The Beginning of After (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-one

O
ne week before my birthday and two weeks before Halloween, the leaves hit their peak. I could stand on our front lawn and look south to see the quilt of browns and reds and yellows stretched across the hills. It was hard for me to drive because I’d always be staring up at the trees, which bent forward over the road like they were showing off their last bling of the season before going bare for the winter.

The memories hit me hard, squeezing my chest, every time I stepped outside and felt that snap in the air, the fall food smells drifting through our neighborhood. My dad and Toby and I raking the lawn, then jumping into the leaves. Mom and I shopping for sweaters and corduroys at the outlet mall. All four of us driving up north to go apple picking early on a Saturday morning. I’d always loved October because it moved things along, it kicked our butts into shifting gear. But now that things were moving along without them, it just made me cry a lot.

“Birthdays and holidays are very difficult when you’re grieving, especially the first year,” said Suzie during our latest session. “It’s going to be a tough few months that way.”

“I know,” was all I said, playing with a loose button on my sweater.

“How’s your college application coming along?” she asked. “You only have a couple weeks left to submit to Yale, right?”

“I’m almost done,” I replied, glad to change the subject. I thought my application was pretty good. Or at least, good enough for my dad. I even had photos of my best set paintings over the years. They were photos Mom had taken, which at the time had seemed too embarrassing for words. Now the fact that she had taken them made the photos precious, and I had copies of them in a frame on my bedroom wall.

“Teachers are practically lining up to write my recommendation letters. That’s pretty weird.”

Suzie smiled. “Weird, maybe, but I’m sure not undeserved.”

“I’m still stuck on what to write for the big essay.” In other words, do I write about my family or not tell them anything about what happened? I was totally stumped and just kept putting it off.

“You’ll think of the right topic, I’m sure.”

I nodded. This was what everyone else had told me, including Nana and Meg. We were silent for too long, I guess, because Suzie jumped in with a new item. “And your birthday’s coming up. Are you feeling like you want a big party, or just a small celebration?”

I just shrugged. Every time I thought about it, I got too sad.

“Because I think you need to empower yourself on this. You’re old enough. If people do things for you and it’s not what you want, it will really make you feel worse. What did you do in the past?”

“Usually Meg and I would go out to a movie and then have a sleepover.”

“Is that what you want to do this time?” asked Suzie, making a note on her pad. Sometimes I imagined Suzie drawing squiggles and hearts all this time she was pretending to take notes.

I tried to picture Andie Stokes and Hannah Lindstrom in sleeping bags on the floor of the den. Like that was going to happen.

“No,” I said. “I think it’s time for a change. Maybe dinner at some cool restaurant.”

Suzie nodded. “That sounds lovely.”

Then I pictured Meg and Nana and Eve and me and maybe Meg’s parents, eating at a corner table at the Magic Wok. It did sound lovely.

“What about Halloween?” asked Suzie, bringing me back to reality. “There’s a school dance, right?”

Man, she was in the loop.

“Yes,” I said. “There’s a dance and yes, I’m going. Andie and Hannah and a couple of their friends, and Meg and I, are going dressed as sushi. I think they said I’m yellowtail.”

“Now
that
I would like to see,” said Suzie, making another note (or another doodle). She looked at her notes again and, as if deciding I hadn’t given her enough to write about, asked, “Anything else you want to talk about today?”

I had a new postcard from David tucked into the last pages of my history textbook. He was in Mexico.
Just for the weekend
, he’d written.
Just to see what it’s like to have authentic tequila.

I still hadn’t told Suzie about anything that had happened with David; I wasn’t about to start now. But I felt like I owed her some kind of new personal nugget.

“Joe Lasky wants us to do an art project together,” I said, thinking of his open smile that day by my locker.

She smiled, way too pleased, but I was glad for it. Maybe she could get excited for me, since I wasn’t allowing myself to.

“Tell me about
that
,” said Suzie, and so I did.

It was after school and I was waiting for Joe. The day before, he’d sent me a text while I was in English:

superhero powwow 2mrw? no villains allowd
.

I’d laughed, then texted back:

k, jst tel me whr d scret headquarters r.

Now the door, which I’d closed so nobody would see me sitting alone in the art classroom, started rattling. Joe’s face appeared in the door’s little window, his eyes confused.

“It’s not locked!” I called.

Joe rattled a little more, pushed a bit harder, and suddenly fell into the room.

“I guess that’s why Mr. Ramirez never closes this door,” he said. His sketch pad was tucked under one arm and his bag slung diagonally across his chest. “Thanks for meeting me today.”

“No problem.” I shrugged, thinking,
Don’t you know I’ve been looking forward to this?

And:
You’d better not be doing this out of some obligation, to make up for prom night.

Joe grabbed a stool and pulled it next to mine, then slapped his sketch pad on the table in front of us. “So, how do we do this?”

It felt like a bigger question, one that you could only answer with action. So I opened his sketch pad to the first drawing, a preteen-aged girl in oversize red boots and a perky minidress, her hands on her hips. She was sticking out her tongue.

“Who’s this?” I asked him.

“My little sister. SuperBrat. I’ve been drawing her in various forms for years.”

“She’s that bad?”

“You have no idea,” said Joe, shaking his head. “When I was younger, I used to keep a list of ways she might die.” He sucked in his breath and his face turned instantly white. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. . . . You . . .”

“It’s okay,” I said. But he looked so angry with himself. At that moment I realized how hard he must have been trying not to say anything to upset me. “You should definitely use this one,” I added, coming to his rescue. “I could draw a room where everything is gigantic in relation to her. Tables and chairs and stuff. Like, she thinks she’s a big shot but really, she’s tiny in her world.”

“I like that!” said Joe, nodding. Our heads were bent close to each other, and when I smelled his hair, it brought me back to prom night and almost overwhelmed me.

Joe, and this back-and-forth conversation. Not one-way postcards I couldn’t answer, postcards that might as well have been messages dropped out of the sky and all I could do was try to catch them.

I grabbed my notebook and wrote something down about SuperBrat. “Okay, show me the next one.”

A half hour later, we’d gone through all his sketches and picked out eight that should be in the show, and for which I could draw some backgrounds. Ideas came speeding through me, fully formed. It was as if they were traveling a highway that had been clogged with traffic but was now unexpectedly clear.

When we reached the end of Joe’s sketch pad, we sat there for a moment. I didn’t want to leave yet.

Then he said, “I hear you and a whole bunch of other girls have something fantastic planned for the Halloween dance.”

I’d been wanting to find out whether or not he was going, but was afraid that if I asked, he’d think I wanted to go with him. Which I was sure would have been a terrifying prospect, given our history. Some things are just too scary even for Halloween.

“Yeah, it’s a secret,” I told him. “You’ll have to see for yourself.”

Joe looked down. “Unfortunately, I have to work that night.”

I swallowed my disappointment. “I’m sure there will be pictures after the fact,” I said casually, then started busying myself with my book bag in preparation to leave.

“I’m trying to get out of it.” He still didn’t look at me.

“Okay,” I said, not looking back.

“Are you parked in the senior lot?” he asked, and when I turned to him and nodded, he made an
After you
gesture with his arm toward the door.

The hallways were mostly deserted, and only a few people saw us walking out together. I knew it would be enough to start the rumor mill chugging again.

“Thanks again for agreeing to do this,” said Joe as we approached my car.

“It’s going to be fun,” I said. “Plus, I can put it on my applications, if I don’t get in early to Yale.”

“I’ll take photographs of the finished pieces so you can send them in.”

“That would be great,” I said. I stepped up to the car door and dug the keys out of my bag, then turned to wave good-bye, thinking that he’d stopped several feet behind me. But he hadn’t, and now he was closer than I expected.

“Have a great night, Laurel,” he said. Then he paused, and for half of a half of a fraction of an instant, I thought he might kiss me.

Kiss me, Joe. I won’t shatter.

Instead, he leaned away from me, like he was afraid it might happen accidentally, and spread his arms wide. I copied him and we tilted into each other for the briefest of hugs. Not even a hug, really. More like a body brushing.

Seriously, Joe, you can touch me without breaking me. In fact, you might even put me a little bit back together.

Then he was stepping away from me and waving, and I waved back with the most normal smile I could muster.

As I drove home, I thought of Joe’s lips by Adam LaGrange’s pool, and how his hands had felt on me. Not this brushing nonsense, but planted firmly, with a sureness. How could I ever get that back?

And then I wondered about Mom. If she were waiting at home for me, would I ask her advice? Would we make tea and talk about what to do about Joe? I’d never gotten to the point with her of needing real boy guidance. But then, if she were alive, Joe and I would still be virtual strangers.

The sad and twisted irony of that made me suddenly furious. I turned up the radio as high as I could and then screamed into the oncoming traffic. It was a trick Suzie had taught me. Anyone outside the car would just think I was rocking out to a really great song.

Meg sat with me in the middle of the New York Yankees rug on the floor of Toby’s room. Lucky lay purring crazy loud between us as I rubbed her belly and Meg scratched under her chin. She liked taking a break from the kittens, who were sleeping in a pile at the back corner of the dog crate Eve had lent me.

“She looks good,” said Meg.

“I know, I can’t believe how much weight she’s gained in just three weeks. Eve gave me the recipe for a cat power meal that makes a big difference.”

“Eve knows all,” said Meg sarcastically, but I didn’t respond and instead, glanced up to the solar-system mobile on the ceiling, which was twirling slowly and almost halfheartedly.

When I came into the room the day I saved Lucky’s life, it was the first time it had been opened since Nana had to find Toby’s good suit for him to be buried in.

While I had been able to go into my parents’ bedroom a few times to look for things, neither of us could open Toby’s door. We never talked about the
stuff
issue, even though Suzie occasionally asked me about that.

The air was stale but for a second, I thought I could smell that combination of Head & Shoulders and light sweat that would always be my brother. He had some new posters up: a few bands that he’d just started listening to and one of a blond model in a bikini, straddling a Vespa scooter, that made me laugh. There was a blank sheet-music book on the desk, with notes scratched out in Toby’s crooked, struggling handwriting. I had glanced up at the electric piano in the corner, then back at the sheet music. All I could make out were the lyrics,
Tell me why, you want to cry
.

Toby was always good at making up songs, even if he had trouble writing them down. When we were younger, before my going to high school seemed to turn the three years between us into twenty, we’d put together shows for my parents. He did the music, I made the sets and costumes, and we just goofed through the rest of it.

Even though his room now smelled of cat, not teenage boy, I imagined Toby thought what I was doing was cool.

“Are you working on your Joe stuff?” Meg asked, changing position and stretching.

She meant the drawings, of course, but those teased a larger, Joe Stuff world of possibilities.

“Yeah, a little. The show’s not until December, so there’s time.”

“I’m glad you guys are . . . friendly now.”

We paused, and I almost started to tell her about David’s postcards. They weren’t something I should be keeping from her, I knew that, but how could I explain them?

Then we heard Masher scratching and whining at the door, and the moment was gone. It drove him crazy that there were animals in here that he could smell but not see.

Lucky looked toward the door with disdain, then climbed into Meg’s lap. “She must think you need a little sugar today,” I said.

Meg frowned for a second and the tip of her nose twitched, like she had something to say about that, but then she just bent down and gave Lucky a big wet kiss on the head.

I wanted the Magic Wok for my birthday. I got the Magic Wok and the big round table in the corner, with the Lazy Susan on it, which I always loved when I was little.

Nana and Megan sat on either side of me. Meg’s parents sat next to her, and Eve sat next to Nana. Everyone ordered the mai tais, which came in a ceramic Buddha with a ridiculously long straw, including Meg and Eve and me, although we got the alcohol-free versions that tasted like Slurpees.