Zigzag (6 page)

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

I shivered. “I guess. It's weird.”

“Is it?”

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

“Long time to be alone.”

“She isn't alone—I'm with her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're pathetic.”

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

Franny didn't look convinced.

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

“Some nerve.”

“And they're rich, too.”

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

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

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

“The public is just people.”

“Yeah, they're annoying, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Franny, just tell me already!”

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

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

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

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

She shrugged. “Could be.”

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

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

“He
called
you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Dory.”

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

“It's okay. I mean, thank you, too.”

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

Oh, crap. “Great!”

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

“It's not out of your way then?”

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

No kidding.

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

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

“Hello.” Iris sounded furious.

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

She grunted.

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

“Mom is.” Two words. A record.

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

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

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

“What are you making
now
?” Mom asked. She'd gotten back from work a short time before and was sitting with a cup of tea and a magazine at the kitchen table. I guess she'd noticed the remains of my day's cooking stacked in the sink.

“Sandwich,” I said.

She picked up her tea and blew on it. “You might want to hold off on that. I'm making dinner in a little while. I got some beautiful steaks at the store this week.”

On closer observation I could see she was looking awfully
perky for someone who'd just put in a full day walking up and down the eighth floor. She'd changed into a pair of ironed khakis and a short-sleeved white shirt, and she had on my black sandals again instead of the tacky old slippers she usually wore after work.

“You invited what's-his-name for dinner, didn't you?” All signs pointed to yes.

She gave me a guilty smile. “Do you mind? I thought you might not like me going out every night the way I have been lately. I know it's hard on you with Chris gone . . .”

“And you think it'll be easier for me to watch my mother with
her
date?”

Her face stiffened. “I'm sorry if you don't like the fact that I'm seeing someone. I haven't been out with a man in sixteen years, you know. I think I've waited long enough.”

My crappy mood bubbled to the surface. “I didn't tell you to wait! Go out, already! You don't need my permission.”

“No, I certainly don't.”

“You spend every day with him! I would think you'd get sick of him.”

“Why? Do you get sick of Chris?”

“That's different. We're in love.” As soon as I said it, I thought,
Oh, no! Now she's going to tell me she's in love with this Michael person and he's going to be my new daddy and I'll have to go throw up.

But fortunately her face softened and she smiled. “Well, I'm not in love with Michael Evans. But I do like him a lot, and I was hoping you might like him, too, if you got to know him. He's very funny and sweet.”

I shrugged. What a louse I was, begrudging my mother a few dates. She wasn't the one who sent Chris to Rome. Things were just changing too fast and I didn't like it. I wanted everything to go back to the way it had been for the past two years, but wishing wasn't going to make it so.

“Fine, I'll break bread with Michael Evans,” I said. “Or break steak.”