Dear Blue Sky (14 page)

CHAPTER 33

HOLE

WHEN I GOT
home, I opened my email. There was a message from Sef.

 

To: Mom, Dad, Van, Cassie

From: Sef

Subject: No Subject

 

Hi everyone,

I know I should wait to tell you this, but I can't. If I call in the next few days, then I want you to know. Please don't say anything to Jack.

A few nights ago I think I shot and killed a boy. But everyone was shooting at the same time, and it was dark, so there's a chance it wasn't me. I don't know exactly what happened. There was shooting, and we returned fire. I shot in that direction. Then I saw him fall.

As soon as it was quiet, I went over and saw a boy with a hole right between his eyes. He had a Yankees shirt on. Can you believe that? He shouldn't have been there at all. It was night, and the shooting started again, and we had to find cover fast. When we went back later, he was gone. But I can't get him out of my head. I mean I see him all the time. I wake at night and see him. He was only a little older than Jack.

I'd like to think he died instantly, that's what they say to the relatives of anyone who dies here, even if they're screaming in pain for hours. But I don't know. I haven't been able to eat or anything. What am I going to do? I don't think he even had a weapon. He was just standing there, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Everyone says to stop thinking like this because it's not anyone's fault. Hurricane says if I don't stop beating myself up, he's going to beat the crap out of me. I don't know, I just feel like I did it. I can't push it away.

I used to think things could be right if I tried hard enough. But that's not true here. I'm trying, and these guys are the best, but I don't know what we're doing here. I feel like a different person from the one who left. Write back and tell me things are better there.

Love,

Sef

He didn't do it, I thought, he couldn't have killed someone. But he felt like he did it, and the boy was dead, and no one could change that. I felt sick. I knew I could never tell Blue Sky. That was what she lived with every day. How could she understand it? That was why she blamed us. The boy didn't do anything except stand outside at the wrong time. But it wasn't Sef's fault—he would never kill a boy. It was just bad luck.

Sef was someone else now. It felt like there was a hole in my chest.

• • •

I put my sneakers on and ran. I ran all the way back to the state hospital. I stared at the snowy hills, waiting for something to come to me—a memory of Sef—something I could hold on to and take with me. I tried to see him, but all I could see was Mom happy and laughing when he was home.

As I was standing there at the bottom of the hill, Jesus pulled out of the state hospital parking lot. Would he be able to help Sef if Sef came home messed up? Would he be able to fix this tear inside me? I waved to the shaking, rumbling truck, but Jesus didn't see me.

On the way home, I saw Finn driving by in his Rabbit. There was someone in the front seat with him, and it wasn't Van. This girl was blond. I watched his lights disappear.

Van was asleep when I got home, but after I showered and was getting dressed in Sef's room, I felt someone watching me. Van was standing in the doorway. She had dark rings under her eyes. She was staring out the window. Just staring into the gray afternoon, the nothing. I shivered. My arms and legs were covered in goose bumps.

“Van?” I said. “What are you doing?”

Her eyes shifted toward me. She stepped back, as if she was startled. “I thought at first—it was so strange—I thought you were Sef for a minute. That he came home.”

 

To: Sef

From: Cassie

Subject: Re: No Subject

 

Hi Sef,

Thanks for writing. I hardly know what to say. We all know whatever happened the night that boy was shot, you did the only thing you could do. Not that it makes it any better. I can't imagine how you must feel.

I'm scared too. It's hard to imagine you over there now. I know you have your team, but I wish we could do something. What can we do? Did you find out the boy's name? Do you want us to send money to his family? Let me know. I want to help. We all do. It's hard to be here and feel useless. I want to be there for you like you always were for us.

Thanks, Sef—I don't know if I've ever said it—for everything. I don't want to get all mushy, but I do want to say that you're the one who matters more to me than anything in the world. Why haven't I ever said that before? Because it's hard, I guess.

We're all doing OK. We just want you to be OK. I hope you are able to sleep. You did the only thing you could do.

And one last thing. Guess what I yelled when I was sledding with Kim and Jack today? “You will fly to success!” Remember? It was great. Don dropped us off. He said to tell you they're going to crush Centerville for you. Please write back.

It's cold and icy. You're not missing anything. We're missing you.

Hang in there!

Love,

C

What if something happened to him before he got it? It could be the last time I ever got to write to him. Suddenly I was scared for him over there, really scared. Sef would go crazy if he kept seeing that dead boy. Or worse, if he gave up trying to make a difference.

CHAPTER 34

INSIDE A SNOW GLOBE

EVERYONE ELSE MUST
have read Sef's email by now, I thought. He'd sent it last night. As soon as I got downstairs, the phone rang. Whenever the phone rang, we stopped what we were doing and waited to hear what Mom said next. She said hello, glanced back at us, and walked out of the room. Jack and I followed her. In between pauses, she said, “We're all doing fine, thanks. Sef's as good as can be expected. . . . That's right.” She wore her party smile as she walked through the house with the phone.

“Oh, you did? We must have been out,” she went on. “No, Jack is a little sick. . . . Yes, he'd love to see you. We all would. Next time. We'll call as soon as he's back to himself again.”

Jack frowned. His hands tightened. He froze.

“Who was that?” I asked when she hung up.

“I'll tell you later,” she mouthed.

“Was it Greg?”

“Later.”

“Jason?”

She walked out of the room. I followed her into the living room.

“If Sef's friends are calling, we want to see them.”

She turned fast and pointed her finger at me. “I don't want them to know Jack isn't talking, okay? I want to tell Sef that things are better here. And that's what I'm going to tell him because that's what he needs to hear.”

“Maybe his friends could help.”

“I'd rather keep it in the family.”

“You read Sef's email then,” I said.

She nodded quickly. “Not now.”

“Ready to pick out a tree, Cass?” Dad called from the kitchen. He and Jack were in their coats by the door. I got in the car. “Mom's right, Cass. Not now,” he said.

“When?”

“Let's get our tree first.”

Jack picked out one that looked like it had been lying on its side all month. One side of it was flattened and brown. No matter how many others we showed him, he wanted that one. The tree man gave us a discount. On the way home, it started snowing tiny flakes like sparkles falling from the sky. Jack stuck his head out the window. He bit the air. Christmas was close, three days away, but it suddenly seemed as if it wasn't real anymore. As if it were just something I could shake inside a snow globe.

Mom barely looked up from the TV when we brought the tree in, or when Jack and I strung tinsel and lights and hung silver and gold balls.

Dad bent close to Mom so she could hear him over the TV. “Any plans for supper tonight?”

“Not really. I'm not hungry, are you?”

“We have to eat.”

Jack went into the kitchen and sat at the table.

“Jack's hungry,” I said. I stepped back from the tree. Every time I let my mind settle, I'd remember Sef and feel sick again.

Mom went in, opened the refrigerator, slapped a couple slices of cheese on a plate, and gave it to Jack. When she came back, I said softly, “Can I say something now?”

They looked up at me.

“What about Sef's email?”

“Poor Sef.” Mom sighed. “Of course he didn't do it.”

“Either way, he was just doing his job. You can't help anything like that. What else was he supposed to do? It's self-defense,” Dad said.

“What are we going to do?” I asked.

They stared back at me. Dad clicked the volume down. He finally said, “What can we do? I wrote to Sef. What else can we do?”

“Something for Sef, something for the boy's family, I don't know. Something. I mean, someone's dead. What about his family?”

“Sef didn't do it,” Mom said.

“Someone on his team did it,” I said.

We could hear Jack opening and closing the refrigerator.

“When he calls, we can ask him what he wants us to do,” Dad said.

“It could have been Sef who died,” Mom said.

I shivered. “Don't say that, Mom.”

“It wasn't Sef,” Dad said.

“Well, I wouldn't want them to do anything for us,” Mom said. “Besides, I know what I'm going to do. He needs to know that everything is okay here. That's what I'm going to tell him, and nobody better tell him otherwise.”

“If everything's so okay, then why don't you at least make supper for Jack?” I said.

Mom glanced to the doorway, where Jack was staring at us.

• • •

Van pushed the kitchen door open. Snow sparkled on her dark hair. Her eyes were wide and bright. She seemed to carry all the secrets from the outside world, which was so much bigger than our inside world. “Hi,” she said, spinning around to shut the door.

“Hi, Van,” Dad said, letting his hand with the remote fall to his side.

“Have you been drinking again?” Mom asked.

“What?” Van said.

“Van,” she said, “I noticed a few things missing from the liquor cabinet. Do you know anything about it?”

“No.”

“Then who does?”

“I don't know.” Van slid off her black suede coat. She looked from Dad to me and back to Mom.

Dad motioned to me with his hand, waving me away. Jack and I went up to Sef's room. I left the door open.

“No cell phone for two weeks,” I heard Mom say. “You're grounded and no cell. Things are going to get better around here.”

Van yelled, “You're not exactly making things better!”

Van never yelled. Jack came up behind me and took my hand. Van came running up the stairs. Then she stopped and threw her phone. It smashed off the wall and bounced down the stairs.

I looked down at Jack. His arms slid around my waist, and he pushed his face close.

• • •

After Jack fell asleep, I went into our room. Van was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Did you read Sef's email?” I sat on my bed.

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure.” She turned toward me. Her eyes were red.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don't know. I was so worried about Sef getting shot, I didn't even think about the other way around.”

She stared without blinking, then her face crumpled up and she covered her face and started to cry. Her body shook up and down. I put my hand on her back because I wasn't sure what else to do. I could feel her ribs beneath my fingers. She was all bones. I said, “It's okay.”

“I can't believe he killed someone,” she whispered. “A boy.”

“It might not have been Sef,” I said.

“He's still dead,” Van said.

“I know.”

We sat there in the quiet dark for a long time, wondering who might die next.

CHAPTER 35

DIGNITY

MOM TRIED HARD
to hold herself together and make things nice for Christmas. She hung wreaths, played Christmas music, and made a ham dinner and chocolate pie, which made Dad and Jack happy. All Christmas morning, she smiled like she was at a party. We watched Jack open his presents. Once when he was unwrapping some toy soldiers with real camouflage outfits, his mouth opened wide and I thought he was going to scream something out, but he didn't. On Christmas afternoon, Dad carried his few things out of Jack's room and stripped the bed. Then he came downstairs, whistling “My Bonnie Lies over the Ocean,” and poured drinks for him and Mom. Mom put down Sef's high school graduation picture and held Dad's hand.

Later in Sef's room, I thought of all the Christmases when he was here. Shadows flitted across the walls of his room. Birds, I thought. Outside my window, the feeder Sef made was careening back and forth in the wind. I went down to the kitchen and found some ends of bread that I tore into pieces. I leaned out the window and stuffed the bread crumbs into the little wooden box.

• • •

The day after Christmas, Dad said he'd take us to see the Russian circus. Someone at work had given him four tickets. Mom stayed at home to rest. As we backed out of the driveway, he said, “Who's going to have a good time today?”

Jack waved his arms in the air. He banged the back of Dad's car seat.

“That's what I want to hear. Cass? Van? What about you?”

“We're going to have a good time,” I said, “even though I don't know what a Russian circus is.”

“You'll find out. Van?”

Van sighed. “Are we supposed to assume that everything is just fine and dandy, and off to the circus we go to have a great time?”

“We're trying.”

She sighed. “That's it? That's all you're going to say?”

“Listen, Van, don't think I don't think about Sef and all this”—he waved his hand around—“every second of the day, because I do. But we need each other. There's too much going on. I think you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean, but it's not fair,” Van said. “Mom puts up some decorations and cooks a stupid ham for Christmas, and everything's supposed to be fine again.”

“It's like
Animal Farm
,” I said. “All animals are equal except pigs are more equal.”

Dad chuckled.

“It's not funny,” Van said. “What about us?”

“Okay,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”

“I think if she really wants to make everything okay, then she should stop drinking so much and taking so many pills. Why don't you ground
her
?” Van said. “Okay, kidding about that, but not about the rest.”

Dad nodded.

“Van's right,” I said. “Why do we keep pretending everything's fine?”

“It takes time. We're working on it.” Dad glanced in the rearview mirror at Jack. “We can talk more tonight.”

“Promise?” Van asked.

“Yes.”

“You're not going to just give in to her like you always do?”

“Do I do that?” Dad grinned and drove fast down the Mass Pike toward the Worcester Centrum.

It felt like we were waiting for a basketball game or a concert until the lights went down, the music came on, and the announcer presented the “Great Moscow Circus!” Tiny white lights sparkled from the ceiling like it was snowing. Jack kept standing to see the clown with the red nose and leather cap, and Dad kept sitting him back down. Jack smiled and clapped hard for the beautiful acrobats, the white tigers, the horses dashing in circles, the eight men riding a bike, and his face exploded when he saw the big brown bear dancing.

At first I thought the bear with his frilly pink skirt that matched the tightrope walker's was fake, but he lumbered as he danced, and when he stopped, he opened his mouth wide and made a low, hollow sound that no human could make. He danced faster as the orchestra played, shaking his shaggy brown head as he followed the pretty tightrope walker around the ring, taking treats from her hand. The thump of his feet sounded through the arena. Then he picked her up and carried her in his big brown arms to the spotlight in the center of the ring. He set her down and bowed.

“Dad,” Van said, “bears shouldn't be doing that.”

Dad stopped eating his popcorn. “It's just a show, Van. Don't worry. Try to enjoy it.”

“It's not right. He's a bear.”

“Well, he's Russian,” he joked.

Van wouldn't watch the bears. She covered her face. After the show, Dad decided to buy a Russian fur hat and we took pictures in front of the circus banner.

• • •

Mom had supper of roasted chicken, potatoes, and salad ready when we got home. “Smells great in here, honey,” Dad said, raising his eyebrows at me and Van. He went up behind Mom and held her shoulders and kissed her neck. “I'm starving.”

“Good,” she said.

“For you, I mean. Can I eat you up?” Dad said.

“Dad, please,” Van said. “That's disgusting.”

“Yeah, Dad,” I said. “Gross.”

“All right, all right,” he said, patting his belly.

“A real Casanova until he sees the food.” Mom smiled with her hands on her hips.

We all sat down.

“How was the circus?”

Jack pounded his silverware on the table, stabbing his fork into the wood.

“So you liked it, Jack?” Mom nodded. “Anyone else have anything to say?”

Dad looked up. “Does it have to be nice?”

Mom sighed. “You know the rule.” The rule was, If you don't have something nice to say, then don't say anything.

“Well, the girls have a few things they want to say.”

“Oh?” Mom said. “About the circus?”

“Not exactly,” Van said. “But just so you know, the circus was great, except for the dancing bear that didn't even look like a bear. He had this stupid frilly outfit on.”

“No one liked the dancing bear?” Mom asked, surprised.

“I did,” Dad said. “He carried the pretty woman.”

“Because she fed him snacks,” I said.

“So?” Dad said. “It was romantic.”

I burst out laughing. “Lucky Mom, if that's your idea of romance.”

Mom laughed, too.

Van ripped a roll in half. “A bear should be a bear.”

“Jack's with me. He loved it—right, buddy?” Dad said.

Jack scowled at us and thumped his knife.

“What about you, Cassie? What'd you think?”

I put down my forkful of potato. “I liked the horses the best, but Van's right. The bear was kind of sad. He had this big red bow on. He looked silly. Like a clown. Bears should have some dignity.”

“I hate to tell you, Cass,” Dad said, “but people do much worse things.”

“That still doesn't make it right,” I said.

“That's true,” Dad said. “We should all have a little dignity.”

Jack slid off his seat and walked into the living room and pressed Play on the DVD player.

“Guess he's done.” Mom reached for her prescription bottle on the counter behind her.

Van asked, “Mom, why do
you
take so many pills?”

“Oh, is this what we're talking about again?” Mom picked up her glass of wine. “They relax me when I feel stressed out. That's why the doctor prescribes them for me.”

“Are you supposed to take them while you drink?”

“What is this?” Mom demanded. “I feel like I'm being interrogated, and I'm the adult here.”

“Well, I've been thinking,” Van said slowly. “Whether you realize it or not, you are setting an example for us.”

No one said anything. Looney Tunes music blasted from the living room. Dad stabbed his chicken and pushed it into his mouth.

“That's true, but I took these after Jack was born because I needed them. And now I'm taking them again. I don't want to be a nervous wreck all the time,” Mom said. She set her glass down and pushed her hair back. “I'm trying to do my best, that's all I can do. I'm going to try to make things”—she paused and looked at me—“okay again. Really okay.”

“We just want things to be fair.” I looked at Van. “I mean, normal again. I don't know if they'll ever be normal for Sef again, but things should be more normal for us.”

“Yeah,” Van said. “Can things be better for us and not just
because of
Sef? It seems like everything's for Sef, which I get. But we have to think of us too.”

“Okay. Your father and I are trying to work this out.” Mom's face pinched up. “I should be more responsible. I should think of how you feel—I'm sorry. It just hurt so much. It still does.”

Dad squeezed her hand and nodded. Outside, the wind blew the frozen snow against the windows
. Spat, spat.

“Everyone else hurts, too, Mom,” Van said. “We all do.”

Mom stared at Van. Van never said this much.

“We'll take care of us. We'll make things better for all of us,” Dad said. “And Sef will be home before we know it. We want him to come home to the place he left. He needs that.”

• • •

Upstairs, Jack was drooling in his sleeping bag. He wasn't moving, but his eyes were open. “Hi, Jack,” I said. “It's Supergirl here to tell you that everything's going to be okay. Can you hear me? You sure don't look very dignified right now, but everything's going to be all right.” I waited for him to look at me, but he didn't. “I wonder what you thought of the dancing bear today. I thought I saw you laughing, but maybe it made you really mad. Maybe you can talk to me tomorrow. That sound good? Supergirl says yes, that sounds good. I don't know how long I can be Supergirl, but I'm trying. It's hard to be that good.

“Good night, Jack.” I paused. “Roger that.”