Rules for Life (8 page)

The steps shimmered through the tears I was suddenly having trouble holding back. I pressed one cold hand against my face and took some deep breaths. Then I started down.

Rafe and his parents had arrived, along with a bunch of people from the show. “Isabelle, you look lovely,” Rafe's mom said, hugging me.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Rafe said. He squeezed my hand, hard. I wished I could have just kept holding on to him.

After that, everything was a blur of words and movement and a fake smile on my face that made my cheeks ache. For the ceremony, Jason and I stood behind Dad. Peter stood next to him.

The minister, a friend of Anne's, stood in front of the fireplace in a long white robe with a blue sash embroidered in gold around her neck. It struck me that her smile was the only one that seemed real.

I concentrated on the sound of the minister's warm, husky voice and tried not to listen to her actual words. But I heard the part about anyone objecting. “Let them speak now, or forever hold their peace,” she warned. It was as though she was reminding me, “You can't change it now.”

Dad took Anne's hand. The minister looked at Jason. He stepped forward, leaned over and kissed Anne's cheek and laid his hand on top of theirs.

The minister looked at me. I took three steps and put my hand over Jason's. He reached up with his thumb and gave it a squeeze.

“Those whom God has joined together, let no one put asunder,” the minister said.

With those words our old family was undone and Dad and Anne were married.

16

They were arguing. Not the screaming, throwing things kind of arguing. This was arguing with low, tight voices. I dropped my pack in the hall and stood in the doorway to the living room. Neither Dad nor Anne had heard me come in. They were standing in front of the fireplace.

I'd spent almost no time at home in the last month and a half. I didn't plan it that way. It's just how it worked out. And all my conversations with Dad—which meant the ones I couldn't avoid—were made up of words with less than two syllables. “How are things?” “Fine.” “Do you need any money?” “No.”

Anne and I pretty much stayed out of each other's way, except that we always ate breakfast together, me with my cereal and Anne with her dry toast and orange juice. It wasn't my idea. That first morning I came down and she was already at the table. I could feel the awkwardness between us; it was as though there wasn't enough space in the kitchen for both of us. But as the mornings passed I got used to it.

After the first morning there was always a bowl and spoon sitting on top of the microwave for me. We'd sit across from each other and she never tried to talk. I guess she knew that rule. But she always said “Have a good day” as she passed my chair to rinse her dishes in the sink.

“I don't see what's wrong with that,” Dad was saying.

Anne sighed and rested one hand on the bump of her belly. “I just think there's room for both pictures,” she said.

“I'm not going to put Susan's picture in the basement, Anne. I just want to move it somewhere else.”

“Marc, how long has Susan's picture been on that mantel?”

Dad ran his hands back through his hair. Bad sign. “I don't know. Since … I don't know.”

“How do you think Jason and Isabelle will feel, all of a sudden finding that their mother's picture has been stuck off in a corner somewhere?”

“Trust me,” Dad said. “Jason won't care and Isabelle will understand. It's not a big deal.”

Anne reached up and laid her hand on Dad's shoulder. “Please, Marc. At least wait until Isabelle gets home.”

“Isabelle is home,” I said.

They both swung around.

“If you're going to talk about me like I'm not in the room, then make sure I'm not in the room,” I said.
(Mom's Rule #21.)

Anne almost smiled. “I'm glad you're here,” she said. “Our wedding pictures came back. I'd like to move the photograph of your mother over to the left a little and put a picture of your dad and me at the other end of the mantel. Is that all right with you?”

Sit Mom next to the alabaster elephant she brought back from Mexico, where she could look over at Dad and Anne holding hands? No way. “I'd rather put Mom's picture in my room,” I said. “Then you can just put your picture up in the middle.”

“Great,” Dad said in a too-cheery glad-that's-settled voice.

“Are you sure?” Anne asked.

I nodded.

“You don't have to do that. There's plenty of room for both pictures.”

“It's okay. I want to.”

Anne looked at me without saying anything for a long, uncomfortable moment. “All right,” she said finally. She reached up for the picture and handed it to me. Then she folded both hands over the baby bump. “I have some things to do upstairs,” she said, and she left the room without looking at Dad or me.

17

I laid my head against Rafe's chest where I could breathe in the scent of him—deodorant soap and Big Red gum—at the open neck of his jacket. Mixed with the cold night air it was clean and comforting. “Mmm, you smell good,” I said.

“You feel good,” he said, rubbing one hand down my side and up under one of my sweaters.

I kissed the hollow space at the base of his throat. “Yeah, I've noticed you seem to like the way I feel.”

Rafe made a frustrated growl in the back of his throat and pulled me tighter against him. “I don't wanna go.”

“What time's practice?”

“Six.”

I groaned. “I can't even stand up at 6 a.m., let alone skate.” I nipped the curve of his ear with my teeth. “You could skip practice.”

Rafe sucked in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “Stop that,” he said. “You want St. Vincent's to take the title this year?” He turned me in his arms so my back was against his chest and leaned his chin on the top of my head. “We could go for breakfast tomorrow after I'm done.”

“Can't,” I said. “The old gals are having a bake sale at the center and I promised I'd help. They're raising money to buy a van so they can go on some overnight trips.”

Rafe laughed. “Overnight in a van. Is it going to have tinted windows and a red velour interior?”

I reached back and gave the side of his head a smack. “Not that kind of overnighter, you sicko. They just want to go shopping and play bingo.”

“You don't know that for sure. Even old people get horny sometimes.”

I shifted in his arms. “I can't believe you said that. You're the one who's always grossed out thinking about your parents having sex.”

He made a face. “That's totally different.”

“You want me to believe that some of those old people down at the Seniors Center are … Yeech!”

“Why not?”

I shook my head hard, trying to shake out the picture. “I don't even want to think about it.” Great. Now how was I going to look Mrs. Mac in the eye the next time I saw her?

“You're going to get cold out here,” Rafe said. “And I should go.” He leaned down and kissed me. His lips were warm and my knees went all floppy like a Raggedy Anne doll. I wasn't cold at all. “I really gotta go. I'll call you tomorrow.” He gave me one more quick kiss, took the stairs in two giant steps and loped across the lawn to his car.

I watched him drive away, but I didn't go in. I leaned against the railing and looked up at the ink-black sky. It seemed to go up forever. I tried to pick out the Big Dipper. The stars were so bright. The light had made it all this way, but the warmth had been lost millions of miles ago.

An image of old Mr. Jamer, with his dry-clean–only hair, getting horizontal with Mrs. Patterson popped into my mind and I couldn't help laughing.

“What's so funny?” Dad said from behind me.

I started, then turned halfway around. “Just something Rafe said.”

Dad came out onto the steps. We watched the sky in silence for a few minutes. “I don't see you much these days it seems,” he said, so quietly that for a moment I thought maybe I'd imagined the words.

I didn't even look at him. Was he waiting for me to get all teary? Waiting for us to hug, wipe our eyes and then go inside for cookies and milk? My throat was suddenly tight.

I let my eyes drift sideways. Dad was motionless, looking out at the night sky. Everything between us was different.

“I've been busy,” I mumbled.

Then I turned and went inside.

18

Lisa and I were hanging over the second-floor stairwell by the end of the breezeway to the gym. It was a good place to watch people—or to hang out if you wanted people to watch you.

Lisa liked to be noticed. She leaned over the railing as far as she could and rocked back and forth so her butt was in the air. Every guy going past on the stairs looked—which was why she was doing it. “You want to check out Second Coming next weekend?” she asked, smiling down at a skinny guy with shaggy blue and blond hair.

“Aren't you going to your dad's?” I said.

“Nope. He has to go away on business, and Haviland and the small ones are going too.” Lisa hung over the railing until her chest was on her folded arms. “You think he's cute?” she said.

“Your dad?”

She screwed up her face at me. “No, stupid. Him.” She pointed down the breezeway.

“Nick Dufferin?”

“Yeah. He's in the drama club.” She sighed and gave me a moony smile. “I like the sensitive artist type.”

“What about Zach?” I asked, leaning beside her.

“Oh please.” Lisa rolled her eyes. “That's over.” After a couple of minutes she said, “So, how's life with the wicked stepmother?”

I glanced at her, then looked away. “She has all these weird cravings. Like right now it's sour stuff. Either she's eating one of those big pickles from Rye's or she's sucking on those purple sourballs you get from the gumball machine outside the Cineplex. I think my dad's put twenty bucks' worth of change in that thing.”

Lisa snorted with laughter. “Haviland's thing was fried clams,” she said. “In the middle of the night.”

She tugged at the front of her black sweater. “Why couldn't we have fathers like Ashley Cooper's dad. When he turned forty he bought a convertible and had liposuction.” She turned to look at me, resting her chin against her shoulder. “Babies aren't so bad though, once they get past the puking up on everything stage.”

“Oh great,” I muttered.

“No, really, the little critters can be fun. Like last week, I taught Sammy how to shoot a pea right across the table like a spitball. Dad was pissed but Haviland was in the kitchen laughing.” She picked at something on the arm of her sweater. “It's not that bad, Iz, honest.”

“Sure,” I said. “Puke on my clothes and vegetable-spitting contests at the dinner table. In other words, a baby is just like Jason stoned.”

“Pretty much,” agreed Lisa with a grin.

Whoopee.

19

There was a soft knock at my door. Anne. It had to be. She did everything quietly.

“Come in,” I said.

Anne pushed the door halfway open. She was wearing a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark blue pants that hugged her legs, but seemed to magically expand when they got to her middle. She looked to me like she'd swallowed half a basketball. I figured that was how you were supposed to look when you were almost six months pregnant.

“Hi,” she said. “I thought maybe you'd like to see a picture of your sister.”

“My … ? Oh, you mean the baby.” I swung my legs around and sat upright on the bed.

She handed me a piece of paper. It looked like a printed picture of TV static. “There she is,” Anne said, leaning over the end of the bed to point at a tiny dark blob near the bottom of the picture. “And there's her head, and see those? Those are her legs and her arms.”

I stared at the fuzzy image and suddenly I could make out the shape of a baby, with a tiny fist curled against a cheek. It was like staring at one of those drawings that seemed to be just squiggly lines and then all at once became someone's face.

“Hey, I see her,” I said.

Her.

I looked up at Anne. She had one arm wrapped around her middle. “You know the baby is a girl?”

Anne smiled. “Yes, that's how it looks. We're going to call her Leah.”

I looked at the picture again. I'd never thought of the baby as anything but
it
. I held out the piece of paper.

Anne shook her head. “No. That's for you to keep.”

“Uh … no … that's okay.” I stumbled over the words. “There must be other people you want to show it to.”

“This is a copy,” Anne said.

“I don't really have anywhere to put it,” I said.

Anne tucked a curl of hair behind her ear and licked her lips a couple of times. “You know, Isabelle, I worry that you're unhappy, that you feel uncomfortable because of me. Because I'm here.”

I looked down at my quilt and traced the outline of one of the squares with my finger.

“I know all the changes must feel strange, but if you just give it some time it'll start to feel like your home, your family.” She leaned down and set the picture on the bed. “I'll let you get back to studying,” she said.

I kept staring at the picture after she left. Now all I could see was a baby. Leah. My sister. I couldn't see just grainy little blobs anymore.

Finally I got up and put the picture, face down, in the bottom drawer of my dresser.

20

I stood in the entrance to the Seniors Center, stomping my feet and shaking off snow like a big old dog.

I'd aced my Communications project. Now I was working on a video about World War Two for my world history class. Rafe said it was just an excuse to keep hanging around with Mrs. Mac and the others, although I noticed he always managed to be there to pick me up on the days they were cooking. Anyway, it was easy for him. He was a good-enough hockey player that he didn't have to worry about marks, even though his were pretty good. I did have to think about things like that. The only sport I played with any degree of ability was mini-golf, and no one handed out scholarships for that.