by Gae Polisner
The GPS leads us to Broadway and Front Street. The whole way, Jaycee chatters excitedly.
“Remember that corporation on Front Street? That was him. That must have been him and we didn’t know it.” I nod and try to keep up with her. “Plus it makes perfect sense that he’s a poet, you know. They’re all crazy, flaky, schizos and alcoholics who can’t hold a job or keep a family.” She turns around, jogs backward, facing me. “Edgar Allen Poe, Sylvia Plath,” she says to prove her point. “You name it, Nick, you think poet, you think weird loner who kills himself or disappears.” She flashes a huge smile at me. The girl is clearly revved up.
“What about Dr. Seuss?” I ask, and she rolls her eyes, which makes me laugh.
As we finally turn onto Front Street, our British guide chimes from Jaycee’s pocket: “Two-tenths of a mile, you have reached your destination.” In another minute we’re standing in front of it, my heart pounding a little, both our mouths open. Across the plate glass window it reads Scooter’s Olde Fashioned Luncheonette. To tell you the truth, it makes me want to cry.
“Scooter would have loved that,” Jaycee says.
Judging from the huge crowd packed just inside the door, lots of people love it.
“I guess lunchtime on a Saturday wasn’t the best time to come,” she says, thinking what I’m thinking. It’s almost two, but it’s still a zoo in there.
“Do you think he just owns it or works here?”
She shrugs, and I don’t have an answer either. I hadn’t really thought about it until now. I had just pictured him flipping burgers in the back when I saw the photo. But the caption said he owned it, not cooked there. I mean, he may not even be inside. Unless he lives at the place. I turn and look at her. We’re face-to-face, my hand squeezed in hers. I realize she’s been holding it the whole time.
I suddenly, overwhelmingly, want to kiss her.
I try to clear my head.
“I don’t know. What do you think?” is all I manage, which is dumb because I’m stupidly repeating my own question.
“I don’t know either.” She squeezes my hand harder. “Maybe we should sit down and order something. Have some lunch and wait for the place to quiet down? Then see if we can find him or ask for the manager or something.”
“Okay,” I say. “I guess we need to put our names down and wait?”
She nods, then pushes me ahead of her. “Go to it, Lennie,” she says.
* * *
I leave Jaycee standing just inside the door and make my way through the crowd in the vestibule and leave my name with the maître d’, then squeeze back through to Jaycee.
“No Guy?” she asks when I reach her.
“No Guy. And at least fifteen minutes for a table.”
In the vestibule, the benches are all taken. We have to stand, and I’m squished right up against her. Our sweatshirts touch and her face is right in front of mine. Her eyes are amazing, and her lips look really soft. I try not to think about how bad I want to kiss them. I mean, here we are, finally about to find Scooter’s dad, so I shouldn’t be thinking about that.
The crowd shifts and loosens a little as a table for four is called. I watch them as they’re herded to their table, but Jaycee pulls my face back to hers. Our noses nearly touch. I can feel her warm breath on my chin. For a second, I’m sure she’s going to kiss me and I can just stop worrying about it all.
But she doesn’t. She tugs on the strings to my hood. “Thanks, Nick. Thanks for coming with me.”
“No prob,” I say, and she laughs, and I’m pretty sure she’s laughing at me. But I don’t mind so much because there’s something sweet about it too.
“I’m serious,” she says. “I know you think I’m crazy. I know you don’t care if we find Scooter’s dad. That you didn’t even think that we should. Seriously, I know that. I know that you did this completely for me.” She looks straight in my eyes.
I’m not sure what to say or do. I mean, there are a whole bunch of strangers around us. I nod and reach my arm out and somehow manage to place it around her, on her back, and then move it a little, in a lame sort of combined pat and hug. She smiles and pulls my other arm around her too. It’s hard to leave them there now. I feel self-conscious, but I manage to anyway.
“It’s just that everything’s always so broken, you know, Nick? People leave. People die. New, stupider people come. People are there and then gone. And you just have to sit there and take it. Deal with it. Accept it for what it is. But maybe once in a while you get a chance to fix it. At least a little. Or at least try. Or pretend that you can. Sometimes you just want to know that you tried.”
“There is no try, remember?” But I hug her tighter because I can tell she needs it, plus maybe I’m starting to get the hang of this holding and hugging thing. “I know what you’re saying though,” I add.
“I have to pee,” she says, which isn’t exactly what I’m expecting now that I’m feeling all suave. But then why would I expect anything else with Jaycee?
“Okay.” I let go and shove my hands into my pockets. A couple ahead of us are called. “Hurry back,” I say.
Jaycee bobs off to the maître d’s desk, then into the center of the restaurant. I watch her, and then just the tip of her green hood, disappear and reappear until I finally can’t see it anymore. Then, for the first time since we walked in, I look around.
The vestibule wall is crowded with photos. There are shots of people in the restaurant, eating burgers and ice cream sundaes. There are a few headshots of people I don’t recognize, but they’re autographed so I guess they must be famous, at least by Rochester standards. There’s also a framed copy of the newspaper photo. I walk up to it to study it more closely, wondering if maybe I’ll also find a photo of MaeLynn or Scooter even, as a baby. Then again he wasn’t exactly your magazine-model type of kid.
I turn around to scope out the other walls, and my heart sinks. Opposite where I stand, there’s a large, framed, retro-style poster, like from the 1950s or something. It’s got a light blue background with a drawing of a huge brown, chocolate sandwich cookie with a graham cracker crust and marshmallow cream oozing out of it. Below that it says Burry’s Scooter Pies. Mmm. Delicious.
Scooter Pies!
Man, what if that’s it? What if that’s why the restaurant is called Scooter’s Luncheonette, and the Scoot has nothing to do with it? What if Guy Reyland is nothing more than a jerk and a bastard, who didn’t even care enough to name a stupid old burger joint after his kid, just like I thought he was?
I mean, he clearly didn’t care enough about his kid to stay with him, so why would he name a restaurant after him? God, what if his diner’s just named after an old-fashioned moon pie cookie, and none of it has anything to do with the Scoot? What will I tell Jaycee?
I scan for her, and catch her hood and then her pigtails bobbing back toward me. I take a deep breath and try to think more clearly. Maybe I should just block the poster. Or maybe I need to tell her. Maybe she needs to know while there’s still time to change our minds and go. Because maybe I’m right after all. Maybe the dude doesn’t deserve to have a fifteen-thousand-dollar book. Maybe he’s a total nobody and a loser who was better off not being found.
But then, Jaycee was so excited to find him, so hopeful that when she did, he’d have a decent bone in his body. If he named the dumb diner after Scooter Pies she’ll be crushed.
As she gets closer, I notice she has this weird expression on her face, which makes me wonder if she already knows. Maybe she’s seen the same thing. Maybe outside the bathroom there was another poster. Maybe there are posters for Scooter Pies plastered all over the whole damned restaurant.
By the time she gets to me, she’s pale and trembling. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe she’s been sick again.
“Jaycee, are you okay?”
“Yeah, Nick.” She nods and clutches my arm. “I am. I’m okay. But you’re not. You’d better come with me!”
17
She pulls me through the dining area full
of people and tables and booths, steers me left and then back, then nudges me into a corner behind a coatrack loaded down with jackets and sweaters. She puts her hands on my shoulders and turns me slowly around.
“Over there, in the far corner,” she whispers, “by the tall plant.” She takes my chin and directs my head just a little. “That’s him, right? I thought I recognized him from the photos.”
It takes me a minute to focus my eyes through everything and adjust to his face, so much thinner.
But, yeah, anyway, sitting there is my dad.
You know, Fat Man 2. Who’s supposed to be working in New York City.
Also, he’s not alone.
Even though I only see the back of her head—her long blond beautiful hair—I know exactly who it is.
“MaeLynn,” Jaycee says. She sees it too. She already knew. She’s still got hold of my arm. Her fingers dig into me.
And even from here, across the whole stupid room, from behind a mess of coats and sweaters, I can tell everything. Or at least way more than I want to. From the way my dad holds her hands and stares at her with wide googly eyes like some dumb, love struck kid. And from the way she leans in and tilts her head, like some ridiculous crush. One thing is clear. My dad and MaeLynn: no way they’re just friends.
You can tell he’s madly in love with her.
“They’re together, right?” Jaycee finally asks, although it’s really more of a statement than a question. I shake my head and shush her. It’s obvious. It’s obvious that my dad is here with MaeLynn.
There are a million crazy thoughts spinning through my head and buckets and buckets of rage. So much stuff that I can’t even move. I stand frozen, watching them. How can he be here? And why is he here with MaeLynn? And how can my dad look so good? So normal and happy and okay? His whole face has thinned, and his neck and upper body, so that he looks much younger. But it’s way more than that. It’s the way he sits there and smiles.
I fight the tears that want to come.
“Maybe it’s just a coincidence?” Jaycee whispers. “There must be a good reason they’re here.”
I shake my head. “Maybe there’s a good reason she is,” I say, “but why him? What would he be doing here?”
“Maybe she came for the same reason we did?” Jaycee says. “To find Scooter’s dad.”
“Why would she now when Scooter is dead? And even if she did, that would explain her,” I say, “but it doesn’t explain my father.” I squeeze my eyes shut for a second to think, or maybe to keep from crying.
We stand there staring for another minute as Dad eats and talks and rubs his hands up and down MaeLynn’s arm, oblivious to us standing just a few tables away. Try as I might, I just can’t believe it. I mean, forget everything else for a minute, how is she, MaeLynn, sitting there talking and eating and smiling, like everything is normal and okay, when it’s only a week since the Scoot died?
“She must need to, Nick,” Jaycee says softly, then gives me a look like, Why are you always so surprised? “Take it from me. It’s just something I know. There’s only so much you can cry. Anyway,” she whispers, “people are staring at us. We can’t stay behind these coats forever.” She elbows me and nods at two old women who watch us from a nearby table, annoyed expressions on their faces. “So what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Well, we should do something. We’re gonna get yelled at. We’re kind of obvious here.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say. I press hard on my eyes to stop them from tearing up. “I think I just want to go.”
“You don’t want to talk to him? You don’t want to find out what they’re doing here?”
“No. We’ll find out sooner or later. It’s my dad, Jaycee. I think I just need to go.”
“Okay.” She slides her hand down my arm and slips her fingers into mine. “Whatever you say. Let’s just go then.”
We start to move out from behind the mess of jackets, but her backpack catches on one and the coatrack tips. I stop it from crashing down, but not before a few jackets fall to the floor.
“Just leave them,” I say, but she stoops quickly to pick them up before pulling me toward the door. If they weren’t before, I’m sure people are watching us now. But I don’t look back, just let her lead me, my legs not feeling like they’re even attached to me anymore. When we reach the front door, she finally turns and faces me.
“You okay?” she asks. “You sure you want to leave?” I nod and keep pushing her forward.
“We should have known it, Jaycee,” I say after her. “That something crazy would happen. Think about it. When we first got here, there was the water tower, I told you. Then I bought a cherry cola. And then, out of nowhere, you get a fever. What were the chances of that? Then some woman sends us to Scooter’s Luncheonette! Something bad was bound to happen.”
As I say it, tears force their way out, and I know I just need to get out of here. I can’t worry about Scooter or Guy Reyland or anything else that we came for. When the door opens and the sunshine hits me, I feel like I can breathe again. Jaycee feels it too, heaves a sigh of relief and turns to me.
“Best laid plans gone oft awry?” Her eyes search mine with concern.
“Yeah, gangs and gangs of aft gangly.”
I mess it up on purpose because it’s stupid and I don’t care, and I just want to make Jaycee laugh. Because I know if I can just hear her laugh, then maybe I won’t really start to bawl. And she does, she laughs, which at this point is what I need most of all. I take her hand and we start to walk down Front Street again, back in the direction of the hotel.
As we walk, I try not to let my mind go to all the crazy places that it wants to go. To Mom and Dad, and to Jeremy saying I told you so, and to the news crew and the stupid follow-up story that is forming in my brain, about how “Fat Man 2 Leaves Family and Marries Dead Kid’s Mother.” We make it barely half a block before I hear Dad call my name.
“Nick, hold up. Nick! Wait! Come on!”
I don’t stop. I don’t want to talk to him.
“Nick!” Jaycee yanks my arm hard to stop me. She points. I whip my head around. He jogs toward me, his face already dripping with sweat. “Jesus, kid, stop! Lemme talk to you.”
I yank my arm and try to keep going, but Jaycee lunges and grabs my hood and pulls forcefully this time. She nearly chokes me. “Nick, stop! Just stop!” Her eyes plead. I glare back at her. “At least hear him out,” she says.
“For what? I mean, what can he possibly say?” I look back at him. He leans down, hands on knees, breathing hard. Maybe he’ll finally have a heart attack and be done with it.
I turn to Jaycee again, hoping for understanding. Instead she says, “You really should hear him out.”
“Why?”
“Because he wants you to.”
“So?”
“So, at least you have your dad.”
At that moment something in her eyes is so clear, I want to trust her. And, more important, I want to do right by her. I look from her back to my dad again, who stands there panting like a dog. Coming up behind him is MaeLynn, her face twisted into a mess of concern, like she doesn’t know if she should come or go.
Go, I think, you should definitely go. Dad I can deal with, but definitely not MaeLynn. But then, she’s Scooter’s mom.
I jam my hands in my pockets and swallow, and take some breaths until I can get myself to feel solid. “Christ, what?” I finally manage.
“What are you doing here, Nick? Does your mother know where you are? For Pete’s sake, what are you doing here in Rochester?”
What am I doing here? That’s what he wants to know? What am I doing!
I glare at him, refuse to answer. I mean, how is this about me? Here he is without Mom—and with MaeLynn, of all people—acting like an ass, like some thirteen-year-old hormonal idiot, and he’s giving me the third degree?
“We were trying to find Scooter’s dad.”
I whip around at Jaycee. I know
she’s just trying to be helpful, and yet I’m still furious at her for betraying me. She makes her eyes wide and mouths “What did you want me to do?” then shrugs and turns back to them. “We were looking for Mr. Reyland.”
MaeLynn stares for a second with her mouth open, then laughs—not in a happy or mean way, more like in disbelief.
“Guy, honey?” she asks in her sweet southern drawl. “Oh dear God, Guy is dead.” She looks to Dad, then back at Jaycee again. “He died a few months ago. I needed to take care of Scooter, but now, well, I came up here to straighten out some things.” She motions behind her toward the diner, but then realizes this probably means nothing to us, and sighs. “Well, it’s complicated,” she says. But of course we already know more than she thinks we do.
“Wait, Guy is dead?” Jaycee’s voice breaks. Her face is completely fallen. She hasn’t gotten past the first sentence.
“Yes, honey, dead. A few months ago. My goodness, why would you kids be looking for him?”
“Dead?” Jaycee says again. She blinks tears away.
“Yes. I’m sorry. He had serious problems. Serious. And Scooter had absolutely no relationship with him. Why would you think you should come looking for him?”
Jaycee opens her mouth to say something, but I squeeze her arm. Maybe there are things that Scooter wouldn’t want us to tell. Or maybe he wouldn’t care. My head is spinning. I can’t keep everything straight.
“So why is he here?” I indicate my dad. He’s caught his breath some, stands quietly watching MaeLynn.
“He was helping me, Nick. It’s a long story. Come on back inside. We’ll have some tea and I’ll explain things.”
I snort, like a huge, sarcastic laugh. Because I don’t want tea. Tea is idiotic, and I’m totally pissed again. Because why the hell is my dad here, in Rochester, with MaeLynn? Instead of where he belongs. Home, in Glenbrook. With Mom. Or at least where he’s supposed to be, in New York City, which, apparently, is also a big, fat lie. I feel the tears come again.
I turn back to Jaycee. “I really need to leave,” I say.
“But Scooter…” she says, ignoring me and looking at MaeLynn again. “He didn’t know that Guy was dead?”