Authors: Anna Staniszewski
I expect Caitlin to be on the couch watching cooking shows again, but instead the house is eerily quiet when Ms. Montelle opens the door. I notice her eyes are red like she’s been crying.
“Everything all right?” Mom asks, her voice soft and gentle.
Ms. Montelle nods, but she won’t look at us. “If you don’t mind, I’m just going to run out for a few minutes. Caitlin’s in her room.”
“Of course,” Mom says. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
Ms. Montelle nods again. Then she grabs her car keys and rushes out the door.
“Poor woman,” Mom says, clicking her tongue. She looks at me and lowers her voice to a whisper. “I don’t know if you heard, but her ex-husband passed away a couple months ago.”
I nod mutely. I’ve wanted to ask Mom about the conversation I overheard, but I didn’t want to admit to eavesdropping.
“They hadn’t spoken in years,” Mom goes on. “But that doesn’t make things any easier.” She glances down the hallway, toward Caitlin’s room. “Anyway, I don’t want to gossip. I just thought you should know since you and Caitlin are friends.”
Wow. If Mom thinks Caitlin is my friend, she really has no clue about my life.
“Okay, I’ll go start in the living room,” she says. “Do you want to do the bedrooms?”
I can barely pick up the vacuum. Besides still feeling shaky from everything that happened at Andrew’s house, my hands are throbbing from cleaning up all the thumbtacks in Briana’s room. I was mostly able to scoop them up with a dustpan, but that didn’t keep some from stabbing me.
When I go past Caitlin’s room, I notice that her door is slightly ajar. I start to tiptoe past, hoping she won’t pick that moment to come out. Then I freeze as I hear a horrible strangled sound, like something a hurt animal might make.
I’m pretty sure it came from Caitlin’s room. A second later, it comes again, and I realize what it is. Caitlin’s crying. Not just crying, sobbing.
I don’t know what to do. Caitlin Schubert doesn’t seem like someone who ever cries. And I’m probably the last person she wants to see. I consider going to get Mom, but then I think about how much worse her fix-it attitude always makes me feel when I’m upset. I can’t inflict that on anyone, not even Caitlin.
The longer the crying goes on, the more I can’t just stand there and pretend I don’t hear it. Maybe I don’t understand what she’s going through, but I know how it feels to be sad and alone. I have to at least try to help. Maybe I’ve inherited some of Mom’s fix-it-ness after all.
I put aside the vacuum and knock gently on the half-open door. Silence. Then another sob, softer this time.
Finally, I get up the courage to push the door open. “Hello?” I say, carefully peeking in. Caitlin is curled up on her bed, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her face is flushed like she’s been crying for hours. She doesn’t glance at me, just sits frozen like a statue, except for the tears still trickling down her face.
Behind her on the wall is a huge canvas that’s splattered with angry colors. Glued to the canvas are bits of paper, ticket stubs, and even a wool glove. In the center of it all is a photo of a man’s face. I know right away that he has to be Caitlin’s father. He has her thin lips and dark, serious eyes.
“What are you doing here?” Caitlin mutters, pulling my attention away from the painting.
“Did you make that?” I ask.
She wipes her face with her hand. “Yeah. So?”
“It’s amazing.” Maybe it isn’t the kind of art you’d see in a museum, but there’s just so much genuine emotion in it. Way more than I’ve ever seen on Caitlin’s perpetually sour face.
“It’s just something I do when I’m…” She shakes her head and looks away.
“Um. Are you okay?” I finally manage, inching forward through piles of dirty clothes. It looks, and smells, like the room hasn’t been cleaned in months.
Caitlin shifts so she’s actually sort of facing me. “Why do you care?”
“I–I heard about your father. I’m really sorry.”
Her eyes swing toward me. They’re little slits that remind me of cat eyes. “Yeah, sure.”
Okay, she’s upset. But who is she to tell me whether or not I’m sorry? “I might not know what you’re going through,” I say. “But my parents just split up. I can’t imagine what I’d do if I never saw my…” I can’t even finish the sentence, the thought is so painful.
Caitlin stares at me for a minute, as if she thinks I might be making fun of her or something. Finally, she glances away. “I barely knew him. He would just send me money every month, like he was some distant relative or something. He said he wanted me to have all the best stuff, but he never came to visit. And then when he…died, his new wife got all his money. He didn’t leave us anything.”
I think of all the trips Caitlin and Briana have been on together, all their fancy clothes and shiny jewelry. That’s how she could afford all those things. It also explains why Ms. Montelle has been working such long hours, why she looks so exhausted. She probably has to work twice as hard now that she isn’t getting any help from her ex-husband.
Caitlin motions toward the canvas. “Those are the only things I have that were my dad’s.”
“That’s nice,” I say. “It’s like a way to remember him.”
“I guess. You know what the worst part is? I can’t even talk to anyone about it. My mom thinks it’s her fault somehow, and my friends…” She lets out a bitter laugh. “I don’t even think I
have
friends anymore.”
I want to laugh too. “Well, you’re not alone there.”
She looks at me. “What about that Parasol girl you’re always hanging out with?”
“We had a fight.” Feeling a little braver, I perch on the edge of Caitlin’s bed, though I stay as far away from her as possible. “Is that what happened with you and Briana?”
Caitlin shakes her head. “No, it wasn’t a fight. I don’t know if Briana even realizes we’re not friends anymore. All she cares about is softball and guys and herself.” She wipes her eyes again. “You know what she said to me when I told her my dad died? She said I was lucky because now my mom would give me all kinds of pity presents to try to make it up to me. She actually wanted me to be happy about it!”
“Wow,” I say, but really, after spending a half hour scooping thumbtacks off Briana’s floor, it doesn’t surprise me one bit.
“I guess when stuff like that happens, you find out who your actual friends are,” Caitlin goes on. “I thought I could at least count on Steve, but even he’s gotten different lately.”
“Steve Mueller?” I think again of the ketchup on Andrew’s window.
She nods, grabbing a tissue off her nightstand. “Our moms have been friends forever, so we’ve known each other since we were born. We were even supposed to go on our first date a couple months ago, but then my mom got the call about my dad and I had to cancel. And before I knew it, Briana had snatched Steve up for herself. She didn’t even like him before that. She just wanted him because she knew I liked him.”
“Why would you even want to be friends with her?” I can’t help asking.
“We used to have fun together when we were kids. I mean, Briana’s always had a mean streak, but it didn’t used to be so bad. But now…” She sighs and dabs at her red nose with the tissue. “Anyway, you don’t have to sit here listening to me whine. I know you have work to do.”
“Oh,” I say, getting to my feet. “Well, good luck.” It’s a stupid thing to say, but it’s the best I can do.
“Thanks,” she says. “And, you know, thanks for listening. I guess you’re not a total freak.”
“Um, thanks.”
I’m surprised to see her cheeks turn bright pink. “Sorry. I always say the wrong thing.”
“You—you do?” I can’t believe it. Caitlin always seems so sure of herself, like she’s the smart one and everyone around her is dirt. Is she really as insecure as I am?
“Anyway. Thanks,” she says.
I nod and leave her room. As I shut the door behind me, I’m still in shock that I just had something like a heart-to-heart with Caitlin Schubert. If I was wrong about her and about Steve, who else have I been wrong about?
On our way home that afternoon, Mom is singing along with the radio to a pop song I’ve always thought she hated. While I’m completely drained after such a long and crazy day, she seems like a cheerful ladybug. It’s the happiest I’ve seen her since our fight.
“What’s up, Mom?”
“Hmm?” she says, her mind clearly somewhere else.
“Why are you so happy all of a sudden?”
“Is that so unusual?”
“Um, yeah, these days it is.” As good as she is at staying upbeat, I haven’t seen Mom genuinely happy since Dad left. And, now that I think about it, long before that. She’s always been so focused on making sure my dad and I were taken care of that she never laughed or had any actual fun.
“Well, I guess I had a good day, that’s all.”
“Does cleaning really put you in this good of a mood?” I ask.
Mom lets out a frustrated sigh. “All right, Rachel, if you must know, I’m happy because Robert called this morning and asked me out on a date.”
I blink at her, sure I heard wrong. “Mr. Hammond…?”
“We’re going out tomorrow. He’s taking me to a museum and out to lunch.”
My mind is swirling so fast that I don’t know what to say first. What finally comes out is: “A museum? Since when do you like stuff like that?”
“I’ve always enjoyed art. I just haven’t had much time to appreciate it.”
“But you can’t go on a date. Have you forgotten you’re married? It’s wrong!”
“No, it isn’t wrong,” says Mom. “Your father and I are officially separated now. The lawyer sent the paperwork the other day.”
“What?” I practically shriek. “And when did you plan on telling me this?”
“You’ve haven’t exactly been easy to talk to recently. I was waiting for the right time.”
It feels like my lungs are about to burst. “So you’re just going to replace Dad with Mr. Hammond?”
“Rachel, it’s just a date!”
“You can’t go out with him, Mom. He’s old! He’s like a geriatric patient.”
She looks at me. “What are you talking about?”
“Haven’t you noticed?” My face is burning from embarrassment, but I have to tell her. “The diapers? I saw them in his bathroom, tons of them. He’s old, Mom. You can’t go out with someone like that.”
Mom’s eyebrows shoot up. “So you’re the one who’s been spreading that terrible rumor around school?”
“What? No!”
“Rachel Lee, I know you have poor judgment sometimes, but how could you do something like that? The poor man has been through enough with his wife gone, and now you’re telling everyone he wears diapers?”
“No! I—”
“For your information, those undergarments belong to his elderly mother. She stays with him during the winter. Not that you really deserve an explanation.”
“But, Mom, it wasn’t me. It was Marisol!”
Mom shakes her head, her lips a tight line. “Rachel, if you expect me to believe that Marisol would do something so childish, you really must think I’m a fool. She is not the kind of girl who would spread rumors.”
Well, that shuts me right up. Because Mom is right. Marisol would never do that. It had to be someone else, someone who wanted to get in with the popular crowd. Someone like Angela Bareli.
“I promise, it wasn’t me, okay?” I say. “Please trust me.”
Mom sighs. “I do trust you, but the way you’ve been acting recently, I barely know you anymore. I understand you’re upset about your father leaving us, but acting out isn’t going to bring him back.”
She pushes her hair away from her face, and that’s when I notice it. The wedding band that’s been on her finger for as long as I’ve been alive is gone.
“Rachel?” Mom says. “Are you listening to me?”
I blink. “What?”
“I said that I promise things will get easier. For now, I think we’ve been doing just fine without your father.”
“Maybe you are, but I’m not!”
“Honey, I know you love him, but he’s never been the most dependable person. I think it’s time you realized that.”
I turn away and stare out the window. It feels like someone just let all the air out of my body. If Mom is ready to move on, then maybe bringing Dad back won’t make any difference anymore. Maybe it really is over.
While Mom is out on her date the next day, I can’t stop pacing around the house. I consider calling Marisol and telling her that I know she didn’t spread the rumor about Mr. Hammond. But then again, she told Angela about the diapers after I swore her to secrecy, so she isn’t totally blameless. Besides, I’m still ticked off at her, even though I really miss her.
I also know I have to call Dad and tell him I can’t come down to Florida. Not only does it seem like Mom doesn’t want him back, but there’s no way I can save up enough money in the week I have left, and banking on the bake sale is crazy since I still haven’t figured out a recipe. I’ll have to pay fees and stuff to cancel the ticket, but at least I have enough cleaning money to cover those.
I go to pick up the phone to call Dad but don’t actually dial his number. I just can’t imagine telling him the truth. So instead I decide to make some cream puffs since I’m completely sick of brownies. It won’t get me any closer to figuring out my problems, but maybe it’ll make me feel better.
As I’m getting the ingredients together, my phone rings. My pulse gets all fluttery when I see it’s Dad calling. He must have psychically known that I need to talk to him.
“What are you up to, Roo?” he asks.
“Just making some cream puffs,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
He whistles. “You bake fancier things every time I talk to you.”
“They’re actually not that hard to make.” I start explaining the process, but Dad just laughs.
“You know I’m useless in the kitchen, Roo. What you’re saying is pure gibberish to me. You’ll just have to make me some of those cream puffs when you come down here.”
“About that…” I take a deep breath, knowing I have to tell him the truth. If I can explain things and have him on my side, he might be able to convince Mom to go easy on me. “Dad, I have to—”
“There’s something I want to tell you,” he says over my tiny whisper. “You’re going to find out for yourself when you come down here, so I guess I should just fill you in now.”
“What is it?”
“Well, honey. The thing is…that I met someone down here. She’s a very sweet lady, and I think you’ll like her a lot.”
Wait, what? He what?
What?
“I know this is a bit of a surprise,” Dad goes on. “It wasn’t anything I planned, but life is funny like that sometimes. Now I don’t want you to be upset. And please don’t mention anything to your mom, at least not yet. I want to be the one to tell her. Will you let me do that?”
I try to breathe.
“Roo?”
It’s over. All over. If my mom is on a date and my dad met someone else, then our family is really gone. “So you’re not coming back,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry, Roo. Not this time.”
It takes me a second to understand what he said. “What do you mean, ‘this time’?”
He lets out a long sigh. “I guess you were too young to remember, but your mother and I took a break a few years back. You must have been in kindergarten.”
“What are you talking about?” I might not remember much from when I was five, but wouldn’t I remember my parents splitting up?
“After a few weeks, your mother and I decided to give it another shot. For your sake. But it’s just not going to work this time.”
He keeps talking, but I’m not listening anymore. I can’t believe it. No wonder Mom has been so determined to move on with her life. No wonder she keeps telling me my father can’t be trusted.
I realize Dad is saying my name over and over. “Rachel, are you still there?”
The room is swaying around me. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d left before?”
“It was only for a month,” he says. “You were so young that you barely knew what was going on. We hoped you’d just forget.”
I had forgotten, but maybe part of me hadn’t. Maybe that’s why I was so afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing all the time. Maybe I’d thought my dad leaving had something to do with me.
“Who—who is she?” I ask, trying to keep the tears back. Because once they start, they might never stop. “What’s her name?”
“Her name is Ellie. She was one of my first scuba clients.”
“Did you move there for her?”
“No! I only met her after I was down here. Trust me, Roo, I never…”
I stop listening, not wanting to hear anything else he has to say. How can he think I’ll be all right with him finding someone else? He left us behind and is going to start a life with someone new. And here I was stupidly thinking that I could fly down to visit him and patch everything up. As if one little trip could make any difference. Marisol was right.
“Roo? Are you still there?”
“I’m not coming to visit.”
“What? Why not?”
“Why not?” I repeat, my voice shrill to my own ears. “Are you serious? You can’t just leave me and think I’ll be fine with it. You can’t just dump Mom and start seeing someone else and think I’ll be fine with it. You can’t—”
“That’s not what I did, and you know it, Roo. I thought you were mature enough that I could be honest with you. But I guess I was wrong.”
“
I’m
the one who’s immature?” I yell. “You’re the one who abandoned your family to go start a business you don’t know anything about!”
“Rachel—”
“I’ve been going crazy trying to save up the money to come see you, and now it’s all for nothing!”
“Rachel—”
“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say, Dad. Mom was right. We’re better off without you.”
Before he can say another word, I hang up and slam my cell phone down on the counter. It skids off the edge and lands on the floor with a dull thud. I probably just broke my phone, but I don’t even care.
I leave the half-made cream puffs on the counter, run to my room, and throw myself on my bed. I’ve never been so furious with my dad in my entire life. Before I met Marisol, Dad was always the one I went to when I was upset, but this time there’s no one to talk to.
The tears threaten to burst out of me, but I squeeze my pillow until my eyes stop burning. Dad isn’t worth crying over, not anymore. I did enough of that when he left.
It was stupid of me to think I could fix things, but it turns out Mom has the right idea. It’s time to think ahead and not focus on the things we can’t change.
With that thought bouncing around in my head, I go back out to the kitchen and put the cream puffs in the oven. Then I do something totally crazy, as if an alien has possessed my body. I grab my phone off the floor (luckily it still works) and dial the Rileys’ number.
“Hello?” Briana’s voice says.
I almost hang up right there, but that strange alien force is still controlling me. “Hi, is Evan there?”
“Yeah, hold on.” And that’s it. No ridicule. No insults. She had no idea it was me. Maybe Briana Riley doesn’t have a humiliation superpower after all.
“Hello?” says Evan.
“Hey, it’s Rachel,” I say, my voice quivering a little bit.
“Oh, hi. How are you?”
“Not great,” I say. “I have a ton of cream puffs and no one to eat them with. And there’s an episode of
Pastry
Wars
starting in an hour, and I have no one to watch it with.”
“Wow, that’s quite the pickle you’re in.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “I guess the least I can do is come over and help you out. I just need your address.”
As I give him directions to my house, the reality of what I’m doing hits me like a frying pan to the face. Oh my goldfish. I just invited a guy over to hang out with me. And I did it without having a complete giggling fit or a loss of bodily functions. And he actually said yes! Okay, so he has a girlfriend. It’s not a date. But that doesn’t matter. I just need a friend, and it turns out Evan actually falls into that category.