Wherever You Go (24 page)

"Hey, at least there are people at your house," he whispered.

"Your mom's around. She loves you."

"Yours loves you, too. She said you all can come to dinner this Saturday."

"Oh, she did?" Holly said, breaking away, her blue eyes searching his. "She's going to make plans for a Saturday night?"

"Yeah, that's why I came over. I wanted to make sure everyone got the invite. She said she's gonna try to get the night off."

"Right."

"No, really," Jason said, gathering her back into his arms. "You're coming to my house for dinner. I'm just learning to cook, but it's going to be great, I promise. I'm cooking Hawaiian stuff."

"Really?"

"Yep."

Still in Jason's arms, Holly glanced back at the door. "I should go back inside. I've got to finish making dinner. Any minute, Mom could be oversalting my handiwork."

"All right, all right. I'm going now."

Holly lifted her chin and lightly brushed her lips across his, and then, surprising him, returned for a real, deeper kiss. A kiss that started his blood humming. He imagined things when they kissed like that. Things he wanted to do with her. The way he would hold her. How her bare skin would feel against his.

"Just so you know—you can't come here again," she said, pulling away after a moment.

"Got it." He turned, a little shaky on his feet from the kiss, and punched the button for the elevator. Holly shut the door, rattling the birdhouse wreath and his heart.

***

"Mom. Ohmigod." I went back into the kitchen, full of exhilaration from kissing Jason and embarrassment about him coming over. "Why would you let him up here?"

Mom smirked. "He's your boyfriend, right?"

"No comment." I went over to the slow cooker and lifted the glass lid. The meat was almost falling off the bone. Spooning pieces of chicken onto a serving dish, I tried to gather some calm. "I'm just saying, well, it wasn't a good surprise. I mean, to come home and find Jason with you in our kitchen."

Mom wrinkled her nose at me. "He came over to invite us to dinner at his house. How is that not a good surprise?" She got down a stack of plates from the cabinet. One by one, she set them down at the places around the table. "I don't understand you, Holly. Why wouldn't you want him to come over? He seems like a really nice guy."

"Jason lives in the Heights," I said softly.

"So did Rob," Mom countered.

"Yeah, but this is different."

"Of course it is. But obviously he's not a snob or he wouldn't be interested in you. And, by the way, not everyone who lives in a big house in Lake Heights is a snob."

"I know that. I just—"

"I work really hard so that we can live here, Holly. Are you really that embarrassed by us, by this place?" Mom's voice was steely sharp.

Silently, I scooped out potatoes and carrots and nestled them around the chicken pieces on the platter. I needed chopped fresh parsley to decorate the plate, but of course there wasn't any, so I grabbed a few green onions from the fridge. Stripping away the wilted outer layer, I washed them under the tap and then grabbed a chopping board and a knife.

"There's no crime in not having money," Mom continued, coming over to stand next to me. "You shouldn't feel ashamed of the way we live."

"It's not that I feel ashamed. It's just that every time Jason sees me, I'm taking care of Grandpa or Lena. It's kinda awkward."

"Well, that's the reality, honey. You're helping your family. You want to pretend that isn't what you're doing? You want to be someone else around him?"

"No. I just want to see him ... away from all that," I said quietly.

Mom set down the water glasses she was carrying to the table. "A date?"

I shrugged. It wasn't like I ever had a night off from everything—not like Jason could just swing by and take me to dinner or the mall. "In the regular world, he would pick me up, we'd go to the movies, hang out together. Instead, he's helping me with Grandpa, seeing me here at home cooking like some kind of whacked-out housewife. It's not normal."

"It's our normal," Mom said.

I started slicing the green onions into thin rounds. I didn't feel like talking to Mom about Jason anybou that more. It seemed pointless. I couldn't even muster up any emotion at that moment to explain further, anyway. It wasn't worth having yet another fight where my mother decided the outcome for the both of us.

"He said something about a list," Mom said. "What did he mean?"

"Grandpa has some things he wants to remember," I said.

"He made a list?"

"Yeah. He sort of gave it to me to hang on to."

Mom frowned. "He gave it to you?"

"Yeah, it's got stuff on it like growing tomatoes, sailing, his favorite restaurant with Grandma."

"He never told me about it," Mom said, her voice low.

"Well, he probably thought you had a lot going on," I said, scooping up the green onions and sprinkling them over the chicken.

"And you didn't show it to me either."

"It's no big deal, Mom. I'll show it to you after dinner."

She got out the silverware for us, laying it out on the folded paper towels that would serve as napkins. "Lena!" she called down the hall. "Go wash your hands for dinner."

I set the platter of chicken on the table and went to the fridge to get the salad I'd cut up earlier. Grandpa Aldo shuffled in and took a seat at the table, looking neither happy nor sad.

"Holly," Mom said, taking my hand as I sat down at the table.

"Maybe you should go on a real date. I can probably find a night off to stay in and watch everyone. It may be a Tuesday or something, but I could make it work." She squeezed my hand and then let go. "I like him," she added.

I allowed myself a real smile. "Me too."

***

You ride in the back seat of the Escalade, not sure where your dad is taking everyone. But you're hanging with the family, watching over them. It's a Wednesday afternoon, and except that you're dead, it seems perfectly normal to be riding next to Kayla. She's busy flipping through the joke book she checked out from the library, probably getting ready for school tomorrow, when she'll see that quasi boyfriend of hers, Kevin Park.

"What's black and white and read all over?" she says.

"A skunk with a rash?" your mom guesses.

"No!" Your sister giggles. "Guess, Dad."

"A penguin with a sunburn?"

She snorts out another laugh. "A newspaper, sillies! You know,
read
all over."

"Oh, that's a good one," says your dad. He pulls into a parking space in front of a small office building. Everyone hops out, and with a beep on the key fob, Dad locks up.

Inside, a receptionist says hello and shows your family down the hall. They pass a glassed-in play area that has one of those plastic kitchen sets—fake oven, fake refrigerator, sink—and a beanbag chair sitting next to shelves nearly overflowing with picture books. The next room, which looks in on the play room, seems like a normal office. Opposite the glassed wall is a black leather couch and a desk. A giant Georgia O'Keeffe flower print decorates the wall behind it, along with diplomas reading
DR. JENNIFER MARTIN.

"Counseling?" you murmur, in disbelief that your dad would agree to something like that. That's so not him. He's more of the do-it-yourself variety.

A small woman with long, dark hair and chic glasses comes in to the room. She's younger than you'd think a doctor of anything could be. "Hi, folks," she says in a friendly tone, shaking your mom's and dad's hands. "I'm glad to see you all again. How has everything been going?"

"Hi, Dr. Jennifer. Um, can I play next door like last time?" asks your little sister.

"Sure. Go ahead, Kayla."

Your mom and dad settle onto the couch. Dr. Jennifer lights a little stick of incense in a brass holder and then scoots her leather office chair close to the couch, using a corner of the desk for her notepad and pen. Yep, this is definitely a little woo-woo for your dad.

"So, how are you both doing since our last visit?" the doctor asks.

Last visit? You really haven't been hanging around them much, obviously. You settle onto the vacant end of the couch, next to your mom. Meanwhile, Dr. Jennifer waits patiently for an answer as your parents look at each other.

"It's been rough," says your mom, finally. Her brown eyes are watery. Your dad, though he should put his arm around her, is sitting very straight on the couch, like a metal rod is forcing him upright. You will him to reach out and comfort her, but he doesn't.

"Rough in what way? Can you tell me about that?" Dr. Jennifer says.

Your mom nods. "I decided I was going to do it, finally—you know, pack up his room like we talked about."

"Rob's room," the doctor coaches. "It's good to say his name, Karen."

"Right. Rob's room. I'd tried a couple of times before, but I just couldn't go through with it. But this last Saturday, when Mike was out playing golf, I decided to be brave."

Your dad's lips are pressed together tightly.

"I was just trying to get started on it, you know? Anyway, he was angry when he got home and found me in there, folding clothes into boxes."

"Why did you choose to do it on your own, without him, Karen?"

"I don't know ... maybe I thought it would be easier."

"And was it?" Dr. Jennifer says in a gentle voice.

Tears start rolling down your mom's cheeks as she shakes her head. Finally, Dad reaches an arm around her shoulders, pulls her close.

"I found his baby book," she says softly.

The room is still. Dad lets out a deep breath, finally showing some emotion.

"And what happened next?" the doctor prompts.

You mom sniffs back tears. "I started looking through it, and all these memories came flooding back. Rob as a baby. Rob learning to walk. His first day of school. And I was just thinking—how did we screw up? How did we contribute to what happened?"

"It's not our fault," says your dad. "Things happen."

"But you know how he was.
Before.
You know he wasn't himself when that happened. The crash."

You tense a little, waiting on the far end of the couch. You're not sure you should be here now. It's weird that they are talking about this in front of you. It's weird that you can't stop listening.

"How was he before the accident?" asks the doctor.

Your mom manages a smile. "Growing up, he was always so cheerful, so happy. He did well in school. Had this really sweet girlfriend, Holly. They dated for a year or so."

"Holly was the girl in the car," says your dad. He's moved his arm from around your mom and is sitting up straight again. "She survived."

"And something changed for him before the crash?" The doctor makes notes on her pad.

"He seemed withdrawn," says your mom.

You dad lets out a breath. "He kind of fell off our radar. My radar. I wasn't paying attention. He'd always been fine before that, I guess."

"What kind of kid was he?"

Your mom smiles through her tears. "He was very busy in school. Studying hard. He turned out for football, though basketball was always his favorite. His grades were good."

"They were decent," corrects your dad.

"Thanks," you mutter.

"5%">
"Things were on track for Rob," he continues. "He was preparing applications to some really great schools. I was hoping he'd follow me into finance."

Your mom sighs.

"What?"

"You know he had no interest in finance."

"I just said
I was hoping.
"

"He liked to draw. He mentioned architecture sometimes," your mom says, nodding at the doctor.

"He had a lot of different interests," says your dad. "I thought we'd set him up for success, though. We gave him everything he needed."

Dr. Jennifer looks up from her notepad. "What is everything, Mike?"

"You know," he says. "A car, nice home, money so he didn't have to work at some crappy job after school."

"Did you spend time as a family?"

Your mom takes this one. "We tried to eat dinner together often. Took family vacations. We did what most families do, I guess."

"I need to ask this: Did you ever have Rob evaluated for depression?"

"No," your dad says quickly. "This—you are the first psychologist we've ever been to see."

Dr. Jennifer nods. "Boys have a very high rate of depression. It's not uncommon for our teens to keep their feelings mashed down, suppressed. So, everything looks fine on the outside, but inside, things are not okay."

"He wasn't right," your mom says in a quiet voice. "Looking back, I'm not sure how we could have missed it. I should have paid attention."

Your whole being tenses up. All those months ago, when things were adding up, when everything felt so overwhelming—what you wouldn't have given for a kind word, for some attention from them. You remember walking around school and the house, feeling like no one understood you, saw you. Almost like the ghost you are now. You felt so small, so worthless.