around are her family.
He turns into McDonald’s. “Smithy, I want to do a documentary on the brave and beautiful Fountain children. Madison was just over at the house a few minutes ago, discussing it, and your aunt Cheryl is on her way to pick up Jack. It’ll be a portrait of courage and determination.”
A documentary? On her? On Madison and Jack?
It seems extraordinary that Madison and Jack would agree. Jack even shut down his Facebook page last year, as if he couldclose off all evidence of being a Fountain. If only Smithy had been home for the discussion. She’s missed so much. Thank goodness she’s here now. She won’t miss all of it.
She sees herself lifting Tris for a hug. This time, the cameras will capture Smithy as a good sister instead of a rotten one. Maybe she’ll bake cookies, like Mom, and pour milk, and be the sister who keeps a home, not the one who abandons it. She sees Madison and Jack smiling gently in the background.
She thinks, I didn’t bring any makeup.
“T HAT’S M ADISON,” EXPLAINS J ACK . “G O SAY HI .”
“Madison?” repeats Tris, his interest piqued.
What does her name mean to him? How much memory does an almost-three-year-old have? Does he recall her fleeting visits? Does he wonder why she didn’t stay?
“Hi, Madison!” he shouts, running toward her. He allows Madison to hug him but quickly squirms away. Tris has always been an efficient hugger: squeeze and leave. He doesn’t leave this time. “You’re crying,” he says, worried.
She’s not exactly crying. She loves him so much she’s soaked in tears. “The wind is in my eyes,” she fibs.
Tris is wearing a baseball cap. Baseball was their father’s favorite sport. He’d have loved seeing Tris in that cap. Tris takes it off and gives it to Madison. “There. Now the wind can’t get in your eyes.”
He’s going to be like Dad. Dad loved to give stuff away. She perches the cap on her head. “Thank you, Tris.” Then she glaresat Jack. “He’s soaking wet, Jack. All the playground equipment is wet. It’s too cold for him to be out here in that thin jacket. I don’t suppose you have a change of clothes for him.”
He glares right back. “The first thing you do is nag? Drive away if that’s your best effort.”
“Let’s go in the library, where it’s warm and his clothes will dry out.” She’s sorry to begin rudely, but she’s right. This has been the case all their lives. Madison is right more than anybody.
“I know what you’re thinking,” says Jack, “and you are not right a higher percent of the time than I am.”
“Feel his clothes.”
“Okay, so they’re wet. So you’re right this time.”
They’re laughing.
“I’m not going inside again,” says Tris. “I don’t care if I’m wet.”
“Last time you and I were here,” says Madison, “you were too little to climb the library tree house.”
“The tree house!” he says scornfully. “I can get up that in a minute!”
“Wow. Show me.”
“Okay.” He races on ahead.
Jack and Madison take up conversation as if they’ve never been separated; as if they last argued walking to the school bus this morning. “I need to apologize to Tris,” says Madison.
“Don’t. He doesn’t know you did anything. He doesn’t know there is anything. It’s one reason I’m so mad at Cheryl about this television concept. There’s a chance—not a good one, but a chance—for Tris to escape what happened. And hereshe is, setting it up so there’s no escape. He’ll crash into that accident all his life. When he’s five and starting kindergarten. Eight and playing Little League. Out come the headlines. Each time it’s going to kick him in the face. Somebody is going to step away from him. ‘You’re that kid?’ they’ll say.”
Tris is pushing himself against the heavy back door to the children’s room, but it won’t open. He isn’t strong enough. And what about the Jeep? Was he strong enough then? Could Cheryl—would
He turns into McDonald’s. “Smithy, I want to do a documentary on the brave and beautiful Fountain children. Madison was just over at the house a few minutes ago, discussing it, and your aunt Cheryl is on her way to pick up Jack. It’ll be a portrait of courage and determination.”
A documentary? On her? On Madison and Jack?
It seems extraordinary that Madison and Jack would agree. Jack even shut down his Facebook page last year, as if he couldclose off all evidence of being a Fountain. If only Smithy had been home for the discussion. She’s missed so much. Thank goodness she’s here now. She won’t miss all of it.
She sees herself lifting Tris for a hug. This time, the cameras will capture Smithy as a good sister instead of a rotten one. Maybe she’ll bake cookies, like Mom, and pour milk, and be the sister who keeps a home, not the one who abandons it. She sees Madison and Jack smiling gently in the background.
She thinks, I didn’t bring any makeup.
“T HAT’S M ADISON,” EXPLAINS J ACK . “G O SAY HI .”
“Madison?” repeats Tris, his interest piqued.
What does her name mean to him? How much memory does an almost-three-year-old have? Does he recall her fleeting visits? Does he wonder why she didn’t stay?
“Hi, Madison!” he shouts, running toward her. He allows Madison to hug him but quickly squirms away. Tris has always been an efficient hugger: squeeze and leave. He doesn’t leave this time. “You’re crying,” he says, worried.
She’s not exactly crying. She loves him so much she’s soaked in tears. “The wind is in my eyes,” she fibs.
Tris is wearing a baseball cap. Baseball was their father’s favorite sport. He’d have loved seeing Tris in that cap. Tris takes it off and gives it to Madison. “There. Now the wind can’t get in your eyes.”
He’s going to be like Dad. Dad loved to give stuff away. She perches the cap on her head. “Thank you, Tris.” Then she glaresat Jack. “He’s soaking wet, Jack. All the playground equipment is wet. It’s too cold for him to be out here in that thin jacket. I don’t suppose you have a change of clothes for him.”
He glares right back. “The first thing you do is nag? Drive away if that’s your best effort.”
“Let’s go in the library, where it’s warm and his clothes will dry out.” She’s sorry to begin rudely, but she’s right. This has been the case all their lives. Madison is right more than anybody.
“I know what you’re thinking,” says Jack, “and you are not right a higher percent of the time than I am.”
“Feel his clothes.”
“Okay, so they’re wet. So you’re right this time.”
They’re laughing.
“I’m not going inside again,” says Tris. “I don’t care if I’m wet.”
“Last time you and I were here,” says Madison, “you were too little to climb the library tree house.”
“The tree house!” he says scornfully. “I can get up that in a minute!”
“Wow. Show me.”
“Okay.” He races on ahead.
Jack and Madison take up conversation as if they’ve never been separated; as if they last argued walking to the school bus this morning. “I need to apologize to Tris,” says Madison.
“Don’t. He doesn’t know you did anything. He doesn’t know there is anything. It’s one reason I’m so mad at Cheryl about this television concept. There’s a chance—not a good one, but a chance—for Tris to escape what happened. And hereshe is, setting it up so there’s no escape. He’ll crash into that accident all his life. When he’s five and starting kindergarten. Eight and playing Little League. Out come the headlines. Each time it’s going to kick him in the face. Somebody is going to step away from him. ‘You’re that kid?’ they’ll say.”
Tris is pushing himself against the heavy back door to the children’s room, but it won’t open. He isn’t strong enough. And what about the Jeep? Was he strong enough then? Could Cheryl—would
Similar Books
