Leap by Jodi Lundgren

father said you were thinking about it.”
    That’s right. Dad and I did discuss it. During the same conversation in which I complained about not going to Toronto and he asked about my friend Hannah. I was about to snap back that Sasha and I weren’t even talking to each other, in case she hadn’t noticed, but I thought better of it.
    â€œI haven’t asked her. We haven’t been hanging out much lately.”
    â€œHave you two had a fight?”
    I was reading the entertainment section of the newspaper. A young, locally born pop singer rose to fame this month. I turned her winning smile face-down and looked at Mom. It unnerved me to see her eyes focused on me. Normally, she’s lifting her head from a book, dreamy-eyed, and gazing at some point past my shoulder. She uses books the way some people use illicit substances. Is there a support group for that? Hi, my name is Denise and I’m a recovering bookworm.
    Maybe she is recovering. I suppose a month of nonstop reading might make even the most hardened addict wonder if there’s any more to life. Either way, I sensed Mom might actually be able to hear me today, so I said, “Sort of.”
    â€œDo you want to talk about it?”
    â€œI don’t know.” I wasn’t about to rehash it, especially since Mom didn’t even remember the Gina Incident. “I think her family’s going through kind of a … rough patch.”
    â€œShe could probably use a friend right now, then.”
    â€œYou think I should invite her to stay here?”
    â€œI don’t want you staying here by yourself. But it might be fun for you and Sasha to be independent for a week, don’t you think? You could buy groceries and experiment in the kitchen and … play your music. I would phone every day. Of course, you’re welcome to come to the cabin too. Marine said, ‘Be sure to tell Natalie she’s welcome.’ I just don’t want you to be bored.”
    Meaning, cranky.
    So, it has got me thinking: maybe it’s time I made a real effort to heal the rift with Sasha. I did go behind her back to date Kevin. Worse, I stopped calling her.
    Speaking of Kevin … I still fantasize about him, but three weeks have passed since our trip to the lake. The last time I saw him, we were cycling in the dark, and that was already two weeks ago. The intensity of his image is fading a bit. Maybe he has even left town.
    Later
    Called Sasha. Her voice sounded guarded. I kept things light and asked if she wanted to go to the beach tomorrow. She said she couldn’t. (What’s she doing all day, scrubbing the floors?) She hesitated a bit and then said, “You can stay over tomorrow night if you want. No one will be here.” Where is everyone ? I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t: prying would make her angry. These days, the slightest thing sets her off. I just wish I understood why.
    Friday, July 30th
    The horror. I can’t think about it yet. I’m too shocked to sleep. My legs twitch from all the walking. I’ve had one charley-horse already. I’m going to toss and turn all night. Maybe some music.
    Saturday, July 31, 11:00 a.m., beach
    I’m sitting on a log, my sandals kicked off. I crunch and release my toes and burrow them into the sand until I hit the wet stuff. I trace patterns on the slate of wet sand until I have to move to another log to find a smooth surface again. I’m hoping that focusing on my feet will lead to peace.
    But it’s not working. I’m still in shock. There’s only so much I can take.
    3:00 p.m., Con Brio
    Came here seeking refuge. Lisa isn’t here, and neither is Petra, but this place reminds me of them and their support. I’ve ordered a bowl of soup and a panini (I hope that’s Italian for sandwich). I’m going to review the whole weird story. I certainly can’t go home until I have.
    So, Part 1: Sasha’s Place
    As planned, I arrived at 6