Revised a little of course, and switched over from script format (and added Tino), but this is the first real piece of MSCL Fanfic I wrote (back when I was trying to write continuation episodes).
#20 Life in Progress
List of New characters (they're all their, but they do not all have lines): Libby & Walter: Libby is Vivian's (Patty's mother) cousin (the one complaining about MSG etc. in "Other People's Mothers"); Walter is Libby's husband (he is an older man, wears glasses); Don and Tammy: it is their house. Tammy is Libby and Walter's daughter, Don is her husband (this is his second marriage); Dustin (18) is Don's son from his first marriage, and Channing (10) is their younger son; Jeremy is Don's brother; Jan & Kurt: Kurt is Tammy and Patty's cousin, Jan is his wife; Laura (9) (the little girl in the red dress with the Game Boy) is Jan and Kurt's daughter
Saturday morning Patty stands at the base of the stairs shouting up, "Angela! We're waiting!"
Angela doesn't try to hide her annoyance, "I'm coming." The last thing she wants is to leave town, not now that everything's barely settled and still so up in the air. Angela moves grudgingly down the stairs carrying an overnight bag and a portable CD player. She follows Patty, who, to Angela's further irritation, is smiling with satisfaction, out the door to the station wagon where Danielle is already waiting.
Graham locks the house door behind them, takes Angela's bag for her, and then opens the driver side door. He turns back to Angela, "All set?" Angela rolls her eyes as she unenthusiastically climbs into the car.
Driving down the road Angela looks out the window, watching as the trees and houses fly past in a steady blur. 'We were going on vacation, a weekend trip to my mom's cousins in California, PA. (Was there ever more a depressing name for a town? Maybe Paris, Texas.) I used to love vacations, because you could show up in a new town as a totally new person.' Angela sighs and puts on her headphones. 'It's only now that I realize how false vacations are, because you can't, take a vacation from yourself.' She turns up the volume on Oasis and closes her eyes as she leans her forehead against the window.
Patty, Angela and Danielle are in the bathroom of a roadside diner on their way to their relatives. Angela is in a stall but clearly just to get away, even for a little bit. She is standing with a vacant, slightly pained expression, her eyes traveling aimlessly over graffiti until she comes across the words: WHY THIS WAY? Angela evidently sympathizes with this sentiment and her eyes shut momentarily. 'I sometimes wonder about the people who write things on bathroom stalls – do they plan it? Do they come in with the specific intent of writing something? Or do they walk around with knives and pens in their pockets just in case a thought strikes them? What are these people feeling? Or rather, what is it they should be doing, instead of—'
"Angela?" Patty calls. Angela opens her eyes. "Are you still in here?"
Angela flushes the toilet with her foot. "Yes." Almost painfully she opens the stall door and crosses to the sink to wash her hands. She wears the same put upon expression she's worn so many times this year. As life grows more complicated, it's harder to act the happy undistracted daughter with her mother. Everything back home is still pressing on her mind.
Patty's not having any of it and she tilts her head and calls Angela out, "Ok, Angela. What is it? What's bothering you?"
In complete denial there is a problem, Angela goes on the defensive, "Nothing."
"I know what it is," Danielle preens.
"Danielle, shut up."
"Angela," Patty's weary of putting up with her sullenness, "please." Pausing from this conversation she looks at Angela who is still ever-so-slowly drying her hands, "Are you finished? You're father is waiting." Angela nods and throws the paper towel away as she slowly follows her mother and sister out the bathroom. As Patty moves to open the restroom door, holding a paper towel in her hand to do so, she turns to Angela and Danielle, continuing her previous point, "Can we all just work on being in better moods when we get there?" It isn't so much of a question as a command. A command in the form of an upbeat rally-cry. Angela follows after her sister and mother.
'That stupid scrawling on the bathroom stall was still on my mind: WHY THIS WAY? Exactly. Why this way? Why does getting back with Jordan have to drag Brian Krakow into the mix? Why does Jordan finally saying something real to me come with the knowledge that it was all orchestrated lies? Why do I find out after all this time what's in Brian Krakow's head, when Jordan's right there waiting for me and there's nothing else to do but go with him? Why is the one way I get Jordan Catalano plagued with doubt and questions and strings and awkwardness? When is anything going to be easy, and good? And happy? And sure-footed?'
Patty, Graham, Danielle, and Angela stand before the front door of their cousins' house. Patty looks a little anxious; Danielle is looking less than thrilled.
Just as Patty moves to ring the doorbell Graham groans, "Here we go. Another weekend of—" Patty moves her hand away from the bell, leaving it un-rung till Graham's said his piece, "slideshows and self-righteous advice."
"Shhhh." She moves to ring the bell again.
"Eewww!" Danielle wines. "Slideshows?!"
"Danielle," Patty warns her. Again removing her hand from the bell she turns to Graham in frustration, "Why are you like this? Why do you always do this?"
"Do what?"
"Oh, you know what. Waiting till we're at the door to say something." She turns back and prepares to ring the bell again; hand poised to press down Patty says one last thing, "Listen, you are all to be gracious and pleasant while we are here. All of you." In a much less severe tone, almost cheerful, she asserts, "This is going to be fun." At last Patty rings the bell. Angela looks doubtfully at Graham, to which he flashes his fake 'let's make the best of it' smile.
The door opens and there they are — a multitude of enthusiastic family members waiting with open arms.
Patty sits in the living room with Libby, her mother's cousin, her daughter Tammy, and Jan, the wife of a cousin. Libby, still sporting her silver bob, is as regal and ebullient as ever, "Patricia, how is your work going?"
"Oh, well, things are pretty exciting right now. We're making some changes that are really going to help Wood and Jones compete with those larger companies. We're moving into the world of high-speed copiers — we'll be able to do offset."
Though her enthusiasm is sincere, Patty's lost her audience's interest, and all the response she gets is Libby's dry, "Oh, isn't that wonderful. Your father's been talking about that for years."
"Well," a perturbed Patty measures herself, "ah, no, actually Daddy hasn't been talking about this. It's bran—"
Upstairs Angela and Danielle are unpacking in a guest bedroom and connecting hall bathroom. Angela's washed her hands and looks round now for a towel, finding only rose and teal velvety decorative hand towels. "I hate guest towels," Angela bemoans. "You never know if you should use them, then there's never anything else for you to use, so you leave them like they haven't been used. And then you wonder how many people have done the same, and how often they ever really get washed."
"Ew."
Angela moves past Danielle and into the bedroom, "I know."
"Of course he has Patricia.," Libby smiles over her. "It's wonderful to see so little has changed at Wood and Jones, that you're keeping with all of your father's plans."
Patty's hurt by this but she's unsure if she should trouble to contradict this statement. "Actually, Aunt Libby, what we're doing now is brand new to our company."
"Of course, dear." Although Danielle enters the room and stands right in front of Patty, Libby continues, talking right over her, "I remember when your mother and father—"
"Mom," Danielle interrupts.
"Danielle, honey," Patty turns to her with a strained smile, "you interrupted. Please continue Aunt Libby."
"When your parents first—"
"Mom."
"Danielle," Patty smiles. "You're being very rude. You need to wait for whatever it is until a person is finished with their conversation."
"But I can't find my toothbrush."
"That hardly qualifies as an emergency." Patty laughs a little at her daughter, not because she thinks it is funny, but because in her discomfort she thinks it is socially expected to discredit a child's concerns. "Go upstairs, please; we'll find your toothbrush later."
"But I want to brush now. I have all these little popcorn kernels stuck in my teeth."
Embarrassed, Patty loses her patience, "Danielle. Upstairs."
"Honey," Tammy interjects, "why don't you go find Laura."
"Yes," Jan says, "I know she was really looking forward to seeing you this weekend." More to Patty than to Danielle she adds, "She has this beautiful new set of paper dolls. They're amazing." As Jan continues to speak, Danielle rolls her eyes and slowly leaves the room. The women now carry on their conversation as if they had never been interrupted.
By some chance Graham's found himself a moment of quiet and sits alone in the family room reading the newspaper. Danielle spots him as she passes by and walks into the room. Graham is seated in a large armchair and Danielle in turn lazily plops herself against one of the chair arms. He winks at her, reads for a little longer, then speaks to her without taking his eyes off the paper. "Where's Laura?"
Danielle sounds annoyed, or grumpy, "I don't know."
"Weren't you looking forward to seeing her?"
"Not really," Danielle mutters.
Graham is neither laying on pressure nor making an accusation when he cocks a brow at her and says, "I thought you were friends."
Danielle takes a moment; she's not quite sure how to explain what she is feeling. "She still wants to play with dolls."
"Well," Graham considers, "you have dolls."
"Dad. I have dolls. I don't play with dolls."
"Oh," Graham's amused with this distinction. "It might be nice to not be so grown up for a little while. You know, Dani, as you grow up, you'll have less and less opportunities to just, play."
Danielle gives her father an incredulous look. "Dad. I don't want to play."
"Oh. Well, then here. Maybe you'd like to read the business section." He hands her a part of the newspaper, smiling as she sighs and takes it.
"You don't get it." Graham is amused.
Graham Chase and his younger daughter, both feeling a bit out of place in this house, sit quietly and read the front page and business section respectively.
Patty enters and stops when she spots Danielle, "I thought you were playing with Laura." She looks around, "Where's Angela?"
Danielle doesn't look up from the headlines she's not actually reading; "Upstairs."
Disinterestedly Patty shifts through the newspaper sections still lying on the coffee table, "What is she doing up there?" In response, Graham shakes his newspaper to re-stiffen it. Patty turns to Danielle. "Danielle, why don't you go upstairs and check on her."
"I'm reading the newspaper," she says without lifting her eyes to her mother.
Patty is unswayed. "Tell Angela I want to see her down here within five minutes." Danielle huffs, drops the newspaper, and goes upstairs.
Patty sighs and sits on the arm of Graham's chair and leans against him, which knocks his paper some. "Hey!"
"You weren't really reading it," she asserts.
Graham chuckles. "Says you." He wraps his arm around her waist.
"Did you hear from Hallie Lowenthal when the money would come through?"
At the mention of this name Graham's eyes dart and he scratches his forehead. "Ah," he clears his throat, "earliest mid-week."
Getting comfortable Patty snugs up against him, and leans her head against his in a confidential manner, "I think it's marvelous you're doing this Graham."
He looks at her, and smiles. "Well, you're pretty marvelous yourself."
"I am not," she deflects. Patty runs her hand through her hair and lets it drop to her lap, "There's nothing, extraordinary, about running a print shop."
"There is, Patty. The way you've taken responsibility for your family, your father," he looks at her, "me."
She looks at him and smiles, and rests her head against his again. After a moment she speaks, "Honestly, I'm going to miss having you home so much."
Graham chuckles, "Well, good."
Angela's sprawled across her bed, pretending to do homework. 'The thing about vacations is, that you're supposed to be able to like, take a break from your life—' Angela looks down and realizes she's been doodling Jordan's name. Embarrassed, she quickly scribbles over it and rips out the sheet of notebook paper to crumple. 'But, that like never happens, because there is nothing for you to do to keep your mind off of what you left behind.' Angela drops her head to the bed and lies still, blankly staring at the wall.
Danielle enters and crosses the room; standing over Angela she asks, "What are you doing?"
"Nothing, Danielle; go play."
"No. It's like totally boring here."
In a low voice, not quite willing to agree with her little sister, Angela lifts herself up and repositions herself so she is leaning against the brushed pine headboard. "No kidding." She looks at Danielle, "But I thought you loved coming here."
More assured now with something common between them, Danielle too sits on Angela's bed, "No way; Channing thinks he's so cool, and Uncle Jeremy is kind of weird."
"He thinks he's being funny."
"Well, I wish he'd stop. And anyway, Laura and I aren't friends anymore."
Losing interest already, Angela only asks to be civil, "Yeah? Why not?"
"Because—"
"Come on girls, get downstairs." Standing in the doorway, Patty interrupts them. "Danielle, Laura is looking for you." Angela and Danielle reluctantly get up, slowly and dragging their feet. "Angela, everyone has been asking for you, why are you hiding up here?"
"I'm not hiding."
Walking them down the hallway and staircase, Patty looks to Angela pointedly, "Oh yeah?"
"I was taking a break," Angela mutely defends.
"'A break?'"
Angela goes with it, "Yeah."
"From your vacation?"
"It's your vacation."
Irritated, Patty confronts her with sharp whispers so that the other family members do not overhear, "Angela, enough. I don't know why it is so hard for you to spend a little time with your family, but I expect you to be polite and warm with your relatives this weekend."
"It's not 'hard'…" Angela attempts at an explanation.
Appearing on the scene, Graham temperately sets a hand on each of their shoulders, asking, "What's going on?"
"Nothing." And Patty walks away.
Left there, in a hallway she never wanted to be in, in a situation she couldn't clearly see herself out of, Angela looks at her father for reprieve, then rolls her eyes and looks away when she recognizes defeat, "Nothing."
Outside the Chase house Rayanne Graff stands, preparing herself to knock on Angela Chase's front door. She almost does, when from behind her comes a voice.
"They're not home." Unbeknownst to Rayanne, on his bike on his way out for the night, Brian'd circled back to watch her when he spotted her climbing the Chase porch steps. Rayanne now turns, first startled, then annoyed. "They're out of town." He swerves round again. When she says nothing he slows down and drops his foot to the asphalt. He stands there in the street, astride his bicycle looking up at her. Rayanne fidgets. She doesn't want to be seen this way. Not here, not by him. Coming here, for this purpose, was hard enough, she didn't need a witness. Especially him. He'd already seen too much. Still he looks at her. "So…" he ventures, re-gripping his handlebars, "are the two of you talking now?"
Instead of answering, which would have meant lying, or telling the hard truth, Rayanne turns it around on him, asking, "Are you?" She knows what he did. Stupid Krakow, such a sap. But even if she hadn't heard, she knew, everyone knew, what he felt for Angela Chase. Silly really, for a boy to like her. She had little to offer yet. Especially to someone like him. Her confused virginal thing might work for Jordan Catalano, but add blonde, overly curly hair and a bike and that was Brian Krakow too. What good would those two be to one another? Rayanne shakes her head; she does not understand crushes.
Brian's a little startled Rayanne seems to know about the letter. But then again, if Rickie knew, of course Rayanne would know. Brian swallows.
"I heard what happened," she presses, aiming to make him uncomfortable.
"Nothing happened."
"Yeah," she scoffs, "that's what I heard." Brian's eyes shut involuntarily. But he regroups.
"Like I said, they're not home." He looks at her, "Don't you have, I don't know, somewhere to be?"
"Don't you mean something to film?" she fires back.
"Something to be chained to?"
"Hm." She looks at him with tempered respect. Her sudden shift in demeanor's left him playing catch up. "Wow," she muses.
They're quiet for a while. After some time Brian quietly asks, the judgment now absent from his voice, "So, what? Are you here to apologize?" Rayanne turns on him with a face; its not easy to admit to being wrong and she certainly doesn't want to do it with the likes of Brian Krakow looking on, but she softens when he doesn't seem intimidated. She likes that. Rather, he just waits, listening.
"I just figured, since…" she starts. Brian nods.
"I don't how much has changed," he offers. He's quiet for some time then observes prophetically, "We're both still outside."
Seated on the front steps of her cousins' porch, Angela sits reading The Catcher in the Rye. The wind rustles through the trees and she looks up to take in the day, warm, like it was already spring instead of early February. Though she tries, she cannot return her attention to the book. 'So far, I had been ignoring the whole thing about the letter, and Jordan and Rayanne… and Brian. It just seemed easier. I mean, what could I really say? To any of them? Jordan and I were pretty much back together. Kind of. Things were sort of, weird… With Brian too. I haven't been taking the bus, so it's been pretty easy to avoid him so far. … It's just too… difficult? To deal with.' She shuts her eyes and shakes the thought from her head. 'I am the most horrible person.'
A car door slamming shut breaks her from her thoughts and she watches as a college-aged guy walks up the front pathway shouldering a duffel bag and squinting into the sunlight. Angela winces. She hoped never to see Dustin again. Her aunt's stepson. The one who'd mostly grown up with his mother and her new family outside Allentown. The one who'd kissed her under false pretenses at that family wedding two years ago.
He is older now and looks more mature than the last time she'd seen him. His hair is a shade darker and not so long. He wears a navy hoodie with 'PITT at Greensburg' printed in gold lettering across the front where he currently attends as a freshman. He didn't know when he got in his car for the hour drive home there'd be distant step-relatives flooding his house and seated on his front porch. He climbs the steps.
"Hey," he acknowledges Angela as he drops his bag on the porch. "My dad's here, right?"
Just then, Tammy, who rejects the qualifier in step-mother, emerges from the house, arms open and super excited. "Dustin! We weren't expecting you!"
"Well, I ran out of clean laundry." He lets his mother hug him. "My dad here?"
"Yeah, yeah, he's inside." Tammy turns into the house calling, "Jeremy! Don! Patty! Dustin's home!" She squeezes Dustin's forearm, "You're staying for the weekend, right? You know the whole family's here." More relatives, some who have just come over for the day, step out onto the porch to greet and hug him. Amongst other conversations as he is ushered towards the house, and his explaining he hadn't exactly planned on staying, Tammy thinks to reintroduce him to Angela, who is standing by this time, mostly because the crowd necessitated it, "And this is Angela; my cousin Patty's daughter. I think that makes her your—"
"She's not my cousin," Dustin cuts her off.
"I guess not," Tammy admits. "It'd be pretty far removed anyway. Plus just through marriage, and then again adoption. Anyway, come inside. Are you hungry?" As the family troops back inside, someone already having picked up Dustin's bag for him, Dustin throws a head-nod in Angela's direction as he moves past, "I know you."
And then Angela is once again alone. Her faces scrunches in humiliated exasperation. She is definitely not thrilled with this new development.
It's now early evening and Angela, Patty, Libby, Tammy and Jan are in the kitchen preparing dinner. "Well," Patty continues, "Dustin's certainly grown up nicely, hasn't he?"
"Oh yes, and he's just doing wonderfully at the University," Libby praises.
"He's writing for the school's newspaper now," Tammy adds before she exits to fetch some serving platters.
"Does he spend a lot of time here?" Patty asks upon her return.
"Oh, you know, his mother's more than four hours away, and he and Don are so close. And he still has some good friends in town. And," she opens the oven to turn the casserole, "free food and laundry, college boys don't turn that down."
Patty smiles knowingly, "It's so nice, to have him close by."
"And when will you be going to college, dear?" Libby queries. Angela looks up from her mixing but doesn't really say anything.
"Not for a few more years," Patty's compelled to answer for her. Can't let the conversation lag. "Angela's a sophomore in high school." Patty heads through to the shag carpeted dining room carrying a dish of buttered vegetables. As she does so she rests her hand on Angela's shoulder and adds warmly, "She's doing great." This vague and generalized report pleases the women and Angela smiles weakly in return.
"It's too bad Dustin stopped seeing that nice girl," Jan remarks, changing the subject. "She was such a sweet girl."
"Yes," Libby concurs, "although, I did not care for her mother."
Jan is in full agreement, "No."
Angela's embarrassed, and she's not even sure on who's behalf. She would have guessed Dustin hardly saw this part off them family, but apparently she would have been wrong. She can't believe these women are standing around passing judgment on his love life like this. She'd be mortified if anyone in the family spoke about her that way. Angela tries to imagine her grandparents, Chuck and Vivian, discussing Jordan Catalano this way. She doesn't get very far; she couldn't even picture them in the same room together. 'Did that matter?' she wonders. 'If I can't picture him even momentarily stepping into that part of my life? Brian already knows my parents, my sister, my grandparents, Uncle Neil—'
Before she gets too far into comparing the two boys she's interrupted by her grandmother's cousin. "Do you have a boyfriend, dear?" Libby and the other women look at her expectantly.
Angela looks pained and smiles her way out of it, "I think I'll go see if Mom needs help setting the table." Quickly she exits the kitchen as the matriarchs give each other knowing looks.
Angela finds her mother setting the dining table. Passing by as she sets out the ecru napkins in pewter rings at each place setting, Patty whispers to Angela, not critically or bad tempered, "Angela, it's difficult for people to carry on a conversation when only one side is speaking." She clarifies, "You could speak up a little bit; they're just trying to get to know you better."
"Mom, they're asking me about my 'love life'."
"Oh, dear," Patty sympathizes. "Well, just smile and be pleasant. Why don't you go tell everyone dinner is nearly ready."
Seated at the dining table Angela picks at her food and looks around the table. Graham and Don are in some kind of heated disagreement. Angela shakes her head as she lifts a forkful of casserole to her mouth, 'My father always gets into arguments with my mother's family.' She stares down at her plate, and lowers her fork. 'I suspect it might have something to do with their cooking.'
"Let's change the subject to something less," Tammy searches for a mediating word, "topical."
"Please," Patty seconds.
Don raises his hands as a willing sign for a truce, "You're right."
"So, Angela," Tammy starts; Angela looks up a little stunned. She had been hoping to go through the weekend relatively unnoticed. She did not wish to be the center of everyone's focus. "I've hardly seen you all weekend," Tammy smiles. Angela looks away, averting a meaningful glance from her mother. "How is your life?"
'How is my life? What was I supposed to say? My life, is… I don't know. Not what I'd expected. In progress? On pause? Slowly getting more confused and complicated with every—' Angela stops herself and smiles, "Fine."
"Angela," a displeased Patty prompts, "you can say more than that."
And so Angela searches for something more to say; "I like my English class, I guess."
Insufficiently impressed, Patty intercedes; "Angela has been doing a lot of work for the school's play."
"Our Town," Angela nods.
"Oh, I love Thornton Wilder!" exclaims Libby. This sets the table conversation in a new direction and takes the focus from Angela.
…
The meal finished, no one but the children have stirred, and Angela looks round the table in what she hopes is concealed misery. 'If anything is actually worse than embarrassing personal questions and absolutely no privacy, then the worst thing about spending time with family is the after-dinner conversation. It never ends, and you can't get up before the grownups do,' she looks again around the table, 'and they never do.' Through the hallway Angela can see Danielle playing with Laura and Tammy and Don's son Channing. 'If you're little, you can get away with leaving, but…' Her eyes turn back to the table and she looks from face to face; Graham looks equally bored and has hardly touched his food, Patty, of course, wears an exaggerated grin. 'It's like you're a prisoner.'
Eventually Dustin stands to excuse himself from the table, "Hey Ma, I'm gonna go meet up with the guys."
"Dustin, Honey," says Jan, "why don't you invite Angela?" Angela is mortified; Dustin stops where he is.
"That would be nice," Tammy agrees. "I'm sure Angela would love to get away."
"No," Angela smiles, "it's okay. Really."
"You sure?" Dustin asks.
"No; thank you." As she is still speaking the words, Dustin's already turned and headed up the stairs to get ready. Angela kind of sinks in her chair.
"Well," Libby's husband Walter says to Graham, "this might be a good time to show you the pictures from our last trip."
"And which trip was that Uncle Walter?" asks Patty.
"We took the old motor home to Mount Rushmore," Don answers for him.
"We told your folks. We must have."
"Lib, did we remember the slides?"
"They're really spectacular photographs," Jan promises Graham. Graham looks to his wife and feigns her same smile.
The apartment door opens to Rayanne who is leaning against the doorbell in Katimski's hallway. Katimski's partner opens the door, smiles at her, and leaves to get Rickie. Rayanne lingers in the hallway. Like all the places Rickie's stayed over the years, she hasn't quite reached a level of familiar-comfort with the place. Rickie's always felt like somewhat of an intruder in his houses, therefore Rayanne, who ordinarily takes charge wherever she is, has traditionally tread lightly on his behalf. This time circumstances are different, but the habits of hanging back and staying out of the way are nothing new.
"Hey."
She turns back to face him. "Hey." Rayanne messes with her bag. "What're you doing?"
"What are you doing? It's late."
"It's barely nine o'clock. _ So," she gestures offhandedly, like she doesn't really care and she isn't really asking, "what's the deal with Brian Krakow?"
Rickie look at her. "What?"
"I mean," Rayanne messes with her hair, "why is he such a miserable human being?"
Wordlessly Rickie steps aside, leaving the entrance open to her, and tilts his head. "Do you want to come in?"
"In there?" Rickie nods. She looks incredulous. "If I do, am I gonna get an hour's worth of notes?"
Rickie laughs. He takes her bag and waits for her to enter. "What do you have against Brian Krakow?" But he knows what she's got against Brian Krakow – same as what Angela chase had going for her all those months ago when they first started hanging at the mall after school. It's just a matter of time; poor Brian Krakow, he's as good as dead.
Finally upstairs, Angela, Patty and Danielle are in the girls' bedroom adding additional blankets and putting new cases on extra pillows. "But Mom," Danielle responds to Patty's scolding, "I don't like Laura."
"Shhh! Danielle, I don't understand why you're being so mean, you love Laura." Danielle shoots a 'see what I mean' look to Angela, who smiles sympathetically.
"Uh, Mom," Angela intercedes, "do you think it would be alright if I used their phone?"
Patty turns from Danielle to Angela. "Who are you going to call? Angela, it's only one weekend with your family. I don't see what there is, so important, that you need to interrupt that with a phone call to a friend who you'll see in a couple of days."
Angela gives up, "Never mind."
"Are you sure you don't want to go out with Dustin?"
"Mom."
"It was very nice of him to ask you."
"He didn't ask me."
"I'm sure he would love for you to go with him."
"I doubt that."
"I'd go," Danielle inserts. Angela shoots her a look.
"He's a very good-looking boy," Patty observes.
Angela's face wrinkles, "Mom. Eww."
Patty laughs. "Oh, Angela. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying, you haven't exactly been, happy, these past few weeks, and you certainly don't seem any happier here; a change of scenery and, just, getting out, might do some good."
"Mom," Angela pleads miserably, "please."
Dropping the last pillow on the bed, Patty gives in. "Okay. Come on Danielle, I'll help you look for your toothbrush." Danielle and Patty exit into the bathroom and Angela exhales a deep breath and collapses backwards onto one of the beds. She lies there for a while, her head slightly hanging over the side. "As if my life didn't suck enough already…" she mutters.
"Sure you don't want to come?" Taken by surprise, Angela shoots her head up and sees Dustin popping his head in through the open doorway. He leans against the door frame and carries with him his duffel bag of newly cleaned clothes as he heads out for the night to stay with his friends.
Quickly she sits up. "Um, no." Angela tucks her hair, "That's okay. Thanks though."
He takes a step inside the room. "I would have asked you anyway."
She doubts that, and she still refuses the invitation, "No, really."
"'Cuz you know," he kicks aside a stray decorative pillow, "the family can be kind of crazy. I could be your only chance for escape." Angela hesitates. "Come on." He jerks his head towards the door, and hesitantly Angela pulls herself off the bed. "Cool." Angela partly smiles, and once more tucks her hair.
The adults are gathered in the family room where Walter's slideshow is underway. "Ah! This is the motor park we stayed on the third night."
Speaking to Graham, Don contributes, "Our neighbors, Joyce and Peter, recommended it to us. They stay there all the time. Did I tell you they're remodeling?"
"No," Graham shakes his head. The slide changes.
"Oh," Tammy exclaims as Walter continues the slideshow, "yes! All new appliances, slate countertops—"
"You're a cooking man Graham, what do you think of slate?" Don asks. "And all those fancy appliances? I mean, stainless steel or not, it still gets the job done, am I right?" Graham starts to answer but Don cuts him off. "What kind of countertops do you have?"
"Ah!" Walter says as he hits a particular slide. "And this is the river where I hooked that enormous rainbow."
Libby turns to Tammy, "Was that the day we had lunch at that cute little café?" The two women turn to gush to Patty and Graham, "Oh, it was darling." As Libby continues to speak Graham smiles and nods with a glazed expression. Undetected, Patty squeezes his hand.
Bundled up as it's turned out to be a cold night, Angela and Dustin, their breath visible as they walk, sidestep patches of lingering snow and head towards his buddy's house. "These guys go to Cal U," he explains. "Known 'em forever." They walk towards a small house, and she follows him around the side to a gate that takes them back behind the house. There are about nine kids back there, all about eighteen or nineteen years old, some smoking cigarettes, all drinking beers, gathered around a small pit fire. As he walks past, people greet Dustin and nod or smile. Some say 'hey' to Angela. It is a comfortable atmosphere, and though she's younger in age, she doesn't feel particularly out of place. Five months ago she would have, but a lot's changed since then.
A guy who, Angela can't help but notice, has the most amazing hair – dark, and rich luscious curls, nothing like what she's seen before, comes up and wraps Dustin in a hug, "Dustin!"
"Hey, Timmy, this is Angela." Tilting his head a little sideways towards Angela, Dustin completes the introductions, "This is Aaron's house."
"Hi," Angela smiles.
"Angela's a causality of a family weekend at my place."
"Got it," the majestically beautiful boy nods. "Hey, Angela! Bro, I got that thing I gotta show you in the house."
"Cool." Dustin grabs a beer and hands one to Angela, "I'll just be a minute." She nods and looks around as they head up the small steps into the back of the house. She hesitates, then lifts the bottle to her lips and takes a small sip.
In bed, after more than an hour's campaign to extricate themselves, Graham and Patty lie side by side looking up at the ceiling.
"If I have to hear one more story about their vacations…"
"Graham."
Graham ignores her. "I mean, a person should ask a person if they're interested before they launch into an hour-long story about Mount Rushmore. 'Actually Don, I'm not interested.' I'd rather go through root canal than listen to that man's stories."
"Well, Graham, what are we supposed to talk about? You disagree on everything."
"I don't know." Graham lifts his hands behind his head. "And," he starts in again, "he always tells me stories about his neighbors, like I have any idea who he's talking about. You notice they don't even ask us how we're doing."
"We exchange letters," Patty offers as a weak justification.
"I don't even know why we come. It seems like the only thing they want to know about is Angela's personal life."
Patty repositions her pillow, "Who doesn't?" Graham kind of laughs and Patty, smiling wryly, moves right up next to him. Graham wraps his arm around her shoulder. "Graham, I'm sorry you're having such a miserable weekend." Benignly incredulous he cocks an eyebrow at her. "I am." She drops her head to his chest, tiredly admitting, "I know they can be—"
He strokes her hair and back, speaking slowly, "It's okay."
Lifting her head Patty smiles up at him, "Can I make it up to you?" He kisses her and pulls her down.
Angela and Dustin sit side by side on a bench a little ways from the fire. Angela's cheeks are very flushed, she is just a little bit drunk. "And wait," Dustin takes a drink, "what's the other guy's name?" He's been letting her talk him through it all.
"Jordan. Catalano." Angela drinks. "'Jordan Catalano.'"
"No, the other guy's name." Dustin's picked a splinter from the weathered wood bench and flicked it into the flames.
"Oh. Brian Krakow. … Wait," she smiles vaguely, "what were we talking about?" Angela's never been drunk before, and she's just barely that. She likes this feeling, warm and dizzy, but she's not following the conversation well. He clues her in.
"About why you said that your life sucks."
"I said that? When?"
"When you were collapsed across my old bed."
"Oh." 'It was so strange; I didn't even know why I was telling him all this. I hardly knew this guy. And I'd spent the last two years severely disliking him. But everyone back home was already too involved to be objective, and where Jordan Catalano's involved I'm unable to be objective. And so, it just sort of happened. … And the whole time I kept wondering if he remembered ever kissing me.' Angela handles the glass bottle, and takes another half sip. "It just seems like everything is changing too fast…" She thinks for a while, and shakes her head. "I'm not sure what I should be feeling."
He looks at her, and takes a drink. "How did you feel before you read this note? What'd you want then?" Dustin's not particularly invested in this story, but he's willing enough to listen and offer a dispassionate masculine take.
"Huh." He's putting things in ways she hadn't ever considered and for the umpteenth time she thinks it all over…
"Just forget about it, it tells you nothing."
At this Angela's pitch involuntarily rises, "What do you mean?" She'd spent so many hours with that letter, reading it, thinking about it, breathing it. More than any written text she'd ever read, that letter put into words what she'd been waiting her whole life to hear. How could it tell her nothing? She begins to protest, "It—"
"Okay," he reasons, laying it out for her. "It tells you one guy might like you, but can't own it, and the other guy likes you, and wants you to know it. It doesn't matter that this guy Jordan didn't write it, he gave it to you. Am I wrong?"
Angela's confused. Was it that simple? This thing she's been fixating on – Brian, Jordan, the letter, the thing with Raynanne, the kiss, that thing, in the street light, that was maybe, almost, something like a kiss – did it all amount to that? 'Brian wants her but Jordan wants her more?' And was that accurate? It seems so farfetched. She exhales and her face relaxes. "I don't know; let's stop talking about it." Angela leans her head back against the fence. Her eyes wander a little while, then she turns back towards him. "Have you ever read The Catcher in the Rye?"
"Twice. In high school."
"Does he ever end up talking to Jane Gallagher? _ Does he ever find out if she's changed?"
"Don't remember." He smiles, and sets his hand on her knee as he stands. "Listen, Angela, I'm sorry about that thing at the wedding, the kiss. Guys can kind of be jerks when they're in high school." He walks away, leaving her to consider this. She puts down her beer bottle.
In Three Rivers, Brian gets on his bike to ride home from a friend's house in the dark. A few blocks down and two corners turned he rides past a small house party. Inadvertently slowing some when he hears the noise and the music, Brian breaks short when among the line of cars he spots a certain red convertible. He stops. His eyes shut, then, depleted, his gaze travels unwillingly toward the house. He can't not look. Which he hates, nearly as much as he hates the sight of this vintage car, and the way it and its driver seem always relentlessly to be in his path. From where he stands astride his bike, Brian peers through the darkness to the porch, making out a small grouping of people recognizes but does not know. The three girls he's seen in hallways and the like, and likely would never know him by sight. The guy with them he thinks he recognizes as Rayanne Graff's friend Tino. He's smoking a pipe. Not the glass pipes he's seen sold in that incense-wreaking, trippy-poster-carrying, hippie-Birkenstock and strange-candle-selling shop on Roscoe Avenue, but a real one, oak or something. The kind of thing Angela Chase's grandfather would probably smoke. Watching them, Brian can't stomach the artifice of it, Was he for real? Was this an affectation adopted to seem cool, or just something he picked up on a whim from whomever's house they're in. Brian guesses it doesn't matter.
He's making them laugh. The girls. Even at his distance Brian can hear it. Then one of them kisses him. Brian's struck by this guy Tino's reaction – totally unfazed, like it's expected, like it happens all the time. Which, he guesses, it probably does. Probably happens for everyone, but him. Brian shuts his eyes as he moves to push off and continue on his way.
"Hey!" It came from the porch. Brian stops, and though he'd like not to, he looks back. "Yeah, you." The smirk is audible. "Mr. curlicue on the Huffy. Get up here." Brian remains put. Why was he being called up there? What could he have to say to them? How does he look those girls in the eye after being called 'curlicue'? One thing he knows for certain – he doesn't want to be anywhere where Jordan Catalano is. Not now, not for a long time from now. Too soon. Too fucking soon. But what's he meant to do? He'd been summoned; could a person just ride off? Is that done? "Hey," this friend of Jordan cajoles, releasing a substantial puff of smoke as he does, "while you're out there deliberating, the solar system just hatched another planet. Giddy up."
Seeing no way around it, Brian dismounts. Walking his bike to the front lawn, he lets it drop slowly on its side before he treads the dozen or so remaining paces to the porch. "It's not a Huffy," he half mutters as slowly he climbs the red concrete steps to the others.
"Yeah," Tino smirks again, "I know what kind of bike it is." Here Tino stops and looks Brian over. Inside there's music blaring and Brian can see movement of ten or so people through the front windows. Why did he come up here? "You're the tutor." It's a statement rather than a question, but one not made without an element of interest. "The brain kid." Leaning back with absolute self-possession, Tino puffs on his pipe like it's a prop he's used every day of his life.
Brian's brow furrows. "That coming from the no-brain kid?"
Tino can't contain his laugh, and his eyes kind of crinkle and brighten at the unexpectedness of it. "Maybe better not let Catalano hear you talk that way." Brian kind of stands down. He'd only half meant it to begin with. And what possible good could come from starting something anyway? Tino taps the pipe end against the porch railing. "You here for 'im?"
Again Brian's brow knits, "Who? Oh. No. God no."
"He's inside." Tino leans over toward the window with the intention of shouting through it—
"No. That's okay." Brian shuffles his feet some. "I'm on my home."
"Right," Tino nods knowingly. Brian doesn't love the way this kid let's on to know much more about what he could not possibly. "Where from?" Tino asks, pivoting the conversation.
"Uh… my friend Ryan? Up the street?"
"Friend-Ryan-up-the-street who?"
"Danes."
"Ryan Danes?! No way! He lives up the street?!" Tino's clearly messing with him. Or, it's clear enough to everyone but Brian. Brian doesn't know how to react.
"Okay... So..." his eyes narrow some in that way they tend to when he no longer feels assured of his footing in a situation, "I'm gonna get home."
Tino lets him turn and start towards the steps before he says anything more. "You, ah, prob'ly shouldn't 've done it."
Brian stops. But does not yet turn around. "Done what?" His voice has dropped maybe an octave.
"'Done what?'" Tino smirks mockingly, "I like that. Written that note." Brian turns around. He glances first at the girls, but they're doing anything but paying attention to him. They certainly don't know anything about some note. He looks to Tino, who only shrugs.
"Mean," he leans back, a bit philosophically, but in earnest, "it won't be a mistake — if they end up making it work. 's still a little too unresolved t' say yet if they will. But, if they do," here Tino's clear blue eyes land on Brian, "he'll be good to her. No one should worry 'bout that. And," Tino pulls a long draw from the pipe, "he's happy, so, I'm happy. But, yeh, probably shouldn't 'a done it."
Brian swallows, setting his features, unwilling to admit misgivings. "Why's that?"
Tino merely laughs at Brian's effort at insouciance. "'Cuz," he needles pointedly, "you like her. And 'cuz if there's any part of her that still likes him — which, c'mon " at this Brian's eyes roll, "they'd 've worked it out for themselves eventually; without you." Tino looks at him for emphasis, "Which leaves you with the old fact you involved yourself for no reason." Tino continues though there are indicators Brian would have said something on his own behalf had he been granted half the chance. "Now you gotta live with knowing you're th' one who did it." Brian swallows. "Yeah," Tino commiserates. "I mean, you gotta have known he had other people to turn to. He looks at Brian with meaning. "Right?" Brian makes no answer. "And, he could always say 'I'm sorry' on his own."
"So—" Brian's a little thrown. "You're saying he used me?"
"'Used'? I don't know I'd say that. To be fair, he's only just now getting he actually likes her; doubt you're factoring in any. But, yeah, he played you," he confirms freely. "And her." Tino shrugs. "He plays everyone a little. And they let 'im do it 'cuz of those big dumb blue eyes of his, and 'cuz he us'ly doesn't start trouble." Tino drinks his beer. "Don't kid yourself though — you don't hate him. He's likeable. He just is."
"So. What'd you mean then?"
It's so clear and simple to Tino: "If it comes from you, J doesn't have to be responsible. If it's not his words, it's not that real. He doesn't have to feel 'em if he didn't have to think 'em up. He gets the credit, and not much of the responsibility."
Brian's at a loss. "Well, he gave it to her," he points out. "The letter. He let her think they were his words. That he felt that way."
"Looka you," Tino smiles. "Coming to your rival's defense. Classy. And yeah," he points at Brian, "that's exactly why it's going to work; that and that puppy-dog sex thing he's got going for him." Brian blinks. "But c'mon, the kid's not 'special'. He can say 'sorry.' I goddamn love the kid, but everybody needs to quit cutting him so much goddamn slack." He takes another swig and then points at Brian with the bottle, "Her especially. I mean," he equivocates, "she's not, and that's why she's good for him; because she sees him as more than a selfish jackass who gets a pass to act badly just 'cuz he smiles at you and says," and Tino nails a perfect Jordan Catalano, "'Whut'?" Brian smiles and appreciatively Tino continues making his point: "Everything she sees in him is never going to be there — he's not what she's willing him to be." Brian's nearly following this. Tino drinks. "You gotta take Catalano as you find him. But," he drinks again, "time to time you gotta call him out on his crap. It's good for him. And nobody else 's doin' it." Brian's not sure he's getting all of Tino's meaning, there is a lot of history tied up in this address that reaches far beyond the scope of himself or even Angela. Still though, he thinks he takes Tino's general point. "Guess I'm just sayin': losing the girl's one thing, handing 'er off's a whole other level of hell, Virgil." Brian swallows. Can this be real? How does this total stranger know how he feels about Angela; and was he really citing Dante?
"You think I—?" Brian starts after a minute.
"Had a real chance with her if Jordan Catalano were out of the picture?" Brian blinks. "No." Tino finishes his beer. "Not for another two years at least. Sorry. But, take comfort."
"Yeah?" Brian scoffs. "In what?"
"Three things." Tino counts down on his fingers: "He really does like her. You like him, so you're not as mad as you'd like to be."
"And?"
"Huh?" Tino plays innocent.
"'Three'?"
"Oh. 'Three'. Angela Chase's not the only girl you've got in common. And she's interested." Brian neither has time to process let alone react to this. From just inside the house he hears a voice he recognizes.
"Hey, T—" Tino doesn't turn to answer through the window but instead remains silently poised, waiting for Jordan to emerge and join them.
"I'm going home," Brian gets out quickly before that front door opens.
Tino nods. He gets it.
As Brian descends the porch steps and walkway, retrieves his bike and sets it upright, Tino calls out, "Think 'three' Krakow. Gotta believe it to achieve it." He returns the pipe to his lips. Brian mounts his bike and begins pedaling. Once more Tino calls after him, "And no one catches a fish trying the same damn spot in the sea time after time. Troll a little God damn you." And suddenly Tino's beer bottle is smashing into millions of shards of green glass on the street just where Brian had been a moment earlier.
At the end of the night, after Dustin's dropped her off and headed back to his friends' place, Angela, barefoot and holding her shoes, sneaks into her room and silently closes the door.
Danielle stirs and turns towards her sister, "Why are you walking like that?"
Startled, Angela jumps. "I thought you would be asleep."
"I'm too bored to sleep." Angela steps into the closet to change her clothes, the dim yellow light streaming across the bedroom floor to the foot of Danielle's twin bed. Danielle sits up a little and whispers a little louder so her sister can hear her. "Mom's driving me crazy."
From the closet Angela remarks, "That's what she does."
"It's not fair; she's completely controlling me. And she acts so weird when she's around her family."
Angela emerges in her pajamas, pulls the closet light cord and sits atop the other twin bed. "I know; it's like she has this Better Patty she puts on for them."
"But she tries to do it to me too," Danielle complains. "I keep telling her that I don't want to hang out with Laura, but she makes me play with her anyway. It's like she's in denial."
"I know," Angela empathizes. After a moment of silent consideration she thoughtfully posits, "But maybe it's just easier. You know? If things don't change…"
"Easier for who?" Danielle's grumpiness has not dissipated.
"…Good question…" And Angela slips out of the conversation with her sister and into the thoughts that have filled her head for more than a week. Months actually.
Unaware Angela's attention has waned, Danielle continues to gripe; "I mean, am I supposed to keep pretending I like her, even if I don't, just to make it easier on Mom?"
Mildly resentful to be jogged back to Danielle's problem, Angela sighs, runs her fingers through her hair, and scooches to the top of the bed and pulls back her covers. "I don't know Danielle." Hearing herself, and shutting her eyes to block the dizziness, Angela makes an effort to be nicer, "Maybe it doesn't make things any easier to pretend your feelings about someone haven't changed; maybe it's better for everyone just to say it – how you feel…"
Propped on her elbow Danielle peers at Angela through the darkness. "You mean about Jordan?"
"Danielle."
"What? I heard Mom telling Dad that he came over the other night. And that she let you go out, on a school night..." The little sister is fishing for details.
"Danielle, you shouldn't listen in on their conversations."
"So," Danielle ventures to press, "what happened between you and Jordan? _ What happened between you and Rayanne?" She receives no reply. "Angela."
Groggy, Angela sinks into the bed and sighs, "I'm not going to talk about it."
"I know you and Rayanne had a fight."
Angela lies, staring up at the stucco ceiling, concentrating on her breath rolling in and out of her her body. She can feel it in her fingers. She swallows and swears she can feel the reverberations thundering through her head. She shuts her eyes tightly to center herself and take control of the spinning. Angela concentrates on the weight of her head on her pillow. "It wasn't a fight."
"And I know it was about Jordan. He stopped coming by, stopped driving you to school, stopped calling all the same week Rayanne did."
Angela sounds exhausted, "He never called."
"He did sometimes. Angela, you were taking the bus." She's said it like it's some greater proof of something.
"His car was in the shop," Angela covers. "And I never stopped taking the bus."
Danielle settles back into her pillows. "You're lying. It was because of Rayanne. The weekend she spent locked to Mom and Dad's bed—"
"Shhh!"
"You were so angry with her. What else would make you so angry?"
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know," she admits. "But I'm still right." Outside the window a cricket is chirping. A car passes by. The room is silent, and small. Danielle asks another question: "Why are you seeing him again?"
Angela lifts her head, "Who says I am?"
"Angela, I live in the world."
Angela drops back to her pillow and turns her head towards the window. "Don't talk like her."
Danielle silently leaves her bed to lean with interest against Angela's, "So, do you love him?"
"Jordan?" It took Angela a little longer to answer than it might have, even with the drinking.
Danielle moves in a little closer, "Uh-huh."
"… I don't… I don't know. I guess sometimes I think so, but—"
Danielle hasn't heard the 'but', and her response is dreamy and distant, "Wow." At age eleven she's sufficiently impressed by the abstract thought of this, and Angela decides not to complete her caveat. Danielle cuddles up to her sister. "I've never even been kissed."
She lightly brushes a wisp of Danielle's hair out of her face, "It'll happen."
"Angela?" Danielle yawns.
"Mm?" Angela's just barely awake at this point.
"I'm glad you're my sister." She snugs in and pulls the quilt and sheets over her shoulder and closes her eyes.
"Me too…" It was said so softly one needed to be as close as Danielle to hear it.
"Will you tell me the real story one day?"
Angela licks her lips and tucks her hands beneath her pillow. "Probably not."
"You will. It takes you about five years, but you eventually tell me the truth."
Angela rolls over, "Shhh."
The following morning, Graham stands in the girls' doorway looking at them sleep; they are still in bed together. Graham smiles, he hasn't seen them this close in what seems like forever. Softly he closes the door, happy that his girls can still find ways to be sisters to one another, and with no prompting or cajoling from him or Patty. In the hallway he meets Don, whose pictures and stories he's been avoiding all weekend, and who he couldn't help but argue with last night. "Hey Don," Graham smiles.
"Good morning, Graham. Girls still asleep?"
"Yeah." Graham walks with Don downstairs. "Listen, uh, I just wanted to say, uh, Patty and the girls, well, we've all had a great weekend."
"Glad to hear it, Graham," he pats his shoulder. "I think Tammy is about to make breakfast."
"Look, why don't I make breakfast; and you can tell me more about your trip."
Stepping out of the shower, Angela wraps her hair in a towel and pulls another round her torso; she stands before the bathroom mirror, wipes the steam away with her hand and studies her reflection intently. 'I woke up that morning with a clear mind. I don't know what it was exactly, but it seemed like everything that had been weighing on me — Brian, the letter, Rayanne… Suddenly nothing seemed as bad as it had. Or as binary. Maybe it never was. Or maybe I finally let it all go. I don't know… It just felt like I could go back, like I could move on. Or, ahead. I had been belaboring over answers to question that had not been asked. And the only question that had been asked, deep down, I already knew the answer to. And it hadn't changed; in spite of everything, since back in September — the end of last spring really — the answer had not changed. The answer had been there before the question was asked, and in a vacuum alone or amidst other, complicated, half-revealed truths, it was still 'yes'.'
In the kitchen Graham is at the stove poaching eggs and drizzling oven toasted bread with olive oil and basil. Don and his wife and the other adults are in the kitchen talking to Graham as he slices tomatoes into paper-thin slivers.
"—And of course," Don continues, "you know our neighbors Paul and Nola, their son just got married last week."
"Oh really?" Graham gives his best imitation of upbeat interest.
"Beautiful ceremony," Jan contributes.
"Of course Nola's mother couldn't be there, you know how sick she's been," Tammy adds.
"Hm," says graham over his cup of coffee.
Patty enters smiling; she's overheard Graham finally playing nice. "Good Morning. Oh, that smells delicious."
"I was just thinking that," nods Walter decidedly.
"Of course you know Graham's opening his restaurant soon," Patty shares, deftly steering the conversation as only her mother's daughter so skillfully can.
"That's right!" says Don. "We have a professional cooking us breakfast."
"Graham," it's Tammy this time, "Patty's been telling us all about it; it all sounds so exciting."
"You know," Graham smiles, "it is, kind of exciting." After this weekend, and whatever that'd been — back at the location that night he'd cooked for the investors, and everything he'd been trying not to feel since then, it was nice just to get some credit for the work he's doing and to enjoy it. Because this was huge. And he'd never seen anything like this for himself. And regardless of everything else that may have been or might still be, it's nice to get some recognition for this. This thing he wants so badly to do well.
"When will the restaurant open?" Libby asks. "We will all come down for it of course."
"Oh we'd love that!" Patty crosses the room to stand by Graham, laying a hand on his shoulder. Graham leans to give her a peck on the side of her head and gives her a quick wink. Patty smiles, gives him a small pat, and then beaming, continues her conversation with the relatives. "Yes, I'm so proud. _ Well, it's all happened so fast!"
Angela carries her overnight bag to the front door and there meets Tammy who is coming in from outside. "Honey; so, you're off?'
Angela smiles warmly, her most genuine self she's been all weekend, "I guess so."
"Well, I hope we'll be seeing you again soon; you and your sister are growing up so fast I can hardly stand it."
"I know," she smiles again. "I'm sorry. I hope we'll see you soon. Thank you for having us."
"You're a darling girl, Angela. Always have been." Tammy gives her a hug and a kiss, "Tell that father of your he did good."
Angela nods, "I will."
At the end of the weekend the Chases are once again packed into the station wagon and driving back to Three Rivers. Graham is at the wheel, Angela in the backseat behind him, with Patty and Danielle beside them. Angela has her earphones on and sits with her forehead leaned against the cool hard window, once more watching the street signs and telephone poles fall away one by one.
"Whew!" Patty exclaims. "It will be nice to be home."
Angela good-naturedly rolls her eyes, "Mm, hm." 'My mother always says that at the end of a vacation.' She takes off her earphones. 'But…' Angela turns from looking out the window towards Danielle and smiles, then leans forward and reaches over the driver's seat to hang on Graham's shoulders; he takes her hand and gives it a quick kiss, then he and Patty smile at each other and then back at the girls, 'I was beginning to think it would be.'
The station wagon moves down the road, eventually disappearing into the distance.
Posted 2/5/13