Odessa Again

by Dana Reinhardt

  The attic could do none of that. She could only go back and fix something about her day that had gone in a way she didn’t like.

  And what she didn’t like about the day that was rapidly approaching was that Dad was going to stand up and promise to love and cherish Jennifer.

  She sat. And she thought. And she grabbed hold of her dictionary. And she thumbed through its fresh-smelling pages and all the purple words that couldn’t help her. Jennifer had given her this dictionary. Jennifer was nice and thoughtful; someone else would want to marry her someday. Odessa felt compunction—she wanted Jennifer to be happy, she didn’t want to ruin her wedding, her moment of triumph, but … Dad belonged to Mom.

  She picked up her journal and a pen, but she couldn’t get beyond the blank page. She stared at the phone, but there was nobody to call.

  So she went to see Mrs. Grisham. Sofia was her best friend. Claire was her bus friend. Mrs. Grisham was her old friend.

  It had been a while since she’d knocked on her door. Because Mrs. Grisham watched them after school, Odessa didn’t have occasion to go to Mrs. Grisham’s house, but this Sunday, one week before the wedding, that was what she did.

  They sat together in the familiar parlor with the owl figurines.

  Odessa stared at her shoes.

  Mrs. Grisham let her stare. She didn’t ask her what was wrong or why she was there or even if she wanted a cookie. She let her sit there silently, with all the eyes of those owls on her, while she figured out what she wanted to say.

  “I don’t know how to fix things.”

  Mrs. Grisham waited.

  “I thought I could go back and fix things,” Odessa continued. “That I could make changes, the kind of changes that matter, and I made a promise to my brother, and I have this power, this special power, and I kind of feel like you gave it to me, like you trusted me with the attic, you told me that I’d love living there, and I do love living there, but … I’m failing.” Odessa’s words got caught in her throat. “I can’t change the big things. The Things That Really Matter,” she croaked.

  A long silence followed, during which Odessa swallowed back the tears that threatened to fall. She was in fourth grade. She wasn’t a baby. She didn’t want to cry.

  “You’ve probably made more changes than you realize,” Mrs. Grisham said.

  “But I need to do more. It’s not enough.”

  “So do more.”

  “But my powers … the attic, the magic, this power to go back …”

  “Nonsense,” said Mrs. Grisham. “Power comes from you. Not from magic.”

  “But I …”

  “Nonsense.”

  Odessa wasn’t used to Mrs. Grisham speaking to her this way. Rudely. Curtly. Dismissively. Plenty of adults spoke to kids this way—sometimes Sofia spoke to her this way—but never Mrs. Grisham.

  Odessa went home deflated. She lay down on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She turned onto her side and caught sight of the door with no handle.

  The crawl space.

  She screwed up her courage, made her way to the opening, and climbed inside. Cobwebs brushed her face and tangled in her hair. There wasn’t room to stand and jump, so Odessa squeezed her eyes tight, hugged her knees to her chest, and wished as hard as she could: Take me to an alternate world. Pleeeeeeeeease. I want to go someplace else. Somewhere different. I don’t want to be here, where I can’t change the things that matter.

  She sat like that, hunched over into herself, until the dust made her cough, her muscles ached, and she shook with cold.

  Odessa felt the weight of her own failure all week long, and then, because time ticks forward, not backward, the morning of the wedding arrived.

  Odessa woke in her attic to the ray of light shining in through her small dormer window. She walked over to her calendar with the cats on it and removed Saturday’s cat to reveal Sunday’s cat: a fat tabby in a black tuxedo and top hat.

  Dad wasn’t fat, and he wasn’t wearing a top hat to the wedding, but still, the coincidence made her laugh.

  She took out her new dress, light yellow and not nearly as twirly as the lavender one, and she laid it out on her bed. Then she looked at that bed and wished she could just crawl back into it and sleep until Monday. She couldn’t. She knew that. But she could buy herself two more hours of sleep.

  So why not?

  The power to go back in time wasn’t going to stop this wedding, but it could put it off just a little longer. And the bed looked so inviting. All week long she’d been sad. She was so, so tired.

  Odessa went to the center of her room. She rolled up her cheetah-print rug. She closed her eyes, held her breath, and jumped, not knowing that she’d be racing right back to this same spot in a few short hours, using up her final opportunity, needing that final hour, to go back and change her future.

  Odessa put on her dress and spun around. Then she spun harder. She got a little bit of twirl out of the edges of the pale yellow fabric, but still: disappointing. She went downstairs and knocked on Oliver’s door. Mom stood next to him at the mirror, helping him with his pale yellow tie.

  Odessa watched Oliver checking out his reflection. He looked the opposite of toadlike. Handsome, even. And Odessa could see from the way he stared at himself that he could see this too.

  Mom was still wearing her bathrobe, but it was white, and Odessa could imagine her standing next to Dad in a white dress with delicately sewn beads and a wire thingy in the middle that made it hard to cut through. Mom could be the bride. Suddenly Mrs. Grisham’s words came back to her.

  Power comes from you, not from magic.

  She couldn’t give up. She had to get Mom to that wedding so that she could stand up and shout I object! and Dad could see he was making a big mistake.

  “Mom, you need to get dressed.”

  “Why?” she asked. “I’m not going anywhere. Just to the movies with Milo and Meredith, but that’s not until later.”

  “Just go put something nice on, will you?”

  Mom looked at her and then at Oliver, and then she smiled, almost as if she understood.

  “Well, you two do look dashing. I suppose I shouldn’t just stand around here in my pajamas. I’ll go get dressed and then we’ll have a proper sit-down breakfast.” She took in the sight of Odessa and Oliver in their matching outfits. “Me and my two gorgeous kids.”

  Odessa asked Oliver to set the table and he said he would, without sticking his tongue out or anything, and Odessa grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil and sat down to write a note.

  Sometimes it was easier to get Mom to pay attention when she wrote down what she wanted to say.

  Dear Mom—,

  I need you to come to the wedding with me so that Dad can see that he is making a big mistake and so that I can say I object! and then we can go back to living together as a re-hyphenated family. Please. It is my GMOOP.

  Love,

  Odessa

  She folded the note and then she folded it again. Her pale yellow dress had no pockets, so Odessa stuck it under her plate. She wanted it nearby when she gathered the courage it would take to hand it to her mother.

  When she came back downstairs, Mom looked beautiful. Mostly, Mom looked tired, or frustrated, or just Mom-like. But this morning she wore a pretty flowered shirt, jeans, and boots with heels, and though that was a far cry from a white gown with tiny beads, it would have to do.

  They sat and ate and talked as if it were just another morning, just another day, though of course they all knew it wasn’t. Odessa mostly pushed her food around on her plate. She knew something that her mother and brother didn’t. That today would be the day they’d begin their old life again.

  Odessa pictured that calendar cat, the one in the tuxedo, standing with his paw around the waist of a cat in a flowered shirt, jeans, and boots with heels.

  She smiled.

  “Someone’s happy,” Mom said.

  “Mom.” Odessa felt her power, the power Mrs. Grisham said came from her, n
ot from magic, rising up from her chest to her face, making her go warm, and probably red-cheeked too. “Mom, there’s something I have to—”

  Just then the doorbell rang.

  Mom stood up. “I have a surprise.”

  Odessa and Oliver followed her to the front door. There stood a man in a black suit and a black cap. Behind him in the driveway was a long black stretch limousine.

  Odessa could hardly believe it.

  She’d always dreamed of riding in a limousine. In the pages of the tween magazines Mom didn’t like her to read, the young stars of the shows Mom didn’t like her to watch rode around in them. She’d asked, begged, cajoled for a ride in one.

  Once, before their family trip to Mexico, she’d asked if they could take one to the airport.

  Mom had said, “Isn’t the fact that we’re taking you on an airplane to another country enough for you?”

  So Uncle Milo had driven them in his beat-up wagon.

  And then she’d asked again on her ninth birthday for a ride in a limousine to anywhere: around town, Pizzicato, the Dairy Whip for an ice-cream cone.

  But Mom had said, “No, that’s absurd, you’re nine years old.”

  If there was one thing Odessa could count on, it was Mom saying no to the things she wanted most of all.

  “Your father sent the limo for you.” Mom gestured to the man with the hat in his hands. “He’ll take you to the church. Dad will meet you there.”

  One part of Odessa wanted to forget the note clutched in her palm and run to the limousine, climb in, blast some music, turn on the colored lights, pour herself some water in a champagne glass, and inhale the fancy polished leather.

  “Cool,” Oliver said. “This is so cool.”

  “Wait,” Odessa barked. Oliver froze. “Mom,” she said. “You have to come with us.”

  Mom laughed. Her eyes quickly welled with tears. “I can’t go with you, honey. This is your father’s wedding. It’s his moment.”

  “But you need to.”

  Mom’s tears made their way to her cheeks now, and Odessa knew that those weren’t happy tears. Happy tears catch at your eyes. These trailed down her face.

  “Here,” Odessa said, and she handed her mother the note. It was one of the moments when words wouldn’t have come anyway, so she was glad she’d written them down.

  Mom unfolded the note and read it. She made a sound and then covered her mouth with her hand. The tears were sobs now, and even though Odessa never would have thought watching her mother cry like that could make her jovial, that was exactly what happened.

  Mom loved Dad too.

  That was why she sobbed like that.

  “Come on, Mom,” she said, and took her by the hand. “Let’s get in the limo.”

  Mom wrapped Odessa in her arms. She buried her face in her scalp and took a deep whiff. Odessa tried to break free, but her mother’s grip was fierce.

  “You’re a great kid,” Mom whispered. “And I love you. And I want you to go get in that car and go to your father’s wedding and I want you to have a good time. Do that for me, okay?”

  “Not without you,” Odessa said. “Mom. Please.”

  Mom shook her head no.

  “Pleeeeeeeeeeease?”

  Right then Odessa felt Oliver’s not-so-small-anymore hand in hers. He gave her a tug.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “It’s gonna be okay.”

  Odessa looked at Oliver. She looked at Mom. She looked at the man with his hat in his hands who had taken several steps back from where they stood.

  I can fix this, she thought. I have the power.

  “Can I have your business card?” she called to the man.

  “Excuse me?”

  Mom chuckled. “He’s legit, Odessa. Just get in the car.”

  “Please, sir,” she said, using her politest voice. “May I have your business card?”

  The man stepped toward her and reached into his inside jacket pocket. He pulled out a card with gold lettering and held it out. Odessa took it.

  World-Class Limousines:

  Let us take you for a ride you will never forget.

  And at the bottom: the telephone number.

  “Thanks!” she called over her shoulder as she ran from the entryway. What she didn’t count on was Mom running after her.

  “Come back here!” Mom shouted. “You can’t run away from this.”

  As Odessa raced up the stairs she studied those numbers. She knew she couldn’t take the card with her, so she needed to memorize them.

  Luckily, Odessa was good with numbers.

  She got to her attic a few steps ahead of Mom. She didn’t bother with the rug. She didn’t have the time, and anyway, what did the rug matter? The rug was a small thing. If she’d learned anything, it was that the small things didn’t matter.

  *

  Odessa sat at the breakfast table in her pale yellow dress that didn’t twirl. She had a pen in her hand and a blank piece of paper in front of her. She took the paper and balled it up and threw it in the trash.

  She grabbed the phone in the kitchen and dialed the numbers still fresh in her mind.

  “World-Class Limousines,” a voice chirped.

  “Yes, good morning.” Odessa used the most adult voice she could muster. “I’m sorry to tell you that we have to cancel an order. The car coming to One Twenty-One Orchard Street. Please refrain from sending it.” She paused, not sure what else to say. “That is all.”

  “Will do,” the voice said, and hung up. Odessa hadn’t expected that to be so easy.

  Oliver cocked his head. His look said, What was that all about? but Odessa just pretended she couldn’t read looks.

  Right then Mom came downstairs in her pretty flower shirt, jeans, and boots with heels. Again, Odessa thought she looked beautiful.

  They sat and ate breakfast and the doorbell didn’t ring.

  Mom looked at her watch.

  The doorbell still didn’t ring.

  Odessa cleared the dishes, careful not to spill anything on her pale yellow dress. She wanted to look her best when she shouted I object!

  Mom was pacing now. She picked up the phone and hung it up again. She went to the front door, stepped outside, looked up and down the street, and came back in again.

  “Oh boy,” she said.

  “What is it, Mother?” Odessa the Innocent.

  “There seems to be a problem with your ride to the wedding.”

  “Why don’t you just take us?”

  “Because I shouldn’t be the one to have to drive you. It’s his responsibility to make sure you get there on time today of all days.” Mom picked up the phone and dialed, held it to her ear, and then hung it up. “Voice mail. Typical.”

  She picked up the phone again. This time she called Uncle Milo. Uncle Milo, famous for doing nothing, had something he had to do that morning that prevented him from driving his niece and nephew to their father’s wedding.

  How Odessa loved Uncle Milo.

  “Mom,” Odessa said. “We have to go. We can’t miss the wedding. Please. Time is running out.”

  As Mom went to get her keys, Odessa darted back up to the attic. She stood and looked around the room she loved so much, and she wondered if she’d be saying goodbye to it soon. With Mom and Dad getting back together, maybe they’d buy their old house again, or maybe get a new one.

  She stood on her cheetah-print rug, the rug that hadn’t been lost in the betwixt.

  “Thank you,” she whispered to the floor. “For everything.”

  She ran back downstairs, and they all piled into the station wagon that was not a limousine and sped off to the wedding Odessa was going to stop.

  The streets she knew so well rushed by outside her window. Inside, her heart felt full to bursting.

  Her new life was about to begin.

  Or maybe it was that her old life was about to begin again.

  Time can be tricky that way.

  Odessa sat down on a cardboard box marked Odessa’s
stuffed animals. She wasn’t sure she was going to unpack this box. She wanted her new room to be grown-up. A fifth grader’s room. Maybe she’d have Uncle Milo carry the box down to the basement for storage, since the new house had no attic.

  This house was theirs. A forever house, Mom called it.

  “Forever?” Odessa asked. Forever was a very long time, and time couldn’t always be trusted.

  Mom put a hand on her head and smiled. “Forever for now.”

  They’d bought it from a couple whose kids had grown up and gone off to college. There were someone else’s scribbles on the kitchen wall and scuff marks on the stairs from someone else’s shoes, but Odessa didn’t mind. They could paint the walls and refinish the wood. This was their forever for now house.

  Odessa and Oliver wouldn’t have to switch schools, but they would ride a new bus. She worried about Claire and their bus friendship, but then Claire said, “Why don’t you come over after school sometime? We can hang out at my house.”

  So that was just what Odessa planned to do.

  The new bus wouldn’t take them by their old house, or their old old house. It traveled a new route that went by Dad and Jennifer’s apartment, where it would pick up Odessa and Oliver every Thursday morning now that they’d turned dinner-with-Dad night into sleepover-at-Dad-and-Jennifer’s night.

  Dad and Jennifer’s wedding had turned out differently from how Odessa had planned—obviously—because here they were, married to each other, four months later.

  They were married, not remarried.

  When Odessa had arrived at the church that morning with only minutes to spare, Mom had pulled up to the entrance and kept the car running.

  “Hurry up,” she said. “You’re late.”

  “You have to come,” Odessa said. “Come inside with me.”

  “No, honey. You have to do this on your own. Not on your own,” she corrected herself. “You have to do this with your brother. Your person in this world.”