“Of course,” she said, a little too loud and cheerleadery. “I mean … you know. Everyone kind of knows everyone in this town.”
“Right. Well, I guess no one knows me yet. But those guys were cool to invite me along.” He glanced at the expensive-looking silver-toned watch on his wrist. “Sure hope they show up,” he added with a low laugh. “We’re supposed to grab some food and then go bowling.”
Daphne’s eyes popped wide. “Oh, my gosh! I love bowling!” It was another sign. It had to be. “I go all the time with … with people.”
“I’m really not that good. But, hey. It’s fun.”
“I could teach you.”
Luke smiled. “Oh yeah?”
“Sure.”
A familiar figure walked past the window. Only Walt Lively made that lurching movement, as if his upper body were dragging his lower half along. Daphne had grown familiar with it during three months of intense scrutiny when they’d kinda-sorta dated—or, more precisely, accompanied each other to three baseball games that had ended in three similar arguments when she wouldn’t let him feel her up. But that was last school year, and now she couldn’t even remember why she’d liked him in the first place. He was all-right-looking. Tall and rangy. Freckled. Close-set eyes and thick brows that stood straight up and blended into his bangs. Boring-cute. Could even be more attractive if he smiled now and then and didn’t spit on the ground every few seconds.
She didn’t dislike him now; she just didn’t feel much of anything—except annoyance that he’d shown up just as the conversation was getting good.
The door chimes jangled and Walt shuffled toward them, wad of snuff making his left cheek bulge, cowboy boots scuffing the flecked vinyl floor.
“Hey,” he said, nodding at them. “Carothers is going to be late. He wants to meet us at the alley. We can just buy hot dogs there.”
“Oh. Okay. That’s cool.” Luke grabbed his drink and slid out of the booth.
“So …,” Daphne said suddenly, not wanting him to leave until she’d made some sort of progress. “Maybe you should give me your cell number and we could bowl a game sometime? I’ll give you those pointers.”
“Sure, yeah.” He patted his pockets as if looking for a pen.
“Here.” Daphne pulled her cell phone out of the back pocket of her jeans, clicked on New Contact, and handed it to him. “Just enter it and hit Save.”
As he punched in his number, Daphne rocked on her sneakers and tried to ignore Walt’s smirking face.
“There you go,” Luke said finally, giving her back her phone.
“Great,” she said. “I’ll text you and we’ll go bowl or something.”
“Yeah. Or something. I don’t really know what else there is to do around here. Maybe … go for a walk? Take in the air?”
Walt snickered.
“We could take in some Jane Eyre.” Daphne was so pleased with herself for coming up with that. Normally it was Gabby who said the clever stuff. Or Daphne would think of something hours after a conversation had ended. But this was brilliant. A perfectly timed reminder of their shared love of Brontë.
Only Luke didn’t say anything. He didn’t even react. She was probably so breathless from being near him that she hadn’t said it loud enough. Dang!
“Well … see you later,” Luke said, touching the small of her back as he went by. He shot her one of his adorable, head-ducking grins and then headed for the door, Walt ambling along beside him.
Daphne remained in place. The six square inches where his hand had pressed against her felt different from the rest of her skin. Like a burn or a swelling—but in a good way. Sure, he’d only been squeezing past her, but the contact had seemed significant.
“Man, you don’t waste time, do you?” she heard Walt mutter as he and Luke loped off.
Luke said something in reply, but Daphne was too far away to hear it. She watched as he paused at the exit to drop his Styrofoam cup into the nearby trash can (yet another sign of his gentlemanliness) and stepped outside, disappearing with Walt among the trucks and cars of the parking lot.
Walking back to the table, Daphne could see Gabby and her dad blatantly not watching her. Instead, they sat hunched over their fries as if in prayer and didn’t look up until she reached her seat. Were they trying to give her privacy, or were they embarrassed by her? Most likely one of each.
But not even her awkward family life could ruin this moment. This knowing. This stirred-up feeling. As if her inner organs were frolicking about inside her. Stomach leaping over lungs. Pancreas strumming her intestines. Heart twirling round and round. How could she ignore it? How could she pretend her future hadn’t just plunked down in front of her?
I’ll see you later, he’d said, patting her back—practically embracing her. He, Luke, would see her, Daphne, later. As in soon. As in he was looking forward to it.
Her life was finally in motion.
“Oh, give me a break,” Gabby muttered.
“What?” Daphne said, annoyed that the remark had pulled her out of her reverie. “You were the one who told me to say hi.”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t have if I’d known it would make you even moonier. We can’t sit here all day, you know.”
“Gabriella. Let your sister have fun,” their dad cut in, his voice softly chiding. “She’s young. She’s doing what she should be doing.”
“Yeah,” Daphne said.
Gabby’s eyebrows scrunched together. “What’s that supposed to mean? That I’m not doing what I should? That if I don’t throw myself at every pimply guy in town, then there’s something wrong with me?”
“Luke is not pimply.”
“I’m just saying she should have fun and you should have fun. No matter what you think that is,” Mr. Rivera replied. “Daphne likes people. And you like … other things.”
“She sure doesn’t like people,” Daphne muttered.
Gabby threw her napkin onto the table and pushed back her chair with a loud screeching sound.
“Mija, relax. We’re having a nice lunch.”
“I’ll be outside waiting. I need some air.”
“Or some Jane Eyre,” Daphne said, smiling secretly to herself.
Gabby looked at her as if she saw spareribs sticking out of Daphne’s nostrils. A second later she was charging out the restaurant’s glass door into the sunny glare beyond.
Her father sighed and gently set his own napkin on the table. “I wish Gabriella weren’t so angry.”
Daphne tried to appear sympathetic; she was still feeling floaty after her talk with Luke, and it was tough to not smile But even though she would try to look serious on the outside—for her dad’s sake—she refused to let Crabby Gabby ruin her good mood.
“She’s just full of herself,” she replied, picking up a piece of corn bread. “Gabby’s mad at the whole world.”
Mr. Rivera shook his head. “No. I think she’s mad at just me.” His eyes looked sad as he stared out toward the parking lot. But just as Daphne was starting to feel worried, he smiled at her. “But you’re my happy girl, right? ¿Mi pájarita? I hope you always stay that way.”
“Don’t worry, Daddy,” Daphne said, remembering Luke’s sea-green eyes. “I’m going to.”
“I hate barbecue,” Gabby muttered. She licked a Kleenex and swiped at a drop of sauce on her shorts, but all she managed to do was spread the stain. Stupid caveman food. Dead animals smothered in messy sauce.
“Well, I love it.” Daphne grinned at her from the front passenger seat—a smug “so there” kind of smile. Gabby was thrilled to see a small string of beef wedged between her sister’s two front teeth.
Good. Hopefully it had been there when she was talking to that nervous-looking guy she was so hung up on.
“We can go there again next time, if you want, Daddy,” Daphne said, turning toward their father with big brown bunny eyes.
Gabby thought she should probably hate the way her sister always curried favor with their father, but it was just so p
athetic. Then again, it always seemed to work.
“If you want, mijita,” Dad said.
Her dad had been outrageously nice to Gabby since she’d rejoined them in the parking lot. He’d tried his usual stuff—cracking lame jokes and giving her compliments on her good grades—but none of it worked. She was just too old and experienced to fall for his I’m-such-a-great-guy act.
It had been made clear at lunch that he thought she was a freak, which was so unfair. Just because she wasn’t some perky, squealy thing like Daphne, he was somehow disappointed in her. Gabby had always assumed this was the case, but now he’d practically admitted it. So no way was she letting him off the hook.
What made it worse was that the whole world judged her the same way. “Your sister is so sweet.” “Your dad is so much fun.” Meaning they were shocked, since Gabby possessed neither of those traits.
Gabby used to think her dad was nice and fun and heroic, too. Then she wised up—or simply grew up. Anytime she or Daphne asked why their parents’ marriage had ended, they always got the same answer: “It’s complicated,” followed by standard consolations that it had nothing to do with them. But it was just so obvious it had been their dad’s fault. All the bickering about money. His refusal to work longer hours or search for a better job. The way he always wanted to bowl or play poker with his sleazebag friends. She had been able to tell things were strained between her parents, despite the fact that they had tried to shield her and Daphne, fighting mostly after the sisters had gone to bed. By day they had persisted in the world’s worst charade of a functional married couple.
One evening when she’d been ambushed by memories of Sonny and couldn’t sleep, Gabby had gotten up to get a drink of water and overheard them talking in the living room. “… can’t take much more,” her mom was saying. “Even the girls have noticed something’s wrong. We have a problem, Ernesto. What is it?”
Gabby knew she couldn’t venture out there and interrupt them, but she couldn’t go back to bed, either, not after what she’d heard. So she leaned into the shadows and listened for her father’s reply. “I just … I don’t think I love you anymore,” came her dad’s hushed voice. “I’m sorry.” Her mom had uttered something, but Gabby couldn’t make it out. Then her dad said, “No! There’s no one else. I’m just not happy. You aren’t, either. How can the girls be happy if we aren’t? We tried, but it’s over, Lizzie. We have to face the truth.”
Three days later her dad had loaded up his car and headed for San Antonio, leaving them behind like a half-finished game of Monopoly.
“Nice.” “Sweet.” “Pleasant.” Fun.” They were all nonsense words as far as Gabby was concerned. Just because someone talked a good talk, it didn’t mean they were a better person than their quieter neighbor. Just because they could crack a few jokes didn’t mean they should be voted president. And even if someone was likeable, it certainly didn’t mean they’d make a great husband or parent.
There were much better traits than friendliness and good humor. Like loyalty, for instance. The ability to stick around.
“What are we going to do with all this leftover food, huh?” her dad asked, glancing from Daphne to Gabby’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “Think your mom is hungry?”
Gabby clenched her teeth. He was probably trying to come off as noble. Can’t pay his ex-wife his child support on time, but no matter. Here are some free ribs! “She won’t be interested,” she replied, staring back at his eyes in the mirror. “She’s trying to cut down on red meat.” She didn’t tell him this was mainly because beef was expensive, not because of any health reasons. Her mom wouldn’t want his uneaten lunch anyway.
“What about you, mija?” He gently tugged a lock of Daphne’s hair, the way he used to tug on her pigtails. “You still hungry?”
“No,” Daphne said in a sullen voice. “You take it.” She slumped against the doorframe and stared out the window, chomping down on her right index fingernail.
Here we go, Gabby grumbled inwardly. It happened after every visit, during their drive back home. As soon as Dad turned off the smooth pavement of the town’s main avenues onto the scarred, neglected asphalt of the residential roads, Daphne would start pouting. And it only got worse after that. She’d be tearstained and sniffly as he said goodbye, and as soon as the Honda disappeared into the distance, she’d be on her bed wailing.
“Well, okay then. I guess I’ll take it.” Her dad patted the Styrofoam box wedged between him and Daphne. “Hate to see good food go to waste.”
Soon they were pulling into the driveway. Thank god it was over! Almost two hours of her weekend wasted on Dad’s small talk, Daffy’s histrionics, and high-calorie, colon-busting food. Maybe Mule would be up for a walking vent session. That way she’d be out of the house for most of Daffy’s bawlfest.
The second Dad threw the car into park, Gabby was out the door. “Okay, bye,” she said, and bounded onto the porch before he could ask for a hug or look at her in that droopy, disappointed way, as if to show how much she was making him suffer. She knew he wouldn’t follow her. He rarely stepped inside at drop-off time—probably too much like returning to the scene of a crime. Meanwhile, she could hear Daphne behind her, whimpering and pleading for Dad to stay longer. The usual drama.
As Gabby reached for the door handle, she was surprised to see it turn before her eyes. A second later Mom was standing on the threshold, frowning.
“We’ve got a problem,” she said to Gabby.
One, two, three … Gabby counted the worry lines on her mother’s forehead. Three? This must be something serious. “What’s wrong?” she asked, following her into the living room.
“I just heard—” Her mom paused as Daphne came trudging up the steps behind Gabby, whining the whole way.
“I don’t see why he can’t stay a couple more hours,” she bawled at them. “Why can’t he just come in for a while? Why do we have to treat him like some stranger and—”
“Shut up!” Gabby snapped. Daphne flashed her a hurt expression. “Something’s happened and Mom’s trying to explain.”
Her mom glanced at each of their faces, as if she couldn’t decide who to focus on. Gabby forced the worry out of her expression and sure enough, her mother’s gaze landed on her. “I don’t want anyone to panic,” Mrs. Rivera began, “but I just found out we have to move.”
“What?” Gabby exclaimed.
Daphne let out a gasp. “Why? What did we do?”
“Nothing. Our lease is up, and apparently Mr. Tibbets is raising the rent. A lot. He’s very apologetic about it. For years he’s kept it the same rate. But he has to keep up with expenses and taxes, and there’s no way we can pay the new amount. So … we go.”
“Go? Go where?” Daffy asked, her whine now at a higher pitch.
“I don’t know. But we have less than two weeks to find a place.” Her eyes sagged guiltily. “He sent a letter with our last bill, but I only opened it now. It was stupid of me. I’ve just been so busy … I should have been more on top of things.…”
“It’s not your fault.” Gabby threw a protective arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Dad just needs to get us the support money. Then we can pay the rent.”
Mrs. Rivera shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. Even with your father’s support we can’t afford the new rate. We have to leave.”
Gabby studied her mom. Her face looked pale and worn, hastily assembled, slack with sadness in some places, stretched with tension in others. It was further proof that her mother had suffered more from the divorce than her dad.
Gabby could hear the Honda’s grumbly motor fading into the distance. She’d been so relieved that the visit was over, but now she was suddenly angry that her dad wasn’t there with them, helping them face all this. Go ahead. Run away, she thought. That’s your answer to everything.
“It’s not fair!” Daphne said. Her bottom lip quivered and tears streamed down her cheeks. “If Dad moved in, I bet we could afford it. We wouldn’t have to
leave if he came back.”
“That is not an option,” Mrs. Rivera said.
“But why?” Daphne wailed.
Mrs. Rivera shut her eyes and sighed heavily. “Sweetie, we have a pressing issue we need to deal with. Please don’t turn this into something else entirely.”
“But—”
“Be quiet!” Gabby snapped at her sister. “This is about us, not Dad.”
Daphne made a face and crossed her arms over her chest, but at least she went silent.
“It’ll be okay, Mom,” Gabby said. “We’ll start looking for someplace right now.”
“Thanks, honey,” her mom said, embracing her. “I appreciate your help.”
Over her mother’s shoulder, Gabby could see Daphne hurrying down the hall toward their room.
“Hey! Where are you going? We have a problem here!”
Daphne spun around. Strands of her hair clung to her wet face. “What am I supposed to do?” she wailed.
Gabby thought for a moment. “Fine. Go,” she said. “You’re useless anyway.”
As always, it was up to her.
An hour and a half later Gabby found Daphne squatting inside their closet, still crying.
“God, not this again,” she said.
Daphne didn’t reply. A stack of photo scrapbooks sat in front of her. The one on top was open to shots of the two of them playing outside the time it had snowed in Barton. When was that? Gabby couldn’t remember exactly. Probably eight years ago. That was when they’d lived on Tonkawa Lane, when Dad had had that awful mustache. And Mom had looked so much … softer.
Gabby pulled her eyes off of the image, focusing instead on the part in Daphne’s hair, which ended in a tiny cowlick in the back. Daphne hated it since it always went in the exact opposite direction she wanted it to go, and no gels or sprays or styling utensils could make it behave. But Gabby had always liked that rebellious little lock. Daphne had had it since she was a toddler, and Gabby used to twirl it in her fingers when they snuggled up together. Maybe all those years of her fiddling with it had made it so mutinous.
“So we came up with a plan,” Gabby said, resisting the urge to toy with the cowlick. “Mom and I will find us a new place. You’ll get a job and contribute a small amount with each paycheck. Plus, Mom and I are going to ask for more money at our work. If Mom gets her hours extended, you’ll have to help out more around the house. All right?”
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