I had imagined Simon and me taking that first-row seat on the bus, like I had on the way up, with the wide road in front of us. Instead, Simon walked right past the open front seat and kept going. By the time we arrived at the very last row I was reminded why I had fallen in love with this guy. He was a loner who liked to mingle—mostly with me.
Time was still playing its tricks, and the few hours to Boston seemed to go by in ten minutes. I think I spent most of that time singing the praises of Honey Dew Donuts. Simon had missed them on his way up. Once we got to the space-age bus terminal, we made a beeline there. I had two. Simon ate four. They were as good as ever. I watched as Simon got that amazing glazed goo on his cheeks. I reached my hand over and wiped it off. He gave me his best goofy grin. This was one of those moments of pure joy—helping someone I loved discover one of life’s pleasures, even if it was just donuts. I suppose that after the pain of death, the simple satisfactions taste sweeter.
Perhaps it’s just that buses put me to sleep, or maybe it was the past week catching up to me, but I fell asleep on Simon’s shoulder in the back row of the green Peter Pan bus as soon as we left Boston.
I woke up in Hartford, Connecticut, a few hours later. Simon said he had been just staring out the window, but it was dark now, and there was nothing much to see.
“I went back over to that park across from Thomas’s house.”
“I know, you said.”
“But I went back again after I talked to you. I really like that park. There’s never anyone there.”
“Did you see him again?” I asked.
“Yeah. He came out with that bow and arrow and we shot it around for a few minutes. He asked where you were.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“I said you were in a galaxy far, far away.” Simon grinned at me. “But that you’d be back.”
I reached up and kissed his cheek with a loud smack.
“What was that for?”
“Just because.”
When we arrived back to that horrible Port Authority Bus Terminal, my father was waiting. We were quiet for most of the drive home. Then I just said it.
“Simon was with me when I went to see Thomas.”
My dad looked over at me next to him in the front seat. Then his eyes shifted to the rearview mirror, where he could see Simon in the back.
“Were you,” he said. It was more of a statement than a question.
“Yeah, I’ve met him a couple of times now,” Simon said. “He’s a nice kid.”
My dad nodded that nod. I have to admit, The Nod looked good on him too. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said, “that he’s a nice kid.”
We didn’t say a lot more after that. Once we dropped off Simon, my dad spoke up. “When I saw Simon in Maine I assumed he was the one who’d gone with you to Thomas’s house.”
“How did you know I went there, anyway?”
“Because his mother called me.”
“So you talked to her?”
“Yes, she called me. She saw a girl and a boy talking with her son and she asked him who they were and he told her that the girl’s name was Lucy. She put the rest together.”
“So she knows who I am, then?”
“She knows about you, yes. Of course.”
“What’s her name, anyway?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Her name is Katharine.”
“Was Katharine mad?”
“Mad?”
“That I was there.”
“I wouldn’t say she was exactly thrilled. She just wanted to know if I was aware that you were there.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her the truth. I told her no, I wasn’t aware.”
We were both looking straight ahead as we drove.
“Was it nice to talk to her?” I asked.
“Lucy, it’s not like that. We don’t have that kind of relationship. We don’t have any relationship at all. I’ve told you that.”
“Yeah, but was it nice to talk to her?”
My dad shrugged. “It was, I suppose. It was nice to hear that Thomas was doing well.”
“Do you think about him?”
“Of course I do, Lucy.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Well,” my dad said softly. “I’ve never gotten the chance to know him, so . . .”
A light ahead turned red and we slowed to a stop. When we weren’t moving I could just barely hear my dad’s classic rock radio station playing super low. Even at a whisper you could hear some guy screaming, “Dream on. Dream on. Dream on. Dream on. Dream on. Ooooo Oooo . . .”
“It must be hard for you?” I said.
My father turned to look at me. “It is, sometimes,” he said. “But I brought that on myself.”
“So are you going to talk to her again?”
“I don’t know, Lucy. I mean, I’m sure I will, yes. We said we would talk soon.”
The light changed and we started up again.
“About what?”
“About Thomas, I’m sure. She just said, ‘We’ll talk soon.’ ”
“So it was Katharine who said it—‘We’ll talk soon.’ ”
“Yes.” He glanced over at me.
“Does Mom know you talked to her?”
“She does. I told her.”
We drove in silence for a bit, and then my dad looked over at me again.
“Simon seems like a nice fella,” he said.
“Fella?”
“A nice guy. How’s that? A nice young man. A nice person.”
“He is,” I said. “He’s awesome.”
My dad nodded. “I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend,” he said finally.
I shrugged. I’d been waiting for that one. “I guess you can never really know everything about a person, can you?” I said.
“Well, I don’t know, Lucy.” My dad seemed to be actually trying to answer the question. “Perhaps not. But I suppose the best we can do is to try and let another person know who we truly are. To let them see us. That is, if we love them and trust them enough.”
It had started to rain lightly. My dad shifted the wipers on slow speed. The pavement was shimmering a bit.
“And to do that,” he went on, “we have to make an effort to reveal ourselves to them.” He paused for a second before continuing. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately. My withholding the knowledge of Thomas prevented you from knowing me fully. And the reason I did that was because it showed me in what I thought was a bad light. And I’m truly sorry for that. It’s my great loss that I shut you and your sister out like that. And your mother, too, for a while. I suppose that’s why I told her when I did. I couldn’t bear to have something between us that prevented our being closer. Even though it risked tearing us apart. And the only reason it didn’t was because of the amazing person your mother is. I mean we went through a tough period, but I think we’ve come out the other side stronger.”
I wondered if the reason my mom drank her wine every night had anything to do with what my dad had done.
“I felt the same about you and your sister,” he went on, “but my shame and fear of what you would think of me prevented my telling you. I’m your father, you’re supposed to be able to look up to me. I thought that you’d think poorly of me—that you’d hate me, and with good reason.”
“I did,” I said. “But even more because you never told us for so long. That made it ten times worse.”
“I know,” he said. “I just couldn’t face the idea of you feeling that way—you thinking less of me.”
“Maybe you thought less of you,” I said.
My dad chuckled. “When did you get so wise?”
“I think it was somewhere around the New Hampshire border.”
“And speaking of that,” my father said, “there are going to have to be some consequences for your little adventure.”
“It wasn’t so little.”
“No. It certainly wasn’t. I don’t mean to make light of it. I think it’s a trip that will have some very far-reaching consequences for all of us. Nonetheless, you’re grounded for a month.”
I laughed. “Dad, do you hear how silly that sounds, after all we’ve just been through?”
“I do,” he said. “But I’m still your father and I have a job to do and actions have consequences—”
“As we’ve all learned,” I said.
My dad looked over at me. The rain had stopped. We turned into the driveway.
“As we’ve all learned,” he repeated.
We were back home.