The Naked Mole-Rat Letters (19 page)

On top of it all, there was the whole trick-or-treat thing. Beth wanted to go. I said no
because I felt too old. This is true—I do feel too old, and that makes me sad—but it's not the whole truth. The whole truth is that I was too depressed to go, but I couldn't explain that. So for the first time in the history of my life, I spent the night watching TV in the family room while Dad took Nutter and Skip trick-or-treating. When they got home, Skip tried to make up with me by giving me some of his candy. Big sacrifice. He had a whole pillowcase full.

Later, while Grandma was putting Nutter and Skip to bed, Dad came in and asked me if I would mind turning off the TV so that we could “talk.” He had this nice voice, but I could tell that he wasn't asking. Why do kids have to “talk” whenever grown-ups want? I hit the
OFF
button on the remote and promptly turned into a dead zombie.

“I spoke with Doris Trolly today,” he said brightly. “She said that you've had an excellent week at school. You paid for the library book. You did all your work and stayed focused.”

That's what a dead zombie does best, I thought.

He pulled over a chair and sat down. “And I was glad to hear that Beth came over today. I think that's a step in the right direction.”

Goody-goody. The dead zombie is stepping in the right direction.

“Look,” he said. “Tomorrow is the Fall Festival. I know what I said last Sunday about your not playing. But it only comes once a year, and it's such a special ritual, and I've been thinking—”

“I'm staying home tomorrow, Dad.”

“Staying home?” He sighed. “Frankie, what's going on? Ms. Trolly said—”

“Ms. Trolly can jump off a bridge.” I stood up.

“Sit back down, Frankie.”

I started walking away.

“Do
not
lock yourself in your room, Frankie. I'm warning you. I've let this go on for too long. We are going to sit down and talk about this in a calm, rational . . .”

I left his sentence dangling in midair. I ran upstairs and slammed my bedroom door.

A few seconds later he pounded on my door. “Open up, Frankie!”

I heard Grandma Jenny's voice. “Robert, what in heaven's name?”

“I'm having it out with Frankie, Mom. Just stay out of it.” He pounded again.

“I don't want to talk!” I shouted. “Leave me alone.”

“Unlock this door right now or else—”

“Or else what?”

Silence. Then I heard him marching down the stairs.

I sat on my beanbag chair and pulled my pillow on top of me. I could feel the fringe of the pillowcase brushing against my arm.

A few minutes later he came back and started making noise. My first thought was that he was adding a lock on the outside so that I couldn't get out. But then the sound of his electric screwdriver jolted the air, and the door started to wiggle.

“What are you doing?” I yelled.

The door wiggled more; and then Dad was standing there, holding the door in his hands.

“You can't take my door off.”

He set the door against the hallway wall. “I just did.”

The doorway looked big and naked and stupid without its door. It made me feel big and naked and stupid. “Put it back!” I yelled. “I should be allowed some privacy.”

“You can't lock yourself in this room and refuse to talk, Frankie. We are a family. We have to at least try to communicate.”

I threw myself on my bed and pulled the pillow over my face.

He sat on my bed. “Ms. Trolly suggested that we each have a turn to say everything we want to say.” He was out of breath. I guess ripping doors from their frames takes some effort. “When you're talking I promise to listen; and when I'm talking, you have to promise to listen. I think that sounds like a good idea. What do you think?”

“I think Ms. Trolly should win a goody-goody award for all her good ideas.”

“Stop it, Frankie. You're being mean and sarcastic. I'm trying to help here. You need to meet me halfway. Take that pillow off your face and look at me.”

I huffed and sat up.

“Thank you,” he said. “Now, do you want to go first or should I?”

“You seem ready to go.”

“All right.” He scooted back on my bed and crossed his legs, Indian style. Beth always goes on and on about how handsome my dad is. She likes his beard. He doesn't look handsome to me. He just looks like a dad, a highly annoying dad.

“Okay,” he said. “Here's what the last two weeks look like from my perspective.”

This was going to be fun.

“I come home from my trip to D.C., and everything's fine. Then strange things start to happen. First, you tell Mrs. Holmes that it's your birthday. Then you tell me that Mrs. Holmes has Alzheimer's.”

I forgot about that one.

“Then you refuse to be in the school play. Then you rip up a library book. Then you let Nutter eat half a cake. When I try to talk, you lock yourself in your room. When I threaten to hire a baby-sitter, you promise to watch Nutter more closely and pay for the book.
Meanwhile, everybody in Pepper Blossom is being extra nice to me because you told Mr. Haxer that I'm having a nervous breakdown.”

I wonder how he found out about that one.

“Then I find out that you've been accused of cheating, that you didn't pay for the book, that you haven't been doing your homework, and that you've been hanging out with Johnny Nye. You insist that you didn't cheat, that you've been working on your report, and that you haven't been hanging out with Johnny; and then you promise to pay for the book. I think all is well. The very next day I get four phone calls at work. I hear that you're hiding in the nurse's office, that you went to Johnny Nye's trailer—”

“I told you—”

“It's my turn to talk, Frankie. When I'm done, then you can say whatever you want.”

I bit my lip so hard it almost bled. It was horrible hearing a list of my sins. It was like each one was a dart, and I was the dartboard. Why was he just listing
my
sins? Why not his? Why not Nutter's? Why not Skip's?

“I also hear that you ditched school the week before,” he continued. “But we never get to talk about these issues because Nutter runs away from home and you set the kitchen on fire.”

“I didn't set—”

“Then you basically lock yourself in your room again. You won't talk. You won't look me in the eye. You glare at Skip. You ignore Nutter. And I hear that you won't even talk to your best friend.” He sighed. “Now, like I said, I'm glad to see some improvement. You helped Nutter with his Halloween costume. That was very nice. And you seem to have patched things up with Beth. But I'm still very, very worried.”

I was so angry I was shaking. “You don't understand.”

“I know I don't!” he said. “I don't understand any of it. But I want to understand, so please explain it.”

Everything that had happened, all the things he listed and more were exploding in my head like bombs. How could I explain? I pulled the pillow back on top of me.

“Come on, Frankie. Let it out.”

I was afraid that if I started to talk, I'd cry.

“I want to hear whatever you want to say, Frankie. And I promise I'll listen.”

The way he said it reminded me of The Troll. I smacked the pillow against the wall. “You don't want to know what I have to say. You don't care about me. You don't ever listen to me. You don't ever believe me.”

“How can I believe you when you've been avoiding me and lying to me and keeping secrets?”

“You've been avoiding me, too. You've been lying and keeping secrets. You even ditched, didn't you? You ditched your meetings to be with Ayanna. Why haven't you said anything about her, Dad? When I asked you who the dulcimer is for, why did you say, ‘Nobody special'? What were you planning to do, move us to Washington? Or let her move in here and change everything that Mom did? Did you ever think that I might not want to move or share my life with somebody I don't even know?”

My dad's face went as blank as a white
sheet. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. Neither of us said anything for a minute. I was still shaking, not so much from anger anymore as from the shock of having said so much so fast. The air in the room felt different. It was as if I had blasted through a huge barrier that had been between us, only I couldn't tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing. I pulled the pillow into my lap so that there'd be something between us again.

“I don't know why I didn't tell you about Ayanna,” he finally said. “It was all so new, and it was all happening so quickly. I didn't know what to say.”

“So you didn't say anything?”

He opened his eyes and looked at me, really looked at me. “You're right, Frankie. I was avoiding you and keeping secrets. I should have talked to you about it. But I didn't know where it was going, and it felt awkward. How could I tell my daughter that I was falling in love?” His voice started to fall apart. His eyes filled with tears. “I never thought I'd have to. I never thought I'd lose your mom.”

I couldn't look at him. I closed my eyes and pressed the pillow against my face and chest.

“Frankie, do you know how much I loved your mom? She was the wonder of the world. She could make me laugh so hard that my face hurt for weeks. I miss her every day. I'll never stop missing her.” I could tell he was crying by the sound of his voice. “Don't you know that?”

I couldn't breathe, but it wasn't from the pillow. It was from the lump in my throat.

He reached over and gently pulled the pillow away. Tears were streaming down his face. “I would never ask someone to marry me before you had the chance to meet her, Frankie. I would never let anybody move in here and change everything that Mom did. I love you, Frankie. Do you believe me?”

I nodded.

He hugged me so tight that I could feel his heart beating, and he didn't let go. He smelled like a tree. His beard was wet against my ear.

I didn't breathe or move or blink. I held myself still because I was afraid that if I started
to cry, I would never stop. Over his shoulder I saw the glow-in-the-dark stars dangling from the ceiling above my bed. They glistened and danced because I was seeing them through all the tears that I was busy trying to keep from pouring out of my eyes. In a rush I remembered all the nights that Mom and I would lie together and look up at those stars and talk. I remembered the way her laugh always sounded like wind blowing through curtains, and I couldn't hold it in anymore. I started to cry, and Dad held me tighter.

“I miss her so much,” I cried.

“What do you miss most?”

“I miss the way you guys used to stand in my doorway every night and sing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle' in harmony.”

We cried for a while together. Then he asked me if I could breathe and I had to laugh.

We both sat back and wiped our faces. It crossed my mind that Grandma and Nutter and Skip probably heard everything. I didn't care.

It must have crossed Dad's mind, too, because he yelled out, “Mom, Skip, Nutter . . . get
in here right now. We have something to talk about.”

Nutter and Skip appeared in the open doorway in their pajamas, looking like two lost sheep. Grandma Jenny's eyes were all teary, and she was blowing her nose.

“Come on in,” Dad said. He opened his arms, and Nutter scampered onto his lap. Skip sat down right where he was, and Grandma perched on the bed.

“As you probably heard, Frankie and I were talking about how much we miss your mom,” he said to Skip and Nutter.

“I miss her, too,” Skip said.

He was sitting with his knees hugged to his chest, half in and half out of my room, looking very alone.

“What do you miss most, Skip?” Dad asked.

“I miss the way she'd always be waiting for me at the flagpole after school. I miss walking with her. She always told jokes.”

I thought about how fast Skip always runs home now, how much in a hurry he always seems to be.

Dad reached over and pulled Skip in for a hug.

“I don't even know what to miss,” Nutter wailed. “I don't have any rememories.”

Grandma leaned forward. “I remember when you were born, Nutter. You got the hiccups right away, and they wouldn't stop. You were just this little round bundle with big brown eyes, going
hiccup, hiccup, hiccup
.”

Nutter grinned.

“And that's when your mother nicknamed you. What a little Nutter, she said. She loved you so much. She loved all of you so much.”

Nutter jumped up and hugged her.

“Now, I want all of you to hear this so that there aren't any misunderstandings,” Dad said. “I went on a few dates with a woman in Washington, D.C.”

This was news to Grandma. Her eyebrows jumped way up.

“The naked mole-rat lady,” Nutter explained.

Dad laughed. “Her name is Ayanna Bayo. She is the keeper of the naked mole-rats at the National Zoo. It was very nice. And who
knows, someday I might go on another date with somebody else. But if I do, that doesn't mean I'm going to get married. I promise that from now on I'll let you guys know if I start to date anyone. And I want you to know that you can ask me anything, anytime.”

“Are you going to marry The Troll?” Nutter asked.

Dad laughed. “No, I'm not going to marry Doris Trolly. Boy, you guys have wild imaginations.”

“Well, she wants to marry you,” Skip said.

“She does not,” Dad scoffed.

“Oh, yes she does,” Grandma said, and we all looked at her, surprised.

Dad turned red. I don't think I'd ever seen him blush.

Grandma smiled at me and said, “Men are always the last to know.”

Dad stood up. “Well, now that we've got that all cleared up, I think it's time for you boys to get to bed. Remember, tomorrow's the festival, so we're getting up
before
dawn. Come on. Mom and Frankie, we're going to sing.”