I nod.
“Linda might never get over what happened,” Tom says. “There are people like that.”
I swallow hard. Tom has just said what I haven’t been able to say, haven’t wanted to hear.
Tom goes back over to his typical place at the bar. He’s got more than enough to do now that Linda is standing there too. She’s right by his side, passing him sticky coaster after sticky coaster. It’s up to him to clean off the rings, left by all those happy people drinking glasses of wine and steins of beer.
“Tell her,” I call to Tom.
He looks up at me. Linda looks up too.
“Tell me what?” Linda says.
“Not her,” I say to Tom, and turn away.
•••
I find Caitlin then.
“Let’s go,” I say.
She flicks her pink and purple hair. “One last setting,” she says. She takes care of it, rolling the paper napkin tightly around the knife, fork, and spoon, and setting them to the left of the clean, white plate. And then she says, “Done.”
Next minute we’re in Caitlin’s car. She drives us to Jules’s house, which is a little brick box much like Caitlin’s own, only with fewer people inside, I guess.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Just wait!” Jules says, climbing into the backseat.
And then we take off.
A few minutes later I’m saying, “No. No, really. We don’t need to go here.”
Because I know where we’re going. We’re going to the viaduct.
“It’s not the ultimate destination,” Jules says. “But we’ve got to see it. Right, Caitlin?”
Caitlin nods. “Your mother, Linda, has only been talking about it for months.”
“And then we’ll go to the ultimate destination,” Jules adds.
I remember then what David asked for, last time we talked on the phone. “Do either of you have a camera?”
“On my cell,” Caitlin says.
“Oh, all right then,” I say.
We pull to a stop about a block away from the viaduct.
“That’s the ultimate destination.” Jules points across the street and the empty lot beyond to what was the abandoned factory but now radiates neon and noise.
With David, I didn’t want to go there. With Caitlin and Jules, I’m interested.
“What is it?” I ask.
“This new laser tag and paintball place.” Jules grins. “You’re going to love it. When Zach was home on leave, we went there together. He loved it too.”
I think of David and me shooting paintballs at the guy on the Internet site. “I don’t know.”
“You won’t know until you try. Now show us your mural,” Caitlin says.
We get out of the car and walk toward the viaduct.
And that’s when I see Ravi, whipping around the viaduct on his skateboard. He banks high up the curved wall, down again, and flies across the ground and up the other wall, then does it all again. His wheels skim across the killdeer and their nest, and across David and me, big and blue.
“Hey!” Caitlin yells. “Stop!” She gives me a fierce look. “He’s going to wreck it, Penna.”
Ravi keeps doing his trick. I can hear the whir of his skateboard’s wheels.
“It’s okay,” I say, but Caitlin and Jules don’t listen. They run toward Ravi. I run after them. Ravi skates fast, smooth and steady, back and forth, back and forth, repeating that same move.
We’re at the entrance to the viaduct when Ravi spots us. Still, he doesn’t break his pattern. He keeps on skating back and forth, up and down the walls. He glances over at us as we approach, and his look surprises me. His black eyes are stone cold and distant. It’s like Ravi and I have never talked, like we’ve never seen each other before. He’s dressed in that hooded sweatshirt again.
“Tough guy,” Jules murmurs.
“He’s not so tough,” I say.
“Well, he better not ram into me with that board, or I’ll show him what’s what,” Caitlin says, and she marches beneath the viaduct and right into Ravi’s path.
He jumps off his board and kicks it up into his hands before it hits her.
“How do you do?” Playing polite, Caitlin sticks out her hand to Ravi. When he doesn’t take it, she pumps it up and down, miming a handshake. “Nice to meet you too.”
“Ravi,” I say. “This is Caitlin. And this is Jules. Caitlin and Jules, Ravi.”
Ravi drops his board on the ground and braces it with his foot. “What are you doing here? I thought you don’t like coming here anymore.”
I laugh, trying to keep it light. “How about you? I thought you had to work.”
“I traded nights.” He glares at me. “I was too tired to go to work. I got up early this morning for no reason at all. Now I can’t sleep, so I’m here.”
Caitlin and Jules glance at me.
I clear my throat. “That sucks.”
Ravi nods.
“I hate it when I don’t get enough sleep.”
Ravi studies the ground. “Me too.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you. I mean it.”
Now Caitlin and Jules are really looking at me.
To my relief, Ravi looks up at me too, and his expression has softened. “I’ll be all right. Just give me a day or two,” he says. And he smiles.
I show Caitlin and Jules the mural then. They ooh and ahh over it. All the while, Ravi skates around us. Then I have them all stand back, and Caitlin takes a picture of me before the mural on her cell.
“I’ll email it to you,” Caitlin says, tucking her phone away. Then she tugs a hair band from her pocket and whips her hair up into a ponytail. She points at the skateboard. “You want to show us how to use that thing?”
“What about paintball?” Jules asks.
Caitlin rolls her eyes. “There’ll be other nights for paintball. We can play paintball when it’s raining. It’s nice outside tonight. Let’s enjoy the weather.”
“Spoken like the mom of six,” Jules mutters.
But then Ravi starts to show us how to skateboard, and even she gets a lesson.
We fall some. We laugh a lot.
When I ride the skateboard, I get lost in the feel of it, skimming over the ground, with Ravi, Jules, and Caitlin running by my side. I feel confident, daring. I feel like I can do anything.
I can ask Linda where Tom lives. I don’t have to wait around if I don’t want to. This one thing, this one thing I really, really want, I can make happen.
•••
It’s one thirty in the morning when I get home. Linda’s not back yet. I go right to my room. I check my computer.
There it is. An email from David. No drawing attached. Just words.
I’ve never been so happy for words.
Hey, Penna.
I got an email from Mom that said you stopped by to visit. Thank you.
I guess you know that I started night patrol. I’m okay. I don’t exactly know what’s dangerous for us here anymore, so late in the game. So don’t worry. I’ll tell you more soon. I just don’t feel like thinking about it right now. That’s all.
Here’s something good. Or as good as it gets here, I guess. We’ve started to go to the local orphanage to help the kids here. It’s practically bare except for beds and toilets and sinks. But it’s clean. There are kids of all ages. The youngest are tiny. The oldest look to be about sixteen. There are so many kids roaming the streets here. They keep trying to sell me stuff—stuff you can’t believe. Broken combs. Half-empty matchbooks. Stuff like that. Or they’ll try and shine my shoes. And the begging—you wouldn’t believe it. Or the number of kids sniffing and huffing. Totally stoned on old cans of spray paint and other stuff I don’t know. They’d be better off in the orphanage, but I guess there’s no room.
The orphanage woman told us that since our occupation, nearly four million of her people have been displaced from their homes. Nearly half are children.
We just stood there.
/>
There’s one little girl with big dark eyes and a red dress. I’ve heard she’s ten, but she looks about six. I haven’t been able to make her smile yet. I keep trying. If I had a little sister, she’d probably look a lot like this girl—at least, what I can see of her through the bandages.
Ravi said you guys talk too. It was good to hear from him. Kind of surprising. Leave it to Mom.
Ravi didn’t say what you talk about, though.
What do you talk about?
I mean, he’s there. I’m here.
What do you talk about?
Gotta sign off. I’ll write again, soon as I can.
Love,
David
For the second time in one day, I write David back immediately. I ask him to tell me more about what he’s doing, more about where he is. What is the food like? Has he seen any good TV? Do they show movies at base? Does he take pictures? If he does, could he send me a picture of himself with the little girl in the red dress?
I tell David I’m okay. Work is better. I tell him I think I’m about to meet my grandmother, and I’ll tell him all about it once I have. I miss you, I tell him. I tell him that Ravi showed me the cutest pictures. You’ll be receiving them in the mail soon, I write. That’s what we talk about, Ravi and me. We talk about you. Oh, and the girl I work with, Caitlin, she took a picture of me tonight down at the viaduct. I’ll get it to you as soon as she gets it to me.
I tell him I love him. I press Send.
Linda comes home then. I go to her, chat her up. Then very casually I ask where Tom lives. Linda tells me. She knows the exact street and address. She knows the few blocks between our house and his. She knows nothing else.
Linda thinks it’s nice that I’m interested in knowing more about Tom. “He’s an old friend,” she reminds me. “And he was in Vietnam, you know. He had a terrible time there, I think. Isaac has told me things I didn’t even know.” She gives a funny, little sigh. “Isaac and Tom talk,” she says.
That night I dream of a little girl in a red dress and a young woman in a blue dress and me in the green sundress that David loves. We are all balancing on train tracks, trying to walk without falling.
Fifteen
Next morning I’m up earlier than I’ve been all summer. I take a quick shower and slip into the green sundress of my dreams. I scarf a bagel. I leave a note for Linda, who’s still sleeping: Went out. Pick me up for work? I’ll be ready. I promise. By nine I’m walking the few blocks to Tom’s.
Tom lives on a dead-end street in a little yellow brick ranch. I start up the weed-ridden driveway and then panic, turn around, and scuttle back to the sidewalk.
I pace up and down Tom’s street. Five times I walk it.
I’m working up the nerve to start up Tom’s driveway again when Tom’s front door opens.
A frail figure steps out—not much more than a shadow in the shadows.
The figure crosses the porch and comes into the sunlight, shading her eyes with a thin hand. She’s wearing a white dress.
The clockwork lady.
I walk up the driveway toward her. I see more clearly her heart-shaped face.
Justine?
I must have said the word aloud, because she nods.
“I knew you’d come.” Her voice is thin and reedy.
“How?” I say. “How could you possibly know?”
She doubles over then. Drops right down on the top porch step.
I run to her. To my relief, she is sitting up by the time I reach her side. She is resting her forehead on her knees. I kneel beside her. I haven’t been around old people much. I don’t know what to do now. I ask her, foolishly, if she’s all right.
“I couldn’t come to you.” Justine says as if this is the answer I’m looking for. “I could only pass by. Linda.”
“I’m Penna,” I say. “I’m Linda’s daughter, your granddaughter.”
Justine shakes her head. “I know that. I know that. Penelope, isn’t it? I love your name.”
I reach out my hand to her. She’s shaking. Her skin looks clammy. My hand wavers by her bony, bowed shoulder. I’m afraid of her, I realize. How can I be afraid of a little old lady?
I remember.
She practically ruined me.
It’s like Linda is hovering again, repeating the words, restraining my hand.
I should be able to touch Justine. I should be able to touch anyone who’s this sad, no matter their past.
Instead the words burst from me—my voice as harsh as Linda’s when she speaks of Justine. “Why couldn’t you come? Tell me. All these years, why couldn’t you come?”
I remember her photograph on my shelf. She is so changed now, a lifetime older. This Justine’s dark eyes have faded to a murkier golden brown. Her skin is a maze of wrinkles. Her lips are thinner. In her sadness, she is disintegrating before my eyes. She crumples like Linda does when Linda is upset. Only worse.
“Easy.” Tom’s deep voice descends from above. “Easy now.”
He’s hulking over us, bearishly big. His broad face is softer than I’ve ever seen it. He narrows his eyes, swiftly evaluates Justine, then bends low and swoops her up. Her thin, bare legs swing beneath the fluttering hem of her dress. Her sandaled feet dangle. She rests her head on his shoulder.
“It’s all right. It’ll be all right,” Tom says. The tattooed eagles ripple on his sinewy arms, though Justine weighs next to nothing, I can tell, from the way Tom spins around and heads back into the house.
I leap to my feet. “Wait.”
Tom casts a furious look back at me. This wasn’t what he wanted, me barging in like this.
“Come on, then.” He kicks the door open with one foot. “If you’re going to play nice.”
•••
Tom lays Justine on the couch in his front room. The couch is big and red. Justine, so pale in her white dress, looks ghostly lying there. Her closed eyelids are nearly as thin as tracing paper. Her fine, white hair spreads like a cloud across the couch cushion.
Tom looks from her to me. He jerks his head to one side. “Water.”
I run in the direction of his gesture to the tiny kitchen. I turn on the tap and fill a plastic cup, then hurry back.
Justine is sitting up now, pushing Tom’s protective arms away. She looks at me and manages the shadow of a smile. “Not dead yet,” she says. She holds out a shaky hand and takes the cup from me. She spills a little, drinks a little, and rests the cup daintily on her knees.
Tom forces a smile. “You might as well be at a tea party.”
“I was raised right.” Justine lifts her chin at this attempt at humor. “I am all right, Tom, just as you said I’d be.” Justine looks at me. “Are you all right?”
My throat tightens with emotion. My arms wrap tightly around my ribs.
I’ve been searching for you, I want to say. And, suddenly, I’m furious at you.
“I’m all right,” I say.
Tom stands. “Call if you need me,” he tells Justine. He doesn’t look at me. He goes to the kitchen. He bangs around some pots and pans, just to remind us he’s there. Then there’s the sound of running water and sloshing in the sink.
Justine shakes her head. “Doing dishes is a comfort to him. But you must know that from work.”
I don’t want to talk about Tom.
“Ever since his war, he’s liked things tidy.” Justine raises her plastic cup to the room, and I see how sparely furnished and neatly kept it is. “He can’t cook for his life, though. At least I can still sometimes help out with that.” She closes her eyes wearily. “Though yesterday I couldn’t think of the word for soup, and I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember how to work a can opener. It’s like there’s a click in my brain and such things are blocked out or blacked out. Something.”
“Why couldn’t you come?” The words explode again from me.
With a resolute breath, Justine opens her eyes. She bends and sets her plastic cup on the floor, then slowly sits up again. Everything she doe
s is done cautiously, like she might break if she’s not careful.
“Please,” she says. “A moment.”
I drop down on a hardback chair and give Justine her moment. She smooths the skirt of her dress, accordion-pleats the fabric, then smooths the fabric flat again.
“I tried,” she finally says. “For years and years, I tried. But he didn’t want me here. He said he would make it worse for everyone if I came.”
“He who?”
“Your granddad. Ernest. Truth be told, he wasn’t the only one who stopped me from coming. Someone drinks like that, eventually you can’t let them stop you. But your mother—once she got to be a certain age, she didn’t want anything to do with me either.”
What can I say to this? I know it’s true.
Justine covers her eyes with her hand. “He was sick. She was hurt. Years had passed. Still, there’s no real excuse for my actions, I know. I should have tried harder.” She lowers her hand. Tears stand in her eyes. “I was afraid.”
I hear footsteps from behind me, and now Tom stands over Justine again, watching her carefully. Justine swipes the tears from her eyes and waves him away. He glowers but goes.
“Penelope.” Justine stands then. Carefully, slowly, she walks over to me. Her hand settles lightly on my shoulder. “Forgive me. Please.”
•••
Justine and I sit together on the red couch, and she tells me what happened. She was sick at heart and in her head, she says. She made a new life in the place where she was briefly the happiest.
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