Where'd You Go, Bernadette: A Novel (28 page)

“I want to find Mom,” I said into the pillow.

“I know you do, baby. So do I.”

I turned my head. “Then why were you at a stupid seabird lecture? You’re acting like she’s dead. You should be trying to find her.”

“Now?” he said. “On the ship?” The side table was crammed with Dad’s eyedrops, reading glasses with one lens taped over, dark glasses with one lens taped over, those awful Croakie things that keep your glasses on, his heart-rate monitor, and a bunch of little tubes of vitamins you put under your tongue. I had to sit up.

“In Antarctica.” I pulled the captain’s report out of my backpack.

Dad took a deep breath. “What are you doing with that?”

“It’s going to help me find Mom.”

“That’s not why we’re here,” he said. “We’re here because you wanted closure.”

“I just told you that to trick you.” It’s pretty obvious to me now that you can’t say that to somebody and expect them to be fine with it. But I was too excited. “You’re the one who made me think of it, Dad, when you said the letter from the Harmsen guy was just a lawyer talking. Because if you look at the captain’s report with an open mind, it proves that Mom loved it down here. She was having such a good time, drinking and going out all day, that she decided to stay. And she wrote me a letter telling me that, so I wouldn’t get worried.”

“Can I give you another interpretation?” Dad said. “I see a woman who kept to herself and drank a bottle of wine at dinner, and then moved on to the hard stuff. That’s not having a fun time. That’s drinking yourself to death. And I’m sure Mom did write you a letter. But it was mainly full of paranoid rants about Audrey Griffin.”

“It says,
‘highly probable
.’ ”

“But we’ll never know,” Dad said. “Because she never mailed it.”

“She gave it to a passenger to mail when they got back home, but it got lost.”

“How come this passenger failed to report that during the interrogation?”

“Because Mom told them to keep quiet.”

“There’s a saying,” Dad said. “When you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras. Do you know what that means?”

“Yeah.” I fell onto the pillow and gave a big puff.

“It means that when you’re trying to figure something out, don’t start off being too exotic in your reasoning.”

“I know what it means.” I moved my head because I had landed in a patch of drool.

“It’s been six weeks, and nobody’s heard from her,” he said.

“She’s somewhere waiting for me,” I said. “It’s a fact.” A pulsing aura of energy attacked the right side of my face. It was emanating from Dad’s junk on the table. There was so much of it, and it was so neatly arranged, it was worse than a girl, it just made me sick. I jerked myself up to get away from it.

“I don’t know where you’re getting this from, sweetheart, I really don’t.”

“Mom didn’t kill herself, Dad.”

“That doesn’t mean she didn’t have too much to drink one night and fell overboard.”

“She wouldn’t have let that happen,” I said.

“I’m talking about an accident, Bee. By definition, nobody lets an accident happen.”

A plume of smoke rose from behind the desk chair. It was the humidifier Mom had bought for Dad, now plugged in with an upside-down bottle of water sticking out of it. Just like Dad wanted.

“I know why it’s convenient for
you
if Mom killed herself.” Until I started saying the words, I had no idea they were tamped down in my stomach. “Because you were cheating on her, and it gets you off the hook because you can go, Blah blah blah, she was crazy all along.”

“Bee, that’s not true.”

“
You
look for horses,” I said. “While you spent your whole life at work, me and Mom were having the best, funnest time ever. Mom and I lived for each other. She wouldn’t do anything
close
to getting drunk and walking next to a ship’s balcony because it would mean she might never see me again. That you think she would shows how little you know her.
You
look for horses, Dad.”

“Where is she hiding, then?” Dad asked, starting to blow. “On an iceberg? Floating on a raft? What’s she been eating? How’s she keeping warm?”

“That’s why I wanted the receipt from the gift shop,” I said really slowly, because maybe then he’d understand. “To prove that she bought warm clothes. They sell them there. I saw them. Parkas and boots and hats. They also sell granola bars—”

“Granola bars!” That was it for Dad. “Granola bars? That’s what this is based on?” The skin on Dad’s neck was translucent and a big vein trembled. “Parkas and granola bars? Have you been outside yet?”

“No—” I stammered.

He stood up. “Come with me.”

“Why?”

“I want you to feel the temperature.”

“No!” I said as emphatically as I could. “I know what cold feels like.”

“Not this kind of cold.” He grabbed the captain’s report.

“That’s mine,” I yelled. “That’s private property!”

“If you’re so interested in facts, come with me.” He grabbed me by the hood and dragged me out the door. I was grunting, “Let me go!” and he was grunting, “You’re coming with me!” We elbowed each other up the steep and narrow staircase one level, then two levels, and we were clawing and cussing so fiercely it took us both a second to register that we had become the focus of attention. We were in the lounge. The Japanese people sat at origami-paper-covered tables, just staring at us.

“You here for origami?” said the Japanese translator with mixed emotion, because on the one hand it looked like nobody had shown up for their workshop, but on the other hand, who would want to teach origami to the two of us?

“No, thanks,” Dad said, letting go of me.

I sprinted across the lounge and accidentally brushed against one
of the chairs, which I had forgotten was bolted down, so instead of it tumbling out of the way, it nailed me in my ribs and I ricocheted into one of the tables, plus the boat started pitching.

Dad was on me. “Where do you think—”

“I’m not going outside with you!” We were a wrestling, scratching, slapping bundle of origami paper and brand-new Patagonia, tumbling toward the exit. I stuck my foot against the doorjamb so Dad couldn’t push me any farther.

“What was Mom’s big crime, anyway?” I screamed. “That she had an assistant in India doing errands for her? What’s Samantha 2? It’s just something so people can sit around and have a robot do all their shit for them. You spent ten years of your life and billions of dollars inventing something so people don’t have to live their own lives. Mom found a way of doing it for seventy-five cents an hour, and you tried to have her committed to a mental hospital!”

“That’s what you think?” he said.

“You were a real rock star, Dad, walking down the aisle of the Microsoft Connector.”

“I didn’t write that!”

“Your girlfriend did!” I said. “We all know the truth. Mom ran away because you fell in love with your admin.”

“We’re going outside.” All Dad’s working-out obviously had some effect, because he picked me up with one arm as if I were made of balsa wood, and with the other yanked open the door.

Right before it shut, I caught a glimpse of the poor Japanese people. Nobody had moved. Some hands were frozen in midair, in the middle of doing a fold. It looked like a wax museum diorama of an origami presentation.

I hadn’t been outside yet the whole trip. Instantly my ears stung and my nose became a burning-cold stone at the end of my face. The
wind blew so hard it froze the inside of my eyes. The tops of my cheeks felt like they might crack.

“We’re not even in Antarctica yet!” Dad howled through the wind. “Do you feel how cold it is? Do you?”

I opened my mouth, and the saliva on the inside froze, like an ice cave. When I swallowed, which took all my effort, it tasted like death.

“How did Bernadette keep alive for five weeks in this? Look around! Feel the air! We’re not even in Antarctica yet!”

I pulled my hands inside my cuffs and made fists with my numb fingers.

Dad shook the report at me. “The only truth here is that Mom was safely onboard January fifth at six p.m. and then she started drinking. The waters were too rough to anchor. And that was it. You’re looking for facts? Feel this. This wind, this cold, these are the facts.”

Dad was right. He’s smarter than me, and he was right. I would never find Mom.

“Give me that,” I said, and swiped at the report.

“I won’t let you do this, Bee! It’s not good for you, constantly searching for something that isn’t there!” Dad shook the report at me, and I tried to grab it, but my joints were too stiff and my hands caught on my sleeves and then it was too late and every last piece of paper got sucked high into the heavens.

“No! It’s all I have!” With each word, my icy breath knifed the inside of my lungs.

“It’s not all you have,” Dad said. “You have me, Bee.”

“I hate you!”

I ran to our room and swallowed two more white pills, not because I was seasick, but because I knew they would knock me out, and I just slept. I woke up once and I wasn’t tired anymore. I looked
out the window. The sea was choppy and black and so was the sky. A lone seabird hung in the air. Something bobbed in the water. It was a huge chunk of ice, our first harbinger of the horrible land ahead. I took two more pills and fell back asleep.

Then music filled the room, ever so faintly, and over the span of a couple of minutes it gradually got louder.
I’m starting with the man in the mirror…
It was Michael Jackson, a wake-up call coming from the speakers, and there was a blazing crack between the window shade and wall.

“Well, good morning,” said the voice over the PA. After his ominous pause, he continued, “For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of looking out the window, welcome to Antarctica.” With those words, I shot up. “Many of you are already on deck relishing the clear, still morning. We got our first glimpse of land at six twenty-three, when we came upon Snow Hill Island. We’re now making our way into Deception Bay.” I yanked the cord on the shades.

There it was, a black rocky island with snow on top, black water under it, and a big gray sky above, Antarctica. I got a huge knot in my stomach because if Antarctica could talk, it would be saying only one thing: you don’t belong here.

“The Zodiacs will be begin loading at nine thirty” the Kiwi continued. “Our naturalists and camera experts will be leading walks. And kayaks are always available for those who prefer to go kayaking. The temperature is minus thirteen degrees Celsius, eight degrees Fahrenheit. Good morning and, again, welcome to Antarctica.”

Dad burst in. “You’re up! How about a swim?”

“A swim?”

“It’s a volcanic island,” he said. “There’s a hot spring, which
warms a patch of water near the shore. What do you say? Do you want to take a dip in the Antarctic Ocean?”

“No.” I was looking back at myself. It was like the old Bee was standing there saying to me, “What are you talking about? That’s something you’d love to do. Kennedy would freak.” But the new Bee was the one who controlled my voice and she answered, “You can go, Dad.”

“I have a feeling you’re going to change your mind,” Dad said, all singsong. But we both knew he was faking.

Days passed. I could never tell what time it was because the sun never set, so I went by Dad. He’d set his alarm for six a.m. like at home, then go to the gym, then I’d hear Michael Jackson singing, and Dad would come back to shower. He figured out a system where he’d bring clean underwear into the bathroom and emerge in that, then get dressed the rest of the way in the room. Once he said, “It’s the damndest thing. I can’t find my neti pot anywhere.” Then he’d head off to breakfast. He’d return with a plate of food for me and a Xerox of the six-page
New York Times Digest,
which had big handwritten letters across the top,
FRONT DESK COPY ONLY—DO NOT BRING TO ROOM.
It was printed on the back of the previous day’s leftover menus. I liked seeing what fish they served the night before, because I’d never even heard of any of them, things like toothfish, hake, wreckfish, and red porgy. I saved them in case Kennedy doesn’t believe me. Then Dad, the layer king, would elaborately get into his expedition clothes and salve himself with sunblock, lip stuff, and eyedrops, and head out.

Soon, black rubber boats with motors called Zodiacs would ferry the passengers ashore. After the last Zodiac headed out, I’d stir to life. It was just me and the vacuum cleaners. I’d go to the way-top floor, which is the library, where I kept tabs on an epic Settlers of
Catan game some passengers were playing. There were a bunch of jigsaw puzzles too, which got me excited because I love puzzles, but inside the boxes I’d find a note saying, “This puzzle is missing seven pieces” or some number, and I thought, Why would I do that puzzle? There was another lady there, too, who never got off the ship, I don’t know why. She didn’t talk to me, but was always working in a
Sudoku Easy Does It
book. On top of each page, she wrote the place where she did the puzzle, as a souvenir. They all said, “Antarctica.” Mostly, though, I just sat in the library. It had glass on all sides, so I could see everything. All you need to know about Antarctica is it’s three horizontal stripes. On the bottom, there’s the stripe for the water, which is anywhere from black to dark gray. And on top of that, there’s a stripe for the land, which is usually black or white. Then there’s a stripe for the sky, which is some kind of gray or blue. Antarctica doesn’t have a flag, but if it did it should be three horizontal stripes of different shades of gray. If you wanted to get really artsy, you could make it all gray, but say it was three stripes of gray, for the water, the land, and the sky, but that would probably take too much explaining.

Eventually, the flotilla of Zodiacs would head back to the ship. I couldn’t tell which one Dad was on, because all the passengers were issued the same red hooded parkas and matching snow pants, probably because red makes them stick out best against the gray. The guides get to wear black. I made sure I was back in my room when the first Zodiac returned, so Dad would think I’d been moping. The housekeeper always left a towel twisted into the shape of a bunny on my pillow, and each day it got more elaborately accessorized. First, the towel bunny was wearing my dark glasses, then my hair band, then one of Dad’s Breathe Right strips.