Hunter leaves a little while later. He doesn’t say anything, but he gives me one of those deep, soul-searching looks that makes my stomach do flip-flops. I lean over and give him a soft kiss on the cheek. His hair softly brushes against my lips. It smells like oranges and salt. I pull back and see him smiling at me. He pushes a strand of loose hair off my cheek.
“I’ll send you an e-mail later,” he promises.
“Okay,” I manage. I can barely breathe.
I watch him ride off. Then I go inside to make some dinner for Dad and me. When Mom was home, I hated cooking. But Ethel made cooking fun. And now I like it.
I make Ethel’s “famous” mac and cheese. Dad loves it.We laugh and talk at dinner. There are only two places now.
“Guess what?” Dad teases over our dessert of ice-cream sundaes.
“We’re getting a horse?”
Dad snorts. “That’s funny, Jane. No, I finally booked a trip for us.”
“Where?” I ask, afraid to hear the answer. Some of Dad’s travel ideas are a bit on the outlandish side.
“Santa Barbara,” he responds. “And Kona is coming with us.”
Santa Barbara is close to where we drove to get Kona. It’s only a couple of hours away. And it’s beautiful. Wide beaches, lots of sunshine, volleyball nets on the sand.
“For ten days, you and I are going to splash in the surf, lie on the beach, and read books, snorkel, and sightsee,” Dad promises.
A Holden family vacation finally comes to fruition. But with only half of the Holden family.
A couple of weeks ago, I wouldn’t have been able to go on a vacation. But I’m beginning to understand that life takes you forward, even when you don’t want to go. You can stay in your pajamas, hide in your bedroom, and cry until you have no more tears. But still, life will push you onward.
Tomorrow, life is taking me to Santa Barbara.
Chapter 15
Santa Barbara. The only word to describe it is glorious. The deep blue ocean stretches out to the horizon as if racing with the sky. The beach is warm and breezy at the same time. Lively but quiet, it is the perfect place for a vacation.
Dad and I have a hotel room across the street from the beach. We wake up in the morning and pack up snacks, sunblock, and books. For Dad, it’s science fiction; mysteries for me. We rent lounge chairs and umbrellas and sit back and relax. Although Kona doesn’t let us sit for long because she wants to chase seagulls or splash in the waves. Dad and I take long walks along the shore. Sometimes we point out funny things along the way, and sometimes we are just quiet.
In the afternoons, when people start packing up and the beach starts looking empty, that’s when I think about Lizzie. I sink my feet into the still-warm sand, and I wonder where she is now.
Maybe heaven is a place where souls congregate and float around. Or maybe it’s a place of resting until the soul comes back to earth in another body. I wonder if Lizzie is watching me from up above. If she can hear my thoughts and read my mind. If she can help me understand why she had to leave us. I think of all the bad people in the world who are alive, and I don’t think it’s fair. And I think a lot about what I could have done differently. How I could have helped Lizzie so this would never have happened. If I had listened better or stood up for her more, maybe she would still be here. Then I wonder if she were still here, if things would be like this anyway, with our family torn apart. The thoughts drift through my mind like a balloon floating across the sky. Would Lizzie and I have visited Hawaii together? Did she know how much I loved her? Will I ever see her again?
And when I can’t take it a second longer, I think about Lizzie’s favorite moment. Because after a great deal of contemplation, I have finally decided that heaven is a place where you get to be in your favorite moment for eternity. So I think of what Lizzie would choose.The thing she would most like to relive over and over if she could. I think it would be the day I came home from the hospital, when my mother first laid me in her arms and told her I was her new baby sister. Lizzie had a picture of that day in a frame in her room. And she always told me that she believed I was hers and no one else’s. I know that was her favorite moment. And I know that she loved me more than anyone.
I watch the waves roll in and out. I think about what I would say to Lizzie if she could hear me now. I would tell her that I’m sorry. Sorry for being jealous of her. Sorry for not taking good enough care of her. Sorry for thinking she was perfect. And I would make her a promise.That I would always be true to myself. And never try to be anyone but me. I think she would be proud of me for that.
We call Mom every night. And each time, she tells me how much she misses me and wishes she was with us. I’m not sure I can imagine her being here. I feel guilty thinking that if she were on this vacation, it would spoil everything.
One afternoon, Dad asks me if I want to go to the Santa Barbara Zoo. I think it sounds fun, so I pack up my camera and we head off.
Dad wants to start with the reptile house. It is so dark inside that I don’t bother trying to take any pictures.
“I wish your mother could see this,” Dad says as he looks at a twenty-foot boa constrictor. Mom is terrified of snakes, so this makes both of us laugh. Then he places his arm around my shoulder. “What do you say we go feed some birds?”
Dad and I push open the wooden door and step through a plastic curtain to find ourselves in the lorikeet exhibit. Here, we purchase little paper cups full of nectar. We are supposed to hold the cups out and wait for the little birds to come by and sip from the cups.
“Lorikeets are parrots that love to drink nectar,” the attendant tells us. “If you hold really still with your arm outstretched, they will sit on your hand to drink.”
I do exactly as the lady tells me, and I wait. After a few minutes, a bird alights on my wrist and begins sipping from the cup. The bird is small, about the size of my hand. And it is absolutely gorgeous. It has a bright reddish beak with a blue face and a yellow head. A green patch covers its back, and underneath, it has an orange breast. While I am admiring the bird on my hand, Dad is admiring one of his own. Or rather, the bird is admiring Dad. For as I look to my left, I see that there is a lorikeet perched on top of Dad’s head. Another is sitting on his arm and yet a third is on his shoulder.
“I think you might need to stay at the zoo, Dad,” I say. “The birds have mistaken you for a tree.”
Dad laughs, and I shoot a photo of him with the birds.
Then we make our way up a small hill. We can see the ocean from the top. It stretches out to the horizon. The green grass is lush all around. It is so peaceful. The sound of birds chirping mixes with monkey calls and the laughter of children. Halfway up the hill, we see the giraffes. There is a small platform set up next to the exhibit and people are waiting in line to feed them.
“Would you like to try?” Dad asks. I nod yes.
It only takes a few minutes before we’re at the front of the line. The zoo attendant lets us step onto the platform.
“Giraffes are the tallest living land mammals,” she begins. “They are herbivores, which means that they eat plants. And giraffes love to eat. They will spend up to twenty hours a day eating.”
As she speaks, the herd of giraffes draws closer to the platform.
“They know it’s snack time,” she tells us.
One of the animals has a crooked neck. Its head is bent over to the side.
“Is that one injured?” Dad asks.
“No,” the attendant informs us. “She developed a kink in her neck. But she is able to live a normal life. We watch over her to make sure that she isn’t in pain or having any problems. She’s been happy here for twenty years now.”
Then she tells us not to make any sudden movements because we could scare the giraffes. She also tells us not to turn our backs to them. And to beware of kisses. Next, she places a small biscuit in my hand. A giraffe leans over the fence. We are raised high on this platform so that the giraffe can look us right in the eye. The gir
affe leans close and suddenly this impossibly long black tongue swipes out of her mouth and completely slimes my hand. Somewhere in the process, the giraffe manages to take the biscuit. And I am left with this icky goo all over my wrist.
“Yuck,” I say to Dad. He just laughs. Then the giraffe leans in and swipes my cheek with her tongue.
“She likes you,” the attendant informs me.
Yippee for me. I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand. I feed two more giraffes. One of them, the one with the crooked neck. She is very sweet, though she drools from the side of her mouth.Then I step back and take a few photos. I get one of the giraffe close up, her warm brown eyes gently begging for more treats. And I capture one of the biggest giraffe swiping Dad’s hair with her tongue.
We see more animals nearby. A baby anteater perches on the top of her mother’s back, their stripes matching up so that the baby blends into the mother’s coat. A snow leopard dozes in the afternoon sun. A red panda chases its tail. And two Channel Island foxes play tag. I shoot photos of all of them. And Dad and I have a terrific time together.
After that, we leave the zoo and walk back to our hotel. On the way, we stop and look at the artist booths set up along the boardwalk. There are original paintings, sculptures, jewelry, even handmade toys. At one booth, there are silver cuff bracelets with engraved flowers on them. There are all different flowers to choose from—daisies, tulips, orchids, and of course roses. Dad asks me if I like them.
I nod and tell him that I do like them, very much. Dad picks up the rose bracelet and slips it on my wrist. He pays the man for the bracelet.
“To remind you of your first professional photo shoot,” Dad says.
“And our trip,” I add as I give him a hug.
Dad picks out a watercolor silk scarf for Mom. And we also buy three hand-painted purple-and-yellow butterflies to hang in my room.
I send Hunter ten postcards—one for each day we’re away. I choose the most beautiful pictures I can find. Sunsets, waves, whales leaping over the ocean. On one of them, I even get brave enough to write Miss you. I think this is a really big step for me. Hunter sends me a few e-mails. In one of them, he tells me he misses me, too. At the end, he writes Love, H. I read this part over and over.
On our last day in Santa Barbara, Dad and I decide to go whale watching. First thing in the morning, we rent bikes from the hotel and ride over to the pier.
We board the whale watching boat with the other tourists and sit side by side against the railing. I enjoy the bobbing motion of the ship as it navigates through the choppy water.The wind blows my hair around my face and it stings my eyes. My skin feels cool where the air touches and almost raw. There is no way Dad and I can talk over the wind and the sound of the ship’s motor, so we just smile at each other and point to things.
I notice that Dad looks a little green. I’m reminded of a time he got seasick on a boat trip to Catalina Island. I wonder if he’s feeling a little queasy now. Just then, he grabs my elbow and points to the right side of the ship. There, not ten feet away from us, is a pod of dolphins. I can see their silvery backs as they rise out of the waves to swim alongside the boat. I quickly lift my camera from around my neck and pull off the lens cap. I start shooting. Suddenly one breaks the water and leaps into the air. I catch it midleap, its body arching gracefully through the air. It is breathtaking. I turn to Dad and smile. Dad grins back. A few minutes later, we circle a buoy covered with an entire herd of seals sunbathing. It makes me laugh. I shoot a few photos. One actually lifts his head and looks my way. I capture his lazy eyes looking at me, his whiskers twitching just slightly.
We don’t spot any whales. But we don’t mind. When we return to shore, we walk on the pier, and Dad buys me an ice cream. I get chocolate chip in a waffle cone. Dad decides to stick with a soda. He confesses to me that he feels a little nauseated. I resist the urge to tease him about it. Nothing feels worse than being sick and having someone laugh at you. And anyway, I think he knew he’d get sick, but he went anyway, just for me. And when someone does something like that for you, it feels really good. I don’t want to joke that feeling away. I want to enjoy it.
I lick my ice cream as we watch fishermen hauling in their catches. Then I lean over the railing and look down at the water so far below. Dad and I have avoided talking about anything serious for the entire vacation. But now that we’re about to go home, I want to know what to expect.
“Are you and Mom getting a divorce?” I pose the question to him gently. I am afraid to hear a yes and equally afraid to hear a no.
“What makes you think that?” Dad asks.
I shrug. “She’s been gone almost the whole summer.”
“She needed a break,” he answers.
This irks me beyond belief. “From what, Dad?” I ask. “From me, from you, from her life?”
Dad puts his arm around me and squeezes me tightly. “This is about your mother, Jane. Not about you,” he assures me. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Then why does she hate me?” I ask.
He has no answer for this. He takes a breath and looks out at the ocean.
“Jane, your mother doesn’t hate you. She loves you.”
“But she loved Lizzie more,” I say softly, the tears stinging my eyes. Saying it out loud hurts deep inside my heart. So much, it feels like it will break apart into little pieces.
“Oh, Jane,” he says. “It’s not about loving one of you more than the other. Your mother loves you both. So do I. But Lizzie was so much like your mother. She was just bonded to her differently than she is to you. It’s not better or worse. It’s just different.”
I study his eyes. I believe he is telling me the truth, but I want him to know how it feels to be me. How it feels to be the forgotten one.
“My whole life, I’ve felt like I was compared to Lizzie. She was there first. And she was perfect. I could never measure up. I feel so bad saying this, because I loved her more than anyone. But I did it, too. Everything was always about Lizzie. And even though she’s not here anymore, it’s still all about Lizzie.”
Dad pulls me close, places his hands on the sides of my face. “Jane, you have always been you. Not anyone else. And I never expected you to be Lizzie. If I paid more attention to her, maybe it was because she needed it. You didn’t. You have this strength of spirit that doesn’t need constant filling up.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Really,” Dad answers. Then he brushes my hair off my face. “We both need to learn to make peace with the past.”
“I know,” I tell him. “But I just can’t.”
“Then it’s too soon, Little Bunny. Trust yourself. I trust you.”
Tears are streaming down my cheeks. I’m on the pier crying my eyes out in front of tourists and fishermen, but I don’t care. I throw myself into my father’s arms and hold on tight.
We drive home in the late afternoon, and I watch the sun set outside my window.The ocean turns pink and gold. Surfers ride the waves in to shore. Dogs run on the sand. Children splash in the water. I smile at Dad. And he smiles back. Kona crawls into the front seat and lies down in my lap. I am happy.
Chapter 16
The next morning, Mom comes home.
I’m in my room, working on the pictures from our trip, when I hear her voice calling me. Kona starts puppy barking.
“Jane, Jane. I’m home!”
“Quiet, sweetie. It’s okay,” I tell her. I remember that the last time Mom saw Kona she stormed out to the garage for a cigarette.
I don’t rush downstairs to see her. I take my time and finish what I am doing first. After all, she has been gone almost the whole summer without a care. And I’m angry about it. That’s the truth, and I’m not going to hide it.
I hear her open my door. Kona starts to bark again.
“Oh, there you are,” she says. I turn and look at her. I am completely shocked.
She looks so different. Her face is all suntanned and her hair is loose and kind
of wavy. She’s wearing a gauzy orange tunic over jeans with some kind of amber-colored beads around her neck. And she is smiling. Really smiling. All the way to her eyes. She looks so much like Lizzie that it takes my breath away.
She holds out her arms to me. “I missed you.”
I stand and reluctantly let her hug me. I am not sure who this is.
She squeezes me tight. Then she lets me go and looks me in the eye.
“You look pretty,” she tells me. “More grown-up. I can tell you’re starting seventh grade in a couple of weeks.”
I am embarrassed. I don’t know what to say. Then she sees the photos up on the computer screen.
“Oh, are these your photos?” she asks. “Your dad told me how you’ve been working on them all summer. He said you’re very talented.”
She peers at them. I curb the instinct to hit the button and close the file. I don’t want her looking at them. She has no right to just disappear for six weeks and then come back and act like Mother Earth.
“Jane, these are wonderful.” She claps her hands together. A memory flashes into my mind of being little and coloring a picture of a red and orange sun. My mother praising me. I quickly push the image from my mind.
“I love the one of the giraffe.”
She doesn’t seem to notice that I am not speaking.
Then she does the thing that shocks me the most. She bends down and picks Kona up. She looks the puppy in the eye.
“I guess you and I are going to have to get to know each other, aren’t we?” Kona licks her face. Traitor.
“Well, I’m going to unpack. Come in when you’re done,” she offers. I nod vaguely. I have absolutely no intention of going into her room to spend quality time with her.
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