
Table of Contents
Copyright © 2011 by Heather Davis
All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections fromthis book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company,215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.
Harcourt is an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.
Text set in GaramondBook design by Susanna Vagt
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication DataDavis, Heather, 1970-Wherever you go / Heather Davis.p. cm.Summary: Seventeen-year-old Holly Mullen, overwhelmed with responsibilityat home, grieving over her boyfriend Rob's tragic death, and confused by the suddenattention of his best friend, Jason, is further upset when her Alzheimer's-strickenPapa Aldo claims to be having conversations with Rob's ghost.ISBN 978-0-547-50151-2[1. Caregivers---Fiction. 2. Family life---Washington (State)---Seattle---Fiction. 3.Ghosts---Fiction. 4. Dating (Social customs)---Fiction. 5. Single-parent families---Fiction. 6. Alzheimer's disease---Fiction. 7. Seattle (Wash.)---Fiction.] I. Title.PZ7.D28845Whe 2011[Fic]---dc222011009595
Manufactured in the United States of AmericaDOC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 14500320675
For teens everywhere who are caring for their family members,when their only job should be growing up.
And for my grandpa, Darrell Lee, who showed me themeaning of true love every morning when he crossedthe parking lot of the care facility to sit withmy grandmother, Anna Ruth.
You've been by her side for six months, but she hasn't noticed you. Still, you slip into her mother's sixth-floor apartment and keep her company while she eats her kid sister's sugary cereal in the dark kitchen. And you're there with her as she gets books from her locker in Hallway C. Sometimes her gaze wanders to the picture of you taped below the vents. You're on her mind in the seconds before she slams the door shut.
You pacify yourself with the thought that all this is for a reason. That one day she'll sense your presence. Feel you watching over her. That she'll see you. Finally.
At this very moment, Holly sits on a bench beneath a sea of windows in the Downtown Seattle library---so close you could almost reach out and touch her, smell the sweet scent of her hair. You've been spending moments of this otherwise meandering afternoon watching her turn pages of the Toni Morrison book she's reading for school. It's almost like really being there. Almost like being together.
Underneath the chatter of two girls near the copy machine and the whirring hum of the escalator, you can hear the beating of her heart. It's as loud as if you were sitting on Holly's bed, holding her in your arms like you used to. Absently, she tucks a stray strand of her light brown bangs behind an ear and turns another page.
You wish your sense of touch was still active, so that you could run your fingers through her soft hair. If only. The closeness is maddening. You're so full of the desire to be seen, you must be freaking glowing. I'm here. You try to reach her with mental tricks, with all your powers of concentration, with all your love distilled into a single thought. See me.
Holly raises her head, and for an instant, just a nanosecond, your heart swells with hope. She glances around as if someone had called her name, but then the moment passes and she slips back into her page turning. You're alone, again.
It's bluish late afternoon outside as the spring rain begins to pound against the wall of windows. I'm here, you whisper into her ear again---even if she's not listening. I'm still here.
\*\*\*
"Holly, I brought home pizza," Mom called from the living room.
I closed the door behind me, grateful to be home out of the downpour. The bus ride had seemed longer that night, the damp passengers smelling like wet hair and wool, the warmth of a Northwest spring not helping matters at all.
I abandoned my backpack full of books beneath the hallway table. As I hung my jacket on the rack, a pink raincoat printed with dancing kitties fell to the floor. Typical of this place---there were too many coats and not enough pegs. I jammed the slicker back on the rack and followed the smell of dinner.
My family was sitting on the worn brown couch, eating from paper plates. Some tired sitcom was on, the laugh track blaring as the stupid dad character tripped over a bucket of paint.
"I was going to make spaghetti tonight," I said.
"Honey, take a night off. Enjoy the pizza." Mom gave me a tired smile as she abandoned a piece of doughy crust on her plate. She was wearing her uniform for the evening shift at the grocery store: a green polo shirt and khaki slacks. Her hair hung in a perfect ponytail, the kind my wavy hair never made.
"It's my favorite---pepp-e-roni," chimed in my sister, Lena. She had red sauce smeared around her lips and a string of cheese draped on the front of her tee, which for her was pretty neat eating.
"'Kay. Pizza's great, thanks," I said, plopping down onto the couch.
Mom sank back into the cushions as I took a slice from the greasy box and put it on a napkin. "So, how are you?" she asked. "Everything go all right this afternoon?"
"Fine," I mumbled, biting into the pizza. The cheeighza. These was slightly cold and chewy, but it still tasted pretty good.
"Hmm." Her lips pressed together, and I could tell she was thinking hard.
I set down my pizza and reached for a cola from the six-pack on the coffee table. "I think I'm probably done with them. It's not---"
"What does the counselor say?"
Right, the counselor---Dr. Martinson, or something like that. I could hardly remember the woman's name, since for over a month now I'd been going to the library on Tuesdays and Thursdays after school, instead of the community center. "She doesn't really say anything, Mom." I cracked the cola open and took a big swig.
"Well, counselors in those kinds of groups are more about listening. They're there to encourage you to talk about your grief, to let you get it all out."
"It's out."
Mom's eyes were fixed on mine. "What are you doing, quitting the group?"
I didn't want to tell her the truth, so I just ignored her and chewed my slice.
"That's a conversation for another day, I guess." Mom set her plate of crusts on the coffee table, and clicked mute on the TV remote.
Lena emitted a nine-year-old's growl. "Hey! I was watching that."
"I know, honey. I want to discuss something with you two."
Discuss was one of my mom's favorite words, but it really didn't mean "discuss." We didn't discuss much of anything in this family. When Mom decided something, it happened.
"I really want to watch my show. It's getting to the good part," Lena whined.
"This will only take a moment," Mom said, patting my sister's dark hair. "And this affects Holiday more than you."
Holiday. It was never good news when Mom used my whole name. I'd gone by Holly since I was in second grade and realized that holiday wasn't a normal name, it was a day off.
"Mom, I told you I don't want to talk about the group."
"This is not about that." She turned toward me, her eyes serious. "Your Uncle Frank called me today. He's really worried about Grandpa Aldo. It's kind of sudden, but Frank and I think that, well, maybe Grandpa could come live with us for a while."
Lena smiled widely. "He always gives me butterscotch candies."
"What do you think?" Mom was focused on me, waiting for my reaction.
But I was running through the scenario in my head. Lena and I were going to have t wang to ho cram into one room if Grandpa Aldo moved in. Though it had three bedrooms, our apartment was on the small side: tiny living room, kitchen, one bath. It was going to feel smaller.
"Holiday, he's alone in that apartment he moved to after Grandma died, and he's starting to need more help. He can't move down to Tacoma with Uncle Frank, because there's not enough room. And Grandpa's insurance isn't enough to pay for in-home care, and I can't..." Mom's voice got really quiet. "I can't put my father in a nursing home. We couldn't afford it, anyway."
I knew it was true that we didn't have the money, because I helped Mom write out the bills and balance her checkbook each month. We were barely making it as it was.
"I don't get it," Lena said, chewing thoughtfully on a stray piece of pepperoni. "Is he sick?"
"Yes, honey. He's starting to forget things. He can't live alone anymore. It's too dangerous."
"Is he gonna get better?" asked Lena.
"No, baby. They don't think so."
"I'm sorry." I put my arm around my mom. She seemed small, hunched there on the couch. Her lips were quivering like she was on the verge of losing it.
"Don't cry, Mom." Lena patted Mom on the knee and then turned back toward the silent sitcom.
Mom sniffed loudly, trying to pull it all together. "Geez, that was a downer. Sorry, girls." She sat up straighter on the couch and dabbed her eyes with a napkin. "I'd be counting on you," she said, turning to me. "With the hours I'm working, you'd be home with Lena and Grandpa a lot."
I shrugged. It wasn't like I could say no.
"I know it's been hard for you lately, after Rob," Mom said. "I wouldn't ask you to help with this if I had another choice."
"Well, I'm sure we'll make it work." I put on a smile, for my mom's sake.
"I hoped that's what you'd say." She stood up from the couch, brushing crumbs from her lap onto the rug, which needed to be vacuumed anyway. "I've got to get going, kiddos. Lena, you be good."
My sister barely looked away from the muted TV, but she grunted in the affirmative. Mom brushed kisses across both our foreheads and then took off for work.
The so-called discussion was over, but I finished it in my head. Sure, Mom---I'll take it on. I'll take care of Aldo. I'll take care of Lena and you. Everything will be just fine.
Jason Markham couldn't help noticing her. Holly, with shiny, light brown hair and the brightest blue eyes he'd ever seen. Rob's Holly. He saw her across the chem lab from him every morning during second period. Noticed her eating lunch with sa lunch her friend Marisa every day. Sometimes saw her catching the city bus after school was out, a faraway expression on her face. Several times, he'd meant to say something, had actually walked up to talk to her and then chickened out or had sensed her turning away as he approached. This was different from just talking to some random girl. What he wanted to say, what he had to say, was something hard. Something that had been tumbling around in his mind for months.
Now here she was, sitting on a metal bench at the park with an old guy in a gray cap and a little girl, who was moving the handles of her beat-up scooter, making the tassels swirl in the light breeze. Holly had her nose in a book, and the sun was making her squint. He wondered why she hadn't brought shades with her on such a sunny Saturday.
His buddy Mark Gentry elbowed him in the side. "Don't blame you for staring, bro. She's still hot even if she---"
"Give the girl a break," Jason said, half under his breath. As they passed the bench, Holly raised her head. He saw a glimmer of recognition in her eyes, but it wasn't the right time to stop and talk. Not with Mark there and her with what seemed to be her family. He couldn't deny what Mark had pointed out, though. In the spring sunlight, Holly was as pretty as ever. Those blue eyes were piercing, like they could see right through him. And they probably did.
"Dude, you okay?" Mark gave a little laugh and elbowed him again.
Holly looked away, and suddenly Jason wanted to make sure she knew Mark wasn't laughing at her. But the damage was already done. She was frowning now, staring down at the book in her hands.
"Yeah, I'm cool," Jason mumbled.
A few steps later, when he glanced back over his shoulder, Holly was still reading. The old guy stared off at the water in the distance, and the little girl rocked the scooter back and forth on the pavement, making a scritch-scratch sound of rocks imbedded in the cheap plastic wheels. They were all doing their own thing.
Mark shoved Jason in the shoulder, knocking him off the path. "C'mon, man."
Later, shooting hoops on the basketball court at the end of the park, he couldn't get the image of Holly to leave his mind. He knew he owed her something more. They all did.
\*\*\*
We made it home from the park slowly---with Lena insisting on riding her scooter and Grandpa Aldo inching along and murmuring about the birds singing. The park had been the best I could do for the biggest part of the day---even though it hadn't been the greatest outing. At this point, I was just glad we were home. Before she'd left for work at the dealership, Mom had promised she would try to find someone to cover her shift at the supermarket that night, but I wasn't holding my breath.
As we entered the lobby of the Hillwood Apartments, Grandpa Aldo put his hand on my arm. "This is the wrong place," he said, his voice full of panic.
"What?" I said, a little startled, since it was the longest sentence my grandpa had said to me since he'd arrived. When Uncle Frank had helped move him in last night, Grandpa had been pretty quiet. He'd sat in the easy chair watching us carry in the boxes of his things and place his clothes and shoes in my former closet. It must have been weird for him, suddenly finding himself in a whole new environment.
"The wrong place," he repeated. Uncle Frank had told me Grandpa would say random stuff sometimes, but this was the first weirdness I'd experienced.
"No, Grandpa. You live here now with us. Remember?"
A confused smile crinkled the corners of his mouth. "This place? It's a dump."
"Yeah," I said, smiling back. "Thanks."
He hesitated at the open doors of the elevator, seeming unsure if he should go in.
"This is the way up, Grandpa." I patted him on the arm.
"Oh. All right."
We all climbed aboard. Standing atop her scooter, Lena stabbed at the button marked six. It took a moment to light up since, like everything in the building, the elevator was about ready to fall apart.
Finally the doors closed, but they opened back up quickly and Mrs. Anderson stepped onto the elevator, carrying two grocery bags. "Sorry, girls, this contraption takes forever to come back down," she said with an exasperated sigh.
"Can I push your button?" asked Lena.
"Sure."
Lena punched the number two and the door closed.
As we lurched upward, my grandpa reached out for the grocery bags. "Please, let me help," he said in a soft voice.
Mrs. Anderson smiled politely. "Oh, no, thank you, I'm fine."
"It's okay, Grandpa," said Lena. "She's got it."
He lowered his outstretched hands.
"So, girls---this is your grandfather?" asked Mrs. Anderson.
"Yep. He's living with us," said Lena.
"Hello, I'm Bitsy Anderson from 219." Smiling, she held out her hand. "Nice to meet you."
Aldo stared at her for a moment and then reached out to shake. "Aldo Santucci," he said, his voice a low rumble.
The elevator stopped at the second floor. Mrs. Anderson stepped off, but when she turned just before the doors closed, I caught a glimpse of worry in her eyes. I glanced over at Grandpa Aldo, who was stari's ho was ng at the lighted buttons of the panel. Everything's going to be fine, I told myself.
Upstairs, Mom was bustling around the kitchen, still dressed in her car dealership work clothes---office casual, she called it---a straight brown skirt and a white blouse with shell buttons. As much as she hated her job at the grocery store, the dealership was twice as bad. Answering the phone for the parts and service department all day made her cranky with us when she got home. Maybe it was being forced to be nice to people she couldn't see. Maybe it was the endless ringing of the incoming lines. Whatever it was, it made for a crappy transition between that and the night job.
"Good, you're back," she said, lining up a bunch of medications on the counter. "I realized we need to go over this again. There are a lot of pills."
"I wrote it all down," I said. "I know what to do when. I'm going to load those daily pill dispensers after dinner."
Grandpa stood in the doorway of the kitchen, a hand on the jamb to steady himself.
"Come on in, Grandpa," I said. "I'll get you some water."
Mom gave him a smile and turned back to me. "On my lunch break I called over and set up the senior center for Monday. They have a special group for people like Grandpa," she said. "They'll send a van to pick him up just before you get Lena on the bus. They can only keep him until three, so you'll have to come right home from school to meet him on weekdays."
"Why are you telling just me, Mom?" I gestured toward Grandpa Aldo, who was still standing in the doorway. Everything I'd read online at the library said that we had to keep talking to him, even if it seemed like he wasn't hearing or understanding. And so far, he was doing pretty okay. Well, except for being quiet and forgetting our building a few minutes ago.
"I'm sorry, you're right." She walked over to Grandpa and took his hand. "Papa, I have it all set up. Weekdays you'll go to the center and do some activities and get a hot lunch."
"Sounds good," he said. "I'll go lie down now." He turned and shuffled down the hallway, past Lena, who was balancing on her scooter on the hallway carpet, pretending to ride.
"Thanks, honey." Mom reached out and hugged me tightly. She smelled like her floral perfume and the slightest hint of something industrial from the dealership. "This is a big change for all of us."
"Yeah."
"Hey, babe," she said, releasing me and going over to hug Lena. "So, was it a good day at the park?"
"There were boys there staring at Holly," said Lena. "They looked at her like she was an alien."
I rolled my eyes. "Whatever."
Mom frowned. "Well, I was mostly asking about Grandpa. Holly?"
"He seems fine."
That seemed to satisfy her, and for a moment, the concern fell away from her face. "Okay," she said, peering inside the fridge. "Do we have any leftover pizza?"
"I was gonna make that spaghetti. Are you staying for dinner?"
"Yes, I found someone to take my shift at the store tonight."
"Really?"
Mom gave me a hard look. "I told you I was going to try."
Yeah, but trying and doing are two different things, I wanted to say. Instead I went to the sink and loaded the stack of plates and cups into the dishwasher and then rinsed my hands.
"Lena, put away your scooter, please," Mom said.
Whistling, my sister dutifully rolled her toy to our room down the hall. Mom took a seat at the kitchen table and sifted through a stack of mail that was likely all bills.
I could feel tension in the air, so I just started on the spaghetti. Cooking always relaxed me, gave me something to do that didn't involve talking or thinking about anything more than the task in front of me. I got out some frozen ground beef and pork sausage, which I stuck in the microwave to defrost.
"Sorry, honey. You want me to do something?" Mom asked, looking up from the mail.
"Chop?" I handed her a cutting board, a knife, and a big yellow onion.
While Mom started on that, I minced garlic and diced bell peppers over by the stove. When the oil in my pot was hot, I tossed in mom's onions and my veggies and let them start to cook. A few minutes later, when the microwave dinged, I took the meat out, put it in a big bowl, and mixed it with bread crumbs, eggs, and herbs and garlic for meatballs. I formed the little balls in my hands and laid them on a sheet pan one by one.
Mom brought the cutting boards to the sink. "When did you get to be such a good cook?"
"Years of practice." I washed the boards and then my hands. The vegetables were all breaking down, so I crushed dried oregano and rosemary in my hand to release the flavors and added them to the pot. Instantly the aroma perfumed the air. "Can you get the tomatoes, Mom?"
"Sure." She handed me two opened cans and I dumped them in, crushing the tomatoes with the back of my spoon.
"Something smells like tomato gravy." Grandpa Aldo appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, delight on his face.
"Holly's cooking dinner." My mom walked over to him and put a hand on his arm.
He reached out and touched her on the cheek. "Julia, it smells like heaven."
Mom's eyes lit up at the sound of her name. "Holly makes it like Mama showed her, with the baby meatballs simmering in the sauce."
Grandpa moved over to a chair, sitting so that he could see me at the stove. He stayed there until everything was ready, and Lena set the places at the table around him---a glass, a plate, a knife, a fork, a folded paper towel for the napkin.
There was something sweet about the smile on my grandfather's face as I set the bowl of pasta and meatballs on the table. It was the smile of recognition, or happiness or something. And it didn't leave him until after dinner was finished.
"That was delicious," he said, wiping his mouth.
"Yes, it was, huh?" said Mom. "I'm glad you're here, Papa."
The rest of the evening went pretty well. I mean, it actually seemed like everything was all right. Like Grandpa Aldo was going to be fine at our place. We could do this.
But then, when the apartment was dark and I was tucked into the lower bunk in the room I now shared with Lena, I heard crying. Next came Mom's footsteps and then her words of reassurance. "Papa, it's okay. You're at my house. It's me, Julia."
And then there was more weeping and, at last, peace and the shutting of a door. Then a new sound---my mother pacing in the kitchen. And I knew nothing was right.
You like to drop in on the guys sometimes. You circle the group on Mark's deck that overlooks Lake Washington, settle in on one of the cedar-plank benches and listen to them discuss girls, parties, basketball, and the start of waterskiing in a few short months. It's comforting to be with them, to hear the rattle of empties, the crinkling of a bag of chips passed around. To see them checking their phones, pretending they don't care if the girls they're crushing on text them or not.
There are only two of them tonight. Jason, your very best friend on the planet, and Mark, who is a pretty good guy most of the time. You met them both on the first day of kindergarten when Mark tipped over your green tempera paint on purpose and, without a word, Jason tried to help you clean up the mess. You fight the flood of childhood memories that comes rushing into your head, taunting you with the fun times.
As Mark and Jason lean back into cushy deck chairs and share a light beer stolen from the fridge, they are on the subject of Holly. Your Holly. You instantly tune in.
"Tight little body," Mark says, taking another swig from the can. "But man, I never understood why Rob would want her for more than a hookup."
Jason doesn't say anything.
"Still," Mark continues, "Holly ... mmm ... nice tits."
Your blood, or what d ohwould be blood, rushes to your head. If you were there, you'd kick his ass, but you aren't. You are and you aren't. Okay, so how about making something move? You haven't tried it yet, but this would be the perfect place to let it rip. Let a cushion, a beer can, something, smack Mark in the face. Anything to give him the notion that this is not cool. But before you can try concentrating all your focus onto an object, Mark shuts up.
Glancing between the two guys, you notice that Jason has the exact expression on his face that you'd have if they could see you: he looks like he wants to hurt Mark.
"Don't talk shit about her."
Mark raises his head, a sheepish smile on his face. "Hey, I'm just kidding. What's your deal?"
Jason's glare is hot. "Holly's a nice girl."
"Yeah, real nice," Mark says, his mouth twisting into a smirk. "If it weren't for her, then Rob would be here."
"Right," Jason says.
"Just saying, man. If he hadn't been giving her a ride, then it never would have happened," Mark says, taking a big swig of beer.
"You don't know that." Jason closes his mouth, and it's a hard, firm line, like there's more he would say if Mark wasn't being such an ass.
"Right." Mark salutes him with the beer can. "If it wasn't for her, he would have walked home."
You wait for them to say more about what happened to you. You find yourself leaning in, as if that would make them reveal more details, more info that you wish you knew about that night, the end of which you can hardly remember except in flashes. Funny how you thought it would all come back to you once you crossed over. But you haven't crossed over yet, have you? If you had, you wouldn't be here listening to them talk crap about Holly.
"I gotta get going, man," Jason says, breaking eye contact with Mark. "Later."
"Yeah." Mark leans back in the chair, taking another slug from the beer.
You follow Jason out of the yard and down the block---four houses, to be exact. At the foot of his driveway, he looks up at the dark front windows of his house. His is the only car in the driveway. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the keys to his Audi, as if he'd go somewhere. He jingles them in his hands, thinking.
"Let's go," you say, as if he could hear.
It wouldn't be your first ride in the Audi since you've been dead. From time to time, you'd ridden shotgun with your best friend, imagining the smell of the new car's leather seats, pretending to feel the rush of wind. Lately, Jason has been driving down from Lake Heights the long way, avoiding McCallister Road and instead cruising one of the side streets lined with flowering cherry trees about to lose all their rosy blossoms. You're sure it's not that he likes the shower of white and pink falliomad pink ng and whirling behind the car. He just can't deal with seeing the place your car went over the edge. And in some weird way, that makes you the tiniest bit happy.
Jason heads into the house.
"Boring," you say, watching as he grabs his laptop from his room and sets it up on the kitchen counter. This part of being dead is pretty lame. Watching people do their homework, brush their teeth, flip through channels on satellite TV. It makes you almost wish for something to happen.
As the Mac powers up, Jason rummages in the refrigerator, coming up with leftover Chinese that he starts eating right from the carton with a fork. He gets online and heads over to some social networking sites. If he's updating his status to say he's scarfing down sesame noodles in the dark, he must be really bored. More bored than you.
But he clicks through the updates, seeing what's what. He moves over to the Friends tab, pausing on your profile. Rob Dun-worthy. The profile that no one thought to take down. The one that had sent everyone birthday reminders from beyond a few months ago ... That was funny, in a sad way. But what was worse were the people posting happy birthday messages to you because they didn't know you were gone. Kids from your summer camp days. A girl you met on vacation in the Bahamas with your family a couple of years ago.
Jason slurps down another swirl of noodles, tapping his fork against the counter in an awkward, nonrhythmic way. And then he clicks the search tab and types the letters of her name slowly, deliberately. H-O-L-L-Y M-U-L-L-E-N.
"Okay, what the hell are you doing, Markham?" you mutter.
Jason scrolls through a bunch of Holly Mullens from across the country, not finding yours there---which you knew would happen, because Holly doesn't even own a freaking computer. If she even had a profile page, it would have been made at Marisa's house, and she'd hardly ever get a chance to update it.
"I don't get it, man."
Jason goes low-tech now, pulling an old yearbook from his bookshelf and laying it out on the counter. He flips through the clubs, stopping for a brief moment on the band pages, not finding Holly in any picture of any activity. He didn't know Holly at all. All he knew of your girlfriend was from when you were with her, when you were in a group. So, why now? Why would he zero in on the only girl who really loved you?
The smile on his face as he finally finds Holly in the junior class pictures says it all. And the realization jolts you like a defibrillator, the kind they'd used to try to restart your heart that night six months ago. But this jolt hits you hard. Wakes you up. Jason feels something for Holly. He wants her.
"No!" The power in your voice startles you, but nothing happens. No thundercloud erupts. The laptop's screen doesn't blip with electrical interference. And you've never felt more invisible than you do right now.
\*\*\*
"Um, isnv> an">"Um't that weird?" My best friend, Marisa Butra, took a loud sip of her iced mocha. "I mean, now you have your gramps and Lena to deal with. How are you guys even fitting in your mom's place?"
"It's not that weird," I said, watching the Monday breakfast crowd clear out of the cafeteria. I hadn't had time to eat, with everything going on at home, so I'd settled for one of the stale-tasting bagels. They were only a buck, but like most things at North Seattle High, they were generic and bland.
Marisa lowered her long-lashed brown eyes at me. "I totally get the whole take-in-the-old-people thing. But sharing a room with a nine-year-old? The Disney Channel posters alone would make me retch."
I chewed a bite of bagel. "It's not that bad. And we don't have cable, anyway."
"Seriously, if I ever had to share a room with my sister, Nalini, I'd run away." Marisa pulled out her compact and checked her lip gloss. The pink shade was a perfect contrast against her dark skin. Even in gym class every day, Marisa managed to look glam. Not me. I'd half thought to put some makeup on besides my typical black eyeliner that morning, but I hadn't had time. And I didn't have a reason to spruce myself up for anyone.
"So ... did you hear that Dan Blake is having a party on Friday?" Marisa clicked the compact shut and smoothed her long black bangs behind her ears.
"Great. Sounds like a good-ol' time."
"I was thinking we should go." She watched me as I crumpled the paper bagel bag.
"What makes you think that I'd want to go to a party with those guys?"
"They used to be our friends," she said.
"You can totally go if you want to," I said. "It's fine. Don't hold yourself back if you want to hang out with them."
Marisa's stern look softened. "Hols, at some point, you get to be yourself again. You even get to have fun. Let's check it out."
"It's not a good idea," I said. "I can't imagine partying with them would be much fun for me."
"Sooner or later you're going to get over him, right?"
I didn't bother answering. I'd known Marisa since we were in the fourth grade. She was the one person I could turn to, the one person who'd stuck with me. After Rob's funeral, I cried in her arms. I broke down with her and no one else. But right now, I didn't think she got me at all.
Marisa rattled the ice in her cup, poking the straw deeper. "It might actually be fun."
"I don't think it'd work, anyway. I probably have to sit with Lena and Grandpa that night," I said quickly. A little too quickly, maybe.
She studied me for a moment and then said, "Wnewhen saiell, what if I went?" She gave the plastic coffee cup another shake.
"You'd really go without me?" I tried to keep the hurt from my voice. "I mean that's totally your right and all, but I guess I---"
"Listen, if you don't want me to go, then I won't go," said Marisa.
"No, no. Do whatever you want. Anyway, like I said, I've gotta stay home."
Her face brightened, and it was totally lame of me, but I felt kind of annoyed by that. I loved my best friend. I wanted her to come over to my house, watch crap TV with me, and then maybe go down to the mall. I wanted to go to her house and let her dig around in her infinite closet to find me a cool outfit to borrow. I wanted to sit with her at her family table and eat yummy basmati rice and curried spinach with homemade cheese called paneer that her mom made from scratch. I wanted to do what we always did, but most of all I didn't want her to want to hang with them.
She stood up and straightened her black T-shirt over the low waistband of her jeans, and then fluffed the turquoise scarf around her neck. "Ready?"
"Yeah. Let's go," I said. I dumped my trash and followed her out the cafeteria doors. As I saw her turn to go down the hall to her first period English class, I felt a little pang of something. Maybe I was jealous of her being happy or whatever.
"God. Suck it up already," I said under my breath.
I shouldered my messenger bag and schlepped down the hall to drop off some of my books. And then I saw Jason Markham hanging out near my locker.
I ducked around a corner, watching him lean against the wall near a poster for a blood drive. Dark hair falling over one eye. A charcoal gray V-neck sweater. Faded Levi's that nearly hid the tops of his black Converse Top-Siders. A few girls passed him, smiling, but he didn't pay them any attention. He just looked at his watch again and studied the flow of kids in the hall. Finally, the bell rang and he hustled off in the opposite direction. I stood there, in my hiding place near the end of the section of lockers, catching my breath.
"What do you want?"
Some girl passing me stopped. "Huh? Are you talking to me?"
"No. Sorry." I cruised down the hall to first period, pretending I wasn't wondering why Jason had been waiting for me. I didn't want anything to do with those people, not even Rob's best friend.
Ms. Granger, a woman from senior services, was our dinner guest that Friday night. Everyone was on their best behavior, following Mom's example. Then again, Mom always acted nervous around official people. This lady appeared totally harmless, though. From her supercurly brown hair and little round glasses to her square-heeled shoes, she seemed pretty nice---like someone's favorite first grade teacher.
"How are you doing living with your daughter?" she asked Grandpa Aldo.
Grandpa didn't respond---he was busy digging into his mashed potatoes.
"You like it here, Papa?" Mom prompted, flashing a smile.
"Oh, yes," he said.
"That's wonderful to hear." Ms. Granger set down her fork and took a sip from her water glass. "Thank you very much for asking me to stay for dinner. It's delicious, Mrs. Mullen."
"Oh, no. That's my Holly's cooking. I work most nights."
It wasn't any big deal. I'd thrown some chicken thighs in the oven after school.
"It's very good, Holly." Ms. Granger lifted a forkful of potatoes to her mouth. "I haven't had a homemade supper in a long time."
"She learned a lot from my mother," Mom said, glancing over at my grandpa.
"I wish I had," Ms. Granger said, laughing. "Unfortunately our family was more of the microwave-dinner variety."
"What made you want to become a social worker?" I asked.
Ms. Granger wiped her mouth with her paper napkin and floated it back down over her generous lap. "I got into social work because I wanted to help people. I work with the elderly because I was close to my grandparents. I've been with the senior center now for about ten years."
"Interesting," I said, mashing a little lump of potato with the back of my fork.
Ms. Granger gave me a little wink. "Not very. But it's common for people to wonder why folks get into my profession." She paused, turning toward Mom. "So, let's talk about your family now. Once I met Aldo at the center this week, I really wanted to see how you all were getting along over here."
"I'm very happy to be with la mia famiglia," said Grandpa.
"That's good. And how is the caregiving going?" she asked. "You're helping with medications, bathing, getting him to appointments?"
"Right now Holly's helping me with the day-to-day," Mom said, her cheeks pinking up. "I work a lot of hours. Have to work a half shift tonight even," she said.
Ms. Granger nodded. "It's tough to be a single mom these days. If you don't mind my asking, is the girls' father still involved?"
Mom's face went stony. "That's a whole other conversation, Ms. Granger."
"Sure, sure. Just trying to get a picture of the family dynamic." She set down her silverware on the plate and pushed it slightly forward on the table. "So, going back to careem"back togiving---Holly, how are you managing to balance school and taking care of Aldo?"
"And me," piped up Lena. "She watches me, too. She has since I was a baby, practically."
I shrugged. "It's all right."
"And you still have time for activities? I heard that you were attending a grief-counseling group. Are you still able to go to that?"
My cheeks felt hot. "Um, I don't understand what that has to do with anything."
"Sorry. Being nosy is part of my job," Ms. Granger said, unfazed. "I just want to make sure that Aldo's getting adequate care here---and also that it's not too much for the family to handle."
"There's really no alternative, so we're managing," Mom said.
Ms. Granger said, "Actually, Aldo's government health plan would help defray the cost of a permanent care facility. At least a small portion."
"I want to be here," Grandpa Aldo said, slamming his hand on the table. His face was stormy, his eyebrows drawn.
Ms. Granger turned to him and said softly, "Yes, we understand. Don't worry. We're just discussing options."
"Family takes care of family," Mom said. "I've heard horror stories about those facilities."
"There are some good ones in the Northwest, and quite frankly, when your teenage daughter is the only caregiver here in the house---"
"What do you want me to do? Quit both my jobs?" Mom said, her voice loud, angry.
"No, no. I'm just saying that it's a lot for Holly to shoulder. Here she is, a teenager on a Friday night making dinner for everyone instead of going out with friends."
"It's fine," I said, my lips tight. "I didn't have plans or anything."
Ms. Granger gave me a sympathetic smile. "You should know, as Aldo's disease progresses---"
"We're all going to pitch in to keep him well," Mom said, her voice shaking.
"Yes, I hear that you want to do that. But as his condition worsens, so will his needs. Holly, can you handle all this stress?"
"I'm good at holding things together," I said.
My mom shot me a look that I couldn't quite decipher. "The bottom line is, we're going to be fine here."
Ms. Granger dabbed at her lips with her napkin and then set it on the table beside her plate. She fished a card from her pocket and slid it across the table to my mom. "Julia, I think your intentions are good, and I'll do what I can to help youhei to hel if you ask. I promise you that."
Mom didn't touch the card. It lay there, unwelcome, near her water glass.
"Now, unfortunately, I'm expected at another home visit, so I need to get going," Ms. Granger said. "Thank you again for a wonderful dinner, Holly."
"Sure," I said.
"Aldo, you take care, now. I'll see you at the center next week. Nice meeting you, girls."
My mom stood up and walked her out. I heard them whispering and then the door shutting.
"Why was she saying Holly can't do it alone?" my sister said as Mom came back to the table.
"Don't worry about that," Mom answered. "Why don't you finish your broccoli?"
"She meant that we're all going to need to help out," I said.
"Holly..." Mom sighed, staring at me for a long moment. Then she got up and started to clear the dishes from the table. That was odd---but having her there through a whole dinner was odd.
When Mom did eat with us, she was usually grabbing something quickly, rushing out the door, the scent of her floral perfume trailing behind her, proof that she'd been there. Often I would wake in the middle of the night, listening for the sound of the turning lock and the door opening, followed by the sound of keys hitting the bowl in the hallway. And then I could close my eyes again, knowing that we were all safe.
I sat there at the kitchen table, forcing down the rest of my mashed potatoes and watching Mom at the sink. She loaded the dishwasher slowly, setting each plate in a deliberate place, nestling each cup in the wire rack like it was precious. When she reached under the sink to grab dishwasher soap from the cabinet, she came up empty but then, muttering a swear word, found where it lived on the other side.
"Is there cake?" chirped Grandpa.
Lena bounced in her chair. "Yeah, can we have cake?"
"Maybe," I said, taking a last bite of chicken.
When she was done with her task except for my dishes, Mom dried her hands on a dishtowel and left the kitchen, probably to change for work. She didn't look back at us. At me.
I didn't know what to make of that, except that maybe Ms. Granger made her realize this was just going to get harder for all of us, that Grandpa was going to get worse. Or maybe she was mad that I'd moved the dishwasher soap and forgotten to tell her.
It occurred to me that part of us not discussing things was about her making me have to guess all the time. Decipher her intentions, figure out her moods. Maybe to her there was some comfort in letting people guess what you think, what you feel. Maybe even some control in keeping stuff tlatping sto yourself. If it was up to me, I'd rather have the plain old truth.
The faucet in the sink was dripping in a steady tink-tink-tink, and Lena hopped up to turn it off. "Conserve water," she said in singsong voice.
Grandpa gave her a pat as she came back to the table. "Good girl."
I set my plate and silverware in the dishwasher and pushed the start button. Then I took some flour, sugar, and cocoa down from the cupboard, along with my little wooden box of 3 x 5 cards, some of them yellowed and stained, inherited. I needed to follow a recipe. I wanted to measure and stir and know I could depend on the result.
Lena clapped her hands in delight. "Yay, Holly!"
"Some cake?" Grandpa said, his face brightening.
"Yeah," I said. "Coming right up, guys."
"Big plans tonight? It is Friday..." Jason's mom, Mona, stood in the doorway of the living room, snapping a gold cuff bracelet around her wrist.
As always, she's the one with the big plans, thought Jason. Running off to have dinner downtown with her friends, leaving behind the big, empty house with its stark cream walls. He couldn't blame her, he guessed. The house had seemed larger lately, now that it was mostly just the two of them---well, and Rosie, if you counted her coming to clean and cook for them. Rosie made it feel more like home when she was there.
"Nothing on tap, then? You're just going to sit around and watch TV?" She walked over and perched on the arm of the beige leather couch. "That's pretty boring for a Friday night."
"I don't know. I might head over to Dan's pretty soon," Jason said, muting the basketball game on the flat screen.
His mom smiled. "Good. You should spend more time with your friends. Any chance Faith will be there?"
"Mom. Seriously. We're not getting back together. Please give it up." He swung a throw pillow at her arm, but she moved away just in time.
His mother laughed but then said, "You two were such a sweet couple. At the club this week, her mother told me that Faith was just accepted to Vassar."
"Great." Jason couldn't help rolling his eyes. He didn't care what Faith was doing or where she was going. They were over months ago. And they'd never be again. "No offense, but can we talk about something else?"
She gave him a disappointed shrug. "Sure. I'll butt out. You're right. You can't blame a mom for wanting to see her son happy."
"No, a mom wanting to see herself happy," Jason said, winking.
"Well ... maybe." Hiv h. maybes mom stood up and adjusted her wrap dress, making sure the tie was tight. She looked pretty, Jason thought. Thinner, too---but that was probably because he never saw her eating, not since his dad had been working down in Portland so much. They hadn't had dinner together as a family in weeks, it felt like.
His mom gave him a little wave. "I'm heading out, but you know Rosie can make you something if you get hungry."
"Mom. I can heat something up myself," he said.
"Well, she's off at seven, so if you change your mind, be sure to let her know soon." She moved toward the front door, grabbing a coat from the closet. "If your father calls, maybe you could ask him to call me about the boat-moorage payment."
"Okay."
"He's coming to town on Monday, honey. I guess he'll probably want to take you out for a sail."
"Is he staying here this time?"
His mom paused near the front door and turned. "No, he's not staying here. He's getting his own place." She stuffed her arms through the sleeves of the coat and belted it.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't know."
Her lips were pressed together like she was holding back something. More that she wouldn't share with him just then, and that was fine with Jason. Things had been weird enough without knowing what, exactly, was going on between his parents.
"Remember to tell Rosie if you need some dinner. Love you." His mom pulled the door shut behind her. Closed the door on whatever pain she was feeling. The sound of the lock clicking echoed in the stone-tiled foyer and then faded into nothingness.
That was what they did, thought Jason. Closed the door on a lot of things that had happened in this house. His mom hadn't been there for him when Rob had died. Hadn't been there for him when things were falling apart with Faith. But maybe some people weren't equipped to be there for you. Maybe some people could barely help themselves.
And maybe he'd been one of those people once upon a time.
He shrugged off the negative thoughts swirling in his mind and headed into his room to change. He'd go out after all. He'd lose himself in the world of his friends. And he'd try to forget about what he should or shouldn't have done all these months.
\*\*\*
Tonight you expect Jason to stay at Dan Blake's party to drink with the guys. It's a typical house in Lake Heights just a few blocks away from yours. A big two-level layout with decks to take advantage of the view. Done in the Northwest style: with rock fireplaces, big ridgepoles holding the finished pine ceiling above the open floor plan. A glass chandelier blown by a Seattle legend. It reminds you of a place you might have designed, had you stuck with your plan of being an architect.
From outside, the music's not up too loud because Dan knows the neighbors will call the cops if things get too rowdy. Inside, the place is jumping, though. Bodies dancing, mostly out of sync to the beat. It's a sea of human movement where red keg cups bob like buoys. Jason is a sole, static figure in the foyer of the house. He's gazing in at the roiling mass. Girls check him out, and you hope he'll try to get with one of them, but he's searching the crowd, probably for Holly. As if she'd be there.
You know right where she is. You were just in Holly's kitchen, watching her cutting a pan of brownies into neat squares. The homemade kind, like the ones she used to bake you for good luck before a big basketball game. There's no smile on her face tonight. She's lost in thought. Lost in everything going on around her.
Jason's on the move, so you snap back to the moment. He gives Dan a small wave as if he's already done for the night. You wish you could ask him just what the deal is with him lately. Truly, the not-being-able-to-communicate-with-the-living thing is getting really old.
You stick with Jason as he passes through the crowd. Around dudes with sloshing keg cups of Kool-Aid and liquor, past girls with half-finished beers in their hands. Though you can't feel the heat of the room, you feel the energy of the people. The woozy excitement is almost oppressive. To Jason, too, it appears. The door slams behind him and he stands on the porch for a moment, breathing in the night air, staring out at the quiet street full of parked cars.
He seems to relish the darkness. Or maybe he's just glad to be free of all the commotion inside the house. You can't blame him. Wanting to be in that crush of people seems crazy. And you can't even remember why you liked partying with them while you were alive. The drinking had been fun in the moment, but now, looking back on a time when you didn't realize moments were precious, it feels like a waste. Another drunk night. Another set of stupid conversations. Nothing that means anything now.
The music changes and some kids come out of the house to smoke, rousting Jason from his spot on the porch. He walks down to the Audi and climbs in. Quicker than a breath, you're beside him in the passenger seat, waiting for him to start up the engine, longing for the rush of the wind, and knowing you won't be able to feel it. That's too bad, because you need something to clear your head.
"Hey, what's the deal? You're going?" Mark leans through the driver's-side window, startling Jason, and you, for that matter. "Things were just getting good. Faith's here with some jackass from the UW. That girl Annie's been asking about you all night ... She's pretty hot."
"I just feel like taking off," Jason mumbles. "See you tomorrow, maybe."
The Audi eases through the streets and winds down onto Winston Drive. Jason passes Mark's place and then pauses out in front of his own house---the big cedar-sided ranch house on the corner lot. The house is dark except for the porch light. Seeming to change his mind, Jason cranks the music on the indie station and puts the car into gear, zooming through the neighborhood. When he cruises down the hill and pulls the car into a tight turn, the route is all too familiar.
And then you see it: the sign for McCallister Road.
The guardrail flashes white in the headlights, and your stomach twists. You didn't know you could still get that feeling. Jason whips over to the side of the road and kills the engine at the edge of the bluff. At the edge of the last minutes of your life.
You're frozen in the passenger seat as he gets out and walks toward the shiny new railing. This one is covered with reflectors now, but the one before it---the one that was in its place that night---wasn't. He takes a seat on the metal barrier, gazing down into the blackness of trees, bushes, and tall grass that cover the ravine below.
You force yourself out of the car. "C'mon, man. What are you doing here?" you ask as you take a seat beside him. His eyes are dark, his lips set in a hard line. Loss is written all over his face.
You think back to your memorial service---to your friends' parents talking to your parents, kindly pretending it was normal for your dad to get ripped on whisky and your mom to keep showing your baby videos on a permaloop. And the guys ... they headed to the backyard to smoke. To talk about football practice. To gossip about Holly, who had barely been able to speak to anybody and was inside, sitting with her mother on the stiff, upholstered couch, balancing a plate of uneaten food on her lap.
Later, from the front steps, you watched Holly and her mother descend the long driveway in their junky Toyota that rattled like a tin can. And meanwhile, Jason seemed fine. He'd been as steady as ever chatting with the guys. They could have been outside the gym or the movie theater or anywhere, the way they were acting so freaking normal. Acting like no one had died.
Now you see the grief welling in Jason's eyes. You'd thought you wanted to see that, to see some freaking emotion, but confronted with it, you look away.
There's a night breeze stirring in the deepening darkness now; you can see it moving through the trees. It probably warrants a shiver. Jason feels it. He stands up from the awkward seat on the guardrail and rubs a hand across the back of his jeans. He's still staring down into the blackness below. The blackness they pulled you and Holly from. You can almost make out the scarred tree, its gnarled trunk raw and burned.
Jason mutters. "What is wrong with me? You're not here."
"Dude, I am here," you say softly. Raising your eyes to the sky, you notice the moon is shining in a crescent, a half-cocked smile mocking everything below. Like it knows the answer to some kind of cosmic joke. Like it knows why the hell you're still on Earth.
"I get the I'm dead part," you say, half to the sky, half to yourself, "but if there's some kind of freaking spirit guide, could you send him my way? This wandering stuff is getting old. It's great to see everyone and all, but is this all there is?"
Suddenly, headlights flash behind Jason's car, startling you both. A truck rounds the curve and then speeds off down the hill.
"Stupid high beams? Nice. But I need some answers."
Night embraces you and Jason and the canyon below. For hours, you both lay across the hood of the Audi, staring up at the endless night sky. And you realize that he's just as lonely as you are.
"We'll be back to pick you up at four," I told Lena, handing her the wrapped birthday present for her friend. It was Saturday, and thankfully, she was going to be occupied for a while. As she ran off to join the party, the squeals of little girls echoed around the small house. The sound was irritating, and exactly the reason that aside from Lena, I never took babysitting jobs. My little sister wasn't much trouble. Messy and demanding in the way that a nine-year-old can be, but she was at heart a good kid. Other kids, I didn't even want to deal with.
Her friend Ellie's mother put her arm around my shoulders. "Holly, are you sure you don't want to stay?" she said. "Let me fix you and your grandpa plates. We're barbecuing out back."
"No, no," I said, taking Grandpa Aldo's hand. "We're gonna walk home." I bopped some pink and purple balloons out of the way and moved us toward the door.
"I meant to ask you about your mom. How's she doing?"
"She's pretty busy," I said. "But she's okay."
Ellie's mom patted my shoulder. "How about I drop Lena home after the party? It's no trouble."
"Um..." I glanced toward Grandpa Aldo. "Yeah. Actually, that'd be great."
We descended the porch stairs carefully, my grandpa holding on to the handrail. Luckily, Ellie's house wasn't too far from our place. It was in the small group of nicer houses at the base of the hill. Our walk home would be on the flats that ran toward the highway.
"Too many stairs," Grandpa Aldo said, making it to the last step.
"Yeah."
"Just a minute." He leaned on the handrail. "Out of breath."
"We can take the walk home slowly. Maybe we'll stop for a hamburger for lunch on the way. How does that sound?"
"Where's my truck?" he asked, suddenly scanning the block, his brow furrowed.
"Your truck? There's no truck, Grandpa. We're on foot." I tried to sound reassuring, calm.
"My truck. The red truck." He kept frowning, staring out at the line of cars at the curb. "Someone stole the truck!"
"No, Grandpa. You sold the truck years ago," I said. "Come on, now."
He eiglooked confused for another moment, and then, at last, his face relaxed and he accepted the hand I held out to him.
"It's okay. Come on. Let's go," I said, coaxing him along. "Let's get you some lunch."
Reluctantly, he began walking alongside me. And, after a few minutes of slowly navigating the crummy sidewalk along the four-lane road, we finally sat down in an orange plastic booth. Between us, a brown tray held Grandpa Aldo's cup of decaf coffee, my cola, a large pile of fries, and two hamburgers. A poppy boy-band tune pumped out from the hidden speakers in the packed restaurant.
"It's good," Grandpa said, around a bite of hamburger. He seemed so much better now that we were eating something.
I removed the pickle slice from the middle of my hamburger and then took a greasy bite. "Mmm. Junk food."
Aldo had a glob of mustard on his lip, and he tried to wipe at it with his paper napkin, succeeding only in smearing it around on his chin.
"Here," I said, giggling as I brought his face closer to me. "Let me do that."
Aldo smiled. "I'm a mess, cara mia"
"No, you're just enjoying your lunch." I set down the napkin and handed him his burger. "Have some more."
Just then, I saw Jason, Mark, and two of their friends at the counter, ordering. They were dressed in shorts, tees, and sneakers, like they'd just come from shooting hoops at the park.
"Oh, great," I muttered, knowing it was my own fault for bringing Grandpa Aldo to a spot popular with kids from my school. My grandpa glanced over to see what I was fussing about, but he didn't say anything. I tried to eat more of my hamburger, feeling the sooner we could get out of there, the better.
The guys moved away from the counter with their full trays and passed us, only to take the booth two down from ours. As Mark sat down facing me, he saluted me with his drink cup. Sitting across from him, Jason turned his head and gave me a casual nod over his shoulder.
"You know those boys?" Grandpa Aldo took a small bite of his hamburger and chewed it slowly.
I stared down at my tray and dragged a few fries through the ketchup. "Yeah, I know them."
"Hey," Jason said, passing our table.
He grabbed some napkins and straws from the condiment station and then gave me a small smile as he passed the table on his way back. I wasn't sure what his deal was, why he'd say hi here, and I was still wondering why he'd been hanging around my locker the other day. I decided not to worry about it.
I took another bite of hamburger. "C'mon, Grandpa," I said, "let's finish up."
He sippp>Heed his coffee and then reached for a fry, chewing it slowly.
I balled the empty paper wrapper from my hamburger and sipped the last of my drink. Everything was fine. We were just having a normal lunch, and who cared what dorks were hanging out at the burger joint. But, of course, when we got up to leave, we had to pass their booth.
"Hey, Holly," called out Mark.
"Hi," I said, unsmiling.
"So, you're into older dudes now?" he said, gesturing toward Aldo. Some of the guys at the table laughed. "That's hot."
I stopped and turned. "What?"
"You heard me---"
"Hey, don't be a jerk," Jason said. His face was flushed, and he was glaring at Mark.
"Uh, this is my grandpa." I was shocked at Jason shutting Mark up but still pissed enough to say something for myself.
"My bad. I'm just saying hello," Mark said. He held out a hand to my grandpa, who looked like he was about to punch him. Mark withdrew his hand. "Sorry."
"Enjoy your lunch," I said, glaring at him.
We moved off, and as I held open the door for Grandpa Aldo, I could sense the whole table was still staring at us. And I didn't care. Now I had more important things to worry about than Rob's dumb friends.
\*\*\*
Jason couldn't bring himself to do it before or after chemistry on Monday, but he had to talk to her, especially after the lame incident at the restaurant over the weekend. He'd meant to do it last week, but he'd lost his nerve. So, today was the day. It was now Tuesday, and on Tuesdays after school, Holly usually took the number 6 downtown.
He sat in the brown metal and Plexiglass bus shelter, waiting for her. The once-clear walls of the place were pockmarked and scarred. Someone had taken the time to scratch BRIAN LOVES GINA into the paint on the metal framing. He checked his watch again, realizing ten minutes had already crept by since the last bell. And then---success.
Coming down the block in a blue track jacket and jeans, Holly was heading right for him. He smoothed a hand over his hair, suddenly feeling nervous. He always had trouble talking to girls. That was where Rob had come in. Rob had been the outgoing one, able to make some kind of random compliment or ask girls a simple question to get things rolling. Jason had admired Rob's skill at that.
He took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the thought that Holly was someone he needed to talk to, that was all. What a lie.
His palms felt sweaty, because she wasn't just any girl. She was a girl he'd always thought was beautiful. And now that thm"> now things were all screwed up for everyone, but especially her, a girl that he needed to check in on.
He exhaled, ready for her to sit on the bench next to him, but Holly passed the stop and was heading down the block. He popped up from the slatted metal bench. "Hey," he said as he jogged up next to her.
Startled, she stopped in her tracks. Her expression wasn't friendly, but at least she was holding eye contact.
Jason said, "Um, I just wanted to---"
Frowning now, she turned and started walking again.
Again he matched her quick pace. "Hey, wait up."
"I have to be somewhere," she said, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jacket.
"Okay, well. I'll just walk with you, then," he said.
"Your call."
They walked along silently for a moment, the traffic whizzing by on the road---first a string of cars filled with upperclassmen and then the long yellow-gold line of buses. Jason noticed the dandelions poking out from the broken sidewalk, the way Holly's feet shuffled along in her sneakers, how the hems of her jeans were frayed white on the bottom from dragging on the ground all the time.
"If you're not going to talk, then why are you walking with me?" Holly paused at the corner, her arms crossed. Her track jacket was the same light blue as her eyes. Even with her mouth turned down, she was still pretty.
Jason felt his cheeks getting red. "I did need to talk to you."
The light changed and Holly started into the crosswalk. Jason caught up to her at the other side of the intersection and reached out for her arm, stopping her. She whirled on him.
"What?" Her face was angry as she untangled herself from his grasp.
"I, uh..." Jason's tongue felt thick, stumbling for what to say. "I'm sorry about what happened on Saturday at lunch. And, well, I guess for a long time now, I've wondered how you're doing."
Holly's mouth was set in a grim line like she didn't believe him. Now he felt like an idiot for chasing her down. Felt like an idiot if what he was trying to do didn't mean anything to her.
Holly shifted on her feet, stepped back from the corner a little to let a lady with a rolling grocery caddy by. "You care about how I'm doing?" she asked, adjusting her backpack on her shoulder.
"Yeah. Listen, I don't know why I waited so long to talk to you," he said.
Holly raised her eyebrows. "Well, you said what you wanted to say. Was there anything else? I really have to be somewhere." She didn't wait for his answer, just turned and starturned and ed down the sidewalk again.
He considered just letting her walk away. After all, he'd tried to say what he needed to, and now maybe life could continue and this feeling of responsibility nagging at him would dissipate. But it wasn't going anywhere at the moment, that was for damn sure. "Holly, don't be like that," he said, following her.
"Do we have to do this now or ... ever?" she said, her voice steady, robotic. "We're cool, all right?"
No. Not good enough. Jason couldn't leave it like that. He couldn't leave something so messed up. "That's crap," he said.
She stepped closer to him. "Fine. I'm not cool with you or your friends."
"Our friends are idiots," he said.
"Your friends were never my friends," she replied in a low voice. "You tolerated me because I was with Rob. We both know that."
Jason let Holly walk away. "I was your friend," he called after her.
She turned and gave him a look over her shoulder. One that made him feel guilty, ashamed. He was sure he'd been kind to Holly while she'd dated Rob, but maybe she was right. Maybe his friends hadn't given her a chance, let her in the circle for real. And when she needed them, they'd ditched her so easily, so quickly.
"Some friends," he muttered. He turned and walked back the way he'd come, taking his time, mulling over what Holly had said.
Mark was waiting by Jason's car in the nearly deserted parking lot. "What's your deal?" he said. "I've been here for ten minutes waiting for your lame ass." Mark's parents had probably grounded him as usual and taken away his car.
"You getting in or what?" Jason replied, clicking the locks open. He started up the car, and the two of them flew down the side streets. They passed Holly a few blocks away, her head down, her footsteps quick. Another pang of guilt hit him and his foot eased off the gas.
"You gonna pick up a hitcher?" Mark said, jabbing him in the side.
"Dude. Shut up." He pressed harder on the pedal and sped toward the hills.
\*\*\*
"Sorry!"
Grandpa Aldo winked at me from under his gray cap. "Hello there."
"I didn't mean to be late today." I took a seat next to him on the bench, knowing that I had to let the stress of my walk home and the strange conversation with Jason go. Everything is fine. "When did the senior center bus drop you off?"
He gestured with upturned palms toward what little landscaping existed out in front of our crappy building. "Been watching the birds."
I peered at him, trying to judge his coherence. "So you haven't been here too long?"
"I don't mind sitting in the sunshine." He gave me a kind smile, and his blue eyes lit up.
I didn't have a watch, so I pulled his left wrist over to me and checked the time on his big silver-faced one. Three fifteen. Lena's bus would be pulling up to the corner in a few minutes.
When I tried to let go of my grandfather's hand, he grasped mine tighter. "It's good to be with you, Holly. Isn't this nice?"
I let out a sigh of relief. He was having a good day. There hadn't been many of those since he'd arrived, but as I sat with him on the bench, it was like my old grandpa was back. When I looked into his eyes, he seemed there. More there than he'd been in days. "Yeah, it's nice," I replied.
He squeezed my hand and leaned in closer to me, his smile fading. "Listen, I want you to know things aren't quite right with me."
I sucked in a breath, surprised. "Yeah?"
"I can't remember things too well. I get confused. Something is wrong."
"Yeah, I know. Grandpa, you have a disease called Alzheimer's. It affects your brain."
He scratched at his left cheek, along the line of stubble. "It was so lonely over at the house without your nana." His blue eyes were watery, and suddenly he seemed to be drifting away. "I miss her so much."
"I know. Do you remember living in the apartment?"
He nodded. "It was lonely there, too. But I had Judge Judy."
I giggled. I hadn't heard him make a joke in the last few days. I was reminded of when I'd been even younger than Lena was now and I'd spent weekends with my grandparents in their big old house on Queen Anne Hill. It was never dull there.
Sometimes, Grandma and I had cooked pizelle or fried fresh zeppole. She wasn't Italian like Grandpa, but she'd learned to cook the things he loved. Together she and I had crunched through the sweet treats, laughing at the crumbs and the powdered sugar left around each other's mouths. Grandpa Aldo was usually working on something in the garage, or out in the back garden taking care of his zucchini and tomatoes. Always, he'd cracked little jokes, and threatened to spray me with the hose. The garden had gotten overgrown and too hard to manage as they both aged. The beautiful house was sold long ago.
"I miss Grandma too," I said.
"We had many good times." He let go of my hand and reached into his back pocket. "I want to show you something." He unfolded his dark brown leather wallet and pulled out a small square of paper.
I took it from his outstftiom his retched hand. It was a list written on well-creased stationery.
Sailing on the lakeDinner at Mama Maria's CucinaWalk at Discovery ParkPicking fresh tomatoesHawaiian Anniversary tripFaces of my grandchildren
And it went on---more items written in my grandfather's sloppy cursive. I glanced up from the list at my grandfather's face. His lips were set in a firm line, his eyes closed like he was stemming his tears.
"This is my memory list," Grandpa Aldo said. "All the things I want to remember."
"Oh." I folded the list reverently. "That sounds like a good thing to have."
"I've carried it in my billfold for a while. If I forget these things," he said, "will you help remind me?"
"Sure, Grandpa." My voice sounded craggy, but I was trying to keep it together.
"I can't trust the others," he said. "They wouldn't understand. But you, Holly---there's something of your nana in you. You take the time with me. You're a patient girl."
I shrugged.
"You don't think the list is foolish?" Grandpa cocked his head at me.
"I think it's beautiful," I said.
"You keep it safe for me."
"No, no." I held out the paper, but Grandpa wouldn't let me hand it back to him.
"I know I forget things. I'm not the same as before. I want you to hold on to it."
"Um ... okay." I slid the tiny paper square into my pocket.
Lena's bus rolled up then, and she tore off of it squealing and nearly jumped on Grandpa. The spell was broken. Grandpa seemed to fade back to his normal, sedate self.
When the apartment was dark that night, I sat at my desk and took out my grandfather's paper. I was struck again by the things on the list---the things he wanted to remember. I thought about how maybe people went through their whole lives and never rounded up all those good things. They made lists of things they dreamed of doing someday. Grocery lists. Lists of chores.
Grandpa Aldo had it all figured out. The way to remember something was to write it down. To read it over and over so it burned into your mind. And maybe then you'd be sure that what happened actually did happen. You wouldn't forget it.
It was a funny thing, trying to remember>
I spent the moments before I fell asleep that night forcing the good times to my mind. Making myself remember Rob and me laughing and smiling, remembering him kissing me, remembering him holding me. I was sure that it had been as real as anything. Even if it was work to hold those images close, I wasn't going to let them go.
\*\*\*
You don't sleep. You sit in chairs you can't feel beneath you. You lie on couches, benches, steps that give you no comfort. All this time, you're awake. Conscious. Waiting for the freaking light they're always talking about on TV and in movies. You wonder if maybe you took it a little too far complaining out on the cliff the other night. Maybe now you've pissed off whoever's in charge and you'll be doomed to walk the planet alone forever.
You expect to see other wanderers. Seriously. Where are all the other dead people? You think maybe this is hell. Yeah, maybe hell is being completely alone.
To waste time this evening, you stroll through your old house. Your kid sister, Kayla, is snoozing peacefully in the bottom bunk bed in her room. At the other end of the house, Mom's watching a late-show comedian with the sound turned down so low, you can barely hear it over Dad's snoring. Your golden retriever, Chuck, is in the kitchen, sleeping on the blue mat near the sliding glass door. He snorts in his sleep, paws still from twitching as he looks up and sleepily sniffs the air in your direction. His eyes tell you he senses something. It's like he knows you're there.
"Thanks, Chuck. That means a lot," you say.
You walk by the piano, hand brushing the air atop the pictures set in a line. Your senior picture at the end, freshly taken before you bit the big one. Your smile is electric, fake. The picture of you and Holly at last year's spring dance is missing, though. The one with you in a gray sport coat and Holly in a sexy black cocktail dress she found at some yard sale. It used to sit right next to your portrait on the end and now it's gone. You wonder where it went. Wonder if your mother ripped the photo into a million shreds.
You find your answer back in Kayla's room. The gold-framed picture is perched on your sister's bookshelf, next to her favorite stuffed animal, a giraffe named Rudy. Someone remembers you. Someone remembers how happy you and Holly were. And that makes you smile, all the way down to your deep, nonexistent bones.
\*\*\*
"Where are we going?"
"Just come on." I tugged Lena onto the bus after me and Grandpa Aldo and paid the fare for all three of us. It was a Wednesday after school and the bus was crowded with commuters. A skinny white dude covered in tattoos got up to let my gass to letrandpa take his seat while Lena and I stood in the aisle, holding on to one of the slick metal poles. My gaze kept drifting to the guy's inked arms. An angel smoking a cigar adorned one biceps, floating near a dragon that melted into its own blue and red flames. There were fresh black outlines penned in above the dragon, like the guy had just been to the tattoo shop to imagine what he would add next. I stared until the guy itched at the angel's wings. You always see something interesting on the city bus.
A little while and a few neighborhoods later, we were in Magnolia on the grassy bluffs overlooking the Puget Sound. After taking in the view, Grandpa Aldo lowered his hands from his eyes. "Holly," he said, his voice cracking. "It's my park."
"It was on the list, remember?"
Lena pointed at the water far beyond the cliffs. "Can we go all the way down there?"
"It's kind of a long walk," I said, taking Grandpa Aldo's hand. "Let's just go to the benches over there and sit down for a while."
We passed the old military houses and barracks that had been full of officers and soldiers when Discovery Park was an active fort. Lena skipped ahead on the grassy path, pointing out the dragonflies buzzing around. We passed thickets of blackberries and tall grasses and finally came upon the metal benches set up among the trees.
Grandpa Aldo took a seat and closed his eyes, the sun playing across his face. "This is so wonderful."
"You like this park?" Lena said. "I mean, there aren't any swings or anything. It's kinda boring."
Grandpa Aldo turned to me, smiling. "I asked your grandma to marry me here many years ago."
Lena let out a little squeal. "Really?"
"Yes, she was just a little bit older than Holly."
We sat there for a while, watching the sun dip behind the Olympic Mountains in the distance. Lena ran off to chase dragonflies.
"Thank you, cara mia," Grandpa Aldo said, his eyes misty.
"No big deal. I thought maybe it was time for a visit."
Lena zoomed up to us, a giant blue bug in her hand. "This one's cool!" she said, and then dashed off again into the tall grass for a last hunt.
Grandpa was quiet after that, all the way on our walk back to the main road. When we got to the stop, I checked the timetable for the next bus, which I soon calculated would be about a thirty-minute wait.
Lena traced cracks in the sidewalk, her sneaker-clad toes pointing like a ballerina's. Grandpa Aldo steadied himself against the bus stop pole, since there was no place to sit down. The sun was beginning to sink. Though it was a nice spring evening, there was a chill in the air. A chill reminding me that the season wasn="0 season't in full swing yet. It was still time for jackets and umbrellas and all those things you have to carry with you in Seattle, where it never seems warm until July. And then the city would be hit with a wallop of warm days.
It would be a weird summer without Rob. Last year, we'd hung out at the beach, savoring every last ray of sunshine, soaking it up for the long fall and winter months. Or at least I had soaked it up. It was hard to forget Rob pulling down his favorite baseball cap, shielding himself from the warm glare of the rays on the water. And then, just as the leaves were starting to turn, he was gone. No amount of sunshine I'd saved up could bring me out of that dark fall.
"When is the bus coming? This is boring," Lena said, her foot making another perfect line along the cracked concrete.
"Soon."
After a few minutes, though, a black car rolled up. Jason Markham rolled down the window. "Can I give you guys a ride?"
I tried not to show my surprise. "What, are you stalking me now?"
"Right. I was in the neighborhood."
I glanced back at my grandpa, who seemed worn out from the trip, and then back at Jason. "Um ... well ... you really want to give us a lift?"
"Sure."
I was skeptical about why he'd want to be nice. Worried that he would say something awkward like he did yesterday on the walk home. But, actually, it would be really great not to have to take the bus.
"So?" He cocked his head to the side.
"Yeah, okay."
Jason parked the car on the side of the road and got out to help Aldo into the front passenger seat. Once he was situated, Lena and I scrambled into the back.
"We live down off of fifteenth."
"I know where to go," Jason said. "Rob and I picked you up there once."
I relaxed into the seat. Next to me, Lena was bouncing around and peering out the windows.
"You guys hitting all the good parks?" Jason asked.
I didn't mean to stare at the back of his head, but I didn't know where else to look without meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. His haircut made a perfect V on the back of his neck.
"No," I said. "That park was special."
Grandpa Aldo added, "Very special."
We drove along in silence awhile, and then Grandpa started to make a humming sound. I don't even think he realized he was making the noise.
"Grandpa, we're almost there," I said, patting his shoulder.
He nodded, but the noise continued.
After what seemed like forever, Jason parked the car in front of our building. Then he got out again, helping Grandpa Aldo out onto the sidewalk. It was really cool of him. Surprisingly cool.
"Lena, take Grandpa inside," I said, handing her my keys.
"Okay," she said, leading him off.
I crossed my arms and leaned against the car. "So, you just happened to be in the neighborhood? All the way out in Magnolia?"
Jason shrugged. "Fine, you got me. I saw you guys get on the bus to the park earlier. At least, I figured that's where you were headed. You don't have a car, right?"
"No. Not every kid can afford a car," I said, an edge in my voice.
"Very true. I'm just saying it's hard to get around without one."
"We get places fine."
"Well, if there's anywhere you need to go. Anything your grandpa needs, maybe you could call me. I could help."
I let my gaze pass over his strong jaw and up to his dark brown eyes. He was serious. "Why would you do that?" I said.
"I know maybe you don't trust me after what jerks everyone was, but I'm not like them. Trust me, ok?"
I studied him again. His perfect tanned skin. His expensive jeans and leather boots. His black tee peeking out from under a pressed shirt. He was like them. He was just like them. "I don't know..."
"What's to know?" He looked down at his hands. "I mean, well, it's the least I can do."
My cheeks heated up again. "Oh, this is some kind of guilty penance or something? That's great."
"No. It's not like that."
I paused, feeling awkward because I sensed that he was telling the truth. Could read in his eyes that this was all coming from somewhere real. "Sorry. It's just, well, this is weird for me."
"I get it. Well, the offer stands. For whatever that's worth. You need something, let me know."
And where were you six months ago? That thought kept repeating in my head. But I just told him thanks and walked toward the apartment building, where Grandpa Aldo, Lena, and my real life were waiting for me behind the glass door.
\*\*\*
ont new roJason saw Holly in the cafeteria the next day, sitting at the table with her friend Marisa. He strolled over toward them, happy to have a break from sitting with Mark, who was holding court over by the big bank of windows at the other end of the room. He'd been thinking about Holly since the night before. Thinking about how she always acted like she couldn't care less if he was standing right in front of her. How she seemed determined not to let him get close to her. He was going to ignore that, he'd decided. There was something there. Something that made him want to get to know her more.
"Hey," he said, shoving down the nervousness he felt. He didn't like the sense that he wasn't in control, that he didn't know how things were going to go. "You guys got room for me?"
"Hi," Holly said, seeming surprised. She was wearing a blue turtleneck and a mossy green scarf, a combination that made her eyes reflect a blend of sea and sky. Her wavy hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and a few strands framed her face. He was struck by how pretty she was, even though she was pale.
A memory from the late summer flashed in his mind---of Holly and Rob eating ice cream at Green Lake. Of all the friends meandering along in the bike lane on the path, ignoring the dirty looks from passing cyclists and Rollerbladers. She'd been tan then, golden almost, and the sun had lightened her hair with streaks of blond. She had looked so happy, so carefree. But maybe that was just the impression she'd wanted to project. He didn't believe now that her life had ever been carefree.
"Hey, Jason. Have a seat." Marisa shoved over on the bench, patting the spot between her and Holly, but he sat across from them instead. "So, what brings you to our little table?" Marisa asked.
"I just thought a change would be nice," he said, glancing over at Holly, who had her head down, eyes on her salad.
"A change is always good," said Marisa. She crumpled her napkin and threw it on her tray of half-eaten lunch. "Listen, guys, I'm gonna head out," she said. "You two have fun."
"What's the hurry?" Holly asked, raising her head.
"Gotta meet someone before class. I'll talk to you later. Bye, Jason." Marisa gave Holly a little smile and then click-clacked away on her fancy sandals.
They were alone, which was what he had wanted, but now the silence between them was awkward. Again Jason felt the shyness he'd worked so hard to subdue creeping back in to him. Trying to act as normal as possible, he flipped open the bun of his chicken sandwich and squirted ketchup from a packet onto the patty. "So, how's your day going?" he asked Holly.
"Um, fine," she said.
Wow. Off to a good start. Jason took a bite of his lunch, waiting for Holly to say something more, watching her fiddle with the sweat on her cold pop can.
"Um, thanks for yesterday. That was cool of you," she said finally. "You know, the ride."
He smiled="5n">He s at her. "Anytime. How's your grandpa doing?"
"He's okay." Holly dug around in her pile of salad and speared a tomato.
"Really?" Jason set down his sandwich. "He seemed kind of, you know, off..."
"He's got Alzheimer's." Holly's voice was quick, hard.
"Oh, sorry." Jason wiped at his mouth with a paper napkin. "I didn't know. He lives with you guys?"
Her cheeks pinked up, but she played it off with a casual shrug. "Yep. I'm helping take care of him," she said.
"So, what was the whole park thing about? Are you trying to get him out and about?"
She nodded. "It's kinda hard to come up with stuff to do. He's got a list of some favorite places and stuff he wants to remember. Discovery Park was on the list."
"He said it was special."
"Yeah." She picked up her pop and took a sip, scanning the room. "So, no Mark---no entourage?"
"I don't only hang out with them," he said. "Well, yeah, actually, I do. It gets old sometimes."
"Huh." Holly gave him an appraising look. "Rob always said the same thing."
"He did? Well, I guess it makes sense that he wouldn't have said as much to me, since I was one of them."
A lock of Holly's light brown bangs fell across her eyes. Jason sucked in a breath, realizing he had been staring. "Sorry," he said. "I just faded out there."
"So, you really do miss him."
"Every day. I think about Rob a lot."
"It didn't seem like you guys gave a rat's ass that he died," Holly said.
"Of course we did. At least I know I did." Jason knew he sounded a little harsh, so he dialed it back. "He was my best friend."
Holly poked at some lettuce in her salad again, stirring the dressing into the leaves.
"Everyone grieves in their own way," Jason said, feeling like he was somehow pleading his case.
"Yeah, I hear that's true."
"Look at you," he said. "You're processing things in your own way. You don't talk to anyone. You've definitely lost your smile. You're grieving."
"Wait---did you just say processing? What, are you some kind of psychiatrist or something?"
Jasonf troman"> gave her a small smile. "Far from it. My mom gave me a lame book about death after Rob passed. It was pretty crappy."
"Yeah, this whole thing has been crappy," Holly said.
"Hey, death equals crappy."
She pushed her tray of food aside and put her elbows on the table. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this---but you know, you asked if there was anything I needed."
"Tell me what?"
"I'm afraid that none of what we had was real," she said slowly. "That somehow now I'm going to forget him."
Jason felt the air go still, the space between them fold in on itself. "You won't," he said, leaning across the table toward her. "It's impossible. I know I never could." He heard his voice crack a little and instantly felt his cheeks rush with blood.
It was an uneasy silence now, and Holly was just sitting there, watching him. He didn't even feel like eating the rest of his lunch, but he chewed bite after bite of cold fries. Forced himself to finish off the vanilla pudding cup that was supposed to be dessert. It was easier to eat than to say something stupid. Something that might upset Holly or make him feel more like the dork he seemed to be at the moment.
The bell rang.
"We should mosey," Holly said, getting up from the table.
They walked together to dump the trash and recycling and turn in their lunch trays to the lunchroom window.
"This was good," Jason said, once they were walking out toward Hallway B. "Thanks for letting me eat lunch with you."
She glanced up at him, her eyes a little watery.
"Hey, you all right?" Jason said. He was half-tempted to wrap her into a hug---a hug he would give any of his friends. He started to reach out, but Holly was already under way, walking toward her next class. And the moment, their moment, was gone, dissolving into the swarm of kids moving down the hallway, the buzz of the fluorescent lights, the drifting scents of cologne and lunchroom.
A twinge of guilt hit him. That feeling of what would Rob think about him and Holly being friends. Maybe being more. Wait---seriously? He pushed back the thought. It didn't seem right, somehow, and more important, she obviously still loved Rob. He'd never be able to compete with a ghost.
\*\*\*
It's dark except for a pool of light surrounding Holly. She's at her desk, sandwiched between the closet and the tiny bunk beds she now shares with her sister. You sit for a while in the corner on the hamper, watching her scratching something out in a journal her mother gave her last Christmas. One she never cracked open before five minutes ago.
You can almost sense her etching the three letters of your name into the lined pages, feel the molecules of the paper filling with midnight blue ink. You know she's writing about you, even before you come closer to peer over her shoulder. When you do peek, you are rewarded with a list. And your name is on almost every line of it. You glow all over. Your entire being fills with happiness.
As Holly turns off the light and gets under the covers, you brush a ghostly kiss over her lips, then you wander out into the living room to see what's going on. The old guy is snoozing in a recliner, oblivious to the news program blaring from the TV. You pause before sitting on the couch, wondering if he's really asleep.
And then his eyes slowly open. "Hello," he says. "Are you supposed to be here?"
You turn and look behind you, confused.
"Are you my granddaughter's friend?" he asks, scratching at his thinning gray hair.
"You can see me?" Your voice sounds like it's echoing across a broad, empty hall.
Holly's grandpa nods.
For the second time that night, you're actually freaking happy. He can see you. You're not invisible.
You're not alone.
I woke up the next morning feeling lighter, freer. That little journal sitting on my desk held the things I was going to celebrate and remember about me and Rob being together. I wasn't going to let his horrible end dictate how I lived my life anymore. Even in my head it sounded easier said than done, but still, I got out of bed and then jumped in and out of the shower with optimism humming through my body. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and I almost didn't recognize the smiling me in the partially fogged-up mirror.
When I was dressed, I reached up and tickled Lena awake in the top bunk bed. She sat upright, her hair sticking out at all angles, her face creased with a pillow mark. "What?" she said, rubbing her drooly mouth with her sleeve.
"Come on. Cereal time," I said.
Reluctantly, she clambered down the ladder and followed me into the kitchen. Wearing a blue cardigan sweater and gray slacks, Grandpa Aldo was at the table, a half-full cup of coffee in front of him, along with a bowl of oatmeal and a stack of toast. Mom must have gotten him started before leaving for work.
"Hello," Grandpa said, smiling as Lena took a seat across from him. His hair was combed perfectly, the grooves of gray parted just so.
"Good morning," she said before crunching into a piece of his toast.
"You want me to warm up your coffee?" I asked.
Grandpa looked down at his cup and shook his head.
I poured bowls of cereal for me and Lena.
"We're going to the Science Center today," Lena said, grabbing the carton of milk from the fridge. "There's some exhibit about the human body. I need five dollars, remember?"
"Crap. That's right." I got up from the table and rummaged around in my bag for some cash.
"And I need a sack lunch," Lena said, giving me an angelic smile.
"Geez. Well, at least Mom remembered to sign the permission slip," I said, sliding the five bucks onto the table. I took out peanut butter and jelly from the cabinet while Lena dug into her breakfast.
"Holly," Grandpa Aldo said. "Mangia."
"In a minute," I said, slathering wheat bread with filling and slapping the sides together. I found a paper bag and plastic wrap for the sandwich, along with an apple that was a little soft but still good. There weren't any chips or anything, but a granola bar from the back of the cabinet would finish off the lunch. I plunked down into a chair, setting the crumpled bag in front of my sister. "Enjoy."
Lena, who'd been chowing down, peered inside the battered paper sack and then rolled the top down in a sloppy seal. I guessed my effort was going to suffice. She ate a last bite of cereal and then pranced over to the sink with her empty bowl. A second later she was off, zooming down the hall toward our room.
When we were alone, Grandpa Aldo put his hand on my arm. "Last night I saw a boy."
I patted his fingers and then freed my arm. "Okay," I said. I reached for the milk carton, giving it a sniff and a testing shake. We were almost out, and I didn't know if Mom would remember to pick some up at work that night. I dribbled some down onto the flakes in my bowl.
"He was here," continued Aldo.
"So, a boy was here in the apartment?" I took a bite of cereal and studied my grandfather's eyes. They were sincere. He seemed to really believe that he'd seen someone, but I'd heard that Alzheimer's patients often saw people and things that weren't there. "So, what was this guy doing?" I asked, playing along.
"He talked with me."
I spooned in another bite of breakfast. "You had a conversation?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?" I asked around the mouthful of barely moistened flakes.
"He was surprised to meet me. He said no one ever talks with him."
"How did this guy get into the apartment?"
Grandpa Aldo pressed his lips together. After a few seconds, he said, "I don't know." The frown on his face deepened, and he stared down at his coffee cup.
I felt bad suddenly. "So, this guy just showed up in our apartment and starting chatting away?"
"Yes." Shakily, he lifted the coffee to his mouth. He looked pensive, like he was trying to make sense of whatever he had seen.
I swirled my spoon, stirring up the cereal at the bottom that was mostly grainy dust. Crappy, cheap frosted corn flakes. We really should buy a different kind next time, but it always depended on what was on sale. I pushed the bowl away and held out a piece of toast to Grandpa. He shook his head, so I went ahead and took a bite.
"So---this guy," I said, "is he coming back again?"
My grandpa set down his coffee. "I don't know. He was awfully lonely, cara mia, so maybe he will return."
I was struck by how animated Grandpa was---how alert he appeared. Even if he'd been seeing things the night before, he didn't seem to be out of it now. "What did this guy look like?" I asked.
"Very young. Handsome. Sad, sad green eyes. Dark hair."
"That's a pretty good description," I said, giving Grandpa Aldo a smile.
"He was here in front of me, as close as you are now," he replied. "He said he knew you."
The toast clogged my throat. I got up from the table and poured a cup of the cold coffee from the machine on the counter. I washed down the crumbs. "He said that he knew me?"
Grandpa Aldo nodded, his face totally serious.
I sat down at the table again, concern rippling through me. How often did delusions actually talk back to patients like Grandpa? This couldn't be a good sign. "Did he say his name?"
"Roberto ... eh ... Rob."
I gripped the table with both hands. Surely Grandpa had known about me and Rob dating, though I wasn't sure he knew about the accident. It had to be his mind mixing memory with fantasy. It had to be part of his disease, for sure, but, peering into my grandfather's eyes, I had my doubts. "Rob was my boyfriend, and he was killed six months ago."
Grandpa Aldo looked down at his hands. "I saw this boy."
"I'm reaaaa---dy!" Lena zoomed into the kitchen dressed in jeans and a bright green sweater. Her thick brown hair, barely brushed, was in a lopsided ponytail. "Bring on the field trip," she chirped.
"Grandpa, the senior center bus will be here soon," I said, setting my bowl in the sink. "Can you get your coat, please?"
He rose Comadpa, the s from his chair slowly and moved toward the door.
I stuffed the sack lunch into Lena's backpack and grabbed my bag. After I'd shepherded everyone out the door, I locked up. Grandpa was quiet during the elevator ride and while waiting for the buses to arrive. And then at last he and Lena were under way, their rides trailing clouds of diesel fumes. I shouldered my bag and headed down the street toward my school. The blocks melted away under my feet.
I didn't know what to think about what Grandpa Aldo had said, but each intersection I crossed brought me closer to reality. Grandpa was sick. Grandpa was out of touch with reality and his brain was making whatever connections it could to stay alive. It didn't mean anything. It couldn't. No one was ever going to see Rob again. No one could.
I shuddered as rain began to fall, the drops splashing my cheeks. Rob is dead. Rob is dead. Rob is gone forever. I let the cadence of my footsteps propel the mantra I was repeating in my head. It was all I could do. I wouldn't forget him, but I couldn't pretend he existed anymore.
\*\*\*
Jason raised his head as the second bell sounded and Holly came through the door of the chemistry lab. She plunked down into her seat in the second row and got her book out, then sat there, smoothing her hair, which was escaping the loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. Even in obvious disarray, she was cute.
As class started, Jason stared down at the notebook in front of him, doodling on the blank pages. And then he was lost in Mr. Jensen's review lecture on covalent bonding---a sea of words that washed over him. His eyes and mind drifted over to Holly again. It was hard not to notice her sitting just a few seats away from him, scratching notes onto paper like her life depended on it.
He didn't know if she was a good student or not, but she did seem to know the answers the few times the teacher had called on her in class. It made sense that she would be diligent, responsible. He got that impression from his interactions with her, and the care she took with her grandfather and sister. She was definitely the trustworthy type. He recalled that Holly and Rob had met when they were lab partners back in sophomore year. Wow. They really had been together for nearly a year before Rob died. Jason didn't know any other guys in his circle who had dated girls that long.
Mr. Jensen wrote a few practice questions on the white board, and Jason snapped back to reality, copying them down so he'd have the homework. Then, at last, the bell rang and the class gathered their things. The hallway was packed, but Jason managed to catch up with Holly just down the hall.
"Hey," he said. "How's it going?" Inwardly he kicked himself for sounding lame.
Without warning, Holly grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the traffic of the hallway.
"What's---"
"My grandpa is cracking up. For real," she said, her blue eyes piercing, serious.
"What happened?"
Holly chewed her lower lip. "Um ... well, it's weird, but at breakfast he said he saw Rob in our apartment last night."
"Like, as a hallucination or something?"
"I guess."
"Okay, well, that's normal for people with dementia, right? They see stuff."
She shook her head. "The thing is, Grandpa never met Rob. Maybe he heard about him from Mom or something, but how could he describe him to a T?"
Jason let out a sigh and smiled. "There you go. Your mom probably showed him pictures."
"Yeah, maybe." She crossed her arms against her chest.
"That must have freaked you out pretty good," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
"I just don't know what we're going to do if he gets worse. My mom doesn't want to put him in a nursing home, but what if I can't handle him?" Holly's voice sounded small. "Crap. Sorry, Jason. You don't need to hear all this." She took a step back from him, and Jason felt the closeness of the last few seconds melt away. "My day's going fine. Thanks for asking," she said, faking a smile.
"That's crap." He reached out for her hand. "Is there something I can do? What if ... well, what if we took him to another favorite place or something? To keep his memory going. Would that help?"
Holly didn't move her hand from his. She gazed out at the passing flood of kids on their way to class. "I'm not asking for any help."
"Then why are you telling me this?" Jason asked.
"I don't know," Holly said, glancing up at him.
Jason smiled. "That's cool, but I'm a guy---if you tell me you have a problem, it's my inherent duty to try to do something about it." He saw something change in her face, her mouth soften.
"Okay." She pulled her hand free from his grasp. "Maybe you're right. We could take him somewhere else on the list."
Jason raised an eyebrow. "There's an actual list?"
Holly unfolded a small piece of notepaper and held it out to him.
Jason quickly read the scrawled handwriting that he guessed had to be her grandpa's. "Sailing. We can do that."
"Yeah. Know anybody with a yacht?" Holly said with a laugh.
"A sailboat and a yacht are two different things," Jason said. "I'll ask my dad if I can take you guys out sometime."
ll ask my ="times new roman">Holly rolled her eyes. "Of course you'd have a sailboat."
"What does that mean?" he asked.
"Just, you know, your family is the type that would own a boat."
"Yeah." The bell sounded for next period.
"I gotta go to class." Her smile was fragile. "Thanks. I just---"
"It's fine," he said, not needing her to go on. "We're cool. Let me put your number in my phone and I'll let you know what I can work out for sailing."
"Just, you know, try me at home, okay?" Holly rattled off her digits.
"Where you headed next? I'll walk you to class," he said, shutting his phone.
"No. It's fine." Sucking in a breath, Holly turned away.
Jason watched her hurry down the hall with the other stragglers. "Idiot," he said aloud, slamming his hand against a locker.
"You still barking up that crooked tree?" said a voice behind him.
"Bite me, Mark." Jason summoned his cool and faced him.
"Hey, just joking..."
Jason didn't say anything. What was there to say to Mark lately, anyway? They moved down the hall toward English, maneuvering easily through the crowd, Mark stopping to stare at a cute sophomore in a particularly short skirt.
When they got to the classroom door, Jason asked, "Why do you give Holly such a hard time?"
"Uh, I think you know."
"It was your party," Jason said, finally saying it out loud.
Mark glared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You keep blaming Holly, but she was just there. She didn't..." He trailed off, watching the anger building in Mark's face. "Forget it, man."
"Yeah. I think that's wise," Mark said. He pushed open the door to their classroom and stormed ahead.
Jason shook his head as he watched Mark go. And what difference did it really make, anyway? It could just as easily have been a party at Rob's house or Dan's or even his own house. Rob got behind the wheel. Jason could still see the image of Rob loading Holly into the car, of him climbing into the driver's seat, anguish all over his face.
They should have done something to stop them from leaving the party. Why couldn't anyone else acknowledge that? He sank into the hard wooden seat in English and tried to focus on the lesson, but his mind was swimming with pos Cminge sibilities and responsibilities and, above all, with Holly.
\*\*\*
You're still reeling from visiting with the old guy. All day, you've been halfheartedly haunting the halls of North Seattle High, keeping tabs on Holly and your friends, wondering if it's weird that suddenly you'd rather be hanging out with somebody's grandpa. But the fact is---he saw you. Aldo acknowledged you existed. You had some beginnings of a conversation, even.
You decide to drop in on the senior center for a few minutes this morning, because that's where Aldo will be. You don't have any problems getting there. That's one nice perk of the whole dead thing. There's no need to take a bus across town---you just think about who you want to be with and you go there. You wonder if that means you could think about famous people or the president or something and you'd go there---but it doesn't work like that. You test it repeatedly and never end up on the White House lawn. It seems that you have to have had a connection in your lifetime. Aldo Santucci is no problem, though.
At the Seattle Senior Day Center, wheelchairs and plush recliners are circled near a bank of windows. The white-haired folks occupying them chat about what's on the lunch menu for the day or argue over a game of checkers, some of them with one eye on the daytime buffet of talk shows blaring on the TV in the corner of the room. One lady is on a laptop. You peer over her shoulder and see she's shopping at Victoria's Secret. Yikes.
You find Aldo in a blue chenille chair, his feet up on an ottoman. He seems distracted by everything going on around him, but after a few seconds he sees you and waves. You smile and move closer to the circle of chairs.
"How're we doing over here? Are you waving at me, Aldo?" Some kind of nurse in a flowery top and navy slacks takes a seat beside Aldo. Her name tag says GINNY. "How're we doing?" she repeats in a louder voice.
Aldo gazes at you, almost like he's looking right through her.
"Buzz off, lady," you mutter under your breath.
"Buzz off," Aldo tells Ginny.
"Excuse me?" The nurse looks taken aback, but then the surprise smoothes itself from her face. "Are you saying you want to be alone? Should I go?"
You giggle. You don't want to blow Aldo's cover, so you move away. If there's a way to disappear from people who can actually see you, you haven't figured it out, since Aldo is the first one.
"Juice?" Aldo has lost track of you and is suddenly distracted by a dude pushing a cart loaded with snacks.
"Sure." The woman gets up from the chair and pats Aldo on the shoulder. "I'll be right back."
You hang out for a while, but you never really get a chance to be alone with Aldo. The place is making you depressed. That many TV court shows are not good for any C goroman">one, and you lose interest in the card games happening at the other end of the room. The online shopper has moved onto QVC. com and is browsing through juicer machines. Aldo conks out in a recliner after lunch, a splotch of tomato soup decorating his clean white shirt, and you finally decide to bail. You'll wait until tonight. You never thought death---or old age, for that matter---would be so lonely.
\*\*\*
Gazing out at Lake Union, Jason basked in the afternoon sun on the bow of the Lucky Lucy. He wanted out on the water, to ride the wind coming from the north. The sailboat rocked gently as another seaplane landed at the Kenmore Air dock across the lake. It was prime time for the planes to circle back to Seattle with their passengers from the San Juan Islands and British Columbia. Since the lake borders the north end of downtown, it was ideal for those flights, and the lake traffic always got bad in the afternoons. Checking his watch one more time, he lay back on the deck, his irritation growing.
Just as Jason was about to give up and go home, Peter Markham pulled up in the marina parking lot, his BMW swirling up a microcloud of dust. Jason got up and started taking off the mainsail cover. By the time he had it folded properly and stowed, his dad was boarding the boat.
"Thought you were standing me up," Jason said.
"Sorry. Got stuck in a meeting." His dad slipped off his leather shoes. "Big client. Trying to build a new mall over on the Eastside."
"Sweet. Aren't enough malls," Jason replied.
Ignoring Jason's comment, Peter went below deck to change.
Jason ran the sheets to make sure they weren't tangled in a pile underfoot. He was used to the ritual of it all. Ever since his dad realized Jason was halfway dependable, he'd had his son rigging the boat, and that meant every line checked to make sure it wasn't fouled. Every knot tied a certain way. Every line properly coiled. Shipshape was no joke on the Lucky Lucy. Still, even with all the work, sailing was something they could do together, one of the few things they shared.
Jason hopped down to untie the spring lines and bowlines as Peter emerged from the cabin dressed in shorts, a polo shirt, and deck shoes, a beer in his hand. "Ready?"
"Yeah. She's ready."
They cast off and motored out of the slip to the open lake. Jason made the familiar trip back and forth to untie and stow the fenders, which kept them from rubbing the dock or other boats in the slip. His dad always said it was bad luck to take them off until they were well out of the marina. Remove them too soon and you were bound to crash into another craft.
"All right. Prepare to hoist," Peter called out.
Jason took off the sail ties and stowed them, then he got on the halyard to hoist the main.
Once they had the mainsail up, his dad Cl ue spring cut the engine. They sailed along for a little while, riding the momentum and a light breeze. Eventually, they brought out the jib, and soon they were headed on a starboard tack, on a long glide across the lake.
Jason rode out on the bow for a while, the breeze blowing through his hair. He never felt as free as he did on the boat, with the wind and water working together and the sun warming his face. Even in foul weather, when Seattle skies were drenching them and the winds whipped up quickly, making the sailing urgent, necessary, he felt at peace. Aside from the terms and gear, sailing was simple, really: you picked a point of destination, trimmed your sails to suit the wind, and let the boat go.
"Ready about?" Peter called out, preparing to tack again.
"Ready." Jason hopped back in the pit and, when his dad gave the signal, released one jib sheet. As Peter turned the helm all the way in the opposite direction, the jib moved to the other side of the boat. Jason pulled in the sheet tightly on the new side, winching it down with a handle. The Lucky Lucy cruised along at a good clip now.
"Dad," Jason said. "Why do you think Mom stopped sailing with us?"
"Where's that coming from?"
"Just wondering," Jason said, stowing the winch handle in the side pocket.
"I'm not really sure."
Jason sat back on the bench, watching his father focus on the telltales hanging listlessly on the jib. The telltales told you how close you were to the wind, and if you could get them to fly horizontally, you were right on course. Any more or less, you should adjust your sails or heading.
"Come in a little bit," Peter said.
Jason grabbed the winch handle and gave it a few turns to tighten the jib sheet. The jib stopped luffing as the sail better contained the wind they were headed into. The telltales twirled happily in the breeze.
"Nice." Peter gave his son an appreciative nod.
Jason put aside the winch handle. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Course. What's on your mind?"
"Still Mom. What's going on with you two? I mean, are you moving back to the house? You know, when you stop splitting your time at the Portland office?"
"I don't know. Things are difficult between us." Peter gave Jason a sympathetic look.
"I just want to know what's going on."
His dad let out a long breath. "The truth, son? Well, I don't know that your mother and I are in love anymore."
That was hard to hear. He hadn't ever imagined that things would sound so over, so Cd sem">
"How does that happen?" Jason asked. "How do you just decide that you don't love someone anymore?"
Peter laughed uncomfortably. "That's a good question. Maybe people aren't who you think they are. Or maybe they just change over the years."
"Mom's not who you thought she was?" Jason said, shielding his eyes against the dying sun.
"No. I mean, it's not that simple." Peter shifted at the helm, reaching for the open beer can in the cup holder. "Let's tack again."
They brought the jib to the other side of the boat, and Peter steered toward Gas Works Park, the landmark that anchors the north end of the lake. "People change. I can't put it more simply than that."
"So, you changed," Jason said.
"We all change." He motioned for Jason to come take the wheel. "I'll always love your mother, but that doesn't mean we belong together."
Peter handed off the helm to Jason and took a seat on one of the benches in the pit. Jason brought the boat around and they headed downwind, jibing on a broad reach. They took their time, sailing in near silence except for commands. When the sun began to dip, Jason headed the boat back toward the dock.
"Dad, do you think we could take some friends out this week?"
"Out on Lucy?" Peter said.
"Yeah," Jason said as they furled the jib. "My friend Holly and her grandpa."
"Maybe. We'll see."
"Dad, it's not a 'we'll see' kind of thing. This dude is old and Holly takes care of him. She'll need a firm plan."
Peter let out a long sigh. "I've got client meetings for the next few afternoons." They lowered the mainsail, flaking it over the boom and fastening it with the sail ties. "This is a really bad week."
He slid the cover over the sail. "This is important. It's not like I'm asking for much, Dad."
Peter started up the engine and motored toward the slip while Jason got out the fenders.
"This girl someone you're trying to impress?" Peter gave Jason a playful smile.
"Seriously. Can you do this for me? Can we just take Holly out on the boat and you'll promise not to be a total nerd?"
"I've never been a nerd," Peter said.
"Right." Jason jumped from the boat to the dock to secure the bowline.
C nee d"I just mean that you can't embarrass me."
"Uh-oh. You've got it bad," Peter said.
"Ha." Jason secured the spring lines that would keep the boat from rocking around in the slip. "She's not my girlfriend or anything. We're friends."
"Not girlfriend material? Well, I guess after Faith she'd have a lot to live up to."
"No. No. It's not like that. Give me a break. She's nothing like Faith. She's just a girl."
"So she's pretty amazing, then," Peter said, fastening the mainsail cover.
"Yeah," Jason admitted. "But she's, um, well---she used to date Rob."
"Oh." Peter slid the hatches into place and locked up the cabin. They grabbed their gear and walked up the dock toward the parking lot. "Listen," Peter said, "don't you think if Rob had his say, he'd let you know he'd rather see Holly happy than miserable over someone who's gone for good?"
"Yeah, maybe. But it's not me who's got the problem about this whole thing."
"So you do like her. All right, how about Tuesday? I promise not to embarrass you," he said, throwing an arm around Jason's shoulders.
"I think that's impossible, but okay. Deal."
Peter unlocked the BMW and hopped inside.
Jason went around to the driver's side of his Audi and looked out toward the dipping sun. The horizon was as vivid as a melted pile of crayons. There wasn't any warmth left in the air, though, and he shivered, watching the sun turn blood red as it sank.
His dad was probably right, that Rob would want them to be happy, so why should he feel guilty for liking her? She was amazing. She cared deeply about other people. She was dependable. She had this laugh, rare these days, that made you want to laugh with her. She wasn't obsessed with her appearance or fancy clothes, and yet she was beautiful. He knew that was one of the things Rob had loved about her.
At least, he thought he remembered Rob saying something like that once. Rob hadn't talked much about Holly. Jason's main impression of Rob and Holly together was of Rob protecting her. Socially. Physically. He'd taken care of her. And in the months before Rob died, Holly seemed to be the only thing that made him happy. Of course, Rob would never have admitted that. He was perfect. Had the perfect life. Perfect family. Perfect future all picked out, when the rest of them had all been flailing about trying to find what the hell they were going to do next---or what they actually wanted to do next, which was sometimes a completely different thing.
The breeze kicked up again, swirling dust in the parking lot, and for a second he imagined what Rob really would say if he was there. He would want Holly to be happy, right? She sure could use a friend. And frankly, so could Jason. Rob couldn't disapprove of him helping her C he.
Peter revved the car, breaking Jason from his thoughts. He started up the Audi and followed his father out of the parking lot, sunset fading in his rearview mirror.
"I'm pretty sure you have to actually bake the batter to make the cupcakes," Marisa said, giving Lena a chiding look.
"But it's good," Lena said as she swiped her finger across the side of the chocolaty bowl.
"Um, why are we doing this again, little one?" Marisa put a hand on her hip, her bracelets jingling. "Tell me."
"Duh! You're supposed to take cupcakes to school on your birthday!" Lena jumped up and down with the wooden spoon held out like a scepter. Batter dotted her cheeks and the front of her jeans. "I'm the birthday girl---do my bidding!" Lena moved toward her with the dirty spoon.
Marisa shrieked as if she thought her new sweater was about to be splattered.
Over at the table, Grandpa Aldo laughed.
"Holly, do something!" Marisa pleaded. I totally knew this wasn't what she had in mind when she'd wanted to hang out tonight, but I was on duty. And Marisa, as always, was enough of a sport to put up with Lena---except when it came to her clothes being destroyed.
"Okay, okay," I said, laughing. "Queen Lena, you go wash your face and hands. Marisa and I will put these in the oven."
"When do we do the frosting and sprinkles?"
"When they're done baking, obviously," Marisa said in an impatient voice, now that the threat of outfit destruction had passed. "You can't frost a raw cupcake."
"How long?" Lena asked.
"Like, twenty minutes," I said. "We'll keep an eye on them."
My sister threw the spoon into the sink, and ran off down the hallway, giggling.
"Can you handle this for a minute?" I asked Marisa, pointing at the half-poured tray of batter.
Marisa sighed and pushed up her sleeves. "Don't you remember the cinnamon roll disaster in eighth grade home ec? I'm so not domestic."
"I know, and that's why I love you," I said. "Come on, Grandpa." I took Aldo's hand.
He rose from the chair and let me lead him into the living room. It wasn't one of his better days, and I wasn't quite sure what to do, but maybe the TV would entertain him for a while. We only had cheap cable, which we were usually a month behind in paying for. I clicked on the set and flipped through the channels, finally settling on a stati F help cable, on that was showing an old Audrey Hepburn movie. "Here, this should be good. Lena will watch it with you, probably."
Aldo settled into the recliner, and I handed him the remote.
Lena was drying her hands in the bathroom, leaving big streaks of chocolate on the sink and the mismatched pink hand towels hanging on the chrome bar. I was tired, so I let her get away with leaving the mess this time. "Watch a movie with Grandpa when you're done, 'kay?"
"Yeah."
When I walked back into the kitchen, Marisa was pouring the last of the batter into the tray's cups. There were flecks of cupcake batter all over the pan.
"How's that?" Her dark brown eyes looked so sincere, I almost giggled. "Did I do it right?" she asked. "I've never baked cupcakes before."
"Pretty good for a first try," I said. I grabbed a paper towel and wet it under the faucet. "Here." Taking the cupcake pan from her, I wiped off all the stray batter blobs.
"What, you can't bake cupcakes with a messy pan?" asked Marisa in a defensive tone.
"The batter cooks onto the pan, and it makes it harder to clean up later."
"Oh."
I slid the cupcakes into the hot oven and set the timer, but I knew that once I started to smell the chocolate smell filling the air, it'd be almost time to take them out. It wasn't the first tray of birthday cupcakes I'd baked for Lena.
Once, Mom had promised to help do it, but she had ended up taking an extra night shift at the grocery store. She'd turned up at breakfast with a tray of day-old cupcakes from the store's bakery and a sheepish smile on her face. Lena had been five then, so she was too little to really care where the cupcakes for her kindergarten class had come from---but she'd missed out on the opportunity to decorate them herself. While Lena had stood there frowning at the already sprinkled cupcakes, I'd grabbed a pack of gummy bears from the snack drawer and we'd spent the next few minutes shoving them into the frosting. I walked Lena and the treats to school that day. She presented the tray of cakes to her teacher, explaining with pride how she'd gummied each one. It was times like that that I really liked my sister. Sure she was a little spoiled in some ways, but she was also just a little kid who wanted people to acknowledge her. I couldn't blame her for that.
Marisa took a seat at the table and reached for her diet pop. "Is your grandpa going to be okay by himself?"
"Yeah, Lena will be out there parked in front of the TV any minute. She's good with him."
"He seems nice. It's a bummer that you have to be in charge, you know?"
I shrugged. "It's just the way it is."
Marisa took a sip of her drink and set Kdri/p> it on the table. "So, tell me what's going on with you and Jason." Her brown eyes sparkled beneath her long, dark lashes. "Is he really taking you sailing?"
"I think he was probably saying that to be nice. Forget I told you about that."
"Uh-uh. No way." Marisa tucked her hand under her chin and leaned forward. "Did you see him after school?"
"No. I had to hurry home to meet Grandpa and Lena."
"Did he call you?"
"Marisa. I'm not interested in Jason that way."
"That's crap. He's great. And you're great. In love with a ghost, but great."
"I'm not in love with a ghost."
"Yes, you are. Geez, I feel like we need to do some kind of exorcism or something to get him out of your mind."
I got up from the table.
"Oh, come on. Don't be pissed." Marisa reached for my hand and pulled me back over. "I wouldn't be your friend if I didn't point stuff like this out to you."
"Right." I glanced toward the living room, listening for Aldo and Lena over Audrey Hepburn's giggling. "I'm just not ready to date someone."
"Jason is not a someone. He's freaking perfect." Marisa gave me a pitying look. "You are so cute together! And have you noticed how he gets all nervous around you? It's adorable."
"He gets nervous?" I sat down in the chair again.
"The other day at the lunch table, he was almost shaking when he sat down with us. That can only mean one thing." Marisa smiled gleefully.
"Yeah, I don't know..."
"You're blind! He's right in front of you hoping you'll notice him."
"I do notice him. I talk to him." The chocolaty smell of the cupcakes perfumed the air. They had about another five minutes, I guessed.
"I know you're scared, but I think you should take a chance," Marisa said.
"I'm not scared." The words felt dry in my mouth.
Marisa shook her head. "You're scared that you'd like him and something would happen to him. When people lose someone they always think the worst. I've seen too many Lifetime movies not to know that."
"Right."
"Or maybe you're worried about his friends. Our old friends."
"They hate me. There's nothing I can do about that."
"You know, I was wondering more about that night. About Rob's accident. About the drinking."
I glanced back toward the living room, not wanting to speak too loudly. "You and I both were drinking. Rob told me he wasn't going to have anything that night, but maybe he had one or two when he was out on the porch with the guys."
Marisa frowned. "I didn't see him drinking at all. Did you?"
"I don't remember." I shut my eyes against the flood of memories. "They did a blood test after the crash. There was a little bit of alcohol in Rob's system." My shoulder tensed up, but I forced myself to breathe. "Why are we talking about this again?"
Marisa put her hand on my arm. "Just that everyone blames you because Rob was driving you home when he went off the road. But Rob wasn't hammered. Probably not even buzzed. Was there something in the road? A dog or something?"
"I don't remember that part," I repeated. "I know we were in a fight that night. And I got a little wasted. Okay, a lot wasted. Then, one minute I was sleeping in the passenger seat and the next we were in the trees and there was blood everywhere." My hands curled into fists beneath the table. I felt my chest constricting, my body heating up.
"You never told me you guys were fighting that night," Marisa said. She scooted her chair closer and put her arm around my shoulders.
"We were fighting a lot then."
"Everything seemed like it was going great. I swear you would have made Homecoming Court."
I gave Marisa a weak smile. "Things weren't going great. He was really quiet toward the end of summer. He was a little off then, you know?"
Marisa chewed her lower lip. "I wanted to ask you before, but it never seemed like you wanted to talk about it."
"Well, sometimes talking about it just makes things worse, you know?"
"Yeah," Marisa said. "But not always."
I got up from the table again and went to check on Lena and Grandpa.
"I'm telling you, though," said Marisa, following me into the living room, "you and Jason would be a great couple. If only you could get over Rob."
The TV was at full volume in the corner, but for once in her short life, Lena wasn't paying any attention to it---she was staring at Grandpa Aldo. Sitting up in the recliner, he was mumbling in Italian. Hands gesturing like he was having a normal conversation. I watched him for a moment, listening to try to pick out a word or two, but the Italian was fast and garbled. His gaze was fixed right in front of him.
"What's the deal?" whis Ke d">"We werpered Marisa. "Who's he talking to?"
Lena got up from the couch and came and stood next to me. "He's been doing this for a few minutes."
The timer sounded.
"Will you and Lena take the cupcakes out? Stick a knife in them and see if it comes out almost clean."
"Huh?" Marisa gave me a funny look.
"Right. You don't bake. I'll be right back. You keep an eye on Grandpa Aldo."
"Sure."
I ran into the kitchen, tested the cupcakes for doneness, and then set them out on the counter on a cooling rack. I switched off the oven and took the frosting I'd made earlier out of the fridge. I laid out spatulas and the sprinkles and got some paper towels ready for the mess to come. Then I walked back into the living room.
Lena and Marisa were on the couch, both watching Aldo with concern.
"He's still doing it?"
"Yep."
I knelt down next to Aldo's chair and took his hand. "Grandpa," I said softly, "are you all right?"
Grandpa Aldo stopped abruptly and turned his head toward me. "Cara mia?"
"Yeah, it's me, Holly."
"The boy," he said. "He was here again."
My heart quickened. I didn't want to hear that. I didn't want to know anything about any boy visiting my grandpa, especially not the one I was afraid he was about to mention. "It's just us," I replied, squeezing his hand, trying to ground him in reality.
Grandpa Aldo shook his head. "He is my friend."
"What is he talking about?" whispered Marisa.
I ignored her, not wanting to take my focus from Aldo. "You're all right. You're here with me and safe," I told him.
"Roberto speaks italiano," my grandfather said.
Goose bumps pricked my skin. "Sure."
"Who's Roberto?" piped up Lena.
"Shhh. Hey, Marisa, can you guys go start on the frosting?"
Lena got up slowly from the couch, all the bounce from the birthday project gone from her step. "Grandpa?" she said, stopping in front of us.
Grandpa Aldo let go of my hand and reached out to touch Lena's K toiv> cheek. He didn't say anything, but he gave her a sweet smile.
Lena smiled back and then went into the kitchen. Marisa, her eyes wide, followed.
"He was here again?" I asked Aldo.
He nodded.
"Is he scary?"
"No."
"Come into the kitchen with us." I helped him up to his feet.
"He is very sad," Grandpa said, his voice barely a whisper.
I felt a chill along the back of my neck. Breathing deeply, I slipped my arm through my grandfather's elbow and took him into the chocolate-scented kitchen. Into the light.
\*\*\*
"Kid, why don't you cross over?" Aldo is mumbling in Italian again, but you can hear his thought perfectly. "It's supposed to be pretty nice in heaven, you know."
You stand in the corner of the kitchen, watching Lena, Holly's kid sister, trying to frost the warm cupcakes. You wish your sense of smell would work, because the kitchen must smell amazing. Frosting is dribbling down the sides of the chocolate treats and pooling underneath the wire cooling rack.
Holly bought that cooling rack at a garage sale she dragged you to during the summer. It was in Greenwood, at a funky duplex. There was a married couple breaking up, and the wife was desperate to sell household things cheap, vowing she'd never bake again. Holly had paid the woman a dollar for the rack, negotiating down from the three-dollar price tag. She'd told you to buy the vintage peacoat hanging at the back of a clothesline, but you couldn't do it. It was just a little too retro for you, even if it was only five dollars. Funny how the little things keep coming to your mind. All the little things and nothing really important.
"Hello, Roberto?" Aldo is waving at you from his place at the table. "Can't you hear me tonight?"
"Hey," you whisper, "you don't have to shout. Keep cool."
"He he." Aldo grins. "You speak italiano very well."
"We're not speaking."
"You know what I mean, Mr. Smarty," Aldo replies. "In my mind, I hear you speaking like a native. Your accent is perfect."
"I think this is freaking them out," you say, pointing at Marisa, Lena, and Holly, who are staring at Aldo again.
"It's the mumbling. I can't help it," Aldo says. "Can't stop most of what I do these days."
"That sucks."
"You can say that again." Aldo lets out a big, loud laugh, and Holly reacts by touching him on the arm. "I say things that don't make sense," Aldo continues. "Can't control my body like I used to. Can't seem to find names to go with faces."
"Grandpa, can I get you a glass of water?" Holly asks, her voice sweet and light, but underneath you can tell she is terrified.
Aldo focuses on Holly. "Sto bene. I'm fine," he tells her in both English and Italian.
Holly rubs her hand on his back. "Grandpa. Stay here with us, okay?"
"My sweet Holly. Such a good girl."
You take a seat on the step stool in the corner. "She is. She was my friend. My girlfriend."
"I figured that out, son," Aldo says giving you a look. "Why else would you be sniffing around here? I'm onto you. I can think clearly right now, with you---it's just with them..."
"Yeah." You and Aldo watch the girls frosting the warm cupcakes. Holly keeps an eye on Aldo, concern in her face. Her lips in a tight line.
You think maybe you should go, but then Aldo says, "So, what's the story, kid? You're some kind of ghost? My Holly thinks I'm a fruitcake for seeing you."
You shrug. "I'm dead. I guess this is ghosthood."
"Don't you watch the movies? You're supposed to go into the light. Everyone knows that," Aldo says with a little smirk.
You can't help but smile. "Yeah---there's no light. There's nothing. You're the first person I've talked to in all this time."
"Sheesh. That's lonely," Aldo says. "Almost like being me and not being able to say what I want or live on my own or do what I used to do. Tell me, have you seen my lovely bride Gloria? She passed a few years ago."
"Dude---Sir. There's nobody."
"Call me Aldo, kid."
"Aldo, it's the weirdest thing. Everything's just the same, but I'm not. I'm helpless," you say, the first really painful sentence you've uttered.
Aldo lets out a sigh of understanding.
The front door opens, and Holly's mother comes in carrying a reusable grocery sack from her work. She sees what's going on in the kitchen and her face falls. "It's your birthday tomorrow, Lena Beena," she says with a sigh.
"Yep!" Leena proudly holds up her frosting-covered spatula. "See?"
"Hi, Mrs. Mullen," says Marisa.
"Hi." Her mom then turns back to Holly. Kck talked to"You didn't have to---"
"It's fine," Holly says, waving her off. "You're home early. I didn't expect you until late."
Mrs. Mullen sets the grocery bag on the counter. "You could have called me at the store. I would have picked up something," she says. "Maybe you could have given me a gentle reminder about Lena?" she adds in a whisper directly to Holly.
Holly doesn't bother pointing out the calendar, on which Lena's birthday is circled in red pen. Your heart swells for Holly. She doesn't deserve this.
"So you do care about my granddaughter," Aldo says, giving a low whistle.
"What's wrong with Grandpa?" Holly's mom moves quickly to Aldo's side. "Papa?"
"He's been mumbling awhile now," says Lena.
"Nice of you guys to fill me in," her mom says, frowning.
"I'm gonna go. I don't want Holly to get in any trouble," you say.
Aldo gives a little wave. "Until we meet again, Roberto."
And you fade out of the room, heading to your old neighborhood, to something familiar, even if it lacks the flicker of warmth you felt in Holly's kitchen.
\*\*\*
The house was quiet. Jason had waited until the last minute to do his world history essay on the Code of Hammurabi and was on-line, immersed in the laws of ancient Sumer. The laws were supposed to protect the weak from the strong, but they had all these parts about slaves. Somehow that didn't quite jibe with the whole equality thing.
He took another swig of soda and leaned back in his chair, glancing out at the shadows deepening on his lawn. The driveway was empty, his mother out on some kind of a girls'-night-out date with her friends from the club. If he'd had a brother or a sister, maybe they'd be hanging out, watching TV or whatever normal families did, but he was an only child. For the longest while, Rob had been like a brother to him---they'd hung out so much that Rob's mother called him her second son.
Was it normal to miss a friend so much? He had no other explanation for Rob being on his mind so often lately. Well, missing Rob and being around Holly. That definitely had him thinking of his best friend. There were so many things to remind him.
He was about to get back to work when he heard a scratching sound. He didn't jump out of his chair, but he was startled. He turned and saw Mark at the window, pointing and laughing.
"Got you good," Mark said, lifting the unlocked window and climbing in.
"Yeah." Jason leaned back to click save on his Word document.
"What? You g K>"Whisot homework, Mr. Honor Student?" Mark said, pulling two light beers from his bag.
Jason took one of the cold cans. "Dude, does your phone not work?"
Mark grinned. "Thought I'd surprise you. Not much happening around here, huh?"
"Not really."
Mark cracked open his beer. "Actually, man, I need a little help."
"You want my help?"
"Um, yeah," he said sheepishly. "So, the thing is, Rob used to always help me edit my English midterm papers. I was going out with that chick Cindy for the last one, but this time I'm on my own."
"Cindy, the girl from Blanchet?"
"Yeah. She was pretty smart."
Jason remembered Cindy. She'd been cute, bright---not Mark's regular type.
Mark lay back on Jason's bed, setting his beer on the night table. "It's due tomorrow."
"I know. I'm done with mine."
"Well, I kinda put it off," Mark said in an exasperated voice. "I suck at grammar, and the last time I trusted the software's grammar check, I got a D. Rob never mentioned it to you, huh?"
"Nope."
Mark said, "Well, that was pretty cool of him, I guess. He was never the type of guy who wanted you to feel like a dumbass. And he was smart as hell."
"Yeah." Jason set the sweating can in his hands onto his desk. The beer made a perfect, wet O on the printed-out picture of Hammurabi's tablet. "He was smart."
Mark sat up and took a swig of his beer. "It's not fair," he said. "I can think of a whole bunch of idiots I'd rather see six feet under than Rob."
"I know, man."
"What you said the other day," Mark said. "About Holly. You don't think she had something to do with it? I mean, there she is just around puke level and Rob has to leave the party early to take her home. If he hadn't been driving her that night..."
Jason held up a hand. "I don't want to talk about Holly. I know you know it's not her fault."
"But if it's not her fault, then it's---"
"Rob's. He was the one who was driving."
Silence fell between them, and Jason turned back to the computer for a moment, to save his document. To do anything other than look at the pain on Mark's face. It was easy for him to blame Mark, in a way. M K, ive ark's party. Mark's connection getting the booze. But he was sure there was more to it. There was more to the whole end of the summer. More that they didn't talk about.
Maybe it was because they'd always seen each other the same way. Mark's job was to be the ass. His job was to be the shy guy. Rob's had been to be the popular guy---the guy everyone else wished they were. It was unspoken but clearly defined. And it was like they all had a stake in pretending that nothing was different if one of them changed. Even with Rob dead, people, including Mark, still saw him as perfect. Maybe it was safer that way.
Mark rolled the can between his palms. "You said---it was my party. That's what you said the other day. You blame me. Admit it."
"Can you just show me your English paper and let's forget this."
Mark's eyes were glassy.
Jason didn't say anything for a moment. "Give me your freaking essay."
Mark grabbed his bag. He held out a few rumpled sheets of paper.
"You bring your laptop?"
Mark shook his head.
"Idiot." He threw his pencil at Mark, who ducked. "All right, let's make some changes on paper, and then you can e-mail me another version later, okay?"
"'Kay." Mark reached for the beer.
"Dude, you've got a paper to finish," Jason said.
Mark took a swig of his beer.
"Idiot," Jason repeated.
"Fine." Mark set the beer back down.
"Let's go work out at the table."
"Thanks, man," Mark said.
Jason led the way out to the perfectly clean kitchen, where a casserole dish of Rosie's baked manicotti stood waiting on the counter. Mark eyed it as they passed.
"Yeah, I could eat, too," Jason said.
Mark gave him a grateful look, and Jason didn't know if it was for the dinner, the company, or the help, but it was the first time he'd glimpsed how Mark used to be a few years ago. Freshman year, he'd thought Mark's jokes were pretty funny, and Mark had seemed less cocky, more normal. They'd all been pretty tight back then.
Jason set down some plates and got out a spatula, scooping out a big helping for each of them.
Mark dug into the pasta. "This is good," he said, around a mouthful of meaty filling.
"Yeah, Rosie's food is decent," Jason said.
He watched Mark devour his dinner, and then the two of them got to work. It was almost like old times. Old times minus Rob. Neither one of them mentioned it.
As Mark took off down the driveway a little while later, edited paper in his bag, Jason felt the emptiness of the house again. The emptiness of everything around him. He reached for his phone and punched in Holly's number---then realized it was after eleven and hung up. She was probably asleep by now if she lived with a little kid and an old guy. He wondered what her life was really like over there---what Holly was really like when no one else was around. He wanted to know her. And he couldn't avoid the truth, that somehow she'd become more than someone to ask for forgiveness, more than someone who'd been on the receiving end of a wrong that needed to be righted.
He crushed the longing down and turned back to Hammurabi's Code. The battle of the weak versus the strong. He didn't know which he was anymore.
The old guy has a point. Where is the freaking light? You wander down the stairs of your house and move out into the cul-de-sac, concentrating hard on lightness, on tunnels of light, on strobe lights, on starlight, on the buzz of the pinkish streetlights above. You think of any light that comes to mind, hoping that this will somehow draw the tunnel closer.
Nothing happens. It's you and an endless maze of suburbia. How freaking clichéd. You should write a punk rock song or something. Actually, you never thought your family was that well off, but the niceness of the house you lived in, of the houses on your street, seems more apparent in the dark. Many of them have fancy lighting systems out front, the ubiquitous security system signs that are supposed to ward off crooks, the shiny new cars in the driveways, and in the backyards the pools and hot tubs surrounded by custom rockery and landscaping, or at the very least cedar decking. You walk by house after house, seeing now the things that make them alike. The sameness is stifling.
A fluffy white cat darts out from behind a green recycling bin, making you jump. If that's what it's called when your non-body reacts and your non-heart races in your non-chest. The bodiless thing---the body with no body thing, that is---has been weirding you out lately. How do you keep sensing and hearing and seeing everything? How are you there but not there? The quantum physics of being a ghost mystifies you for a second. Then you realize the cat is staring at you, her green eyes a flash of reflection.
"Of course, you can see me, right?" you say with a sour laugh.
The cat takes off across the street, ducking into the rhododendron bushes. The street is quiet again, the neighborhood probably absorbed in TV shows and answering e-mails. It's going to be another long night.
You think of Holly's place, and you are suddenly walking outside her stucco building, as far from the houses in Lake Heights as you can get. Aside from a few trees and a small planting bed out in front of it, there is nothing homey about it. This part of Seattle is a commerc Nt="0e roial zone---a neighborhood of apartment buildings that hug busy roads not far from the high school. A minimart's bright lights cut into the gloom at one end of the block, and at the other end, a small strip mall with a nail salon, a Thai restaurant that once gave you and Holly food poisoning, and a check-cashing place with a flashing neon green Open sign. If you could smell anything, you'd get hints of burnt garlic and fish sauce in the air from the Thai place, along with the cigarette smoke coming from the two greasy-looking white dudes hanging out on the bench in front of the minimart. Tweakers, probably. Holly has never liked the neighborhood, but she's good like that, putting up with stuff way more than you would.
Inside the minimart, the owner is watching an Ultimate Fighting match and scanning the classifieds for a used car for under $1, 000. At the back of the store there's a gray-haired white lady wearing a pink cardigan over a green house dress. She's reading the soup labels one by one, turning each can and facing it ingredients-out so she can compare them. A young black kid is counting the coins in his pockets at the counter, trying to give exact change for the half gallon of milk he's picked out.
You stand there, whispering to the boy, "one more dime," even though you know he can't hear you. You ease over and point at the third shelf of canned soups, trying to help the old lady find the split pea soup without MSG that she's mumbling about. You are the angel on the shoulder of the store owner, willing him to flip to the foreign section, where you're sure he can find a beater Toyota to fix up. You look up at the closed-circuit television security monitor, hoping to see yourself---but you're not there.
The front door swings open and the two greasy dudes roll into the minimart. One goes back to the beer case. He loads up his arms with a case of Budweiser. The other guy stands at the counter and watches the kid leave with the milk carton, carrying it like he's cuddling a baby.
And then you see the gun.
You are helpless to stop what's happening. You watch the guy pull the weapon on the store owner and demand he hand over all the cash in the drawer.
"Dios Mio!" says the owner, backing away, his hands in the air. "Don't shoot!"
The old lady screams, and the guy with the beer comes up to her and pushes her over, into the cans of soup. She stays down on the floor wimpering at his feet. Meanwhile, the pasty white guy at the counter starts to pistol-whip the owner. There is blood.
You think of Aldo. You zoom to his room, which used to be Holly's.
"Dial 9-1-1," you tell Aldo, who's sitting in a chair near the bed, dressed in his pajamas. "Please. It's an emergency, Aldo." Frantically, you point at the pink telephone on the nightstand.
Aldo covers his ears with his hands. "You mind speaking softer, kid?"
"Sorry, there's an emergency. We need to tell the police there is a robbery in progress at the minimart on fifteenth Northeast and Chester," you say. "They need to send an ambulance. Pick up the phone!"
< Seig at the m/div>
Aldo's brows knot in worry. "I want to help, but I---I'm not sure I can do it. With you I can talk so easily. Not with others."
"You have to try. Please. Remember the day you repeated what I said to the lady at the senior center? Buzz off? Can't you try to do that again? I'll just say stuff and you copy it."
"All right." Aldo is shaky. He picks up the receiver and hits the numbers slowly, as carefully as he can, and you can tell he is concentrating. Nine. One. One.
"What's your emergency?" you hear a woman's voice say loudly through the earpiece.
"There's been a robbery. We need the police," you coach.
Aldo takes a deep breath. "It's a robbery," he says in a grumbly voice. "Send the polizia." He's talking so slowly---he's concentrating on each word, focusing on saying it so the dispatcher will understand.
You worry that the store owner will be dead by the time he gets the sentences out. "Focus, Aldo. Tell them it's the minimart on Chester and fifteenth Northeast. They need an ambulance."
Aldo looks into my eyes. Connecting. "Minimart on Chester and fifteenth Northeast. Send an ambulance," he carefully repeats. Then he hangs up and stares at you with wide eyes, his cheeks flushed.
"Good job. Thank you, Aldo," you say.
"You think they understood me?"
"I hope so. It was bad. Really bad." You ball your fists, thinking of the store owner bleeding from his ear, face-down on the floor behind the counter. You focus on the blood, and it makes you remember the pain of slamming through the windshield and then the nothingness of letting go of your body. You think that pain unexpected or unforeseen hurts much worse than pain you expect.
"That was the right thing to do. You're a good kid." Aldo's voice rouses you out of the memory.
You remember you're safely dead. Nothing can hurt you now---at least, you don't think it can. "Thanks," you manage.
You both breathe deeply as the tense seconds pass. Then, at last, there are sirens.
"You did it."
Aldo moves slowly to the window, opening the blinds and peering out. After a minute, he comes away. "We did it." He allows himself a long exhale and settles back into his chair.
You nod at Aldo, knowing you both did good. You spoke, he repeated, the message got through.
"What? You got more to say?" Aldo asks, picking up on your thoughts.
"No. I mean, I don't know. Do you think that's why I'm st S's divill hanging around? There's some kind of message I'm supposed to get across?"
"Maybe unfinished business?"
"I don't know." You cross your arms and walk to the window. The red and blue patrol-car lights flicker through the blinds, washing the room in color. "This dead stuff is really frustrating."
"You want to talk about it?" offers Aldo. "I'm a good listener, and I have nothing else to do, really. Sure, the girls will come in to tuck me into bed after a while, but until then, I'm all yours."
The back of your neck, or what used to be there, prickles. If your hair could stand on end, it would. You don't know if that's because this is all meant to be or if it's because you're going against whatever rules exist.
"What rules?" asks Aldo. "There's me and you and no tunnel of light."
You sense there is some kind of opportunity here, but noticing the old guy's tired face, the slump of his posture, you say, "I'd better go check on the minimart people."
"Sure, go rattle some chains somewhere," Aldo says.
As you fade, you can't miss the sadness in his eyes. It haunts you.
\*\*\*
On Tuesday afternoon, Jason waited on the marina's dock. Minutes were ticking by, and still no Holly---and no Dad. He'd promised to get there early, to help Jason rig everything so it would be all ready for the sail. But, then again, that's how his promises were sometimes. Spoken wholeheartedly, delivered half-assed.
Jason's spirits lifted when he saw Holly, her grandpa, and her little sister, Lena, walking across the parking lot of the marina. Holly had seemed excited when he'd caught her in chemistry that morning to tell her they were on for the sail, but he kind of expected her to bail at the last second. He should have known that wasn't like her.
"Hey there." Jason opened the gate and let his three guests through. "The Lucky Lucy is this way."
Holly lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun. "Sorry we're late. We took the bus."
"Geez. I didn't think---I should have picked you up."
"No worries," Holly said.
"Hi. You really have a boat?" asked Lena. A younger, smaller version of Holly, except with much darker hair, she skipped behind them on the dock.
"Yep, and I'll teach you a little about sailing it," he said. "Hi there, Grandpa Aldo, how are you?"
The old man looked at Jason as if he heard him, but he didn't respond. His wrinkled face didn't show any expression.
S"0e>
"Grandpa had a rough night," said Holly. "His window faces the street, and there was a robbery at the minimart last night. Lots of police."
"There were loud sirens," added Lena.
"Oh, that sucks," Jason said.
"Tell me about it," Holly said. "The store owner's in the hospital."
They got to the Lucky Lucy, and Jason threw his backpack aboard and unclipped the lifeline gate on the side of the boat to let everyone up. As they climbed aboard, he noticed Holly and Lena's tennis shoes. They would work, but Grandpa Aldo's black loafers would probably mark up the deck. That meant extra scrubbing to remove scuff marks later, but he let it go. Grandpa Aldo had the hardest time boarding the boat. He climbed up the short wooden stepladder and then took Jason's hands to help him the rest of the way.
"Here, have a seat, guys."
Grandpa, Lena, and Holly settled on one bench seat in the pit. Jason unlocked and stowed the hatches and retrieved some cushions from the cabin for everyone. They all got comfortable while Jason readied the boat, running the lines. He tried not to freak that his dad still wasn't there yet. He checked the phone in his back pocket again, but there were no missed calls. Well, that was just great. Jason never took the Lucky Lucy out alone, so they were stuck.
"Are we ready to go now?" chirped Lena.
"Um ... no. We need to wait a little bit---my dad's coming out with us. It's his boat," he explained.
"Grandpa, how do you like the Lucky Lucy?" asked Holly.
Aldo glanced over at her and adjusted the gray cap on his head. "Nice."
Jason smiled at Grandpa Aldo, who now seemed much more alert than he had a few minutes ago. "You used to sail, right?"
His face brightened. "Yes. I sailed."
"It's on your list, Grandpa," Holly said quietly.
"Yes, cara mia." He leaned back on the bench, letting out a long, contented sigh. His eyes closed, and he seemed to be enjoying the feel of the breeze against his cheeks. "Ah, the wind," he murmured. "So nice."
"Coming out of the northwest," Jason said.
"Are we going to see some fish?" Lena popped out of her seat and leaned toward the starboard side of the boat. "Because it's my birthday, and I'd really like to see some fish."
"More like geese. Tons of geese," he said. "Maybe some ducks, too."
Holly sat with her hands in her lap. "Should we get some life jackets?"
S="0">
"Yeah, we'll get them out as soon as my dad shows," he said.
"Cool."
Time ticked by, and the four of them sat there, making small talk. Jason tried his dad's cell number again, but he didn't pick up. "Crap," he said. "I'm sorry. I don't know what my dad's deal is."
Holly gave him an uncertain look. "Well, maybe we could do this another day?"
The wind picked up, and Aldo opened his eyes. "So nice, this evening," he said. "Thank you."
Holly patted Aldo on the back. "You want to go home?"
"No, no." Aldo waved her off.
"I'm hungry," said Lena, whispering loudly to Holly.
Holly bit her lower lip and said, "Jason, my sister's got the appetite of a linebacker. I forgot to bring any granola bars." She glanced toward the marina parking lot and the bus stop beyond.
"Oh," Jason said. "Um ... wait. Maybe there's something in the galley. Stay right here." He went below deck and rummaged around in the small refrigerator unit. Some cans of ginger ale. Salami. A block of cheddar cheese. A container of olives. He set them out on the counter and then found crackers and some corn chips in the pantry cabinet. He grabbed a knife and some plastic plates.
When he came back up on deck, Lena squealed with delight. He set everything out on one end of a bench and started cutting slices of cheese and salami.
"Yay!" Lena said, biting into some of the snack. "Thanks, Jason. I like your cooking."
He laughed. "It's just crackers." Jason held them out to Aldo, who took one of the thick slices of salami and chewed thoughtfully.
As he turned to offer some to Holly, she gave him a grateful smile. A smile that made him suddenly self-conscious, awkward. She selected a cracker and a piece of cheese.
"This is fun," said Lena. "It's like a picnic on a boat."
"Yeah. This is good," Holly said.
Jason stacked cheese and meat on a cracker and sat down next to Holly. "Really? It's kind of lame not being able to go anywhere," he said.
"Look at the smile on my grandpa's face," she whispered to him.
It was all he could do not to lean into Holly, and as she moved away from his ear, he smelled her shampoo, something flowery and fresh. "Yeah, he seems pretty happy," he mumbled.
The old guy had pushed up the sleeves of his lightweight jacket and was reaching for another slice of salami. There was pure contentment in his Stmet="0em">
"I'm serious. This is really good," Holly repeated.
"It's not sailing, though," Jason said. "I'll have to make it up to you another time."
"Your dad might still show," Holly said, giving him an encouraging smile.
Jason shook his head. "It's nearly six thirty now. If he did show up, he'd claim there wasn't enough time for a decent sail anyway. He's probably got a dinner date or something."
"Oh. Aren't your parents still together?"
He chewed the inside of his lip. "Nah. Doesn't seem like it---anymore."
She set down her plate of crackers. "Sorry. That's tough. We went through that a couple of times with Mom."
"Your dad's not around?" Jason asked quietly.
She shook her head. "Lena's either. Mom's been a bit unlucky that way."
Jason watched the breeze blow a few strands of Holly's hair across her cheeks. Her eyes were doing that reflecting thing again, this time picking up the deep green color of the lake, the blue of her jacket.
"You ever hear from him?"
"Nope."
"I think my parents are going to get divorced," he said. "The two of them don't even talk anymore, except about me."
"I'm sorry, Jason. That really sucks."
"You doing okay with Aldo?" Jason asked, remembering that for all the minor crap he was going through, Holly had it ten times worse.
She glanced at her grandpa, who still seemed to be listening to Lena's very animated story. "He's seeing stuff again. He's really convinced that he sees that boy named Roberto. Do you think that's possible? Do you think that Rob's spirit would be hanging around? That an old guy who is losing it would be able to see him? Does that make any freaking sense?"
"Is it weird if I tell you that I feel him around me sometimes?" Jason said in a low voice. "I think of him a lot." He didn't want to say that he knew she had something to do with it, but that was the rest of the truth.
"I don't really believe in ghosts. I mean, I never did before."
"Before Rob?" Jason asked.
"Yeah. He was the first person our age I knew who died."
"Me, too. I never really had anyone die---you know, except for my great-grandpa when I was little."
"It's weird thinking that one minute you could be here and the next you vanish forever," Holly said. She gazed out at the lake, where the wind was kicking up small whitecaps. "Where do you go?"
"Don't you believe in heaven?"
"Maybe. But what happens to all the energy in your body? Your life force or whatever. You think it just evaporates into nothing?"
"Nah." Jason let out a long exhale. "So, maybe there are ghosts."
"And my sweet old grandpa sees ours."
"You don't know that for sure," Jason said. "Just because he calls him Roberto doesn't mean it's our Rob."
Holly's eyes were clear, steadily meeting his. "Yeah. But if he is, I don't think I could handle that."
"You still miss him a lot."
"Yeah. I don't ever want to forget him, but people say that dwelling on the past doesn't exactly make anyone happy. Well, maybe my grandpa." She played with the hem of her jacket. "But maybe I let the past get in the way."
Exactly. Jason's mind vibrated with the word, but he kept his mouth shut. Getting in the way was exactly how he saw the real or imagined ghost of Rob right now. Rob was keeping Holly tied to the past, and he had too much of Jason's present. "So, how do you let go?"
Holly leaned back against the hard bench of the Lucky Lucy. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe I can't."
"Or maybe you're just not ready." Jason's voice trailed off into the wind, but he knew from Holly's nod that she'd heard him.
\*\*\*
"Where were you?" Mom popped up from the bench in front of the building as we piled out of Jason's car. She was dressed in her grocery store uniform of a green polo and khakis, her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. She smelled like cigarette smoke, so I figured she'd been down there waiting. She never smoked in the house or around us. In fact, she claimed she was trying to quit.
I tried a calm smile. "Hey, Mom."
"It's nearly seven."
"Yeah, I know," I said. "I told you we might go somewhere this afternoon." Jason's dad had never shown, but the time on the boat was great. Grandpa was still smiling. It had been totally worth it. I turned to my sister, who was shifting impatiently on the sidewalk like she needed to pee. "Hey, why don't you take Grandpa inside?"
Lena took my keys, and she and Grandpa started off down the path.
Mom's mouth was set in a hard line. "Holiday, there was no note and your phone was off." S of as we p
I nodded, stinging from Mom using my full name and conscious of Jason standing next to me. Mom knew that I almost never had the phone on, since our minutes were only for emergencies. "I didn't expect you home before us," I said, keeping my tone even. "You always go straight to the store after the dealership on Tuesdays."
"I traded for a later shift so we could all have dinner together tonight. I was going to make homemade macaroni and cheese." She leaned in closer. "You know, since I screwed up Lena's b-day."
I took a breath. "You could still make it. We didn't really have dinner," I said.
"Um, should I go?" Jason was still standing beside the car, his keys in his hand.
"Sorry---Mom, this is Jason Markham. He was, um ... friends with Rob, remember?"
She shook his hand but gave him a hard look. "You were driving the girls around?"
"Just home from the marina," Jason said.
"Marina? What marina?" Mom crossed her arms against her chest. "What were you out doing?"
I tried to remain calm. I couldn't believe Mom was suddenly going to play the all-American mother and be overprotective. It'd been years since I checked in with her about anything to do with me or Lena. "Mom, Jason's family has a boat. He was going to take us out with Grandpa."
"And you didn't think it was important to let me know? Lena doesn't even know how to swim."
"Mom, we were fine. We didn't even move from the dock, all right?"
"That's true," said Jason. "My dad was supposed to sail with us, but he didn't show, so we didn't leave the slip."
Mom reached out to give me an awkward hug. "You girls are the world to me," she whispered. She didn't make apologies, so I knew that was about as much as she was going to offer.
I pulled away, very aware that Mom was making a huge scene and Jason was watching it all. I smoothed the upturned cuff of her polo shirt's sleeve. "So, are you going to make some mac and cheese? Lena would love that."
Mom's lower lip quivered. "We're out of cheddar cheese and the minimart's closed. The car's acting up, so I was going to take a bus down to Price Chopper, but now I don't think there's time."
I glanced over my shoulder at Jason. "Jason, can you run me to the store?"
"Yeah, of course." I grabbed Mom's handbag from the bench and fished out a ten-dollar bill. "We need anything else?" I asked, handing the purse to her.
"Not for the macaroni." Mom gave Jason a grateful look. "Be quick," she said to me.
"Yeah. You start boiling the pasta."
My mother headed into the building, and I climbed back into Jason's car. I must have been shivering, because he turned on the heat full blast as we pulled away.
"Sorry," I said, sinking deep into the leather seat.
"About what?"
"About that whole thing with my mom. She gets kind of weird sometimes."
Jason paused, then he glanced over at me with a small smile. "Seemed pretty normal to me. She was worried about you guys."
"Yeah."
"She really seems to depend on you."
I was glad that he didn't elaborate. Depending on someone was one thing, but what about when that dependence got old? I mean, seriously. Was it like she couldn't trust me to make a decision now? After all this time of me running things, she was going to pretend that she was the one in charge? The more I thought about her freak-out, the angrier I got.
Jason pulled up into a parking spot in front of the grocery store and cut the engine. I didn't ask him to come in with me, but he did, picking up one of the black plastic baskets and following me to the dairy case. He didn't say anything. He just stood beside me, watching me hesitate and then finally choose the big block of cheese that was on sale. He held out the basket, and I plopped the cheddar into it. Then I selected another quart of milk, since I knew that the minute she started making the sauce, Mom would discover that we were almost out.
At the checkout, I found a ninety-nine-cent pack of butterscotch candies for Grandpa and threw them onto the conveyor belt with the cheese. The man handed me the change while Jason scooped up the bag of groceries. He set the sack in the back seat, and then we drove off toward my place.
And it was all about the most perfect thing Jason could do---just to be with me and help me handle things.
"Thanks for doing this."
"It's no big deal," he replied.
I closed my eyes.
"You tired?" he asked.
"I think I was born tired." I sat up straighter in my seat. "But no, I'm fine."
"There you go again," Jason said, turning on his blinker for the right turn onto my street.
"There I go what?"
"It's okay to be tired. It's okay to be however you are," he said. "Don't pretend on my account."
I bit my lower lip. "I'm not p Sp. t prretending," I said.
"You know what I mean."
I studied him in the wash of the streetlights as he drove. Noticing his strong chin, his full lips, his eyes fully concentrating on the road ahead. "Why do you keep saying that stuff, Jason? You talk like you see through some kind of act I'm putting on or something."
"That's because I do." Jason pulled up in front of my building and cut the engine. "And something about you makes me want to tell you that I do."
"Something about me," I repeated. My skin prickled with little goose bumps. It wasn't fear---it was nervousness.
"I see you working so hard to be strong. So hard to keep everything together. To not fall apart. But that's not your job."
My throat tightened. "I have to keep things together," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. If I didn't keep things together, nobody would. That was the truth I didn't want to tell him. "I have to."
"Not around me," Jason said. "You don't have to be strong around me."
I closed my eyes, not wanting to hear what he was saying. But then I felt his hand on my cheek, holding the side of my face. I opened my eyes to find him gazing at me, his eyes so sincere. My breathing quickened, and suddenly I felt very warm, like I needed some air. Maybe I was having some kind of a panic attack. Almost everything in me wanted to run. My fingers reached for the door handle, but I didn't pull it open.
His strong hand still cradled my cheek. I felt my body fighting to relax into it. But I knew that if I let myself fall into him, if I let myself move even a fraction of an inch toward him, I was going to let him hold me. I couldn't let him do that.
He looked down at my left hand, which was gripping the edge of the seat so tightly, my knuckles were white. I forced my fingers to release their grasp on the seat, and the others on the door handle. He rubbed his thumb across my chin and then moved his hand away.
My eyes felt wet. "I should get this stuff upstairs," I said, my voice all cloggy. And then I did something that surprised me---and probably Jason. I leaned across the seat and kissed him very gently on the lips.
When I pulled away, I couldn't look over at him again. I just reached back and grabbed the grocery sack and got out of the car as fast as I could. I tripped my way up the path and punched the apartment number on the call box so my mother could buzz me in.
I didn't glance back, but I know he waited until he saw me get inside, because I heard the car drive off down the street. Huddled against the row of mailboxes in the lobby, I waited for the stupid, broken-down elevator to hurry up and come. Wiping my tears away on the sleeves of my hoodie. Trying to breathe. I didn't want to be a mess when I got upstairs with the cheese.
I didn't want anyone to know what I'd done. Or what I'd felt.
\*\*\*
It's going to be a long day in the afterlife without Aldo to talk to---but the night before really freaked the both of you out. You never thought you'd team up with an old guy to be a crime stopper. For half a second you think maybe that's the reason you're stuck on Earth---to save that clerk's life. But no. There wasn't a blinding light calling you to anywhere else. You're still here enduring another day with the living.
Today you follow your dad to the office and waste time hanging out while he reviews investment portfolios. It's so boring that you can't blame yourself for never having wanted to go into finance. Next you spend a few hours watching your little sister at her elementary school, where they were rehearsing for the second grade play. She makes a cute butterfly, even if she can't remember the lines. You're pretty sure she has a boyfriend in her class---a tall Korean kid who keeps telling awful jokes from a tattered paperback he carries around in his backpack.
Curious, you sneak around Harborview Medical Center, where they took the minimart store owner. He's out of intensive care, but he's still hooked to monitors. You sit with him and read the cards attached to the flower arrangements in his room. Some of the bouquets were sent anonymously, from people who read about the robbery and beating in the newspaper or online. The man's name is Marty Rodriguez. Funny, he didn't look like a Marty when you saw him last night. You try to read his medical chart but find out that eavesdropping at the nurses' station is a lot easier. He's got minor brain injuries, a broken nose and jaw. Subdermal hematomas. Whatever those are. You never wanted to go to medical school either.
Back at your house, your mother is having a hard day. She's been sitting in your room for a long while. You notice that nothing's changed about it since you died. Your books and sports trophies line the shelves. Your laptop is still plugged in on the desk, powering up as if you'd come back any moment to claim it. The same sheets and comforter are on the bed. Your shoes wait near the door for feet that never come.
Your mom slides open the closet door and finds your letterman's jacket from basketball that says DUNWORTHY in big letters across the back. She slips it on for a while and stands in front of the mirror. Tears well in her eyes, but she tries to focus on the jacket. It's big on her; the sleeves hang way down past her fingers.
You put your arm around her, and in the reflection, it looks real, like you're actually touching. "Don't cry," you say, feeling like your heart is about to crush to dust in your chest.
She glances behind her, as if she's heard your message, felt your arm around her shoulders. But then she seems to shake off the feeling. She sucks in a breath and then reverently places the jacket back on the hanger. Back in her room, she crawls into bed.
You don't feel like it's an intrusion to stay and watch over her, so you take a seat in the corner of the room, in the chair where your mom likes to read mystery novels. She sleeps for a couple of hours and then suddenly sits up, realizing it's late afternoon. She bolts from bed, brushing her teeth, wiping away any signs of smeared makeup from cryi Seupes openng, smoothing her long, brown hair into a quick bun.
Now she's a whirlwind in the kitchen. You perch on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, watching her mash together ingredients for turkey meatloaf and then bake some cookies from frozen dough. She fills the time until Kayla gets home watching some lame talk show, flipping through some decorating magazines. She gets your sister a snack, asks her how her day was. And the Mom you saw, the one that you watched cry, has completely vanished into thin air. This is the Mom you always knew---the Mom who smoothed away the rough edges.
Your father is late coming home, but your mom puts on a smile and the family sits down to eat. You take your place at the north end of the table.
Dad takes a bite of the mashed potatoes first. He pauses in chewing, then swallows. "You put roasted garlic in them," he says, wiping his mouth. "You haven't done that in a while."
"Yeah. I was thinking of Rob," she replies. "He was on my mind all afternoon. When I got to the potatoes, I couldn't help but make his favorite."
Your dad sets down his fork. "Come on. I can't take this, Karen. Not after the long day I've had."
"It's only potatoes."
Kayla takes a long drink of milk. "I miss Rob," she says.
"I know, honey." Your dad starts eating again, forcing bite after bite until his plate is clean.
After the table is cleared, you join him in the den, where he's relaxing alone with whisky and an Adam Sandler movie.
I'm still here, Dad, you whisper as you float down next to him on the couch.
Your dad cuddles into the fleece blanket around him and clicks the volume up a notch on the movie. His gaze drifts to the wall of family photos. Every Christmas except last year's is recorded in living color and preserved in a perfect gold frame. Looking like he's about to lose it, your dad takes a slug of his drink. He stares down into the brown-tinted ice cubes, rattling the near-empty glass.
I'm here. Cut it out already!
Exasperated, you think of Aldo and you're transported to Holly's kitchen.
Mrs. Mullen is serving up a batch of gooey-looking macaroni and nervously checking her watch. Holly, her eyes red rimmed, is at the head of the table, doling out peas to Grandpa Aldo and Lena. Instinctively, you walk toward your love, wishing there was something you could do to cure the sadness you see in her face.
"Roberto," says Aldo, giving you a wave at the other end of the table. "Welcome."
Mrs. Mullen seems alarmed at Aldo's sudden murmuring.
"Shhh," you say. "Cool it with the vocals." S th.
"You know I can't help it," Aldo replies. "I'm glad to see you. Does this mean you want to talk about why you're here?"
Holly doesn't look at her grandpa. She's pushing mac and cheese around on her plate, mixing the elbows with peas, one by one.
You swallow back the anger rising inside you. "I can't take this anymore," you say. "I can't take hanging around and seeing everyone I love so miserable."
"Oh, Roberto," Aldo says. He puts his napkin on the side of the plate and stands up from the table, startling everyone. "Please, come with me."
"What's wrong?" Holly raises her head. "Grandpa?"
"You finished, Papa?" asks Mrs. Mullen.
Aldo shuffles off down the hall, motioning for you to follow.
And you think, just maybe, you've found your spirit guide at last.
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Aldo perches on the edge of the bed and waves his hand toward the empty seat at the desk. "Please, my friend," he says. "Make yourself at home."
You move into the space of the chair. It's wire, with a pink cushion, part of a two-piece set Holly had probably picked up at a yard sale. You remember how uncomfortable it is, even if you can't feel it now. Above the desk is a bulletin board, painted pink, but now stripped of all Holly's photos.
"You seem very upset," Aldo says. He runs a hand over his stubbly chin and studies you. His eyes are the color of the Mediterranean, blue-blue like Holly's. "What's happened?"
Your frustration threatens to boil over, so you first take a deep breath. "It's everything," you say. "My mom. Dad. Holly. I don't think I can take this anymore. I mean, what is the point of being dead if I'm stuck here with all of these people."
Aldo chuckles. "Most people would want to see their famiglia," he said.
"No, I mean, I want to see them," you reply. "It's just that they're hurting and there's nothing I can do. And I'm pretty sure I'm part of the reason they're hurting..."
The old guy lets out a low whistle. It's clear sounding in your mind, but physically, he's barely able to purse his lips. "Losing a kid would do that."
"I thought," you say, "that when you die it all goes away, you know? That you float off into a blissful place."
"Oh, rainbows and ice cream sundaes for everyone?" Aldo's eyes crinkle in the corners as he smiles. "That would be nice, wouldn't it?"
"I guess I was saying I expected heaven."< Vight=/font>
"You believe in heaven?" Aldo asks. "I didn't know that you young ones did anymore. Not that I did when I was your age---well, except maybe at confession. Aside from that, we didn't think about heaven, we just hoped we didn't end up in the other place." He manages a sloppy wink.
You can't bring yourself to smile. "All I know is that there's no freaking light, Aldo. All of these days of mine go by and no light is anywhere. There's no end in sight."
"No angel descending in a chariot to pick you up, Roberto?"
"Exactly." You fold your arms.
"Then, perhaps you have work to do. Isn't that the common wisdom? You're a ghost, and ghosts have unfinished business."
You chew your bottom lip. "Yeah. You said that the other night..."
There's a knock on the door. "Papa? I'm leaving for work now," Holly's mom, Julia, says, coming in.
"Good night," he mumbles.
She walks over to the edge of the bed and kisses her father on the head. "I'm going to make an appointment with Dr. Wells this week. I want you to get a check-up."
"All right." Aldo manages a weak smile, which she repays by looking away, her eyes full of tears. She moves to the door and closes it behind her.
And it hits you---as much as you need Aldo's help, he's not even fully able to speak for himself. Sometimes, when he zones out, he can't talk to his family any more than you can.
He gives you a pained look, reading your thoughts again. "I'm sorry, where were we?"
"Uh ... we were talking about unfinished stuff. How I'm going to cross over?"
"To the land of rainbows and ice cream sundaes?"
"Yeah."
"Hey! That's a first," Aldo says, lifting a shaky finger to point at your quirked mouth. "It's nice to see you do that."
"I've smiled before," you protest.
"Not at me, kid. You've been so glum since you arrived, you're lucky I didn't think you were an evil spirit."
"Ha, like I'd ever be evil."
"Really," he says, waving off your skepticism. "People where I grew up still believe in them. Family curses, the Evil Eye---we call it the malocchio. Ghosts. We've got them all."
"Well, you're right to believe in ghosts. I am a guy that just died."
"You're just a boy," says Aldo, raising his eyebrows.
"A man. I would have turned eighteen in December."
Aldo shrugs. "Too young, anyway."
Neither of you says anything for a moment, both absorbed by the thought. You are too young. You know that. And probably to Aldo, it seems a waste to die so young. Was it? You're not sure.
Aldo's eyes close, as if he's on the edge of drifting off. His breathing steadies.
"So, what do you think?" you ask. "Could you help me?"
The old guy opens his eyes and studies you. "Eh ... sure, but what am I supposed to do?"
"I have no idea."
"You are a very honest boy," Aldo says, and you feel your heart constrict a little. Honest? You know in your soul that's not quite true.
Aldo scoots up so he can sit against the headboard of the bed, swinging his legs up onto the covers. He unbuttons the lower buttons of his cardigan sweater, letting his belly kind of pooch out. "Roberto. Roberto, the ghost," he says, as if he's thinking it over.
"So, how do we get started? What do we do first?"
"I have no idea, kid," Aldo says. "Let's talk some more and maybe we'll figure it out together."
Yeah, it's not like you have any better ideas. And you have this feeling that you were meant to find each other---that he really is the key to helping you get out of this living hell on Earth. You can't lean back in your chair, but you let your ghostly posture slump, relax a little.
"So, you grew up in Italy, huh?"
Aldo nods, and pleasure takes over his voice as he unwinds a story and the minutes tick-tick away.
\*\*\*
One of the things I hated the most about my school was that they were always trying to figure out your future. Pin down your plans in black and white. The counselors were nice, but I often got the feeling that it wasn't really about the kids---that maybe it was so the listing they do when you graduate would have a higher number of kids moving on to higher education, more than those going into the military or who have no plans at all or who dropped out to have a baby or because they've gone to rehab.
I hadn't been in the counseling center, as they called it, in months, but apparently that Wednesday my number was up. It was time to put me under the microscope. Maybe about college. Maybe about how I had quit the grief support group. I sure wasn't thinking about any of that. I was just reliving that awkward kiss in Jason's car over and over in my head like it was a video clip and I was seeing it outside of myself, from a distance.
[e.
"I'm just so surprised that you have no college plans mapped out, Holly. It's late in the year," Mr. Croft, the youngest of the three school counselors, said while flipping through the manila folder on his desk. HOLIDAY MULLEN was typed on a round-edged white label that'd been pasted over someone else's name, someone long gone. Maybe a few someones, judging by the thickness of the layers of labels.
"Hmm ... you haven't applied anywhere..." It was a question and yet not a question the way he said it. Behind his round glasses, his eyes were steady on me, his expression concerned.
I didn't get how people could just put that on---just care in an instant like that about some kid like me who they barely knew. Since he'd been hired this school year, I'd only met with him twice. Once after the accident. Once to have him tell me that I should sign up for the grief group.
"You want to go to college, don't you?" This time it really was a question. He smiled gently, the first smile he'd given me since I'd come into the office. "According to your file, that seems to be your plan, based on the classes you've taken the last few years."
I wanted to tell him that I'd do anything to get out of town, to go to some esteemed college on the East Coast, maybe somewhere Ivy League. But there was no way. No way to afford it, no way to leave everyone at home. And what would I do there, anyway?
"Your grades had been good," Mr. Croft continued. "At the end of last year you were in the top ten percent of your class."
"I know." I looked at Mr. Croft's clean hand clutching his silver pen. His nails were short, clipped, and his watch was silver. For a school employee, he seemed like he was doing pretty well. "Where did you go to college?" I asked.
He cleared his throat. "I went to Stanford."
And you're working here, at a high school? I finished the thought for the both of us silently. "You know, Mr. Croft---realistically, I'm going to have to work for a while between high school and college," I said. "Maybe get a few classes out of the way at the community college. I probably should have been taking some of those through the advanced program this year."
"I don't see how you could have managed those, Holly." He didn't have to explain why he thought that. I knew. The accident had happened in September, after one of the first football games. A month recovering had left me behind in my classes. I'd missed Homecoming. Not that I would have tried to go without Rob. I hadn't wanted to do anything, even go to school, until December. My life had been hollowed out like a pumpkin scraped of all its seeds and guts.
He cleared his throat. "So, there are a few need-based scholarships available. A student with your grades still has a great chance. You just need to apply." His eyes were kind, and I felt bad for a second. If you didn't give a counselor something to counsel you with, what were they there for?
I nodded. "I know about the scholarship part. I just c [art, I'm an't move away from home now."
"What about the University of Washington, then? You could go to school right here in Seattle. We could line you up for applying to the UW next year at least. Or you could do some prereqs at the community college and then transfer in later. Didn't you say you were interested in science? Or maybe I read that in your file somewhere...?"
"I don't know anymore."
Mr. Croft leaned back in his chair, tucking the silver pen behind his right ear. "It hasn't been easy to find your way." I knew he was talking about Rob. That was the first thing people ran to when I didn't quite fit what other people thought I should be doing. Feeling. Being. And in all honesty, they were pretty freaking right when they did that.
"I'm finding my way okay," I said. "I'm doing my best to manage."
"Well, first everything that happened with Rob, and now I hear from your mother that your grandfather has come to live with you."
"Wait. Are you actually counseling me? 'Cause that would be a first for this high school." I gave him a hard look, but he just smiled.
"Yeah. You caught me." I had him pegged as one of those adults who tried to get down on your level. The kind that tries to say things like "way cool" and "my bad" to be one of the kids but just comes off fake, but his sarcasm surprised me. He was coming from somewhere real. "It's my job. If I don't counsel people, then it's all over. I'm canned. Kaput."
"Fine. Counsel away," I said. "Oh, wait---I've got a good one for you. You know anything about Alzheimer's patients seeing ghosts, or how to get a nine-year-old to brush her teeth properly?" Or what to do about my kissing a guy who is not Rob, I added silently.
Mr. Croft gave me a puzzled look. "I'm serious." He leaned forward in his chair, pulled the pen down, and made some notes in my file. "Next year. UW. Think about it. And in the meantime you could think about what you want to do. What you want to study. What you want to be. The kind of stuff everyone else in your class is thinking about their last years of high school."
I smiled. "You want me to think like everyone else in this school? That sounds pretty lame."
"No." He clicked his pen closed. "I'd really like you to think about what you want. Simple, really. What do you want to do with your life, Holly? What's next?"
I felt a little shiver run down the back of my neck as I stood up from the plastic chair. "Thanks for the counseling," I said, grabbing my backpack from the floor.
Mr. Croft gave me a little wave and started digging in the pile of folders, searching for his next victim. I let the door swing closed and went out into the fluorescent-lit office. The brightness of the tiled floor, the clicking of computer keys, the whir of the copy machine, the smell of stale coffee, blanketed me in familiarity as I contemplated his suggestion. I really had no idea what I wanted.
"You all right, honey?" asked one of the office ladies as I passed.
Once outside the glass-windowed doors, I swam into the stream of kids flowing down the hall. Glad to be absorbed, anonymous again. Free from scrutiny.
\*\*\*
Jason had been anticipating Holly's company all morning long. Well, truthfully, since last night in the car, but he'd held himself back, trying not to call her, just figuring he'd see her at school that morning. His first chance came in chem class, but she'd been sent to the counselor's office, he'd hoped for nothing too serious. The last thing she needed was more trouble at home. She didn't answer his text between classes, but he knew that her cell phone was for emergencies only---maybe her mom had disabled the text plan to save some cash.
At last, hanging out front of the lunchroom before lunch, he saw Holly moving toward him, her blue hoodie setting off the color of her eyes, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Tired, beautiful. He wondered if she'd had another long night at home with her family. As he approached, she gave him a small smile, which he felt strangely grateful for.
"Hey." Jason snagged her hand. "Let's go grab a hamburger off-campus."
"Um. Okay." She waved bye to Marisa, who gave her a huge grin at the sight of the two of them.
They headed out to the parking lot, which suddenly seemed so far away. But maybe that was because they were passing small clusters of kids, including Mark, standing with a group of his and Jason's friends. Mark cocked his head and gave him a strange look, but at least he didn't say anything.
Jason squeezed Holly's hand as they reached the car. "So ... um ... this is great. I'm glad you were free."
"Yeah," she said, sliding into the passenger seat of the Audi. "Thanks for taking me to lunch. I'm starving."
"Sure. I kinda wondered about yesterday..."
To her credit, she didn't try to hide the embarrassment that took over her expression. "Yeah. That was awkward."
No, this is awkward, thought Jason.
Holly zipped up her hoodie and fastened her seat belt across her chest. "I'm not sure I can talk about, you know, what happened."
Jason started up the Audi and buckled himself in. "So we just go on and pretend like you didn't kiss me?"
"God." Holly put her hood up over her head. "I'm sorry. I thought you were talking about the thing with my mom," she said, shrinking in her seat.
"Oh-kaay." Jason backed the car out of the parking space, and they headed out toward the street.
"No, seriously. I mean, I did think you were talking about my mom."
"So the kiss was no big deal to you?"
"Well, was it to you?" Holly peered out from underneath her hood.
"Uh ... you have to ask?" Jason gave her a half smile.
"Okay, yeah. It was a big deal," she said.
Inwardly, Jason let out a sigh of relief. He remembered Holly seeming to shake on her way out of the car. Her small hand on the armrest of the door, searching for the handle, needing to get out, away. Away from him ... As sweet as the kiss had been, that need of hers to escape had worried him, made him wonder if she'd meant it.
"Maybe I got a little carried away. I was upset. This is all a little weird for me."
And there it was---the excuse. The pullback. Jason's mind flashed to Rob. He'd been so good about girl stuff---always knew just what to say, was able to give him advice and help him read between the lines. Here and now, though, without Rob, he felt lost. But if Rob were here, it wasn't like Jason would be asking his advice on what to do with Holly. What she felt. What she was so afraid of.
Jason pulled up into a parking spot at the burger place and cut the Audi's engine. "What's weird about it?"
Holly peeked out from under her hood. "You know why ... but I know I like hanging out with you."
"Well, that's a start," Jason said with a nervous laugh.
"Yeah." Holly managed a small smile.
"All right. Progress." Jason's heart lifted a little, along with the mood in the car. "Well, I like hanging with you, too," he said. "I like you."
Holly pulled her hood back and fixed her ponytail. "Why me? I'm just your average dead best friend's girlfriend."
His mouth dropped open. "What?"
"Kidding. I'm kidding." She laughed, shoving him.
Jason rubbed his shoulder. "Ouch, you're stronger than you look," he said. "Funnier, too."
"Yeah, that's what they say. A laugh a minute ... C'mon, there's a line. We should get some chow before our time's up."
"And what about this?" Jason said, motioning between them.
Holly turned back toward him, uncertainty in her eyes. "I'm not sure what this is. I mean, I don't know what we're doing."
"Well, I've been thinking about that kiss all day," Jason admitted.
"I've been thinking about the kiss too." She leaned close enough that Jason smelled her fruity lotion, the scent of her hair. She rested her head on his shoulder and looked up at him. Blue, blue eyes rimmed by long black lashes. That sweet mouth that so rarely smiled.
"You're only the second boy I've kissed," Holly whispered.
A shiver passed though Jason, but he moved closer, until her mouth was a fraction from his. The heat from her lips buzzed against his as they met skin to skin, but not kissing. He hadn't lost his nerve, he just wanted to savor this second. To make this the first real one. The first one on purpose.
"Did you hear me?" Holly said.
He gave the slightest of nods, which sent them into the kiss. A kiss he hoped, unkindly as it may have been, would free her from the ghost of boyfriend past.
\*\*\*
I couldn't speak.
I untangled myself from Jason's arms. His hair was mussed where my hands had been, his lips flushed, red. I felt disoriented, suddenly moved from the absolute darkest night into this bright sunlight surrounding us.
I acclimated to the smell of french fries and the sound of car honks in the parking lot outside us, outside this world of Jason's Audi, because that's where we were, in our own universe. A universe of heat and steam and emotion that I thought had been lost inside me.
I hadn't been kissed like that in a long, long time. And it made me wonder if one kiss could cancel a hundred that had come before it. Was it possible for it to have so much power that it wiped away the memory of my lips against Rob's?
"Let's, um, get some food," I mumbled.
Jason ran a hand over his hair to smooth it. I knew I was fine. My ponytail was messy to begin with, and I was only wearing clear lip gloss, so it wouldn't be all smeary. I got out of the car and stood up on wobbly legs. Jason met me up on the sidewalk and did a boyfriend thing---he slipped a hand around my waist.
Panic gripped me. Was that what we were now? Were we a thing? I watched the kids waiting for their food at the counter. They were focused on the big menu board, not paying any attention to a boy and a girl who'd just made out for the first time. Well, a few looked up, and one or two nodded at Jason, which made me want to pull away from his grasp, but I didn't. I told myself to chill, that everything was fine.
"Would you like a chicken sandwich or a cheeseburger?" Jason asked.
"Um, chicken."
He walked up to the register and then pointed at the menu board, gesturing that he was getting me a chocolate shake. I reached in my bag to get some money.
"I got this," he mouthed.
I shoved my wallet back into my bag. That was what guys sometimes did, I reminded myself. They liked to buy you lunch. My hands suddenly felt sweaty.
He put change in his pocket and headed back to where I was waiting. "You okay?"
I nodded. He put his arm around me, and the unasked question was like an imaginary flashing neon sign over my head. What am I doing?
"You like chocolate, right? Was that a good guess?"
"Sure."
He smiled proudly. It was an expression that said, I am going to take such good care of you, baby.
"I'll be right back," I said in a small voice. I wandered down the narrow red-tiled hall to the ladies' room. Just to get far from him for a moment.
I washed my hands and splashed some cool water on my cheeks. I almost expected to hear some girls from my school hiding in the stalls, talking about who that loser girl with Jason was---or, if they knew me, about how I could even think of hanging around with Rob's best friend. But no one was there. I was alone with my own reflection in the mirror, a mixture of fear and excitement written all over my face.
\*\*\*
The gentle winds of Umbria. The rolling hills. The lush olive groves and ancient walled towns. Aldo's memories of growing up warm you like sunshine. For the second day in a row, he's wrapping you in story, but this time, you're hanging at the senior center.
You sit on a wrought-iron bench, in the large courtyard of the community center, and it's the perfect place for Aldo to mumble and gesture without arousing too much concern.
"Bocce," Aldo says. "It's quite serious. Used to be very competitive in my town."
"I've heard of it," you say.
"Not so much here in Washington..."
"Yeah, I was going to ask why you moved here," you say. "Italy sounds so amazing."
Aldo adjusts his gray cap. "Ah. That is easy. Love."
"You moved here for love?"
"I met an American girl who was on holiday in Perugia. For weeks after she left, I wrote her letters. In my best English, of course. She lived here in Seattle with her family."
"Yeah, I guess in those days you couldn't just write her an e-mail."
"Ancient times, right?" Aldo chuckles.
A robin chirps on the lawn near the bench and distracts Ald [disnt face="to for a moment. He seems to love nature and has already told you all the names of the plants surrounding the lawn of the courtyard.
"So, you met a girl?"
"She didn't answer my letters," Aldo says. "She ignored me."
You shake your head. "Oh, man. That's cold. What did you do?"
"I came to Seattle in search of her."
"And that was Holly's grandma?"
"No." There's a smile in Aldo's voice. "When I finally came to her house, she sent me away. She was engaged to be married. I don't know what happened to her after that."
"Huh? I don't get it."
"I stayed at the hotel for a few days, deciding to make the most of my trip to Seattle. It had taken nearly six months to save up the money for the airplane ticket, you see. Then, one day, I went to the Seattle Center."
"Holly's grandma worked there, right?"
"You do not believe in fate, do you, Roberto? You keep guessing the easy answers." Aldo chuckles. "No. She was not there working, my friend. I sat down near the International Fountain to eat my sandwich. I didn't know what I was going to do when I got back to my town. My friends would have a good laugh at my expense, running off after a girl and coming home alone. I must have sat there for an hour. Then I heard a chorus of little voices."
You hold up a finger. "Got it---your wife was a singer performing a concert."
Aldo laughs at you again. "No, a tour group of little schoolchildren were trooping around the fountain, and at the back was a tall blond woman with the most patient smile on her face." Aldo moved a hand to his heart. "I am telling you, when I saw that beauty, I knew that she would be mine. Fate is something you can't change. It's meant to be."
You smile at his smile. "Fate. I usually don't think of it as a good thing. You know, someone goes to meet their fate, and it usually means they bite the big one."
"Destiny, then. Some people are destined for things."
"Was I destined to die, or was that me meeting my fate?" you ask quietly.
Aldo shifts on the bench. "That's a tough one. I'm not sure."
"If things happen for a reason, then all of this was supposed to happen," you say.
"That's one way to see it."
There are thoughts niggling at the back of your mind. Thoughts that feel unripe. You let out a sigh. "Do you think I'm destined to get out of here?"
"Certainly," Aldo says. "Why would God keep you here forever? What purpose would that serve?"
"True."
A light wind ruffles strands of hair sticking out from Aldo's cap. "You died in a crash, Roberto. Correct?"
"Yeah."
"That's not a pleasant way to go," Aldo says. "When I die, I hope I drift off to sleep."
You nod. "Much nicer, I'm sure."
"I imagine it was painful," Aldo says.
Instinctively, you reach up to touch your forehead. "Yeah. The car hit a tree, and it smashed the windshield. I faded in and out, and then it was all over."
"Winter time, eh? Snowy roads?"
"No. September."
Aldo's eyebrows raise slightly. "Ah."
You feel an ache in your heart. "You don't know about the crash, Aldo? Well, Holly---she was in the car with me."
"My sweet girl?" He nearly imperceptibly shakes his head. "No. I didn't know."
The ache in your heart spreads to your gut. "I thought they would have told you."
"They don't tell you shit when you're like this, kid." Aldo lets out a long sigh. "So, you crashed with Holly in the car. Not good."
"Obviously, she survived," you say.
"Yes." Aldo's eyes take on a glazy look, like he's about to cry.
A light breeze kicks up again, freeing some cherry blossoms from the branches overhead. Pinkish white blooms rain down all around Aldo. There are some on his hat, on his light nylon jacket. If you could, you would reach out to brush them away.
"My Holly, she's strong," Aldo says.
"Yeah," you say. "Always had her stuff together."
"After her grandma died, I didn't see Holly very much," Aldo says. "This coming to be with her, with Julia and little Lena, it's a gift. A half-given gift, but a gift nonetheless. I know you want to get out of here, but did you ever think that maybe this time given to you is the same?"
"A half-given gift," you repeat. "Isn't that worse than no gift at all?"
His eyes are clear again. "It's some kind of second chance, even if it's not ideal," he says.
He doesn't return to the topic of the night you crashed. He doesn't ask you aga [t av> in about Holly. He simply gets up and walks back inside, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
And you are relieved. More than you can admit.
"I'm only here to talk to my son, Mona. Oh, good. Here he is now."
"Peter, he's got plans with his friends, probably."
Jason could hear his parents on the front porch as he cut the engine of the Audi and glided into his parking place next to his dad's Beamer in the driveway. He'd been in a good mood up until that point of the day, buoyed by the time with Holly at lunch. He was sure something had shifted between them, that he'd shown her, finally, how great things could be between them. He'd been smiling since he'd walked her to her fifth period class. Humming along to the indie radio station as he drove home.
And now ... back to reality. He pushed his sunglasses back on his forehead and pulled the keys from the ignition.
"Hey," Peter called, jogging over. He was wearing a Cornell tee, shorts, and tennis shoes, like he'd just come from working out. On the porch, his mom stared over at the two of them, her mouth pulled into a tight line. Jason gave her a wave.
"What's up, Dad," he said as he grabbed his backpack from the passenger seat and shut the car door.
"Listen, I feel real bad about last night," Peter said, leaning in close. "I got your messages after my meeting. I tried to call you, but I guess your phone was off the rest of the night."
Jason shouldered his bag. "Whatever, it's no big deal."
"Hey, I screwed up. I'm good at that sometimes." His dad tested a smile. "You didn't take the boat out, right?"
"Of course not. You weren't there. I had Holly's family with me. None of them could have helped me crew the boat. You think I'd sail Lucy without you?"
"No. Of course not."
"Then why did you look nervous just now, like I'd sailed her alone?"
"I didn't say a damn thing, Jason."
"I know the rules. I keep my word."
Peter cocked his head to the side. "That some kind of jab at me?"
"You completely ruined the night by not showing up. Well, almost completely ruined it, anyway. It was not cool."
"Your girl wasn't impressed, huh?"
"The whole point was to take her grandpa out on the water. It wasn't all about Holly." That felt a little dishonest to say. ^s Aldont>
"We'll go another time," Peter assured him.
"When is that?"
Peter shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "I've got a couple more days in town before I head back down to Portland. Maybe this weekend sometime?"
"Okay, sure." Jason started up the stone walkway. "Just call me later, I guess, to make a plan."
His dad jogged back down to the Beamer and climbed in.
Jason waved back at him from the porch's first step. All guilt, all remorse, had disappeared from his dad's face. Another task completed in his dad's day book. Apologize to Jason. It was probably written on a sticky note somewhere.
He was pretty sure he wouldn't be going sailing with his dad that weekend. But he didn't mind too much. He'd rather spend time with Holly anyway. "What did he want?" Mom asked the question as if she couldn't care less, but her tense lips gave her away. She set the mail she was sorting down on the console table in the hallway and clacked out of her high-heel shoes.
"Nothing, Mom."
She let out a long sigh. "He was sitting in the driveway when I got home, so I assume it was something important."
"We just needed to talk."
She followed Jason into the living room, where he was dropping his backpack onto the couch. "I don't like feeling that you're keeping things from me."
"I'm not. Mom, it was something stupid. Just forget about it."
She swooped up her long hair in her hands, twisting it into a small bun. "It's been a really long day. You know I'm just getting back into showing houses, and it's hard work. I'm exhausted, Jason. So, can you let me in on your secret? I don't understand what you'd discuss with Dad and not me."
Jason took a seat on a leather barstool in the kitchen and surveyed the platter of Rosie's chocolate chip cookies. "It's not about you," he said, selecting the smooshed-looking one at the edge of the plate, since it had the most chips.
His mom sat down across from him and folded her arms. "I wasn't saying that it was."
For just a moment he considered telling her about his dad leaving him high and dry at the dock. But what good was that going to do anyone? She didn't need to hear anything lame that Dad had done so she could add it to her list of complaints against him. "Dad's schedule is really messing me up," he said simply.
A look of relief crossed her face.
"See, I told you it wasn't about you," he said around a mouthful of cookie. "You totally thought it was."
< c"Sdiv height="0em">
She smirked, but then her face softened. "I was more worried that it was something bad. That you'd gotten into trouble or something. You've been keeping to yourself even more than normal."
"Really? I didn't think you'd been home to notice."
"Easy, young man. I know from what Rosie told me that you haven't been eating dinner much. And I was getting a little worried. With me and your father having issues---"
"Mom." He held up a hand. "If anything, I'm starting to get over feeling bad. Things are starting to take a turn for the better, maybe."
"All right." She stood up from the chair and brushed the wrinkles from her silk suit. "I'm glad to hear it."
"How'd you do today?"
His mom brightened at the question. "Actually, I scored a new listing for a house in Magnolia with the most beautiful gardens. Lovely English landscaping, a heated greenhouse full of flowers and vegetables, a pool surrounded by classic Roman columns and statuary. The owner's asking four million. Once I sell that, I'll be on my way again." The smile that flooded her face made him smile back.
"Sounds gorgeous."
"It is. Maybe I'll take you over there to help me stage it for showing. The outside's lovely, but the inside needs some help." She paused, batting her eyelashes. "How about if I say pretty please?"
"Mom. You know I'll help you."
She gave him a hug, her jewelry clanging together against his chest. "Thanks." His mom moved back, patting him on the arms. "And if anything does come up, I hope you'll share it with me. Even if I'm not always here, I'm still your mom." "I'm happy," he said, testing the words. "You don't need to worry."
Later he thought about that simple word, happiness. It was more than just liking a girl and having her like him back. He'd had a girlfriend before. It was the thought that Holly was special---that she could love him and know him in a way that no one else could.
And yeah, this whole thing had come together in an unusual way, but that didn't mean it couldn't work out.
\*\*\*
You know some things about being a ghost by now:

There are no smells. (This is probably a good thing.)
No one can hear or see you. (Usually.)
You don't sleep.

The lack of sleep is the hardest to deal with. Being dead makes you tired, but not in a body way. Being dead makes you tired in a mind way. At night you go from place to place, watching the living you are connected to sleep, eat, get naked---which you're not trying to see, necessarily---channel surf, suck down cigarettes as if they weren't lung killers. And even if you float-sit in a chair with yo cchawith me. Eur eyes closed, you don't go anywhere. You don't drift off to the magical realm of dreams. You don't even sink into blackness. Which can only mean, you figure, that anyone you knew who ever became a ghost, like you are now, had you under constant surveillance.
That's right.
They saw you belch, cry, masturbate, take the last sip of milk and put the empty jug back into the fridge instead of into the recycling bin. Of course, this is all speculation. You don't know for sure that anyone you knew died and became a ghost. Or if other ghosts have experienced what you're experiencing. But if they have, surely they have seen some of the things you've seen your friends and family do.
The hardest thing to watch---the thing you are watching now---is Holly crying. She lies on her side in the lower bunk in her room. Above her, Lena is sleeping peacefully, like only a little kid can.
You notice Holly has a pillow between her knobby knees to keep them from aching later. She always did that, at least the few times that you had occasion to see her sleep when you were alive. When you went camping. When she was sick at home with the flu and you visited her. It's amazing how she has her body tucked into itself like a fancy folded napkin. Like she wants to make herself as small as possible.
You can't read her thoughts, but you're not sure you'd want to read them, anyway. As you kept Aldo company earlier in the evening, Holly had been checking her buzzing phone. Jason's number kept popping up. Three missed calls up until the time she clicked the phone into its charger.
At first you were a little peeved about Jason calling, but then you wondered why she wasn't answering his calls. And now you're spinning out theories on why she's crying. You're half-tempted to go visit Jason's house, but maybe you don't want to know the truth. With all the time you spent with Aldo this week, you'd almost forgotten about Jason and Holly's flirtation, but here it is now, right in front of you. Streaming down Holly's face.
You rest your ghostly hands on your knees and cradle your head. Holly. Don't cry. Whatever he did, he isn't worth your tears. The door creaks open.
Holly sits up in bed, wiping her face with the sheet. "What? What is it?"
You watch Aldo shuffle in, motion for you to get out of the chair, and settle into it himself once you float over to stand near the window.
"Do you need something, Grandpa?"
"No, cara mia."
She gives him a puzzled look. "Why did you come in here?"
"I heard you crying," he says with great effort.
"I'm sorry." She swipes at her cheeks again. "Here, let me get you back into bed."
"No," he says, his eyes clear and focused. "Don't cry," he says, repeating your mantra. cant width="5%
"I'm not sad. I'm just frustrated or something. There's this new guy, and I don't know what to do, I guess." Her words are a rush, but then she stops, gazing at him. "I know you probably don't get all this, Grandpa, sorry."
He nods.
"Maybe I miss Rob."
Your heart catches in your chest. You feel that glowing feeling again, your energy radiating out but reaching nowhere. If you could, you'd wrap Holly in your arms.
"Everything is different now. Harder. You know?" Her expression seems to say that she doesn't want to burden him.
Aldo smiles softly. "Go to sleep."
She looks surprised at his command but nestles back under the covers, watching her grandfather. He lowers himself into the chair, trying to get comfortable, and then he does the thing you cannot do, will not ever do again---he reaches out and takes her hand.
"Don't worry. Everything's going to be fine," he says, more to you than to her.
And you fade out to find another place to perch, another place to rest your mind.
Another place not to sleep.
\*\*\*
"Wait. Let me get this straight: you guys kissed?" Marisa said, barely containing her glee.
"Yeah."
The cafeteria was just starting to fill with kids for our lunch period. I didn't see Jason yet, but I supposed he'd find us soon. In chem that morning, I'd focused on small talk and jetted out the door before he could offer to walk with me. I knew it wasn't fair to avoid him, but I'd wrestled all night with what to do and still had no good plan. And already I'd been getting some attention in the hallway, like people knew what had happened between us. That they had seen us together. That we were a thing. Or a something.
Marisa snapped her fingers. "Lady! He took you for a burger yesterday and you made out, and you didn't call me? What is wrong with you?"
"It's not like that, exactly," I said.
"Well, how is it?" Marisa took a bite of her sandwich and chewed it cheerfully.
"I felt weird. I guess there's no other way to describe it."
"I know it's not like you went through a breakup with Rob, but life does go on. Eventually you date someone else and it starts to feel normal. It's like that every time you break up and then start dating a new guy." She took a sip of her sparkling water.
"Right." Marisa lowered the bottle. "I'm sorry. I cI'm and then guess I forgot that Rob was the first."
"And the only, really," I added. I set down my apple.
"Well, it was a while ago, but it happened to me," Marisa said. "That guy Sam from freshman year, remember? My mom hated him, even though we invited him over for dinner and stuff all the time."
"I can't picture your mom hating anyone."
"He made fun of her accent once. It wasn't pretty," Marisa said. "I dumped him, and after that I found Scott Ryder. It was weird the first time we kissed. I kept thinking of Sam. But luckily it turned out that Scott was a much better kisser, and I forgot everything about Sam after that."
"Wasn't Scott the one who broke up with you right before Valentine's?"
Marisa threw up her hands. "Yes. But that is not the point. Are you listening to me? It's not going to be the same ever. You can't wish it back the way it was and have it happen."
"I know," I said quietly.
Marisa reached across the table and patted my hand. "Was it that bad? The kiss, I mean."
"No." I didn't tell her how amazing it had been, about how I could barely find the handle of the car door, about how my lips tingled afterward, until they sipped the chocolate shake. About how I'd freaked a little. "It was nice."
"If I were your therapist, which I'm not, of course, I would tell you that these things take time. My mom is always repeating that to me when I want things to be easy or smooth or to fall into place."
"I miss your mom," I said.
"She wants you to come over for dinner sometime soon. She wants to make some chicken tikka for you---teach you the recipe, probably. She knows that I'll never learn it. She likes that you're smart, you know."
"I'm not smart."
"Sheesh. You are supersmart, you idiot." Marisa rolled her eyes and took another sip of her sparkling water. "You've been so wrapped up in all this Rob dying stuff, you didn't notice you're in some pretty smart classes, apparently."
"I guess."
"Well, they're a lot more challenging than my fashion merchandising class, I'm sure. That Mrs. Dolan is totally out of it. She thinks we all want to work at the mall when we grow up. She has no idea that some of us are thinking bigger."
"That's cool that you know you want to be a designer," I said.
"Yeah, too bad my dad wants me to be a software engineer like him," Marisa said. "He doesn't care that I suck at math."
"I don't know what I wa cnowe that nt to do anymore. Or what's going to happen with anything."
"Well, then, maybe you just shouldn't worry about you and Jason. Just worry about you. That's easy enough, right?"
"Yeah."
"And in the meantime, you can see what happens."
"That's the hardest thing to do," I said.
"I know. But isn't it exciting, too? I mean, how cool would it be if it works out with you and Jason, right? He's cute, kind, smart, quiet. Seriously, I don't know why he doesn't have a girlfriend. I mean, well, I guess he does now." She gave me a little smile.
"This is all just weird," I said, biting into my apple again. "It's not what I thought was going to happen."
"And that's a good thing," Marisa said. "If you were going to be doing the same thing and be alone for the rest of this life, it'd get pretty boring."
"Yeah." I stared off into the crowd moving toward the lunch line. I didn't see Jason, and that was just fine. I needed some time to think about what Marisa said.
It's funny how nothing can happen for a long, long time and then everything comes all at once. Grandpa Aldo, Jason, having to think about what kind of a future I wanted for myself. It almost made me long for the time when things were easier, when I was just sad and life ground on day after day. The thing about all the stuff swirling around me was that it was all stuff that had to be dealt with in some way. And I didn't see any rest in sight.
"Hey, wait up." Mark flagged Jason down as he headed out to the parking lot after last period.
Jason paused at his friend's locker, scanning the crowd of kids flooding out onto the sidewalk. He'd missed Holly at lunch, and now he was going to lose his chance of giving her a ride home.
"What's up?" He gave Mark a playful shove.
Mark smiled. "Couple of us are going to have a pickup game out at the park later. You in?"
"Nah. I got this thing," he said.
"Yeah?" Mark stuffed his Mariners cap on his mess of dark hair and slammed his locker shut. His bag was anemic, like there wasn't a single thing inside of it but a Pee-Chee folder or two. Jason adjusted his own bag, heavy with books, on his shoulder. "A thing, huh?"
"Got some plans."
Mark gave him a sly smile. "Hanging out with that Holly girl, huh?"
"That Holly girl?" Jason couldn't keep an icy edge from his voice.
"What?" Mark said, adjusting his cap. "A few weeks ago you were talking shit about her with the rest of us, and now..."
"I wasn't talking shit about her," Jason said. He stifled the urge to punch the crap out of his so-called friend. Mark didn't deserve to see him get angry, to let him get under his skin.
"Hmm. Well, maybe I'm remembering it wrong"---Mark nodded his head thoughtfully---"but I'm pretty sure we were all on the same page about that one."
"Okay, later." Jason started down the hall, weaving his way through kids like they were obstacle cones, but Mark caught right up.
"Wait, man---I get it, all right? You really like her, huh? When I saw you with her in the parking lot yesterday, that's what it seemed like."
Jason gave Mark a hard look. "I've gotta go. I told you I've got a thing later. Okay? I can't hang out with you guys tonight." It wasn't even worth it to explain what he had going. Mark didn't deserve another opening to razz him for anything.
"I'm not saying you can't like who you like."
"Thanks," Jason said.
"C'mon. You know what I'm talking about."
Jason stopped in his tracks and stared at Mark. "What? She dated Rob, so no one else can ever like her?"
"Dude." Mark looked back at him, his face completely blank. Jason thought back to last week, when Mark had seemed to get it, that Holly wasn't to blame for what had happened to Rob any more than Mark was. Maybe less, even. Mark's expression made him wonder if that conversation had all been a dream.
"I thought we went over this the other night," Jason said, deciding to call him on it. Deciding that he couldn't stand Mark's fakeness or denial, or whatever this was.
"Yeah," Mark muttered. He scratched at his forearm, avoiding Jason's gaze now.
Jason pulled his keys out from his backpack and clicked the locks on the Audi. "Okay, so, maybe you're jealous. Is that what this is?"
"Jealous?" Mark let out a little laugh. "Right. Just watching out for you, man." He clapped Jason on the back and gave his shoulder a push. "Damn, you're so serious! You looked like you wanted to kick my ass just then. All over a stupid girl. Nice."
"Yeah," Jason said, still not forgiving him. "See ya."
"Hey, you gotta go meet her now or something? What's your rush?"
Jason sighed. "Why? You want me to drop you somewhere?"
"Um..." Mark nodded sheepishly. "They took away my ride again. Screwed up a precalc test."
Jason got into the car. "You need some help with that class?"
"Nah. I got a line on a tutor. She's coming over later tonight."
"I bet she is. Put on your seat belt."
Mark shook his head but clicked the strap into place. "You're such a grandma."
"Whatever. Best friend dies in a crash, you wear a seat belt."
Mark leaned forward in the seat and fiddled with the stereo. "You don't have to remind me."
"Yeah, I do." Jason revved the Audi and they zipped out of the parking lot.
"It's not like I don't think about him," Mark said, rolling down the window. "I miss him."
"Me too."
"He had it all. His life was perfect," Mark said.
"Maybe."
"C'mon. Dude had it all figured out, and he was a good guy," Mark said, sounding annoyed. "Everyone loved him."
"Maybe too much," Jason said.
"What do you mean by that?"
"You didn't see how people treated him different, how he could do no wrong?"
"Now who's jealous?" Mark said.
Jason shrugged. Maybe his friend had a point there. How many times had he wished he had Rob's smooth confidence with girls, his easy way of convincing teachers to give him an extra day on an assignment, the coach to put him in as a starter? Rob had never been awkward. He'd never seemed nervous or unsure about anything. Until last summer.
"Do you think," Jason said slowly, "that Rob seemed different before he died?"
"What do you mean?"
Jason pulled out from the stop sign. "He sure wasn't acting like his perfect self then."
"C'mon. He was just pissed his dad was pushing him about college again."
Jason signaled for the turn ahead. "You don't think it's weird? Perfect family, on track to go to Yale like his dad, pretty girlfriend, star athlete. How do you go from that to dead?"
"That's life, I guess," Mark offered, scooching down into his seat.
Jason gritted his teeth. "It's freaking lame is what it is."
"Yeah, so it's lame. What can we do about it now? cbous new romaYou think I have some deep answers to reveal?" Mark laughed again. "I thought you knew me better than that. Seriously, though, you've obviously been thinking about him a lot. It's from hanging around with her, huh?"
"I don't know," Jason said, making the left turn onto McCallister Road. "Maybe because we all have stuff going for us like he did, and it can all go away in a second."
"Um, I'm not going to Yale," Mark said.
"I don't mean we're exactly like him, you dumbass." Jason stopped at a crosswalk to let some little girls on bikes roll by. Then he gunned it up the hill, only letting his foot off the gas as they rounded the curve. Rob's curve.
Mark shifted in his seat, eyes forward, away from the view of the guardrail on their left. "If you're looking for some lesson in a great guy biting the big one," he said, "I think it's carpe diem---that seize the day crap. Don't die unhappy."
"Okay, so---you think Rob died unhappy?" Jason said, finally pulling into Mark's driveway.
"Like I would know."
"Bullshit. You were there too---all those weeks before the accident, that night. Did Rob seem happy to you?"
"I don't know, I guess so. He was always up for a good time. You know how he was." Mark gave him a frustrated look. "Dude, how does that matter? I don't get it."
"You and I have this image of Rob, but maybe it was all crap," Jason said.
"Oh, great. What are you trying to do, change history, make him out to be some kind of loser we didn't know at all? That's the real bullshit," Mark said, his eyes hard.
"I'm just wondering how you know he was happy."
"Holly is really screwing with your head," Mark said. "She's been saying some sick stuff, obviously."
"No, she didn't say anything," Jason said. "This is about you and me and Rob."
"But what difference does it make if he was happy or if we were happy? He's dead, and we're left here to carry on," Mark said. "It's just what it is."
"That's very zen of you."
"No, it's just practical. You think I want to sit around moping for the rest of my life? You think that's gotten Holly Mullen anywhere at all---or you, for that matter?"
"Whatever," Jason said, putting the car back into drive, his foot on the brake.
Mark reached for his bag and climbed out of the Audi. "Thanks, I think," he said, shutting the door hard.
"Well, that was helpful," Jason said aloud, backing down the drive. He' che "Thanks, d half hoped that since Mark had brought Rob up again, he'd actually have some sort of perspective to compare. But discussing the mysteries of the universe with Mark was like asking a monkey to write an essay. He didn't think Mark, or any of the other guys, talked about Rob much. It wasn't like they'd all gotten together in some kind of Kum ba ya circle and talked about their feelings about him dying. It wasn't like they could sit there and cry together. Jason hadn't cried with anyone.
Mark did have a point, that being with Holly was bringing some of these feelings back. But there was nothing to do with them. It wasn't like he could bring it up with Holly---how it felt to lose Rob. But it was what they had in common.
A coldness formed in the bottom of his stomach. It was true. Losing Rob was the main thing they shared. Was it the only thing? Maybe people had gotten together over less, but that didn't mean it wasn't a little weird---maybe even morbid. There had to be something else, right? Maybe Grandpa Aldo. It was important to keep helping Holly with her grandpa---for what it was doing for both the old guy and them. He didn't want her to suddenly realize once she was finally over Rob that the only thing holding them together was a fading memory.
\*\*\*
The house is large. The driveway almost a quarter of a mile long, unusual for this part of the city---Magnolia, with a view of the sound. You walk-fly behind Jason's car, alighting on the front steps. All this time, following his progress in the car and eavesdropping on him and Mark, you thought he was going to meet Holly, but Jason's mom is waiting inside the mansion's foyer. She's wearing jeans with a T-shirt and a navy jacket. It's a bit casual for her real estate work, especially in this neighborhood, but then you see the boxes of supplies stacked by her feet.
Jason mounts the steps, remnants of emotion on his face. He's still thinking of you, of the conversation he and Mark had had. You heard the good, the bad, the ugly, from the comfort of the back seat. You want to tell him there was no way you were perfect, that you had problems like anyone else. But even if you could have found a way to talk to them about it, it's not like they would've believed you. Not like they would have cared. No, when you've built everything up around you to seem perfect, there is no one to turn to when things go wrong.
Maybe it's like this huge house Mrs. Markham is getting ready to show. She's probably hoping the househunters will be so dazzled by the fresh-baked cookies she'll pull out of the oven right before the open house that they won't see the leaks in the west cor-ner of the living room or the cracked pavers on the patio leading to the pool. The fragrance of sugary love from Mom's kitchen will fog their senses and override their fear of buying a multimillion-dollar fixer-upper. Or not. Maybe all this speculation is more bullshit from your less-than-normal mind.
"And this is the path to the garden," Jason's mom says, pointing down to an overgrown row of rose bushes trained on a trellis that arcs over the stone walkway. Jason follows her dutifully, taking in the tour in what you can tell is more an act of support than interest. They wind through formal English gardens, Jason nodding at his mother's rundown of the various hedges.
"I'll have gardeners in to cden had. You clip everything back in the morning. Can you believe that when the owner took off for Florida last month, he let his yard workers go? Not the smartest way to maintain your investment," she says. "It's almost a jungle back here."
Jason looks puzzled but shrugs. It doesn't appear to be a jungle to you, either. It's actually pretty, slightly mysterious, with trailing vines along stone walls and pink blossoms loose on the path. It has your failed senses crying out in protest. You can't smell the sweetness of the barely opened lilies or touch the jagged rocks that are fitted together like puzzle pieces to form the garden's borders. You can't sink down and rest in the lush lawn underfoot, but at least you have the sound of the breeze through the blades. And though you don't have the afternoon sun on your face, you have the view of shadows playing through the shapes of leaves, the vibrant colors of life burning true. It's almost like real life---only then you probably wouldn't have noticed these things.
As mother and son stand talking about the yard workers, Mrs. Markham's cell phone rings. She digs through her oversize purse for it. Jason pauses, waiting for her, but his mom checks the number and waves him on toward a large glass structure. You follow.
Jason pushes open the door and his eyes go wide.
The greenhouse is at least forty feet long, and there are rows and rows of starter trays in racks along the walls. Down the center of the row are tomato plants tied to stakes and already heavy with fruit. He walks over to one, twists off a small, perfect red orb, rubs it clean on his shirt, and takes a bite. You envy him for the satisfaction in his eyes, the juice dribbling from his lips.
The door swings open, and Mrs. Markham stands there watching her son's gaze sweeping over all the plants in front of him.
"Impressive, huh? It's got an automatic watering system with variable settings for each of the rows. Apparently the owner was some kind of health nut---all of these organic veggies were being raised for his use. Can you imagine a family with children living in the house? Wouldn't they love to bring their kids down here to harvest the fresh produce?"
"Good spiel," Jason says.
She smiles guiltily. "I'm not laying it on too thick?"
"No. This place is freaking great. I know at least one person who would love to see this."
"A qualified buyer?" his mom asks, hopefully.
"Far from it," he says.
"Well, we don't want to waste our time on tire kickers, honey."
"No. I just mean that I want to show someone this place."
"We're going to be really busy before the open house on Saturday. I barely have enough time, even with you helping me."
"Yeah, I get it."
She gives him an apologetic look. "Sorry."
"I just had this idea to bring a friend over to see it."
His mom ushers him out of the greenhouse. "I can't let people traipse through here if it's not a showing."
"Well, maybe I'll figure something else out, then," he says. You see him scan the building a last time, maybe searching for locks---an alarm system. How important is this garden, anyway?
"Stop," his mom says. "You're moping now."
"I don't mope. I help stage houses for free, but I don't mope."
She considers this for a moment, then says. "Fair enough. Bring your friend in the morning on Saturday---you can check on the landscapers for me, okay? And I only want you here for half an hour or less."
"Deal." Jason grabs his mom into a big hug.
The surprise and delight on her face make you think that he hasn't hugged her in a long time. That she hasn't had a hug from anyone in a long time, for that matter. Her face relaxes into a smile.
"Thanks," Jason says, pulling away. "This greenhouse is going to help."
"Help with what?"
"I can't really say, Mom. It's just something I'm working on, all right?"
Her cell phone rings again. Jason wanders down the aisles of the greenhouse, away from the sound of his Mom's real estate talk. Wonder all over his face.
You don't quite get it, but you're happy for your friend. Though this probably has to do with Holly, right? Shit.
You walk over to a tomato plant near the door, tempted to grab the fattie on the bottom and hurl it at the back of Jason's head. You close your eyes, concentrating on moving the damn thing. It wiggles---you've almost got it.
"Let's go," Jason's mom says, flipping her phone closed. Jason walks right through you, gives a little shiver. Rubbing his arms, he stares back at the spot where you're standing.
Yeah, it's me, you think.
He shakes it off, and they flip the lock on the greenhouse. You're alone among the green plants---the only dead thing in the room.
Your annoyance gives way to guilt. You would actually throw a tomato at Jason? That's so lame, you feel embarrassed. What gives you the right to decide how these people you'll never speak to again live their lives? And really, all this melodramatic crap is doing nothing to advance your enlightenment. At least, that's probably along the lines of what Aldo would say.
Aldo. c rocrap is do As the days go on---and they do go on, don't they?---you find yourself craving his company more and more. You've only got to close your eyes now and think of him. And a whisper of wind you can't even feel takes you away. Takes you to your only friend.
In some houses kids wake to the aroma of Saturday morning pancakes. Maybe to waffles with strawberries and whipped cream. I woke up that morning to the smell of something burning.
In the kitchen, I found Grandpa Aldo standing in front of the stove, a spatula in his hand. He was dressed in his bathrobe, stirring a mound of brown scrambled eggs. The burner beneath the pan glowed an angry red.
I flipped the switch for the exhaust fan, sure the smoke alarm was about to start screaming any second. "Grandpa?" I said, touching him on the arm.
He turned toward me and said something garbled in a mix of Italian and English.
"Grandpa?" I said again.
He wouldn't meet my gaze. I wasn't sure what to do, but I had to get him away from the stove so I could deal with the smoldering eggs. I didn't want to scare him or have him freak out. Then I remembered something Mom had mentioned about distraction.
"Those are done," I said casually, reaching over to turn the burner off and move the pan off the heat. "How about we make some toast to go with them?"
I sat him down in a chair and got out the cheap sandwich bread. As I helped him put the slices into the toaster on the table, he stared at me, unsure. I put my hand on his hand and moved the lever down, to sink the bread into the machine. "There you go," I said. The butter was already in reach, so I got a table knife out, along with a plate. "Watch for the toast to pop up."
"Where is mama?" Grandpa asked in a small voice. Fear etched his face.
I patted him on the back. "She's coming later. Everything's fine."
There was no way he was going to see his mom, but it felt important to go along with it. What good would it do to bring him around to the truth when he was in a state like this? I hadn't seen him that bad since he came to live with us. I sure hadn't seen him go wherever he was. The mumbling, the mentions of Rob or the ghost or whatever he thought he was seeing was weird, but seeing him check out like that---in the midst of doing something so normal like making eggs---and now asking for his mom ... That was pretty scary. Mom had made him a doctor's appointment for Monday afternoon. I hoped that there was something else the doctor could do. It definitely didn't seem like my grandpa was doing better.
At any rate, he looked satisfied with my answer and leaned back in his chair
I hustled over to the stove and set the egg pan in the sink, flooding the gross mess with water, which released a huge cloud of stinky steam. "Ugh!" I moved back from the sink and fah, I5%">
Just as I started cracking, Lena padded into the kitchen in her panda bear pajamas. "What's going on? It stinks in here," she said, scratching at her hair, which looked windswept, like she had been in a tornado.
"We're making breakfast," I said. "Everything's fine."
Frowning, she sat down at the table across from Grandpa, whose gaze was glued to the slots of the toaster. "Hi." Lena yawned and brought her legs up under herself on the kitchen chair. "I'm hungry," she said.
"Why don't you help Grandpa with the toast, okay?" I sprinkled the broken eggs with salt and pepper and a dash of milk and whipped them quickly with a fork. They sizzled as they hit the buttered pan.
At last, the toast popped up. Grandpa seemed startled at first but then took the hot slices out and laid them on the table.
"Do you want this?" Lena asked, sliding the plate that was next to the toaster closer to him.
He put the toast on it.
"Here's the butter," Lena said, getting out of her chair. She dug the knife into it and held the handle out to him. "You like it on your toast, Grandpa. Just spread it around." He didn't move to take it from her, and Lena gave me a plaintive look.
"Why don't you help him butter it, Lena."
"Grandpa, what's wrong?" Lena said, setting down the knife on the butter plate and slipping a thin arm around him. "It's okay. We're here."
I saw his eyes close at her touch, his face relax.
And in that moment I felt a small measure of relief too.
They stayed in that embrace for a moment, and then Lena released her hold around his sagged shoulders and went on with buttering and cutting the toast into triangles, like everything was normal. I couldn't have been more thankful she was nine and resilient or clueless, or insightfully smart for her age. She had the good sense to not freak out.
I finished scrambling the eggs and scooped them onto three small plates. As I carried them to the table, Grandpa's posture straightened a little. Humming some chipper song, Lena slid a piece of toast onto each of our plates.
"Mangia," I encouraged Grandpa.
"There's too much pepper," Lena said, using her fork to pick at the pile in front of her.
"You didn't even try them yet. Take a bite."
She sighed and dug in.
"Good, right?"
Seeming to follow Lena's lead, Grandpa reached for his fork and shakily lifted some eggs to his mouth. His chewing was sloppy this morning, but at least he was eating.
I took a bite, finally realizing how hungry I was, even after breathing in the awful smell of burning eggs. These were good scrambles I'd made. Creamy, fluffy, seasoned just right, not a speck of brown to be seen.
"Hey, Grandpa," Lena said around a mouthful of toast, "you've got eggs on your chin."
He didn't respond to her, but he did dab at his chin with his sleeve. So, maybe he was more with us for the moment.
"Sorry, guys. I forgot napkins," I said, springing up to get some paper towels. Folded in half, they worked just as well as the fancy ones at the store.
As I floated the makeshift napkins on to Lena's and Grandpa's laps, the buzzer to the apartment rang. "God, what now?" I glanced up at the clock---it was nine. "What time is your play date?"
"One," said Lena. "Tori's mom is picking me up."
I walked over to the intercom. Our building wasn't a cool one that dialed your phone or anything---that would have been too modern for this place. "Hello?" I said, pressing the brown talk button.
"Hey. It's Jason."
I froze in place, my heart suddenly up in my throat. I managed to mumble, "Um, it's pretty early over here."
"Yeah, I know. You didn't answer your phone."
"It's off." I didn't explain to him again the whole thing about trying not to use Mom's minutes, which we could barely afford. Maybe the phone had been turned off for more than that reason, anyway. To say I wasn't in a what-do-I-do-about-Jason mode would be a lie.
"I was in the neighborhood. Can I come up?"
"Uh..." I glanced over at the breakfast table, where Grandpa was focusing on hoisting another bite to his mouth and Lena was tearing into another piece of toast, crumbs all over her face. They were a mess, and Grandpa had just had a major freak-out. Not to mention that I was a mess in my worn yoga pants and the old T-shirt I liked to sleep in. My hair hadn't seen a brush yet---I hadn't even spashed water on my face. However I felt about Jason, I didn't want him to see me---us---like this.
And then there was the state of our place. The main parts of the apartment were clean, but our secondhand furniture looked lived in, rumpled. My room was a mess, thanks to Lena's stuffed-animal collection, which had had some kind of a war last night and was scattered all over the room. And the kitchen? I just couldn't imagine showing him into this cramped place that now reeked of blackened eggs. I tried to sound casual when I said, "It's not the best time for you to visit."
"Okay, well," Jason said, "can you come down, then? I trie k than">"d to call you because I want to take you---all of you---someplace today. We've only got a few hours."
"I'm in my pajamas. We all are." He laughed. "Nice. I'll wait while you get dressed."
"You don't understand. You can't just rush these guys," I said. "It's gonna take me a while to get them ready."
"I'll go get a mocha and come back in an hour. That long enough?" There was hope in his voice. A kind hope. He was here to do something for us. Not that I knew where he wanted to take us.
"What are we doing?"
"It's a surprise for Aldo," Jason said, his voice warm. "It's on the list. I think he's gonna love it. Just say yes. It's a limited-time offer."
I smiled in spite of myself. "Okay, okay. You wore me down. Give us an hour."
"Perfect. Later." Jason clicked off the intercom.
I sat back down at the table and started eating.
"Was that your boyfriend?" asked Lena.
"He's not my---"
"I like him. Where are we going?"
"I don't know, Lena. Let's just finish breakfast and get dressed."
Grandpa Aldo's plate was empty. He had a concerned look on his face.
"Oh, Grandpa. I forgot to get you some coffee. Let me make some quick." I walked over to the coffeemaker and saw that the grounds were in, the water poured, but the switch was off. Grandpa must have tried to get that going before the eggs. I clicked the on button, and the gurgling machine began its work.
I patted Grandpa on the back and kissed his cheek as I collected his dishes. "Thank you for trying to start breakfast for us," I whispered.
He smiled, and I felt like he was back among us. His eyes seemed clearer, more focused. That was a good thing. I was hop-ing that whatever destination Jason had planned to take us to was going to make Grandpa happy, just like the sailboat had. After the morning's beginning, we sure did need something to help us start over.
I shooed Lena off to her room to change and walked Grandpa down the hall to help him pick out some clothes for the day. He sat down in the desk chair as I laid out clean boxers, T-shirt, socks, pants, polo shirt, and sweater on the bed in the order he would need to put them on.
"You get dressed, Grandpa. If you need help, just yell for me."
"Grazie, cara mia," he mumbled.
"You're welcome," I said, softly closing the door and praying k ant>
\*\*\*
"So, we just have about half an hour," Jason said, cutting the engine of the Audi in the driveway of his mom's listing in Magnolia. Parked in front of him was a green truck with a landscaping logo emblazoned on the doors.
Holly leaned forward from the back seat, her eyes wide. "What is this place?"
Jason counted that amazed look as a victory. Not saying anything, he hopped out of the car, leaving the door open for Holly and Lena. Then he pulled the handle of the passenger side and reached out a hand to Aldo. "Come on," he reassured with a smile. "We're going to see something really neat, Mr. Santucci. Let me help you out."
"Aldo," he said, accepting Jason's offer. "My name is Aldo."
"Sure, Aldo." Once the old guy's feet were firmly on the ground, Jason shut the door and led the way up the front steps. Though he had the combination for the key safe for the realtors, he found the front door unlocked. Probably his mom had been by to get the gardeners started on the work in the backyard.
"This is the biggest house I've ever seen," said Lena in a breathy voice. "This is like a mansion."
They stepped into the foyer and Holly paused, marveling at the huge chandelier glittering above the white-carpeted dual staircase.
"Pretty cool, huh? My mom's selling this house for someone."
"Why are we here again?"
"You'll see in a second," Jason said, leading them deeper into the home.
Holly walked slowly, pacing her stride to Aldo's shuffling steps while Lena ran ahead of the pack, shrieking at each new room they passed through. Jason couldn't help smiling at her obvious delight. She was a funny kid---and maybe it was because she was only nine---but she had a sense of excitement that he rarely saw in Holly anymore. Maybe it was the freedom of being the one looked after instead of the one in charge. He glanced over at Holly, her hand in her grandfather's, her eyes focused on his feet, making sure he wouldn't fall.
"Can we watch a movie in here?" Lena said, standing in front of a giant screen flanked by a wall of built-in equipment and surrounded by leather chairs that seemed meant for a Hollywood screening room. It was a nice media center, for sure.
"Nope, we're headed outside."
"You doing okay, Grandpa?" Holly asked, rubbing her hand on Aldo's back. He nodded, and so they all continued, following Jason through a sunroom and at last stepping out onto the patio, with its vista of the upcoming grounds.
Holly sucked in a breath. "There's a garden?"
"A very specia kA vp hl one," Jason said.
"He used to garden," she whispered to him.
"I know. You showed me the list, remember?"
Holly displayed a smile of such gratitude that Jason felt his heart squeeze in his chest just a little, his stomach tense. He loved that light in her face, never wanted that to go away.
Aldo closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, pure pleasure filling his face. "So sweet," he said.
"Yeah, smells like summer!" proclaimed Lena, twirling in a circle on the flagstones. The sound of lawnmowers rose above the birds.
Jason breathed in the scent of the freshly cut grass---so pure and reminiscent of an afternoon nap in the sun. It always calmed him. And he needed calming. His big reveal was next. He only hoped that Holly would appreciate what he'd found in the greenhouse and that it would make some kind of difference to Aldo. A difference that would mean something to Holly.
"This way," he called out to Lena, who was running from rosebush to rosebush sniffing at the tight, unopened buds. They passed the two landscapers, and then the sound of their mowers faded slightly as Jason and his guests turned down the secret path and the greenhouse came into view.
Holly looked at him quizzically, her blue eyes pale against the navy of her sweatshirt and the deep green of the grass and the hedges lining the pathway.
"You'll see," he said, patting her on the shoulder, resisting the temptation to wrap his arm around her waist.
"Cool!" shouted Lena, trying to peer in through the glass. "Can we go in there?"
Aldo stood on the threshold. One hand up on the glass.
"I wanted you to see this, Aldo. I heard you were quite a gardener when you were younger," Jason said, pushing open the door and ushering everyone inside.
The warm air was laced with the scent of rich dirt and the brightness of growing things.
"This is awesome!" Lena skipped down the row of plants, reading the tags.
Aldo, meanwhile, stood motionless next to Holly in the doorway.
"Giardino," Aldo mumbled.
"Yes, Grandpa. See all the vegetables!" Holly took his hand and led him to the caged tomato plants in front of them. Jason knew he should have looked away, just let the two of them have their moment, but he couldn't.
Aldo reached out a wrinkled hand toward a cherry tomato gleaming on the vine.
Holly glanced back toward Jason. "Is it okay?"
"Sure," he said.
"Go ahead, Grandpa," Holly said, patting him on the arm.
Aldo twisted the fruit, and it came away from its stem---perfect, orange-red, ripe. He rubbed it on the chest of his sweater and then popped it into his mouth. The lines around his eyes deepened with his smile as he chewed.
"Good?"
He nodded, and then he lifted his hand to his nose.
"Tomato vine smell?" Holly asked, watching him sniff.
"Like my garden," Aldo said.
"Yes," Holly said. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Just like that big garden you had with Grandma. You had so many tomatoes. Do you remember that house on the hill? Your backyard was filled with your rows of vegetables."
He didn't answer, but the smile on his face wouldn't fade. She moved him toward another caged plant, and Aldo reached out for a small roma tomato this time.
"You won't eat that in one bite," Holly said with a little laugh.
"Si." Aldo, after polishing the tomato on his sweater, slipped it into his pocket.
"Grandpa! There's lettuce down here!" Lena came running up the aisle toward them, grabbing for Aldo's hand. "Five different kinds."
"Go," Holly said, waving him on. "Lena, take it slow, please."
Lena pulled Aldo gently toward her find.
"Jason, this is amazing. Thank you," Holly said, taking a seat on the bench near the door. "I can't believe you remembered something from the list. I guess I didn't expect you to pay attention when I showed it to you."
"Of course I was paying attention. This is important."
"Well, thanks." She gave him a little smile. "I think the garden is actually helping. Check them out." She gestured toward Lena breaking off little bits of lettuce and letting Grandpa Aldo nibble them.
"Did I mention lunch is included with the tour?" Jason said, laughing.
Holly's eyes twinkled a little in the sunlight streaming in through the glass. "You know, you're pretty funny."
"Yeah? I never thought of myself that way," he said.
"Me neither." She leaned back a little, seeming to study him. "You were always the serious one. The quiet, solid guy."
"I guess so."
"No, I know so. Even Rob used to say that about you."
Jason took a deep breath and said what he had meant to say the other day. "You know, I saw you, that first day of high school, out in front of the cafeteria. I was just too lame to say anything."
She reached for his hand. "Really?"
"Yep. You had your schedule out, like you were trying to find your way somewhere, and I know I should have stopped to help you. I couldn't do it."
Holly's face brightened. "You thought I was cute."
"Maybe," Jason said with a shrug.
She shoved his shoulder. "There you go, being funny again."
"Yeah, well, I've regretted that moment for a long time."
They sat there quietly for a moment, watching Aldo and Lena checking out the herb section of the greenhouse. Lena picked something from a deep-green bush and held it to her grandpa's nose. The look on his face was pure joy.
Jason leaned over and kissed Holly softly. "Thank you for giving me a chance," he said.
Holly smiled, opening her eyes. "Me too," she said, surprising him. She touched his cheek with her palm and then rose from the bench to walk down the fragrant aisle toward her family.
He watched her go, realizing more than ever that he was falling for her.
\*\*\*
"You can't blame them for enjoying themselves," Aldo says. "They are alive. What would you have them do? Act like nothing goes on, nothing changes? They can't see you, Roberto."
You perch on the windowsill in the living room. Aldo's been left alone to zone out to TV while Holly supervises Lena getting ready for bed. You can hear her little sister complaining about the taste of the toothpaste, the temperature of the brushing water.
"Let me ask you this, my friend. Did you truly love my granddaughter? Please be honest."
"I think so."
"You don't think love. You love with your heart," Aldo says, shaking his head slowly.
Maybe you should feel offended, but you don't. You know that Aldo doesn't bullshit. "I'm seventeen. I guess I don't know crap about love."
"Well, that's the trouble right there," Aldo says in a calm voice. "When you grow older, you love again, and the new love feels so different that the love before feels like make-believe. The way you love changes throughout your life. Even the way you love the same person changes."
k" wof the brYou think back to watching Holly and Jason at the greenhouse earlier that day, seeing them sitting so close, holding hands. Could she love him? Would it be any different from the way she felt about you?
"Imagine that you were never here on Earth," says Aldo. "Would these two have found each other to love if you weren't here?"
"Ouch. Thanks a lot. If I weren't here," you say with a laugh.
"You know what I mean, kid. Answer the question."
"So, okay. Maybe?"
Aldo leans back in his recliner and lets out a breath. "You can't hold on to them, Roberto."
"I'm not trying to hold on to them."
"Then why do you care? Let them do what they will."
"They're my friend and my girlfriend."
"Yes, but you are dead."
"Obviously, I know that," you say, annoyance edging your voice. "I'm floating around day after day, forced to watch them nearly hooking up, and there's nothing I can do. I get the I'm-a-ghost thing."
Aldo frowns. "Did you ever stop to think that you are the one keeping yourself here? Perhaps your attachment to them is making you stay."
"You're not telling me anything I haven't already thought of," you say.
"Roberto, you're so very angry tonight." Aldo shakes his head again.
"Yeah I'm angry. I don't need to be hanging around here! Would you want to spend your eternity watching life go on from the outside?"
Aldo's voice is hard. "No. And that's how I spend each day myself."
Silence falls between you.
After a moment you say, "I didn't mean anything by that. You're in a completely different situation."
"You go on now," Aldo says with a wave of his hand. "I don't want to talk to you anymore tonight." His bushy brows are knitted together, his mouth a thin line.
"C'mon, man, don't be like that."
"Good night, Roberto."
"I wasn't trying to be a jerk. Don't send me away," you plead.
Aldo stares at the car commercial playing on the TV. He pulls up the blanket on his legs, still ignoring you.
"Fine. Maybe you're right," you mumble. "You don't want me around a kt meighnyway. I'll get out of here. I'm not trying to hold on to any one of you."
You close your eyes, and a second later you're on McCallister Road. The wind whips through the cedar trees in the gathering darkness below you. You trace your hand along the shiny new guardrail and then hop it easily, getting some nice hang time in the air. Down through the grassy ravine, you float-trudge toward the tree with the scar.
When you stand in front of that injured giant's trunk, you reach out as if you could touch the blackened marks, the deep gouge from the car's fender, the small bald patches where glass had eaten into the bark. This was where it had ended and where it had begun.
"Take me away," you say aloud to the tree, to the universe, maybe. "I want to go."
The rain patters softly on the leaves near you. Cedar needles shower down right where you stand, passing through you, or through where you would be if you were really there. And you hug the tree as best you can, trying to feel something, anything.
"I want to go outside," Lena said, rolling her scooter in the hallway near the kitchen.
"Here, why don't you grate some cheese?" I held out the block of mozzarella to her. "You can help."
She abandoned the toy, leaning it against the wall.
"Wash your hands first, please."
"This rain sucks." Lena trudged over to the sink.
"I know. But this will be fun. Grandpa, how are you doing with that lettuce?"
He raised his head. The wooden bowl in front of him was half-filled with romaine torn into bite-size pieces. Since yesterday at the greenhouse, he seemed to be pretty engaged. I hadn't seen him drift away, talk about spirits, or mumble to himself. He'd been quiet, mostly.
It'd been a little bit of a rest for me, not worrying quite so much about him. Burned eggs aside, I almost felt like we'd had a good weekend. Yesterday, when Lena had gone to her friend's house after we'd visited the garden, Grandpa had taken a nap and I'd caught up on homework. Mom had had the night off for a change, so she made us all some teriyaki chicken for dinner. Earlier today, Jason had called to say hi, which was cool. Seeing his number flash on the display of the house phone had actually made me smile.
Carrying a plate and the grater, Lena took her spot at the kitchen table next to Grandpa. For every half a cup of cheese she shredded, she ate a quarter cup. It was a good thing it was the cheaper mozzarella I liked to use for the lasagna topping and not the yummier fresh mozzarella that we could almost never afford to buy. The fresh mozzarella, if we ever did get it on sale, I layered with tomato slices and basil for salad. This was just baked pasta, so it didn't matter as much about the cheese. The secret of lasagna is all in the filling, anyway.
"I'm starving," Lena said. "When do we eat?"
"Soon." I gave the sauce a last stir and pulled the noodles from the ice-water bath, layering them in the buttered casserole dish with the ricotta mixture. After covering the topped noodles with the marinara and dollops of the ricotta filling, I called over to Lena for the mozzarella.
"Can I sprinkle it?" she asked, ready with a handful.
"Sure."
A few layers later, we had a nice-looking lasagna. I was just sliding it into the hot oven to bake when I heard the front door open and close.
"Hello, hello?" Mom called out, clanking her keys into the bowl near the door. "Something smells amazing." She walked into the kitchen, a bag in her arms.
"What did you get?" I asked.
"Just a treat for later," Mom said, pulling a carton of strawberry swirl ice cream from the bag and nestling it into the freezer. "It was on sale." She folded the bag and put it in a drawer.
"Yummy!" Lena said, hugging Mom around the waist. "We're making lasagna."
Mom patted Lena on the back and came over and sat down in the chair nearest Grandpa. "How are you feeling today, Papa?" "Good," he said.
She untucked the hem of her polo shirt from her work khakis and leaned back in the chair. "I'm going to get us a glass of wine." She got up, went over to the cabinet, and took down a bottle.
"Mom, are you sure that---"
"It's fine," she said, rummaging through the utensil drawer for the opener.
"It's not going to mess with his meds?"
"I wouldn't offer it to him if it was going to mess up his medication, Holiday."
"He's doing really well today. I don't think we should make any changes," I said in a soft voice.
"I just want to share a glass of wine with him. It won't do any harm. What is with you?" She finally found the opener and slammed the drawer shut, startling all of us.
"Okay, do what you want." I left the kitchen and headed straight for the room Lena and I shared.
No sooner had I shut the door than Mom knocked quickly and came in without waiting for an answer. "Don't you walk away from me like that," she said, steadying herself by placing a hand on the frame of the bunk beds.
"There is no point to arguing in front of Grandpa---or Lena, for that matter. It's just going to upset them, and I really don't need him upset. Especially when we're all calm."
She sat down on the end of my bed. "But there's nothing to argue about," she said, her voice softening. "If I decide something, it's final. There's nothing else to say."
"Seriously?"
"Don't be smart with me," she said, an edge back in her tone.
"Mom. You leave all of this to me---Lena, Grandpa, the apartment---and then you sweep in here and want to be in charge? That's insane."
"Oh, give me a break. It's not like you're all alone in this! I am working so we can afford this place, so you have food to eat. I'm providing for this family. I am the mom."
"I know that. I don't want to be the mom! You think I wouldn't rather be out doing something with a friend? No, instead I'm stuck here, taking care of these guys."
"I thought you liked helping," Mom said. "Since the accident, you've spent more time with us than ever. I thought you liked being with your family."
Tears burned down my cheeks. "You're twisting it. I love my family. But if you put me in charge of them, then let me be in charge."
"You'll never be in charge, Holly," my mom said.
"Then why am I?"
She dragged a hand through her bangs, smoothing them. I saw the weariness in her eyes, the sheer exhaustion. "You want me to quit my jobs and take care of everyone? We'll be living in a shelter. How much fun would that be?"
"I just..." I wiped my cheeks with the arms of my hoodie. "I just need you to stay out of things. I'm handling them."
"Like the burned eggs yesterday? Lena told me about them."
"Yes, like the burned eggs. Grandpa is not well, and thanks to Jason taking us on a field trip to a garden yesterday, he's doing better. Can't you tell the difference? He's actually in there helping make the salad."
"Yes," Mom admitted, "he does seem better this weekend, what little I've seen of him." "Exactly. You're never here. This is like me doing this all on my own," I said.
"That's not true. I am here sometimes. Give me some credit."
"I get it. You are contributing, and I'm really grateful for that. But Grandpa's getting worse, not better. I'm sure that's what the doctor is going to say tomorrow."
Mom pressed her lips together. "Whatever he says, we'll cope."
"Are you coming to the appointment?"
She shook her head slowly. "It's during my shift at the dealership. It's the only time slo sonl0em" widtt they had open at the last minute. I can't get anyone to cover."
"Mom," I said, trying to say what I needed her to hear, "I don't know if I can handle this."
"I'm counting on you," she said, giving me an exasperated look.
"You always just assume I'm going to take care of everything. You never ask me."
"Right now, that's the way it has to be."
I folded my arms across my chest, thinking of how things should be different. How she should wrap me in a hug and tell me that she was getting a new job with better hours. That it was no problem for me to start thinking about college. That she could start taking care of everything a parent is supposed to.
It didn't happen, of course.
"What?" she said, studying my face. "You don't like all of this? Well, you'll be out of the house soon, and then you can do whatever the hell you want." Her voice was angry, raw, but still quiet.
"But what will you do then? That's the part you never think about."
Mom sighed. "Actually, Holly, I think about that every day."
She left me sitting there on the bed, my arms wrapped around myself, feeling like things were getting so much worse.
Mark helped himself to another serving of leftover barbecue chicken. "So good," he said around a smoky bite. "Sunday and baseball, what more do you need?"
"Yeah," Jason said. He set down the biscuit he was slathering with butter and took another bite of the potato salad on his plate.
"You are so lucky. My mom never cooks this good," Mark said. "She makes this goulash with peas and taco meat that no one likes. I swear when my dad smells it cooking, he calls for takeout."
"My mom can't cook. This is Rosie's dinner from the other night."
Mark leaned back on the cream couch, his red, sticky fingers dangerously close to the leather. "I wish our housekeeper cooked. Seriously..."
"Yeah." Jason handed him a dinner napkin.
Mark stared down at it, confused at first, and then started wiping his barbecue-sauced fingers. "I'm glad you called me. It's good to hang out." He put his feet up on the coffee table and turned his attention toward the Mariners game on TV.
"Well, I felt bad about the other day. In the car."
"Don't worry about it," Mark said, giving him a sideways smile. "I knew you wouldn't let a chick ruin our friendship. sr fman"
"C'mon. She's not going to ruin any friendship," he said.
"You know what I mean."
"Hello?" Jason's mom called from the foyer. She paused in the doorway of the living room. "Wow, Mark, I haven't seen you in ages." She gave him a smile and smoothed down her hair. "Sorry, it's raining again out there."
Mark waved at her with the crumpled napkin still in his hand. "Hi, Mrs. Markham."
"Just call me Mom, silly." She set her giant purse down on one of the barstools in the kitchen and click-clacked her way to the refrigerator. "You know you boys have always been family."
You boys. No, there was only one boy now without Rob, Jason wanted to say, but he let the remark pass.
"Sure, thanks, Mom," Mark said, trying it out.
Rolling his eyes, Jason picked up the plate of chicken bones and the empty soda cans. He threw the cans into the recycling bin under the sink and the bones into the compost bucket. He left the plate on the counter. "We ate almost all the leftovers from the other night. Sorry. I think there's a little potato salad left in the fridge, maybe."
"Oh, no worries, I had an early dinner after the open house," his mom said, opening up a diet soda with the back of a spoon so she wouldn't chip her pink polished nails. "So, aren't you going to ask me how the showing went?" she said.
"Sure, Mom. How did it go?" He leaned on his elbows on the granite countertop of the island.
"How kind of you to ask," she said with a smile. "As a matter of fact, I may get an offer tomorrow."
"Nice work."
"I had a buyer who's in love with the garden and was delighted with the fresh look of the kitchen. See? Staging goes a long way. Can't thank you enough for your help."
"I only carried in your pillows and bowls of lemons."
"It was much appreciated," she said. "It's been hard for me to get back into the swing of things. I haven't shown houses since before you were born. Your help meant a lot." She patted him on the shoulder.
"Well, you're welcome, then." Jason turned to go.
"Wait, honey---I did have one question---the old man and the girls at the house yesterday? I saw you in the greenhouse when I went to give the gardeners their check."
"Those were the friends I told you I was bringing by," he said.
She took a seat on one of the free barstools. "But that was the Mullen girl, wasn't it?"
"The Mullen girl? You mean Holly? Yeah," he said quietly after a quick glance toward Mark, who was busy yelling at the runner stealing third base on TV.
His mom frowned. "Why on earth would you be hanging around her?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, she was Rob's girlfriend, right?"
"Yeah," Jason said in a calm voice.
"It seems a little strange," she said. "Even with the history with Rob, she isn't exactly your normal type of girl."
"I know. That's why I like her," he said, brushing some crumbs from the counter in front of him.
She wiped down her sweating diet soda can with a paper towel. "So, is this serious?"
"I like her," he said.
His mom shook her head. "I just don't know if this is the right thing for you, sweetheart. You need to be focusing ahead on college, not looking back at what you lost."
"It's not about Rob," he said. "I just like her."
"I don't think this is a good idea at all," she said. "There are so many other girls at your school. This just spells disaster."
"Mom."
"I'm sorry, that's just the way I feel."
"That's too bad," Jason said.
His mom cocked her head. "Excuse me?"
"Sorry. It's just that I've got plans to have her and her family over next weekend. You can meet her." Actually, he hadn't made any plans yet, but now he wanted to.
"I suppose that's the right thing to do," his mom said with a sigh. "I still don't like it."
"You don't have to like it," Jason said.
"Honey, I just don't want you to get hurt."
Of course she would say that, Jason thought. Mom was so down on love at the moment, it would be hard for her to see how happy Holly made him. Hard for her to encourage him to pursue something while she'd lost her faith. It really was over. His dad had come by today for another load of stuff to take to his new condo. He wouldn't let Jason help unload the truck, so Jason didn't know where the apartment was exactly---just that his dad wasn't coming back to live at the house. His mom had known his dad would be by---she'd made sure to be away just so she wouldn't have to deal.
"I think you're going to like Holly," he said.
"Okay, well, let me know if I can help with anything," she said.
"I'm going to ask Rosie to help."
"Oh."
"It's just that I thought you'd be busy with your houses," Jason said, seeing the crestfallen look in his mom's eyes.
"I'm not terribly busy," she replied. "I could help you set up for dinner at least."
"Good." Jason smiled. "Then it's a plan."
"Yes." Jason saw a little sparkle come back into her eyes. "Hey, Mom, you got any chips?" Mark yelled from the living room.
"Sure," Jason's mom said, getting a bag down. "Maybe some nachos?" he added.
Jason rolled his eyes and grabbed the corn chips from his mom. "I'll do it," he said.
"Nice to have your friends around again," his mom said with a gentle smile. "Yeah. Nice."
\*\*\*
The grass on the hillside is probably damp, but you can't feel it anyway. You lean back against the guardrail, watching McCallister Road fill with a steady stream of Monday morning traffic, commuters making their way down the hillside community in their shiny luxury cars, their SUVs. The spring rain patters softly across windshields. You hear the swish-swish of wipers, the staccato splash of all-season tires through shallow puddles. A school bus puffs by in a cloud of diesel fumes.
Everything is normal. Everything but you.
The time on the hill had seemed endless last night. You expected some kind of monumental revelation, maybe that tunnel of light to descend now that the universe has you down on your knees, but nothing came. Just dark trees clinging to the hillside, crows that stopped by to search the ravine for treasure, the sound of insects busy in the grass. And all the while, your mind had no respite. No gentle thoughts came to rescue you from the anger that filled your head for the dark hours. And in the light, you turned over and over what Aldo said.
Now, after a night of solitude, you've come to a few conclusions:

At least Aldo is alive.
Though it's a little limited, he can still communicate with his family.
He can still experience the world.
Everyone can see him.

What the hell does he know about what you're going through? And for him to get mad about you being frustrated was so unfair. What you wouldn't give to be able to talk to your family, your friends, Holly. What you wouldn't give to have a bite of fresh tomato, the juice running down your chin. What you wouldn't give to sleep and dream...
All of those things suddenly seem so important to you. So vital to any kind of meaningful existence. So what if maybe you didn't appreciate them when you were swhehat alive. Does that mean you can't want them now? You guess it's jealousy, but still.
As you look up to watch the traffic again, a big truck rushes the hill's curve, crashing through the puddle nearest you. A wall of water drops falls over you. But there's nothing to shake off. You don't even need to mutter a curse word at the driver. It's almost funny.
"Being a ghost is overrated," you say aloud, "but at least you don't get wet." The sound of your laughter is lonely, hollow.
If Aldo was there, he would think it was hilarious. He does have a good sense of humor. He's actually fun to talk to. You have to admit you miss the old guy, but where did he get off judging you, sending you away? That's some bullshit.
You're the one haunting him. You're the one who should de-cide if you stay or go. Yes. You'll go back to see Aldo today, and he'll be grateful for the visit. Maybe he'll be the one to apologize first for the whole thing. When you only have one true friend, you have to forgive and forget.
Even if that guy is dead like you.
\*\*\*
I barely made it through school on Monday. Marisa was out sick, so the day seemed to drag on endlessly in a swirl of forgotten homework, a lunch of a peanut butter sandwich that felt like glue in my mouth, and strange acknowledging nods I was getting when I walked down the hall with Jason. It seemed like everyone knew we were a couple suddenly.
When the last bell rang, I headed for home so that Grandpa and I could go downtown to his appointment. Worried about being late, I hustled him from the bench in front of our building down to the city bus stop two blocks away. With Lena away at a friend's house for a play date, it was just the two of us. We'd take an express downtown and then a local up to First Hill, the mecca for medical offices in Seattle.
The bus stop's bench was painted a light gray, exactly like the sidewalk below it. Grandpa Aldo reached backwards for a seat, swayed, and almost fell down onto the concrete.
"Here," I said, reaching out and helping him over onto the actual bench.
Aldo kept looking down at the spot on the concrete where he'd almost fallen, staring as if to see the seat he'd imagined there. It was like he couldn't see where the bench ended and the sidewalk began. His face constricted with worry.
"It's okay," I said, sliding onto the seat next to him. "Now we just wait here until the bus comes."
There was uncertainty in his eyes. I felt the fear growing inside him, and suddenly I was scared too. A freak-out could be coming next. I took a deep breath and tried to remain calm.
"Gloria?" Grandpa Aldo said softly.
His asking for my late grandmother was not a good sign.
I reached out my hand and took one of his. "Grandpa, it's me, Holly. We're waiting for the bus to go see your doctor. It's going to be fine."
He pressed his wrinkled lips together and didn't say anything. A few seconds later I heard soft humming under his breath, like he was trying to soothe himself or something.
The rumble and whir of the bus was like the song of angels to me. I stood up from the bench and helped Aldo shuffle toward the bus's open, waiting doors. "C'mon, Grandpa," I said, squeezing his hands. "A few steps now."
Shakily, he used the handrail of the bus to guide himself up. I fed our money into the driver's till, took the transfers she offered, and then followed my grandpa down the narrow aisle. The bus was pretty full, but we found seats near the back doors. Steadying himself with the handhold at the top of the seat in front of us, Grandpa settled in next to me as the bus lurched forward into traffic.
Surface streets flew by, and then we were up on the interstate and the skyscrapers of downtown Seattle came into view. Grandpa was still humming to himself, and then all of a sudden he was looking into the empty seat in front of us, his eyes darkening.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
Grandpa started speaking Italian in a low, insistent voice.
I rubbed my hand on his back. "Grandpa?"
A lady in a row across from us made a shushing sound from behind her open newspaper.
The stream of Italian got louder, more urgent sounding, like Grandpa Aldo was arguing with someone. Now more people on the bus were turning and glaring at me and Grandpa. Even people with earbuds were staring at us, probably wondering what the hell was going on.
Grandpa's hands were moving now. He was gesturing and speaking to this empty chair in front of us---and my face was burning with humiliation.
"What is wrong with that guy?" I heard someone say loudly behind us.
"Crazy people," muttered someone else.
I patted my grandpa's back, trying to bring him back to reality---to the present moment. And inside I was getting madder and madder---mostly at myself. Why hadn't I just let Jason give us a ride when he'd asked me if I needed help? But I couldn't. I didn't want to rely on him for help with stuff like this when there was a chance, and a good one, that he'd eventually lose interest in us and our problems---or worse yet, me.
"Everything all right back there?" said the driver into his loudspeaker as he pulled off the interstate.
"Yes," I replied in a loud voice.
The people around me gaped at us. Grandpa was still gesturing and speaking Italian a mile a minute. And then I heard him say, "< sd hace="em>Si, Roberto."
Oh, great. The king of apparitions was back. "Grandpa," I said, tugging on his sweater sleeve. "Are you seeing Roberto?"
He ignored me, still nearly shouting at the empty chair.
"This is very disruptive," said a man dressed in a dark suit across the aisle from us.
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but he can't help it. He's got Alzheimer's."
Most of the people on the bus went back to their crosswords and paperbacks and music. I patted Grandpa on the back again. "Is he here? Is Roberto here?"
Grandpa didn't answer me, but he paused in his conversation.
I stared at the empty seat in front of us with what I hoped was a fierce look. "Roberto, Rob, whoever you are. You have to hit the road. I don't know if you're getting this, but people on this bus are thinking Aldo is a fruitcake. So, please leave."
There was a stillness in the air suddenly. And I could see dust glittering in the filtered light coming in through the bus windows. A calmness came over Aldo. He settled back in his chair and closed his eyes as if he were very tired suddenly.
I exhaled and patted his hand. So, whatever he was seeing---whoever---maybe they had reacted to what I'd said. I didn't know how that was even possible, but it seemed to have worked. I tried to relax into the brown Naugahyde bus seat next to my grandfather. We had two stops to go, and then we'd transfer to the direct bus to the medical center.
As I headed with Aldo to the back doors of the bus, an older black woman reached out to me. "I nursed my mother through that, sweetheart," she said. "You just hang in there and remember to ask for help when you need it."
My eyes started to water.
"Be strong," she called out as we descended the stairs.
I got Grandpa situated on the bench under cover of the bus shelter as rain began to patter down. He was humming to himself again, but instead of being comforted, he was glancing around like he was unsure of something.
He squinted at me. "Hello," he said, pausing as if he knew he'd met me and was trying to remember my name.
"I'm Holly," I said, patting his arm. "We're going to see Dr. Wells."
"Oh. I don't like this rain," Grandpa Aldo said, trailing off into humming.
I took out the cell phone for emergencies and dialed Jason's number. He didn't pick up, but I left a voice mail asking him to meet us at the clinic later. I didn't know if I could deal with a long bus ride home with Grandpa. As I clicked off the phone, I felt strangely comforted. Not weak at all.
I sucked in a deep breath, and kept holding on to my grandpa's hand as the next bus rolled up to the stop. I got us to the clinic in one piece, and there, thankfully, the doctor had an amazing fish tank in the waiting room. Instantly, Grandpa Aldo was absorbed in the underwater action.
Jason still hadn't returned my call when a nurse came out with a clipboard. "Mr. Santucci?" she called.
I stood up. "That's us. Come on, Grandpa," I said, helping him to his feet.
Inside the little exam room, I took a chair while Grandpa Aldo sat on the end of the paper-covered table. We waited, Grandpa humming, me flipping absently through a gossip magazine with its celebrity weddings, diet ads, reviews of movies I would probably never see at the theater, summer's best hairstyles. It was funny how I used to enjoy reading through those kinds of magazines with Marisa while we painted our toenails. Now they just seemed like little crappy stories with flashy pictures of people and things I didn't care about.
"All right, let's check your blood pressure, Mr. Santucci," the nurse said, coming in a few minutes later.
"Wait. Let me help you." I put down the magazine and stood next to Aldo. I took his cap and his cardigan sweater off and set them back on the chair.
The nurse strapped the blood pressure cuff on Aldo's arm. He winced at the uncomfortable pressure around his biceps.
"It's okay, Grandpa. It'll go away in a moment," I said in a soothing voice.
"Bene," Aldo said, settling down.
I smoothed some of his gray hair back behind his ear. He had a pretty good case of hat head. "The doctor will be here in a moment to check us out."
The nurse wrote down info on Aldo's chart and left. A few minutes of humming and magazine-page-flipping later, there was a knock on the door. The doctor swooped in and with what seemed like a forced but necessary smile shook Aldo's hand. "How are we feeling, Mr. Santucci?"
Aldo gave him a smile. "Hello, I am Aldo," he said.
"Yes, we met some time ago with your daughter, Julia." The doctor turned to me. "Hi, I'm Dr. Wells." He was young. Blond bangs swooped down over his eyes, which were covered with hip, thin glasses. He had a little goatee, but maybe that was intended to make him look older.
"Hi, uh, my mom, Julia, she couldn't come today. I'm Holly, his granddaughter, I take care of Aldo." I took out a small notepad and a pencil from my bag. "I'm going to take some notes, if that's okay."
"That'd be really helpful for later, when you're at home," said the doctor. He glanced down at the chart on his clipboard. "Well, blood pressure looks pretty good. Mr. Santucci, how are you feeling?"
Aldo just nodded.
"He's been having hallucinations," I said. "Just now on the bus, in fact, he had another one. He sees things that aren't there. He has conversations with supposed ghosts. Right, Grandpa?"
"Not uncommon," the doctor said, making some notes on the chart. "As the dementia progresses, you'll see more and more of that type of thing. How about motor skills? Aldo, are you getting around all right?"
Aldo didn't respond, so the doctor looked at me.
"He's able to do normal stuff. He's just doing things out of order. Like the other day he was frustrated because he put his shoes on his bare feet. When I checked, his socks were lying there on the bed, untouched."
"Sequencing can be a big problem. I explained some of these things to your mother when she was here last time. She couldn't come today?"
"It's just me."
The doctor shook his head slowly and made some notes on his chart. "Well, I'm glad you brought him in for his appointment. Thank you on Aldo's behalf. So, are there any other new behaviors you've noticed? Any changes in cognition?"
"The other day, he tried to make us breakfast and nearly set off the smoke alarm."
The doctor nodded. "He'll forget some basic steps, so try to give him clear tasks, directions for each step. Make numbers big. Label cabinets. Anything you can do to help him retain some of his independence is going to benefit him. You have a lot to give yet, Aldo," he said, giving him a smile and a pat on the arm. "How are the meds working out?"
"Fine, but what about the hallucinations---you know, the ghosts he keeps seeing? Should the drugs be helping with them?"
The doctor clicked his pen shut and set it onto his clipboard. "That's just a major symptom of his brain misfiring. The drugs help a little but don't contain them completely."
"Do you think what he's seeing is real?"
"Sure. It's very real to him. What he's seeing is as real as I am to you right now. Trying to convince him otherwise is counterproductive."
"He speaks Italian to his hallucination."
"Very common. I see many patients pick up their native tongues after years of using English only. Even languages they haven't spoken since they were children."
"Is it normal," I said slowly, "for someone to deteriorate so rapidly?"
Dr. Wells leaned forward toward me. "Holly, I've been caring for Aldo for a couple of years now. This didn't develop overnight."
I couldn't keep the tears from rising. "My mother has known about this...?"
"She and your uncle have known for a while," he said. "This decline you're seeing is characteristic of a more challenging phase of the disease."
Aldo started humming again, and I patted him on the arm.
"It's okay," I said, more to myself than him. "It's all okay, Grandpa."
The doctor cleared his throat. "We'll wrap this up so you can get him back home. How is he sleeping?"
"Not well. He's up before us every morning, and sometimes I hear him talking at night."
"I'm going to prescribe a sleeping aid. We need to give his brain as much time as possible to shut down each night and recharge." He scribbled on a small pad. "We're going to try to keep him as healthy and comfortable as we can. You just keep doing what you're doing," the doctor said, holding out the prescription.
I reached out to take it, and the doctor held it tight, meeting my eyes. "You remember to take care of yourself, too."
Meanwhile, Aldo was looking at the doorway of the exam room, fixated on one spot in particular.
"Grandpa?" I said, touching his arm.
Aldo gazed back at me, recognition lighting his face. "Cara mia. Is it time to go?"
"Sure, almost."
"Hello," he said to the doctor as I handed him his cap and sweater.
Dr. Wells smiled kindly. "Hello and goodbye, Mr. Santucci."
"Aldo," Grandpa corrected.
The doctor escorted us back out to the waiting room and said goodbye, then the door closed behind him. I saw him in the square window as he walked away, like a little, fading picture. I got Grandpa settled near the fish tank again, pointing out the bright orange starfish near the coral. And then I read through the notes I'd made, wiping my eyes with my sleeve.
He found them in the waiting room at one of the Virginia Mason Clinic's offices. There was a huge aquarium on one wall of the office, and Aldo was staring at a few of the angelfish congregating near the bottom of the tank. The carpeted room was filled with the soft sounds of classical music, one of Mozart's piano concertos, Jason guessed.
He'd never liked hospitals or doctor's offices. They seemed like sad places. He remembered being a small boy and accompanying his mother to appointments, which as he got older realized must have been fertility doctors, treatments that didn't work. Maybe it was that absorption of his mother's loss of hope. Maybe it was the memory of turning up at the hospital after Rob's crash. Or the sight of Holly, unconscious, bandaged, and bruised in the hospital bed, and his fruitless search for where they had sereruised taken Rob. Whatever it was about hospitals and medical offices, he just didn't like them. But he was here for Holly and Grandpa Aldo today. He'd gotten Holly's message and zipped right over, hoping he wasn't too late to pick them up.
The fish tank was impressive, and Aldo was engrossed in movement of the sea grass, the little orange fishes hiding within.
"Hi, Aldo," Jason said, patting the old man on the shoulder, but Aldo didn't surrender his view of the swirling fish or reply.
Holly's eyes were red and tired but filled with relief. And for just a second, Jason felt his heart swell. She was happy to see him.
"Hey there," Jason whispered as he slid into the open seat next to Holly and took her hand. "How're you doing?"
She bit down on her lower lip, like she was holding herself back from losing it.
"That bad, huh?"
"Thanks for coming," she said.
"Well, I'm glad you called," he said wrapping her in a big hug.
She sank into his arms. "Mom should have been here," she said in a muffled voice. "She should have been here to take all this in. I can't deal."
He smoothed her hair, hugging her tighter. "I know. This is hard."
She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. "Take us home, 'kay?"
"Sure." He wiped fresh tears from her cheeks with his thumbs and kissed her. "Let's get you guys out of here."
You're speechless. For once in your ghostly life, you're speechless.
Holly talked to you. Well, at you.
Maybe showing up on the bus and causing such a ruckus with Aldo wasn't the greatest idea---but she stared into your face and told you to hit the road. Sweet, sweet Holly---her eyes full of insistence, her beautiful mouth set in a hard line---told you to leave Aldo alone on the bus.
Yes! Your spirit heart had cartwheeled. Finally, she paid attention to you, even if she couldn't see you. Aldo, well, he was obviously still pissed off at you about the other day, but you figured he would come around.
Not wanting to rile the old guy up again, you stayed out of the way at the doctor's office. Just out of eyesight beyond the door, but close enough that you could hear what was going on. You'd heard Aldo's silence, his lack of response when they talked to him. From knowing him the way you do, it'd seemed so strange, so sad. That guy could go on and on with his stories, his advice. He's gregarious and warm, the Aldo you know. But not here, not with them. Alzheimer's had control of him. vg. La"5%
If only you could have held Holly's hand while the doctor told her how much Aldo's disease had progressed, how much worse he was going to get. It was like you could see right into her breaking heart. You'd never seen her that full of despair before. She'd always been such a trooper. Helping her mother raise her sister, never complaining about their lack of money, their crappy apartment. You'd admired her ability to let things roll off her back, but you'd never asked her how she felt about everything. Maybe you'd been so wrapped up in your own problems, in the swirl of senior year coming at you in a rush, that you hadn't really been there with Holly.
You'd been there, but not there for her---not like you could have been, anyway. Not like you kind of are now.
You follow Jason, Aldo, and Holly through the maze of the medical center's parking garage and into the back of Jason's Audi, next to Holly. By the look on her face, you can tell her mind is still whirling with worry. Moments later, at the front door of the apartment building, she kisses Jason lightly on the cheek.
"Thank you. Again," she says.
"You need help getting him up to your place?" he asks.
"Nah." Holly's smile is a mix of half-gratitude, half-affection. She really is starting to fall for him. And the way she looks at him is so familiar, it makes your heart hurt. Back then, she loved you. Maybe more than you ever knew or appreciated.
"All right," Jason says. "I'll see you later. Good night, guys." He pats Aldo on the back and holds the door for the old man and Holly to shuffle through. The glass door closes and he's left on the outside.
"I know how that feels," you mutter.
He turns, and for half a second you fantasize it's because he heard you speak. But of course he's just heading back to the car. His steps are heavier, slower. He's feeling bad for Holly, obviously. For a while you hang out with him, but there's nothing happening. He drives home, slows a little around the dangerous curve, then zooms up the hill. Just another day in the life of a guy who's into your girlfriend. It's time to take care of business, so you think of Aldo and you're in the kitchen. Aldo sees you and, from his seat at the table, waves you off with a disgusted grunt. Holly's busy laying out his medication for the night, rummaging through the drawers for more notepaper.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to start trouble on the bus," you say in a gentle tone.
Aldo looks up from his cup of coffee. "Sure, kid."
"Like I said, I'm sorry."
"I told you, I don't think we need to visit anymore," Aldo says. "Scram."
Holly walks over and puts her hand on his back. "Grandpa, you okay?"
Aldo nods.
"Sorry," you say again. "Every time she sees us talk---"
"She thinks I'm crazy!" finishes Aldo.
"Well, can we go somewhere in private? Can you tell her you need to lie down? Please, Aldo, at least let me explain. I really am sorry."
"This is the last time," he says in quick Italian.
Holly's still standing there over him, a concerned expression in her eyes. "Grandpa?"
"I ... will rest," Aldo says.
Holly reaches out and helps him to his feet. Then Aldo works his way down the hall to his room. Once the door closes, he sits on the bed and fixes you with a hard stare. "Speak, ghost. Tell me what you want from me."
"It's Rob. Roberto. I thought we were friends. I'm not just some ghost."
"Sure, sure," Aldo says, gesturing with his hands. "It's whatever you say we are, right? You are the one haunting me, not the other way around."
You perch on the foot of his bed. "I'm sorry about the other day and what I said. Being a ghost has to be easier than what you're going through, okay? I admit it---I was an asshole. I get it now. I promise you, I get it."
"Not much to get," Aldo says, his mouth twisting a little.
You try to keep your cool. There are things you want to say. Things that you want him to hear. "I was there at the doctor's appointment today. Did you understand what he was telling you?"
Aldo shrugs. "I know he was trying to be helpful, I felt the warmth of what he said, the care."
"But you didn't understand what he was telling you and Holly."
He gives you a frustrated look. You both know he couldn't have comprehended everything going on around him in that state. "Help me understand, then, if you think it's best, ghost," he says in a weary voice.
"I'm not just some ghost, dammit. It's Rob," you say, firmly. "It's just plain old Rob, and you know that. Why do you have to be like this? I said I'm sorry."
"Fine," Aldo says, letting out a little puff of breath. "Explain what the doctor said."
You steady yourself. "He said you're not getting any better. It's going to get harder and harder for you to communicate with your loved ones. It's going to get harder for you to do normal, everyday things."
"That's nothing new," Aldo says with a small laugh. "It's a shame we had to pay for that appointment." He settles deeper into the bed, leans his back against the pillows and wall.
You get up {> Ygs. "Iand start to pace the room. "No. It's bad. I want to---I want to find a way to help you."
"Wait, wait. I thought you wanted me to help you, kid." Aldo's eyes are narrowed, skeptical.
"Yeah, I thought that was what this was all about, but maybe I'm supposed to help you. Maybe there's something I can do about your Alzheimer's. Help you tell someone something."
"You're confusing the situation. This isn't about me," he says in an exasperated tone. "I'm not sure why you're so thick-headed. You have something to tell Holly," Aldo says. "Otherwise we never would have met. You wouldn't be here in my life being a pain in the butt."
"Hey, now. A pain in the butt? Aldo, that hurts," you say, a hand on your chest like he's shot you through with arrows.
Aldo doesn't smile. "Kid, let's cut to the chase. I want to talk about the crash."
You can't feel it, but you hear the air suck out of the room like a whoosh of a vacuum. "That night was a blur. I don't have anything to tell you about that."
"You almost killed my Holly," Aldo says, his eyes fierce. "I think there's something for you to say to her. An apology---something. We've gone round and round about this, and I want to know the truth."
Your throat tightens. "I can't talk about all that stuff."
"If you want to keep coming here, to keep seeing me, then I need you to tell me everything," Aldo says. "Just think of me as your priest hearing your confession."
"If I tell you..."
Aldo's face is hard. "Then maybe you'll go into the light and quit haunting this old man."
"You want me to go?"
"Of course I do. The last thing they need to see me doing is arguing with the air. I'm one step from some kind of state rest home." You wish he were making a joke, but he looks you in the eye, squarely. "That's where they send you to die."
"Hey, death is ... It's lonely. Then again, life on Earth can be lonely, too."
"Don't I know it," says Aldo.
"Yeah."
"Spill it, Roberto. I'm tired of all this stalling." Aldo waves a hand at you. "Give me the awful truth. Tell me about how you got my Holly drunk and then the two of you went swerving down the road and off a cliff."
"That's not what happened! It wasn't like that at all."
He laughs and shakes his head. "Why you want to cover up this whole thing is beyond me."
"Okay, okay. It was a simple crash, a wet night on dark roads. You already know that. Rehashing it isn't going to change anything."
"Son"---Aldo pauses and scooches up on the pillows---"you are in pain. That's the quintessential part of being a ghost. You're a tortured soul. That means nothing is simple about this. And with you, I don't see how it could be, anyway."
"Thanks."
"Don't take offense, kid. I'm just speaking the truth."
"Yeah. I guess."
"You keep saying that you don't remember what happened that night, but I can't believe it. I want to ask you a question, and I want you to tell me the truth. Do you think that you caused the crash?" Aldo asks. "Was it your fault?" "I'm not really sure," you say in a mumble.
"Tell me."
"If I say yes, you're going to hate me, and if I say no, you won't believe me."
"Why am I going to hate you? I'm not going to hate you, kid."
He's finally worn you down, so you make the words in your mind. "Yes ... I'm pretty sure it was my fault."
Aldo lets out a sigh. A sigh of disappointment, maybe. Or a sigh of weariness because he knew this truth all along. But then, when you look up to judge his reaction, you see his eyes watering.
"You poor kid," he says in a soft voice. "Poverino..."
"Don't cry. Do anything but that. I'm not here for you to pity me. I'm here to, oh, God knows why..."
Fat tears roll down his wrinkled cheeks. "I'm sorry, Roberto. I'm sorry for your pain, your guilt." The compassion welling in his soul is almost radiating---he's almost like a ghost.
You're so ashamed, you can't look him in the eye anymore.
\*\*\*
With the apartment so empty and quiet, I could hear my grandpa talking to himself, or to his ghost, again. I stood outside his room, listening to the stream of Italian and feeling a growing hopelessness down in the pit of my stomach. What could I do, burst into the room, calm him---yell again at the empty space he was talking to?
Instead, I went back to the kitchen and worked on organizing the meds and all the notes I'd taken at the doctor's office. I wanted to make sure it all made sense. I laid all the little sheets of paper out on the counter and fished the pill bottles out of the big drawer. In the pile of medical stuff, I saw a business card that I hadn't realized I'd kept. MS. SHIRLEY GRANGER, SENIOR SERVICES COUNSELOR. She'd said to call her anytime. The more Grandpa freaked out, the more I thought about calling her for advice. The doctor had had some good suggestions, { su. T but maybe someone who spent all her time with older people who had Alzheimer's and dementia would know what to do. And she did see him at the senior center, so she knew him.
"Dinner," I muttered, realizing that it was nearly six o'clock and I hadn't started anything. Mom would be home soon to grab a bite and change into her work clothes for the grocery store. I walked down the hall to my grandpa's room and knocked on the door.
"Grandpa?" I turned the handle and let myself in. "What do you want to eat? Hamburgers sound good?"
Grandpa Aldo was sitting on the bed, his head in his hands.
"Hey, what's going on?" I said, going over and touching his back.
He looked up at me, his cheeks wet with tears, his eyes red.
"Oh, no. Grandpa, whatever it is, I'm here." I sat next to him and put my arm around his hunched shoulders. "I'm here with you."
He didn't say anything, but his face was pained.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
A rush of soft Italian spilled from his lips. I heard the name Roberto somewhere in the jumble.
"Again, Roberto?" I said, letting out a frustrated sigh. "This is no good, Grandpa. I don't know who this guy is---and I doubt now that he's my Rob, because I don't think he'd keep messing with you if it was---but I'm about ready to kick his ghostly ass."
Grandpa Aldo gazed at me, understanding in his eyes, and something else---anger, maybe---simmering beneath. "He should be free from this," he said in a soft, grumbly voice.
"Who wants to be free? Roberto? Well, I wish he would be, 'cause he's a real jerk."
His cheeks reddened. "No, no. We must help."
"Don't you see?" I said, rubbing a hand on his back. "It's too late to help Roberto or whatever it is. We need to help you. We just need to take care of you."
He looked at me again. We sat there for a moment in silence, and then I heard the front door close and the jingle of keys thrown into the bowl near the door.
"Hello?" my mom called out.
Aldo seemed calmer now---at least, his breathing was more regular.
"We're in here," I said. "Be out in a minute."
Aldo reached for my hand. "He needs to tell you," he said in a soft whisper.
I was pretty sure he was talking about Rob, Roberto, whomever, so I shook it off. "Come on, let's go say hi to mom and start dinner."
is back. "t="0em">
My grandpa let me help him to his feet, and we walked slowly toward the open door. He took each step like it required a separate thought to move his foot forward. Since he'd been here, he had seemed to have more trouble walking. I'd have to get him a cane soon.
"Good job," I told him. "Almost there."
In the kitchen I found Mom sifting through the pile of meds and notes.
"How did it go? This all from today?" she said, her voice a mixture of exhaustion and rallied enthusiasm.
"Hi," I replied. I got Aldo situated in a chair at the table and took him a glass of water. "Why don't you have a sip," I said to him.
He curled his hand around the glass.
"Where's Lena?"
"Play date at Jenny's," I said, not surprised Mom hadn't checked the calendar on the fridge.
"Oh, that's right. So, uh, can you give me a summary here?" Mom said, glancing down at one of my small pieces of paper. "Just the highlights. I don't have time to read all this."
I looked up from filling my own water glass at the tap. "Dr. Wells gave us a prescription for sleeping pills. I wrote some of his suggestions down for helping Grandpa with remembering the order and steps of things."
"He wasn't too worried, then? You told him about the hallucinations?"
"Yes. That was the main thing," I said, trying to be patient.
She reached back and tied her hair into a bun. "And Ms. Granger? What's with her card on the counter?"
I let out a breath. "I was thinking about calling her. She might have some more ideas to help Grandpa."
"Don't call her," Mom said in a tight voice. "We're handling this. I don't want you getting a social worker involved."
"I'm not getting her involved, Mom---I just want to get some more ideas on how to help him."
"We can get some more books from the library," Mom said. "I can do more research online during my breaks at the dealership."
"He's getting pretty bad," I said in a quiet voice. It still felt weird to talk about Grandpa like he wasn't there, when I knew he was. Over at the table, Grandpa took another sip from his water glass, lowering it slowly back to the table. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sweater sleeve.
Mom stared down at her open pop can. "I have to go get ready for work."
"I know." I started getting stuff out to make hamburgers. "Can you at least say hello to Grandp {lloe to go gea first?"
Mom went over and gave Aldo a hug. "Hello, Papa. How are you feeling?"
After the embrace was over, Aldo brought his glass of water to his lips and took a deep drink. He didn't make eye contact.
"Of course." Mom threw her hands in the air and walked away from him.
"What?" I said, opening a pack of ground beef and dumping it into a bowl.
"It's like..." she began. "Oh, never mind."
"It doesn't matter what he does, Mom. It matters what you do. He wants you to treat him like he's still here. Remember?"
"Yes, of course, Holly. I can see he's still here. And I don't need you lecturing me on what to do."
"Okay, forget it." I started mixing the meat with the spices and salt I'd sprinkled in the bowl. "Are you having dinner with us?"
She checked her watch. "I've got to change. I'll just grab something on the way in to work."
"Hamburgers," said Aldo, spontaneously.
Mom looked over at him, surprised. "Yeah, Papa. That's right."
I started making the round patties, putting them on a plate next to the stove. "You can't stay? I think he'd like it if you did."
She paused and then said, "Yeah. How long till dinner?"
"About ten minutes," I said. "Can you fit us in?"
"I can do that." She sat down at the table and reached out for Grandpa's hand.
"You've got about ten more minutes, folks." Mr. Houston walked past the bank of computers in the library the next day. Jason glanced up from his laptop.
"You find anything good on the Phoenicians?" asked a familiar voice behind him.
He turned to see Faith standing there. Though she'd been in world history with him, they hadn't talked in months. She had a new boyfriend, some guy at the UW, and Jason had fallen off her radar. He'd been okay with that, figuring that sometimes it was easier to make a clean break than pretend that everything was normal as friends. Anyway, he was pretty sure he hadn't been in love with Faith---at least, he'd never said the words. He was glad for that now.
"I didn't have much luck," she added.
"Me neither," he said.
"Yeah, especially since you're ~him. ontat Recipes. com," she said with a little smile that made her gray-blue eyes twinkle. She took a seat next to him, opening her MacBook. "I didn't know you like to cook."
He clicked to exit the page on his browser. "It's a new thing," he said.
"Don't get all embarrassed. I know how bad your mom's stuff is. Rosie still running the kitchen at your house?"
"I'm just trying to branch out. Learn new stuff."
"You must be cooking for someone. I never got that kind of treatment." She smiled, and it was genuine. He'd seen enough of her fake expressions to know the difference.
"Faith---"
"I'm not complaining," she said, holding up a hand. "But can you at least go to Epicurious. com? They have better recipes. I won't be able to sleep tonight if I picture you scouring the web for the perfect macaroni and cheese for hours."
"Sure. I'll check it out." He typed in the new URL.
"You look good," Faith said, leaning back in the library chair. "I mean, you seem happier than before, you know?"
"Yeah. It was a little rough for a while," he said.
Faith ventured another smile. "You're cooking poi? Like, taro root?" she asked, watching him fill the search box at the site.
"I don't know. I was thinking about it."
"Craving Hawaiian food, huh? I'd stick to the ahipoke or lomi lomi salmon," she said. "Don't you remember that luau party at the club last year? My mom got so drunk on those mai tais." She laughed and then covered her mouth to quiet herself.
He nodded. "Yeah."
"That poi was pretty awful," she said. "I think you need to leave that delicacy for the real Hawaiians. At least, I wished the catering manager had. My dad was hosing poi off our driveway for a week."
Jason laughed, a little too loudly. Everyone, including Mr. Houston, glanced his way.
"Sorry," he said, ducking back down behind his laptop screen.
"Search kalua pork," Faith whispered. "I bet there's some way to do it without roasting the whole pig. I mean, unless you want to dig a pit in your backyard."
"Yeah, I guess Mom would appreciate me not making a huge hole by the pool."
The bell rang, signaling the end of the period. Faith closed her Mac and sat there for a moment, watching him. "You know what? I'm happy for you."
"What?"
"You deserve to be happy with whoever it is that you're cooking for."
He powered down his computer. "Thanks."
"So, you're doing a luau or something for her?"
"Or something. I just want to cook some Hawaiian stuff for a friend's family."
"C'mon, I know it's Holly," Faith said, rolling her eyes. "Mark told me."
"Oh, great."
"Stop stressing. I think that's cool. I don't care what anyone else says, I always liked her." She shoved her Mac into her messenger bag. She gave him a little wave, getting up from the chair.
"Wait," Jason said, putting a hand on her arm. "About what happened with us---I'm sorry, Faith."
She looked surprised and slid back down into the seat next to him. "Well, don't be sorry. I didn't know what to do for you," she said. "I never had my best friend die, you know?"
"Yeah," he said quietly. "You know, I miss us hanging out."
"Me too." She gave him a hug across chairs, surrounding him with the smell of her perfume, her hair.
He was suddenly remembering the good times they'd spent, the times before Rob had died and everything had imploded.
"If you need any help," she said, pulling away, "with the Phoenicians or the Hawaiian food, will you let me know?"
"Yeah," he said.
She got up and moseyed toward the door, passing Mark, who was on his way in with his next class. Mark gave her a smile and then nodded over at him. Jason slid his laptop into his bag and moved toward the exit. So, Mark was telling everyone, including Faith, about him and Holly. Well, fine. It didn't matter if the whole school knew, did it? He was proud to be with a girl like her.
He headed out the door while Mark was distracted at the circulation desk and made his way toward his math class. He had more important things, like a luau, to worry about.
\*\*\*
You don't want to see him.
If ever he planned to scare you off, he'd done it yesterday. Aldo had stared you in the eye and tried to elicit a confession. A rundown. And all you could do was make him cry. Seeing his eyes fill with tears terrified you. Today you'll stay away.
It's funny how your afterlife so far is mostly being spent with Holly's family. You're not tied to your own house, haunting your own hood. The ghosts in movies always seemed tied to a place, but you are tied to people. Though they can't see you, you do feeou,tied to yol like being with your family today. Maybe they're the real reason you're still tied to Earth and all this Aldo stuff has just distracted you from the real answer to why you're here. Ironically, as a ghost you're attempting to answer the question philosophers can't even begin to touch...
Midmorning, you find a perch in one of the elementary school's classrooms, just near your sister's desk. Kayla's drawing pictures to go with a story she wrote about riding on elephants. She had probably watched a National Geographic special about Thailand with Dad last night.
For a kid, she's good at making the elephants realistically, shading the folds of the ears, the underbelly. You hope she'll be an artist, but you know your dad will keep pushing all the hard science classes, the advanced math, on her. You've seen the violin in her room, heard her practicing with the screeching cat noises of beginning players. Thank God they're not making her turn out for sports, too. Kayla, except for a few years fumbling around on the soccer field, hadn't shown any interest in keeping that family tradition alive.
"Riding an elephant," you say wistfully. You can imagine Kayla growing up and traveling to Southeast Asia and climbing up the rope ladder onto one of the giant's backs. She could do it, too. She's got her whole life ahead of her, after all. The only place you'll be riding elephants is in your imagination. Or in heaven if you can get there.
Once you arrive at the pearly gates, don't you get to do all the things you wanted to in life but never got to? The nerd guy gets to hook up with the hottest chick imaginable. The old people get to be all young again. Teens get to grow up. Yeah, maybe that is part of heaven. Maybe you'll live out a life that should have been yours on Earth. Funny how that hadn't seemed so important while you were here. Sometimes all you wanted to do was to leave it all behind. But now it seems like something you want to do. Grow up, have adventures, travel, see things like elephants in the wild, do something important to help people, all that world-peace stuff.
"Kayla, that's beautiful," says the gray-haired teacher, Mrs. Nelson. You think you had her for second grade too. You remember her tie-dye socks and sandals, her wicker rocking chair, the smells of lavender air freshener and cinnamon tea perfuming her classroom.
"Elephants can carry a whole family," your sister says.
"Is that them on his back?"
"The elephant is a her," Kayla says matter-of-factly.
"Is that your family on her back?"
"Yep. Me and mom and dad. And I left a space for Rob," she says, looking up at her teacher.
"That was kind of you," she says, patting Kayla on the back. "Angels need room too."
Angel.
The word echoes in your mind. Is that what you are? Maybe you're not some pathetic ghost. You are an angel. You bring tidings, or something like that. "Unto e te wyou a child is born" flashes through your mind. You know that's leftover from Christmas pageants at the Methodist church.
You don't actually know the difference between an angel and a ghost. But somehow the thought that you have work to do---angel's work---makes you realize that you need to get it together, suck up your courage, and figure out how to help people. The minimarket clerk. Aldo. Whoever.
It is about helping others. It should never have been about you at all. Angels are there for a reason---to help guard someone, to comfort them, to lead them through something. Yeah. Someone needs you to watch over them.
Your heart beats with new purpose. And your soul almost feels like it could fly.
"Hey," Jason said into the intercom. "Can I come up?"
"Who is this?" A woman's voice came out from the speaker.
"Oh, sorry, Mrs. Mullen. I thought you were Holly. It's Jason."
"Holly took her grandfather to the pharmacy," she said. "She'll be back in a little while."
"Um ... could I come up and wait for her? She's hard to get ahold of on her cell."
The buzzer sounded, and Jason pushed through the glass door and into the lobby of the building. Worn brown carpet showed the traffic pattern to the inset metal mailboxes that lined the far wall. A few dying palm plants stood sentinel on either side of a single elevator. The inside of the place looked a little worse than it had from the other side of the glass. Pressing the button, Jason waited for the elevator to come down. He studied the swirls of textured paint on the interior walls, counting down until finally the lift arrived.
A moment of shaky riding later, he emerged on the sixth floor and saw Holly's apartment straight ahead. A dusty grapevine wreath with birdhouses and butterflies decorated her door. When he knocked, the door swung open and Holly's mom stood in front of him in a green polo shirt and khaki pants.
"Hi," she said. "C'mon in."
"Thanks." He stepped inside, and she shut the door behind him. The hallway was small, cramped, with a coat rack, a pile of shoes and boots and backpacks, a kid's scooter. Even though it was only about six o'clock, the place seemed a little dark, like there weren't enough lights on.
"Why don't you wait in here," Mrs. Mullen said, motioning him onward. Passing the sound of TV playing some sitcom in the other room, he followed her into the kitchen.
It was cheerful in this room, and Jason sensed Holly's hand there. Yellow dishtowels on the oven handle, a set of chickenshaped salt and pepper shakers on the table next to a simple jar of daisies and a pile of mail. Something savory, like onions and meat, scented the air.
<. "Wow, dinner smells great," he murmured.
"Holly's got stuff going in the slow cooker," her mom said. "Some kind of stew, I think."
"Wow. I don't think we even own one of those," he said.
Mrs. Mullen smiled. "Here, sit. Can I get you water or something? I think we've got a diet soda, maybe." She gestured toward the fridge, but took a seat at the table.
"No, I'm fine. You're sure this is okay? I don't mean to impose," he said, sliding into a chair across from her.
She moved aside a People magazine and a small stack of bills and took a sip from a nearly empty wineglass. "They'll be back in a little while. You're fine. I don't work until seven thirty anyway."
Jason offered a smile. "Thanks for letting me wait." They sat quietly for a moment. "So, actually, I'm glad you're here," he said. "I'm planning a surprise for Holly---well, Aldo really---and I'd like all of you to come. This Friday, do you think you could do dinner at my house?"
She gazed at him with the same blue eyes as Holly, although there was something different behind them---weariness, acceptance. "Hmm. Friday. I'm not sure I'd be able to get the night off."
"Well, what night would be good for you?" Jason asked. "I mean, I could change things around a little to make it so you can come."
"That's awfully nice," Mrs. Mullen said, looking genuinely pleased.
"It's no big deal. Maybe Saturday, then?"
She nodded. "I'll check the schedule tonight when I go in to work. I might be able to do it."
"Great. It's something on Aldo's list---and I'd like you to be there."
Mrs. Mullen stared at Jason for a second, a puzzled look on her face. "Plus, I'd like you to meet my mom," Jason said.
"I think I've met her," Mrs. Mullen said, after a pause. "You know, at the funeral."
"Oh, I guess you're right. Yeah, she was definitely there with me."
"Here, let me get you something," she said as she rose from the table. "You can't be a guest in our house and not have anything. How about that soda?"
"Okay."
She opened the fridge but then turned back to him. "Or water. We're out of the soda."
"That's fine," he said. "Really, I don't need anything."
Mrs. Mullen took a seat at the table. "It's nice of you, you know, to be helping Holly with my father. She told me how you picked themou don't nee up at the doctor's office yesterday."
"I was glad she called me," he said. "Surprised, actually."
Mrs. Mullen fidgeted with the collar of her polo shirt. "We've got a lot going on over here. Anyway, I appreciate your helping her."
"It's hard, what she's doing," Jason said.
She nodded but didn't say anything.
"Aldo's a real cool guy," Jason said. "I mean, I can tell he used to be a lot of fun."
Mrs. Mullen let out a sigh. "He ruled my childhood with an iron fist," she said. "He's a very sweet grandpa, though. When parents are raising their kids, they're not always the person they'll eventually become. They have growing up to do, too."
"Sounds like my dad."
She smiled and saluted him with her glass.
Just then, he heard the sound of the front door. "A few more steps," Holly's voice coaxed. "All right, you're there. Okay, why don't you give me your hat and coat? Now, go on ahead. I'll hang up this stuff."
Aldo shuffled into the kitchen. His hair was windblown, like gray and white feathers standing on end. He gave Jason a nod of recognition, or at least it seemed like it, as he came over and lowered himself into a seat at the table. He looked at Holly's mom with a neutral expression but then returned her smile.
Holly came into the kitchen holding a drugstore bag, saw Jason, and froze. "Oh, hey," she said in a quiet voice. "What are you, uh, doing here?"
"He came by to see you," said her mom, getting up from the table and walking to the sink with her glass. "Isn't that nice?"
Holly's eyes were still wide as she came over and stood next to him. "She let you up?"
"Yeah, I've been here for a few minutes. You weren't answering your phone."
"I don't---um, can you come with me for a second?"
"Sure," he said, getting up to follow her. He thought they were going to Holly's room, but instead she led him out into the hallway and shut the door.
"You can't---I mean, you shouldn't just stop by here."
"Why not?"
"Our place isn't the best to hang out at, you know. You couldn't just wait to see me at school tomorrow?"
He got it. Saw it in her eyes, in her quiet voice. "Holly, there's nothing wrong with this place. It's just an apartment. I don't care about stuff like that."
"Right, but Jason, can you just listen to me? It's weird having you here."
"Fine. I'll go," he said.
"No, wait a sec." She reached for his hand. "I'm sorry. I just don't want you to see us like this. I mean, this place is a mess and---"
"You don't want me to see how things really are?"
"You know what I mean." She pulled Jason into a hug.
Instantly everything was better. He didn't feel like such a jackass for showing up. In fact, he didn't feel anything but Holly's warmth against him. He held her as tight as she'd let him.
"Hey, at least there are people at your house," he whispered.
"Your mom's around. She loves you."
"Yours loves you, too. She said you all can come to dinner this Saturday."
"Oh, she did?" Holly said, breaking away, her blue eyes searching his. "She's going to make plans for a Saturday night?"
"Yeah, that's why I came over. I wanted to make sure everyone got the invite. She said she's gonna try to get the night off."
"Right."
"No, really," Jason said, gathering her back into his arms. "You're coming to my house for dinner. I'm just learning to cook, but it's going to be great, I promise. I'm cooking Hawaiian stuff."
"Really?"
"Yep."
Still in Jason's arms, Holly glanced back at the door. "I should go back inside. I've got to finish making dinner. Any minute, Mom could be oversalting my handiwork."
"All right, all right. I'm going now."
Holly lifted her chin and lightly brushed her lips across his, and then, surprising him, returned for a real, deeper kiss. A kiss that started his blood humming. He imagined things when they kissed like that. Things he wanted to do with her. The way he would hold her. How her bare skin would feel against his.
"Just so you know---you can't come here again," she said, pulling away after a moment.
"Got it." He turned, a little shaky on his feet from the kiss, and punched the button for the elevator. Holly shut the door, rattling the birdhouse wreath and his heart.
\*\*\*
"Mom. Ohmigod." I went back into the kitchen, full of exhilaration from kissing Jason and embarrassment about him coming over. "Why would you let him up here?"
Mom smirked. "He's your boyfriend, right?"
"No comment." I went over to the slow cooker and lifted the glass lid. The meat was almost falling off the bone. Spooning pieces of chicken onto a serving dish, I tried to gather some calm. "I'm just saying, well, it wasn't a good surprise. I mean, to come home and find Jason with you in our kitchen."
Mom wrinkled her nose at me. "He came over to invite us to dinner at his house. How is that not a good surprise?" She got down a stack of plates from the cabinet. One by one, she set them down at the places around the table. "I don't understand you, Holly. Why wouldn't you want him to come over? He seems like a really nice guy."
"Jason lives in the Heights," I said softly.
"So did Rob," Mom countered.
"Yeah, but this is different."
"Of course it is. But obviously he's not a snob or he wouldn't be interested in you. And, by the way, not everyone who lives in a big house in Lake Heights is a snob."
"I know that. I just---"
"I work really hard so that we can live here, Holly. Are you really that embarrassed by us, by this place?" Mom's voice was steely sharp.
Silently, I scooped out potatoes and carrots and nestled them around the chicken pieces on the platter. I needed chopped fresh parsley to decorate the plate, but of course there wasn't any, so I grabbed a few green onions from the fridge. Stripping away the wilted outer layer, I washed them under the tap and then grabbed a chopping board and a knife.
"There's no crime in not having money," Mom continued, coming over to stand next to me. "You shouldn't feel ashamed of the way we live."
"It's not that I feel ashamed. It's just that every time Jason sees me, I'm taking care of Grandpa or Lena. It's kinda awkward."
"Well, that's the reality, honey. You're helping your family. You want to pretend that isn't what you're doing? You want to be someone else around him?"
"No. I just want to see him ... away from all that," I said quietly.
Mom set down the water glasses she was carrying to the table. "A date?"
I shrugged. It wasn't like I ever had a night off from everything---not like Jason could just swing by and take me to dinner or the mall. "In the regular world, he would pick me up, we'd go to the movies, hang out together. Instead, he's helping me with Grandpa, seeing me here at home cooking like some kind of whacked-out housewife. It's not normal."
"It's our normal," Mom said.
I started slicing the green onions into thin rounds. I didn't feel like talking to Mom about Jason anybou that more. It seemed pointless. I couldn't even muster up any emotion at that moment to explain further, anyway. It wasn't worth having yet another fight where my mother decided the outcome for the both of us.
"He said something about a list," Mom said. "What did he mean?"
"Grandpa has some things he wants to remember," I said.
"He made a list?"
"Yeah. He sort of gave it to me to hang on to."
Mom frowned. "He gave it to you?"
"Yeah, it's got stuff on it like growing tomatoes, sailing, his favorite restaurant with Grandma."
"He never told me about it," Mom said, her voice low.
"Well, he probably thought you had a lot going on," I said, scooping up the green onions and sprinkling them over the chicken.
"And you didn't show it to me either."
"It's no big deal, Mom. I'll show it to you after dinner."
She got out the silverware for us, laying it out on the folded paper towels that would serve as napkins. "Lena!" she called down the hall. "Go wash your hands for dinner."
I set the platter of chicken on the table and went to the fridge to get the salad I'd cut up earlier. Grandpa Aldo shuffled in and took a seat at the table, looking neither happy nor sad.
"Holly," Mom said, taking my hand as I sat down at the table.
"Maybe you should go on a real date. I can probably find a night off to stay in and watch everyone. It may be a Tuesday or something, but I could make it work." She squeezed my hand and then let go. "I like him," she added.
I allowed myself a real smile. "Me too."
\*\*\*
You ride in the back seat of the Escalade, not sure where your dad is taking everyone. But you're hanging with the family, watching over them. It's a Wednesday afternoon, and except that you're dead, it seems perfectly normal to be riding next to Kayla. She's busy flipping through the joke book she checked out from the library, probably getting ready for school tomorrow, when she'll see that quasi boyfriend of hers, Kevin Park.
"What's black and white and read all over?" she says.
"A skunk with a rash?" your mom guesses.
"No!" Your sister giggles. "Guess, Dad."
"A penguin with a sunburn?"
She snorts out another laugh. "A newspaper, sillies! You know, read all over."
"Oh, that's a good one," says your dad. He pulls into a parking space in front of a small office building. Everyone hops out, and with a beep on the key fob, Dad locks up.
Inside, a receptionist says hello and shows your family down the hall. They pass a glassed-in play area that has one of those plastic kitchen sets---fake oven, fake refrigerator, sink---and a beanbag chair sitting next to shelves nearly overflowing with picture books. The next room, which looks in on the play room, seems like a normal office. Opposite the glassed wall is a black leather couch and a desk. A giant Georgia O'Keeffe flower print decorates the wall behind it, along with diplomas reading DR. JENNIFER MARTIN.
"Counseling?" you murmur, in disbelief that your dad would agree to something like that. That's so not him. He's more of the do-it-yourself variety.
A small woman with long, dark hair and chic glasses comes in to the room. She's younger than you'd think a doctor of anything could be. "Hi, folks," she says in a friendly tone, shaking your mom's and dad's hands. "I'm glad to see you all again. How has everything been going?"
"Hi, Dr. Jennifer. Um, can I play next door like last time?" asks your little sister.
"Sure. Go ahead, Kayla."
Your mom and dad settle onto the couch. Dr. Jennifer lights a little stick of incense in a brass holder and then scoots her leather office chair close to the couch, using a corner of the desk for her notepad and pen. Yep, this is definitely a little woo-woo for your dad.
"So, how are you both doing since our last visit?" the doctor asks.
Last visit? You really haven't been hanging around them much, obviously. You settle onto the vacant end of the couch, next to your mom. Meanwhile, Dr. Jennifer waits patiently for an answer as your parents look at each other.
"It's been rough," says your mom, finally. Her brown eyes are watery. Your dad, though he should put his arm around her, is sitting very straight on the couch, like a metal rod is forcing him upright. You will him to reach out and comfort her, but he doesn't.
"Rough in what way? Can you tell me about that?" Dr. Jennifer says.
Your mom nods. "I decided I was going to do it, finally---you know, pack up his room like we talked about."
"Rob's room," the doctor coaches. "It's good to say his name, Karen."
"Right. Rob's room. I'd tried a couple of times before, but I just couldn't go through with it. But this last Saturday, when Mike was out playing golf, I decided to be brave."
Your dad's lips are pressed together tightly.
"I was just trying to get started on it, you know? Anyway, he was angry when he got home and found me in there, folding clothes into boxes."
"Why did you choose to do it on your own, without him, Karen?"
"I don't know ... maybe I thought it would be easier."
"And was it?" Dr. Jennifer says in a gentle voice.
Tears start rolling down your mom's cheeks as she shakes her head. Finally, Dad reaches an arm around her shoulders, pulls her close.
"I found his baby book," she says softly.
The room is still. Dad lets out a deep breath, finally showing some emotion.
"And what happened next?" the doctor prompts.
You mom sniffs back tears. "I started looking through it, and all these memories came flooding back. Rob as a baby. Rob learning to walk. His first day of school. And I was just thinking---how did we screw up? How did we contribute to what happened?"
"It's not our fault," says your dad. "Things happen."
"But you know how he was. Before. You know he wasn't himself when that happened. The crash."
You tense a little, waiting on the far end of the couch. You're not sure you should be here now. It's weird that they are talking about this in front of you. It's weird that you can't stop listening.
"How was he before the accident?" asks the doctor.
Your mom manages a smile. "Growing up, he was always so cheerful, so happy. He did well in school. Had this really sweet girlfriend, Holly. They dated for a year or so."
"Holly was the girl in the car," says your dad. He's moved his arm from around your mom and is sitting up straight again. "She survived."
"And something changed for him before the crash?" The doctor makes notes on her pad.
"He seemed withdrawn," says your mom.
You dad lets out a breath. "He kind of fell off our radar. My radar. I wasn't paying attention. He'd always been fine before that, I guess."
"What kind of kid was he?"
Your mom smiles through her tears. "He was very busy in school. Studying hard. He turned out for football, though basketball was always his favorite. His grades were good."
"They were decent," corrects your dad.
"Thanks," you mutter.
"5%">"Things were on track for Rob," he continues. "He was preparing applications to some really great schools. I was hoping he'd follow me into finance."
Your mom sighs.
"What?"
"You know he had no interest in finance."
"I just said I was hoping."
"He liked to draw. He mentioned architecture sometimes," your mom says, nodding at the doctor.
"He had a lot of different interests," says your dad. "I thought we'd set him up for success, though. We gave him everything he needed."
Dr. Jennifer looks up from her notepad. "What is everything, Mike?"
"You know," he says. "A car, nice home, money so he didn't have to work at some crappy job after school."
"Did you spend time as a family?"
Your mom takes this one. "We tried to eat dinner together often. Took family vacations. We did what most families do, I guess."
"I need to ask this: Did you ever have Rob evaluated for depression?"
"No," your dad says quickly. "This---you are the first psychologist we've ever been to see."
Dr. Jennifer nods. "Boys have a very high rate of depression. It's not uncommon for our teens to keep their feelings mashed down, suppressed. So, everything looks fine on the outside, but inside, things are not okay."
"He wasn't right," your mom says in a quiet voice. "Looking back, I'm not sure how we could have missed it. I should have paid attention."
Your whole being tenses up. All those months ago, when things were adding up, when everything felt so overwhelming---what you wouldn't have given for a kind word, for some attention from them. You remember walking around school and the house, feeling like no one understood you, saw you. Almost like the ghost you are now. You felt so small, so worthless.
It didn't matter what you had, what you were given, or who was there, when no one could see you. When no one seemed to want to see what was happening or follow you into the darkest place you could burrow yourself. This is part of the truth you don't want to see now. The part you don't want to talk about with Aldo.
You get up from the couch and start pacing the room. You want to run. You want to go somewhere---anywhere---else, but you can't tear yourself away.
"I don't get this. Why are we talking about Rob being depressed? Isn't this supposed to be about healing ourselves, helping Karen and me get our marriage back on track after the death of our son?"
Your mom turns and puts her hand on your dad's arm. Her eyes are fierce. "That car was brand new, Mike. The roads weren't icy. He wasn't drunk."
"We've been through this. It was a stupid accident by an inexperienced driver," your dad says, shrugging out of her hold. "It could have happened to anyone coming down McCallister. That turn is sharp."
When your mom speaks, her voice is constricted, small. "No. That's not the truth. I know it's not," she says.
Dr. Jennifer gets out of her chair and comes toward you, pacing the floor. You move quickly out of the way. She stiffens, like a wind has passed by her, and stares hard in your direction.
"You are sensitive, aren't you? Can you see me?" you ask.
She cocks her head, listening, like your voice is just out of her range of hearing. Then she takes the open seat next to your mother on the couch. "I know this is hard, but keep going. What do you think is the truth?"
Your dad clears his throat. "Do we really have to do this? I don't like seeing her this upset."
"It's important for both of you to express what you're thinking about Rob. This is a safe place for that. Karen?"
"I think Rob was lost," she says, rubbing at her eyes. "I think Rob couldn't ask us for help."
"Of course he could," your dad scoffs.
"Well, he didn't."
"It's not easy for teens, especially boys, to talk about how they feel," says Dr. Jennifer.
"So you're going to side with her---you're going to say that our son was depressed, that the accident was on purpose?" Your dad's voice is hot and angry. His face is heating up too.
"I'm not on anyone's side," Dr. Jennifer says. "We're sorting through both of your feelings here."
Your dad crosses his arms against his chest. "I refuse to believe that my son---God, I can hardly even say it---that my son killed himself."
The air is heavy with the words.
Your mom shakes with silent tears, and your dad reaches for her hand.
You stand very, very still in the corner of the room as the memories you've denied start bursting into life in your mind. Flashes of the dark, wet ribbon of McCallister Road, the swish-swish of the wipers, Holly passed out in the seat next to you, the overwhelming sadness that filled the car. Filled you. The sadness is welling up again inside you. The sadness is going to drown you again.
You sink down to the floor, holding your hands over your ears. You don't want to hear this. You don't want to be here. But you care.s going ton't bring yourself to flash to Aldo. You can't leave while they're saying this about you. While they're realizing everything for the first time.
"I can't believe he would do that to himself. To us," your dad says, closing his eyes.
"But maybe he did," your mom whispers.
Maybe he did. Your mom's words echo in your mind, in your heart.
Dr. Jennifer gets up from the couch and sits in the chair. "Since we can't ask Rob what happened, you have to decide for yourself what the truth is and accept it. You need to acknowledge the pain as part of the grieving so that you can move on."
"I can't..." Your dad's words trail off.
"I know this is hard, but you've got another child to parent---Kayla needs you."
You can see your sister playing at the fake stove in the other room. She's got some rubber fried eggs in a pan, and she's pretending to salt and pepper them. Your mom looks up through her tears at Kayla.
Kayla notices your mom crying. Your mom manages a smile and a wave, and your little sister turns back to cooking her imaginary breakfast.
"I can't let him go," your dad says. "I can't let my son go." He starts to shake.
Your mom reaches out to rub his back, to comfort him.
"He's still with you," says Dr. Jennifer. "Every moment of the day, you have him with you in your memories. That love will always be alive. You don't have to let the love go---just the pain."
Your dad wipes his eyes with the back of his hands, ignoring the box of tissues your mom holds out. You've never seen your dad cry like this before. You want to reassure him that you know he loved you. Even if neither one of you said the words.
"Sometimes I do feel like he's with us. Like he's hanging around," your mom says.
Dr. Jennifer nods. "We often feel that way when a loved one passes. It's the mind's way of helping us cope. Imagining they are watching over us helps ease the pain."
You walk closer to the couch and take the seat next to your mother again. You put an arm around her, where it would be around her if you had a physical body. You try to radiate love through her, and through your dad. You try to radiate your feelings. Because there are things you know you won't get the chance to say.
I found a blue Hawaiian shirt in Aldo's closet. Though he was thinner now than he must have been when he'd bought the shirt, it looked nice on him. It matched the blue of his eyes. He reached for his cap and settled it over his gray hair.
"Holly!" Lena yelled from the other bedroom.
"Just a sec," I said, leading Grandpa Aldo out into the living room and settling him into the recliner.
Lena stood before the mirror in the bathroom, messing around with a gigantic flower clip from the dollar store. "I can't get it to stay," she whined.
"Yeah, because it's the size of your head." I took the thing from her hands and ran a brush through her tangled mass of hair. Then I pulled it all into a covered elastic band and clipped the flower into the ponytail.
Lena frowned at herself in the mirror. "I think it's supposed to be on the side of my head," she said, turning herself to see the back of the ponytail.
"It's fine. C'mon."
The front door jingled and shut with a slam, and Mom came sprinting down the hall. "Sorry, guys," she said, pulling her button-down shirt from the waistband of her skirt. "I didn't mean to run so late."
I was relieved to see her. I really had thought she was going to blow us off. After rummaging through her closet for a minute, she popped into the bathroom alongside us. Instead of wearing a nice sundress for dinner, though, she'd put on her green polo and khaki work clothes.
"What?" I said. "Please don't tell me you're not coming."
She held up a hand. "I'll have to leave early, so maybe Jason can give you all a ride home. At least I'll be there for the beginning."
"Mom." I let out a huge sigh. "I thought you had the night off."
"Obviously, that didn't work out," she said. "But hey, at least I don't start until nine." There was actually an apologetic look in her eyes. Maybe she had tried after all.
"Don't wear that. You have to wear a nice outfit," Lena said, tugging on her hand. "I'll help you pick something out. Come on!"
"Please? Maybe you could change for work at Jason's house. I mean, his mom is gonna be there."
"And you don't want her to see me in this, huh?"
"It's your choice, I guess."
"Some people work for a living, Holly. Even rich people know that."
"Mom. Seriously."
"Fine. I'll go find something else to wear and take this stuff along in a bag."
"Yes!" Lena pulled Mom down the hall, her flower-decked ponytail bobbing.
Twenty minutes later we were pulling up the long driveway in the hills, the muffler of the junky Toyotae j
"This is Jason's house?" Mom said, taking it all in as she rolled up next to the Mercedes in the driveway.
"His mom's, I guess. I haven't been here before."
As Mom cut the ignition, the front door of the house opened. Jason stood there in a short-sleeved shirt printed with palm trees and some cargo shorts. On his arm were four leis.
Mom and I helped Aldo out of the car as Jason came toward us down the walkway. "Need some help with Aldo?" he asked.
"Hello," Aldo said, giving Jason a smile.
"Aloha," Jason said. He shook Aldo's hand and then placed a yellow-flower lei over his head.
A grin overtook Aldo's face. He reached up to touch the soft blossoms and held them to his nose. "Ahhh," he said.
I'd only seen fake-flower leis before, but these were definitely real. The sweet smell of them perfumed the air. I wondered where you got leis in Seattle.
"Hi, Jason," my mom said, accepting a lei and a kiss on the cheek. "Nice to see you again."
"Hey there, Lena," Jason said as he bent to slip a lei over my sister's head.
"Come on in!" Wearing a pretty light pink sundress and high-heeled sandals, Jason's mom waved from the doorway. My family moved toward her.
"What are you doing?" I asked. "I mean, flowers and all that?"
Jason held out a fragrant lei to me. I ducked under it and let it fall around my neck. Then he reached forward and took my chin in his fingertips. "I told you I was cooking Hawaiian stuff," he said.
"Yeah, but leis and everything? How did you---"
His lips met mine, silencing my question. His mouth was soft, sweet---I tasted the faintest hint of pineapple. "This is a luau," he said when he pulled back. "From the list, remember? Do you think he'll like it? Aldo, I mean."
"Yeah," I said, pressing my lips together, trying to quell the tingling. My heart was pounding with excitement too. I couldn't wait to see what Jason had in store for us. "He's gonna love it."
"Good. Let's go." He slipped an arm around my waist, escorting me up the walk, which was lit with solar tiki torches. Seriously. Tiki torches.
"Jason." I stopped and turned to face him. "Why are you so good to us?"
He wrinkled his nose at me, like I'd asked the silliest question in the universe. "I jusivet face="t want you to be happy," he said.
And at that moment, I would have sworn I was.
"This is just wonderful." Mrs. Mullen paused out on the deck that overlooked the pool.
Soft hula music drifted out from the speakers, and the gentle glow of the torches combined with the blue light of the pool. It does look pretty darn good, Jason thought, taking a little pride in what he'd set up.
"This place is amazing," Holly's mom continued.
Jason's mom gave her a genuine smile. "Thanks, Julia. Although lately it's felt a little empty with just the two of us."
Eesh. Jason girded himself for what was sure to come next and busied himself pouring the tropical fruit drinks he'd blended---nonalcoholic piña coladas. Not exactly Hawaiian, but very delicious.
"It's not easy transitioning to being on your own," Holly's mom said.
"You said it." Jason's mom reached for one of the hollowed-out coconuts Jason had filled with the frothy white drink.
"Cheers, Mona." The two of them clinked cups like old friends.
Jason glanced over at Holly, who was staring open-mouthed at the two mothers.
He gestured toward the kitchen. She followed him into the house, passing Aldo and Lena, who were camped out in a covered swing seat near the pool.
"Ohmigod," Holly said. "Can you believe those two?"
Jason laughed. "I know, right?"
"Why was I so worried about them getting along?" she said.
"You were worried?" he asked, getting a tray of fish out from the refrigerator and setting it on the counter.
She shrugged. "Well, kind of. You know, they are pretty different." She didn't spell it out, but Jason knew that Holly was hyperaware of the differences between the ways they lived.
"Well, it seems they found they have something in common," he said, handing Holly a tray of cut-up pineapple and mango.
"Yeah. Men who leave."
Jason smiled and shook his head. "Uh ... I was going to say surviving a big breakup."
Holly chewed a piece of pineapple from the tray, her blue eyes thoughtful. "I don't know that my mom survived it, actually."
"She's here, isn't she? She didn't curl up and die."
"True."
"She's a survivor. Just like you," he said, giving her a kiss as he passed her.
She followed behind him with the tray of fruit. "It seems like I'm surviving?"
"You honestly don't know the answer to that?" Jason set the tray of fish near the barbecue.
Holly placed the platter of fruit by the chatting moms and went over to join him. "I mean, maybe I know. I'm seeing a little light at the end of the tunnel lately," she said, putting a hand on his waist.
Jason looked down at her hand and then up to her eyes. In the blue light coming from the pool, they appeared to glitter---and he saw something happy, content, behind them. His chest tightened.
"Are we having hot dogs?" Lena shouted over from the swing.
"No, grilled fish and some slow-cooked pork," Jason said, slowly breaking away from Holly's gaze. "Just like Hawaii."
"Hawaii," repeated Aldo with a smile.
Lena went back to propelling the swing with her feet. Aldo closed his eyes.
Jason reached down and turned on the propane to light the grill. Blue flame sprouted up. "So, um ... we haven't used this in a while," he said, trying to focus on things other than the closeness of Holly.
"You don't like to grill?"
"Um ... this is the first dinner my mom and I have cooked in months. I think the last time was a turkey at Thanksgiving. Wait, no---our housekeeper started that for us. But I did make the mashed potatoes," he said with a laugh.
The doorbell rang. "Hey, Mom, you invite someone?" He closed the lid of the grill.
"No."
"Maybe it's Dad?"
"No, son. It's most definitely not Dad." His mom giggled and went back to her animated conversation with Holly's mom.
"Be right back," Jason said. He left Holly to watch the heating grill.
At the door he found Mark holding a shopping bag.
"What's up," Jason said.
"Hey, man, heard you were having a gathering," he said. "I brought some booze for us."
"Um, who told you that?" Jason unhooked the striped apron from his neck and threw it onto the entryway table.
"Faith. She said you were havd y"times newing a barbecue tonight."
"No, I'm cooking Holly and her family dinner." Jason stepped outside and shut the door behind him.
"So, there's not room for one more?" he said.
"What is with you, Mark? I would have called you if this was an open invitation."
"See---I don't think so. You don't hang with any of us anymore."
"I don't get it. Are you jealous or something?"
Mark gave him a sly smile. "Nah, I'm just trying to see your strategy here."
"Strategy?"
"Well, you're obviously trying to get with Holly."
"I'm not trying to---look, I like her."
"Oh, quit being so noble. You just want to nail her," he said with a wink.
"What?" Jason reached out for Mark's shoulders and pushed him against the brickwork of the porch entry. Mark's bag tumbled to the ground. He could smell alcohol, maybe whisky, on Mark's breath, coming out from the pores of his skin. There wasn't a car parked there, and Jason was glad of that. If Mark was drinking, at least he was on foot.
"C'mon, man, you started sniffing around after her before our buddy was even cold in the ground," Mark said, trying to free himself from Jason.
"Not true."
"Now, every time I see you, you're taking her and the old guy somewhere. This barbecue for him, too?"
Jason let go of Mark and took a step back. "You should go. You're drunk."
"Why would you want to hang out with her, anyway---and the old guy?" Mark laughed.
"You wouldn't understand. Just go."
"Try me. Seriously. I'm listening, really." Mark straightened up. "I really want to understand."
Jason paused and then said, "Her grandpa has Alzheimer's, and she's got this list of stuff that he wants to remember. I'm helping her with the list."
"I'll bet," Mark said. He fixed his shirt collar, stood a little taller. "Look, it's obvious that you're just trying to keep Rob's memory alive in some sick way by hanging with her."
"Mark."
"Dude, Rob's dead and he's not coming back. Banging his girlfriend is not going to bring him back."
Jason's fist balled so tight, it deserved to connectvedot goi with Mark's fat mouth, but he kept his hands close to his body, containing all the fury he wanted to get out. "Just go now," he said through gritted teeth.
"Sure, sure. It's just sad ... how things are turning out." Jason shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to still them. "Why are you being such an asshole to Holly?"
"I was never an asshole to her," Mark said.
"To me, then. Why are you like this to me? Is this how you treat your friends?"
Mark laughed a thin, hollow laugh that didn't fool Jason, or Mark himself, he was sure. "Oh, c'mon. You're about ready to beat the crap out of me---that your brand of friendship these days?" Mark gave him a sad look and picked up the paper bag of booze.
"Mark---"
"No, no. I shouldn't have come here. I guess I'll just cross myself off the list for your birthday party next week. I'm sure it's going to be a rager. Old people. Dead friends' girlfriends." He held up his hands. "Just kidding. We're cool, right?"
Jason wanted to beat the shit out of him still. But in the back of his mind he remembered Rob telling him so many times how Mark needed them. How Mark was at heart a decent guy. That was pure Rob---always defending his friends, even if they were pieces of crap.
"Sure," he said after a long silence. "We're cool."
Mark cradled his bag. "Okay, thanks. And thanks for not kicking my ass. Not that I thought you would."
Jason allowed himself a smile, though it didn't feel real. "You didn't think I would kick your ass?"
"No. I've seen you break up fights. But you're not a fighter. You don't have that in you," Mark said, turning to go. "You're the freaking good guy. I've always known that."
He walked down the path toward the street, leaving Jason on the porch breathing in the cool, clean dark.
\*\*\*
You long to taste one of those piña coladas the moms are sucking down at the table on the patio at Jason's house. The pool is lit up like paradise, and soft music is drifting out on the breeze. It's a beautiful night even a dead guy can appreciate.
As you survey the scene, Aldo beckons you closer. He's seated at the head of the table, a half-eaten plate of food in front of him. You don't move toward him. Not yet. You're not quite sure it's a good idea. For either of you.
"You want something, Papa?" asks Holly's mom, breaking from her conversation with Mona.
"No, I'm fine," he says with a wave, sounding very clear, very with it. He scoops a bite of poi to his mouth, pausing before tasting.
ed "times new roman">"I have to hand it to Jason---he went all out," Julia says. "This means a lot to my father. He and my mother went to Hawaii on their twenty-fifth anniversary. It was the one nice vacation my folks took. Although I think they did go back to Perugia once."
"I love Italy," says Mona with an appreciative nod.
Holly's mom takes a sip from the coconut in her hand. "I've never been."
"Oh, what a shame. They have the most wonderful winery tours. Oh, and the men," she says with a giggle. "You'll get there someday, I have a feeling."
Julia laughs too.
Lena, almost asleep at the table, wakes up at the sound of laughter. "What'd I miss?"
This makes the moms laugh even harder.
You glance toward the swing, where Holly is resting her head on Jason's shoulder. They look like they've always been together. It's almost too much to take after the day you've had.
"Hey, kid," whispers Aldo, but you ignore him, wanting to see what is going on with your girl. "Not your girl," corrects Aldo.
"I wasn't talking to you," you say. You perch alongside the pool near the swing, dipping your invisible legs into the space of the clear blue water. Staring hard where your feet would be, you put all your energy into conjuring up a splash to grab their attention, to wreck their moment. A ripple appears on the surface, and you're causing a slight hum at the edge of the hula music coming through the speakers. You really need to work on this kinetic stuff.
"Will you give it a rest? You're only torturing yourself," says Aldo.
"Papa, you okay? You're mumbling," Julia says at the table.
"Bene, bene. I'm okay."
Holly reaches up to touch Jason's face. "You're pretty good at grilling. How did you settle on swordfish?"
You float up from the pool and draw nearer to the swing.
"It was at the market," he says. "Along with something called ono."
Holly's face lights up. "I read a recipe for that somewhere. You crust it in nori---you know, dried seaweed?"
"Yeah, I know what nori is. We get sushi a lot, me and Mom."
"Yum."
"I'll have to take you to sushi sometime," Jason says, as if he's the only one who ever thought of it, when half of Seattle lives off the stuff.
You remember taking Holly to sushi at a little place in Tan-gletown near Green Lake. It waen nt>uni---the sea urchin, with its mushy texture.
"Did you like the poi?" Jason says, nearly batting his eyelashes.
"I guess---I've never had it before."
"It's taro root."
"I know," says Holly.
"Of course you know that," he says with a laugh. "Well, it was my best effort for you. I'm sure you could have made something a hundred times better."
She smiles up at him, her eyes shining. "No, no. It was so great. It was inspired."
"Yeah?"
"Yep. I've never had anyone cook for me before, really."
You sigh. That's true. You never even made a quesadilla for Holly. What was the point when she was so good she could make homemade pizza out of a few ingredients?
"You are amazing with food," Jason said. "I remember trying a cookie you made for Rob. It looked so good, I begged him for a bite. I think it was macadamia white chocolate chunk."
"His favorite."
"It was the softest, chewiest cookie, and I remember asking him where he bought it. He hit me on the shoulder and said you baked it for him. I swear I could taste the love in that cookie."
"Baked right in," Holly says in a wistful tone.
Jason smiles at her. "You should become a chef someday."
You roll the idea around in your mind. Yeah, Holly would be great running a restaurant. You can totally see her in chef whites. Though that's far away from the psych degree she'd wanted to get, back when you both talked about the future---what you'd study at Western up in Bellingham when you went off to school together. You knew you wouldn't end up there, though. You knew you were headed east, thanks to your dad.
Jason's voice is playful, and he twirls a lock of Holly's hair in his fingers. "You'd be great at that. I know how much you love to cook."
"No. I have to cook."
"You love it."
"All right, maybe I love it a little," she says with a laugh. "I never thought about doing that, though. I'm just floating along here, you know."
"If you float along, you don't get a chance to choose your direction," Jason says.
"True."
Jason leans in and kisses her then. You can almost see the sparks ignite between them. He's winning her heart. And it's breaking yours.
"Come away from there, dammit!" shouts Aldo, disrupting the whole table with his sudden murmuring.
"Papa, calm down."
Aldo shakes his head. "Just asking for heartache."
"I'm not."
"He loves her. She loves him. Your time is over, Roberto!"
"Everything okay?" calls Holly, sitting up on the swing.
"We're fine. I've got it." Mom gives her a wave.
"Come here," Jason says, dipping his head to kiss her in the shadows of the swing. "Don't worry about him. Your mom is right there."
You see Holly relax into the kiss that Jason is offering. There's desire in Holly's eyes---a look you remember seeing. She wants him. You feel it.
"Holly," Jason says. "I'm falling fast here."
She puts a finger on his lips, stopping him from saying more.
"You crazy fool, walk away," calls Aldo.
You nod now and move in a daze toward the bushes of the backyard. You can't bear to see Holly's eyes shine so full of trust and love for Jason. You can't bear to see the reminder of all you couldn't live up to. Of how you let her down.
\*\*\*
I was swaying in Jason's arms on the makeshift dance floor near the patio. My stomach felt full to bursting with the grilled fish and the coconut cream pie Jason had unveiled at the end of dinner. I could still taste the sweet, creamy custard filling and the buttery crust. He admitted that he had bought the pie, but I didn't even care. As we danced, the soft slack-key guitar music brought the sounds of the islands all around me. If I closed my eyes, I almost felt like I was on vacation.
"I'm tired," Lena said from her seat in the swing.
Vacation over. "I've got to get these guys home," I whispered.
"I'll drive you," Jason said.
I gathered up Lena, and Jason helped Aldo down the hallway to the entrance.
Mona gave me an extralong hug at the door. "Holly, you and your family are delightful. You're welcome here anytime. And it's a shame your mom had to leave so early. Will you tell her I'd like to take her to lunch sometime?"
"Sure," I said.
Mona pulled back from the embrace, leaving me covered in her fruity, floral perfume. She wasn't exactly what I thought she'd be. From Jason's descriptions, I had had my doubts, but she was nice.
"Aldo, it was so good to meet you," Mona said.
He gave her a genuine smile, and I felt like the night had been a success. Except for the outbursts at the pool, Grandpa Aldo had seemed to enjoy himself. He was alert and active and into the whole luau thing. Once, he'd mentioned my grandma and Mom had started crying, and then suddenly she'd announced it was time for her to split to work. Grandpa, though, wasn't crying. He was smiling, remembering, talking a little about Grandma and their trip. And then, seeming tired, he wound down into his normal shell, staring out at the night, toward the backyard, which was filling with moonlight and an evening breeze.
Once out of the giant house, Jason packed us into his Audi and we wove our way down the hill toward home. At the glass door of our apartment building, I told Lena to take Grandpa inside and I stood there, not wanting to say goodbye. Not wanting the night to end just yet.
"Thanks. I can't believe you did all that---cooking and setting it all up."
"I've been meaning to have a luau for a while," he said. "There just aren't enough luaus in Seattle."
I laughed at the mock-serious expression on his face. "Well, it was awesome."
"Yeah, it was." Jason's brown eyes shone in the dim light. "Holly, you know, I meant what I said, on the swing earlier."
"Which part?" I said.
"All of it." He leaned in to kiss me, and it occurred to me that all of this could be real. That whatever bad things had happened before maybe had to happen to bring us to this point. That the pain of losing Rob had forced us to change even though we didn't want to, but that the change was good. Maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe just having Jason's arms around me felt so good, so different, that it overtook whatever I'd felt before.
I exhaled and held him tighter. Now that I had him---that he had me---I didn't want to let him go.
"I know you're scared," he said. "And that's okay. The way I feel about you isn't going to change, and it's not going away."
"Okay," I murmured.
"No. Do you believe me? Look at me."
I forced my eyes up, searching his for truth. "I believe you."
"Good. I want this to be a beginning," he said, his face relaxing into a smile.
"Yeah," I said. "We can start right here. Just the two of us. Finally."
"The rest of the world doesn't matterdoeit. May," he said with a smile.
"Well, it kind of does for me."
"Yeah, I mean, family and stuff matters---but everyone else and what they think, I don't want you to worry about any of that. What we have is you and me." Jason kissed me again, opening my lips with his tongue like he was savoring more sweet tropical fruit.
I shivered all the way down to my toes. I couldn't remember a kiss like that ever.
He pulled back, watching my eyes. "I could get carried away," he said. "You just make me want to kiss you everywhere, and in every way."
My stomach did a flip-flop. I hugged him again and breathed in the smell of his soap, his skin underneath. I wanted to remember this smell later, because I knew I'd be thinking about him all night.
"I'd better get inside," I said.
"See you tomorrow?"
I smiled. "Don't know if I can, but I want to."
Then I went inside, and he stood there, watching me through the glass until I stepped onto the elevator and his face disappeared through the crack of the sliding door. I leaned back against the wall of the elevator and knew---really knew---that I was falling for Jason.
I couldn't find any other words for the way I felt.
"That you, honey?" Jason's mom was still slurping from her hollowed-out coconut. She waved her hand toward him and leaned back in the lounge chair. She'd turned off the pool lights, but the solar tiki torches still lit up the back patio and yard.
"Uh ... yeah, it's me." Jason cut himself another piece of coconut cream pie and joined her outside. He settled back into the lounger, stretching out his feet, settling the plate of dessert on his stomach.
"You are quite the entertainer," Mona said with a giggle, carefully placing her coconut drink on the table between them.
Jason leaned over and grabbed the coconut. "What's in here, rum?"
"I can have a grown-up drink now that your friends are gone," she said.
Jason took a sip. "There's no piña colada in here, just booze."
"Here, please." Mona held out her hand, and Jason gave her back the coconut. She took a long sip and then said, "Ah, what a night! Wasn't it so nice to have people over?"
"Yeah," Jason said. "It was really nice of you to help me." He took a bite of the pie. It really was great---twenty times better than anything he could have attempted. Besides, it had been enough work to slow-cook thew rom you pork and do the other prep for the luau.
"Before you were born, we used to have great parties," Mona continued. "Your dad liked to cook out. Of course it was mostly steaks, but it was a lot of fun---especially when we'd just moved into this house. Everything was new, top of the line." Her voice sounded wistful, far away.
Jason set his fork down on the plate, wiping crumbs from his mouth with his shirt sleeve. "You should have people over again. What's stopping you?"
Mona shrugged. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I should. It's just awkward with everything going on with your dad right now."
"But when the divorce is final," Jason said in a soft voice, "maybe you should."
"I'm not going to celebrate that," she said, throwing Jason a look.
"C'mon, I don't mean it's something to celebrate, just that you could do what you want to do. You shouldn't care what anyone thinks."
"Maybe." She leaned her head back, gazing up at the stars overhead. "I have to say, I liked her a lot. Actually, when I watched you and Holly together, I almost felt a little jealous."
"What?"
She rolled her head sideways, and Jason could see little tears in the corners of her eyes. "I saw you and Holly so happy, and I remembered what it was like to be completely, madly in love with someone. I said to myself, I want that."
"But you had that with Dad, didn't you?"
Mona set her drink on the table again and crossed her arms against her chest. "Yes, I had that with Dad. It just all went away over time. You grow up, and the world starts crushing in on you. All the responsibilities, all the things you're supposed to be for each other. After a while, you forget what brought you together, what it was like to fall in love with each other." She smiled sadly. "Well, maybe you don't forget what it was like, but you don't feel that way anymore. I'm not sure where love goes, but it goes away."
"I'm sorry, Mom." Jason reached out and took his mom's hand.
"No being sorry," she said, her smile a little forced. "I think I'm going to choose to be inspired. Yes, you and Holly inspired me. Maybe it's time to look forward to what's coming next, you know?"
"Okay." Jason squeezed her hand and then let it go. As weird as it was to be talking about love stuff with his mom, he was enjoying himself. Enjoying hanging out with her for a change.
"I haven't seen you this happy in ... well, ever. Not even with Faith. Oh, the way you look at her."
"Well, this is different."
"I'll say. Holly's like a breath of fresh air. She does a lot for her family. She's got some he'th="5%">
But Jason knew what she meant. He'd always known that about Holly.
"You only knew her because of Rob?" Mona said, taking the last sip of her drink.
"Yeah, but she was a lot different back then---kind of bubbly, brighter," Jason said. "She loved him."
"Of course. You loved Rob, too."
"No, I mean, she loved him. It's been hard to get close to her," Jason said in a quiet voice.
"She lost the boy she loved, but that doesn't mean she won't love again, that she doesn't love you," Mona said. "You can remember someone you loved and still love someone new."
"But then it goes away," Jason said, repeating his mother's words.
She held up a hand. "So, maybe it doesn't go away, exactly. Maybe it's all around you, waiting to show itself again. Maybe we go away from it."
Jason shoved a bite of pie crust into his mouth and stared out at the dark waters of the pool. Love is different. Love moves and changes. Love is all around. It sounded like some kind of pop song, but maybe his mom knew a little about it.
"Last bite?" his mom said, reaching for his fork.
"Sure," he said.
She scooped the last bit of coconut into her mouth and smiled. It was too big a bite for her. The filling was all over her face. "You're going to be fine," she said when she'd wiped her mouth. "Just go where love goes."
Jason nodded and reached for the dishes. "You're turning into a talk-show host."
Mona laughed. "Maybe in my next life. You know what I mean, though. Right?"
"Yeah," he said. He moved back toward the house, the taste of coconut cream pie in his mouth and Holly on his mind. The worst thing ever had brought them together, but he wasn't letting the love he was feeling get away. And he wasn't letting her go.
\*\*\*
Holly has the most beatific smile on her face. A smile that belongs in a painting of an angel, a saint, someone full of the divine. She's nestled in her covers, staring at the corner of the room where you're hanging out. You know she can't see you, but maybe she senses you're watching over her---or that you're restless as hell.
But mostly what you get from Holly is the way she's radiating happiness. Looking at the curve of her lips, the soft slope of her nose, her peacefully closed eyelids, you don't think you've ever seen her this at peace, this content.
<" wr nose, hfont face="times new roman">You think back to just a few weeks ago, when Holly was scribbling furiously in her journal---writing down all the things about you that she wanted to remember, the things she wanted to keep alive. It seems like all of that passion for you is gone. All of it washed away in this tidal wave of love you see rushing in toward her shore.
"It's okay," you tell yourself. "It's not the same as when we were together, but it's gonna be fine." Maybe this comforting thought is left over from the stuff you heard during family therapy earlier---maybe it's a lie you're telling yourself. Wherever the thought comes from, you accept it, welcome it, wrap it around yourself like a warm winter scarf.
"Roberto," you hear. "You're killing me with this stuff."
You close your eyes and you're in the bathroom with Aldo. He's standing in front of the mirror, rubbing a washcloth over his face.
"Shouldn't you be in bed? Holly is..."
"I got up. I couldn't sleep. I heard some ghost rambling around in the next room," he says with a laugh.
"I wasn't rambling. I was loitering."
Aldo smirks. "Funny, kid."
"Hang up the washcloth," you remind Aldo. "Your hook's the one with the big A above it."
"Thanks." Aldo completes the task.
"That's pretty cool that Holly marked things around the place for you."
"Yes. She's doing everything she can."
"Even throwing the luau," you murmur.
"That was Jason. You know that," Aldo chides. He shuffles out of the bathroom.
"Lights."
"Yeah, I was getting to that," says Aldo as he reaches back for the switch. "Anything else I should remember?"
"Nah."
Aldo moves into the living room and picks up the TV remote. You notice there is a big button with a green arrow marking the power switch. He gives it a click, and an old black-and-white movie comes to life. "This okay?"
"What? We're gonna watch TV?" you ask.
"What else is there to do? I ask, you don't tell me. You prattle on, but don't tell me the good stuff. You keep haunting me nonetheless. We're in a rut."
"We're not in a rut," you say, taking a seat on the couch as Aldo sinks into the recliner.
"Hell," Aldo says, "what do I know about all this afterlife stuff, anyway? I must not y? " you say,be very good if you're still hanging around."
"No. You've been great."
"If my job is to help you move to the other side, or whatever, then maybe we need to get on with it," Aldo says. "I don't know if you've noticed that I'm not doing quite so well talking anymore. You had this idea that I could help you get a message out to Holly, remember?"
"That was your idea," you say, but Aldo's words sink in. If he's getting worse, his ability to communicate, to tell anyone whatever it is you've been left here to say, is only going to get weaker. The possibility that you'd be stuck here forever---that you'd never move on---is real.
Aldo fashions a smile. "What's on your mind tonight? Oh wait, don't tell me, let me guess---you're jealous of Holly and Jason."
"Quit busting my balls," you say.
Aldo laughs. "See? A sense of humor, that's what I like about you." He eyes you. "Sorry, kid. You were moping your way through that very nice luau in my honor. What gives?"
"Earlier, I was hanging out with my folks and they were doing some kind of counseling session where they were talking about me---that was freaking depressing. I hung around with them for a few hours, and then I come to check on you and it's luau night. And Holly, she's---"
"Happy. The word you're searching for is happy."
"Yeah." Your eyes flicker to the TV, where a girl is standing in a fountain.
Aldo shakes his head. "Come on, now, don't act so defeated. Did you really think she was never going to love anyone again after you?"
"No. It's not that. It's the way she looks at him. I mean, how does that happen?"
Aldo mutes the TV. "Son, when you love someone, you just know. I loved my wife from the moment I saw her standing with that group of rowdy children on the field trip. I knew she was for me."
You feel a tightness in your throat. "I never had a moment like that. Not with anyone."
"That's a shame. Everyone should know love like that." His eyes are kind.
"Aldo, can you help me? I need to go now. I'm not kidding around. I need to go where things don't hurt, where things make sense."
"I don't know where that is, kid."
The words hang in the air for a moment while the two of you watch the movie roll on without a soundtrack. "You know, my parents"---you look down at your transparent hands---"my parents think the accident maybe wasn't an accident."
Aldo lets out a deep breath. "You finally ready to tell me about that night?" he prompts.
he="5%"><
"There was a lot I couldn't remember, you know," you say, your voice taking on the sound of fear, uncertainty.
"Maybe you didn't want to remember," Aldo says gently. "Pain isn't an emotion anyone wants to sort through."
"Yeah." You glance at the TV, where someone is running up a cobblestone street. You focus back on Aldo, who is waiting patiently in his recliner, his hands in his lap. "You know how this last September was dreary, like we were in the depth of winter? I hate how it can turn like that here."
"It was your last year of school, right?" Aldo says. "That should have been something you were excited about."
"I guess. But I had my dad breathing down my neck about my future, I was trying to keep my mother happy by volunteering down at the church food bank, I was keeping up with my sports, though I was never a star player or anything. They kept repeating that I needed to be well-rounded on college applications. It was like my father's freaking mantra. Anyway, I was trying hard to do what they wanted, to be what everyone wanted."
"So, wait---you didn't like your father's business? Me neither, though mine was the town butcher, not a banker."
You give him a weak smile. "Finance seems so boring. I thought about doing architecture, maybe. I liked the idea of drawing something and having someone build it into reality."
Aldo nods. "I've seen some beautiful buildings---so many in Italy."
"Yeah, it would have been nice to travel for a year and check out Europe before I went to college. Dad wasn't into that at all."
"So, it was the start of school," Aldo says, steepling his fingers. "Where were you that night of the crash?"
"At a party after the football game, over at my friend Mark's house. There were a lot of kids there."
"And you were with Holly."
"Yeah. She was pissed at me. We'd been dating for a while. And, I admit, I hadn't been paying her enough attention since the end of the summer. I had so much on my mind."
"So she was angry with you about that?"
You pause, thinking of how to put things. "She thought we should be more ... romantic."
Aldo raises his eyebrows. "She wanted you to get married after high school?"
"I don't know. Maybe. But that night she just wanted us to, you know---"
"Oh, oh. I understand." Aldo rubs his hand on his forehead.
"God, this is weird."
"Oh, I'm sorry---do you have a ghost talking to you about his intentions with your granddaughter?"
You almost smile, but the memory of the party comes flooding back. "Mark's parents were gone. There were empty bedrooms. She'd had some beers."
Aldo sits up straighter. "You didn't want her?"
"I didn't know what I wanted." Your voice is flat.
"Roberto, you're telling me that my Holly practically threw herself at you and you didn't want her?" Your face burns as much as a ghost's face can.
"Are you---"
"No, I don't like guys. Okay? It wasn't like that."
Aldo gives you a long, appraising look. "You drank too much."
"No. I didn't drink too much. I mean, I know it must sound weird, but I didn't feel like it. Not at some stupid party with all this shit going on around us. I was under a lot of pressure. My mind was on a million other things."
"You couldn't do it," Aldo says. "This happens to all men at some time."
"Okay, just stop," you say. "It wasn't that. I didn't have problems in that department."
"Forgive me, Roberto. I'm just trying to understand. It's been a long time since my first time. A little shepherd girl named Lu-ciana in my town. She brought us cheese on Tuesday mornings and had these green eyes." Aldo's smiling, but you can't return the gesture. "I'm sorry," he says. "Go on."
Closing your eyes, you can picture everything just like it's happening all over again. You can almost hear the soundtrack of deep-bass music, the murmur of kids milling about, the slosh of beer in keg cups.
"Holly was really hurt. Just pissed off at me in a way she'd never been," you say, remembering. "She started flirting with some of the other guys, trying to make me jealous or some stupid thing. I tried to talk to her, to calm her down. People were wondering what was going on. Everything was just totally screwed up. I thought I'd lost Holly forever. She stayed inside at the party with her friend Marisa while I sat in my car in my driveway, alone. I didn't want to face anyone. I didn't want to face her. God, this is embarrassing. I'm not some kind of wuss or something. I just couldn't deal, you know?"
Aldo nods. "But you were her date---you were supposed to drive her home..."
"Yeah. After an hour, I decided the whole thing was stupid, and I needed to talk to her. I got out of the car and walked back into the party, and no one seemed to know where she was. I went downstairs and finally found her in the family room, on the couch with my friend Mark. She was about to pass out, draped over him. His arm was around her waist, and when he saw me he had this guilty look in his eyes. 'I was taking care of her,' he said, but I could tell what he had been planning. It was just like what he'd done to he. She was other girls at parties---he always blamed it on booze the next day."
"Doesn't sound like a good friend."
You shake your head. "Nah. He turned out to be a real scumbag. I guess maybe I knew that about him. But I had defended Mark to people who talked shit about him. Seeing him there with his hands on Holly, though---well, that was different."
Aldo smiles grimly. "So you got Holly into the car."
"Yeah. I wanted to get her home. I wanted us to talk. I wanted to make everything right. I didn't know if that was even possible, but I had to get her home." You pause, and Aldo reaches out to you, as if he thinks he can put a hand on your shoulder, but of course he can't.
"Go ahead, son."
"The road was dark, and there was this thin drizzle of rain hitting the windshield. Not enough to make you use the wipers, but enough that it was getting harder to see."
"And you lost control."
Your invisible heart squeezes so hard you can barely breathe. "I started thinking that I'd probably lost everything---me and Holly, my so-called best friend Mark. That I was a huge disappointment to my parents. That I was a lame boyfriend who didn't even want to be with a beautiful girl like Holly. Everything started adding up, started pressing down on me." You swallow around the lump in your throat, barely able to talk. "Aldo, see, I started thinking, one little turn of the wheel and it would all be over. One little turn of the wheel and I wouldn't have to deal with anything anymore."
Aldo presses his lips together. "That's dangerous thinking, kid."
"I didn't mean to do it," you say, your voice so small, so quiet. Silent tears start to roll down your ghostly cheeks. You know they're there, even if you can hardly feel them. Your vision is clouding, your tongue thick in your mouth.
"What did you do?" Aldo asks.
"One little turn of the wheel." Your voice is just above a whisper in your mind. "Just to see if I had it in me. Just to see if I had the guts to do one decisive thing in my whole freaking life, I did it. A fraction. Not even far. But I turned the wheel."
"What about my Holly?"
"It was like I didn't even realize she was in the car," you say. "It was like the whole world drilled down into me and the night and the car."
Aldo closes his eyes, absorbing. He lets out a long exhale. "I can't forgive you for this," he says. "I can't tell you that it doesn't matter. You almost killed Holly."
"I told you I didn't mean to," you say, your voice shaking. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."
"Meaning and doing are two different things," Alnt fodo says.
"I don't need your forgiveness," you say. "I don't need you to tell me it's okay."
"I know. You need Holly to forgive you," Aldo says.
You close your eyes again. "I can't tell her."
"Then you're here for good, probably. What, you think this isn't the reason God's making you stick around? You take your life---"
"I didn't take my life."
"You take your life," Aldo repeats, pointing at you, "and you nearly kill the sweet girl who loves you, and you don't think you owe anyone an apology?"
Your throat tightens. Inside, your heart is shattering. You can't say anything because there aren't words for how much you hurt now and for how much you hurt then.
"I'm glad you told me," Aldo says. "I'm glad to know the truth."
But you aren't. You start to fade.
"Wait!" Aldo calls, too late to reach out to you.
You come out of the nothingness and onto McCallister Road. You stand on the rainy, rocky cliff above the abyss. Maybe it's fitting you're doomed to haunt this place forever. You deserve nothing less than this afterlife drenched in the kind of pain that won't let you go.
"I knew things would work out," said Marissa, cutting the chocolate cupcake from her lunch in half. "I can't believe how right I was about you and Jason. When it comes to love, I'm like a psychic."
I picked up the half she slid across the lunchroom table to me and took a bite of the thick frosting, not caring that it was smearing across my upper lip. That was the nice thing about being a lip gloss girl: you could always wipe it away and put more on. "Yeah, you were sure right."
Marissa grinned and cut a small piece of her cupcake with a fork, lifting it to her mouth, bracelets jangling on her wrist. "Ohmigod, do you realize that you'll have a date to prom? Your reentry into society is excellently timed."
I rolled my eyes at her. "Yeah, this was all about my reentry. I didn't think of that."
"But of course, I'm mostly just happy because you're happy," Marisa said, eating a bite of cupcake. "So, you did the luau on Saturday ... What did you guys do last night?"
"We wanted to go to the movies, but I only could get a few hours free, so Jason drove us to West Seattle. We got fish and chips and walked along the beach at Alki."
"I love Alki."
"It was great. Sunset and yummy, greasy food."
"And Jason."
"Yeah, and Jason," I said. I wanted to tell her more, but I was still working on describing how I felt about him. It wasn't just that I enjoyed his company and that his kisses made my knees go weak like in some romance novel, it was that I loved his kindness. And, I was beginning to see, I loved him, in general.
"So, you're over Rob," Marisa said, glancing at me beneath her long lashes. "You've finally let that all go?"
"I don't think I'll ever be over him. But life does go on, you know?"
"Yeah." Marisa folded the cupcake paper into a triangle and set it on her lunch tray.
I chewed the last bite of the sweet, wondering where Jason was this lunchtime. I hadn't seen him since our chem class that morning.
"Hey." Mark took a seat on the bench next to Marisa. He was wearing a plaid button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled perfectly against his tan forearms. His gaze traced over my lunch tray, like he was hoping I was going to share a bite of the fries hanging out in the paper boat.
"Hi, Mark. What's up?" I tried to sound casual, less get-the-hell-out-of-here than I felt. Mark and Jason were friends---if I was going to be with him, we would have to strike a truce.
"What's up? Well, I'm just making my rounds, checking on the hot chicks in the lunchroom," he said, looking between us.
"Nice." Marissa fell for it, returning his smile.
I tried not to choke on my sip of milk. "Yeah, that's ... awesome."
Mark nodded at Marisa, completely ignoring my ambivalence. "You're coming to Jason's birthday party, right? I mean, I hope you're coming."
"Definitely," Marisa said. "I'll look for you there." She tossed her dark hair and smoothed her bangs back behind one ear. She only did that stuff when she liked a guy, and I couldn't believe she thought Mark warranted that. Even when I'd been a so-called part of their tribe, he'd never given her a second glance.
"I suppose you'll be busy," Mark said, turning to me. "Jason told me about your taking care of the old dude."
"Right. Gotta watch the old dude," I repeated, saluting him with my milk carton. "Even on my boyfriend's birthday."
Marisa's phone vibrated with a text. "Oh, sorry. I gotta go," she said, checking it as she stood up. "Janna from my design class is watching a live feed of the Zac Posen fall collection in the library. We're doing a project on him."
I waved goodbye, expecting Mark to follow her out the caf doors, but he sat there, smiling at me. His smile said a million things, none of them good, as theightfar as I could tell.
"What?" I set my milk down on my tray of half-eaten hamburger and cold fries. "You obviously have something on your mind, Mark. Go ahead, let's hear it. You think I should stay away from Jason. It's my fault Rob died. Go ahead, don't disappoint me."
"Wow. Much hostility," Mark said, raising his hands in surrender. "Can't a guy stop by to say hello to his buddy's girl?"
"This is the first time you've sat down to talk to me in months. There's got to be a reason."
Mark leaned forward, finally reaching for one of my uneaten fries. "I just thought you should know what he told me the other night."
"The other night? He was hanging with me this weekend."
"Saturday, during your luau ... I came by."
"Oh." So that had been Mark at the door. Jason hadn't mentioned him, but then again, what had there been to mention? That Mark had tried to crash one of the best nights of my life?
"You're under some illusion that this is all lovey-dovey---I can tell. But it's not about you at all." Mark dipped the fry in my ketchup and took a bite.
"Does Jason know you're doing this? Did you tell him you were going to come harass me?"
"I'm talking with you out of respect."
"Respect. I didn't know you knew that word."
"Holly, don't be a bitch."
I felt slapped. "I'm a bitch because I'm standing up for myself? How does that work?"
Mark let out a frustrated sigh. "Sorry, forget I said that. I just want you to listen. Jason told me that he feels closer to Rob when he's with you."
"So?" I balled up the napkin in my lap and set it over the fries on my lunch tray.
"Can't you see he's using you? Rob had you, and Jason wanted you. All this stuff about helping you---with your stupid list or whatever---it's all part of his plan to get what Rob had."
The list. Jason had told him about Grandpa Aldo's list? That surprised me, but I tried to stay calm, not show Mark that anything he said meant something to me. "Wait. You got all this out of Jason saying that he feels closer to Rob when he's with me?"
Mark shook his head. "Holly, Holly. I knew you were naive, but come on."
"No, go ahead, explain."
"Jason has been jealous of Rob ever since the three of us met in kindergarten. Rob was better looking, Rob was an athlete, Rob got the girls. With him out of th "times nethe picture, Jason's spreading his wings like a little birdy learning to fly. The sad thing is that after he's done with you, he'll move on to the next girl. He's just using you. You're a launching pad."
"I can't believe I'm sitting here listening to this," I said, standing up and snatching the tray from the table. I walked toward the kitchen to dump the garbage and recycling. Mark followed me.
"Holly, I'm telling you this because I don't want you to get hurt ... again."
"That's crap." I slammed the tray against the side of the bin, clearing the trash, and then put it in the pile on the cart near the kitchen door. I couldn't get out of there fast enough.
Mark kept pace with me as I moved down the hall. "You think he'd actually like you for real? Why would he choose you when he could have girls like Faith with a snap of his fingers?"
"Maybe he likes me for me."
"Oh, like Rob did? You were never the right girl for Rob. We both know that you're not like us."
"What? Because I don't live in the hills like you?"
Mark stopped beside me at my locker. "I'm not going to lie. That's part of it." I slammed open my locker door, making Mark step back. "It's fine if you don't want to believe me," he said. "Just wait and see what happens. You'll see how he really is."
"I know how he is."
He blocked my way. "Then you should know how his little plan has been unfolding. It's perfection, if I do say so myself."
I shouldered past him, heading to my next class. Kids clumped near the classroom doors seemed to stare at me as I passed them, but maybe I was just paranoid.
"Watch and see," called out Mark.
I didn't respond, and I didn't glance back, in case all the doubts swirling around inside me showed on my face.
\*\*\*
Jason waited by the parking lot door the next day, Tuesday afternoon. He was hoping to give Holly a ride home, but he hadn't seen her all day. She'd skipped chem that morning and wasn't answering her phone. Not unusual, considering the restriction on her minutes. He wondered if it might be all right to buy her a prepaid phone with lots of minutes for her birthday. Her mom would probably be cool with that, right?
"Dude, way to go," a junior from his second period class slapped him on the back as he stood near the open door.
"What?"
The guy just turned and nodded as he headed out to a group of friends waiting near a pickup truck in the lot.
m" nt>
He checked his phone again. Nothing. Climbing behind the wheel of the Audi, he felt a little unsettled. Where was Holly? He rolled toward the exit of the parking lot, deciding to head to her place to make sure everything was okay.
"Hey," Mark shouted from near Dan's car.
Jason waited as Mark jogged over. "You seen Holly?"
Mark shook his head. "Not since lunch yesterday."
"You had lunch with her?"
"I just chatted with her for a minute," Mark said, a little smirk playing on his lips.
Dan waved at Jason as he approached. "What's up? You ready to cruise some parties this weekend?"
"What?"
"Well, I heard how you hit it and quit it," Dan said. "Single again---I'm so glad."
Mark gave a little cough. "Dan," he said.
"Sorry. Maybe you're all broken up about it," Dan said.
"Holly? You guys are talking about Holly?"
Dan gave him a smile. "That's the good word. You and Holly hooked up this weekend and then kapow---game over. Nice work."
Jason's blood rose to his face. "You guys have something to do with this rumor? 'Cause that's what it is, Dan, you idiot. I didn't hit it and quit it. I wouldn't do that to Holly."
"Sorry," Dan said again, holding up his hands this time. "Just what I heard."
"Well, you heard wrong." Jason put the car in park and grabbed the front of Mark's shirt, nearly pulling him in through the driver's window of the Audi. "I can't believe you, Mark."
"Hey, let me go. Why would I possibly have talked crap about you guys?"
He shoved Mark back onto his feet, knocking him into Dan, who was standing there watching with his mouth agape. "I'm going to find Holly, and you'd better pray she hasn't heard this crap," Jason said.
Mark straightened his shirt, feigning indignation. "What kind of lowlife has she turned you into? Is that what they do in the flats? Make a bunch of threats?"
Jason didn't say another word. He calmly put the car into drive and rolled down the hill toward the street. He forced himself to calm down, blowing breaths in and out, trying to let it all go. How did Mark coast through life being such an ass? Money? Charm? Jason would gladly trade both for an honest friend who had his back.
\*\*\*
You marvel how a teddy bear set in a cardboard box can seem so sad, so abandoned. Yours is named Harrison and still wears his bright blue bowtie, like he's been invited to some kind of gala. He looks so defeated now though, as if he knows he's about to be shipped to the Goodwill and priced with a dollar tag.
Kayla enters your room and plucks Harrison from the box. "Mom, I want to keep him," she says.
"Sure. Rob would like that." Your mom is right---you're happy he'll sit on Kayla's shelf with her other animals, happy that Harrison has escaped the price gun for at least a little while.
Kayla runs out with Harrison, to introduce him to his new roommates.
Your dad comes in and stands in the doorway, surveying the scene. "Here, I'll start on his clothes," he says, moving to the closet. He takes out a gray suit, the one you wore to your grandma's funeral a couple of years ago. It was too small, even when you wore it on that day---the pants were high waters. Your dad smiles, as if he's picturing you on that day, your white socks showing when you sat on the folded chairs on the cemetery greens. He lays the suit in an open black plastic bag, the kind you use for leaves, for things that are shed. He takes a few sweaters down from the shelves, sets them in a neat stack.
Your mom stops her work of packing away the books and sports trophies on the shelves and lies down on the bed, cuddling her arms around the sweaters. "I miss him," she moans, burying her face in the pile of wool.
"I know." Your dad puts the stack of pants he's holding into the bag and slides onto the bed, spooning your mom. He kisses her hair, wraps his arms over and around her. "And I'm right here with you. Everything's going to be okay. It's all going to get better, I promise."
Your mom lets go of the pile of sweaters and turns to face him. "I want him to be at peace," she says.
"He's in a better place now. I'm sure he'll find it." He holds her chin in his hands. "But can you ever forgive me?" he says, his lower lip quivering.
"It's not your fault," your mom says.
"I read something---something he was writing on his Mac one day. He left it open, and I was in his room dropping some mail off on his desk. It wasn't exactly a suicide note, but I couldn't bring myself to ask him about it. I mean, he came back into his room while I was standing there reading what looked like some kind of goodbye letter, and I froze. What is wrong with me? Why the hell didn't I just talk to him?"
"Hush," your mom says, touching her finger to his lips.
He moves it away. "Our son was in pain. So much pain. I should have been there for him." Your dad's voice is a whisper, a husk, an empty shell. "I guess I was afraid. I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault," you say. "You guys have to see that."
Your mom's eyelashes sparkle with tears. "Buith/div>
"It's not your freaking fault," you say, your voice rising, though they can't hear it. It's the only thing they need to know---the one thing you would tell them if you could.
Your mom holds your dad's face in her hands. "Listen to me---the doctor is right. We're going to make it through this together. Losing Rob is a reminder that we only have this tiny little slice of time," she says. "And we're not going to waste it being miserable anymore."
"I'm going to love you so much better," your dad says. "I'm going to be there for both you and Kayla. I promise. I'm never going to walk away from the hard times again."
He kisses your mom. And you get the sense that they are going to be all right. That they are going to be even better, maybe. That they don't need your help.
\*\*\*
"What are you doing here?" I let Marisa in on Tuesday afternoon. We were just about to eat dinner early---nothing fancy, just some soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, which Lena had requested.
"Why did you miss school today?" Marisa asked.
"Ugh. I didn't feel good. I woke up with the worst cramps, and Grandpa Aldo has some kind of cold starting up," I said, setting an extra place at the table.
"That's okay, Hols. I didn't come here to eat dinner. Though it does smell good," Marisa said, glancing toward the stove. "Mom's cooking some lentils and rice. I promised her I'd bring the car back after I swung by with your homework."
"You're not in my classes."
"She doesn't know that."
"True."
"So, you haven't talked to Jason all day?"
"No. He tried to call me earlier, but I didn't want to talk. I just feel crummy."
"But you guys are talking, right? I mean, nothing bad happened over the weekend?"
"I told you, the weekend was one of the best of my life."
"We had a luau!" said Lena.
"Hey, Lena, why don't you and Grandpa go wash up for dinner," I said, pulling back her chair.
She groaned but took Aldo's hand. "Come on, Grandpa."
Once they were off down the hall, Marisa leaned in close to me. "I heard that you broke up."
"What?"
"Some girls in my gym class were talking about it this morning. One of them has a crush on Jason and, well, she was happy he was back on the market."
My stomach dropped. "What? We didn't break up."
"Good," Marisa said, exhaling. "That's what I thought."
"What else were they saying?"
Marisa gave my shoulders a squeeze. "Just a bunch of crap about you," she said slowly. "Sorry."
"It's probably his stupid friends trying to break us up. Why do they hate me?"
Marisa toyed with a spoon from one of the place settings. "I don't know. But Jason doesn't feel that way, obviously."
"You know, after you left the lunchroom yesterday, Mark was a complete jerk," I said, crossing my arms across my belly. "He hated me before, when I was dating Rob, and he hates me now that I'm seeing Jason."
"Now that you're loved by Jason," Marisa said.
"Does someone who loves you tell his stupid friend a bunch of personal stuff about you?" I said, flashing back to Mark, to what he said in the hallway, how he'd known about the list.
"Jason is a guy. They all talk," Marisa said. "We spend all this time imagining stuff about our futures with them, and they spend time dissecting the present. I mean, remember when I made out with Kent Greely at the baseball game last summer? He told everyone."
"Why do they do that?"
Marisa shrugged. "I don't know---so that people think they're a real man or something? It's all about what other people think, not what they feel."
"You think Jason would have said something about us?"
"Well, he certainly wouldn't have lied about stuff between you. Would he?"
"I don't think so."
"And you remember everything that happened this weekend?"
"I wasn't drinking," I said. "Not this time."
Marisa looked totally relieved. "Good. Then you just go to school and ignore people. Okay? Isn't that the best strategy?"
"Ignore people about what?"
"Holly." Marisa toyed with one of the bracelets on her wrists, avoiding my stare. "They said that you hooked up with Jason and Mark the same night. That that's why Jason dumped you."
"Holy crap."
ont>"times new roman">"I told them it couldn't be true," Marisa said. "I told those girls in my gym class it never could have happened. That you're not like that."
Grandpa and Lena came back into the kitchen. "All clean," Lena announced, helping him into his seat.
"I have to get the car back," Marisa said. "You want a ride to Jason's house? I think you need to talk to him."
I gestured toward my family, toward dinner. "Thanks, but..." I stood up and walked her to the door.
She gave me a big hug. "Please, don't let this get to you. The worst thing you can do is to let something like this screw you up, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."
After Marisa left, I headed back into the kitchen and started dishing out the soup. Grandpa smiled as I set a bowl in front of him. Lena grabbed a handful of soda crackers and started crushing them in her fingers, letting the flakes snow down onto the steaming soup. I cooked the sandwiches in the skillet and sliced them into triangles, cheese oozing out the side. But I wasn't hungry anymore.
"Can you keep an eye on Grandpa while he's eating?" I asked Lena as I set the plate of grilled cheese in the center of the table.
She reached for two sandwich triangles, putting one on Grandpa's plate.
And I went into the living room where it was quiet, my hand shaking as I dialed Jason's number.
"I'm downstairs," Jason said, "parked out front. Can I come up?"
"No," Holly said, her voice wavering a little on the phone.
He didn't tell her he'd been sitting there for half an hour, debating whether or not he should even try to buzz her apartment, when he'd seen Marisa go up. "Well, can we talk?"
"Yeah, of course. I'll come down for a minute. Stay there."
A little while later, when she opened the glass lobby door, she looked pale and was in sweatpants and a hoodie. But even dressed down, she was cute.
"Hey," she said, walking over to the bench in front of the building.
"You didn't come to school. I was afraid that I had something to do with that," he said.
"No, I didn't feel good this morning," Holly said, sitting down, making herself small.
He smiled, relaxing. "Good. I mean, not good that you don't feel good---just that I wasn't the reason you stayed away." Jason sat down on the other end of the bench, turning his body to face hers. "Look, I'm sorry about what you must have heard. Mark is a complete jerk."
"I'new" Jason save always known that."
"Well, I'm just starting to figure that out after all these years. I don't know why he started talking shit. Come here," he said, holding out his hands.
Holly didn't move from her spot. "Why did you tell him?" she said.
"I didn't tell him anything," Jason said.
"You did. You told him about Aldo's list," Holly said quietly. "And he told me you were just helping Aldo to get to me. That you were jealous of me and Rob. That you felt closer to Rob when you were with me."
Jason's cheeks went red. "I didn't mean to tell him about the list. I was just explaining about the luau."
"That list was between us. I didn't even tell my mom till a few days ago."
"I'm sorry I told him, all right? I didn't know it was such a big deal."
Holly leveled her gaze at him. "And about what he said---"
"Obviously, none of that is true, and it didn't come from me," Jason said. "Mark wishes he had a girl as beautiful and real as you. He wishes we would break up, I'm sure."
"No. The part about you feeling closer to Rob when you're with me---did you say that?"
Jason bit the inside of his cheek. "No. It's not about that at all."
Holly's lips were a firm line. "That first day, when you talked to me on the street, when you apologized for how everyone had been to me---was that real?"
"Of course it was real, Holly---why wouldn't it have been real? All of this---the way I feel about you---is real." He could see the tears forming behind her eyes. He could see the doubts building. "Is what you feel for me real? Because if it is, then none of this crap matters---nothing matters but us."
"They didn't like me when I was with Rob. Didn't like where I come from or how I dress or that I don't have a fancy car---or any car," she said with a laugh. "And they will never like me when I'm with you."
"Not true. Faith likes you," Jason said. "She told me."
"So, you're talking to Faith? That's perfect. She's the perfect girl for you."
"No. It's not like that."
"You did your duty," Holly said, standing up. "You took care of poor Holly. You took care of what Rob left behind. I'm fine. Okay? Me and my grandpa and my mom and my sister, we're all fine. So you can go. Your job is done."
"You want me to go?"
Holly eyes were fierce. "Yeah. Just go."
Jason rose to his feet and headed toward the Audi. He looked once over his shoulder and saw Holly still sitting on the bench, now with her head in her hands. Before he started to lose it, he shut the car door and drove away. Leaving behind all he'd ever cared about.
\*\*\*
"What the hell just happened?" You materialize in the kitchen at Aldo's side. "I go visit my peeps for a while and everything falls to crap?"
"Easy," Aldo says. He dips his cheese sandwich into the soup on the table in front of him. "I'm not in charge of anything, kid."
Holly comes into the kitchen, wiping tears away with the backs of her sleeves.
"They were breaking up. That's not supposed to happen," you say, following her, wishing you could reach out and hug her, ease her sadness.
"What's supposed to happen? Who the hell knows?" Aldo says.
Holly glances over at him, noticing the mumbling in Italian. "Grandpa?"
"What's Grandpa saying?" Lena says, frowning.
Aldo's still ranting. "The only thing I do know from this whole experience is that no one, even the dead, knows anything."
"They're supposed to be together," you say. "I just know that. I feel it. And I rarely feel anything these days, so it's got to be true. Seriously, Aldo, will you acknowledge Holly? She's still staring at you, dude."
"I'm fine," Aldo says, mustering up the words.
"This soup tastes different," Lena says as she reaches for another triangle of sandwich. "Not like your normal soup."
"It's from a can, Lena. I didn't have time to make homemade bisque."
"Oh. Well, I like your soup better." She dips the edge of her sandwich in her bowl.
"Uh ... thanks?" Holly says, giving her a watery smile.
"She's not supposed to be so unhappy," you say. "Can't you tell Holly that he loves her? That it doesn't matter about me? It's about them."
"That's a mouthful," Aldo says.
Holly quirks an eyebrow. "Grandpa?"
"Just tell her. Tell her something to let her know he loves her."
Aldo stares at you hard. "I told you, kid. I think this is getting harder."
"Please try."
"Grandpa?" Holly says, reaching out to pat him on the hand. "You're making me worried. Is it the Roberto thing again? Is he bothering you?"
"Always."
"Come on. Try," you say.
"He ... loves you," Aldo says, looking Holly in the eyes.
"Roberto loves me?"
Aldo shakes his head with great effort. "The other boy," he says.
"He means Jason," says Lena, wiping soup from her mouth with a paper towel. "I think Grandpa means Jason loves you."
Holly's eyes water. "Thanks, Grandpa. That's nice."
"He loves you," Aldo repeats, saying the words carefully, clearly.
Holly picks up a spoon and stirs her soup. "Okay."
You nearly jump up on the table in front of her. "She doesn't believe us," you say. "He screwed up, and she doesn't believe us."
"She doesn't believe us because she doesn't believe in love anymore," Aldo says to you.
His words nearly make you shiver. "No."
"It's a hard thing to believe in once you've had it and lost it."
"Love is the only thing to believe in," you say.
"Hey, you finally learned something useful," Aldo says, giving you a little smile. "Way to go, kid."
"Grandpa," Holly says, squeezing his hand. "Finish your soup before it gets cold."
Aldo nods. "I need to go back to them. This talking-for-you business---it's not so easy."
"Thank you," you say. "I don't know that it made a difference, but thank you. You rest up. I'll be back."
"You'd better be," Aldo replies. "We have more things we need to tell her. Many more things."
"I know."
"You going, then?" Aldo asks.
"Not just yet. I'll sit here awhile with you." You lean back in the chair and watch Holly and her family finish their dinner. It's almost like being there. Almost like being able to comfort her, which you realize you should have been doing all along.
"Just give her some time," Faith said the next morning. "She needs to cool off, and then you can talk to hen">"Psize="5" cr again. Only stupid people believe what Mark says, anyway. It'll blow over."
The library was nearly empty that morning before school, but Jason whispered anyway. "Yeah, but she dumped me. Everything's all screwed up."
Faith shook her head. "You're just figuring things out. You didn't break up."
"She won't take my calls."
Faith rolled her eyes and focused back on her laptop, her fingers hitting the keys with precision. "Just chill. Don't be that crazy guy stalking her. No girl wants that."
"Yeah, maybe you're right."
"I know I'm right. She has to come talk to you on her terms. She's hurt, and somehow, even though Mark started this, it made her doubt you."
"I'd never do anything to hurt her."
"I know that," Faith said, her eyes finding his. "You're a good guy. Maybe not so smooth, but you're a good guy."
"Thanks a lot," Jason said, shoving her elbow playfully.
"I'm glad you called me," she said.
"Well, I don't have anywhere else to go for advice on this kind of stuff."
Faith smiled. "It's still cool that I'm coming to your party on Friday, right?"
"I don't even feel like having a party anymore."
"Come on. Your mom is probably superexcited about having your friends over to the house," Faith said. "She'll be disappointed if you don't at least let her buy you some cupcakes. Eighteen's big, anyway."
"Yeah."
"And things will be better with Holly by then, right? You've got a couple days."
Jason gave Faith a grateful smile. "Thanks."
"Hey, I'm here for you," she said.
"I'm glad we're friends," Jason said, giving her a hug and meaning it.
Faith hugged him back. "Me too. Maybe this was all for the better, you know? I've never been friends with an ex."
"Me neither."
"I hope it works out with Holly," Faith said. "Really. Just give her some space."
\*\*\*
I couldn't put it off any longer. I waited until nearly the last bell and then walked briskly through the doors of school, heaof excitedded toward my locker. Marisa caught up with me in Hallway B.
"Hey, I don't think it's, well, as bad as I thought yesterday," she said.
But as we turned the corner near the lunchroom, a group of sophomore girls stopped talking, staring as we walked past.
"Awesome," I muttered.
"Everyone knows it's a lie," Marisa said.
"Sure." I gave her a smile as lame as I felt. I didn't want to tell her about Jason coming over the day before. About how I'd told him to leave.
"I'm glad you came today. I was afraid you'd hide out at home all week," she said, giving me an encouraging pat on the back.
"No. I'm not going to hide. I think you're right. It only makes things worse."
Marisa stopped in her tracks as we passed the glass doors of the library. "Oh."
I glanced in to see what she was gaping at.
"No, don't look!" she said.
But it was too late. I saw Jason hugging Faith at one of the work tables. "Ohmigod."
Marisa tugged on my hands. "Come on. Let's go."
My heart shriveled down in my chest, along with whatever so-called love I had for Jason. Or maybe it was just the realization that everything he'd said he felt about me couldn't be true.
"Let's go," repeated Marisa.
"Yeah. I'm going home."
"No, just walk away."
I let her pull me away from the glass and down the hall to my locker. I worked the lock and then opened it up. Inside, where the picture of Rob used to be, there was a snapshot of me and Jason he'd taken on the sailboat that day. We were smiling, with Lena and Aldo in the background. He'd taken the picture himself, stretching his arms way out in front of us to capture the scene.
Marisa took the photo from my hands. "As much as you want to rip up this picture, don't. I'll just keep it for you," she said.
"Fine." I snatched my books from the shelf and shoved them into my bag.
The bell rang and I slammed the locker shut, said goodbye to Marisa. I stood outside the door of chem, watching the stream of kids going inside. Jason came toward me down the hallway, and I could hardly look at him, couldn't meet his eyes.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. "You Holiday Mullen?" a skinny guy in a Seahawks jersey asked.
"Yeah," I said, wincing at the sound of my real name.
"Mr. Croft wants to see you," he said, stuffing a note into my hands.
"Great." So the rumors about me and Jason and Mark had reached the counselor's office. Awesome. I turned away from Jason, who had a tentative smile on his face, and followed the office TA down the hall.
Mr. Croft's office smelled like coffee and mouthwash. He was at his desk, sleeves already rolled up like he'd had a long day, even though it was only eight o'clock. "Good morning, Holly." He shuffled around some files on his desk, finally pulling mine from the bottom of a thick stack. "So, do you know why you're here?"
I lowered myself into the chair in front of his desk. "I don't know---rumors, insinuations?"
"No." Mr. Croft wrinkled his nose at me. "Remember the question I asked during our last visit?"
"Uh..."
"About what you wanted to do? Come on---it wasn't that long ago."
Although I was relieved I wasn't there to talk about the stupid rumor, I was really not in the mood for any of this future talk. I sat there picking fuzzies off the arm of the chair, studying the picture of Mr. Croft with his family on the corner of his desk. Him, his wife, a toddler girl with bright red hair.
"Anyway, I wanted to check in with you about your plans." He gave me a hopeful look, which made me feel a little sorry for him. He really was trying to help.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Croft. It's been a real shitty week," I said. "I mean, a bad one."
"I know all about shitty weeks. Trust me." He cracked a smile.
"Okay, well, it doesn't get much worse than mine."
He took a sip of coffee. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"More problems with your family?"
"Guys, too," I said, picking at my fingernails.
"Admittedly, most high school guys lack emotional intelligence. They develop it later in life."
I smiled. "Are you telling me guys are dumb?"
"About girls, yeah," he said with a laugh. "They get more adept at handling their emotions over time. So, let's get back to you..."
"Mr. Croft, I don't know what I'm going to do after high school's over. Like I said before, I haven't really had time to think about it."
He leaned back in his chair, in wasteepling his fingers. "I'll make it really simple. And just humor me. Okay? I find it all comes down to one thing---what are you good at?"
"You've got my file---what does it say?"
"It's incomplete," Mr. Croft said. "It's just a batch of numbers and anecdotal evidence collected by other people. It doesn't say anything about you and what you are or who you want to be. That's what we're doing here, trying to figure it out."
"You know, it's like you're a mental health professional or something," I said, rolling my eyes. "You're really trying to counsel me."
He laughed again. "You've got a good sense of humor."
"Thanks." I scooched down farther in my seat.
"Now really, when you close your eyes and picture the things you like to do..." Mr. Croft waited for me. "Come on, close your eyes."
"I'm not closing them," I said.
"Fine, but imagine you have some time away from school. What are you doing? What is fun in your life?"
"Nothing."
Mr. Croft sighed. "Really? Everything is terrible? What do you do to relax?"
Reluctantly, I closed my eyes, picturing myself relaxing. I saw myself in the kitchen at home. I thought about all the dinners I'd cooked, the countless trays of gooey brownies, the look on Lena's face when she realized I was fixing her favorite strawberry crepes. I thought about the comfort I found in mixing things as an experiment, following a recipe I'd found in my grandma's old recipe box, or even the simple act of chopping things up, putting them in order before I started cooking. It was relaxing because I didn't have to talk to anyone when I was cooking. It was just me and the ingredients.
"Well, I like to cook," I said, opening my eyes. "Someone just said I should be a chef."
"Well, maybe we're onto something," Mr. Croft said as he made some notes in my folder.
"I mean, I cook for my family, but that's my job---well, one of them---around the house."
"But you like it," Mr. Croft said, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "And you're good at it?"
"Yeah," I said slowly.
"This is terrific," he said, a broad smile spreading across his face.
"It's just what I do at home," I explained again. "I wouldn't say it's terrific."
"Don't you see? Culinary school," he said. "It didn't come to my mind before because you were so focused on a traditional college track before Rob's accident. You are perfect for culinary school."
"For real?"
"Sure. Why not? There are a couple of schools right in the city." He held up a hand and swiveled around to his computer. "Wait a second," he said, typing. "Here we go---there's a great program at the community college, which would be more affordable, even. What do you think? It's a great career if food is what you love."
I let out a deep breath. "Let me think about it."
"Sure. Mull it over, talk to your mom. If you decide you want to go for it, next time we meet I'll help you get the papers together---and we'll apply for some financial aid," Mr. Croft said. "See? Sometimes you need to focus in on what you want---not what others want for you."
"Yeah, you said that last time."
"Worth repeating. I'm proud of you for putting yourself first this time. It's a great first step."
I felt a little embarrassed. "It's not a step. I'm just thinking about it, remember?"
Mr. Croft smiled again and stood up from his desk to walk me to the door. "When you make a choice, the universe conspires to help you. Have you heard that before?"
I shook my head. "Is that like 'Things happen for a reason'?"
"No. It's like 'You only have to decide what you want and the world conspires to make it so.' The hard part is making the decision."
I left his office and headed back toward chem just in time for the bell to ring. I'd have to stop in and get the homework later. I passed Jason in the hallway, but I didn't look at him. I felt like Mr. Croft had actually helped---he'd given me a little more to focus on, maybe a little hope that had nothing to do with Jason, or other boys, for that matter. There could be something just for me. Something I decided to want just for myself.
That glimpse of hope helped me get through the rest of the day. Helped me ignore the stares and whispers of the idiots passing along rumors. And it saw me home to my family, whistling as I walked.
\*\*\*
You feel a sense of urgency now. The senior center bus has just dropped Aldo off, and you're waiting with him on the bench for Holly. You've spent all day with Aldo, keeping him company through the lunch of turkey sandwiches and weak chili, through the game of Go Fish he tried to play with a nice guy named Milton. As Aldo faded in and out, Milton reminded Aldo to check his hand, remember what he's trying to match up. You'd been tempted to whisper help to Aldo to keep the game going, but you didn't want him to lose focus. More and more, you see him struggle to pay attention. The last thing he needs is to spend his time at the center talking to you.
You've seen a couple of other people there losing it. Sitting on a bench alone or parked in a wheelchair, they're having their own conversations with the air, but you don't see any ghost sto want juts by their side. In fact, except for brief glances where you can't be completely sure, they don't seem to notice you standing by Aldo. Or maybe they accept you as another hallucination.
"Thank you for the game, my friend," Milton had said after the last pairs were matched.
Aldo had smiled at him. "Nice day," he'd said, turning his gaze toward the bank of windows.
Milton had been unfazed by the change of topic. "It's a beaut, all right." He'd collected the cards calmly and then helped Aldo to his feet. Together, the men had walked out to the garden, and a contented look had filled Aldo's eyes as he heard the birds singing.
Right now, he's resting on the bench outside the apartment, his eyes closed, and you can tell he's feeling the sun on his cheeks. It's early May now, and the Seattle weather is just starting to improve. If you were alive, you'd be figuring out prom night with Holly, or maybe not with Holly. If you'd stuck around, you're not sure that you would still be together. Maybe that night would have ended your relationship ... There's no way to tell now.
But here she comes up the sidewalk, and though there's the edge of sadness she always carries with her, she's got the shadow of a smile on her lips. "Grandpa," she says.
"Hello," he says opening his eyes.
"Hey." She takes a seat next to him on the bench.
"Aldo," you say. "Can you tell her she's pretty?"
"Bellissima," he says.
Holly's surprised grin makes you smile too.
"Do you think we should talk to her?" you say slowly. "Do you think we should---"
But Holly's grin has faded, and she reaches for Aldo's hand. "Did you ever have a worst and best day?" she says. "It was like that today, Grandpa. I couldn't wait to get back home."
You don't need to wonder if she's still mad at Jason. You can see the hurt in her eyes now. Something happened at school to make it worse. There's got to be a way to tell her to give him another chance. To tell her everything so you both can be free.
Aldo's face has relaxed. He's fading back out.
"Stay with her," you coax. "Squeeze her hand so she knows you are listening."
He reaches for her hand. "Careful, kid. I'm not some puppet here," Aldo mutters.
Holly looks off down the road, searching for Lena's school bus. "I'm going to make some chicken parmigiano tonight," she says. "That sound good?"
Aldo nods.
"It's warm out he's onight," sre," she says, unbuttoning his sweater.
He's like a big doll and just lets her slide the cardigan down his arms.
"Aldo," you say. "You're starting to worry me."
"I'm tired," he says aloud.
"I know," Holly replies. "We'll be inside soon."
"Can you ask her what happened today?"
"I said I'm tired," Aldo tells you. "Later, maybe, Roberto."
What if there isn't a later?
You wonder how long Aldo can last---how long he'll be able to do anything with his physical body. "You said we should talk to her," you say, trying to keep desperation at bay. "Remember?"
"Of course I remember," Aldo snaps. "My body's tired, so it'll have to be later."
Holly takes her grandfather's hand again. "I'm here, Grandpa."
"Roberto," he mumbles aloud.
"Yeah, of course," Holly says. "Roberto, can you take a hike for a little bit? We just want to sit here and relax."
You fade into the background, keeping watch over Aldo and Holly. You have this feeling that your time here on Earth is finally winding down. And it's just when they need you most.
Thursday afternoon Jason sent up another jump shot, fading back as he launched it. It slammed against the backboard and then sank with a satisfying clunk. He hadn't spent much time shooting baskets in the driveway---not since he'd been able to drive and could go to real courts. But this felt good tonight. He dribbled back out to the edge of the asphalt and then charged forward for a lay-up. As he faded back under the hoop, he saw Mark coming up the street toward him. So much for solitude.
"I never got why you didn't turn out for the team this year," Mark said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt.
"Too many assholes," Jason replied. He rebounded the ball and tucked it under his arm.
"Oh, come on---you're still mad?" Mark tried out one of his lopsided smiles. "I thought things would be back to normal by now."
"What's normal?"
"You know, friends?"
"You're lucky I don't beat the shit out of you."
Mark laughed and brushed the bangs out of his eyes. "I was just having fun," Mark said, lea
"Dude, Holly hates me," Jason said.
"Well, yeah." Mark adjusted his baseball cap.
"So, you got what you wanted. Nice work."
"I didn't want her to hate you. I just wanted her to go away," Mark said.
"That almost sounds honest," Jason said.
Mark leaned against Jason's car, crossing his arms across his chest. "I did us both a favor. You have to admit. You were, like, obsessed with her---we hardly hung out when you were with Holly. You were gonna let a chick take over everything."
"You're such an idiot. You think Holly was the only reason we weren't hanging out as much? How about that you suck as a friend?"
Mark recoiled. "What? Seriously? Have I not always been there for you?"
Jason felt the good guy he knew he was slipping away as his anger came to the surface again, raging. "You're never there for anyone but yourself. You weren't really there for Rob. And you aren't there for me, either. In fact, the one time I actually find something good, you crap all over it."
"I can't believe I'm hearing this."
"Rob defended you, always made excuses for you---but you know what? You really aren't a good guy at all, no matter what he said. You only care about yourself."
Mark's eyes narrowed, his face reddening. "That's bullshit."
"No. It's the truth. And I'm sorry I never had the guts to tell you the truth before."
"So that's it? That's freaking it?"
"Pretty much. Now get off my car."
Mark glared at him, seeming like he couldn't believe what was going down. "You can forget about your stupid birthday party tomorrow. I won't be there."
"Seriously, can you get off my car? I need to go somewhere."
"Yeah, I'll get off your car," Mark said. He started walking down the driveway, shaking his head. "You've really screwed it up this time," he yelled over his shoulder. "Wait till I tell everyone about this."
"Go for it," Jason said, climbing into the Audi. He couldn't care less about whatever story Mark was going to spin next at school. None of that even mattered anymore. He just needed to see Holly. He just needed to give it one more shot. He couldn't let it slip away like this, not when he'd promised her he'd never let it happen.
A few minutes later he was pressing the buzzer at her apartment building. It was a familiar scene to him, standing outside the glass doors, beneath the overgrown rhododendrons, the soft buzz of early mosquitoes in the air around him. Glancing through the glass as he rang again, Jason could see the tired carpet leading to the elevator that the two fake potted palms guarded. He couldn't imagine living in such a rundown place and suddenly felt lucky for how he'd grown up, what he'd had.
"Hello?" he said, finally getting an answer from the intercom. "It's Jason. I just need to see Holly for a moment."
"Oh, Jason? Yes, come on up. I know Holly'll be happy you're here," Mrs. Mullen said. "She's been under the weather. Here, let me buzz you in."
"Great," he said, patting his pocket for the envelope he'd brought with him. Yeah, it was there---he was ready to see Holly. He was ready to set some things straight if she would let him.
\*\*\*
There was a knock on the door of my bedroom, and then light sliced into the darkness. I was cocooned in my covers, still in pajamas. It was like after the accident in some ways. Though waking up from that in the hospital had been all light and noise, and I'd only been out for a couple of hours there. This time, I'd been in bed since yesterday. The only safe place to hide from everyone and think about things. The conversation with Mr. Croft had gotten my mind working a little on what I was going to do next, but I hadn't mentioned it to anyone---not even Marisa, who'd been calling me incessantly, since I hadn't shown up at school that day. Why would I have gone? Today would have been even worse than the day before.
"Holly," Mom said, coming in and sitting on the end of my bed. "It's time to get up now. I could only get my shift at the dealership covered today. I've got to get ready for the store."
"I don't want to get up. Can't you call in sick?"
"Are you listening? I'm leaving in an hour." She patted my leg. "You need to get up anyway. You've got company."
"Marisa?" I said hopefully.
"Jason."
My stomach dropped. "What? Why did you let him in again?"
"He's your boyfriend, right?"
"Mom, no. Oh my God. He's sitting out there?"
"Yep, he's having a bowl of chicken noodle soup with Lena and Grandpa."
"From a can?"
Mom laughed. "Yes. I'm afraid my skills tonight only involved opening and microwaving."
"Look, I don't ... we're not going out," I said quietly.
"Coulda fooled me. He said he had to talk to you."
I sat up in bed. "Mom, observe." I pulled at my ratty UW sweatshirt and stretched-out yoga pants. "I'm not exactly ready to receive a visitor," I said, clicking on the light beside the bed.
"So, you do care," Mom said.
"Of course I care. I don't want him to see me looking like a complete loser."
"You're not a loser. You're beautiful," Mom said, reaching out for my hand.
"You know what I mean." I pushed away her hands and pulled the covers up around myself. "I can't go out there."
Mom's eyes were fierce. "The hell you won't. You stayed home sick from school, which we both know you aren't. You can't hide from whatever this conflict is. Now he came over here to see you. You at least owe him the courtesy of talking to him. I don't think he's going to care what you look like."
"It's not about that."
"Just grab a hairbrush and change your clothes. It's simple."
I saw the exasperation on her face. She so didn't get it. "Mom.
I can't."
Mom's eyes closed. "Holiday, why are you making this so difficult? This boy obviously cares about you."
"You don't understand. It's all messed up." I didn't want to tell her the whole story, so I just said, "He never really liked me for the right reason, okay? And now it's all tangled. There's this perfect ex-girlfriend of his hanging around now. It's just totally screwed."
She let out a slow, long breath. "Do you remember me talking about Charlie Grant?"
"Lena's dad?"
She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it to her chest. "Yeah, I'm sure I told you a little about him. He worked with me down at the insurance office. I saw myself getting really comfortable with Charlie. He came around to take you and me to the park.
Bought us groceries. Drove us everywhere in his Volvo. Talked about family vacations we'd take." She smiled. "Charlie spent weekends scouring the newspapers for a little house he could one day afford for us. For his future family."
"I remember him a little. It sounds like things were great then."
"Yeah. It was great, sometimes. He was so kind to me. No one had ever treated me like that. And then other times, I'd start getting nervous, worried that Charlie was going to disappear---that he'd wake up one day and decide he didn't want any of this, that he didn't want me."
"Mom."
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"I had been so used to relying on myself that I couldn't trust him, couldn't trust that he'd be there when I needed him most."
"This is so not the same thing," I said, quietly.
"All I'm saying is, don't push Jason away because you're afraid he'll disappear."
"Like my dad."
"Yeah. Like your dad, sweetheart. He wasn't a nice man," Mom said, setting down the throw pillow and scrunching up on the bed next to me. "It was a good thing he left."
"And Charlie? What happened to him?"
"After I broke it off, he changed jobs, moved to California. He was so hurt, he never spoke to me again. When I found out about Lena, I was on my own. That was the worst time of my life."
The air was cold, silent, in the room. "Man."
"It could have been great," Mom said. "Or maybe not so great---but I never got a chance to find out. I've tried to call Charlie over the years, but he's married now. He needs to know about Lena, but I have to find the right time. After all, I've been on my own with you two, and though it's been hard, it's also been okay, too. We're making it, right?"
I squeezed her hand. "Yeah, but maybe Charlie could have helped. Maybe..." I stopped, reading the hurt in Mom's eyes.
We sat there for a moment, not saying anything. Finally, Mom got up from the bed. "You'd better get out there."
"I don't know what to do," I said, putting a hand on my stomach. "I don't know if any of this is real. I mean, how do you know?"
"God knows I don't have all the answers, but what I'm trying to tell you is that when someone cares about you, you don't push them away," Mom said.
I chewed my lower lip. "What if it doesn't work out and I just end up hurt anyway?"
"Then you end up hurt and smarter," my mom said, getting up from the bed. "But you don't walk away. You suck it up and get through it." She left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
"What if I can't this time," I said aloud. The words echoed around me, evidence of all my fears. I didn't know if there were any ghosts or angels or any other help in the universe, but if there were, I felt like calling on them. I was tired of being the one who had to suck it up and get through it. Just once, I wanted something to be easy, simple, to make sense.
Hadn't it been like that with Rob? I walked over and took out the little journal I'd written in a few weeks before---before I'd really spent time with Jason. I opened it to the first page of my list of memories.
Rob's sense of humorRob's clear green eyesThe way Rob said my nameRob dancing crazy to old Beastie Boys songsRob drowning his french fries with ranch dressing at the late-night diner
And it went on and on...
As I read through the list, it struck me that most of the things on it were really all about Rob, not really about us. The things I missed the most about him was just who he was, not who we were together. That was what was different about me and Jason. The thing I feared the most, the thing that Mom had totally hit on, was that this relationship with Jason was risky because it meant something. Something more than I had with Rob.
"More crackers?" asked Lena, holding out a sleeve of saltines.
Jason took a few from the pack. "Thanks."
Grandpa Aldo gave him a long look, holding eye contact for several seconds. "You take care of her," he said in a slow, deliberate sentence.
Jason frowned at him. "Sorry? What was that, Aldo?"
Grandpa Aldo nodded, his eyes bright. "Roberto, he says take care of Holly."
Lena nudged Jason. "That's his invisible friend," she said.
"Yeah, I remember," he said. "Roberto said this, huh?"
"Yes. He can't leave yet. Not until..."
"Oh ... okay."
Holly emerged from the dark hallway. Her eyes were red rimmed, her hair mushed back into a messy ponytail. Jason's heart dipped in his chest. God, had he caused all that somehow? He hated seeing her so obviously upset.
"Hi," she said.
"Hey," he said, pushing away his bowl of soup.
"So, you're here. How's the soup? Terrible?"
"Tastes like soup," he said, smiling. "How are you feeling?"
"I look like crap," she said, crossing her arms.
"No you don't," he said, and he meant it. Maybe it was being away from her for a few days---but it was almost like seeing her in this imperfect state made her more beautiful to him.
"Listen to me," Aldo said, suddenly standing up from the table. He pointed an index finger at Holly. "It's not your fault. It was my fault," he said.
Holly reached out to stabilize Aldo and help him back down into his chair. "Sit down, Grandpa. What the heck is going on?"
Aldo's blue eyes focused intently on Holly. "That night. It was not your fault," he said.
Jason put a hand on Aldo's shoulder. "It's all right, Aldo."
He pushed Jason away and reached out for Holly's hands. "Listen! Roberto!"
Holly let out a sigh. "Jason, you should go. He's having a bad night."
"You sure you don't want me to help?"
"No. You can't help."
"What's happening? Papa, what's wrong?" Holly's mom charged into the room. "Holly, what's going on?"
Aldo jumped in his chair at the loudness of her voice, spilling the remains of his soup in his lap.
"Oh, no." Holly's mom grabbed a tea towel and started to clean up the mess.
"Everyone, chill," Holly said, holding up her hands. "Mom, you keep getting ready for work. Jason, you just go."
"I, uh..." Jason got up from the table. "Well, can we talk later, or...?"
"Later is more of the same," Holly said, exasperation creasing her face. "Please go."
Unsure of what to do, Jason moved toward the doorway.
"Holly? You're going to be that rude to Jason?" her mom said.
"I can't deal right now," Holly said.
"It's fine. It's fine," Jason said, seeing the chaos unfolding. "I'll leave." He pulled out a small envelope he wanted to give Holly, but she wasn't paying any attention. She was leaning over Aldo, trying to clean up the soup.
Giving up, he walked to the hallway. Holly's coat was hanging on a hook near the door, so he slipped the envelope into her pocket. He hoped she'd find it in a quieter moment. The last thing he needed was for her to read his note when she wasn't ready to hear what it held.
As the door shut behind him, Jason stood listening to the sounds from Holly's apartment. To the sounds of his own heart pounding. "It's worth it," he said aloud.
And he had to believe it. Had to believe that the way he felt about Holly was bigger than all her problems---that maybe she would feel the same way about him if she ever got a chance to let herself feel something.
\*\*\*
This is all going to shit. You watch Jason leave withoon terut telling Holly how he feels, without telling her about the envelope in her pocket, which you're sure will change everything. You watched him write the note last night, noticed him carrying it around, waiting for the right moment.
But to top everything off, Aldo's pissed because your little attempt at communicating with Holly has caused this whole meltdown. "Roberto!" he says, waving his hand at you to just go away.
And you do.
But you're back the next morning, hanging out in the apartment, trying to keep Aldo company. You're hoping for another opening to talk to Holly, for a moment of focus and clarity with Aldo. Holly's been sleeping all day again, avoiding school. She seems to have given up on something---on herself.
"Geez," Aldo says, watching you hanging out by the television. "You got nowhere to be?"
"You know I don't."
"Let me ask you something, kid. You think when you go into the light, it'll be all that bad?"
"I don't know. I'm kinda looking forward to it now, though."
"I'm going to see my Gloria," Aldo says, nodding his head slightly. "I wonder if she'll be young as when I first met her. Do you think we get to choose?"
"Aldo, why are you talking about the dead stuff?"
"It doesn't bother me to talk about it."
"But you're still living. You still get to enjoy some good stuff about life."
"You see the way they live around me here," Aldo says. "All these weeks, you see how Julia barely notices me. Lena tries to talk to me, but Holly's the only one who looks into my eyes and still sees me there." His voice tightens.
You let out a deep breath. "I'm sorry, man."
"You've said that before, kid."
"So, um, is there something you want me to say to your family? You know, if we get a chance? I mean, forget about all the stuff I want to say and think about yourself. What should Holly know? What do you want to tell Julia?"
Aldo's eyes mist. "You would actually help me, kid?"
"Yeah. Of course. We're friends, right?"
His smile is suddenly so bright. "Yes. We are."
"Good. I was hoping you'd let me do something for you for a change," you say. And your transparent heart feels a little bigger in your chest.
"Tonight. Tonight we'll try," Aldo says, leaning back in his chair to rest.
Before it's too late.
"I thought the caterer would be here by now," Mona said, clacking her way into the kitchen on her high heels. "Are they running late or ... why are you not ready?"
Jason muted the baseball game on TV. "It's not happening, Mom."
She set the giant sheet cake she was carrying on the counter. "Honey, it's your birthday."
"I cancelled the party."
"What? That's nonsense. I'm sure all your friends were planning to show."
"Why did you get the cake? I told you I was going to call it all off."
Mona walked over to the couch and sat down next to her son. "She wasn't at school again today?"
He shook his head.
"I'm sorry."
Jason shrugged, dreading the talk that he felt was coming from her. "It's fine."
"No, it's not fine. It hurts." She slid an arm around his shoulders.
He remembered before, when Rob died, wanting his mom to do just this---put her arms around him in comfort. For her to acknowledge just how shitty everything was for him. But now that it was happening over a stupid broken heart, it just felt like too much.
"I'm okay," he said, sliding out from under her arm.
Hurt flashed in his mom's eyes, and she settled her hands in her lap. "Of course. You're a grown man today. I didn't mean to baby you."
"Oh, God. Not you too, Mom," he said, noticing her misty expression. "I can't do anything right. Don't cry."
"She was crying?"
"Yeah, it looked like she'd been crying before I got there last night," he said. "Over the stupid stuff going on at school. Over me, maybe. And I wanted to make everything right, you know? I went over to put it all back together."
His mom patted him on the knee. "You're a good man."
"It didn't matter to her."
"You don't know that. Now, let's let go of the doom and gloom for a little while. It's your birthday," his mom said softly. "Come have a slice of cake with me at least."
He stood up and let her cut him a piece covered with chocolate frosting. A corner piece with part of the pinwheel decoration and a big J. The forkful he lifted to his mou of moftth tasted like sand, but he ate it, just to make her smile.
The simplest things should make a person happy. Happy should be simpler than it never was.
\*\*\*
"Holly? I'm hungry."
Light spilled in through the open door. I groaned and rolled over in my bed, pulling the sheets up.
"Mom said to ask you to make me grilled cheese for dinner."
I ignored Lena, forcing my eyes closed because the light through the thin flowered sheet was annoying.
"She's going to work, and she doesn't have time to make it for me," whined Lena. "Please?"
"I'm off duty," I said, still under the covers. "Just eat some cheese."
The door closed, and I sank back into the cool dark. Then the door opened again.
"Dammit, Holly. Get up. I need you." Mom clicked on the overhead lights. "I can't take much more of this."
"Much more of this," I repeated under the sheet. "Awesome."
Mom came over and sat down on the bed. "Holly, you need to get up."
I pulled the sheet off my head and sat up. "I don't feel like it."
"We all have to do things we don't feel like doing," Mom said, parroting a parenting classic she must have heard somewhere. I think I'd used it on Lena when she refused to take the garbage out.
"For once, I just want to be left alone. Can I not get that?"
"No." Mom stood up. "Grandpa and Lena are both in a mood, so make sure you get them to bed early. They're watching TV together right now. I've got to get going."
"God, Mom. Can you---can you just call in sick? I don't want to be in charge. I just want to be left alone."
A piercing scream came from the kitchen. Lena.
I bolted out of bed, jumping over Mom, and rushed down the hall. Lena stood up on a chair with the block of cheap cheddar cheese on a cutting board and a knife in her hand.
As I swooped her up, she dropped the knife on the board. Blood ran down her thumb.
"Oh, God. Lena!"
"I just wanted some cheese," she said, red faced, crying. I wrapped a dishtowel around her hand, pressing against the slice in the skin. It was bleeding a lot, but it was small. I settled into the kitchen chair, Lena on my lap, balled u la new romanp small as a toddler. I hugged her close, rocking her. The last thing I had wanted was for her to hurt herself. My heart pounded with guilt.
"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Mom said, looming above us.
"It's not that bad," I said. "No stitches."
"Mommy, can you stay?" Lena craned her neck around my head to see Mom. "I-I want you to stay."
A flash of guilt crossed Mom's face. "I'm on in half an hour, sweetie. Holly will get you bandaged up."
More tears ran down Lena's chubby cheeks. She didn't say anything to Mom, just snuggled in closer to me.
Mom gave me a look that was annoyance mixed with gratitude and then kissed Lena on the forehead. "I'll call later to check in on you guys," she said.
And then the door closed and Mom was gone. Once again, I had the feeling of being alone. Of being unheard. And even I didn't care for a moment. I just wanted my little sister to stop crying.
She didn't deserve to have a mom who had to work so hard. She didn't deserve to have a sister so selfish that she'd rather hibernate than cook a freaking sandwich for a little kid.
Even with all the things piled on top of me the way they were, my family meant a lot to me. These years with Lena and weeks with Grandpa Aldo were not wasted. I loved them so much. And I hoped that maybe their lives were just a little better because I was there to help them.
Finally, Lena's tears died down.
I had her put pressure on the cut with the dishtowel while I rummaged in the junk drawer for the antibiotic cream and the bandages. And then I saw the card for the social worker from the senior center---MS. SHIRLEY GRANGER. It had been shoved back in the drawer, along with some medication instructions and an emergency contact list. I took it out of the drawer and set it on the counter.
Grandpa Aldo needed help. We needed help. And I hoped that Mom would realize that I needed help too.
I didn't mean to start crying as I bandaged up my sister's thumb, but I couldn't help it. This was not about any boy. This was about me and what I couldn't do on my own anymore. This was about me being overwhelmed. This was about me finally realizing Mom needed to get us help before I got so frustrated I walked away. And never looked back.
\*\*\*
"I'm sorry," Aldo says.
It's been a long night for Holly, but you feel ready and Aldo's been resting up. Lena's now tucked in bed, her thumb expertly bandaged, her tears giving way to deep sleep. Holly and Aldo are just chilling in the living room. Both you and Aldo agree it's the right time.
"What, Grandpa?" Holly says, turning toward him.
"I didn't mean to wreck your life," he says.
You lean in closer next to him, patting him on the back with your invisible hands. "Good job, Aldo."
Holly mutes the TV and turns to her grandfather. "You didn't wreck my life."
"Roberto," Aldo says to her. "He said it."
Holly's eyes tear up. "Grandpa. Not Roberto again."
Mustering the effort, Aldo shakes his head. "Cara mia," he says, breathing deeply. "He didn't mean to hurt you."
Holly lets out a long sigh. "Grandpa, I'm sorry, but he's just an illusion. Usually I just go along with you on these things, but tonight I can't. I'm so tired."
"Roberto is a ghost," Aldo says carefully. He's making these words on his own. You see the concentration in his face. The forced clarity.
You whisper some things in his ear.
"Peppermint ice cream. 'Brass Monkey.' Swimming at the Montlake Cut," Aldo says, spilling all your details. "He called you Holly Golightly, from the old movie."
Holly's face pales. "Grandpa. He's here? Rob's here?"
"Yes," he says in halting words. "He comes for you. He wants you to know."
She moves to the end of the couch. "He's standing right there? He's a ghost? It's really Rob?"
"He's been watching over you all this time."
"I thought you were cracking up," she says, her voice broken, on the verge of tears. "I thought you were just getting worse when you talked about Roberto." She points next to Aldo's chair, toward you. "Oh my God. Rob, I can't believe this. What is going on? Are you haunting me?"
"He means no harm," Aldo says before you can feed him any more words. His face is pained, the effort taking its toll. You realize you have to get to the heart of things before Aldo fades.
Holly wraps her arms around herself. "He can hear me?"
Aldo nods. "He's right here with us."
"I miss you, Rob," she says staring toward where you stand at Aldo's side. "I've never forgotten you."
"She needs to," you say. "She needs to forget me and move on."
Aldo gives you a sad smile and then turns to Holly, doing his best to repeat what you've said. You can't believe you're ready to let her go after you've fought so hard to be so ight="0em"with her, even in this afterlife state. All the time you've spent with her, with Aldo. It's time for all of you to move on.
Holly's face crumbles, and tears start to roll down her cheeks. "He's hanging around just to say that? That I should freaking forget him and move on?"
"No." Aldo gives you another look.
This is the hard part. This is the part you don't want to say, but you know you have to. The part that came back to you as you watched your parents. The part that your mind shut away from you because it hurt too much to think about it. Hurt too much to admit to even yourself. But you know you have to let this truth go. You have to let it all go. "I crashed the car."
Aldo's old man voice sounds funny as he forms your words.
"I was there. I know there was a car crash," Holly says. She doesn't understand, so you'll have to get specific. You tell Aldo to lay it all out there.
"He wanted to die," he says.
The secret you were protecting. The truth you couldn't admit. It sounds stark, naked, inadequate for all you were going through. You're past the pity party, though. You're past everything that would separate you from peace.
"He crashed the car," Aldo continues. "He didn't mean for you to be there. He wasn't thinking."
Holly stares at her grandfather. At the piece of space your form occupies. You see the thoughts popping behind her eyes, in her mind. You see the confusion mixing with the pain.
"Oh, God." Holly sinks to her knees, wrapping her arms around her thin body. "It's my fault. At the party ... we were fighting. If we hadn't been---if I hadn't..."
"No," you say. "Help her understand. Tell her it wasn't about her. Things were so screwed up for me. I felt so small, so worthless."
That's a lot of words, kid, Aldo says mentally, giving me a tired look.
"Sorry," you say. "Just tell her it wasn't her."
"He says it's not your fault. He was sad for a very long time."
Holly raises her head to look toward you again, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "I'm so sorry. Why couldn't you talk to me?"
Aldo nods as you tell him more of the things you want to say. His energy is winding down, you see it in his eyes. "He tried. But he didn't have the words," he manages to say.
Holly's voice is weak. "But I knew something wasn't quite right, and I didn't say a damn thing," she says. "I should have, and I didn't."
"No, no." Aldo holds up a hand. "He needs your forgiveness."
Her face clouds again. "Of course. But tell me what to do, Rob. Tell me where I go from here. I'm so lost."
"Jason loves you," Aldo repeats dutifully. "Trust him."
Holly looks surprised through her tears. "It's all messed up. He probably freaking hates me now. I've been all psycho."
"He loves you. Trust me, I'm a dead guy telling you the truth," Aldo repeats verbatim.
Holly laughs, despite the tears. "That's Rob all right."
"It's his birthday---get your ass over there. Oh, and open the envelope," Aldo says, and then he closes his eyes with exhaustion. You can't explain more. Aldo's done all you can ask of him. All you can expect him to say.
And you're sure that any minute the freaking light is going to come flooding toward you. Any minute you're going to make your ascension and be done with this sphere of pain.
The phone call I made that night wasn't an easy one. It went like this.
"Mom, this is Holly. You need to come home."
"I'm on until eleven." I heard the beeps of the cash registers at the grocery store, the faint sound of piped-in easy-listening music, of people talking.
"I know, but I'm leaving the house. Grandpa's going to be alone until you get here. Lena's sleeping. I'll lock the door when I leave."
"What? Holly, listen to me---you're not leaving."
"I have to go somewhere. I'll explain later."
"Dammit, Holly, don't you go. And don't you dare hang up the phone on me!"
The click was so satisfying. The click was like freaking music to my ears. And I was on the bus a little while later, heading toward the hills. I was scared of what I would find when I got back home later---that wouldn't be fun, facing my mom, who was going to be royally pissed.
Mr. Croft's words came back to me. When you make a choice, the universe conspires to help you. Leaving my place tonight was maybe the first choice I had made for myself since Rob had died. Maybe ever. Maybe this was the first step toward whatever life I was going to have. Toward having some kind of a plan for myself. Toward cooking school. How I could do that with Mom relying on me so much I didn't know. At least this was a step.
There were only a few people on the bus with me that night. An older lady in a hospital worker's scrub uniform. A young Asian man with two reusable grocery bags filled to the brim. A white woman with big, thick dreadlocks sleeping against the window two seats in front of me. The bus splashed through the flats and onto Lake City Way, throug a wh>
A new fear crept in on me. Now that we were getting closer to Lake Heights, I was actually afraid of facing Jason's party. There would be people there---people from school---Mark and the jackasses who hated me when I was with Rob and couldn't stand me now. Maybe the people who helped spread the rumor that we had broken up. They were all going to look at me and see poor Holly, who didn't deserve to be there and never had. I'd have to deal with them. And then I would have to find Jason. I didn't know what I was going to say when I got there, but I hoped that he would understand. If I'd been braver, I wouldn't have pushed him away. If I hadn't been so broken, maybe.
As we paused at a stop light, I caught sight of myself reflected in the window. Oh, crap. Seriously---what was I doing? Heading toward a fancy party when I was dressed in scrubby jeans and a dirty hoody, my hair messy, my makeup smeared from crying. This wasn't the way I should go to ask the boy I loved to forgive me. Shit. Also, it was his birthday and I had no present. No card.
Nothing but the mess of me.
I dug in my bag for bus change. I could get off the bus, cross the street, go back home where I belonged. My hand came up with one wrinkled dollar bill, what looked like some granola bar crumbs, and a couple of dimes. That wasn't going to get me off the bus, so I rummaged through all the pockets of my coat and hit the jackpot---a handful of change. But there was also something else, a small blue envelope.
And then Rob's words came back to me. Open the envelope.
I glanced around the bus, suddenly wondering if he was there with me, maybe in the next seat. But I didn't sense him there, or maybe without Grandpa I wouldn't have been able to even if he were. There was just nothing. Passengers on a dirty bus crashing through the rain.
Open the envelope.
It was blue. Square. It had my name printed very carefully, very small, in Jason's handwriting. I turned it over in my hands, scared to open it, because at the back of my mind I worried it was a letter from Jason telling me to go to hell.
Open it.
That time, I'd have sworn I felt Rob whispering in my ear. A little creeped-out, I ripped open the envelope.
Things I Want to Remember
Sailing on Lake Union with HollyThe way Holly's eyes light up when she smilesTomatoes in the greenhouse with AldoFish and chips on the beach with HollyKissing Holly in the moonlightHolding Holly in my armsTo be continued...
Jason's own list. Handwritten. All about me. All about us.
I leaned back in the Naugahyde bus seat, frozen. And then I started to cry, because that's what I felt like doing just then. And sometimes you have to let yourself do those things. To feel what you feel, because it's the only true thing you can do.
The old lady looked over at me with alarm, while the man with the grocery bags stared out the window uncomfortably. The dreadlocked woman kept sleeping. And the bus rolled on toward Lake Heights.
Maybe it's crazy, but when the tears faded I started to smile. I had the feeling, for the first time in a long time, that everything was going to turn out all right. And I knew the choice I'd made tonight, with or without the help of Grandpa Aldo or the ghost of Rob, was the right one.
\*\*\*
The living room is lit up, but Aldo's eyes are closed. You're hanging out, watching some PBS documentary about Captain Cook. Aldo starts to snore, exhausted, no doubt, from the evening's events.
The door rattles open. Julia, Holly's mom, comes rushing in, dumping her keys in the bowl, her coat and purse on the hallway floor. You've never seen her this crazed, this upset. She charges in to the kitchen. And stops.
On the center of the table, Holly has left something for her. A business card and a Post-it note.
MS. SHIRLEY GRANGER, SENIOR SERVICES COUNSELOR.
Mom,
I can't do this alone anymore. I (we) need help.
Love,
Holly
Julia leans her hands against the table, bracing herself. Her breathing quickens. Her eyes close. "Dammit." After a minute, she straightens herself and walks toward the living room.
Aldo blinks awake and sees her coming in. "Hello," he says.
"Hi, Papa. She puts on a warm smile.
"Gloria?"
Her face falls. "Julia," she corrects.
Aldo looks confused. He's drifting in and out. "Hello, have we met?"
"Papa, it's Julia, your daughter." She touches his shoulder and sits down on the couch next to the chair.
"Aldo," you prompt. "Come back to her."
"I'm trying, kid."
"Try harder."
"My, pushy, aren't we?"
"Papa?" Julia says, reacting to Aldo's mumbling in Italian.
"Focus," you coach.
"I'm here," Aldo says as he reaches out for Julia's hand. "My daughter."
Julia's expression banishes all the worry lines from her face. "Yes. Holly left you all alone?"
"I'm all right." Aldo gazes into her eyes. You can see him fighting to stay present. "You are here with me now."
Her eyes cloud with tears. "Sure."
"Stay awhile," he says softly.
"Of course." She squeezes his hand.
"Tell her what you want her to know," you say. "Tell her while I'm here to help you. You can do it, Aldo. And if you need me to help you find the words, I can do it."
"All I want," he says to Julia, "is for you to see me."
"I do see you, Papa."
"No," Aldo says sternly, and then pauses for a breath. "You look away."
She gazes down at her hand clasped in his. Maybe she doesn't even realize she's proving him right. "Papa," she says finally, "it's hard for me to see you like this." Her teeth rake her lower lip, and when she finally raises her head, her eyes are wet. "You were such a big, strong man. I see you like this and I'm afraid."
"Don't be afraid," Aldo says, squeezing her hand. "I'm still me."
Tears roll down Julia's cheeks. You're not sure if they are tears of guilt or tears of relief. You haven't seen her cry all these months. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice small, like a child's. "I don't know what to do when I see you like this. I don't know what to do."
"Just love me."
Aldo's words echo in the room, and in your mind, as Julia reaches out and hugs her father. Maybe you're starting to see things, but you'd swear the living room just got brighter, the TV softer. You almost feel something like warmth radiating from Julia embracing Aldo in his chair.
Suddenly it all seems so clear to you. The only thing that Aldo wants is for someone to see him. And maybe that's all that anyone ever wants. It's mind blowing to you that the simplest thing could be an act of love---but it really is. To be seen is to be loved.
If your parents had really seen you, talked to you, back before that terrible night, would they have saved you? You can't be sure. And did you ever really see Holly as she truly was, as you truly were together? You don't think so---not now that you've seen the way she and Jason look at each other, sensed the way they feel. The truth is that love is seeing the person you love for who they are right then, in that moment. People can't be anyone else.
You feel ashamed that you never noticed---never saw the love all around you. And you feel like an ass for the tears that come to your eyes. But this is sappy stuff that you never thought about before, stuff that never even crossed your mind until you met this old man. Until he could see you. And you him.
The light is getting stronger in the living room.
"Aldo," you say, clearing your throat, "check this glow out."
He raises his head. "Travel well, my friend."
"We'll meet again someday," you say, knowing you'll miss him more than you thought you would when the time had come to say goodbye.
And then the light surrounds you, but it doesn't take you.
Not yet.
It had been forever since Jason took a walk through the development on the hill. But he couldn't stand sitting around at the house, his mother staring at him sadly, offering him another piece of cake. A birthday was made for celebrating, not moping. So he'd said screw it and left the house. The minimart at the bottom of the hill would be a good-enough destination.
He knew he would have to wind down McCallister Road, but when he approached the new, shiny guardrail, his heart still clenched up in his chest. When did hurt get stale? He kept expecting that eventually it would go away, but maybe with the added loss of Holly the hurt felt new again. A different kind of heartbreak, to be sure, but painful nonetheless.
The guardrail made a crappy bench, but he sat down anyway. Funny to think that this was now a place of some kind of comfort to him. The last place that Rob had breathed. The only place that helped Jason feel closer to him. A place in happier times they would have come to drink, tell stories, throw the bottles down into the ravine. But this was a different kind of celebration. Hanging alone on his freaking birthday. Just another night on the hill sitting on a piece of metal ieceut it doesn the dark.
"Hey."
He was startled from gazing at the dark ravine by the sound of a voice. Holly's voice.
"What are you doing here?" she called out. "Why aren't you at your party?"
"There's no party," he said. "I canceled it."
A car came slowly up the hill, hitting the two of them with a wash of lights. The dark was a relief when it came again. Jason was afraid his face was showing something---fear, surprise---something he didn't feel like showing.
Holly cut a small figure in the dark. Her coat's hood up against the chilly night, her hands shoved into her pockets. And as she approached, he saw uncertainty on her face. But she was there---that had to be a good sign.
"What are you doing walking up the hill?"
"I came to see you," she said, taking a seat next to him on the guardrail.
Jason's face warmed with a smile. "Nice."
"This place, though," Holly said, "the last time I was here, I nearly died. It's kind of a weird spot to find you."
"Yeah," he said. "I come here sometimes. I don't know why."
She reached for his hand. Her fingers were cold as they clasped his. "Look, I have to tell you something about this place," she said. "Something about Rob."
Here it was. The conversation Jason had been dreading the whole time they'd been hanging out. The one topic they couldn't talk about. The very thing that was keeping them apart and held them together. "We don't have to talk about Rob."
Holly's eyes were dark. "Yes, we do. You need to know something."
"You don't have to say it..."
"Yes, I do ... He wasn't okay at the end of the summer," Holly said in a quiet voice. "He was really messed up. And I saw it, and you probably saw it. And we didn't stop it. Maybe we couldn't if we'd tried."
He couldn't look her in the eyes for a moment. He didn't want her to see the guilt or the hurt churning inside him.
Holly didn't stop. "The crash was on purpose. And his problems didn't start that night," she said. "They were building for a long time, and we all knew it, I think."
Jason breathed in the chilly air, willing it to take the stinging out of his eyes. He didn't want to break down in front of Holly. "We fucked up," he said, finally raising his head.
"He wouldn't want you to say that," Holly said. "He just wants us to be happy."
"How can you know something like that? How can anyone know?"
"I just know. Trust me."
Trust me. That had been his line to Holly weeks ago. And he wasn't sure that he had been trustworthy, that all the stuff about Rob hadn't gotten in the way. But at least now they shared the burden of the truth about Rob. He sensed if she didn't really care about him, she wouldn't be there. Wouldn't be sitting with him at the darkest place he'd ever known.
"So, does your mom know you're out?"
She sucked in a breath. "I wanted to leave, and so I did."
"Wow."
"Yeah, I was afraid of going to your place, but---"
"Why would that make you scared?"
"Well, there were supposed to be a ton of people. You know, your party."
"But you came anyway."
"Yeah." The dark barely hid the color in her cheeks. "I had to. First I wanted to get to you to tell you I was sorry about earlier, and then I read your note..."
"What did you think?"
"It was the best thing I've ever read."
"Yeah?"
"Without a doubt."
Jason leaned over and kissed her, this time holding her in his arms the way he'd wanted to when he first saw Holly those years before. Giving her the kind of kiss that warmed his whole body, that made him want to keep kissing her until they couldn't breathe.
"The thing is," Holly said, pulling back from his embrace a moment later, "even if you don't love me---"
He put a finger across her lips, silencing her. "Holly, how can you think that I wouldn't love you? All this time, the only thing I wanted was to be with you."
As he kissed her again, he had the feeling that everything was going to be all right. He knew it from the way she held him. Even if she couldn't say it yet, she loved him back---and that made all the difference.
\*\*\*
Unlike what people who almost die always say, the light isn't blinding, and it doesn't come quickly. Your light starts as a glow, like an aura around things in the distance. The light builds from a faint gold into a bright, halogen light. It seems demanding, calling you toward it. And though you're scared to make it wait, you have a feeling it will. There are places to go yet.
You check out your house one last time. Your parents are curled up in each other's arms in their bed. Mom has a peaceful look on her face, and your dad is awake, softly stroking her hair as she sleeps. In her own room, Kayla is sleeping with your teddy bear. Chuck, your golden retriever, raises his head from his mat near her door, sniffing in your direction. "Watch over her," you say, and he settles back down to sleep with a snort.
Now to see what's up at Holly's. Aldo and Julia are watching TV, though they've left PBS and are watching a talk show. She tucks an afghan around his legs in the recliner, passes him a bowl of popcorn. Something good is happening between them. There's a lightness around Julia's face that wasn't present before. Aldo gives you a smile and a little salute as you pass through the room.
The light flashes, like during intermission at some play. It's time to go, but there is one more place. The place this so-called adventure started. The place this should all end.
You find Holly on McCallister Road, in Jason's arms, just as she should be. You let out a thankful whoop. Everything worked out. And they're good together. Maybe they were meant to be. Or maybe the things you put into motion caused them to be meant to be. You'll probably never know.
The universe keeps a lot from the dead, but the one thing you do know---the thing you are absolutely sure of now---is that even if you don't choose to see it, love is all around. Even when you think it isn't there, it is. Love follows you wherever you go.
And that is your last thought as you become part of the light.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, thanks to my agent, Stephen Barbara, for your dedication, friendship, and all-around awesomeness. Special thanks to my talented and enthusiastic editor, Julie Tibbott, wonderful publisher Betsy Groban, and the hard-working team at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. I'm so very grateful for your faith in me and for your help in bringing my stories to life.
Much appreciation to my family for encouragement and support---especially my dad, who drove me across Milwaukee on my first mini book tour. A big thanks to Liz Gallagher, whose insights on writing and relationships have seriously enriched my world. Many kisses to Pat White for helpful story fairy dust. And much love to Dona Sarkar and all my girls at Booksboysbuzz.com for being there through the ups and downs of life and writing.
Thank you to my readers! I'm so inspired by your stories and by the way books touch your lives. You guys have to know you're the reason I make stuff up ... Clichéd as it may be, writing books for you is a dream come true. Seriously.
RESOURCES
This is a book that involves teen suicide and depression. It's a made-up story, but depression is real. If you really are feeling depressed, please talk to someone you trust---a parent, a teacher, a counselor. It's worth it, I promise. If you are feeling suicidal, please call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8ce="ti, but depr255 and get help 24/7. Here's the website: www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org. Please know that you're here for a reason and that you are loved more than you'll ever comprehend.
Just like Holly, teens all across the country are caring for family members with serious medical conditions. Some communities have support groups and respite for caregivers, and there may even be a special teen caregiver support network in your city. If you need information, please check out the Family Caregiver Alliance (FCA) at www.caregiver.org. You'll find some state-by-state listings there.
My grandmother lost her battle with Alzheimer's a few years before I wrote this book. It's a disease that so many of our older family members are struggling with, and its emotional impact affects the whole family. To get more information or to get involved, go to www.alz.org or call the 24/7 helpline 1-800-272-3900.
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