The Winner's Game (7 page)

“Ah, moving up to the big leagues. How about Ann?”

“She'll be a senior.”

He grins. “Me too. And how long are you guys in town?”

Cade looks at me for a moment, like he's trying to see how he should respond. “Well, I guess we're staying until my sister gets her new—”

“Schedule!” I shout. “Until I get a new schedule for my senior year.”

The boy rightfully looks confused. “Why do you need to wait here for your schedule?”

“Well…yeah, I mean…I didn't like the first one they gave me, so I asked for a new one…and this is where they're mailing it.”

There's a hint of doubt in his eyes, but all he says is, “Huh.”

“The thing is,” I continue, now in full ramble mode, “we own a beach house here and stuff, and so we weren't sure where we were going to be exactly, so we told them to mail my schedule here, which means we're sort of stuck here until it comes, because we don't want it to get lost in the mail or anything. Once it comes, we'll head back to Portland. That could be at the very end of the summer, though…maybe.”

A wide grin splits his face. “Wow, that's a long time…maybe. You know, if you guys want, I can show you around when I'm not working. There's more to do in Cannon Beach than people think.”

“Cool,” Cade says.

But I shake my head adamantly. “We've got a lot going on. I'm sure we're going to be very busy this summer.”

He nods. “I understand. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me. I'm here weekdays from ten to four, and Saturdays from nine to one. Other than that, I'm completely free, and will probably be bored out of my mind.”

Is he serious? Did he seriously invite me—well…us—to hang out with him this summer? Does he not understand that I'm not like him? I'm not cool, and sporty, and perfect.

“We should probably get going,” I blurt out. “Can I just have a mint fudge and a milk-chocolate cluster? Oh, and maybe a dipped pretzel stick for my sister.”

“Sure, Ann.” He starts collecting our items. “I'm Tanner, by the way. Rich.”

“Wow,” I say sarcastically. “Good for you. You're
rich
. Is that supposed to impress me?”

For a second Tanner is like a deer in the headlights, but then he starts cracking up.

Cade laughs too. “I think that's his last name, Ann.”

Now Tanner is beaming again. “You think I'd spend my summer working here if I was loaded? Let me try again. ‘Sure, Ann. By the way, I'm Tanner Rich. First name Tanner, last name Rich.'”

“Oh,” I reply sheepishly. “Sorry, I just…sorry.” I pull out my wallet and ask him how much I owe.

“It's on the house. Store policy. First-time visitors get five free samples.”

I quickly count our items. “We have six.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. The policy is the first six.”

“You seriously aren't going to let us pay? Won't you get in trouble?”

He winks. “If you're worried about it, just buy extra the next time you come in the store to make up for it.”

“And what if we don't come back?”

“That would be a shame.” He hands me the bag of treats. “Don't forget, I'll gladly show you around town if you want.”

He invited me—us—again!

“And don't forget,” I say stupidly, “we have big plans this summer. We're going to be very busy.” On that note, I turn and exit the store without looking back.

On the way home, I'm seething. Gone are the happy, alive feelings from earlier. Once again, Cade can tell that something is up.

“What's the matter?”

“What do you think? I'm
soooo
lame.”

“Yeah, so what's new?”

“Oh shut up.”

“Sorry. Why are you lame this time?”

I try threatening him with my mad face, but it's no use, because I'm not really mad at him. I'm mad at me, and me alone. In frustration, I withdraw my block of mint fudge from the bag and bite off half of it. After swallowing, I lick my lips before replying. “I guess I just thought…here at the beach and stuff…and I was like all energized and feeling good…but then it's like nope.”

“Ah,” Cade says, even though he probably has no clue what I'm talking about.

“Still just as boring as ever.”

Now he understands. “Totally. No wonder you've never been kissed.”

“Oh shut up,” I hiss again, then I punch him in the arm for good measure.

“I'm telling Mom!”

“Go ahead. You'll just get in trouble for making me mad.” I know it's unfair that I use my parents' sympathy for me against my siblings, but sometimes I just can't help it.

He rubs his shoulder and sighs. “You're right. You really are lame.”

When we get home, I head straight upstairs and flop on my bed. Bree wants to know what's wrong, but I ignore her. Then I cry myself to sleep.

When I wake up, I am all alone in the room. From my bed, I glance at the door. It is closed, but I can see myself staring back at me in the full-length mirror that hangs on the back of the door. I used to love mirrors, but nowadays I could really do without them. Not that I don't need them to do my hair and stuff, but I hate how honest mirrors are. This one, in particular, is brutally honest; when I'm changing my clothes, it shows me more than I want to see.

I see the scars, and I hate how they make me feel.

Usually I can make myself forget my flaws, but when I see myself in the mirror, it's impossible to ignore them.

I'm sure if Tanner saw me as I see myself in that mirror, he would be repulsed. If he knew anything about the fact that I'm waiting for a new heart, he would never have offered to hang out with me this summer.

I lay in bed for a few minutes after waking up, still lamenting my lameness at the candy store. Then Bree pops in to check on me. Seeing that I'm awake, she says she's getting in the bathtub. With the room to myself, I get up and cross to that mirror.

The stupid, awful, brutally honest, full-length, impossible-to-ignore mirror.

I lock the door, just to make sure Cade doesn't come in unannounced. Then I lift my shirt to my chin, examining my hideous red scar for the millionth time. I trace it from my collarbone to my sternum, feeling the fleshy ripple of skin beneath my finger.

I hate this mirror! I hate all mirrors.

But mostly…I hate scars.

The funny thing about scars, though, is that not all of them can be seen. I don't just mean because they're beneath clothes, like mine. I mean because they're deeper than that. They're ingrained on the heart, or etched in the soul.

Later in the evening, while we're at a restaurant, I am reminded that my parents probably have scars too—things about themselves that they don't particularly like anymore. At first the dinner is going fine, but then the scars of their relationship start to itch and swell.

The first thing I notice is that Mom isn't smiling. I guess I wasn't paying close enough attention to their conversation, because I was too busy watching a seagull dipping and diving around the kites outside, but whatever Dad said to her, it's not sitting well at all.

And her pouty silence isn't sitting well with him either. My ears perk up when he says, “That's it? You're going to stop talking now?”

“We're in a restaurant, Dell. I don't want to talk about it here.”

“What's to talk about? This has been the plan for several weeks now.”

“I just thought…now that we're here, you might like to stay. At least a few days.”

“I'll be here on the weekend, Emily. We both agreed that a little space will do us some good right now.”

“You agreed.”

“Fine! If you want to pin this on me, go ahead. I don't want to argue with you anymore. If we're not together, at least we can't fight.” He looks around the table. “Kids, before you ask…no, this doesn't mean we're getting a divorce. We just…need some space. And this summer is going to allow that.”

Mom checks her watch. “Well, you better hop in the car and get going, then. No time like the present to give you the space you need.”

“The space
WE
need, Emily.”

That's when Mom starts crying. They aren't big tears, like you might get from a brand-new wound. They're just the misty little drops you'd expect from scratching an old scar. “Just go,” she whispers. “We're close enough to walk back. We'll see you on the weekend.”

He throws two twenties on the table and leaves without saying good-bye.

“You OK, Mom?” I ask as soon as Dad is gone.

“Yes,” she replies softly. “Let's go.”

Like I said, Mom and Dad have scars.

Cade and Bree probably have scars too, just from listening to Mom and Dad fight, or from dealing with me for the past year and a half.

And me?

I'm the queen of scars. Chest, heart, and soul…

I
T'S LATE.
Past my bedtime on a normal night. But Dad left tonight, so Mom's been kinda letting us do our own thing. The girls are both upstairs. Last I checked, Bree was sketching in her art pad, and Ann was writing in her journal-diary thingy. Maybe they're both asleep by now.

I've been alone watching the fuzzy television. Mom's been tucked away in her bedroom, probably reading. Eventually she peeks out and says it's time to go to bed. “You're sleeping in my room tonight, right, Cade? Dad's bed is all made up for you.”

I'm old enough that I like sleeping by myself, but not so old or dumb that I would turn down a comfortable twin mattress over Grandma's old couch, even if that mattress is in the same room as my mom. “I guess so.”

Actually, I'm not really ready for bed yet, but I can't tell her that. How do I tell her that I'm superworried about her and Dad? How do I explain the bazillion things I was worried about while I was watching that lousy TV for the past two hours?

No, there's too much on my mind to go to sleep, but I can't talk to my mom about it, so I just lie awake in the dark for a long, long time. I wish I could turn my brain off. I keep replaying the things my mom and dad have said to each other lately. All their fights and stuff. I don't like thinking about it, but it's hard not to.

What's happening to our family?
It's like every bad thing possible is going on at once. We've all been worried about Ann for a really long time; worried that she might not make it. And now I have to worry that my parents might not make it either. If they split up, it will probably feel just as awful as Ann dying. It already feels awful sometimes, like when they're yelling at each other. Or worse, ignoring each other.

Maybe the death of a marriage is just as bad as the death of a person. Maybe it's actually worse, because when someone dies, you still love them, love the memories. But when parents divorce, the love is gone. Not buried, just gone.

I wish there was a surgery or something—medicine, maybe—that could fix marriage problems!

My best friend, Sam, his parents got divorced last year. He gets way more presents now than he used to because his dad likes to send him stuff when he's not around, which is pretty cool, but Sam gets sad a lot too, because he doesn't get to see his dad very often. Right now, my dad is gone too. Not for good, like Sam's dad, but he's not with the family at the beach, which still bites.

I wish he was here. I wish he was sleeping in this bed instead of me. I'd gladly sleep on the couch for the rest of my life if it meant that my parents were happy and not fighting.

When Ann first got sick—back when she almost died—I told my dad it wasn't fair. He agreed and told me that life isn't fair. Well, he's right. And the fact that he and Mom can't just get along and be happy is the most unfair of all. Life isn't fair.

Nothing's fair.

There's a nightstand with a lamp and a phone on it separating my bed from Mom's, kind of like in hotel rooms. Even though I'm not right next to her, I can tell that Mom isn't sleeping either. Every so often she rolls over, or sighs, or makes little whimpering noises. At one point I wonder if the whimpering has turned to crying, but the sound of it is muffled by waves crashing on the beach.

My eyes finally start getting heavy right about the time the bedroom door opens. “Mom? You still awake?”

It's Bree.

“Of course, honey. Come in. What's going on?”

“I can't sleep. Ann has the lights on.”

“Why is she still awake?”

“She's writing in her diary.”

“Ah. Well, that's important too. You want to cuddle with me for a while?”

Bree's dark form crawls over Mom to the nightstand-side of her bed, making the bedsprings squeak. A minute later she asks the very thing I've been thinking since dinner: “I know Dad said you guys aren't getting a divorce, but…?”

Mom doesn't answer right away. “We want to avoid that at all costs, Bree. Marriage just…isn't always easy.”

“Why not?”

“It's complicated.”

“I'm almost fourteen, Mom. Cade might not understand, but I would.”

I'm dying to tell her I heard that, but I'm not sure they realize I'm still awake, so I figure it's better to kept quiet, or Mom might clam up.

“I don't want you to worry, sweetheart. We'll be fine.”

That doesn't satisfy Bree. “Is it because of Ann? You guys didn't used to fight so much before she got sick.”

A heavy silence fills the darkness for a moment. Then Mom says, “Having her sick has certainly put an added strain on things, but it's not Ann's fault. It's nobody's fault but mine and your father's. I think somewhere along the line we've forgotten how to love.”

I can't keep quiet any longer. “You mean you don't love Dad anymore?”

She doesn't seem surprised that I'm awake. “No, Cade. I love your father. And I think he still loves me too. But there is a difference between loving someone, and
loving
someone. Does that make sense?”

“No.”

She takes another moment to think. “You know what a noun is, right?”

Does she think I'm a second-grader?
“Of course. Person, place, or thing.”

“Good. And what's a verb?”

“An action word,” says Bree.

“Exactly. Well, love is both. A noun—a feeling that you have—and also a verb, the way we show someone we love them. Right now, I think your father and I still feel the noun, but we've lost sight of how to live the verb.”

I don't completely understand what she just said, but I get the basic idea. Bree seems to get it too. “So what happens to your noun,” she asks, “if you don't start figuring out how to verb? Does the noun eventually go away?”

“I don't know, Bree,” comes the sad reply. “I just don't know.”