The Chance You Won't Return (27 page)

“I’ll do it,” I said before Mom could reply.

The man handed me his camera. “It’s the big silver button at the top.” He looked to his kids. “Okay everyone, smile.”

I clicked, hoping to get a picture of everyone open-eyed and smiling so they wouldn’t ask me to try again. “Great. Here you go,” I said.

The man took the camera back and scanned the picture before nodding. “Thanks. Merry Christmas. Everyone, say ‘Merry Christmas.’”

Three little voices trilled “Merry Christmas” at us, and they hurried off to the farm stand. I breathed a sigh of relief that Mom hadn’t tried to give them her autograph or tell them about flights over the Pacific.

“Well, that was nice,” Mom said to me, voice tight. “People have so much fun this time of year. I love that scent of pine, don’t you?”

I was about to agree, but I saw her start to shake, and she tried to cover it with a cough but the tears came anyway. She ducked into an empty row, gasping as she wiped away tears. “I’m fine,” she choked out. “I’m fine.”

Dad was already out of sight, so I stayed a few steps away from Mom. For a moment, I considered reaching out to her, but she kept her back turned to me and I was afraid I’d startle her if I touched her. I remembered how upset she was with me when I discovered her Amelia Earhart collection, and how she told me she didn’t want me around. So I stayed as still and quiet as I could until she was finished.

On the speakers, Judy Garland sang “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”

Mom turned to me again. “I’m fine, really,” she said. Her eyes were red, but she forced a smile as she wiped away the last of her tears. “I need to get home. There’s so much work to do, and I shouldn’t have taken the time off.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“Come on, let’s meet G.P. at the car.” She strode quickly through the fields, and I stayed close behind her, not stopping when we passed the farm stand and Katy called to us to wait up.

At the car, she grappled with the door handle, but it was locked. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered. “He has to be in charge of everything. I always tell G.P. —”

“What’s the matter?” I hissed. “You were fine and then all of a sudden — it’s like you don’t want to be with us. Why did you even want to come?”

She crossed her arms and turned away from me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she sniffed. “I’m a busy person; I can’t be expected to do everything, you know.”

Nearby, footsteps crunched on gravel. “Everything all right?” Dad asked. He and Katy were holding the tree, and Teddy stopped short behind Katy, so he plowed into her, but she didn’t yell at him.

Mom and I glanced at each other. “Perfectly fine,” she said, smile straining her face. “But I should be getting home. So much to do.”

Dad looked to me for confirmation, and I shrugged. “Let’s just go.”

We strapped the tree to the top of the car and drove home. Mom tried to talk to Dad about flight plans and tour schedules, but he gave her one-word responses. Beside me, Katy murmured, “I think it’s a good tree.”

“It’s really good,” I told her. She half smiled and leaned her head against my shoulder. “I think you can still smell it.” We inhaled deeply and imagined the scent of pine on our hands and in our hair.

“Alex,” Dad said. It was Thursday, two days before Christmas, and Dad didn’t have work. I was watching
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
with Teddy when Dad came in the living room holding Jackson’s leash. “Come walk Jackson with me.” He already had my coat with him.

I turned back to the TV. “It’s not my turn.”

“I know,” he said, “but come with me anyway.”

Outside, it was warmer than it had been for weeks. Even though it wasn’t raining, the ground was slick and muddy. Jackson trotted ahead, sniffing at every tree.

I thought Dad was going to have a talk with me about something — yelling at Mom, not paying close enough attention to her, something — but instead he said, “Katy mentioned you passed your driver’s ed test.” He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. He didn’t look upset, just curious.

“Oh, right,” I said, kicking a stone into the gutter. “I did.”

“That’s great.” Jackson started barking at another dog in a yard across the street, impeded by an invisible fence. Dad tugged him along. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

For a second, I didn’t answer. I didn’t even want to glance over at him in case he had that disappointed look again. “I guess I forgot.”

“That’s a pretty big thing to forget.”

I wrapped my arms around myself even though it wasn’t that cold. “Not really. I still have to take the class next semester. This just means that I didn’t totally fail.”

“I think it’s a big thing.”

One of our neighbors, Mr. Daniels, was hauling bags of groceries into his house. Dad waved at him and I tried to smile but it looked more like a smirk. Jackson stopped to pee under a stop sign. We stood nearby, waiting for Jackson, and I thought Dad was going to let the driving test thing drop. But then he said, “Even though things are really busy with Mom right now, you can still tell me about this stuff.”

It didn’t feel like it. He was tired and frustrated all the time. Whenever he and Mom came home from Dr. McGlynn’s, he’d try to share a piece of good news — Mom was being put on a new medication, or she talked about her feelings without mentioning Amelia — but more often he sounded drained. Dad and I had always had a good relationship; he cheered at my soccer games and taught me how to swim and didn’t make me feel stupid about failing driver’s ed. But it was like he was a different person now, too. We were all flying through a storm with the clouds pressing against the windows so we couldn’t tell which way was up. How could I tell him about normal things like a driver’s ed test when we were trying to figure out how to get back on the ground?

“I know,” I said. “I just forgot.”

Jackson tugged at the leash, in the direction of home. “Let’s go,” Dad said, and I wasn’t sure if it was to Jackson or to me. He put his arm around my shoulders as we walked. “I know it’s tough.”

It was tough. And it wasn’t going to get better. “I know,” I said.

“We just have to work through it a little longer,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m really trying, Alex. I wish I could make her better.” I turned to him, wondering if Dr. McGlynn had given him some good news or a medication was working. Something to make him hopeful, to give him a timeline of his own. But his eyes were on the house, and they were clouded, like he was looking into the storm.

White Christmas lights wrapped around the Wileys’ house. Cars filled the driveway and lined both sides of the street. From the front lawn, I could hear glasses clinking and someone’s loud, howling laugh. It was a clear night, and I stood outside for a minute, identifying Orion.

“Hello?” A silhouette appeared at the front door. Mrs. Wiley.

“Hi, sorry,” I said, approaching the door. “I got distracted for a second. First clear sky we’ve had in weeks.”

She smiled and held the storm door open for me. “It’s nice, isn’t it? We’re so glad you could come, Alex. Can I take your coat?” She was wearing a boxy dress with beads sewn into the collar. For a second, I felt a little stupid in my plaid skirt and black turtleneck, which Katy had called appropriate — “So you don’t look slutty in front of his parents” — but now seemed boarding-school bland.

When Jim appeared in the front hall a second later, he was in a button-down shirt and tie. “Hey, Alex.” He gave his mom a meaningful look, and she told us to enjoy the party, then disappeared into the kitchen.

“Thanks for coming,” he said. “My parents have this thing every year. Sometime tonight my uncle Allen will dress up like Santa for all the kids. When I was seven, I saw him getting ready and freaked out.”

“Bet that killed Santa for you.”

He shrugged. “My parents said Uncle Allen was just helping Santa out, but I didn’t exactly believe them.”

In the living room, the Wileys had set up a couple of card tables — one with platters of food, another as a makeshift bar. People balanced small plates and plastic cups as they talked. On one side of the room, the top of a Christmas tree brushed the ceiling. A stereo played pop versions of Christmas songs.

Jim’s dad was behind the bar. I hadn’t seen him since that day in his front yard, with a chunk of their house missing. Now he was in a bright-red sweater. I wasn’t sure if it was the sweater or a few drinks that made his cheeks look flushed. He beckoned us over. “You must be Alex. What can I get for you?”

“Coke?” I said, glancing between Jim and his dad, like I might have gotten it wrong. Jim asked for the same.

Mr. Wiley scooped ice into plastic cups and poured, then waited for the fizz to subside. He extended his hand and the soda. I wasn’t sure which to take first. “Glad you could make it.”

“Thanks for having me.”

Mr. Wiley took a sip of his own drink, something on the rocks. He nodded at us. “I hear Jim’s been giving you driving lessons.”

Beside me, I could feel Jim tense a little. “He’s been a huge help,” I said. “The driving teacher at school kind of hated me, so Jim stepped in and it’s been a lot better.”

“I’m sure.” Mr. Wiley kept nodding, as if his head wasn’t secured to his neck. “A little tutoring goes a long way. Jim’s getting Bs in chemistry now — all it took was a little time after school. Of course, getting tutored by your boyfriend’s probably better than getting tutored by Mrs. Frasier.”

I blinked at Mr. Wiley. Boyfriend? I made sure to keep my head straight in case Jim’s face was suddenly pale and terrified. “I actually just passed the written test.”

“Good for you! As long as you know all the rules of the road, you’ll be set. Easiest thing in the world, driving.” He glimpsed at Jim. “Just make sure he doesn’t skip the lesson about stopping. Sometimes he forgets that part.” Mr. Wiley laughed so good-naturedly that I wasn’t sure if the Wileys had taken to joking about the whole car-slamming-into-a-house thing. Beside me, Jim’s laugh sounded more like a cough.

“Well, we’re going to say hi to people,” Jim said, voice clipped. “Thanks for the drinks.” He took my hand and led me through the crowded room, into the kitchen.

I didn’t know what to say. Mostly I was still wondering about the whole boyfriend thing, but it didn’t seem like an appropriate time to ask. Jim glanced around the room, as if he was looking for a distraction.

“So that’s my dad,” he finally said.

I tried to smile carelessly. “Parents are fun, huh?” I wanted to tell him that it was a comment my mom probably would have made back before her nervous breakdown, thinking she was being funny or even helpful — a nice reminder to not screw up — and maybe she wouldn’t have even realized that it was obnoxious. But now she was Amelia Earhart and thought I was an amazing female pilot, so I couldn’t exactly tell him it got better. Besides, no matter what people said to make you feel better about your parents, it didn’t work. You still had to come home to them.

Jim grabbed an open party-size bag of chips. “Hungry?”

We leaned against the counter and munched on chips until Jim’s mom shooed us away, saying there were plenty of chips in a bowl in the living room, along with lots of other great snacks, so we could go binge on them if we wanted. In the hall, we ran into Will McNamee.

“Hey, dude, I was wondering where you were,” he said to Jim.

“Just avoiding people,” Jim said, and nodded at me. “You know Alex, right?”

I’d seen Will in school before, but I’d never talked to him. Jim’s friends seemed nice enough, but I liked having Jim all to myself and didn’t want to share him yet with people who might know him better.

Like Jim, Will was tall and had the build of a swimmer. His hair was dark and slicked with too much product. He wore a button-down shirt, untucked, and no tie.

Will studied me for a second. I wondered if Jim had told Will I was his girlfriend. “You used to be on the girls’ soccer team,” Will said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Freshman and sophomore year.”

“My girlfriend, Jess, was on the team with you.” He turned to Jim. “She’s coming tonight.”

They listed a few other people who were supposed to show up — a handful of seniors Jim sometimes sat with at lunch. My stomach churned. I’d thought it would just be relatives and neighbors, not a bunch of people from school. Did they think I was Jim’s girlfriend? Or some idiot who couldn’t drive? Had they seen my mom at school that day?

The rest of Jim’s friends showed up not long after Will. By the time everyone was there, Jim’s dad had drifted away from the card-table bar, giving Everett Brown the opportunity to swipe a bottle of vodka. Jim took a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke and a handful of cups, and we escaped into the basement.

We were an even number of guys and girls. Thankfully, Everett and Cameron Colby weren’t together; it was weird being around his friends in a dating capacity. I wondered if any of his friends knew about the room off the basement, where Jim had his artwork.