Chapter 21

Right after the long Thanksgiving weekend, Dad called one night and told me he had a job interview coming up in New York City. “You’re changing jobs?” I said.

“We’ll see. I’m exploring possibilities.” Then he casually asked if I wanted to fly down to the city for the weekend and spend some time with him. “We’ll take in a couple of shows, do the big city. What do you think. Would you like that?”

Would I like that? No. I’d love that! I’d adore it! I’d kill to do it. I hadn’t seen my father in nearly two years, and I really didn’t quite take in what he was saying. “Is Rachel coming?” I asked. What I was thinking was that Marcia would be with him.

“No, I’m going alone, sweetheart. Just me. Why don’t you put your mom on, and let me talk to her about it.”

Just like that, he said it. So casually. Put your mom on. But, usually, they didn’t talk much at all when he called. It was hello, good-bye, or nothing at all. I sort of caught my breath. A thought came to me. He’s breaking up with Marcia.… That’s why he’s looking for another job … in a different city. He’s going to come back to us … this is the first step.…

“Mom’s at work, Dad.” I tried to sound unflustered. “She won’t be home until midnight. I’ll tell her to call you when she gets in. Oh! Unless it’s too late?”

“No, that’s fine. Tell Ann to call. I’ll be up. I’ll wait for her call.”

I loved the way he said that, too! I’ll wait for her call. After that, I was so excited I couldn’t just sit still and patiently wait for Mom. When she came home, I was in the kitchen, cleaning up. I’d been baking for hours, chocolate chip cookies by the panful and a big eggy sponge cake that was Mom’s favorite.

“Smells good,” she said, sitting down and taking off her shoes. She massaged her neck. “I’m tired. Why are you up so late, Em?”

I poured her a cup of tea. “Dad called.”

She yawned and nodded.

“He wants you to call him back.”

“Why?” she said, sounding surprised.

I told her about the weekend, and then I brought her the phone. “Do you want me to dial the number?”

“Now?” she said. “I just want to go to bed and get some sleep now.”

“I told him you’d call, Mom. He said it was okay for you to call as soon as you came in.” I held out the phone. “I’ll dial. It’ll be easy. You just have to say I can come. Okay?”

“Emily, I can’t just say yes.”

“You’re going to let me go, aren’t you?!”

“Well, I have to ask your father some things.”

“What things! What are you worried about? It’s Dad.”

Mom sighed. “Dial,” she said. “Let’s get it over with.”

I swear my fingers were shaking when I dialed. A thousand things were going through my mind. Would my mother find a reason for me not to go? What if Dad had changed his mind about the trip? Maybe he hadn’t even said it. Maybe I’d just imagined it! He answered on the first ring. “Dad? Hi! Mom’s right here.” I thrust the phone into her hand.

“Hello, Max.” she said. She sounded sort of aloof, and she asked Dad a ton of questions—where we’d be staying, how much time I’d spend alone, what kind of clothes I needed, who was paying for all this. Did she have to say all those things? Why couldn’t she just trust Dad? Mom, be nice to him … be friendly … you know how to be sweet … tell him we miss him.…

When she hung up, she yawned again and said, “All arranged.”

“All arranged? I’m going?”

“You’re going,” she said with a little smile.

“Mom!” I threw my arms around her and hugged her.

Friday afternoon, Mr. Linaberry drove me to the airport after school. Mom was at the hospital. Bunny was at our house, taking care of the twins. Everything was working out perfectly, but I was in something of a trance. I couldn’t believe I was going to see Dad again, at last. I kept telling myself not to fantasize, not to make up stories, but I couldn’t help it. I kept imagining him saying he wanted to come back to us, that he knew he’d made a big mistake, and he was really meeting me in the city to ask me—no, to BEG me—to talk to Mom, to smooth the way for him to return to us. Us, his real family.

“Here’s your airline,” Mr. Linaberry said, stopping the truck in front of the building.

I picked up my knapsack and glanced at my watch.

“Plenty of time,” he said.

I opened the door and started to get out, then I realized I hadn’t thanked him. It was a half-hour drive from home to the airport, and I hadn’t said a single word to him the whole way. I’d been all wrapped up in my fantasies about my father. Mom’s words came back again. Emotionally immature. Wouldn’t I ever forget that?

I slid back into the truck, balancing on the edge of the high seat with my legs dangling. “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Linaberry.”

“That’s okay.”

I felt that I should say something else. “I really really appreciate you taking me here.”

“That’s okay.”

He wasn’t looking at me. Did he hate me? Did he think I was a spoiled brat? Emotionally immature? I bit my lip. What else could I say to him? I couldn’t be a hypocrite and say, I love you, or anything like that. And I certainly couldn’t tell him I was sorry I’d called him ugly! If I was lucky, he’d never know about that.

I said, “Would you tell Wilma and Chris I’m going to bring them back something from New York City? I forgot to say it.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I thought it might make them feel a little better about not seeing Dad if they know I’m going to bring them something,” I explained.

Mr. Linaberry nodded.

It seemed to me that by telling him all this, I was letting him know I was trying to accept that he was Mom’s friend. Of course, if Dad came back to us, Mr. Linaberry could never be anything else but a friend. Oh, please, I prayed again. And suddenly I felt totally light, almost weightless, and a feeling of happiness spread through me, as if I knew for sure my message had flown across the country and lodged in Dad’s heart.

“I’ll bring you something, too, Mr. Linaberry,” I said impulsively. I was so full of an extraordinary happiness in that moment I just wanted to spread it out, share it.

“Me?”

“What would you like?”

He thought about it. “Maybe a pencil that says, ‘New York City, the Big Apple.’”

“Okay.”

“Or a Statue of Liberty T-shirt.”

“Okay.”

“I’d like that,” he said.

“Okay,” I said again. It was probably the best conversation Mr. Linaberry and I had ever had.

When I got on the plane, I took out my journal to write. “With all my dreaming about Dad, I hardly gave one thought to Wilma and Chris. I realized this when I was talking to Mr. Linaberry after he brought me to the airport. I always thought I was so mature and unselfish. It seems like most of the time, though, I’m thinking about myself. I want to be be more mature. I’m going to try much harder to be more considerate toward other people, and be more serious and down to earth and mature.”

It made me feel better to write that.

The steward brought around drinks, and peanuts in a little silver bag. I sipped my soda and looked out the window. In just twenty minutes, I’d see Dad again. We’d talk and make plans. We’d be closer than ever. What if he said Marcia would be so hurt by his leaving her? I’d point out that they hadn’t even been married three years, so it wouldn’t be anything near as horrible as when he and Mom split up. It had to hurt a lot more the longer you were married. Then I thought about my half sister, Rachel. Maybe I would suggest to Dad that Marcia and Rachel move east, too, so he could see the baby sometimes. Even if she was too young to understand what was happening, I didn’t want Rachel to go through what we had gone through.

The plane landed at La Guardia with a thump, and my heart thumped, too, with a sudden scary thought. What if I didn’t recognize my father after all this time? I walked through the long tunnel filled with people holding briefcases and flight bags. In the gate area, I searched the crowds for Dad. I didn’t see him anywhere and, in a panic, I put on my glasses as I started walking toward the main terminal.

Dad was waiting right outside the security gate in a crowd of people. I saw him before he saw me, and for a split second it was like looking at a stranger. He was wearing a dark suit, a striped tie and a striped shirt, and he looked like someone impressive and serious. Not like my father, who was always full of fun.

I walked toward him fast, my knapsack over one shoulder, bumping against me. “Dad,” I called. “Dad, Dad!”

“Emily—!” He stepped toward me.

I’d forgotten that he stooped a little, as if he were always on the verge of stepping through a door that wasn’t quite high enough. I’d forgotten that his hairline was receding, and that he showed a high curved forehead. How could I have forgotten so much? How could I have forgotten even one tiny detail about him? My eyes filled, I dropped my knapsack, and threw my arms around him.