I don't remember much about that morning's classes, because I (like everyone else in the room) was too busy counting down the minutes until I could get the hell out of there. In addition, having missed breakfast my thoughts were riveted on lunch (you don't get much mileage out of a piece of toast and a banana (I hadn't found time to eat the orange). And so, at around one-thirty, with stomach growling, I hurried down the bus steps...
...and then sprinted up the driveway...
...hurtling into the house...
...and tearing past Grandad, who was sitting on the couch with the newspaper spread out in front of him on the coffee table
"Hi...I'm home!" I called over my shoulder, as I ran straight for the kitchen...
...and relief.
Flinging my backpack onto the table, I grabbed a can of Italian Tomato Basil soup from the cabinet near the stove; figuring that, since it needed only three minutes in the microwave, it would be the fastest way to 'take the edge off'...
...and then I'd (immediately) segue into a huge sandwich.
Just as I was pulling a clean bowl from the dish drainer, Grandad called, "Carly? Would you come in here for a minute?"
"Sure," I answered, although slightly annoyed. Setting it back down, I emerged from the kitchen doorway and approached the couch, asking, "What's up? Didn't you find the scissors?"
Grandad looked up, meeting my gaze squarely with his own.
"Oh, I found them," he replied. "And that's not all I found."
And then, before I could ask him what he meant...
...Grandad picked up the newspaper from the coffee table...
...and less than a second later, my blood ran cold...
...because under it, lying side by side...
...were two sheets of yellow legal paper...
...one with my name at the top, and one with Sam's...
...and under each of our names, there were at least ten businesses listed...
...every single one of them followed by an address such as 1684 Boardwalk...
...or 2537 Atlantic Avenue...
...and at that moment I realized (to my horror) that in my haste to leave the house that morning, instead of hiding the two lists (like I always did), that I'd left them on my desk...
...right next to the scissors.
"Would you mind explaining these?" Grandad asked pointedly.
I opened my mouth, but the only word to come out of it was, "Th-th-they're-"
This was followed by a nearly-minute-long stretch of profound silence...
...during which Grandad sat staring at me expectantly...
...until, well aware that in his book 'silence equals guilt', I forced myself to finish the sentence.
"Uh...they're...um, lists of places that Sam and I applied to for jobs this summer."
Grandad continued staring at me...
...unwaveringly...
...and unnervingly.
"You're both looking for jobs...in Atlantic City?"
There was no way out.
"Yes," I admitted.
Grandad set his newspaper back down...
...while asking, "And whose idea was it that you were going spend the summer in Atlantic City?"
"Sp-Spencers," I replied. "He said that...that Sam and I were welcome to join him there...for the entire sum-"
"You're not going," Grandad stated flatly.
"But...but...it's okay," I answered.
"No, Carly," he replied. "I'm afraid it's not."
"No...it is," I insisted earnestly, "because Dad said I could go."
Grandad frowned.
"That's impossible. Your dad has been back out on the sub for over a month now; so you know as well as I do that there's no way you could have contacted him about this."
"No...he said it was okay...the last time he was in port," I explained.
"And what exactly did he say to you then?"
"I...I didn't talk to him," I admitted.
"Well, I did talk to him that day," Grandad replied, folding his arms, "and he never said anything to me about this."
I took a deep breath to steady myself.
This was no time to lose my composure.
"He told Spencer, and Spencer told me," I answered, as calmly as I could.
Grandad shook his head in disbelief.
"Carly, you expect me to believe that? If he had granted you permission to leave Yakima and to spend the entire summer all the way over on the other side of the country, then he'd definitely have mentioned it to me."
"He...didn't want you to worry."
At this remark Grandad's eyebrows shot up.
It was obvious he believed I was lying.
Determined to remain calm, I took another deep breath, and then continued, "He sent a letter of permission."
"I never received any letter," he pointed out.
"Uh, Dad...uh...he...didn't send it to you."
"Fine," Grandad said. "Go to your room and get it."
"He...sent it to Spencer," I replied, nervously beginning to realize that, instead of clarifying anything, every sentence I uttered seemed to be making the entire situation worse and worse...
...and less and less believable.
Grandad looked back at me, incredulous, asking, "He sent Spencer a letter of permission, instead of me? Your dad is well aware that I'm the one who has to grant you per-
"N-no. It w-was addressed to you...but he sent it to Spencer."
"What?" he exclaimed. "Then why would he send it to Atlantic City, instead of directly to me?"
"He...didn't want you to worry," I repeated lamely.
"And you expect me to believe that?" he replied.
"It's true...honest!" I assured him.
He wasn't assured.
"Look," he continued, "don't you realize that what you're saying makes absolutely no logical sense whatsoev-"
At that moment, Grandad stopped speaking...
...because his phone was ringing. Pulling it from his pocket, he said, "Hello, Violet. Can you wait a moment?" Covering it with has palm he looked back at me, saying, "Get your brother on the phone. I want to talk to him.
"But-" I began.
"Right now."
"But...he's probably not available," I protested. "Last night, he told me that he's going to be in and out of meetings all day."
"Now, Carly."
Grandad turned back to his own phone, stating, "Of course, Violet. No, I haven't forgotten...actually looking forward to..."
Heart sinking, I went back into the kitchen and got my phone out of my backpack.
As expected, Spencer wasn't in...
...so I left the message, "Please call me...the second you get this...it's really, really, really important!"
As I walked back into the living room, Grandad had already finished his own call.
He looked up at me expectantly and asked, "Well?"
Aware that my hands were beginning to tremble...
...in an incredibly incriminating way...
...I shoved them into my pockets, replying, "Uh, Spencer's...um...not in, but I told him to call me back as soon as he gets my message; so it should only be an hour or two before he-"
"I can't wait around for an hour or two," Grandad answered, "I'm going out."
"Okay then, I'll call back and tell him to phone you instead," I offered, turning and heading back to my phone, which I'd left on the kitchen counter.
"That's no good either," he replied...
...stopping me in my tracks.
As I turned back to face him, he continued, "I'm going to a concert with Ms. Lippincott this afternoon, and I can't take phone calls while I'm inside the theater; so tell Spencer that no matter what he's doing, I expect to hear from him as soon as I get home...which will be by five."
"Then...I can g-go to Atlantic City?" I asked hopefully.
My query was met with an unbearably-long stretch of silence...
...and then, finally, Grandad spoke.
"I want to see this letter."
Getting up from the couch, he walked down the hall and into his room...
...soon returning to the living room wearing his blue blazer...
...and then, without another word, he was gone.
Due to equal parts nervousness and hunger-induced dizziness, I walked back into the kitchen on very unsteady legs...
...but even though my stomach was growling insistently, non-stop, I was way too stressed out to eat anything.
As soon as this whole thing is resolved I'm going to have a huge, celebratory lunch, I promised myself...
...and then I began pacing the kitchen floor.
Exactly thirty-seven minutes later, Spencer called.
"Hey, Kiddo, I just got your message. What's up? Are you okay?"
"Grandad saw the papers!" I blurted out.
"Papers?" he asked. "What papers?"
I realized that he had absolutely no idea what I was referring to.
"The ones I had written job listings on, for Sam and myself!" I told him, slouching back against the kitchen counter for support. "I'm sorry! I didn't want him to find out this way!"
"Carly, calm down...look, you know that everything is okay," he stated matter-of-factly. "You know that Dad gave you permis-"
"N-no! I just told Grandad about the letter...but he...he doesn't believe me!"
"Don't worry," Spencer replied, in a low, reassuring tone. "Look, I've just finished for the day and I'm heading home right now. There's a copy shop only two blocks from my apartment, and I promise you that I'll run straight over there and fax the letter to him."
"But, what if he thinks it's a fake?" I asked...hearing paranoia slowly, yet steadily, beginning to creep into my voice.
"It's written on military letterhead," Spencer replied.
"But, you're an artist...you could easily fake something like that...especially in a fax!" I pointed out.
"Listen to me; you're getting upset over nothing," he stated calmly. "If he's not satisfied, I'll make a copy for safekeeping and send the original to him...overnight...so stop worrying, okay?"
"O...kay," I answered, realizing that he was right...
...and immediately feeling my anxiously-pounding heart beginning to slow down somewhat.
"I'll call you as soon as I get home." Spencer promised.
After he hung up, I felt slightly more assured, but was still way too nervous to eat; and so, in an attempt to distract myself from the entire situation I tried calling Sam...
...but she wasn't answering...
...and so I sat there, staring helplessly at my phone...
...incredibly lightheaded, from both hunger and apprehension.
Forty-three minutes later, it finally rang.
Snatching it up off the table I blurted out, "Spencer! I'm so glad you called...all this waiting is making me crazy! A re you on your way to the copy shop?"
His answer made my blood run cold.
"Carly...I've been robbed!"
Nearly a full minute passed before I was able to utter, "Wh-what? Spencer, that's not funny!"
"No!" he yelled. "You know that I'd never joke about something like that! I've been robbed!"
I nearly dropped my phone.
Holding it as steady as I could...
...with two shaking hands, I gasped, "What? How can that be? You said your apartment is in a high security building!"
"I don't know what happened," he replied, clearly distraught, "but, since I'm up on the eleventh floor, there's no other way in except through the front door!"
"They kicked it in?" I asked frantically.
"No, they must have picked the lock...because there's no visible damage!"
"Then how do you know you were even robbed?" I answered. "Maybe you just misplaced-"
"No!" he shouted. " All my dresser drawers were pulled out!"
"There must be cameras in the hallways," I pointed out.
"Yes," he sighed, "but the one on my floor's not working."
"What d-did they t-take?" I demanded...
...my body beginning to tremble violently...
...somehow already knowing the answer.
"Only the fireproof box, which was in my bottom drawer. Fortunately, I had the project sketches at work with me...but Dad's letter was in it."
Ignoring the pounding sensation that had just started inside my head...right behind my eyes...
...I asked frantically, "Have you filed the police report yet? What did they say?"
Instead of answering directly, Spencer was silent...
...while I sat, expecting the worst...
...and sure enough, he delivered.
"I was going to file one, but the building's front desk manager told me that it's pointless to even call them, since there's no sign of forced entry...and since 'nothing of value was taken'."
"Call them anyway! Your dresser drawers were pulled out! They can dust for fingerprin-"
"I know they could," he agreed, "...but it's a furnished rental; so I'm sure that all the furniture has lots of people's fingerprints on it."
"B-but-D-ad's let-"
"I'm really, really sorry," he cut in. "Look, I'll talk to Grandad about what hap-"
"He's never gonna let me go now!" I wailed.
"I'll talk to him," he repeated, "so try not to worry."
Just over an hour later, every minute of which I spent growing more and more fearful and despairing, Grandad walked through the front door. After heading directly to his room to hang his jacket up, he stopped in his office for a minute or two; and then, suddenly, he was back in the living room and staring into the kitchen...
...directly at me.
Wondering how I was ever going to explain what had happened, I walked toward him unsteadily, filled with dread; and not trusting my legs to continue supporting me, I sank onto the couch...
...and slowly turned to face Grandad, who was seated in an adjacent armchair.
"Spencer just called," I began, "...and he...he..."
"He called me, too," Grandad replied.
This was completely unexpected.
"Wh-what! Wh-when?" I asked...
...terrified of what might have occurred without me there to mediate the discussion.
"About an hour ago," he replied. "It was during an intermission in the program, so I took the call."
"Did he tel-" was as far as I got, before Grandad interrupted.
"You're not going," he stated flatly.
"But...but I-"
"No," he cut in. "You are not spending the summer in that corrupt city. It has a long, unsavory history of crime, which continues to this day."
"I won't even be there!" I exclaimed, fighting hard against the extreme urge to panic. "I'll be living in Ventnor, the next city over...on Vassar Square."
"Vassar and the Boardwalk, he corrected me, adding, "I looked Vassar square up on Gaggle maps...and it's only one block from the Atlantic City/Ventnor border, and it's right on the Boardwalk, so you might as well be living in Atlantic City."
"Dad said I could go!" I repeated. "He sent the letter!"
"Which just happens to have been stolen...only a few hours ago," he answered sarcastically. "What are the odds of that?"
"He did send it!"
"And as soon as I ask to see it, it's stolen? How can you possibly sit there, expecting me to believe you?"
"B-but he did send it!" I insisted. "I swear he did!"
"You know I have no way of verifying that."
"But...if he didn't...you'd find out, by asking him the next time he's in port," I pointed out.
"Yes," Grandad answered, "but that won't be until October; and by then it will be too late."
As the pounding in my head rapidly escalated to a blindingly-painful crescendo, I grabbed onto the arm of the couch for support, asking, "Wh-what did Spencer say?"
Grandad's expression of extreme skepticism remained unchanged.
"He told me the same thing you did. And I told him that I don't appreciate being lied...to especially about something so serious-"
"He's telling you the truth!" I answered, now almost sobbing. "We both are!"
Grandad shook his head.
"Carly I know a lie when I hear one. How convenient that he just happens to have been robbed, on the very same day that I asked to see this alleged letter? Nobody in their right mind would believe a B.S. story like th-"
"But he-"
"And the letter was the only thing that the burglar stole?" he added. "Look, I wasn't born yesterday. It's obvious that the two of you fabricated this whole story, and you didn't think I'd ever find out about-"
"Spencer and I were going to tell you about the trip...I swear we were!"
"When?" he asked. "Was I going to wake up one morning to find you gone, with a note of explanation...written by you? You know that, legally, I'm your guardian, not Spencer.
Tightening my grip on the couch's arm and blinking back tears, I asked, voice shaking badly, "Why would w-we lie to you?"
Grandad leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees.
"For the same reason you've both been lying to your dad for the past five years; telling him that Spencer is in law school. If you have no problem lying to your own father, then I know for a fact that you'll have no problem lying to me, in order to get what you wan-"
"But I've never lied to Dad!" I interjected. "I never told him that Spencer is in law school!"
"Did you ever tell him that Spencer wasn't in law school?"he countered.
"Well, no," I admitted, "...but-"
"Then you did lie to your father," he concluded. "It was a lie of omission."
"But I...I..."
Grandad sat in silence...
...waiting for me to finish.
But suddenly, I wasn't willing to debate the issue anymore...
...because Dad had said I could go...
...which meant that Grandad's refusal was not acceptable to me...
...and so, turning my back on my determination not to lose my head, I boldly and defiantly shot back, "I'm going anyway!"
Grandad's voice was surprisingly impassive as he replied, "No. You're not."
"I am going! I'll...I'll run away!" I vowed.
"And the police will bring you right back," he assured me.
Looking back on that afternoon, I realize now that I should have eaten the soup when I had the chance...
...because if I had, then maybe my extreme hunger wouldn't have made me so dizzy and irrational that I was pushed over the edge...
...and ended up exacerbating an already-serious situation so badly...
...and I probably would have been able to avoid what happened next.
"I'm calling Spencer!" I exclaimed. "He'll take my side on thi-"
Grandad shook his head.
"I've already told him that you're not going...and he agrees with me."
"What? That's not true!" I shouted...
...as I felt my entire body begin to shake violently...
...from lack of food...
...and from the indignation of not being believed...
...and from the realization that I was now being deprived of the only thing that had sustained me through the past month and all of its horrors...
...being able to spend the summer in Atlantic City...
...with Sam.
Grandad interrupted my thoughts, announcing, "It is true; and he does support my decision. Now, I want you to listen to m-"
"No!" I shouted, jumping to my feet, "I'm through listening to you!"
"Carly," he replied, speaking to me with surprising calmness, "sit down, and let me explain-"
"Explain what?" I shot back, my voice shaking as badly as my body. "That this is all for the best? It's not!"
"No," he replied, "that's not what I was going to say. Now, if you'll just liste-"
"No!" I yelled. "I've listened enough! You're not my boss! You can't tell me what to do!"
"Actually, yes I can," he pointed out. "Now, let me-"
"No!" I shouted. "Why should I ever listen to you again? You're the worst grandfather in the whole world!"
At this pronouncement, he stopped speaking abruptly...
...obviously taken aback...
...but soon recovered, stating, "We both know you don't mean that. Now just listen to-"
"I do mean it!" I bellowed. "If we could pick our own relatives...I'd never, ever pick you! You don't act like my grandfather...you act like my jailer!"
"Stop over-reacting and sit back down," he replied, "and just let me finish what I was going to tel-"
"Are you going to let me go to Atlantic City?" I demanded.
"No," he answered, "...but-"
"Then you are finished!" I informed him. "I'm not interested in anything else you have to say!"
From his tone of voice, it's obvious that he was becoming annoyed as he stated, "Carly, stop acting like a child, and just-"
"No! You heard me! I'm not interested in anything else you have to say...ever...so just shut the fuck up!" I shrieked...
...shocking even myself...
...because I'd never, ever talked back to him before...
...and certainly not so vulgarly...
...or so hatefully.
His stunned expression suddenly replaced by an ominous scowl, Grandad stood up.
"Don't you dare talk to me that way, young lady," he admonished, "...especially since I-"
"I'll talk any way I want to!" I shot back.
"Oh no you won't," he replied firmly. "Not in my house you won't. Now, for the last time, I want you to sit down and listen-"
"Shut up!" I shrieked. "Just shut up! I'm not listening to you anymore..ever!"
"Carly, calm down...right now," he demanded...moving two steps closer to me and laying a hand on my arm...
...gently.
I flung it off violently.
Not bothering to wipe away the tears that were coursing freely down both my cheeks, I screamed into his face, "I won't! You can't tell me what to do anymore, you...you...control freak! You goddamned son of a bitch! You never let me do anything! I Hate You! I Hate You! I Hate-"
PANG!
Startled, Grandad looked away from me...
...and then down at his watch. A second or two later he bent over and picked up a wrapped parcel and a piece of paper from the coffee table; and then, he walked slowly to the front door. I watched as he took a deep breath, and opened it...
...and looking past his shoulder, I saw the Send-Ex man who usually delivers to this address.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Shay."
"Good afternoon, Carl," Grandad replied...
...his voice shaking.
Carl seemed not to notice. Nodding at the package under Grandad's arm, he asked, "Sending something out today?"
"Yes. I have to return these shoes to Gacy's."
"Oh, I see. Wrong size?"
"Wrong color."
He handed the box to Carl and then began to close the door.
"Thank y-oh, wait, Mr. Shay, this form isn't filled out correctly."
"Sorry," Grandad answered, swinging it back open. "Let me borrow your pen, and I'll just cross out-"
Carl shook his head regretfully.
"Unfortunately, they won't accept a form with cross-outs. I'm sorry, but going to have to ask you to fill out a new one."
"Of course," Grandad agreed.
Carl shuffled some papers on his clipboard, and then handed it to Grandad, along with a pen.
Less than five seconds later, I was sitting back down on the couch...
...with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands...
...because of what had just occurred to me.
I had just realized that I'd made a huge error...
...and that all of this was completely fixable...
...and my mind kicked into high gear as I rationalized that, after all, Dad had to have realized how important this letter of permission was, so he must have sent it via certified or registered mail...
...which meant that there would be a written record of it.
Spencer hadn't actually told me this, but he had said that letter was addressed to Mr. Everett Shay c/o Mr. Spencer Shay. Post office records would confirm this...and then, even though we couldn't prove exactly what was written in the letter, we could prove that it had been sent...
...and that evidence probably would be sufficient to convince Grandad.
Bur first, I needed to calm down...
...immediately and completely...
...and then I needed to apologize...
...profusely and sincerely.
Using the sleeve of my sweater to wipe my streaming, stinging eyes, I closed them; and then, still hunched over, I spent the next minute or two focusing on my breathing...
...and on pulling myself back together...
...but then, I looked up to see Grandad standing, directly in front of me...
...towering over me...
...and staring down at me...
...and, noticing the expression of angry determination on his face, I began to panic...
...so badly that, instead of apologizing I blurted out, "L-look...Dad's letter...certified mail! Just give Spencer time to-"
Grandad took a deep breath.
"Did you think I didn't ask Spencer that already?" he asked.
This possibility hadn't occurred to me.
"Wh-what did he say?" I asked.
"He said that your dad sent it by regular post."
"But...but-" I began...
...but he cut me off, stating, "If there had been any kind of record of this 'fictitious letter', I'd have been willing to give you both the benefit of doubt...but not now."
Fighting back the urge to scream in frustration, I continued, "But Dad did-"
"Regular post?" he cut in. "How convenient to say that it was sent that way...so there's no trace of it."
"Th-then, if that were the case, why would I even bring up registered mail?" I pointed out.
"It's obvious that you're trying to buy more time," he replied. More time so you can ask Spencer to write a fake letter; which you'll then say was misplaced instead of stolen; and that he mistakenly thought he was robbed."
"He was robbed!" I insisted.
"Then why didn't he call the police?" Grandad demanded.
Suddenly remembering my recent outburst, I somehow resisted the urge to continue arguing with him; and pulling myself together as well as I could I answered, "L-look, I...I know I owe you an apology. I'm really, really sorry that-"
Grandad's voice was surprisingly calm as he stated, "I'm sorry too, Carly. Sorry that you weren't willing or able to discuss this with me like a mature adult. If you had, you'd have let me finish what I was about to tell you."
At this, I opened my mouth to protest...
...again...
...but soon shut it.
I was in enough trouble already.
Grandad took another deep breath, and then continued, "The reason that Spencer was so understanding of my decision is because I told him that, since you weren't coming to Atlantic City, I was going to invite Sam to spend the entire summer here, with us, as my guest."
Stunned, I fell back against the sofa's armrest.
"Wh-wh-what?" was the only word I could utter...
...as, still staring down into my eyes, he continued, "I thought that it would be unfortunate for you to have to spend the entire summer away from your best friend. But now, after what just happened, I rescind my offer."
"But...but I'm s-s-sorry!" I repeated, scrambling back up into a seated position. "I realize that it was wrong of me to talk to you that way...very, very wrong...and I'm admitting it! I'm really, really sorry; so please let Sam come to Yaki-"
"No," he cut me off, "that's out of the question, because I don't want her in my home now. Carly, you never used to act anything like this...and it's obvious to me exactly where you've picked up your foul vocabulary and your defiant attitude."
"No, please! Please let her!" I begged.
"Absolutely not."
"She'll get a job!" I offered quickly. "We both will! And I promise that we'll both kick in toward the household expenses! We'll give you every cent we mak-"
He shook his head.
"You know as well as I do that this has nothing to do with money."
"Then...just let her visit a couple of times...even just once!"
"No."
"I won't even bring her to the house!" I promised. "We'll meet somewhere else! And only for a couple of hours! And then I swear I'll come straight hom-"
"No."
Fighting hard against my extreme panic I added, "Look, I-I'm extremely sorry! I know I hurt your f-feelings; and if you'll just let me-"
Grandad's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"Carly, I have no idea where you'd get an idea like that," he replied. "Not one single person on this earth has permission to hurt my feelings...not unless I grant it...and that definitely is not the case here. And another thing, as for-"
At that moment, his phone rang. Grandad looked down the hall, to where he'd left it on his desk...
...and then he looked out the living room window...
...over in the direction of Mrs. Payne's house.
"Oh, Esther...what now?" he muttered, with an exasperated sigh...
...and then, turning away from me, he walked toward his office to answer the call...
...while I stared back down at the carpet and forced myself to do some fast thinking.
The first thing to do is to call Spencer and explain exactly what happened...
...and how incredibly sorry I am...
...and then I know he'll be able to convince Grandad to let Sam come and stay with us...after all, I 'm already missing out on so much...
...and from the minute Sam gets here, she and I will both work tirelessly, keeping the house spotlessly clean …
...and the garden immaculately tended to...
...and we'll even willingly participating in any and all activities he plans...
...no matter how mind-numbingly boring they're sure to be.
I spent the next ten minutes agonized, yet hopeful...
...and finally, Grandad emerged from his bedroom...
...while I took a deep breath, steadying myself...
...but instead of returning to the living room, he walked into the bathroom.
After another fifteen excruciatingly-long minutes had elapsed, he finally returned...
...but before I could ask him what Mrs. Payne had wanted, he informed me, "That was your brother. I explained to him that Sam isn't coming to Yakima now, and he understands completely."
"NO!" I screamed.
"Yes," he answered calmly.
Ignoring my now-excruciatingly-painful headache, I said, as calmly as I could under the circumstances, "L-l-look. I know that I had no right to speak to you the way I did...and that I deserve to be punished for it...severely...but don't you see that I already am? I'm not going to Atlantic City, and I know that now...so haven't I already been punished enough? And...and I swear I'll never, ever say anything like that to you again! So please, please let Sam-"
Grandad shook his head...
...and then stated, "And, as for you running away, have you forgotten about Statute 318-47?"
Aghast, I reached up with both hands to grab his, but he immediately took a step backward, moving away from me as I begged, "Grandad, no! Not that! Please not that!"
In his most serious tone, he added, "I'm beginning to think that it will be for the best if-"
I couldn't bear to hear the rest...
...and so I interrupted, "No, please! Please, Grandad...don't! I swear that nothing like this will ever happen ag-"
He paused for nearly a minute, obviously thinking the matter over.
Finally he answered slowly, "Well then...if you don't want that to happen, then here's the deal. From now on, you'll respect me- "
"I will! I promise I will! B-but-"
"And I want to make it very clear to you that if you ever speak to me like that again-"
"I won't!" I vowed. "I swear I won't! But please just let Sam-"
Ignoring me, he interrupted, "And if you do anything else contrary to my wishes, anything at all...and that includes trying to see Sam...even once...then I'm immediately going to petition the-"
"No! Grandad, please...no! I'm begging you!"
His eyes narrowing slightly, he asked, "Then we understand each other completely?"
"Y-yes," I assured him, "...but-"
"Good."
"Grandad, please! Please let Sam-"
"No, Carly. My mind is made up."
At that, he turned away, but leaning forward, I reached up and grabbed his arm, and begged, "Please,just let me finish...and I'm talking to you like a m-mature adult n-now...from now on I promise I'll r-respect you! And-"
Grandad removed my hand from his arm.
"Well, if that's the case, then you'll respect this decision," he answered...
...dimissively.
And, without another word, he turned and walked through the kitchen, out the back door, and into the garden...
...leaving me crying on the couch.
Less than ten minutes later I was in my room...
...imploring Spencer, "Pleeeease! Can't you talk to him...and m-make him change his mind about thi-"
"I did talk to him," he replied.
"Well, talk to him again!"
"I'm sorry," he answered, clearly regretful, "I tried my hardest; but...don't you see that you've completely broken his heart?" He sighed, then added, "How could you even think of saying something like that to him?"
"I...don't know," I admitted, "...but I do know that I didn't break his heart! He told me I didn't have permission to upset him!"
"Carly, you had him in tears. I could hear it in his voice."
"Grandad never cries!" I declared...
...but then remembered that right after that phone call, instead of coming back to the living room, he'd gone into the bathroom...
...and how long he'd been in there.
Oh, no.
"Spencer, I know I was wrong...I know it...but please try again...I'm begging you! I want to be with Sam!"
I heard the unmistakeable tone of defeat in his voice as he replied, "I know you do; but remember, Sam's your best friend; so I'm sure that even though she's going to be disappointed, she'll understand-"
"No, Spencer, you don't understand! I love her!"
Very long, awkward silence...
...and then Spencer spluttered, "Wh-wh-what?"
"I'm sorry! We were going to tell you...as soon as we got to Atlantic Cit-Spencer please! Please, somehow get Grandad to change his mind!"
"Carly, I'm sorry. I swear I tried everything I could to persuade-"
"And it's w-worse than that! N-now...he...he's threatened to p-p-petition-"
I couldn't finish...
...but despite my loud sobs, I clearly heard his response.
"I know he did. He told me."
"Come here!" I sobbed. " Come here right now and get me! I w-want to go h-home!"
"If I could I would," he answered slowly...
...and sadly. "You know that."
"Spencer, please! I'm b-begging y-"
"Carly, listen to me," he cut in. "Whatever happens now, don't do anything else to upset Grandad, and I promise you that the minute this project is over I'll fly straight to Yakima and-"
"Spencer!"
"Please promise me you won't give him any reason to be upset!"
Too devastated to speak, I didn't reply.
"Carly?"
"I...pr-promise."
Less than two minutes later, he hung up...
...and then I sat, staring at my phone in silence...
...for nearly an hour...
...finding it impossible to make the next call.
How could I do it?
How could I tell her what I'd done?
Finally, I realized that I had to.
There was no way out of it.
And, with hands trembling so badly that I could barely hold the phone, I dialed her number.
"Hi, Cupcake," was as far as she got...
...before I blurted out, "S-s-sam I have t-to t-t-talk to y-"
"Spencer already told me," she replied...
...and I could clearly hear how hard she was trying...
...to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
"I'm s-so s-sorry! I don't know how this h-hap-" I began...
...but then I stopped speaking...
...because suddenly, like a vicious wake-up slap, I realized exactly how it had happened.
It was because that morning, I'd wished that I didn't have to go to school...
...not so I could stay and talk to Grandad...
...but because I was feeling lazy...
...which meant that my wish had been selfish...
...but it wasn't fair to punish me for that! Not for something so trivial!
And not a punishment as profound as this one!
And then, tearfully, I explained to Sam what had happened...
...but to my horror, she didn't reply the way I'd expected...
...not with harsh words, cursing Mr. Oswell or the Bonsen shaman...
...and not with criticism, telling me off for wishing so carelessly...
...but with total silence.
After nearly two minutes, now panicking wildly, I broke it.
"S-sam...Sam, please don't hate me for this!"
"I'm coming down there," she said suddenly...
...and my heart hurtled into my throat.
"No! You can't!"
"Oh yes, I can!" she shot back. "Your grandad may own a house in Yakima, but he doesn't own the whole goddamned city! I can go wherever I want to! Whenever I want to!"
"Sam...no!"
"Yes," she insisted, "it's settled. I'm coming...and he won't be able to do anything about it. So, the next time he says he's taking you to a restaurant, let me know in advance, and I'll just happen to be there; and then-"
"No!" I gasped. "You don't know him! Grandad's owned an accounting firm here, for more than thirty years, which means that he knows absolutely everyone in this town! So if you even try to approach the table, he'll tell the manager that you're a hooligan...and that you're harassing him...and I guarantee that he'll have you thrown out...and probably arrested!"
More silence.
"Okay then...does he still make you go to church every Sunday?" she asked.
"Yes, but what-"
"At the Fourth United Methodist Church...over on South Third Street?" she continued.
"Yes, but what-"
"And services start at nine-thirty in the morning?" she added.
"Yes...but what does that have to do with-"
"Perfect," she declared. "Just save me a spot at the end of your pew, and at nine-thirty-one, right as the service is starting, I'll slide right in next to y-"
"No!" I gasped. "Don't think that, just because we're in a church, Grandad won't make a scene and have you remov-"
"I hope he makes a scene there," she replied calmly, "the bigger the better."
"Wh-what?"
"Don't you see?" she replied. "That's exactly what we want...because the worse he makes me sound, the more convinced the minister will be that I need to be in church! He'll never throw me out! It's brilliant!"
"Sam, no! You don't understand!"
"Oh yes I do," she shot back. "That bastard is holding you hostage! For the entire summer!"
"If you come down here, it will be for another five years!" I shot back.
After a short stretch of confused silence, she said, "What? You'll be eighteen in a couple of months; so you'll be an adult, which means-"
"No!" I corrected her. "There's statute on the books, which makes an exception for school-aged children of military personnel!"
"Huh?"
"If the child's parents are on active duty and are unable to take care of them, then the child's legal guardian can retain control over the child...all the way up until graduation," I explained. "Dad knew about it when he signed the papers. And now, if I do even one more thing to piss him off, Grandad's threatened to-"
"Well" she cut in, "the operative word here is 'child'."
"But as long as I'm in school I qualify as a child," I replied shakily, "...which in my case means another year of high school, and then four years of college...and you know that if he signs it, he's never going to let me go to Princeton like I want to! Instead, I'll be stuck at some crummy community college, here in Yakima!"
"Shit."
The next words were the most difficult ones I've ever had to utter.
"So, don't you understand, Sam? I'm really, really sorry...but I can't see you!"
June 23rd:
Ten days later, school ended.
I barely noticed.
I didn't even get to enjoy the much-anticipated thrill of being free of Tiffy Myers...possibly forever...
...because I was way too busy hating my life.
Up until then, Grandad had pretty much ignored me...
...making very sure I that understood I was in disgrace.
At first I had grown accustomed to it, spending the greater part of every day in my room, alternately talking/crying to Sam for hours on end...
...but two days after classes ended, all of that changed.
Because now, he had activities planned...
...and so, every single day, I spent hour after incredibly-boring hour joining him on nature walks...and watching crappy TV shows, with titles such as 'Abuses of Power in the Soviet Union'...and watching him play chess in the park for hours on end...and listening to him complain endlessly about his friend's grandson; going on and on about Jason's stupidity and/or carelessness in constantly butchering his lawn and hedges.
By the end of the second week, I absolutely couldn't take it anymore.
Fortunately, Grandad was out for the entire afternoon...
...alone...
...which meant that I was free to spend it talking to Sam; and less than thirty seconds after he'd left, I was frantically dialing her number...
...not only needing to unburden myself (as I always did) of everything that I'd just been through...
...but also desperately needing to hear her reassurance that this nightmare would end eventually...
...and to listen to the sound of her kisses next to my ear...
...and to hear her remind me...repeatedly...how much she loves me.
But, this phone call was different.
Very different.
It started out normally enough...
...but then, after about five minutes of listening to me complain, she'd asked what I was doing at the moment...
...and I'd told her that I was in the middle of a sandwich...
...an oversized ham sandwich.
"Th-that's n-nice," she replied...
...her voice trembling badly...
...and at that moment, my blood turned to ice in my veins...
...due to the realization that had just washed over me.
Oh, no.
Oh, God.
Oh, My God!
And then, after I'd spent nearly a minute sitting, speechless...
...and horrified...
...I asked, tentatively, "Sam...have you...have you been...eating?"
Her very long hesitation, followed by the halfhearted way she said 'yes'...
...told me everything I needed to know...
...but still, now trembling, I grabbed onto edge of kitchen table with my free hand...
...and asked, "Wh-what did you have for breakfast today?"
"I...I...f-forget," she answered slowly...
...and very quietly...
...and my heart immediately shattered into a thousand tiny fragments.
What was wrong with me?
What The Hell Was Wrong With Me!
From the moment I got here, it's all been about me. How sad I was...how bored I was...how disappointed I was.
Not once...
...not one single time did I ever ask bother to ask Sam how she was...
...or who was taking care of her...
...or who was making sure that she had clean clothes...
...and access to food...
But now, there was no need to ask...
...because I realized that the answer to all three questions was: Absolutely No One.
And, at that moment, I hated myself...
...with a deep, burning, raging fury...
...far more than Tiffy Myers ever could.
Doing my best to keep from sobbing into the phone, I wiped my damp eyes with the back of my free hand and said, "S-sam...listen to me. There's still some food at m-my apartment; and right now I w-want you to empty out your backpack, and then go straight over there and-"
"I'm...not hungry," she mumbled.
"Yes, you are!" I insisted. "I know that you are!"
"No...thanks anyway, but-"
"No, Sam...just listen to me! I want you to promise me that you're going to go over there, right now, and-"
"It's n-not about the food, Carls" she interrupted...
...and then, before I could argue that it was...
...she continued, in a broken, faltering voice, "It's just been...s-so h-hard...I j-just...ev-ery day...without y-you...b-being h-h-here...w-with...m-m-m-"
The next sound I heard...
...was silence...
...because she had covered the phone receiver with her hand...
...and I knew why...
...and losing my resolve, I broke down completely and sobbed, "Sam, honey, no! Please don't cry! I'm so sorry! Th-this is all my fault!"
There was no answer...
...and even though I begged her, over and over, to talk to me...
...the silence stretched on endlessly...
...and unbearably...
...forcing me to confront a very ugly truth:
What kind of girlfriend was I?
The worst sort!
I'd taken so much from her...
...and she had been so incredibly unselfish to me...
...through all of this...
...and now she was literally starving...and it was because of me!
And the entire time, even though she was suffering so badly, she hadn't said one word!
Because that's how much she loves me!
And, at that moment, I realized that there was only one way I could possibly make it up to her...
...one very dangerous way.
But suddenly, I just didn't care anymore...
...because my love for her was far too profound for me to even think about myself any longer...
...and I realized that only one thing mattered now: Making Things Right...
...and that I had to do it...
...no matter what it might end up costing me.
And so, after taking a long moment to steel myself for what was about to happen...
...I closed my eyes and said it.
"Sam...listen to me. I'm so sorry! I know that I've only been thinking of myself...and I hate myself for it! You've been missing out on so much...and I realize that it's all my fault...but now..."
And then, I stopped speaking, for nearly for a minute...
...choosing my next words very, very carefully...
...and then I continued, "Please listen to me! Don't cry, because everything is going to be okay now; and, well, the reason it's going to be okay is because...because...and I want to make it very clear that I'm saying this one hundred percent for you and zero percent for myself...
"...so, Sam...
"...I...I w-wish I could see you!"