Missing (13 page)

“Hey, Dad?” Gaia finally asked with a faint smirk. “Are you aware that you've had that same dopey smile on your face for the last five minutes?”

He laughed, then shook his head and shifted in his seat. “I'm sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes cartoon style, as if he'd just awoken from a nice long sleep. “I think I've come down with some strange, exotic illness since we've been here. The symptoms are dopey smiles and unavoidable feelings of happiness.”

Gaia glanced down at her wine, blushing slightly. “Well, I don't mind it so much,” she mumbled. Incredible: There was a time—very, very recently— where even
that
small acknowledgment of emotion would have seemed impossible. But things were changing so fast. Besides, given all the time she'd yearned for
his attention, it wasn't necessarily such a bad thing having him concentrate massive doses of it into such short sittings like this.
No . . . it was like an I.V. of attention
—
like saline being pumped directly into the vein of a victim of dehydration.
In a way, it was a necessity.

“So, Gaia?” Her father cleared his throat, and his expression grew more serious. “You're sure you're okay with me going out to meet my contact—”

“Yes,”
she insisted, giggling. This was about the tenth time he'd brought up the debriefing since lunch. The way he kept talking about it, apologizing for it, warning her about it ...well,
it was almost as if she were in the second grade again, and he felt guilty for not having arranged a baby-sitter.
She
knew
he couldn't be around her every single second of every single day. He had a life. A job. An
important
job—one that demanded every bit of attention he could spare. And Gaia didn't want to interfere with it. Being in a family meant giving people space, too.

“I just hate to leave you alone,” he muttered.

Gaia smiled. “You haven't left me alone yet.”

“I know, I know. It's just that I can't stop worrying. It's foolish, but I can't stop remembering ...you know, the last time I left you. Five years went by before . . .” He didn't finish.

Gaia's throat tightened. Her father never seemed
this unsure of himself, this awkward or inarticulate. Yet somehow it made him even more endearing. She felt a sudden urge to jump up from the table and squeeze him. If she didn't watch herself, she might burst into tears. She picked up the bottle and clumsily clinked the top to her glass, pouring a little more wine.

“I'm just gonna have a little more of this,” she mumbled.

Her father forced a chuckle. “Good idea. Well, like I said, the meeting shouldn't take long. A couple of hours at most. Then I'm all yours.”

“That's
fine,
” Gaia assured him. “Really.” She took a sip of wine. “I can take care of myself, remember?”

He lifted his own glass. “I know. But you're just going to have to start getting used to the fact that someone
else
will be taking care of you, too.” He flashed her a loving “so-there” smirk.

Gaia blushed again.
This whole blushing thing was getting ridiculous.
It must be the wine. Maybe she should lay off for a while.

“Look, Gaia,” her father went on, switching again to a more serious tone. “There's something I want to tell you.” He leaned down under the table and pulled a heavy manila envelope from his briefcase. It was old, battered—and several inches thick. “I keep waiting for the right time to give this to you. The truth is, I don't know if there will ever be a right time. Tonight is probably as good a time as any.”

He handed the package to Gaia.

A flicker of electricity shot through Gaia's body as she took it. Whatever this thing was, it was heavy. She kept her gaze locked on her father's.
He looked nervous. Scared, even.
Shit.
Just don't let it be something bad,
she prayed, although her brain was a dull void.
I couldn't handle anything bad right now. Not now . . .

“What is it?” Gaia forced herself to ask.

“They're letters,” he said. He stared at the package with a cryptic, troubled expression that Gaia couldn't understand.

“Letters from ...?” she prompted him.

“From me,” he replied.

“To ...?”

“To you.”

Gaia's brow furrowed. She was beyond confused; she was totally baffled.

“I'm sorry,” he said, taking the package from her hands and laying it on the table. “I just . . . thought you should have these. I guess I wanted you to read them.” He paused uncomfortably again, avoiding eye contact. “They're all the letters I've written to you over the years and never sent. Well, not
all
of them. There are files and files of them all over the world, but this is the file I keep with me. And ...I want to give it to you because, well . . . because I wrote them to
you
—every day when I could, sometimes twice....”

Gaia looked down at the package and stared at it. She felt oddly detached, as if she were studying herself—
waiting to see which of the thousand emotions running through her would manifest itself first.
Would she cry from the sheer sadness of it all? The tragedy of all that time missed with her father? Or would she burst from the overwhelming love she felt for him at this moment, staring at the proof positive that he'd never forgotten her—as she'd believed for so long? That he'd actually thought of her every day, spoken to her even though she couldn't hear him? Or would she lash out at him? Slap his face for being such a fool and staying away from her?

That seemed to be what he was expecting, judging from the look of uncertainty on his face. But he didn't have to worry about that. Her anger had begun to fall away on the plane. Because in truth, at the very heart of it, Gaia hadn't spent the last five years pining for her father's
presence
or his
responsibility.
She'd known how to take care of herself since nursery school. What she'd yearned for all those years, and thought she'd lost, was his
love.
And here it was, sitting in a large manila envelope on the table.

Gaia couldn't stop herself anymore. She stood up from her chair, took two steps around the table, and hugged her father tightly.

“I'll read every one of them,” she whispered.

 

“WHOA, THERE, ROLLING THUNDER!”

Ed threw on the brakes and looked up. The shrill voice belonged to Megan Stein. Wonderful. Just his luck. And she happened to be with Tina Lynch. In his attempt to flee school Ed had run right smack into the one group of people he was
not
ready for: the FOHs—Friends of Heather, as Gaia had dubbed them.

“Drive much?” Megan asked sarcastically. She shook her head, brushing off her long black skirt and white Agnes B T-shirt. “You know, being in a wheelchair doesn't give you the right to barrel around the halls at top speed.”

Ed scowled. “No, it just gives us the right to get the best seats in movie theaters,” he muttered.

Megan and Tina exchanged a confused glance.

“What are you talking about?” Tina asked.

Before Ed could think of an appropriately absurd reply, Heather rounded the corner. His head drooped. No . . . he definitely couldn't deal with the FOHs right now. Not in the wake of the news about Gaia's absence. Heather's friends didn't exactly allow Heather's finest qualities to shine.
In fact, they seemed to go out of their way to nurture her inner bitch.
Which was one of the reasons Ed was so relieved that she'd been spending less and less time with them—

“What's the matter, Ed?” Tina Lynch asked. “You look sad.”

“Who, me?” Ed replied, pasting a smile on his face for Heather's sake.

Heather tried to smile back. But her eyes quickly darted to Tina and Megan. “Hey, guys,” she said. “I was wondering where you were—”

“I've been meaning to ask you something, Ed,” Megan interrupted. She didn't even acknowledge Heather's presence. Instead she put her hands on the back handles of Ed's chair, as if he were a human podium. Ed
hated
it when people grabbed the back of his chair. Especially people like Megan.

“What's that?” Ed grumbled.

“Well.” She adopted a tone of exaggerated friendliness. “Maybe you can tell us why our friend Heather, here, has been acting like such a freak—”

“I'm right here, Meegs.” Heather groaned. “You can talk to me.”

And keep me out of it,
Ed thought, clenching his teeth.

“What's the point?” Megan asked, glancing over at Tina. “Whenever we try to talk to you, you dis us. It's been going on for I don't even know how long. And it's got to stop.” Her voice hardened. “So whatever your problem is, get over it.”

“Word,” Tina agreed.

Ed almost laughed.
Word?
Tina had been
listening to one too many rap albums recently.
Whatever. Time to split. Clearly this little tiff had nothing to do with
him
—despite what Megan might think. This was between Heather and her friends. With a quick jerk he pulled himself free of Megan's grip and began rolling away.

“Where do you think you're going?” Megan called after him.

Ed glanced over his shoulder. “Somewhere else,” he mumbled.

“Wait!” Heather shouted. “Don't just run off!”

He jerked the brakes, feeling anger well up inside him—then spun around. There was absolutely no reason why he
shouldn't
run off. “What do you want?” he snapped.

Heather's face fell. “I . . . I just—I don't know,” she stammered, glancing at Tina and Megan again. “I just—”

“I think we should leave you two alone,” Megan stated dramatically. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and nodded at Tina. The two of them thrust up their chins (which only made them look like lame third graders) and strolled down the hall—past Ed, vanishing into the mob of kids flooding toward the exit.
It was just so . . . asinine.

He glanced back at Heather. She was shaking her head.

“Why don't you try to catch up with them?” he suggested.

She shot him an icy glare—as if he'd just suggested that she dive headfirst off the Chrysler Building. But then her expression softened. She stepped toward him. “I'm sorry,” she murmured. “It's just . . . I don't know. I miss my friends. And I'm sorry I've been acting so weird.”

Weird is an understatement.
Ed swallowed. He lowered his eyes. At first he had been pleasantly surprised by this new, sensitive Heather. But now he wasn't so sure. Still, her apology counted for something, didn't it?
At least she was aware of how strange she was acting.
Which probably meant she wasn't going completely insane.

“It's okay,” he mumbled. “You just have to stop worrying so much.”

She nodded, sighing. “You're right. Let's talk about something else.”

He glanced up and forced a smile. That was a good idea. And in fact, he did have some good news. “Well, I moved another toe last night—”

“You didn't tell anyone, did you?” she demanded.

Ed's eyes widened. The harshness of her tone shocked him. She hadn't even let him finish his sentence.
That's your only response? That's all you can think of?
He suddenly felt violently ill, as if he might vomit right in the middle of the hall.

“What?” she asked nervously, searching his eyes. “You did? You did tell someone, didn't you? You can't—”

“No,” he barked. This was incredible. Freaking
incredible.
Good news made Heather nothing but frightened. Pissed off, even.
He looked into her anxious eyes. Somehow, with that skittish, self-obsessed look on her face, for the first time in all the time he'd known her, Heather looked . . . ugly. “I didn't tell anyone. The only person I told was
you.
I gotta go.”

And with that, he clamped his hands down on his wheels and pumped them for all they were worth, whizzing down the hall and away from her as quickly as he could. He needed to be alone immediately— although he doubted he could possibly feel more alone than how he'd just felt with Heather.

“Wait, where are you going?” she called out.

“I have a lot of work,” he called back, not even turning his head.

“Well, I'll call you tonight, okay?”

Her voice was lost in the noise of the hall. Good thing, too. Because Ed had no answer for her.

 

“ALL RIGHT, THAT'S IT! RISE AND
shine, brother. Time to get up and at 'em!”

Sam heard a voice somewhere in the distance, but he was too groggy to know where it was coming from. Had he gotten drunk and joined the army or something?

“Who's there?” he mumbled.

The next thing he knew, the bright overhead light in his room tore into his eyes.
What the
— Two strong arms grappled his torso, yanking him into an upright position on his bed. Sam felt his body begin to fall back, but the arms kept him upright.

“Dad?” he muttered, trying to focus his vision.

There was laugher—wild, explosive laughter. The hands let him go. He heard footsteps in his room. What time was it, anyway?

“It's not your
dad.
It's Josh, you loser.”

“Oh, hey, Josh,” Sam croaked. His throat was dry. He blinked several times and squinted, finally focusing on Josh—who was bundled up in his gloves and overcoat, trying in vain to straighten out Sam's disaster area of a room.