At nine forty-five I looked through the Yellow Pages again and called a cab. When it arrived, I raced outside as fast as I could, wearing a wide-brimmed hat. (The last thing I needed was for some neighbor to see me and call my dad.)
I climbed in, slammed the door, and ducked below the window. The driver pulled away, and Phase Four began: Dawn’s Trip Home.
* * *
You would not believe how much it costs to take a cab from Palo City to Los Angeles. I nearly died.
Almost all of my baby-sitting money went into that ride. I had enough left to buy one bag of nuts, which had to last me for three and a half hours while I waited for my flight.
But that was okay. I wouldn’t need any money on the plane. And afterward I’d be in Connecticut!
I kept thinking I saw familiar faces in the airport. I was petrified someone would recognize me. Under my wide hat, I began to feel like an international spy. A young guy on his way to Cleveland sat next to me for a while. When he asked my name, I told him it was Mariso Van Raymond. I even tried to use an exotic accent.
At two forty-five I boarded. For the first hour of the flight, I could barely sit still. I wanted to scream out my secret to everybody — I, Dawn Schafer, had left school, booked my own flight, and taken a cab to L.A. By myself.
And it was so easy. I’ve never felt so independent in my life.
My exhilaration lasted until dinner. Somewhere over Nebraska, reality began to set in.
Maybe it was the wilted salad, or the tasteless roll. Or the fact that there weren’t any vegetarian meals left so I had to share my flight with part of an overcooked chicken carcass.
Whatever it was, dread started creeping through me. It was about 5:30, California time, and Dad would be coming home. I imagined his and Jeff’s expressions when they saw the note. Then I pictured how Sunny and the other girls would react when they found out.
They would feel horrified. Disappointed. Betrayed.
What had I done? I’d never dreamed of cutting school to go to the movies, let alone to board a cross-country jet and charge it to my dad. It was insane.
Suddenly, two thousand miles away, I felt pretty stupid.
I was a criminal. I was a runaway. I had stolen money from my own father. I would step off the plane into a circle of policemen with handcuffs. Rhonda Lieb would call me “the W♥KC fugitive” in the paper. Chuck Raymond would interview Sunny, who’d hardly be able to speak through her tears.
My eyes began to close over Indiana, and I slept too deeply for my worries to turn into nightmares.
I woke up to the sound of the flight captain saying, “We are now beginning the descent to our final destination. The weather in Connecticut is cold and clear, about twenty-eight degrees. There’s a fresh coat of snow on the ground, but the runway is completely dry.”
Snow! I’d almost forgotten what that was like. I began to feel excited again. Soon I’d be hugging Mary Anne. We’d stay up all night talking. I’d wake her tomorrow morning to build a snowman.
I was fluttery all over as the plane landed. I rushed to the exit. As I neared the end of the ramp, I scanned the terminal for a pay phone.
But I didn’t need one. Mom was waiting for me at the gate.
And her expression could have burned a hole through sheet metal.
I got Mary Anne’s letter on Wednesday. It was so nice to see some sympathetic words for a change. The weather may have been in the 70s and 80s, but it sure felt frosty in my dad’s house.
Yes, I was back in Palo City. Needless to say, my trip to Stoneybrook did not work out. (Boy, is that an understatement.)
Let me start from the beginning. First of all, I was shocked when I saw Mom at the airport. I wanted to run to her and hug her, but the look on her face stopped me.
“Hi!” I said. “How did you know I was coming?”
The Mask of Doom opened her mouth. “How do you think I knew? Your father called me two hours ago.”
“Oh,” I said. “He found the note.”
“Yes, he did. And he was in a panic. He spent an hour on the phone calling every airline on the West Coast. Then he thought you might have hitchhiked to the airport, so he contacted the police. When he called me, he could barely speak. I could hear Jeff in the background, crying.”
I could tell Mom was trying very hard not to scream at me. Her head looked as though it were vibrating. I’d never seen her like this.
“Sorry,” I said, gazing at the floor.
“You’d better be. How could you have done this, Dawn Schafer? How could you be so irresponsible and immature? Not to mention deceitful. Do you know what you put your family through? After all we did so you could move to California for six months, all the adjustments we made, all the emotional strain? And you just up and booked a flight on your father’s credit card for the fun of it? What on Earth could have possessed you to do something like this?”
Tears welled up in my eyes. “It wasn’t … for the fun of it,” I managed to say.
Mom pointed to a nearby chair. “I brought your coat. Put it on while I call your dad to let him know you got here safely. He’s worried sick, and he feels responsible. We’ll talk more on the way home.”
My down coat was lying on the chair. That was a good sign. At least Mom wasn’t going to let me freeze.
I watched my mother make her call on a pay phone. I could hear Dad’s voice booming from the other end. He did not sound happy. Fortunately Mom didn’t make me speak to him.
Then she and I walked silently to the parking lot and found her car. Neither of us said a word until we were on the highway, heading home.
I tried to explain my feelings about Carol and Dad. As the words came out of my mouth, they sounded shallow and stupid.
But Mom listened carefully. She hadn’t known about the engagement, and I think the news shook her up a little, too. Slowly the smoke coming from her ears began to clear away.
“Did you tell Dad how you felt?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I was too angry.”
“So you ran away from the situation.”
“I guess.”
“Here’s what I don’t understand, Dawn. You honestly thought we wouldn’t mind? You thought you could just change your plans and it would affect nobody but yourself?”
“Mom, I — I just wasn’t thinking about all of that. I was upset.”
“I can see that. But now quite a few people are upset. Including your dad. You’re going to have a lot to work out with him. Starting with that plane ticket.”
“I’ll pay him back out of my baby-sitting money, I promise. No matter how long it takes. Everyone in the BSC has told me they’re incredibly busy.”
“Sweetheart, it’s going to take longer than you think. First of all, you’re going to have to repay him for two tickets. And second of all, you’re going to be doing it in California.”
I stared at her. “What?”
“I booked a flight back for you. It leaves tomorrow afternoon at four o’clock. Don’t forget, you still have some time left on your six months, Dawn.”
“But — but — don’t you want me to stay?”
Mom sighed. Her voice softened. “Of course I do. But not under these conditions. If you’re ready to come home, you need to make a plan that includes us all.”
I slumped into my seat. Part of me understood what she was saying. I shouldn’t have been so selfish. But nobody was seeing my point of view. First Dad had crowded me out of his life, and now Mom was sending me away, too. (Funny how she got worked up over the ticket I’d charged, but it was no problem spending the money to send me back.) Wasn’t I important to anybody?
We arrived home after midnight. Richard and Mary Anne had already fallen asleep. I crept upstairs to my room.
Everything was just as I’d left it. It looked so comfortable and homey. As I threw my backpack on my bed, I noticed a folded-up note there.
I picked it up and read:
It was the nicest thing I’d seen all day. Lea
ve it to Mary Anne. For the first time since I’d gotten off the plane, my mixed-up feelings came pouring out. Anger at Carol, anger and love for Dad, love for Mary Anne, hurt at my mother’s reaction, shame for what I’d done … they were all so powerful and bewildering.
I buried my face in my pillow and cried my heart out.
* * *
The next thing I knew, someone was knocking on my door.
I struggled to open my eyes. It was light outside. My night table clock said 7:09. But my watch said 4:09, and so did my California-conditioned body.
“Come in,” I croaked.
The door burst open. “Hi!”
Mary Anne ran in and jumped on my bed. She was still wearing her L.L.Bean nightgown, but she looked refreshed and excited.
Me? I felt as if I’d been run over by a steamroller, but boy, was it good to see Mary Anne.
“I know, I’m not supposed to be nice to you,” she said. “But I am soooooo happy you’re home!”
I sat up and gave her a hug. Both of us burst into tears.
Over Mary Anne’s shoulder, I saw Mom peering into the room. She was trying to look stern, but I could detect a trace of a smile. “Dawn,” she said, “Richard’s making breakfast downstairs. You and Mary Anne can hang around the house until your flight, but you are not to call any of your friends while you’re here. Is that understood?”
I nodded.
As soon as Mom left, Mary Anne pulled away from me, found a tissue, and blew her nose. Then she drew in a deep breath and said, “Tell me everything!”
So I did. At least I tried to. Our conversation bounced all over the place.
At one point Mary Anne mentioned the Kristy crisis. “Did you get my letter about Kristy’s latest scheme?”
“Well, I know she called the TV station —”
“She went further than that. I couldn’t believe it. We had all decided we didn’t need more publicity. But in one of our meetings — just one — we didn’t get any calls from clients. We started joking about how we should try to get on TV.”
“And Kristy didn’t think it was a joke,” I guessed.
“Mm-hm. She actually sent her copy of the We Love Kids Club video to the TV station. She enclosed a letter that said something like, ‘They were big in California, but they’re even better in Connecticut!’ The problem was, she forgot to rewind the tape. So the TV people put it on and saw a commercial for indestructible pantyhose.”
“No!”
“Yes. They thanked Kristy and sent back the tape with a list of advertising fees.”
We cracked up.
Well, Mary Anne and I gabbed while we got dressed, gabbed over breakfast, and didn’t stop gabbing all day.
The afternoon rolled around much faster than I had expected. Mom drove me back to the airport. Our ride there was almost as grim as the one home had been the night before.
We did hug and kiss good-bye, though. And Mom had tears in her eyes when I left.
The flight took off on time, and I braced myself for what would happen when I saw Dad.
And Carol.
Ohio hadn’t changed. Neither had Kansas. Nor Minnesota. In fact, the country looked exactly the same as it had the day before.
Fortunately I didn’t have to deal with a lump of dead flesh in my meal on the return flight. This airline had a reasonable meatless lasagna.
It didn’t matter. I had no appetite. Besides, I might have a second chance later. For all I knew, Dad had another ticket back to Connecticut lined up for me. I could see myself becoming a human tennis ball, going back and forth, back and forth across the country. Maybe I could rack up enough Frequent Flyer miles to take a free trip to China. Then neither Mom nor Dad would have to see me.
Dad was waiting at the airport. I noticed he did not have a ticket in his hand (whew). But he did have the same disgusted and angry expression on his face that Mom had had.
And he was ready with most of the same words, too. Once again I heard selfish, immature, and irresponsible. I had to give Dad points for originality, though. He also came up with underhanded, spoiled, and reckless.
Then came the ritual of driving home. I wasn’t looking forward to that. My flight had come into LAX again, and it was going to be a long ride to Palo City.
But Dad surprised me. After he finished his lecture, he said, “Dawn, I know something is bothering you terribly. And I am your father. If you need to tell me anything, I’m all ears.”
“You mean, you’re not angry?” I asked.
“I didn’t say that!” Dad scowled, but then he actually broke into a smile.
Hallelujah. I felt as if I’d emerged from a swamp and into the sunlight.
“Well, to tell you the truth,” (I took a deep breath), “this has to do with you and Carol.”
Dad exhaled. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Go on.”
I told him how I felt about Carol. I listed her habits that bothered me. I mentioned how hurt I’d felt when they’d announced their engagement.
Dad listened intently. After I finished, he shook his head and said, “I had no idea, Dawn. I thought you and Carol had worked out your problems. Why didn’t you tell me things had gone off track?”
“She’s your girlfriend, Dad. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. Besides, she’s not a bad person. And you seemed to be happy with her. I was trying hard to like her. But when I realized she was going to marry you and become my stepmom, everything just exploded, I guess.”
“So you thought I’d betrayed you, and you wanted to get back at me.”
“No, I thought you didn’t want me around.”
“Oh, Sunshine, how could you think that? You know that’s not true.”
“It turned out Mom was the one who didn’t want me,” I said, staring out the window. “She had bought my return ticket before I’d even landed. Boy, was I stupid.”
“It wasn’t that she didn’t want you, Dawn. She’s dying for you to go back to Connecticut. But she and I both feel you need to learn to live up to your commitments. Moving out here was a big decision, not something you can change on a whim.”
For about the tenth time in twenty-four hours, I was getting choked up. “Okay,” I murmured.
Dad gave me a quick glance, then turned back to the road. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. “Being a divorced kid isn’t easy, is it?”
“Nope,” was the only word I could manage, between sniffles.
* * *
It was about 7:15, California time, when we arrived home. As we pulled into the driveway, Jeff ran out of the house.
“Hi, Dawn!” he said. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“How did you do it? Like, buying the ticket and going to the airport and all? That is so cool!”
“Don’t even think about it!” Dad called from the driver’s seat.
Jeff and I walked to the front door together. “Did you do it because of Dad and Carol?” he asked.
I nodded.
“I don’t blame you,” he whispered. “If you had told me, I would have gone with you.”
I smiled at my brother. I was glad to see the real Jeff emerge from behind the joke machine for a change.
As we walked inside, Mrs. Bruen ran to me and gave me a big hug. “Welcome home, honey,” she said.
More waterworks.
Eventually I went to my room, followed by my brother. I could tell he’d been afraid, and he didn’t want to let me out of his sight.
He shut the door behind him and plopped on my bed. “Dawn,” he said, his voice barely audible, “did Dad tell you about his argument with Carol?”
“No.” I sat down next to him. “What happened?”
“Well, she came over last night when Dad was screaming at Mom on the phone. So she and I played seven games of checkers, and I won five. When Dad got off the phone he told Carol what you had done. She said, ‘I’ll stay and help,’ and Dad said, ‘No, I think you’d better go home,’ and Carol got all upset. She said, ‘If I go hom
e I’ll just worry. Please, I’m going to be part of the family, remember?’ He said, ‘Yes, I remember, but that’s not the point now. This is something important that I need to work out with Dawn and her mother.’ And she said, ‘I know, I know, there’ll always be something more important than me.’ Whoa, did Dad blow up! He called her selfish.”
That sounded familiar.
“And she cried,” Jeff went on. “And you know what else? On the way out, she threw her engagement ring on the floor.”
“So it’s off?”
Jeff looked puzzled. “Yeah, I said she threw it.”
“No, I mean the engagement.”
“Nahhh, they talked on the phone later, and it sounded like the fight was over. But Dad has to repair the ring.”
Wow. I had never seen Dad and Carol angry with one another. Maybe their relationship wasn’t perfect after all.
* * *
Later on, when I was alone in my room, I heard Carol come in the front door. She and Dad talked for a few minutes. Then I heard a knock on my door.
“Mind if I come in?” Carol’s voice said.
“No,” I replied.
She stepped in, looking concerned. As she shut the door behind her, she said, “I’m glad you’re back. Are you too tired to have a little talk?”
I felt completely talked out. I wanted to tell her to come back the next day.
But if I turned her away, Dad would probably be angry, and that was the last thing I wanted.
Besides, I was feeling guilty. I’d dumped on Carol, but she wasn’t the real reason for my anger. I had been feeling rejected by Dad. He could have gotten engaged to anybody, and I’d probably have felt the same way.
“I’m not too tired,” I said.
Carol sat down on the bed. She was smiling, but she looked stiff and nervous. “So, how was … your flight?”
I didn’t want to beat around the bush. “Carol, I’m sorry about what I did. This is supposed to be a happy time for you and Dad, and I’m spoiling it for you.”
“I was worried that —” She shifted uncomfortably. “You know, that you didn’t want us to get married.”