The Princess of Las Pulgas (31 page)

“I’m choosing a different
way,” Dad said. “I’m not quitting.” His breath came in short gasps.
“But, no more procedures”

The window reflected the
room behind me: Mom at Dad’s bed, Keith at the door, half in half
out.

“No.” Mom’s words were
muffled behind her fist. “Please. Please, don’t give
up.”

When I faced the room
again, Keith hadn’t moved from the doorway, but he’d turned his
back to us.

Dad had said one last thing
as we’d left him that night: “I’m deeply sorry.”

Now, so many months later,
standing at the door of Apartment 148, far from that hospital room,
I know what his apology really meant. He was accepting his death
and asking us to do the same. He was asking us not to . . . hate
him for leaving.

He’d heard Mom beg him to
stay. He’d seen Keith turn away. He’d seen me looking out the
window, not wanting to be there in that room.

I take a deep breath and
push open the door to Apartment 148 and step inside. But Mom and
Keith are too locked onto each other and don’t notice I’m there. I
like I’m just one more ghost in that room.

“Your father would be so
ashamed if he—”

“Don’t trot out Dad.” Keith
yells. “He’s dead. He doesn’t count.”

“You’re hideous!” I scream.
They notice me now, and I don’t care if the whole apartment complex
hears me. “Don’t say that!”

Keith whirls on me. “Cut
the crap, Carlie. You hate him for dying and leaving us in this
mess—just like I do. And you wanted it over, only you’re too Miss
Perfect to admit it.”

“Stop!” A sudden quiet
throbs in the air, and I can almost hear Mom’s interior dams
crumble as her words pour out of her.

“I haven’t—I . . . .Neither
of you is angrier about your father’s death than I am.” She covers
her face with her hands, then sinks onto the couch as if her bones
are melting. Her hands fall into her lap and she goes on. “Everyday
I battle hating what has happened to us. Everyday I battle not
resenting your dad, trying to hate the disease instead. He tried to
stay with us—I wanted him to keep fighting, but he couldn’t go on.
He begged me to give him permission to stop the treatments. And I
didn’t!”

She pauses, then says, “But
my lungs ached trying to breathe for him. I was relieved . . . when
it was over.” The expression that has baffled me for months streaks
across her face and is gone.

She’s said exactly what
I’ve been feeling—what I hadn’t wanted to admit. She’s shared
feelings that I thought were mine alone.

When she’s done talking,
Mom leaves. It’s more like she’s vanished from sight rather than
walked down the short hall to her room.

I expect Keith to rage at
me again, but even he has no energy left for more screaming, and he
closes himself in his mole hole bedroom once more.

I sit at the kitchen table
and put my head down on my arms. I think I understand how life
works now. One minute you’re alive; then, in the next one you’re
not. One minute you love someone deeply; then you hate them. One
minute you’re safe; then you’re in danger. Those swift endings and
beginnings linked forever. It’s these moments when you’re shunted
down a new path, a detour you’d never take if the world hadn’t
suddenly changed around you and forced you in a different
direction.

“Carlie love. Remember I said it’s human to
be angry about what’s happened.”

“I remember, Dad.”

I can almost feel a soft
touch, the weight of down brushing across my shoulders.

Chapter 49

Later when Mom comes into
the kitchen, her eyes still show signs of a long session of crying.
She strokes my hair and hugs me to her. “Are you okay?”

I don’t answer, but I hold
her tighter and that’s enough of a yes.

She pulls a covered bowl
from the refrigerator and takes out her crepe pan from under the
stove. “Here, “she says. “Take these to the car. I’ll go get
Keith.”

“You mean we’re still going
to Jeb’s?”

“He has dinner ready, and
he has another guest he’s invited especially for us. So, yes, we’re
going.”

I wait in the car and it
seems like forever, especially with the car clock never budging
from two forty-five. Finally the gate clangs shut behind Mom and
Keith, and, while their expressions aren’t happy, they aren’t
openly hostile, either. Maybe this afternoon has opened some
connecting doors for all of us. We’ve let out our guilt and our
anger, and hope those doors stay open.

When we arrive at the
orchard house Jeb greets us at the door with a bottle of champagne
in one hand. “You’re just in time,” he tells us.

We
follow
him
into
the
kitchen,
where
he
pops
the
cork
and
quickly
fills
three
long-stemmed
glasses.
“Keith,
pour
some
of
this
sparkling
cider
for
you
and
Carlie.”
He
pushes
another
bottle
across
the
table
and
Keith
pours
our
drinks.

“We
need
to
toast
our
guest
of
honor,
who’s
still
outside
exploring.”

I’m
wondering
who
the
guest
of
honor
might
be
when
Mr.
Smith,
dressed
in
jeans,
a
Las
Pulgas
T-shirt
and
tennis
shoes
comes
through
the
back
door.
“Mrs.
Edmund!
Carlie,
Keith.”
He
says,
greeting
us.
Then,
taking
the
champagne
from
Jeb,
he
lifts
his
glass
along
with
everybody
but
me.
I’m
speechless
and
still
recovering
from
seeing
my
elegant
teacher
dressed
like—like
a
Jeb
look-alike.

“To
one
of
my
oldest
and
best
friends,
Zacharia
Smith,”
Jeb
says.

Mr.
Smith
holds
up
his
glass
and
clinks
Jeb’s.
“It’s
been
much
too
long.”

“You’re
right
on
that
score,
considering
you
used
to
live
here
more
than
at
your
own
house.”

I look from one to the
other of them.
How can Mr. Smith and Jeb
Christopher be best friends?

“You’re
letting
my
past
loose
in
front
of
my
student,
Jeb.”
Mr.
Smith
says
and
looks
at
me.
“Jeb’s
father
was
my
probation
officer—or
you
might
say
my
guardian
angel.
He’s
the
person
I
told
you
about,
the
one
who
saw
a
speck
of
decency
underneath
my
well-cultivated
bad
behavior.”

Jeb
laughs
and
pats
Mr.
Smith
on
the
shoulder.
“He
saw
those
specks
in
both
of
us,
as
I
recall.
I
know
this’ll surprise all of you
since we’re now what Las Pulgas considers upstanding citizens, but
from the time we turned fourteen—”

“Ahem, make that
eleven.”

“Do we count swiping Mrs.
Patterson’s chickens?”

“What do you think?” Mr.
Smith asks.

“Okay, then. Eleven. And
when we were fourteen we landed in juvie together. The sheriff had
no sense of humor back then, either.” Jeb leans against the kitchen
counter and smiles at Mr. Smith.

It’s obvious they shared
something years ago, and they don’t need more than a word or two to
bring it back like it happened yesterday.

“It wasn’t a hanging
offense, but borrowing the sheriff’s car wasn’t much of a laughing
matter.” Mr. Smith shakes his head. “What we were
thinking?”

Now Jeb laughs. “That we
needed to get to the swimming pool to see those girls.
That’s
what we were
thinking.’ He sips from his glass. “My dad got ribbed about my
arrest, even after he quit the department and bought this ranch. I
never had even a slim chance to step outside the law again, either.
He saw to that.”

“I’m sure that’s why he
took me in. He was smart to put two bad monkeys in one cage where
he could keep an eye on us both at the same time.”

“Your mothers had to be
made of iron.” Mom’s got that arched eyebrow look now, hearing
these stories.

Jeb and Mr. Smith exchange
quick glances, as if they’re deciding how to respond. Finally, Mr.
Smith says, “No mothers, Mrs. Edmund. That’s what brought Jeb and
me together in the first place. Two kids left early on with only
their dads and a lot of anger.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.
I—”

Keith’s staring at his
feet, and I’m hoping the conversation will keep going. What I’ve
heard so far is amazing.

Jeb puts his half-full
glass on the table. “Come on. Let’s take a turn around the orchard
before dark. Sarah? Are you up for a walk before
dinner?”

Mom sets her crepe pan on a
burner. “No. I have crepes to make. So please don’t pester the
pastry chef.” As she adjusts the flame, the afternoon fades from
her face. “Try saying that three times.”

Jeb
laughs.
“Okay.
I
give
up.
Keith,
I’ll
show
you
what
I’ve
got
in
mind
for
your
summer
job.
And
Zach,
I
want
you
to
see
the
trees
I
put
in
where
the
old
barn
used
to
be.
Remember
when
you
tried
to
fly
off
the
roof?
Had
to
tear
it
down
before
it
collapsed.”
Jeb
holds
open
the
kitchen
door
and
they
head
out.

“You’ll
never
let
me
forget
that
flying
stunt,
will
you?”