Falling Up (14 page)

“I'm sorry,” I tell her.

“Yeah, me too.” But her tone is not apologetic. Just mad.

“And I, uh, I won't be able to take you to Haven on Wednesday.”

She looks slightly frightened now. “What? What do you mean?”

“I mean, my dad has booked a flight to Florida for me. I leave Tuesday morning.”

Natalie looks like I just punched her in the stomach. “No, Km,” she says in a low desperate voice. “You can't leave yet. Can't you just change the flight? Until like Thursday? Please, I really need you to be here for this.”

There's a huge lump in my throat now. “I'm sorry, Nat. It's all set.”

“But, Km—” She starts to cry.

“I'm sorry,” I say, standing. I just want to leave. I can't stand to see her looking so helpless and desperate.

“What will I—?”

“I don't know, Nat.” I'm reaching for the door and experiencing those sanae feelings I had on Friday—heart pounding, tingling, and it feels like I could barf. “I'm sorry,” I say again. And then I leave.

When I get home, I slip to my room without talking to my dad. I get into bed and I cry and cry. Finally I get up and take one of those stupid pills. And then I sleep for the rest of the afternoon. I am pathetic.

Tuesday, Jane 11

I am on my way to Florida right now. Row 27, seat B. Dad made me take one of those pills just before we said good-bye at the security gates.

“Dr. Grier made me promise,” he told me as he handed me a bottle of water to wash it down with. “He said that would ensure an anxiety-free flight.”

I nodded, trying to hold back the tears.

“You're going to be okay, Km.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Dad?” I asked for like the tenth time since Sunday.

He reached out and took me in his arms. “I think it
is. I'm so busy at work right now and I've been so, well, distracted, I'm not much good for you. And all the stress that's on you…”

“Yeah,” I agreed as I clung to him. “You're probably right. But remember your promise, Dad. If it doesn't work out, if I don't like it there, I can come home, right?”

“You can come home as soon as you like, Kimmy. But for your grandma s sake, and for Uncle Garth, I hope you can stay at least a week. It would mean so much to them.”

“I know…” He let go of me, and I stepped back and looked at him. I swear he's aged about twenty years during the past six months. And I'm sure my problems aren't helping.

“I think you'll be surprised at how easygoing they are. Quirky, yes, but their lifestyle is really simple and peaceful.” He looked almost wistful as he said this.

“What if I get stressed out by Grandma feeding her alligators?” I teased, hoping to lighten things up.

He shook his head. “I already told her to stop that. She knows it's illegal. But she's just like that sometimes, Kammy Still, she's got a good heart. I know you're going to enjoy her.” Then we said our final good-bye, I got in line and waved one last time, and I was on my way.

And I'm thinking that pill must've helped because I really don't feel too uptight right now. And I'm sitting here, sipping a Sierra Mist and getting to know this computer—Dad gave me his old laptop. He said he was
due for an upgrade anyway, and he knew that Grandma didn't have one. “That way we can keep in touch through e-mail,” he assured me. “Of course, feel free to call if you like.”

And so as I'm sitting here, feeling amazingly calm, I'm thinking maybe this won't be so bad after all. Maybe Dad and Dr. Grier were right. This “vacation” might be a good distraction for me. Hopefully it will keep me from obsessing over Natalie—and the baby. That just hurts too much. I know that it's more than I can handle right now. I have to let it go.

I told Dad I wanted to continue doing my column while I'm in Florida, and that it's one of the few things about my life that makes me feel better. I think it's almost therapeutic. That's probably because it gives me a sense of control—even if it's only an illusion. But I can imagine that my responses are helping someone—that some kids are paying attention and making better choices.

Oh, sure, I was blocked up there for a day or two, but that's only because the stress levels were getting to me. But I think I can handle it when things settle down. And since I've got some time to spare, I decided to answer some letters during my flight to Florida.

Tuesday, Jtme 11

It was about five o clock (Florida time) when my final flight landed in Naples. According to Dad, Grandma and Uncle Garth would be down at baggage claim to pick me up. But I started to feel nervous. What if they didn't show? Or what if they're so weird that its freaky to stay with them? Or what if the alligators were crawling all over the place? Or what if my bags were lost? Or what if—shut up, Kim! Quit obsessing before you have a panic attack! I considered taking another one of those pills but decided not to. I really should be able to gut this out.

I followed the directions to baggage claim but didn't see anyone who quite fit the description of Grandma or Uncle Garth—and I'm thinking they should stand out in a crowd. But after a brief wait, I was relieved to see my
bright red bag going around the carousel. I grabbed it and went over by the door to wait.

After about fifteen minutes, I was feeling nervous again. I considered calling Dad on my cell phone, but then I didn't want to worry him unnecessarily. Plus I knew that out-of-state phone calls would be expensive. So I just waited.

Finally, I saw this older dude in a Hawaiian shirt, raggedy cargo shorts, rubber flip-flops, and a beat-up cowboy hat coming my way. “Kim?” he said hopefully.

“Yeah?” I didn't say his name, just in case this was an imposter who'd shown up to abduct me. I'd only seen a couple photos of my uncle, and they were taken when he was younger. I think he's supposed to be in his forties now, but I wasn't totally sure this was the guy.

“I'm your uncle,” he said with a bright smile. “Uncle Garth.” He reached out and shook my hand.

I nodded, still feeling a bit unsure.

“Mom, I mean, Grandma, is out in the car. Her feet are still bugging her since her operation, so it's hard for her to walk too far.”

Okay, now I'm thinking this must be Uncle Garth. Besides, those fine creases by his eyes remind me of Dad. “Thanks for picking me up,” I said, feeling a little lame for being such a chicken.

“No problem. We're just glad you finally came to visit. But you're all grown up now, Kimmy.”

I kind of laughed. “It's been a while, huh?”

“Yeah, I think you were still wearing diapers when
you guys came to visit.” He took my bag for me. “Hey, I'm sorry about your mom. That's a real bummer.”

“Yeah,” I said as we went outside. “Thanks.”

It's hot and humid out here, but it felt surprisingly good. I don't even know why, but for some reason I liked it. Before long we stopped by this old peach-colored Cadillac that's as big as a boat.

“Kimmy!” Grandma got out of the backseat of the car and grabbed me by both arms and just looked at me. “I can hardly believe it's you. Why look how grown-up you look.” Then she pinched my cheek. “But you're not very tall, and you're a little on the thin side.” She laughed. “But that's okay; I can fatten you up.”

Now while I'm feeling flattered that she thought I was thin, I wasn't too sure about the “fatten you up” part. “Thanks for coming to get me,” I said as I studied her strange outfit of a print dress with tropical flowers the size of dinner plates, over a pair of coral-colored pants, topped with a large pink straw hat that's decorated with fake pieces of fruit. One slightly swollen foot had on a low-heeled white sandal, and the other was wearing a bright blue medical wrap. “I forgot about your feet and everything. I hope this wasn't hard on you.”

“Oh, that's no big deal. I just ride in the backseat and keep them propped up. One foot seems to have healed up just fine and dandy, but this dad-burned right foot is still troubling me some. The doc might have to do another operation on it. But I don't mind getting out for a
drive. I enjoy the scenery. Get tired of being housebound all the time.”

Uncle Garth had already put my stuff in the trunk. ‘Tall ready?”

“I'm ready when you are.” Grandma hoisted herself into the backseat, and I got into the front.

“I really don't remember much about your place,” I said as my uncle started to back up. “I guess I was pretty small the last time I was here.”

“Well, not much has changed,” Grandma said from behind me. “At least not much on my property. But the towns gotten bigger.”

“How big is Port City?” The only reason I remembered the name of the town was because Dad filled me in a little right before I left.

“Goodness' sakes, I think the population is nearly up to two thousand now,” Grandma said.

I tried not to laugh since that sounded pretty small to me.

“They just got a new grocery store complex, and it's got some other stores with it. Very modern,” she continued. “And I hear they may put in a traffic light next year.”

“Are you still feeding the alligators?” I asked.

She laughed. “Well, that's our little secret now, isn't it, Kimmy? Your daddy gave me a lecture about it and I told him I'd consider his point of view. But it's hard to teach an old dog new tricks, don't you think?”

Soon we're on the open road, and Uncle Garth was
driving like there were no speed limit. I tried to see the speedometer and thought it was close to ninety. I was glad I fastened my seatbelt, although I was surprised to see that he hadn't. I'm sure that my fingernails were digging gouges into the old velvet upholstery, and I wanted to ask my uncle to slow down, but I wasn't sure I should say anything. So to my surprise I actually started to pray. It's the first time I'd prayed in a week, but I asked God to keep us safe and to help get me through this visit. Suddenly I wasn't sure what I'd gotten myself into.

Somehow we made it to Grandma's place without a ticket or a wreck. I was so relieved to get out ofthat Caddy that I found I was chatting away with both Grandma and Uncle Garth, nervous chatter I suppose, but they didn't seem to notice as we went inside.

Grandma's property was very unique. She owned forty acres, “give or take,” about a mile out of town. Uncle Garth actually slowed down to the speed limit as he drove through bustling Port City, and they did, indeed, have a new strip mall, complete with about six businesses. Big times. Why they needed a traffic light was a mystery to me.

But back to Grandma's place. Her house was what I'd describe as a bungalow, although I wasn't even sure why. It had weathered wood siding and a metal roof, kind of hillbilly looking. It's built low and compact, and its best feature, in my opinion, was the wide wraparound screened-in porch. Grandma said I can sleep out
here if I like. She told me it was built in the twenties. She and my grandpa (who died before I was born) bought it in the sixties, shortly after my dad graduated from college. They added plumbing and a few, very few, amenities.

After my brief tour, she told me, “If you run too much electrical gadgets at once, you'll blow a fuse.” She doesn't have TV, and the phone looks like something from an old movie. “Don't have much use for the telephone,” she said when I examined it. Thankfully, Dad already set up the laptop for wireless, although he warned me that I might have to go outside and search for a place to get a connection.

“Want to see my place now?” Uncle Garth asked after I put my stuff in my room, which is about ten by ten and in the back of the house.

I said, “Sure,” and he took me down a narrow trail where I kept my eyes peeled for alligators. We went about fifty yards from Grandma's house, and beyond some overgrown vegetation was an old caboose that had been remodeled into living quarters.

“How did this get here?” I asked, seeing that there were no train tracks.

“My dad bought it at an auction when I was a kid, and a big old truck brought it out here. We had to cut a road special, but the plants have all grown back so you can't hardly tell.”

“And this is where you live?” I asked as we went inside the strange abode.

“Yep. Dad and me fixed it all up, even ran electricity from the house so I can have lights.”

I looked around the crowded quarters, and other than clutter, the place was pretty neat and tidy. “Its cozy.”

“Yeah, I like it.”

“So what do you do?” I asked him. Now my dad already explained how his younger brother sustained some brain damage during birth, how he never developed beyond about a twelve-year-old academically, and how his parents took him out of school after sixth grade. “But he's a good guy,” Dad said, “with a kind heart. And he's made something of a life for himself.”

“Oh, I like to fish and stuff,” Uncle Garth said, “and I make things.”

“What kind of things?”

So he showed me his workshop, a smaller building that was just behind the caboose. “I'm working on this table right now.” He showed me a rustic-looking table. “This is pine.” He rubbed his hand over the top. “I love the smell of pine.” Then he picked up a tool and began running it over the wood.

“What are you doing?”

“Planing,” he told me. “This is a plane and it smoothes the wood. You see?”