Nest (32 page)

No one says anything for a long time.

“Okay. That’s all, folks.” Mr. Morell claps his hands like it’s the end of a performance. “Charlene, close
the door.” But Mrs. Morell takes her sweet time. She gives me the chance to watch Mr. Morell turn away and slowly climb the stairs. And to hear Vinnie say to Joey, “Next time you decide to piss off Dad, come talk to me first.” It’s only after Joey lifts his head and gives me a little smile that she finally closes the door.

“I’m in here!” Rachel yells when she hears me come in. What I want is to sit in the dark in the living room and look out the window and see Joey’s bedroom light turn on so I’ll know he’s okay, just unpacking his duffel bag and getting into his pajamas and then brushing his teeth and going to bed like any boy at night.

“I’m making us popcorn,” Rachel yells.

“Come on in,” Dad yells.

When I walk into the kitchen, Dad and Rachel both rush over to me.

“Here, sit down, honey,” Dad says, pulling out a chair for me like he’s a waiter at a fancy restaurant.

Rachel’s standing so close to me that I bump her with my elbow when I sit down, but I guess she doesn’t notice.

“Oh, I think I’m burning the vegetable oil,” she says, racing back to the stove. “I thought you’d like some popcorn, lots of salt.” She’s smiling and nodding like those waggle dolls people put on the dashboards of their cars.

“We’re so glad you’re home, honey,” Dad says.

I know it’s just popcorn popping, but when I close my eyes, what I see is handfuls of pebbles dropping onto the road. White stones, gray stones, brown stones, bouncing on the black asphalt.

“Are you okay, Chirpie?” It’s Rachel, still looking worried. “We want to hear all about everything.”

“If you’re ready to talk about it, of course,” Dad says.

“Of course. If you’re ready to talk about it,” Rachel says.

“But we really
do
want to hear.”

Rachel’s dumping the popcorn into a shiny metal bowl. She’s sprinkling tons of salt on it. “Let’s go sit in the living room,” she says, and starts leading the way, Dad behind her.

I want to sneak out the back door and into the toolshed. I’ll listen to the squeaky peepers and the sound of my breath. If the marsh lady is hunkered down in there, I’ll tell her that she has to scoot over and let me sit down on the wooden planting bench and get comfortable. She has no choice. Maybe her life has been hard, but mine hasn’t been all peaches and roses, either. I just got home from running away, and Mom is still dead and always will be. There’s nothing I can do about it. And Joey could be in trouble at this exact second, and there’s nothing I can do about that, either, except keep being his friend, since he’s right: you can’t make grown-ups not do what they’re going to do.

“Chirp? Are you coming?” Rachel’s back in the hallway.

I want to want the popcorn that’s waiting for me in the living room. I want to want to thank Rachel for the extra salt, which is how I like it. I want to want to cuddle on the couch with her and Dad and tell them all about my adventures.

But my legs are stuck like I walked into the salt marsh at low tide and sunk down into the silky mud, where the oysters live.

Rachel’s looking at me. Her eyes are deep brown like Mom’s.

“I’m tired,” I say.

“Too tired,” she says. And then I see it, the dark under her eyes like smudges of damson plum jam.

For the first time, I get it. Mom was her mom, too.

“You’re tired,” I say.

She nods.

I wrap my arms around my sister’s waist and squeeze. She’s not as thin as she used to be. I remember how it felt to twirl around with her. It’s been too long since we’ve danced together, but I’m not sure if we’ll ever do it again.

“I can’t hang out and talk with you and Dad tonight,” I say. “I just can’t.”

“I know,” she says. She sounds disappointed, but she doesn’t let me go.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she says. “Or the next day.”

The clock ticks in the hallway. Dad clears his throat in the living room.

“You know,” I whisper in my sister’s ear, “the lilacs will bloom soon.”

“Really?”

“I don’t want them to,” I say. “I don’t want them to bloom without Mom here.”

“We’ll go out and clip them together.”

“And then throw them in the trash can,” I say.

Rachel lets go of me. She’s looking at me, but I can’t tell what she’s thinking. What if she says
Oh, Chirp! Of course we won’t throw the lilacs in the trash can! We’ll arrange them in the blue vase and the orange vase and the white vase, just like Mom did, and then put them on the living room table and in the front hallway, where they’ll look so pretty, but we’ll have to be sure not to put any in the kitchen since they’ll smell too sweet for Daddy and he won’t be able to eat his meals
.

“We’ll set them on fire and watch them burn,” my sister says.

I’m so relieved, I throw my arms back around her. “We’ll dig a hole and bury them alive!”

“We’ll snip them into little pieces and drown them with the hose!”

“Stupid flowers!”

“Idiot lilacs!”

We’re laughing, but we could just as easily be crying.

“God, I’m glad you’re home,” Rachel says, and now she
is
crying.

I squeeze her tighter.

“I don’t want to go to school tomorrow,” I say. “I really just want to stay home.”

“I’ll tell Dad we’re both staying home. I didn’t go to school today in case you came home, but I can miss tomorrow, too. I have a math test, but I’ll take a make-up. We can just hang out.”

“Girls?” Daddy yells from the living room. “Popcorn’s getting cold.”

“Tell Dad—” I pull away from Rachel and take a step backward.

“That you’ve gone to bed and will see him in the morning,” Rachel says.

I smile and Rach smiles back.

“Good night,” I say.

“Good night, Chirpie.”

I start to carry my backpack up the stairs, but I stop when I hear footsteps behind me. It’s Dad. He puts his hand, warm, on my head and follows me upstairs.

“You can skip brushing your teeth tonight if you want,” he says.

“I don’t think so. Joey says—” If I start talking about Joey, I won’t be able to stop. Dad will try to convince me that Joey’s going to be just fine, that I
have nothing to worry about. But I know that Dad doesn’t know that. There are plenty of things Dad doesn’t know. He sits down on the toilet lid, and I sit on his lap and brush my teeth, just like I did when I was little. We walk to my room, Dad’s hand warming the top of my head again. He waits outside my door while I change into my flannel nightgown.

“Ready,” I say.

“Okay.” Dad comes in. He pulls back my covers, and I get into bed. “We’ll talk more tomorrow,” he says. “I want to hear everything.”

“Okay.”

“Great,” Dad says.

“Well, maybe not everything.” I don’t know exactly what I mean, but it feels good to say it.

“Okay, then. Maybe not.” His voice is so sad. “Anyway, honey, I’m glad you’re home. Good night.” He kisses my forehead and turns out my light.

“Good night, Dad.”

As soon as Dad’s gone, I sit up and look out my window. Joey’s light is still off, which might be a bad sign. On the other hand, there’s a chance that he already got ready for bed with his light on, then turned his light off, and now he’s safely sleeping to the sound of his parents talking through his bedroom wall.
I’m so glad to have him home. He scared us half to death, but he’s a good boy
. I lift my window all the way up so I can hear everything that goes on at night.

Mrs. Newlon’s sprinkler is on. Someone somewhere
is listening to the radio. And I know that in the salt marsh, the herons and egrets are asleep, standing in the water. If a predator heads toward them, they feel the vibrations in the water and wake up. Ducks and geese have the same built-in alarm system. They fall asleep, floating in the water. But if there’s danger paddling toward them, they feel the water move. Smart birds, their instincts say
Wake up, stay safe
. And me? My instinct tells me it’s time to lie down, snuggle under my covers, and close my eyes, home.

My deepest thanks and love to my mother, Shelley Ehrlich, who taught me that language is light;
may her memory be for a blessing
. Doris Goldberg, you’re right: Mom would have been so proud.

I’ve been in remarkably good hands throughout the writing of
Nest
. Thank you, Susan Golomb, agent extraordinaire, for your savvy and smarts. Thanks, too, to Krista Ingebretson, for your gentle, patient guidance. Wendy Lamb, I’m grateful to you for so much, including your keen editorial eye and unending enthusiasm, and especially for falling in love with Chirp and Joey! Dana Carey, I appreciate all of your hard work and support. I’d also like to thank Soumeya Bendimerad, Cailean Geary, Candy Gianetti, Colleen Fellingham, Alison Kolani, Tamar Schwartz, Tracy Heydweiller, Kate Gartner, Stephanie Moss, Teagan White, Kathy Chetkovich, and Charles Reilly.

To Dad, my brother and sisters, and all of my family, my love and appreciation. My friends, know that though I’m not listing you here by name, your belief in me has made all the difference. Emma and Riley,
I love you. Thanks for your patience and excitement and for gracefully sharing me with my “other kids” who live in this book. And, finally, to Neal: my muse, my brilliant reader, my true love. I’m grateful to you beyond words.

Esther Ehrlich was born and raised in Boston and spent childhood summers on Cape Cod. She graduated from Vassar College. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her family.
Nest
is her first novel. Visit her at
estherehrlich.com
.