The Art of Holding On and Letting Go (29 page)

“She's going to try her best.”

I knew it was selfish, and I should be supportive of Grandma, but I couldn't help thinking about what would happen if she backed out. What if she couldn't do it, what if she refused to go?

“Don't worry,” Grandpa said, reading my thoughts again. “Everything's different now. Grandma is full of regrets for not visiting you before. Me too. I wish I would have known how to help her better. We're not going to miss this chance. Plus, we've been practicing.”

“Practicing?”

“Yep. We've been taking little drives while you've been at school. We go a little farther each day.”

Huh. I twirled my ponytail. That was definitely progress, but I was still worried.

“She can do it. But we'll need to be patient with her, and warn your friends.”

“Thanks again for letting Nick come too.”

“It'll be a good distraction for Grandma; she'll be watching to make sure you're all behaving.” Grandpa winked.

The week flew by as I caught up on homework, packed, and got ready for the trip. Two more paper airplanes appeared with their perfect printing, one in my Spanish notebook, and the other in my physics textbook.

I passed the notes to Kaitlyn. She flattened out the creases. “What do they mean?”

“Wall of Voodoo is at this place called the bunker in Berlin. It's an old Nazi fortress that's been taken over by climbers. I was there with my parents a couple years ago. The concrete walls were old and cracked, full of chipped out chunks, even bullet holes. And climbers have glued on rocks and plastic holds. It's a crazy fun place, but it has an ominous feeling too.”

“And this one,
Wonder Woman
, your secret Indiana She-Jones identity?”

I smiled. “It's a climb at Diablo Wall, on an island in Spain. The cliffs jut out over the water. So you don't need a rope, it's all free climbing, you fall and splash into the sea.”

“How does someone know all this about you? Maybe we need to tell someone. What if he's a psycho stalker?”

“You know, it's not creeping me out anymore. There's something familiar about it, like the person is reading my mind. He knows my special memories, but not in a hurtful way. I don't know, maybe I'll think of something over the break.”

After school on Friday, I went over to Kaitlyn's house to help her pack.

“Just because it's California doesn't mean it's warm all the time,” I said. “It'll be warm during the day, but we'll be in the mountains, and it cools off in the evening. You'll need sweatshirts and jeans.”

I could hardly tell what she had packed, the entire suitcase was full of black clothes. She opened a dresser drawer and dug down to the bottom, pulling out a pair of faded blue jeans.

“I only have one sweatshirt that I can wear. I'm still not wearing the MSU one that my brother gave me.”

I nodded. “Just bring a sweater, and you can borrow one of my tops.”

Kaitlyn was on the path to healing, but I didn't know how she'd take the final leap and trust a guy again. Or trust herself to be in a relationship again. I'd thought the Sadie Hawkins dance would be the bridge for her and Nick, but they sure were taking their time crossing it.

She tossed the blue jeans into her suitcase. One spot of color on top of the pile of black.

“What about you?” she said. “You finally get to go home. But you're not staying there, are you? Not yet, I mean.”

I sighed. “I haven't let myself think that far ahead. It's what I've been wanting—needing—this whole time. I … I don't even know if the cabin is livable after the fire. But I can't imagine how it will feel to have to let it all go. Again.”

Kaitlyn's lava lamp oozed and mesmerized. A purple blob broke free and swam to the surface.

“You'll know what's right when you get there,” she said, squeezing my hand.

Back at home, I set my packed suitcase by my bedroom door and tugged my box of books and magazines out of the closet. I carefully taped the cover back onto my worn, neglected copy of
Walden
. Maybe Thoreau's words would make sense again out in the wilderness, back at home. I slid the book into my backpack and zipped it closed.

The Christmas cactus on my nightstand was loaded with tightly closed coral-colored buds. Grandpa had noticed it that morning.

“How about that. It bloomed at Christmas, and now it's ready to bloom again at Easter. Watch now, it'll probably happen while we're gone, and we'll miss the whole show.”

I gave the plant a drink of water and hoped it would be enough to sustain it while we were gone. Outside of my bedroom window, the RV loomed in front of the garage, taking up the entire driveway. The cabinets in the tiny kitchen were already packed with food and dishes and games and Grandma's arsenal of cleaning supplies. I really hoped she hadn't stashed some mothballs in there too.

I looked back at my box of books on the floor, judging its size.

We still had to load our suitcases, and Kaitlyn's and Nick's. But those outside compartments were pretty deep.

I hoisted the box off the floor, grunting with the weight, and poked my head into the hallway. Blue TV light flickered beneath my grandparents' bedroom door. I crept down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out the side door, my arm muscles complaining. I set the box down on the driveway with another grunt and opened the side compartment.

I rearranged the camping and climbing gear, and hid the box at the back of the compartment. Climbing rope coiled on top, rolled-up sleeping bag shoved in front. I closed the door, then hustled back to the house, shivering in the frigid night air. I had one thing left to do.

Back in my room, my clock glowed green, 11:26 p.m. I rested against my headboard, pillows propped at my back, knees pulled into my chest, phone in my palm. I had spent half of the evening rehearsing what I'd say.

Tom answered on the first ring.

“I was afraid you weren't going to call,” he said.

The sound of his voice, husky soft, tangled my rehearsed conversation into a knot.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I'm okay.”

“So this is it, huh? Your last night.”

“I can't believe it's here already.”

“I could kick myself for waiting so long to talk to you.”

“Me too.”

“What? Kick me or yourself?”

We laughed together for a second.

“There's something I've been wanting to tell you,” he said.

“O-kay?”

“Remember that day at driver's ed, when I told you I was nervous about driving?”

I rotated my wrist, the beaded bracelets tangled together.

“Well, I didn't tell you the whole story, about the car accident I was in.”

He paused, and I felt the chill in the air. I burrowed my feet under the covers, scrunching my toes into the soft flannel sheets.

“I was twelve, and I had spent the weekend with my cousin, Adam. He was just a few months older than me. We grew up together and hung out all the time. By the end of that weekend, at his house, we were fighting like we were brothers or something. When it was time to drive me home on Sunday, he raced to the car and called shotgun. I complained and whined no fair, and we were horsing around. And my aunt said, ‘Tom can ride up front, he's our guest this weekend.' ”

Tom paused again. “You still there?”

“I'm here, I'm listening.” I twirled my ponytail, worried about what was coming next.

“It seems so stupid now. I mean, who cares if you ride up front or not. And why did I even want to ride up front next to my aunt? Why didn't I want to sit in back next to Adam?”

“We were driving home, and my aunt turned left at a yellow light, and a huge SUV plowed right into us.”

I sucked in my breath. My fingers knotted in my ponytail.

“The rest of the accident is a blur. Glass shattered, the airbags went off and pummeled me, but I was fine. My aunt was fine. But the SUV had rammed the door where Adam was sitting. And he wasn't wearing his seatbelt.”

“Oh, no.” I hugged my knees tighter and closed my eyes, wanting to shut out the picture of the accident forming in my mind. Shattering glass, the scar on Tom's lip.

“I remember my aunt telling us to buckle up, but I guess she didn't check to make sure Adam did. I mean, he was twelve. But he was sulking in the backseat since we were fighting and I got to ride up front … And he was poking me and kicking my seat, and I half-turned around and yelled at him to cut it out … Who knows, maybe he had his seatbelt on at first, then took it off to switch spots … and it might have been just as bad even if he was wearing his seatbelt. I can make myself crazy with all the ‘what if' questions, you know?”

“I know.” I had been shoving those same questions down, stuffing them away, for months. What if I had asked my parents to stay with me at the competition? What if they were there just one day earlier or later? What if the rope connecting to Uncle Max hadn't been severed?

I knew what Tom was going to say next. His cousin Adam sprawled on the ground, motionless. His body battered and broken. Uncle Max swept in the avalanche, pummeled and buried by a freight train of snow.

“He almost died.”

My eyes snapped open, and I sat forward. “He survived?”

“Yeah, he made it, but it's been a really long recovery, like years. I wanted to tell you, because … I know it's not the same as what you're going through, but I wanted you to know I understand, at least a little, how you've been feeling.”

“Thank you. That means a lot. I'm so sorry about Adam.”

“Yeah, I was really close to him, you know, like a brother. And it's been really tough for my aunt, too. There were a lot of witnesses, and the police said it wasn't her fault. Her car was almost through the intersection, and the other guy came speeding through as the light turned red. But still. She felt responsible. Like she should have seen him coming or something.”

“That's so hard.”

“Yeah, they moved away so Adam could go to this special treatment program. It's weird because it feels like he's gone, but really he's still here. I kind of said good-bye to him, but not really. It doesn't even make sense.”

“No, it does.” I was thinking of Uncle Max. He had just disappeared. There was no chance to say good-bye.

“You really miss him,” I said.

“I do, yeah. But more than that, it's like one minute you feel so alive, like playing basketball outside on a hot summer day, you feel the sun, and you're sweating, you're sinking shots right and left, you're invincible. I'm Kobe! And the next minute you realize you could die. You're gone, just like that.”

He let out a slow, long breath. In a deep, slow-motion voice, he said, “And that's why driving freaks me out.”

I smiled into the phone. “So, how did you decide to take driver's ed? How did you get past your fear?”

“I just decided I had to do it. Suck it up. Get some cojones. The summer program with everyone from school would have been too much. But I thought maybe I could handle a smaller, private class. That way, if I freaked and dropped out, then at least no one from school would know.”

“And then I showed up. Sorry.”

“No, that was good. Just by being there, you helped me push through it. I had to pull myself together so I didn't make a fool of myself in front of you. That first day we were driving and Mr. Asshat made you take all those left turns?”

“Oh no, just like the accident.”

“No cojones. I almost pissed my pants.”

He was being funny, but I felt the fear behind his joking.

“I saw you going to school every day, making this new life for yourself, and I knew that I could get through a stupid driving class. I'd just figure it out as I went.”

Making a new life for myself. I hadn't thought of it that way. It didn't feel that way. It felt like I was clinging to a rock face with no end in sight. I sank back down onto my pillows and snuggled deeper under the covers. “How's your practice driving going, now that class is over?” I asked.

“Okay. It still makes me nervous. It's embarrassing. I'm just destined to drive like my bubbie.”

“Bubbie?”

“Grandma. What do you call yours?”

“Uh, Grandma.”

He snort-laughed. “Wait 'til you hear this, it's hilarious. My mom is a psychologist, so she's always trying out her head shrink stuff on me. She gets an idea during the last snowstorm. She drives us to an empty parking lot at night, and says we're going to do doughnuts.”

“Doughnuts?”

“Yeah, you know, where you crank the steering wheel and stomp on the gas, and your car spins around in 360s. You need a rear-wheel-drive car for it to work though.”

“This was your
mom's
idea?”

“She's nuts, totally meshugna. The idea was to force me to lose control, but in a safe way. Wide open, empty parking lot, no other cars around.”