“We got our trailer. And I just had a big fight with Mama and Daddy.”
I can’t read the expression on her face. I know she’s wanted to go home as much as I do. Or if not as much, at least somewhere close. But now she looks a little shell-shocked. “Oh.” She gets off the bed. “When are we leaving?”
“Not all of us. Only Daddy and me.”
She takes off her gym shoes and socks, staring blankly. “You can’t leave,” she says suddenly. “Please don’t leave me.”
“What?”
“Evangeline.” She looks me straight in the eye with the most frightened expression I think I’ve ever seen her wear. “I have to tell you something I haven’t told anyone.” All I can think is Please don’t let her say she’s pregnant.
“I didn’t get into LSU. I found out last week.”
“Oh, Mandy. I’m sorry. . . .”
“No, you don’t understand. I didn’t apply anywhere else.”
“I thought you applied to Lafayette and Monroe.”
“I just said I did,” she says miserably. “I was sure I’d get into LSU.”
It’s too late to apply anywhere else now. Mama is going to freak out.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Then there’s this thing with Chris. . . .” Mandy starts pacing. “Please. Don’t leave me here with Mama alone. She’s going to kill me.”
“Someone needs to stay with Mama.”
“Why can’t you stay?”
“You know I can’t. I need to help Daddy.”
She glares at me. “That’s always the way it is. You and Daddy. You’re always on the same team.”
“You and Mama are always on the same team.”
“I never got to pick. You two always sided against me.”
“That’s not true.”
“I want to go home,” says Mandy. “But Chris . . . And now that I don’t know what I’m going to do next year . . .” She covers her face with her hands.
“Don’t make your decision based on some guy. . . .”
“Really, Evangeline? Unlike you?”
Her words hit me like a punch to the stomach. She’s right, of course. “That is not why I want to go back. That’s over,” I say weakly. “I don’t belong here.”
“Bloom where you’re planted!” Mandy spits at me.
“Like you? Making Ds and getting suspended? Really blooming, Mandy . . .” Everything is so frustrating. “Look, I’m sorry. But my staying wouldn’t help. You’re going to have to tell her at some point. We’re all basically on our own now. Our family is breaking up.”
She plops down on the edge of the bed.
I do the only thing I can think of doing. I reach out and grab her hand, and we sit there like that silently.
The next day, Mama hasn’t come downstairs when Mandy and I leave. I can feel Daddy looking at me, but I can’t meet his eyes.
After school, Daddy’s on the phone with Sheriff Guidry. I slide into the chair near the couch to wait for him to get off.
When he hangs up, he looks at me, holds me in his gaze for a long, uncomfortable minute. “You upset your mother last night.”
She upset me, I want to say. But I say nothing.
“That diner. She put her heart and soul into it. . . .”
“Are you two getting divorced?”
He sighs. “We’re not getting divorced. But we’re not going to be together right now. And you wanting to leave . . . it just makes things worse for her.”
Something in me turns from determined to desperate. “Daddy . . .” My chin starts to quiver, but I swallow hard. “I need to go home.”
The look on his face is tortured. “There’s nothing for you there. It’s a trailer park. I don’t know when I’m going to be able to get back out on the water. I need to find a new boat. Fix it up. All I’m going to be doing is working. You’d be alone and it’s not safe. There’s no future for you there.”
“There’s no future for me here, Daddy.” Part of me feels like I want to fall into his arms crying like I’m ten years old. But honestly, I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. “I’m going, Daddy. You can’t make me stay.”
He shakes his head. It feels so awful to be hurting him like this. But I’m not backing down.
We do our usual Monday at Aunt Cel’s. Mamere cooks tasso with red beans and rice. Around the table, there is strained small talk, mostly focused on Mandy’s softball team. In fact, Chris is going to pick her up later and we are going to get to meet him. It is a relief to have something to talk about. I haven’t spoken a word to Mama since our fight the other night, and as far as I know, she and Daddy haven’t spoken, either.
Chris arrives after lunch: blond and gorgeous, of course. He seems brighter than Byron. Then they leave and Aunt Cel takes Mama and Daddy out back to show them her new deck, and I’m alone with Mamere.
“Mamere.” I sit down next to her on the sofa, hesitantly. “I’m going back with Daddy.”
Her expression is hard to read. “Does he know that?” she asks.
I nod. “They don’t want me to. But I’m doing it anyway.” It’s so hard to be this way with her. I’ve always been the good girl, the one who does what’s she’s told.
She stares straight ahead, then reaches out for my hand. “You never did like to take the easy way out,” she says finally. “You’ve always been brave. Ever since you were that tiny child reelin’ in a fish that weighed more than you did. You always put your all into it and stuck with it to the end.” She turns and looks at me, like she’s trying to figure something out. “All these months, all this starting over, you never slipped and fell like your sister did. You kept your chin up and made the best of it. So I know you’ve thought about it a lot. I know you know your own heart. And if this is what it tells you to do . . .”
It’s all I can do not to break down crying. I lean into her, that soft shoulder that’s always been there for me. “It is what I want. It’s what I have to do. But I don’t ever want to leave you. What’s going to happen to us?”
“I can’t tell you that. The one thing I know about life is that it always moves forward, not backward. The thing is, cherie” — she looks me straight in the eye — “things have to break down for the new thing to come in. That’s how nature works. The old leaves fall so the new ones can come in. There’s a season for everything. We can’t stop it, and we shouldn’t want to. Are you sure you’re looking forward and not back?”
All I know is that when I look into my future, it’s not here. It’s in the place where I know myself: out there in that limitless place between two skies. Back home.
“I’m sure,” I say.
When Mama, Daddy, and Aunt Cel come back inside, Mamere says, “John, Vangie, I need to speak with you. Sit down.”
The whole room goes solemn.
Mamere moves to the edge of her seat. “Evangeline has told me that she wants to go back to Bayou Perdu with John.”
Mama’s face hardens. “Well, I’m not surprised she tried to get you on her side for this,” she says. “She’s determined to get her way.”
“I seem to recall another sixteen-year-old who was determined to get her way despite her parents’ wishes,” Mamere says.
“I can’t believe you would throw that back in my face!” Mama fumes.
“I’m not throwing anything in your face,” Mamere says steadily. “Only to remind you that at that age everyone feels ready to make up their own minds. Now, I want us all to talk this out and come to a resolution.”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” says Mama. “It’s nearly the end of the school year. She’s in a good school with opportunities she’d never have even if she was at Bellvoir High. She wants to go live in a trailer.”
“I don’t want to live in a trailer; it’s just what we have to do back there.” The frustration in me mounts. I close my eyes. This is my only chance to explain it. I take a deep breath and begin again. “You know I’ve always been the one who h
elped out, who worked on the boat ever since I was big enough. I don’t do it just because I have to. I do it because I love it. Everyone else has always wanted to get out of Bayou Perdu, but I never have. I never wanted to leave, and I still don’t. I need it and it needs me. Not later, but now. There’s nothing here for me — I am sure of that. I need to go back. I am going back.”
The silence is awful.
“You know what?” says Mama finally. “I can’t talk about this right now. Just go. Go back to Bayou Perdu.”
Daddy says nothing. Mamere says nothing.
Mama gets up and puts her purse over her shoulder. “I’m going home.” Daddy gets up and follows her. I can’t make myself get up off the couch. I look at Mamere. “Can I stay here tonight?”
She nods.
“What did you mean earlier, Mamere?” I muster the courage to ask when we’re alone later. “When you said that about another sixteen-year-old being determined to get her way?”
Mamere sighs. “When your mother was sixteen, she was in love with someone who was older than her. He was in the navy. She decided that she was going to marry him no matter what we said about her being too young. She was prepared to leave home and marry him and move onto the base.”
I’m confused. “You mean Daddy?”
She shakes her head. “Danielle’s daddy. Hank Watts.”
Now I’m in shock. “What?”
“You always wondered what your mother had against Desiree. Desiree was a desperate girl who’d had a very unhappy childhood. She swooped in and stole Hank away from your mother in a very deceitful way. So your mother had her reasons for not liking Desiree.”
Danielle is the daughter of the man Mama thought she’d marry? “What about Daddy? He was her backup plan?”
“That’s not it at all. Your daddy was there for her when she had a broken heart. He has always been there for her. And that’s what he’s trying to do now, supporting his family the only way he can. She just can’t see it that way.”
“She can’t see anything any way but her way.”
“You know, when your mama was your age, we didn’t always understand each other, either. Even now, we don’t. The line between mothers and daughters isn’t always easy. Sometimes it skips a generation, like with me and you.” She looks at me intensely. “You, I could always understand. We’re two peas in a pod.” She smiles.
“The only thing I’d stay here for is you,” I say.
“Cherie, I don’t want you doing any such thing on my account,” she says. “Your happiness makes me happy. Remember that.”
When I see Ms. Bell again, I explain what has happened. “You sound torn about leaving your grandmother,” she says.
“I’m afraid if I don’t get home now, I’ll never get there. But I also don’t want to let go.”
“Let go of what?”
That’s when I finally tell her about Tru.
She asks questions, and I tell her everything. Explain it in a way that sounds new to me. Why he was so important to me. Why he doesn’t feel like the past to me, but the future.
“He sounds like a really great guy,” says Ms. Bell. “It must have been hard to have him just disappear like that. And the text from your old school friend must have really thrown you. But I wouldn’t believe anything until I heard it directly from him. Is there a way you can get in touch?”
I explain how his family couldn’t afford a phone for him.
“What about e-mail?” she asks.
We’ve never had a computer at home. We have a school e-mail address here, but I don’t think I’ve actually checked it. The only people I’ve ever really wanted to communicate with here are Chase, Tru, and Derek, and I just saw them. If Tru had an e-mail address, it would have been cut off because he doesn’t go to school here anymore. Still, maybe it’s worth checking.
I have to ask the research librarian how to log in because I’ve forgotten since the orientation last fall. She gets me set up and brings up my in-box. It’s full of e-mails. They’re all from Tru.
I hold my breath, feel my heartbeat. Close my eyes and open them again. I scroll down. There are dozens of them, starting the week after he left, the first with the subject line Message in a Bottle. The latest one was just after Mardi Gras, with the subject Signing Off.
I open the first one.
I was trying to think of what you do when you have to get in touch with someone and you don’t have a phone or a phone number and you’re a million miles away. For some reason, the idea of a message in a bottle came to mind. But you’re landlocked, so the next thing that came to mind was e-mail.
I know that you know things weren’t going well with my dad’s cousin. I guess my dad just didn’t like the idea of taking charity, and the truth is, his cousin really was rubbing it in. They would fight about the stupidest little things. I don’t even know what it was that set them off, but I could tell there was a lot of tension when I Ieft to go to the show that night. I was waiting for you, and when I didn’t see you, I knew something must have happened. I didn’t play well. Then my dad showed up and told me we had to go. Right then. When I got to the truck, it was packed, and my mom and sister were inside. That was it. We were leaving. I tried to tell my dad that we couldn’t go. I had to say good-bye to you. But I could tell there was no way we were going back.
We are in Baton Rouge with our other cousins now. I started at this new school. I don’t even know what to say. I’ve written a bunch of stuff and erased it again and again. I’m a little lost without you, and that may be an understatement. Remember that song we listened to at Chase’s house? I hope that somehow you find this message in a bottle. T
My hands are shaking as I read through, digging out all these precious things he wrote and devouring them like a starving person who has stumbled upon a banquet.
I’m thinking of you. Of course I could have said that at any given moment in the last two weeks. Any given moment since I met you.
Either you’re not getting these or don’t want to hear from me. I hope it’s not that. I guess there is nothing for me to do but keep trying.
I guess I could stop sending these. But it makes me feel like I’m talking to you even if I’m not. There is no one here like you. There’s no one anywhere like you.
An ache spreads through me, a loss that’s dull in the middle and sharp around the edges. My heart is so heavy.
I can barely contain myself when I read the e-mail from right before Mardi Gras, exactly when I was trying to find him:
I meant to tell you, I saw that girl Kaye from Bayou Perdu. When she came up to talk to me at church, I mentioned you. I said something like “I think you know my girlfriend, Evangeline. She’s from Bayou Perdu, too.” She got kind of awkward, I guess because of when Hip tried to set us up. Now every time I see her at church, she looks away really quickly. It’s weird.
Elly lied. My rage almost boils over. This whole time, the answer that I was dying for was right here. I’m the one who messed everything up.
Signing Off, says the last e-mail.
I’m not going to be able to send these anymore. I have to quit school so I can work full-time to get money for the new boat. You’ll probably never get them anyway. I can’t say good-bye any better than I could before. I don’t ever want to say good-bye to you. But I’m going to find another way to reach you. And hope that when I do, we can start over where we left off. Because I really believe there’s supposed to be so much more to us. T
What can I possibly say? If I think about it too long, I may miss another chance. I quickly type out a note, give it the subject line Coming Home, and hit send.
I just got your e-mails. I’m so sorry. I didn’t check. In case you get a phone, here’s my number. We got a trailer and I am going home next weekend. We are going to be together. I’m going to catch up to the things I love. E
On Friday, I say good-bye to Ms. Bell. She hugs me and gives me a little blank journal with this quote written on the inside cover:
In
the middle of winter I at last discovered that there was in me an invincible summer.
— Camus
“It reminded me of you, with your hard winter. But I know you have summer inside you. I know it will give you strength,” she says.
We hug.
“Keep in touch,” she says as she waves good-bye.
It’s hard to say good-bye to Chase. “What is it with you people?” he says. “Up and leaving all the time?”
“You’re about the only thing I am going to miss here,” I say.
“Stop. You know how uncomfortable I am with outward displays of sincere emotion,” he says.
“I couldn’t have done it without you. Any of it. I mean it. Thank you.”
He rolls his eyes. “Just go find your Tru love. You guys are so disgustingly perfect for each other.”
“Aww, that’s sweet. Thanks.”
He says he’ll come visit soon. I can’t face having him see me in a FEMA trailer. But someday.
I go to Aunt Cel’s after school. Aunt Cel invites me to stay for dinner, packs me a “care package” of things to use when we get to the trailer. I know she doesn’t approve of me going, but she’s not saying so. When the time comes to say good-bye to Mamere, I feel kind of frozen. It doesn’t feel real.
“We’ve never been this far apart,” I say barely aloud as I’m laying my head on her shoulder.
“We’re never going to be apart,” she says. “Not really. Even when we’re not together, we’re always a part of each other, cherie. I’m a part of you and you’re a part of me. Always.” She presses an envelope into my hand. It has twenty dollars in it and a bunch of pictures of us together.
“Are you going to come down soon to visit?” I finally choke out.
“I will, cherie. I’ll be there when it’s time.”
It’s physically hard to let go of her. “Even when we’re apart, we’re always a part of each other,” she repeats. “Remember that. That’s the truth.”
I wake up early on Saturday. Part of me wants to leave everything here but my purse and the copy of Evangeline Mamere gave me. But I pull things out and put them in my backpack. Mandy is still asleep. I go over and sit on the edge of her bed. I shake her a little. She makes a grumpy sound and opens one eye.
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