You and Me and Us

by Alison Hammer

  “Is it something from my list?” he asks, even though he still hasn’t let us see what’s on it.

  “Maybe,” I tease.

  “We’re getting tattoos?” Tommy claps his hands like a little boy who can’t wait to open his birthday presents. “I knew it!”

  “Keep dreaming, my love.” I lean over to give him a kiss before starting the car.

  I half expect Tommy to keep making guesses as I drive down 98, but he just stares out the window as we pass through the town where he grew up, where we fell in love and made so many memories with our family.

  There’s the Publix where we first ran into each other as adults—I was there to buy aloe after falling asleep in the sun, and he was buying flowers to take on a first date. The Donut Hole, where we went for breakfast and ended up talking straight through to lunch. McGuire’s, the Irish pub that has a dollar bill up on the wall with our two names on it, and another we added years later with CeCe’s name, too.

  When I pull into the parking lot of Tailfins, Tommy looks confused. “Are we going to brunch?”

  I shake my head. “Not exactly.”

  “You’re going to love it, Dad,” CeCe says, getting out of the car. She pops the trunk and takes Tommy’s wheelchair out, unfolding it while Beau helps Tommy out of the car.

  Jill and Abigail are already there, standing at the edge of the parking lot, with a giant beach bag and a cooler big enough to fit CeCe inside of it.

  “Hey, there, handsome,” Jill calls.

  Tommy smiles and reaches for my hand. Beau pushes the chair as I walk beside him, down the long ramp toward the harbor.

  “Did you buy me a boat?” Tommy asks as we get closer. “For a Viking burial at sea?”

  I glance behind me, grateful CeCe was out of earshot for the last part, which I choose to ignore. “Just for the day.”

  “Awesome,” he says. “Best day ever.”

  I give him a kiss and head over to the wooden shed to check in, hoping he’s right and that’s exactly what it will be.

  After filling out all the paperwork, the dockhands help us get everything onto the boat and point out all the safety instructions for Beau, who was nominated to be captain. Jill busies herself getting the drinks and snacks ready, and I help Tommy get settled into a seat near the back of the pontoon boat.

  Beau expertly backs out of the dock and as soon as we’re on the open water, a calm settles over Tommy. He closes his eyes and lifts his head to the wind. “This is the life,” he says, taking my hand in his. “Where are we heading? Going for pizza at Helen Back?”

  “It’s not open anymore,” Jill says as she hands Tommy one of her famous Bloody Marys. “Tax problems or something.”

  “But don’t worry,” Beau says. “We’ve got something fun planned.”

  “It’s already perfect,” Tommy says.

  Beau smiles and pushes the throttle, making the boat go faster. I reach for Tommy to make sure he’s okay, but he looks better than he’s looked in weeks, smiling into the wind, letting the spray of saltwater splash onto him.

  “Faster, Beau Bo,” Tommy calls.

  Beau obliges and pushes the throttle forward even more.

  “Faster!” Tommy says again.

  Beau takes it up another notch and Tommy looks back at me, smiling as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. As if his world, our world, isn’t ending.

  As Crab Island comes into view, Beau pulls back on the speed until we’re idling in the no-wake zone. It’s been years since we’ve been out to the “Island,” where boats anchor off one another and people swim and drink, hang out, listen to music, and buy everything from boiled peanuts to hot dogs and margaritas from the vendor boats that put around.

  Tommy rests a hand on my leg, and I wonder if he’s thinking about what I am—one of our first dates when we came out to Crab Island on his friend Frank’s boat.

  It was the day after our first night together, and as much as we’d wanted to stay in bed making up for lost time, Tommy had already accepted the invitation. It ended up being an amazing day, lying out in the sun, falling off those silly paddleboards, and hurrying back to his apartment as soon as the boat docked again. I’d been so nervous that his friends would compare me to Monica, but the only thing Frank’s wife said was that she could tell how happy I made Tommy. How happy we made each other.

  “Thank you, guys,” Tommy says. He lifts his glass and takes a sip. “This is just what the doctor ordered.”

  “What up, Beau!”

  I look over the edge of the boat and see a kid I don’t recognize gliding by on a Jet Ski.

  Beau waves and the guy keeps going, probably on the prowl for a young girl who’s willing to get on the back of his Jet Ski.

  “Who’s that?” Tommy asks.

  “Parker,” Beau says. “A kid in my class.”

  “Hey, Parker!” Tommy calls out, his voice hoarse but loud.

  At the sound of his name, Parker circles back until he’s at the side of our boat. “’Sup?”

  “Wha’sup,” Tommy says, trying to sound cool but failing miserably, “is that I haven’t been on one of those rides in more than a decade. Mind if I just sit on it, for a picture?”

  Parker looks at Beau, not sure what to make of the situation.

  “Do you mind, dude?” Beau asks.

  Parker shrugs and pulls around to the back of the boat while Beau helps Tommy up so he can take Parker’s place on the Jet Ski.

  “How do I look?” Tommy asks.

  “Like you belong on the water,” I tell him. “Abigail, grab your camera.”

  Abigail obliges, smiling shyly at Parker before snapping a picture of Tommy. He poses for one, smiling, then takes off like a bat out of hell.

  “Hey!” Parker yells.

  “He’ll be back,” I tell him, watching Tommy fly. He drives the Jet Ski to the left, disappearing from view, then he drives to the right, disappearing again. I silence the nagging thought of what this sudden surge of energy likely means and instead try to think of it as a precious gift. He’s too far away for me to see his face, but I know Tommy’s never looked happier.

  Jill walks up beside me and throws her arm around my shoulder. “Are you mad?” she asks.

  “At Tommy?”

  She nods.

  “Not a chance,” I tell her. “I don’t want to waste a minute we have together being upset, and look at him.” We both look up to see Tommy getting smaller in the distance before he whips back around.

  “Babe!” Tommy calls as he gets closer. “That was incredible, I got it up to seventy-five.”

  Parker looks impressed but doesn’t move to get up from his seat next to Abigail.

  “Mind if I take my bride for a ride?” Tommy asks.

  Parker looks at Abigail and then back at Tommy, shrugging in agreement.

  “I want a turn, too,” CeCe says.

  “You can go first,” I tell CeCe, who eagerly climbs over the back gate, hopping onto the Jet Ski like a natural, even though she’s never been on one before.

  “Hold on tight,” I call out as the two halves of my heart ride away, creating what I have a feeling is going to be their last truly happy memory together.

  TOMMY FELL ASLEEP in the car on the ride home and didn’t even wake up when Beau carried him inside. I was a little worried that he hadn’t woken up, but Dolly said he’s okay, just worn out.

  Still, I keep checking in on him, pacing between the living room and the kitchen, where CeCe is biting her lip in concentration as she stirs the batter for her dad’s favorite cheesecake brownies.

  I open the refrigerator and stare inside at all the containers full of everything CeCe has been making, all of Tommy’s favorites. She knows as well as I do that his appetite is practically nonexistent these days, but I know as well as she does that it’s better to try than to give up.

  We’ve both been trying to stay positive for each other, but I’ve heard her crying at night. It’s an impossible balance I’m trying to strike, givin
g her the space she needs while reminding her she isn’t alone.

  Things have been good since the wedding, and today out on the water, it was just about as perfect as it’s been this summer. I’m cautiously optimistic, aware that one wrong move, one wrong look, one wrong word could bring all the anger she’s been holding inside raging to the surface.

  Neither of us has said the words out loud, but we both know the end is near.

  We should be talking about it. No one knows what we’re going through as much as we both do, but of course she’s not going to voluntarily open up to me. It’s my job to make the first move. I’m the parent.

  “What are you doing?” CeCe asks, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “You’re going to let all the cold air out.”

  I close the refrigerator door without taking anything out since the only thing I really want is sitting at the kitchen table. “How are you doing?” I ask, taking a seat across from her.

  She raises an eyebrow, clearly suspicious. “Okay?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” I can feel myself getting flustered. “I mean, how are you, really?”

  “Fine?”

  “Did you have fun today?” I ask.

  She nods, still stirring. She looks back up at me looking at her and sighs. “Why don’t you just say what you really want to ask me?”

  “I . . . I . . .” My words are gone. CeCe rolls her eyes and goes back to stirring. “I really did just want to know how you’re doing, with all of this.”

  “All of what?”

  She’s going to make me say the words out loud. I look down at the table and steady myself before bringing my eyes up to meet hers. “Your dad, he thought it would be a good idea if we talked.”

  “We talk every day.”

  “Really talked, about what’s going on.”

  CeCe laughs, but it sounds like the laugh of a stranger, not my daughter.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “None of it.” She stops stirring and puts the spoon down. “All of it.”

  “Exactly.” I sigh, knowing she gets it. I wish she knew that I did, too.

  CeCe looks down at the batter she’s probably overstirred before looking back at me. “Do you want to talk?”

  “I’m not very good at it,” I admit, being more honest with her than I probably should be.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Why don’t you? Tell me about it.”

  “What?”

  “Everything, what you’re thinking about.”

  “Penny for your thoughts,” she says, dipping the spoon back into the bowl. She swipes her fingers across it, bringing a taste of the chocolate batter to her lips. “That’s what Dad says.”

  She offers the chocolate-covered spoon to me and I follow her lead, twirling my finger around in my mouth as I work up the courage to repeat the phrase back to her.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” I say, my voice wavering.

  “You know you can’t replace him,” she says. Her words are honest, not mean.

  “No one ever will.” I reach across the table and take her hand. Surprisingly, she lets me hold it. “But I can be here for you, with you. If you want to talk, or not talk.”

  “Not talking is better.”

  I nod, happy that I was at least able to lay the groundwork for a future conversation. When she’s ready to talk, I’ll be here to listen.

  My chair makes an unfortunate screeching sound against the floor as I push back from the table. CeCe looks at me and I hesitate before standing.

  “Will you grab the butter?” she asks. I walk over to the refrigerator door again, opening it with purpose this time. My eyes go straight for the tub of light margarine I always use, but I know she wants the real thing. “And the baking dish on the counter?”

  Handing her both the butter and the dish, I follow her eyes to the empty chair I’d just been sitting in. She looks back up at me and gives me the smallest of smiles, which I take as an invitation to sit together and not talk.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  CeCe

  I can hear Beau’s frantic footsteps going back and forth on the porch outside The Broken Crown. He’s looking for me like I knew he would. After that performance, how could he not?

  The way I looked down at my phone, then stopped midstep—frozen in place before running out the door. It was nothing short of brilliant. Even Abigail looked worried.

  “CeCe?” he calls.

  His footsteps are getting closer. He’ll find me soon, standing in the corner where the porch wraps around toward the back of the café. I pull my hands into tight fists and try to make my stare look vacant to justify my reactions, the way Stella Adler explains in chapter 11.

  That’s how he finds me, standing like a statue, staring blankly toward the water.

  “CeCe?” He sounds really worried; maybe I’m even better at this than I thought. “Ceese?”

  I stay in character, resisting the urge to respond. “Is it your dad? Is he okay?”

  Of course he’s not okay. He’s dying. But that’s not what this is about.

  “Should I get my mom?”

  Crap. If Aunt Jill makes me tell her what I’m doing, if she finds out I’ve been spending time down on the set with Monica, she’ll tell my mom. Mom will make me stop, even though working on my acting is the only thing that helps me feel normal these days. She’ll make it all about Monica even though it’s really about me. It’s not worth it.

  “End scene,” I say, turning toward Beau, my face back to normal.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Obviously.” I push my glasses back up my nose. They’d been slipping for the last minute, but I didn’t want to break character. “You really thought I was upset?”

  “You were,” Beau insists. “The way you ran out, I thought . . .”

  “I was acting,” I explain.

  “Acting?”

  “I’m totally fine. Well, I mean, my life still epically sucks, but it sucks a little less if you really thought I was upset.”

  “So you’re okay?” Beau asks again.

  I smile and nudge his shoulder with mine, a little proud of myself. I’m about to ask if there was one certain thing that really made him believe my act when he turns and walks back toward the front of the café. Not exactly the review I was hoping for.

  “What’s the matter?” I lower down next to him on the bench, where he’s sitting with his head in his hands.

  “I thought something was wrong.”

  “But everything’s fine, so it’s all good.”

  He sits back up and looks at me; his eyes are shining but I can’t tell if it’s because he’s sad or angry. “You don’t get it,” he says.

  “Then tell me.”

  “I was worried. I thought—” His eyes meet mine for a second, but he quickly looks back down at his fisted hands, sitting in his lap. “I thought he died, okay?”

  Beau stands, and so do I. “Not everything is about my dad, you know.”

  Beau nods, but I can tell he’s still mad.

  “I’m sorry you were worried, but if I’m going to be a famous actress, I’ve got to practice.”

  “Just not on me anymore.”

  “Fine,” I agree reluctantly before sitting back down.

  “What are you practicing for anyway?” Beau asks, sitting next to me. “You’re not in a play or anything.”

  “I’m just honing my craft. I’m learning so much from the book Monica gave me, but you don’t learn from reading. You learn from doing. Monica says—”

  “Monica, Monica, Monica.” He says her name like it’s an ugly word.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing, it’s just, you talk about her a lot.”

  “Sorry, but I’m not going to apologize for being excited that a famous actress decided to take me under her wing.”

  “She’s not that famous,” Beau says. “And my mom says she did some pretty bad things to your dad.”

  My stomach flutte
rs. I hate the idea of him knowing something about my dad that I don’t. “Nothing can be more terrible than what’s happening to him now,” I say, trying not to think about how bad things have gotten. He’s almost always sleeping now. Even when he’s awake, he looks like he can barely keep his eyes open and the oxygen tubes are in his nose 24/7.

  “I thought you didn’t want to talk about that?”

  “I don’t.” We’re both quiet and I can hear Aunt Jill talking to a customer on the other side of the open window. “None of this would be happening if Monica was my mom.”

  “Then you wouldn’t be you.”

  “Of course I would.”

  “How? You look exactly like your mom.”

  “Then maybe I’d look exactly like Monica. I’d be beautiful.”

  “You already are.”

  The compliment rolls off my shoulder. He has to say I’m pretty.

  I twirl my hair around my finger. “If my hair was like hers, it would be silky smooth and straight instead of frizzy and wavy. And it would be blacker than midnight—she doesn’t dye it, I asked.”

  “You could dye yours,” he says.

  Interesting. I hadn’t thought about that. “You think I should?”

  “No.” He folds his arms across his chest and leans back on the bench.

  “Then why’d you say it?”

  “I don’t know why I say half the things I say. But your mom would freak.”

  “Even better,” I say, even though I’m not really mad at her anymore. I stand up for good this time and start walking toward the drugstore around the corner on Old 98.

  Beau doesn’t move, but I know his only other option is hanging out at the café. And if he does that, Aunt Jill will rope him into helping Lou wash the dishes or clean out the pantry.

  “Wait,” Beau says, catching up to me like I knew he would.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Alexis

  Your daughter.” I slide the living room door closed so CeCe can’t see how angry she made me.

  “What’d she do?” Tommy asks, opening his eyes. I don’t think I woke him, but it’s getting harder to tell lately if he’s sleeping or just resting his eyes. I shake my head and bite my bottom lip, trying to compose myself. I’m too mad to form a complete sentence. “What?”