The Fallback Plan (20 page)

A low trail of hostas marked the perimeter of the house and the back porch steps, and tall bunches of day lilies burst like stars along the driveway. I’d helped her plant them on a weekend home from school, in spite of the fact that I hated gardening. It made me feel resentful. I hated the tedium of it, and there was no immediate reward like there was in baking; I didn’t have anything to show for a chilly afternoon spent on my knees until months later, but there they were, those long green necks, faces turned toward the hot July sun.

I had almost a thousand dollars saved at the bottom of my sweater drawer.

Where could I go? On a cruise?

I wanted to leave, but not like a runaway, not out of desperation, not like Amy. For all those weeks I’d felt sick, and wished to feel sicker. It was as if I wanted my body to be damaged, to betray me, because then it would be obvious to everyone else how I felt, more obvious than the sickness of depression, of apathy, of inertia, a betrayal of the mind.

I’d wanted the kind of blameless freedom that is given to the crippled, the grieving, children.
She didn’t mean to. She didn’t know any better
. I remembered how kind I’d tried to be to Amy in the attic, knowing she’d created this thing out of her suffering, which made it both allowable and unbearable.

But here were these lilies, which only grew because I’d made them grow. May could hula hoop on one foot because of me. There had to be other things I could do.

My mom pushed her way through the low-hanging branches.

“Esther? What are you doing all the way back in here?”

“Planning a coup,” I said.

“Did you get any grapes?”

“Not yet,” I said. “I will.”

“Come out and say hello to everyone. We’ll cut the cake soon.”

I followed her into the light. All of our guests were resplendent in khaki. I looked at Nate, but didn’t know if he saw me looking. Both of us were wearing sunglasses. It seemed his head was tilted slightly in my direction, though, wasn’t it? I didn’t know if I wanted him to know I was looking, but I knew we couldn’t go on like this, the looking and the not looking, the ceaseless wonder.
Are your eyes hazel or brown? What? I guess they just looked brown in this light
. I scanned the crowd for Mrs. D., but his voice stopped me from walking away.

“Hi, Esther,” he said.

“Oh, hi,” I said, pretending to notice him for the first time. “How are you?”

“Happy Independence Day. Beautiful day out, isn’t it?”

At first I thought he was congratulating me on my independence, my freedom from his family, but then I remembered the reason we were having this party to begin with. I saw my face, my bug-eyed sunglasses, reflected in Nate’s lenses, and behind me, the cloudless sky. It
was
a beautiful day. Things seemed clear. We would talk, without talking about anything.

“It is,” I said. “Lucky party weather.”

Some supervised children were writing their names with sparklers in the air at the back end of the driveway. “Watch out for that grass, Isabella, try not to get any in the grass, okay, sweetie?” a woman said. “No prairie fires.” The girl’s hair was long and dark, curled at the ends.

“I’m Bill,” the bald guy said, extending his hand. “Don’t know if we’ve met yet.”

“Esther,” I said. “I’m Paul and Jeanine’s daughter.”

“You’re up at Northwestern, is that right?”

“Before I forget, there’s something I’m supposed to give you,” Nate said, and reached into his back pocket.
Does he not know that Amy paid me?
I wondered. I felt mildly uncomfortable. Nate handed me a piece of white paper folded in quarters.

They both watched as I unfolded it. It was a drawing. Black circles, drawn in crayon, covered the page. Black circles on skinny stick legs, with long tails behind them. “MAY” was written at the bottom in a solid hand.

“It’s a bunch of … cats. May drew me some cats.” I held it up for show and tell.

“I think they’re supposed to be pandas,” Nate said, and smiled politely. It was clear he didn’t quite understand why she had drawn them. “I don’t know if she’s ever seen one. She asked me what they looked like and I said they were black and white.”

I looked at it again and started to laugh in the silent choked manner of the criminally insane. How could May have listened to all those stories, and never once asked me what a panda was?
Can I tell you something?
I couldn’t stop laughing, my eyes welled with tears. “I’ll keep it forever,” I said, and my voice broke on the last word. Nate nodded. I knew they couldn’t see my eyes, but I had to walk away
before I really started crying. The first notes of “La Bamba” began to play from a boombox set on the back porch steps, and I folded the drawing and put it in my pocket.

“BRB,” I said. “This is my favorite song.”

I found my parents in the crowd. Everyone was eating angel food cake off red paper plates. “Are you mad we cut it without you? It just looked so good,” my mom said. “177” had been eaten. A slice of “6” remained.

“I’m not mad,” I said, and it was true. I wasn’t. I wanted to show her the drawing, but she wouldn’t understand it either, so I just kept it in my pocket, like a secret, or a love letter. That’s what it was. “Is it any good?”

My dad nodded. I reached up and wiped a dab of frosting from the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks,” he said. “Where did you run off to?”

“Nowhere,” I said.

“What’s the weather like in Nowhere?”

“Gorgeous,” I said. “Like this. When you’re done, can I ask you a favor?”

“The ATM is out of service,” he said, and grinned.

“Very funny, Dad.” He set down his plate and followed me to the corner of the yard.

When my sunglasses were securely on, I said, “Ready,” and then he let go. The tire swing twisted and spun, gaining momentum. I closed my eyes and screamed because I’d felt this before, and my body remembered, like the steps to a dance. Someone laughed behind me. I screamed
again. I wanted to spin and spin until I found the lamppost, but now I knew that this wasn’t the way into the story. I couldn’t go back through the same door anymore.

There went my childhood, the persistent memory of it, like the pulse of regret. Not regret of having lived it, but the regret of leaving it behind. It was over. I let it go. The spinning slowed and then changed direction. Dad caught and then swung me, not in circles this time, but forward and backward, to and fro. I felt the vivid bliss of weightlessness and opened my eyes. Here I was. The sky was where I left it, crowning the treetop. There it was, and all I wanted was this—the height and descent, the velocity, and one last vertigo to precede my next steady step.

I am grateful to Ellen Dworsky for helping me begin, and to Sarah Bridgins for helping me finish. Both of you pushed me uphill when I wanted to roll down and play dead. I also want to thank Catherine Lacey for her help in finding this book a home.