I go in the house and text my dad:
I think I’ll skip Disneyland. I’m going to hang out with friends this weekend.
That will make him happy. And it’s also a lie he might have trouble believing as much as he’d love for it to be true. We both know that Lyla is my only friend and she’s gone, but Dad will probably let it go. I don’t think he wants to deal with Marie’s two young kids and his downer daughter for the whole weekend.
I hear Charlie squawking, and I grab a carrot from the refrigerator before heading into the study. Sunlight is shining on his cage, but it’s still covered with the black felt night cover. Dad and Marie must have been running late this morning and forgotten to uncover him. I can hear Charlie rustling around, wide awake but helpless to do anything about the black gloom that surrounds him. I lift the cloth, and he climbs from the floor of the cage to his perch, pulling himself up by his beak.
“Hi, Charlie boy. Sorry we forgot about you this morning,” I say. He looks indignant and turns away from my apology. “I brought you a treat.” I can see his tiny heartbeat beneath the pink skin of his chest. I lift the cage door and put my hand in with my finger extended out toward him. That was the signal my mom used when she wanted Charlie to come out of his cage and play. My mother could do that. She could coax any of us out of a bad state of mind—a scraped knee, a teasing at school, a tiring day at work, a scary dream, a low grade on your test. You always felt safe with Mom because you knew there was never an end to her love.
But Charlie just looks at my finger and turns away. When I don’t move my hand, he gives me a gentle peck to let me know he’s had enough of me. I lay the carrot on the bottom and close the door of the cage.
Chapter | 5
Rachel Sullivan is wearing a yellow sundress when she opens the door. She seems happy and surprised to see me. Rachel was Mom’s best friend, but we haven’t talked much since Marie moved in. I feel both relieved to finally be here and ashamed of how long it’s taken. It feels like coming home in a dream—you know you’re there, but everything’s just a little different. Like someone came in the middle of the night while you were sleeping and moved all the furniture around.
She invites me in to see the baby as I knew she would. She mentions babysitting in the future as I also knew she would. She says the baby is sleeping in his bassinet in their master bedroom. We tiptoe to his side so as not to wake him but he’s already awake. His blue-gray eyes are wide and slanted, giving him a wise and other-worldly appearance. Tufts of fine black hair sprout from his scalp. His tiny pink lips seem to be turned up in a smile but I can’t be sure. It feels like he knows more about me than I know about him.
“His name is Henry,” Rachel offers. “Do you want to hold him?” But I don’t want to. I just want to look at him right now. He’s too new.
“Maybe next time,” I say, hoping that Rachel won’t take offense. She lets it go. I wonder if she was afraid to hold him the first time she saw him too.
Rachel picks Henry up from his bassinet and motions for us to go out to the living room.
“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” she asks.
“No, that’s okay. I just wanted to come over and see you . . . and the baby.” I feel a little awkward. Rachel was a person I felt totally comfortable with when my mom was alive. Now I feel a little shy around her and I don’t know why. Maybe I sense that her life has become all about Henry.
“How have you been, Krista?” she asks with that special tone that everyone uses when they ask me this question.
“I’ve been great. Really enjoying the summer.” The words sound unconvincing, even to me. Rachel is holding Henry up against her chest. She pats him lightly on his back.
“Is that really true?” She arches her eyebrows.
“Yes . . . really. I’m doing fine.”
But I’m not. My eyes silently plead with her to see through the deceit of my words. So why can’t I just say it?
“The last time I talked to your father he mentioned that you were seeing a therapist. Are you still doing that?”
I squirm in my seat. Maybe it was a mistake to come here today. “No, I’m better off just talking things over with my dad.”
I think of the unanswered voice messages left on the home phone as recently as last week . . .
“This is Dr. Bronstein. I’m keeping the Tuesday at five slot open for Krista whenever she decides to come back. I believe it’s important for us to continue therapy. Please call.”
I had pressed delete and wondered how many unanswered voicemails he’d leave before he called Dad at his office. Or would he give up and eventually forget? Like everyone else.
“Your dad?” she asks surprised.
“We’re pretty close and we work things out together. So I’m doing great and it’s better this way.” Who am I kidding? Rachel knows Dad.
“Krista, you’ve been through a lot. No one would judge you for getting a little extra help. And I want you to know I’m always around if you need to talk.”
Rachel was always around and, in the beginning, she kind of nudged me through life. Reminding me to breathe. Reminding me to live. And all the while she was navigating through the long legal process of adoption, I never stopped to consider that Rachel might have needed some nudging herself without her best friend by her side. But the more we saw of Marie, the less we saw of Rachel. I haven’t seen her at all for six weeks except to wave at her when she drives by. And now there’s Henry and nothing is the same.
“I still see Marie’s car,” she continues. “How are you two getting along?” Rachel knows how we’re getting along—she can see my red tent on the roof.
“Just fine,” I lie again. “She’s really nice. By the way, my grandpa’s coming to visit next week and he’ll be staying with us.” I’m relieved to have something to talk about that I know will distract Rachel from her current line of questioning.
“That’s wonderful, Krista! It’ll be great for you to spend some time with him. This is your mom’s father right? I seem to remember your dad’s father passed away.”
“That’s right,” I say. “We have a lot of things planned. He’ll be around for a while.”
“I remember him from your mother’s funeral,” Rachel says. “I’d love to see him again if you both want to drop by for lunch one day.”
“He’d probably like that.” I’m suddenly anxious to leave, and I know I won’t be calling her or returning anytime soon. “It’s been nice seeing you and meeting Henry.” I give Henry an affectionate pat. His head bobbles on top of his scrawny neck, and Rachel steadies it with her free hand. Trying to avoid squishing Henry, I give Rachel a careful hug, and she returns it with her free arm.
“Oh, Krista, please come back soon.” Tears are welling up in her eyes. “I’ve missed you so much, and I just wish . . .” she trails off. I would give anything to trade places with Henry right now. To be held in strong, protective arms. To be caressed and loved. To be the center of someone’s universe. To not even know what kind of heartache exists beyond the walls of home.
Chapter | 6
I thought of every possible excuse to not be here right now. But it seems there’s no other place I can be. Doing the right thing can’t be any worse than doing the wrong thing. And, in a way, I want to see if it might be better. Maybe I also want to see Jake again. Maybe I want to know what it would feel like to be seen by him as someone courageous and honorable, not as the girl who only deserves his pity and scorn. I know it’s a little late for that, but I’ll do my best. So that’s why I’m standing in front of the store where he works with the monocular wrapped in a brown paper bag in my purse.
When I walk in, I immediately see Jake in the shoe department. In his hands, he carries a tower of shoe boxes that looks like it’s being kept from falling over by invisible forces. An elderly woman in a shocking pink track suit waits for him. She has a determined lo
ok on her face that hints she might be here for a while. I walk over to the place where Jake has set the boxes down on the floor. He looks up at me from his kneeling position by the woman’s feet. She pulls a crew sock over one twisted foot. The toes of her exposed foot are warped by time. Her toenails are thick and yellow.
“Can you tell me where I can find the manager?” I ask him.
Jake raises his chin in the direction of a pot-bellied, balding man in a tight green polo shirt. The man is standing behind the counter where fishing equipment is sold.
“Over there,” he says. “His name is Chuck—Mr. Latham.” As many times as I’ve seen Jake at school it feels like I’m seeing him now for the first time. He’s gorgeous, although there’s nothing specific that makes him that way. It’s the combination of all his physical attributes and something else. His confidence. He seems to be completely comfortable being Jake Robbins.
“Thanks.” I walk over to the counter.
“Something I can help you with, young lady?” the manager asks. “You interested in buying a rod and reel today?” He chuckles.
“Are you the manager?”
“That’s me!” He is proud but wary. Most people who ask if he’s the manager are probably about to present him with a problem. “What can I help you with?”
Suddenly I’m speechless even though I practiced this in the car on the drive over here. But soon I regain my composure, because nothing spooks me these days.
“I accidentally took this the other day.” I pull the monocular from the paper bag. He looks at me skeptically. “What I mean to say is . . . I stole this from your store, and I want to return it. I’m sorry.” I look him directly in the eye, and he looks away for an instant as if to spare me from my shame.
“I appreciate your honesty,” he says after a moment. “What do you think I should do with you?”
His question surprises me, because I didn’t think I would have a say. I know I should be punished for what I did, but I’m not sure what I expected—maybe jail? It’s why I’m here, after all.
“Do whatever you like.” I try to sound more humble than defiant. “I’m ready to accept my punishment.”
“Hmm.” He seems amused. “Your punishment, huh? Listen, between you and me: it’s more trouble to report you than it’s worth.” He looks me up and down. “You seem like a nice kid, so why’d you do it?”
“I don’t know.” My back feels hot, and I wonder if Jake’s eyes are on me.
“Well that’s not helpful. I don’t suppose you’d like to clean our toilets as penance?”
I must look shocked because he laughs and brings a stubby finger up to take a swipe at his nostril where thick black hairs protrude. “I can’t really make you do anything without putting you on the payroll—and I’m not about to do that. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.” He pauses for emphasis. “I know this was hard for you, and hopefully you’ve learned your lesson, so I’m gonna let you go. Now get outta here.” He’s pleased with himself, I can tell. He feels good about giving me a second chance but I’m surprisingly disappointed. This was not what I expected. “And next time bring your wallet,” he adds.
I turn my head slightly so I can see Jake still kneeling at the feet of the woman across the store. He’s looking over at me and I catch his eye but make no sign of recognition. The manager is waiting for my response to wrap this up so he can go on with his day.
“Thank you, then.” I can’t think of a more appropriate or grateful reply. I’ve done what I came to do so I head for the door. Jake’s using a shoe horn to guide a sneaker onto the woman’s foot—the crossfit style that cheerleaders wear at our school. She grimaces as Jake looks up at me and winks.
I’m as excited as a five-year-old girl on Christmas day.
__________
Jake’s face has taken up all the space in my visual memory as I play and replay his wink on a mental loop. What did it mean? Surely, it was nothing more than a silent signal of his approval, but it still feels good. And knowing that I’ll have the house to myself this weekend puts me in a better than average mood. I’m even thinking of coming inside to sleep in my room while Dad and Marie are gone, but then my brief flirtation with happiness ends when I come home and Dad texts me:
Home by 6:00. Can you pick up something for dinner? Marie isn’t feeling well so we canceled D-land. Do you think you can help out with the kids this weekend?
Ugh.
Dad and Marie come home, and Marie goes right to bed without even asking about dinner. Dad and I sit together at the kitchen table and eat the Chinese take-out I picked up earlier.
He’s preoccupied, which isn’t unusual after a day at work. When he gets like this, I know I’m supposed to give him his space. I know from past experience if I bring up something right now, something that requires more than a few-word answer, I’ll regret it. But when it’s me who wants space, he pushes me to open up. He can’t stand not knowing what I’m thinking.
This could be a rare moment for us to talk when Marie isn’t around. It doesn’t happen that often anymore, and there’s stuff I want to talk about. Not the things she decides are important . . . maybe some things I happen to think are important. Like why is it that Marie, whom he sees all day at work, gets priority over all the other people in his life? Starting with me . . . and the Sullivans.
I take a deep breath and break the silence, not knowing how my father will react to what I’m about to say. “I went to see the Sullivans’ new baby today.” I’ve got his attention.
“Is that so?” He spreads a thin layer of hoisin sauce onto a moo shu pancake and dials down the interest in his voice. “I’ve heard the baby crying. Did you get to meet him?”
“Yeah, he’s really cute. His name is Henry. Rachel seems happy.” Dad seems to ponder this but doesn’t say anything, so I go on.
“Why don’t you ever go see the Sullivans anymore?” I know that Marie is the answer to this question, but I feel a devil inside of me. That’s part of Dad’s old life—his wife’s best friend. For that matter, I’m part of Dad’s old life too, but there’s not much to be done about me. In a year, I’ll be away at college. I wonder if one of Marie’s kids will simply take over my room. My life.
“I saw her just a few days ago,” he says. “We were both out getting our newspapers, and we chatted for a while.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Am I talking about the Sullivans, or am I talking about myself? “We used to get together a lot. Why don’t we ever do that anymore?”
“We’ll do that, I promise. Give Marie a chance to settle in, it’s only been six weeks. Then we’ll have them over.”
He’s answered my question but I’m seething inside. Why does everything have to be about Marie? What about me and Dad and the Sullivans?
“When things get back to normal.” He adds for emphasis while bringing a napkin to his face to dab away some sauce on his chin.
But I know things will never get back to normal. Not the normal I want.
Chapter | 7
Nature’s air conditioning has once again returned to the San Francisco Bay Area. That’s what people here call the fog, and that’s why we don’t have the hot, sleepless nights in the summer that the rest of the country suffers through. From my reclining chair, I look toward the west where the sun has already disappeared behind a huge bank of fog. From here it looks like the impenetrable wall of a medieval fortress. Although the sky is clear above me and I’m comfortable in a light t-shirt and shorts, I know that behind the fog wall people are bundled up in sweaters while they walk briskly down sidewalks bathed in cool, gray mist.
I hear the rattle of the aluminum ladder and look over just in time to see Jake’s head pop up over the edge of the roof.
“Knock, knock,” he says. “I didn’t see a doorbell, so I hope it’s okay.”
“Oh!” I rise from my chair. “Come on up.” It seems i
mpossible that he’s come here again even though I’ve wished for it a thousand times. He climbs the rest of the way and walks over to my tent.
“You know, I thought this was a strange set-up the last time I was here. But now that I’m seeing it again, it’s actually pretty cool.” He looks westward toward the fog bank. “Great view.”
“Yeah, it’s perfect. Well, it is for me, anyway. I don’t have to worry about snakes or raccoons up here—only me and the owls.” Gliding on rubbery wings, little, brown bats sail in and out of the branches of a gnarled oak tree.
“Only you and the owls,” he repeats. “I talked to Mr. Latham after you left.” He’s still looking westward even though we’re standing side by side. An almost perfectly formed full moon is now visible in the indigo sky. “He told me what happened. I guess you didn’t mention that you knew me.”
“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”
But I don’t really know him, even though he doesn’t feel like a stranger standing next to me. I think he’s a person comfortable with whomever he’s with, whether it’s an old lady with painful feet, or even me. I’m close enough to smell him and it’s intoxicating. He smells like a puppy or a lazy day on a sunny beach. He smells like happiness and I feel some of it siphon off into me. I’ve never stood next to a boy who has affected me this way. Lyla would be perfectly at ease and would know what to say. Me? I’m lost.
“What are you doing this summer?” He turns his gaze toward me now and looks in my eyes. I’m suddenly embarrassed to admit anything close to the truth. I’ve seen how hard he works and I don’t want to lose his respect just after gaining a little of it back.
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