Nest (30 page)

“I want to ride a swan boat,” Joey says. “I want to meet your friend.”

“Well, first I’m going to do a little bird-watching,” I say. My voice sounds weak, like I’m hiding something.

Joey rolls his eyes, but he plops down on the bench. “My brother says that chicks are crazy,” he mumbles.

“Grackles and starlings sometimes hang out together, and they’re similar because they’re noisy and aggressive. And they walk instead of hop. But the starling has purple and green mixed in on its back. The grackle just has green.”

“Okay,” Joey says.

“And the grackle is bigger.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t see any right now. Just pigeons and robins.”

“Well, take your time,” Joey says. “I can sit here all day.” He starts whistling.

I keep looking through the binocs. No grackles. No starlings. No sparrows. No chickadees. It’s like all the birds are hiding.

“
She
must be going to the swan boats,” Joey says. A little girl with curly dark hair and a pink party dress is tugging on her mother’s hand and quacking.

“I was about her age when I first came here,” I say.

“I was about
my
age when I first came here.” Joey
stands up and looks at me. “C’mon,” he says, “quit stalling. Let’s go.” He grabs my hands and pulls me up.

Now that we’re on our way, I’m so excited I can’t stop talking.

“I don’t think we need to bother getting tickets,” I say. “My friend will just let us on, I think. I mean, maybe it’s against the rules and he can’t, but I bet he’ll want to.”

“Okay,” Joey says. “I don’t mind saving money. Maybe we’ll get ice cream later on our way to the library.”

“He reminds me of Bert in
Mary Poppins
. He’s really friendly.” I could tell Mom really liked him, and he liked her. “He’s probably a good dancer. He looked like a good dancer.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He wanted us to come back. He really wanted to see us again.” I don’t think I’ll have to tell him about Mom. He’ll probably just know. Maybe when we’re drifting past the weeping willow trees, he’ll get a strange feeling. He’ll just look at me and know.

“Whoa,” Joey says.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, little kids are buzzing past us like a swarm of bees. Grown-ups are racing after them, yelling at them to slow down.

“I guess it’s a field trip,” I say.

“First graders,” Joey says. “Second graders, tops.”

I hadn’t pictured other people around. Just me and Joey and him.

I hope we won’t have to share our boat. I hope we can float along quietly under the willow trees, just the three of us.

“Cool!” Joey says. He’s stopped walking. He’s staring at the water.

The boats are lined up at the dock. The swans at the back of the boats where the drivers sit are so white and shiny it’s like looking at snow in the sun. I squint into all the whiteness. It’s so bright I can’t see.

“Where is he?” Joey asks.

“I don’t know.”

“C’mon, let’s get closer,” Joey says, and since I don’t know what else to do, I follow him. We walk past the schoolkids, who are sitting in a circle on the grass getting talked at by their teacher, and down to the water. Two guys in white shirts and blue caps are standing on the dock next to the swan boats with their backs to us. I can see the red beaks of the swans above their heads.

“Swan boat drivers,” I whisper. “It’s
them
.” My heart’s thumping in my chest.

“Say hi,” Joey says. “They’ll turn around, and if one of them is him, you can surprise him.”

I shake my head. I don’t think I can talk.

“The kids are lining up,” Joey says. “I think they’re coming over. You should say something before they
get here.” I look. Joey’s right. They’re standing in two perfect lines, like the girls in the Madeline books. They must have been yelled at.

“Hi,” I say. My voice is just a little squeak. The drivers don’t hear me.

“Hurry up,” Joey says. “The kids are coming.”

“Hi,” I say again, louder.

They turn around. The one on the left is blond with crooked teeth, but on the right, it’s him! Dark, wavy hair. Light-green eyes. Super handsome.

“You need to buy tickets from the ticket seller,” he says, pointing to the booth.

“Hi,” I say, smiling. I’m so happy to see him.

“Do you have your tickets?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he says. “Once you get your tickets, over there, you can get on the boat.” He smiles at me, then turns back to the other driver, like he’s about to ask him something.

“Wait,” I say. “Remember me?”

“Let’s see,” he says, wrinkling up his forehead, like he’s thinking really hard, “did I give you a ride before?”

“Remember?” I say. “It was last spring. I was here with my mother.”

“Oh?” he says. “Last spring? Well, welcome back.” He takes off his cap and runs his hands through his hair.

“I think you’ve got another admirer, buddy,” the
blond driver says. “And her mother.” He laughs. My dark-haired friend punches him in the arm like it’s a funny joke and then puts his cap back on and starts to walk away.

“Wait!” I say, following him. “You said we should come back to see you! You said you bet she was a beautiful dancer!”

“Okay,” he says, stopping. “Well, I’m glad to see you again. And I’m sure she is a beautiful dancer.”

“How can you not remember?” My face feels warm.

“Listen, sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve got to get back to work now.” He points at the boat.

“No,” I say. “We came all the way from the Cape to see you. You have to remember her!”

He lifts his eyebrows up like
What’s her problem?
to the blond driver.

“Hey,” he says, “we take tons of people out on rides. Girls and boys and mothers and grandfathers and aunts and—”

“No dogs,” the blond driver says.

“Or gorillas,” my friend says, grinning.

“This isn’t funny,” I say. “Look, we were the only ones on the boat except for an old lady. It was windy and our hair was blowing around and you—”

“Okay, kid, maybe you should just calm down.” He looks at the blond driver like he needs help.

“No!” I yell. “You can’t do this!” My ears are burning hot.

“He’s not doing anything,” the blond driver says, stepping toward me. “You’re the one who’s yelling at him. Either get your ticket or leave.”

“You can’t not remember her! She was beautiful, and you thought so, too!”

Joey puts his hand on my arm, but I shake it off.

“You can’t do this! You have to remember her! You have to remember us!”

My dark-haired friend’s looking at me like I’m crazy. He’s bouncing on his toes like he’s about to sprint away.

“You can’t forget us! You can’t!” I’m screaming so loud it hurts. I’ll hit him. I’ll throw him in the water and watch him sink.

“Okay, this is insane,” he says, and he’s walking away from me like
I’m
the bad guy. I try to follow him, but Joey’s grabbing both my wrists.

“No! No! No!” I’m kicking Joey’s leg. I’m kicking his duffel bag. I’m screaming.

Joey’s hands are on my wrists. Joey’s voice is in my ears.
Chirp. Stop. Chirp. Come
. He’s stronger than me. He’s pulling me past the little kids. He’s pulling me past the ticket booth. Everyone’s watching.

Joey’s arms are around me. I’m sobbing on his neck. I can’t stop.

I hear a woman ask, “What’s going on here, honey?” I hear Joey say, “My sister gets like this sometimes. I’m the only one who can calm her down. Our babysitter’s
just waiting right over there by the water fountain. But thanks for asking.”

Joey pulls me down onto the grass.
Mommy. Mommy. Mom
. Tears on my face. Tears in my mouth. Tears in my ears. She was a beautiful dancer. We loved the swan boats. The wind blew our hair. I’ll never stop crying.

We’re standing near a pay phone on the street. I cried all the way through the Boston Public Garden and the Common. I’m still crying. I can’t stop.

“Listen,” Joey says. “A change of plans. We’re not going to the library. We’re not doing any research about where to go next. You’re going to call your father. You need to call him
now
. What’s your phone number?”

I tell Joey my phone number.

“We have to add the area code,” he says. “Don’t worry. I know it. Five. Oh. Eight. We’ll call collect.” He puts in a dime. He talks to the operator. He hands me the phone.

“Say
hello
,” Joey says.

“Chirp? Are you there?”

It’s Daddy.

“Chirpie? Honey? Are you there?”

It’s hard to breathe. I’m gulping in air. My nose is dripping. My shoulders are shaking.

“Chirp?”

Daddy’s so worried. I have to say something. Joey’s watching me.

“Daddy.” My voice is tiny.

“Oh, my God! Honey, are you okay?”

I nod.

“You’re crying, honey.”

“I’ll stop soon,” I say. I take a slow, raggedy breath. The air feels good.

Joey taps my shoulder and waves. He walks away and leans against a building to give me my privacy.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me anything.”

I take another slow breath. I’m finally not crying.

“The swan boat driver forgot us,” I say.

“Swan boat driver? What do you mean, honey?”

“He didn’t remember.”

“Remember what?”

“Me and Mom. He forgot us.” I start crying again, quiet, sad, worn-out tears.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re not in Boston, are you? How could you be in Boston?”

“We took the bus.”

“You took the bus to Boston? You and Joey took the bus to Boston and are there now?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, God. Oh, my God. You’re okay?”

“I’m tired.”

“We were praying you’d come home any minute now, you’d come home in time for dinner.”

I picture our dinner table set with just two plates; one for Dad and one for Rachel. No Mom. No me. My heart fills up with wet sand.

“Oh, Daddy!”

“Chirpie, where are you, exactly? Are you near the swan boats?”

“Yes.”

“Listen,” Daddy says, “I’m going to be there in less than two hours. I’m going to hop in the car the minute we hang up the phone and get there as fast as I can. This is what I want you to do. Are you listening?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember the Pewter Pot, where Mom took you? I want you two to go there now and wait for me, okay? If anyone asks what you’re doing, you say you’re waiting for your father to come pick you up. That’s what you say to anyone at all who asks, that your father will be there very soon to pick you up. Okay?”

“Okay, Dad.”

“Do you have any money?”

“I took your emergency money out of your drawer. Sorry, Daddy.”

“You buy yourself and Joey a snack at Pewter Pot, anything you want, and I’ll be right there.”

“Dad?”

“What?”

“Joey’s father’s going to kill him.”

Dad’s quiet. I hear him breathe. “No, Chirp. No
one’s going to hurt Joey. You tell him that. You tell him that I promise.”

“Okay.”

“See you very soon, honey. Get yourselves right on over to Pewter Pot, and I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay.”

“Bye, honey.”

“Bye, Dad.”

When I look back to the spot where Joey was, I don’t see him. He’s not leaning against the building, waiting for me. He’s not facing in my direction, watching to make sure I’m okay. “Joey!” I run over to where he had been standing. But he’s not standing; he’s crouched down low. It’s like his legs crumpled up underneath him and he slid down the wall. He’s huddled up in a ball. He isn’t moving. He’s like a round gray rock. I bend down just as he lifts his head up. “I guess we’re going home now,” he says, in just about the saddest voice I’ve ever heard.

Our waitress’s name is Sandy Lynn, and she’s chubby and old and wearing a yellow dress with puffy sleeves and a white ruffly apron and bonnet, and I wonder how she feels, dressed like a colonial lady and serving people Tab and ham-and-cheese sandwiches in 1973. She already brought us glasses of water with ice and asked us what the heck we’re doing alone in the middle of downtown Boston, and I told her, just
like I’m supposed to, that we’re waiting for my father to pick us up and he’s coming very soon. Now she’s giving us a minute to take a look at the menu.

“It feels good to be inside,” Joey says.

He’s right. It’s kind of dark in here since they didn’t have electricity in colonial days, so Pewter Pot doesn’t use bright lightbulbs. It makes it cozy and feels good on my cried-out eyes.

“My dad said we should get anything we want,” I say. I already know what I want. Two chocolate-chip muffins and a mug of hot cocoa.

“Spaghetti and meatballs,” Joey says.

The wallpaper is flowery, like at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. If this was their house, I’d walk into the bedroom at the end of the hall and crawl into the bed with the lavender comforter and all the fluffy pillows and go to sleep for a long, long time.

“Did your dad say anything about my parents?” Joey asks.

“He said your dad isn’t going to kill you.”

“What?”

“I told him that your dad is going to kill you, but he said that he isn’t. He said to tell you that he promises that no one is going to hurt you.”

Joey pokes the pink packets of Sweet’N Low with his finger. “Like the headshrinker could stop him,” he mumbles.

“What?” I say, even though I heard him.

“Grown-ups just do what they want,” Joey says.
“No one can stop them once they decide on something. Like your mother.”

I haven’t thought about that. I’ve only thought about Mom alive and thought about her in the hole in the ground but not about the steps in between. I haven’t thought about her deciding to drive to the pond or get out of the car or walk into the water. I haven’t thought about how it is she could drown if she was such a good swimmer. Or if she stopped to watch blue damselflies or ripples in the water before she went under.

“So do the two adventurers know what they want yet?” Sandy Lynn is back.

“Two chocolate-chip muffins and a hot cocoa for me, please,” I say.

“I’d like spaghetti and meatballs,” Joey says. “And lots of cheese, please.”

“Coming right up,” Sandy Lynn says, and then she smiles and walks away while she’s still writing our orders down on her pad of paper.