Everything Beautiful (20 page)

55
A Different Movie

I made Ben stop before the arches. “
He hath made everything beautiful in his time
. . .” Chloe quoted in a prissy voice. She turned to the back and lisped, “Itth true. He really hath.” Her face was blank as a doll’s. Suddenly she shrilled, “Wrong way, go back!” Dylan and I laughed. We were holding hands, surreptitiously I thought, but Chloe clucked, “Riley, you are a tart.” Concern flickered across her face. “You’re coming back with us, right?” She kept on. “You have to see the koala. It’s
evil
. I think you can go right into its head. Like, I think there are stairs all the way up. We’ll have to stop on the way back and take photos.”

Dylan wriggled his shoulder into mine. I talked out of the corner of my mouth, like a hitman. “How are we going to do this?”

He sliced the air with the palm of his hand. “Just go straight in.”

“No. I mean
this
.” I squeezed his hand.

“Are you leaving right now?”

His question surprised me. Of course I was leaving. Hadn’t I been trying to leave since I first arrived? But then . . . things had changed.

“Not
right
now.” I waffled, flustered. “No. I have to get my stuff . . .”

I felt confused. Being in Ben Seb’s car was okay only because of Dylan and Chloe. Without Dylan I’d be the spare tire. If Chloe fell asleep—and she had to crash sometime—then it would just be Ben and me, and that would be awkward. Like being in a taxi. In taxis I always felt like I had to relate to the driver. I’d say “
You must really like driving
” or “
I’ve heard those beaded seat covers are great
.” What did I have to talk to Ben about? Nothing. The more I tried to picture leaving with Chloe and Ben, the less I could see it.

I said to Dylan, “Is that bad? It’s bad, isn’t it? I’m leaving you with Neville—in the shit . . . holding the baby.”

Dylan smiled. “I like the baby. It’s our baby.”

Chloe interjected, “You guys are so cute! You even argue cute.”

“We’re not arguing,” Dylan and I said together.

The Monaro crawled up the drive. I tried to figure out what to do. Six days ago there would have been no question. Six days ago I would have clung to Ben’s ride like that old suckingfish and never looked back. If I left now, then I wouldn’t have to witness Roslyn’s ever-lovin’ jumpsuit jamboree. I wouldn’t have to suffer Anton’s derision or Neville’s niceness. I wouldn’t have to cut Fleur’s hair. Or spin shit for the talent show. But I wouldn’t get to say farewell to Sarita or Bird or Olive. Or Dylan Luck, whose face, I saw, had gone hospital green.

“Shit.” He stared out to a fish-stickered Tarago. “That’s Mom’s car.”

Next to the Tarago was Dad’s Camry. I felt deflated. “Oh, snap.”

Chloe tried to keep the vibe alive. She threw her arms up. “Come on, party people. We’ll drive west. We’ll follow the sun. We’ve got pills.” She poked Ben. “Haven’t we? Let’s just drive until we run out of gas, see how far we get.”

But Dylan had already opened his door.

Ben cut the engine. Chloe blurted, “It’ll be like a movie!”

For a second I was with her. The sky was blue, the sun was infernal, the road was a gunmetal stripe in a red desert. Chloe would be sunbaking on the hood of the Monaro. But where was I? I couldn’t see me.

Ah. I was in a
different
movie.

56
Que Sera, Sera

We all got out of the car. Ben was hovering around Dylan, but Dylan didn’t need help. We watched him snap his chair into place and transport himself into it. Ben was nodding, stroking his tuft, murmuring, “Cool.”

Chloe patted Dylan’s hand. “Dylan, you have a feline grace.”

Dylan nodded. “Chloe, you need to lie down.” He did a sly wheelie and started for the path. Chloe was holding my hands, giving me her sympathetic shop girl smile. I broke away from her. “Dylan, wait. I’m coming with you.”

Ben swore. “Make up your mind.”

“Ssh.” Chloe smacked him. “It’s
romantic
.” Then she stamped her foot. “I want to come, too, Riley. At least let me explore?”

I hugged her tight. “I’ll see you back in the real world.”

“Are you sure? Your dad is going to be feral.”

I dug in my bag and found the Jesus badge. “Here.” I pressed it into her palm. Chloe looked down and giggled. “Oh, man. That’s beautiful. That’s me.” She pinned the badge on her dress and shimmied. “Church girl fresh!”

“Thanks for the lift,” I called to Ben.

He waved. “We came, we saw, we went away.” He looked at me, but his expression was vague. And then he looked at Chloe and I saw hunger in his eyes. Hunger and pseudoephedrine and the possibility of a tumble. Did he even like me? Did I even care? The answer to both questions was no.

Ben beckoned to Chloe, who had started to moon dance again. “Bitch! Hustle. We’ve got company.”

Craig was marching up the sidewalk. He did not look happy. He walked past Chloe without so much as an eyebrow hike and came straight for me.

“You’re dead.” He grabbed my shoulder. I was too surprised to squeak.

“Hey, get off her.” Chloe bristled. “You big . . . lug.” Craig blanked her and said to me, “Dylan could have died out there.”

I managed to snap, “Does he look dead to you?”

Dylan was decidedly alive. His hair was scruffy and his face was sunburned and he was wearing half a suit, but his eyes were clear and his pose was absolutely open.

Craig shook me harder. “You fat bitch! You’re crazy.”

“Whoa!” Chloe held her hand up. “I’m not hearing this.”

And while I was trying to process all this, Dylan rammed his chair into Craig’s legs. Craig buckled. “Dude—whatthe...?”

“Don’t talk to Riley like that.”

Craig stared at him. His face was all twisted with hurt.

“This is ugly.” Chloe rubbed her temples and nodded in Craig’s direction. “I’m getting a bad reading. I think he might be
evil
.” Chloe was mystical on E. Everything meant something. Everything was black and white. Her gut didn’t speak, it roared.

Ben had started backing out. “Let’s GO!” The passenger door was swinging. Chloe gave me a sweet smile, a
que sera, sera
. She tromped after the Monaro and managed to jump in. Soon they were dust, and then they were nothing. I turned back to the camp. Craig was leaning on the Tarago, rubbing his shin, glowering. Neville had come out of the woodwork. My dad was there, and Norma. In a weird way, I felt relieved to see them. They signified home. Norma was wearing her white linen asspants—the ones Chloe and I always laughed over because really, they were thong-fodder, but Norma would never go there. I chanced a smile and got stony faces in return. I tugged at Rose’s wedding dress, tried to salvage the gaping back. Blah.

A dark-haired woman was standing next to Neville, crying silently.

Dylan wheeled up to her. He touched her gently on the arm. “Mom, I want you to meet someone. This is Riley Rose. It’s okay, we’re not married.” He turned to give me a beautiful smile. “We’re just in deep like.”

57
The Girl I Was

The first thing they did was separate us. Neville took Dylan and his mother into his office, and I stayed outside with Dad and Norma. They stood around me with their heads and arms hanging limply. I moved over to the picnic bench—the one that Norma and I had sat on that first day, a hundred years ago. Norma patted her permanent. For once she let Dad take the lead. He didn’t
want
to be angry, but his face had become a tribal war mask. And when he spoke he couldn’t control his levels.

“What were you thinking? What were you THINKING? You took a crippled boy off camp property. OVERNIGHT! You stole a car, Riley. My daughter, a car thief! Did you see that boy’s mother? She’s talking about a LAWSUIT. And I’m not even going to talk about how worried we were.”

“I wish you would,” I muttered.

Dad leaned in. “What was THAT?”

“I wish you would. I’d like to hear it.”

Dad fumbled and his anger fizzled. He never was very good at confrontation. “Well, of course we were worried. But now you’re back, and you look okay . . .” He paused to look me over. “Are you okay?”

I nodded.

“Right. So now that we know you’re okay, well, I’m just furious.” But he didn’t sound it anymore. He’d been defused. “Furious,” he started again, with a bit more wind up. He looked to Norma as if she were feeding him lines and added, “And disappointed. And embarrassed.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry I’m such an embarrassment to you. But you’ve seen this place—what did you think was going to happen? Did you think you could tame me? I’m a wild girl! I’m all
grrr!
” I growled and clawed at the air in a performance that would have made Mom proud.

Norma stepped forward. She put her hand up like a conductor trying to ease the strings section. “Riley. Do you think you’re transposing some of your anger at us onto the world at large? Do you think that we—your father in particular—deserve a little more respect and perhaps even an explanation?”

I stopped and thought about it. “Yes. But.” My mouth stayed open—an avalanche was coming. Then: “Dylan came of his own free will. We were looking for the salt lake—it’s supposed to have healing properties. I was trying to help him. I even did a petition. My friends Olive and Bird helped us. We went into the desert and had to
walk
back. But it’s beautiful there. When the sun rose over the salt lake it looked like the end of the world. It’s supposed to be a desert, but it’s full of stuff. Wildflowers and birds—you should see their colors—like paint store swatches, only better because they’re real.”

“Well—,” Norma started and couldn’t finish.

“Did you say you had friends?” Dad prodded.

“Yes, Olive and Bird. And Sarita as well. She’s my roommate. She’s crazy, only you wouldn’t know right away. She’s like those chocolate candies that you bite into and you never know what flavor you’re going to get inside.”

Dad and Norma looked at each other.

Norma said, “So . . . you’ve had fun here?”

I shrugged. “Sort of.” I thought about Dylan and felt panic brewing. “Maybe if I talk to Dylan’s mom, she’ll calm down and see I was trying to do a good thing.”

Dad squinted toward the office. “Let’s not worry about that just yet.”

“Maybe if I tell her Dylan doesn’t need to be cured because there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s perfect.”

And then suddenly I was
crying
. Real-Life Actual Tears were sliding down my face and making my skin sting. They tasted like the salt lake. I cried and coughed and spluttered. And I couldn’t stop. I was a mess. Maybe I was transposing now. These tears weren’t about my Spirit Ranch shenanigans, they were for Mom and Dad and me. I felt my father’s arms enfold me and free up a whole other vat of tears. I cried like a girl, a big fat girl. The girl I was.

58
End of Faith Discussion

There was only one path to Neville’s office. I heard his door open and gathered myself and tried not to look like such a trainwreck. I wriggled out from under Dad’s arm. I didn’t want Dylan to think I’d gone soft. When they came out, Dylan’s mom was pushing his wheelchair. He was holding his MP3, untangling his earplugs. His mom didn’t look at me or Dad or Norma. She had dark sunglasses and a mouth like a prune. She looked like she was waiting for the tabloids to descend with flashbulbs and microphones, like this really was a courtroom drama. And now it was my turn to give evidence, to plead guilty.

Your Honor, I admit it. I didn’t think about afterward . . .

Dylan’s eyes flicked up. He gave me his casual drug dealer nod, but the spark wasn’t behind it, and that made me worry. I told myself that things were going to be okay. Soon—maybe even after lunch—we would be alone again. Free to roll our eyes and make our jokes and work some more on our trust games. I held my hand out to my side, discreet as I could be. As he passed our pinkies touched and that second confirmed everything. That second would sustain me throughout Neville’s lecture. Once that was done we could get back to normal. That’s what I was thinking: grade-three logic.

Neville looked like he’d just discovered Roslyn running a numbers racket out of the counselors’ annex. He addressed Dad and Norma. “If it’s all right with you I’d like to talk to Riley alone.”

“Oh, well—” Dad started to protest, but Norma elbowed him. “That’s fine, Neville.”

It wasn’t fine with me. I actually felt a little scared. You hear stories about mild-mannered types who reach their stress capacity and go postal. Psychos always have names like Neville, and mother issues, and weird weapons collections. What if he stabbed me with his Jesus badges?

Neville held the door open for me. I slunk in and sat in the squeaky chair and he sat opposite me in his authoritarian throne. He had one of those Newton’s Cradles—the silver balls strung up that go
clackety-clack-
infinity. I lifted one. I watched the balls go back and forth. I could have watched them forever. I guess that’s the point.

“Riley Rose.” Call me The Plague. A small smile twitched on Neville’s lips. He spoke mystically—someone had put Yoda in his tea. “Things run smoothly for so long that you can’t even imagine it any other way—and then one act makes everything stop.” Neville put his finger in between the silver balls and killed the flow. The absence of noise made my palms sweat. I wiped them on Rose’s dress, which was a shambles.

“Let’s talk facts. Fraser’s car—I understand you left it in the desert?”

I nodded silently. “It’s missing a wheel? Last time I looked it didn’t even have wheels.”

I stared straight ahead. I wasn’t about to tell on Bird. Neville studied my face as if searching for cracks. “Must have been the car fairy. Do you know the location of the car?”

“Near the salt lake.”

“Near the salt lake.” Neville nodded. “Facts. There was a bottle of champagne in the counselors’ fridge that’s gone walkabout. Do you know anything about that?”

Ditto Olive. “I took it.”

“You managed to coerce Dylan into ‘escaping’?”

“Yes.” I didn’t know what Dylan had told him, but if taking the blame meant Bird and Olive and Dylan stayed shiny happy in Neville’s head, then that’s what I would do.

Neville straightened random items on his desk. He frowned and spoke without looking at me. “I was like you once: sullen, antisocial . . . It might surprise you to know that I used to be an atheist.”

That did surprise me, but I didn’t say so. Neville clasped his hands together and looked up. Both eyes—even the glass one—seemed to be on me, unswerving, unnerving.

“When I was at university I had no faith. I considered myself to be free. Because if you are under someone else’s authority, then you are not free—and what is God if not authority? But then I worked out: we need rules. From the time we are children we need and respond to rules. We need to be governed. That’s what makes us civilized.”

“Maybe we’re not meant to be civilized,” I offered. “Cavemen weren’t.”

“How many cavemen do you know?”

“I can think of a few.”

“Mmm.” Neville paused. “Think of it like this: the world is a picture and God is the frame. God is the structure. He’s given us all this . . . and we have to . . . work together to fulfill His design. Riley, I can’t make you believe what I believe, but I know you’d be happier with a little faith.”

“I have faith.” I spoke without thinking, adding, “In some things.” In Dylan. I had faith in Dylan. And anyway, frames and structures were different things.

“Do you think you’re the same girl who sat here six days ago?”

I folded my arms and said with a small smile, “Pretty much.”

But my mind stormed.
Nooo!
I
had
changed. But it wasn’t anything to do with God. It would have happened even if I hadn’t come here. I went into a parallel universe—the one where Dylan and I stayed in the desert, searching for grub, dipping in the soaks, reenacting
Utopia
at sundown, kissing and tumbling indefinitely.

“End of faith discussion.” Neville flexed and gave his desk a little love pat. “What should I do—what course of action would be appropriate?”

I said in a small voice, “Send me home?”

“Yes, but
what would you have learned
?” Neville’s mouth turned up. I looked at his chest and clocked his badge:
Jesus is coming . . . look busy.
I wanted to scowl but I couldn’t. It was impossible to hate Neville.

“Dylan’s going home,” Neville said. “His mother is taking him home. He doesn’t have a choice. You, however, have a choice.”

Dylan’s going home
? The words spun around my head like little evil planets.

“Think about it,” Neville said.

I walked out and Dad and Norma went in. I waited for them on the picnic bench. I sat in the bright sunlight swinging my feet and watching the shadows dance across the dust. I felt hazy, like I was coming down. I had been expecting Neville to lose it. I think I wanted him to be horrible and irrational to me so I could be horrible and irrational back. Instead he’d given me options. I could be at home without Dylan, or here without Dylan. At least here I had unfinished business. His mom’s Tarago was still in the parking lot. Once upon a time I might have slashed the tires or stuffed a banana in the exhaust pipe to keep him from leaving. Now I could hold my breath and still let him go.

Dad and Norma came back out. Norma was wearing a tight smile to match her ass-pants. Dad’s smile was looser, fonder. He put his arm around my shoulder. “Come on, Potato Head. Let’s get your things.”

And I opened my mouth and said the words he never thought he’d hear: “I want to stay.”

And so it was decreed that Dad and Norma would spend the night at the Nhill B and B—a thrilling prospect by anyone’s standards. Before getting in the Camry, Dad took me aside. “What about this talent show?”

“Bring a book,” I advised him.

“Are you going to perform?”

“I’m going to do
something
. But I don’t know what.”

“You know what your mother would have—”

“I’m
not
doing Ophelia.”

Dad’s face went fuzzy. “I wish she could be here to see you.”

“She is,” I said. “I can feel it.”

One Word session, Roslyn had told us the story of Jesus alone in the desert for forty days and forty nights. He gets thirsty and hungry and freaked out, and Satan, the game show host, keeps throwing sweeteners at Him. Roslyn was all,
How can we resist temptation?
and
What is the purpose of spiritual retreat?
But I couldn’t think about God and Jesus. I was thinking about Mom. Maybe when people die their souls become mist. I felt Mom most on cold mornings when the air smelled wet and somehow old and new at the same time. I’d felt her here at Spirit Ranch more than anywhere, because here was where I had needed her most. She had varicose veins on her legs. She ate banana and brown sugar sandwiches. Her smile didn’t always reach her eyes, even for me. So, she wasn’t perfect, like God is supposed to be, but she was mine.