Zigzag Read online

  He grinned. “Good. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I checked around the tennis courts and the swimming pool and then down behind the stable, but I wasn’t going to wander out into total darkness looking for them—Iris wasn’t nearly likable enough for me to risk death by snakebite. Then, as I was walking back to our bunkhouse, there was Jackson himself, suddenly heading right toward me, his long legs covering ground fast. He didn’t look happy.

  “Hey, do you know where Iris . . . ?”

  “In your bunkhouse. Safe and sound,” he said through gritted teeth. He barely glanced at me, then strode on past, down to the ranch hands’ quarters.

  When I came into our living room the only sound I could hear was Marshall’s deep breathing from the other bedroom. Dory must still be at the square dance. The only light was from the bathroom I shared with Iris. Oh, please, I thought, don’t let her be puking again.

  But when I looked in Iris was just standing in front of the mirror, staring at herself, her blond hair loose and falling in her face.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She nodded. “What kind of a person do I look like?”

  “What?”

  She tipped her face up and looked down at herself. “You know. Do I look dumb or something? Or do I look like a baby? I just don’t know what I look like.”

  “Well, you don’t look dumb and you don’t look like a baby. But apparently you look older than thirteen. What happened with Jackson tonight?”

  “He kissed me,” she said, staring deeply into her own eyes. “He kissed me a lot.”

  I took her by the arm and led her out of the bathroom so she’d stop looking at herself like that—it was creeping me out. We sat on her bed in the dark. “Did you want him to kiss you?”

  She shrugged. “At first I did. He’s cute.”

  “Yeah, I know, but that doesn’t mean he can kiss people whenever he wants to.”

  “Well, I wanted to kiss him. But then . . .”

  “Then what?”

  “It’s not a big deal . . . I know girls my age who do this stuff. I should have let him.” She bent over to untie her shoes and slip them off.

  “Let him what?”

  She sighed and flopped backward on the bed. “Touch me. Under my shirt and stuff. You know.”

  “Iris! You just met this guy today! And he’s about eighteen years old!”

  “So?”

  “So, you’re only thirteen! God, you can’t just let guys do whatever the hell they want!”

  “I didn’t let him. Which is why he hates me now.” I heard the catch in her throat and was pretty sure there were tears running down the sides of her face onto the patchwork quilt.

  “Iris, you were right not to let him do that. You’ll never even see him again once we leave here. And, anyway, you’re much too young for him. He and Glen thought you were sixteen.”

  “They did? Did you tell them I wasn’t?”

  “Of course I did!”

  “Why?” Now I could actually hear her crying.

  “Because . . . because a sixteen-year-old flirting like that probably does want a boy to try stuff with her. I don’t think you know what messages you were giving out.”

  “What do you know about it? You live out in the sticks.”

  I almost laughed at that one. “Believe me, Iris, even in the outback of Iowa teenagers are interested in sex. Do you think Jackson is a city boy?”

  “Whatever. I did want to kiss him—he’s cute, and I never got kissed before.”

  “Your boyfriend, Parker, never kissed you?”

  The snuffling calmed down a little. “Parker’s thirteen, too—he barely had the nerve to hold my hand.”

  “Oh.” At thirteen I would have been too nervous to touch the opposite sex, too, so my sympathies were definitely with Parker.

  Iris bounced her fists on the bed. “This is so embarrassing—I never want to see Jackson again. Which means I can’t even go on the trail ride tomorrow.” That realization brought on another burst of tears, but at least she was crying about horses now, which seemed more appropriate.

  “Aren’t there two trail rides every morning? Couldn’t you do the other one?”

  She gave a deep, shaky sigh. “Yeah, there’s a ten o’clock ride, too. Maybe they’ll let me switch.”

  “Sure they will. That Joe guy loves you.”

  The living room door squeaked open and then clicked closed: Dory was back. Iris sat up, the tears immediately dry.

  “Go into the bathroom,” I whispered. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Don’t tell her anything!” Iris pleaded. “She’ll freak!”

  “I won’t,” I said. Iris shut the door behind her and I switched on a light, then walked out to see my aunt. She was getting herself a ginger ale from the fridge.

  “Is everybody back? You want a drink?” she asked.

  “No, thanks. We’re all back. Iris is getting ready for bed.”

  “Did you two have fun? I saw you dancing with that Glen guy, but I didn’t see much of Iris.”

  “We had fun,” I said. “She danced a lot, too, but she came back before I did. You stayed the latest,” I said, cleverly shifting the focus to her.

  “It’s funny. I almost didn’t go over at all, and at first I felt so stupid just sitting there all alone. I haven’t spent much time alone over the years, I guess. But then one of the cowboys asked me to dance, and then another one did, and pretty soon I didn’t have time to catch my breath between dances. Square dancing is so much fun!”

  “That’s great!” She looked so happy that, without really thinking about it, I gave her a hug.

  “I’m so glad you came along on this trip, Robin. I think the three of us were starting to go a little crazy—we needed somebody to get in between us.”

  Well, that certainly seemed to be where I found myself most of the time—caught in the middle. But I had to admit I didn’t mind it as much as I had at the beginning. I said good night to Dory and went back to the other bedroom.

  The dance had been fun, but it made me wonder what Chris had been doing while I was do-si-do-ing cowboys. After all, he was living with a bunch of kids our age. What were the chances he wouldn’t look for another partner?

  Iris cracked open the bathroom door. “Is she gone?”

  “Yeah, she’s going to bed. She had a good time at the dance.”

  “Did she dance with people? Men, I mean?”

  “Several, apparently.”

  Iris seemed a little stunned by the news. She staggered over to her bed and fell onto it like a broken toy. By the time I was done in the bathroom she was under the covers. As soon as I turned out the light, she started to talk.

  “I wonder if she wants to get married again? That would be way too weird.”

  “She might eventually. She’s not that old.”

  “I don’t want her to,” she said, a touch of anger in her voice. When I didn’t respond she said, “But I guess that doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Neither of us said anything for several minutes, and I was dropping off to sleep when Iris said, “Are you in love with your boyfriend? What’s his name again?”

  I groaned. “I’m half asleep, Iris.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Yes! Okay? Yes, I love Chris.”

  Dammit. Now Chris’s ghost was here in the room with me, which was going to make getting to sleep that much harder. I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “Do you sleep with him?” Iris sounded wide awake.

  “Iris, I’m not talking about this stuff with you. I’m tired!”

  “You do, don’t you?” She made a gagging noise. “Gross.”

  “Go to sleep!” I pulled the pillow over my head, knowing I’d have to run through at least half a dozen memories now before I could be happily unconscious.

  Marshall was the first one up, of course, and he had a million ideas about what he wanted to do with the day. He went off to b
reakfast with Howie and Bobby and their parents so they could get to the roping lesson on time.

  “Well, I’m glad I picked this place for an extended stay!” Dory said. “It seems to appeal to everyone.”

  Iris smiled, but she was quieter than usual at breakfast. She did, however, eat a normal amount of food, which I was glad to see. She’d already checked with Joe and he’d booked her for the later morning trail ride.

  Dory and I decided we’d try our hand at fishing this morning, or at least sitting on the riverbank with a pole in our hands, and then in the afternoon, when Marsh joined us, we’d go tubing.

  It was funny how different Dory was from Mom, even though they were sisters. I guess living in the city changes you, or maybe Dory wanted to live in the city because she was different to begin with. I don’t know. But she always had a nice outfit to put on, with things that matched, like her socks and her blouse, or her earrings and her belt. And every morning she got up early enough to wash her hair and dry it with the hair dryer so it looked perfect, but always the same. She even wore lipstick to go fishing!

  I knew exactly what Mom would wear for a trip to a river—her old tennis shoes with the holes in the toes, her jeans, a T-shirt (probably gray), and no jewelry. She’d shower and wash her hair, too, but it would be hanging wet or maybe pulled back with an elastic or stuffed under a hat. And definitely no lipstick.

  I wondered if things would change now that Michael Evans was around. After all, she’d worn a white blouse to grill steaks that night he came for dinner. I guess I felt the same way Iris did about the possibility of my mother getting remarried: I didn’t want her to. I knew it was selfish, and that I’d probably get used to it if she did, but if you asked me right out I’d have to say, no, the idea gave me gooseflesh.

  Dory and I settled down near some cottonwood trees at the edge of the river. The ranch provided nightcrawlers for bait, which was what I’d used the times I’d gone fishing in Iowa, too. I baited my hook, threw it in, and looked over at Dory. She was making an awful face trying to stick the worm on her hook.

  “Need help?” I asked.

  She sighed. “I used to fish all the time back home. I can do this.” But after a minute or two she’d mangled her worm to death and had thrown it in the river in disgust. “God, I’ve turned into a wimp. Can’t even bait a hook anymore.”

  I took her pole and stuck the bait on the hook. It’s not that hard.

  Dory smiled. “Thanks. What would I do without you?” She dropped her hook into the water with a little splash. “I know I keep saying that, but I’m so relieved at how well the kids have taken to you, Robin.”

  I must have laughed.

  “They have!” Dory said. “They can be monsters when they don’t like somebody.”

  Yeah, I’d sure hate to see that.

  Dory swished her line around in the river absentmindedly. “I’m afraid there may be some fireworks ahead, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She grimaced. “I have to tell them about school in the fall. They won’t be happy. I needed to find a different school for Marshall, anyway, so I made a big decision: I’m putting them both in public school.”

  “You are?”

  She nodded. “There’s a good one not far from our apartment, which is a combination middle and high school. I wanted to send them to public school to begin with, but Allen always felt . . . well, we could afford private schools and he wanted the best for them. But now, I have to be more careful with my money if I’m going to be able to afford college for them both. I’ve got a teaching job for the fall at a high school across town. Obviously, we’re not poor, but we can’t have everything we want anymore either—choices have to be made.”

  “Will the kids be upset?”

  “Marsh knows he’ll be at a new school—he may not care too much which one it is. But Iris! She loves Forest Hill. All her friends are there. I know it will be tough, but I always had a few issues with the attitudes they picked up there, anyway.”

  So Dory did notice her kids were snobs!

  “When are you going to tell them?”

  “Soon. I’m not sure. I was hoping once they started having fun on this trip it would be easier to hand out the news. They’re having fun now, but I’m not sure it’s enough to soften the blow. Anyway, I thought you should be prepared—there may be some rough water ahead.”

  “I can swim,” I said.

  “I know you can,” she said. “Better than the rest of us.”

  We didn’t catch anything, but that was okay. Fishing isn’t really about catching fish anyway. Grandma always used to say, “Fishin’ is just gettin’ off your feet and watchin’ the river flow by.” When I reminded Dory of that, she smiled, but tears came to her eyes. Even though you couldn’t always see her sadness on the outside, I had the feeling her inside was so filled up with it, it didn’t take much to spring a leak.

  While we were eating lunch, Mel got up on the little stage and read out the names of the people who’d gotten mail. “Robin Daley,” he called out.

  I jumped up from the bench so fast I kicked Marshall in the shoulder. “Ow, be careful, would ya’?”

  “Sorry, Marsh,” I said, giving his shoulder a quick rub before I headed down the aisle to claim my letter. As I was walking toward him, Mel said, “And another one for the lovely Robin. You’re mighty popular, sweetheart!” He handed me a postcard and a letter in a thin blue envelope. The letter, of course, was from Chris, but I didn’t want to rip it open in front of an audience, so I walked back to my seat, trying to look at the postcard instead. The words kept blurring.

  “Two pieces of mail!” Dory said.

  “Yeah. The postcard is from . . .” I concentrated on the signature. “Oh, Franny!” I flipped it over to the picture side and laughed—it was a picture of our strip mall. “This is where she works—in the video store.”

  I tried to make my heart stop booming so I could read the card from Franny, but it was hard to forget there were words from Chris, words that might say anything at all, sitting in a sealed envelope in my lap.

  My hand was shaky as I held up Franny’s card and read it out loud.

  “Dear Runaway,

  It’s your fault I’m forced to spend so much time with Des Sanders. He said to tell you thanks. Liz says you might decide to stay in New Mexico with your dad, but I told her she’s nuts. If you don’t come back, you’re dead meat. Say hi to Ben Affleck for me when you get to L. A., and bring me back a cowboy!

  Yours in Purgatory,

  Franny.”

  “What’s purgadory?” Marshall said.

  “An uncomfortable place,” Dory told him, then said to me, “I like your friend. She’s funny.”

  “Yeah. We’re like sisters.”

  “Oh, wait! Franny. She’s the one with the crazy parents. She practically lived with you for a while, right?”

  I nodded. “Things have calmed down more now. Her parents don’t fight over her anymore. As a matter of fact, they sort of ignore her.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “More or less. She still gets mad at her parents, but she’s kind of outgrown them. She writes poems about the whole thing.”

  “Well, that gives me hope.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She means maybe me and Iris won’t grow up to be ax murderers either,” Marsh said.

  “Iris and I,” Dory said. She glanced at the blue envelope balanced on my clenched knees. “That from Chris?”

  I nodded.

  “Who’s Chris?” Marshall asked.

  “Another of Robin’s friends,” Dory said, rising and pulling Marsh with her. “We’ll go back to the bunkhouse and put on our suits. Take your time with your letter.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I waited until I saw them walk all the way back to the bunkhouse before I even moved. Finally, I picked up the letter and walked out of the barn—I wasn’t going to read it surrounded by busboys tossing silverware into aluminum basins. Behind the b
arn were some wooden chairs from which there was a pretty view over to the mountains. Nobody was in any of them at the moment, so I sat down and looked at my envelope. It was all I had of Chris anymore. In a way, I hated to read it because once I’d read it the anticipation of what might be inside would be over. All I’d have of Chris, again, would be old news. I looked out at the mountains for a few minutes, then slid my finger under the flap of the envelope and ripped it open.

  Dear Robin,

  I’ve been here almost a week and I still haven’t heard from you. I guess the mail is slow between America and Italy, but still, I’m feeling kind of lonely. I thought you’d write me as soon as I left. I hope this doesn’t mean you’re still mad at me.

  I’m learning a lot here, but the program is hard. We have Italian classes for two hours every morning, then an hour of Roman history before lunch and an International Relations class after lunch. It’s so hot here nobody feels like studying in the afternoon—in fact, the Italians mostly take siestas then (or whatever they call them here) and we do, too! I study in the late afternoon when it cools off a little bit, and then around seven o’clock I usually go to dinner with my roommate Charlie and my two friends from Milan, Giacomo and Dante. We usually eat at school and then go out to walk around the city, but sometimes we decide to eat in a restaurant instead.

  The food here is so wonderful. You’d love it, Robin. Pasta—your favorite thing—with every meal! And everybody drinks wine here, even the little kids—there’s no such thing as being underage. Even the school serves wine with dinner! It’s great having Giacomo and Dante show us the city. They’ve been to Rome many times before so they know where everything is. They make fun of our Italian, which is quite lousy, but I think they enjoy showing us their country. I’ve started drinking espresso coffee in those little cups. It always seemed stupid to me in Iowa, but here everybody does it. It gives you a great buzz, especially after a carafe or two of red wine!

  My other roommate, Rob, doesn’t hang around with Charlie and me much. He’s the one I told you about who’s kind of a snob. He found this group of kids who are going to the Ivies next year—you know, Harvard, Yale, Princeton, etc.—and he hangs with them. Suits me fine—I don’t need somebody looking down his nose at me just because I’m from the Midwest. It does make me worry a little bit, though, whether there will be kids at Georgetown who’ll feel that way, too.