Home Song (36 page)

“Drake Emerson! You mean that pothead with all the zippers?”

“That's the one. And she didn't ask first, she just took off, dressed pretty radical, and didn't get in until way past curfew. And she'd been drinking. Mom was furious. I could hear
the yelling right through my bedroom door. Anyway, do you think . . . oh, shit, I don't know . . . this isn't making much sense maybe, but Chelsea liked you, too, I know she did, and maybe if you went and talked to her and told her you wanted to be her friend again . . . maybe if the three of us sort of joined forces somehow, we could get this mess straightened out.”

“If I go to your house and your mother finds out, nothing's going to get straightened out. It'll only get worse.”

“She's at conferences today. She wouldn't find out. And I don't think Chelsea will tell either. She's just sort of—” Robby ran out of words, blew out a breath, and took a turn at getting gloomy. “I'm going to admit it, hey. I'm scared. She's changed so much since Mom and Dad broke up. I think she's scared too, and this is the way she's showing it. Boy, I really don't understand girls, I'll tell you that much. But I thought about something else the last couple of weeks. It's about us, the three of us—you, me, and Chelsea—and what it ought to be like. I mean, we've all got the same dad, right? So, are we going to go through the rest of our lives pretending we're not related? Or are we gonna face it and make the best of it? That's what I've been asking myself. And I've also been thinking, What about us? Why is it
all
what Mom wants all the time? What about what I want? And what Chelsea wants? And what Dad wants? Because I think he wants us to be a family again, only he's so scared and guilty that he isn't acting right. And I don't know for sure what you want, but if it's to get to know us, well, maybe we could start today, with Chelsea in on it too. What do you say?”

Kent didn't know what to say. He sat spread-kneed with his hands resting in the V of his legs, amazed by this conversation.

“You think Chelsea would talk to me?”

“Why not? If it's been bugging you about kissing her, it's probably been bugging her too, and she'll be glad to put it behind her.”

“And you're sure your mom won't come home?”

“Not for another hour and a half or so. Conferences don't end until six o'clock, and Dad is really strict about all the teachers staying till the very end.”

“What about him?”

“Naw, he stays in the building as long as it's open. And besides, I told you, he doesn't come home much anymore.”

Kent considered less than five seconds before swinging his long leg off the bench. “Let's go.”

The two of them closed their lockers and left together.

 

Kent had finally gotten a car of his own. He followed Robby, parked at the foot of the driveway, and approached the house.

“Man, is old Chels gonna be surprised,” Robby said, and smiled as he led Kent inside.

Chelsea was nowhere on the first floor, so Robby said, “Come on,” and led Kent upstairs. He knocked on her closed bedroom door and she snapped, “What?”

“Can I open this?”

“What do you want?”

“I've got somebody here who wants to talk to you. Can I open this?”

“I don't care! Open it!”

He turned the knob, gave the door a push, and let it swing back on its own. The room was meticulously clean. Chelsea was sitting on the floor folding clothes and putting stacks of socks on the neatly made bed. Her hair was clean and wet, trailing down in natural curls, and she wore an oversized
blue sweat suit with thick white socks on her feet. Her face was scrubbed free of all makeup.

“So, who did you drag home?” she asked acidly.

He stepped back and Kent took his place in the doorway. “It's me.”

Her hands stalled, matching a pair of socks. Horror flattened her expression, followed immediately by a blush.

“What are
you
doing here?”

He stood in her doorway feeling like an awkward oaf, but hiding it as best he could. She saw only a relaxed young man who looked not at all daunted by facing her squarely in her bedroom as Robby faded away and disappeared behind his own bedroom door.

“I hear you got grounded,” Kent said.

“Yes, I did. For drinking and staying out past curfew.”

“That doesn't sound like something you'd do.”

“Well, I did.” She folded the socks and put them on the bed, a touch of arrogance in the tilt of her eyebrows.

“Robby says you're rebelling against this whole mess involving me and your family. Is that true?”

She found two more socks and poured her attention on them. “I suppose it is. I hadn't really analyzed it.”

“That's a good way to spoil a nice kid.”

“Since when did you and Robby get so buddy-buddy?”

“We just talked today in the locker room. I told him what happened between you and me.”

“About the kiss!” She looked up, horrified. “Oh, my God, how could you!”

He went into the room and sat down Indian fashion on the floor facing her, with a pile of unfolded laundry between them. “Listen, Chelsea, none of us are exactly children, but I think you and I have been acting pretty childish about it. Robby and I think it's time we all started to get to know
each other, and we can't do that until we forget about that stupid kiss. After all, what was it but a nice little gesture that we liked each other? I can forget it if you can, and move on from there.”

“But you told my brother!”

“He actually took it quite well, and acted pretty level-headed about it, much more than you and I did.”

“But he'll tease me.”

“No, I don't think so. He wants us all to be friends, and to try to get your mom and dad to see straight about this whole thing. He thinks that if the three of us present a united front, we might be able to get your mom to believe that there's nothing between my mom and your dad. What do you think?”

“Is there?” She had stopped folding clothes again. Her blush had faded as she met his matter-of-fact gaze.

“No. I'd know it if there was.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure.”

“Would she tell my mother that?”

“Tell her?”

“Yes, come over here and tell her.”

“I don't know.”

“Because that's the only way I can think of to convince my mother to let my dad come back home—if your mother gets right in my mother's face and says she's not having an affair with Daddy.”

Kent looked staggered. “Wow, that's some radical idea!”

“It would work, wouldn't it?” She threw her elbows into the air and bumped her temples with the heels of her hands. “What am I saying? You don't even
know
my mother! How do you know if it would work? But I think it would, if we could get your mom to agree. What is she like?”

He gave it some thought. “She's a pretty reasonable woman. And I think she feels bad that your parents broke up because we came here. She never meant for that to happen.”

“So she'd do it?”

“We could ask.”

“Right now?” When he didn't respond, she rushed on. “It's Saturday. She isn't working, is she?”

“She works at home on Saturdays . . . but I thought you were grounded.”

Chelsea clambered to her feet, excited. “You don't think I'm going to let a little thing like that keep me from trying to get my parents back together, do you?” She stepped over his knee on her way to Robby's room, and Kent pivoted on his backside, watching her disappear around the doorway.

“Hey, Chelsea, wait!”

She stuck her head back in. “I've
been
waiting since the first week of school and nothing has made my mother come to her senses yet. I'm not waiting any longer.
Robbeee!
” She flung open his door without asking. “I have an idea, Robby!”

 

They took both cars and arrived in Kent's driveway less than fifteen minutes later. When they got out of the cars Chelsea looked up at the house and breathed, “Gee, is
this
where you live?”

“My room is that one up there.” He pointed. “And that one is my mother's.” Her light was on. “She's home.”

While they advanced toward the house, Chelsea kept thinking, Gosh, he's really my brother! How incredible to imagine that if things went the way she hoped, they'd be able to have a relationship in the future.

Inside, everything was new and fresh and beautifully coordinated. Kent pointed to a brass coat tree in the entry and
said, “You can hang up your jackets, if you want.” Then he raised his voice and called, “Mother?”

Her voice drifted down from above. “Hi, honey, be right there! I think we should go out for supper tonight and celebrate. I solved one of my two big problems with the electronic switch today, and you had such a great school conference yesterday that . . . Oh!” She appeared at a railing half a level above them. “I didn't know you'd brought friends.”

She stood looking down while they looked up.

“They're more than friends, Mom. They're my sister and brother.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed softly, one hand fluttering to her heart.

“May I bring them up and introduce them?”

Monica recovered admirably, dropping her hand and letting it ride the railing as she moved toward them. “Of course.”

“Come on up,” Kent invited.

They followed and were met at the mouth of the steps by the woman who appeared as flummoxed by this sudden introduction as they were.

“Mom, I'd like you to meet Chelsea and Robby Gardner.”

“Hello,” she said, and shook each of their hands.

“You have a beautiful house,” Chelsea told her, scanning it slowly.

“Thank you,” Monica said, a little at a loss, looking to her son for help.

“Well . . .” She gave a tense chuckle. “This is just so . . . so unexpected.”

“I know. I'm sorry we didn't give you any warning, Mom, but it sort of happened that way. I ran into Robby in the locker room, and he and I got to talking, and there were
things I needed to say to Chelsea, and we all decided it was time we got to know each other, and I went over to their house, and. . . well, here we are. But. . .” He turned to Chelsea. “There's something special we'd like to talk to you about. Do you want to ask her or should I?”

Before she could answer, Monica interrupted, “Please, children . . . come on in, let's sit down. Let me turn on a couple of lights here and . . .” She busied herself snapping on lamps in the living room, and as it sprang to life, the teenagers found seats on the ivory sofa with its array of loose pastel cushions. “May I get you anything to drink? A soda? Mineral water?”

“No thanks,” they said in unison, and finally she found a perch, choosing a chair that situated them on three sides of a square, with a glass-topped table between them. They exchanged glances above a ceramic seagull that stood on one brass leg.

“So,” Monica said. “You've formed some sort of truce at last.”

“Yes,” Chelsea replied, for Monica ended up looking straight into her eyes. She considered Robby next, studying him overtly, satisfying her curiosity without trying to hide the fact.

“It's a curious moment for me,” she said candidly, “seeing you for the first time, knowing that you're Kent's half siblings. You'll have to forgive me if I seem a bit rattled. I am.”

“I guess we are too.” Chelsea spoke for all of them, running her gaze past the two boys as if seeking their approval to act as their spokesperson.

“You've been together all day then?” Monica asked.

“No, just an hour or so. The boys a little longer.”

“Well, I can see that everybody's a little tense here, waiting for my reaction.” She settled her gaze on Kent. “I've
been trying to prepare myself for the day this would happen, but never quite managed to do so. However, let me put everybody at ease by stating right from the outset that I believe this had to happen, and that it's a good thing it did.” She spoke to Robby and Chelsea, who sat side by side on the sofa. “When I first got here and discovered that Tom lived here and was the principal at Kent's school, I felt quite threatened. Maybe I thought I'd lose Kent if Tom found out. On second thought, there's no maybe about it—that was the case. But Kent made me realize that it was unfair of me to try to withhold anything more from him about his father, or to try to keep them separated. In time I came to realize that the same was true regarding you.”

Again she shifted her gaze to Kent. It rested on him lovingly. “He's an only child, and that can be a lonely row to hoe.” To Robby and Chelsea, “Your existence, while coming as a shock to us, could turn out to be a gift that we weren't exactly expecting to find in this life. Especially Kent. I've spent a lot of time since we moved back here looking into his future, imagining the days when I grow old, and he's left alone. Yes, he'll have a wife someday—I hope—and children. But you”—she paused—“his sister and brother . . . you two will be the gift that I couldn't give him. So rest easy. I'm not going to throw a tantrum, or give you the cold shoulder because you've come here unannounced. Quite the opposite, in fact. I think it was high time we met.”

They all relaxed then, sank back against the cushions, and the kids exchanged quick glances of relief.

Kent said, “You know, I think I will have something to drink after all. Anybody else?”

While he was getting the drinks, Monica visited with the other two, and only when they all had glasses in their hands
did she settle back, cross her knees, and ask, “So what was it you came here to ask me?”

Chelsea and Kent exchanged a glance that said,
You first.

“Well?” Monica tilted her head. “Who's going to tell me?”