Time Flies (21 page)

“Believe it or not,” I said, “some things aren’t about you. And if you sigh one more time, I might have to kill you.”

B.J. let out a sigh, long and loud.

I shook my head. “It’s a completely different thing. Mine came out of the blue. It’s not like it was a lifelong fear, like I was always afraid of highway driving. At least not really. And I think it’s only temporary.” The moth flew back out and another one flew in. B.J. rolled her window down, too, maybe to make it go out her window, maybe to catch her own moth. “I hated,
hated
driving with Kurt. So then Kurt leaves and now I hate driving with myself. It’s like he jinxed me or something.”

B.J. reached for her Tab. “Maybe he’s got a Melanie voodoo
doll. You know, you’re driving down the highway and he sticks in a pin and says,
Take that
.”

“Ha. If Kurt was capable of spending that much time thinking about my feelings, we might still be together.”

“That’s funny. Either that or really masochistic.”

I thought for a moment. “So how come you can handle talking about voodoo dolls? Isn’t a pin just like a needle?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They’re completely different.”

I let out my own sigh. “I know I’m doing it to myself, but I can’t figure out why I’d be that self-destructive. It’s like I know there’s a whole new life out there for me, and the only thing standing between me and it is this stupid barrier. And I can’t get past it.” I tilted my head back and blinked to keep the tears from spilling out. “It’s so embarrassing.”

“So what does it feel like?”

“Exactly the way you looked in the tattoo parlor.” I closed my eyes. “My mouth gets all dry and it’s like I can’t swallow. And I get this tingly feeling as if my hands and arms are starting to swell.”

“Ooh,” B.J. said, “I don’t get the tingly thing. I get this queasy feeling in my stomach and I feel like I’m going to pass out. And sometimes my heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest.”

“I get the heart thing, too.” I took a deep breath. “And then this baby elephant crawls onto my chest and sits down.”

“Ohmigod, I get the baby elephant, too,” B.J. shrieked.

I looked over to see if she was making fun of me. It was hard to tell in the dark. “Are you sure you’re not making that up?”

“No, really. It sits right down like it’s trying to squeeze all the
air out of me. Mine is a girl elephant, and its toenails are painted pink.”

“Mine is gender neutral,” I said. “And you, my old friend, are insane.”

B.J. let out a soft Tab burp. “I would say, based on this conversation, we both are.”

I reached for her Tab and took a small sip. “Do you think maybe people just get crazier as they get older? My father had this ancient uncle Kenneth who used to come over for Sunday dinner sometimes. And every once in a while he’d just start to bark.”

“Bark?”

“Yeah, bark. At the dinner table. My parents and sister and I all just pretended it was completely normal and kept eating our mashed potatoes. And eventually dinner would be over and my father would take him back to wherever it was he came from.”

B.J. snorted. “The kennel?”

It wasn’t that funny, but I totally cracked up anyway.

“Did he bark like a Labradoodle?” B.J. said. “Or more like a shih tzu?”

This was even less funny, but we laughed harder.

I wiped my eyes. “I think you’re supposed to say
sheet
. You know, like
sheet-zoo
.”

“Shit,” B.J. said.

“Sheet,” I said.

B.J. shifted in her seat. “No, I mean, did you see that?”

“What?”

“Over by that tree. Something just ran across.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “Not that fruckin’ tucker again.”

“It was probably just a dog,” B.J. said. “Either that or your father’s uncle Kenneth.”

“Funny,” I said.

We heard a branch crack. A chill tickled the back of my newly bare neck.

“Mel,” B.J. said. “Maybe—”

Something rained down on the Mustang’s canvas top. Pebbles?

It stopped. We waited.

“I think there’s something on top of the car,” I whispered.

“Roll. Up. Your. Window.”

I reached for the handle.

An upside-down head appeared in the windshield.

“OOB,” it screamed.

CHAPTER 22

We were still shrieking when Veronica came into view.

B.J. and I flung open Mustang Sally’s doors in perfect tandem and jumped out.

Veronica reached up and scooped a little girl off the roof of the car. She buried her head against Veronica’s shoulder, then peeked up at us and grinned.

“Well,” Veronica said, “what a nice surprise. And it looks like you’ve already met Fawn.”

“Ohmigod,” I said. “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod.”

“Wimp,” B.J. said. She shut her car door and gave Veronica a big hug, partially enveloping Fawn. “Nice to meet you, honey. I’m B.J.”

I shut my car door. “Oh, puh-lease. You were just as terrified as I was.” I gave Veronica my own hug as Fawn wiggled to the
ground and ran in the direction of the house. “I’m Melanie,” I yelled.

“Come on in,” Veronica said as she took off after Fawn.

“The kid’s adorable,” B.J. said once we were settled around the kitchen table, “but she scared the shit out of me.”

“Sheet,” I said. “She scared the sheet out of you.”

“Teehs,” a voice said from the other room.

Veronica shook her head. “Little pitchers have big ears,” she whispered.

“Srae gib evah srehctip elttil,” the voice said, louder this time.

Veronica shook her head again. Judging by the way her frizzy hair looked, she’d been shaking it a lot lately. “Fawn,” she yelled in a singsongy voice, “come say good ni-ight.”

Fawn appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. She had shiny, saucerlike brown eyes that seemed to take up most of her face. They reminded me of those paintings of big-eyed children everybody had on their walls when we were kids. She was holding a huge laptop, which made her arms and legs look spindly and frail in comparison. “Syad eerht ot pu rof yenom repap no evil nac smreg ulf,” she said.

B.J. and I looked at Veronica.

“Flu germs can live on paper money for up to three days,” Veronica said. “It’s one of her favorite sayings.”

“Wow, is that true? They can really live for three days?” I said. “Oh, I get it. It’s backward, right?”

“Is she . . .” B.J. hesitated. “D-y-s-l-e-x-i-c?”

Fawn fixed her enormous eyes on B.J. “C-i-x-e-l-s-y-d,” she said.

Veronica had that kind of reddish blond hair that just got lighter and whiter as you aged instead of turning gray. It was pulled back into a ponytail and looked like it hadn’t been brushed in at least a few days. Her greenish gray eyes had dark circles under them, and she looked like she could use a good nap. She was wearing baggy sweatpants and a faded
WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS
T-shirt with stains on the front.

She took a sip of her Tab and put the can down on the kitchen table. “Wow, I haven’t had a Tab in a million years.” She grinned. “Still sucks like it always did.”

“Isn’t it great?” B.J. said. “It’s like a direct line to high school. So, is it kind of a
Rain Man
thing? Or is she normal otherwise?”

“Have you had her evaluated?” I asked.

B.J. popped open another Tab for herself. I was busy turning the rest of the six-pack sitting in the center of the table into a centerpiece by circling it with pieces of sea glass I’d found in a mason jar on the counter.

“And not to pry,” B.J. said, “but whose kid is she anyway? I mean, is that why you’ve been blowing me off? She’s not yours, is she?”

Veronica grinned some more. “I love you guys.” She took another sip of Tab and made a face as she swallowed. “Fawn is my granddaughter. She’s my daughter Julia’s child. Who is currently in rehab for the third time since Fawn was born.”

“Wow,” I said, because it was the best I could do.

“I know this isn’t the main point,” B.J. said. “But I can’t believe you’re a grandmother.”

“Beej,” I said.

Veronica smiled. “That’s okay. It kind of floored me, too. Especially since Mark and I didn’t even find out about her until she was almost two and a half.”

“Wow,” I said again.

“Where is Mark anyway?” B.J. asked.

“His company restructured so he’s working down south right now. Rehab’s insanely expensive and money’s tight, but he tries to fly home a weekend or two a month.” Veronica crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s been tough on Fawn. She loves her pop.”

“Pop,” I said. “It’s the same thing frontward and backward.”

Veronica reached for the mason jar and poured herself a handful of sea glass. “Yeah, they joke about that all the time. Sometimes she calls him Spop.”

“What does she call you?” I’d always wondered what my own grandkids would call me one day. For the first time it occurred to me that they’d probably have to call
Crissy
something, too.

“Mom.” Veronica shook her head. “She calls me Mom and she doesn’t call her mother anything. She doesn’t talk about her, she won’t read her letters or let us read them to her, but she carries Julia’s laptop around with her everywhere she goes. She even sleeps on it like a pillow.”

“Wow,” I said. I couldn’t seem to stop saying it.

“Well, the good news is you’re a teacher,” B.J. said. “At least you’re plugged into getting her everything she needs. Have you ruled out anything neurological? What about Asperger’s?”

“It seems to me,” I said, “that if she’s smart enough to reverse all those letters, she’s probably really, really smart. Maybe she’s gifted and just bored. Can you get her into some kind of accelerated program? How old is she anyway?”

Veronica waited until we’d finished. “I have nothing but respect for the fields of education and medicine, but the last thing this kid needs is a diagnosis to follow her around. I’ve got the whole summer to spend with her, and we should know more about Julia by the fall, too. I’m looking into taking a sabbatical next year if it comes to that—maybe I can homeschool her for a year and tutor on the side to make ends meet. Or something.”

The three of us looked at one another across the kitchen table. I tried to think of something to say besides
wow
.

Veronica reached back and pulled her ponytail tighter. “Okay, enough about me. Sorry to hear about you and Kurt, Mel. You were always too good for him.”