Serendipity and Me (9781101602805) (22 page)

 

I stand at my window and look out on the street

hoping that I'll see her.

But even the trees are disappearing

in the fog.

Soon I won't be able to see anything.

 

It's another stupid Tule fog.

Well, I'm not going to stand here

and let it kill Serendipity, too.

I'm not going to stay here

while she's out there

alone.

 

My dad showed me

how to remove the window screen

in case there was a fire.

Knowledge is as powerful as fairy dust.

 

I'm gonna fly.

 

 

I try not to think of the trouble

I'm going to get into.

 

I'm not sure what's happened to me

since Serendipity showed up.

I used to do everything my dad told me to

just to keep him from losing it.

 

But things are different now.

 

I feel like Joan of Arc.

I know I'm on the side of right.

I won't give in

even if I'm burned at the stake.

 

Fortunately, that's not going to happen.

I'll probably just be grounded

for the first time in my life.

 

But it will be worth it

because I will know

I've put someone else's life

before my own.

 

Someone soft and sweet

who needs my help.

 

I will be a hero.

 

 

 

I struggle a bit with the screen.

I hope Dad can't hear me.

 

When the final clip is turned

I pull the screen toward me

and lean it against my bed

leave my soft pink room

for the spooky night.

 

It's easy to climb out of the window

no prickly plants to scratch me

no leap to the ground

since it's only one floor

no shaky rainspouts to climb down.

 

If I were my dad

I might think about planting a rosebush

right here

so it wouldn't be so easy

for my daughter

to escape.

 

As I slip out the window

I see the fog slipping in. . . .

 

 

 

I start with a wide sweep

around the fog-shrouded yard.

 

No Serendipity.

 

I look toward the street

and hope-pray she's still close by.

I need to look deeper.

 

I'm searching under the bushes

at the side of the lawn

chanting,
Please, God

please, God             please, God

when I hear Dad's voice

coming through my window.

 

Sara?
And then he must have noticed

the open, screenless window frame

because his voice sounds panicked

as he calls my name out into the dark.

 

And I realize he can't see me

through the blanket of fog—

has no idea how far I've gone.

 

Maybe he thinks I've run away from home.

 

My gut tells me, Answer him

but my brain says, No.

If I go in now, I won't have Serendipity

and I'll still be in trouble.

 

I keep searching.

 

Fog water collects on the leaves and washes my hands

as I rifle the bushes hoping for a glimpse

of bright white.

 

My sweatshirt sleeves and my tennis shoes

are getting wet      
making me feel cold and squishy.

 

I focus on finding Serendipity.

 

Still             I can't help but hear him.

 

 

I can't help but hear him

crashing out the front door

his footsteps racing away from me

toward Mrs. Whittier's lit-up house.

 

He knocks normally at first.

I can imagine him

trying to keep it together

trying to be calm and rational.

 

But Mrs. Whittier doesn't answer

and soon he is banging on her door

and calling out to her.

 

Still no answer.

She must have left lights on

when she went

to pick up her stepdaughter.

 

Dad stops banging and shouting

but I can hear him breathing hard

 

and I hear him gasp,
Sara

 

and I hear him pounding to the curb

and calling my name out through the fog

louder and louder

in his terrible panicky voice.

 

Sara,
he cries over and over

and something in my chest cracks

 

but I stay stubbornly by the bushes

and think of Serendipity

and how much she needs me.

 

Then I hear Dad moan

Not you            too

 

and that is more than I can bear.

 

I run to his voice.

Daddy, I'm here.

I'm sorry.

 

 

 

He wraps me in his arms

and breathes
Thank you

into the top of my head

only he's not talking to me.

 

And he sobs like I haven't heard

since those hopeless nights

the first few months after Mom died

 

and that makes me cry.

 

We're an awful wet mess together

sodden by the heavy fog

and our tears.

 

Don't ever do that again,
he gets out

and I shake my head.

Never, don't ever do that again.

 

I won't.

 

He pulls my face up in both hands.

Why is that cat

so important to you?

 

It's not just the fog

that feels like it's suffocating me.

I tell him the hard truth.

I get so lonely, Dad.

I need someone to hold on to.

 

Dad's whole body seems to droop

and I realize I'm finally telling him—

he hasn't been there for me.

He sighs and reaches his arm

around my shoulders.

 

Then he walks me through the fog

back into the house.

There's something

I have to tell you.

 

 

 

Dad sits me down on the couch.

Your mother died

driving in fog like this.

 

I know, Dad.

 

He puts up his hand like a stop sign.

But you don't know about before. . . .

We had a special cat—that orange one.

When MacLeish died—

He closes his eyes.

Mom cried for three days.

I didn't ever want to

go through that again.

So for years when she brought up

getting another cat

I just refused.

Dad looks at me.

Your mom finally convinced me.

And she wanted to surprise you.

She was on her way to get a kitten

when the accident happened.

 

That explains a lot.

Now I miss her even more.

 

But wait.

Dad, she wanted us to have a cat.

 

Dad nods.

This is what I'm telling you.

He's quiet for a minute.

I'm also telling you

why I couldn't have a cat here. . . .

I thought it would remind me too much

of what I lost.

I thought having a cat without having her

would be too hard.

 

I don't want to ask but I need to know.

Is it?

 

Dad's voice cracks.

It's hard, Sara.

 

This is a tragic story

and the rocks in my heart get sharper

but I can't help but hear

he didn't say      
Too hard.

 

Does it make me a bad person

to hear hope

while we're talking about

my mother dying?

 

Dad,
I start

but I don't know what to say.

 

He gets up for a box of tissues.

When we're drier            he says,

She's scared and hiding right now.

I doubt we'd ever find her tonight.

But tomorrow. . . .