Chapter 22

“Bunny, hi! Are you awake? Did I call too early?”

“At noon? You know I never sleep ’til noon.”

“So take a guess where I’m calling you from.”

“A phone booth on the street. I can hear the car horns and sirens.”

“Wrong.”

“A cellular phone in a taxi.”

“Wrong! I’m in the hotel. In our room. You can hear all that stuff even though the windows are closed and we’re on the sixteenth floor.”

“What are you doing? What have you done? Is it exciting being there? Tell me everything.”

“Last night, after Dad met me at the plane, we took a taxi to the hotel. He was already checked in, so we just went up, and I unpacked. We ate supper and then we went to a movie. Right now, I’m waiting for Dad to come back from his meeting. He was gone when I woke up. The first thing I did was take a shower—”

“Emily. Emily! You don’t have to tell me every detail.”

“You said for me to tell you everything.”

“Right, but I didn’t mean everything. Just give me the important stuff.”

“I have to tell you this, Bunny. It’s a luxury hotel. There’s a basket in the bathroom with tiny fancy bottles of shampoo and three different kinds of hand-milled soap. There’s a big fluffy white bathrobe to put on after your shower. Plus a hair dryer, remote control TV, of course, and a tiny refrigerator full of snacks.”

“What kind of snacks?”

“I knew you’d like that. Chocolate, crackers, sodas, little bottles of juice. A bar of chocolate is four dollars. Everything is unbelievably expensive. Did I say we ate in the hotel dining room last night? It’s beautiful. The tablecloths and napkins are pink linen. There’re flowers on every table. A waiter in a black tux took our order. Guess what Dad’s baked potato cost? Three dollars! Last week I bought Mom ten pounds of potatoes in the market, and I didn’t pay half that much.”

“Was the food good?”

“Delicious! Dad’s trying to lose weight. He had shrimp cocktail, baked potato, and some kind of grilled fish. Red snapper, I think. I had baby lamb chops with mint jelly and chocolate cake for dessert. I don’t want to even tell you how much the whole thing cost.”

“Were the baby lamb chops wearing little diapers? Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Are we through with last night? Have you done anything exciting this morning?”

“I ate breakfast in a croissant shop. I walked around for hours. I experienced New York. Park Avenue. Lexington Avenue. Fifth Avenue. They’re fabulous. Dad said if I stayed around the streets near the hotel, I would be okay. You wouldn’t believe the things you see in the stores here.”

“Did you buy anything?”

“I just window-shopped. I didn’t have the nerve to go in anywhere.”

“Emily, they don’t charge you for walking into a store. You’ve got to go in. When I was in New York with Mom last year, half the fun was shopping.”

“Well, you’re just more sophisticated than I am.”

“True.”

“I think I’m running out of things to tell you.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you something. Our mutual friend called me last night.”

“Robertson?”

“Yes. He’s madly madly in love with me.”

“That’s what he said?”

“Aren’t you glad his Emily fever is gone?”

“What else did he say?”

“Oh, this and that. He just about wants to run away with me.”

“Did he tell you you were beautiful and adorable and cute?”

“Emily, I thought I was bringing you good news. I thought I’d hear a rousing cheer and that there’d be a big celebration. The pest is out of your life at last!”

“Well … he wasn’t that much of a pest.”

“Are you telling me you care, Emily? I thought Robbie was just one big pain to you.”

“Robbie?”

“That’s what I call him … Emily, are you jealous?”

“Nooo! But I didn’t exactly hate the guy, Bunny.”

“Don’t worry, you’re still his friend. That’s probably much better than being the object of his overwhelming affections.”

“How much do you like him?”

“Hmmmm. He’s a cute kid, and he knows how to kiss. But it is kind of embarrassing to like someone twelve years old!”

“Tell me about it.”

“Yeah … that’s the thing.”

“How much have you kissed him?”

“Hold on there. I just saw him at the picnic. You know what happened there.…”

“Yes …”

“I couldn’t help myself. It was a case of instant insanity.”

I had to laugh. “You’re crazy.”

“That’s what I just said. Oh, my mother’s calling me. I gotta hang up now, Emily. Love ya!”

“Me, too. ’Bye.”

“’Bye-bye!”

That afternoon, Dad and I went to a museum, another movie, and F.A.O. Schwarz, a really great toy store, to find presents for Wilma and Chris. “I don’t know how we’re doing so much,” Dad said. He tucked my arm through his. “We’re terrific, Emily. We’re taking this city by storm.”

We had so much fun. Everything we did was fun. I hoped I would never forget a single thing. I promised myself as soon as we got back to the hotel I’d write everything down in my journal. The only thing I didn’t like was that we were so busy we didn’t get to really talk.

We ate supper in a Mexican restaurant. The walls had bright murals of Mexico painted on them. There were candles on the tables and mariachi music playing in the background. The food was better than any Mexican food I’d ever tasted. We started talking about the twins, and I told Dad how Chris took his Original Disappearing Snowman paperweight everywhere.

“He really likes it.” Dad looked pleased.

“He’d like anything that came from you,” I said. Then I told him some Wilma stories.

Dad really laughed. “She’s something else. She’s a pistol! That girl is always going to be okay; she’ll know how to take care of herself. By the way, Emily—”

Everytime he said by the way … I got a tight feeling in my chest, and I thought about him coming back to us. “Yes, Dad?” Was he going to say it now? Under the table, I crossed my fingers. I looked at him, his eyes, his broad shining forehead and big bony shoulders. I loved him so much.

“I just realized, with all our shopping, we didn’t get you anything today. We should have bought something for you in the museum shop.”

“I don’t want anything. I’m here this weekend. That’s my present.”

“Are you sure? Don’t you want anything at all?”

My heart gave that plane-landing thump. Yes, there was something I wanted! I looked down at my plate. In the scraps of food, in the bits of tortilla and shreds of lettuce on my plate, I suddenly saw the letters H and R. H for Home. R for Return. I looked up. “Dad, are you ever coming back?”

“What? Back?” A startled, unhappy look crossed his face.

“I want you to come home,” I said.

“Emily. Emily. This was settled long ago. That’s not my home anymore. Your mom and I aren’t—”

“It’s not right for me not to have a father.” My eyes were wet.

“You do have a father.”

“Far away! I never see you. It’s not fair.”

“I know how you feel, honey. Don’t you think I wish I could see more of you, too? I love seeing you. I wish I didn’t live so far away.”

“Why did you go there? You shouldn’t have gone there.”

“You know why, for a better job. And if I come to New York City, it’ll be for a better job, too.” He put his hand over mine. “It’s been a great weekend so far, honey. We’ve had fun, we’ve done a lot together, and it isn’t over yet.” I nodded and sank down in my seat. I wished I was home. I didn’t want to be here anymore. I didn’t want to even look at Dad. I told myself I had to act mature, and I forced out a smile. Why did I feel this way? What was the matter with me? In my mind, my sensible mind, my emotionally mature mind, hadn’t I always known he wasn’t coming back?

“You okay?” he said.

“Sure. I’m fine.” My throat felt sore and I drank some water.

Dad pushed aside his plate and took a picture from his wallet. “Look, I brought this for you. Here’s your sister Rachel.” My eyes were blurry and I could barely see the picture. A little girl with curly blonde hair and tiny white teeth. “I think she looks a lot like you,” Dad said.

Why would he say that? I had dark straight hair and so did Wilma and Chris. He handed me another picture of Rachel, this one with Marcia holding her in her lap. I held it near the candle to see it better. I held it so close it suddenly caught fire. I froze. I didn’t drop the picture. I watched the blue and yellow flames race to my fingers.

Dad threw water over my hand. A hissing sound. The picture was ruined, curled and blackened. “Sorry,” I whispered. My face felt hotter than the tips of my fingers where the flames had touched them. Dad dropped his napkin over the mess on the table. “Are you okay? Let me see your hand.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay.” I kept my hand in my lap.

Dessert came, a cool pudding sort of thing. We were sort of awkward. Dad tried to keep things light. He told me a funny story about how hard it was to live in Chicago and be a Boston Red Sox fan. I laughed politely. It wasn’t until later, when I was in bed, that I let myself think about what Dad had said before I burned the picture, and what it meant. He was never going to come back to us. Never.