If You Lived Here, You'd Be Home Now (7 page)

I stole a glance at my mother. Her face was taut with anger but this time she kept her lips tightly pressed together and remained
silent.

The light ahead was turning yellow. I slowed to a stop at the intersection and when it turned green again I went through at
a reasonable speed, which I maintained all the way to the school. My mother didn’t say anything for the rest of the drive,
but when we had parked and were getting Noah out of the backseat, she held her hand out to me.

“Give me the keys,” she said. I handed them to her. She threw them into her purse and walked away from me.

Once we reached the field, she transformed back into her usual outgoing self, hailing and kissing tons of people and gaily
introducing Noah to anyone who might, by some crazy chance, not be aware that her grandson now attended the school where she’d
been on the board for well over a decade.

Noah barely acknowledged the people he was introduced to, sometimes nodding briefly, sometimes just staring off into space,
occasionally picking his nose before I could stop him. I didn’t enjoy the social stuff any more than he did, although I like
to think I smiled a little more and picked my nose a lot less. When I felt we had paid our dues, I told Mom we were going
to go check out the fun stuff and let Noah pull me across the grass toward the carnival games.

“Oh, hey, Rickie!”

I turned. It was Maria Dellaventura, wearing a lacy tank
top and skinny jeans with high spike heels, and flanked by two boys the same age as Noah.

I could tell they were the same age because they were a head taller than him.

Plus I recognized them from his class: one was her son, the other his good friend.

“Hi, Noah,” she said, smiling down at him. “Austin and Oliver are going to go try the Velcro wall. You want to join them?”

“No,” he said, staring shyly down at the grass. Good thing, too—if he hadn’t, he might have seen the two boys rolling their
eyes at each other. Unfortunately,
I
saw it. I felt my whole body tighten up.

“You sure?” Maria said brightly, as if the boys were the three best friends in the world. “I hear it’s really fun.”

Noah just shook his head and clutched my hand tightly.

“You guys go on ahead,” she said to the two similarly blond, tall, and stocky kids. “I’ll find you later.” They raced off.
She turned back to me. “When are you doing your food shift?”

I looked at my watch. “Half an hour.”

“I’m doing the desserts booth later.” She put a hand on her concave stomach. “I’m dreading it—being around all that sweet
stuff kills me. I can’t resist it.”

I was tempted to roll my eyes and say “Oh, please!” but I refrained.

She turned to Noah. “Are you going to help your mom when she’s working?”

“I don’t know,” he said and pushed his body against my side. He often did that when he felt uneasy, like he needed to anchor
himself against me.

“Austin never helps me,” she said, “but Eloise likes to get back there and hand the food out. I don’t know where she is
right now—she went running off with a group of girls. Probably to giggle about the boys. It starts early,” she added in a
low voice to me.

“Oh,” I said intelligently.

A short pause. “Well, I guess I should go talk to people.” She sighed. “It always feels like work, you know?”

“Yeah.” God, I was a brilliant conversationalist.

“Plus,” she said, “I wore these stupid shoes. I don’t know what I was thinking, spike heels on grass? But I was rushing and
trying to get the kids ready and”—she raised her foot and looked ruefully down at it—“I’ve destroyed them. And I sink like
two inches every time I take a step.” She put her foot back down and glanced at my cruddy old Vans. “You were much smarter.”

“I guess. It’s hot, though.” I was wearing a long-sleeved black top and the sun was crazy bright. “I should have worn something
lighter.”

“It was cold this morning,” she said sympathetically. “Hard to know how to dress.” She turned to Noah. “Listen, if you change
your mind, sweetie, feel free to join Austin and Oliver. I’m sure they’d like another pal with them.”

I didn’t get why she kept pushing it. Austin and Oliver clearly didn’t want to play with Noah, and he clearly didn’t want
to play with them. But I guess she meant well. “Thanks,” I said. “We’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Rickie,” she said and moved past us, weaving unevenly as her heels got sucked into the muddy grass.

All around us kids were running and playing together, the girls grabbing each other and giggling as they moved around in small
groups, the boys shoving each other and shouting. But Noah stayed close to my side, holding my hand even though he was getting
a little old to do that in public. I thought about
making him let go, but when I looked down and saw how closed and nervous his face looked, I squeezed his hand tightly instead.
He had been so excited about coming—the reality couldn’t possibly be living up to his expectations.

Reality never lived up to Noah’s expectations.

“Look!” he said with sudden energy, pointing to the dunk tank, the carnival-type game where, if you throw a ball hard enough
against the target, whoever’s sitting out on the platform gets dropped into a vat of water. “Isn’t that Coach Andrew?”

I squinted up at the figure sitting on the plastic seat about five feet off the ground. “Looks like him.”

“It would be really funny to see him get dunked.”

“I agree,” I said. “Let’s go watch. Hey, maybe we could even dunk him ourselves.”

“That’d be awesome!” He raced ahead and got in line behind a bunch of relatively tall girls who were giggling and whispering
to each other.

Coach Andrew sat squarely on the little bench, wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses, a UCLA T-shirt, and a pair of cargo shorts.
His bare calves showed, tanned and muscular, above equally bare feet. He was calling down to the tween girl in a miniskirt
and tank top who was about to throw a ball. “Come on, Angelica! You can do it. I know you’ve got a good arm—I’ve seen it in
action!”

Angelica blushed and threw and missed the target by a foot.

The other girls burst out laughing, more in delight than derision. Each of them tried in turn. They all failed to hit the
target but lingered nearby, whispering and eyeing Andrew’s bare legs with prepubescent delight.

Then it was Noah’s turn. “Noah, my man!” Andrew shouted. “Show these girls how it’s done!”

Noah promptly threw the ball straight down onto the grass
with the same sort of flailing arm motion you’d use to swat something away from you.

“Good try,” Andrew said encouragingly. “Try it again, Noah, only stand a little more sideways, bend your elbow a little, and
release the ball when your hand is still at its highest point.”

Noah processed that and adjusted his body minutely before throwing the second ball. It stayed in the air a little longer but
still hit the ground closer to him than to the dunk tank.

“One more try,” said the skinny teenager with a bad case of bedhead who was manning the booth. High-schoolers got community
service hours for working at the festival—I had done it myself at that age. He handed Noah his last ball.

Biting his lower lip in concentration, Noah took a deep breath and hurled the ball with all his might.

Unfortunately, his aim was so far off that the ball actually hit the teenager, who grabbed his arm and shouted, “Shit, man,
be careful!”

“Hey, hey, watch your language,” Andrew called down to him.

“It hurt.” The kid rubbed his arm. “That’s
it,
” he snapped at Noah. “Your turn’s over.”

Noah slunk to my side, his head down.

The kid said to me, “You going?” and held out a ball.

I hesitated, but Noah said, “Yeah, Mom, do it. Dunk him.”

“Yeah,” Coach Andrew said, leaning forward. “Dunk me, Noah’s mom.” He was laughing at me. He didn’t think I could do it.

He was the grown-up version of all the athletic jerks—like Caleb and Oliver and Austin—who were going to make Noah’s life
miserable for the next decade or two of his life. I desperately wanted to wipe the smile off his face.

I grabbed the ball and was already pulling my arm back for
the throw when the teenager stopped me and said I had to back off a few more feet—the adults’ throw line was farther back.
From that distance, the center of the target looked awfully small. And it had been a long time since I had thrown a ball for
any reason other than to give Eleanor Roosevelt something to fetch. But I planted my feet and threw
hard.

The ball fell embarrassingly wide of its mark.

“Aw, come on,” Andrew said. “That’s not even close.”

I glared at him and hurled the second ball as hard as I could.

It bounced off the edge of the target.

“Is that the best you can do?” The coach made a big show of leaning back and crossing his ankles. “Might as well make myself
comfortable. I’m not going anywhere.”

I snatched my third and final ball away from the teenager and threw it straight and hard.

It missed by even more than my two previous attempts.

“Shit!” I said, stamping my foot in annoyance.

“You can’t say that in front of the kids,” said the teenager primly.

“
You
did,” I pointed out irritably.

“You know, I could give you guys some private coaching,” Andrew called down to me. “You and Noah both. Teach you how to throw
a ball so it actually goes where you want it to.”

“I
know
how to throw a ball,” I said. “He just made me stand too far back.”

“Ri-ight,” he said. “What about you?” he called over to the young woman standing behind me. “You think you can hit the target?”

“Definitely,” she said.

“Good. I’m sweltering here. I’m ready for a nice cool swim.”

“Oh, I’d love to see you go down,” she said with a laugh. I turned to look at her. She was tall and thin and striking, with
long, wavy blond hair, fashionably large aviator sunglasses, and an outfit—a white tank top and faded blue jeans—that made
her look both athletic and very sexy. Of course, with her body, anything would look sexy, even a flowered muumuu. I suspected
she was an assistant teacher—there were a few new ones every year, and they were invariably young and beautiful.

“May I have a ball?” she asked the teenager, who was staring at her, stunned, his mouth slightly open. I wondered what it
would be like to have that effect on people. He shook himself awake and handed her a ball.

“Excuse me,” she said to me and I realized I was standing there staring at her openmouthed just like the boy. I moved aside
so she could step up to the line. She squinted at the target, took up a pitcher’s stance, and let the ball fly.

She missed, but only by a little: the ball bounced off the pole, just south of the release mechanism that would have dunked
him.

“Hah!” Andrew called out. “You missed by a mile.”

“More like an inch. And I was just getting my bearings on that one. Now I know exactly where to aim.” She beckoned to the
teenager, who eagerly stepped forward to hand her the next ball. This time she took longer to get into position, tilting her
head back, eyeing the target, and adjusting her feet and her shoulders until she seemed satisfied. Then she wound up and threw
the ball, hard and straight. There was a sudden “Ping!” and a shout from Andrew as his seat gave way under him and he dropped
into the tank of water.

A couple of the girls screamed. Noah cried out, “Awesome!” The teenager and I applauded, and the girl looked around, laughing.
“Thanks,” she said and took a little bow.

“You’re good,” I said, and the teenage boy said, “That’s the first time anyone’s been dunked today.”

“I played ball in school,” she said, like it was no big deal. She trotted up to the tank, where Andrew was holding on to the
edges, shaking the water off his face and fishing around for his cap, which had fallen off during his plunge. “I’m sorry,
baby,” the girl said with a grin. Their faces were pretty much on a level. “Had to do it. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Nice job.” She leaned forward, over the edge of the tank, and they kissed right on the lips.

“She kissed him!” Noah said with amazement. “She dunked him and then she kissed him!”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Andrew explained with a grin as the girl stepped back. “It’s okay.”

There was a lot of whispering from the sixth-grade girls at
that
bit of news. Andrew climbed out of the water and resumed his place on the platform, water pouring from his clothes and hair.
He wrung out his baseball cap. “It’s soaking wet.”

“It’ll keep you cool,” his girlfriend said.

“I’m plenty cool now. In fact, I’m freezing. That water’s like sixty degrees.”

“Serves you right,” she said.

He gave her an exaggerated scowl. “When I get down from here, you are so going to pay for this.”

“Yeah? When’s that?”

“I’m done at noon.”

She looked at her watch. “Oh, good. Not too much longer. I’m starving.”

Noah was a suggestible kid. He tugged on my hand. “I’m hungry, Mom.”

“Okay. Let’s go get something to eat.”

We turned to go.

“Hey,” Andrew yelled after us. “Come back later when someone else is up here and I’ll help you with your pitching.” It wasn’t
clear whether he was talking to me or to Noah.

I just nodded and we walked away.

S
orry I’m a little late,” I said to Melanie as I joined her behind the counter at the hot-dog booth. “Noah had to go to the
bathroom just as I was heading over and then I had to find Mom so I could leave him with her.”

“I just let Cameron and Nicole run off with their friends,” Melanie said. “It’s totally safe. Every teacher from school is
out there.”

“It’s not a question of my
letting
Noah run off with friends,” I said. “It’s a question of his not having any friends to run off with.”

Melanie didn’t respond because someone was suddenly thrusting little paper tickets at her and demanding a hot dog. And then
a woman was asking
me
for a hamburger “with no sesame seeds on the bun,” which had me completely stumped. Fortunately, Melanie overheard and interrupted
what she was doing to lean over and explain that all the buns had sesame seeds.