by Anne Pfeffer
“And Nat?”
“Oh, he comes to visit. I been making him wheat grass juice with my new machine.”
“Wheat grass juice?” I twist up my face.
“You, too, mister,” she says, pointing at me. “I might even put it in Mikey’s bottle. When he’s older. Make him grow up strong!”
“Chrissie, you are a force.”
“You should meet my momma,” she replies. “Speakin’ o’ which, you will meet my momma!”
Darnell Fellars is arriving in six weeks. She’s leaving her job at the Mayfairs and moving to California to help Chrissie with the baby after she goes back to work.
“She’ll live in the guest house with me, in my second bedroom!”
“Whoa!” I look down. Mikey’s diaper is expanding underneath my hand, like a balloon filling with water. “What do I do?” I stick him out at arm’s length, where he dangles in my hands, his feet kicking the air.
“Whoops!” Chrissie says. “I’ll take him.” She lays Mikey on a blanket on the sofa and starts to take off his diaper. “Yancy wanted to use some fancy agency to find a trained nanny. She said my baby needed ‘stimulation.’ No, thank you, ma’am!” Chrissie practically snorts as she says it.
“What does she think of your mom coming?” I look out the window, having decided I don’t need to see what’s inside the diaper.
“Nat knows. He’ll tell Yancy when the time is right.”
“There!” She picks Mikey up. “All done!”
Her new agent has a few auditions lined up for her. With help from her family and from Nat and Yancy, Chrissie’s taking the summer off, shooting her Roxanne scenes in September, and going back to the tennis club after that.
“Unless I’m a star by then!”
She walks me to my car. “Ryan, would you do something for me?”
“Sure,” I say, not even asking first what it is. This baby forms a bond between me and Chrissie that’s like family. It’s just there and will never go away.
“Would you be Mikey’s godfather? My friend Raylene’s going to be godmother. But the only guy I’ve ever met who’s good enough to be my child’s godfather is you.”
I feel that stinging behind my eyes that I get in mushy situations. “Really? Thanks. Sure, I’d like that.” I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do as a godfather, but I guess I’ll figure it out.
I hug her good-bye. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She’s bringing Mikey over to our house to meet my family.
“Thank you for everything,” Chrissie says in my ear. “As my Momma would say, you are the sunshine in my garden.”
Chapter 55
I try to focus my eyes on the paper in front of me. I’m on the last problem of my last exam of the year—physics. The problem’s about the universal wave equation, something really important to my daily life and personal happiness.
Not.
I scribble down everything I can think of and turn my paper in, hoping all the work I did this year will make up for my total failure to study for exams after Emily and I broke up. It really bites to think I might lose out on the Senior Honors Program because I choked at the last minute.
Calvin is already off to the golf course, having finished five minutes early. Jonathan and I walk out of the classroom together.
“Emily leaves for England on Wednesday,” I say.
“What’s happening with you two?”
“We’re taking— a break.”
“You mean, for the summer?”
“Longer than that.” It hurts too much to say more.
Jonathan has to be suffering, too. His girl Samantha blew him off for a guy on the soccer team. “Samantha’s gonna be sorry,” I tell him. “She’ll see she made a big mistake.”
“Nah, it’s cool,” Jonathan says. “It was bound to happen eventually.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Me and her, we had fun, but we weren’t that tight, you know? Not like you and Emily.”
His words hit me as if he’d punched me right in the gut.
He’s already changing the subject. “You thought about where you’re applying next year?”
“I think USC and UCLA. They both have great tennis teams.” And, continues a tiny voice in the back of my head, one that I’ve just barely started listening to, they have great film schools, too.
“What about you?” I ask Jonathan.
“I want Cal Tech.”
“Awesome.”
We make plans to go to Surfrider Beach together, while in my head I keep hearing the words over and over again that Jonathan said.
We weren’t that tight. Not like you and Emily.
• • •
Emily’s last evening in LA, I pull up in front of her house and get out to stand by my car. I’ve already told her I’m just stopping by for a few minutes. “To say good-bye. I’m not even coming in.”
All day, I’ve been thinking about her and me.
She walks out to meet me. Neither of us speaks. I put my arms around her and crush her in a hug, my face buried in her hair. We stand that way for a long time.
She starts to pull away, but I tighten my arms around her waist.
“Listen. Date other guys in England, if you want to. But then… come back to me, Emily.” Every ounce of love I have for her is in my voice.
She’s looking up at me, reminding me of that first night we danced together on the beach.
“Ryan…”
“Come back to me.” I feel as if I’ve just taken out my heart and handed it to her. “Promise you’ll think about it.”
She puts her head against my shoulder.
“We have something good. Think about it!” I kiss her cheek.
“I’ll write to you.” She walks away.
I drive home and sprawl on my bed, channel surfing the TV. I miss Emily so bad right now that I can’t even stand up. I click from channel to channel, not bothering to stop to see what’s on. Just random clicking, an exercise for the thumbs.
After a while, I go to my ski clothes drawer and pull out the envelope of photos belonging to Michael. There it is: the one of us at Soldier Rock. I put it up on my cork board where I can see it all the time. As I’m returning the other photos to the envelope, I feel something small and hard down in the bottom. I pull it out. It’s a red, plastic lobster on a key chain.
It’s Michael’s crawdad from the Lobster Barrel restaurant. I have to smile. So he had kept his, too.
• • •
Grass covers Michael’s grave now. It’s quiet and peaceful under the trees here. Much more quiet and peaceful than Michael ever was in his lifetime, I think, with a pang. But maybe he likes it. Maybe Michael was looking for a little peace and quiet all along.
I can feel his presence here, in the shade, looking out at the city. Hey Michael. Sorry I didn’t come sooner. But you know I’ve been thinking about you.
I have news for him. A letter came from Miss Anderson saying I made the Senior Honors Program. Good thing, since I had already arranged to do a project for it through the Teen League.
My folks are totally psyched about it and took all of us out to celebrate at dinner—me and my sisters, Ro, the Westons, Chrissie, and the baby. Mikey spent the whole meal getting passed around from one lap to the next.
Your kid’s awesome, Michael. I’m gonna tell him all about you.
I look at my watch. I’ve got to get going pretty soon, but I have something to do for Michael first.
I fish in my pants pocket and pull out the small red plastic crawdad. It’s the one from the envelope. Mine’s in my desk drawer at home, and I’m going to make sure right now that Michael has his.
I place it on the grave, but find myself frowning. The crawdad will be gone within a day. I look around for a big stone or something to put on it. There’s nothing like that in sight.
Thinking I can bury it, I find a stick and start digging. It’s tough going through grass and roots with a crummy stick. I stop for a minute to rest.
“Hey! What are you
doing?” It’s a maintenance guy in a golf cart. Brushing dirt off my hands, I walk over to him.
“I’m trying to bury this crawdad,” I say, showing it to the man. I notice that his name tag says “Bruno.” He studies the red plastic thing in my hand.
“Wait a minute! Weren’t they giving those away over at the Lobster Barrel?”
“Yeah, but think of it as a crawdad.” I tell him about Camp Evergreen and crawdad fishing.
“He was my best friend,” I finish by saying. “He was only sixteen when he died.”
Bruno gets a strange look in his eyes. “My son’s sixteen,” he says.
He looks around for authority figures. “If you tell anyone I did this, I’ll say you lied.” He pulls a shovel out of the back of the golf cart and takes one scoop of earth from the top of Michael’s grave, making a little depression. I drop the crawdad into the hole. Bruno pours the earth, still in the shovel, back into the hole, burying the crawdad. He tamps the earth down good and hard.
“The grass will grow back over within a week,” he tells me. “He’ll keep your friend company.”
I stand there a few more minutes, looking at the big grave holding Michael with its mini-grave holding the crawdad. The familiar pain in my chest hits me again. I think I’ll always have it, but by now I know how to ride it out. I stand there, waiting, until it passes.
Rest in peace, buddy. I’ll be back.
My flashy sports car is gone, traded in for a dark gray hybrid. I find my new car in the parking lot and get in. My cell, which I’d left in the car, is beeping: I have a text message.
It’s from Emily. It says I’m thinking about it. A lot.
Humming to myself, I drive out the cemetery gates. Ahead of me, a row of impossibly tall, skinny palm trees guards the horizon, making a crazy zig zag silhouette. I wonder suddenly how those things stand up, when they’re so tall and thin. It’s a physics question, for sure. I’ll ask Jonathan when I meet him an hour from now at Surfrider Beach.
Finding the westbound freeway entrance, I rev my car up to proper cruising speed and hit the fast lane. The sun roof and windows are open. I put on the radio and start to sing along, emptying my mind of anything but the music and the hot wind whipping through my hair.
I’m headed for the ocean.
THE END