Comeback (3 page)

I don't say,
Or at least she used to be
.

“And your father…you'd think someone with all that money would be a jerk or a snob or whatever, but Steve isn't. He's nice. He really wants to help people.”

Colin taps his hand on the steering wheel and takes a breath. This must be hard for him to say. “My parents are really grateful for everything he did for us. He changed our lives. If he hadn't invested their savings for them, they'd never have been able to buy their business. They'd never be able to pay for me to go to university next year.” He looks me right in the eye. “Your dad's an incredible guy.”

Suddenly, this big sob just kind of erupts out of me. It's as if Colin accidentally managed to pinpoint the exact center of my pain. We're both horrified.

Colin groans. “Oh, sorry. Ria. Sorry.” He pulls me into his lap and practically cuddles me like a baby. I'm clenching my teeth together and crunching my abs, trying to kill the sobs.

Colin dabs at my face with his shirtsleeve. I can feel his panic.

I push down my chin and swallow. I take a breath. I promised Dad I wouldn't cry anymore. I look at Colin. His face is pleading with me.

“I really love you,” I say.

He nods. “Me too.” He's almost crying himself.

It's awkward, but I untwist myself from his lap and stretch out on the long front seat. “Come here,” I say.

It's after three in the morning when I get home. I'm just praying Mom fell asleep waiting for me. I sneak in the back door and tiptoe across the kitchen.

“Ria?” Mom's just a silhouette in the dark hall.

Damn. She's going to kill me. I check my shirt, make sure the buttons are all done up right. I don't want a scene.

“Sorry, Mom, I…”

She turns on the light. Her skin's so pale, it's almost mauve. She's rubbing her hands as if her knuckles hurt.

“Honey,” she says. “You better sit down. I've got some bad news.”

Chapter Five

It's as if she's speaking a foreign language. I can't understand her, and it's making me very agitated.

“What are you talking about?”

She just repeats herself. “Your dad sent an sos at about eight o'clock to say he was having mechanical problems. That's all they know. They lost contact with him after that. They believe his plane went down somewhere over Lake Muskeg.”

I scream at her in this hoarse whisper. “I know that—but where's Dad? Is he okay?”

Mom looks out the window. It's so dark out, all you can see is her reflection looking back at us.

“They don't know, honey. The rescue team is on its way. They'll know better by morning.”

She puts her hand over mine. I'm too stunned and scared to pull it away.

“Why don't you try and get some sleep, Ria? There's nothing we can do now.”

Sleep? Who does she think I am? This is my
father
. She might not care about him anymore, but I do. I glare at her until she turns away.

“I'll put the kettle on,” she says.

I sit in front of a cold cup of tea and watch the sky go from black to navy to pink to blue.

The phone rings. Mom walks into the hall and stands with her back to me. Her voice is too low to hear. I stare at her, motionless. I feel like a dog waiting for my master to give me a command.

She hangs up and turns toward me. Her lips have gone small, but her eyes are weirdly open.

“Ria. That was Search and Rescue. They have some news.”

She sits down next to me and folds her hands on the table. “They found the plane.”

That's good. That's good, I think.

“Or what's left of it…It was a very bad crash.” She says it slowly so I understand, so I won't ask her any other questions.

“What do you mean?” I say.

I can see her choosing her words. “The plane was destroyed. Just bits and pieces left.”

“Did they find him?” I say.

“No.”

“He could have got out then! He could be in the woods somewhere! He could have made it to shore…”

“Ria. It was a very bad crash.”

“But they didn't
find
him!”

I turn and see Elliot standing in the hall, with his hair all sticking up and his little elephant pajamas on backward. Suddenly, Mom and I are on the same side again. I smile and say, “Morning, sleepyhead!”

Mom hops up from the table and says, “Goodness! Look at the time! I haven't even started your breakfast.” She turns on the radio and rummages around for spoons and cereal and bowls.

Elliot sits next to me. He's got a big pout on his face. “Why were you yelling at Mommy?”

Mom bounces over. “Shreddies! Your favorite!”

Elliot takes a mouthful but looks back and forth between the two of us. I realize how sensitive he's become since Dad left. The thought of how much worse this is going to get for him almost kills me.

He says, “I don't like it when you're mean.”

Mom says, “Now, now, Elliot. It's not nice to speak with your mouth full.” I stick my tongue out at him as if I'm glad he got caught.

Mom says, “And that's not nice either.”

We're so busy trying to distract him that neither of us notices the news has come on until we hear, “This hour's headlines. Millionaire stockbroker missing in air crash.”

We both leap up. Mom snaps off the radio and says, “Eight o'clock, Elliot! Time to go. Ria, can you help him get dressed so he won't be late for school?”

The kid's not stupid. He knows something's up. I yank him away from the kitchen table with his mouth still full and drag him upstairs. I pretend to be mad at him for crying, but the truth is I'm relieved to have something else to occupy my mind. He doesn't stop whimpering until I buy him a Crispy Crunch on the way to school and let him eat it.

I get this weird thought. Will he hate chocolate bars for the rest of his life because they'll remind him of the day his dad went missing?

The bell rings. Ms. Jordan comes out and takes Elliot by the hand. She doesn't need to tell me that she's heard the news. Her “Hey, Elliot!” is too cheery, and her voice, when she's talking to me, is too soft. “Call if we can help in any way.”

I walk home in a fog. All I can hear is my breathing and my heart beating and this staticky fuzz in my brain. My cell phone rings, but I don't answer it. I don't look at anyone I pass. I just keep walking until I get home.

I push open the door, and for a moment I wonder if I'm in the wrong place. The kitchen is full of people—Aunt Cathy, our next-door neighbors, a couple of guys Dad golfs with, his doctor, his secretary. They all turn and look at me. They all have the same look on their face.

Dread.

They dread having to talk to me.

I'm their worst nightmare.

Chapter Six

These people are all adults. They know they can't just pretend I'm not there. They know they have to say something.

They take a big breath, paste an understanding smile on their faces and, one by one, walk toward me. The women take my hand in both of theirs. The men put an arm around my shoulder. They ask me how I'm doing. (How do they
think
I'm doing? They heard the news.) They say if I need anything—anything at all!—they're only a phone call away. They tell me my dad was a great guy, a fabulous person, a brilliant financial advisor. They go on and on, but this is the only thing I really hear:

Your father
was
.

What's the matter with these people? No one has said he's dead. Not the police. Not the media. There's no body, no witnesses—no proof that he's not lying wet and wounded somewhere, just praying for the sound of the rescue helicopter.

Why have all of his so-called friends given up on him so easily?

I want to scream and push them away, but I don't. I just bite my lip and nod. They give me one last squeeze, then walk away, relieved. They've done their duty.

Colin's the only person to get it right. He plows into the kitchen, out of breath, searching the room for me. He pushes past the crowd. He hugs me. He says, “I'm here, Ria.” For some reason, that's what actually makes me cry. He says, “I'm not going anywhere,” and that makes me cry even more. He just sits there hugging me until I stop.

I feel like a celebrity with my own bodyguard. People still look at me, still smile, but with Colin there, hardly anybody gets up the nerve to say anything to me. I feel calmer. There's still that crazy thudding in my chest, but it's bearable.

Ms. van de Wetering arrives from school with a big tray of muffins. (I didn't realize Dad managed her money too.) She brings one over on a plate and tells me to eat it.

She doesn't get all soppy on me, thank god. She just says, “This is tough, Ria. Make sure you get enough sleep. And don't worry about school. I'll get your teachers to email your assignments or send them home with Colin…If I were as slim as you, I'd have some jam with that. You want some?”

I shake my head. She mumbles something to Colin about letting him off the hook for class today too, then gives me a matter-of-fact pat on the shoulder. “Chin up, kiddo.”

And I do keep my chin up—at least until the door bangs open and Sophie and Helena fly in. They throw themselves on me, sobbing. Tears and mascara are streaming down their faces. Everybody turns to look.

Helena keeps going, “It's not fair! It's not fair! Why Steve?” Sophie takes my face and forces me to look at her. “Ria. We loved him too. We all did. You know that.”

I start to shake. They hold me closer. They think they've touched me with their heartfelt tears, but that's not it. What's getting me is realizing that this is just another drama for them. They'll make their big public display of grief, and then they'll go home and text their friends with the latest scoop.
OMG. Did
you hear about Ria's dad?

I push them away. “Sorry,” I say. “Sorry. I got to get some air.”

I head toward the back door. Mom's there, thanking Helena's grandmother for the casserole. She turns to me with that blank look on her face. Everyone else probably thinks she's brokenhearted about the accident—but I know different. She's had the same look on her face for months now. The fact that Dad is missing hasn't changed a thing for her.

I can't stand it.

I turn and head for the front door instead. Helena starts running after me.

I put my hand up. I only manage to squeak out, “No. No. Please.”

I step out onto the front deck. The sun is shining, and it's warmer than it's been in days. I think of Dad, in the woods somewhere, in pain—and I'm at least thankful for the weather. He won't be cold. The helicopters will be able to find him. He'll make it. He'll come back.

I'm not sure exactly how to pray, so I just whisper, “Please. Please. Please.”

I hear a car pull up in front of the house. I open my eyes. I see Tim/Tom get out the passenger door. He's carrying a bouquet of flowers—bright blue carnations wrapped in a green paper cone.

I'm surprised—he doesn't seem the flower type. Then I notice all the other bouquets and cards and candles and balloons piled up against our front fence.

It's like a shrine.

Or a grave site.

My teeth start chattering.

Tim/Tom says, “Sorry for your loss,” then nips back into his car before I can say thanks or scream at him.

Chapter Seven

Colin must sense there's something wrong. In a flash, he's out the door with his hands on my waist, whispering in my ear. “It's okay, Ria. It's okay. We're getting out of here.”

I don't ask where. I can't. I just let him take me down the stairs, put me in the LeSabre and drive. It's as if someone slipped a drug into my food. I'm not connected to my body anymore. I'm floating off to the side somewhere.

We're sitting at an intersection waiting for the lights to change when I get knocked back to reality. There's a woman I recognize in the next lane. She's looking at me. I suddenly see myself as she sees me: out cruising with my boyfriend in my flashy turquoise convertible. It's almost as if there's a thought bubble over her head reading,
How heartless can that girl be? Her father could be dead!

The light turns green, and I blurt out, “Go! Go!” It startles Colin. He turns and sees the lady in the next car too. I don't know if he understands or not, but he hits the gas.

He keeps one hand on my leg, the other on the wheel. He drives straight to Point Pleasant Park. “It'll be quiet here,” he says.

He parks the car and leads me up a winding trail through the woods to an old tumbledown army fort. In the summer, there'd be bus tours and day camps and people getting their wedding photos taken here, but today there's no one except the occasional power walker.

Colin drags a picnic table over so that it's half-hidden by one of the old stone walls.

We lay side by side on the tabletop. This stray thought floats in from my previous life: I should have some sunscreen on. I'm the type that burns.

So's Dad. Is he wet and wounded and now sunburned as well?

Am I weird even wondering that?

I reach over and take Colin's hand. At least here, I don't have to worry what other people think. I say, “Thank you for rescuing me.”

He turns to me and smiles. He's got one eye squinted up from the sun. The other eye is as green as a Granny Smith apple. “Thank you, nothing,” he says. “I just wanted you to myself.”

It's such a Dad thing to say—one of those fibs he comes up with just to make you feel good. I do my best to play along.

“You're lying,” I say. “You would have been happy to stay there all day—or at least until the muffins ran out.”

We both laugh even though it's not that funny.

“I just couldn't stand it,” I say. “Everybody looking at me. Everybody expecting me to act a certain way. Even Helena and Sophie doing their big drama-queen thing. It made me want to scream.”