Waiting (8 page)

She’s not coming
in my room.

I know she’s not going to look in here.

What’s so different about today?

Light in the house?

Still, I wait for her. And when she doesn’t come to tell me hello after twenty minutes, I turn away from the door and pretend to sleep for no one.

Here’s what I
remember best about Mom. My old mom.

My Before mom.

Afternoon snacks when we came home from school.

Dancing in the living room with my girlfriends and me.

Teaching me the hard parts of speech, all that grammar I didn’t think was important.

She would do anything for anyone. She turned the car around to give homeless people money. She combed lice out of little kids’ hair. She helped mothers hang mosquito netting. She made people dinner when someone they loved died.

But when Zach died,

Mom didn’t accept one meal,

not one visitor,

not even me.

She hasn’t come in my room, not once, since my brother passed. Not even to peek in to see if I’m still breathing.

I check on her, though.

I only go
to school because they make me. Mom is so done with homeschooling.

When Daddy comes
home, late, late, Mom is already in bed.

I’ve gotten up. Done my homework. Made a sandwich.

Watched a little TV. Talked to myself in the shower.

Picked out what I’m wearing to school. Whispered words to Zach.

“You see how you left me? You see how you left me, big brother?”

My eyes burn, but I don’t cry.

Some late-night show is on and I should have been in bed long ago, but I want to hear someone’s real voice.

The voice of someone who loves me (is there anyone?).

Not just Jay Leno or Jimmy Fallon.

“Want some hot chocolate, Daddy?” I ask him as soon as he comes in the house.

I can see the tired all around his eyes.

I can see him looking for Mom but acting like he’s not.

I can see that he’s sadder than he was yesterday. There’s pain in his voice.

Is he missing my brother a little more tonight?

Or my mother?

“Do you, Daddy?” I ask.

The room is dark around us, just a soft light that falls from the family room, where I sat watching TV.

Daddy hesitates, then nods and says, “Yes, London. I love it when you make me hot chocolate.”

“We used to do that a lot together, remember?” I say this as I head for the kitchen. I pull out milk and cream and a Hershey’s chocolate bar and vanilla and sugar.

Mom taught me this recipe
, I think, warming the cream and milk and breaking the chocolate bar into bits. I remember me standing close by her side. Her letting me use the whisk to stir the drink. Her laughing at my brother as he tried to steal chocolate. All of us sitting together. How old were we? How long ago was that? It seems ages and ages.

I pile marshmallows into two cups.

I can hear my father speaking to Mom. His voice is low and hers is soft, chocolaty. I almost stop moving. Will she drink with us? I open the cabinet, just in case. Reach for another cup. My fingers tremble.

“We about ready?” Daddy says. He stands in the doorway, alone.

“Yes,” I say, and pour the thick hot chocolate into two matching cups.

I don’t even
dream.

Maybe I should drink hot chocolate more often.

Some days, like
this morning, I walk to Zach’s car (I have the keys now. Daddy gave them to me. But I’m afraid to drive. I’ll do it soon. I’m sure I will.), where it’s parked at the curb. With the morning sun just right, I can sort of see him in there. If I squint.

If I squint, I can see him, head tilted, laughing. Taylor’s in the backseat, Rachel, in the front. I should be next to Taylor, but I have to close my eyes awful tight to see that.

When I get up close, there’s dew that has settled all over the car. Someone has written
MISS YOU
in big block letters on the window. I can see a handprint on the hood, where the someone leaned, and streaks where the water ran.

For a moment I wonder if I did that. Did I sleepwalk out here and write those words? I’m pretty sure I didn’t.

So who did?

Does it matter?

I close my eyes tight.

I feel this bit of calm, knowing that someone crept here in the night and that that person misses my brother too.

It’s cold out here, and my robe and pj’s aren’t enough to
keep me warm. The sun is just waking, just breaking the horizon, slipping through the orange grove. I should have worn my slippers.

I clutch the keys. Imagine getting in Zach’s car, even in my nightclothes, and maybe following my mother wherever it is she goes. I know I won’t, but I like the thought of bravery. Maybe today will be a good day. Maybe someone new will talk to me. Maybe the person who wrote on Zach’s car.

When I open my eyes, a bit of fog is moving in and the smell of trees gets caught in the back of my throat. Right near those words written for my brother.

When the van
arrives, I run outside before Daddy can ask me where Taylor is. A bit of me feels sick that maybe he’ll come here to pick me up. Will knock on the door for me. I think this as I run through the grass. The morning is cold, the sky still a bit gray.

Lili rolls down her window and says, “We have like eight minutes before Queen Suck Face gets in the car.”

“Oh,” I say. “Okay.” I heave open the back door, squeeze in without opening it all the way.

Lili’s been in the front, but she plops on the bench seat next to where I sit down. My books are between us.

She’s pulled her hair back with a hair band I bet her mom wore. It’s leather with tiny painted flowers.

“There,” Lili says. “On to Queen Suck Face, driver.” She gives her brother a nod, and Jesse puts the van in gear.

“Lauren’s not that bad,” I say, but I’m not so sure who she is now. I’m not sure who I am.

“See,” Jesse says. “London says she’s not so bad.” He glances at me in the rearview mirror.

I have to look away. He seems so different than . . . than
what? “I haven’t really talked to her in a while though.

Your sister might be right.”

“No, you’ll see,” Lili says, settling the seat belt around herself. Over her shoulder, out the window, is the orange grove we were going to do something with. The leaves are so green this morning.

“She can’t keep her lips or hands to herself. I expect her to pull his clothes off in study hall.”

“Okaaay,” Jesse says. From where I sit I see the side of his face go pink. For some reason, right at that moment, I think I fall in love with him. He’s so beautiful and that shy thing is way appealing.

What? I am crazy. Have I gone crazy with all life and God have handed me? You can’t fall in love, just like that, because some boy is gorgy and shy. My pulse quickens.

“She’s . . .” I clear my throat and start again. “Lauren has always been like that. She’s”—I pause—“physical.”

Lili mumbles something not so nice under her breath, and I wonder if Zach would have spent more time with Lauren if Rachel hadn’t found him.

Lili and Jesse go back and forth with each other, and I only hear the sound of their voices, not their words.

Then this thought strikes me. If . . .

If Lauren had been his girlfriend, Zach might still be alive.

Zach?
I mouth,
staring out the window looking at nothing.
Zach?

Can you hear me?

Do you see me in this van?

Do you know I miss you?

Do you miss me?

By the time
we get to school, I understand what Lili means.

Lauren
is
Queen Suck Face.

(Did she do that tongue thing with Zach? Why doesn’t she care that we’re in the van with her? Why does he kiss her back, stopping only when Lili hollers for them to?)

Lili gets out of the van in the school parking lot. When I climb out behind her, I can see she is madder than a hill of disturbed fire ants. Her face has two red splotches on the cheekbones and she grinds her teeth. Her hands are parked on her hips.

“Uh-oh,” Lauren says, stepping to the ground in a pretty way. She adjusts her short skirt. “Little sister is mad.” I know her well enough to see she’s nervous. And Jesse must know Lili pretty well, because he’s hurried to our side of the van.

“Keep your hands off my brother when I can and can’t see you, Lauren.” All around us cars are pulling into the parking lot. There’s a smell of gas and cold and the sound of people getting ready to face a new day in school. Lili seems to hear none of it. “I mean it, Lauren.

He’s not going to have sex with you, and he’s not going

to marry you either. He has a girlfriend back home, and we won’t be here in Florida forever. Jesse, you know that.” She pokes him hard in the chest, and her backpack slides down to her elbow.

“I broke up with Shelly before we left,” Jesse says.

He looks at his sister, wearing a bit of a smile—an
I care

smile—and his eyes are dark brown. So dark I almost can’t see the pupil. All the sudden he leans forward and puts his arms tight around his sister. “I won’t do anything stupid,” he says in this voice that melts me. Or is that the morning sun? Or a memory of Zach hugging me this same way? “We’re just having fun.”