A Million Miles From Boston (20 page)

“Feel this?” Mr. Richards leaned over. I pressed the spongy wood. “Rotten wood, the same thing I found on our dock. The whole thing had to come down.”

“Lucy!” Becca called. “Come on!”

We played chase long after the adults left. Several times I hid in my tree. Later, as we were on our last game, I climbed back up. Ian was there. We were quiet as I settled on his branch. Mosquitoes buzzed in my ears. Ian was so close that our arms touched.

“Your dad’s a pretty good builder, huh?”

“I guess,” Ian said.

I tried to think of something else to say. “Was lacrosse camp fun?”

“It was okay. But I’m glad to be back here.”

We heard footsteps below. Allison stopped under the tree, the spotlight sending her giant shadow across the dirt. Ian climbed to the lowest branch, then jumped.

“Ah! What are you
doing
in a tree?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Look what I found in a closet at work. Leftover fireworks.” She pulled a bottle rocket from her back pocket.

I dropped to the lowest branch and watched.

“And you just took them?”

“God, Ian! Relax. Here, hold one and I’ll light it.”

Ian backed up. “No way.”

She huffed and emptied a soda can. She put it on the ground, stuck a bottle rocket inside and lit the fuse. It zinged up through an opening in the trees, exploding above us. I jumped to the ground.

Allison lit another. It shot into the leaves but didn’t explode. We followed when she picked up the can and walked around the Big House. It was dark but a full moon and millions of stars lit the field.

“Do it again,” Peter said as he, Bucky and Henry ran up.

We weren’t allowed to light fireworks without an adult, not since Jake had blown off the tip of his finger with a cherry bomb two years earlier. What a terrible night. I knew I should
tell Allison but something stopped me. Everyone crowded around.

Allison put a bottle rocket in the can and shoved it at Ian. “Hold this.”

“No!” He stepped back.

She looked around. No one else wanted to hold it. She lit the fuse and pointed the can across the field. The bottle rocket would hurt her if it exploded in the can. But it shot out, skimmed the grass and exploded by the play structure.

“It’s like a bullet!” Bucky said.

These rockets weren’t as loud as the July Fourth fireworks. Still, I knew Superior was listening back at the cottage. Allison lit another fuse and pointed the can at the Big House. The bottle rocket zinged out, hit the side of the house and exploded.

“I bet I can get it in that window.” She pointed the can at the window next to the door and lit the fuse. The rocket zigzagged before exploding on the porch steps.

I wanted to scream, “Stop!” But I was too afraid of her.

“Stop it, Allison!” Ian said.

She flicked her lighter in front of his face, the flame making his cheeks look shiny and red. “Big baby. Gonna go tell Mommy?”

Someone giggled. Allison kept flicking the lighter on and off in front of his face.

“Run home. Think Mommy’ll save you?” Allison pretended
to cry, her voice growing louder. Lauren slid next to me, reaching for my hand. No one laughed now.

“Shut up.” Ian’s voice was low, angry. He glanced around the group.

“
They
won’t help you. Your girlfriend already threw you under the bus.”

Oh, no. I sucked in a breath.

“God, Allison, you’re such a jerk,” Ian hissed.

“Lucy told me that you broke Dad’s drill. You’re lucky I didn’t tell on you the other night when Dad was complaining about it.”

Ian glared at Allison. He’d really hate me now.

She lit another bottle rocket and pointed the can at us. “Run!”

Lauren screamed and hid behind me. Peter, Henry and Bucky dove to the ground. Ian smacked the can out of her hand and the bottle rocket fizzled out in the grass.

She slapped him, fast and hard, across the face.

Ian ran into the dark.

“Ian!” She took off after him.

The smell from the rockets lingered. No one moved.

“I wanna go home,” Lauren said.

What had I done? I started for the road, everyone following.

“Did Ian really break the drill?” Henry asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Then why did she say you told her?” Lauren took my hand again.

How could I explain this?

“Do you think she would’ve hurt the Big House?” Bucky asked.

“Nah, wasn’t enough bang.” I tried to make my voice light so they wouldn’t worry. We passed the Grahams’ cottage, the light from inside spilling across our feet.

“Why did she hit him?” Lauren asked.

“Because he wouldn’t hold the can,” Becca said. Everyone looked at me. I nodded, trying to swallow. Did Allison always treat him this way?

“Is Ian your boyfriend?” Lauren asked.

“No.” And now we weren’t even friends.

“Would Ian’s sister have shot the bottle rocket at us?” Bucky asked.

“Nah, she was just trying to be funny.”

“Well, she wasn’t. She was so mean to him.”

“I know.” I felt my voice crack.

After we dropped everyone off, I walked Bucky and Henry to Henry’s cottage, where they were having a sleepover. Then I started home.

Bucky’s words pounded in my head. Allison wasn’t just mean to Ian—she was horrible. In front of all of us. He must have been embarrassed. Angry. And I’d made everything worse by telling her about the drill.

I let Superior out, and we walked to the top of the dock stairs. The moon and stars had gone behind clouds and all I saw below me was a big black space. But I heard the water lapping the boats, docks and shore.

I’d been so sure Ian was a jerk that I never thought about the reasons he might act that way.

I felt as if I’d been turned upside down.

I glanced at the cottage. Somewhere inside, Dad was with the PT. I thought back to our trip to Pear Island, when she’d said,
There’s always the other side of you
. Now I realized that she’d been trying to tell me something different from what I’d imagined. That maybe Ian acted the way he did because he was trying to feel better somehow.

I had to fix this.

I started for the cottage. It was so dark that I couldn’t see Superior. I dropped to my knees and she was right there, licking my face. I wrapped my arms around her.

Through the windows I heard Dad and the PT talking. About me.

“
ou were right, you know. She blames herself, more than I realized,” Dad said.

“What else could she do? She was only six when her mom died.”

“She couldn’t get out of bed for weeks,” he said. “It scared me. But I don’t want her to feel so responsible all of the time. To—”

“Ben, you can’t tell her how to feel. She’ll feel what she feels.”

Why were they talking about
this?

I walked to the birch tree and slumped against it. Dad was the one who hadn’t been able to get out of bed when Mom had died, not me. He hadn’t been able to stop crying. He had scared
me
.

I tried to remember him in bed, but instead I saw the map on my ceiling and every nick on the chair railing. Then my head on the pillow as Superior ran toward me.

Was I … but …

Was
I
the one who couldn’t get out of bed?

Now I really remembered Mom: her bald head and the circles under her eyes, the ugly cold sore in the corner of her cracked lips. I
hated
going to that hospital day after day. Feeling Mom’s bony hip as I sat next to her on the bed. Staring at the black and blue marks where the IV sank into her arm. Listening to her heavy breathing as she slept.

Outside in the dark, I felt the big space open up inside me. Something like water rushed in my ears. Soon I wouldn’t be able to breathe. I was so scared that I ran to the cottage. Dad and the PT were on the couch on the porch.

“I want to talk about when Mom died.”

The PT stood and went inside.

I sat next to Dad. “It was hot. I wanted to go to a birthday party.”

Dad nodded. “At the Rechts’. You and Katie were friends from preschool.”

“There were balloons and a pool. I was excited because I wanted to go swimming.” I couldn’t talk fast enough. “And I remember a big blue slide.”

Dad stopped nodding. “No, no slide. Tell me what else you remember.”

“I wanted to go to that party, more than anything. More than seeing Mom again. And then I was sinking and I couldn’t breathe and you carried me to the car.” Something didn’t seem right. “I was in the pool when you came?”

“No, you were in the house, having cake. I came to tell you about Mom. The minute I walked in, you knew, somehow. Maybe from the look on my face. You dropped to the floor and I picked you up and carried you to the car.”

How had everything gotten so tangled up? “So my memories lied to me?”

Dad shook his head. “Not exactly. You were just so young. I think you thought Mom died because you left her and wanted to go to the pool party. Something like that.”

No, Mom had died of a stage four glioblastoma. But something pinched my chest. This wasn’t the only thing I’d gotten messed up lately.

I was so tired that I rested my head on the couch and closed my eyes. I didn’t know what to think. I just wanted to sit here quietly while all this soaked in.

Then Bucky, in his camouflage pajamas, stood at the porch door. He held a big cookie in one hand, his World War II book in the other. Mr. Ramsey was behind him.

“I changed my mind about sleeping over.” Bucky snuggled between us on the couch. Mr. Ramsey winked, then turned and walked away.

Superior sat up and put her head on Bucky’s knee.

“She loves cookies,” Bucky said.

“Don’t give her any,” I said. “Chocolate is bad for her.”

“I know.” Bucky took a bite of his cookie. “Remember the time she ate that chocolate cake and threw up?”

I nodded.

“You’d think she’d remember how sick she got,” Bucky said. “I hate throwing up.”

Dad and I laughed.

How far back did Superior’s memories go? Mrs. Richards had lots of memories of her mom. Bucky didn’t have any of ours. My memories were all jumbled up.

“Who wants sugar?” The PT stood in the doorway with a bag of cookies.

“Not Superior,” Dad, Bucky and I said. We laughed.

Dad scooted over and the four of us squeezed together. I should have been angry that she and Dad had been talking about me. But I felt as if I’d confessed, let go of a guilty secret. Although I wasn’t exactly sure what the secret was.

Julia broke a cookie and handed half to me. We sat, eating cookies and listening to the crickets chirping and bugs hitting the screen.

The next morning I walked over to Ian’s house and rang the doorbell. Mrs. Richards answered. “Hello, Lucy, come in!”

“Is Ian here?” I asked.

“Out back.” She led me through the house. Ian sat cross-legged on the dock, fishing. He wouldn’t look at us as Superior and I walked up.

“What are you fishing for?” I asked.

“Bluefish,” he mumbled.

I nodded and scratched behind Superior’s ears. She closed
her eyes, happy. The water was still and calm, the sun dull behind gray and white clouds.

“I feel awful about what Allison said.” My heart beat faster. “That night we played chase, I was in the tree and saw you take the drill out of the shed. But I didn’t know for sure if you broke it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Yeah, well,
thanks
a lot.” He yanked on the fishing line.

“She kept asking me about what you’re like in class. I was mad about the rubber bands at the marina and how you let your dad think that the kids broke his drill. Then, when she said you told your dad that I broke the rope swing with you …”

“I never told my dad that! Is that what she said?”

“Yeah.”

He snorted. “She’s
such
a liar.”

“I believe you. And I’m sorry I told on you.”

“I was gonna tell my dad, you know. I was just waiting for the right time. But Allison had to beat me to it. Typical.”

“Was he mad?”

“Of course he was mad! Especially because of the tree swing, too.”

“Both were accidents,” I said. “They could’ve happened to anyone.”