I stared at his practical coat, his neatly laced New Balance sneakers.
Wait. You watch me during class? Do you think that’s OK?
No, I don’t watch you the whole time! I just check for you! Like, is she still there? Good.
Why should that matter to you?
I don’t know! the boy said, laughing. I’m just a stupid kid from Nowheresville. Clearly an idiot! I don’t know why you matter to me.
Ju-lee-eh-et, my mother calls from downstairs.
Coming, I say.
VI
It’s a new day. I’m putting on a scarf in front of the hallway mirror. The scarf is silk, a bold fuchsia. Michael brought it back from a business trip several years ago. I never found the occasion to wear it. Well, until now. And of course, now it’s terribly inappropriate.
My mother walks out of the guest bedroom, rubbing her eyes.
I fell dead asleep, she says. Is it already time for the bus?
Yes, I say. I was going to let you sleep.
She blinks at me. One side of her hair is flattened.
Are you going to the bus stop? she asks, incredulous.
I thought I would, I say. I thought I should. Try. Go out and face people.
She looks around the room, licking her lips.
Well, sure, she says. I bet that would mean a lot to her.
I see her glance at the scarf.
Self-consciously, I take it off.
Pink washes me out, I say.
I hand the scarf to her.
My mother stands there holding it like a pelt.
Were you reading Michael’s journal again? she asks.
I shrug. The clenched smile appears. Jack-o’-lantern.
I was wondering…My mother shifts her weight. I don’t want to give unwanted advice, but maybe you should put the journal away? Just for a little while. Until you feel stronger. Ready.
But I’m getting to the best part, I say, before I can stop myself.
The best part? She squints.
Of the story, I say. The best part of the story. Which just so happens to be the worst part of my life.
I don’t believe you need to read that story, Juliet. Do you?
I sigh. You ask good questions, I say. But I really should head to the bus stop now.
One more thing, she says.
I wait, my hand on the doorknob.
My being here, she says. I want to stay. I will stay as long as you need me. But promise me you’ll tell me if you’d rather be alone. Just tell me. Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t take it personally.
My heart pounds. The truth is, the possibility of her leaving hasn’t even occurred to me. I know she has her own place—an apartment in Schenectady, not far from my childhood home and her best friend, Louise. Even though I’ve never seen it, I can picture the art on the walls, the succulents on the windowsills. I can picture my mother going busily in and out of the front door, retired but living carefully, on very little. Volunteering at the Boys & Girls Club. Visiting ignored New England museums with Louise.
Juliet? my mother says. Have I upset you?
The sensation is familiar. Reminding me of what? Then I remember.
The thought of my mother leaving feels like being out of sight of land.
February 27. HAPPY DEPARTURE DAY FROM CREW OF YACHT ‘JULIET.’ Port of Snug Harbor. 09° 19.66?N 078° 15.08?W. Time: 9:15 a.m. Course: NW. Wind: SE 10 knots. NOTES AND REMARKS: Full battery power. Running lights functional. Hatches secured. Sheets cleared. Below Bosun and First Mate are practicing engine check. I let them do this because engine does not matter because does not work anyway! Am reluctant to delegate anything this morning as don’t want any misgivings about little screwups that end up in crises in the middle of the Gulf of Urabá. J seems sad, so I ask her what’s wrong. She says she has misgivings. That’s just great,