Seven

As August slips into September, the weather becomes a lot more agreeable with a delicious breeze to accompany the heat that lingers on. The temperature has finally dropped to the seventies and it couldn't be more perfect this weekend. Lying out in the garden with a new book from Mom's store, while she lies next to me with an old favorite, I feel truly happy.

Sometimes I catch myself in these moments and my brain scrambles to fixate on the most devastating tracks of my life, as though I don't deserve to feel good, but today there seems to be a filter blocking out the worst of my memories.

When Mum enters my mind with his trademark beam, I don't think about every word I regret saying to her, but on the highlights that play like a movie trailer. Not that I ever had a chance to say anything to her in person. Just imaginary scenery.

I don't have closure and I probably never will, but I've finally reached a point where I've made peace with Mum's absence. I don't begin to entertain the thought that she's out there, a thought that only brings indescribable pain, but I pray that God gives Dad and me to move on.

It took a while to reach this point. Honestly, it's only since moving to Ohio that the feeling has had any degree of conviction to it, and I wish we'd moved sooner. With a bit of distance, I can see how stifled we were by the apartment that was all her, Dad's closet still half-filled with her clothes, the scent of her perfume in the air.

Dad was right. This has been good for us. Maybe it's the clean country air or the water I can actually swim in, but I feel like a weight has flown off my shoulders, leaving just a chip behind. Since we've been here, I haven't googled Mum's name once.

After she left, I couldn't stop refreshing her name in the search bar. It was a drug I was hopelessly addicted to, scouring the internet for some clue as to what had happened if she was okay wherever she was. At some point after locking up the bookstore, she had vanished without a trace. After Dad and I spoke to the police and we rallied up all the entire neighborhood to search, an article finally popped up.

THE IMMIGRANT STORE CLERK LEFT ON PURPOSE.

Yeah she did, she left a note on the stand and just left her family without any thought about us.

Dad's sure she's somewhere out there, that she's going to show up one day and everything can be more, but I know she won't. She's selfish, just thinking about herself first before anyone else. She has to be. It's easier if she is. Explains a lot. Because what if she's not? Then why did she go? Why did she miss my birthdays, my graduation, me, he only child then I guess, there could be more by now.? Why would she ignore my prayers and my pleas, every poster I pasted with her smile?

Selfish sums it all up.

********************************

When I get to the end of a chapter, halfway through the book, I remember my page and put it to one side, rolling onto my back to enjoy the sun. Dad does the same, clasping his hands over his stomach and turning his cheek to look at me.

Since I started college, we haven't seen each other as much as we used to. We spent almost every minute of the past two years together, especially once I graduated and ended up taking the year off, but now that I have a job on top of classes, I'm home late most days, and Mom's often off to work before I wake up.

"I love this," Dad says out of nowhere. His hair fanned out on the grass around his, newly colored after a visit to the barber yesterday, and he looks ten years younger. He always used to keep on top of his hair, making sure the gray strands never showed, but he let her age get the best of him when we had bigger things to deal with.

Now he's back to honey blonde. It suits him. I'd make a terrible blonde, but Dad and I don't look a bit alike. That used to upset me, and it frustrated him when people stared at us when I was younger. I have too many memories of people assuming we weren't related, or that I was adopted. I never got that when I was with Mum.

"The weather?" I ask. He smiles at his response.

"The weather, the quiet. Everything," he says. "This is working, isn't it?" His eyes implore mine – he's really asking, and he really wants an answer. "We made the right decision, didn't we?"

"We did," I tell him, and I smile too. It wasn't really my decision. We couldn't afford to stay in New York so Dad decided to relocate. Even Cleveland was too pricey, so here we are. We may be in the middle of nowhere, but this house is ours. I didn't even know Mom and Dad had owned our apartment until he told me it was time to sell.

"Your Mum would love it here," he says. "In twenty-three years, we hardly ever left the city, but she loves the country."

The present tense hurts, but not as much as it used to.

"I wish she was here. God, I wish she was here." Dad wells up, the sun shining in his teary eyes, and I wonder why he's getting so sentimental until the date hits me.

My heart lurches in my chest and when I grab his hand, he blinks and smiles and wipes his eyes. I don't know what to say. When I sit up, he does too and he squeezes my hand.

"Dad.."

"I'm fine, honey, I promise." he gives me a sideways hug, pressing his cheek to mine, and he says, "You know I lost control of my tear ducts the day you were born. I really am fine."

Still. I wish I was better equipped, that I had the right words, but no matter how much I read, I can't translate those experiences to real life. The characters in my books would know what to say. I should know what to say. This is my Dad, this is about my Mum, but my tongue feels shriveled and useless.

"Happy anniversary," I say after a moment, and Dad hugs me tighter.

"Thank you, Anate," he says quietly. "Now, how about we do something?" He stands and brushes the grass off his pants. "Nothing major," he adds. He knows I hate spontaneity.

"Like what?'

"Maybe we could see if Chad and Brian are around, we could take a picnic to the beach?"

"Betty can come if her guardians are okay with it." He adds.

That's the kind of last-minute plan I can deal with: something low-key with people I like and trust. I don't see a ton of Chad's dad, who drives forty minutes to Toledo each day for work, but he's only ever been ridiculously welcoming to us.

I would love to spend more time with Betty outside school, like the plans we had about the beach. Like me, she's never been one to have friends, but there's something different in the Ohio air. Now I have Dad who has Chad as my bodyguard, and Betty.

"That'd be good," I say. "I'd like that."

Dad's grin widens. I know he worries about me, no matter how much I assure him he doesn't need to. I do the same, to be honest. I worry about him every time.

"Fantastic," he says, and he pulls me into a tight hug. When he pulls away, I realize he's looking really good at the moment. He's tall, only a couple inches off six feet, and after a couple of years of shrinking away, he's drawn to her full height and wearing clothes that fit, rather than drowning in old shirts.

When he heads next door to see if Brian and Chad want to come to the beach,

I quickly text Betty to see if she can make it and she immediately replies with "No, can't make it am alone at the house." -Great.

Then I drag myself into the warm house to change into my bathing suit. As much as I hate any outfit that is designed to cling and show so much skin, I love being in the water.

Avoiding the mirror, I pull on a tight one-piece that squashes my boobs but at least keeps them where they should be. It's the only swimsuit I own, the only one I could find that has a skirt so I can keep a shred of dignity, so it'll have to do. By the time I've added a dress that covers my upper arms and shorts to avoid more chafing, Mom's back.

"Anate!"

"I am in my room."

He jogs up the stairs and beams when he comes into my room. "I love that dress, honey," he says, rubbing the hem between his fingers. "This color looks wonderful on you."

"Thanks, Dad." I love this dress too. The sunny yellow fabric sits in all the right places, managing to highlight my curves without clinging to my lumps. "Are they coming?"

He sticks up both thumbs. The light catches on the only two rings she wears. One for his engagement; one for his wedding. "Brian's putting together some snacks and I'm going to make some sandwiches and then we'll go."

"Am I driving?" I ask if only to decide what shoes to wear.

"Chad will honey."