Zigzag

  When it was nine thirty in Iowa, it was seven thirty in Phoenix, Arizona. I wasn’t sure what my dad’s work schedule was—he managed a small electronics store in a mall—but seven thirty seemed like a time a father should be at home. Not that I would know. He’d be surprised to hear from me; the last time we had talked was six weeks ago. Birthdays and Christmas he calls me—the obligatory days—but I almost never call him.

  “Hello?” a female voice sang.

  This was why I never called. It was awkward to talk to Dad’s wife, Allison, who I hardly even knew. She seemed nice enough, but you could tell she was sort of thrown by the whole seventeen-year-old stepdaughter idea.

  “Hi, Allison. It’s Robin.” I knew to wait a moment while she remembered who Robin was.

  “Oh, Robin! What a surprise! How are you?”

  “I’m fine. I was just wondering if my dad was around.”

  “He sure is. Let me go find him for you. One minute.” The phone clunked down on a counter and I could hear her hollering, “Jerry! Get the phone! It’s your daughter!” She made it sound like there was some emergency.

  I wondered what their house looked like, whether it was one of those low-slung places you saw in magazines with rocks and cactus out front instead of grass. All I really knew about Arizona was what everybody knew: very hot, lots of golf.

  “Robin! This is a nice surprise! Is everything okay back there?” Obviously phoning my father was such an unusual event that both these people assumed some tragedy must have befallen me.

  “Everything’s fine, Dad. I just called because . . . well, I’m thinking of taking a road trip with Aunt Dory and her kids this summer. And if I do, we’d probably go through Arizona on the way to California. So I was wondering . . . I mean, I don’t know if you’ll be on vacation or anything, but, you know, if I do go with her, we’d be so close. . . .”

  Finally he rescued me. “Do you want to stop and see us? Wow, that would be . . . great!” There was a silence while we both considered just how great it would be, then he said, “You know, our place is kind of small to handle that whole crew, but . . .”

  “We can stay in a motel or something. Dory has money,” I said, which I realized made it sound like Dad didn’t have money.

  “You could stay here if you wanted to, if you don’t mind the fold-out couch.”

  “Whatever. I just wanted to see you and your . . . my . . . David.”

  “Well, I know he’d like to meet you, too. He’s right here—I was reading to him when you called. Maybe he’ll talk. . . . David! Can you say hi to your big sister? Come on, Davy, say, ‘Hi Robin!’”

  Davy was silent as a stone. “He doesn’t like telephones much,” Dad explained.

  “That’s okay. I don’t either.”

  “Well, you must be related then,” he said, forcing a laugh.

  “So, it’s okay with you if I come? If it’s okay with Dory?”

  “Sure, sure. We’re not going anywhere with a two-year-old except maybe the zoo. When do you think you’d come?”

  “It’s really up to Dory—she wants to sort of wander across the country. Maybe late July or early August. I’d have to call you, say, a week ahead of time. Is that okay?”

  “Of course it is, Robin. We’ll look forward to seeing you.”

  When I hung up the phone I was shaky and out of breath. Why did it take so much energy to have a simple conversation? He was my dad, and yet he wasn’t. Other kids, even when their parents are divorced, hang out with their fathers more than I ever did with mine. Even when he still lived in Iowa it was mostly birthdays and Christmas. He’d bring me a couple of presents that were too young for my current age, and then we’d go out to a kid-friendly restaurant for lunch where we’d concentrate on our French fries as though they’d been prepared by Emeril. The older I got, the harder those lunches were. By then I knew he wasn’t really interested in the fact that my soccer team was second in the region, or that I was a blueberry in the school play. Not that he didn’t pretend twice a year to be a real dad. He did. It’s just that you can’t be a real dad twice a year.

  Mom always said not to blame him. He’d been young and scared when I was born. He hadn’t known what to do with a child, so she’d “released him from his obligation.” That’s how she put it. Sometimes he gave us money, but Mom never asked for it—it was a point of pride with her that she raised me by herself.

  Usually I don’t mind at all. Mom and I have always been a pretty good team. Then twice a year I remember I’m missing something. I mean, he was reading to David when I called. That’s what a real father does.

  The thing is, I didn’t release him from his obligation.

  The next week was a disaster. Even though I told myself not to screw up our last bit of time together, I was still angry with Chris. He’d started carrying an Italian phrase book around with him, and when he thought I wasn’t listening, he’d greet people by saying, “Buon giorno!” and “Ciao!”

  Tuesday we were at the lake. I went for a long swim and when I came back he was sitting on our blanket talking to himself. “Mi chiamo Chris. E tu? Come sta? Bene. Che ore sono?”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  He jumped. “Jeez, sneak up on a person, why don’t you?”

  “I wasn’t sneaking—I was walking on sand. What were you saying?”

  He sighed. “I said, ‘My name is Chris. And you? How are you? Good. Do you know the time?’”

  “What if the person says, ‘None of your business—I feel crappy—who cares what time it is?’”

  Chris stuck the phrase book back in his pack. “I don’t think Italians are that nasty.”

  He had a point. Who could blame him for wanting to run away from a grouch like me? But it seemed as if the Chris I loved and couldn’t bear to part with was a different person from the one who was memorizing foreign phrases for his exotic summer vacation. That Chris was aggravating the hell out of me.

  Everywhere we went people kept asking him questions about his trip. He was so excited, I couldn’t stand listening to him. Over the top of everything he said, I kept hearing a background voice singing, “And I’ll be going without her!”

  When I called to tell Franny the news, she was less than compassionate.

  “I knew something like this would happen,” she said. “Chris is one of the lucky ones: lots of money, no divorce, all the breaks. What’s the chance he’s gonna end up with somebody like you?”

  “God, Franny, say what you think!”

  “I don’t mean because he’s better or anything. I just mean, that’s how it works. Face facts: Love is doomed if you’re too different from each other.”

  “I thought you didn’t know what love was,” I said.

  “I’ve observed some so-called love,” she said. “You should be glad he’s leaving now so you can start getting over him as soon as possible.”

  “Maybe I’ll never get over him.”

  “That’s just what I mean. You’re way too attached to him. Roll with the punches a little, Robin. Chris is not actually necessary to your long-term survival.”

  I was pretty sure he was, but I didn’t argue. After all, Franny knew more about long-term survival than I did.

  Since I’d decided not to accompany Chris and his parents to the airport in Cedar Rapids the next day—I did not intend to descend into hell with the Melvilles watching—we were having dinner at our favorite place, the Fish Shack down by the lake. I kept thinking about how it was the last time I’d see him until August 20, and the catfish bones kept getting caught in my throat. Neither of us was able to look the other in the eye or come up with anything more to say than, “Good fish.”

  Then, when I did look up, who should be headed for our table but my mother and her giant boyfriend.

  “I didn’t know you two were coming here,” she said. Then she got a good look at our faces and probably wished she hadn’t come.

  “Your mother says the catfish from Thunder Lake is the best I’ll ever
eat,” Michael Evans said, beaming at her as if picking a restaurant showcased her brilliance.

  “Hi, Mom. Um, Michael, this is Chris,” I said, keeping the presentations brief. Chris stood up immediately and shook hands with Michael.

  “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  “So, you’re Chris,” Michael said as though he’d been hearing about him for years.

  “I’m afraid so,” Chris said, smiling weakly.

  “We didn’t come over to interrupt you,” Mom said quickly. “Our table is on the other side. We just wanted to say hello.” She took Michael Evans’s arm and he steered her across the room to “their” table.

  Since Sunday she’d seen him every day. At the hospital on Monday, then last night they’d gone to a movie, and now they were having dinner together again. Was this getting to be a thing or what? And what was this “we” business? A few nights ago she was laughing at his seat covers.

  “That’s the guy, huh? He’s twice the size of your Mom. She seems to like him though.”

  I shivered. “I guess. It’s weird.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yeah. I mean, she’s never dated anybody before. Not since my dad, anyway.”

  “Long time to be alone.”

  “She isn’t alone—I’m with her.”

  “You know what I mean. Most people want to get married again. Your dad did.”

  I shrugged. “I guess. You know, I might go see him this summer.” The more I thought about the trip, the more I liked the idea. After all, if Chris was going away, why shouldn’t I? It couldn’t be any worse than staying here alone, squirting mushy ice cream into cones and feeling sorry for myself.

  “Really?” Chris sat back in his chair and looked at me skeptically. “When did this happen?”

  “Monday. My aunt Dory wants me to help her drive across the country—her and my two cousins. To California.”

  Chris looked surprised. “That’s great! Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

  “I don’t know. You were so excited about your trip . . .”

  “Wow, I’ve never even been to California.”

  “Well, I’ve never been to Italy, so now we’re even.”

  He ignored my little sting. “Are these your cousins from Chicago? Whose dad died recently? I thought you weren’t too crazy about them.”

  “Oh, they’re older now. We get along. It’ll be fun!” That was highly unlikely, but it seemed like a good idea to make Chris think I had an interesting summer planned, too. That I wouldn’t be spending three months lying on my bed, weeping.

  A big smile spead across his face. “That is so great! California!”

  “Yeah, now you don’t have to feel guilty.” I guess I should have worn a muzzle.

  We finished our meal in silence. When I glanced over at Mom and Michael they were forking up the catch of the day and grinning like monkeys.

  “I can’t believe you’re going to California!” Franny said, hands on her hips. “And here I was starting to feel sorry for you!”

  Franny had come over to hang out with me Thursday afternoon so I wasn’t sitting alone imagining the beautiful girl Chris would be seated next to on the plane.

  “At least feel sorry for me a little bit longer.” I looked at my watch. “He’s boarding right now.”

  “You’re pathetic.”

  “Besides, it’s not like this California thing is much of a pleasure trip. I’ll be stuck in a minivan, which probably has a bumper sticker on the back that says, ‘My children are honor students at Saint Snooty’s Prep School.’”

  Franny didn’t look convinced.

  “My cousins are creeps, and now they’re probably depressed on top of it because their father just died.”

  “Some nerve.”

  “And they’re rich, too.”

  “Hey, if you don’t want to go, tell ’em I’ll go. I don’t mind driving, especially if I’m getting out of Thunder Lake and rich people are paying for everything.” Franny had a way of boiling things down to their essence.

  “At least this summer you’ve got a good job,” I said.

  “Good? What’s so good about working in a video store? People complaining all the time. They did return Reservoir Dogs on time—it must be my mistake. They have to have a Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen movie because they promised their seven-year-old, so I should make one magically appear. I hate the public.”

  “The public is just people.”

  “Yeah, they’re annoying, too.”

  “Oh, Franny, at least it’s air-conditioned in there. And you don’t end up all sticky with ice cream.”

  “I don’t end up in California either.”

  My watch said 2:45. Oh, God, he was on the plane and it was probably getting ready for takeoff. I closed my eyes. Please don’t let the stupid thing crash, I prayed. Please, please, please.

  “Hey, here’s a novel idea!” Franny said. “Let’s forget about Chris for five minutes and talk about my fascinating life for a change!”

  I opened my eyes. “Why? What happened to you?”

  “Nothing much,” she said, giving me her most enigmatic grin.

  I was supposed to guess. “Is it . . . about your mother?”

  Franny looked disgusted. “My mother? This is about me.”

  “Well, I don’t know . . . you’re working at the video store, you’re living at your mom’s, you’re not going to summer school. . . . What?”

  “Those are the only things about me you think are interesting? I’m that utterly boring?”

  “Franny, just tell me already!”

  She walked over to the window and looked out. “Oh, look, there goes Chris’s airplane!” she said.

  I jumped up and then, realizing I’d been had, fell back onto the bed. “You can’t tell which airplane is which.”

  “I’m using my imagination. Now you try using yours. Think of fifth period Spanish.”

  Spanish? It was the one class Franny and I had had together this year. But I couldn’t think what . . . oh . . . maybe I could. “Does this have anything to do with your enormous crush on Des Sanders?”

  She shrugged. “Could be.”

  “Really? Tell me, Franny! Come on—don’t make me guess!”

  She sauntered over to the bed and sat down. “He called me last night.”

  “He called you?”

  “Could you try not to act like you’re shocked out of your mind?”

  “I’m just surprised! What did he say?”

  “He asked me to go to a movie with him tonight.”

  I belted her on the arm. “No way! I didn’t even know you knew him. You never even spoke to him in Spanish class.”

  She smiled. “Turns out he works at Mid-America Videos.”

  “Oh, my God.” I laughed then and she laughed with me, a hard trick to pull off with Franny. “Yeah, you’ve really got a horrible job.”

  “Well, you know what my gram says. You make your own luck. Fortunately, this time it was good luck.”

  Franny had wanted a boyfriend for such a long time, and she could have had one, too, just not the ones she wanted. She wasn’t one of those girls who’d go out with a boy just because he was a boy. By the time she left, I was actually a little cheered up, even though I didn’t have the energy to do anything about it.

  Mom waylaid me as I wandered through the kitchen looking for something to put in my mouth and imagining Chris having dinner on the airplane.

  “Let’s call Dory before I have to leave for work. She’ll be happy to hear you’re going on the trip.”

  “How about you call and tell her and then I’ll get on for a minute. I don’t feel like a big conversation right now.”

  As soon as Mom told her, Dory started talking so loudly I could hear her from across the room—she must have been screaming into the phone.

  “Well, it turns out Chris has gone away for the summer,” Mom explained, “so Robin is feeling a little . . . bereft.” She looked at me to see if that was going too far. It wasn’
t.

  “She has a request, though,” Mom said. “She’d like to stop and visit Jerry in Phoenix for a few days. She’s never seen his little boy.” She listened for a minute, nodded at me, and mouthed: no problem. They talked a few more minutes, then Mom handed the phone to me.

  “Hi, Dory.”

  “Sweetheart! I’m so happy! Thank you! Thank you!”

  “It’s okay. I mean, thank you, too.”

  “Oh, we’re going to have such a good time! I’m reading up on all the sights between here and Los Angeles. We’re taking the long route!”

  Oh, crap. “Great!”

  “Stopping in Phoenix is a good idea. You can see your dad and the rest of us will do the city.”

  “It’s not out of your way then?”

  “Nothing is out of our way. This is adventure travel!”

  No kidding.

  “Your mom says you’re a perfect driver, and I know you’ll be a wonderful companion for Iris. And Marshall, too, of course.” Her voice seemed to be a little strained when she mentioned her kids. “Oh, here’s Iris! Iris, come and talk to your cousin! She’s going with us on the trip! Isn’t that great?”

  I could tell there was a struggle going on with the phone. Obviously Iris had no more interest in talking to me than I had in talking to her. But eventually Dory won.

  “Hello.” Iris sounded furious.

  “Hi, Iris!” I said, pretending great cheerfulness. “It’s great to talk to you!”

  She grunted.

  “So, are you guys getting everything ready for the trip?”

  “Mom is.” Two words. A record.

  “I bet she is. Well, I can’t wait, can you?” God, all I needed was a cardigan sweater and I’d be Mr. Rogers.

  Iris’s response was a deep sigh. I gave up and returned the same thing to her. The summer of my discontent was underway.

  By Saturday I was comatose, or at least as close to it as you could be while constantly stuffing food into your mouth. I’d woken up early, which was depressing to begin with, so I made myself pancakes with raspberry syrup. Mom had taken somebody’s early shift at work so she wasn’t around to help me polish them off. Then, I took a book and a bag of cookies out to the bench by the pond and tried to imagine what people in Rome did on Saturday morning. I decided they probably didn’t stuff Oreos into their mouths for hours at a time. I fixed some soup around two o’clock and by four-thirty my aimless wandering brought me back to the kitchen, and what else is there to do in a kitchen except eat?