“Not again,” her mother objected between bites, like it was a surprise—like it was all a plot against her.
“That’s what they said,” Aunt Arlene assured her. “A hundred percent chance.”
Great, Sarah thought. They’d be stuck in the house again. They could only walk Rufus so many times a day. That was, if it was his house. Ella didn’t think so, which meant she was dreaming and miserable for nothing. At least after the pain of Christmas break she’d hooked up with Mark. She’d convinced herself she didn’t miss him, that he was a jerk. And then, lying down at night, she thought of the couch in his basement and the lava lamp that sent blue bubbles swimming across the walls like fish.
“I’m sorry,” Grandma apologized. “I didn’t think it would be like this. I was hoping we could squeeze in our golf tomorrow.”
Uncle Ken told her it wasn’t her fault. They could play Thursday or Friday, he promised.
“If it ever stops,” Aunt Lisa said.
Sarah ate, not part of the conversation. She had her dinner balanced in her lap, knees clenched together, pigeon-toed. When she cut her steak the blood circled her plate, staining her potato salad. Beside her, Ella batted at something invisible. A fly had gotten in and was slaloming between the wrought-iron tables, shopping up and down the porch for a place to land, buzzing Justin so he almost spilled his milk.
“Just ignore it,” their mother instructed, but Justin kept ducking, though Sarah willed him to sit still, to stop being such a baby. “It’s not going to hurt you, it’s just a fly.”
“I’ll get it,” Sam volunteered, clanking his plate down on a table to fetch the flyswatter from inside.
“You sit and eat your dinner,” Aunt Lisa ordered, pointing, and he sighed.
“All this uproar over a little fly,” Aunt Arlene said, trying to be funny.
She wasn’t. Sarah felt sorry for whoever her students had been.
Uncle Ken was done—he was the fastest eater—and went inside. When he came back he had the swatter.
“Not while we’re eating,” Aunt Lisa said, so he propped the door open like it might fly out on its own.
“You know what I was thinking,” Grandma announced loudly, so everyone turned to her, and Sarah knew this was trouble. Grandma was great at making plans. “I was thinking if it’s going to be cruddy again tomorrow, we might take a day trip up to the falls. As far as I know, the children have never seen them.”
“Niagara Falls?” her mother said, like it was crazy.
“In the rain?” Aunt Lisa said, and Sarah found herself agreeing, rooting for them, thinking how bizarre it was that they were on the same side. It would be boring, driving all that way just to see something everyone else thought was a big deal but she didn’t care about. She knew her mother and Aunt Lisa wouldn’t let her and Ella stay here by themselves.
“It should keep the crowds down,” Grandma said. “You’re going to get wet there anyway with the spray.” When no one commented on it, she said, “I’m just throwing it out for consideration. I think at this point people are running out of things to do. I know I am. Of course if no one’s interested …”
“I’m interested,” her mother said, “I’m just trying to catch up to it.”
“I think the kids are at an age where they can appreciate it.”
Her mother seemed unsure, like there must be a trick.
“I’d like to see them again,” Aunt Arlene said. “They’re so close.”
“From here,” Uncle Ken said, “it’s less than two hours.”
While they discussed how far it was, Sarah caught Ella’s eye. Like her, she was bent over her plate, eating, staying out of it, hoping the adults would make the right decision, but a roll of her eyes let Sarah know she was just as thrilled. Her mother was beginning to like the idea, saying it might be fun, and Ella stuck out her tongue as if the steak was grossing her out. Sarah almost laughed at it, had to cough and look away, across the water. They were both thinking the same thing: they were completely and totally screwed.
“Whatever you want to do is fine,” Grandma said. “For me, it’s a sentimental journey. I’m not interested in it as a natural wonder per se, but I thought you all might feel left out if Arlene and I went by ourselves.”
“What else are we going to do if it rains?” her mother asked.
“And it’s going to rain,” Aunt Arlene said, definite.
“Can we go on the boat?” Sam asked.
“Of course,” Grandma said. “You can’t go to Niagara Falls and not go on the boat. We’ll go down in the caves too, right behind the waterfall. You’ll have to wear a slicker.”
“What time would we get going?” Uncle Ken asked, and they started making plans. They’d take the van and the 4Runner; they could fit everyone that way. Sarah imagined four hours in the van with Grandma and Aunt Arlene and Justin and her mother.
“Can Ella and me stay here?” she asked.
“No,” her mother said, final.
“Then can I sit with Ella?”
Ella seconded it.
Her mother looked to Uncle Ken, who nodded.
“Sure,” she said, frowning, as if Sarah had gotten away with something.
“Well, this should be a real adventure,” Grandma said, like she was surprised she’d gotten her way.
Aunt Lisa didn’t say anything, just ate. Sarah’s steak was cold and tough, the fat on the edges the color of old tape. She wanted to be done. Tomorrow was shot, so there was what—Thursday and Friday. Saturday they’d go home. Mark would get back right about the same time. He’d call and say he wanted to get together—or not. In two weeks, school started, her life started again. She wondered if she would see her father before that. He was in the U.P. at her grandparents’, probably inside because of the rain, the same as here. She wondered if he took his girlfriend to meet them, the way he insisted Mark come inside before a date and shake his hand. She thought, idiotically, of calling him, and of what she’d say.
I miss you.
So does Justin.
Mom’s okay.
On the phone they hardly talked, like they might mess things up worse.
Good, he’d say.
Huh.
That’s great, Picklechips, just super. Hang in there, babe—like he might come to save them. That was what Justin thought, no matter how many times she told him it wasn’t going to happen. He’d cry and then she’d feel like shit and wouldn’t know what to say to him. It was like her father used to say when she was little: just another day in the Carlisle House of Fun.
Another fly had sneaked in and was weaving around the first one, the two of them just missing head-on collisions. Uncle Ken stood up and shut the door, the swatter in his hand, then sat back down and waited for everyone to finish. Sarah took her plate in, holding it high so her mother couldn’t see how much she’d eaten. She dropped her fork in the silverware basket, then went into the downstairs bathroom and shut the door, locked it with a metallic clack.
With the light out it was quiet, only the skunky smell of the water to disturb her. She sat there with her eyes closed, biting the corner of her thumbnail, her breath warm on her knuckles. She gnawed one corner, then the other, back and forth over the square points, turning her head. Her teeth slipped and clicked together, making a strange sound in the space above the bathtub, but she didn’t open her eyes. With her other hand she reached up and removed the thumb from her lips, took it away. Everything’s fine, she thought. There was no need to freak out. Everything was okay, as long as she didn’t think.