"Don't bother, Leah. Really. Come on, let's go," I say to the twins.
"Marley Bear," Faith says. "We don't care if we get wet. You could stay here. With your friend."
"She's pretty," Grace says.
"We're going now," I say.
"Marley Bear, why don't you want to stay with your friend?"
I want to tell Faith to be quiet, but I think she really wants an answer. She must want a lot of answers. She has to be wondering why her father isn't around anymore. Why did this person who was part of her life disappear? And will that keep happening to her?
"Tell her, Marley Bear," Leah says, her voice hard and mean. "I'd like to hear you put a good spin on it."
"Goodbye, Leah," I say. Simply and clearly. Just like that.
I go to grab the bikes, and the rain starts to come down very hard. We head to the parking lot. We don't bother running, as we're soaked through almost instantaneously. "That girl was my friend once," I tell Faith and Grace. "People change, and sometimes friends grow apart." I stop. Oh my God. I'm reciting my father's separation speech. I try to find a truer way to explain. "Basically, your friends are supposed to be nice and good to you," I say. "That girl wasn't."
"I just like fun friends," Faith says. She runs away from me to jump into a puddle, and then runs back.
Grace is lagging behind. I stop to let her catch up and she reaches for my hand and squeezes it.
I don't see Lynne's minivan in the parking lot, but Dad's truck is there. I take the twins over and load them into the cab. My dad helps them with their seat belts. "I was cutting grass down the street and thought I'd see if you were here," he says. "Want to see if Jack wants a ride?"
I nod. "I need to get their bikes and some other stuff." I start running toward the baseball field. One other person is running in the same direction. When we get to the field, I see Jack jumping from puddle to puddle with a little kid. When the kid sees the person running next to me, he screams, "Dad!" and starts running toward him. Jack turns to reach for his bag, then looks back and sees me.
"We'll give you a ride!" I shout.
He nods and jogs over to where I am. "Where are the twins?"
"My dad's truck."
We run toward the bike path, Jack a little ahead of me. I slip on the grass (grateful that he didn't have a clear view of it) and fall on my butt. I slip again as I try to stand. Can I not ever in my life have one moment when I don't look like a complete fool? Jack turns around and reaches out his hand for me. He pulls me up, and keeps my hand in his all the way to the path where the twins' bikes are sprawled.
He grabs Faith's and I take Grace's, along with the first-aid kit, training wheels, and the cooler. We race over to Dad's truck and load everything in the back.
We drive to the Krolls'. She brings out two umbrellas and I help her walk the girls inside.
"Should I help you get them into dry clothes?" I ask. I want to leave, but two wet, hyper girls and a baby is a lot for anyone to handle. Even a grating-voiced anyone.
"That's okay, Marley. Your dad is waiting. I'm going to just give the girls a bath now anyway. Jenna's sleeping. It's fine. We'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay. Did they tell you how well they rode?"
"Mom! You have to see us! We're great! We rocked!" Faith follows Lynne to the stairs.
"Hey, Marley?" Grace says.
"Yeah, Grace?"
"Thanks." She walks over and hugs me. "Bye, Marley Bear."
Brave as I'll Ever Be
Dad stops in front of Jack's house to let him out. There's an old-looking black car in the driveway. "Dean's here," Jack says. "You want to meet him?"
"Sure," I say, not sure if this is the truth, but thinking there's no other acceptable answer. "Let me just change."
I run into the house and pull the soaked clothes off my body. I pull on the Yankees shirt my dad gave me all those weeks ago and shorts, and find an umbrella in my dad's closet. Wait. Ugh. Drowned-rat hair. No time. No choice. Ponytail.
I'm excited to finally have a chance to see the inside of Jack's house, maybe get a look at his parents. That's not happening today, as Dean is sitting on the porch, out of the rain, right next to Jack.
"You must be—"
"Marley," Jack says. "She lives in Will's old house."
"Well, my dad does," I say. "And I'm staying here with him."
Dean looks nothing like Jack. I was hoping for a glimpse of something, that way siblings' qualities sometimes echo each other in interesting ways. That is not the case here. Dean has a gross, thin mustache and a cigarette tucked over his left ear.
"Were you the one with Jack at the game?"
"Yup. It was a great game."
"I'm sorry I left you stranded there. I just got kind of tied up."
"Oh, it was fine. We made it home."
"No thanks to you," Jack says.
Dean just rolls his eyes at Jack and then turns back to me. "I owe you dinner. Come out with Jack and me sometime?"
"That sounds great," I say. "It was nice to meet you, but I need to go dry off."
We say goodbye and I start to walk away.
"Oh," I say, remembering that Jack's dog lives with Dean now. "Is Scout with you?"
Dean turns to Jack. "You told her about Scout?"
"Yeah. You should meet her dog. He's named after Lou Gehrig."
"Cool," Dean says. "Scout's not here tonight. Next time, okay, Marley?"
"Sure," I say, taking a moment of pleasure in realizing that this was a perfectly normal, not forced and awkward, first conversation with a stranger.
Going up the back stairs, I almost trip over a potted plant. It wasn't there yesterday. I take a closer look. It's a small plant; I'd know it anywhere from the long, spatula-shaped, notched leaves and the small buds close to the soil. A dandelion, potted in a planter by my weed-hating dad. This could only be a gesture. It must have killed him to do it—to rescue a plant he'd want to exterminate, and plant it. For me.
I go inside and take a shower,
I let the thoughts just run loose in my brain instead of trying to hold them all inside. And I wait for wisdom.
Wisdom's a no-show.
But I do know some things. I don't get to choose how I feel; you can't be a nursery school director's daughter without learning those basics. I could recite it all: There are no bad feelings, just bad actions. Treat others the way you want to be treated yourself. The thing is, those rules overlook one basic fact: Really hard, horrible things happen even when you've been on your best behavior. And I guess there is no manual to help you through it. Life is about figuring it all out.
But I have learned something this summer. Life has some fantastic surprises too. And some of them have amazing light blue eyes.
***
I get dressed and look around the room. It hasn't changed since my first day here. I find a small table in the garage and place it next to the bed. I take a light from the dresser and put it on the table for nighttime reading. When I come next time, maybe I'll put some pictures on the wall.
Later, I go into the kitchen and sit at the table, next to my dad. In our family language, you don't directly acknowledge gestures. But maybe it's time for some changes. "I saw that dandelion plant," I say.
He smiles. "I dug it out of the Martinezes' lawn, but then I had to hide out in my truck while I planted it. I have a reputation to uphold."
"Because you'd look so nice and normal if someone spotted you potting a dandelion plant in your truck."
Dad grins at me.
"I decided to use some of my babysitting money to pay for your Internet connection once school starts. Once your computer's fixed."
"That's really nice of you, Marley. I don't think it'll be neces—"
"I want to," I say.
"Okay," Dad says. "Thank you." He keeps staring at the coffee-cup clock. "Can I talk to you a minute?"
"Can I just say no?"
"Not really. I have to get this over with."
I don't w
ant to go through all this again. To hear how it's no one's fault. Or how I should learn from Babe Ruth and other Yankees greats.
"I don't know how to frame this one, Marley. You know I'm not good at this kind of thing, so I'm going to just say it. Your mother and I are going to get a divorce. It won't be ugly or anything like that—we're going to work it out peacefully, and we expect to always be friends."
I expect to feel it in my gut, like an unexpected kick. I don't. There's nothing. It's possible I already knew. Or maybe it's just not that different from how things already are, except that the nagging hope is gone. It's sort of sad, though, that giving up hope could make me feel better. Maybe the hope that was there has already been pushed into another spot. Like the way I can look ahead to school and think about maybe sitting at lunch with Callie instead of by myself. Or looking ahead another year, when Jack and I will go to the same high school.
"It'll be a lot like it's been the past few months, only I'm going to stay in this house; I won't keep moving around."
I look out the back door, toward Jack's backyard. The rain is blowing hard, slanted. "And Lynne?"
"What about her?"
"Is she ... are you ... What's the deal?"
"We've been helping each other get through a really difficult time. I'm not sure you realize that you've been helping me a lot too. I love having you here. Really. I never pictured there being any genuine up-side to being in this situation, but I think it'll give us a chance to get to know each other in a different way, a meaningful one. Spending this time with you, just us—it's really been special to me."
"You don't expect me to call this a wonderful turn of events, right? You'll forgive me for not finding the bright side."
"I will," he says. "I'll forgive you anything."
I think I knew that. It's still nice to hear. "Anything?"
He nods, serious. "Yes."
"Like any disappointment, anything? Because I think there's something you should know."
He gets a look on his face like he's scared I'm going to mention that I've signed on to join a cult of dandelion-worshipingz ealots.
"I haven't been completely honest."
"Just say it, Marley."
I'm enjoying this, even though he looks pained. Or maybe because he looks pained. "I've let you believe something that isn't quite true."
"Say it now." A cult of dandelion-worshiping, Yankees-hatingz ealots.
"I don't like fishing."
He sits back in his chair with a big sigh. "Really?"
"Yeah. I can't stand it. I'd rather, like, learn how to play ice hockey or audition for the rodeo or something."
"I can live with that." The sky brightens with lightning, and then there's a crash of thunder as it goes dark again. "So is this your way of telling me that you want to play ice hockey?"
"Not exactly. I think I'll actually just read awhile and go to bed early. If I can sleep through this storm."
"You know what all this rain means, right?"
"Uh, puddles?"
"The grass will grow. I, Robert T. Baird, shall cut it back down."
"Dandelions will grow too," I say.
"You say it like it's a good thing."
"I do."
He kisses my forehead. I go to my room. I climb into bed, savoring the feel of clean sheets against clean skin. I fall asleep to the sound of steady rain.
***
In the early morning's slanted light, the grass is still soaked from last night's storm. I roam the backyard, thinking that I should go inside and read, or sit and watch TV, but my legs seem to need to keep moving, so I just keep walking around. The soppy ground slushes beneath my shoes. I can feel the wet weight as the bottoms of my pants grow damp, then soaked, saturated.
In the far corner, back by Jack's yard, something white, dirty white, is sticking up at an odd angle beneath the maple tree. Rig seems to spot it at the same time I do, and he trots over and begins to sniff it. I bend and peek around him. It's a box, a falling-apart-from-being-wet white box. The old Monopoly box. Right next to it, lying together in a small, dirty silver lump, are two Monopoly pieces—the hat and the shoe.
I pick up the box and look beneath it. Nothing. I leave the box and pieces where they are. I walk all over the backyard, Rig trotting patiently beside me. I search all over the grass, behind the shrubs, in the flower bed. Nothing. I walk over the length of the lawn, from the street to the tree and back again. I start to look in places it could never be—in the middle of a tall hedge, on the low branch of a tree. I don't really know why I care—we have a whole new game, and it's not like Leah and Jane and I are ever going to play again. I just have to know where that dog piece ends up, if that dog's okay.
"Hey, did you will me out?" Jack asks. I didn't hear him come outside, or walk over, but he's standing right behind me.
"Not this time," I say. I suck at willing. Luckily, Jack always seems to show up eventually anyway.
"What are you looking for?"
"A dog."
Jack points at Rig and Rig makes a monkey sound in delight, thinking Jack is about to play with him. "That was easy. Next?"
"Har," I say, and elbow him in the stomach. "A Monopoly dog," I reach inside some of the little holes where the dandelion plants used to grow. Not in there.
Jack shoves his hands into his pockets. He pulls out a fist and puts it right in front of my nose, then opens his fingers slowly. There, in the middle of his palm, is the little silver Monopoly dog.
"I didn't know you were looking for it," he says. "I found it last night."
I think about that. He saw it. He picked it up. He took it home. This morning, it found its way into his pocket again. He didn't pick up the hat or the shoe, just the dog. You'd have to classify that as a Jack Hadley Gesture.
He takes my hand in his and puts the dog right in the center of my palm. He folds my fingers gently around it, then even more gently wraps his fingers around mine.
It is not easy to be brave. It takes courage to act. Jack is holding my hand and looking right into my eyes. I free my hand and place the dog back in his. He sort of nods, and while his chin is down, close to me, I call on some courage buried deep within and lean forward, brave as I'll ever be. Of course, my lips end up grazing his cheek, and I'm thinking that we have to find a way past this cheek thing. In that same instant, he turns his head, his lips seeking mine. Hoooo boy, do they find them.
Rig tries to walk between us. I feel him pushing through our legs, beating his thump thump thump tail against my leg. I soon forget, as I am wholly focused on a slightly more interesting activity.
***
Miracles are occurring.
All the twins want to do, all day long, is ride their bikes. They listen when I tell them it's time for lunch. They do not fight. They do not whine. They ride their bikes and eat their lunch and that is all.
But the bigger news, the truer miracle, is the fact of what my lips and Jack's lips did this morning. Though it didn't last long, I think about it so much I can almost feel that kiss again. I can't wait for the next lip-miracle.
After work, we drive past the hideous remains of Dad's cartons for the hundredth time. Before we even pull into the driveway, I have a plan. "Wait here," I tell him. Dad listens. (Miracles!) I run into the garage and return to Jack with an armful of big black trash bags.
"What a thoughtful gift," he says. And then kisses me.
Kisses me!
Is this my life now? Every time I appear I get kissed by Jack?
I like.
Together, we start packing up all the trash into bags.
Dad sticks his head out the back door. "What are you doing?"
"Let's take all this to the dump," I say, looking around at the Monopoly remnants, at Dad's papers, the soggy cardboard boxes that contain his old life. And parts of mine too. "I don't think a bulk trash truck's ever going to show up."
He nods. "Throw the bags in my trunk and we'll go. You coming, Jack?"
I'm so sure Jac
k wants to spend his time sandwiched in the front of my dad's trunk with a huge haul of trash in the back.
Jack takes my hand and squeezes it. "Wouldn't miss it," he says.
***
I've never been to a garbage dump, but I like to picture it as a vast and surprisingly unsmelly place that spreads out with infinite horizons. (What? Dumps can be unsmelly in fantasies.)
A place where you stand in the back of your truck and get rid of your past, the broken parts of your past, anyway. The parts you no longer need. You throw it all away, two-handed, box after box. Just hurl it off the back of the truck. One thing, another, more! Goodbye!
Watch it all rain down on the not-at-all-smelly dump.
Just leave it there. Drive away.
Maybe it's the one place in this world where when you make the hard decision to get rid of something, it doesn't keep showing up. On its pink and yellow bike, just for example.
It doesn't hurt if there's a guy with light blue eyes in that truck, waiting to sit right next to you. To take your hand and rub his fingers softly over yours. To sometimes bring your hand to his mouth for a sweet and gentle kiss.
(For the record: that part is not a fantasy. It is amazingly, fantastically real.)
THE END
Acknowledgments
My mother, Judy Glassman, must be singled out. She was a wise, kind, and funny book-loving woman. I miss her every day.
Love and thanks to Jules and Barbara Glassman: staunch supporters, proud readers, and, I suspect, secret book salesmen. My sisters, Beth Arnold and Ellen Gidaro, are my foundation. For two so wee, they are crazy strong.
Mega thanks to Olugbemisola Amusashonubi-Perkovich, whose friendship is one of the great gifts of my adult life; Kim Marcus, my first-novel writing friend, who has a great eye and a great heart; Dorothy Crane, whose friendship and unwavering affinity for this book have always touched my heart.
Enormous gratitude to those who unwittingly inspired me: Laura Ruby, who has no idea that she taught me how to write a novel; Jeff Melnick, for a conversation about why writing matters even before the first sale; Patti Gauch, an extraordinary teacher, editor, and cheerleader, for making me really want to write a novel; and Esmeralda Santiago, Amy Hill Hearth, and David Wroblewski, real writers who treated me like I was one too.
Water Balloon Page 18