Book 3: A Penny in Time

I didn’t bother answering, for I’m sure he wouldn’t have heard me anyway. He carried one box into the house, all the way to my bedroom where I sat down at my desk and studiously began to ignore him. He finally left, but I don’t know how long he stayed in the living room talking with my Mom.
Mom came to my door and stood until I looked over at her. “What happened, Dusty?”

“He let Sylvia paint my bed, dresser and replace all my stuff with cute pictures of kittens and calendars of kids with big eyes.” I took a pair of scissors and cut geometric shapes out of some construction paper. “He doesn’t listen to me, anymore. It’s like he’s got this image of me and when I don’t fit into his scenario, he gets mad at me, because I won’t change. He knows I don’t like him calling me Princess or Elizabeth, but he does it anyway; so does Sylvia. It’s like when he met her, his brain went to mush and he forgot who I am, or got me confused with someone else I haven’t met. I don’t want to be around him anymore, not at all. He’s not my father,” I threw down the scissors and crumpled the paper into a big ball. “He’s an alien creature using my father’s body. He’s not making any sense to me anymore. I don’t ever want to see him again!”

I was too mad to cry, too mad to do anything but sit and stare at the wall with my Star Trek™ calendar on it. I was grateful my Mom left me alone for the rest of the evening, because I didn’t want talk about it anymore. What could she possibly understand about me and Dad? She hadn’t lost her father like I had my Dad. She’d had the “perfect” childhood, according to Nana and Grandpa. She and Nana took cooking classes together, and she and Grandpa went fishing, every opening day since Mom was five. I know she still missed her Dad, she talks a lot about the fun times she had with him and how much she loved him and he loved her, sometimes choking on tears, but she lost Grandpa when he was old. What did she know about not having a real, full-time Dad? I listened to some tapes, and read for quite awhile before I fell asleep with all my clothes on. I even forgot to brush my teeth.

The next day, Dad came over to the house. “Dusty, can we talk about this?” He sat down on the couch and waited for me to answer him.

“I talk but you don’t hear me.” I twisted the hem of my shirt into a wad. “Why did you let Sylvia paint my bedroom set, when we were going to do that together? That’s not my style, that fluffy stuff, and you know it. Don’t you?”

There was a long, long moment of silence. I thought maybe he wasn’t going to say anything.

“I, I….” he stammered, “I thought you’d outgrown all that other stuff, that you were more interested in being a young lady than a tomboy. After all, you’re fifteen, not eleven.”

“That’s what I mean, Dad. You haven’t heard me at all. I’m me, the way I am. You’re not the same father that I had a year ago. Have you forgotten I don’t, and have never, liked pink?”
“Oh, honey, can’t you see that Sylvia is trying to please you? She worked so hard and you hurt her feelings when you left like that, not even a thank you.”

“Dad!” I shouted, “I don’t like pink! And I want everyone to call me Dusty, until I’m ninety-nine and a half!” My hands were shaking. “And you had no right to lie to me about Victoria! Why don’t you just live your life and let me live mine, okay?”

“No, I’m not going to go away. And you can’t wish me away. I admit I was a total jerk about Victoria, but I didn’t know how to say I was. Or to tell you I was sorry I disappointed you.” He came over to me and hugged me. “Come on, spend the night with us. Sylvia has a great dinner planned for us and we can get a DVD for later.”

It was his way of apologizing, and he’s the guy that’s never wrong. I felt bullied by two different feelings. I didn’t want to give in, but I didn’t like being mad at him, either. “Okay, but I’ll bring my sleeping bag and sleep on the floor.” I threw my sleeping bag into the trunk and watched it mushroom open as the bungee cord popped off.

He was irritated, but conceded. “Maybe you’ll like your room once you get used to it.” He pulled into his parking slot, got out of the car and slammed the door.

I hugged the billowing sleeping bag close to my chest as I trailed behind him into the condo. Get used to it? I thought looking in the room. Never.

But we all tried hard to be cheerful and I did have a good time, somewhat. Sylvia didn’t feel well, so we had take-out pizza. She held my Dad’s hand the whole time we watched “Star Trek V” and broke out in tears all the way through it, which annoyed me to no end. It was only a movie, and why get so worked up when you know the good guys are going to make everything all right in the end? Sylvia was just too sentimental to be real.

Which maybe explained why she was sick in bed with the flu the next weekend. I called Slinky up and asked her to a movie, but she had a date with a new guy. Dean and Fran, and even Annie were doing volunteer community cleanup. Mom offered to take me bowling, but that didn’t appeal to me.
“How about,” Mom sat on my bed, while I sat at my desk, sketching a drawing of the ‘Enterprise’, “doing a ‘Star Trek’ mural on this wall?” She pointed to the wall which had some faded posters I had meant to take down anyway. She got up and looked over my shoulder. “You could draw the ‘Enterprise’ and I’ll superimpose faces of the crew, with a background of the galaxy. What do you say?”

“All right!” I could see it so clearly, almost as if the wall were all ready done. I pointed to the spot where the galaxy would go. “The Sombrero galaxy is classified as “Sa”, which means it’s a galaxy with a large, central bulge, with spiral arms winding around its outside. That’s how it got the name. It’s really does look like a gigantic hat!” Mom nodded, looking excited, too. I grabbed her and gave her a big hug. “You sure you have the time?” I asked, but prayed that I hadn’t reminded her of something else she should be doing instead.

“I have the time, Dusty. Let’s get to work.”

She and I worked all day Saturday afternoon, until six that night. It wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be, as I had to keep redrawing the starship to proportion on the wall. It seemed Mom looked at a picture from the ‘Star Trek’ calendar, and reproduced the faces of Captain Picard’s, Riker’s, Data’s and Counselor Troi’s faces without any effort.

“I can’t get it right!” I wailed, throwing down the sketching pencil I had been using. “It’s so easy for you!”

Mom stopped a moment and grinned. “I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have. And you’ll get it,” she stood back and examined the wall. “I’d say you almost have it. We’ll finish tomorrow.”
Which we did after our pancake brunch. The mural was the neatest thing I’d ever seen, and to think I did a fair share of the work! Sitting in my room made it seem like I was in the center of the starship, and I could imagine voyaging across the Sombrero galaxy to unknown worlds of adventure.

At three o’clock on Sunday, Dad called.

“Hi, babe! I have to tell you something, something real important.”

He had that nervous pitch to his voice, which meant I wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “I’m listening.”

He took a big breath, then plunged in. “We’ve wanted to tell you for a couple of weeks, but the right time never seemed to come up. I’ll just say it straight. Sylvia’s going to have a little baby girl.”

The puzzle pieces fell into place! Sylvia’s “flu”–and that’s why she had fixed up my room the way she wanted it to look–for her kid! “I hope the three of you are happy!” I snarled.

“Don’t get nasty, young lady. We’re all going to have a major adjustment and I’m counting on you to be mature about this.”

The pocket full of lies and hurt burst, and I was through with stuffing it all in. “You’ve got your new life, why don’t you just leave me alone?” I shouted, dropping the phone.

I stormed out of the house. I jogged up the street, then fast-walked until I could breathe without hiccupping. Two hours and ten minutes later, I came home. When I opened the front door, Mom looked up from her book.

“How are you?” She closed the book on her finger, and waited for my reply.

“I’m okay, I guess.”

“Your father dropped by and left you a note. I put it on your desk.”

“I saw his car.”

“We had a long talk. About you.” She slipped a book marker in between pages and set the book on the coffee table. “Come sit a moment and hear me out.”

Geez, this was strange, like I was her guest invited for afternoon tea. She didn’t say a thing about me flying out of the house and staying gone, although I had sat across the street in the park for the last forty-five minutes. I suppose she could have seen me if she’d looked out the window.

I expected a lecture, and I guess I should have felt gratified that I was going to get one.

“It must seem like your father only considers his viewpoint, that the changes our divorce put you through didn’t hurt. Am I right?”

I shrugged, but the words had hit a sore spot right in the middle of my heart. “Yeah.”

I didn’t want to change things anymore, not for the better or back to the way they were. I just wanted my life free of my Dad and Sylvia. “I don’t care if I ever see Dad again. I don’t like him.” I took a tissue and shredded it, then balled it up. “He doesn’t care what I want, and how many times do I have say I don’t like the color pink? I doubt he thought about me at all, because pink is for babies, right? Besides, he’ll get along fine with another kid, won’t he? And I’m not going to babysit for them. Ever.”

Mom chuckled! “I don’t know that I blame you.” I focused on her moving lips. “He wants you to like Sylvia, so he wants you to be like him, or at least agree with him.” She left a pause, working her tongue across her lower lip. “Loving your father is not the same as liking him; and liking him is not the same as getting along with him, is it?”

“No,” I blurted, willing to talk things out with her.

“Dusty, there’s something I’m going to tell you about my father that made me face some of the very feelings you’re having now.” She stopped for a moment and I could see by the frown lines between her eyes that she was having a hard time choosing the right words. “Like loving your father and thinking he would always be there for you, then he isn’t. Saying he’ll do something special with you, then leaving you high and dry, making excuses for all the many broken promises.” She laughed, like you do when you feel like crying.

“Daddy had a gambling problem.” Mom looked at me and I saw her lip tremble. “He lost a lot of money at the race track. A lot of money.” She swept the air with her hands, as if erasing everything in front of her. “There was no money for my senior prom dress, no promised car, no college tuition.” She looked off into the distance, maybe seeing something beyond the window that no one else could.
“I hated him so much for taking everything away from me, for his selfishness and weakness. I had to work two jobs to finish college and even though my mother went back to nursing, I helped pay some of the bills. I couldn’t understand why she stayed with him. But she stayed with him through the bad years and the good years after he recovered in therapy.”

Her voice was soft but urgent. “It took me a long time, Dusty, a long time to forgive him.”

Mom folded her legs beneath her and sat back. “It also took me a long time to understand my mother’s advice: you have to accept the one you love, in spite of the bad, because of the good. It wasn’t until after you were born that my father and I talked things out. Nothing happened overnight, either. Things got better day by day, in little ways.” She leaned forward and although I sat too far away, I felt like she had hugged me.

It would have been nice if I could have gone over and comforted her with a hug, but I felt cast in lead on the outside, and a bag of pieces inside, trying to sort out everything. Boy, Grandpa really must have changed. He always had some little surprise, or something that made us laugh when he came to visit.

Maybe Mom did understand how I felt, but I still didn’t see how I could work it out with my Dad. “Dad and I are not like we used to be, you know? What am I supposed to do if I can’t like the color pink?”

“I don’t know, Dusty,” Mom whispered. “What color is love?”

I stood up, choking back my tears, grateful she understood so much, but feeling lost that she didn’t have any answers either. “I don’t know and I don’t think you or Dad know, either.”

She picked up her book and settled back into her easy chair. “Maybe you’ll find the answer and tell us.” She began reading as I went back to my room and sat down at my desk, staring at my newly painted mural.

I wish I could be like Data, logical without emotions making everything so confusing.

I cuddled my raggedy stuffed bear, Sparky as I looked at the envelope my Dad had propped against an old notebook. I batted the envelope, upsetting the notebook which burped papers all over. I got a paper cut across my thumb that bled and bled, until I put a bandage on it. After awhile, I fished out the envelope from the mess of papers and opened it.

Out fell five pennies with his note: “Dusty, let’s talk. I’ll try to make sense out of things.”

It was just like my Dad to use a stupid pun. I scooped up the pennies and Sparky, pressing my face into his soft belly. A fierce and terrible pain sucked the breath from me. There was a huge, black hole inside of me. I was falling, falling into an abyss. Away, away, down down, down.

Slinky went with me and Sylvia the day we were to try on dresses. She got along just fine with Sylvia. Susan and Sylvia could sit in a corner and talk about bridesmaids’ dresses and perfect shoes for the next hundred years.

I finally screwed up enough courage to come clean. “Sylvia, I’m not going to be a flower girl in your wedding.” Her eyes bugged. “I’m just too old to be flinging flowers around.”

“Oh, of course, Elizabeth. But I still want you to be in the wedding, as my bridesmaid.” She smiled like it was the brightest idea she’d ever had, and what’s worse, Slinky nodded in agreement.

I shook my head. “No, really. I don’t want to trip or anything. I hate to be the one to spoil your big day.” I gave her a lame smile back, thinking how much she spoiled my life.

“I’ll serve punch with Slinky, okay? And you won’t have to get me a special dress, or anything.”
My Dad looked disgusted and didn’t say much to me the rest of the day. I should have pointed out to him how I was saving him the expense of the powder-blue satin and velvet dress that was not worth it for little ole me, who wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress like that, even at her own funeral.

I considered wearing plaid sneakers with my plain, sleeveless blue dress. Leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded across her chest, Mom eyed me critically.

“Hey, it’s a fashion statement,” I flung my arms wide and twirled. “And comfortable. I’ll be standing awhile.” I grabbed my scarf and with dramatic flourish draped it around my neck.

“The trouble with ‘statements’ made in anger,” Mom straightened and wagged a finger, “is that you live to regret them. Chose your battles wisely.”

“Whoa, what about individuality, Mom-the-artist?” I mimicked her stance with my hands on my hips.
“I guess it is a matter of definition. Are you an individual or a just a rebellious teen? One is taken seriously, the other is not.” She turned around and left me there to think about it.

It was a beautiful June day for the wedding. I wore the blue dress with the scarf, but chose comfortable white ballerina shoes. I borrowed my mother’s diamond stud earrings, which were a little larger than the diamond in my newly pierced nose. My Dad’s parents picked me up two hours before the ceremony and clearly avoided looking closely at the center of my face the entire way over to the church.

I felt queasy during the ceremony, and concentrated on not throwing up, parked in the front pew with my grandparents. The bride came down the aisle, a white-laced illusion. The groom appeared by her side. And they recited their vows.

How can they take vows to love, honor and cherish one another through sickness and health, till death do them part? Surely it must have crossed Sylvia’s mind that my Dad had said those vows once before. I wondered if Mom really wished Dad all the happiness in the world, or if she were sitting at home feeling as rotten as I was.

I stood beside Slinky at the refreshment table, and helped pass out the three-hundred plates with slices of white cake with raspberry filling and butter cream frosting that I didn’t even taste. The reception line went on forever, with the band playing dippy love songs that couples slow-danced to. Every chance he got, my Dad introduced me as “Elizabeth, my daughter,” in one breath. Finally, someone, I think it was the matron of honor, announced the bride and groom would leave for their honeymoon after the last dance.

Slinky waved frantically at me. “Your Dad’s looking for you. He wants to dance with you.”
“I have to go to the bathroom. Too much punch.” I hurried out of the room. I didn’t feel like dancing with someone who couldn’t remember my name. I joined my grandparents outside as the crowd threw rice at the departing newlyweds.

All I wanted to do was go home and watch my favorite TV program with my Mom. I mean, if spending the evening with my Mom sounded like a good idea, then you know I must have been a sorry space cadet.

“Hey, Princess,” my Dad’s voice carried miles, as he beckoned me after shutting the door of the black limousine on Sylvia’s veil. “When we get back from Hawaii you come spend the weekend with us, okay?”

Grandma gave me a little nudge. “Go over and kiss him good-bye, real fast, like a bunny.”
I wasn’t going to run across the lawn in new shoes that hurt my feet and end up skidding half-way to Oregon just to give my Dad a kiss good-bye. I suppose I could have hopped like a bunny and made a real spectacle of myself, but then someone would have told my Mom and she would have lectured me for an hour about it.

Instead, I waved. “Bye, Dad. Have a nice time,” although by the look on his face I don’t think he bought my sincerity, which made me feel kind of bad all of a sudden. So I walked over and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. “Really, Dad, have a good time.” And, I thought, do some soul-surfing while you’re at it.

He hugged me for a long time. “All of us will go next time, okay?”

I said nothing. He and Sylvia could go on a trip every year or twice a month, but I didn’t want to be with them. Maybe they deserved each other, I didn’t really care. Things were never going to be the same with me and my Dad, and I guess I’d have to get used to that, but I didn’t have to like it. I wasn’t going to let him go without a little hurt of his own.

“Hey, Dad,” he turned, still smiling at me as I spoke, “please don’t call me ‘Princess’, okay?”

He looked stunned a moment, then his smile returned. “All right. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, okay?”

I watched until they were out of sight. I waited forever for my grandparents to say their farewells so that we could leave. Slinky immediately started babbling when she got into the car, comparing notes with my grandmother. I leaned my head back and shut my eyes, while Slinky rattled on and on about the lovely wedding.

It seemed a small bit of eternity with all the farewells. I heaved a sigh of relief when I made it to my bedroom, and changed into my jeans and sweater. The house was quiet and my Mom was in the back bedroom working on an art project for her class next Friday. This, I decided, is how things should be, and settled down with a cold glass of milk before the television. The only thing that spoiled it was a rerun of “Star Trek, the Next Generation” that I had already seen, but no matter, I liked it anyway.
Reruns were a lot better than being with Dad and Sylvia. It was like we were aliens that didn’t speak the same language. I miss the way my life used to be, when Mom and Dad were together. I miss the old Slinky that wasn’t involved up to her shaved armpits with boys, clothes and make-up. Frank got a job at McDonald’s™ and I don’t see him much, either. I wish I could change everything back again, make it right, and everyone would be happy. Only it seems everyone is happy, except for me.

Summer was the season for changes for me. My body “blossomed” as Nana and Mom kept saying; shopping took on a whole new twist as I had to have bras, an electric shaver, and all sorts of things to accommodate Mother Nature. I didn’t have that much time for Dad, as I kept pretty busy with babysitting jobs every weekend and three weeks in August, yard work with Dean and Fran, earning plenty of money for new clothes. I took my new position as Class Treasurer seriously and looked forward in the fall to starting tenth grade with the honors’ class. I was beginning to feel more responsible for my own life, like I could make decisions for myself and think through problems on my own.

Dad didn’t seem to notice the changes. We got along all right, like people do when they see each other once in a while, chatting about everyday stuff. It had been a month or more since I’d spent a weekend with them at their condo, and when Dad asked me to stay over, I said I would. I brought my star stencil kit and intended to ask him to help me do the ceiling. I was stunned when I walked into my bedroom and saw what Sylvia had done to it.

My unstained bed and dresser were white with ugly, little gold scrolls here and there. White curtains outlined the windows and the bedspread was the most hideous pink, ruffled thing with teeny red roses that I had ever seen. The little porcelain unicorn sat smugly in the middle of the dresser. I thought I’d throw up right then and there! All my posters, banners and pictures were stacked neatly in two boxes. The Disneyland banner I had brought to put up wilted in my grip as I blinked and blinked, hoping this ugly scene right out of Grimm’s fairy tale would disappear.

But it didn’t. Dad draped his arm around my shoulder. “What do you think? Fit for a Princess, huh?” His eyes twinkled and he grinned. “Sylvia worked for three days to get it ready for you. Like it?”

“Oh, Dad!” I slapped my forehead and acted like I had a sudden, horrible thought. “I forgot I have to babysit tonight! Could you take me home right now?”

“Sure, I’ll get my keys.” He looked at me strangely, not moving.

“Could you take the other box, Dad? There’s no sense in leaving this crap here for anyone to trip over.” I picked up the larger box and made for the front door. “Hope I didn’t mess up your dinner, Sylvia.”

“That’s okay, honey, we’ll do something special next weekend. Maybe we can shop in the morning and catch a movie in the afternoon. All right?”

“Sounds just great,” I said, and I knew the sarcasm was unmistakable, even without the dirty look my Dad gave me.

“What’s wrong with you, Elizabeth Conner?” he growled as we stood by the car. “You’re acting like an obnoxious child!”

“I’m sorry! I guess I could have called Mom to come get me.” I straightened out the Disneyland banner on top of the star stencil box before Dad slammed the trunk shut and squashed himself down into the driver’s seat.

“I don’t care about that!” He half-turned, his hand clutching the steering wheel and shaking the keys at me. “You’re not the sweet little girl that you used to be.”

“You’re right, I’m not!” I was steamed, too. “You’re not like the father you used to be, either!”
“Well, I haven’t changed, Elizabeth.” He jammed the key into the ignition. “I don’t want anymore of this attitude problem, do you understand?”

I shoved two suitcases into the trunk of Dad’s BMW Saturday morning, excited about our big weekend in Victoria. I thought we were headed straight for the Canadian border, but he pulled into Denny’s parking lot in Des Moines.

“Why are we stopping here?”

“Oh, let’s eat here and talk.” As he fidgets with his coffee cup, I count the streaks of gray in his thinning hair, waiting for him to bring up the subject I dread. Sylvia.

“A penny for your thoughts.” He asks that, but never waits for my reply. “Dusty,” his eyebrows pucker as he stares at me, “I want to discuss your attitude. Concerning Sylvia.”

“My” attitude? I try not to let my voice get an edge to it, hoping we can reach an understanding of some kind.

“There wouldn’t be a problem if she would only stop calling me Elizabeth. I hate it.”

“She doesn’t do it to irritate you,” Dad keeps looking at his watch, then sipping his coffee while I finish my French toast.

“It’s her attitude, Dad.” Before I can say anymore, he jumps on me.

“It’s your attitude. You act as if she were invisible when she’s talking to you.”

“Dad! are you listening to me? I told you I’ve asked Sylvia to call me Dusty, but she goes right on calling me Elizabeth, so I don’t answer her.”

“So why make such an issue of it?” He squeezed my hand, smiling at me. “Sylvia’s right. You should go by Elizabeth. You don’t want to start high school with a childish nickname, and you might as well start the change-over now. It’ll be easier for everyone.”

Another one of those little hurts to be filed away. My nickname meant a lot to me, and I thought the specialness of it meant something to him, too. It was no use trying to make him see my side of it, because I think he stopped listening to me somewhere at the beginning. “Well, anyway, Dad, I hope we can have high tea at the Empress Hotel—Tanya said it was the highlight of her trip and I want to do that, for sure, okay?”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Princess, I’m real sorry, but I can’t get away all weekend. I just can’t.”

My breakfast turned to cement. “Dad!” I wailed, “you promised!” He frowned and motioned me to be quiet, but I wasn’t going to let it go that easily. “I bet you’d have the time if I were Sylvia,” I said in a fierce whisper.

“Oh, calm down. We’ll do it another weekend.” He glared back at me, then suddenly relaxed. “Would you like to go pick out a new dresser right now?” He looked as though he thought it might make up for the lost weekend, this token offer of his.

“Oh, sure. Why not?” I said, imitating him when he’s being sarcastic. I drank the last of my lukewarm chocolate, not certain if I hated him a little bit or a whole lot. “I’d like to get another star kit to paint constellations on the ceiling. Could we do that, Dad?”

“Sure, we’ll do it sometime soon.” He must have anticipated me, for he added, “But not today.”

It seemed I was getting pretty good at tucking little hurts away, in a hidden pocket near my heart, but somehow it didn’t seem worth the effort to stay mad at him. We spent all afternoon selecting an unstained cedar chest of drawers and bedside tables. We were both zapped after wrestling everything into my bedroom. I could tell Dad didn’t really want me to stay the night and actually, I didn’t mind spending Saturday night at home just watching TV with Frank while my Mom painted in oils on canvas in the back room.

I spent the last weekend in October with Dad. And Sylvia. Friday night, we went miniature golfing, which wasn’t too bad, considering we ate hot dogs and drank soda pop for supper. I kind of enjoyed the evening and hoped we might do something like drive to the ocean Saturday, but Dad had an important project and was gone all morning. At breakfast, I told Sylvia about how Dad and I were going to decorate the bedroom.

“Elizabeth, let’s do it and surprise your Dad.” She even winked!

“Ah, well,” I hedged, “I think he wanted to do it with me, you know, quality time with his daughter and all that.”

She looked at me for a long minute, then lit up. “Oh, Elizabeth! I bought you something special—for all your help.” She sort of laughed, like she felt awkward giving me the tiny box with a porcelain figurine of a unicorn.

“This is really pretty, Sylvia. Thanks.” Knick-knacks are not my style, but I was flattered. I was afraid to pick it up, it looked so delicate. The shimmery white coating on it glistened in the cool morning sunlight that fell across the table where we sat facing each other. “I’ll put it center ring on top of my dresser.” I smiled extra long and hard.

I took the little unicorn to my bedroom and looked at it in the palm of my hand for a long time. I turned it upside down to see if there was as sticker on it, thinking maybe I could get a matching one sometime. Sure enough, there was a sticker. From the Empress Hotel.

I left the unicorn in the box with the lid on it. I didn’t touch it again, wouldn’t even look at it if I could help it. But it sat there in the middle of my dresser, reminding me of the weekend that should have been mine with Dad. I sat on the bed, reading a mystery anthology on the electronic reader Dad had given me for Christmas, but my mind kept wandering.

When we were a real family, it seemed like it could never be any other way. My friends were always telling me, “Dusty, you’re so lucky!” and I guess I believed them. Like I believed in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny; then one day you find out you’ve been had.

Just like the stupid sci-fi stories I read, I used to imagine myself as a veterinarian aboard a space ship journeying to a distant galaxy, light years away from the Milky Way and Earth. My parents would be with me, too. Dad would find a way to put his management consultant ideas to work and Mom would have an art gallery on board the starship. Or maybe by that time, they’d just want to sit and watch old movies and talk about the “good old days”.

I turned off the reader, my mind too stretched out of shape to hold any more words or anymore dreams.

When Dad came back at lunchtime, he stayed awhile in the living room talking with Sylvia. Eventually, he came into my room.

“Hi, Princess. You’re kind of quiet.” He stood there with a big, stupid grin on his face.

I sat up, cross-legged. “You and Sylvia went to Victoria, didn’t you?”

His grin disappeared. He didn’t answer right away. “Yes, we did. That was a while ago, and it was spur of the moment.”

“You lied to me.” I don’t think he heard me, maybe because my voice was too soft and mushy. But my guts roiled and felt like lava about to erupt. I couldn’t trust my voice anymore.

“I haven’t forgotten my promise, but I wanted to take three days with you, not just an overnight stay.” He sat down beside me. “How about if I get a season ski-pass as one of your Christmas presents and maybe we could ski on a week day during Christmas vacation at Crystal Mountain, if we get any snow this year.”

I just sat and looked out the window at bobbing boats. When I thought my voice wouldn’t crack, I answered. “Slinky’s invited me to go to Disneyland with them New Year’s week.” I wanted him to ask me to stay with him all of Christmas vacation, maybe take me to Disneyland himself.

“Sounds like a good deal, kid,” Dad seemed real pleased to be off the hook, “but I want you to make plans to be with me Christmas Eve.” He smiled, holding in his secret, waiting for me to get excited, then whispered, “I’m going to give Sylvia an engagement ring. She doesn’t know it, just you and her parents know. Don’t you think that’ll surprise her?”

“What!?” I croaked. “How can you? You haven’t even known her that long, Dad.” He might as well give me a one way ticket to the moon. I was about to protest more, but he silenced me with a look.
“Long enough,” he snapped, and added in a hoarse whisper, “Keep it a secret, will you?”

Yeah, I’d keep it a secret. The best way I know how: I wouldn’t think about it. I didn’t want to be around him, near him or ever speak to him again.

I told myself that it didn’t matter, and mentally shut the lid down on the hope chest that had all my special dreams inside. “I don’t feel all that great. Would you take me home?” I really did feel kind of sick.

“Look, honey, the three of us could go to Vancouver. We’ll go to Stanley Park and Granville Island and make it our special weekend.”

“No, thanks, Dad.” I gathered up my things, ignoring him sitting there watching me, not saying anything more to him on the way home.

Mom was surprised to see me. “What’s the matter, Dusty?”

“Nothing.” I dropped my things on the floor. “Everything.”

She came over and hugged me. I burst into tears. “I hate him! I hate him with all my heart!”

“Do you want to talk about it?” She smoothed away the tears.

“He doesn’t care about me! All he thinks about is that stupid Sylvia!” I pushed away from her. “I wish he’d move to Antarctica.” Suddenly, I felt drained and empty and I wanted to forget about Dad and Sylvia and lies and used to be. “Can I ask Frank to come over tonight?”

“Sure, if you want. I have work to do in the back office.”

I sent Frank a text and he immediately replied that he would be over after dinner, about seven. I wish he could have brought a DVD to watch, other than reruns.

During a dead spot between programs, I had a chance to talk with Frank. “Hey, Frank,” I plopped a can of root beer into his hands. “Do you miss your Dad?”

He popped the tab, then quickly slurped the foam, which left a mustache on his upper lip. “No, not that much. ‘Course, my folks have been divorced since I was five, so I don’t remember much before then.”

“Well, you see him, don’t you?” I reached over and zig-zagged my finger through his foamy mustache. “He’s still your Dad and all.”

“Yeah, once a month he signs a child support check and writes my name at the bottom. I guess you could say he knows I exist.”

“Don’t you spend vacations with him?” My stomach was tied in knots, like my life depended on his answer.

“He’s got his other family and frankly, my dear, I can’t stand the little brats, so I don’t see him that much.” Frank looked at me and I must have looked pretty shaken up or something because he tried to make it seem like a joke. “Hey, we live in a disposable society–pampers, snotty tissue and kids. Just toss one out and get another to replace it. I got lucky and my Mom married an all right kind of a guy. He’s a little nuts on the ‘you pull your weight around here’ routine, but he’s nice enough. I mean, let’s face it, he lets me drive his car. To the store and back. But,” he shrugs and puffs his lips, “I’m only seventeen and The Law says I can’t have passengers for six months, drive at night, or use a cell phone or a wireless device. But I can call on a wireless device if I am in an accident!” He waves his hands around. “Rah! Rah! Wowza!”

What Frank said made me feel a little better. “Yeah it’s been a lot more work for me, too.” Lately I had to do some of the cooking and housework because my Mom’s career suddenly “took off” and her paintings have been in demand.

“Did you,” I pushed around the last kernels of popcorn in the butter, searching for the right words, then blurted out, “ever catch your parents lying to you?”

He snorted and shook his head. “Yeah.” He looked me over, I guess maybe my emotions wrote a term paper all over my face, because his voice got real gentle. “It’s like they want you to believe they can do all, be all, for you, Dusty. They try to make everything all right, and sometimes it isn’t but they can’t say it like it is, so they try to tell you it isn’t, and yes, they lie to you.” He looks at me like he’s just explained the quantum theory or something. “It’s not like a personal issue, know what I mean? They do it cause they think you don’t need to know all the truth, all the time, you can’t handle it or something. It’s up to you to level with them and tell them you know what’s happening and pretty soon they start telling you what’s for real.” He pushes me sideways. “But ya gotta be able to handle it, Rusty-Dusty.”

I batted his hand, hard. “I’m not afraid to hear the truth, Frankenstein.”

He snagged my wrist. “Take my word for it, kid,” he looks mean, like a gangster, “don’t get whacko, if you don’t wanna know the real story.”

“How did you feel about your Mom getting remarried?”

“You don’t have to like it, Sweetheart, but you have to live with it.” He squeezed my wrist, but not enough to hurt. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t make waves, get my drift?”

I jerked my hand away and turned to watch the end of “The African Queen”. Most times Frank leaves at nine to catch a bus home, but tonight my Mom has offered to drive him home.

“See ya, Dusty,” he waves to me as he and my Mom head out the door.

“Have a nice time tomorrow at the Science Fair with Ginny,” I flap my hand in farewell, laughing out loud to have caught him off guard. He didn’t figure I’d know about him asking Ginny out, but news travels fast through the grapevine, and I’m usually the first to find out on Facebook.

Except about my own best friend. I called Slinky Sunday morning and asked her to go bowling with me.

“Ah,” she stalled, “I can’t Dusty.”

“Well?” I know she’s not telling me something she ought to. “Spit it out.”

“Jorge asked me to go to the Pacific Science Center, and I said I would.”

“Oh.” Not real original, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I guess I wasn’t too surprised, since she had been making up all sorts of excuses lately to linger at her locker as Jorge walked by on his way to football practice. “Hope you have a good time. Guess I’ll see you seventh period tomorrow.”

“Dusty!” Slinky chirped, “why don’t you ask Frank and we’ll all go together?”

“I’ve got too much homework, all due tomorrow. Call me later, I want to hear all about this big date of yours.”

“You don’t have to be mad about it, Dusty.” Slinky accusing me of being mad!

“I’m not, okay? If you don’t want to call me, fine, don’t! Don’t have a good time! I try to be nice and you get all weirded out!”

“Dusty Elizabeth Conner!” Slinky yelled. “You’re my best friend, but you’ve no right to be mean to me!”

I stood with the phone in my hand and counted to ten, just so I wouldn’t lose my temper. “I didn’t mean to be mean to you, Slinky, all right? I’ve got a lot of homework and I have to keep my grades up, so I’m working at it. I’m being serious, like you’re always telling me to be. Now, really, have a good time and call me when you get home because I want to know if you had a good time today. Because you’re my best friend.”

The silence on the other end of the line made me wonder if I had gone too far, laid it on too thick, so that Slinky might really get ticked off and never speak to me.

But she didn’t sound mad at all. “Okay, I’ll call you. Maybe around seven?”

“Wonderful,” I hung up, feeling left out of everything, everyone’s life. Dean and Fran were volunteering at the Science Center and I had opted out.

I’d like to throw all my schoolbooks into the trashcan. It didn’t seem to make much difference if I studied or not, I couldn’t seem to pass a test if my life depended on it. Mom said she wasn’t worried, that when I made my mind up to snap out of it, I would. Like I knew what she was talking about! I didn’t understand the bit, either, about how anger is making me want to fail. I know that really, I don’t want to fail; it’s too embarrassing when you’ve been a straight A student forever.

I tried not thinking about my Dad, instead concentrating on my homework. Then, zap! it struck me. Homework would be my excuse!

The following weeks, every time Dad called I told him that I had to do extra credit projects to salvage my grades. It worked. He stopped calling me and I got low B’s instead of D’s.

I had more time to spend with Fran and Dean; even Annie joined us for a long weekend with my Mom down at the beach over Thanksgiving weekend. We splashed around in the waves and made one huge sand castle that collapsed under its own weight.

Slinky also worked real hard, getting above-average grades and Jorge as a steady. I needed the time to study, at least that’s what I kept telling myself on the Saturdays while Slinky flitted around the football field, practicing routines as a new cheerleader.

Dad turned himself into Super Dad before Christmas. He started by sending me a dozen small roses with a note asking if we could be friends again. I thought it was dumb. I didn’t want to be friends with my father. Then he made a big deal out of taking me to the “Nutcracker” ballet, just the two of us, and a fancy dinner besides. I guess you might say I can be bought, but at least the horrible sadness I had been wrapped up in for weeks went away.

I didn’t see Frank before Christmas. It probably was just as well that I didn’t come out and ask him if he liked me, you know, as a friend or if he thought he might like me like a girlfriend, because those kind of questions can be pretty hard to answer and I really didn’t want to know anyway, if he didn’t like me as a guy likes a girl. The next time he wanted to come over, though, I had a lot to discuss with him, and it wasn’t about him and me.

Sylvia asked me to be in her wedding! “What I am going to do, Franko? I don’t like her. Besides, I’m too old to be a flower girl.”

Frank looked nice in his sapphire blue cotton tee shirt and acid-washed jeans. “So tell her you’re too old to be a flower girl.” He’s grown so tall these last few months, I hardly recognize him, but he’s still the same smart-alec Frank.

“So just tell her!” I mimic him, voice cracking and all. “I thought you were the expert.”

“No, Fluffy-Duffy, I was never asked to be a flower girl.” He flips my nose and sneers at me.
I pinch him on the arm as hard as I can, but he doesn’t even flinch. “You’re full of all sorts of good advice, aren’t you?”

“So go elsewhere and get the truth.” He turned his attention back to the television. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

That’s my life: just when it seemed like things were going all right, it bottomed.

I was sure my Dad would get me the star stencil kit, but he gave me an iPod, which everyone assumed I’d like. Only I really wanted the star stencil kit so I went out and bought it myself with money I had earned babysitting and doing yard work jobs with Dean and Fran. But I hadn’t the opportunity to do my room at Dad’s condo, or spend much time with Dad without Sylvia talking constantly about their upcoming wedding. She waved that stupid engagement ring around like it was the Hope diamond, instead of a tiny, little piece of rock that needed a magnifying glass to show it off.
And being with Slinky’s a real treat. All she does is ask me zillions of questions about The Wedding. “Wow! A big blow-out! Sylvia’s going to be the most beautiful bride! And your Dad and her are such a cute couple. Aren’t you excited?”

“Not really.” I take a long look at my friend, the stranger seated next to me. Maybe our friendship’s history. But even so, I promised her that I would ask my Dad to invite her to the wedding on June 25th, the weekend after school lets out. And wouldn’t you know it, he said, Yes”, and Sylvia was thrilled.

My kind of Sunday: rainy and the comics to be read. Mom’s humming, in just the right mood to make me waffles and bacon. I pull my mop of hair through a hair tie and just let the wispy ones get away.

Mom hands me the telephone as I pad into the kitchen. “Your father,” she smiles and tugs on my ponytail.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Dad’s cheery voice makes me warm inside. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“No,” I know he knows that I just got up, but I like the way he teases me.

“I’m out the door, on my way to pick you up. We’ll have ‘Connor’s Delight’ this morning!”

“All right!” I snap off the hair tie and fluff my hair as I skip down the hall to my bedroom. I hurry and get dressed, evening the ends of the scarf my Mom gave me, grabbing a new Star Trek™ poster I want to put up in my bedroom at Dad’s condo.

“Hey! Nice scarf. It jazzes up the sweatshirt.” He opens the door for me as I climb into his car.
We chatted on the way, just like old times. He seemed in a really good mood. “How’s Algebra?”

My hardest subject. “Some of it’s so easy, then I get totally lost.”

He patted my shoulder. “You have to stick with it, there’s always a solution to each problem. You’re too smart to let a few numbers get the better of you.”

“I hope so.” I wish I had as much faith in my ability to understand math as he does. It was a whole lot easier when he lived at home and helped me with my homework.

“It’ll click, believe me, if you just hang in there with it.”

Maybe he’s right, after all. Could be his easy solutions really do work. “Do you think we can look for bedroom furniture after breakfast?”

He slides his BMW into his parking space, turns the ignition off and unbuckles his seat belt. “I’ve got to see a client this afternoon, but…”

“That’s okay, Dad, we can do it some other time. Anyway, I told Slinky I’d go to the mall with her.” I hug him back as we walk along the path to his front door.

His condo is big and roomy, especially the kitchen and living room. From the front bedroom I have the best view of Puget Sound, the marina and the sunset. I’ve made myself cozy in that little room, pinning posters and bumper stickers all over the walls. Dad bought me a super-single waterbed, and Mom made me a dark blue comforter silk-screened with the Milky Way galaxy on it. All the room needed was a dresser, the next project Dad and I were going to do together.

As I came into the living room, Sylvia popped off the couch like a jack-in-the box. “Elizabeth! I’m so glad to see you!”

“Hi.” I stopped short. Sometimes I think she’s going to grab me, like I’m some sort of long-lost friend or relative.

She’s tall, blonde and always wears make-up, even when she’s dressed in blue jeans. Sylvia’s trendy, smart, the NOW! woman. Why then does she act so dumb around my Dad?

“Your Dad’s so glad that you came for breakfast! My, how long your hair has grown!” She reaches out, but I step aside and head for my bedroom.

“Yeah, it’s getting there.”

“Well, girls,” Dad chirps, “let’s get this show on the road. How about eggs Benedict?”

“How about waffles, bacon and eggs?” I shout from bedroom. “I thought you said we were having ‘Connor’s Delight’?” I come out and stand beside him.

“Sylvia went to a lot of trouble to make a special Hollandaise sauce, Dusty. The least you could do is try it.”

“Oh, that’s okay, Dennis.” Sylvia waves her pearly pink lacquered fingernails in the air. “It’ll keep. Connor’s waffles sound delightful.”

Maybe she expected me to laugh at her little play on words, but I didn’t find it amusing. Just like I don’t find her amusing.

Dad’s waffles are soggy, but the bacon’s crisp. Sitting at the dining table I look at the two of them and wonder what Dad could possibly see in Sylvia. She’s not even as pretty as my Mom.

“I went to another exhibit of Mom’s watercolors. Jane Olsen said Mom’s the ‘Showcased Artist of the Year’.” I said this directly to my Dad, but he didn’t have a chance to answer before Sylvia piped up.
“You must be awfully proud of your mother, aren’t you Elizabeth?”

I am not going to answer her. I’d like to explain in a language she’d understand that my name is Dusty. Someday I’m going to ask her if her middle name is Elizabeth or if she just likes to irritate me.
“Would it be too much trouble to drop me off at Slinky’s, Dad?” I collect all the plates and take them to the sink and begin rinsing each one very carefully.

“Elizabeth, don’t bother, I’ll clean-up.” Her Majesty rises out of her chair, caressing my Dad’s shoulder as she comes to the sink.

“Let Dusty finish, Syl. I’ve got to make a phone call, then we’ll go.”

He left me and Sylvia standing side by side. On the way up to Victoria next weekend, maybe Dad and I can talk things out, and I can make him understand that Sylvia gets on my nerves. “You look good in blue, especially that aquamarine sweatshirt. And that scarf! Très chic! It offsets your pretty eyes and hair.” She wants me to look over at her, but I don’t. “Pink would also be a good color for you.”

“I hate pink,” I answer and just keep on parking those plates into the dishwasher.

“Let me finish here. Your Dad’s ready to go.” She snatches the sponge out of my hand and swipes the countertop.

I dry my hands down the legs of my jeans and head for the door. Dad scowls at me, not making a move to leave.

It’s a stand-off until I give in. “See ya, Sylvia.”

“Have a good time with Susan at the mall, Elizabeth!” she calls, her voice echoing after us. It’s almost like she’s in the car with me and Dad the whole way to Slinky’s house.

There’s not much chance to talk as Dad is on his cell. I want to make it all right between us, but I don’t know how. Two blocks from Slinky’s I finally ask, “Will you pick me up Friday night or Saturday?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “I’ll call you Saturday morning.” He pulled up beside the curb, the engine idling louder than I remembered it ever doing before.

“Okay,” I nod, opening the car door. “I’ll be ready to go.”

“Princess,” Dad gestured for me to lean closer and kissed my cheek, “have a good week at school.”

“Bye, Dad, love ya.” I stand and wave until he’s out of sight, then make a beeline for the door, hoping that Slinky will answer and I can avoid any more adults.

“Dusty, it seems such a long time since I’ve seen you!” Mrs. Hillard beams, like she really is glad to see me. Sometimes I wonder if her cheeks ever hurt from smiling so much.

“Hello, Mrs. Hillard.” I look her straight in the eyes. “How are you?”

She laughs and gives me a motherly hug. “You always ask. It makes me feel appreciated, you know?”

I have no comment to that, so I smile back at her. She points upstairs and without any more talk, she goes toward the basement and I take the steps two at a time.

It’s a relief to go up to Slinky’s room and be totally away from adults.

“Hi, Dusty. Your Mom said you had breakfast with your Dad. How was it?”

“Ugh,” I grunt, sitting on the bed. “I liked it better when weekends were just the two of us. Now, it’s always with the third person, plural.”

Slinky has met Sylvia three times, and was politeness incarnate, but I assumed she felt the same as I did. I can’t like Sylvia just because it would make everyone feel better.

“I think Sylvia’s in love with your Dad. And I don’t know why you don’t like her. She’s so nice and really wants you to like her.”

I lean over into Slinky’s face. “Which I don’t.”

Slinky presses her forehead against mine. “She’s pretty, isn’t she? That long, lean body! I’d die for it! She always looks like a Vogue model, too.”

“Yeah, real plastic. You know,” I picked at my hair, and pretended to put on lipstick, “she tries too hard.”

“What do you mean? Tries too hard to do what?”

I roll my eyes and heave a sigh. “Never mind, Slinky.” “Well, did your Mom go out on a date last night?” Slinky’s into romance lately.

“Yeah. She acts like a spacey teen when she’s getting dressed to go out. ‘Is my make-up on right? Too much, too little? Does this dress make me look hippy?’ You’d think she’d lighten up at her age.”
Slinky howled at my imitations of my mother. “Oh! Stop it!” She sucked in a big breath. “Don’t be so hard on her. I heard my Mom say that living with your father couldn’t have been all that easy.”
I hate to be the object of gossip. “So what does your Mom know, anyway? How to sew and make brownies is about all. And if you ask me, my Mom gets plenty of breaks, so….”

“Dusty, Dusty! I’m sorry!” Slinky grabbed a fistful of my shirt and pulled. “Don’t let’s fight about parents. They spend enough time screwing up their lives without it getting to us, okay?”

I mean, I was mad, real mad, but what did it matter? I guess I couldn’t expect my Mom not to go out with an occasional bozo. “My Mom the party-hardy-girl,” I muttered. Slinky perks up. “Let’s go see a movie.” Her remedy to forget our troubles is to go see a movie, any movie, so long as it has a nice ending.

She’s eyeing the ad with a couple about to kiss. I scowl at her. “No romantic junk, either.”

“You know, Dusty,” she taps the paper with a fingernail, “this movie could be about how people stay together forever.”

“That, Slinky, is only in fairy tales and you know it.” I fold my arms, feeling suddenly much older than my friend. “I don’t even know why people bother getting married.”

She holds her hand up, stopping the argument. “All right, Dusty, but I still want to see this one.” She jabs the newspaper with her finger.

“Fine, Slinky,” I snip, “see it with someone else.”

“I will, Dusty, I will,” she hisses.

“I don’t want to hear the details, okay?”

“I won’t tell you anything,” she whispers, pushing her face into mine. “I won’t even tell you if I liked the movie or not, okay?”

“Okay,” I spit. “I don’t know why you want to waste your money on that kind of crap, anyway. You know the man and woman will end up getting married and instead of living happily ever after, something’ll go wrong.” Maybe she was curious what life was like for the unlucky ones, but I sure didn’t need to be reminded all the time.

But I thought I’d better patch things up with her. “Do you still want to go to the mall and look around? If your Mom takes us, I’ll call my Mom to come get us.”

She fluffed her long, honey-brown hair away from her face. I’d give up my lighted stellar globe for hair like hers. “Sure.”

We climbed into the back seat of her Mom’s SUV.

“Oh, Dusty,” sighed Slinky. “I don’t like it when we argue.”

“So who’s arguing?” I ask and she gives me back a tight little smile. We sit quietly watching the world flash by, until Mrs. Hillard lets us off in front of Nordstrom. After we browsed, we head for hamburgers at a McDonald’s restaurant, both of us back to being good friends. It was, you might say, one more phase of our friendship. We might not agree on certain things, but we still like each other. “Dusty,” Slinky punched her straw into her Coke, “it seems to me like you antagonize your Dad, you know, like the way you treat Sylvia.”

Slinky can be like a pit bull when she gets hold of an idea. I nibbled a French fry, trying to think of a way to shorten this conversation.

“We have absolutely nothing in common.”

Slinky narrows her eyes, her ‘intense look’. “Why don’t you give her a chance, Dusty? She might have a good idea or two, you know?”

That touched a hot spot in me. “Yeah, I’m sure she does. Somewhere beneath the ton of make-up and over-moussed hair.”

Slinky screwed her lips in a funny sort of sneer at me, which makes me laugh. She dabbed her lips with a napkin, careful like so as not to smudge her lipstick, reminding me of Sylvia in a way. “Look, you’re going to have to get along with her if she’s your Dad’s girlfriend, you know? So why not give her a break?”

“No, I don’t know.” It looks like I’m going to have to explain a very important point to Slinky. “Sylvia never lets me have a minute alone with my Dad, like she’s afraid I might cop a moment without a ‘Sylvia this, Sylvia that’. Like she needs all his attention, every minute of the day! She makes me sick.”

That about sums up how I feel about Sylvia, when I see Frank and Jorge coming in. “Anyway, next weekend my Dad and I are going to Victoria, solo…”

Slinky’s not paying much attention to me, I can tell by the way she keeps sneaking a peek at the guys in line ordering Big Mac, fries and milk shakes. Finally, I lean over and whisper, “Let’s just go over and say, “Hi” to them, okay?”

Slinky turned about the same color pink as her lipstick. “No, let’s just go, Dusty.”

I waved to Frank, patting the table top to let him know we were vacating the premises and they could have our prime spot. “It’s all yours’. We’re outta here.”

“Thanks, Dusty. Hey, Sludge, nice lips.”

“Oh, stuff it, Frank.” Slinky brushed imaginary crumbs from her skirt.

Jorge stood there smiling, not saying a word, looking at Slinky like a basset hound. “Hey, Jorge,” I snapped my fingers under his nose, making him wince, “are you going to sit down or stand there all day holding that tray?”

He slipped into the seat as Slinky stepped aside. I don’t know what might have happened if either one of them had accidentally touched one another, maybe both of them would have disintegrated like Styrofoam in acid.

“Hey, Dusty,” Frank always talks with a mouthful of food and I can see chunks of hamburger, “‘Gone With the Wind’ is on next week. Can I watch it at your place?”

“Sure, Franko, I’ll do the popcorn, you bring the drinks.” I tug on Slinky’s arm to get her to move as I head for the door.

“See ya.” Frank crams another fry into his overloaded mouth.

“Bye, Slinky. Dusty,” Jorge adds hastily, so I’m not to think he had meant anything special for Slinky.
We’re out the door when I look at Slinky, still pinkish in the face. “Do you like him or something?”
“Who?” she effects a confused expression, which cracks me up. “The Man from Mars, dodo. Not that anyone could guess it the way you’re blushing and all big-eyed when Jorge smiles at you.”

She sneers at me, which makes me laugh even harder, cause I know she likes him, more than she can admit, even to me. She stammers, “He’s kinda cute.”

“Yeah, the strong, silent type. Your kinda guy, right?” I see some of our classmates down at the other end of the mall. “Hey, is that Marcy in a mini-skirt? How’d she get out of the house in anything so short!”

 

Slinky grabs my arm, hurting me enough to make me stop dead in my tracks. “Listen, Dusty, don’t make any wisecracks about Jorge in front of them, okay? I mean, I don’t like being embarrassed like that.”

I take a full minute to stare at her, this chameleon friend of mine. “I won’t say anything, Slinky. Really, I wouldn’t hurt your feelings or embarrass you, not on purpose. Honest.”

We didn’t have much of chance to speak with them, anyway, as they headed in the opposite direction, probably hot on the trail of some seniors. “Dusty,” Slinky slides onto a bench with a questioning frown, “do you like Frank?”

I picture Frank: tall, clumsy, his sandy blond hair cut in a modified crew-cut, making his blue eyes the first thing you notice about him. “Like Frank? Like like or like?” She’s squinting at me, obviously annoyed. “You mean, friend or boyfriend?”

“You know what I mean.” She examines her newly grown-out nails, polished to a perfect shine, and I wonder if she fights the urge to chew on them like she used to.

“Frank’s just a buddy. We watch TV and talk about how it is to be kids bounced between divorced parents. He’s been at this game longer than I have and outlines how to take full advantage of the situation, if you know what I mean.”

She looks me straight in the eyes. “Has he ever kissed you?”

“No!” I yelp, causing the lady at the other end of the bench to glare at us.

I lower my voice so as not to broadcast my disgust. “Get real, Slinky.” Slinky puffs out her upper lip when her feelings are hurt, so I try to explain how I feel. “I don’t want Frank to kiss me, okay? It would ruin everything. I mean, then I wouldn’t feel it was right for him to be there alone with me, so he better not ever even think about trying it.” I focus on her face, looking for a telltale sign. “Have you ever been kissed?”

She turned scarlet, like she’d swallowed a gallon of red dye. Stun me with a laser gun! “Who?” I demanded.

“Nobody you know.” She picked at the little fuzz balls on her sweater.

I have to scoot close to whisper. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

“You know that hayride I went on? Well, there’s a guy I like and he likes me, and we were the first ones back to the truck and he threw some hay on me, then I threw it back on him, and then he just sort of kissed me on the lips.” She shrugged, like it was no big deal, but I could tell it was.

“So, did you like it? Being kissed on the lips?” This was the most interesting thing that she had ever told me except for the time she snooped through her mother’s dresser.

She waved her hands around, like shooing away gnats at a picnic. “I guess, I don’t know.” She turned and looked at me, as flustered as I’ve ever seen her. “I don’t think I like him that much.”

“Well, then don’t kiss him again.” I didn’t see the problem anymore. “Let’s go to the bookstore.” I want to get going, change this subject. “I want to see if the new Star Trek novel’s out yet.”

“Dusty,” she bit her lip and I felt sort of sorry for her, looking totally rattled. “He asked me to the movies. I don’t know if I should go with him or not.”

“Well, if you go,” I stood up, “don’t see anything romantic. He’ll think you liked him kissing you. Go see a Disney movie. That’ll turn him off for good.”

“Oh, Dusty, can’t you be serious?”

I placed my hand over my heart and intoned dramatically, “I am, I am! What better advice can I give you?”

She closed her eyes and sighed before she got up and walked with me toward the bookstore. We’ve been friends for a long time, yet there are these moments, like now, when it seems we exist in two different universes. I peeked at her long face, wishing I’d said something that made her feel better. How ironic, I thought: I wasn’t going to take her advice about Sylvia and she wasn’t going to take my advice about the Mystery Man.

Love is a four letter word that is used too much to mean too little. It can be a noun and a verb, conjugated, symbolized and trivialized. It can be and not be at the same time. It isn’t a living thing, like a plant or an animal, but it can die without care. I’ve been told that love and hate are kindred spirits and the absence of love is indifference. I wonder what it is called when you live with love that is dying.

“Dusty!” Mom rapped on the bedroom door. “Telephone!”

“Got it!” I hollered as I picked up the cordless extension.

Maybe Dad had changed his mind and would take me up to Victoria, Canada for the weekend like we had planned all last summer but never got around to doing. He moved into a condo in Des Moines after the divorce, then it was this, then that had to be done, and of course, work. “Hello….” it wasn’t my Dad, but my best friend. “Hi, Slinky.”

We both sigh. She knows that my disappointment is nothing personal. I dropped my sci-fi book on the floor and scrunched down on the bed. “Did your Mom yell at you for wearing eyeliner to school?”

“Nah, just the same-o parent lecture #104. You know, ‘Don’t make yourself look like a hooker, you’re a young lady, blah blah blah.'”

“I told you she’d let you, and she probably thinks it’s great, too. Your sister wore make-up when she was in the seventh grade. Next thing you’ll be wearing dresses instead of jeans.” I’m the jeans and sweatshirt sort of person. I didn’t mean to dig at Slinky, she’s my best friend and all, but lately she’s been more interested in the way she looks, teen TV and the latest new boy singer than going to see a movie. That’s a major change.

“Well, I’m not stocking up on short skirts and crop tops,” she shot back. “Did your Dad call, yet?”
“No. It’s like he’s divorced me, too.” I gazed at the clock. Two-thirty. Too late now, anyway. I pick up my cell and text Fran, ‘wrkin hard?’ “I guess he’s got a hot date with Sylvia. She had her Designed-for-You clothing line exhibited at the Trade Center today.”

My cell chimes. It’s Fran again.

Fran texts back: “YES! You?”

I answer ‘hardly’ while Slinky asks pointedly,

“Why didn’t you go?”

“Because I didn’t want to. I turned down a yard clean-up with Fran and Dean because I wanted to be ready to go with my Dad, a-lone, to Canada, like he promised.” Get real! I wanted to say. As if I wanted to hang out with my Dad and his girlfriend. Sometimes Slinky can be exasperating, but then I think about how we’ve been friends since kindergarten. We have a lot of history, like how we got our nicknames. I don’t think of her as “Susan” Hillard because her Dad nicknamed her “Slinky” when she was four. She collected slinkies; small, medium, large, metal ones, plastic colored ones that looked like undulating, disconnected robot arms looking for a body to hook up with. She even named every one of them.

Me, I don’t mind being named after my mother’s grandmother, “Elizabeth Marie”, but when I was five, I saw an awesome sunset. The summer sky blazed with colors of fire. My Dad told me the dust in the atmosphere colored the clouds, and a fairy streaked my curly, auburn hair with some of those red highlights. I kept repeating a zillion times how I loved the dusty sky, making Dad laugh. After that, I wouldn’t answer to Elizabeth anymore, and Slinky always said she thought it was great how I had made everyone call me Dusty.

“So go with me tonight. The youth group is having a hayride at Marymoor Park. My Mom will take us and you could spend the night and we’ll do Southcenter tomorrow.”

“No can do. My Mom’s got a date and I already told Frank I’m staying home tonight, and he has to babysit his little bratty stepbrother, so they’re coming over. So what else is new, huh?” I know Frank rubs her the wrong way, but I kind of understand that he sometimes says something nice in a mean sort of way.

“So tell Frank,” she always spits out his name, “that you’ve got other plans.”

“It’ll probably rain, anyway. It usually does the end of October.” I shift the phone to my other ear.
“Dusty Conner, what’s wrong with you? You never want to do anything anymore.”

“Nothing’s wrong with me, Slinky, just because I don’t want to haul my butt around in the rain with a bunch of kids I don’t know!”

“It’s not supposed to rain. I checked on line Weatherbug. And you know me, don’t you?”

“Let’s just go to the mall tomorrow, okay? We can check out the bookstores. I think there’s a new sci-fi anthology out.”

There was a little hostile silence, and because I really didn’t want Slinky to be mad at me I hurried to add, “We’ll do Nordstrom first.”

“All right, Dusty. I’ll see you.”

“Hey! Have a good time and take a raincoat.”

I still had a drop of hope that Dad would call. It would be nice to do some of the things that we used to do, like one-on-one basketball, working Saturday afternoons in the garden or getting a DVD and popping popcorn while Mom worked late at her gallery. It’s a lot different now that he has his condo in Des Moines, no yard, or basketball hoop, but he still has a television.

I stared a long time at the phosphorescent stars of Ursa Major stenciled on my ceiling. Mom, Dad and I had worked on it one whole Sunday afternoon last year, the weekend before Dad moved out. Maybe somewhere, another place, another time, in another galaxy, there’s no such thing as a divorce. Families stay together, forever. The way it should be.

I hear Mom coming down the hall and count eleven footsteps until she reaches my door.

“May I come in?” It’s nice the way she always asks me if she can come into my room.

“Sure.” I hope she isn’t going to launch into any psychological probing, a seek and find mission to repair all damage done by The Divorce.

She stands with her hands behind her and smiles when she presents a multi-colored scarf to me.
“My new art form. Hand-dyed.”

“Beauteous!” It really is beautiful. It is has a rainbow of colors and silky fringe. “Oh, Mom! It’s just the right length and the colors! It’s perfect!”

“Yes, I thought you liked vibrant colors. It goes well with jeans, especially.” Her eyes crinkle when she laughs.

I loop the scarf around my neck and smooth it down.

She takes a step toward me, gesturing over her shoulder. “Would you like to shoot baskets? If you don’t start practicing soon, you’ll have a hard time making the team this year.”

I shrug. “I’m not trying out.”

“What?” she demands, then takes a deep breath. “But I thought you and Slinky were going out for the junior varsity.”

“Slinky’s trying for cheerleader.” I pick at the dirt beneath my nails with the corner of a bookmarker.

“Why does that make a difference to you?” She waits at the foot of my bed, hands clenched and perched on her hips.

“It doesn’t.” I look her straight in the eyes. “I’m not interested anymore in sport, that’s all.”

When Mom chews her lower lip, it’s a sure sign the old gears are churning. “Why don’t we go for a walk to Dairy Queen. I’ll buy you a root beer float and I’ll get a yogurt.”

“Nah, I’ve got some homework to do and,” she was just about to interrupt me, “fold the laundry. I want to get a few things done before ‘Frankenstein’ gets here.”

The phone rang. We looked at the telephone like it had grown two heads.

“Answer it, Dusty,” she waved at it with a chuckle.

My stomach flip-flopped when I heard my Dad’s voice. “Hi, honey, are you busy?”

“No, Dad, not at all.” I sat up and bounced, jiggling the books on the bed and upsetting my stuffed animals, making Mom smile.

“Would you like to go out to dinner?”

“All right! Where?”

“Sylvia knows this great Italian restaurant where you can get pizza, I can have spaghetti and she can have fettuccine. You could wear something nice, Elizabeth, maybe a dress? I’ll pick you up at seven.”

I’m absolutely fed up having Sylvia always in my face, and I don’t like this threesome. “Oh, darn, Dad, I forgot! I made plans with Frank.”

“The same Frank that watches our TV whether or not we’re there?”

“You know, Dad, it isn’t your TV anymore.”

“Thanks for reminding me, Elizabeth,” he says in a real calm, sarcastic way.

“Dad, are we going to Victoria next weekend? You promised after cancelling out the last three times.”

“Yes, and I’m sorry, Elizabeth. It’s just…”

“Dad, my name’s Dusty.”

A lot can be interpreted from silence and heavy breathing. Maybe he’s just as annoyed as I am. “I’ve got to go, Dusty. Change your mind and go to dinner with us.”

“Sorry, Dad, but I promised Frank, and I don’t like to break my promises. It’s not really considerate, you know?”

“Yes, I know, and I get your point. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye.” I hung up, paying particular attention to arranging the phone and tidying up some papers. Mom stood quietly staring at me until I looked up.

“That was pretty tacky, young lady.”

“You’re the one that always says a little bit of honesty goes a long way.”

As she sits on the edge of the bed and reaches out to tweak my toe, I move over and cross my legs, wishing I had earplugs to block out her voice. “Okay, let’s be honest. It’s been a difficult year for all of us adjusting to the divorce. It isn’t your fault your father and I don’t get along, but you can’t wish it away and make us a family again. Some things you have to accept and take the good with the bad. Including Sylvia.”

My insides quivered, but if she wants honesty, I’d give her my version. “No one ever asked me how I felt, so I guess you guys don’t care much about my opinions.”

“That’s not true, Dusty.” Her voice was warm, but I knew I had zinged her by the hurt look in her eyes. “We care very much.”

“You know, Mom,” I turned over on my side, further away from her, “you shouldn’t say ‘we’ anymore. ‘We’ aren’t anymore.”

I felt her eyes on the back of my neck for a long time. “Good point. I guess that’s the way it is, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s the way it is.” I sat up, locking my arms around my knees. “I told Slinky I’d go to the mall with her tomorrow, if that’s all right with you.”

She stood up and looked out the window for a moment. “Sure. Just one more thing, Dusty.”

It’s always one more thing isn’t it?

“It’s normal for you to feel angry, but you can’t stop caring about people, even if you’re mad at them. You’re someone who cares, cares a lot for people. Think about it, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

She left. Think about it! That’s all I seemed to do anymore. Ever since Sylvia showed up, weekends with Dad alone were a memory. I pressed my face into my cuddly stuffed bear, Sparky. Where do these tears come from, when you don’t even want to cry?

I threw the stupid stuffed bear down. I had other things to do anyway. I got up and washed my face, grabbed a bag of Cheetos™ and labored through Algebra.

Mom had dinner cooked for me, a small steak, baked potato and salad. She blathered on about this and that and some new guy she was dating. I managed to ask, “Can I eat in the den?”

“Oh, I suppose.” She handed me a napkin, which I dutifully placed on my lap as I clicked on the TV remote control. Mom had to raise her voice over a commercial. “Dallas is coming over to help me with a project. We will be in my studio. Here,” she tossed me a box of Junior Mints.™ “I believe you requested these.”

“Yeah, thanks.” I slip the mints beneath a pillow.

Dallas? Sounds like a real geek. “Okay. Have a good time.” I glanced up. “You look nice.”

“Thanks. What time is Frank supposed to be here?”

The doorbell chimed. “Right now,” I answered, grinning back at her.

“I’ll let him in.”

When Frank’s mother and stepfather go to the 5th Ave. Theatre, he gets stuck babysitting his six-year old stepbrother, Billy. They both come into the den. “Hey, Dusty!” screeched Billy, plopping down beside me. “The Time Machine is on Disney Channel tonight!”

He’s a nice kid, most of the time. “Watch it downstairs then. Here,” I slip my hand under the pillow and pull out the mints to hand him, “pig-out.”

Frank plops his hulk of a body down on the other side of me, stretching his long legs out and crossing his arms behind his head. At seventeen, he’s almost six feet tall, and his jeans are riding up to show his goofy striped socks. “What’s on?”

“Rerun of ‘Star Trek, The Next Generation: The Measure of A Man’ about Data and whether he is or isn’t a real living being, with rights.”

“Oh.” He rolls his green eyes. Frank likes the channel with old movies, but it’s understood that I get to watch my favorite program before his. During the commercials, I clean up the kitchen and Frank checks on Billy downstairs.

Usually, I don’t talk much to Frank, but I can ask him about anything, especially since he feels he’s an expert on being a kid of divorced parents. “Hey, Franko, did you always get along with your stepmother?”

He yawned before replying and scratched his sandy blond hair. “Neah, she’s a real nag. You’d think her life depended on me taking out the trash at the precise moment she looks down and sees the garbage multiplying over the rim, spewing all over the floor, into the living room, taking over the entire house! Man, woman and child eaten alive by garbage!” He flings his arms wide and rolls his eyes, really a grotesque creature himself. “Yes! Mad-son Frankenstein drives stepmother to drink! Diabolical plot to destroy innocent woman!”

I catch my breath from laughing so hard as I sit down again beside him. “You’d drive anyone insane, Frank. Really.”

“Well, take my word,” he draws out his words in a low, ominous undertone, “you best watch your p’s and q’s or you’ll not see your father for a fortnight!”

Suddenly, Frank’s not all that funny. “Why do you say that?” I sit up straight and look at him in the eyes.

“Because my lovely,” he furrows his eyebrows, digging into his sinister role, “if it’s between you and the other woman, the choice lies on her side, not yours. Take heed, and tread carefully around the other, for she controls your fate!”

“Oh, shut up, Frank.” He can be real tiresome and I’m glad my program finally comes on. We both settle down into our spots on the couch, like two birds nesting, and resume munching our popcorn while watching the opening credits roll by.

“So, gone to the movies with Dean lately?” Frank eyes me steadily.

“No, he’s been busy with yard work, his newspaper route and,” I pause significantly, “Fran.” I feel badly all of a sudden because I don’t want Frank to get the idea that I am jealous of Fran. Dean and I have been friends since grade school, and for the last two years, Fran and I have become close friends at school. We’re really a threesome. Well, more like a foursome counting Annie, when she’s not volunteering for a community project. Dean proved himself to be cool-headed and capable when, in seventh grade, Collin was assaulted by some cowardly thugs and Dean did CPR on him. The four of us, me, Fran, Dean and Annie, do a lot of volunteer work and do yard work for pay. We are, you might say, a dynamic team.

“Fran and Dean. Hmmm.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Beauty and the Brain.”

“Yeah, they are a lot alike. Dean thinks he’ll probably go into medicine.”

“Oh, yeah, he’d make a good nurse.”

“Oh, so you’ve been on Facebook lately, have you?” Dean has been harassed by some guys intimating he is gay. “You know that Tyler got suspended for posting those awful rumors? I told Dean that his Dad could sue Tyler’s parents for invasion of privacy. But Dean says it’s enough Tyler got suspended. I’m not sure I could be so magnanimous about something that mean. I was furious when a picture of Fran had been posted on Facebook that made it seem like she was smoking and drinking and wasn’t. I certainly was glad that the ones who did it got their just desserts and were caught and suspended. “Dean’s really a nice person.”

Frank contorts his mouth before replying, “Dean is a little different, shall we say?” Frank reaches over and tugs on my scarf. “This new?”

Irritated, I bat his hand away. I shouldn’t have to defend or define my friend to anyone. “Do you have any friends, Frankenstein?”

“Yeah, one. You.” He smiles as he unwinds onto his feet. “Gotta check on the brat.”

Billy fell asleep on the floor in front of the TV. Frank carried him upstairs and put him in my bed. My Mom and her ‘friend’ Dallas came into the kitchen chattering about a new technique for dying material. I made us all some hot chocolate while Frank set up the Scrabble board for a ruthless game that went on until Mr. Morris came at ten-thirty to take Frank and Billy home. He stood in the hallway dripping wet, handing umbrellas to the boys. “What a rain! Just started about ten minutes ago,” he boomed, shaking droplets from his mass of auburn hair. No question about where Billy got genes for red hair.

Frank jabbed my shoulder as he went out the door. “Later.”

As I got ready for bed, I thought about Slinky, hoping with all my heart that she had fun tonight. Even though I love the chatter of rain on the roof as I drift off to sleep, I wouldn’t want to find out that Slinky’s hayride got rained on, spoiling her plans. I’d never hear the end of it tomorrow.