Wherever You Go (11 page)

Aldo's brows knot in worry. "I want to help, but I—I'm not sure I can do it. With you I can talk so easily. Not with others."

"You have to try. Please. Remember the day you repeated what I said to the lady at the senior center?
Buzz off?
Can't you try to do that again? I'll just say stuff and you copy it."

"All right." Aldo is shaky. He picks up the receiver and hits the numbers slowly, as carefully as he can, and you can tell he is concentrating.
Nine. One. One.

"What's your emergency?" you hear a woman's voice say loudly through the earpiece.

"There's been a robbery. We need the police," you coach.

Aldo takes a deep breath. "It's a robbery," he says in a grumbly voice. "Send the
polizia.
" He's talking so slowly—he's concentrating on each word, focusing on saying it so the dispatcher will understand.

You worry that the store owner will be dead by the time he gets the sentences out. "Focus, Aldo. Tell them it's the minimart on Chester and fifteenth Northeast. They need an ambulance."

Aldo looks into my eyes. Connecting. "Minimart on Chester and fifteenth Northeast. Send an ambulance," he carefully repeats. Then he hangs up and stares at you with wide eyes, his cheeks flushed.

"Good job. Thank you, Aldo," you say.

"You think they understood me?"

"I hope so. It was bad. Really bad." You ball your fists, thinking of the store owner bleeding from his ear, face-down on the floor behind the counter. You focus on the blood, and it makes you remember the pain of slamming through the windshield and then the nothingness of letting go of your body. You think that pain unexpected or unforeseen hurts much worse than pain you expect.

"That was the right thing to do. You're a good kid." Aldo's voice rouses you out of the memory.

You remember you're safely dead. Nothing can hurt you now—at least, you don't think it can. "Thanks," you manage.

You both breathe deeply as the tense seconds pass. Then, at last, there are sirens.

"You did it."

Aldo moves slowly to the window, opening the blinds and peering out. After a minute, he comes away. "
We
did it." He allows himself a long exhale and settles back into his chair.

You nod at Aldo, knowing you both did good. You spoke, he repeated, the message got through.

"What? You got more to say?" Aldo asks, picking up on your thoughts.

"No. I mean, I don't know. Do you think that's why I'm st S's divill hanging around? There's some kind of message I'm supposed to get across?"

"Maybe unfinished business?"

"I don't know." You cross your arms and walk to the window. The red and blue patrol-car lights flicker through the blinds, washing the room in color. "This dead stuff is really frustrating."

"You want to talk about it?" offers Aldo. "I'm a good listener, and I have nothing else to do, really. Sure, the girls will come in to tuck me into bed after a while, but until then, I'm all yours."

The back of your neck, or what used to be there, prickles. If your hair could stand on end, it would. You don't know if that's because this is all meant to be or if it's because you're going against whatever rules exist.

"What rules?" asks Aldo. "There's me and you and no tunnel of light."

You sense there is some kind of opportunity here, but noticing the old guy's tired face, the slump of his posture, you say, "I'd better go check on the minimart people."

"Sure, go rattle some chains somewhere," Aldo says.

As you fade, you can't miss the sadness in his eyes. It haunts you.

***

On Tuesday afternoon, Jason waited on the marina's dock. Minutes were ticking by, and still no Holly—and no Dad. He'd promised to get there early, to help Jason rig everything so it would be all ready for the sail. But, then again, that's how his promises were sometimes. Spoken wholeheartedly, delivered half-assed.

Jason's spirits lifted when he saw Holly, her grandpa, and her little sister, Lena, walking across the parking lot of the marina. Holly had seemed excited when he'd caught her in chemistry that morning to tell her they were on for the sail, but he kind of expected her to bail at the last second. He should have known that wasn't like her.

"Hey there." Jason opened the gate and let his three guests through. "The
Lucky Lucy
is this way."

Holly lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun. "Sorry we're late. We took the bus."

"Geez. I didn't think—I should have picked you up."

"No worries," Holly said.

"Hi. You really have a boat?" asked Lena. A younger, smaller version of Holly, except with much darker hair, she skipped behind them on the dock.

"Yep, and I'll teach you a little about sailing it," he said. "Hi there, Grandpa Aldo, how are you?"

The old man looked at Jason as if he heard him, but he didn't respond. His wrinkled face didn't show any expression.

"Grandpa had a rough night," said Holly. "His window faces the street, and there was a robbery at the minimart last night. Lots of police."

"There were loud sirens," added Lena.

"Oh, that sucks," Jason said.

"Tell me about it," Holly said. "The store owner's in the hospital."

They got to the
Lucky Lucy,
and Jason threw his backpack aboard and unclipped the lifeline gate on the side of the boat to let everyone up. As they climbed aboard, he noticed Holly and Lena's tennis shoes. They would work, but Grandpa Aldo's black loafers would probably mark up the deck. That meant extra scrubbing to remove scuff marks later, but he let it go. Grandpa Aldo had the hardest time boarding the boat. He climbed up the short wooden stepladder and then took Jason's hands to help him the rest of the way.

"Here, have a seat, guys."

Grandpa, Lena, and Holly settled on one bench seat in the pit. Jason unlocked and stowed the hatches and retrieved some cushions from the cabin for everyone. They all got comfortable while Jason readied the boat, running the lines. He tried not to freak that his dad still wasn't there yet. He checked the phone in his back pocket again, but there were no missed calls. Well, that was just great. Jason never took the
Lucky Lucy
out alone, so they were stuck.

"Are we ready to go now?" chirped Lena.

"Um ... no. We need to wait a little bit—my dad's coming out with us. It's his boat," he explained.

"Grandpa, how do you like the
Lucky Lucy?
" asked Holly.

Aldo glanced over at her and adjusted the gray cap on his head. "Nice."

Jason smiled at Grandpa Aldo, who now seemed much more alert than he had a few minutes ago. "You used to sail, right?"

His face brightened. "Yes. I sailed."

"It's on your list, Grandpa," Holly said quietly.

"Yes,
cara mia.
" He leaned back on the bench, letting out a long, contented sigh. His eyes closed, and he seemed to be enjoying the feel of the breeze against his cheeks. "Ah, the wind," he murmured. "So nice."

"Coming out of the northwest," Jason said.

"Are we going to see some fish?" Lena popped out of her seat and leaned toward the starboard side of the boat. "Because it's my birthday, and I'd really like to see some fish."

"More like geese. Tons of geese," he said. "Maybe some ducks, too."

Holly sat with her hands in her lap. "Should we get some life jackets?"

"Yeah, we'll get them out as soon as my dad shows," he said.

"Cool."

Time ticked by, and the four of them sat there, making small talk. Jason tried his dad's cell number again, but he didn't pick up. "Crap," he said. "I'm sorry. I don't know what my dad's deal is."

Holly gave him an uncertain look. "Well, maybe we could do this another day?"

The wind picked up, and Aldo opened his eyes. "So nice, this evening," he said. "Thank you."

Holly patted Aldo on the back. "You want to go home?"

"No, no." Aldo waved her off.

"I'm hungry," said Lena, whispering loudly to Holly.

Holly bit her lower lip and said, "Jason, my sister's got the appetite of a linebacker. I forgot to bring any granola bars." She glanced toward the marina parking lot and the bus stop beyond.

"Oh," Jason said. "Um ... wait. Maybe there's something in the galley. Stay right here." He went below deck and rummaged around in the small refrigerator unit. Some cans of ginger ale. Salami. A block of cheddar cheese. A container of olives. He set them out on the counter and then found crackers and some corn chips in the pantry cabinet. He grabbed a knife and some plastic plates.

When he came back up on deck, Lena squealed with delight. He set everything out on one end of a bench and started cutting slices of cheese and salami.

"Yay!" Lena said, biting into some of the snack. "Thanks, Jason. I like your cooking."

He laughed. "It's just crackers." Jason held them out to Aldo, who took one of the thick slices of salami and chewed thoughtfully.

As he turned to offer some to Holly, she gave him a grateful smile. A smile that made him suddenly self-conscious, awkward. She selected a cracker and a piece of cheese.

"This is fun," said Lena. "It's like a picnic on a boat."

"Yeah. This is good," Holly said.

Jason stacked cheese and meat on a cracker and sat down next to Holly. "Really? It's kind of lame not being able to go anywhere," he said.

"Look at the smile on my grandpa's face," she whispered to him.

It was all he could do not to lean into Holly, and as she moved away from his ear, he smelled her shampoo, something flowery and fresh. "Yeah, he seems pretty happy," he mumbled.

The old guy had pushed up the sleeves of his lightweight jacket and was reaching for another slice of salami. There was pure contentment in his Stmet="0em">

"I'm serious. This is really good," Holly repeated.

"It's not sailing, though," Jason said. "I'll have to make it up to you another time."

"Your dad might still show," Holly said, giving him an encouraging smile.

Jason shook his head. "It's nearly six thirty now. If he did show up, he'd claim there wasn't enough time for a decent sail anyway. He's probably got a dinner date or something."

"Oh. Aren't your parents still together?"

He chewed the inside of his lip. "Nah. Doesn't seem like it—anymore."

She set down her plate of crackers. "Sorry. That's tough. We went through that a couple of times with Mom."

"Your dad's not around?" Jason asked quietly.

She shook her head. "Lena's either. Mom's been a bit unlucky that way."

Jason watched the breeze blow a few strands of Holly's hair across her cheeks. Her eyes were doing that reflecting thing again, this time picking up the deep green color of the lake, the blue of her jacket.

"You ever hear from him?"

"Nope."

"I think my parents are going to get divorced," he said. "The two of them don't even talk anymore, except about me."

"I'm sorry, Jason. That really sucks."

"You doing okay with Aldo?" Jason asked, remembering that for all the minor crap he was going through, Holly had it ten times worse.

She glanced at her grandpa, who still seemed to be listening to Lena's very animated story. "He's seeing stuff again. He's really convinced that he sees that boy named Roberto. Do you think that's possible? Do you think that Rob's spirit would be hanging around? That an old guy who is losing it would be able to see him? Does that make any freaking sense?"

"Is it weird if I tell you that I feel him around me sometimes?" Jason said in a low voice. "I think of him a lot." He didn't want to say that he knew she had something to do with it, but that was the rest of the truth.

"I don't really believe in ghosts. I mean, I never did before."

"Before Rob?" Jason asked.

"Yeah. He was the first person our age I knew who died."

"Me, too. I never really had anyone die—you know, except for my great-grandpa when I was little."

"It's weird thinking that one minute you could be here and the next you vanish forever," Holly said. She gazed out at the lake, where the wind was kicking up small whitecaps. "Where do you go?"

"Don't you believe in heaven?"

"Maybe. But what happens to all the energy in your body? Your life force or whatever. You think it just evaporates into nothing?"

"Nah." Jason let out a long exhale. "So, maybe there are ghosts."

"And my sweet old grandpa sees ours."

"You don't know that for sure," Jason said. "Just because he calls him Roberto doesn't mean it's our Rob."

Holly's eyes were clear, steadily meeting his. "Yeah. But if he is, I don't think I could handle that."

"You still miss him a lot."

"Yeah. I don't ever want to forget him, but people say that dwelling on the past doesn't exactly make anyone happy. Well, maybe my grandpa." She played with the hem of her jacket. "But maybe I let the past get in the way."