Taking Off (20 page)

CHAPTER 47

O
n the way home, I was quiet, and Tommy didn’t break my silence.

I was trying not to think about how much I’d miss him when he dropped me off. So instead I thought about Mark and how I’d never even told Mark about my poetry. Maybe I was afraid to find out he didn’t like that side of me. So I wasn’t giving him a chance.

We turned onto my street, and I began to worry. Mark was supposed to be working today, but sometimes schedules changed and he just ended up at my house. And that would be a catastrophe.

The driveway was empty. Relief.

“Thanks, Tommy,” I said. “That was … good. I needed that.”

“I want to see you again.”

I felt sweet confusion in my stomach. “I can’t. Right now.”

He looked at me for a moment with sad eyes, then said with a quirky smile. “I didn’t mean right
now
.”

“Tommy, I will figure this out.”

He took a breath. “Soon, I hope?”

“Soon.” I hope.

We sat in quiet for a few minutes. I didn’t want to get out of the car. And I knew he didn’t want me to get out of the car.

I couldn’t ask him in. That could be disastrous.

I had to get out of the car.

“Annie,” he said, reaching over me to the glove box. He grabbed a pen and a piece of scratch paper and started writing. “This is my number.” As he wrote, I thought of Christa giving me her address, connecting me a little to her life, and of me giving Bonnie and Clyde my phone number, connecting them to my life. “If you figure things out, or if you just want to talk, call me.”

He offered it, and I took it.

“Bye, Tommy.”

“Call anytime.”

I looked at him for a moment more. And then I left.

CHAPTER 48

M
ark, Lea, and I had left school right after lunch. It was crazy. I was way behind in my work after missing the week. And sneaking out of school was so not like me. I never skipped, except when boringly sanctioned and documented by parental authority.

Lea, of course, had skipped. And was always trying to tempt me to go with her. Today, it worked. Mark was going to surf. Lea and I were going to hang out at the beach. It was one of those warm Texas days we occasionally got in February, and we wanted to enjoy it.

We were at a stoplight.

“Oh, oh,” Lea said, hitting my arm.

“What did you forget? Don’t say your swimsuit because I’m not swimming.”

“Let’s do a Fire Drill.”

“Do you mean a Chinese Fire Drill?” asked Mark.

“That’s racist,” said Lea. “What about a Writer’s Fire Drill?”

“Not funny!” I exclaimed. “A Marilyn Monroe Fire Drill?”

“Get back from that. What about a Goofy Footer’s Fire Drill?”

“And that makes no sense,” said Mark.

“Like any of it does?” asked Lea. “We missed that light.”

“I’ll do it,” I said. “Next light?”

“You?” asked Mark.

“Yes, her!” yelled out Lea. “Our Annie is changing.”

“Not you?” I asked Mark.

“Have fun.”

When we stopped again, I opened my door and raced around the car, slapping hands with a laughing Lea when I went by her. But then she pulled me back, trying to slow me down. “No, no!” I yelled, laughing. I finally yanked away. It felt so good to run. The old lady in the car behind us gave us a disgusted look. The light turned green. She laid on her horn.

“Hurry!” I heard Mark yell out the open window.

Lea was back inside. My hand was on the handle. A couple of other people blew their horns. I saw the man beside us laughing as I slipped inside. “Go!”

Mark took off, shaking his head at Lea and me. We could not stop laughing.

“It’s not
that
funny,” said Mark.

Lea reached from behind me and hugged my neck. “It’s good to see you smiling.”

“You’re choking me.”

“Just think, if you come to UT, we can have fun like this all the time.”

I smiled back at her, but caught the frown on Mark’s face.

- - - - -

“It’s a beautiful day,” said Lea.

Mark was surfing. Lea and I were lying on blankets. The salt air and the rush of the sea made me think of the beach in Florida. And Tommy.

“Yeah,” I said, looking up at the blue, blue sky, and thinking of The Day and its blue, blue sky and wondering if I’d ever be able to see a sky like this and not think of Christa.

I looked over at Mark talking to another surfer. I watched him laugh; his head back a little, his hand sliding to his forehead, pushing back his hair. His movements and gestures were so familiar to me. He was the same, the same Mark he’d always been, consistent, loving, loyal.

When he lay down beside me, Lea went out to get her feet wet.

“You look relaxed today,” he said, touching my cheek with the back of his hand. “It’s good to see it.”

I looked at him. “I was writing a poem.”

“Writing a poem?”

“In my head.”

“You could write them on paper, you know.”

“I do,” I said. “Lots of them.”

“I figured,” he said. “You’re always talking about poetry. It made sense you’d write your own.”

I looked at him, surprised. “Really?”

“Sure.”

“That’s what I want to do, Mark. I want to write poetry.”

“Like right now?” he asked, picking his cap off the blanket and putting it on my head. “You look cute in that.”

I pushed the bill back so I could see his eyes better. “No, I mean I want to work at getting better at writing it, trying to develop a real skill for it, and take a little time after we graduate to see if I can do it.”

“Like for a living, Annie? I don’t think there’s any money in that,” he said, with a laugh.

“No. I’d have to find a way to make all that work.”

“You’re serious? Annie, it’s not practical. Poetry?”

“Yes,” I said, wanting so much for him to understand. “Do you want to hear the idea I’ve been thinking about?”

“Sure.”

“You know Van Gogh the artist?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“I want to visit the places of his life: Paris, Arles, Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, and write poems about the paintings or drawings he worked on at each place. And the poems, see, would also reflect what was going on in his life at the time, so my collection would be a biography of his life through his paintings.”

He was staring at me, not saying anything. “So if you want to visit France, we’ll go to France. Is that what you want?”

“I’m still trying to figure all that out. I just wanted to tell you about my poetry.”

“I’m glad you did,” he said, pulling the cap down over my eyes.

I pushed it back up and rolled over on my stomach. I played with the sand, letting it run through my fingers. “Mark, why do you love me?”

“Annie.” He got closer, lying on his stomach beside me, wrapping his arms around me, half of his body on mine. “I just do.” He felt good.

“But why?” I asked.

“I don’t think people know why they love someone. They just do.” He shook me playfully. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that,” I began, “sometimes I think I could be anyone to you, Mark. That who you love is not really who I am.”

“Annie, I know
you
. I love
you
.” He kissed my cheek, his arms still around my neck.

I kept playing with the sand.

CHAPTER 49

D
ad and I were washing the Beatmobile in front of my house. Lea had asked if she could help, which meant she was sitting in the grass reading a magazine while we worked. Mom and Donald were off looking at wedding cakes, so I knew it was time for me to talk to Dad and tell him about them getting married this summer.

A bucket of cold soapy water was at my feet. I was washing Allen Ginsberg’s face painted on the hood of the Beatmobile. The sun was out. Dad was singing. Lea was deeply involved in her article.

“Dad?”

He stopped singing. “Yep?”

Allen Ginsberg stared at me with a challenging poetic gaze. I pushed the soapy sponge into his eyes. “Did I ever tell you”—and I knew I hadn’t—“that I like to write poetry?”

“Do you? That’s great.”

I stopped and looked over at him, surprised he was so, well, not surprised.

“When I was younger,” he continued, “I wrote too.”

“Why don’t you anymore?” I asked, not knowing how someone just stopped. I’d miss it too much.

“I was more interested in reading poems than writing them.” He went over to the bucket. “Would you ever let me read your poetry?”

“Maybe,” I said, joining him and waiting for him to wring out his sponge. “Dad, I need to talk to you about a couple of things.”

“About your poetry?” he asked.

“No.” Finally, I said, “It’s about Mom and Donald.”

He started cleaning the windshield, ignoring me.

I hated this. “They’re getting married.”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing back at me. “I figured.”

Well, if you figured
, I thought,
you could have made it easier for me and just told me you figured.
But I didn’t say that, because I had to get the rest of it out. And I knew the next part would be hard. I dropped my sponge in the bucket.

“Annie, I knew this was coming. It’s not a big surprise.”

“Well, there’s more.”

His eyes went wide. “She’s pregnant?”

“No!” I exclaimed. Then I paused. I hadn’t even considered that. Mom was over forty.

“What is it, then?” He stopped washing and leaned against the car, his arms folded. “Spit it out, Annie.”

“I told Mom … that I would consider—and I’m not even sure I’m going, Dad—but I told her I’d think about letting Donald pay for college.” I saw Lea look up from her magazine, but she didn’t say anything. I knew she was probably listening.

He turned his head away from me and was quiet.

I let him be quiet. Quiet was better than him yelling. But after a few minutes went by and he still hadn’t spoken, I said, “Dad. You’re my dad. Donald will never be that, no matter what he is to Mom. I already have a father.”

He looked at me then. “Yeah. I know, baby.”

“You do? So you’re okay with it?”

He kind of laughed. “No.” Then he shrugged and smiled. “No.”

I gave him a sad smile. “Everything’s changing, I know.”

“Yeah, it is.” He tapped my arm with his wet sponge. “It’ll be all right, Annie.”

“That’s what Mom said.”

“Well,” he said, shrugging, “she’s right about that
one
thing.”

I reached out for him, putting my hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he said, going back to the windshield.

I dunked the sponge a couple of times and squeezed the excess water out of it, so relieved that conversation was over. Dad went around to the other side of the car, closer to where Lea was. “I hear you and Tommy went to The Orange Show?” he called out to me.

Lea’s head whipped up. “Tommy? Who’s Tommy?” She
had
been listening.

I frowned. “He told you that?” I was slightly disappointed Tommy was telling Dad things about us. I could feel Lea’s eyes on me.

“He didn’t mean to. But he told me something you’d said … and then I got the rest out of him. That boy’s so infatuated he’s stupid with it.”

Stupid with it? I felt myself blushing fiercely, but then I remembered that was what Dad had said about Mark being smitten with me.

“Who’s Tommy?” Lea asked again, coming over to me.

“He was on the trip with us to Florida,” I told her.

Her brow furrowed. “What? You never mentioned that.”

I glanced at Lea nervously. I hadn’t told her about Tommy because I felt guilty. And I felt guilty because I’d kissed him. Dad didn’t know that, of course. But now he was watching me closely. And Lea was watching me closely.

“I just forgot,” I snapped.

“You forgot?” she asked. “Right. And you went to some show with him?”

“The Orange Show. It’s a place.” I got the hose to put fresh water in the bucket, so I wouldn’t have to look at Lea being mad at me. “Tommy works with Dad and wanted to see the shuttle launch.”

“Annie,” she said.

I stopped what I was doing. “Yeah?”

“Does Mark know?” she asked quietly. Lea said very few things quietly, so it was as jarring as if she’d yelled.

“Yes, he knows,” I said. “He was there when we left.”

She was very quiet now. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’ve only been back for a few weeks, Lea.”

She gave me a look.

“I’m sorry. I am. I’m sorry.”

“Right,” she said. “I need some water.” She started off toward the house. I followed her inside.

She’d been in my kitchen enough to know her way around. I sat at the table and watched her get a glass, throw some ice cubes in it, and fill it with water. She sat down and looked at me.

“Tommy is this guy,” I began, “who went to Florida with Dad and me. He’s twenty-two, he dropped out of USC, and he works at the plant with Dad.”

She nodded.

“And I kissed him.”

“What?!”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you about him, Lea. I’ve felt so bad about it.”

“Gosh, Annie. You do keep secrets. How did this happen?”

So I told her about the trip. Lea hadn’t asked very much about it because of the accident. She hadn’t wanted to upset me, I knew, but it’d worked out: I hadn’t had to tell her the details.

When I told her about the kiss, she just sat there for a minute.

“Wow,” she said.

“Wow,” I said, feeling sick.

She looked at me. “Do you like this guy, Annie?”

I nodded.

“Did you tell Mark?”

“No!” I exclaimed. “And you don’t tell him either.”

“I wouldn’t, Annie.”

“Well, you do talk to Mark about me, remember?”

“That was just that one time.” She took a drink of her water. “Wow.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Lea. I’ve been confused.”

“It’s not just this, Annie. It’s other things too. You’re so secretive about yourself. I tell you everything.”

“I know. I’m working on that. I am.”

“It’s important you talk to me. We’re going to be apart after this summer.” Her eyes were sad. “You’ll have to call me, tell me things, even boring little things going on so I can be a part of your life, wherever you are.”

“I will, Lea. I will.”

“All right. Now more about this Tommy, please.”