by Cari Noga
“I miss you,” he said suddenly.
The words surprised him. There was a long pause. He heard what sounded like a choked-off sniff. Then, “Good-bye, Christopher.”
On her end, Deborah leaned back, one hand still holding the phone, the other splayed over her belly. Her brain and heart reeled in opposite directions. Leave the door open, Dr. Felk had implored. Though she had agreed, she honestly hadn’t expected Christopher to knock.
A real rap sounded on her door. Angela peeked in. “Phillip’s waiting for you.”
“Tell him I’ll be five more minutes.” She needed to pull herself together.
“OK.” The secretary nodded, concern in her eyes.
“I’ll be fine, Angela. I just need a couple minutes.” Deborah forced a smile. “Close the door, OK?”
After a soft click assured her of privacy, Deborah laid her head on her desk and felt the tears pool. Lots of plans, Christopher had said. She put up a good front. Even Julia didn’t see the whole truth: That she had no plan for handling the moments of terror, the moments when doubt stained her certainty that protection of the embryos rightly superseded honesty with Christopher, the moments when the quicksand of her culpability in her daughter’s future started to pull her under. No plan for after March, except that she would not be returning to her office here in Myron Taylor Hall. No plan for how she would cope if she lost both Christopher and Helen, who was really not doing well at all.
And worst of all, no plan for her daughter if fate decided that she, Deborah, should have the Huntington’s gene, too.
Peeling off her garden gloves, Linda saw Robby’s phone on the kitchen counter, vibrating with the alert of a new text. “Robby, you’ve got a message,” she hollered.
Robby pounded down the hall from his room, just in time to pick up the phone as it actually rang. “Hello? Yeah, hi, it’s me.”
Linda tried to remember when she last heard Robby talk on the phone. He almost always texted, a giant leap forward for people on the spectrum, removing the mystifying facial cues, vocal tones, and inflections that typically stymied communication. Yet here he was, practically chatting.
“Didn’t get it. Didn’t have my phone. Half an hour?” He looked at Linda. “Can you take me to the library?”
Linda looked at the clock. “I guess so. What’s going on there?”
“OK.” Robby spoke back into the phone. “I’ll bring my laptop.”
“What’s going on?” Linda repeated her question to Robby’s retreating back.
He re-emerged from his room with his laptop bag. “What’s going on?” Linda asked again. For some reason, it felt like Robby was deliberately, consciously ignoring her, not just occupying his zone of isolation.
“Meeting Paula to work on Audubon stuff.” He pulled his Lions sweatshirt over his head and draped his headphones around his neck.
“Paula?” Linda said anxiously. “What do you two have to work on together?”
“We’re running for offices.”
Linda blinked. “You mean for the club?”
Robby nodded.
“What are you running for?”
“Vice president.”
“And Paula?”
“President. We’re meeting to build a website for our campaign.”
“You need a website for that?” Linda recalled a hazy flashback of a high school student council campaign, a speech in the auditorium, hand-lettered posters.
“The club’s site is ten years old and runs on Dreamweaver.” Robby snorted. “No member database, no blogs, hardly any pictures. Building a new one is our top priority. Paula says a campaign site will show people we can do what we promise. Come on, let’s go!”
“Um, sure. Let me grab my keys,” Robby was running for a club office? Linda felt like she did when awakened by a phone call, grogginess clouding comprehension.
“What, um, made you decide to run for office?” she asked casually, in the car.
“I need leadership skills,” Robby said, cryptically.
“Who says you do?”
“Cornell.”
“Cornell? You mean for the camp?” After returning from Lansing, Robby moped for a while about being too young to go that summer. But after their trip to see the piping plovers, Sam explained how he could use that experience and this whole school year to improve his chances of acceptance. He had Skyped weekly with the park ranger, Ruth, until they released the captive chicks. They e-mailed that professor, Goldman, who had promised to send a current application as soon as it was available. Meanwhile, Robby had scoured the old one, which he’d found on the Cornell website.
“Leadership potential comprises twenty percent of the applicant’s total score,” Robby now recited. “Vice presidents are leaders, right?”
“Um, yeah.” Not really, Linda thought. “You didn’t want to be president?”
Robby shrugged. “Paula wanted that. That old guy, Ed, he’s the vice president now. She didn’t want to work with him. So she asked me.”
“So everything’s fine now with you and Paula?” Linda asked cautiously, pulling into the library parking lot.
“Uh-huh,” Robby said, opening his door. “She said she’d drop me off later.”
Automatically, Linda started to object, then cut herself off. She could complete her garden work if she didn’t have to return for Robby. Maybe she’d call Sam and see if he wanted to pick up Chinese for dinner, too. Or even go out to the restaurant together. A real date.
“OK,” she agreed, marveling at how light her heart felt. As if it had suddenly sprouted wings.
Robby tripped up the library steps, feeling happy. Paula’s beat-up Toyota wasn’t in the parking lot, so he must be there first. Everything was better than fine with Paula. She’d asked him to run for office with her, after all. So she did like him. And now he would get to sit next to her in the library. One of his favorite places.
He walked through those tall plastic things that beeped if you took a book without checking it out first. He had done it once, when he was in third grade. The shrill sound was awful. He had dropped his books and just stood there, covering his ears. He wouldn’t do that now, though.
They were supposed to meet upstairs, in the reference section. He remembered standing next to her in the hotel lobby in Lansing, thinking he wanted to kiss her. What would it feel like? He ran his tongue over his lips. In movies people closed their eyes. How could they do that and be sure they kissed? What if one person’s mouth wound up on the other’s nose? And Paula was taller than him. What if her mouth landed on his hair?
He walked past the spinning globe at the top of the stairs. Wait, there she was already, at a table by the window. Then where was her car? And someone was sitting next to her already. A guy wearing a Michigan T-shirt. His chair was pulled up close to hers. Really close. His arm was stretched across the back of her chair. Her brown hair brushed his hand. Robby halted, tugging on his sweatshirt strings as he stared.
Paula looked up. “Hi, Robby! Come and meet my boyfriend, Alex.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
The plane glided smoothly onto the runway at Sea-Tac International. Deborah relaxed her grip on the seat arms and exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Safe on the ground, dry, upright. Life jacket untouched. The other passengers were already standing, opening the overhead bins, impatient to move on to the next leg of their journey, oblivious to the miracle within the mundane landing. Would she ever be the blithe flyer she had been before the crash? Probably not. Not much was left of her pre-crash self, in fact. A husband but no marriage. A career she no longer cared about. Imminently, a baby, but perhaps no future as a mother.
Matt met her at baggage claim. Even though he’d told her Helen wouldn’t be up to the trip to the airport, Deborah was still disappointed not to see her sister, smiling and waving next to the stainless steel baggage caro
usel.
“She can’t wait to see you,” Matt reassured her on the way home. “But I’ve got to warn you, she looks a lot different.”
“Different how?”
“She’s lost weight. And muscle tone. She’s pale, because she’s hardly ever outside. She can still get around on her own, but she moves much more slowly. You have to be careful when you hug her or touch her, because she’s very sensitive to pressure.”
Deborah nodded. It didn’t sound that bad. Not the feeding tubes and wheelchairs that Christopher had prophesied.
But Helen looked that bad. The healthy, vibrant woman Deborah had last seen a year ago was transformed into one faded and worn-out. In Helen and Matt’s foyer, she pulled her sister into a hug, trying, over Helen’s bony shoulder, to erase the shock from her face. Just as Matt had said, Helen flinched.
It was better when they talked. Sitting on the family room couch, wrapped in a red afghan, Helen fired questions at Deborah about her pregnancy. The afghan gave her body more mass and reflected color onto her face. When Hannah and Mariah came home from school, the mood lightened further, and the five of them laughed through dinner.
Afterward, Deborah sat with Helen and Matt while her nieces went out with friends. She was about to excuse herself for bed, pleading jet lag and pregnancy fatigue, when Helen cleared her throat.
“So tell us your plans for after the baby.”
“I wish I knew.” She sighed and placed her hands on her belly.
“Are you going back to work?”
“I have to. But not in the law advancement office. Not with Phillip and a capital campaign. Too much pressure. Maybe not even at Cornell.”
“So you’re going to look for a new job? With a newborn around?” Helen looked skeptical.
“I guess so.” It all seemed so far away. “I haven’t thought much past November ninth. I’ve got some money saved. Christopher said he’d put her on his health insurance. So I don’t have to worry about that, anyway.”
“What else is Christopher doing?” Matt spoke up.
Deborah tried to smile. “Same as always. Teaching. Research.”
“I see.” Matt pressed his lips together and looked away.
“Deborah, Matt and I want to propose an idea.” Helen sat up, her breathing growing more rapid. “It might sound crazy at first, but if you think about it, you’ll see there’s a lot of potential advantages.” She paused. “We’d like you to think about moving to Seattle.”
Deborah’s jaw went slack. Nonplussed, she looked from her sister to her brother-in-law, then back at Helen, who sat rigidly upright, gauging her reaction. Deborah opened her mouth, then closed it, too flummoxed to speak. Helen nudged Matt.
“It makes sense for you to be close to family now, Deborah. You’re already thinking of leaving your job. You could find another out here. We’ve got a lot of connections at the University of Washington now. Hannah and Mariah would be able to help with babysitting, especially in the summer. And we could use your support, too.” Matt put his arm around Helen.
She nodded. “You could even live with us for a while, until you’re ready to find your own place. We’ve got plenty of room. It would be nice to have a baby around again. Something to remind me of the future.”
Deborah found her voice. “But Seattle—across the country? I don’t know. Christopher and I are still so unsettled.” And there was her house, and the job she still did have, after all. And Julia. And—Matt was talking again.
“It seems like Christopher’s settled himself into that apartment,” Matt said, disdain in his voice.
“Yes, Deborah. It’s been almost six months now, right?” Helen said. “Is he even going to be at the birth?”
“I don’t know,” Deborah said softly.
“How long will you let him try to figure things out?”
Deborah thought of Dr. Felk again. Leave the door open. Christopher would step up when the baby was born, he’d told her. She looked down at her belly. What if Dr. Felk was wrong? I miss you, Christopher had said. But she needed more than talk. Helen and Matt’s idea was appealing. The door couldn’t stay open forever. She looked up.
“All right. I’ll think about it.”
“Amanda! Amanda!”
Mrs. Hamilton was coming at her, waving a red sheet of paper and smiling broadly as Amanda stood at her locker.
“Good. You’re still here. I’ve been trying to catch you all week, but I’ve kept missing you.”
Amanda shrugged. “Got stuff to do.” Stuff was usually hanging out at Abby’s or Kelsey’s, or the library if her friends were busy. She spent as little time as possible at home, in the too-quiet house that was starting to smell musty.
That morning, though, her dad said she had to come straight home. He wouldn’t say why, just “it’s a surprise.” Guessing that his idea of a surprise—a good one, anyway—wouldn’t match her own, she was dawdling at her locker.
“Oh.” Mrs. Hamilton looked like she expected more explanation. “Busy semester?”
Amanda shrugged. “Just being a senior and all. College applications. You know.”
“Right.” Mrs. Hamilton nodded as Amanda slammed her locker. “Speaking of college. I think you need to do this.” She handed Amanda the red paper.
“Scranton Cultural Center presents Irving Berlin’s holiday classic White Christmas,” Amanda read. “Open auditions October tenth, eleventh, and twelfth.” She looked up into Mrs. Hamilton’s beaming face. “You want me to audition?”
Mrs. Hamilton nodded. “You need more experience to get into a college drama program. You were fantastic as Rizzo last year. But our production this year won’t be a musical. And it’s not until the spring. It’s the perfect time for you to get another show under your belt.”
“But the Cultural Center? Isn’t that almost professional? And October tenth is next week!”
“This is a community production. There’ll be some talented folks, but no professionals. I know the director. He graduated from here ten years ago, actually. I’ve already told him about you.”
“You did?”
“He couldn’t promise anything, of course, except for a fair audition. But it’s a fun show, and I think you’ve got a great shot. So what do you say? I’ve got a copy of the script with your name on it if you want it.” Mrs. Hamilton held up a folder.
Inside, Amanda felt excitement percolating for the first time since Grease closed. Her dad would be unenthusiastic. Her mom would think it was great. Well, she guessed that’s what her mom would think. Amanda hadn’t returned her last call, so they hadn’t talked in almost two weeks. She could feel Mrs. Hamilton watching her.
“Amanda? Is everything all right?”
“Sure.” Amanda cleared her throat. At least Mrs. Hamilton expected something from her. “I’ll take it.”
It was after four when she got home, the script buried in her backpack.
“Amanda. There you are.” Her dad was jingling his keys in the kitchen. “Didn’t I tell you to come straight home? Come on, we don’t want to be late.”
“Can’t I put my stuff in my room? What’s the hurry? Where are we going, anyway?”
“You’ll see.” Her dad was in the best mood he’d been in for months, almost cheerful.
She tried again as they backed out of the garage. “Why can’t you tell me?”
They were headed downtown. She tried to guess, but her dad refused to answer. After fifteen minutes he turned on the blinker for the next exit.
“Lackawanna College, Next Right.” Amanda read on a road sign. Trepidation lurched inside her. Scranton’s community college.
“Dad, are you taking me to Lackawanna?”
He didn’t answer for a moment, staring out at the traffic. The light turned green.
“Dad, are we going to Lackawanna?” Her voice rose.
“Ama
nda, please. There’s no need to yell.”
“Are we?”
He looked over at her, his mood somber again. He nodded. “The business division is hosting an open house for prospective students tonight.”
“A business open house? What, accounting or something? Dad, that’s not what I want to do!”
“You don’t even know. You haven’t tried it yet.”
“I don’t want to try it. I know what I want to do, and it’s not at Lackawanna.”
“Think of your future. A business degree means security, Amanda. If you want to, you can always do drama as a hobby.”
“A hobby? Dad, are you serious? Have you, like, paid any attention to my life lately?”
He bristled. “At least I’m here, you know.”
“You mean Mom isn’t.”
“That about sums it up, doesn’t it? I’m here. Doing the best I can. She’s off a hundred miles away, doing God knows what with God knows who.”
“What do you mean, doing God knows what? She got a new job at a food pantry.”
“I sent her divorce papers, Amanda. I told her it was her last chance.” He steered the car up the exit ramp. “She could rip them up, burn them, destroy them any way she wanted, and I would forgive her if she came home. But if she signed them and abandoned her vows forever, then I couldn’t forgive her. Ever.”
He glanced at her, his face melancholy. “She signed them. I got them back two days later. She didn’t even consider coming back to us. For all we know, she’s having another affair with some other sinful soul up there.”
Amanda felt sick in the front seat. Was that why her mother hadn’t called lately? The car turned into the Lackawanna campus. No. No way. Her dad was just an unfair, imperious jerk.
“So now that you couldn’t make Mom do what you wanted, you’re going to try to make me?” She crossed her arms. “This was a waste of a trip.” She rummaged in her backpack for the script. “Mrs. Hamilton wants me to audition for a new musical. If you want to go in the open house, fine. But I’ve got lines to learn.”