A Million Miles from Boston

by Karen Day

  I swallowed. “How?”

  “He had a brain aneurysm. Sudden.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you.” She nodded. “It was … awful. I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.”

  I didn’t want to talk about this but at the same time I was interested.

  “When I met your dad, we had so much to talk about. We shared this—losing my husband, your mom. Then I fell so in love with him. But you need to know something. You already have a mom. I’m not going to try to be a mom to you. I guess I’ll be …”

  “You guess you’ll be what?”

  “I’ll just be Julia.” She smiled and turned around.

  I looked down at the water, tiny whitecaps peaking here and there. The water had been just like this the day we’d spread Mom’s ashes off our dock. As the ashes bounced on the whitecaps and broke apart and floated away, I thought, Mom will forever be part of the ocean and the Point.

  I glanced at Superior, her ears pricked, her nose close to the water.

  Did people remember events a certain way in order to explain things? Maybe I felt guilty about Mom’s death because I was trying to make sense of something that was too awful to understand.

  “Lucy, look!”

  An eagle soared high above us, wings spread. It circled over the water, then glided toward the nest, its head white, wings brown, massive, stretching the width of a house, it seemed. Its feet came down and its wings folded as it landed in the nest and disappeared.

  “Wow!” I said.

  “Spectacular!”

  We smiled at each other and waited for another sighting. But the sky kept darkening and the eagle stayed in its nest. We paddled back. The water was choppier, but I had on a life jacket. Superior was here. The shore was close and Julia was in front of me, arms strong as she paddled.

  It started to sprinkle when we reached the dock. We lifted the kayak and covered it with the tarp. The water rolled, black with whitecaps as it banged into the dock and shore. And then I felt that space open up inside me and start to fill with something heavy and wet.

  I closed my eyes and breathed, deeply, slowly, as the wind blew through my hair.

  I knew what that big space inside me was. It was sadness and longing and something that had to do with losing what I loved most. It was my mom.

  Then I opened my eyes. It was good to feel her this way, even if it was also painful. But she’d always be with me. And no matter what changed, nothing could take that away.

  By the time we reached the cottage, cold, hard raindrops bounced off our shoulders, heads, arms—but we laughed.

  “How about I make some hot chocolate?” Julia asked as Dad gave her a hug.

  Bucky set up the Monopoly board and the four of us played on the porch, drinking hot chocolate and listening to the rain.

  y homeroom was in a science classroom, second floor. I sat on the edge of my seat, waiting for the bell. I wore what my friends wore: plaid shorts, T-shirt, sandals. I smiled and said hi to everyone. When anyone asked, I said, “Yes, I had a great summer! Did you?”

  Three days earlier, after we packed the car, we drove around the Point one last time, stopping at the Big House. Workers had torn away the entire porch, and the house looked exposed, its beams and foundation open to the elements.

  Dad said, “Think of it this way: the new porch will be much sturdier as it wraps around the Big House.” Holding it, supporting it, protecting it.

  Kiki stopped by on her way to college and hugged all of us. And I cried when we said good-bye to the Steeles.

  The minute I got home, I called Mei, and we saw each other that night. Mei, Annie, Rachel and I spent the last two days of summer together. Then we went to Duggan for an open house, and met the seventh-grade teachers.

  After that we stopped by Taylor Elementary. Walking the halls and talking to our old teachers, who were setting up their classrooms, I was sad—especially when I hugged Mrs. Jonas. But Taylor felt small. And I could go back whenever I wanted.

  Now Mei turned in her seat in front of me. She wore new gold peace-sign earrings. I wore silver. “Here comes Michael.”

  He grinned as he lowered himself into a seat next to Mei. So far, we were the only ones from Taylor in this homeroom.

  Then Ian walked in and sat next to me. We smiled at each other.

  Finally our teacher closed the door and everyone grew quiet.

  “I’m Ms. Bruner, your science teacher. I’ve got your schedules.” She was young, with short, spiky black hair and funky purple-framed glasses. She crossed the room and opened a window. Warm air rushed in, blowing her scarf over her face. She laughed.

  I sat up straighter. Science might be interesting. She started calling names.

  “Hey, Lucy!” Michael said. “Must’ve been a big bite seeing Ian all summer.”

  What had Ian told him? Mei rolled her eyes when I glanced at her.

  Michael started in about summer camp and someone else interrupted with talk about baseball camp.

  “Lucy.” Ian leaned across his desk. “Did your dad like the kayak?”

  “He loved it. He was totally surprised! And I saw an eagle.”

  “You did? Next year we’re staying out there all day until we see one.”

  “What are you talking about?” Michael asked. “Your painful summer together?”

  “Nah, it was a great summer,” Ian said.

  Michael hooted.

  When my name was called, I grinned at Ms. Bruner as she handed me my schedule. Ian ran to the front when it was his turn. He took his schedule, then saluted Ms. Bruner. Everyone cracked up. Ian bowed; then she bowed; and then he bowed.

  We laughed again. How he loved being the star!

  The day before, I’d told Jenny about Ian and Allison and all that had happened. “Ian isn’t as annoying as I always thought he was. He’s got this other side to him.”

  Jenny bunched up her brows, serious. “You can’t judge a book by its cover.”

  Then we cracked up, because that has to be the most overused saying ever.

  But as I watched Ian, I remembered how Julia had said he might be covering up for something. I thought about how nervous she’d been up at the Point and how mixed up I’d felt when Mom died. Maybe there were all kinds of ways people acted to protect themselves against things that hurt or scared them.

  Maybe everyone had another side.

  Ian sat. I didn’t know what kind of friends we’d be that school year. But the next summer we’d take out the kayak, look for eagles and share the tree during chase. Maybe we’d run camp together. Good things to look forward to.

  Ms. Bruner finished handing out schedules.

  Then she smiled. “Welcome to middle school.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks to my editor, Wendy Lamb, and associate editor Caroline Meckler, for expert advice and bringing me back from the abyss. Thanks to Henry, Hannah, Herbie, and Bill and Heather Holmes Floyd for introducing us to paradise. Thanks to my supporters and readers: Susan Raskin Abrams, Jean Holmblad, Jane Malmberg, Pam McCuen and the other wonderful librarians at the Newton Free Library; Mordena Babich, Janessa Ransom and my critique group; Amy Jameson, Cynthia Pill, Susan Hurwit, Linda Gelda, Bryn Wood, Whitney Williams (dog extraordinaire), Dr. Stefanie Chin, Alison Dinsmore, the Balmuths and, as always, Kathy Read (the dramatic tension of closeness, wow). Forever love and thanks to the very best people I know, David, Dylan, Emma and Elizabeth.

  KAREN DAY is the author of two other novels for young readers, Tall Tales and No Cream Puffs. She grew up in Indiana and now lives in Newton, Massachusetts, with her husband and their three children. Her love of reading and writing has taken her through careers in journalism and teaching. You can visit Karen on the Web at klday.com.

 

 

 
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