“I don’t want to let you go, dammit,” she said. “You’ve been a lifesaver for me on this trip.”
I told her Mom and I would be up to visit in two weeks or so.
“Two weeks? Thank God. I hope I can hold out that long!”
We waved good-bye—Cesar, too—until they turned the corner and were out of sight. Suddenly I felt like crying. It was over. Not the whole trip—Franny and I would certainly have an adventure or two on the way home. But this was the end of the Zigzag Plan.
“There’s an hour until your friend’s plane comes in,” Cesar said. “Let’s get something to eat, okay?”
I followed him silently to the food court and ordered a corn muffin and a glass of orange juice.
“That’s all you want?” Cesar was getting himself a burger, fries, and a milk shake. “Don’t tell me you’re getting like that cousin of yours. She doesn’t eat enough to keep a bird alive.”
“No, I’m just feeling a little weird that they’re gone. I mean, we’ve been so close all summer, literally so close, in motel rooms and in the van—we were never apart! And now they’ve disappeared, just like that.”
“You miss them,” he said, with a shrug. To him it was obvious.
“Yeah, I guess I do. Who’d have expected that?”
Cesar was a great person to talk to, but he was also a great person to sit and be quiet with. After a few minutes, without telling me what he was doing, he went up and got me a milk shake.
“Best medicine for melancholy,” he said. Then he smiled at me in that cockeyed way he has, and I decided it was a good thing that Franny and I were leaving in two days.
Franny’s plane was about ten minutes late, but it seemed like ages to me—I was so anxious to see her. Then here she came striding down the hall toward us like she was considering buying the building, her eyes taking in every pretzel seller, cigarette lounge, and newspaper stand. It was her first time out of Iowa and she wasn’t going to miss a thing.
“Franny!” I screamed from the other side of the checkpoint. “We’re here!”
She looked up and waved nonchalantly, as though she found herself in places like Albuquerque all the time. I grabbed her the minute she came through to our side.
“I can’t believe you’re really here!”
“Me either. It’s like magic. I got on a big bird, it flew through the clouds for a few minutes, and here I am, a thousand miles from home. Robin, this is the best rescue mission ever—only this time you’re saving me from Des Sanders.”
“It’s over with Des?”
“Way over.” She looked up at Cesar. “I’m Franny. Who are you?”
“Oh, Franny, this is Cesar. He’s been driving us around since the car crash.”
She smiled. “Oh, like a chauffeur?”
“Not exactly. See, Robin was abandoned on our doorstep and we took her in. So, I’m kind of a . . . foster brother.” His smile slipped from Franny over to me.
“I see,” she said, giving me a wide-eyed look. I knew what we’d be discussing the moment Cesar was out of sight.
On the drive back from the airport, Franny wanted me to tell her everything that had happened for the past five weeks, including details. So I started with the Iowa State Fair, spent quite a few minutes on the mosquito attack in the Badlands, described the fossil Marsh had found, skipped lightly over dancing with Glen, gave a complete rundown on the Lazy River Ranch rodeo, explained how Denver sat right in the mountains, told her about the cow-shaped pool in Texas, the Cadillacs covered with spray paint, the lack of water at Acoma Pueblo and Madrid, New Mexico. And then, of course, Savannah, the vase, the argument, the seat belt situation, and the tumbling downhill of Dory’s car. Telling the stories made me feel like I’d put a period at the end of the sentence. That trip, and all it entailed, was really over.
“And that’s how we ended up at the Black Mesa Motel,” I said as we pulled up in front of it.
“Now I’m really jealous,” Cesar said. “Hearing about your trip makes me want to take off and go somewhere. Anywhere!”
“Well, come back to Iowa with us!” Franny said.
“I already offered to do that,” Cesar said. “But I was turned down.”
I knew he was joking, but he looked a little sad, too. “We’d make you square dance if you came with us,” I said.
“Hey, I’d do ballet dancing for a chance to see Iowa!” he said.
“What is going on with you two?” Franny said once we were alone in room number 5.
“Nothing!”
“Oh, please—no false modesty. That guy is gaga over you.”
“Don’t be silly.”
She shook her head. “He does not look at you like a brother, Robin, foster or otherwise. And I have to say, on first glance, I prefer this one to Chris. I know Chris has that blond thing going, but as far as I’m concerned, give me dark looks.”
“Franny, will you shut up?” I slammed the window down. “What if he heard you?”
“What if he did?”
“There is nothing going on with Cesar and me. I’m still going with Chris. As far as I know.”
“Cesar,” she said, flopping on the bed. “He even has a good name. Oh, speaking of Chris, your mom gave me this to give to you.” She zipped open her backpack and carefully removed a blue airmail letter, holding it with only her thumb and index finger, as if it were a teacup.
My stomach fell into my shoes as I took it from her. Which of my last letters had he gotten already? The braggy one certainly. The honest one, maybe. And what would he have to say about either one of them?
“I suppose you want to read it in private?”
“Would you mind?”
She sighed. “Not at all. Maybe there’ll be some hot-looking young guy hanging around outside I can get to know.”
“Be my guest,” I said, then, as soon as she left, I started trying to come up with reasons why Cesar wouldn’t appreciate Franny’s finer qualities. Unfortunately, I couldn’t think of any, so I sat down on the bed and opened my letter. Just looking at the familiar handwriting made my heart jump. If only I could see Chris surely things wouldn’t seem so confusing!
Dear Robin,
I got your last two letters just a couple of days apart. I’m glad I waited to write you back until the second one came today. After I read the first one I was kind of angry with you, going on and on about your wonderful cousins and dancing with cowboys and everything. I should have known it was in response to my letter. When the second one came, I remembered what I’d written to you, all about Gabriella and “bonding” with my friends. I guess it sounded like I had a great new life and you weren’t in it.
Maybe I wanted you to think that. I’m not sure why. I am having fun here, and I do like most of the kids on the program, but sometimes I get really lonely for Thunder Lake and for you. We have a lot of fun here, but none of these people really know me the way you do. I hope you believe that I still love you, Robin, because I do. But I have to tell you something that you won’t like. I’ve kissed Gabriella. Only a few times, and mostly because we’re both missing people. We’re certainly not in love! But it happened, and I can’t promise you it won’t happen again.
It’s so hard to be so far away from the person I love! It scares me now to think of being away from you next year. I want us to be together, Robin, but sometimes it seems like it won’t work. I know this is what you were afraid would happen once we were apart, and I’m sorry I didn’t take you more seriously. I always said you were the smart one.
The car crash sounded awful. I’m so glad you weren’t hurt! I don’t know what I’d have done if you’d been hurt and I couldn’t come to see you! I’m sorry your aunt got hurt, but I guess she’ll be okay. It’s great you’re getting to spend some time in Santa Fe—I wish I could see it with you.
In your last letter you seemed different than I remember—I guess going out into the world does that. I think I’ve changed too, which makes it hard to write to you. If we could talk to
each other face-to-face—which we will soon—I think things would be okay again. But for now, I feel a little bit like I don’t even know who I’m writing to.
Our school program is over and we’re leaving tomorrow to travel to Florence, Bologna, Milan, and Venice. There’s an address in Milan where we can pick up mail in about two weeks, but I’m thinking that maybe it would be better if we didn’t write to each other anymore while I’m in Italy. That way, when we meet again on August 20, we won’t have to sort through the things we said on paper and might have misunderstood. We can look at each other and talk about what really happened.
Does that sound all right? I’ll put the Milan address at the bottom of the page, just in case you don’t agree with me. Otherwise, I’ll look forward to seeing you in a month. No matter what happens, Robin, I do love you.
Chris
The address in Milan was squeezed in at the bottom of the page in such small handwriting I could barely read it. It didn’t matter anyway; I wouldn’t need it.
Roland drove me down to pick up the van first thing the next morning. It was strange to sit behind the wheel again. Except for a few scratches, it looked the same as it had before the accident, and I had the crazy idea that, by fixing the car, we’d managed to erase all the damage—not just the broken bones, but Dory’s grief, Iris’s eating disorder, Marshall’s fears. I knew it wasn’t true, but it made me hopeful. Maybe even people who looked like they were totaled could be put back together again and made to run.
Since Franny only had one day in Santa Fe, we made it a good one. Both Cesar and Savannah came with us to tour the city, to see the museums and shops, and to eat a few last enchiladas. Franny bought herself a rope of chili peppers because she thought they were beautiful and because we had a whole van to ourselves to take things back.
“I can’t believe I’m getting to see all this stuff and it’s not even costing me anything,” she said at least four times during the day. “I mean, I’m sorry your aunt got hurt and everything, but, God, it was lucky for me. We’re going to have so much fun on the drive back!”
Whenever one of us mentioned leaving, Cesar stopped smiling. I wondered if Franny was right about him liking me as more than a friend, or if he was just feeling bad that he was “stuck” in New Mexico? I liked Cesar, and I knew that if I let myself, I could like him a lot. I had a feeling if we’d spent a few more days at the Lazy River Ranch I would have been more than friends with Glen, too. What was wrong with me this summer? I loved Chris, but I also really liked these other guys. How could both things be true?
Of course, Chris said he was still in love with me, too, and he was kissing Gabriella, so at least I wasn’t the only person who was confused. We’d just have to figure it out on August 20.
Franny loved the ring Iris and Marshall had given me, so we took her to see the Indian jewelry at the Plaza. While we were walking from one display to another, she had us all laughing over her breakup with Des Sanders. “He wanted me to go out with him every weekend! And he was always calling me on the phone. Like I don’t have my own life!”
“Franny, that’s what you do when you have a boyfriend,” I said.
“Yeah? Maybe I’d be better off getting a dog then.”
“Even a dog wants a walk every night,” Savannah told her.
“Every night? Isn’t there some animal that doesn’t demand so much? What about a bird?”
“You just haven’t met the right person yet,” I said.
“Maybe. By the way, I have a feeling your mother has met the right person.”
I stopped laughing. “Who? You don’t mean Michael Evans?”
“Is she going out with anybody else? I’m telling you, they’ve checked out every schmaltzy romantic movie in the store, and I’ve seen them together at the Fish Shack every time I’ve been there—sitting very close together. I think they’re attached at the hip. Doesn’t she talk about him when she calls you?”
“She mentions him, but she never said they’re inseparable.”
“Maybe she thinks you don’t like him.”
“I like him fine. I mean, I don’t know him very well. It’s a little weird, you know? She’s my mother and she’s going on dates. With a guy who looks like Ernest Hemingway’s enormous twin.”
“Well, I think you better get used to it. I have a feeling the bell tolls for Mr. Hemingway. The wedding bell.”
Now there was something to think about. What if they got married and he moved into the house? The idea had been appalling to me when I’d first considered it in June. But now I thought, why shouldn’t my mother fall in love? In another year I’d be leaving for college—our mother/daughter act would be breaking up, anyway. I should be happy she’d found somebody to be with. I should be, and maybe by the time I drove all the way back to Iowa, I would be.
We got back pretty late and tried to be quiet coming in so we wouldn’t wake any motel clients who might be asleep. Savannah had been telling Franny about Sukey’s weaving and Roland’s pottery, and Franny wanted to see it, so they went inside together. There was a weird minute when I thought I ought to go with them because, if I didn’t, I’d be standing outside in the dark, alone with Cesar, which might not be such a good idea. But I didn’t seem to be able to move one way or the other. I stood there looking at him in the neon light from the motel sign; it gave his dark hair a blue shine and made his eyes glow. Finally, Cesar cleared his throat.
“Your friend Franny is very funny. I like her.”
“Me too. She’s my best friend.”
Then, just when I thought we were on a safe topic, Cesar leaped into a new one. “Robin, I’m not going to be here in the morning to tell you good-bye.”
“You’re not? You don’t usually work in the morning.”
“I just . . . have things to do.”
“Oh.” Why did I feel so disappointed?
“So, good-bye,” he said, sticking out his hand.
This was it? We were going to have an awkward handshake in the dark and then go our separate ways? I put my hand out to meet his, but instead of shaking it, he curled his fingers around it and held it so tightly I could feel his pulse beating in his palm.
“I know you have a boyfriend,” he said. “But if he goes to the East Coast, and you come out west, maybe the next time I see you things will be different.”
My voice had disappeared. I looked at his dark eyes and tried my best to remember what Chris’s eyes had looked like.
“You don’t have to say anything. But you could write me a letter when you get back to Iowa. Tell me about everything you saw on your trip. Let me know if you still think New Mexico is the most beautiful place.” He smiled. “You know my address.”
I nodded, looking down at our hands, still clenched.
“Good night,” he said, almost whispering.
“Good night,” I repeated.
And then he leaned toward me, and I leaned toward him, and we kissed each other. I was going to say I didn’t know what I was doing, but that would be a lie. I knew exactly what I was doing. I kissed him slowly and sweetly, and then he was gone.
“How come you’re standing out here all by yourself?” Franny asked. She fanned a hand in front of my face. “Hello? Do you read me, Houston? Come in.”
“I’m here. I’m just thinking.”
“Thinking about what? Chris? Cesar? Moving to New Mexico? Driving across the country with your hilarious friend?”
I linked my arm through hers and walked her back to room number 5. “All the possibilities, Franny. All the possibilities.”
Ellen Wittlinger is the critically acclaimed author of the teen novels The Long Night of Leo and Bree, Razzle, What’s in a Name, and Hard Love (an American Library Association Michael L. Printz Honor Book and a Lambda Literary Award winner), and the middle-grade novel Gracie’s Girl. She has a bachelor’s degree from Millikin University in Decatur, Illinois, and an M.F.A. from the University of Iowa. A former children’s librarian, she lives with her husband in Swampsc
ott, Massachusetts. Visit her Web site at www.ellenwittlinger.com.
Ellen Wittlinger writes: “I began with the idea of having a teenager travel cross country. I knew Robin would be mourning the immediate loss of her longtime boyfriend, but I stumbled on the idea of having her deal with her difficult, truly mourning cousins. The idea of the ‘journey’ novel during which the actual traveling echoes an inward journey is not new, but it’s effective, I think, because it’s so often true. Traveling takes you out of your usual routine and allows you to see other options for your life.”
Jacket photographs: Background: © Andreas Schmidt/Photonica; Girl: © Dan Potash; Toy car: © CSA Plastock/Photonica Jacket design by Dan Potash
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2003 by Ellen Wittlinger
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Book design by Dan Potash
The text for this book is set in Berling.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wittlinger, Ellen.
Zigzag / Ellen Wittlinger.
p. cm.
Summary: A high-school junior makes a trip with her aunt and two cousins, discovering places she did not know existed and strengths she did not know she had.