Broken Hearts, Fences and Other Things to Mend (9 page)

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me lose my appetite, and I threw away most of the cone before it

had even started melting.

My mom was waiting for us when we got home, and for the

fi rst time I understood what an ambush felt like. She and my dad

sat me down at the kitchen table, one of them on either side of

me. They told me that they were separating, that they weren’t

getting divorced, they just needed to take some time apart. But

they still loved me, and always would. They went on to say other

things— about logistics, and how I would spend the fi rst two weeks

of the summer with my mom, and the rest of it away with my dad,

who was going to teach a writing workshop in the Hamptons.

But I wasn’t really listening to any of this. Instead, I was holding

on to the one sentence that was all I wanted to hear—
it was just a

separation, and they weren’t getting a divorce
.

My dad left for his workshop, and I spent the next two weeks

with my mother, in denial and trying to pretend that my dad

was just away on a business trip, like my friends’ fathers— the ones

who didn’t work at home in sweatpants— sometimes took. And as

I took the Jitney, the Hamptons- bound bus (wearing an annoy-

ingly visible MINOR sticker on my sweater that meant I had to sit

up front behind the driver the whole way), I decided I would pre-

tend that my dad and I were on vacation together, just the two of

us. And I had a plan that I’d worked out as we drove across Long

Island— I would use the next two months to subtly remind my

dad about how great my mom was and how much fun we had as a

family. And by the end of the summer, I knew, they’d both miss

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each other and realize they were being stupid, and would get back

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together. And we’d never even talk about the separation again,

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except in passing sometimes, remarking on how silly the whole

thing had been.

We’d gotten settled in at Bruce’s house, and had been in the

Hamptons a few days, when my dad and I went out to dinner with

his co- teacher—she was also a writer, whose debut novel had just

been published— and her kids.

The timing was perfect, since I was starting to get a little bored

hanging out by myself all day. My dad had thought Bruce’s kids

were going to be around for me to spend time with, but they were

in Hawaii with their mother for the whole summer. So I was

thrilled when we arrived at our table at the beachside fi sh res-

taurant, The Crabby Lobster, and my dad introduced me to Karen

Bridges, and her kids, Josh and Hallie.

Josh left a few days after that for some intensive sports camp,

and then it was just me and Hallie. Since both our respective par-

ents were working all day, the two of us were thrown together a

lot. And I found, after we’d spent a few afternoons at the beach,

getting sunburned and prowling for snacks, that I really liked

her. She was fun, always up for anything, and had a sly sense of

humor that she used to great effect, usually to make fun of grown-

ups to their faces and get away with it. She never insisted on

having her own way, and was even willing to share my sausage-

pepperoni- pineapple pizza. And unlike Sophie, who could some-

times be overly bossy, insisting on getting her own way, Hallie

was more laid- back, happy to roll with things.

We spent most of our time at the beach or riding bikes around

downtown together, eating more ice cream than either of our

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parents would have been happy with. I told her my secrets— my

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longstanding crush on Ford, the boys at school who I liked who

didn’t know I existed, and the ones who did know I existed, but

who were always the wrong ones. She confi ded in me in return,

telling me about her huge crush on Cooper Sullivan, the kid who

lived two doors down from the tiny house the Bridges were rent-

ing for the summer. She told me that she was hoping he’d be her

fi rst kiss. Because my dad had told me, I knew that Hallie and

Josh’s father had died when they were both younger, but Hallie

didn’t seem to want to talk about it, so I didn’t bring it up much.

I was thrilled that our parents were getting along, since it meant

that Hallie and I got to hang out more and more. Soon, it just

became normal that my dad and I had dinner most nights with

Karen and Hallie, the two of us leaving to watch a movie or play a

board game as soon as our parents started getting into one of

their epic talks about literature, which could go on for hours.

Whenever I think about that June when we became fast friends,

everything seems to be golden and sun- drenched, kind of per-

fect, the way it only can be when you know a storm is looming on

the horizon.

Everything came crashing down on the last day of June. Hallie

and I were at the beach; our parents were teaching, and we’d al-

ready decided to bike downtown and get burgers for lunch. We’d

just been in the water, so I was laying on my towel, letting the

sun dry me off, and everything felt peaceful and good.

“Saltwater taffy?” I opened one eye and saw Hallie offering

the box to me. She’d discovered saltwater taffy recently at the candy

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store downtown and had become obsessed with it. She was pretty

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generous with it, and as a result, I’d quickly maxed out on the stuff.

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“No thanks,” I said, and Hallie shrugged and unwrapped a

pink one, popping it into her mouth. “But I should remember to

get some and bring it back to my mom.” My mother loved it, and

whenever we went on beach vacations, she came back with boxes

of it. “Of course, my dad will probably do it himself when the sum-

mer’s over.”

I noticed that Hallie had suddenly gone very still. I pushed

myself up on my elbows. “What?” I asked. I reached over and took

a piece anyway, a green one. That was the thing about saltwater

taffy— you thought you didn’t want any, but after you’d been star-

ing at it long enough, you found you couldn’t help yourself.

“I just . . .” Hallie started. She shook her head and then went

on, more slowly. “What do you mean, your dad’s going to bring

candy to your mom?”

“Just what I said,” I mumbled, struggling to talk around the

taffy. “When the summer’s over and he comes home.”

Hallie smiled quickly, like she thought I was joking about some-

thing. When she realized I wasn’t, her smiled disappeared. “But,”

she said, confused, “why would your dad bring your mom candy?

They’re getting divorced.”

I felt a roaring sound in my ears, like the ocean had suddenly

invaded my head. “No they’re not,” I said, wondering what Hallie

was talking about, and why she thought she knew anything about

this. “It’s just a temporary situation, for the summer.”

“No,” Hallie said, with an assurance that turned my stomach

a little. “My mom told me.”

“And why would your mom know anything about this?” I asked,

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baffl ed as to why Karen had suddenly entered this conversation.

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“Because she’s dating your dad,” Hallie said, as though it should

have been obvious, like it was a fact that everyone knew.

I just looked at her for a long moment, then pushed myself to

my feet. “I have to go,” I said, pulling on my sundress and step-

ping into my fl ip- fl ops, picking my towel up from the sand. I didn’t

believe her—
of course
I didn’t believe her. But I also didn’t know

why Hallie would lie. And even though I tried not to, I couldn’t

help thinking back to just how much Karen had been around

this summer. But it didn’t mean anything. My dad was just being

friendly. And Karen must have misunderstood.

“Wait,” Hallie said, scrambling to her feet. Her face was pale,

even under her sunburn, and she looked stricken. “Gem. I’m re-

ally sorry— I thought you knew. I thought your dad would have

told you . . .”

“I have to go,” I said, not wanting to see her expression any

longer, since it was so very sure of something that couldn’t pos-

sibly be true. I hustled to my bike, dumped my towel in the bas-

ket, and biked as fast as I could toward the Hamptons Writing

Workshop.

I’d only been there a few times, but I knew where my dad’s

offi ce was. The offi ce, I realized with a twist in my stomach, that

he shared with Karen. I decided I didn’t care if he had a class. I’d

just wait until he was fi nished, and then I’d be able to see fi rsthand—

when he would, of course, immediately deny it— that there was

nothing to Hallie’s story.

The receptionist must have been at lunch, because the front

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desk was empty, and I was able to just walk straight into the main

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building, the classrooms surrounded by offi ces that hugged the

perimeter. I reached my dad’s door and saw that it was ajar. I

pushed it open slightly, and stepped one foot inside the offi ce. I

saw my dad and Karen, sitting across from each other at their

desks, which were pushed together, Karen writing something,

my dad reading.

I felt myself let out a sigh of relief. Hallie had no idea what

she was talking about. They were just working together, that was

obvious—

My dad reached across the table, picked up Karen’s hand, and

kissed it.

As I watched in horror, she smiled without looking up from

her book. It was clear this wasn’t the fi rst time it had happened.

I backed away from the offi ce, then turned and ran into the

lobby and out the doors, not stopping until I reached my bike. I

had the same feeling I’d gotten during the spring play, when one

of Sophie’s dance moves had gone wild, and she’d accidentally

punched me in the stomach. This felt the same way— like all the

wind had been knocked out of me, leaving me confused and gasp-

ing and trying to fi gure out what had just happened.

I skipped dinner that night and went to bed early, even though

I didn’t sleep a wink.

I was hurt and angry— but mostly, I was humiliated. Hallie

had known about this, and I hadn’t. It had been an open secret

that everyone else was aware of except me, who stupidly believed

that my dad and Karen were just good friends, and that was why

she was always around, having dinner with us every night. It

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seemed so obvious now, and I wondered how long Karen and

Hallie had been laughing at me, the oblivious one who clearly

didn’t know what was happening with her own father.

Like a movie I didn’t want to see but couldn’t seem to turn off,

images from the last month were fl ashing through my mind,

things I should have noticed from the very fi rst day. Like the fact

my dad’s writer’s block was totally gone, and he’d started work-

ing on a new novel, all about fi nding second love later in life, with

the love interest a woman named Kara. The way he’d light up

whenever Karen called or stopped by, and the way that all of his

sentences seemed to start with “Karen said” or “Karen did” or

“Do you know what Karen told me?”

There was the way that he’d started to act like he was Hallie’s

dad, too. Like when I’d asked him to buy me a journal at South-

ampton Stationery, he went ahead and bought an identical one

for her, even though she wasn’t there and hadn’t asked for it.

While Karen was a perfectly nice person— before fi nding out

about this, I’d even liked her— that didn’t mean that I wanted her

to be the reason my parents didn’t get back together. After all,

they had told me in the beginning of the summer that they weren’t

getting divorced, and this was
just temporary
. Which meant Karen

was a defi nite obstacle to that. How could my dad do the serious

thinking he and my mom both told me they’d be doing if he was

dating Karen? I knew things between my parents might not be

perfect or go back to normal right away, but I also knew that they

would have no chance if Karen was still in the picture. Which

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meant she needed to be removed from the picture.