The Story of Us (34 page)

“Cricket!” you moaned. “Look!” You set your palms up toward that incredible sky. “Be here now.”

You were right, of course. I’d built up all that angst like a wall between me and you and my family.
It was handy—a PROBLEM I could focus on so I didn’t have to feel all of these feelings. I knew I should give it a rest, at least then, that night, or else, even
those
last times together would pass too fast. I stared into your eyes, those same eyes I’d been looking into for years. I just wanted an answer so bad.

You took a big breath. You stepped into my question and need and you filled it.

“Cricket,” you said. “You know, maybe we should just get married.”

I sucked in my breath—shocked. What I saw was, you meant it. We’d joked and talked aboutit countless times. Named our six kids, pretended we were old people who’d been together for years. But this time you
meant
it. You set it out there on that dock, under those stars, as a real possibility. An option. A choice we could make.

And I panicked.

I thought,
Wait. Oh, shit. Is this some moment, here?
Were you going to take out a ring from your
pocket? But that didn’t happen. It was just you and me, talking about what could happen if we wanted it to.

And, here’s where … I know I’ve apologized a million times. But have I really explained? Have you really heard?

I laughed.

I laughed and then the words jumped out: “No
way
,” I said.

God. God, Janssen. Words. Words, and their power and their permanence.

I understood how bad it was right away. How cruel. Your eyes—they were hurt. So openly hurt. I’d never seen you look like that. You got up, strode off. I called out, “Wait!” I followed a moment later, after I stared out to the little houses with their golden lights and said
shit, shit, shit
out loud to all the night creatures who might be listening. All the crickets and owls who’d cringed when a thoughtless girl broke a wonderful guy’s heart. I’ve said it to you a hundred times before, and I know all the things
those two words were saying to you, but I was just surprised, Janssen. You’d set it out there like it was a possible, practical thing. But no one does that anymore, you know, gets married so young? That’s where my reaction came from. No one talks like that, makes a decision like that at our age anymore. Grandma did it, but we don’t. We don’t, because forever is hard enough without it beginning now.

I’m so sorry I hurt you like that. Janssen. I am.

When I got to the car, you were already sitting inside silently. You drove me home silently, dropped me off silently. We didn’t know there could be all this silent, dangerous territory of
unspoken
between us, did we? We didn’t know that words could do that kind of damage.

Humans, with our comments thrown like spears, or even just our fumbling, offhand talk, our careless laughter—maybe we should have been the ones sentenced to wordless communications and tail wags. We should have been the ones.

You said in your letter that you loved me as much as ever. That you missed me so much it hurt. That
I wasn’t at the Sea-Tac Airport, and neither were you, yet.

Yet
.

That dog, the one who understands three hundred words—I think even he can hear the one that matters most.

Love always,

Cricket

“Oscar! My God. What did you do that for?” I yelled.

“You didn’t …
want
that?” Oscar’s face went from triumphant to confused. He stuck his hands into his pockets, rattled around some loose change like we were two strangers having an awkward moment in an elevator.

Grandpa and George were hurrying inside; Rebecca was rushing around, using words like “tetanus shot” and “antiseptic.” “George and I … We have something to tell you. I’ll explain later!” Grandpa said over his shoulder.

The doors shut behind them. “Are you gay?” Gram shrieked toward Grandpa’s disappearing back. Subtlety wasn’t her strong suit. “All these years?”

“Mom!” my mother said. “Mom, stop that right now!” She was getting a little hysterical.

“Perhaps he’s one of those bisexuals,” I heard Mrs. Jax say somewhere behind me. “My friend Marguerite’s boy was one. She told me when she was on those pain pills.”

“I thought we had a
moment
,” Oscar said. “That night of the party. You put your head on my shoulder. I thought you cared.”

“Of course I care! I’ve always cared! You’re one of my best friends.” I was getting a little hysterical too.

Next to us Gavin and Hailey were going at it again. I flinched at the glimpse of dueling tongues doing a scene from
Robin Hood
with pink swords.

Oscar looked their way too. “I guess I was just hoping for … something
big
. Something to
change
.”

“I’m not the one, Oscar. I’m not.”

“Okay.” He accepted this without drama. Jesus. I got the feeling he’d be more upset if he lost his wallet.

“But maybe Natalie is.”

“Natalie?”

“She’s cared about you
that
way for years.”

“She has?” His eyes got wide. So wide, I might have just told him that Bill Gates himself wanted to be his personal pen pal. E-mail pal. Whatever. “I would’ve thought she was out of my league.”

Oh, and I wouldn’t have been? But there was no time for that. Hits to the self-esteem would have to wait. “So, something big, right? Bigger than you thought, even,” I said. “But, God, now she thinks …”

“Hey, Crick, not to be rude, but I gotta—”

“Go. Go! For God’s sake,” I said.

He dashed inside. That stupid music was still playing, but Dan now sat in a deck chair, his head in his hands, and Aunt Hannah had her arms around Mom’s shoulders, saying,
For all we know, George could be his long-lost son
, and Aunt Bailey was fanning herself with her hand. The wind was picking up out there—Rebecca’s wind chimes started going wild, and the lanterns strung above began to swing. Ben came over to me, eating a chicken leg. How anyone could eat at a time like this was beyond me.

“I told you,” he said.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” I said.

I needed to find Ash. I needed to fix something I could fix. What he’d said—it was a misunderstanding with the clearest explanation. What he saw—well, Oscar was only the fourth boy to kiss me ever. If it even counted. Will Maxwell, sixth grade. Out by the 7-Eleven after that thrilling field trip to the Woodland Park Zoo, when our parent helpers were still inside, fitting caps onto spilling-over Slurpee cups. Josh Gardens, after a homecoming dance. Janssen, of course. And then Ash.

I went inside, tried to avoid seeing anyone. I headed straight for the stairs. I only wanted to talk to Ash. Right then every relationship in my life felt weighted with complexities and communications gone wrong. Stories were where meaning ended up, stories could heal, but stories too had different viewpoints. Layered motivations. Subplots you didn’t know existed.

So of course I ran into Grandpa on the stairs. Maybe I didn’t know him anymore, or maybe I never had.

“Cricket!” he said. “I think George will be okay. The scratches aren’t deep. It’s a miracle.” It was Grandpa’s voice coming out of Grandpa, but it was a man standing there. Not just a funny golfing caricature in a cowboy hat, but a man with a life led over the years. He had pouches under his eyes, and his gray hair was thin where that bold hat usually sat. His eyes were blue, like Mom’s. Maybe I never even could have told you what color they were before. I probably never really looked at them. I could see his old pink skin in the open collar of his polo shirt. He’d been in the marines years ago. He’d been a young father, who held my mother in a baby blanket.

“I guess you’re relieved.” I didn’t know what to say.

“Relieved, hell, yes. I could just see it. Him getting some disease. Tetanus, turning to sepsis, hospital, deathbed. Him kicking off … Goddamn. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do, but I got my whole future wrapped up in this thing.”

I was listening, trying to listen. I felt so embarrassed. Grandpa and George, really? But something felt off. It wasn’t exactly how you talked about a relationship. “This thing?” I said.

“With George. I’m afraid to even tell everyone. They’ll think I’m an old fool. But we’ve got a secret. I guess everyone will know sometime or other. George and I—we’re building a golf course.”

“A golf course? A golf course!”

“I don’t want to hear it. I know it’s crazy. But George has got a lot of money in this, and I do too. We bought some property out in Carnation. We’re looking for other investors. The family, they’re all going to lose their minds when they hear it. They will. I know how risky it is. Me, this close to retiring! But hell, do you know something?”

“What?” I said.

“I hated the insurance business. Every damn day I hated it. But I was scared.”

“You were? You were scared?” It didn’t seem possible.

“On the ranch, growing up? We were poor. My father? Always poor. Making ends meet. Insurance business, see? I had this paycheck, and I wasn’t going to give that up. I kept imagining me without a job, all of us on the street, no food, sick, who knew. Some disaster out there … But look at me, I’m old. If I don’t take a risk now, when the hell am I going to? I’ve always dreamed of something like this.”

A golf course. That stupid ass Ben was wrong all along. “That day, when you and George went golfing. You came back all …” I spun my hand around. “A mess.”

“Don’t ever get in a golf cart with that guy, I’m telling you. Crazy! We wanted to talk to a few people, see the grounds. But he can’t steer worth shit. Talking, looking over his shoulder—Jesus, we had to bail at the sand trap on the ninth hole. Drop and roll—I thought he was going to get us killed.”

“I’m glad you were all right.”

“Believe me, I don’t want anything to happen
now
. Have
some heart attack, whatever. I wake up every morning and feel
purpose
. I feel
meaning
. Well, Munchkin, I guess I better break the news and face the music. You know how this family is. Knowing them, they probably think George is my long-lost son or some damn thing.”

I kept my mouth shut again. But inside I felt like singing. Grandpa Shine, he was cutting those balloon strings, and he was going to fly. I never even knew he had balloon strings of his own. I hugged him. I hugged him so hard. He was the same old Grandpa, the golf shirt under my hands, his cologne smell. The man with the big laugh who always gave the biggest toys under the tree. Who sang country music at the top of his lungs (painfully, too), who roped cattle when he was a kid—we saw him do it in those pictures. But he was new, too. Stories took twists and turns down fairy-tale paths or down very human everyday ones. You think you’re at the end of the book, and it’s only the end of a chapter.

I climbed the stairs. I needed to see Ash. On the third floor I saw Ash’s closed door, but I had no idea if he was in there or not. I thought I was alone in that hall. The commotion downstairs sounded far away. The stillness up there made me step quietly, the way quiet asks for more quiet, the way you whisper sometimes in a forest. I crept down the hall, listening for guitar strings or rustling in Ash’s room, but I heard nothing.

But I was wrong about being alone. All at once, and loudly
wrong
.

“What are you doing?”

Ted. Ted and Rebecca’s bedroom door was open. He was shouting.

“Nothing.” Rebecca.

“Are you
hiding
?”

“It’s crazy down there. Please.”

“You’re
smoking
again.”

“I’m sorry!”

“You think I won’t know? Jesus! How much of that stuff do you have? Where’d you get all that? You stockpiling in case of a
war
?”

I was frozen there, in that hallway. I tried to move, but the floor creaked under my feet.