I look at the flyer: Artists on a Mission. Ever wonder why you’re an artist? Feel like you could be contributing your talent to a bigger cause? You could be. Our next mission starts soon. Reserve your seat on the plane and make a difference.
“You just picked up a flyer and now you’re going to Peru?” I ask, aware that my voice sounds harsh. “It’s a good thing you didn’t see an ad for basket weaving in the swamps of—well, wherever the heck they have swamps.”
I sound ridiculous and lame. I don’t care.
“You make it sound so rash,” she says.
“Isn’t it?” I say. “People don’t just pick up and go to Peru. They don’t do that.”
“Yes, they do,” she says. “People get crippled and learn to walk again. They live with holes in their brain. They go through their life being treated like a bird with a broken wing. Then their house gets torn to shreds and they find a flyer and they go to Peru.”
“What does Chris say about this?” I ask, deflecting, but I can’t help it.
“He thinks I’m crazy. I think he’s just scared for me.”
“I think he doesn’t want to lose you.”
“I’m not going to be lost,” she says. “To any of you.”
“Does Ray know about this?”
She ignores the question. “The job doesn’t pay anything,” she says. “Just, you know, food and a place to stay, art supplies and such. What do you think?”
“I think it’s crazy,” I say, all my other emotions falling away until my voice is small with fear.
“Jump, and the net will appear, Nina.”
Lola thinks that I am the one who shores her up, who gives her a pattern of flight. I see now that I’m the one clutching tight, her feathers held firm in my fingers.
“What will I do without you?” I say.
“You’ll live,” she says. “How well, though, is totally up to you.”
“What about Chris?”
“I don’t know. I hope he’ll be here when I get back. This ice cream is making me thirsty.”
She gets up from the table and goes back into the condo. She’s in there about three minutes when she shouts in surprise. “Ray’s on TV!”
My heart sinks. My legs are jelly, and I can hardly get them moving toward the living room and the television set and the confirmation that Nicole pressed charges after all and Ray is going back to prison. I expect to see an old mug shot of Ray while someone talks to Nicole’s neighbor about how she’s always been too nice for her own good.
Lola is pointing at the television with her mouth agape. She jabs her finger at the set as I approach. The newscaster is standing in front of the local public park downtown.
“A crowd has formed around this man and his demonstration of apology,” the newswoman says in her news voice. “It’s a grand gesture that I, for one, hope does not go unnoticed.”
The camera pans over, and there’s Ray.
“There he is,” Lola says, jabbing her finger at the set. “There he is.”
His name pops up at the bottom of the screen—“Ray”—in quotes as if they’re not sure he is who he says he is. He’s wearing a sandwich board on which he has painted an apology to Nicole. Stupid Man Seeks Forgiveness from Wonderful Mother of His Child. Ray turns around, and the camera focuses on the back of the sign: Nicole and Michael—I may never be able to do things the “normal” way, but I love you and I need you in my life. Please forgive me.
“So, tell us, Ray,” the newswoman says. “What’s this all about?” She holds out the mic to him.
Lola sucks in a breath and reaches out to me. She doesn’t know about any of this.
“It’s ok,” I whisper to Lola, my heart racing.
Ray looks nervous but determined.
“Well, Kate,” he says to the newswoman. “I’m a stupid man who did a stupid thing—many stupid things, actually—and I’m sorry. I’m desperate and sorry.”
“Is this the act of a desperate man?” Kate seems to ask of no one in particular. “We’ll see.”
I wonder, all of a sudden, if Ray has some stunt planned. Perhaps he’s going to fling off the sandwich board and scale the side of a building.
My brother is on the news! Panic!
What channel?
That crazy Ray!
Sorry about your dad, by the way.
“I just want her to see me,” Ray says. “I’m making a promise in front of everyone in the city and everyone watching from your living rooms—I will be a decent man.”
Ray takes the mic from Kate, and she looks nervous.
“I’m sorry, Nicole,” he says, and the camera zooms in on his face. “I’m always going to be stupid ol’ Ray. But I mean well. I’m not a bad guy. I used to think I was. But I’m hoping I’m not. And I promise to be a good man and a good father.”
Kate reaches out for the mic, but Ray steps away from her.
“I’m going to walk the city wearing this board and telling people how sorry I am and how wonderful you are until I tell everyone,” he says. “Until you forgive me.”
“That’s quite an undertaking,” Kate says. “How long do you think this will take?” She reaches out again for the microphone, but Ray won’t give it up.
“I don’t care,” he says. “I’m starting now.”
He takes off with the mic, and the cameraman follows after him. People on the streets start applauding. Ray starts shaking hands with people.
“Hi,” he says to a guy passing by. “I’m Ray, and I’m hoping to win my family back. I’m not drunk. This is me, totally sober.”
He holds the mic over to the gentleman.
“Good luck to you, man,” the guy says into the mic and smiles at the camera.
“Let’s go,” Ray says, looking into the camera and motioning us all forward with him.
“What are you doing, Jim?” Kate says off camera.
“This dude’s a riot,” Jim’s voice replies.
There’s about ten more seconds of Ray heading into the crowd and then it cuts back to the newsroom where the evening news crew is laughing.
“Did you know about this?” Lola looks at me, knowing already that I knew. “Ray has a kid? Why didn’t anyone tell me? I’m sick of secrets. I hate this.”
She storms off into Cassie’s bedroom, leaving me and the news report alone in the living room.
22
Two months come and go while I putter around my empty house. I haven’t seen Oliver again. Lola won’t speak to me—or anyone else for that matter. Cassie won’t come home, and Jack won’t make her. My severance is almost up and something’s got to give.
I’m hoping the spirits of Halloween will settle around us and work that kind of magic you believe in as a child when imagination can make you something other than what you are.
Lola is set on Peru now, and not even Chris can talk her out of it. She’s mad at Ray for keeping Michael a secret and seems to be keeping her new mission a mystery out of spite. I want to tell Ray about Peru, but it’s not my place. I want to talk to Lola about Michael, but that isn’t mine either. All this not talking is making my head spin, and I decide that too much silence is enough.
Mom is over at her sister’s house for the night, so I have lured Lola over with the promise of dinner and neutral ground. She doesn’t know I’ve invited Ray, and he doesn’t know she’s here. I wish Mom hadn’t gotten rid of the Halloween masks she made. The devil would be perfect for me tonight.
There’s a knock on the door, and Lola glances at me suspiciously. She looks like she’s about to make a break for it, and I hold my hand out in a stop motion. I slip into the foyer and open the door.
“You don’t have to knock,” I say to Ray when I open the door.
“Is that Lola’s car?” Ray points over his shoulder to the driveway. “Did you do this? Is she still mad
at me?”
“I never said I played fair,” I answer. “Get in here. Enough already. We’re not kids anymore. Just talk to her.”
“Is she mad I didn’t tell her about Michael?” Ray asks.
“She’s hurt.”
“That’s worse.” He steps back like my words have hit him in the gut.
I yank on his tattooed arm and pull him inside. Lola is standing by the coffee table, surveying the living room like she’s looking for an escape.
“Knock it off,” I say to them, and I swear I can hear fireworks in my head.
I’m standing between the two of them like I’m about to hold off a fistfight. I feel like we’re back in time—back before Ray and Lola learned to cling to each other for safety, back before they were each other’s breath, back to the day Lola came home from the hospital and any terrible new arrangement of life was possible. I look back and forth between them for a signal on what to do next. Ray makes the first move.
“I’m not going to leave,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Well played. I wish Lola would say the same thing. I step out of the way, and Ray moves closer to Lola. He reaches out to her. She doesn’t step back, but she doesn’t go to him either. He sighs and runs his hand through his hair.
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he says. “I didn’t know if I’d be able to do the right thing.”
She doesn’t say anything. She just lets him fill the space between them with words.
“Don’t turn me away,” he says. “I couldn’t bear it. Be angry, but don’t shut me out. I act like I want to be left alone, but I don’t.”
“I didn’t turn you away before,” she says. “Even after I remembered. You know me better than that. Act like it.”
“Yeah.” Ray’s eyes get glassy. “I know.”
“Don’t make us come banging on the door again,” Lola says, shaking her head at him. “Just open it. We wouldn’t be banging on it if we didn’t want you to come out.”
Ray drops his head and nods at his shoes. Lola steps forward and takes hold of his hand.
It’s a tentative truce, and it’s enough for the moment. We sit around Mom’s dining room table for dinner. We’ve never sat here, just the three of us without either parent.
“It’s like we’re little kids at the grown-up table at Thanksgiving,” Ray says.
“And all the grown-ups are at a card table in the kitchen,” Lola finishes his line of thinking.
We all laugh—better that than the thought of one day being parentless together.
Throughout dinner, I toss softball questions to Lola and Ray, easy leads into the things they need to say to each other. But neither one takes a swing.
Eventually, we move to the living room couch, our feet on the coffee table. I’m probably pressing too hard and should be happy with the progress they’ve made. But being satisfied with what I have isn’t something I’m good at. I’m about to give up when I get an idea. I jump up from the couch and run out of the room. When I moved all of Mom’s hobby projects from the table so that we could sit together, I remember that she had a few games in the mix.
“Look at these,” I say, returning to the living room with a deck of tarot cards.
“Where did you get those?” Lola says, jumping back from the cards.
“Mom’s hobby stash,” I say. “What do you think? Should we play?”
“Absolutely not,” Lola says. “Get those devil cards away from me.”
“It’s just a game,” Ray scoots down to the floor to be closer to the deck.
“Why not?” I ask Lola. “It’s Halloween. The night when the truth comes out.”
“Halloween is when the spooks come out,” Ray says. “Not the truth. What truth anyway—haven’t we spilled all the beans?”
Almost.
“I don’t want to find spooks or the truth,” Lola says. “Those cards freak me out.”
“Ok,” I sigh and leave the room again, returning this time with a Magic 8-Ball.
Both Lola and Ray laugh and reach for the ball.
“Now we’re talking,” Lola says.
“What do we do now?” Ray says and looks at me.
“We ask it something,” I say.
“Do you think it will really be able to answer us?” Ray asks, looking much more serious about this game than he should.
“Of course not,” Lola says, but inches down beside us on the floor.
We look at each other, waiting for someone to start. In the dim light from the lamp and the moon outside, we could be kids again. The kids we were before the world shifted course. The kids we could have been. But who would those kids be now? I think that obsessing over the way it all might have been has kept me from seeing the wonder of what is. I think about my ruined marriage and my ruined relationship with Cassie. Hindsight is a ghost floating just over my shoulder. I send him outside with my old friend, guilt. Maybe they can go trick-or-treating and bring me back a chocolate bar.
Ray takes the ball and holds it in his hands. He closes his eyes and just when I think he might ask a serious question, he puts on a canned séance-style voice and says, “Will Nina ever learn to mind her own business?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say.
“What does it say, Ray?” Lola asks.
“Hey, this thing really works,” Ray says, looking at the answer window. “It says ‘Don’t count on it.’”
They laugh out loud at my expense, and I couldn’t be happier.
I watch the two of them giggle and carry on. Lola hasn’t asked Ray yet for details about Michael, nor has she told him about Peru. Maybe it’s not my place to force their secrets out of them. I think they’re just enjoying each other for the moment.
This night is like a pit stop. Like stopping at a hotel in the middle of a long trip. Limbo. Once the car is moving again with the destination in sight, you have no choice but to head full steam into whatever is waiting for you when you get there.
“Let me ask it something,” I say and reach out for the ball.
Ray holds it tight to his chest and shakes his head. Children’s voices pitch through the night; countless kids are somewhere out on the sidewalk making plans, collecting candy.
“No way,” he says. “This thing is mine. Magic 8-Ball, did Mom buy any candy for the trick-or-treaters?” He turns it to face us. “‘My sources say no.’”
“Looks like neighbor kids are going to T.P. her house,” Lola says and laughs.
Ray looks very sternly at the 8-ball.
“What about her mints?” I say. “We could pass those out.”
“Her mints!” Ray shouts. “I forgot all about those.”
Our whole childhood smelled like those pastel mints at the register of the Chinese restaurant.
“Where do you think she keeps them?” I ask. “In case the bell rings and we’re on the spot.”
“Let’s ask Dad.” Ray shakes the ball. “This thing says it has sources—maybe Dad is one.”
“Don’t you dare,” Lola says. “If that thing starts answering like Dad, you’ll see a Lola-sized hole in the front door.”
“Is that actually what you’d want to ask Dad?” I say, realizing Ray is serious. “If you could really tune him in on this silly thing.”
“Like a transistor radio?” Ray smirks.
“Dad, does Mom keep the mints in the pantry?” Lola asks the ball and looks at me sheepishly. “Shake it, Ray.”
Ray looks up to the ceiling, suddenly anxious and breathy. He shakes the Magic 8-Ball. “‘Most likely,’” he whispers.
“I don’t want to do this anymore.” I stand up quickly, retreating to the other side of the room. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”
Ray squints his eyes at the ball like he’s trying to see inside it, like he believes that it’s really Dad.
&n
bsp; “Do you still mean what you said?” Ray asks.
I think he’s talking to me, but I soon understand that he isn’t.
“Stop,” Lola whispers. “It’s over. Let it go.”
“It’s not over for me,” Ray says, shaking the ball.
“This is a bad idea,” I say. “Let’s play truth or dare or something else childish. Ray, you start.”
Ray shakes the ball and asks again, “Do you still mean what you said?”
Lola runs out of the room, and Ray sets the ball down and goes out the front door. I pick up the ball and look in the little plastic window.
Without a doubt.
◆ ◆ ◆
After a few minutes, I go outside looking for Ray. Late October is something akin to heaven, I think—golden and easy. The hardened leaves that still clinging to the trees rustle together in what must be the sound of perseverance. I find Ray sitting on the steps of the front porch.
“What a weird night,” he says. “I guess Lola saw me on the news.”
“Before it went viral on YouTube.” I sit down beside him. “Or so I hear. I don’t know how Mom doesn’t know.”
“Momland,” Ray says. “You remember that?”
“I do,” I say. “I feel like we’re all on the edge of a cliff. Does it seem that way to you?”
“Always.”
“I need to tell you something,” I say. “I wanted Lola to tell you herself, but maybe it’s better that you have a heads-up.”
“Don’t say things like that,” Ray says. “I think the prelude to the bad news is worse than the news.”
“Lola is going to Peru on a mission trip. Some artist thing. But what scares me is that I’m not sure she plans to come back.”
“Ok, the prelude is not worse than the news,” Ray says, putting his hands over his ears like if he can shut out the sound of my voice none of it will be true. “Peru? That’s far away,” he says when he finally takes his hands down.
“Yeah.”
Kids run across the front lawn unaware that we can see them. Darkness and costumes are a cloak of invisibility.
The Lemonade Year Page 26