Grub and I wove through the tables.
Mary stood by a tall window, staring out at the property grounds. Blackjack sat hunched beside her, gazing blankly at the floor. I started to get a sick feeling, like I was about to receive some awful news.
“Mary,” I said.
As she turned, a nanosecond passed before she seemed to recognize me. Finally, a forced smile appeared.
Oh God. Something terrible has happened.
Mary read my expression, which was wide-eyed and slack-jawed to match my pallor. “Rose isn’t feeling well,” she said flatly.
My brain scrambled like a microwave full of metal forks set to high.
“She’s sick?”
Mary took a slow, deep breath. She shook her head no.
“What’s wrong? Is she okay?” I asked, the blood returning to my face.
Mary hesitated again. “She’s home. She’s had a bad day.”
Oh no. I pissed Rose off and she told her mom and now her mom’s pissed at me and I’m standing here like a jackass. I had to think fast. I needed to see Rose.
“I’ll go see her, I’ll make things right,” I blurted.
Mary shook her head. “That’s nice of you, Zeus, but I don’t think she wants company today.”
Shit. This is not good. I felt my pulse increasing. “I need to see her. It’s my fault, I’ll fix it.”
“There’s nothing to fix, Zeus. I think she wants to be alone.”
This is bad. Did I say something I don’t remember? What did I do? “No, trust me, I can make this better. I’ll go there right now.”
Mary considered me a moment. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”
“I have to,” I said. “Please.”
Mary sighed. “Well, I suppose it should be Rose telling you, not me. But Zeus . . .”
“Yeah?”
“She’s under a lot of stress. Keep that in mind.”
“Of course,” I said. Then I motioned to Grub, who had been hiding behind my legs. “Would you mind keeping an eye on him?”
For the first time since we arrived, Mary genuinely smiled. “Of course not.”
Grub left the safety of my legs and approached Blackjack, poking him in the shoulder. Blackjack slowly turned and studied my brother with vacant eyes. “Who are you?”
Grub blanched as Mary and I exchanged a worried look over his head.
Blackjack squinted closer at Grub. “Do I know you?”
Grub took a cautious step forward. “Private Grub, sir?” he said.
Blackjack slowly blinked a few times, then his face broke into a smile. “Of course you are. What took you so long, Private? I have a new top-secret mission to discuss with you.”
“I’m at your command,” said Grub with a salute.
I raised my eyebrows at Mary in question and she nodded in response. “Go on,” she mouthed.
Mary and Rose’s apartment was less than a mile from Hilltop, so I had a short ride to prepare my thoughts. As I pumped the bike pedals through the thick heat, I rehearsed various conversations in my head, uncertain about what to expect.
I was worried.
Had I screwed up our entire relationship in one fell swoop?
I turned into their ground-level apartment complex, which formed a U shape around a blacktop parking lot. I propped the bike on its kickstand and walked up the short sidewalk to the front door. The curtains had been drawn, the mailbox lid flipped open wide, empty. I paused, deliberating whether to ring the doorbell or knock.
I knocked.
I heard movement inside and wondered if my fish-eyed profile was being viewed through the peephole. I heard the locks turn.
Deep breath.
Here we go.
The door opened, and Rose stood before me in yoga pants and a T-shirt. Her hair was tied back in a messy ponytail. She wore no makeup, and her face was blotchy red, eyes swollen from crying.
I hadn’t prepared for crying.
“Hi,” she said in a soft voice. She looked surprised to see me.
“Hi,” I said back, trying to match her tone. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
Unconvinced, I asked again. “No, tell me. What’s wrong?”
She shook her head again, faster. “It’s nothing.”
“Obviously it’s something,” I said. “What is it? Is it me? Something I said yesterday?”
Rose gave the slightest hint of an eye roll. “Zeus, I’m just not ready to talk about it yet.”
“Can I come in at least?”
“Fine, come in. But it’s not you.” She opened the door all the way, and I walked into the living room.
“What is it then?”
Rose crossed her arms. “Are you seriously going to make me talk about this? I’ve told you like three times I don’t want to.”
I decided to take the bull by the horns. “Okay, I was kind of a jerk yesterday. I should have walked you out. I should have—”
“Zeus, this isn’t about yesterday.”
“Well, what then? Tell me.”
Rose’s mouth tightened, and her eyes welled with tears. “Fine. Since you won’t let it go, I’ll tell you. I found out that I can’t go to the Manhattan Music Conservatory. The scholarship fell through,” she said, her voice catching, “and now I’m stuck here in this stupid town.”
Those last words felt like a knife wound to my side. “Stuck here? You mean stuck here with me?”
Rose shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “Are you even listening? No scholarship. No New York. No music school.”
I thought for a moment, remembering how Mary had said Rose was under a lot of stress. “Is that why you were acting so weird yesterday at the Open Mic?”
Rose moved her head back, as if dodging an invisible bee. “Actually, I just got the letter this morning. You don’t even care, do you?”
“What are you talking about? Of course I care.” I felt my pulse increase. She had no idea how much I cared—I cared about her more than anything! I’d spent an entire week learning a song for her, risking it all, ready to embarrass myself in front of a crowd. For her!
Rose looked at a spot above my shoulder. “Well, it doesn’t feel like it.”
“How do you think it made me feel when you left the Open Mic yesterday?”
Rose’s eyes flashed back to mine. “You know what? Let’s talk about yesterday some other time, okay?”
Apparently, I couldn’t say anything right. “So we can’t talk about this, we can’t talk about that, and I don’t care about how you feel. Does that sum it all up?”
The tears returned to her eyes. “I told you I wasn’t ready to talk about this.”
“Rose—”
“Maybe you should go.” Rose opened the door.
I left.
TWENTY-TWO
I’D BEEN WATCHING THE CEILING FAN SPIN ALL MORNING, LISTENING to the clickity-clack of its off-kilter rotation. I kept replaying the fight in my head, analyzing everything I could remember. But her last words kept thundering back to me: Maybe you should go.
And that look on her face . . .
I finally summoned the energy to stand on my bed and pull the chain to change the speed setting, only to have it snap off in my hand and send me falling into the headboard.
Great, stuck on high forever, I thought. What else can I break?
I’d single-handedly ruined the only relationship I’d ever had. With the only girl I’d ever wanted. She’d received terrible news, and instead of being there for her, I’d made everything worse. And now she probably hated me. She definitely hated me. She’d kicked me out of her house.
I hadn’t eaten, I’d barely slept, and I’d hardly left my room except to answer a few calls of nature. I still wore my clothes from yesterday, which reeked of sweat and failure. If a color described my mood, it’d be dull gray; a sound, a muted trumpet going wah-wah-waaaaah. I tried strumming my guitar for a while, but all that came out was off-key dissonance.
Fortunately, the café was closed for the Fourth of July, so I didn’t have to worry about making deliveries. That gave me plenty of time to let my thoughts wander and feel sorry for myself. Every time Rose came to mind, I felt slightly ill. Of course, everything made me think of Rose.
Spider plant by the window: Plant. Flower. Rose
Guitar leaning against the door: Guitar. Piano. Rose.
Dirty socks on the floor: Rose has feet. Rose.
I was trying to sleep again when I heard a soft knock on my door. I rolled over into my pillow and grunted. Another knock. I grunted louder. A third knock. I lifted my head and grunted unmistakably at the door.
“Zeus, can I come in?” said Mom.
“Gaarrg,” I replied.
“Is that a yes?”
“Mmmph.” I pulled the pillow over my head. I heard the door open.
“Honey, there’s some sandwiches in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”
“Mrrraamph,” I said into the mattress. I felt the bed shift slightly as she sat next to me. “Mrrraamph,” I repeated. I felt her hand on my foot. I brought my leg toward me, which left me looking like a splayed-out frog on its belly.
“Zeus, what’s wrong, sweetie?”
“Errrmm,” I replied. She placed her hand on my foot again. Short of dislocating my hip, I’d run out of room, so I begrudgingly received her consolation.
“You haven’t left your room since you got home yesterday.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Zeus, can you at least look at me?”
I slowly removed the pillow from my head and rolled over. Mom reached out and gently brushed the hair from my forehead with her fingertips. Instantly, her touch reminded me of being sick when I was younger, when she’d magically appear in the middle of the night to soothe me and lie with me until I fell back asleep. The sixteen-year-old part of me wanted to swat her hand away. The six-year-old part of me wanted to curl up in her lap.
I felt my eyes tickle and burn as my brain sent signals to my tear ducts to activate. I didn’t want to cry in front of my mom, I really didn’t. Why’d she have to go and touch me? Dammit.
“It’s okay,” she said. And suddenly, it was. She put her arms around me and held me tight. We both cried—me out of self-pity for being an asshole; her, I assumed, for seeing me suffer.
After regaining my composure, I told her everything. I told her how miserable I’d been after moving to Buffalo Falls, how lonely and out of place I’d felt. And then how I’d met Rose, how she’d made everything better and more fun when I was with her. I told her about the polka dancing, the movie at Hilltop, the psychic—all of it—and how they’d been the best days of my life. And then I told her about the Open Mic and Rose’s scholarship news, and how I’d screwed it all up, and how Rose told me to leave, and how she probably never wanted to see me again.
Mom sat cross-legged at the end of my bed listening to the whole thing, nodding when appropriate, and making soft mmms and mm-hmms when needed.
When I reached the end, she let everything sink in before speaking.
“Opening your heart to people can sometimes be painful. But it’s a beautiful thing, Zeus, it really is.”
“It doesn’t feel beautiful.”
“Not always, no. But it means you have a heart, son. And that you care about someone enough for it to hurt. I’m sure Rose is feeling the same way you are right now. Worse, maybe.”
I remembered the look on Rose’s face when she told me she wasn’t getting into the conservatory. She’d felt bad enough receiving the news, then on top of it, I’d showed up and acted like a complete jerk. I couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid. What was I thinking?
“Now, are you ready for some tough love?”
I wasn’t.
“Sure,” I said.
“You’ve been a little self-involved this summer.”
I felt my stomach sink. “Really?”
“And it’s okay—you’re sixteen. You’re a teenager. You’re supposed to go out and make mistakes and have fun. These are all little life lessons; you learn from them or you don’t. But if you choose to learn from them, you become a better person, which will make you a better man.”
I looked at my mom and realized how little I’d seen of her lately. We’d always been close—after all, it was just the two of us those first eight years before Grub came along. I saw the crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes, and the gray that now highlighted her brown hair. Where had the time gone? Had I been a jerk to her, too? God, I have, haven’t I?
“How have you been?” I asked, trying to summarize my thoughts.
Mom looked surprised by the question, which was enough to let me know it had been too long since I’d asked.
“If we’re being honest here, I’m a bit worried,” she said.
“About what?”
“Well, about you, for one. About your brother. About other things.”
“Like what, the café?”
Mom paused, then nodded.
I’d feared this news for a while, though I’d tried to ignore the signs. “Is it bad?” I asked.
“Hard to say at this point. When I was waitressing, as much as I disliked it, the money was steady. Still, I thought: my own business, small town, cheaper rent, lower cost of living, no problem. But it’s been a lot harder converting people from cheeseburgers to tofu than I thought it would be. May have to rethink things.”
I felt my stomach drop again. “Rethink things? What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure. It could mean changing the menu. It could mean shutting down and finding a new job here. Or it could mean moving back to Chicago and taking my old job back.”
Moving back to Chicago. The words I’d once longed to hear now echoed in my head like a death sentence . . . the death of my relationship with Rose, or whatever was left of it.
Mom continued. “And I haven’t even begun to start paying back the money your aunt Willow loaned me. I’m not sure how I ever will at this point.”
I watched the ceiling fan spin for a minute before responding. “Is that why we haven’t been up to see her?” Every summer for as long as I could remember, we spent a week at Aunt Willow’s cottage in Wisconsin. I’d been so preoccupied with Rose, I’d nearly forgotten about it.
Mom sighed. “No, of course not. You know your aunt, she’s been nothing but supportive. We’ll try to make it up there later this summer. Manny’s been asking about it, too. I just can’t afford to close the café right now. I need every customer I can get.” She saw the look on my face. “Don’t worry, sweetie, there’s still time to turn this ship around.”
I changed the subject slightly. “You said you’re worried about me.”
“That’s my job, I’m your mom. All I want is for you to be happy and healthy. Right now, you’re neither. You’re depressed, heartbroken, and malnourished. Have a sandwich. Take a shower. You smell.” She winked.
I laughed. “It gets worse,” I said. “I have a spiritual blockage.”
“Yes, I heard. That’s unfortunate.”
“I need to surround myself in white light to keep the bad spirits away.” I did the lasso motion above my head, like Mo had.
“Well, save some white light for the rest of us.” She lay down next to me. We listened to the rattle of the ceiling fan until I fell asleep. When I woke, she was gone.
Our apartment was only a few blocks from the river, so that night the three of us ventured out to watch the fireworks. We found a spot with a clear view, sitting on some old train tracks away from the crowd.
“One last little piece of advice,” Mom said, turning to me. “You should apologize to Rose. It will mean a lot. Whatever ends up happening—and who knows what will happen—it’s the right thing to do.”
She was right. I’d apologize tomorrow. “I will,” I said.
“Don’t worry,” said Grub, sliding a foot back and forth through the gravel. “Blackjack has a plan.”
Mom and I shared a look. Then she r
eached down and ruffled his hair.
Under the starry sky, gunpowder missiles flashed into giant Epcot spheres with sizzling spider legs. I felt the cannon explosions reverberate in my chest cavity. As I looked at my mother and brother bathed in white light, I thought I understood what the psychic meant.
TWENTY-THREE
THE NEXT MORNING, I GOT UP EARLY TO HELP MOM CLEAN THE CAFÉ. IT wouldn’t solve the problems she faced, but I hoped it would at least ease her workload. It also gave me time to consider my options. I knew Rose would be at Hilltop at noon, but I couldn’t wait that long. I’d been lying in bed since before dawn rehearsing my apology. I couldn’t show up at the nursing home and apologize in front of everyone though—what if she didn’t accept my apology? Stormed off? Wasn’t there? What if I made things worse? They all seemed realistic, if not likely, possibilities.
No, if I wanted to apologize to Rose it would have to be somewhere private.
In the café kitchen, Mom sang to herself while washing vegetables. The doors wouldn’t open to the public for another hour. The aroma of dark, organic coffee brewing smelled tempting, but caffeine seemed like a bad idea. I didn’t need to end up chattering like a wind-up set of teeth.
Across from me, Grub drew a map. I leaned forward to take a look. He’d drawn a building next to a small battlefield. Little trees and bushes lined the field’s perimeter, and Xs had been circled at various locations, like a treasure map. A big dog that looked suspiciously like Agatha stood guard.
For a brief moment, I wished I were eight years old again, lost in my own imagination. No time for wishful thinking though; time for action. Waiting until the afternoon—even if I could get Rose away from the crowd at Hilltop—was out of the question. Showing up at Rose’s house without warning also seemed like a bad idea.
That left one option.
I burst through the kitchen door, making Mom jump like she’d been tased.
“Mom, can I use the phone? Real quick. One text.”
“Sure thing,” she replied, pulling it out of her back pocket. A gold corona of light shone around it as if she were unsheathing Excalibur.
Okay, not really. But I’d gone over a month without using it for the most part, as “just a week or two” had turned into “indefinitely.”