My Life as a Book (16 page)

I squeeze in next to my mom. “It wasn't my fault—that's good news, right? You should be happy.”

My father agrees and tells Mom they can talk about it later. Even though she's upset, she thanks Lauren and buys some jewelry, almost like she's paying her back for finally giving her the truth.

Mom is crying as she hugs Lauren good-bye. When we get ready to leave, Lauren grabs me.

“This is a gift.” She holds out the leather necklace with the shells and feathers I was looking at earlier. “Wear it when you skateboard.”

“Maybe it'll bring me a message from the gods.”

She smiles. “Sometimes all you can hope for is a good ride.” She fastens it around my neck, then holds me out to admire the necklace. I take her words and her feathers as a kind of all-weather gear to wrap around me in a storm.

I hug Lauren good-bye even though I don't have to, then catch up to my parents. They're standing beside the car, and my mom's still crying.

“We're going to visit Madeline James a day early,” she says. “I feel so betrayed. This time
I'm
the one who wants some answers.”

My father shoots me an expression that says,
Look what you've gotten us into now.

When my father asks my mother to reconsider, her answer is an outburst of anger and hurt. I'd give anything to rewind to the day I found that newspaper article.
What was I thinking?

Mrs. James's house is surrounded by roses, and I suddenly wonder how Carly's doing at Learning Camp. And just like our visit to Carly's, I ask my mother if I can wait in the car.

“You started this,” my mom says. “You might as well see how it ends.”

Mrs. James meets us in the garden. She's wearing green boots, tan shorts, and a bright pink shirt. Even though her hair is very blond, she looks much older than my parents. “I didn't expect you until tomorrow! But please come in.”

She seems touched to finally meet us and gives my mother a hug. Mom wears the same pinched expression she has when my uncle Bob visits with a new girlfriend.

Mrs. James bends down to shake my hand. “And you must be Derek. Let's get you some lemonade.”

We follow her to the kitchen, where she takes a pitcher from the fridge. The half slices of lemon float in the container like sunny smiles; I wonder if they'll change to frowns after Mom gives Mrs. James a piece of her mind. Even though Mrs. James lied all those years about the facts of her daughter's death, I pray Mom doesn't let her see the anger she displayed in the car. My father looks as worried as I do.

The walls are filled with unframed photos of Susan in a giant collage that reminds me of the photos of patients in Mom's office. I tug Mom's sleeve and point to the collage, but her mind is focused on this decade-long injustice.

“Susan would've been twenty-eight next week.” Mrs. James runs her finger with its bright pink nail across the photo of her daughter holding a cat.

“About that day—” my mother begins.

Mrs. James turns toward my mother, and the earth stops spinning on its axis—or at least that's how it seems to me. Mrs. James's eyes are filled with such sadness, they actually halt the words coming out of my mother's mouth. No matter what Mrs. James made up about Susan's heroism, the woman lost her daughter, and judging by the look in her eyes, it might as well have been yesterday.

I've never seen my mom struggle the way she does now. She stares at her feet, shakes her head, and after a few moments, looks up.

“Susan sounds like a wonderful girl,” Mom says. “Please tell us more.”

And just like that, Mrs. James's face lights up, and she shows us pictures of Susan at her dance recital, Susan with her grandparents in Germany, Susan and the child she tutored after school. No one interrupts her and we nod with enthusiasm as Mrs. James goes from photo to photo. My mother puts her arm on mine for just a second, then turns her attention back to Mrs. James. In all the movies I've watched, I don't think I've seen anyone make a bigger sacrifice than Mom makes today. When we leave a few hours later, my mother and Mrs. James hug for a long time.

As we pull out of the driveway, my mom stares out the window. “Are we done with the story of Susan James?” she finally asks.

“It's official. That story is closed,” I say. “But there's a new one that needs our immediate attention.”

When she turns in her seat to face me, she's smiling. “And what's that?”

“When do we eat?”

Mom tries to grab me, but I slide across the seat toward Bodi.

“I guess Mom picked the right dog when she rescued Bodi from the shelter all those years ago,” Dad says.

I nod but the truth is that Lauren's story doesn't make me love Bodi more. Not because I don't appreciate that he saved my life, but because it's impossible for me to love him one bit more than I already do. I'm his Calvin and he's my Hobbes—always has been, always will be.

Bodi lies on my lap, belly up, and I rub him vigorously. “You had my diaper in your mouth, you dirty dog. I hope it wasn't full of poop.” He meets my eyes as if to say,
I would've saved you anyway, you big knucklehead.

The next day, something is bothering me, but I can't figure out what. As my parents read the paper and drink coffee on the porch, I realize what's been nagging at me.

“Okay, I know I said the story of Susan James is officially closed, but there's one more thing we have to do before we leave the island.”

My father's head drops like he's been hit in the back of the neck with a basketball. My mother ignores me and keeps reading.

“We have to go to South Beach. It's where it all happened.”

“Too many memories,” Dad says. “Not to mention crowded.”

“How about if we go early?” I ask. “Just for a few minutes. Please?”

My mother puts down her newspaper. “Does it ever end?”

“Yes. Today, I promise.”

Margot's way of visualizing a book as if it's a movie, my flip-o-rama drawings, and Michael's animation of my vocabulary words have sort of changed the way I think about stories. Not seeing South Beach when we're on Martha's Vineyard seems like a missing frame in the life of Susan James.

My mother is silent for several minutes. “I actually think it's a good idea. Let's go now before it gets too hot.”

“And crowded,” my dad says again.

I ask if Bodi can come, but Mom says dogs aren't allowed on the beach during summer hours. Lucky for me, Susan James disregarded those rules ten years ago.

We pack water bottles, sunscreen, and snacks, and head across the island.

Dad parks along the side of the road and we walk to the right where Lauren said she and Susan went that day. Walking so far in the deep sand is difficult, so we move to the shoreline, where the packed wet sand makes it easier.

After we pass the last lifeguard, we go on for several minutes more. The waves are bigger than other beaches we've been to on this trip; I actually jump at the noise one of them makes when it crashes beside me.

My father grabs my mother's hand, and we keep walking. After a while, my parents stop and face the water. The landscape is beautiful, but it's hard not to think about what happened here. I take a deep breath and say good-bye to Susan James. Mom grabs my hand; the ocean view is infinite.

“Next stop, Portugal,” my father says.

I throw some rocks into the water and think about Mrs. James struggling to go through daily activities like weeding her garden or taking out the trash because of a bad decision her daughter made all those years ago. I'm certainly not the only one who'd want to rewind back to that day and make some different choices. Thankfully, I'm spared from all this thinking when my mother's cell goes off with its Pink Panther ringtone.

She turns away from the water to take the call, and I can tell by her face something's wrong. Has something happened to Bodi or Grandma or Matt or Michael or Pedro?

I jump in circles around Mom when I hear her say, “I'm so sorry.”

She holds out her hand for me to stop disturbing her so she can hear. I turn toward the ocean where the postcard view seems ominous again.

“What happened?” I ask when my mother says good-bye.

“That was Carly's mom. They found Ginger dead in her cage this morning. Carly feels terrible—she's very upset.”

I'm relieved it's the class hedgehog instead of someone I love. Then I realize Carly probably feels awful even though she only had Ginger for the summer. When a giant wave comes, it hits my legs and I feel the tug of the riptide, the same undertow that pulled Susan James away from her life. I borrow Mom's phone and pull up the number of the last call received.

When Mrs. Rodriquez answers, I ask if I can speak to Carly. I can tell she's crying when she finally comes to the phone.

“It's not your fault,” I say. “You didn't do anything wrong.”

I sit in the sand and listen, caught between the waves and Carly's sobs.