What Goes Up
Page 15
When Mom did finally come out, more than a dozen bright balloons bobbed along behind her as she skipped down the steps. She handed a red balloon to me. Tied to the string was one of her paper fairies.
Mom gave everyone a balloon to hold and cleared her throat. “Robyn never had a chance to meet her dad, and he never had a chance to meet her either. So tonight we can help her say goodbye properly. If you could all write down a memory of Byron, if you have one, on your paper fairy, and we’ll each read ours out.”
Mrs. Humphries went first, after scribbling a note on her fairy. “When he first defected from Densdale and came to live here, Byron stopped to help me change a flat tire. Lovely boy. Fan of beef jerky too.”
We all clapped, and the next person stood up.
Everyone took a turn. Even Mrs. Cuthbert. “He knew how to prune a rosebush, I’ll give him that,” she said.
There were good stories—sad ones too. And funny ones. But Grandma’s was my favorite.
“He made my daughter happier than she’s ever been, before or since, and gave us our little Miss Sparkles.” She kissed her paper fairy and made a little sniffling sound.
I wondered what Mom had been like when he was still here. Another parent I’d never know.
Mom didn’t speak. She just shook her head, kissed the note on her fairy, and pressed it to her heart. Somehow, she managed not to cry, which just made it worse. Listening to all the stories of my dad, I felt like I knew him a little bit more. I knew me a bit more too. It was a sort of relief.
Mom handed me a pen and opened the folded fairy on my balloon. “Write what’s important to you, Bob.”
There wasn’t much room, but I didn’t have much to say.
I wrote: We’d have liked each other. Robyn (your daughter, btw) xoxo
Not much, really, after almost twelve years of not speaking. When I held the balloon out in front of me, I thought of a million excellent things I could have written. I’d have looked silly if I’d scribbled it out and written something else, though. Besides, it would do. My dad would know what I wanted to say.
“You don’t have to read it out,” Mom said. Then she whispered in my ear, “Red was his favorite color.”
I smiled and let the string slip through my fingers until the balloon tugged free and rose into the sky. After a few moments, the others let theirs go too. The balloons all floated straight up after mine, not bobbing anywhere near the house, or the roof, or even me.
“ ‘How now, spirit? Whither wander you?’ ” I whispered. “I love you, Dad.” I blew the balloons a kiss goodbye, hoping they wouldn’t strangle any wildlife. We watched quietly as they disappeared into the cloudless sky.
Then, out of nowhere, a scream.
Way up in the air, someone shrieked the sort of panicked squeal a person made before having their parachute catch on a cast-iron rooster weather vane.
“Oh no!” I grabbed Nickel’s hand.
We all ducked or ran for cover.
A screaming woman rode an out-of-control hang glider right past our house. Instead of colliding with the roof, she looped up and then back down to land on Mrs. Cuthbert’s porch roof.
Grandma cracked up. I mean, she cackled like a feuding neighbor with absolutely no moral high ground to stand on. Mrs. Cuthbert picked herself up from where she’d dived under the table and stared slack-jawed at the person struggling to her feet on her roof.
Now I knew what life looked like to a person with a better-than-average chance of not being squashed—because this had to mean that the curse was broken. Forever. Or at least it had moved next door.
“Uh, sorry, folks,” the stranded woman called out. “Little help?”
“Looks like you better give that roof of yours a stern talking-to, Abigail,” Officer Bugden said, and he winked at me as he hurried off to help.
In 1979, we waited anxiously for a space station called Skylab to crash back to Earth. As a ten-year-old child in possession of quite an imagination, I was utterly convinced I had a personal bull’s-eye hovering above my head. I was wrong, obviously, but the whole event left a major impression that helped inspire this book. So thank you, NASA, for terrifying the living daylights out of a mostly innocent child and inspiring her future debut novel.
While the following people may not have made me fear for my life, they’ve all improved it and helped with this book in many ways: Natalie, who reads all my work and perfected the “Positivity Sandwich.” Sara Megibow, who loved this book even when I lost faith. Caroline Abbey, for her wisdom and ability to weed out all my repetitions. Tabitha, who giggled in all the right places. Kathryn, for her efforts to improve my grammar. Kent, for being my beautiful assistant. Dinko, for giving me a most excellent keyboard. Melissa Elliott, for making sure I represented a child with albinism as well as I could. Lisa, for writing a funny book to inspire me. And my big sister, Sheryl, and our nephew Mathew, I wish you were both here to see this.
Lastly, to my kids, Jonny and Emily, who make me so proud that they make me want to be a better person just to compete. To Laura, for hugging my boy when I can’t. To Victor, for never remembering which of my books is which, but trying hard. And to Jayden, Grayson, Hunter, and Baxter—my inspirations, my heart, and my biggest distractions. Thank you all.
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