in mermaids.
IT’S TUESDAY. Tomorrow morning, Benny leaves for Atlanta.
After we’ve eaten dinner, I call his mom.
“I can’t say good-bye,” I tell her. “I’m sorry. I’d probably lose it.”
She chuckles. “It’s okay for boys to cry, you know.”
“I guess. But we’re tough, me and him.”
“You’ve been through a lot together,” she says.
“He’s the best friend a guy could ask for. You tell him I said that, okay? And I’m gonna miss him like crazy.”
“Now who’s … Little … Miss … Sunshine?”
I shake my head. Of course she wouldn’t let me off that easy. “Hey, Benny. Your mom gave you the phone, huh?”
“It’s on speaker,” she says.
“Oh. Right. Well, you guys have a safe trip, okay? And I’ll see you soon. I know you’re gonna bust balls and do what you gotta do to get back on your feet, man.”
“Pynes?” he says.
“Yeah?”
“Take … state.”
I close my eyes and put my head in my hands. “It’s not easy, playing without you. But you know we’re doing our best. We’re gonna do everything we can to make it happen, that’s for sure.”
“Believe.”
I laugh. “Oh, you gonna be like Coach now, huh? What was it you said? We’re not a bunch of girls with confidence issues, are we?”
I hear a chuckle. “Take state,” he says again.
“I hear ya, man. I hear ya. Look, I gotta go. Homework’s calling and all that.”
“We’ll stay in touch, Colby,” Mrs. Lewis says. “We’ll try to call once a week or so.”
“Sounds good. Hey, Benny?”
“Yeah?”
“Just so you know, there is one thing I believe in. More than anything else in the whole world right now.” I swallow hard. “You.”
“Bye, Colby.”
“Bye, Benny.”
I set down the phone. And then I let myself lose it.
TUESDAY
“You seem down, Lauren. I’ve heard the bake sale was a huge success, so it can’t be that.”
“No. It’s not.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“I was thinking about the time I got lost in the grocery store.”
Dr. Springer smiles. “Ah. I think everyone has one of those stories. Tell me yours.”
When I started coming here, because Josh and Erica made me, back in August, I wouldn’t have told her. But it’s easier now, talking with her. I’ve told her more than I ever thought I would.
“It was a few days before Valentine’s Day. I was around six or seven, so I knew it was a special day. A day of love. We went to the drugstore to buy boxes of valentines for my school party. As we were heading toward the register, I saw a huge display of candy. You know, boxes and boxes of hearts. And I wanted one so badly. I wanted someone to love me enough to buy me one of those boxes of candy. I asked my mom if she would buy me one, and she said no.
“She tried to pull me along, away from the display, but I was mad. I didn’t want to go. I wanted a box of candy. I never threw fits about that kind of thing, ever, so I don’t know why it made me so upset.
“Finally my mom said, fine, you stay there, I’ll go get the other things I need, pay for everything, and come back for you.
“I stood there and tried to imagine what the chocolates looked like. What they tasted like. Were they all the same or was each one different? I kept trying to think of a way to get my mom to buy a box. I got so excited when I had the brilliant idea to ask my mom if she’d give me money so I could buy one for her. I’d tell her I wanted to get her one to show how much I loved her. That way, I could at least see the chocolates. And maybe, I thought, she’d be nice and let me have one.
“But she didn’t come back. At least, not as quickly as I thought she would. So I went looking for her. And I couldn’t find her.” My throat tightens. Tears prick the back of my eyes. “Just as I was about to find a store employee and let them know I needed help because I was all alone, my mother showed up. I started crying when I saw her and tried to hug her, but she wouldn’t have any of it.”
“Did she say anything?” she asks.
“Not right away. She marched to the car with me running after her. I kept telling her how sorry I was. Over and over again. Once we were on our way toward home, she told me, ‘Love isn’t about chocolate. Love is about listening to your mother and being a good girl. And next time she tells you to do something, you better do it. Or you’ll have to go find someone else who will love you.’ ”
I look out the window, blinking the tears back.
“Not a very loving thing to say, is it?” Dr. Springer says.
“No.”
“What caused you to remember that? Do you know?”
I clear my throat as I look at Dr. Springer. “She called my aunt and uncle and told them she’s moving. All the way across the country. I was thinking about how she’s finally following through on that threat.”
“Did she say why?”
“No. But she didn’t ask me to come with her.” I lean forward. “Do you think it’s because of the social worker?”
“Actually, there’s been an interesting development. Did you know Matthew’s father was seeking custody?”
My hand flies to my mouth. “No. I had no idea.”
“Do you know him?”
“Yeah. His name’s Dwight. I like him. He’s a pretty nice guy. Owns a landscaping business and lives next door to his parents, in an older neighborhood. He was around a lot until one day, early in the summer, he just … wasn’t. She wouldn’t tell me any details, only that they’d broken up.”
“Well, Matthew is apparently living with Dwight now.”
“Oh my God. Are you serious?”
“Yes. I don’t have any details to share. I’m sure you have lots of questions, but that’s all the information I have.”
I try to take it all in. What it means. For Matthew. For my mom. For me.
“I’m going to call Dwight when I get home,” I tell her. “Maybe Josh and Erica will drive me up to Washington to see Matthew.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“But that means my mom is going to North Carolina alone,” I say, thinking out loud.
Dr. Springer doesn’t say anything. She probably knows I’m trying to process it all. Mostly, I just keep wondering the same things: Why does my mother want to go so far away? Why doesn’t she want me to go with her? I don’t understand. Does she really hate me that much?
I wish I could turn off all my feelings. Why can’t I be more like her? I don’t want to care, and yet I do. How is it so easy for her to simply not care?
The more I think of her just up and leaving me, forever, my chest tightens. I close my eyes as a couple of tiny tears slip out. Quietly. The same way my mom wants to slip away, right out of my life.
WE’RE GOING.
In two short weeks, we’re going to the state championships. We won last night’s semifinal game in overtime, with a field goal.
I gotta say, it was pretty damn sweet.
The game was a couple of hours away, but it seemed like the entire town caravanned there with us. The stadium was packed.
When we got home, it was late, and everyone was dog-tired. So we agreed to meet up tonight to celebrate. We’re going back to Murphy’s Hill. It’ll be the first time we’ve all been there since Benny got hurt.
After I wake up, I go to the kitchen to get a bottle of water, and find Dad at the kitchen table with his laptop. Scattered all over the table are college brochures.
“Where’s Gram and Grandpa?”
“Grocery shopping.”
“How come you’re not at work?”
“I put the assistant manager of the store in charge so I could have the day off. Thought we could spend some time together, talking about teams and schools. You know, get this thing figured out. I think it’s time for you
to make your decision.”
I groan. “Dad, I have to get ready for work. I can’t do this today. Anyway, can’t we wait until football season is over? I’ll have a lot more time then.”
“Damn. I didn’t think about the fact that you might be working today. Could you call and let Mr. Weir know you can’t make it in this afternoon? I bet he’ll understand. Everyone’s so happy about going to state, you can do no wrong.”
I shake my head. “Dad —”
“This is important, Colby.”
“I know, but …” I sigh as I rub my face. “I can’t bail on Mr. Weir. He’s counting on me. And you can’t just swoop in anytime you want and tell me to drop everything. It’s not fair.”
I head toward the bathroom.
“Tomorrow, then,” he calls out. “We’re doing this tomorrow, like it or not.”
“Fine,” I mutter under my breath. Even though it’s not fine.
I just don’t know how to tell him that.
MY BABY brother
is not such a baby
any longer.
When I crouched down,
arms open wide,
heart open wider,
Matthew toddled across the
room until he was close
enough for me
to scoop him up
and squeeze him tight.
Cheek to cheek,
we twirled around,
our giggles the
perfect music for
the spontaneous dance.
I stroked his hair,
his face, and
every little pudgy roll
on his arms and legs.
Oh, how my mother
must miss him, I thought.
Matthew and I played
with balls and blocks,
and I read him books
as I bounced him
on my knees.
Aunt Erica and I
got up before the birds
last Saturday and drove
the five hours so I could see him.
Dwight said I could
come and see him
anytime I’d like.
If only it weren’t
such a long way from
Willow to Seattle.
Before we left,
to head back home,
I asked Erica if I
could try calling my mom.
Maybe she would see me.
Maybe I could talk her into staying.
Maybe with my help, our family could be together again.
I dialed the number.
It rang
and rang
and rang.
Her voice
startled me,
I hadn’t heard it
in so long.
“I can’t take your call.
Leave a message.”
Beep.
“Hi, Mom.
It’s me. Lauren.
I was hoping to talk to you.
Have you moved yet?
Can you maybe call me?
Thanks.
Bye.”
After all the kisses
I could give my brother,
we drove home.
I pretended to sleep,
guilt covering me
like a blanket.
I screwed it all up for us
the night I called the cops.
Now here it is,
a week later,
and everyone in Willow
has football fever
except me.
They are happy
to be winning
while I’m sad
about everything
I’ve lost.
THE PARTY at Murphy’s Hill is going strong when I get there. There are so many cars parked along the old lumber road, it feels like half the school must have come out to celebrate.
It’s a clear night. Cool. The almost-full moon glows in the sky, giving out a fair amount of light.
Derek points me to the keg when I walk up to him and a bunch of other guys. “But if you drink, you have to hand over your keys,” he tells me. “We’ve got designated drivers tonight.”
“Great,” I tell him. “But I don’t feel like drinking.”
He nods, like he understands. But he doesn’t. Not really. Everyone’s laughing and having a good time, and I want to feel happy, like I did right after the game, but I don’t.
All I feel is pressure.
Pressure to win the game. Pressure to choose the right college. Pressure to play and make my dad happy. Pressure to do right by Benny. Pressure to be the person everyone expects me to be.
It’s like I’m at one end of an old, rickety bridge between two cliffs, way up high. The bridge sways back and forth in the wind, and as I look out, it seems pretty much impossible to make it across to the other side.
If I go, what happens?
If I stand my ground, what happens?
Everything’s so mixed up right now.
“Hey,” I hear from behind me as someone taps me on the shoulder.
I turn around, away from the small group of guys I’m standing with. “Hi,” I say to Lauren and Stasia.
“Great game last night,” Stasia says. “You were amazing.”
“Thanks.” I feel like I should say more, but I don’t.
Stasia looks past me and waves at someone. “There’s Sam,” she says, smiling. “Think I’ll go say hi.”
“You know,” I say to Lauren before Stasia leaves, “I think I might go for a drive. You girls want to come?”
Lauren looks at Stasia. “You two go,” Stasia says. “If you need a ride home, Lauren, just be back here by twelve.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Stasia squeezes Lauren’s hand before she takes off. “Be safe.”
Lauren and I head down the hill.
“I didn’t drink anything,” I tell her. “You know, in case you were wondering.”
“I figured,” she said. “I mean, I didn’t think you were the type to risk my life like that.” I can feel her looking at me. Studying me. Then quietly she says, “Don’t worry. I trust you.”
It feels good to hear her say that. To know that someone believes I’m doing the right thing.
We get to my truck, and I go to her side and unlock the door with the help of the flashlight app on my phone. She hops in, and as I start to close the door, she puts her arm out. “Hey. Are you okay?”
“Honestly? Right this minute, I’m actually doing pretty good.”
“Me too,” she says with a little smile.
THE STARS twinkle as we drive.
We listen to music. Mumford & Sons.
We don’t say anything.
It’s not awkward. It’s nice.
He drives farther and farther
out into the country.
Past farmhouses that have
stood a hundred years.
Past fields of horses and cows,
goats and sheep.
Past barns where owls hunt
and tiny mice scurry about.
When he finally comes to
a stop sign, he makes a U-turn.
“Do you know where
you’re going?” I ask.
He sounds almost sad
when he says, “Not a clue.”
“DRIVING AIMLESSLY is a good talent to have when you live in a small town,” I explain. “Sometimes there’s just nothing else to do but drive.”
“But there’s a party going on,” she says.
“True. Except everyone’s so annoyingly happy there.”
She laughs. “Colby, you’re going to state! That’s a good reason to be happy, isn’t it? Or did I miss the part where you broke your leg and can’t play?”
It makes me think of Benny, hurt and unable to play. And as soon as she’s said it, I know she thinks of him too. “Sorry,” she says. “I was trying to be funny. I didn’t mean —”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re absolutel
y right. I should be happy.”
“So how come you’re not?”
I turn down another back road and go in a different direction, toward the tree farm Dad and I visit every year to cut down our Christmas tree.
“I don’t know,” I finally reply. “It’s not that I’m unhappy we’re going to state. There’s just … a lot going on right now.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What do you want out of life right now? I mean, what do you really want?”
“Bugles sound good, actually. Got any on you?”
She lightly slaps my arm. “Come on. Be serious. I want to know.”
I slow down and turn into Wicker’s Christmas Tree Farm. It’s set back from the road a ways with a gravel parking lot and then behind it, acres and acres of Noble and Douglas firs. I park in a spot that isn’t too visible from the main road. I turn the engine off but keep the radio and headlights on.
“It’s a complicated question. Too hard to think about and drive at the same time,” I explain as I turn the volume down on the stereo.
“Do you get your tree here?” she asks, looking out the front window at shadows of trees that go on for miles.
“We do. My dad says my mom always insisted on a fresh-cut tree. I don’t think my dad really cares where the tree comes from. But I get the feeling we come out here as a way to honor her memory at Christmastime.”
“That’s sweet. He must have really loved her.”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Maybe that’s what you want. Maybe you want your mom here right now, to help you sort stuff out.”
“Maybe.” I pause. “Is that what you want?”
“Maybe.”
“Is this one of those games where maybe means yes, and no means yes, but yes means no?” I ask.
“No.”
I smile. “Is that a yes, then?”
My lame attempt to change the subject doesn’t work. “Here’s what I think,” she says, settling back into the seat, curling one of her legs up onto the seat with her. “I think we both want the same thing. Deep down, the same exact thing.”