Coming Apart (9780545356152) (2 page)

Nikki dragged her mind back to the cafeteria just as Jacob stood up, fished in his pocket for his swipe card, and said, “Anybody want anything else?”

Nikki, Olivia, and Flora shook their heads, and Jacob shrugged, as if he couldn't believe the girls weren't still hungry. As soon as he was out of earshot, Olivia screeched, “Flora! Why did you kick me?”

“Because Nikki doesn't want to talk about her father, not here in front of Jacob … and anyone else who might be listening,” she added, casting her eyes in the direction of the jewelry-laden vultures.

“Sor-
ry
,” said Olivia. But then she added, “Actually, it
would
be nice if we could sit by ourselves sometimes, just the three of us, so we could talk.” She paused. “I mean, really talk.”

“Is there something you want to talk about, too?” asked Nikki curiously. “Something you can't say in front of Jacob?”

“Well,” Olivia started to reply, then glanced up and whispered, “Never mind. Jacob's paying already.” A few moments later, Jacob slid into his chair again, this time carrying a piece of chocolate cake wrapped in cellophane. The cake disappeared in three mouthfuls.

“Hey, you guys,” said Flora, smiling suddenly. “You have to come see Janie again soon. She is
so
cute. And you can practically watch her grow. I know she's only been here a few weeks, but already she's completely different. She smiles now, and I know it isn't just gas, no matter what Aunt Allie says.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Olivia. “You know what I saw in Bubble Gum the other day? Little baby hair bows. You should get one for her, Flora.”

“That's perfect. I'm making her a pair of polka-dotted overalls. I could buy a bow to go with them.”

At the mere mention of Janie, Flora's new little cousin, Jacob's eyes glazed over. This was the one change in the lives of Nikki and her friends that the girls could actually talk about in front of Jacob — and he wasn't interested in it. Well, that wasn't entirely fair, Nikki reflected. Jacob had been happy for Flora's aunt Allie when she had adopted Janie, but talk of baby clothes and chubby arms and hair bows and nightlights and crib bumpers, and especially dirty diapers and spit-up, caused Jacob to tune out and go off into some unrelated twelve-year-old-boy world.

“Aunt Allie just can't figure out Janie's sleep patterns,” Flora was saying. “Three nights in a row Janie slept for six hours straight, but then last night she was up every two hours —”

Flora was interrupted by Jacob, who suddenly announced, “Did you guys hear that the community center might have to close two days a week?”

“What?” said Nikki, whose mind had been snugly in Janie's bedroom. “Seriously?”

“Yup.” Jacob wiped a nearly invisible dot of frosting off of the cellophane and licked it from his finger. “It's expensive to keep it open every day. Not as many people can afford to take classes now, so my mom said the people who run it are going to have to let some of the employees go and cut some of the classes and programs.”

“That's horrible!” exclaimed Olivia. “I took an art class there once. And Mom and Dad were going to sign my brothers up for basketball.”

“Mae's been begging to take ballet,” said Nikki. “Mom was going to save up for the summer classes for her. I wonder if ballet will be cut.”

“
I
wonder if anything is going to have to close down completely,” said Olivia darkly. “I know Mom and Dad are worried about Sincerely Yours. And if they're worried, I'll bet other people are worried about their stores. And their jobs. You know, Mary Louise Detwiler's mom lost her job, and then her dad lost his job, too.”

“Oh,” said Nikki faintly, and her eyes strayed to the end of the next table, where Mary Louise was sitting, attempting to read a book in the midst of the noise and commotion.

“Min said business at the store has been really slow lately,” spoke up Flora. “But Needle and Thread has been around for years. I think Min and Gigi can keep it going.”

“Hulit's is closing,” said Jacob.

“What!” exclaimed Olivia. “The shoe store? Where are we supposed to buy shoes?”

“At the mall, I guess,” said Nikki, trying to sound casual. But an insistent and very annoying voice in her head was whispering, What if Mom's job gets cut? Then what happens to us? Nikki tried to will the voice away and only succeeded when lunch ended and it was time for her next class.

“See you guys!” Jacob said to Nikki and Flora as he stood up from the table.

Nikki looked expectantly at Olivia, who, she was sure, wanted to say something in private to her friends, but Olivia merely smiled tightly and followed Jacob into the corridor.

“Is something going on with Olivia?” Nikki asked Flora.

Flora shrugged. “We didn't see each other that much over vacation.”

“Huh,” said Nikki. This was surprising, considering Flora and Olivia lived next door to each other.

“Yeah, huh,” said Flora. “She and Jacob were always together.”

 

Nikki knew that her mother had arranged for Mae to attend the Camden Falls Elementary after-school program precisely so that Nikki wouldn't have to be responsible for her little sister every afternoon. And on those days when Nikki had plans with Olivia and Flora, she truly appreciated the arrangement. But on days like today, when the school bus dropped her off at the end of her lane and she walked to her house alone, she missed Mae's company. Sometimes the house felt creepy, even when Paw-Paw glued himself to Nikki's side.

Nikki unlocked her front door, talking to Paw-Paw as she did so. “I'm home, boy. You can come out now. Go play in the yard for a while.” And Paw-Paw, the big brown stray, endlessly patient, who had become a member of Nikki's family only after her father had left, bolted onto the porch and into the yard, where he ran around and around like a cartoon dog. Nikki half expected to see a circular rut form under his speeding paws.

Nikki dumped her school things by the front door, made a snack, and gave a bite of it to Paw-Paw. Then she settled at the kitchen table to start her homework. She could work at the desk in her room, but she felt vulnerable up there, so far from the front door. In the kitchen, she had a view of the driveway — and an escape route. She wasn't sure what she was afraid of, exactly. But she didn't relish being the only one at home on these silent, dark winter afternoons.

When at long last she saw the headlights of her mother's car in their lane, she let out her breath and closed her books.

“They're here,” she said to Paw-Paw. “Mom and Mae are home.”

Paw-Paw ran full tilt toward the front door, which was only four feet away, so he nearly crashed into it.

Nikki laughed. “Klutz,” she said, and wrapped her arms around him before opening the door.

“Hi! I'm home!” Mae announced, squeezing past Nikki and Paw-Paw, her arms laden with library books, art projects, and stray articles of clothing. On her head she wore a hat made of balloons. “Like it?” she asked Nikki.

“It's stunning,” Nikki replied, and grinned at her mother. “I started dinner,” she added.

Mrs. Sherman heaved a sigh and kicked off her shoes. “You're an angel,” she said.

“Am
I
an angel?” asked Mae.

“Most of the time,” Mrs. Sherman replied.

Half an hour later, Nikki, Mae, and their mother were seated at the kitchen table, which was set for three, and Nikki was privately recalling the days when the table had been set for five. When her father was still at home, and Tobias was still in high school. When trouble could erupt at any moment between her father and her mother, between her father and Tobias. (Her father was always involved.) And trouble could lead to flying furniture and broken dishes and the need to run for cover.

As if Mae could read Nikki's thoughts, she now said, “Mommy? When is —” She paused. “When is your husband coming back?” Nikki would have laughed if she hadn't known what lay behind Mae's refusal to call her father Daddy.

“A week from tomorrow,” Mrs. Sherman replied.

Mae nodded soberly. “And when is Tobias coming home?”

“A week from today.”

“Yes!” Mae cried. She adjusted her balloon hat. “Maybe I'll make a hat like this for Tobias next week.” She ate a bite of chicken, then said casually, “Tell me again why your husband is coming here.”

“A few reasons,” said Mrs. Sherman evenly. “First of all, he wants to see you and Nikki and Tobias. He hasn't seen you in a long time.”

Mae made no comment.

“Also, he needs to finish moving out of the house. We talked about that. Do you remember what I said?”

Mae nodded.

“He's going to pack up the rest of his clothes and things so that he can take them to his new home.”

“In South Carolina?” asked Mae.

“Yes. And then there's the divorce,” said Mrs. Sherman. “We need to finish things up.”

Nikki knew that her parents' divorce proceedings had already begun and that a lot had been accomplished long-distance, via mail. But now certain matters (her mother had been vague about just what these matters were) needed to be finalized in person with lawyers. And then her father would leave and, Nikki fervently hoped, be out of their lives for good.

“And when you're divorced, what will I be?” Mae asked her mother.

“What do you mean?”

“Will I be an orphan?”

Mrs. Sherman smiled. “No. You will still be Mae Sherman, my daughter and your father's daughter and Nikki and Tobias's sister. Okay?”

“Okay. What's for dessert?”

“Ice cream,” Nikki replied.

“Goody.” Mae turned her attention to Paw-Paw, who was begging silently but effectively by resting his great head on her knee and gazing into her eyes. “I'll sneak you a bite,” Mae whispered, and the subject of her father was temporarily forgotten.

On Saturday morning, it was Flora's responsibility to take Daisy Dear on her pre-breakfast walk. Daisy was Min's golden retriever. The first time Flora had met the galumphing dog, she'd expected her to be fearless due to her large size. Instead, Daisy had turned out to be an enormous, well, scaredy-cat. She was afraid of cats, as a matter of fact. Only now, a year and a half after Flora and Ruby and King Comma, their own cat, had moved into their grandmother Min's house, could Daisy approach King with her tail wagging and her head held high. Nevertheless, Daisy shuddered at thunder and also had once fled upstairs when Min — Min! — had walked into the kitchen wearing an unfamiliar hat.

Flora ran down her front walk, pulled along exuberantly by Daisy and still tugging on her mittens as they went. The morning was chilly but not January chilly. It felt more like a morning in early November, with a promise of milder air later in the day.

“Are we ever going to get a snowstorm?” Flora asked Daisy. “I mean, a true snowstorm, when school closes and everything?”

Daisy glanced over her shoulder at Flora, as if to say that she really couldn't be bothered to have a conversation at that moment, and then made a fast left-hand turn onto the sidewalk and continued down Aiken Avenue in a big rush.

“Good morning, Flora!” called a cheerful voice.

Rudy Pennington, who lived two doors from Flora in the Row Houses, was ambling along his own front walk with Jacques, his ancient cocker spaniel, at the end of a tired-looking red leash. Jacques needed a lot of coaxing to keep moving, and Flora saw that despite Mr. Pennington's jolly words, his face was grave.

“Come on, old boy,” he said softly.

Jacques stopped moving altogether and stared at Mr. Pennington.

“Is he all right?” asked Flora as Daisy, who loved Mr. Pennington and Jacques, turned up their walk and greeted them with a yip and a playful lunge.

“He's … I don't think he's feeling very well this morning.” Mr. Pennington gave the leash a little tug and Jacques resumed his stiff walk to the curb.

“I'm sorry,” said Flora. She was about to ask whether Mr. Pennington was going to take Jacques to the vet when the door in the next to the last house in the row opened and Robby Edwards leaned out, still wearing his pajamas.

“Good morning, Flora! Good morning, Mr. Pennington!” he called, in what Flora personally thought was rather a loud voice for such an early hour. “Mr. Pennington, is something wrong with Jacques?”

Robby, who was eighteen years old and had Down syndrome, was halfway out his door when Flora heard his father call him back inside.

“I hope he's not sick!” said Robby before he disappeared through his front door.

This was one of the very few things that Flora disliked about the Row Houses: Everyone knew everyone else's business. It was almost impossible not to. The old Row Houses, built in the 1800s, were actually one sprawling stone building divided into eight nearly identical attached homes. Although each home was a healthy size, so that the families had plenty of space, Flora sometimes felt that she and her neighbors were crowded on top of one another, everyone (Flora included) freely asking who was sick, how a school play had gone, whether a baby was teething yet, how business was doing.