Zigzag (2 page)

So I came up with a plan. Franny would run away to
my
house. Mom and I lived in a small apartment in town then, but Mom's bedroom was downstairs and mine was upstairs with its own bathroom. We figured whenever Mom came upstairs Franny would just climb in the bathtub and pull the curtain. We had such elaborate plans; we thought we were geniuses.

It worked for two days. By then the police had been called in and Franny's parents had plastered the whole town with posters that had her picture under the headline:
MISSING
! I suppose, under the circumstances, my mother thought it was peculiar that I ate a hearty dinner and then asked for an extra pork chop and baked potato to take upstairs for a “snack.” She followed me up and there stood Franny trying on my sweaters.

When Mom told her she had to call her parents immediately, Franny popped her gum and shrugged. “I was getting bored up here, anyway.” I already knew she only lied like that when she felt really hopeless. I hugged her even though I knew she wouldn't hug me back in front of my mother.

While Franny was on the phone, I told Mom some of the details of Franny's home life. “How can she go back there? We have to help her!” I begged.

So Mom made us cocoa and explained to Franny that she was welcome in our house anytime. “
Anytime,
” she repeated. “And if you ever need help, you call me right away.”

Franny didn't say anything, but she listened. Before long our house was as much her home as mine. It turned out that neither of her parents wanted her with the
other
parent, but they didn't particularly want her themselves either. Sometimes she'd call late at night because Bill had come by to declare his rights again, or Liz was passed out under the kitchen table, or she was alone and scared. No matter what time it was, we'd drive over and rescue her.
That's what Franny always called it: a rescue mission.

She's been living with her mother for the past two years now and things aren't as bad as they were. I can't remember the last time we did a rescue mission. But Franny's not the same kid anymore who cried all over my bedspread. Sometimes she seems about twenty years older than me and done with crying for good. She definitely has a sense of humor about her life, though, even if not everybody gets the joke.

After restocking the buffet table we went back inside the Melvilles' house; Franny headed straight for the refrigerator. “What do they have to drink?”

“There's soda outside.”

“I'm not going back out
there
again. Ooh, lemonade—that's good.” She brought out a large blue-and-white pitcher.

“Be careful with that. Dr. Melville loves that thing—it was her mother's.”

“Didn't I tell you? I'm old enough to pour my own juice now.”

“Do you think you should drink that? I mean, it wasn't put out for the guests.”

“It's only lemonade. I don't think they'll miss it.”

She stuck the pitcher back in the fridge, picked up the remaining tray of food, and walked toward the family room. “Let's sit down where it's comfortable.”

“No! You can't take food in there!” I said. “Dr. Melville doesn't let anybody eat on that carpet. And besides, they just recovered the couch.”

“Oh, for crapsake!” Franny turned around, slapped the tray down on the counter and sank onto a stool. “This place is a torture chamber. You can't touch the china, you can't eat the food, and you can't sit on the furniture. Are you allowed to pee in the toilets or does Dr. Melville have rules about that, too?”

“I'm sorry. I just don't want her to get mad at me, that's all.”

“Why? You think all of a sudden, after two years, she's going to change her mind and decide she's so crazy about you that the Prince can stay here and go to the University of Iowa so you won't be separated? Yeah, that'll happen.” She stuffed an artichoke heart in her mouth.

“I can't afford to antagonize her, that's all. And stop calling Chris,
the Prince.
”

She shook her head. “Is he really worth all this gloom and doom? You've never even gone out with anybody else.”

“You wouldn't understand, Franny.” She hates when I say that, because she's never had a boyfriend. But it's true.

She built up a little temper over it. “Oh, get over yourself, Cinderella! He's just a guy.”

“No, he isn't . . .”

“Yes, he is! There's nothing so damn special about—”

“Yes, there is!” I shouted at her. “He
is
special!” And then the bawling started. Didn't even see it coming this time. I guess Franny didn't either.

“Oh, Jesus. Come on, Robin. Don't start this again. Please!”

“I can't . . . help . . . it.”

“Okay, he's
special
already.
Really
special. Stop crying!”

It had all been so easy with Chris, right from the beginning. He was the perfect boy and he chose
me.
I knew I didn't deserve him, but I had him anyway. Except now he was leaving and I couldn't stand it. I couldn't imagine what my life would be like without him.

When I heard the footsteps coming up the porch stairs I tried to sniff the tears back, breathe deeply, look normal. But it was obvious what had been going on—my face was blotchy and slick with moisture, and Franny was handing me a tissue. Chris stopped abruptly just inside the kitchen door and his smile faded.

“Oh, Robin,” he said. “Not
again.
”

Again.

I
'm not leaving you—I'm just going to college! Why can't you believe that?”

I shrugged. “Call it what you want. I'm just being realistic, Chris.”

“You're just being pessimistic, as usual.” He paced around, kicking through the weeds, but I stayed sitting, twirling my hand in the water.

We were down by the pond on our farm. It was always my favorite place to go when I felt crummy, even back when Grandad owned the farm and Mom and I lived in town.

Chris took off his jacket and tie, unbuttoned the first couple of buttons on his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves. There were sweat circles under his arms and what I could see of his chest looked shiny, too. Which made me love him even more. It was all part of who he was, his body, his being, his life, which I sometimes had a hard time distinguishing from
my
body,
my
being,
my
life. When he came back toward me, I put up my hand and grabbed his; he let me pull him down beside me.

“I don't want to make you mad,” I said.

“I'm not mad—I'm just frustrated.” He ran his fingers through
my hair and goose bumps scampered down my arms.

“It's just that I love you so much, Chris, and I don't know what I'm going to do when you're gone.” I liked looking at his face when I told him I loved him. It got very soft and seemed to glow.

“Oh, Robin. I love you, too—you
know
that.” He bent close and kissed me, like I knew he would.

“Why don't you take that shirt off?” I said. “You must be boiling.” I started to unbutton the rest of the buttons.

“I am,” he said, smiling. “I just didn't want to get you all turned on.”

“Too late,” I said, kissing the salty, blond hair on his chest. When the shirt was off, I pulled his head down onto my lap, dipped one hand in the pond, and let my cold, wet fingers run across his chest. His head rolled back in pleasure as I caressed him.

Sometimes I think I wasn't even alive until I met Chris. Not that I knew it then, of course. But when I look back, the time before Chris seems gray. It's like the difference between home movies and Steven Spielberg. Or trading in your oatmeal for Cherry Garcia. Once you know your life can be in color how can you go back to black and white?

We didn't say anything for a few minutes, and then Chris whispered, “I don't want to leave you either.”

“Then why are you?” I said, not for the first time. I guess I don't know when to shut up.

Chris was quiet for half a minute, then said, “You know why.”

The thing is, every time I think of him leaving, I feel like I just went over a waterfall without a life jacket. The end is near, and I'm drowning already. “I
don't
know why,” I said. “I'd never leave you. I wouldn't.”

Chris rolled off my lap and got to his knees. “Don't start this again, Robin. You
know why.
”

“I know the University of Iowa has courses in international
relations. I don't see why you need to go so far away.”

His face tightened. “Because Georgetown is a great school, and it's in Washington, D.C., where international relations are actually
taking place.
Not to mention that it's been my first-choice college practically my whole life.”

“Only because your dad talks about it all the time.”

“He does not!”

I sighed. “Admit it. Your parents were dying for you to go to school someplace far away from me.”

He shook his head. “I know I'll never convince you that they like you, Robin, but they do. They just think we're too young to be so serious.”

“They wouldn't be so worried if my parents were doctors, or if I was a
Georgetown
girl.”

Chris stood up and grabbed his shirt, shoving his arms through the sleeves. “I'm really tired of arguing about the same stuff again and again, Robin. Aren't you? Why do you want to ruin our last summer together?”

“Our
last summer
? Since when?” I jumped to my feet so I could see his eyes.

“I don't mean last summer
forever
. . . I just mean . . .”

“It sure sounds like you mean forever. That's what
last summer
means!”

Chris ran his hands through his hair. “You're making me crazy, Robin!”

“Chris, this is the worst thing that's ever happened to me! Can't we even talk about it?”

“All we
do
is talk about it!”

“Well, all I do is think about it! Unlike you, I'm not going off to some exciting new place in three months. Or ever, for that matter. What am I supposed to think about?”

“Think about
yourself
for a change!”

He looked so aggravated, I started to cry again. He put his arms around me and hugged me tightly to him so that my tears ran down his neck. When I really thought about it, I knew I wouldn't be the only girl Chris Melville ever loved. How could I be that lucky? I just wanted to hold on to him as long as I possibly could.

I sniffled and looked up at his face. “My mom's on the late shift again,” I said.

“She is?”

I nodded and kept looking into his eyes until he leaned down to kiss me.

“Guess we better go inside then, before the mosquitoes have us for dinner,” he said. We walked back to the house, all tangled around each other, and went up to my bedroom. This was what I'd been hoping for all day, ever since I put the new sky blue sheets on my bed that morning.

When Mom works three to eleven
she doesn't get home until almost midnight, but Chris had orders to be home by ten so his parents could give him their graduation gift after everybody left. He was thinking it was a new computer, but I figured they'd probably bought him a brand new girlfriend, one with two parents, a decent wardrobe, and a merit scholarship to Harvard.

We got up about nine so I could make scrambled eggs and bacon before Chris left. He stood behind me at the stove, his arms around my waist.

“Don't forget your secret ingredients,” he said. I threw in some oregano and turned the pepper mill over the eggs until they were polka-dotted. Since Chris's mother rarely cooked anything, he was awed by my ability to wield a spatula.

I piled the eggs onto two plates and put the tray of bacon on the kitchen table while Chris poured us cups of coffee. We sat across from each other, but neither of us dug right in.

“What would your mom say if she knew we were sleeping together? Would she be upset?”

I shrugged. “I don't think it would come as a big shock to her. When she first started working the late shift we had a big talk about how she knew it would be tempting for you and me to have an empty house to come to, and she hoped we wouldn't feel we had to take advantage of it. But she never said
don't.
That's not her style.”

“Yeah, your mother's pretty cool.”

“I'm not saying she'd be thrilled about it. I'm sure I'd get the whole safe-sex lecture for the forty-second time.”

Chris nodded, and we both started in on our eggs. “I can't imagine what my mother would do. She thinks I'm so perfect.”

“Well, she's right about that,” I said.

Chris didn't smile, though; he just picked up several pieces of bacon at once and bit off a mouthful. “I wish you didn't think so,” he said finally.