The Long Way Home

  * * *

  The moment the bell rang at the end of the day, Dana flew to Peter’s class to collect him — which was easier said than done, since Peter didn’t like to rush, even when he was leaving school.

  “Mom’s waiting,” Dana reminded him over and over as he pulled on his boots, pulled on his hat, retrieved a rolled-up painting, and loped to the back of the room for a drink of water.

  It was time for what Dana thought of as the switch-off. She, Julia, and Peter ran out of school, said hello to their mother, and then immediately said good-bye as Abby rushed off to her job as a receptionist at a hospital. Julia commandeered Nell’s carriage and the Burley children returned to their apartment alone. Dana knew that her mother didn’t like this arrangement. She also knew that her mother didn’t see any other way to work things out.

  “Unless we move back to Maine,” Dana had overheard Abby say to Adele one evening. Adele had come over for a late-night visit. The twins and Peter and Nell had gone to bed, but Dana hadn’t been able to sleep. When she heard her aunt arrive, she’d tiptoed to her bedroom door and put her ear to the crack.

  “Let Pop give you some money,” Adele had replied. “He’s offered plenty of times.”

  “Absolutely not. I’ve paid off Zander’s debts and I’m going to support the kids by myself.”

  “But four children. And in New York City. It’s so expensive here.”

  “That’s why I’m thinking about Maine.”

  “Pack up all the kids — Tail and Squeaky, too — and move to Maine? You don’t have a job or a place to live up there. Unless you live with Pop.”

  “We will not live with Pop and Helen. Anyway, I’m not ready to leave New York yet. It’s only a thought.”

  At that, Dana had let out a sigh of relief and returned to her bed.

  Now she hefted Nell out of her carriage and struggled up the three flights of stairs to their apartment. On the fourth floor Julia was already unlocking their door with the key attached to a chain that she wore around her neck.

  “Homework?” Dana asked Peter, although Mr. Thompson never assigned any to the special kids.

  “You give me some,” said Peter. He sat down expectantly at the table in the living room, a composition book open before him.

  Dana told Peter to write some sentences about New York City. She started her homework while Julia entertained Nell. Then Julia started her homework while Dana entertained Nell. Later, the Burleys warmed up a tuna-noodle casserole that their mother had left in the Frigidaire. After supper they watched television. They were asleep before Abby returned from the hospital.

  Dana’s last thought, as she lay in her bed looking through the window at the lights of a building on the other side of an air shaft, was that in eight and a half hours she would wake up and do everything all over again.

  Dana lay sweatily in the bed in the little room at the top of the beach cottage in Lewisport. Beside her, Julia sprawled across far more than her half of the bed, arms and legs flung out. Dana inched closer to the edge and finally sat up, swinging her feet to the floor. She remembered her mother saying that when she and Aunt Rose were little, they sometimes slept wrapped in each other’s arms. Dana could not imagine sleeping in Julia’s arms. She preferred not to touch her twin. She knew this was wrong. And yet, well, there were simply some things that certain people couldn’t bear. Marian, she remembered, couldn’t go near a sink if she saw a hair in it. Adele was afraid of birds — which had made walking with her along a street in Manhattan an interesting experience as Adele hopped about, avoiding pigeons that landed on the sidewalk. And Dana did not like being in such close proximity to Julia. She needed her space. But there was almost as little space here in the cottage as there had been in the apartment on Eighty-Eighth Street.

  Dana sat on the edge of the bed and leaned her arms on the windowsill, looking across Blue Harbor Lane at the ocean beyond. She imagined, as she often did, her mother sitting on the bed and doing the same thing when she was a little girl and had shared the room with Rose.

  Dana breathed in deeply. She smelled salt air and wet sand and dewy beach grass — all of which, she had to admit, were nicer than most Manhattan smells. She shook her head. The wet air made her hair wavy, and the breeze coming through the open window made the waves shiver.

  Dana conjured up an image of the house long ago, when there weren’t even screens on the windows. She used to think that seemed quaint. But now that they were living in Maine — living here for real, not just vacationing here — the cottage seemed less quaint and more shabby. It was, after all, a beach cottage, furnished with ancient beds, tables, dressers . . . and not much else.

  “Where’s the rest of our stuff?” Julia had asked on their first day in the house.

  “It’s all here,” Abby said patiently.

  “But — but,” Julia stammered, realizing that the boxes of clothing and books and knickknacks that surrounded them were not to be followed by any of their furniture. “You mean — this is it?”

  Her mother had sighed. “There’s no room for anything else. The cottage belongs to Pop and it’s already full of his things. We’re lucky to be able to move here. It’s a fresh start.”

  And it’s free, Dana had thought. Her mother and Papa Luther might not get along, but at least Papa Luther wouldn’t charge them to live in the beach cottage.

  Peter had burst into noisy tears. “What about Tail and Squeaky?”

  Abby had put her arms around him. “They stayed in New York. Remember, lovey? They’re city cats. They wouldn’t have been happy moving to Maine.”

  That had been quite a lie. The cats were not in New York. They were in Connecticut with a friend of Saul’s. And they hadn’t moved to Maine because the Burleys couldn’t afford them, not because city cats couldn’t adjust to the country.

  Dana slid herself carefully off the bed, dressed quietly, and tiptoed downstairs. She found her mother in the kitchen, feeding Nell.

  “Hi, lovey,” said Abby. “Julia up yet?”

  Dana shook her head. “Is Peter still asleep, too?”

  “Yes, but he and Julia will both have to get up in a few minutes. Big day.”

  “I suppose.” It was only a big day if you were truly happy about starting over in a teensy town in Maine and having a tour of your mother’s old elementary school before the fall term began.

  Which Dana was not.

  No matter how bad the apartment on Eighty-Eighth Street had been, no matter how bad Allen MacNeil Elementary School had been, no matter what horrible things had happened to her family in the last couple of years, Dana still preferred life in Manhattan. The cottage, Lewisport, Barnegat Point — they were all wonderful for vacation, because they were quiet and it was an adventure to get in the car and drive to the drugstore when you wanted ice cream or to the grocery store when you needed a chicken. But Dana didn’t want to have to drive everywhere, even though Papa Luther had been nice enough to loan them one of his cars, in addition to the cottage. She wanted to be able to walk down the block for ice cream or chicken. And she certainly didn’t want quiet. She wanted taxicabs blaring their horns and people rushing everywhere and flashing lights and crowds outside of restaurants and theatres.

  Dana sat at the kitchen table and nibbled at a piece of bread.

  “Could you please go wake Julia and Peter now?” her mother said. “And put on a dress, lovey. You can’t go to school in dungarees.”

  Dana hesitated. “Mom?”

  “I’m sorry, but you can’t wear pants to school at any time — even just for the tour.”

  “It isn’t that.”

  Abby wiped Nell’s face, lifted her out of her high chair, and set her on the floor. “What, then?” she asked, her full attention on Dana.

  “Did you want to come back here? I know you love New York, but you grew up in Maine, so I guess this is your home. Did you want to come back to your home?”

  Abby turned and looked out the window. “New York felt like my home, too,??
? she said finally. “If I could have made things work there, we would have stayed. But I didn’t feel I had a choice about where we lived.”

  “Don’t we always have choices?”

  “No. Sometimes things just happen.”

  “Like when your drunk father thinks he can catch his hat by jumping off a ferry?”

  “Dana!”

  “Well, you were the one who was always nagging him about his drinking.”

  “I was not nag — Never mind. I’m not going to have this conversation with you.”

  Dana glared at her mother, and in an instant, Abby softened. “Maybe you think I don’t know how it feels to lose a parent, but I do. I wasn’t much older than you when my mother died.”

  “How did you feel?” Dana thought of the mornings when she had lain in her bed, nearly breathless with grief, and of the days at Allen MacNeil, when it had seemed as though she were separated from the other students by the loss of her father as surely as if she’d been standing behind a fence.

  “Well, sad, of course.”

  Nell, who had been stepping around the kitchen, holding on to chair legs and Dana’s legs, lost her balance then and plopped onto her bottom, her lower lip quivering.

  Abby scooped her up and said to Dana, “Run along, lovey. Julia and Peter really need to get up now, or we’ll be late.”

  Dana carried her plate to the sink and left the kitchen in silence.

  * * *

  Dana’s mother parked their borrowed car on a sandy street in Barnegat Point across from a low brick building. “This is it,” she said, and Dana detected a note of pride in her voice.

  “What?” said Peter from the backseat.

  “This is the school I went to when I was your age.”

  “You went to school?” said Peter.

  Abby smiled. “Yes. I went to school. And I went to this very one. So did Adele and Aunt Rose. The school is bigger now, though.”

  “Bigger?” Dana couldn’t help saying. The building was half the size of Miss Fine’s and a quarter the size of Allen MacNeil.

  “Much bigger. For one thing, when I went here, there was no classroom for . . . well, there was no class that Peter could have gone to. But now there’s a whole new wing, with a library and an art room and extra classrooms, including Peter’s.”

  Abby opened her door and climbed out. She lifted Nell out of the backseat, and Dana helped Peter to the sidewalk. Julia didn’t move a muscle.

  “Julia? Come on, lovey,” said her mother. “We need to get you registered and —”

  “I know. Our tour starts at ten.”

  “Exactly.”

  Julia remained in the car. “I don’t want to go in. I won’t know anybody.”

  “You know Dana,” said their mother, and Dana felt an uncomfortable creeping sensation in her stomach. She didn’t want to be the only person at school her sister knew.

  “That’s true,” said Julia. She held out her hand. Dana ignored it until her sister had climbed out of the car. Then, avoiding a pointed glance from her mother, Dana finally took Julia’s hand, and the Burleys walked through the entryway to Barnegat Point Elementary School.

  “I can’t believe you two are going to be in seventh grade!” Abby exclaimed to the twins. “How is that possible?”

  No one answered her.

  Abby shifted Nell from one hip to the other. “You’re getting heavy,” she said. “Now let’s see. If I remember correctly, the office is just around the corner.”

  “You’re right. It is around the corner!” said Peter gleefully. “Look. O-F-F-I-C-E. That sign spells office.”

  “You must be the Burleys.” A red-headed woman with a pleasant smile looked up from a desk by the office door. “Welcome. I’m Mrs. Harris.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Harris. I like this school! I do!” Peter exclaimed. “This is a nice one.”

  “And we’re happy to have some Burleys back at BP Elementary.”

  Abby and Mrs. Harris chatted for a few moments, and then Mrs. Harris handed Abby several forms and a pen. “Now, you two,” she started to say to Dana and Julia, but she was interrupted when three girls appeared in the doorway to the office.

  “Dana and Julia Burley?” said one of the girls.

  Dana instantly dropped her sister’s hand. “I’m Dana,” she replied.

  “And I’m Julia,” Julia mumbled.

  “Gosh, are you really identical twins? You don’t look the same. Well, not exactly the same. My name is Linda. And this is Dale and that’s Susie.”

  “We’re the seventh-grade welcoming committee,” added Dale.

  “Welcome!” said Susie brightly.

  “Come on. We’ll give you a tour.”

  “Great!” Dana exclaimed, stepping away from Julia.

  Julia cast a helpless glance over her shoulder at her mother. “I think I’ll just stay he —”

  But Mrs. Harris was already guiding the twins out into the hall with the members of the welcoming committee. “And, Peter, you’ll come with me. I’m going to show you your classroom.”

  “Is that your brother?” Susie asked Dana.

  “Yes,” she replied, and nothing further was said about Peter.

  “Where did you come from?” Dale asked the twins as they walked through the deserted corridors of BPES.

  “New York City,” Dana replied.

  “New York! Gosh, I’ve always wanted to go there. What’s it like?”

  “Why did you leave it?” asked Linda.

  “Yeah, and how come you moved here?” asked Susie.

  Dana avoided Julia’s eyes. She stepped a few more inches away from her. “Our mother grew up here,” she said.

  “Our father di —” Julia began to say.

  “And she wanted a change,” Dana went on loudly. “Mom thought it would be good for us. So, are there any school clubs we should know about?”

  “Oh sure,” Linda replied. And she and Dale and Susie told the twins about the art club, the library club, the dance committee, and the glee club. “And if you play an instrument, you can join the band. There’s lots to do here.”

  “I’ll definitely join the art club,” said Dana.

  “Me, too,” said Julia.

  Dana glared at her. “Wouldn’t you be happier in the library club?”

  Julia shrugged, and Dana looked away.

  * * *

  The tour ended, the day ended, supper ended, and just before dark, Dana slipped out of the cottage, crossed Blue Harbor Lane, and scuffed her bare feet through the cool sand. The sand by the road was as fine as flour, so she walked beside the lane for a while before turning left toward the ocean. The sand became grittier then. Cold, too, from the chilly water. Dana stopped and stood on her right leg, pressing her left foot against her warm calf, then switched feet.

  Back at the cottage, her mother was putting Nell to bed. Peter would go to bed soon, too, and in a couple of hours the little house would be silent. Her mother would curl up on the couch in the living room, the very couch, she had once told Dana, on which she had sat when Zander’s father, Mr. Burley, had come to tell her that her mother had died.

  Dana thought about Abby. Her mother hadn’t slept in a real bed since they had left the town house on Eleventh Street. Her life since then had been couches and late-night jobs and meals cooked in teensy kitchens. In a couple of weeks, as soon as Dana, Julia, and Peter were settled in at BPES, Abby would begin another job search. Papa Luther might have provided a free house and a free car, but Abby still needed to put food on the table, and she flat out refused to take a cent from her father.

  “What about Nell?” Dana had asked her mother when the subject of the job search had first come up.

  “Aunt Rose will watch her while you’re in school.” This had been followed by a pause. “And you and Julia can watch her and Peter after school.”

  Dana, her feet now freezing, turned right, crossed the sand again, and began the walk along Blue Harbor Lane back to the cottage. She paused in front of a house ?
?? no lights on inside — that she knew had once belonged to her mother’s friend Orrin Umhay, the one Papa Luther had never liked. Dana enjoyed hearing stories about Orrin, who (according to Abby) was bold and brave and daring and had sometimes supported his family all by himself.

  The last of the daylight was fading now. Dana passed another house, a trim white cottage with blue shutters at the windows. This house had belonged to her mother’s best friend, Sarah, the one who had drowned. Sarah’s parents didn’t live there any longer. They had moved away two years after her death, unable to live (also according to Abby) with her shadow.

  Dana thought about Orrin and Sarah, about all the people she didn’t know who had once been a part of her mother’s life. Her mother had lived here in this corner of Maine until she had graduated from high school — years longer than Dana had even been alive. This had been her mother’s life, just as Manhattan had been Dana’s life. Now Abby seemed to want this to be her children’s life. But Dana belonged to Manhattan.

  Dana reached the cottage and walked, now in full dark, to the front door. She let herself inside and found the living room empty. From the bedroom next to the kitchen, she could hear the low sounds of her mother reading to Peter. Grateful for the moment of quiet, Dana sank onto the couch and looked around at the treasures that had made their way from New York to Lewisport — Peter’s holster and the silver gun, a copy of Father, Julia’s postcard collection, Nell’s stuffed bunny, a fairy queen doll that had belonged to Abby when she was a little girl.

  Dana closed her eyes and pictured Christmas treats with her father at Rumpelmayer’s, taxis that became chariots, Shirley Temples, and the water fountain in the playground and hopscotch on the sidewalk with Adele. She didn’t want to start over in Lewisport. She didn’t want to be the new girl or Abby Burley’s daughter or Julia Burley’s twin. She wanted to live in New York City and be Dana Burley, just Dana Burley. Loud and clear.