Picture Perfect

by D. Anne Love

  “I told you I was coming home in February.”

  “But I bet you wouldn’t have if you hadn’t gotten sick. Bee Beautiful would have offered you another great trip, and you’d have stayed away even longer. Maybe forever.” Even to my own ears I sounded immature and whiny, but I couldn’t help it.

  “You think I left because I didn’t care about you and Zane, or about your daddy. But that’s not it. I just needed to feel like my life mattered too. I needed to know that I was still me. But I missed you every single day, even when I was too rushed to show it.”

  She opened her arms and we clung together like magnets, heart to heart. It felt good to be close to her again, even though deep down I was afraid to love her too much, terrified that she would die. I was glad that Mama couldn’t read my mind just then; it would have hurt us both.

  A police siren wailed. Lucky got scared and tumbled into the room, and before I could stop him, he laid his head on Mama’s lap like she could save him.

  “Lucky, no!” I grabbed his collar, but Mama just sighed and stroked his head.

  “Never mind,” she said, succumbing to his charms at last. “He can stay.”

  Daddy came home with our tree, and when Zane got back from the Hartes’, we spent the rest of the evening decorating it. Later we made scrambled eggs and toast for supper and lit a fire in the fireplace even though it wasn’t really that cold outside.

  Then it was Christmas Eve, and Hurricane Shyla blew into town with bags of Christmas presents and a week’s worth of dirty laundry. That night after supper when she went to the laundry room, I followed her. While she piled her things into the washer, I told her about seeing Daddy at lunch with Beverly at Bramasole.

  “You always have some logical explanation for everything he does,” I said. “But you don’t see them together. The way they look at each other.”

  Shyla blew out a gust of breath that ruffled her bangs. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

  “Talk to him. Tell him it’s not fair.”

  “I’m sure he already knows that.” She measured detergent and dumped it into the machine. “Sometimes people’s feelings are so complicated they can’t stop themselves, even when they know they should.”

  I thought about Nick’s mom and the way she had held on to her dream of a perfect life with Mr. Harper even after he’d proved over and over that he couldn’t be what she wanted. I realized that when it came to the whole man/woman/love/sex thing, adults were just as clueless as teenagers.

  Daddy stuck his head into the laundry room. “Girls? It’s nearly time to leave for church.”

  “In a minute, Dad,” Shyla said.

  He closed the door, and Shyla put her arm around my shoulder. “I’ll talk to him,” she whispered. “Now, stop worrying. It’s Christmas!”

  The next morning I woke to the smell of pancakes and the sound of Christmas music playing in the den. When I got downstairs, Mama was already dressed in black pants, a red sweater, and a matching scarf. “Merry Christmas, Phoebe,” she said.

  “Merry Christmas, Mama.”

  Shyla helped Daddy make breakfast. Zane bounded down the stairs, and we started talking, eating, and laughing at once, just like old times. Afterward we went into the den to open our presents. Shyla appointed herself the official Santa. She stuck a red felt hat on her head and handed out each present with a dramatic flourish.

  Zane swore he’d been very good, especially since finishing his community service hours, and Shyla handed him the box from me. He loved the shirt, as I knew he would. Then Shyla picked up a box and said, “This one’s for Dad. The truth now, Judge. Have you been a good boy this year?”

  She looked straight into Daddy’s eyes as she spoke. Zane and I exchanged glances. The fire crackled in the fireplace. In the background Elvis was crooning about a blue Christmas.

  “The truth,” Daddy said, “is that I haven’t been as good as I should have or as good as I hope to be.”

  “Well, there’s no time like the present to start mending your ways,” Shyla said, handing him the package. “Merry Christmas, Your Honor.”

  An hour later we were sitting in a mountain of torn paper, empty boxes, and shiny ribbon. Lucky retreated with his new peanut-butter bone to his favorite spot in the kitchen; Zane took his loot, which included movie passes, a couple of sweaters, and half a dozen CDs, up to his room. I got pretty much the same assortment of stuff—books from Daddy, perfume and an awesome leather backpack from Shyla, a CD from Zane. Mama, who said she absolutely loved the red journal I’d given her, gave me a chunky turquoise and silver necklace suitable for a girl of my height and a complete line of Bee Beautiful products.

  We were just clearing away the debris when the doorbell rang and Beverly, dressed in red velvet from head to toe, came in carrying a shopping bag. An expensive camera dangled from around her neck.

  “Buon Natale, Trasks! I brought y’all a few Christmas goodies to tide you over until suppertime.”

  “How nice!” Mama said.

  “It was nothing. I was making fudge for the old folks’ home anyway and Figured I might as well make an extra batch.” She set the bag down and said to Daddy, “Where’s that good-looking boy of yours, Sumnuh? I’ll snap a picture of you all while I have the camera loaded.”

  Behind her back I rolled my eyes at Shyla. Beverly always pretended she wasn’t doing anything special for us, that we were just an afterthought in her superbusy life, but everything she did was calculated to bring her into contact with my father. The memory of their private little lunch at Bramasole knifed through me; still, when I remembered that Beverly was totally alone at Christmas, her husband and son both dead in a foreign country, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. “You look really pretty,” I told her. And I meant it.

  Beverly’s face lit up like I’d just handed her the moon and stars. “Why, thank you, sugar. I haven’t worn this since … well, in a long while. I thought it was time.”

  “Yo, Zane!” Daddy yelled up the stairs. “Come down here a minute, son.”

  Zane came down and saw Beverly, and his eyes went hard. Daddy said, in his too-hearty voice, “Beverly wants to take a picture of our family.”

  “Zane, honey,” Mama said. “Come over here and let me straighten your collar.”

  “It’s fine.” He turned to Dad. “Can we get this over with? I promised Ginger I’d be at her house by one o’clock.”

  “Then I’ll be quick about it, Zane,” Beverly said with an easy laugh. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of young love.”

  She motioned us into place. Daddy and Shyla stood behind Mama’s chair. Zane and I stood on either side, and Lucky plopped himself down at Mama’s feet. As we arranged ourselves for the camera, my mind filled with what-ifs. What if this was the last Christmas with Mama in the picture? What if Mama found out about Daddy and Beverly? What if the two of them ran off together? It was such an effort to smile that my face felt like it was about to break.

  Beverly checked her light meter and fiddled with the camera. “Okay, everybody, smile!”

  The flash went off. Beverly said, “Va bene. Good. One more.”

  She snapped another picture, and we scattered.

  “Merry Christmas, Bev,” Daddy said. “Thanks for the fudge.”

  As soon as she was gone, Zane left for Ginger’s, and Shyla went to visit some of her old high school friends. Daddy offered to make lunch for Mama and me, but I was still stuffed full of pancakes. Plus, I couldn’t wait a nanosecond longer to give Nick his present. I was about to explode, wondering what he had chosen for me.

  I tucked his present inside my jacket and pedaled my bike to his house. A pickup was parked in the driveway. Through the window I could see a Christmas tree covered with foil icicles and blinking multicolored bulbs. On the front porch a little boy was playing with a set of miniature soldiers. I leaned my bike against the curb and started up the walk.

  The boy stood up and squinted at me. “Who are you?”

&n
bsp; “I’m Phoebe. I’ll bet you’re Jacob.” He nodded vigorously. “I’m four.”

  “I heard. Is Nick at home?”

  Jacob dropped to his knees and picked up a soldier. “Yep.” He looked up at me again. “How come you’re so tall?”

  “I don’t know, Jacob. Just lucky, I guess.”

  “It’s from eating vegetables, I bet.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said as the front door opened and Nick came out.

  “Hey,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s Christmas.” I handed him the book. “I brought you a present.”

  I was dying for him to open it. I knew he’d be totally blown away. But he just stared at me like I’d handed him a live snake.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “It’s just … I … I didn’t get you anything, Phoebe.”

  “Oh.” I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach.

  “I’m sorry. I mean, presents. I didn’t think we were that serious, you know?”

  I couldn’t believe he said that. What about the times we kissed? I thought. Didn ’t they mean anything? What about the time you came to the hospital when Daddy got hurt? What about the huge secret I kept for you? All of it felt plenty serious to me, but I was too numb to say anything.

  Jacob trotted over. “Aren’t you going to open your present, Nick? It might be a computer game or a million dollars.”

  “Butt out, Jacob,” Nick said. I ran for my bike. “I gotta go. Merry Christmas.”

  “Phoebe, wait!” Nick called. But I pedaled away as fast as I could.

  When I got home, I was too mortified to go inside. I parked my bike and got my old basketball out of the garage. I dribbled it on the concrete driveway, slapping the leather so hard my hands burned. I shot blindly at the basket, running and pivoting until I was breathless. I didn’t know how long I’d been out there when I realized that someone was standing behind me, watching.

  “Phoebe, what’s the matter?” Beverly said.

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re crying. Is everything all right?”

  I let the ball roll down the driveway and into the street. “Leave me alone!” I yelled. “Stop trying to act like my mother. You are not a part of my family!”

  Even as the words were coming out of my mouth, I realized it wasn’t only Beverly I was trying to punish, but I couldn’t stop. “And stay away from my dad! He’s married, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  The back door opened and Daddy stuck his head out. “Feebs?”

  I ran into the street and got my ball. Beverly turned around and walked back to her house. Daddy came outside. “Why are you yelling at Bev?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Everything!”

  I set my shot, but the ball hit the rim and bounced back. Daddy caught it, pivoted, and let it go. The ball arced through the air and swished through the basket. Nothing but net.

  Talk about awkward moments—picture my first day back in science lab with Nick after the Christmas disaster. I was already in a bad mood because Mama had yelled at me that morning for leaving the milk out of the fridge, and Zane was ticked because I had taken longer than usual getting ready and almost made us late for our first-period classes.

  It was one of those days where one thing after another piles up, until it sets your teeth on edge, and after spending the entire lunch period listening to Ashley’s blow-by-blow description of her entire Christmas bounty, followed by another of Mr. Clifton’s painfully boring lectures on the founding of Rhode Island, I stomped into science class spoiling for a fight. I dumped my backpack on the floor, opened my workbook to the assignment on trilobites, and set out the microscope and specimens we’d need to begin our study of Paleozoic fossils.

  Nick came in just as the tardy bell rang, and slid onto the stool beside mine. I bent over my book and pretended total fascination with drawing an arthropod.

  “Hey, Phoebe?” Nick’s breath was soft on my ear.

  “What?” I adjusted the microscope and peered into it.

  “I’m really sorry about, you know, Christmas and everything.”

  “Forget it. It was no big deal.”

  “Yeah, it was. I love the book. Coach Williams, man, he’s always been my idol. I can’t believe you knew that.”

  “It was a lucky guess.”

  Mrs. Grady strolled by our table and frowned. “Are you two planning to get any work done today?”

  Nick opened his workbook, and Mrs. Grady went on to harass someone else. Nick said, “That book was the best thing I got for Christmas. It was a total surprise. I didn’t realize you cared so much about me.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “Okay, you want to stay mad at me, fine. Stay mad.”

  “Thank you for giving me permission to have feelings!”

  Mrs. Grady looked up. “Shhh!”

  Nick said, “Are you finished hogging the microscope? I have to draw my examples too, you know.”

  “Be my guest!” I slid the microscope across the table, opened my textbook, and spent the rest of the period reading the same paragraph over and over.

  It took a while, but by February, when Mama’s treatments ended, Nick and I had reached a truce. We were talking again, but it sometimes felt strained. I wished I could go back to that first day of school, when everything was so free and easy between us. But now there was nothing about my life that was free and easy.

  Even though the doctors had given my mother every reason to be optimistic about the future, she was still mad at the world and took out her anger on whoever happened to be standing in her path. As February dragged on, the warm Christmas feeling that had sprung up between Mama and me evaporated like the damp winter mist hanging over the river. She complained about everything—the way I folded the towels, the music Zane played in the den when he thought she was asleep, the temperature of the soup Daddy served for supper.

  Daddy said it was a delayed reaction, that Mama was just now realizing how close she’d come to dying, and that her anger was a predictable response to everything she’d been through. Maybe so, but it still hurt to see my father, who was usually so happy and confident, withering under her constant verbal assaults. And it worried me to see how often he crossed the yard in the evening to sit on the porch with Beverly after Mama had gone to bed, their breath making little white clouds in the chilly winter air.

  I couldn’t blame him for wanting to get away from all the tension in our house, but I didn’t see how he could turn his back on me and Zane when we needed his steadiness more than ever. As for Beverly, she hadn’t come around much since Christmas. I figured she was working on another book; several times the parcel service guy had left oversize envelopes on her porch, and once I overheard her telling Daddy she was going to New York for meetings with her publisher.

  At school all the talk was about the Snow Ball corning up the following weekend. Since Christmas, Nick had not said one word about it. I still wanted to go, even if my relationship with Nick wasn’t the same, but I would have flossed my teeth with a razor blade before bringing it up and risking rejection again.

  One afternoon Zane dropped me downtown on his way to Ginger’s. I had a big project due in Mr. Clifton’s world history class, and I needed colored folders and a new stapler. Lucky had chewed my old one to smithereens.

  It was colder than usual for Eden in February, and I took a shortcut to the office supply store, which took me right past Sadle’s Music Store. Sadlcr’s wasn’t as big as the chain stores at the mall, but they were known for their great selection and friendly service. They had three stores scattered across Texas, including the main one in Mirabeau, which had been there for almost sixty years. They specialized in hard-to-find stuff. Sadler’s was where you went if you wanted an old recording by B. B. King, say, or the Everly Brothers.

  I burrowed into my jacket, glancing into the window as I passed. And there was Nick. W
ith a girl. She was wearing tight jeans, black boots, and a red leather jacket, and she and Nick were having a great time, laughing over a stack of CDs they were holding. For a minute I felt frozen in place, and that old kicked-in-the-stomach thing came back. I ducked my head so they wouldn’t see me, and hurried down the street.

  Half an hour later Zane showed up. !jumped into his car, slamming the door so hard the Ford rattled. More than usual.

  “What’s with you?” Zane glanced in the rearview mirror and eased away from the curb.

  “Just tell me one thing,” I said. “Why do boys pretend they like you and then go behind your back with somebody else? It’s disgusting! You are all born missing the honesty gene.”

  “Not me,” Zane said. “I’ve been totally honest with Ginger, and she still plays that come-here-go-away game with me. Half the time she acts like she’s crazy about me, and the other half I might as well be living on Mars. Why can’t girls be honest?”

  “I was honest with Nick, and see what it got me.”

  “He’s only fourteen,” Zane said, like he was the ancient Dalai Lama dispensing wisdom. “Cut him some slack. It’s tough being a guy these days.”

  “Oh, boo-hoo,” I said, but then we both started laughing at the absurdity of it all.

  The next day at lunch I bolted my pizza so I’d have time to go back up to my locker on the third floor. Mr. Clifton had finally worked his way up to the late 1700s and had assigned everyone a project. Mine was to write a report about the advances the American colonies made in the areas of science and religion. I learned, among other things, that in 1773, the first Public Hospital for Persons of Insane and Disordered Minds was established in Virginia.

  I opened my locker just as a familiar voice behind me said, “There you are.”

  “What do you want?” I took out my report and slammed the door shut. A few other people had drifted upstairs after lunch, and the hall echoed with laughter and the clang of metal as lockers were opened and closed.