Rusty Summer (10 page)

I wave to Mom and Leonie as they drive away to church. Then I take The Bomb for a walk.

When we get back I take Bommy's leash off and go inside. I wander over to the table to leave Mom and Leo a note since they aren't back yet and I see a bunch of notepaper cluttering the side table where the landline phone used to be. My mom recycles paper 'cuz she's a good citizen of the planet. I pick up a piece of paper that looks blank to write on and I see some squiggly digits and a scrawl; my mom tried to write “grama's new #,” but the pen wouldn't work.

Grandma's new number.

 

And all of a sudden I get this tingling feeling. I start to get goose bumps. I feel something's up.

It's time to find out . . . time to journey.

Time to go find my grandma. I need a shaman—a wise woman.

I need to ask, “What is going on? Why won't anyone answer me?” and gauge her reaction with my own eyes. To speak with her, face-to-face, when I ask for the truth. She's my dad's mom. She'll know what's up with him.

Almost like a whisper it comes to me:
This is the window of opportunity
.

Quickly, I do some mental calculations . . . I have just enough time—if I start now....

I will ask my grandma. GramMer will know.

Time to discover what the hell is up with my dad.

 

Conveniently, all this week is finals.

Not that that even matters. I could graduate right this minute. I have ten zillion more credits than I need, I'm just at Baboon High for Beau, and he's just there to show the way for future students.

He says we have to, as role models. Then we laugh like hyenas. We don't feel like role models.

When I get home I go upstairs.

I decide first I'll call my grandma and give her fair warning. Since the stuff with my uncle Riley a few years ago, I figure they've been through plenty and really don't need any big old surprises just materializing. If I just knew for sure Dad's okay, it would totally help. Sometimes I think maybe he's getting like Uncle Riley. Maybe
that's
why my dad is nowhere to be found.

Sometimes my brain just randomly worries. I try not to let it convince me into being upset.

I dial my grandma's new number. It rings about seven hundred times and goes to voice mail. I scream my greetings into my phone in approved cell phone bellow and hang up. I try the other number, the old one. The same landline that I've left millions of messages on, just yipping away into the ether . . .

After fourteen zillion rings, just when I'm going to hang up, I hear a clack/clunk and then a huge pause for another thousand hours, before someone finally says, “Hallo?”

It's my grandma's voice. I feel my heart beat faster. I can't believe I've finally got her!

“GramMer?” I say joyfully into the phone. “Can you hear me?”

“Hallo?”

“GramMer?”

“Hallo?”

“GramMer! It's Rylee!”

“It's raining?”

“RYLEE!”

“Here, just a minute, let me adjust this here volume. . . .” She is obviously buying time because she doesn't know who is calling.

I give up and use the name she remembers me by. Which she knows from my letters that I don't like to go by anymore.

“It's RYLEE MARIE, GRAM-MER! RYLEE
MARIE
!”

My horrible former name. My horrible former double-first cracker name.

There is a pause at the other end, then:

“Oh!
Rylee!
Hi, sweetheart! Good gawd almighty, I didn't recognize your voice, you sound so grown up! What's up? How's things?!”

“Hey, GramMer! Good! I'm trying to get ahold of my dad to tell him I'm graduating. Has he gotten my letter? Or my announcement? I sent my graduation picture too.”

“Uh, well—I am sure he has! I haven't seen it, yet, but I figured you'd sent him one.”

“How can it not be there? I sent it like a year ago! Not really—but over a month ago, for sure!”

“Um, yep! That is a long time! I bet you're wondering what's up, what with no answer. That's not okay, huh? I don't really know what to say, Rylee. You need to talk to your dad.”

I don't remember my GramMer sounding so jumpy. I'm starting to feel exasperated.

“GramMer! I try! I've tried a bunch of times and he hasn't answered me! He is totally ignoring me. I don't know what else to do, I've called
and
written!”

“Well, darlin', I will sure tell him—again—that he needs to get ahold of you all. That's just scandalous! Dammit! Your high school graduation is a real important occasion. I'll tell him that he needs to give you a call as soon as he gets here, how's that, Rylee?”

“Whatever, Gramcracker. He won't.”

She chuckles at our secret pet name. I'm not supposed to call her that.

“I'll yell real loud . . . I sure miss you. And your brother. You sound all grown up. Feels like ages since I've seen you, Rylee.”

“It has been. You should come down, GramMer.”

“Seattle seems a million miles away. How's your mom and Paul?”

“Fine. Come down and see for yourself.”

“Yup . . . going to have to do that one of these fine days.” GramMer answers evasively.

Gee, GramMer, vague much? I can hear avoidance in her voice as she starts to leave me.

“Listen, darlin', I sure will tell your dad to call you. You say hi to your mom for me, okay? How's she like being back at work? She sent me a card telling all about her refresher course for nursing.”

“Good. She loves being at the hospital. She says it feels like she never left.”

“That's because she is the best nurse ever! I'm so glad. You give her a smooch from me. You have the sweetest mom in the world!”

“Yep-don't-I-know-it!” I say automatically.

I also know when I'm being stonewalled. GramMer can't get off the phone fast enough.

“Okay, sugar, well, I gots-to-get . . . so lots of love to everyone! Okay, then! Bye now! Buh-bye!”

She bails before I even get done saying bye. I hang up.

And sigh heavily. Okay for you, GramMer.

Little does she know it, but by increasing the mystery GramMer has hardened my determination.

It starts to rain. I get up and close a window. I'm alone in the house. I haven't seen Beau all day.

 

I'm messing around on Facebook when I hear him get home. It sounds like he slams the door. He staggers up the stairs like a weary traveler.

“Hey,” I holler.

He comes in my room and flops on the bed. Deep sigh.

Just like me.

“What?” I ask. I'm still on Facebook.

“Ughhh . . . I think I just had an argument with Kurtis.”

I stop and turn to look at him. I carefully keep my face impassive.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“He said we should glitter bomb that demonstration and I said I didn't agree—then he said that I didn't really care about civil rights. Then I said I did and he got pissed. Then I got pissed, then he got mad, then I got madder . . . then I stomped off. Now I'm here.”

“Oh . . . um . . . well.”

“Yeah.” He sounds dispirited.

“So how did you leave it?”

“I said I'd call him. I dunno. Too much stuff. They want me to give a speech for school, but I don't know . . . I think I might need a vacation from activism and civil unrest.”

“Okay.” I keep my voice very neutral.

Of course my mind is working overtime. This is excellent timing on his part.

“You should come with me.”

“What? Where?” He looks at me quizzically.

I realize I haven't told him what I've decided.

“I'm going to Kodiak. I'm going to find out what's up with my dad.”

Beau just stares at me and I see his eyes get bigger, and he gets about twenty-four thousand expressions on his face in rapid succession. I can see him thinking he can and he can't, and he wants to and he doesn't, and he's wigged . . . and intrigued. Then his face clears and he nods.

But all he says is: “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! When?”

“Now. During finals.”

“Is that enough time before graduation?”

“I think so . . . week up, week there, week back . . . I'm pretty sure we're good.”

“What about Roller Derby stuff?”

“We're done till tryouts in the beginning of fall. All I have to figure out is my name.”

“Will the van make it?” Which is a good point, as it has some serious mileage. It's dawning on me how much farther it is to Kodiak than when we drove to San Francisco. Like three times farther away.

But then I remember all my calls and unanswered cards and letters to my dad, and now this weird phony phone call to my grandma and I am resolute. I'll do what's necessary.

“I dunno . . . I'll make it work. I just gotta go, Beau.” Suddenly I feel like crying. “I'm tired of not being able to find my dad.” I hear my voice quaver. I sound like a five-year-old.

Beau is chill. His face is empathetic.

“Dude, seriously. That must be weird. At least my dad is findable . . . not that I want to.”

“Jeez . . . we have some excellent parentage.” Heavy sad-face.

“Yeah, well . . . at least our moms rock.”

“In an unbalanced sort of way.”

Beau is still sitting on my bed but he suddenly looks stoked.

“You know, this is
exactly
what I want to do! I'm tired of Seattle and lawsuits and advice. Let's get Leo and run off again!”

“I'm on the road again,” I sing—badly.

“Yeah, Rylee! Let's all of us get going!”

I grin at him, but quickly grimace and grow grumpy.

“If Leo has some wack fashion show she won't want to miss it.”

“Oh, yeah.” We sit with the wind taken out of our sails. But only briefly.

“Well, we'll just have to see,” I tell us both. I won't get stopped before I'm started. “If she can't, then just you and me go, or wait—maybe Bashy!”

Beau looks up at me guiltily.

“Or not.”

“What? Why?” I look at him with surprised amusement. “Don't you love our Bashy?”

“You know I do—she's really cool and all. I just don't think I could deal with her all day every day. I mean, in a car? You have to admit she is hella . . . raucous. No offense. Actually,
all
the roller girls kinda are.” He looks super apologetic.

I do have to admit it—he's right. She is; they are. But she (they) slay me so hard I don't mind.

“Well, okay,” I say, “but this time we are going to tell our moms so we don't have to come back to all the noise and shrieking. That was a pain!”

“Well, now we're eighteen, so they can't just put the foot down anymore. Not that that stopped us before,” Beau states slowly, reminding us both. That's right. We're legal now. We are free.

“Let's see about Lee. And then we go!”

 

Leonie predictably starts bawling after we ask her to come with us.

“So does that mean no?” I ask wearily. I swear to gawd I'm going to give her a feeding tube.

“No, it means they just said I'm too fat to walk and they aren't going to use me . . . so why not?! Maybe I can lose weight in Alaska.” She gulps and I can see her visualizing herself running from a grizzly bear and burning up calories like a crazy person.

Also, that she's too fat to walk is so beyond funny it's just irritating. Too feeble, more like.

“Dude, you walk fine,” I inform her with annoyance.

“No! Not ‘walk' walk; walk, like down the catwalk. And I can't! My boobs still jiggle!”

“Leo! Stop crying!! Omg, do you know how insane you sound? Jiggly boobs are fine! That's considered a good thing! Like hella expensive surgical good.”

“Noooooo! It's awful! It means I'm still ‘girl—”

I wail with her: “—friend pretty'!”

“Stop teasing meeeeeeeee!”

“Leo, you get any skinnier and all you're gonna be is girlfriend anorexic! And a loony!”

“I don't barf! I'm not
that
desperate!” she yowls.

“No, that's bulimia, which also sucks, but that's different than this no-eat-all-exercise-cry-all-day regimen you've got yourself on. It's messing with your body image. And your mind.”

“Listen, I told you why I have to do it and you
still
don't support me! Who's going to take care of us if I don't make it?” Her big, soggy, hungry eyes are lasering me.

I shake my head. If I can't convince maybe I can just distract.

“No, you listen—come with us and I'm sure you'll make yourself so undernourished tracking my dad around the Last Frontier that, finally, even your jiggly boobs will be motionless!”

She stares at me some more, snuffles, and then beams dementedly, nodding.

Leo is in.

 

Luckily Beau already has a passport. He got it when he was thirteen. He went to Mexico for a week, on the only vacay ever taken by the three as a family. It rained the whole time they were there.

I found all this out when I asked if he'd ever been out of the country. He said he's never been to Canada. His passport is still valid but soon he'll have to get another picture. He looks so snarly and cute. His hair is long and wispy. He tries to grab it back when I start laughing.