Zigzag (33 page)

“Yeah, I know. I'm unforgettable.”

“Iris,” I said, then looked at her for a full second before putting my arms around her. I knew she'd resist me, and she did, but not with every muscle and bone in her body. I was willing to settle for this small miracle.

“I guess you'll never forget me either,” she said in her usual ironic tone of voice.

“I'll try, though,” I said, which made her laugh. “Thank you for the ring. You know I love it.”

Then I remembered that I had gifts for them, too. “Wait here a minute,” I said, and ran into our room, trying to remember what I'd done with the clay horses from Acoma. My backpack. I hoped they hadn't broken.

All three were fine. I decided quickly that the darkest horse—nearest in color to Okie—was for Marsh. And the white one, of course, was Silverfoot, so that was Iris's. I'd keep the reddish one.

“Presents for you, too!” I said, handing one to each of them.
“So you don't forget your wild west summer.”

“These are from the pueblo at Acoma,” Marsh said. “I saw them there. I can't believe you bought us presents—you never buy anything!” He looked so shocked, I had to laugh.

Iris nudged him gently in the ribs. “Just say ‘thank you,' Marshall.”

He glared at her. “I didn't hear you say it yet.”

Iris gave me a lopsided smile and kept her eyes on her horse. “Thanks. This is really nice.” From Iris that was quite a speech.

“Yeah, thanks,” Marsh said. “You know we'll never forget you!”

Savannah had to leave for work so the first round of good-byes began, and then we packed the suitcases into the station wagon. The defective tent, all the sleeping bags, and a variety of souvenirs (including the unbreakable vase) would make the trip back to the Midwest with me in the car. Roland and Sukey and Tony all gathered around to say good-bye to the Tewksburys. Iris and Tony even sneaked off around the corner for a private farewell. Or maybe just to talk about horses one more time.

And then we were off for the airport. It went very quickly once we got there—check the bags, stamp the tickets, call for a wheelchair to get Dory down the long hallway to the gate. We had to tell them good-bye at the checkpoint before the gates. Iris and Marsh had done enough hugging—they were eager to get going, but Dory gave me a long one-armed squeeze and, of course, a thank-you.

“I don't want to let you go, dammit,” she said. “You've been a lifesaver for me on this trip.”

I told her Mom and I would be up to visit in two weeks or so.

“Two weeks? Thank God. I hope I can hold out that long!”

We waved good-bye—Cesar, too—until they turned the corner and were out of sight. Suddenly I felt like crying. It was over. Not the whole trip—Franny and I would certainly have an
adventure or two on the way home. But this was the end of the Zigzag Plan.

“There's an hour until your friend's plane comes in,” Cesar said. “Let's get something to eat, okay?”

I followed him silently to the food court and ordered a corn muffin and a glass of orange juice.

“That's all you want?” Cesar was getting himself a burger, fries, and a milk shake. “Don't tell me you're getting like that cousin of yours. She doesn't eat enough to keep a bird alive.”

“No, I'm just feeling a little weird that they're gone. I mean, we've been so close all summer, literally so close, in motel rooms and in the van—we were never apart! And now they've disappeared, just like that.”

“You miss them,” he said, with a shrug. To him it was obvious.

“Yeah, I guess I do. Who'd have expected that?”

Cesar was a great person to talk to, but he was also a great person to sit and be quiet with. After a few minutes, without telling me what he was doing, he went up and got me a milk shake.

“Best medicine for melancholy,” he said. Then he smiled at me in that cockeyed way he has, and I decided it was a good thing that Franny and I were leaving in two days.

Franny's plane was about ten minutes late, but it seemed like ages to me—I was so anxious to see her. Then here she came striding down the hall toward us like she was considering buying the building, her eyes taking in every pretzel seller, cigarette lounge, and newspaper stand. It was her first time out of Iowa and she wasn't going to miss a thing.

“Franny!” I screamed from the other side of the checkpoint. “We're here!”

She looked up and waved nonchalantly, as though she found herself in places like Albuquerque all the time. I grabbed her the minute she came through to our side.

“I can't believe you're really here!”

“Me either. It's like magic. I got on a big bird, it flew through the clouds for a few minutes, and here I am, a thousand miles from home. Robin, this is the best rescue mission ever—only this time you're saving me from Des Sanders.”

“It's over with Des?”

“
Way
over.” She looked up at Cesar. “I'm Franny. Who are you?”

“Oh, Franny, this is Cesar. He's been driving us around since the car crash.”

She smiled. “Oh, like a chauffeur?”

“Not exactly. See, Robin was abandoned on our doorstep and we took her in. So, I'm kind of a . . . foster brother.” His smile slipped from Franny over to me.

“I see,” she said, giving me a wide-eyed look. I knew what we'd be discussing the moment Cesar was out of sight.

On the drive back from the airport, Franny wanted me to tell her everything that had happened for the past five weeks, including
details.
So I started with the Iowa State Fair, spent quite a few minutes on the mosquito attack in the Badlands, described the fossil Marsh had found, skipped lightly over dancing with Glen, gave a complete rundown on the Lazy River Ranch rodeo, explained how Denver sat right in the mountains, told her about the cow-shaped pool in Texas, the Cadillacs covered with spray paint, the lack of water at Acoma Pueblo and Madrid, New Mexico. And then, of course, Savannah, the vase, the argument, the seat belt situation, and the tumbling downhill of Dory's car. Telling the stories made me feel like I'd put a period at the end of the sentence. That trip, and all it entailed, was really over.

“And that's how we ended up at the Black Mesa Motel,” I said as we pulled up in front of it.

“Now I'm really jealous,” Cesar said. “Hearing about your trip
makes me want to take off and go somewhere. Anywhere!”

“Well, come back to Iowa with us!” Franny said.

“I already offered to do that,” Cesar said. “But I was turned down.”

I knew he was joking, but he looked a little sad, too. “We'd make you square dance if you came with us,” I said.

“Hey, I'd do ballet dancing for a chance to see Iowa!” he said.

“What is going on with you two?” Franny said once we were alone in room number 5.

“Nothing!”

“Oh, please—no false modesty. That guy is gaga over you.”

“Don't be silly.”

She shook her head. “He does not look at you like a brother, Robin, foster or otherwise. And I have to say, on first glance, I prefer this one to Chris. I know Chris has that blond thing going, but as far as I'm concerned, give me dark looks.”

“Franny, will you shut up?” I slammed the window down. “What if he heard you?”

“What if he did?”

“There is nothing going on with Cesar and me. I'm still going with Chris. As far as I know.”

“Cesar,” she said, flopping on the bed. “He even has a good name. Oh, speaking of Chris, your mom gave me this to give to you.” She zipped open her backpack and carefully removed a blue airmail letter, holding it with only her thumb and index finger, as if it were a teacup.

My stomach fell into my shoes as I took it from her. Which of my last letters had he gotten already? The braggy one certainly. The honest one, maybe. And what would he have to say about either one of them?

“I suppose you want to read it in private?”

“Would you mind?”

She sighed. “Not at all. Maybe there'll be some hot-looking young guy hanging around outside I can get to know.”

“Be my guest,” I said, then, as soon as she left, I started trying to come up with reasons why Cesar wouldn't appreciate Franny's finer qualities. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of any, so I sat down on the bed and opened my letter. Just looking at the familiar handwriting made my heart jump. If only I could see Chris surely things wouldn't seem so confusing!

Dear Robin,

I got your last two letters just a couple of days apart. I'm glad I waited to write you back until the second one came today. After I read the first one I was kind of angry with you, going on and on about your wonderful cousins and dancing with cowboys and everything. I should have known it was in response to my letter. When the second one came, I remembered what I'd written to you, all about Gabriella and “bonding” with my friends. I guess it sounded like I had a great new life and you weren't in it.

Maybe I wanted you to think that. I'm not sure why. I am having fun here, and I do like most of the kids on the program, but sometimes I get really lonely for Thunder Lake and for you. We have a lot of fun here, but none of these people really know me the way you do. I hope you believe that I still love you, Robin, because I do. But I have to tell you something that you won't like. I've kissed Gabriella. Only a few times, and mostly because we're both missing people. We're certainly not in love! But it happened, and I can't promise you it won't happen again.

It's so hard to be so far away from the person I love! It scares me now to think of being away from you next year. I want us to be together, Robin, but sometimes it seems like it won't work. I know this is what you were afraid would happen once we were apart, and I'm sorry I didn't take you more seriously. I always said you were the smart one.

The car crash sounded awful. I'm so glad you weren't hurt! I don't know what I'd have done if you'd been hurt and I couldn't come to see you! I'm sorry your aunt got hurt, but I guess she'll be okay. It's great you're getting to spend some time in Santa Fe—I wish I could see it with you.

In your last letter you seemed different than I remember—I guess going out into the world does that. I think I've changed too, which makes it hard to write to you. If we could talk to each other face-to-face—which we will soon—I think things would be okay again. But for now, I feel a little bit like I don't even know who I'm writing to.

Our school program is over and we're leaving tomorrow to travel to Florence, Bologna, Milan, and Venice. There's an address in Milan where we can pick up mail in about two weeks, but I'm thinking that maybe it would be better if we didn't write to each other anymore while I'm in Italy. That way, when we meet again on August 20, we won't have to sort through the things we said on paper and might have misunderstood. We can look at each other and talk about what really happened.

Does that sound all right? I'll put the Milan address at the bottom of the page, just in case you don't agree with me. Otherwise, I'll look forward to seeing you in a month. No matter what happens, Robin, I do love you.

Chris

The address in Milan was squeezed in at the bottom of the page in such small handwriting I could barely read it. It didn't matter anyway; I wouldn't need it.

R
oland drove me down to pick up the van first thing the next morning. It was strange to sit behind the wheel again. Except for a few scratches, it looked the same as it had before the accident, and I had the crazy idea that, by fixing the car, we'd managed to erase all the damage—not just the broken bones, but Dory's grief, Iris's eating disorder, Marshall's fears. I knew it wasn't true, but it made me hopeful. Maybe even people who looked like they were totaled could be put back together again and made to run.

Since Franny only had one day in Santa Fe, we made it a good one. Both Cesar and Savannah came with us to tour the city, to see the museums and shops, and to eat a few last enchiladas. Franny bought herself a rope of chili peppers because she thought they were beautiful and because we had a whole van to ourselves to take things back.

“I can't believe I'm getting to see all this stuff and it's not even costing me anything,” she said at least four times during the day. “I mean, I'm sorry your aunt got hurt and everything, but, God, it was lucky for me. We're going to have so much fun on the drive back!”

Whenever one of us mentioned leaving, Cesar stopped smiling. I wondered if Franny was right about him liking me as more than a friend, or if he was just feeling bad that he was “stuck” in New Mexico? I liked Cesar, and I knew that if I let myself, I could like him a lot. I had a feeling if we'd spent a few more days at the Lazy River Ranch I would have been more than friends with Glen, too. What was wrong with me this summer? I loved Chris, but I also really liked these other guys. How could both things be true?