The Sweetest Thing (18 page)

“No. I’m not totally blind,” I sulk.

“You mean you know?”

“I suspected.”

“I mean, really, look at that gift. For my last birthday he gave me a bag of M&M’s wrapped up in the Sunday com-ics.”

I moan, hold my head in my hands, feel its weight. Tears start brewing again, getting ready to drop.

“I can’t think about this right now.”

“Yeah, you need this like a hole in the head. But it’s Jack.

And he’s trying to figure stuff out, too. He hates Ethan for a reason, besides the fact that he is kind of an ass. . . .” My head snaps up. “Well, he is, honey. But that’s a whole other conversation. The problem is, Ethan’s your boyfriend. This is not just a crush; this is the real deal. Jack’s freaking out.”

I sniff. Shake my head. Could things get any worse than they are right at this moment? I suppose I could contract the bubonic plague or something. That might make it worse.

“You know,” Lori continues, “I’m all for playing the field.

I mean, we’re only teenagers once. But I think you need to remember who your friends are.” She stands up and shoos 185

me out of my chair. It opens up into a sleeper and will be my bed tonight.

“I know you’re my friend.”

“You’d better.” She picks off the cushions and throws them in the corner, then pulls out the bed. “But you know, you can get a bit, um, distracted, with your cakes. And now Ethan.”

“I’m sorry.” My throat tightens. “I know. I just wish he told me he liked me. I mean, before Ethan happened.”

“Right. Sheridan. He’s scared. You know, like what happens if your best friend rejects you? Where does that leave you?” She picks a pillow off her bed and fluffs it, then throws it at me. “You may not have to deal with it for long, though.

He had a date last night.” She stares at me, her eyes bugging out of her head.

“A date?” I try to act casual, but Jack has never asked anyone out. Never even had a crush that he talked about. I guess now I know why. “With who?”

Lori plops down on her bed. I sit on mine. “With whom.”

“Whatever. Who was it?”

“You really don’t want to know.”

“What do you mean? Of course I do.”

“Fine.” She lies back on her bed and covers her face with a pillow.

A muffled word comes out that sounds a lot like . . . but no, I must have heard wrong.

“Who?”

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Lori lifts the pillow. She says the name slowly. “Haley Haversham.”

“Nuh-uh. That is so not funny.”

She sits up. “I am totally not kidding.” Her lips form a thin line, and she nods her head. “Yup. He went out with her.”

“Why?” I stand up. “There’s no way he would go out with her! Why would he do that?”

“Because she asked. And he’s a stupid guy. And you were otherwise occupied with Haley’s ex. A match made in heaven, eh?” She walks to her bathroom door. “I gotta pee. You gonna open that thing or what?” She points to the shiny gift box on her bed.

“No! No way. I am not opening it.”

“Jeez, relax. But just for the record, I think you and Jack would make a perfect couple. You’re both a couple of fruitcakes.” She goes into the bathroom, closes the door. I grab the box, tempted to throw it against the wall. But instead, I sit back on the chair and close my eyes.

I see Jack, coming over, bringing me coffee, helping me with homework, helping me find my mom. See his dark hair falling into his dusky brown eyes. Feel that zap of electricity that passed between us the other day.

Wait. I need to
stop
. I have a boyfriend. And what is up with Jack dating Haley? I think of her sideways glance in the hall at school. She did this on purpose. She’s got it in for me.

And Jack knows how much I can’t stand her. Oh, I hate him!

187

I open my eyes, sit up, and rip off the pink ribbon and tear the lovely paper. Inside is a long midnight blue velvet box. I flip it open. My stomach churns. It’s a charm bracelet.

I see a bird, small and silver, attached to one of the links. It’s beautiful. There’s a piece of paper, too, folded to fit inside.

I open it and see Jack’s familiar scrawl.

Happy fake birthday to my best friend. I hope you get everything you’ve ever wanted. Love, Jack.

I pick up the bird charm, see a word etched on its side.

Dream
.

I flip the lid down and stash the box in my bag just as Lori comes out of the bathroom. Can’t think about that right now.

“You all right?”

“Just tired.”

“Yeah. It’s late.”

She crawls into bed, but I get up, grabbing my bag. “Why would he go out with her?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Not like they’re getting married or anything.” She punches her pillow. “Bothers you, huh?”

“No. I just wish he had told me he liked me.”

“Yeah. That would have made it easy for you.” She laughs. “Not that I’m an expert or anything. I mean, Jim drives me crazy with that stupid tuba practice. But that’s the thing about love, or like, or whatever it is; I don’t think it’s supposed to be easy.” She smiles.

“She’s only dating him because she hates me.”

188

“Well, then he’ll learn a lesson, too.”

“Good. Because she’s like one of those bugs that eat their mates when they’re through with them.” Lori laughs and I go into the bathroom, open up my bag. The velvet box sits on a nest of my pajamas.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I know I’m not especially pretty. There are girls at school who are better looking than me by a mile. I grab my brush, run it through my hair. Mom used to brush my hair, every night before bed. It put me into some sort of trance. Something about the pressure of the bristles on my head and the sound of her voice, so peaceful, like a smile and a hug and an “I love you” all rolled into one. As frustrated as I can sometimes get with her, I can’t forget those moments. They are always reminding me that what we had was real.

I pull the brush through my hair again and again, but it’s not the same. My eyes tear up. I wonder if I’ll ever stop crying. My life feels like an enormous whirlpool; I’m swirling downward, powerless to fight it.

I put down the brush and sit on the toilet lid, my feet sinking into Lori’s fluffy red bathroom rug. It looks like Elmo’s been skinned.

“Please,” I whisper. Then I sink to my knees, lean my elbows on the edge of the bathtub. Assuming Nanny is right, about God watching out for me, about a plan for my life, I squeeze my eyes tight.

“Please.” I look up. At what? I don’t know. The bathroom 189

ceiling? “Help. Make Nanny better. Make us a family again.”

I want my mother. I don’t say this out loud, because I can’t speak through my tears; the words are coming from my heart. It’s the truth. I want what we used to have, all those years ago. Maybe it’s impossible. But I can’t give up this dream. I just can’t.

I sit backward, with my legs crossed, and cry some more. I pul up my knees, hug them with my arms. Tears fal free, run down my thighs and onto poor Elmo beneath me.

And that’s when I hear it. Maybe it’s the voice in my heart, the one that Nanny tells me never to ignore. It’s like a whisper or a breath; it starts in my head but flows through my entire body.

Let go.

I hear the words as clearly as if there’s someone else with me in that little bathroom. It’s kind of freaky. But then I hear it again, more insistent this time.

Let. Go.

I inhale deeply and breathe out. My muscles relax, and I feel wrapped in warmth, as if I’m in a fluffy robe after a long bath. This is so close to what I used to feel when my mother took me on her lap and brushed my hair. Comfort.

Safety. Peace.

But it’s fleeting.

I grab the doorknob, walk back into Lori’s bedroom. I don’t mention the voice to her. There’s no reason for me to prove her whole fruitcake theory. She’s sitting up in bed, 190

paging through
People
.

I lie down, pull the quilt over me, and turn toward the wall.

“You okay?” she asks.

“I’m good.” I wipe at my eyes one last time. “Night, Lori.”

“Night.”

She flicks off the lamp. I don’t know if it’s exhaustion or that crazy voice I heard, or just the result of living through the most horrible day ever, but I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. Maybe the best sleep I’ve had since she left.

I sit up and gasp when my cell phone rings. Lori’s alarm clock across the room reads 3:18.

I don’t even look to see who is calling. “Dad?” My voice is stuck somewhere in my throat. I feel numb. I will not let go of Nanny.

“Hello.” His voice is hoarse. I can hear how tired he is.

“She’s out of surgery. Looks like she’s going to be okay. She’s going to make it.”

I can’t speak because the voice stuck in my throat un-clogs itself and turns into weeping. Lori turns on the light. I look at her and smile through the tears.

“So yeah. It’s good news.” His voice cracks, and I can tell he is crying, too. “I gotta go. They’re moving her to ICU.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah, the doctor wants to talk to me. Get some rest. I’ll call you in the morning.”

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“Okay.”

“Sheridan?”

“Yeah?” I sniffle and wipe my eyes.

“It’s not my turn. I love you.” He hangs up before I can say a word.

When I wake up in the morning, before I can recall that Nanny is in the hospital, that I can’t go to Chicago and get my mother, that Jack likes me, and that I said horrible things to my father, I notice the sunlight streaming in through Lori’s blinds. A mysterious stillness surrounds me. Makes me feel lighter, somehow.

Then I remember. Nanny is going to make it. My father actually said he loves me. And into my mind has popped a brilliant idea; one more chance to talk to my mother before the show. It’s foolproof, really.

So maybe things aren’t as bad as they seemed last night.

Maybe someone up there is listening to me after all.

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A text comes through from Dad shortly after I get up.

Nanny will be in the hospital for a week, if all goes well.

That’s awesome. But it’s Saturday morning, Sweetie’s busiest day. I jump out of my chair-slash-bed and start folding it up.

I am ready, and totally sure that today is the day. I will talk to my mother.

Lori sits up in bed, groggy. “What are you doing?”

“They’ll need me at the bakery.” I grab the cushions and put the chair back together. “I’ve got a lot to do today.”

She falls backward and moans. “I suppose you want me to get up, too?”

I laugh. “A little coffee would be nice.”

“Fine.”

I check my cell again. Still no word from Ethan. But that’s okay. Today will be a good day.

I go into the bathroom and take a quick shower, dry my hair, pull on the sweater that I’d packed for Chicago. My optimism flags for a second, but I push all feelings of doom as deep as I possibly can.

By the time I’m done in the bathroom, Lori is waiting for me with a hot cup of coffee.

“Oh, bless you.” I take it and sip. “Yummy.”

She looks at me funny. “You’re acting weird. Like cheerful or something.”

“Yeah.” I put the coffee down and pack up my bag. “Everything’s cool. New plan.”

“Uh-oh.”

I laugh. “It’s all good. Don’t worry.” I pick up the cup again, take a long swig. “Just come by later, and I’ll tell you.

I gotta go help Roz.”

“Okay.” She takes the coffee cup from me. “Sheridan.

Don’t do anything stupid, promise?”

“Why are people always saying that to me? I’m fine.”

“You want me to drive you?”

“Nah. I can walk.” I give her a quick hug and say good-bye.

I need the time alone to work out the finer points of my plan. It’s only eight o’clock, too soon to call Chicago.

But I can call information and get the number for the McCormick Place convention center. It’s right on the shore of 194

Lake Michigan. Nanny and Dad took me there to see The Nutcracker for Christmas when I was ten. I can picture it; I bet Mom’s already there, getting ready for the competition.

I hope she wins.

But more than that, I hope she takes my phone call.

I dial information and write the number down on my hand. I’ll call at nine thirty, which will be eight thirty Chicago time. The competition won’t have started yet, so I won’t distract her. Well, that’s ridiculous; of course I’ll distract her.

But I hope it will be a good distraction.

As I round the corner to Main Street, I see a crowd of people outside of Sweetie’s door. Oh no. I pocket my phone and run.

Mrs. Davis sees me first. “Sheridan! How are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine. What’s going on?”

“Oh, I’m here to help. But Mr. Rasic sent me away.”

“
You’re
here to help? What about Geronimo’s?”

“Oh, don’t worry, we’re covered. No, I heard about your grandmother and was so worried. I’m no Lilian Wells, but I can certainly brew coffee.”

“Sheridan.” Sous-chef Danny walks up and gives me a hug. Lucy, his daughter, stands next to him, and when he’s done, she hugs me, too.

“I’m glad she’s gonna be okay,” Lucy says. I feel kind of guilty. We ate lunch together every day in the sixth grade.

What happened to us? We were good friends once. Until the 195

cakes. We were good friends until I got busy with my cakes.

“Thanks,” I say.

Everyone I see says something nice to me about Nanny and how they’re praying that she’s okay. When I go inside, I see that the bakery’s case is full and that Mr. Roz is smiling behind the counter. I see pastry chef Dominique walk in from the back with a full tray of muffins. The part-timers from the retirement home are also buzzing around, waiting on customers.

I see the Suits, crowded around one of the little front tables.

“Sheridan.” Gray Hair stops me. “How are you?”

“Fine. Thank you.”

He reaches out and pats my arm. “Quite a shock. But I’m so glad to hear the good news.”