Mom tickles Cosmo under the chin. Abruptly he stops crying and smiles. The emotions of a baby are so changeable. It seems to me that perhaps Cosmo and I have more in common than I’d thought, because I’m suddenly not irritated, just tired.
“I went jogging. I know, not like me.” I smile, inviting conversation. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be so grumpy.”
Mom’s not listening. Cosmo is all big openmouthed smiles as she tickles. “Who’s a happy baby now?” she says, casting me an apologetic look. “Hurry up and get ready, Callie.”
I trudge toward the shower, worried again about Granny.
Mom has to let herself into Granny’s with her key. Normally Granny opens her door all smiles. I feel a shudder of apprehension, especially as we walk through the empty sitting room and find Granny in her bed, sleeping. When I lean in to kiss her papery cheek, she smells of roses, as always, but also of sweat and something else. I don’t even want to figure out that smell. I sit on the edge of her bed and clasp her petal-soft hand.
She stirs to say, “My goodness, I didn’t know I was having company—now whatever do you think of me? No tea prepared, not even dressed.” Despite the fact she moved to Edenville nearly seventy years ago, her British accent is strong. I sometimes hear myself dropping in a British word or phrase and I know it’s her voice speaking through me. She struggles to sit, letting go of my hand.
I say, “Granny …?” I choke up. “Sorry, I just …”
She settles into the cushions as I plump them around her head. “Callie, now then, I’m perfectly fine.” She directs her next comment at my mother. “Goodness, Lizzy, I’m not an invalid. You didn’t tell me Callie was coming with you today.”
I know, because I know Granny so well, that she’s furious. She doesn’t want me seeing her in bed like this. There’s a little tug at my heart as if someone is putting in a stitch. “Sorry, Granny. I wanted to visit. Dad’s looking after Cosmo and I thought it’d be a good time.”
“Of course.” She lifts one spider-veined hand and says, “Elizabeth, should we have tea?”
Obediently Mom slips out of the room to the kitchen.
I call after her, “I can get it, Mom.”
Granny says to me brightly, “No, no, you sit with me.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Now, now, girl. I’m not off my perch yet.” Her hands follow my gaze and immediately begin to tidy loose strands of her hair, pinning them up. She emerges as her usual self from the frail bed-bound creature and lowers her voice to say, “So, what’s my favourite granddaughter been doing?”
“Your only granddaughter.”
“Exactly.”
“Not much. Hanging out. How are you feeling?”
“It was Madeline who was the problem.” Her eyes have softened. She says, “Not easy to forgive. Now, Joanie, have you ever seen anything like it?”
“Granny,” I say, “it’s me, Callie.”
“Ah, yes. Now, dear, silly me. And you are?”
That stitch becomes a row of stitches.
She says, “Oh, it was fun when I was young—When I came here, dear, there was nothing, really. I thought the outhouses were little sheds—outdoor toilets! Goodness, what a thing. I wrote telling them I lived like a queen, but it wasn’t true.”
I wait, listening. After the pause becomes too long, I say, “Did you miss home?”
“It wasn’t like today. It was like crossing into a … Oh, it was a different world then.” Her eyes brighten. “Callie, dear. It’s so good to see you! We must have tea.”
“Mom’s making some.”
“Is she? Marvellous. What’s new with you?”
I’ve never seen her like this and I struggle to make conversation. “Um. You remember my friend Ivy?”
“Ivy … The one with the mother?” Suddenly she’s as sharp as scissors.
“Please, don’t bring that up.”
“Of course not.”
“So, um, Ivy’s back. We went jogging this morning.”
“That sounds fun.”
“I just wish I was … as confident as her. She met this friend of mine today and he blatantly likes her. She’s stunning.”
“Oh, Callie, my love. So are you.”
“That’s what they pay you to say.”
She laughs, completely back to her normal, gossipy, interested self. “I wish I’d known how beautiful I was when I was younger. It all fades, my darling. Now, is there going to be trouble with Ivy’s mother? Should you talk to your mom? Should I?”
“Let me see first, okay?”
Her eyes get misty. “I always wished I’d run away with the circus. Bet you didn’t know your old granny could juggle.”
Mom comes back into the room with a tray set with three china cups, a china vase and three chocolate biscuits. She glances over, frowning slightly. “What are you two whispering about?”
Granny says, “I’d love to walk the tightrope, just once. I’ll never do that now, will I.”
Mom is quiet as she pours the tea.
We leave Granny’s for the short walk home. The air is scented and birds are singing. It’s much easier to think about other things than about Granny. Thinking about Granny makes me feel unmoored, scared. Instead, I float in la-la land. Somehow, magically, Mom will let me go on the boat with Ivy, tra la la.
“Mom, so, um, I was, um, wondering if I could go out on my friend’s boat tomorrow. After visiting Granny. We don’t have anything going on, do we?”
But she’s not that sort of parent. Her mom-radar is always switched on and now it’s flashing red.
“What boat?” she says.
“It’s no big deal. He’s just this guy from school. He asked me to go on his boat tomorrow with another friend.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s the editor guy. I’ve told you about him. Kurt Hartnett.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“I have. It’ll be fine. He’s nice.” Most people my age wouldn’t even have to ask their mom permission, but my family doesn’t work like that. My mom is all about keeping children children for as long as possible. Her books are described as charming, innocent, whimsical.
“We should go and see your grandmother again tomorrow.”
“I know. I said after that. Please, Mom, you have to let me go.”
She sets her jaw firmly. I know what that means. It means she’s veering toward no.
I say, “It’s not just him. Ivy will be there.”
She actually stops walking. “Ivy? Ivy who? What? Ivy Foulds?”
I nod.
“She’s here?”
“She got back yesterday. I was at her house when you called about Granny.”
“Her house? Ivy Foulds? My love, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Are you really going to do this again?”
“You were devastated when she left.”
“That wasn’t her fault!”
Mom asks, “Were you with Ivy when you went jogging?”
“Jogging’s good for me. It’s not like I was doing something dangerous!”
Her face pinches. She starts to walk again, so I walk too. She says, “I don’t want to fight with you. I’m exhausted, I’m worried about your granny, and now this.”
I say, quietly, “Please, Mom. I just want to go on a boat with some friends.”
“You’ve always been intoxicated with that girl. Think about it—remember how you treated poor Rebecca?”
“We were just kids—what does it even matter now?”
We’re back at the house. Mom opens the door and says, “Your friendship with Ivy wasn’t good for you three years ago, why do you think it would be now?”
“I know what this is about—”
“This is about surrounding yourself with good people, like Rebecca.”
We’re standing in the corridor. Dad looks at us from his spot on the couch, bemused. Cosmo lies on his front on a blanket on the living room floor, cooing.
I’m
never like this, but thoughts of Ivy going on the boat with Kurt, flicking her hair about, letting her tanned hand slide into his—these thoughts sting like little wasps. I say more loudly than I intend, “I’ve had enough of this, enough of feeling like—”
Cosmo’s face crumples.
Mom says, “Now look what you’ve done. Callie, we all keep pretending that you’re not being utterly selfish. Do you comprehend how tired I am? How much I’d like a little help?”
“I didn’t ask for you guys to have a baby! Everything’s always Cosmo, Cosmo, Cosmo.”
Mom slams her hand on the hallway table. “How dare you talk to me like this? You are not to see her. Do you understand?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You cannot see Ivy. That’s it.” Her cheeks are red. Cosmo starts really screaming.
“I’m sixteen.”
“Until I see you acting like an adult, I’m going to treat you like a child. You are forbidden from seeing her.”
Forbidden? I’m out of there. I storm upstairs and slam the door. It doesn’t make me feel better. I sob into the pillow like a girl in a love story, then text Ivy to tell her I can’t make it for the boat trip.
She calls immediately. “Callie, what’s going on? Is your granny okay?”
I’m embarrassed to hear the words catch in my throat. “Sorry. I just had a fight with Mom.”
“I’ll come over.”
“She’s not exactly gonna let me have friends over right now. And there’s no way I can come tomorrow.”
She doesn’t even pause. “On the boat? No problem. We’ll just tell Kurt that we’ll go another day.”
My heart lifts. I look out the window at the lush leafy trees and bright skies beyond. I say, “That would be cool.” I get up and start to straighten my desk, wiping the surface down with a Kleenex.
“I’d feel lonesome without you there, anyways.”
“God, I hate fighting with her.”
“I know how that feels. You okay?”
“I just … I dunno. Mom’s all worried about Granny. Granny wasn’t really herself—she was dreamy, forgetful. I thought falling from the step wasn’t a big deal but she seems to have hit her head pretty hard. I probably should’ve been nicer to Mom.”
“This sucks. Maybe if I ask your mom to let you come?”
Um, huge problem there. But I can’t tell Ivy I’ve been banned from seeing her. It’s too insane. I say, “No. I’m being unfair. You should go on the boat. You’re new here and settling in.”
“Really? Only if you’re okay with it.”
“Course.”
“Are you sure, sure?”
“Absolutely. Tell me how it goes, ‘kay?” I lie back on the bed. Pity party number ten thousand. Sometimes, I’m my own worst enemy.
THREE
JULY 31ST
Kurt
We arrive at the hospital. Hustle into the ER.
There’s a bored woman at Information, checking her phone. Xander asks questions. The woman’s mouth thins. I hear her say, “If you’re not family, there’s nothing we can do. You have to wait.”
I say, “Can’t you tell us anything?”
She doesn’t even answer.
Xander walks away. I follow. A long, grey hallway, doors open all the way along, ill-looking people inside. Stench of bleach, bad food, misery. Now we’re in a small space with three leather couches. A TV showing cartoons. A woman crouched over.
I mutter to Xander, “That must be Ivy’s mom.”
She looks like Ivy, but less natural—over-yellow hair, Botox-fixed skin. At first, she doesn’t turn to us. Instead, her jaw hangs slack, her bottom row of white teeth exposed. The buttons are done up wrong on her silky cream shirt. She stands and looks straight at me, her eyes blank as two pebbles.
“Mrs. Foulds?” Xander says.
Her gaze shifts. She has one hand pressed to her chest. Trying to stop her heart from blasting out of there and exploding in our faces. She says, “They don’t know much. It’s bad. I’m just waiting, they told me to wait. Not here. Somewhere else. But I can’t. I can’t wait there. Not with the other parents—”
I want to ask about Callie, but Mrs. Foulds is babbling. “The doctor said wait here. It’s quieter. My Kevin’s away for the night—he has to travel all the time, even just after we got back to Edenville … trips … he’s very important—He’s on his way though, soon. He’ll find me. The doctors will find me—”
Xander cuts her off gently, like he’s talking to a child, shakes her hand. “I’m Xander Buckmaster. I’m a friend of Ivy. And Kurt. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
Man, Xander is brilliant. So calm.
Mrs. Foulds nods. She grips Xander’s arm. “My baby. I know I’ve made mistakes but I … I may not be a perfect mother but I love my daughter.”
“Of course,” says Xander. Calm. Calm.
Mrs. Foulds says, “She’s going to be okay. She has to be.”
But none of us are going to be okay. Ever again.
TWELVE DAYS EARLIER
Ivy
Kurt beeps the horn outside my house. Mom’s asleep on the couch. She’s gorgeous when she’s sleeping. I spot a text on her phone from Kevin. Dirty words. Gross. I tuck the phone next to her. She stirs, the sour stink of her rising like steam. Screw it, Mom, two days we’ve been back. Don’t you think Kevin’s gonna notice? I take the bottle.
The room is dark, curtains drawn. No one’s watching but I check around anyway. I put the bottle to my lips and hold it there. Then, slowly, I take the bottle away from my mouth. I won’t drink. I’m not like her—see how easy it is, Mom, not to drink? We’re the result of the choices we make every day and this is my choice. I pour the bottle out into the sink, wishing she didn’t always find a way to get more. But I’m not going to waste energy thinking like that. I count one, two, three, four, five.
I’m ready for the boat trip. Summery dress for a sunny, summery day. Kurt beeps the horn again. I’ve made him wait long enough, poor boy. Men are like dogs, they need training, and every dog needs a reward when he’s done good. Kurt has been very patient. I pop gum in my mouth, step down the porch stairs and slide into the back because there’s another guy in the passenger seat—a thin guy with a beard and glasses, crouched over because he’s so tall. He swivels to face me.
“Hi,” I say to him, “I’m Ivy.”
He nods a hello. “Xander.” I’m guessing he’s everyone’s friend—the one who fixes stuff if it’s broken.
“Callie can’t make it,” I say. I’m bummed she’s not coming, leaving me on my own with two cute guys. Nothing I haven’t handled before, of course, but it would be a million times more fun with her. I ask Kurt, “Can I smoke in here?”
He shakes his head. “My dad’s car.”
“I should probably quit anyways.” I love to smoke. Love everything about it, especially that first, fabulous drag. But as the words are coming out of my mouth, I realize it’s true. It might be time to quit. New town, new life.
Xander asks, “Where you from, Ivy?”
Kurt starts the car. He looks like Diego from this angle. My heart sputters. I don’t know how I didn’t see it when we met, but sitting here, Kurt could be Diego. A better Diego, softer features, fuller mouth. I say, “I was living in Kansas City for about a year. Then a tornado brought me here—just like Dorothy.”
“So this is Oz?” Kurt asks.
I say, “Without the wicked witch.”
“And you like it?”
“I lived here three years ago but just for the summer. Before that, I lived in Paris, Lille, New York, Madison, Calgary, Fort McMurray, uh, a few other places. I like it here as much as anywhere.”
Kurt says, “How come so many moves?”
Mom says the best way to talk to men is to let them do the talking. Stay mysterious. She may not be the best mother in the world, but she sure seems to be able to find boyfriends. “Enough about me,” I say. “Tell me about this boat.”
&n
bsp; Callie
Mom’s working, Cosmo hanging from her in his sling, the keys tap, tap, tapping away. I imagine her usual bad music playing in her headphones. I watch her for a second. When I was little, I used to play on her office floor, waiting for her to finish an illustration. We used to look at her work together, long before she started publishing and sharing it with everyone else. I hover by the office door. I should just ask her if I can go see Ivy, who must be home from the boat trip by now. Mom pulls out one ear of her headphones.
“What, Callie?”
Her tone doesn’t encourage me. I say, “Nothing.” I return to my bedroom and text Ivy: Whatcha doing?
We arrange to meet up in a café that didn’t exist three years ago called Mystical Java. I can’t believe I’m going to do this. I peek out of my room. Mom’s on the phone—blah, blah, some problem with her artwork, the design’s too busy and needs streamlining, something. I tiptoe past her office, sneaking down the stairs. Just like that, I’m out the front door. Cosmo starts yelling with perfect timing. I let out a tight breath, my heart boombumpity in the breezy sunshine.
I cross the street under the overhang of leaves that arch from huge, old trees. A cat startles and yowls, scurrying for cover as I head past the first couple of stores that begin yuppified Pine Hill Street, which is full of cafés, bars, restaurants, yoga studios and expensive clothing stores. I pass the cupcake counter of Cakes for Two, and open the door of Mystical Java to the smell of roasting coffee and fresh baked goods. It’s full of people typing on laptops or chatting on their phones. The lineup is too long for me to join right away, so, as I’m early, I decide to wait for Ivy before ordering coffee. I sit at the magically free table by the window and drum my fingers.
I catch sight of a flyer pinned to the wall. Underneath the word ARTSTARTS, brightly coloured doodles surround the smiling face of a preschooler. The flyer reads: Assistant Wanted for Art Classes for Kids. I wonder if I could do that. I do need a job. I key the number into my cell, but I don’t call. Instead, I check my email, check the time, watch a couple of videos my friends have posted.