The Art of Holding On and Letting Go (13 page)

Grandpa pulled into the gas station and aligned the car with one of the pumps. He shut off the engine, but sat with his hands resting on the steering wheel.

“I think that was the real start of her illness, that little accident. And then when your parents and Mr. O'Connor …” He paused, then cleared his throat. “Well, she's just had a real hard time dealing with it.” His voice grew thick. “Everyone deals with loss in their own way, I suppose.”

Loss. That was what I had been feeling. Like a wildflower dug up out of the woods and transplanted into a pot. I hadn't really thought about my grandparents feeling sad about my parents and Uncle Max. I just thought Grandma was crabby and angry that I got dumped on her.

Fear. Grandma was afraid to go out. I was afraid, too. Afraid for Uncle Max and what he must have gone through high up on the mountain. Afraid for my parents, who were still out there, tackling more dangerous climbs. Afraid for myself, unsure of what to do next, how to get back to my home. Afraid to climb again, to touch the rocks and have all of these fears spring to life, the earth tilting again.

“Well now.” Grandpa turned toward me. “It's time for part three of your birthday present.”

“What do you mean?”

“You're sixteen. It's time you learned to drive.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Now?”

“You missed the summer program, but I found a class that starts on Monday after school. No need to waste any time. Better to get some practice in before the winter weather hits.”

He handed me a brochure about the driver's ed class. The company was called Road Rules.

“But I can give you your first lesson right now,” he said. “How to pump gas.”

I laughed. It was true. I had never pumped gas before.

Monday after school, Grandpa drove me to the driver's ed class. He said he'd be back in two hours to pick me up.

I expected to get in a dorky car with an instructor and practice driving around. But I was stuck in a classroom with a small group of students, all teenagers except for two older, grandma-looking women. So much for my private lesson. I slumped in a seat at the back of the class and spotted him in a seat near the front—Basketball Guy, Triple T.

I leaned forward and craned my neck to see better. He was scrolling on his phone and hadn't noticed me. It was definitely him. I sat up straighter. My knee bobbed up and down. When the instructor came in, he asked us to introduce ourselves. The two older women were sisters. And then it was his turn.

“Hey, I'm Tom Torres.” He half-turned around in his seat and spotted me. He raised his eyebrows, surprised, then flashed his lopsided grin.

I smiled back. Maybe this group lesson wouldn't be so bad after all. And finally, I knew his name! My knee bounced even faster.

The notes stopped coming for a couple weeks, but on the last Monday in October, a tightly folded square of notebook paper fell out of my locker again. I opened it, square after square after square.

A guy's voice rang out in the hallway. “You think you're hot stuff, don't you? Big-time climber, California girl.”

And another guy, “What, you think you're too good to talk to me?”

They were gone before I could even pick them out of the crowd.

Two days later.

And on Friday.

At lunch, Kaitlyn's french fries smelled much better than my bologna sandwich from Grandma. She pushed her tray toward me to share. I grinned and dunked a fry in ketchup.

“So, let's see them,” Kaitlyn said.

I pulled the notes from my pocket and tossed them onto the table. Kaitlyn and I unfolded the squares.

Nick nibbled his nails; he probably thought we were going to accuse him again.

“There's only one thing to do,” Kaitlyn said.

“What?”

“You're going to have to go back to the climbing gym.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Not happening.”

“Why?”

I met her gaze and shook my head but didn't answer. There was no answer. Half of me was itching to climb, but the other half wanted to run away.

Kaitlyn's eyebrows drew together in concern, and I could still feel her questioning eyes on my face even when I looked away. Even Nick was looking at me without his usual smirk, no dimples.

I didn't know how to explain. I just knew I wasn't going to climb. It didn't even make sense to me. That my fall in Ecuador was different from all my previous falls. That Uncle Max's soul had reached out and left an imprint on mine. That one person leaving this earth could change how I felt about everything. I was left with a knot in my chest that wouldn't be loosened anytime soon.

Kaitlyn invited me to spend the night at her house. I was in my room packing my duffel bag when I saw the ladybugs. I had seen a couple here and there inside the house, and I had scooped them up and set them free out the window. But now, there had to be at least half a dozen of them climbing up the windowpane. Trapped.

I raised the window and tried to shoo them out. “Go on, get out of here. You don't belong in here.”

A few of them flew the wrong way, disappearing into my room. But most of them flew outside, happy to be free.

The doorbell rang. Kaitlyn hadn't been to my grandparents' house before. I shut the window, grabbed my bag, and dashed down the hall, almost colliding with Grandma.

“What's your hurry?” she said. “Kaitlyn's waiting for you.”

Kaitlyn stood in the living room, studying Grandma's collection of angels inside the glass curio case. Grandma had a look on her face I couldn't quite read. I expected her to say something about her collectables, but she just stood there with a tight little smile on her face. Her eyes roved all over Kaitlyn, taking in her goth look.

Grandpa walked in from the garage where he'd been working on the Mustang.

“I thought I heard someone pull up,” he said. “I'd shake your hand, but …” He displayed his greasy palms.

Kaitlyn laughed. “That's okay. It's nice to meet you.”

“You are staying in tonight, right?” Grandma asked.

I nodded, and Kaitlyn answered for me. “Yep, we're just hanging out.”

“And I've got Kaitlyn's phone number,” Grandma said.

We inched toward the door, and they followed us outside.

“Look at that! A Woodie-Wagon!” Grandpa darted past us to check out Kaitlyn's beast of a car.

Kaitlyn laughed and followed him. He walked all around the car, examined the wood panels, and fired off questions. Kaitlyn explained about how her brother found the car and wanted it as a joke, but then it really grew on all of them, and her neighbor was a mechanic, so he helped them keep it running, blah, blah, blah. Grandpa hung on every word. Finally, he stopped asking questions and stepped aside so I could open the passenger door.

Grandma and Grandpa stood on the porch watching as Kaitlyn backed out of the driveway. Despite his greasy palms, Grandpa reached out and held Grandma's hand. They waved with their free hands, and I waved back. They acted like I was a little kid leaving for a week instead of just one night. How was I going to tell them that I needed to go back home to California?

I mumbled sorry to Kaitlyn for my Grandpa's questions and grumbled about my oddball grandma and all her clutter.

“Your grandpa's funny. That was nothing. I was trapped at a gas station for like an hour one time because everyone had to come over and look and tell their story.”

“And I think it's sweet, all those angels. I only read the inscriptions on a few of them. There was one for a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.”

“I guess,” I said, remembering the five baby angels that I'd always liked as a kid. It wasn't like Grandma had any other grandchildren. What were those babies supposed to be?

I still hadn't met Kaitlyn's parents. They were out again when we got back to her house.

“They're at some shindig for my dad's work, so they probably won't stagger in until two in the morning. They've become quite the socialites.”

“What does your dad do?”

“He's in sales. He works for a company that designs parts for Ford.”

“What does he sell?”

“Some switch that goes on an engine or something. He was promoted this year, and now he has to travel all the time, but he's usually home on the weekends.”

Then she had that awkward look on her face again, like she wanted to ask me questions about my parents.

“You want to order pizza?” I said.

We were flipping through magazines in Kaitlyn's room when someone rapped on her window. She ignored it.

“Uh …” I looked at her.

She shook her head. “It's Nick.”

“And why …”

“Is he not at the front door? Good question.” She glanced at her phone. “And I told him to text first, not just show up.”

More knocking on her window. Rap dap de do dap. Rap, rap.

Kaitlyn still didn't move. “My parents don't really like him, so he doesn't like to come to the front door. But if he had texted first, I would have told him they're not home.” She texted as she talked.

The doorbell rang a minute later, and I followed Kaitlyn to the front door. She peered through the peephole, laughed, and flung open the door.

“Pizza!” she yelled.

“At your service,” Nick bowed and held out a large box.

The delivery guy backed out of the driveway. “You owe me twenty bucks,” Nick said to Kaitlyn.

She took the box. “Fat chance, it was only fifteen.”

“Hello, tip?”

“You just bought yourself one very expensive slice. That's all you get.” Kaitlyn opened the lid, and I got a whiff of steamy tomato yumminess.

Nick flopped on the couch. He was wearing shorts even though it couldn't be more than fifty degrees out. He propped his legs up on the coffee table, scratching at them. “Stupid mosquitoes. They were eating me alive out there. Shouldn't they be dead by now?”

“Serves you right, sneaking outside my bedroom window.”

“So what do girls do when you sleep over? Sit around in your panties and have pillow fights?”

“You wish.” Kaitlyn grabbed a slice of pizza, sat down at the other end of the couch, and nudged Nick with her bare feet. “Foot rub,” she said.

I thought Nick would tell her fat chance, but he obliged. I couldn't help but notice that his legs were perfectly smooth, like he had shaved them. Kaitlyn saw my look and explained, “He's a swimmer. He actually thinks he'll swim faster if he shaves off his body hair. If he would shave his head, too, then I might get it, but no …”

“Hey, don't knock the locks, man.” Nick dropped Kaitlyn's foot and ran his fingers through his hair.

“You haven't cut yourself shaving again have you, no trips to the emergency room?”

“Very funny,” Nick said.

I gave them a quizzical look.

“He passes out at the sight of blood,” Kaitlyn said.

“It's a physiological quirk, it happens to a lot of people,” Nick said.