“First go take your vitamins. They are in your bag upstairs. Grab a bottle of water from the fridge where Mrs. Avery showed you.”
Lynn heaved out a heavy sigh. “All right. I knew that was coming.” She slunk out of the room defeated.
“She’ll only be gone a minute, and I really can’t talk about this in front of her,” Scott said.
“I just don’t understand, Scott. What happened? Why didn’t you talk to me?”
“My father made it pretty clear you didn’t want to talk to me. He made it sound like you thought I was a deranged drug addict.”
“A drug addict? I didn’t know anything about that. I sent you all of those emails. I called.”
“Emails? That was my address at the firm. I wasn’t allowed to forward anything. I couldn’t afford the phone, so I had it turned off.”
They heard Lynn start down the top of the stairs.
“Can we talk about this later?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.
“You keep saying later. Just tell me this. What changed? Why are you back now?”
“She needed a family,” he said. “If it’s what she needs, I can forgive them. For our sake, I’d ask you to do the same. Or at least pretend this weekend.”
She studied his face. He looked older and probably a little tired. But she saw the face of the person she always believed to be her other half. He balanced out every ounce of her seriousness with unadulterated enthusiasm. For all of his wild schemes, she held the set of detailed plans to make them happen. A pair. A team. At least they once were. She knew in her heart she could never deny Scott.
“Vitamins all taken,” Lynn announced. “Now for the challenge. Randa Panda, you go first. How many can you fit into your mouth without swallowing? Daddy will count since he made you do it last time.”
“Me?”
“Yes, taking turns is fair.”
“That’s right, taking turns is fair. Do they teach you that at school?”
“Yes. We have to take turns at each of the stations, and we take turns with the different teachers. But I don’t get a turn in Daddy’s class because he is mine.”
“Daddy’s class?”
“Yup. Third grade!”
“I’m a Montessori teacher now,” Scott said.
“Yes, everyone loves him. Even my teacher, Mrs. Jean! But she’s a Mrs. and not a student so she can’t love him like everyone else. He even coaches the soccer team. I’m the manager.”
“Manager, that’s an important job.”
“I make sure everyone shows up on time and has the right equipment and eats a healthy snack. We aren’t allowed to have chips or cookies.”
“Lynn, don’t talk Miranda’s ear off—are we going to do this dare or what?”
“She’s not talking my ear off; I like hearing what she has to say. I’d love to know more about your life now. Clearly, I’ve missed a lot.”
“I’d love to know more about your life, too,” Scott said. He lifted his eyes to meet hers.
One glance took her breath away. “Sure,” Miranda finally said. “Where are those marshmallows?”
C H A P T E R
LATER THAT NIGHT AFTER A DINNER of takeout Chinese food, Miranda slipped upstairs to her room, leaving everyone to retire to Stanton’s den to watch another nature video. She wanted to get a few more poems posted before Thanksgiving. Responsibility to her followers tugged at her. She liked the idea of making someone smile while they basted the turkey or sat through an uncomfortable meal with a tipsy aunt. Even with the door shut, she heard Avery’s pretend complaint that, “Oh, animals are gross.” And the whispers of Lynn’s insistency that, “No, they are not.”
Something about Lynn being there made the whole holiday seem better, more like a holiday should be. Something about her easy laugh and endless excitement reminded Miranda of her mom and how they had celebrated holidays before everything ended.
Miranda pulled out her Scrabble board from home. She dumped the tiles out on her bed and swirled them around. She made random words and tried stringing them together. But nothing made sense. Nothing gelled. They just sat there looking back up at her. On a good night of “writing,” she could fill the board connecting thought after thought in a Scrabble free verse. Today nothing. She leaned back into the plush pillows and closed her eyes. She must have drifted to sleep because when her eyes fluttered awake, Scott was peeking his head into her room.
“Miranda?” he asked.
At first, she couldn’t answer. The whole day slipped from her mind during her rest. Then she remembered. Him. Here. Lynn. “Hey,” she said. “What time is it?”
“Ten thirty. I just wanted to know if you were up for an adventure.”
“An adventure?” She still wasn’t fully awake.
“Wear warm clothes,” he said. He ducked back out of her room.
Downstairs, she found Lynn in her puffy pink parka clutching a long stainless steel thermos.
“Cocoa,” she said holding it up. “Daddy says we’re going to take the train. Mr. Stanton gave us his pass.”
“The train?” Miranda asked.
Scott came up behind her. “We’re going to Central Park.”
“To see the balloons,” Lynn squealed.
“Have fun,” Avery called from the foyer balcony. She had finally switched from her lawyer uniform to a purple terry cloth robe.
“We will?” Miranda asked.
“Yes, we will,” Scott said. He put his hands on her shoulders, giving them a squeeze before spinning her around toward the door.
The walk from the train station was crisp to say the least. Something about the wind whipping through the tall buildings and the concrete losing all the day’s trapped heat quickly at dusk made walking in Manhattan like walking in a refrigerator. Lynn huddled between them as they walked. Her thick coat and warm boots gave her a wobbly bop; she alternated between bouncing into Scott and bouncing into Miranda.
“You sure you don’t want to take a cab?” Scott asked her.
“I’m sure. Then we wouldn’t see the diamonds,” Lynn said.
“Tiffany’s?” Miranda asked. “You’re a little young for that aren’t you? Though you are Bunny’s granddaughter.”
“Not like Grandma Bunny’s diamonds! The diamonds on the sidewalk. Look!”
Sure enough, the concrete in front of them sparkled. Four or five runs of sidewalk shimmered with mica flecks, then it went to plain for a block or two, then more that sparkled.
“I want to know what makes them different,” Miranda said to Scott, pointing at the abrupt change from sparkle to non-sparkle on the sidewalk in front of them.
“But knowing the difference would ruin it,” Scott said.
“You’d rather think it was magic?”
“I like the idea of magic. Don’t you?” he asked.
“I don’t take much stock in that,” Miranda said.
“Daddy, look!” Lynn said.
And there in front of them was a huge elephant balloon with a circus ball balancing on his trunk. The ball wasn’t all the way inflated yet; it wobbled a little and the sides of the elephant shuddered some as the helium pumped in. But an elephant as tall as a house at Central Park was a sight to behold no matter the size or amount of helium left to go. The crowd around them seemed to holding their breath in anticipation as the ball slowly rose.
“See,” Miranda said, “to people watching on television that’s magic. But it’s not magic. It’s a year of planning and then people working all night on the day before a family holiday to pull it off.”
“But it’s magic to her,” Scott said.
Lynn strained at the barricade, craning her neck to see down the street and the rest of the balloons staged there.
“Sure, it’s magic to her. She’s a kid. Kids have to believe in magic. When you really grow up, it’s different.”
“I guess I’m not really grown up then,” Scott said. “And maybe I don’t want to be.”
“So you haven’t changed?”
she asked.
“Whoa, that’s a little unfair. But maybe I haven’t, not on the inside. You haven’t either, Randa. We’re still like yin and yang, don’t you think?”
She did think so, but she didn’t want to admit that, at least not out loud. At least not yet.
They rounded the corner, and there was Kermit the Frog, face forward with a huge fisherman’s net weighing him down. The air inside the balloon shifted, and it looked like Kermit was breathing. For a second, Miranda imagined him lifting up his head and saying, “Hi ho, Kermit the Frog here.”
“Wow,” Lynn said. “Look at Kermit. He’s bigger than a bus. Two buses!” Lynn rushed forward to the barricade and the mass of people congregated there. “Look they have to hold him down. It’s just like trying to keep your balloon at the carnival. Only, bigger. A lot bigger.” Lynn bounced up and down and clapped.
Miranda couldn’t help herself; she clapped, too.
“Turn around, you two,” Scott called. He held up his phone and snapped a picture of them clapping in front of Kermit.
They moved up the row. Hello Kitty, only partially inflated, incited a sort of polka from Lynn. She galloped around Miranda and Scott spouting facts about Hello Kitty and her twin sister, Mimmy.
“I didn’t even know Hello Kitty had a sister,” Miranda whispered to Scott as they moved up the row to Sonic the Hedgehog.
“You learn lots of things when you have a kid,” he said.
“About Hello Kitty?”
“Yes, and other important stuff. Like this.” He gestured to the space between them. “I’m glad you came tonight.”
“I’m not allowed to play that,” Lynn said pointing one mitten-covered hand at Sonic. She didn’t dance, but instead turned her nose up at Sonic and kept going.
“Who is that?” she asked, pointing to the Pink Panther.
Scott started to hum the theme song and slink up the sidewalk, looking side to side like a detective on the watch.
Lynn watched; her brow furrowed as she looked from her Dad to the balloon.
“He’s a detective,” Miranda said.
“A pink cat detective?” Lynn asked.
“Yup, it’s hard to explain. You have to see it. Maybe we can watch it together one day. As you can tell, it’s one of your dad’s favorites.”
“Really?” Lynn asked. “I’d like that.”
Lynn’s pace slowed, and the crowd surrounding the balloons started to thin out. Almost all the balloons were inflated. The workers even started to break down some of the barricades and head home for a few hours of sleep before the big day.
“Tell me a story about my dad,” Lynn said, snuggling next to Miranda on the train home. Scott sat across from them, holding his head in his hands, faking concern.
“You don’t want to hear any of her stories,” he said.
“But, Daddy, you said she tells the best stories. You said she was a writer. A real writer, exact quote!”
“She does tell the best stories, but not about me.”
“Really? Not about you?” Miranda asked. “Let me find a good one.”
“I knew you would do it, Randa. You’re my best friend.”
“Best friend? I like that. Shake on it.” Miranda extended a gloved hand.
Lynn shook off her mitten. “No glove,” she said. “We have to do this for real.”
“Okay, for real,” Miranda said, removing her glove and accepting the shake. But it wasn’t any ordinary handshake; Miranda remembered it clearly. Lynn first moved Miranda’s hand up and down, then curled her fingers into a fist. They tapped their fists together, first Lynn’s on top, then Miranda’s on top. Then they flipped their hands and touched the backs of their hands together before wiggling their fingers over their heads.
“That’s a story I could tell you about your Dad. I could tell you where that handshake came from.”
“I remember that,” Scott said. “We were just kids.”
“I was eight,” Miranda said. “I had just gotten back from that disastrous summer camp with the horses.”
“Horses,” Lynn chimed in. “I love horses.”
“I love horses, too,” Miranda said, “But I don’t love jumping over things while on a horse.”
“They made you do that?”
“Yup, until I fell off and broke my arm.”
“Wowzer,” Lynn said. “That smarts.”
“Smarts indeed. And it meant I couldn’t go swimming that summer when we went to the beach. But your dad, even though he loves swimming, he stayed with me on the deck the entire trip. We made a fort to keep out of the sun and everything. Your dad named it Randa’s Cove. We demanded Oreo cookies and portage to the ice cream store for passage to the other side of the deck and the propane grill.”
“Like a pirate’s fort?”
“Exactly, but we needed a secret handshake to protect it. You can’t let just anyone into your fort, you know.”
Lynn’s head started to lean more heavily against Miranda’s shoulder. She nodded a little. “Uh huh,” she mumbled.
“So we worked out the handshake. It didn’t use to have the wiggling fingers at the end though; we added that when your Grandpa Linden started to figure it out.”
Lynn’s eyes closed, and her breathing shifted to the slow rhythm of sleep. Miranda looked up to see Scott smiling at them.
“How did you wind up with this magical kid?” Miranda asked. “Eventually, you are going to have to tell me.”
“Shhh,” Scott said. “We don’t want to wake her. It’s late.” He reached across and squeezed her knee. “Thank you for tonight,” he said, before leaning his head against the window and closing his eyes.
Miranda steadied herself; she didn’t want to move and break the spell.
At the house, Scott carried Lynn out of the car. He waved to Miranda at the top of the landing and disappeared into the guest room furthest from hers. She watched the door close softly. With no other sounds in the house, it was easy to pretend this night didn’t just happen. Maybe it was better, safer even, to believe that there was no magic in the world, nothing exceptional, nothing worth noting year to year.
The Scrabble board remained out on her bed. She pulled out some tiles and spelled out magic. Magic, cannot, hold.
C H A P T E R
IN THE MORNING, Lynn knocked twice, then leapt across the hardwood floor, to the Persian rug, and landed in the middle of Miranda’s comforter.
“Best friend,” she whispered, “it’s time.”
Miranda glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Too early, much too early. “Time?” she asked.
“The parade. We must see our new friends from last night. Please come.”
“Lynn,” Scott called out, trying to whisper, but failing. “Lynn,” he said again, this time a hiss.
Lynn burrowed under Miranda’s duvet, signaled a shush with one slender finger over her beautifully pink lips. Miranda sat up, grabbed her phone, and stared at it, pretending to be keying a vital, supremely urgent text. Scott poked his head in. Without knocking.
“Randa,” he said.
“Umm,” she said. She held up the universal symbol for one minute. Luckily, pillows filled the bed. Lynn could hide, and if no one saw her arrival they wouldn’t know. If she stayed as still as a pillow, that is.
“Oh,” he said. “Sorry.” And he pulled his head back out of the room.
Miranda and Lynn both took a deep breath. They let it out with a flurry of giggles.
Scott quickly poked his head back in. “I knew it,” he said. “The parade starts in ten. I’m making French toast, not that you sneaks deserve any.”
“I’ll help,” Lynn said. “I’ll cut the shapes.” She climbed out of bed and marched toward him.
“Take your vitamins,” Scott called out. “
“No,” Lynn said.
“Take them or no parade.”
“No,” she said again.
“Scott, it’s a holiday. Relax,” Miranda said.
“Randa. Don�
��t. Lynn, vitamins now.”
Miranda heard her heavy footsteps across the hall.
“Wow. You’re tough.”
“Not now, Miranda.”
“No really, an ogre routine before nine in the morning? She was just waking me up for the parade. I didn’t mind. You don’t have to be so mad at her.”
“I’m not. Just drop it, okay? I’m not mad at her. She just needs to take her vitamins.”
“Vitamins? Really?”
“Yeah, okay, can you drop it? It’s none of your business.” Then he turned his back to her and shut the door to her bedroom. The hollow thud filled the room. Something caught in her throat.
When Miranda finally got downstairs, the marching bands were in full swing. Lynn sat in the middle of the den, staring up at the screen, her plate of French toast untouched in front of her.
“Eat, sugar. It will help,” Scott said.
“It never helps,” she said.
Scott put his arm around Lynn, who started to cry.
Miranda stepped back from the den, afraid to interrupt.When Bunny Cramer arrived, the whole town knew it. Maybe all of Connecticut knew it. Perhaps the earth tremors with the anticipation of her every word just as Bunny Cramer believed it should. Today, she appeared in the foyer, an old-school fox stole draped around her shoulders and her outfit a splendor of russet wools and earthy plaids like something from a British hunting catalogue. “Darlings,” she called out. “I am Thanksgiving, and I am here.”
To Miranda, Bunny would have made an excellent drag queen. Her impeccable taste, over-the-top attitude, and ability to captivate a room made her a star of whatever constellation she orbited. She and Louise joined sides at a girlhood summer camp and never once let anything get in the way of their lifelong friendship. Despite her fancy clothes and big personality, Bunny held Louise’s hand through vomiting after chemo, helped her shave her head, and tried to teach Miranda that the world still had light even though Louise had left it. For this, Miranda would always love Bunny Cramer, even though at the moment she would like to scream at her. And Linden. And her father. Still, she got up and went out to the foyer.
Lynn apparently had the same idea. “Grandma Bunny,” she squealed.
Triple Love Score Page 4