taking his dog Popsicle for a late-night walk. I glance at the clock. Half past one. I wait a little longer, and eventually headlights creep up our street and slowly halt in front of our house. It’s them. The silhouette of Leslie’s Lincoln Town Car is illuminated by the moon. I move to my second bedroom window, the one that faces into the courtyard of our one-story ranch-style home. I slide the window open just enough so that I can press my ear against the window screen. Then I patiently wait for them to get within hearing distance.
“Thanks for lending me that book,” I hear Leslie say, as she passes underneath the archway that leads into the courtyard. She looks over at my window and I wonder if she can see me, but apparently she can’t because she says, “Looks like Susie might be asleep already. I hate for us to disturb her. Maybe I should get it later?”
“Susie sleeps like the dead,” my dad assures her. “So it’s no problem at all.”
Leslie hums as she follows my dad up the walkway. “I’m sorry. I can’t get that aria out of my head. It was so beautiful.”
“Yes,” my father says, “yes it was.”
“You know”—Leslie steps onto the front porch—“I really thought it was sweet that you held my hand when I cried. That meant a lot to me.” Leslie tilts her head up to his.
“It was nice to see that you could be so moved.” My dad takes a small step backward.
“So…” Leslie says, shifting slightly, “I’ll wait here.”
“Right.” My dad unlocks the door and I hear him enter the house and go into his study. Minutes later he returns with a book in hand. He hands it to Leslie.
“Keep it as long as you like.”
“Thanks, I’ve always wanted to learn more about classical music. This will really help.” Leslie brushes her hand across my father’s shoulder. They stare at each other for a long time. “I had a really good time.”
“I did, too.” My dad rocks on his heels. He seems to avoid staring directly at Leslie.
“Do you think you’d like to do it again sometime?” Leslie’s voice catches in her throat.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Well”—Leslie inches closer—“give me a call next week. We’ll talk.”
“Sure.” My dad stops rocking. Even though his head is slung low, I can see the tension in his face. Their feet are nearly touching. Leslie leans forward. She rests her head on his chest, and then slowly, very slowly, lets her arms wind up his back and, with her hands, cups his salt-and-pepper hair.
“Joe.” She says the word so softly. “Joe.”
“Yes…” My dad is as stiff as a statue.
“It’s okay, Joe,” she whispers.
“It’s okay?” he repeats, sounding confused.
“Yes.” She holds him tightly. “It’s okay.”
I watch them, unsure of what’s happening. His body is still stiff, his hands buried in his pockets. He stares off into the night. I want to go to him. I want to comfort him. I want to tell him that it’s not okay. That I know.
“No,” he says after some time. “I’m not sure that it is okay.” The minute I hear him speak, I know that he has spoken for both of us.
“Oh. Of course. I understand.” Leslie untangles herself from him. “I’ll call you, Joe.”
“Yeah, okay.”
My dad waits until Leslie is safely in her car before coming back into the house. When she’s gone, I rest my head on the window ledge and stare into the night. I watch the moon. I try to remember what it looked like the night my mom died. I wonder if it will ever look the same.
EIGHTEEN
the mall
the next day, marisol gets me up at the crack of dawn and drags me to the mall. She’s determined to find her homecoming dress and, apparently, to torture me in the process.
For the first hour we’re both too sleepy to chat. I’m also a teensy bit annoyed that she sold me out for Ryan Rosenbloom. Occasionally, though, I slip in a question.
“How was the Coldplay concert?” I ask in JCPenney.
“I had the best time,” she starts
“Thanks for lending me that book,” I hear Leslie say, as she passes underneath the archway that leads into the courtyard. She looks over at my window and I wonder if she can see me, but apparently she can’t because she says, “Looks like Susie might be asleep already. I hate for us to disturb her. Maybe I should get it later?”
“Susie sleeps like the dead,” my dad assures her. “So it’s no problem at all.”
Leslie hums as she follows my dad up the walkway. “I’m sorry. I can’t get that aria out of my head. It was so beautiful.”
“Yes,” my father says, “yes it was.”
“You know”—Leslie steps onto the front porch—“I really thought it was sweet that you held my hand when I cried. That meant a lot to me.” Leslie tilts her head up to his.
“It was nice to see that you could be so moved.” My dad takes a small step backward.
“So…” Leslie says, shifting slightly, “I’ll wait here.”
“Right.” My dad unlocks the door and I hear him enter the house and go into his study. Minutes later he returns with a book in hand. He hands it to Leslie.
“Keep it as long as you like.”
“Thanks, I’ve always wanted to learn more about classical music. This will really help.” Leslie brushes her hand across my father’s shoulder. They stare at each other for a long time. “I had a really good time.”
“I did, too.” My dad rocks on his heels. He seems to avoid staring directly at Leslie.
“Do you think you’d like to do it again sometime?” Leslie’s voice catches in her throat.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Well”—Leslie inches closer—“give me a call next week. We’ll talk.”
“Sure.” My dad stops rocking. Even though his head is slung low, I can see the tension in his face. Their feet are nearly touching. Leslie leans forward. She rests her head on his chest, and then slowly, very slowly, lets her arms wind up his back and, with her hands, cups his salt-and-pepper hair.
“Joe.” She says the word so softly. “Joe.”
“Yes…” My dad is as stiff as a statue.
“It’s okay, Joe,” she whispers.
“It’s okay?” he repeats, sounding confused.
“Yes.” She holds him tightly. “It’s okay.”
I watch them, unsure of what’s happening. His body is still stiff, his hands buried in his pockets. He stares off into the night. I want to go to him. I want to comfort him. I want to tell him that it’s not okay. That I know.
“No,” he says after some time. “I’m not sure that it is okay.” The minute I hear him speak, I know that he has spoken for both of us.
“Oh. Of course. I understand.” Leslie untangles herself from him. “I’ll call you, Joe.”
“Yeah, okay.”
My dad waits until Leslie is safely in her car before coming back into the house. When she’s gone, I rest my head on the window ledge and stare into the night. I watch the moon. I try to remember what it looked like the night my mom died. I wonder if it will ever look the same.
EIGHTEEN
the mall
the next day, marisol gets me up at the crack of dawn and drags me to the mall. She’s determined to find her homecoming dress and, apparently, to torture me in the process.
For the first hour we’re both too sleepy to chat. I’m also a teensy bit annoyed that she sold me out for Ryan Rosenbloom. Occasionally, though, I slip in a question.
“How was the Coldplay concert?” I ask in JCPenney.
“I had the best time,” she starts
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