you or I’m sorry or, even a long shot of: I love you.
But no more messages came. I knew I should be happy that he’d even texted me since it was the first time in over a month. However, it still stung.
Closing my eyes, I concentrated, and for the first time in months, a prayer formed in my heart.
“God,” I whispered, “I don’t understand why things are going the way they are for me. I don’t feel you in my life, and I need you. And I need Zander. Please, God, bring Zander back to me. Somehow. I need him.”
I sat in silence for a few more minutes, trying to find the words to tell God how I felt about everything — losing my mom, moving to Whitney’s house, arguing with my dad, facing the holidays without my mom. But I couldn’t form the words. It was as if my short prayer about Zander was all my heart could handle.
But it was a start.
I glanced around the garage and yawned. It was time to go home.
After turning off the lights and radio, I locked up the garage and headed up our deck stairs. I was stepping through the door when a thought occurred to me: Zander had once mentioned that when he was at the beach house he had to drive twenty minutes into town to get a cell phone signal. Had he driven that far just to send me those few text messages? The idea eased my mind just a tad.
I showered and changed into my pajamas before climbing into bed. I was just opening my journal when a voice startled me.
“You okay?” Whitney asked from the doorway.
“Yeah,” I said. “Just tired.”
She stepped into the room. “Today had to be hard without your mom.”
A lump swelled in my throat as I held up the album. “Would you like to see what my dad made for me?”
“Yeah.” Whitney sat on the edge of the bed, and we flipped through the album, laughing and talking about photos. To my surprise, she even had tears in her eyes when she saw a few of the photographs.
“This is beautiful,” she said, closing the album. “It’s something you’ll cherish forever.” She looked up at me and frowned. “I’m sorry my party was the subject of the day.”
I shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s going to be a big affair.”
She sat on the edge of the bed and rolled her eyes. “My mom is really going to extremes. I tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted.”