“It can’t be,” I said under my breath. I picked up each little bottle and checked the labels and sighed once they all were on the floor next to me. I sat back and looked around.
“Did you find it yet?” Peggy asked, peering over my shoulder.
“No, the Cherry Red is missing. What other color do you want?” I asked her. She bent down next to me and looked at the assorted paint nail polish bottles. Finally, she picked up a pretty pink, categorized as “Pink Grapefruit.”
“This one,” she said, handing it to me. We both stood up and headed over to my bed. She flopped onto it and I settled down more smoothly.
“Which hand first?” She stuck out her right. I pulled her closer to me, our knees touching and I placed her hand on my lap. I told her not to move and then uncapped the bottle, dipped the small brush in and made the first stroke on her thumbnail.
We did this every Friday night. We painted each other’s nails our favorite color for the week and on Friday; we used paint nail polish removal to get it off and started over. It took us about ten or eleven weeks to complete the cycle; mostly because that’s all the colors I could save from our terrible dog, Jack.
He likes to go into our room, open my drawers with his snout and steal my polish and lipstick. I don’t know why; it’s weird. But all I know is he’s going to make me go broke if I have to keep going out and getting new ones to replace the poor lost ones.
Peggy is just learning how to paint nails all by herself. She insists I do hers, but when it comes to mine, she has to do them herself. According to her, it’s like breaking the law if she doesn’t get to. She does an okay job, except it is usually smeared and the paint gets on my fingers, making them all crusted and dry. So after she goes to bed, I take it off and do it over myself. So far, she never notices my nails are almost perfect the next morning. She just assumes it’s her wonderful work.
“We were outside today at the park when Katie tried to get me to play house with her…again. She demanded that she is the mother, however I told her she can’t be because I’m taller and older by two months, so that makes me as the mom and her the baby,” Peggy explained. I nodded, moving onto the index finger.
“Did she accept your terms?” I questioned, looking up at her. She shook her head furiously.
“No. She cried like a baby, and when I was simply pointing out that that’s another reason for her to be the child, she stormed out from under the bridge we use as our house and played with Mia. Katie can be so bossy,” she huffed, using her left hand to brush her bangs out of her eyes.
“And you don’t like it when she’s bossy?” I confirmed.
“I won’t allow it. I told her this, so she replaced me as her best friend with dumb Mia. But don’t worry, she’ll come crawling back.” Then she laughed and I joined her. It caused me to miss and I got a little on the tip of her finger. I licked my thumb and wiped it off before it dried.
Peggy was in my opinion the smartest six-year-old girl around. She could use big words even I didn’t know, and Jonathon already had her practicing multiplication, starting with simple tables like two and three. It is long division she struggles with, though. But she excels in reading. She just finished first grade and can’t wait to start the second grade.
“What did you do today?” she asked when I finished her right hand. She blew on her fingers and then placed her left hand in its place and continued blowing.
“I helped Melissa pack her things for San Francisco,” I told her. Melissa has been my best friend since sixth grade. While Peggy was spending the day with her friend Katie at the park, I sent the afternoon with Mel. She was leaving tomorrow morning at seven to catch her eight-thirty flight across the country. She was visiting her grandparents, and also her aunt, who lived just outside San Francisco.
“What are you going to do this summer while she’s gone?”
I honestly hadn’t considered that yet. I was going to start a training program to learn how to be a summer camp counselor, but it costs a lot of money and Jon has yet to pay this month's bills.
Even though he makes a good living and always provides food on the table and clothes on our backs, it sometimes isn’t enough. It was especially hard when he goes weekly grocery shopping or bi-annual school shopping, once in the fall and again in the spring. Since he is a single working “parent” so to speak, we have to be careful around the holidays. But, sometimes after payday ever other month or so, Jon takes us to get something special we want, whether it’s a new CD, a poster or a new pair of sneakers. Peggy and I agreed to every now and then turn it down because we knew there were better things to do with the money and he just wants to make us happy.
“Well?” asked Peggy, bringing me back to reality.
“Oh, um, I don’t know. The new neighbors are moving in across the street tomorrow. Maybe I’ll go over and greet them or something.” I shrugged it off. It was going to be weird spending this summer without Melissa here, even though I’d eventually get over it.
“Can I go with you?” she asked when I was done. I looked at her and smiled.
“Why don’t I meet them first? Just to make sure they’re not dangerous chainsaw killers who target beautiful five–year–old girls,” I teased her. She crossed her arms, but stuck out her fingers instead of balling them up so they wouldn’t make contact with her skin or pajamas, and gave me a stern look. It was so funny, but I had to keep my face straight.
“I’m just kidding. But I want to meet them first, just to make sure they’re the perfect neighbors for us. If they’re not, I’ll make them leave forever,” I told her, stroking her long French braids I had done for her earlier. She had such beautiful blond hair and I envied it.
“You can’t do that,” she commented lightly, but left it at that. Just then, as if on cue, Jonathon’s head popped into the room.
“You guys done treating each other to your salon-at-home?” he asked, undoing his tie. He must have just gotten back. I eyed the clock, which read 7:15 and then said, “Not quite.” My nails weren’t done yet, but that didn’t really matter, I guess.
“Well, when you are, there are two sundaes downstairs ready to be made and enjoyed.”
That was all it took. We both jumped off the bed and hurried out of the door. Jon laughed and followed us downstairs. He threw his tie and jacket on one of the kitchen table’s chairs, and then he pulled out the Turkey Hill vanilla ice cream from the freezer. I got out three bowls and Peggy took the chocolate syrup and whipped cream from the fridge, and while almost dropping the whipped cream, she set them on the counter. She climbed up onto one of the stools at the island and drummed her fingers on the side of the stool. Jon gave us all two scoops and I drizzled on the syrup and then the whipped cream.
Suddenly, our rotten dog, Jack, came toddling into the room. He was a fat dog, and he probably heard, smelled, and saw the ice cream. He whined at my feet and Jon ended up making him go away.
“Go exercise,” Jon ordered, shooing Jack outside, fully away that he wouldn’t.
“How was work today?” I asked Jon while taking a bite. We were both settled in on either side of Peggy. She was digging right in, paying us no mind.
“Fine. I had to work on a case about a mother who has four kids and apparently can’t afford anything, but miraculously, she’s buying herself cigarettes somehow.” He took a huge big bite, chewed twice, and then shoveled more in. He had the worlds biggest appetite of anyone I ever met, but that’s just how he always has been. As a teen, he could eat a bucket of fried chicken from KFC, a bowl of popcorn, half a liter of soda, and then an hour later will come looking for more. And here he was, ten years later, still with the hunger of a starved pig.
“What’s going to happen to them?” I asked. Peggy was swinging her feet back and forth and almost kicked me, her feet brushing my jeans. I looked down at her, and when her eyes met mine, I looked further down at her kicking legs. I looked back and forth from her face to her feet. Catching my hint, she stopped kicking and tried her best to hold her legs still. But being the five-year-old she is, sitting still is hard.
“Well, they all are under the age of eighteen. One is two, one is seven, the third is twelve and the fourth is thirteen. Foster care is a possibility, but one care family isn’t going to take four at once, much less four siblings. There’s a possibility they’ll be separated. But we’ll make sure the youngest is with at least one, preferably the thirteen-year-old boy. That should be the responsibility of the oldest….” He suddenly stopped short, reviewing his last statement. He cleared his throat, and then took his empty bowl to the sink. To clear the awkward silence, I said, “You’re not going to lick the bowl clean?” He turned and at first I thought I’d offended him, but his frown broke into a smile. And then I smiled.
















“Okay, so the cake should be cooling. You can ice it with that stuff there,” Jon pointed to the icing on the counter. “Take it with when you go over to meet the new neighbors. I’m going to take Peggy to Katie’s for the afternoon…”
“Kaitlin and I aren’t friends anymore,” Peggy told him matter-of-factly, crossing her arms angrily. It took all I could to fight back a giggle. Jon ignored her.
“I’ll pick her up at six because I get off of work early, so that’ll give you about three hours of you time. Get it?”
“Got it.”
“Good,” he said, and then headed to the front foyer.
“Good,” Peggy repeated. I glanced at her and she held out her arms. I bent down and picked her up. She was like Mom and me, small, so I could easily hold her in my arms. I enjoyed this part of her life, where I seemed like the biggest and best person in her life. But in nine or ten years, she’ll be my height and won’t think that highly of me.
Or maybe she will.
“Bye. Have fun and make-up with Katie, cause you’re spending the next three hours with her,” I said, and I kissed her cheek once I put her down.
“Come on, Peg,” Jon called from the door. She hurried after him. From the living room, I caught a glimpse of him taking her hand in his and leading her out the door.
I waited until I heard him back out of the driveway before I went into the kitchen and iced the cake with the chocolate icing. Jon and I made it earlier as a neighborly, “Welcome to the neighborhood” gift. But for all we know, they could be allergic to milk or eggs. Or both.
I slid on my flip-flops and checked to make sure the door was locked and I had my keys before I left the house. I realized that I had forgotten the cake once I was at the curb, but I figured it didn’t matter. I’d get it later.
As I crossed the street, I saw a glimpse of a black sleeve disappear behind the moving truck that was attached to an old brown Station Wagon. Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a gasp, followed by a few swears. I hurried as a car passed behind me. I went around the truck, where I saw a boy about my age, bent over gripping his knees.
The first thing I noticed about him was his clothes. He wore black and I don’t say that lightly. He wore a black collared jacket, a black shirt with silver designs I couldn’t make out, black jeans, and black boots. He wore one ring on his left index finger and a silver-chained necklace with a single charm on it (I think it was a skull). Even his hair was black, but I could tell it was natural for the way the sun shined on it. There was no hint of brown, blond, red or whatever his real hair color was at the roots. Then again, this dyed hair could be recent.
He groaned again, lifted his head and was surprised to see me standing there. I immedianlty felt self-conscious, for my hair was in a sloppy loose ponytail. I was wearing gray sweatpants and a yellow tank top.
“Are you okay?” I asked. Straightening himself, he said in a deep yet gentle voice, “Yeah. Just dropped that frickin’ box on my foot,” he explained, and then chuckled as if this was the funniest thing in the world.
“Do you need any help?” I encouraged his thought of help, because I saw that inside the trucks were still a lot of boxes.
“Do you consider yourself to be strong?” he questioned, taking a fleeting look at my lean figure and scrawny arms.
“Sure,” I lied. Well, not lied, for even I wasn’t sure of how much weight I could handle. He looked hesitant, but shrugged in a “why not?” way.
“I don’t believe in putting a pretty girl to work, but okay.” I sidestepped as he passed and I couldn’t help but a get a good whiff of his scent: a light fragrance of aftershave, that sweet smell of mist, and a sprinkle of sweat, but the sweeter smells out ruled that aroma, so it wasn’t a strong odor. Almost tolerable. There was something else, too, although I couldn’t put my finger on it. But I liked it.
“Follow me,” he ordered. Still a little pleased by his previous compliment, I followed him to the back of the truck. I came around just in time to see him hop up and go inside. I stood there and a minute later he came out with a black backpack, and a ClearView box.
“Here.” He put down the box and handed me the bag, which I threw over one shoulder. He jumped down, then pulled the box to the rim of the bed and effortlessly lifted it.
“Ready?” he asked. I nodded and he handed me the box. It was a little heavier than I was anticipating. He led me back to the side of the truck that was parallel to the curb and picked up the box that he’d dropped before. He led me up the walk towards the big house. I counted the porch steps as we climbed them. There were eight in all. The door was already open, so we went right in.
We entered a big room and there was a door immedianlty to our left. The stairs were on the right side of the room and there was a hallway leading straight out of the room in front of us. We headed up the stairs.
When we reached the landing, there were two hallways, one directing the way to four doors and the other to more stairs. I was hoping he would head into one of the doors, but of course we went up another flight of steps.
We came into a large, open room, with two closed doors on one side and one open door on the other. The boy led me into the open door on the right, where we came into a medium size room that was empty except for a full-size bed and five boxes in the back of the room.
“Just put it over there,” he directed, nodding towards the other boxes. I ambled over and placed it on the floor with the backpack on top of it. He put his box on the bed, and I guessed that it was his and this was his room too.
“Thank you so much.” His face slightly gleamed from sweat and I had to admit that I felt a bit sticky too, and by the sight of the boxes and the bed, this wasn’t his first trip up here. He just had to pick a room on the third floor. Well, it was his back.
As I watched him fiddle with a loose string on the rim of his shirt, I couldn’t help but notice that he was an exceptionally handsome boy. He was very tall, my estimate about two or three inches over six feet. He was gangly, but had a broad chest and shoulders (I wonder if he worked out). He had a long, crooked nose, thin lips and celery green eyes. Abruptly, his voice broke the silence.
“I’m Wesley, by the way. But I like Wes just fine.”
Wesley? He didn’t look like a Wesley. It sounded like a name that belonged to a Pilgrim from the 1600s.
He stood up and outstretched his hand towards me. I stepped forward, took it and noticed right away that he had very warm and soft hands. It sent a shiver up my spine, leaving little pricks behind it.
“I’m Novalee,” I said to him as he releases me from his firm handshake. He nodded, and then squinted at me as if trying to read my mind.
“Novalee? I’ve never heard that one before. Can I just call you Nova?” he asked. This came as a shock to me. All my life, it had been just Novalee. No one tried to give me a nickname, yet this stranger called by a strange name (Wesley?) is the first person to ever concentrate my name. But for some reason, I was okay with it.

“Sure,” I told him. He smiled at me.
“Well, Nova, I thank you once again. Today has been so…” He was suddenly interrupted by a shrill yell coming from downstairs.
“Wes! Wes, are you up there? Wesley! Honey, come down here,” the woman called. Wes started chuckling, shaking his head.
“You’re in for a treat.” He winked and then left the room, leaving me no choice but to follow. I wondered what, and who, he was referring to.
The kitchen downstairs was through the hallway across the room from the front door. It was large (not to mention messy). On the far right side were wide French doors, leading out to a patio and large back yard. On the left side of the room were three steps leading down to a sunroom. That left the rest of the room to be filled with an island, counters, cabinets, boxes and your other basic kitchen appliances.
A short woman about my height with frizzy and curly red hair was moving about the room, peering quickly into each open box.
“Sweetheart, have you seen my stainless steel pan? The one that says Tramontina on the handle?” She opened up a cabinet that was already filled and cluttered with pots and pans. She took a quick glance in, stood up and bit her lip.
“No, but this is Nova, Mom. Nova, this is my Mom, Lacey.” Lacey turned to face me, her rosy cheeks burning as if she just realized my attendance.
“Oh, Nova! What a pretty name! And look at you! You’re so beautiful and thin. Do you get fed enough? Are you thirsty?” She threw her arms around me as if we were long-lost friends joining up at a high school reunion.
“Um, no thank you, ma’am,” I mumbled once she let me breathe again. Wes drummed his fingers on the counter with one hand, the other propping his head up on his elbow. Lacey looked from him to me and from me to him, and then finally clapped her hands together.
“Wow! You know, we moved here from New Jersey and Wesley was so nervous everyone would think he was weird and I told him not to fret, the poor dear.” She smiled, but Wes didn’t seem so pleased.
“Ma, you’re the one who thought they’d think I was different, quote unquote. She troubles over those kind of things,” he explained to me. I nodded just as Lacey clicked her tongue.
“Be nice Wesley. And I wouldn’t have to worry if you didn’t dress like the walking dead. Go buy some colorful clothes; something bright and cheery is what I always tell him. Does he listen? No,” she answers her own question. Suddenly, her hand came down on his fingers to stop them from drumming. She turned and I saw him roll his eyes, but he still managed to keep smile on his face.
“Um, I made a cake for you. Well, my brother made it; I just put it in the oven and then iced it. But, uh, I could go get it,” I suggested to Lacey, who rummaged through another untidy cabinet.
“Oh. Really?” she said, biting her fingernails.
“Yeah, I set it aside to cool earlier, so it should be good now.”
“Yeah, Nova, let’s go get it now. Be back later, Mom,” Wes said abruptly, striding over and pecking her cheek. Before he walked away, he peered in one of the boxes next to her on the island.
“Right there. Tramontina is right there.” He tapped the box and she yelped with glee as Wes took me by the elbow and led me out of the house.
“Told you she was a real treat,” he laughed, releasing me once we reached the porch. We headed down the steps.
“I thought she was sweet,” I said. He snorted.
“She’s more than sweet. She has an obsession with, like, everything except my choice of style. Nothing brings her down. Even when my Dad died a few years back, she tried to bring out the best effect of it.” He said this all so casually as if it didn’t bother him either.
“Your dad died?” I asked slowly. I didn’t want to offend him by asking.
“Yeah,” he answered. “He died when I was ten.” I looked at him and he showed no expression upon his flawless face. Even his body was relaxed.
“Ten?” I asked, finding resemblance in our years and age.
“Yup. Why?” Wes questioned. We stopped at the curb and he leaned against the truck, crossing his arms.


“Nothing. It’s just that that’s so young.” I stopped, regretting I even asked and that he had even brought anything up. He glared at me with suspicion, but let my privacy remain at the doorstep of secrecy. He pushed off the truck and headed across the street in silence. I bit my lip, beating myself up on the inside. He had been so honest and I had just lied to his face. I knew how hard it was to admit an imperfection about your life.
Later. I would tell him later.

















About two and a half hours of unloading the contents of the moving truck, then carrying them up and down the stairs (Lacey was very indecisive of where everything went) and arranging furniture, Wesley, Lacey and I gathered in the kitchen for cake. Lacey decided to lock up the truck and finish the rest tomorrow. She had all the things they really needed to last them the night anyways.
Wes was working on his second piece when I saw Jon’s car pull up from the front window down the hall, right in my line of view.
“Well, I’d better go. My brother’s home now,” I said, pointing towards the car.
“Oh, that’s okay. I am forever in debt for all of your work. Thank you very much.” Lacey squeezed my shoulder and took her plate to the sink.
“I’ll walk you out,” Wes said, then shoveled two mouthfuls worth of cake in one forkful into his mouth and led me into the living room. He finally managed to swallow when he opened the door for me.
“Like my mom said, thanks. My back would be broken right now if it weren’t for your help,” he explained. I stepped out, both of us on one side of the doorframe.
“So I’ll see you?” I asked. He nodded, and then winked.
“Being across the street, it’s kind of hard to avoid someone,” he joked, and then straightened his expression. “But seriously. Come by anytime. I would be heartbroken if you didn’t.” He thumped his chest for emphasis. I laughed and then turned to walk down the steps.
I think it’s kind of hard to find your step when you’re floating. I had to scuff my feet every now and then as I crossed the street to make sure I hadn’t left the ground, rebelling against gravity. When I reached my front door, I opened it and stole a quick glance across the street at Wes’s house. He was stilling standing there at his front door, still watching me. He waved and I couldn’t quite see from this distance, but I had a feeling his face was scarlet as he closed the door between us.
That night, I closed my door and turned off the light, surrendering myself to quiet solitude. Peggy had been asleep for hours now. She was in her own world, one far away from here, and it was one she had all to herself. I only hoped that she had pleasant dreams tonight.
As I was climbing into bed, I thought about how being alone was something special. Even though someone else was in the room, I knew I was alone.
I always found the human mind interesting. It was so fascinating how we could lock all our emotions, thoughts, dreams, hopes, wishes, regrets, and memories in one place. It was one place no one could access unless you gave a little. I, however, chose not to give.
I liked standing in a crowd and knowing that no one could know what I was feeling. But what I loved even more was being alone and thinking to myself. It was so quiet, yet so loud, but in a good way. The only voice was your own and that was enough because what everyone else said sometimes wasn’t important or was hurtful.
But as I lay awake that night and thought of how direct Wes had been with me about his father, a deep guilt rose in my chest and spilled through my eyes. He was still safe from the world because he could trust and I admired him for that. Trust for others was a characteristic that I lacked and I never realized until today that I was missing it.

Quickly, I wiped the guilt away from my eyes and rolled onto my back, closing my eyes and drifting into my own world.

It isn’t easy.
No matter what way I look at it, whether at the end of day or at the beginning, I know it’s been rough and will continue throughout our lives.
Being abandoned at any age, whether you’re a baby, an adolescent child or a young adult like I was, it is one of the worst things that can happen to a person. It’s the feeling of worthlessness and the sense of wrongdoing that puts us in our darkest times. It leaves you questioning your actions, asking yourself what you could have done to scare away someone you adore.
I’ve lain awake many nights blaming myself for what happened. I thought that maybe I hadn’t done enough around the house after the loss of my mother and it caused my dad to have a complete breakdown. I hold myself responsible for not being able to give the love and care from a mother, father and big brother to my little sisters. I feel like I can’t give them enough and due to that, I feel their resentment towards me. It’s not so much Peggy, but a lot in Novalee. Maybe it’s just me being paranoid, afraid of the fear itself. It’s the fear of my sister hating me.
She’s old enough to understand the whole situation and the preciousness of the shield that protects us from breaking. Any day could be the day. What would happen if he came back? If my father were to come back, would he fight me for custody of my highest priorities, my beloved sisters? Or would he taunt them, making their lives miserable?
I’ve considered relocating them, for it’s so easy for a man of a certain knowledge to travel a few miles north once he’s figured out we no longer live in our old house. But how could I possibly do that to them? What right do I have to dissolve any opportunity for them to see their father? That’s right: no right.
But there is one new thing I am grateful for that has happened in this new life I’ve created for them. It’s something I can’t give to them, but at least allow them to have. I’ve waited so long for someone to come along and wash away all our worries for the time being. I’ve waited for someone to make things seem so simple even when they’re not.
When I first met Wes Anderson, I wanted to punch him. Don’t ask me why, but to all the fathers and big brothers out there, you know what I’m talking about. Some boy comes knocking at your front door at nine o’clock in the morning claiming he knows your fifteen-year-old sister/daughter, you just want to sock him. And it doesn’t make it any easier that he’s wearing black head to toe, has long, shaggy hair that really needs to be cut and honestly looks like he belongs in a jail of some sort, like a juvenile home or something.
So anyways, there’s this guy, about seventeen, standing on my doorstep asking for my sister. He’s polite and all, but that’s how they are at first. They play buddy-buddy with the male authority in the house, keep a six-inch distance between her, and engage in conversations that most teen boys don’t care about. Then you wake up one day to find your sister/daughter robbed or taken advantage of. Then that’s when you buy your first gun and go on your first manhunt.
But there was something in him that only Novalee and Peggy see. The way he seems to lighten up the room with little antics that make Peggy’s smile shine so bright that it would put a million stars to shame. And there’s something about the way he talks to Novalee that makes her cheeks flush. Call it a crush, but he definitely stirs some feelings in her scarred heart.
“So what do you think of the Andersons?” I asked her one night after dinner. We were doing the dishes. I was washing and she was drying. Peggy was reading at the table behind us.
“They’re great. Mrs. Anderson’s an author. She writes children’s books,” she said, wiping the dishtowel across a plate.
“Yeah, well, what about that Wes kid? The one who came by earlier?” I asked, keeping my voice even. He’d been polite and considerate, but I still didn’t like him.
“He’s… nice. I guess.” There was hesitation in her voice. Maybe she didn’t like him either.
“Nice?” I asked, hoping she’d elaborate.
“Yeah, nice. He’s… just nice.” She put the plate on the counter and I handed her the glass I’d been scrubbing for almost five minutes now.
“Well, I hope you won’t be spending your whole summer with him. When does Melissa get back?” I asked, hoping the memory of her friend would remind her of the kind of people she usually hangs out with.
“Second week of August.” I gave her a handful of silverware.
“Oh. What about Jamie?” Jamie was another girl she either went to the mall or to the movies with.
“She’s spending the entire summer with her dad in Newport,” she stated slowly. Translation: I only have Wes for the summer.
“I see. Well, you could always go to the library or something,” I said, a last pathetic attempt to give her other options other than hanging around with some Goth all summer.
“The library, right,” she laughed, stacking the last dish on the counter. I turned off the faucet. She sat down at the table to listen to Peggy give her a summary of the story, Madeline.
“That’s so interesting. What next?” Novalee was so good at feigning interest in Peg’s story I almost believed it as her eyes grew wide with bewilderment, watching Peggy animate the story with her hands.
I smiled to myself, but I couldn’t help but wonder where I’d gone wrong. The two of us used to be so close that I can’t help but think that she won’t open up to me because I now have the power to ground her if she gets a C on her report card (which, sadly, I’ve done).
When she was younger, she would have told me if she had a crush on the little boy across the street. Maybe it’s just the time that has passed and the distance I’ve given her that almost seems to make her push me away. But I still love her and Peggy both and won’t give up on them. They’ve been let down way too many times in their life to suffer any more pain. If it’s something that I can prevent, then I am willing to go to a certain extents to prove to them that I will always be here for them.
Besides, what are big brothers for?

“I’m done,” Peggy told me, holding up her paper. I looked up from my work to see a blob of colors on the paper. There was pink, orange, blue, violet, purple, yellow, green… you name it, it’s there.
“What’s it supposed to be?” I asked casually, not wanting to offend her. But of course, she got offensive.
“A colorful dog!” she snapped, putting her paper back down. She grabbed a brown and started coloring in what I guess was the tail.
“Of course it is,” I mumbled. Suddenly, Jon came into the room. He made quite the entrance, huffing and puffing, and slamming his mug of coffee in the sink to rinse it out.
“Novalee, someone’s at the front door asking for you,” he said coldly. I was taken aback by his tone. I turned in my seat and looked at him. What crawled up his behind this morning?
“Well, who is it?” I asked, mimicking his sharp pitch. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, staring me down. I took on the challenge by sitting back, and glaring at him. The whole time, Peggy was holding her sides, laughing hysterically. Finally, he broke.
“Wes Anderson,” he remarked, turning back to his mug. “Know him?”
“Yeah,” I said, jumping out of my seat, rushing around the table. I paused before I headed out the door.
“Is he still there?” I asked, looking back.
“Yes,” he said. That’s all I needed.
“Novalee has a boyfriend,” I heard Peggy sing from behind me. Jon said something else, but I chose not to listen. It was probably something sarcastic, or just a remark on her deformed dog.
Sure enough, there was Wes, leaning against the front door, one foot on the porch outside and one in the foyer. I guess Jon never told him if he could come in or not. He grinned widely when he saw me walk up to him.
“Hey,” he said, nodding politely.
“Hey. I see you met Jon.” I laughed at the thought of Jon’s potential expression when he first saw him. Wes blinked and just shrugged.
“He was certainly the welcoming committee, but I’m sure he’ll warm up.”
“You make it sound like you’re going to be hanging around for a while,” I teased playfully. He took it seriously.
“Well, it’s only because you’re the only person I know so far. I’ll be gone sooner or later. May I?” he asked, pointing inside. I stepped sideways as he came in. I followed him as he walked slowly into the living room.
“I was just kidding, back there,” I pointed to the foyer. He glanced back at me, and then shrugged again.
“Think I can’t take a joke? I’m not totally without humor, you know,” he retorted, and then he kept walking around the room, looking at the assorted pictures on the wall.
It was weird, being here in my house with him now. Yesterday, when we went to get the cake, he just waited on the front walk while I quickly ran inside. Now, I felt awkward talking to him. It was so much easier the day before. Now I feel that if I open my mouth, I might say something stupid or stutter.
“What are you doing this morning?” he questioned after making a full look around the room.
“School work,” I said flatly. He snorted.
“School work? In the middle of June? On a Saturday? Okay,” he said, emphasizing on the “okay”.
“What?” I asked, offended by his scoffing.
“Oh, nothing,” he said, his wandering eyes meeting mine. “What kind of school work?”
“Algebra,” I explained. “I’m struggling with it, and I almost failed it last year, so I’m taking it again first semester to see if I can’t get my grade up,”
“Phew. I thought it would be something hard, like History. Algebra’s nothing.” I stole a peek at him, studying what his expression meant. He just flashed me a smile, an innocent look sweeping over his face.
“I could help,” he offered after a moment of silence. Joy came back into my heart.
“Thank you, my savior.”
I led him into the kitchen, where Jon was sitting down with Peggy. The moment we walked in, Jon stood up and gave Wes the look of death. Wes just smiled politely, not letting Jon’s glower penetrate him.
“Right here,” I told him, sitting down at the table, pulling the papers I was working on in front of me.
“I’m working on rational expressions with unlike denominators,” I explained, picking up my pencil. Wes stood behind me and leaned over to get a better look. Suddenly, he pulled black square-framed glasses from his back pocket and placed them on his face.
“Better,” he said, more to himself than to me. He leaned over more, looking at the first problem, the one I was stuck on.
The whole time Jon was staring disapprovingly. I gave him one of his signature death looks. He held his hands up, taking the hint.
“Peggy, you’re in charge,” he said, leaving the room and heading for the stairs. Peggy looked at us, satisfaction sparkling in her little eyes.
“Got it. 6y minus 28 over y+2 and y-6.” He stood up straight.
“Come again?” I said, staring blankly up at him. He exhaled heavily, and then sat down.
“First, do you know what an LCM is?” he asked.
“Sure. Least common multiple,” I said, proud to know something.
“Yeah, but what is it exactly?” I sucked in my breath. I racked my brain for a minute while he waited patiently. Finally, all that came out was, “Uh.”
“It’s a number that is divisible by two numbers in an equation. What’s the LCM of 5 and 6?” he quizzed me. It took me a moment to calculate. This time, something more intellectual came out.
“30?” I asked.
“Why are you asking me? Do you feel confident in your answer?” I thought for a minute, and then nodded.
“Yes.”
“Good. You’re right. That’s the first rule in all math. Always, repeat always, have confidence in your answer. Never doubt.”
“I thought the first rule was to always show your work,” I reminded him. He shook his head, waving his hand in front of him.
“Whoever told you that is an ignoramus. That’s, like, rule five,” he chuckled.
After about fifteen minutes of listening, watching, and Wes explaining to me more rules and steps to figuring this out than any tutor ever would have, I finally got it.
“Great. Excellent. Fantastic,” Wes exclaimed, slamming his hand on the table. “You got it, my friend,” he said, handing me back my paper after a few anticipating moments of him looking it over.
“Thank you so much,” I told him. I felt like I should hug him, but that instinct ran away as Jon loudly made his presence known.
“Is your little tutoring session over? Because I want to get lunch started,” Jon said, opening the fridge. I gave a fleeting look in Wes’ direction.
“Can’t Wes stay for lunch?” I asked sweetly. Jon turned slowly on one heel. He went from Wes to me and from me to Wes.
“Wes, why don’t you go home? I’m sure you’re parents need you there or something.” I had to bite my tongue. He was just trying to be the big, protective brother, but it was just too darn funny.
Wes stood up, wiping his hands on his pants. “Yes, sir,” he said, nodding at Jon. I stood up too and decided to reciprocate last night’s events at his house by walking him to the door this time. Once we were out of earshot, I explained to him that Jon was just being rude.
“That was understandable,” Wes told me at the door.
“No, it wasn’t. It was so uncalled for. He’s just… I don’t know,” I admitted, rather embarrassed. I touched my hand to my forehead, sighing.
“Hey, he’ll warm up in time. He’s just a little cold, but I’m the furnace,” he said, winking at me. I rolled my eyes.
“Hey, that’ll be the day. Bye.” He nodded, walking backwards out of the door. “Bye, Nova.”
And then he was gone.

















“So what do you think of the Andersons?” Jon asked me that night after dinner while we were doing the dishes. He was washing and I was drying. Peggy was reading at the table behind us.
“They’re great. Mrs. Anderson’s an author. She writes children’s books,” I said, wiping the dishtowel across a plate.
“Yeah, well, what about that Wes kid? The one who came by earlier?” he asked,
“He’s… nice. I guess.”
“Nice?” he asked.
“Yeah, nice. He’s… just nice.” I put the plate on the counter and he handed me the glass he’d been scrubbing for almost five minutes now.
“Well, I hope you won’t be spending your whole summer with him. When does Melissa get back?” he asked.
“Second week of August.” He gave her a handful of silverware.
“Oh. What about Jamie?”
“She’s spending the entire summer with her dad in Newport,” I stated slowly. Hopefully, he would get the hint.
“I see. Well, you could always go to the library or something,” he said.
“The library, right,” I laughed, stacking the last dish on the counter. That’s the last place I would got to. Jon turned off the faucet. I dried my hands on the towel, hung it over the oven handle and sat down at the table to listen to Peggy give me a summary of the story, Madeline.
“That’s so interesting. What next?” I said after she told me about how Madeline lived in an orphanage in Paris, France. I watched, completely entranced, as she animated the actions of characters, using funny voices when she quoted them. I laughed when it was over and turned to see that Jon had been watching the whole time.
“Yes?” I asked. He just shrugged, and winked before turning towards the back door. I suddenly saw what he was intending on doing when he opened the pantry door.
“You’re not going to smoke, are you?” I asked, visually stabbing him.
“Novalee, it’s been months.” He reached into the pantry and stood on his toes to grab a back of Camel cigarettes off the top shelf.
“I thought you quit,” I reminded him. He shrugged.
“I did.” He opened the door and left.
When Jon was about nineteen (ironically the same time our dad left), Jon took up the horrible habit of smoking. It got so bad that he would smoke a pack a day. Finally, a year ago, he decided to quit, but I know that every now and then he smokes one or two, and this just proves me right.
“Novalee?” Peggy asked after a moment of silence. I looked at her and I could see a question coming.
“What do you really think of Wes?” she asked. I bit my lip, deciding. And then, I leaned in a whispered in her ear, “I think he’s really, really cute, smart and, as I told Jon, he’s very nice. Okay?” She giggled and nodded. I kissed her cheek and told her to get ready for bed.
That night, while I myself was getting ready for bed and thought that Peggy was asleep, I heard her little voice filling the empty space in the room.
“Novalee?” she whispered. I turned to look at her, the nightlight below her bed just barely illuminating her face.
“Yes?”
“I think Wes is really, really cute too.” Before I could respond, she rolled over, her back towards me. I choked back a laugh that edged its way up my throat, filling it up. It was hard to breath, and I had to shove the corner of my pillow into my mouth to drown out the little chortle that escaped. She still lay, undisturbed. It gave me a peaceful thought though, which made me happy.
I rolled onto my side, happy the day ended on a good note. If only everyday could be filled with bliss, the night beginning with a laugh. Unfortunately, this was not the case, so I cherished every second, holding it close, and remembering how warm it felt.

“Hello?” I said, putting the hanger on the rack.
“Novalee! Hey, what’s going on in that sad lonely town of Kaysville?” rang Melissa’s voice in my ear. I laughed, glad to finally hear from her.
“Hey, Mel. Uh, not much has been going on. You?” I asked, taking another shirt off the pile on my bed and shoving it on the hanger.
“Wow, San Francisco is so awesome. I mean, it’s cold and foggy half the time, but I love it. But, oh my God, my grandparents got old since I last saw them.” I rolled my eyes,
“Ha. They’re only, like, sixty five Mel,” I reminded her. She still just laughed.
“And that’s very old,” she told me. “Anyways, so tell what’s been going on in your life?” she questioned, sounding a little pre-occupied.
“Uh, nothing really. But the new neighbors just moved across the street and I’ve been getting to know them.” There was a silence on the line, then a few distant voices and rustling.
“Hey, sorry, I’m getting ready to leave to go out to dinner in a few minutes. So, new neighbors, huh? Any cute boys?” I sighed. Knowing her, she would want to have knowledge on Wes.
“Well, yes, actually. He’s not my taste or anything, but he’s kind of cute….”
“Whoa, wait? You met a boy? Hold on.” There was muffled voice, as if she was holding the phone against her shoulder. There were footsteps and then the slam of a door.
“Okay, I’m alone. Now details. How cute are we talking?” I could imagine her sitting there, wherever there was, listening attentively.
“Well, I don’t know,” I admitted. “He’s just cute.” I put the hanger on the rack and then found myself a seat on the floor of my closet.
“Well, what does he look like? You should send me a picture of him,” she suggested. I rolled my eyes.
“And how creepy would I look taking random photos of him outside his bedroom window?” I questioned.
“That would be so hot. But, no, seriously, it does sound sort of like you’re a stalker, but just ask him to pose for a photo.” She paused, I imagine it was so she could think up a Melissa worthy idea.
“Tell him it’s for your new photography class. That’ll work,” she squealed, getting excited herself.
I shrugged. “Too bad I don’t take a photography class.”
“Well now you do. And you didn’t answer my question. What does he look like?”
“Well, like I said, he’s not your type or mine, but he is Gothic….” Melissa cut me off.
“Gothic? Oh,” she said, drawing out the ‘oh’ to make it sound more like “Ooooooh.”
“A boy with a dark side. Who said I don’t like that?” she inquired. I rolled my eyes.
“Mel, really. Besides, he doesn’t have a dark side, or at least none to my knowledge. He’s actually really sweet and friendly.” I thought about him more and more, and realized how true this was.
“Does he own a motorcycle, or better, a hearse? I bet he has a tattoo. Do you think he’s ever done something dangerous like skydiving, or committed murder? Wow,” she said, amazing herself at the idea. I allowed her to marvel at whatever horrific image she was envisioning Wes as (Note to self: don’t mention his name; it’ll kill her buzz) while I looked around my closet, seeing I let it get out of hand. I saw some serious cleaning up to be done in my future.
“Listen, I should go. I’m going to be leaving soon,” Mel said, interrupting my thoughts. “And honey, if you and your new boy don’t work out, hook me up with him when I get back, okay?” Her voice sounded so serious that I reluctantly mumbled I would. We each said good-bye and then hung up.

The music was loud, yet for some reason, today it wasn’t loud enough.
I stared out the window, watching the white passing zones lines fly by, causing one long blur instead of a hundred foot long lines. It made my eyes tear up from staring so long, so I had to advert my attention to something else.
“Wes. Wes.” My mom reached over from the driver’s side and nudged my knee. I coiled away, adjusting my position by pulling my knees under my body, curling into a ball on the seat.
I turned the music up louder, staring straight ahead at the black Ford F-150 in front of us. I felt the nudge again, this time on my naked foot. I jerked it forward, sliding my feet back onto the floor of the car. I looked over at her and saw she was trying to get my attention.
“What?” I asked, a little too snippy, pulling out my ear buds. She eyed me, a warning I was wise enough to take.
“Yes?” I asked, keeping my voice even.
“We’re almost there, so you might want to put your shoes back on. We have a long day ahead of us.” I stifled back a groan as the sign KAYSVILLE 5 MILES came into view.
We left at five this morning, driving hours to get here, stopping only two times at rest stops. The clock on the stereo stated that it was 10:49 in the morning. I was exhausted and we still had a day of unpacking in front of us.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled onto White Pond Drive, and rode halfway down the street, coming to a stop in front of a big beige three-story house. Mom instantly hopped out of the car, ready to start her new life here in Connecticut. I, however, wasn’t that enthusiastic.
I took my time slipping back into my boots, and then shoving my music player into my backpack. I shoved the door open, stepping out just in time to see Mom taking a few boxes out of the truck.
“What needs to be brought in first?” I asked, throwing my backpack onto the bed of the truck. She sighed, brushing her bangs out of her eyes, and then laughed.
“Whatever you can handle. Just get it all in,” she said, and then headed up the front steps with two small boxes in her arms. Why she didn’t hire movers I will never understand.
I first took in two boxes that were full of my clothes, since they weren’t that heavy. I took it upstairs, stopping at the first landing. Mom was already hauling in a box into a room at the end of the hall. I knew I wouldn’t want a room right next to her, due to the fact that at our last house, my room was on the other side of the wall from hers. She constantly yelled at me for having my music too loud.
There was another staircase around the corner, so I climbed it and came to a big wide hall with three doors. I went into the first one on the right. It was kind of small, my kind of size. I didn’t need anything too big anyways. There were two windows on the wall opposite the door and one window to the right. I put the boxes down. Yes. This was my room.
An hour later, I had brought up my mattress, my bed frame, and a few other boxes. I headed back outside, sweat running down my forehead. I wiped it away, and thought about taking off my jacket, but decided against it. I just picked up another box, one rather large, to bring inside.
The box was kind of heavy, that much I will admit. It was labeled Books-Wes. I ask another question: why didn’t I sell them at the yard sale we had a week ago?
I managed to get the box around the truck onto the sidewalk before my fingers couldn’t hold their grip anymore. I tried to gently lower it on the ground, but you know, gravity.
My right hand let go first and I lifted my knee to help stop the fall, but I couldn’t get my left hand around to the bottom first. It fell to the ground, the edge smashing onto my foot. I gasped, biting my tongue, but not before little swears slipped out. I shoved the box away with my good foot, and then leaned down to grip my knees, trying my best to ignore the pain.
I waited a minute, but I had a disturbing feeling that I wasn’t alone. I listened to my breathing, a little shaky, and closed my eyes. When I opened them and lifted my head, sure enough, there was a girl standing there in sweatpants and a yellow tank top, giving me one of those looks. You know the look; the one that makes where you wish you could disappear, at least for a month or two. The look that reads: “I’m looking at a complete weirdo.”
“Are you okay?” she asked timidly, cocking her head to the side. Embarrassed, I stood up, clearing my throat.
“Yeah. Just dropped that frickin’ box on my foot.” I added a chuckle, trying to play it cool. Relax, I told myself. She wasn’t convinced.
“Do you need any help?” she asked.
“Do you consider yourself to be strong?” I asked. She glanced down at her body, as if it would give her the answer. She was rather thin, but not necessarily a twig. She had some curves, I guess. She was in fact very pretty, but just didn’t look very strong.
“Sure,” she said in a not-so-self-assuring tone. I shrugged anyways, although not certain myself.
“I don’t believe in putting a pretty girl to work, but okay.” I walked around to the back of the truck, brushing past her. Disregarding the shiver crawling up my spine, I glanced down the street, wondering which house was hers before adding a “Follow me.”
I hopped up onto the truck and went inside. I searched for something that wasn’t too heavy. I picked up a ClearView box. It felt pretty light. I also picked up my backpack I abandoned earlier. I brought them to end of the bed and kneeled down. “Here.” I handed over the bag and jumped off while she stepped back, donning the bag. I pulled the box to the rim, braced myself and then lifted it.
“Ready?” I asked. She nodded and I felt the weight lifted off my arms as she took it from me. Her knees buckled a bit, but she had a good grip.
I led her back to the sidewalk where the cursed box of books was. I gingerly lifted it, aware now of its weight and power. I directed her towards the house.
Once we got inside, I took her up the steps. I was kind of concerned about her response to all the stairs as we rounded the bend to the third floor, but she kept quiet.
Once in my room, I told her to just put everything where the other boxes were as I set my own down on the bed.
“Thank you so much,” I said, hoping she didn’t noticed the sweat on my forehead as I causally wiped it with my sleeve. Tip for all you future movers: turn on the A/C before you start carrying in 40 pound boxes, especially in conditions of eighty degrees.
I sat back on my bed, so wishing I could just fall asleep. I decided to take a little break, even though the work had just begun. It was quiet for a few minutes. I twisted a loose string on the rim of my shirt, and then untwisted it. Finally, I looked up just in time to catch her staring at me. God. Was I that weird looking? These were the moments I wish I had my own invisibility cloak, as seen on Harry Potter.
“I’m Wesley, by the way.” I bit my lip, recalling my words and how stupid I sounded. If there was one thing I hated, it was my name. I then added, “But I like Wes just fine.”
To break the awkward, I stood up and outstretched my hand. I was surprised she didn’t recoil, but instead smiled as she shook my hand. Hers was small in mine and kind of sweaty, but it was nice.
“I’m Novalee,” she informed me, and I let go of her, squinting at her. Novalee? Hmm, that’s a first. I guess we both had out-of-the-ordinary names.
“Novalee? I’ve never heard that one before. Can I just call you Nova?” I asked. I always loved giving people nicknames. It was just so much easier giving someone a name that I like.
“Sure,” she said.
“Well, Nova, I thank you once again. Today has been so…” I was suddenly interrupted by a shrill yell coming from downstairs.
Mom.
“Wes! Wes, are you up there? Wesley! Honey, come down here,” Mom shouted from two floors below. I started chuckling, shaking my head. What now?
“You’re in for a treat.” I winked and then left the room, not pausing for her to follow. I just wished that this day could be done and over with. But I couldn’t help but notice that this girl, Nova, was being a lot more pleasant than I thought she would be. It felt kind of… comforting.
The kitchen downstairs was quite messy, and that’s coming from the most unorganized seventeen-year-old boy alive. Over by the island, I saw my mom moving about the room, peering quickly into each one of the opened boxes that were scattered all over the counters.
“Sweetheart, have you seen my stainless steel pan? The one that says Tramontina on the handle?” She opened up one of the cabinets that was already filled and cluttered with pots and pans. She took a quick glance in, stood up and bit her lip. She looked like a nervous wreck and I didn’t blame her. This move was rather sudden, which was pretty common. It was just another one of her impulsive ideas.
“No, but this is Nova, Mom. Nova, this is my Mom, Lacey,” I said, introducing Nova to this eccentric woman I call Mom. She turned to face me, her rosy cheeks burning as if she just realized Nova’s attendance.
“Oh, Nova! What a pretty name! And look at you! You’re so beautiful and thin. Do you get fed enough? Are you thirsty?” She gave Nova a big hug, which Nova didn’t look so thrilled about. I hushed the urge to groan. And just when I thought she was possibly thinking I was normal.
“Um, no thank you, ma’am,” she mumbled once Lacey let her go. I sighed quietly after holding my breath for a few minutes. I began drumming my fingers on the counter with one hand, the other propping my head up on my elbow. Lacey looked at both of us before clapping her hands. I winced at the sound. Gosh, was I that tired?
“Wow! You know, we moved here from New Jersey and Wesley was so nervous everyone would think he was weird and I told him not to fret, the poor dear.” She smiled, but I felt my face form into a look of disgust.
“Ma, you’re the one who thought they’d think I was different, quote unquote. She troubles over those kind of things.” I explained the last part more to Nova than Lacey. She nodded just as Lacey clicked her tongue.
“Be nice Wesley. And I wouldn’t have to worry if you didn’t dress like the walking dead. Go buy some colorful clothes; something bright and cheery is what I always tell him. Does he listen? No,” she answers her own question. Suddenly, her hand came down on my fingers to stop them from drumming. I rolled my eyes but kept an annoyed grin plastered to my face. Thankfully, Nova interrupted the silence.
“Um, I made a cake for you. Well, my brother made it; I just put it in the oven and then iced it. But, uh, I could go get it,” she suggested to Lacey, who rummaged through another untidy cabinet.
“Oh. Really?” she said, biting her fingernails.
“Yeah, I left it at home, so I should go get it,” she informed her.
“Yeah, Nova, let’s go get it now. Be back later, Mom,” I said rapidly, glad for an escape. I walked over and lightly kissed her cheek. Before I left, I peered in one of the boxes next to her on the island.
“Right there. Tramontina is right there.” I poked the box and she yelped with glee. I went over to Nova and gently took her elbow, leading her out the door. I let go once we reached the porch, realizing she might not be the ‘touchy’ type.
“Told you she was a real treat,” I laughed awkwardly as we bounded down the steps.
“I thought she was nice,” she said earnestly. I snorted, but then immedianlty cleared my throat. But it was too late. Dork might as well as been branded onto my forehead.
“She’s more than nice. She has an obsession with, like, everything except my choice of style. Nothing brings her down. Even when my Dad died a few years back, she tried to bring out the best effect of it.” I said this carefully, choosing my words wisely. It wasn’t the whole truth because, well, it just wasn’t. My mom wasn’t completely fine. On the inside, she was caving in. It was only a matter of time before the cracks began to show for the world to see. And I think that was her biggest fear.
“Your dad died?” she asked slowly. I was a bit surprised by her reaction, her tone reflecting sympathy and care. It was… pleasant. I decided to reply by giving a little more detail.
“Yeah. He died when I was ten.” She looked at me with a look that seemed foreign, but only briefly. She looked angst and concerned.
“Ten?” she asked, her voice faltering.
“Yup. Why?” I questioned. We reached the curb and I leaned against the truck, crossing my arms. I looked at her and saw that her face was quite pretty; heart shaped and she had big blue eyes. She didn’t look like the type of person who could even get mean or loud and I began to wonder why I questioned her opinion of me.
“Nothing. It’s just that that’s so young.” I cocked my head to the side, giving her a look that told her I doubted that. But I just left it at that because she didn’t give anything else. I pushed off the truck and waited for her to make the motion to continue. She did, crossing the street and headed up the front walk of the big white house opposite mine.
“Wait here. I’ll be right back,” she told me, unlocking the front door. Before she went in, she turned to look at me. I caught her eye and managed to hold her gaze. She smiled at me, and then stammered something I didn’t catch before disappearing into the house, leaving the door ajar.
I did as I as told and waited outside. I leaned against one of the poles connecting the porch floor with the awning above. I twisted the ring on my finger while I restlessly killed time. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until the idea of cake appealed me and my stomach growled ferociously.
She came back out a few minutes later with a little round cake in one of those colorful aluminum containers.
“Here, take this please,” she said, handing the cake as she reached into her pocket for the keys. She locked the door and I lead her across the street before she could try to take the cake back.















“Well, I’d better go. My brother’s home now,” Nova said, pointing towards the Honda Odyssey that just pulled her driveway.
“Oh, that’s okay. I am forever in debt for all of your work. Thank you very much.” Lacey squeezed her shoulder and took her plate to the sink.
“I’ll walk you out,” I said, then shoved the rest of my cake into my mouth and led her into the living room. I finally managed to swallow when I opened the door for her.
“Like my mom said, thanks. My back would be broken right now if it weren’t for your help,” I explained, which was true. It was sore even with her help. She stepped out outside.
“So I’ll see you?” she asked. I nodded, and then winked at her
“Being across the street, it’s kind of hard to avoid someone,” I laughed, and then straightened my expression. “But seriously. Come by anytime. I would be heartbroken if you didn’t.” I thumped my chest for emphasis. She laughed a light and hearty laugh. And then she turned to walk down the steps.
I watched as Nova slowly made her way across the street to her house. By the time she reached her front door, I figured maybe I couldn’t avoid her like I did with most people, especially judgmental ones. But she wasn’t judgmental and I liked that. There was no gavel in her pocket.
She turned around to look in my direction before she closed the door. I immedianlty turned red, embarrassed for staring. I quickly waved, keeping my cool as I closed the door, sighing once it was.
It was a new beginning, yet for some reason I was missing my old life. I missed the keeping my head down, not looking at anyone and making sure that I didn’t make too big a scene since my clothes made a big one enough already.
But that was life. Some things you controlled, others… not so much.

“I got the job,” Wes announced, moving a sheet of paper with his handwriting scribbled all over it out of the away.
“That’s great,” I told him, taking another spice container out of the box on the counter between us. We were unpacking one of the last boxes (well, at least one of the last kitchen boxes, anyways). It contained different spices and condiments. Our job was to take them out and sort them in the cabinet alphabetically.
“Yeah. They called this morning telling me when I start, my hours and schedule and what I get paid. You know, stuff like that.”
“When do you start?” I asked. He pulled out a spice labeled Paprika (what in the world is paprika?) and put it next to the pepper.
“Tomorrow at nine,” he answered, sighing. One thing I learned about Wes this past week was that he went to bed late and woke up very late. He was never up before ten.
“That’s early,” I teased him. He just rolled his eyes.
“Well, at least I have a job,” he retorted, taking out the last spice. He pushed the box onto the floor, causing it too land with a loud thud. He stood up and started grabbing an armful of spices and took them over to the nearest cabinet, carefully putting them in accordingly.
“So,” I said, “Where it is again?” He turned stiffly and looked at me.
“Tanner’s Videos, the one across town.” I only nodded, making no comment. I’d seen that store before but never bothered to go in it. Ever since the inventions of NetFlex, DVR, and OnDemand, nobody really goes to video stores anymore.
“What?” he asked, grabbing the last of the spices to shove in the cabinet.
“Oh, nothing.” He gave me a look, but I just shrugged.
“So, do you like movies or something?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“Movies? You like them, right? That’s why you applied for the job?”
“Sure, I love ‘em.”
He didn’t say anything else, and the next few minutes go by awkwardly and quietly.
“I should get home,” I said deliberately, glad for a quick escape. “Good luck tomorrow.” I hopped off the stool and headed for the foyer.
“Oh, Nova,” I heard him say just as he appeared behind me. “You should, uh, come by the store sometime. You know, only if you want.” He smiled and I acknowledged him with a quick nod.
“Okay.” I slowly backed away and then turned to casually race for the door. I felt safe once it was shut behind me.
I made my way down the walk, thinking on the past week. At first, Wes had been nice and everything, but to me it just seemed like a friendly first meet charade. He appeared to be drifting further and further by each day. Today, I myself had to take some initiative by offering to help finish unpacking. It seemed to me that he lost interest in our friendship very quickly.
And that worried me.

















The next day, I came over Wes’s house early to make sure he was actually getting up and leaving for work. It was 8:36 and the Station Wagon was still parked in the driveway.
I came up the porch steps and knocked. Through the screen door, I saw Lacey’s head pop into the hallway. When she saw me, she waved frantically, like I might not notice her.
“Hey, come on in Nova.”
I stepped in and walked into the kitchen, where I found her cleaning up the remains of what I guess was their breakfast. She hastily dumped plates into the sink and wiped down the counter.
“You here to see Wes off to work?” she guessed. Before I could respond, she added, “He told me you were shocked that he actually got the job and has to leave early.” She eyed me through her messy bangs. Her loose ponytail was coming out of place.
“Well,” I admitted, “shocked wouldn’t be the word, but pretty much.” She laughed with me and shook her head.
“No, no. He’s actually very hard working. Speaking of the devil, could you go get Wesley for me, honey? He’s going to be late and he needs to take his meds while he still has food in his stomach.” She turned too quickly to be able to see my expression, which I bet read confusion, misunderstanding and curiosity.
Meds? I thought as I trudged upstairs, all two floors, to his room. I hadn’t been up here since I helped him move in that first day. His door was shut and when I knocked, there was a silence, and then footsteps. I knocked again, a little louder and harder.
“Yes?” came his voice, a little groggy. I waited, and then spoke.
“Your mom said to hurry up… and that you need to take your medicine.” I bit my lip, waiting again. I just heard more rustling. After a few moments of silence, he spoke.
“Alright. Be there in a few minutes.”
I turned slowly and walked down the stairs. When I came back into the kitchen, Lacey was almost done with the dishes, working on the last plate.
“He’ll, uh, be down in a minute. Ms. Anderson…?”
“Hon, call me Lacey. Ms. Anderson is too formal.”
“Lacey…I’m going to go. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay. See you.” She gave me a huge smile and watched as I walked out of the house. I wanted to get out of there before I saw Wes. I was never good when it came to taking my own medicine when I was sick, so watching someone else wasn’t very pleasant. It was scary, and I wondered why he had to take it. He doesn’t appear sick, so he can’t have cancer, or some other horrible illness like that.
Maybe he just has a cold.

For the next few days, I have to constantly be asked to excuse myself as Wes takes his medication (apparently, he’s as uncomfortable with me watching him do it as I am watching him). He never told me why and I never asked, but I finally decided to ask Lacey since I wasn’t okay with asking Wes.
One day, after I was sure that Wes was work, I went over to his house, praying that Lacey was actually home, and knocked on the front door.
“It’s open!” I heard her shout, muffled by the door. I opened it and stepped inside.
“Hey, Lacey.” She looked up from her book, glancing at me from over her glasses.
“Hey. Wesley isn’t here. He’ll be back in a little while. I’ll just tell him that you…” I stopped her, shaking my head.
“No, I came here to see you,” I told her. She cocked her head and gave me a funny look. She didn’t say anything so I did.
“I have a question for you,” I admitted, picking at my thumbnail. The skin around it was loose and sore.
“Sit,” she ordered, and leaned forward once I was settled into the loveseat next to the ottoman she was sitting in.
“Okay. Let me guess,” she said. “You want to know why Wes has to take medicine everyday, right?”
I suddenly felt very embarrassed. It was none of my business and I shouldn’t be here. I was debating whether I should run or not when I somehow managed to nod my head.
“Yes, I had a feeling that Wesley hadn’t told you. He never tells anyone.” She folded the corner of the page she was on and closed the book.
“Why?” I found myself asking. “Is he sick?” She just smiled and stared blankly at something above my head.
“No, but sometimes I wish he was. Oh, I’m so terrible for saying that.” She quietly muttered to herself before continuing.
“Wes is sort of sick, I guess you could say. He has a mental disorder called Bipolar.” She paused, letting me soak this in.
In Health last year, we did a psychology course for a semester and briefly discussed Bipolar Disorder, along with other metal illnesses. All I really could remember about it was that it could sometimes be a scary and sad disease for the person who had it and for others around them.
“So, how long ago was he diagnosed?” I asked, intertwining my fingers together. She sighed, rubbing her forehead. I watched as she struggled to find the right words to describe this situation.
“Sorry, this is just very hard to discuss.” She took a minute to catch her breath.
“Well, I’d say he was about ten. The doctors say it may be a result of his father’s death. It seemed to have triggered something in him. He seemed fine for a while, but then one day he had a complete panic attack. I still don’t know what caused it, but ever since then, his mind has worked at two speeds: very high and very low.”

“How do you know when he’s going to go through…changes?”

“That’s the sad part. We never know. But when it does come, he has to start taking even more medicine. As we speak, he’s actually starting to slip downhill and is actually starting to feel depressed. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s become rather distant in the past five or six days, which is actually a good thing,” she added.
“How?”
“Sometimes the changes come so spontaneously that I don’t notice until after a few days and of course he never says anything. But yes, he’s going to be a bit different the next few… well, I don’t know how long. The average for him is either a few weeks, or sometimes a few months.” She stopped, her eyes tearing again.

“Months?’ I said, stunned. I did notice changes in Wes’ behavior, but I would have never guessed it was because he had a disorder.

“Does that have any affect on how he dresses?” I asked. Maybe when he starts to feel depressed, he dresses how he feels.

“I think so. He got involved in all this Gothic stuff after he was put into a hospital two years ago. He made a friend there who had schizophrenia. His friend believed that their illnesses were the devil’s work.”
“Really?”
“Yes. After that, it just went downhill. He used to be really religious before he was diagnosed, but then he stopped going to church with me. He eventually became an atheist. He soon just started hating the rest of the world, even if they weren’t aware of his illness. Do you understand now, hon?” She clearly had said enough and wasn’t ready to say anymore.
“It makes you sad, doesn’t it?” I asked. She nodded, grabbing a tissue off the coffee table in front of her and then murmured through it, “Yes.”
I knew what it was like to watch someone suffer. I watched my mom all throughout both her pregnancies and then a year for my dad after mom died.
“Don’t say anything, okay?” she said. “To Wes, I mean. Don’t treat him different or anything. He’s grown real attached to you, which is really rare for him because he has a hard time building relationships with people. He’ll be so humiliated if he found out that you knew. Please, just promise me you won’t say anything?” She held out her finger and stuck up her pinky.
“Promise?” she asked. I smiled.
“Promise.” And then we shook pinkies.


















When I opened the door to Tanner’s Videos, the bell above it chimed, announcing a new costumer. Right away, I was overwhelmed by the smell of new carpet and Lysol. There were movie posters on the wall, displaying new hit movies and old classics. The aisles were lined up vertically on the left side of the room and the ones on the right lined up at a diagonal angle. In between the two sides were snacks and life size cuts of famous actors. I took a few more steps in, James Stewart’s eyes following me.
“I’ll be right with you,” a muffled voice said from the room behind the counter. While I waited, I examined the New Releases section by the door. I might as well as buy something while I was here.
While I was overlooking the shelf, I had to keep reminding myself that I couldn’t let Wes know. I had to be normal around him, however that was hard because I was afraid anything I said might set him either in flames or tears. He was still Wes, but I guess it’s hard to think about someone the same way after discovering a secret about him or her.
“How may I help you?” asked a voice behind me. I turned to see Wes holding a clipboard in one hand, the other held to his mouth as he bit his thumbnail, and there was a pencil behind his ear.
“Hey,” I said. He looked up, almost stunned to see me there. “So, here I am.”
“Oh. Hey. When I said to drop by sometime,” he said, glancing at his clipboard before meeting my eyes again, “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.” He laughed to himself. As I looked at him, he seemed different today. It might just be my new eyes looking at him, although that didn’t seem right. I eyed him head to toe, but couldn’t put my finger on it.
“Well, I just wanted to see what your work life was like. Hey, why no black?” The last part I kind of blurted out, coming to realize what was unusual about him. A blue polyester Polo, and khakis replaced his usual Goth get-up and he had a white lanyard around his neck (an Employee ID and a set of keys were hanging of the end of it).
“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” He held the clipboard away from his body to look down at himself. He even had on a pair of new-looking white sneakers.
“Yeah, see, apparently there’s some dress code,” Wes informed me, waving his pencil around. “No Emo, Goth, Punk, gang-symbols, or anything like that is allowed beyond those doors during working hours. But anyway, I’ll find a loophole.” He winked, grabbed the pencil behind his ear and checked something off.
“Wes? The In-Box is full? Could you?” asked a guy I didn’t see earlier. He leaned on the counter, reading over a big pile of papers, occasionally writing or making a mark on one of the papers. He was kind of on the short side, maybe a little taller than me, had short spiked brown hair, and piercings on his left eyebrow and lip, along with a tattoo of what looked like a dragon on his neck.
“Sure thing, Mitch,” answered Wes. He turned on one heel, putting the clipboard down on the counter and went into the office behind the checkout desk, edging his way past the tattoo guy, whose name I guess was Mitch. He pulled a cart out from the office and went over to a red square door in the wall. He grabbed his keys, unlocked it, and opened the little door. He began taking out DVDs and videos, stacking them in the cart. Once he finished that, he brought it over to where I was standing.
“Watch this,” he said, as if some robber would come crashing through the window, push me out of the way, take the cart and then travel with it across the country sp he can try to jump the border. Oh, and wow, my imagination is running wild today.
“Sure,” I said anyways. He quickly darted inside the office and came out with a small stack of papers. He shoved them under the clip of the clipboard, and then snapped it into place. He made his way back clumsily by tripping over Reese Witherspoon’s foot.
“Relax,” I told him as he took the cart from me.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “It’s my first week and I’m just a little nerve-wrecked, that’s all,” he reassured me.
“Are you okay?” I asked, and then wished I didn’t. He glanced at me sideways and rolled his eyes.
“And that’s supposed to mean…?” he asked, acknowledging that I continue by rolling his wrist speedily.
“Nothing,” I whispered. “Just asking.” He looked at me again, not convinced, before shrugging. I wished that I could just tell him that I knew, but who knew what consequences that could bring.
“Can I ask you something?” I said instead. Maybe I could lure him into telling me himself.
“Shoot,” he said, pulling the cart down the first aisle, past the New Releases.
“Well, why do you choose to dress the way you do? It’s been brought up a few times, but you never really told me why.” I watched him, waiting for a response. One never came, and I just watched as his fingers clasped and unclasped their grip on the cart’s handle, as his lower eyelid twitched, as he took deep breath…and as he pretended he didn’t hear me.
“Well?”
“If you want to know why, all you have to do is ask,” Wes told me, and started stacking movies onto the shelf according to genre.
“Okay. Why?” I asked again, a little annoyed. He looked at me sideways, his green eyes flashing something foreign, something I didn’t recognize.
“No particular reason,” he replied. Go figure.
“Okay, fine. Don’t tell me. But tell me this.” I paused, waiting for him to egg me on, hoping curiosity would get the best of him. But he acted like I hadn’t said anything, just moving down the aisle, pulling the cart with him.
“Tell me why you love movies so much,” I said anyway. He stopped for a brief moment, but then continued on. He came to a halt next to the sign that said “Romance”. He pulled a movie off the chart, holding it up towards me.
“This movie may seem like all the others, right? Well, it’s not. Want to know why?” he asked. I sighed.
“Sure, sure,” I said, wishing it would be short and sweet. I winced when he took in a deep breath, and then eyed the movie in his hand before meeting my defiant stare.
“For no particular reason.”

“Wes, come downstairs please,” my mom called from the foot of the stairs on the second level. I listened until I heard her clambering down to the first floor and into the kitchen.
I slowly opened my eyes and yawned loudly. I eyed my watch on my bedside table, and forced myself to sit up when I realized that it didn’t read numbers. I picked it up and held the watch closely to my face but it was still so blurry.

I began to panic, and my hands started to shake. I threw the covers off and saw that I was still wearing my clothes from yesterday, which was weird since I don’t remember going to bed.

I knew that I could get frequent headaches during my “changes” and feel dizzy, but not being able to see correctly? I picked up a book off the nearest surface and opened it up. The words didn’t jump out clearly. They just continued to look hazy.

I put the book back on the shelf when I saw my glasses sitting on my dresser, silently mocking me. I felt like such a loser as I shoved them on my face and opened my door. I had to go to the bathroom, but I instead just headed downstairs so see what my mother wanted.
“Yes?” I asked as I came into the kitchen, where she was sitting at the island, hands folded in front of her. I sat down on a stool across from her, awkwardly twisting the ring on my finger.
“Your therapist called this morning.” I only nodded, already knowing where this was going. “She said you missed your appointment…again.” She gazed at me with sincere disappointment. It burned a hole in my stomach and I felt like I might be sick. I suddenly wished I hadn’t found my glasses.
“I’m sorry,” was all I could muster. She just shook her head.
“That’s unacceptable, Wes,” she says. “I set those appointments for you…” I was too tired to hear her rambling, so I cut her off.
“And you also told me I had a choice whether to go or not,” I reminded her. She sighed, putting her head in her hands.
“Wesley, are we really going to go through this now?” she asked, her voice slightly muffled by her hands.
“Yes, we are,” I retorted. “I need to go to work anyways.” I began standing up when she told me to sit again.
“I called in sick for you,” she admitted, lifting her head.
“Ma…” I said, raising my voice.
“You were going to wake up late anyways,” she declared defensively.
“Mom, that’s the second time this week,” I whined. I was so going to lose my job.
“But I….” She began.
“No. When are you going to stop treating me like a baby?” I demanded, trying desperately to keep my voice even.
“Maybe when you stop acting like one,” she whispered, tears in her eyes, before she walked stiffly out of the room.
I fought my own tears and instead let the anger out by releasing a few swears and hitting my fist against the counter top. I hopped off the stool and headed to the cabinet, where I found a glass and my pills. It was one of the many “perks” of being crazy; the crazy pills that come with it. But maybe I could make it up to her by taking them without her having to remind me.
I stood at the sink and stared out the window while I swallowed each little pill. I felt each one descend further down my throat, edging it’s way past my heart, slipping in and out of each of my ribs and landing at the pit of my stomach. In my mind, I saw myself reaching down my throat, pulling the pills out and then shoving them down the drain. I think this every day, but I know I’ll never do it.
As I continued to stare out the window, I set my gaze on the old oak tree in the backyard. At my old house we had one exactly like it. Except that one was different. It had a tree house, one that my dad had built for me. It wasn’t big or spectacular, but in every way, it was perfect.
Still thinking about that tree house (and my dad), I went into the living room and laid down on the couch. I fought sleep for a few minutes until it was unbearable and I went under.

In my dream, I was climbing into the tree house through the ladder that was nailed into the trunk of the tree. It wasn’t how I remembered it though. It wasn’t filled with comic books or posters of my favorite superheroes, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find the secret stashes of sweets or cutouts of Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel, or Dolly Parton, my childhood crush.
No, instead, I found cobwebs, dead flies, and tons of dust. It was smaller than I remembered too, or maybe that’s because I’ve grown.
But there was one thing. On the far back wall (the one that was slightly lopsided) hung a single picture off a nail. It was one of my Dad and I, wearing our matching fishing hats, our nets slinging off our shoulders. This was taken two weeks before he died. And hanging off that nail was a gold necklace with one charm. Inside the small charm were a few of my Dad’s ashes.
The weird part was that I could have sworn that I lost this necklace a year ago.
I reached out to touch the necklace, but it just burned at my touch. I gasped, pulling my hand back. The flames lingered for a second before the sparks flew into the air. I held my hand out again, and still it continued to burn with each contact. The necklace was eventually burnt into a million ashes. I felt acid fill my eyes as I scrambled to find the distinction between the ashes I caused and my Dads.
There was none.
When I woke up, my hand was creeping down my throat to finally retrieve the crazy pills, but instead I accidentally pulled out my heart.
Whoops.

“Hey,” I said, knocking on the door of Jon’s office. He turned in his chair to face me.
“Oh. Come on in,” he answered, turning back to his computer. I walked over and leaned on the edge of his desk, crossing my arms.
“What are you doing?” I questioned, peering at his screen.
“Writing…” he paused, thinking, before finishing up his statement. “Writing my report for the Cord’s Case,” he said, semi-distracted.
“Really? How are the kids?” I asked, remembering the conversation we had over ice cream around two weeks again about the four potential foster children.
“Well, okay, I guess. When I brought them into court, one couple was there prepared to adopt. They chose the littlest one, and it was an open adoption for the other siblings.”
“So they can visit each other?”
“Sort of. The other three got placed into separate foster homes; one was even out of state. But it’s out of my hands now. I had to hand the case over to one of my co-workers. If the homes ever contact him, he makes all the decisions.”
It was quiet for a few minutes and I watched silently as Jon finished up his report, printed it out, shoved it in his briefcase and then checked his e-mail. I wanted to talk to him, but no words came out. I searched for the language that had been spoken between us years ago. I needed brushing up I guess.
“Novalee, is there something you want to discuss?” Jon asked. I looked at him and noticed he had already logged off and shut down the computer and was staring at me.
“No, nothing at all.” I pushed off the desk and headed towards the door. I was rounding the corner of the hall when I heard Jon call my name.
“Yes?” I said, reentering the room.
“Could you close my door and then turn off the hall light?” he asked. I mentally sighed.
“Sure,” I said pleasantly.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, the last few syllables muffled by the door in between us, figuratively and literally.
And hour later, there was a knock on the front door. I went downstairs, and pulled aside the shades to see Wes standing on the front porch. I opened the door to greet him.
“Hey,” I said, leaning against the doorframe. Wes just stared at me… no, glared. I quickly wiped the grin off my face, realizing something was wrong.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, but he cut me off as soon as the words dripped off my tongue.
“How do you know?” he questioned, his voice shaking from frustration. I was taken aback, but kept my composure.
“What do you mean?” I asked ingenuously. He rolled his eyes.
“Come on.” He sighed, lowering his voice. “I know that you know.” He kept his eye contact, waiting for the gears to start cranking.
“Excuse me?” I lowered my eyes, though, because I was terrible at lying.
“You know I’m sick, don’t you? Well, I want to know how you know. Please tell me.” His angered tone turned soothing. I looked up, and I saw that his eyes had lost their shine. They were gray, tinted with black, and he had dark bags under them. I felt so bad for him; he looked scared, wretched, and exhausted.
“I, um, asked your mom,” I whispered, the truth spilling over my eyes. I quickly wiped them with my sleeve while Wes momentarily looked away, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I’m sorry if you’re mad at me. I won’t bother you anymore, if that’s what you want,” I told him, backing away slowly. He suddenly snapped back into reality, looking back at me.
“And what makes you think that I might want that?” he questioned, glaring at me again, but this time the knives didn’t cut so deep.
“Because your mom said….”
“Yeah, well,” he interrupted again, “My mom doesn’t always know what’s best for me,” he pointed out. He sighed and leaned against the porch railing, his head slacking slightly.
“You look exhausted, Wes,” I told him quietly.
“I feel worse than I look,” he responded. It scared me to hear him say that because he did look terrible. He looked like he aged twenty years in one week.
“What’s it like?” I asked. “To go through such drastic changes, I mean?” He closed his eyes for a second, and then sighed heavily.
“Imagine you’re on a beach,” he said quietly, as if afraid of waking someone. “Imagine you’re on a beach that is so beautiful you swear it’s been painted. The air is breathable and it feels so good to feel the warm sand under your toes and the sound of the waves just feet away.” He paused, imagining himself there too.
“Now picture a paintbrush dipped in black paint stroking the sky, turning the clouds gray. It paints over the ocean, causing water to drown itself. Imagine the sand pulling you under, covering your whole body. You can’t see anything except a little sample of the black sky above you. Now just visualize looking at that sky for weeks, maybe months at a time, waiting for the pretty blue skies to come. What do you feel?” He opened his eyes again, expecting a response.
“I feel like the blue skies may never come back,” I told him, staring at my feet, unable to look at him anymore. It was silent for a few minutes, neither of us able to speak. I had other questions too, but kept my mouth shut. I thought maybe he slipped away and vanished until he spoke again, giving away his presence.
“I miss those skies.”

The next two weeks go by awkwardly and quietly. I felt as if things were back to the old routine before Wes had showed up a month ago. I obeyed Jon’s orders by doing my chores and preparing dinner the days he comes home later than usual. I help Peggy with her long division and play with her while Jon is at work. Like I said, it’s as if nothing’s changed.
That night, before Wes left, he promised to call me the following morning. But I could see in his eyes, as red and watery as they were, that he wouldn’t.
And he hasn’t.
I gave him a few days before I went over to visit him. But apparently, he was never up for visitors. Lacey always gave me some excuse that he was either at work, or sleeping. One day, she cracked and went to go get Wes. But she came back without him, whispering something about him wanting to be alone. She could see that I really wanted to see him, but she couldn’t force her son to come out of his room if he didn’t want to.
I told her not worry, though, because I can take a hint.
“So how’s that Anderson kid doing?” Jon questioned me one day during lunch. Peggy was running a fever and was upstairs taking a nap.
“I’m honestly not sure,” I admitted before taking a bite of my turkey and cheese sandwich. Jon half nodded as if he sincerely wasn’t that interested.
“Why not?” he asked, taking a sip from his water bottle.
“He’s just been busy,” I lied. Jon raised an eyebrow, but left it at that.
“I’m going to need you to stay home with Peggy and me tomorrow.” Jon says.
I shrugged. “Sure. I’ve got nothing better to do anyways.”
Jon looked at me dubiously again.
“What’s the matter?” he snapped, clearly a little frustrated.
Maybe Wes was contagious because Jon goes on to say that he’s noticed I haven’t been myself lately, constantly moping, and that I never go out and do something.
“Did you and that Anderson kid get into a fight or something?” he finally asked when I didn’t respond to his ranting and raving.
“No,” I snapped back. “And his name is Wes, not that Anderson kid.” I stood up from the table and was about to dump out my sandwich when I noticed I only took a bite out of it. So I gave the rest to Jon, who reluctantly took it.
Ten minutes later, after retreating to my room, I heard Jon mount up the stairs and slam his door. I carefully opened mine, not wanting to disturb Peggy. I crept downstairs to get my bottle of water I had forgotten in the kitchen. As I walked by the trash, I noticed that my sandwich had been hastily thrown into the garbage, not another bite taken out of it.
I instantly felt bad and starting heading up the stairs to his room to apologize. I was halfway there when Jon appeared at the top.
“Hey. I want to talk to you about something.” Without waiting for a response, he ambled down the stairs and I moved out of the way as he passed. I turned and followed him into the dining room, where he pulled out a chair and offered me to sit down. I did.
“So,” I said as I watched Jon drag out a chair across from me. “What do you want to talk about?” I asked.
“I think Dad is trying to contact us.” Jon said after a moment of hesitation.
Immedianlty, I felt the rush of emotion I got every time of thought of Dad and the first days that followed his disappearance: anger, disappointment, disgust, frustration, confusion, and sorrow. I heard the familiar question race through my mind: Why? Why did he go?
But I did feel a little joy at this moment. Whenever we discussed Dad (which was rarely), Jon formed this new tone, one that was more brotherly–like instead of parental. He seemed younger, and yet more distressed. But at least I had him back for a few minutes.
“What do you mean?” I asked timidly, anxious for what he might say next.
“Well, honestly, I’m not sure if he really is. It’s just that lately, someone has been trying to call the house and my work cell. It’s a private number, so I can’t trace it back to the caller’s number.”
“So what makes you think its Dad?” I asked. Jon sighed, rubbing his hands through his hair.
“There’s something I haven’t told you.” He paused. “About a year after Dad disappeared, a few mysterious calls were made by some unknown number. It usually just rang once or twice, but it always stopped before I could reach it. But one day, I managed to answer it before whoever he was could hang up. There was breathing, someone cleared their throat, and then they hung up. However, I had such a strange feeling that it might have been Dad.”
“Then why wouldn’t he talk? It could just be a prank caller, Jon,” I reminded him. But some part of me was kind of wishing it was him.
“He might just be nervous,” Jon explained. “But I’m going into the office on Monday and doing some research to see if I can’t find a number or address. The police couldn’t find one at first because he probably wasn’t registered anywhere. But it’s been five years; I’m sure he’s living somewhere and is doing some sort of work.” He exhaled loudly again.
I wasn’t sure of what to think of this. I gave Jonathon a lot of props for wanting to take action, even if, like he said, it took five years to finally do it. But again, I wasn’t sure what this would mean. What if we did get a hold of him? What would we say? Could he give us an answer to that one little question we all keep asking? But there was the one scenario I wasn’t sure if I wanted: what if he wanted to come back?
Change was scary, and that change would certainly be frightening. I don’t think Jon, Peggy, and I are ready for that kind of an adjustment.
“Do you think I should?” Jon asked, tapping my hand. I shook my head, realizing he was talking to me.
“I shouldn’t?” He looked a little stunned.
“No. I mean yes. Well, I actually don’t really know.” I bit my lip, seriously thinking about it.
“Maybe you should just sleep on it. You’ll be able to think this through more clearly tomorrow,” I suggested. Jon just groaned.
“Novalee, you’re missing the point. I have thought it through. For five years I’ve been thinking of all the ways I could get into touch with him. I had hoping that it may be some time soon so that we wouldn’t have to make any placements that are permanent. But it’s too late for that. Maybe now it is just time….” He stopped himself, his eyes gleaming. I could tell this was tough for him.
“Yes?”
“Maybe it is just time to forgive. We should just let him know that we’re doing fine and that we have stuck together all these years. He obviously has been interesting in talking to us since he must have gone through some trouble to get a hold of our contact information. I’m just thinking it’s a matter of time before he shows up on our front porch.”
I didn’t think that this was correct; if he wanted to see us he would have come a long time ago.
“All right, onto other subjects,” Jon said after a couple moments of silence. “So, honestly, how is Wes doing?” I noticed that he didn’t say “That Anderson kid”.
“Not so good,” I admitted. Jon asked why.
So I told him.
I started from the beginning, describing Wes’ condition and what that could mean for our friendship.
“It might be a while before I see him again,” I concluded, looking down at my hands in my lap. Jon nodded; this did seem to worry him.
“Why don’t we invite them over for dinner?” he asked. I looked up.
“Really?” I knew he didn’t like Wes in the first place, so it came as a shock to hear him say this.
“Sure. Invite them over for tomorrow.” He smiled winked at me, and got up from the table. As he walked by, he ruffled my hair, something he used to do when I was younger. And at that moment, I realized I never really lost Jon. He was still there, buried underneath piles of paperwork and hiding behind a mask to disguise his pain.

Baseball is a horrible game.
I never realized this until about a week ago as I was watching a Mets game. It’s completely unfair, and honestly shouldn’t qualify as an orthodox sport. It’s played by a bunch of tobacco chewing and sun burnt ball throwers. What's more, there are really no skills involved. In my opinion, it’s left by chance: either you’ll pitch correctly, or you won’t; either you’ll hit a homerun or just swing and miss; either you’ll catch the ball or you don’t; and worst of all, either you’re safe or you’re not.
I’m not sure why it took me twenty years to realize this, but I’m kind of glad I did. (Oh, and I’m not talking about baseball anymore, even though it’s true for that as well, but about being safe or not.) It’s almost impossible to tell what lurks around the corner, and it sort of intensities life. You never know when crossing the street will be you’re last steps or when speaking your mind may cause you to lose the last bit of pride you have.
In my life, I’ve taken little chances. Personally, life is just too precious to be left up to chance, which is why I didn’t count on anything particularly interesting happening as I stood in line at a Subway not too far down the road from home. I was just planning on getting something quick for dinner for Peggy and Novalee at home, and that was it. And as I’m here telling you this, it still surprises me.
There were still five people in front of me. I let out an exasperated sigh as I peered around the petite woman in front of me to see that the same short stocky man in front of the line was still ordering. I cursed under my breath and once again considered leaving when the woman in front of me turned around and let out a groan.
“Can you believe him? He’s been up there for almost ten minutes,” she stated, and rolled her eyes. I nodded.
“I agree. People are hungry back here.” I said the last part loudly so he could hear me, and I heard a few people grumble in agreement. A woman with two toddlers in front of us actually left the shop. We all excitedly moved forward a few feet.
“I haven’t eaten since breakfast,” informed the woman in front of me. “And I seriously think that in another few minutes I am going to go crazy.” We laughed and then I realized that she was staring at me. I felt a little uneasy and shifted my weight a few times before I stuck out my hand and said, “I’m Jon.” She grinned, and shook it.
“I’m Kimberly. Pleasure to meet you.” I released and told Kimberly same to her. She was really pretty, actually, with long blond hair and big blue eyes. She looked no taller than Novalee, who stood just over five two.
About fifteen minutes later, I got my sandwiches and as I was walking towards my car, I saw Kimberly sitting on a bench just a few feet away, eating her sandwich.
Now, I’m not quite sure how these few subsequent events came or what order they did, but all I can remember is her waving to me, and me walking over. I recall sitting there and talking for a few minutes. After seeing it was getting late, we both stood up, and walked towards our cars, which were coincidently parked next to each other. The next part was yet another shock: I asked her out for a proper dinner next Saturday night. She kindly accepted, gave me her number and afterwards I drove home.
That’s it.
Just like that, and now as I sit here and think about it, I’m having my first date in over a year in less than three days. I went on dates every now and then, but they were usually with women either from my office, or ones my co-workers “hooked me up with.” But I hadn’t had a relationship in year and that was with a nice lady named Diane. But she worked at Wal-Mart and a nose ring.
You can see how that didn’t work out.

















The phone was ringing.
It was the third time in the last hour that it has rang. I got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen. My hand hesitated over it for a second. I knew what would happen when I answered it: there would be no one there.
But the fourth ring came and I knew I had to act fast. I snatched it.
“Hello?” I asked.
Nothing.
“Hello? Hello?” I said, louder this time.
“Answer me! Dad, are you there?” My voice sounded childlike and desperate, but I didn’t care. I was hurting and it was his entire fault.
“Sorry. I think I dialed the wrong number.” Click.
The dial tone went dead. Tears came to my eyes, and for the first time in a real long time, I cried.
It was him and I knew it. I recognized the voice. Who was he trying to kid? Was this his idea of some kind of sick joke? Anger boiled up inside of me and I felt like throwing something when I heard the front door open. It was Novalee, coming back from visiting Wes. I straightened myself, walked over to the sink and pretended to be doing dishes.
“Hey,” I heard her say from behind me.
“Hey. How’re you doing?” I asked.
“Good. I’m going upstairs.”
“Okay.” When I heard her footsteps retreat, I took off my glasses and wiped my eyes on my sleeve. I became conscious of how I was acting like a baby, crying over a few prank calls. I cursed myself and trudged upstairs, but a sickening feeling still lingered at the pit of my stomach. I kept asking myself that if it really was him, why does he keep calling?
I had told Novalee yesterday about the mysterious calls, ones I suspected were from Dad, and it seemed to have upset her. I just knew that I couldn’t tell her he was still calling, especially since we were expecting the Andersons to come over tonight.
But all afternoon, it was all I could think about. It disturbed me to the point of nausea. However, if it was Dad, I wasn’t going to let it get to me anymore. I wasn’t going to answer anymore, and then maybe he’ll lighten up. Maybe he’ll stop calling, and maybe he’ll leave us alone… forever.
But forever is a long time to be alone, especially since that’s how I’ve felt ever since he’s left: alone and hopeless. And loneliness added with the longing for a loved one for nearly five years has certainly felt like forever.

Chapter Fourteen








“Novalee, can you come set the table?” Jon called from the kitchen. I got up from the table in the dining room and went into the kitchen. I took plates and glasses out of cabinets and silverware out of the drawers. I finished putting everything in its place on the table right as the doorbell rang.
“Novalee, what time did you tell them?” Jon screeched. He was always crabby when under pressure of preparing a meal whenever we were expecting company.
“Six o’clock,” I answered, putting down the last glass.
“Well, they’re ten minutes early,” he retorted.
“It’s just a few extra minutes. Geez, calm down,” I answered as I headed towards the foyer.
“Watch your mouth,” I heard him say.
“Hey,” Lacey said, wrapping me up in a big hug. I greeted her by saying, “Hello. Lacey. Nice to see you.” But it was Wes that I really interested in seeing. Lacey patted my arm and stepped inside as Wes appeared behind her, marching up the front porch steps. He was carrying a small bouquet of orchids.
“Hey, Wes.” He handed me the flowers and gave me a skimpy one-armed hug.
“Hey,” he said. “You like nice tonight.” I glanced up at him to see him grinning awkwardly and his face was growing red. I saw at that moment that this was either a pathetic way of flirting or it was his way of apologizing.
“Thanks,” I responded. “So do you.” He really did, too. Tonight, he wasn’t so…dark. He was wearing blue jeans and a black button–up shirt, a hooded jacket (even if it was in no way cold outside) and although he was still wearing those same old black bulky combat boots, he looked great.
I led him into the dining room, where I found Lacey helping Jon take the food into the room. It looked delicious, too: chicken Parmesan with tomato basil penne. Garlic bread accompanied this well put together meal.
Jon called Peggy downstairs, and then we all sat down. Jon offered Lacey to sit next to him and I sat with Wes and Peggy on either side of me.
“So,” Jon said once we settled in and food was being passed around, “Lacey, Novalee tells me that you write children’s books.” She looked at him, and chuckled.
“Well, that’s somewhat true. I do write them, but I haven’t gotten anything published yet. I actually work for a publishing company, though.” Jon nodded, and they engaged in a conversation about their careers. Wes and I sat there uneasily, each of us waiting for the other to make conversation. Peggy was the one to make the move for us.
“Wes, do you still work at the video store?” Wes glanced at me questioningly, and I shrugged. I was just surprised that Peggy remembered from when I told her those two weeks ago.
“Yes, I do. In fact, I brought you this.” He put down his fork and pulled something out of his jacket pocket. He handed it over to Peggy, who shrieked with delight. Lacey and Jon looked up, both looking rather irritated to be interrupted. I peered at what was in her hands. It was a DVD and the title read: The Sound of Music.
“Nova mentioned that it was your favorite movie, so I thought you would like to have it.” I glanced at him and he just winked.
“Oh, thank you!” she squealed. She put it on her seat under her thigh and continued eating, a smile plastered to her face.
“Won’t you get into trouble for taking it?” I whispered to him once conversations were resumed.
“Not really. My co-worker Mitch knows I smuggled it, but he’s a didn’t-see-anything kind of guy,” he whispered back. “Plus, we had a few too many copies, anyways.” I giggled, and for a while, the evening seemed to go on normally (if that’s what you want to call it when two dysfunction families get together for a somewhat nice evening).
Later on, after all the dishes were cleared and brought into the kitchen, Jon and Lacey went into the living room to talk. I was in the kitchen doing the dishes, and Wes was sitting at the island behind me with Peggy. He was showing her how the DVD includes cool bonus features on how they filmed the movie and the excellent commentary.
“That’s so awesome. Thank you again!” I turned just in time to see Peggy wrapping her arms around Wes’s neck. He uncomfortably hugged her back. He looked up and saw me smiling at them, and then his face grew scarlet again.
“Peggy, why don’t you go ask your brother to put it on for you?” Wes suggested. Then he looked at me. “I want to talk to Nova.” Peggy looked slightly disappointed and reluctantly left. Wes got up and strode over. He picked up a rag. “May I?”
“Be my guest,” I told him, handing him a plate. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he swiftly wiped off beads of water.
“What’d you want to talk about?” I asked casually, feigning interest.
“Nothing in particular. Just wanted to talk to you since I haven’t seen you in a while.” He paused, thinking. “Which, by the way, I’m sorry about. I’ve just been feeling awful lately because I got my medication changed.” I nodded.
“Apology accepted. Does it work?” I questioned.
“Yes, they do actually. I’ve been feeling better these past few days.” He chuckled, and then added, “If that’s possible.”
“You do look better,” I agreed.
“Thanks.” He put down the plate and took the handful of silverware I had outstretched to him.
We were quiet for a few minutes. I guess neither of us could think of anything else to say. I made sure that I washed the dishes slowly so that I could prolong his departure. But I regretted doing this after I heard what he really wanted to talk about.
“Hey. Can I ask you something personal?” It was a straightforward question, which I admired about him, but it still made my knees buckle.
“Sure,” I mumbled in a hushed tone.
“Jon’s your brother right?” he asked. I saw him glance at me and all I could manage was a slight nod.
“Why don’t you live with your parents?”
There it was. The question I was hoping he would never ask. I quickly tried to think of something to say, or better, some sort of distraction. I considered dropping a dish, but I would get an earful from Jon.
“I…uh….” Brilliant. That was intelligent.
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I was just wondering since you never bring them up… hey, are you okay?” A tear streamed down my cheek and I reached up to wipe it away.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” he repeated. “I’m sorry.” I shook my head. I knew I had to tell him. It wasn’t fair to Wes, especially since he’s revealed so much to me. It was the least I could do for him.
“My mom died when I was younger and my dad left us shortly after that,” I stated flatly. I dunked my hands back under the warm water. It felt good, but it was also a way to keep myself occupied instead of looking at him. He was quiet, which I couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad sign.
I handed him another plate, which still had a few suds on it. He started to take it when his hand caught mine. I allowed myself to look up.
“You really didn’t have to tell me that,” he said gently. He knew what it was like, and it did feel good to get it out in the open.
“Well, I did.” I pulled my hand away, and continued to wash. Just then, as if on cue, Jon came in.
“Hey, Wes. Your mom said to hurry up. She wants to get going.” I saw Wes turn to face him.
“Okay. Tell her to go ahead without me. I’m going to stay a few more minutes, if that’s okay of course,” he added. I could tell Jon was resisting the urge to argue.
“All right. I’ll tell her.” I could practically see Jon turning stiffly and leave.
“You can go, you know,” I told him. He just shrugged.
“I didn’t think it’d be very fair to just leave you here with all these dishes to do,” he joked, because there were only a few forks and a glass left in the sink. But he stayed until we had everything put away and all the counters were wiped down. I was hanging the dishtowel on the oven door handle when Wes announced that he should be going.
“Okay. I’ll walk you out.” He followed me through the house and into the foyer. Peggy and Jon were nowhere to be seen.
“So, will I be seeing you anytime soon?” I joked, hoping to lighten the awkward mood. He took it seriously.
“That’s what I intend, yes. I think this stage of depression is just about over,” he declared. Then he winked at me and nodded towards the hall behind me.
“You should put those in a vase.” I looked to where he was motioning. Sure enough, there on the front hall table, where the orchids he got me. I guess I forgot them there. I turned to thank him for reminding me when I caught a glimpse of his shirt disappear from behind the front door. It clicked shut and I watched through the window as he made his way slowly across the street. He left just like that, without saying good-bye. But I didn’t mind. I was used to it. Plus, it was kind of mysterious.
And being mysterious helped add a little spice to life.

















“That went lovely,” Jon told me earnestly as we climbing the stairs. Peggy was already upstairs, getting her pajamas on. We came to top of the stairs and stood outside of Jon’s door.
“Well, good night, Novalee,” Jon said. I smiled at him. He leaned down and quickly kissed my forehead, and before I could respond, he disappeared into his room. I couldn’t help but agree with Jon. It had got better than I anticipated, with the exception of an unwarranted conversation.
I headed for the bathroom to wash my face and then went to my room. As I opened the door, I found Peggy jumping on her bed.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” I asked her teasingly. She stopped jumping and hopped off the bed. She waited patiently on the floor with a few of her stuffed animals while I slipped into our walk-in closet to change into my pajamas. I came out and she turned to me.
“Guess what?” she asked, patting the spot on the floor next to her. I plopped down and sat criss-cross.
“What?” I didn’t feel like guessing, so I just waited for her to tell me.
“I like Wes,” she stated sincerely. I laughed.
“I know. I like him too.” I stood up and walked over to my desk. It was getting messy, so I just shuffled through some of the papers in order to organize them. “It was sweet of him to get you that movie,” I added.
“I know it was. That’s why I am going to marry him,” she told me. I turned toward her slowly, fighting the grin spreading across my face.
“Really?” I asked. She nodded her head rapidly.
“I’m in love with him,” he admitted, her face glowing. Then it became too much. I burst out laughing, clutching my sides. It was so hard to believe that my five-year-old sister was hitting on the guy across the street…the guy I might potentially like…that it was actually funny.
“Is that so?” I asked. She looked at me with a dead serious look on my face. Goodness, Wes was going to get a kick out of this.
“Well, you never know, he just might be in love with you.” I then told her to get into bed, that it was late.
Once I was sure that she was asleep, I started to cry. I wasn’t quite sure why, however. It was from either telling Wes about my parents, or the fact that my sister and I were competing for the same guy.
I was pathetic.

Someone was shaking my arm.
I tried to shrug them off, but it just continued.
“What?” I groaned. I opened my eyes to see Peggy five inches from my face. Her image was a little distorted because the window across from me was wide open. The light blinded my eyes. I closed them again.
“Jon says to get your butt out of bed. It’s almost nine o’clock. Only he said to say it nicer…oops!” She gasped, realizing she hadn’t. I groaned into my pillow again.
“Okay. Tell him I’ll get up in a minute.”
It was quiet for a moment except Peggy’s few exasperated sighs. I opened my eyes again. Sure enough, she was still standing right at my bedside, staring at me. I glared back and tried to master the evil eye Jon was famous for.
“Pegs, why are you still here?” I asked, giving up. She cleared her throat.
“He also said to stay here until you’re actually up. So….” I laughed. There was no sleeping in with Jon around.

“So…?”
“So… can you hurry up? I really have to go to the bathroom.” Without another word said, Peggy disregarded Jon’s “orders”, and ran out of the room. I heard the bathroom door slam from down the hall.
I sat up, threw the covers off, and headed straight for the stairs.
In the kitchen, I found Jon standing at the island, adjusting his tie. In front of him was a half-eaten bowl of cereal. Captain Crunch to be exact.
“Hey,” he chirped when he noticed me standing in the doorway. “Sleep good?”
“Sure. That is, until you woke me up,” I responded. I watched as he continued to fiddle with his tie, and listened to him chatter about work, and how he was getting off early tonight.
“Why do you have to work on a Saturday, anyways?” I asked. Jon usually didn’t accept extra hours.
“We’re starting a new case, and I volunteered to come in for a meeting. Anyways, I’m going out tonight,” he stated flatly. “So I need you to watch Peggy. I’ll pick her up from Katie’s on my way from work, and then I’m going to come back here to change. That also means you have to watch Pegs tonight. Got it?”
He finally gave up on his tie (it was fine in the first place) and took a few bites of the cereal. I fought the urge to gag. Jon likes his cereal soggy and mushy, so he usually waits forever before eating it. I know, it’s disgusting.
“Wait, you have a date tonight?” I asked. I was purely shocked to hear this news. He hasn’t gone out on a date in over a year.
“Yes. Now if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you got dressed and did something. I feel like you haven’t been out of this house in days.” He finished the last bite of his breakfast, and turned to set it in the sink behind him. “Go over and see Wes if you want, I don’t care. Go to the library.” He headed out of the room.
“What’s with you and libraries?” I called after him teasingly. But I did take up his suggestion by getting dressed, brushing my teeth, throwing my hair up into a messy bun, and waited in the backyard until Jon and Peggy left before I went to Wes’s. I pretended to be examining the flowers, wondering aloud that they should be watered as Jon came out to say goodbye. When I heard the car pull out of the driveway and drove down street, I went around the house and crossed the street.
“Good morning,” Wes greeted when he opened the door. I distractively continued to ring the doorbell.
“Having fun?” he questioned, a smug smile plastered to his face.
“Shut up. It’s early,” I told him, pushing past him.
“Sure. You can come in,” he retorted sarcastically. “And tell me about it. I was half asleep on the couch when I heard the doorbell ringing.” I rolled my eyes, turning to face him. I knew that was a straight-up lie because he was fully dressed and looked wide awake. He ignored my pointed expressions and told me to follow him.
“Where’s your mom?” I asked as Wes led me into the kitchen. He walked over to the refrigerator, took out a liter of Dr. Pepper and poured himself a glass (without ice I observed).
“Soda in the morning? Not a healthy choice,” I teased. He rolled his eyes and took a sip.
“Lacey’s at work,” he told me. I nodded. (Geez, what is this? Saturday Work Day?) He turned towards the island and opened a container of blueberry muffins. Wes took one out and looked at me.
“Want?” he asked, pointing to them.
“No thanks. I ate already,” I said, even though I hadn’t.
“Suit yourself. They’re good,” he added, hoping to coax me. I shook my head. He shrugged and then popped the lid closed. He carried his glass and muffin to the other side of the island and sat down on a stool. Once he was settled, he pulled out the stool next to him, and patted it, gesturing for me to sit. I did.
“So, how’s work?” I asked, looking to start a conversation. He popped a piece of muffin in his mouth and answered with it still full. “Good.” He swallowed and took another bite.
“Slow down. You’re going to choke,” I said, handing him a napkin. He wiped his mouth and took a drink.
“See, I actually like to eat, unlike anorexic weight watchers, such as yourself,” he joked, but I took it to the heart.
“I’m not anorexic,” I insisted. He laughed.
“You, like, never eat. You’re so bone skinny, it scares me.” He took another bite and when he put the muffin back down, I reached over and took a huge piece off it, being careful to avoid the parts he’s already bitten. God knows he hasn’t brushed his teeth this morning.
“Happy? I’m eating.” I bit into my piece and chewed twice. He was right… it was good.
“Hey! Get your own!” he yelped, pushing the remains of his food away from me, turning his back to me slightly.
“Anyways…so work’s good?” I was looking for a subject change away from the topic of my weight and eating habits.
“Yeah. You know that guy I work with? Mitch? I think you met him once… right?”
“Yeah, yeah. Dragon tattoo, multiple piercings, devious looking….” To stop me, Wes playfully punched my arm.
“Hey, that’s my best friend we’re talking about here,” he told me. I laughed.
“Oh, so you’ve replaced me? I see how it’s going to be.” I turned away from him, crossing my arms.
“I’m just kidding,” Wes explained. He leaned around me and handed me the last bit of his muffin: a peace offering. I accepted it, without saying a word.
“Well, as I was saying, Mitch is coming over here tonight to hang out. You can come too, if you want,” he suggested. I was about to say yes when I remembered my babysitting job tonight.
“I’d love to, but I have to watch Peggy tonight. Jon has a date.”
“Oh, that’s cool. Are you alright with him dating?” he questioned before downing half his glass.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” I turned towards him and he stared back.
“I don’t know. I just know I wouldn’t be okay with my mom dating someone,” he admitted, finishing the rest of his drink. He stood up and walked over to the sink, where he rinsed it out.
“Has she gone out since your dad?” I asked. He opened the dishwasher, put his glass in it, and then closed it.
“She’s gone out on a few dates, but we both have had our share of scaring them away. I think her longest relationship was three weeks.” He put air quotes around “relationship”. He turned towards me and leaned back against the counter. I couldn’t help but once again notice how good looking Wes was. He wore a plain black long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and black jeans. His hair was slightly messed up, even after recently getting it cut.
“What do you mean scare them away?”
“Well, for starters, not a lot of men want to date a widow. It’s too much pressure, and a guy can’t handle that kind of emotion and intensity.” He paused, as if recalling a time when this was so. “Secondly, not a lot of men want to date a widow with a teenage boy with Bipolar Disorder.”
He pushed off the counter and headed for the backdoor. He opened it and leaned against the doorframe.
“Wanna go out?” Wes asked suddenly. I had spaced out for a second and quickly snapped my head up. Did I hear what I thought I just heard? My heart began to race as I tried to collect my thoughts.
“What?”
“Do you want to go out?” He pointed outside, to his backyard. I tried to hide my disappointment for what almost was.
“Sure.” I stood up and followed him out onto the patio. It was pretty out there, better looking that I imagined it would be. The gray square stones led from the door to the middle of the yard to form a small circle, my estimate about eight feet in diameter. In the middle of the circle sat round glass table with three metal chairs. We sat down and the chairs were uncomfortably cold. I tried to disguise my discomfort as Wes settled down in his own chair.
“Wes,” I started. “You can’t blame what’s happening to your mom on yourself. If a man can’t accept your family for what it is, then maybe he’s just not worth it. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Adding to my discomfort, he stared at me while I talked as if taking in every word. When Wes saw me catching him staring at me, he looked away.
“I know I shouldn’t, but I do. I just feel like Lacey’s moved on and that she’s healing too quickly. Meanwhile, I’ve gone over the edge and will have to live with it for the rest of my life. I feel as if I’ll never be able to heal, and because of that, she can never completely mend.” He glanced over at e, somehow hoping I would understand.
“You never completely move on, Wes. Take it from someone who’s right there with you.” I reached across the small space between us to take his hand. His palm was warm against mine, and it made my fingertips feel like they’re being pinched. “But don’t let what’s happening to you take over your life. And don’t think for one second that it was your fault your mom can’t be happy. It just takes time,” I told him. Wes suddenly smiled at me. It’s one of those smiles that makes your stomach feel like an acid pit and leaves you dancing once you’re alone in your room.
“Thank you, Nova. You don’t know how happy that makes me feel to hear you say that.” He gave my hand a squeeze and to my surprise, kept holding it.
“So, even though you’re watching Peggy, you can still bring her over with you. It’s just that Mitch and I were planning to be watching movies such as Friday The 13th, the original version, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and The Shining. So have her bring along a blankie, or something.” He winked at me, but I didn’t think it was funny. I pulled my hand away.
“You’re sick!” I exclaimed. He just simply laughed.
“That I am, Miss Novalee, that I am.”

“Are you serious?” Wes asked, holding back another burst of laughter. I handed him his cup of coffee and giggled.
“Yes. I swear she said that. She honestly thinks that one day you guys are going to get married,” I told him. He took a sip and just shook his head.
“Man. I’m attracting woman of all ages,” he chuckled. I laughed too, remembering his story about how he claimed he was at work one day and an elderly lady was “checking him out.”
“I think it’s your cologne,” I suggested. I said this because he smelled good right now, I noticed, as I was standing next to him in my kitchen. After our little touchy-feely conversation at his house, Wes changed the subject by asking if I had any coffee at my house because he was all out. I did, so I brought him over.
Wes sniffed his sleeve and gave me a weird look. “I’m not wearing any cologne.” I felt my face grow red. What was that smell on him then? I glanced at him, and decided that it was probably aftershave, because he looked cleanly shaved.
“Maybe you’re smelling yourself,” he teased, trying to clear the air. I shrugged, and said that maybe that was true.
“So, how is everything with you lately?” he questioned, leaning against the counter. For some reason, my stomach made a flip and I looked away.
“Oh, everything is fine. I miss my friends like crazy. But Melissa is coming back in two weeks, so I might see her then,” I said, trying to think up a conversation aimed away from what he was really get at: my family.
“That’s exciting,” he offered. He really didn’t care. I knew that.
“Anything else?” he asked. “How’s Jon?”
Yeah, he could care less about Jon’s wellbeing.
“He’s fantastic,” I muttered. I suddenly wished he wasn’t so interested in my wellbeing.
“How are you?” I asked, turning the tables on him. He rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah. I can take a hint. Just don’t come running to me, getting all emotional because I never ask you how you’re feeling.” He put air quotes around feeling.
“And that’s supposed to mean…?” He tilted his head back, laughing.
“You know how woman are,” he stated slowly, hoping I would catch on.
“No. Please do tell.” I was egging him on, and probably picking a fight. Wes turned towards me, staring at me intently. I glared back.
“A woman doesn’t likes it when a guy gets inside her head and tries to decipher her. She likes keeping her emotions under lock and key.” He winked at me, and I felt like slapping him. “But then later on, they come up to a guy crying because he never seems to pay attention to her anymore. Then they get into a huge argument about how their relationship is falling through the cracks.” He took another sip of his coffee, holding my gaze.
“And just what experience do you have with women?” I teased. Instantly, his face grew bright red. He lowered his eyes and gaped at his coffee as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.
“None of your business,” he told me. He took a long gulp, one longer than necessary.
“You can tell me. What? An ex-girlfriend or something?” I asked, but he wasn’t giving in. He shot me a look.
“None of your business,” he repeated. I sighed.
“Why? I’ll tell you about my ex-boyfriends,” I coaxed. He wasn’t buying it.
“You don’t have any ex-boyfriends,” he snapped. “You’re too young to.” I laughed, even though it was true. With Jon being so protective, I’ve only gone out on a few “dates”, and all of them group dates. But truthfully, I’ve never had an actual relationship.
“And you’re not?”
“I’m two years older than you. I think I am old enough to have a few ex-girlfriends,” he pointed out.
“Oh, two whole years!” I exclaimed. “You’re so wise, Mr. I’m Seventeen and So Mature.” He shook his head at me, finishing off his coffee.
“And it’s now a few exes, huh?” I accused.
“Novalee, drop it I said.” He brought his cup to the sink and left it there without bothering to rinse it out.
“I have to head home, anyways. Mitch is coming over soon.”
“Fine. Have fun with your new little bromance,” I mocked. He gave me a sarcastic smile and left through the back door.
More of a dramatic exit, I guess.
I couldn’t help but notice that it was conversations like these where I had to be careful with what I said to Wes. It was only twenty minutes ago that we were having a sentimental conversation and now he isn’t backing down from the fight we were picking with each other. The sentimental guy I saw earlier would have. That was probably a part of the multiple personality he obtained from his condition. This suddenly made me sad and nervous because I was afraid that I might say something that’ll set him on edge one of these day.
And that worried me.


























“Anything in the mail for me?” I asked Jon, who was standing in the living room, sorting through the mail. He was dressed very nicely. He was wearing a light blue cotton button-up shirt and dark wash jeans.
“No….” He paused, curiously, looking at a particular envelope.
“What is it?” I asked. He snapped his head up.
“Oh, nothing. Be right back. Got to get some shoes on.” He motioned towards his feet, which were still bare. He turned and ran up the steps two at a time.
I wonder what that was about. Whatever.
I went into the dining room and started to straighten up the table. Peggy’s papers were all over the place. Jon’s laptop was left open and running. I saved whatever document he was working on, shut it off, and then closed it. I took it down the hall to his office. When I came out, Jon was sitting on the ottoman in the living room, holding a piece of paper in his hand.
“What’s that?” I asked. He looked up and immedianlty threw the paper on the coffee table as if it was on fire.
“What’s your problem?”
“Novalee, sit down.” He pointed to the couch opposite him. I walked over and did as I was told.
“Now, what is that letter?” I inquired. Jon sighed and leaned forward to retrieve the burning paper. He held it in his hand, playing with the corners of it for a minute before speaking.
“This letter…it came in today. It’s…it’s from Dad.”
For a moment, I was motionless. Speechless. Breathless.
“Really?” I finally said, my voice cracking. Jon nodded his head slightly.
“Do you want to read it?” he asked, his voice also faltering. Tears came to my eyes as I realized that my biggest wish and my biggest nightmare were both coming alive.
And there was no way to wake up from this dream.

The letter was held out to me, but I didn’t take it. My hands were shaking, and I didn’t trust myself enough to reach out and take it, so they remained in my lap.
I watched as Jonathon patiently waited for me to retrieve it. He sighed deeply as I crossed my arms over my chest. His arm goes limp and falls into his lap.
I knew that he was frustrated, but I wasn’t like him. I wasn’t strong enough to read the words would that would soon be engraved into my mind. He may be strong enough to live through the nightmare, but I wasn’t. I was afraid of the future, which was lying in the form of words in that letter.
“Are you going to take it?” Jonathon finally asked me. I shrugged because I didn’t want to say anything and also because I didn’t want to admit the real reason aloud.
“Fine then.” He stood angrily and walked past me. But before he left the room, he dropped the letter on the coffee table in front of me. I listened for the sound of his footsteps leaving, heading towards the stairs, and away from me. But they didn’t. Instead, they headed in the direction of the knock coming from the front door.
I stared at my hands in my lap while I listened to the voices coming from the foyer. I couldn’t make them out for they were just above hushed whispers. After a few minutes, there was a moment silence before I heard the front door slammed. I figured whoever had been at the door left until Wes came sauntering into the room.
“Hey,” he said, plopping himself into the ottoman on the other side of the coffee table from me. It was where Jon had just been sitting, and I suddenly felt like I was being interrogated.
“Why are you here?” I asked, without bothering to return the greeting. He didn’t answer right away; he just sat there. I observed him as he bit the fingernail on his left index finger. He ran his hands through his hair a few times before he spoke.
“Are you going to open the envelope?”
I was shocked at first, but then I figured out that Jon must have told him when they were at the foyer. I cursed Jon for bringing Wes into this.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, even though it wasn’t the entire truth. But Wes didn’t take that as an answer. He just rolled his eyes, and put his face in his hands.
“And why not?” he asked quietly. Just like Jon, I could tell that he was annoyed. I shrugged. Wes groaned.
“Do you have anything to say?” he questioned calmly.
“There’s nothing to say,” I told him.
“There’s always something to say, and giving the situation, and you can’t possibly be telling me that there is nothing to say.”
“There isn’t!” I insisted. “And aren’t you supposed to be hanging out with Mitch?”
“He cancelled at the last minute. His girlfriend is sick or something. I thought I would just come over and help you out with Peggy.” Then he shot me a look. “And this isn’t about me. Novalee, please. Are you trying to tell me that you are feeling nothing?” he asked. I shook my head and I could feel my face heating up.
“The man that abandons you finally decided to write after five years, and you have no emotions?” Hearing it explained like that brought tears to my eyes. It could not have be clarified any better.
“Maybe,” I confessed. He exhaled loudly, and leaned forward.
“Novalee, your father made a mistake… a huge mistake, in fact, in leaving you. I understand that you are probably very frustrated with him, but now he’s trying to reach out to you. Why can’t you accept that?”
I stared down at my lap, unable to meet his eyes. He was right…. Why couldn’t I accept that?
“I guess I’m afraid of what’ll it say,” I told him, motioning towards the envelope with my head.
“Novalee.” I looked up at him. His expression was earnest and reflected his empathy for me.
“If my father were to write me a letter after seven years of not hearing from him,” he said, “I would want to read it, no matter how afraid I was.”
“But he can’t,” I reminded him, but instantly regretted it as I said it. I felt my face flush, but his expression didn’t change.
“I know that. He’s dead, but you still have your dad and don’t you ever forget that, either.” He leaned back against the cushion behind him.
“I won’t,” I whispered. He nodded in approval.
“So, I ask you again, are you going to read it?” I eyed the letter, and it suddenly didn’t seem to be warding me off. I actually felt my finger twitch at the thought what it might say. I stuck my hands in between my knees, hoping Wes didn’t notice.
The next moment, my body almost seemed disconnect from my mind, and gain it’s own control. My hand reached out and snatched the letter off the table. In my mind, I saw myself folding it up and tucking it inside my pocket to read later in private. However, instead, my fingers unfolded its neat tri-fold, revealing all its secrets. Its words spilled off the page and onto the floor.
My dearest children,

There is so much I have to say to you, yet I have so little words to
describe how I feel.
Jonathon, I first want to apologize to you for leaving you alone and hopeless. I know that you had your eyes set on the future and college. My departure must have messed up your dreams in ways I could never understand. I thank you for staying with your sisters all through it all and for caring for them the best you can.
Peggy, I love you so much. You were so young and precious that I was sometimes afraid to hold you. You’re Daddy’s little warrior for being so grand.
And lastly, Novalee, for me, this part is the hardest. It is almost impossible for a dad to ask his little girl for forgiveness after he’s done something so horrible to her. You are so strong and brave and no words are in existence to explain how much I love and miss you.
I am in high hopes that you all can forgive me because I want to see all your shining faces. I can’t explain why I left because it was rather spontaneous and I am sorry. I wanted to come back almost as soon as I left, but I was afraid of the damage that I had already caused.

I love and miss you and I will be in touch soon.

Love always,




Dad

I read it again three times, allowing the words to soak in. They weren’t as scary as I thought that they were going to. They made sense and were confusing at the same time, but they were also comforting. After reading it, I felt like it has answered a few of the questions that have been pounding in my head for a long time.
“You okay?” Wes finally asked. I didn’t respond; I just let the tears fill my eyes. I folded the letter up, resisting the urge to read it again. Tears fell onto the paper, leaving little wet spots on it. I wipe my eyes because I didn’t want the tears to smudge the writing, but they kept coming and falling. I tucked the letter under my leg and folded my arms into my stomach and leaned forward. I suddenly felt very sick.
I cried for a while, silently wishing that Wes wasn’t here and that he would leave. But he never did. After a few minutes, I heard him get up and cross the room. He sat next to me and stiffly put his arm around my shoulders, awkwardly patting my back.
“It’s alright,” he finally said quietly. I didn’t say anything; I just allowed myself to lean into him a little bit. At some point between my huge gulps for air and Wes frequently repeating, “It’s okay”, I heard Jon briefly slip into the room. He was probably witnessing my breakdown, and when I thought about how bad Jon must be feeling, it made my cheeks burn and the tears stream faster. He was without a doubt jealous of Wes for being here for it all, and I didn’t blame him. I was shamed because I honestly didn’t know Wes all that well and yet I was letting him witness all this.
I was a horrible person. No wonder my dad left.

I hate Chris Daughtry.
His music is too depressing in my opinion. The only thing he seems to sing about is all his love affairs that have gone wrong. All his songs sound the same; I can’t find the difference between them.
But apparently, Nova likes him. We were discussing music the other day, and she mentioned him, along with a few other artists such as Avril Lavigne, OneRepublic, The Script, and Snow Patrol, along with people I have never heard of.
I decided to check them out. And when I came across Chris Daughtry, I literally got a headache after three songs.
I won’t comment on Nova’s taste in music, but I personally like to listen to the oldies. For example, I am a huge fan of The Eagles, Guns ‘n Roses, Simon and Garfunkel, Johnny Cash, and of course, The Beatles.
There is a reason why I’m bringing this up, though. I think it’s kind of a weird and wonderful that even though Nova and I have many differences, we are closer than I ever thought we would. It is something that I appreciate, considering I’m not much of a “people person.” But she seems to be helping me to open up to people. Case in point, earlier yesterday, I asked my co-worker, Mitch, if he wanted to hang out this afternoon. Oddly enough, he accepted. Or like last week, I ran out to the store at Lacey’s request. I was standing at the register, and instead of keeping my head low while I took my wallet out of my back pocket, I actually made conversation with the elderly lady behind the register.
I never would have taken up the idea of appreciating a friend into consideration. I didn’t realize this until this morning. Nova came over and listened to me talk about my mom and how I worried that she has moved on too soon after my dad’s death. It felt good to talk to someone about it, and it was at that moment that I knew that the kind of relationship Nova and I had was rare and unique. In the two months that I have known her, I have shared more secrets and fears with her than my mom or any therapist I’ve ever had or will ever have.
Although Nova and I are to a certain extent “close”, I still can’t find the words to convey how I feel about her, relationship wise. Every time I’m given the opportunity to tell her, I get really nervous and usually end of changing the subject to avoid any emotional outbreak.
But there are some things that make me almost change my mind about speaking up. There are things like the way she smiles, the way she always effortlessly looks pretty, or how she’s not afraid to speak her mind.
I don’t know if it’s certain or if it’s all in my head, but I think I may like Nova. It is a bit odd, considering I usually don’t give people the time of day simply because they’re not worth my time. Plus, all of the girls that I have ever gone out with have asked me out, not the other way around. I was never brave enough to “make that move.” All the relationships have ended the same; after about two or three dates, a girl decides she doesn’t like me and ends it before it turns into anything serious.
There was one girl, though. Her name was Jane and we went steady for about for about four months. She was alright: pretty, athletic, but not very bright. I was just happy that she liked me. Nevertheless, she eventually figured me out. It took a while, after putting together some of the clues: my wild mood swings, my spontaneous personality, and finally, one day she walked in on me in the nurse’s office as I was receiving a dose of my medication.
She dumped me. Thought I was crazy. She was upfront about it, I’ll give her props for that. It still doesn’t mean that it didn’t break my heart.
At that point, I had just given up all hope. It was pointless anyway. I knew I would never get married, never have kids, and never grow old with the one I love. I was going to be alone forever.
But I was okay with that.
When Lacey dropped the news of moving on me and her new job opportunity, she had us packed in a week. I was excited and nervous about it. I wanted a new, fresh start at a place where no one knew me. However, that also meant starting all over at a place where absolutely no one knew me. I had no choice in the matter: going or leaving, they both sucked.
That’s why when Nova found out I have Bipolar Disorder, I was infuriated and relieved at the same time. I was relieved because that meant I didn’t have to hide anymore. I was infuriated because I knew that she wouldn’t want to associate herself with someone who was considered “unpredictable and potentially dangerous.”
But to my surprise, she didn’t disassociate herself from me. I liked that. She was the first person who had really accepted me for who I was. Sure, at my old school I had friends, but they were a little scared of me, especially after I beat up some guy who was supposed to me my friend. I was in one of my moods and he asked me if I was PMS-ing.
He went to the hospital that day with a black eyes and a broken nose.
So anyways, I know that I can trust her. I am still unsure if I actually like her, because I may just be enjoying the joys of having a true friend. But if what Nova and I have should ever turn into some more, I would be cool with that.

Dear Daddy,

Thank you for the letter. I loved it. I am going into the second grade at the end of summer. I’m so excited. First grade was fun. I made a lot of friends, and, Jon, Novalee and my teacher all say that I’m super smart. I love you Daddy. I want to see you soon. I drew you a picture of Jon, Novalee and me in front of our house. You can add yourself in. I just didn’t know what you looked like. Maybe you can come visit us and then I can draw you. I bet you have a moustache. Jon tries growing one a lot, but he just gets frustrated because it takes forever to grow, so he just shaves it. But that’s good. He looks bad with a beard. He reminds me of a caveman.





Love,




Peggy

p.s. Jon had me type my letter because my handwriting is awful.



Dear Dad,

It was great hearing from you. You don’t know how much I appreciate it. We all have found some sort of happiness and reassurance after reading your letter.

After you left, life changed considerably. After a year or so, I moved with the girls to a smaller house because I couldn’t afford to pay the mortgage, even with the money given to us by the government. But once I graduated college and took up a steady career, we were told that we didn’t qualify for “financial aid”. I was well above age and meeting the salary requirements.

I believe that Novalee is having a difficult time accepting what has happened. Every day, I can tell that she is still angered by you and is not anywhere near forgiving you.

But Dad, I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago, and I don’t think that I was ever mad at you. I love you and I hope that you are doing well. I am optimistic and know that you will be back soon.





Love always,




Jonathon




Dear Dad,

I miss you so much too. You’re all I think about most of the time


Dear Dad,

Ever since you left, things have not been the same. It may seem perfect from the outside, but everything is coming down around us


Dear Dad,

Ever since you left, I’ve been so angry with you


Dear Daddy,

I love and miss you so much

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find the words. Nothing I wrote down seemed right, but for some reason, I was okay with that.
Maybe it was my way of realizing that I don’t want to talk to him. It was going to be my way of showing him how much pain I’m in by not responding to him at all.
A week ago, Jon decided that it was time for us to write him back. Peggy’s written her letter and so has Jon.
Then there was me.

I couldn’t do it. It was as simple as that. I was scared that he would make the impression of me that would prove me right: I wasn’t worth it.
I also knew that I wouldn’t think of anything to say. I tried and tried, but nothing appeared precise to how I was feeling. I told Jon last night that I wasn’t going to write back and that I gave up.
He told me to shut up and eat my soup.
I know Jon’s mad at me for not even attempting. It was first with me not being okay about Jon wanting to be the first to contact, and then it was with me not wanting reading Dad’s letter. Now it’s with not wanting to respond. I saw it in his face last night that he wasn’t joking around anymore. I was honestly half afraid that he was going to throw his spoon at my head and then force me to write the letter. But like I’ve said before, I’m not ready to make that jump.
I was working on probably my fifty-thousandth draft and there was a large pile of crumpled papers in the wastebasket beside me, along with a bunch scattered on the floor. I got the farthest with this go; I wrote six sentences before it found itself on the floor with the other rejects. I was ripping another sheet out of my notebook when I heard a knock coming from my bedroom door. I knew it was Jon, coming up to check up on me…again. I’m telling you, if I counted the times he came up here, it would outweigh the number of discarded papers on the floor.
“Go away, Jonathon,” I growled. It was the sentence of the day.
“It’s not Jonathon,” said the muffled voice from behind the door. I turned in my seat just in time to see Wes open my door and step inside, closing the door behind him. I watched as he made his way over to my bed and sat down. He looked around my room, his eyes wandering from my lavender walls, to the assorted posters, to pictures hanging on memo boards, and then finally, his eyes landed on me.
“Jon let me in,” he explained, without me asking. “He said I might find you in here.” I didn’t say anything. I observed as Wes’s eyes flickered to the pile of crumbled papers near my feet.
“I thought we were past this,” he started. I didn’t let him finish.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, a little irritated. I swear, either Jon and Wes were closer than I thought or he was a mind reader or he just knew everything.
“I had the notion,” he continued, ignoring me, “that you were going to be writing your Dad back. You made great progress by opening the letter and reading it. Now you’re just in the progress of making disfigured paper Mache balls.” I rolled my eyes.
“Watch yourself, Anderson,” I warned him. “This is none of your concern. If you don’t mind, I’d like to be left alone.” I waved him away towards the door. I turned back around, picked my pen up, and pretended to be deep in thought, even though all I could get down was the date.
I waited, listening. The silence brought to my attention that he might have slipped out already. But sure enough, I heard him clear his throat and moments later, he unexpectedly appeared kneeling next to me.
“You’re not going to write to him, are you?” he asked. It was straightforward, and made it clear to me that he was angry with me too.
“No,” I told him. I glanced at him and caught him staring back. He didn’t break away, though, and I noticed that his eyes weren’t on fire. They were soft and kind.
“That’s okay. It’s your choice.” He patted my knee before standing up. But before he left, he said, “Call me when you’re done.” Then he closed the door.
I may have told myself that I wasn’t going to tell my dad that I loved him, that I missed him, and how I’m doing. I may be feeling indescribable pain, and I may be the coldest hearted person alive. Yet, Wes still believed in me. It was that thought that made me pick up my pen again and start the letter. I cursed Wes as I filled one page and flipped it over to write some more. I cursed my dad as I concluded the letter. I cursed myself as I signed my name and just my name.
I reread it and saw that it reflected no emotion. I didn’t say once that I loved him, or that I wanted him to come back. I told him how school was, about my friends, and I even mentioned Wes.
When I finished reading it over, I folded it up, shoved it in an envelope, and addressed it to the address that Jon gave me. (My dad was currently living in Maine.)
When I walked it out to the mailbox, I saw Wes sitting on his front porch steps eating a strawberry Pop-Tart, and he was bobbing his head along to the music he was listening to. I scurried towards the end of the driveway, hoping to escape without being seen. As soon as I closed the lid and turned around to see if I was safe, Wes looked up and smiled at me. He pulled his ear buds out and started to say something, but I just turned en route for my house, quickly slamming the front door behind me.
I did the deed.
I wrote to my dad after hearing from him the first time in over five years.
There were so many emotions running through me. I didn’t know what to think. I wasn’t sure if I should be angered with him, or if I should be happy, sad, depressed… whatever.
There was one thing that I knew: I may still be angry with him, and I may never forgive him, but it was a start. Who knows? Maybe one day he will come back and we can start our lives over again. We may never be able to pick up where we left off, but we can work together to erase the past.
I would like that.

One Year Later
Tuesday


“Stanford. Wow,” I said and probably for the hundredth time, too. I looked up and watched as Wes piled in a few more textbooks in a plastic bin. He nodded in agreement.
“I know. Full scholarship and everything.” He walked over to his desk, grabbed the last pile of books and carried them back over. He hastily tossed them onto the bed. One fell off, and I picked it up. The title read Advanced Economics: First Course.
“Economics, really?” I teased, handing it to him. He rolled his eyes, snatching it from me. Wes may be a whiz at math and had taken every math course our high school had to offer, but he absolutely hated the one finance class he took.
“Not my choice. I was short one elective, so they picked for me.” He flipped through it before dropping it into the box.
“I see. So, when do you leave again? Monday?” I questioned, looking down at my feet. I didn’t want him to see my face growing red.
I didn’t want him to go.
“Saturday,” he corrected, looking confused at he inspected his list of things he needed to pack.
“Oh,” I said, biting my lip. Today was Tuesday. He was leaving in four days.
“We’ll miss you,” I told him, referring to everyone he knew, not just me. I was too afraid to say, “I’ll miss you” aloud.
“Peggy especially,” I added. “She still wants to marry you, you know.” He looked up and laughed.
“Ha. Is that so? Well, I’ll write, call, visit, etcetera etcetera,” he said half-heartedly, but I knew he meant it.
“You better,” I teased. He chuckled.
“So, have you given anything thought as to where you want to go to college?” Wes asked.
Honestly, I hadn’t given it anything thought. I was 16 and going to be starting my sophomore year in the fall, meaning I had all of this year and my junior year to make up my mind before I was expected to start filling out applications. But truthfully, college wasn’t something I was considering. I wasn’t interested in going to some big Ivy League school like Wes, or going to a state or university like Jon.
“I don’t know. I don’t think college is my thing,” I admitted. Wes was bending over to put a box on the floor. He stood upright and looked at me over the rim of his glasses.
“You’re joking, right?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. For some reason, he reminded like an impatient housewife. I imagined him in a black apron with white lace lining and a yellow duster at hand. I looked down at my shoes, stifling a laugh. Wes coughed.
“This isn’t funny,” he told me. “This isn’t like picking which flavored lollipop you want at the candy shop. This is about picking which path you’ll take to start your life.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Yes, Father, thank you,” I said sarcastically. “But I’ve already had this chat with Jon more than a million times.” Jon wasn’t close to being on board with my view on college… not by a hundred miles.
“Well, he’s right. Listen to him because I won’t be here to nag you,” he reminded me pointedly. I sighed.
“I know, I know. I’ll think about it,” I told him lackadaisically. He eyed me without conviction.
“I promise,” I added with a forced smile. He just looked away, obviously not convinced.
I wasn’t going to hear the end of this.







Saturday

Sitting on the porch, I watched as Wes brought out the first box to the small truck and as he brought out the last box. I watched as he talked with the man he hired to drive his belongings across the country, and then as he called a cab to bring him to the airport. I watched Lacey come outside to say goodbye for the thousandth time, and as she tried to fight the tears. I saw Wes frequently glance over at me, wondering when I was going to come over to say adieu while pretending I wasn’t upset that the guy I’ve been crushing on for the past year was going to be living 3,000 miles away.
I finally did it when the cab pulled up in front of his house. I stood up and slowly made my way down the steps. Maybe I could slip back inside before anyone noticed and watch him depart from afar. I seriously considered this again just as Wes turned toward me and lifted a hand to wave. I waved back, smiling sheepishly.
“Hey,” he said. I stopped at the curb and crossed my arms. But then I thought it looked too pouty, so I uncrossed them and shoved my hands in my pockets.
“Hey.” He flashed me his famous half smile, and stepped towards me. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around me. It caught me by surprise since he’s not much of a “physical” person. I hugged him back, though.
“I’ll miss you, Novalee,” he said in my ear. I nodded.
“You, too.”
After what felt like forever, he finally let go of me. I realized that I was tearing when Wes started to laugh.
“None of that, or I’ll start crying, and that’s a pretty sight no one wants to see.” I rolled my eyes, but his softened. He wiped my cheek and then quickly kissed it.
“Take care of yourself. I’ll call you tonight when I get to California,” he promised.
“’Kay.”
He grinned and he gave my hand a squeeze before he turned to his mom. I looked away, giving them their privacy. I wiped my eyes and counted the cars that passed on the main road down the street. I got to seventeen when Wes said my name.
“Nova. Novalee.” I looked at him.
“Goodbye.” He waved one more time before climbing in the cab. Moments later, he was gone. Just like that.
“He’ll be okay,” Lacey told me. I glanced at her and was crying too. “He’ll be okay.” She turned to head towards the house when she suddenly screamed
“Lacey, what’s wrong?” I shrieked, darting to her side. Sure, she goes into cardiac arrest after he leaves.
“H-he…he…forgot his medicine. I-I completely forgot to remind him…” she gasped, clutching her chest. She grabbed my arm and looked at me frantically.
“Hurry, call him! Get my phone; his cell number is programmed into it.”
Now, what I was about to do may be the biggest mistake I ever make. It may be the reason for Wes having a nervous breakdown on his first day of school, or leading him to his deepest and wildest mood change, but I felt it was the right thing to do. He’s been waiting for this day forever. He’s been talking about his future, his freedom, and his peaceful days standing next to the ocean so much for the past six months that I have had to sit on my hands a few times to stop myself from hitting him and telling him to shut up. I truly believe that this could be his escape from his past, from his pain and from his mother, who reminds him of his condition every waking second. I knew this was true: he wouldn’t need them.
“Lacey, no. I think he’ll be okay. He’s a big boy now,” I told her, rubbing her shoulder. She looked at me, her eyes sparkling.
“You think so?” she asked, unsure.
“Yes, I do.”
















Thursday

“Novalee!” Jon called.
I jumped, spilling my glass of orange juice all over the counter and down my white shirt. I cursed under my breath.
“Just a second,” I called. I grabbed the nearest dishtowel and dabbed it. After a few minutes, I gave up and went to where Jon was calling. He was standing in the foyer, holding an envelope in his hand. The rest of the mail was scattered on the hall table next to him.
“He responded,” he said, raising the letter in the air.
“Really?” I asked, striding over. I was so excited, my nerves a wreck. It may have taken him a year, but he finally did it. I nervously accepted the envelope from Jon.
“You open it this time,” he said. I didn’t hesitate like last time; instead, I ripped it open and took it out. Jon stood behind me, reading over my shoulder.

Dearest Children,

It was great to hear from you all. I still read your letters over and over and each time they fill me up with such happiness.
I am grateful that you all forgive me, and I can sleep peacefully at night now that I know you’re doing well. I really hope that one day I can see you all soon.
I don’t know if you remember (I know Peggy won’t, but maybe Jon or Novalee) when your mom used to sing you lullabies. They were really pretty ones that she would make up and play for you on her guitar. She loved to write ones about flying away and being free. She had this one that was my favorite; it was called Moon Dancing, and it was about how you don’t need wings to fly. All you needed to do was allow rhythm to take over your body and then dance. She used to believe dancing was the key to the moon, even though she was terrible at dancing!
I love you all so much. I hope to see you soon.




Love always,




Dad

Below the letter, Dad included the lyrics to Moon Dancing, and as I read it, I suddenly remembered the melody of the guitar, though I couldn’t remember how her voice sounded. Jon must have remembered too because he quietly sang the words aloud behind me.

Stars so close you can touch them,
the air is as still and crisp as fall on earth.
The time is right, though there’s no tune.
Jumping and prancing, raising your arms.
Singing as loud as you can,
sad that no one can hear you.
Smiles are never faked,
tears are never allowed.
You can see home from here,
but you know this is where you need to be:
in the sky, where your dreams float.
You catch them all,
and remember the good times.
And then you’re happy…all due to moon dancing.
I can fly away, my pretty wings and I.
I may lose them one day, but that’s alright.
I will then soar away on a star.
I’m happy wherever I go,
as long as I can hold the moon in my pocket.
Music is beautiful, it frees the fears.
Just sway your body and let the music move your soul.

“Wow,” I said. It was weird that Dad remembered the words, and ever weirder that I did too.
“I know,” Jon said, his voice cracking. I turned to look at him. He was crying and doing a bad job at hiding it. His eyes were red and puffy, and he tried wiping them when he saw me looking. Without thinking, I threw my arms around him, still clutching the letter. This made him sob harder; I felt him shaking against me.
“It’s okay,” I told him, taking my turn to be the comforting older sibling. But it didn’t last long because I soon started to weep. If the circumstance wasn’t so bad, or if I was watching this on a movie, I might think this was actually kind of funny, but I’d save the jokes for later.
“I miss them so much,” Jon mumbled into my shoulder.
“I know. I do too.”
He gave me one more squeeze before releasing me.
“I love you, Novalee,” he said.
“I love you, too.” I stood on my toes to kiss his cheek, but I couldn’t make it in time. As my lips met his unshaven cheek, I burst out laughing. Jon leaned back, giving me a curious look. But I couldn’t stop. I clutched my stomach, breaking out with new bursts and the sobs that came with them. I wasn’t sure if I was crying or laughing anymore, but I felt so good.
After a few unbearable minutes of watching me, Jon started chuckling, and pretty soon, we were both on the floor snorting and trying to catch our breath.
“What’s wrong with us?” Jon asked me, wiping his eyes dry.
And now wasn’t that the million-dollar question?








Five Weeks Later

“Do these look good, Novalee?” Peggy asked. She pushed her paper across the table towards me. I picked it up, trying to decipher her answers to the long division answers that Jon had created. She was practically a genius, but like me, her penmanship was atrocious.
“Looks good. But go show Jon, just in case.” I handed the paper back to her.
“Okay,” she chirped, hopping off her chair. She was heading into the living room, where Jon was watching TV/napping, and trying to enjoy his day off of work, just as the doorbell rang.
“I got it,” Jon hollered. I didn’t bother responding; it was probably just the Chinese food we had ordered twenty minutes ago. I was on my laptop, answering Wes’ e-mail. He didn’t call once he got to California like promised, and he finally got around to e-mailing me yesterday. He talked about his classes, his roommate whom he was sort of buddy-buddy with, and all the annoying people in his life. It was short and rushed, but I couldn’t help but notice the closing: I miss you. I plan on coming back for Christmas, so I’ll see you then. Hope to hear from you very soon. Love, Wes.
Love, Wes.
I tried to not let it get to my head, but every time I read it, it made my stomach flop. In the past year, Wes never really revealed any emotions or feelings for me. I knew he cared about me; I was sure of it. But he never gave our friendship a label. I never once heard him call me his friend to me or to anyone. Whenever he introduced me to someone, he’d just say, “This is Novalee.” There was no “This is my friend, Novalee.” So this closing Love, Wes caught me by surprise. But hey, I wasn’t going to complain. But just to be on the safe side in case it was some weird typo, I closed Best Wishes, Nova.
Once I finished, I re-read it and pressed Send. I closed out of my account and shut the laptop. I heard talking coming from the foyer, and I sighed. Leave it to Jon to chat with the Chinese deliveryman… he was always doing that.
“Jon?” I called, getting up from the table. I walked out of the room and into the living room. From where I was standing, I could see Jon and Peggy at the door, Peggy’s hand in Jon’s.
“Yeah, I actually think she’s in the other room. I’ll go get her…you can just step right in here…here, let me take that.” Jon turned, holding the bag of Chinese food, the big yellow smiley face staring at me, underneath reading: Have A Nice Day. He had tears in his eyes, and his face was pale, and yet it was glowing at the same time.
“Who’s that?” I asked. But before he could respond, in stepped my answer.
He was wearing dark wash jeans, the kind that looks worn yet were just bought last week. He had on a red plaid button-up shirt and a baseball cap was matting down his brown curly hair, though I could tell it was thinning. No hat can hide that. His face looked worn, like he traveled days to get here, and a five o’clock shadow helped add to the look. He was handsomer than I remembered, and I still say that Jon’s the spitting image of him. He isn’t as tall as I recalled, and he looks as if he has lost weight.
I stared at my father, standing here in my house, somehow finding himself back in my life. I instinctively wanted to hug him and to tell him that I had missed him, and that I loved him. Another part of me wanted to scream at him, tell him I hated him and would never forgive him.
But then there was the one little piece of me that knew I’d always love my dad, however far away he may be. He was the man who helped bring me into the world. He had pulled my soul out of the air and gave me a body. It was at that moment that everything Wes ever told me was true: I could never hate my dad. I was never really mad at him. I just really missed him.
That’s life though. It’s hard to forget the agonizing element of your past, especially if it’s still alive, because it’s who you are and is responsible for where you are today. But thinking on the past for just the good memories leads you to the road to recovery. As long as you can forgive and accept your mistakes, you can then move on. Ready or not, because everyone and everything will only wait for a second.
And then life moves on.