Folding my notes into a little square, I shove them into my back pocket, then visit the bathroom. It’s good to move; I didn’t realize I was sitting still for so long.
I splash water on my face in front of the mirror, feeling a little better. Even though I know I haven’t solved anything—the Callista issue and all the other worries are still there—I don’t feel so stressed. It probably won’t last, but for the moment I feel okay.
It’s like policy debate—most people hate it, because it takes tons of research, and there’s a three-minute cross-examination session at the end of each speech. Policy is my favorite type of debate, though. I know how to dig in and find solid facts that make the argument for whatever plan I propose. It makes me feel better to nail things down with logic.
Stretching, I climb the stairs from the basement stacks and blink when I hit the main library floor. It’s dark out, and the big clock behind the checkout desk says it’s five till midnight.
How long have I been gone? I hurry toward the entrance, glancing around for a pay phone, but I don’t see one. I pass a security guard in a plain blue uniform who gives me a brief nod.
“Got some good studying done?” he asks.
“No. I was thinking,” I say, then realize how dumb that sounds.
“Thinking’s good,” the guard says mildly. “You need an escort to your vehicle?”
“No, thanks. I walked.” I hurry past and push open the exit door.
Cars are streaming out of the lot. I head for the back lot, then change my mind; the lot is well lit, but the walking trails close at sunset, and I’d never find Dad’s house that way. I’ll have to figure out a long way around.
I sigh and shove my hands in my pockets, ignoring my growling stomach. Now that I think about it, I’m hungry. Did I even eat lunch?
Midnight. Unbelievable. Dad’s going to be pissed.
I frown, picking up my pace. If I get home fast enough, maybe no one will notice I’ve been gone. Our curfew during a school break is midnight, anyway.
“Justinian Nicholas?”
I jump, turning to find the speaker. The same security guard is standing next to his open car door, engine idling. He raises his eyebrows. “Justinian Nicholas?” he repeats.
“It’s Justin,” I tell him.
“Thought so.” The man nods. “You look a little young to be a freshman.”
“I’m taking junior classes.” I blurt the non sequitur. “Who are you?”
“You might want to call home. The police have been keeping an eye out for you.”
“What?! Oh, crap.” I pat my pockets and remember. “I don’t have my phone.”
The security guy just smiles and pulls out his radio. “This is 549 to base. Ronnie, you wanna call in to the PD that I’ve got their missing minor in front of the library here? Over.”
The radio crackles, and a staticky voice says something garbled. The security guard nods. “Yep, safe and sound. We’ll just wait for that black-and-white. Over.”
That’s it, I’m dead. I am so dead.
Happy Together
Ysabel
I’m relieved when Connor and Madison arrive. The stifling quiet isn’t helping any of us, and with company, Mom has an excuse to dig into the back of Dad’s pantry for a bag of flour and make sugar cookies.
Connor comes straight over and wraps me in a tight hug, his usual cheerful expression absent. “You okay?”
“I’m getting better,” I say, manufacturing a smile.
“I’m sorry about Maddie, but she wouldn’t let me take the car by myself,” he says, giving her an irritated glance. “It was either both of us or no one.”
“That’s okay,” I say, leading him into the living room. “Do you want something to drink? Mom made cookies.”
Who knew that under pressure, the Nicholas family turns into a well-oiled hostessing machine? Dad brings out coffee and a pitcher of iced tea. Mom assembles a tray of cheese, crackers, and raw veg, while I transfer the warm cookies to a plate and slide the next batch into the oven. Dad makes small talk with Madison while Mom brings Connor iced tea. It feels strange to be smiling and passing around cookies when my stomach is twisting, and every time I go into the kitchen, I look at the microwave clock.
If Justin’s not dead, I am going to kill him. It’s been hours. Hours.
Then dread reverberates in me. He could be dead. What if he killed himself? What if he got hit by a car? What if—
I can’t sit still. Even after everyone has something to drink and their snacks in front of them, I pace.
“Ysabel,” my mother finally says, giving me a look. I perch on the arm of the love seat next to Connor and try to pretend that my nerves aren’t twitching.
I can’t stop watching Connor’s Maddie. Her wavy blond hair is shot through with streaks of lighter blond and pulled back from her face with a satin band that matches her denim skirt and gray-blue eyes. When she smiles, I see where Connor gets his looks.
She reaches for a cookie and our eyes meet. My smile is embarrassed.
Madison’s face is kind. “I’ve heard so much about you, it’s nice to finally meet you, Ysabel.”
“Thanks.” I clear my throat. “I was just noticing how you and Connor look exactly alike.” I wince, realize how bad that sounds. “I mean—”
“If you ever see a picture of me at his age, you probably won’t be able to tell us apart,” Madison says, and smiles at her son. “Connor’s a much easier kid than I was at sixteen, though. I was always in trouble.”
I smile nervously, and we lapse into an uneasy silence. I wonder if there’s any polite way to ask Madison what she’s heard about me.
“Bel, why don’t you show Connor your torchwork?” Dad suggests suddenly. “You two shouldn’t have to sit in here with us old folks. Go downstairs for a while.”
“Good idea—take some cookies with you,” Mom says, loading up a napkin.
Old folks? Yeah, I’ve heard this one before.
Connor takes the hint and silently follows me downstairs. He gives me a bewildered look as I grab the bathroom door in passing and close it loudly.
I wait for muffled voices upstairs, but there’s nothing.
“What are you doing?” Connor finally asks.
I shake my head and continue down the hall into my room. “I thought they sent us down here because they wanted to talk. They’re sitting up there not saying anything.”
“Oh.” Connor moves my bead catalog out of the way and sits on the bed. “You’re as bad as Marco. He stands by his sister’s door and listens when she’s on the phone.”
“Well, that’s rude.” I kick off my shoes and sit at the top of my bed, setting the cookies between us. “I only do it to my parents when there’s something they’re not telling me that I need to find out.”
“That’s what Marco says, too,” Connor laughs.
I lean my head back against the wall and sigh. “I was hoping they know something they wouldn’t say in front of me, I guess.”
Connor winces, his mouth pulling down. “I’m sorry about this, Ysabel. It feels like it’s my fault.”
“I don’t see how it could be your fault. You didn’t tell him to take off.”
“I know, but—”
“Not your fault,” I repeat, getting off the bed. “Here,” I say, leaning over to pull out my box of beads. “This is what my Dad wanted me to show you.”
“Those are—”
The doorbell interrupts.
I’m up and out of the room before he can finish.
“Justin, thank God!” I hear my mother’s voice. “Where have you been? Do you know what you put your father through?”
“Don’t be too hard on him,” the policewoman is saying as my father grips her hand. “Losing track of time in a library is probably a sign of genius.”
“No, it’s not. Idiot,” I mutter, leaning against the living room wall, light-headed and close to tears. Thank you, God.
Justin’s eyes meet mine. “Sorry,�
� he mouths, giving me remorseful puppy eyes.
“Next time, son, take your phone,” Dad interjects, relief in his voice.
“You didn’t have to come,” Justin says to my mother, who is glaring at him, her hands on her hips. “I’m so sorry, you guys. I was in the junior college library, and I must have zoned. I was just thinking, and I didn’t realize how late it had gotten, and I forgot my phone—”
“You were ‘thinking’ and you ‘forgot.’ ” My mother makes air quotes. “When you figured that out, you should have found a pay phone, immediately. You know that, Justin.”
“Uh, Connor and I are going to get out of the way now,” Madison tells Dad, wading through the chaos to follow the officer out. “It was nice to meet you, Ysabel, Stacey. Justin, we’ll see you next time.”
“Connor! Man, I’m sorry,” Justin says unhappily, looking around. “I didn’t mean to worry everyone.”
“We’re good,” Connor says, looking relieved to be edging away from Mom’s tirade. He gives us both a wave. “Talk to you later.”
“So, you just walk out of the house without saying where you’re going?” Mom rails, undeterred. “Since when is that acceptable? Have you lost your mind?”
“Stacey,” Dad begins, but he’s fighting a smile. Mom’s rants are kind of legendary. She rarely loses her temper, but when she does, it’s hard for her to get it back.
“I just want to know—is this a onetime occurrence, or are we looking at getting one of those tags for you like vets put in puppies?”
“Mom!”
“Well, I just want to know,” my mother says, throwing up her hands. “If you’re going to be disappearing all the time, I want to be prepared. We’ll get you a name tag. We’ll assign someone to walk you home from school. Justinian Nicholas, if you ever scare me like this again, so help me, God—” Mom finally takes a big breath and just shakes her head.
Justin hesitates. “It … I just had to think,” he says awkwardly. “I’m really sorry.”
“Well, what—” Mom begins, but Dad slips his arm around her.
“It’s late, Stace,” he interrupts. “I’m sure Justin’s hungry, and we’ll have time to discuss this tomorrow, all right?”
“I’m starving,” Justin admits.
“I need tea, then I’m going to bed,” Mom says wearily. “It’s been a long day.”
“Mom, I’m—”
“Enough. Shush,” Mom says, calm and reasonable again, leaning on Dad. “Bel, do you want a sandwich too?”
“We can manage,” Dad says, turning her around. “Go on to bed, Stace.”
“Ysabel, help me put away the food, would you?” Mom says, ignoring him.
I go help, wondering where Mom is going to sleep—or if it even matters.
Dad and Justin make tomato and cheese sandwiches I’m too tired to eat. Mom hunches over her tea, blinking slowly, while the rest of us pick over our meals in silence. All four of us are sitting in our regular places, just like we do at home. We might as well have never been apart.
“You can beat me up tomorrow.” Justin’s voice is muffled by his mouth guard.
“I still might beat you up tonight.” I turn over and press my face against the cool side of my pillow. “Just because Dad made Mom put it off till we get to Hoenig’s office doesn’t mean I will.”
“I can’t believe Mom came up just for this. And Connor and his dad!”
“Justin, don’t be dumb. You were gone something like eight hours.”
“I know, but I didn’t think—”
“Ding! Ding! Ding! Correct! Give the man a prize.”
A deep sigh from the floor. “All right. I deserve that.”
“You deserve worse, butthead.” I flip over on my back. “You scared me.”
“I know. I suck.”
“Yes. Yes, you do.”
“I’m sorry, Ysabel.”
“Whatever.”
“You know you love me.”
“So? I’m still going to off you in your sleep.”
“Whatever. Good night.”
“Night.”
Dr. Hoenig grins. “Have the Nicholases had enough sleep and enough breakfast?”
I snort as we file into the therapist’s office. “We’re chronically sleep-deprived,” I tell her. “There’s also one more of us now.”
“You must be Stacey,” Dr. Hoenig says, beaming at Mom, who smiles back a little nervously. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person,” she adds. Justin and I exchange a look. Of course Mom has talked to Dr. Hoenig.
“So, you’re still sleep-deprived, huh? Any other feelings this morning?” Dr. Hoenig asks, looking around the circle.
“Happiness,” says Dad. He looks like a lazy lion, lounging on the couch and taking pride in his pride. “It’s good to be together.”
“Justin?” Dr. Hoenig asks.
“Uh, stupidity,” Justin mumbles, and I snort.
“Stupid isn’t a feeling; it’s a state of being.”
I twitch when Mom pinches me, but that doesn’t stop my grin. Justin glares at me.
“Ahem,” Mom says, giving me a dire warning look. “I’m feeling hopeful.”
“Hopeful?” Dr. Hoenig asks, sitting back. “Can you say more?”
Mom nods. “Today, things just feel—possible. It really is good to be with my family.”
Actually, it’s kind of weird to be with my family. We had breakfast this morning—on the run, practically, but together—and I realized just how tiny Dad’s town house really is. Almost running into each other as we got ready, we barely made it out the door before Dad got agitated and started tapping his watch. With Justin and me racing to homeroom every morning, Mom doing catering mostly for lunches, dinners, and weekends, and Dad on the road so much, we rarely leave the house all together, unless we’re going to church.
It’s strange to feel that church feeling, here in Dr. Hoenig’s office. I guess I’m beginning to equate the four of us being together to a religious experience.
That makes me snicker again. Inevitably, Dr. Hoenig focuses her red-framed gaze on me. “Sounds like you’re feeling happy as well, Ysabel?”
I flick a glance around the room, taking in my mother’s exasperated expression, Dad’s faint smile, and Justin’s annoyed eye roll. I shake my head, wondering at the laughter that bubbles up again.
“Happy,” I say, considering the word. It carries no answers and no instruction manual, but it feels right.
Out of the Box
Justin
None of us feel like hiking today, which was what we were going to do at Jonas Wood. Instead, we talk Mom into staying another day, and just laze around the house.
Mom spends a long time Thursday afternoon on the phone, checking in with a client, making sure all the loose ends are tied up with a business lunch she’s supposed to cater and generally checking in with the staff at Wild Thyme. When she’s finished, there’s a little lull in the action as Dad cleans the kitchen and Mom sits at the dining room table with Dad’s laptop.
I don’t actually mean to eavesdrop. Ysabel needs more darks to throw in the wash, so Mom volunteers her jeans and a few of Dad’s sweaters. On the way back downstairs, I pass my parents in the kitchen.
“You must never shop.” Mom sounds reproachful. “I can’t believe how empty your cabinets are. You’re as bad as you were in college.”
“Actually, I’m worse,” Dad admits. “It’s harder to eat my own cooking now.”
“You have no onions,” Mom exclaims. “How am I supposed to make anything?”
“Can’t we just go out?”
“From the look of the takeout containers in your fridge, you always go out. Don’t you cook anything yourself?”
Dad laughs. “Honestly, Stace? I try not to get home until I absolutely need to crash, and I don’t even go into the kitchen until I make coffee the next morning. Most of the time, I get a sandwich at work.”
“You’re digging your grave with your teeth.” My mother sounds irritat
ed.
“So, will you stay here and cook for me?” Dad asks lightly.
“You’re not taking this seriously, Chris,” Mom complains. “There’s not a vegetable in this house. You’re going to kill yourself eating like this.”
“Well, by all means, let me go get changed, and we’ll find some vegetables.”
I expect Mom to call downstairs for Ysabel and me, but she doesn’t, so I go upstairs again. She’s standing by the sliding glass door, looking out at the view of the oaks from the back of the town house.
I glance at Dad’s closed bedroom and frown. “Mom?”
“Mm?” She sounds distracted.
“Have you ever seen Dad in Christine clothes?”
Mom turns, suddenly focused on me. “Mm-hmm.”
“Oh.” I stand next to her and squint out into the sunny afternoon.
An arm goes around my waist. “Have you seen Dad as Christine this week?”
“No. But he said he didn’t want to do that this week.”
She waits a moment. “Are you thinking about something specific in regard to Christine, or is this just general worrying?”
I shrug. “Nothing specific, just … do you ever think about what it’s going to be like the first time we all see him? Or the first time Serena and Caleb see him at Wild Thyme, or the first time with people at church? Or … anybody? Do you know what you’re going to do?”
I feel my mother’s rib cage expand as she takes a deep breath. “No.”
“No?”
“I have no idea what I’m going to do,” Mom says. She smiles, a quick, amused grin. “Did you think I had everything planned out?”
“Well, no, but—yeah. I guess I thought since you were letting Dad come back, you had it all figured.”
A little frown appears between Mom’s eyes. “Justin, I’m not ‘letting’ your dad come back. I never wanted him to leave.”
“Weren’t you the reason he decided to stay here?” I look up.
Mom shakes her head. “His decision. Entirely.”
Happy Families Page 15