18.

I PLOPPED DOWN ON THE SOFA and watched House with Dad until Mary arrived.

“So is this a date?” he asked.

“Not sure,” I mumbled.

“Is she the blonde who was hovering around you guys after the race?”

“Yeah,” I answered, keeping my eyes glued to the tube and trying to avoid the awkward topic with my father. “How did you know?”

He took a sip from his glass of wine and raised a toast to me. “Not bad, Leo.”

“Kind of creepy, Dad.”

Mom drove down to the country earlier in the day to my grandparents’ farm. According to Dad, Grandma was having some odd side effects from her high-blood-pressure medications. Dad was taking full advantage of Mom’s absence by parking himself in front of the television for the night and knocking down a bottle of red wine.

The doorbell rang just as I was beginning to question whether I should have followed through with calling her. Suddenly I got that woozy feeling, kind of like I felt before a race.

Caleb was certainly going to be unavoidable, so I threw caution to the wind. I stayed put on the couch and let Caleb answer the door. It would need to happen sooner or later. I prayed that the situation would play itself out harmlessly, and Mary and I would soon be on our way.

Our den was close to the front hallway, so when Caleb opened the door to greet her, I could hear his interrogation crystal clear. I imagined him blocking the entry with arms crossed like a prison guard.

“WHAT NAME!” he barked.

I knew Caleb’s routine, but it still made me cringe. I didn’t hear her response, but there was a brief pause before Caleb spoke again. “Mary like granola,” he stated. The inquisition was now under way, but he had already calmed.

“Mary drive blue Volkswagen Golf,” he said.

“Yes, I—” Mary answered.

“Mary mother drive black Honda Accord,” he interrupted.

“That’s true. She also—” she began.

“Mary born August 14.”

“Mary like Dr Pepper.”

Eventually I heard her footsteps. Caleb had decided to let her in the house, but not before providing her with one additional piece of juicy information.

“Mary,” he suddenly said in a raised whisper, “last night, who poke Leo’s eyes out in the middle of night?”

“I’m here!” I announced loudly, hoping to squelch Caleb’s confessions. Caleb had a habit of divulging his deepest, darkest sins to acquaintances and strangers. The woman who cut his hair at Supercuts, the cashier at the supermarket, the pharmacist at Walgreens, the people he might see and chat with for a few minutes once a week. Caleb would say hello, ask them how they were doing, then lean in close and whisper his guilt. When they’d recoil, that’s when I would have to step in and do damage control.

Mary was wearing jeans and a Shins T-shirt with a red-and-black checkerboard flannel shirt layered on top. Our eyes met, and she killed me once more with her smile.

Caleb abandoned us in the hallway and returned to the kitchen sink to wash dishes.

“I assume that’s Caleb.”

I turned to Caleb. “Caleb, why don’t you introduce yourself to Mary?”

He slammed a few plates into the dishwasher and yelled, “CALEB! CALEB COUGHLIN! RIGHT! NICE TO MEET YOU! RIGHT!”

I turned to Mary and nodded. “So now you’ve met my brother.”

“His memory is impressive,” she said, smiling some more.

“You faced the inquisition and you survived,” I said. “That’s a pretty impressive debut, I might add.”

“And have I earned the privilege of meeting your parents as well?” she whispered.

Dad shouted from the den over the television set. “Caleb! Could you bring me the bottle of wine?”

I grabbed my coat from my chair and made a move to the front door. “Let’s save that for another time,” I said to her, and I guided her out the door and toward her car. I glanced over my shoulder at the kitchen window and saw Caleb jumping up and down in front of the sink, a fist pushed into his mouth. Something obviously had set him off and I was going to be in for it tonight if I wasn’t on my toes.

Mary flipped on the stereo as we pulled out of the driveway and Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon filled the space. I started to relax. I had asked her if she wanted to see a movie when we’d talked on the phone, but only under the condition that she decide what we’d see, and that we didn’t talk about my epic failure that afternoon.

“So where to?”

“Have you seen Corpse Bride?” she asked.

“Nope.” I’d seen the sneak preview, and a brief glimpse of the bug-eyed characters was enough for me. I was more in the mood to watch something with gunfire, explosions, and high-speed chases, but I kept my preferences to myself.

“You haven’t?” she asked incredulously. “It’s amazing! ‘A tale of wit, charm, and strife,’ ” she recited from the trailer. “I’m taking you.”

“Really? But you’ve already seen it,” I reminded her, hoping she might consider an alternative.

“Three times,” she said enthusiastically. “Tim Burton is brilliant, and I want to talk to you about it. Besides, I’ll have no problem watching Johnny Depp again.”

“I thought it was a cartoon.”

“For your information, it’s an animated film,” she said, laughing. “Not a cartoon.”

I was tempted to suggest Jarhead or Flight Plan, but I figured I’d better keep my mouth shut. It occurred to me that the movie was just an excuse to sit next to her. “Corpse Bride sounds awesome,” I lied. “As long as you’re not one of those people who talk through movies and tell everything that’s going to happen before it really does. My mom’s all over that.”

“No worries. If you open your mouth during the movie, I’ll probably smack you.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

We headed across town to the Esquire, this cineplex that plays artsy retro stuff. October’s new moon and the early-evening darkness cast a thick blanket over the day. Through the thin cracks of the car’s open windows, the cool night air amplified the music. As we sat at the stoplight at Hanley and Clayton, the streetlights illuminated our faces and she shifted the conversation. “He doesn’t look like I thought he would.”

“Who?”

“Caleb,” she answered, her eyes focused on the taillights of the SUV in front of us.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” I told her. “What were you expecting?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said defensively. “You and your brother have the same eyes.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she said. “But your brother’s eyes are even bluer. He’s a really good-looking guy, Leo. If you were just looking at him, you’d think he was normal.”

“Wait a minute, “I began to question her. “Who’s to say what’s normal?”

“I didn’t mean it that way, Leo. Seriously, he looks like he could be the quarterback of our football team.”

I thought about Caleb calling and running plays from scrimmage. “I would pay anything to see that,” I said, and laughed.

“By the way, what was up with that question about poking your eyes out?”

“God knows,” I lied. “Sometimes he says things that make absolutely no sense,” I explained, and quickly shifted the topic. “What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”

“I have an older brother at Northwestern,” she told me. “He’s the star child. I’m the average one.”

“You’re not average, Mary. I may not know much, but I know that.” That made her smile.

“I want to go to Riz-Dee,” she told me. She glanced over at me and clearly recognized that I had no idea what she was talking about. “The Rhode Island School of Design,” she explained. “I want to be an artist, maybe work on costumes and sets for movies someday.”

I nodded. “That sounds cool.”

“My parents don’t seem to think so. They’d prefer I do something more conventional.”

That Friday night the Esquire was packed. We circled the lot several times and were about to bail when the parking gods made a spot miraculously appear right in front of the theater. The ticket line stretched from the lobby, out the door, and partly around the building.

“We might miss the previews,” Mary warned me as we awkwardly power walked beside each other, “but we’re still good.”

“I’m all right with that,” I told her, still hoping Corpse Bride might sell out. “But I do find it helpful to know how a story begins.”

“No worries,” she assured me. “I’ll get you up to speed if we miss anything.”

While the ticket line inched along, I watched Mary study the movie posters displayed behind the framed glass, analyzing each one with a careful eye. Her hair lay easy on her shoulders, a little messed and out of place. I wondered how in God’s name I’d scored a date with this girl. When she turned her eyes toward me, I didn’t want her to catch me ogling, so I looked away. That was when I spotted Mom standing inside the theater lobby with some dark-haired guy about Dad’s age in a black leather coat. They were in the same line as us, laughing and holding hands. I stared for a moment. Mom had this huge smile on her face and was giggling. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her so happy.

This sick, queasy feeling suddenly washed over me and I began to panic. “What do you say we get out of here? There’s no way we’re going to make it in time,” I said, trying my best to sound both calm and convincing.

Mary looked at me with this confused expression. “Really? It’s only going to be a few more minutes. I’m sure the previews haven’t even started yet.”

When Mom leaned in closer to the guy and whispered something into his ear, my stomach felt like it was about to heave. “I have to get out of here right now,” I said abruptly.

Mary looked at me in an unsure way as I shifted back and forth, ducking and lowering my head behind her like I was suffering from paranoia. Realizing I was clearly rattled about something, she gave in. “All right,” she said, turning toward the parking lot, “I guess we can see it some other time.”

We sat for a few minutes inside her car in awkward silence. She studied me a moment while I tried desperately to pull myself together. “Are you feeling all right?” she finally asked. “Do you want me to take you home?”

I thought of Caleb biting his fist, and Dad in front of the tube with his bottle of red wine.

“No,” I mumbled. “I don’t want to go home just yet.”

I looked back over my shoulder, into the lobby again. My mother and the man had disappeared, and I wondered for a moment if I really had seen her. Then I wondered how long Mom had been sneaking around like this. “I’m sorry, Mary. I just needed to get out of there,” I told her, hoping she’d let it go.

She looked over her shoulder in the same direction, seeking an explanation. “Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere you want.”

She started the car and drove a couple of miles down Clayton, then took a right onto a road that disappeared into forest, her headlights capturing only the short span of pavement in front of us. I was usually ready to hurl on roads like this, but Mary was driving slowly, and I could focus on tracing the yellow lines in front of us that divided the road, just like Mom taught me when I was little so I wouldn’t get sick.

“Where are we going?”

“You said you didn’t want to go home.” She turned left off the road down an even narrower one that eventually dead-ended at the entrance to a park. A tired-looking chain hung across the entrance with a sign clearly stating CLOSED AT SUNSET.

“Ever been here?” she asked as she parked on the shoulder.

“I have no idea where we are.”

“My father used to bring me here all the time when I was a little kid,” she told me. “It’s been a long time.”

“When did your parents split?”

“Eleven years ago this December, the day after Christmas. My brother and I got an amazing haul of presents. Best day ever. Then Mom and Dad started yelling after Christmas dinner, and”—she snapped her fingers—“Dad moved out the next day.”

“A merry Christmas,” I said, “but not a very happy New Year?”

“That’s one way to put it.”

We stepped over the chain, cut across a small path, and walked into a large, grassy field turned deep purple by the moonlight. “There’s a playground just over there,” she said, pointing. We walked a few more strides, and there it was, a maze of dark metal emerging from a bed of sand. There was a swing set, a single seesaw, and a sad set of monkey bars that looked like it belonged in a prison yard. In terms of playgrounds, it was pretty lame.

Mary sat on a swing. I took the one beside her. We pushed off together and swung gently in synch.

“I guess I owe you an explanation,” I offered.

“Maybe,” she said.

We swung for a moment. “When we were standing in line, I’m pretty sure I saw my mother with another man.”

“Really?” She started giggling. “That’s awesome.”

“I don’t know if I’d use the word ‘awesome’ to describe it.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing.”

“I just know it’s going to be hard to look her in the eye next time I see her.”

“So your father has no idea?” she asked.

“She told him she was heading down to the country to help my grandmother with some health issues.”

We swung together for a few more minutes in silence.

“My father had an affair with his secretary,” Mary finally said. “How original is that?”

“And he told your mom on Christmas day? That blows.”

“Not exactly. Dad gave Mom this necklace with a little card and note. Mom loved the necklace, but she didn’t care for the note that came with it.”

“Because?”

“The note was addressed to the other woman.”

“Awkward.”

“Turns out Dad bought gifts in pairs, but this time he got a little sloppy. My mother told me she figured it had been going on for a long time. It’s probably the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, let me ask you a question, Leo,” she said. “Is your home a happy place?”

I didn’t answer, just continued swinging in silence. I started to think about a conversation I’d had with Mom as we headed home from my grandparents’ two summers ago. She and Dad weren’t getting along at the time, so Mom had driven us down to her parents’ for a few weeks so they could take a break from each other. When I asked Mom if she and Dad were going to get a divorce, she told me not to worry about a thing, that as long as she and my father had Caleb and me, they would stay together. I thought about Caleb, and I thought about Mom and Dad, and I wondered if only one of them could take care of him.

“Let’s change the subject,” I suggested.

Mary hopped off the swing. “No problem,” she said, facing me. “Let me show you the best part of this place.”

She took me to a steep concrete slide built into a hill that bordered the playground. We grabbed a couple of pieces of old cardboard we found on the ground, dashed up the steps, sat down, and pushed off. We flew.

When we walked back to Mary’s car, our shoulders touched and she reached for my hand. It got a little awkward when we reached the car. Neither one of us wanted to separate toward opposite doors. So I made the first move, which was actually not moving. She turned to me and we looked at each other for a moment, and when she tilted her chin up at me I knew what I needed to do. I slowly leaned toward her and closed my eyes, then felt our lips touch. I felt her hands gently moving up to my biceps. In terms of a first kiss, I didn’t see fireworks or feel my skin tingle or anything. I just couldn’t believe how sweet her skin smelled and how soft her lips felt. I’d take it any day over watching Corpse Bride.

We drove home, listening to some more Pink Floyd, my new favorite band, holding hands and not saying a word. I figured she’d want to have a conversation, but Mary was silent. My mind was racing with all kinds of images and memories, some good, some bad. Maybe her mind was racing as well. I always thought the expression “Silence is golden” meant keeping your mouth shut when you didn’t have anything good to say. Now I wasn’t so sure. Maybe I had finally stumbled upon somebody who was on my wavelength.

When Mary pulled up in front of my house, I could see Caleb in the kitchen window, sweeping the floor for probably the tenth time that night. He then started shaking the broom with one hand and biting his other. I knew it was going to be a rough night, and I made a mental note to put my running shoes by the back door.

“Maybe next time we can actually go to a movie?” she asked.

“Yeah, that would be nice.” I laughed, but then the image of my mother with that guy popped back in my head and triggered another wave of nausea. We kissed once more. I knew I probably should have kissed her longer, but family problems kind of wrecked the mood.