Time to Fly (7 page)

After a few more patients, the waiting room is finally empty, and Mom and I collapse on the waiting room couch for a breather. It occurs to me that Mom might be thirsty after her long trip. “Lemonade?” I offer.

“Oh, Zoe, that would be wonderful.”

I pop next door to the kitchen and return a moment later with two glasses.

“Thank you, darling—this is just what I needed.” She takes a drink and then gives a contented sigh. “My, but that puppy was sweet. You know, I'd forgotten how nice it feels to work with animals.”

My mother never ceases to amaze me. “Mom, I always thought you didn't like animals.”

She raises her eyebrows at me, just the way Gran does. “Whatever made you think that?”

“Well, we could never have a pet in New York, even though I wanted one and they were allowed in our building.”

Mom nods and swirls the ice in her glass. Finally she says quietly, “Well, I was always so busy, and Ethel had enough to do without cleaning up after a pet, and—” She pauses, takes another drink, and then looks at me. “Animals die, Zoe. Sooner or later, they die. I couldn't—I didn't want you to feel that pain, that loss.” She smiles at me, but the smile seems sad.

That afternoon Mom takes me and Maggie and David to the Ambler Bowl-a-Rama.

The guy at the desk recognizes Mom from her soap and makes a big fuss. Turns out they went to high school together, and he's thrilled when she lets him take a snapshot of the two of them standing in front of the lanes. “I'm gonna blow it up, frame it, and display it on the wall!” he declares. “Then the next time you come, you can sign it for me!”

Mom actually blushes, but she looks flattered by the attention.

“I bet they never had a TV star in here before,” Maggie says as we head for our lane.

“Hey, I wasn't exactly a star,” Mom says. “And besides, I'm off duty tonight. I'm just plain old Rose Hopkins, hometown girl.”

When we get our rental shoes, it turns out Mom and I now wear the same size. Cool—that means I can start borrowing her shoes. She has a great collection.

“I didn't know you liked to bowl,” I say as we lace up our bowling shoes.

“There are a lot of things you don't know about me,” she says with a playful smile.

I realize it's true. I also sense that something about our relationship has changed. It's not just that I'm almost as tall as she is and wear the same size shoes. It's as if we've reached a new level in the way we relate to each other. We're still mother and daughter, of course, but now it's almost like we're friends, too—or could be if we weren't so far apart all the time. Suddenly I long to learn all those things about her that I don't know, such as the fact that she can clip a dog's toenails and calm a nervous cat. And I realize I want her to get to know me, too.

David comes over with a huge plate of nachos and a cardboard tray of sodas from the snack bar. “It's on the house!” he announces, impressed.

“Ah, one of the perks of fame!” Mom says dramatically, pulling off a big wad of chips and gooey cheese from the plate. Nachos are one of my secret weaknesses. Who knew they were Mom's, too?

As Maggie writes our names on the score sheet, Mom snares a swirly blue bowling ball. “Prepare to get creamed,” she announces. She stares down the lane, takes a few steps, and rolls the ball.

Crash!
A strike on her first roll.

“Whoa!” Maggie exclaims. I'm so unathletic that Maggie probably never guessed my mother might have athletic skills. A competitive gleam shines in my cousin's eyes. “How'd you do that, Aunt Rose?”

Mom grins. “I used to bowl in a league when I lived here. If you think Ambler's small now, you should have seen it when I was a kid. There was
nothing
else to do in the winter besides bowl!”

We play several games, switching partners each time, because everybody wants to be on Mom's team. When Maggie pairs up with Mom against David and me, they hammer us so badly that David and I simply devote our turns to inventing crazy new styles of rolling the ball while Maggie and Mom laugh hysterically at us. It makes me feel good to see that the other kids like my mother.

That evening after dinner, Gran turns to me. “Zoe, why don't you and Rose take Sneakers for a walk? Maggie and I will clean up.”

I glance out the window. There are dark clouds in the distance. “It looks like it might rain.”

“So take an umbrella. Sneakers needs the exercise. And I'm sure Rose would enjoy seeing the old neighborhood.” She gives me a pointed, don't-argue-about-it look.

OK, I get it—this is where Mom and I are supposed to have some time alone together.

I go to get the leash.

“Sneakers! Cool it!” The walk is more like a drag—as in Sneakers dragging me down the street, acting up, and ignoring my commands.

I want Mom to see how special he is and love him as much as I do. He would pick this moment to misbehave.

But Mom doesn't seem to notice. She's talking a mile a minute about the new house, how I've grown, her job, my hair, the new school, her agent. Mom's always been the chatty type—she can charm anybody with her sparkling conversation—but she's setting a new world record for words per minute.

It couldn't be that she's nervous now that we're alone together, could it?

I, on the other hand, haven't said a word for ten minutes. Does she notice? After all, back in Manhattan she used to take me everywhere, so I met actors, producers, restaurant chefs, all kinds of VIPS, and I've learned how to talk to just about anybody. Yet now I feel tongue-tied around my own mother.

“…And it's wonderful being so near the ocean,” Mom is telling me. She sighs happily. “I know it's taken a long time, but everything has finally fallen into place the way I'd hoped. I can't wait for you to see the house. Maybe next weekend we can go shopping and pick out furniture for your room—”

“You're coming back here next weekend?” Wow—this
is
a surprise.

“No…I meant go shopping in Los Angeles,” Mom says slowly.

I stop and frown, puzzled. “I'm going out there for a visit?”

Mom bites her lip. “I didn't explain myself very well, did I. What I mean to say is, I want you to fly back to California with me now, for good. I've waited so long for this moment. Now that we've got a house to move into, I just can't wait another minute to start our new life together.” She beams at me and takes my hand.

I feel like a deer caught in a car's headlights. I thought I was surprised when she showed up this morning, but now I'm—stunned.

Mom keeps beaming at me. I want to share her joy and excitement, but somehow I can't. Still, I have to say something. “
Now?
Gosh, Mom, I—um—I guess I didn't realize it would be so—soon. I mean, it's a big move, and school's not out yet, and…” Suddenly, all the reasons
not
to go start pounding through my head: Maggie doesn't want me to leave. I don't want to leave
her
—or Gran. Besides, I still have to catch E.T. and find him a home, and get the parrot-protection program going, and…

The leash jerks, and Sneakers yanks me off the path to chase a chipmunk. It's his favorite game. He's never actually caught one; I think he just loves the chase. The chipmunk zips up a tree, and Sneaker stands upright against the trunk, pawing the tree and barking, as though he wanted to follow the chipmunk right up into the branches.

I wonder if Los Angeles has chipmunks. Otherwise, what will Sneakers chase—cars?

I finally convince him to give it up, and we rejoin Mom on the sidewalk. “Is there a quarantine for new dogs there?” I ask.

My mother looks puzzled. “Where?”

“In California.”

“I—I'm not sure what you mean, Zoe.” Mom's voice sounds oddly strained.

“What I mean is, will Sneakers have to spend some time in quarantine before he can move in with us? Some places do that, you know.”

A cloud moves across the sun, and Mom shivers. “Zoe, it's not as if California's a different country. Though I do have to say, it's quite a bit warmer than here,” she says lightly. “Listen, honey—”

Uh-oh. That's how she always starts bad news. I cut her off. “Sneakers
will
be coming too, won't he?”

“Now, Zoe—”

“Why not?” I demand, before she even gets the word
no
out.

There's a long pause.

“I just don't think it would be a good idea right now,” she says quietly.

I look at Sneakers prancing ahead of us, his ears flopping. A lump swells in my throat. “Why?”

“Well, things will be rather unsettled for a while. Moving, getting you into a new school …and my schedule will be very demanding.” She pauses again, searching for words, then says firmly, “Dogs need consistency. They need a routine. They need someone who's going to be there for them and take care of them every day.”

Sounds like she's quoting Gran.

I watch Sneakers rushing from side to side, as if every new smell is something to chase. “Sneakers needs
me
,” I say hotly. “He was a homeless, half-dead, starving stray, and I took him in and brought him back to life.
I'm
his routine. I'm his home—his family.”

“Zoe, dear, I think he would miss Gran and Maggie and the other animals—”

Oh, and I
won't
?

“—and that nice big backyard—”

“You said our house has a nice backyard!”

“It does, honey, but it's small, and it's not fenced. Wilshire Boulevard is a very busy street— the cars go so fast, and…” Her voice seems to quiver, then trails off.

“Those are just lame excuses!” I retort. “You're thinking only about what's convenient for you. As usually, you're not even considering how I feel!”

“Zoe!” Mom exclaims, trying to put on a scolding-mom voice. But it's bad casting. She's uneasy in the role. She's never been that kind of mom.

“You just don't get it!” I practically shout at her. “I love Sneakers! I don't know what I would have done without him this past year. Sometimes I was so homesick. Sneakers was always there for me—when
you
weren't!”

Mom looks as though I've slapped her. “How can you say that?” she whispers.

“Easily!
You're
the one who hasn't been around for almost a year. I have my own life here now, Mom, with Gran and Maggie—and Sneakers. You can't just waltz in whenever it's convenient for you and start changing my life around!”

Mom freezes, and I can tell I've hurt her. But I don't care. Now maybe she understands how badly she hurt
me
when she went away.