Water Balloon Read online

  I text Leah again: When r u coming over?

  Why isn't she answering?

  Why do I always assume that when she's not with me, she's with Jane?

  And why do I feel nearly certain that the only reason Leah spent time with me this weekend was because Jane was too busy for her?

  The wind starts blowing hard. Rig and I head inside. I sit on the couch with the newspaper and flip to the entertainment section. I think about seeing a movie later, but who, exactly, would go with me?

  Are dogs allowed in theaters?

  The wind is really starting to howl now; thin-trunked trees bend like dancers warming up.

  Dad's getting-ready noises carry to the living room. I turn on the TV and put the volume up high. I can picture him arranging what he's going to wear. Getting dressed, taking the neat roll of bills and short stack of change from his dresser and placing them in his right front pants pocket. I don't want to witness my dad leaving on his first date since moving out. Is it even a date? I don't want to think about it. I yell into his room, "I'm going outside."

  "Isn't it raining?" he asks.

  Now it's actually starting to brighten a bit—one of those storms that threatens and then backs off. "I think it blew over. I'll see ya."

  Before I get out, he says, "I'll leave you money for dinner, if you want to get something delivered."

  "Have a good night."

  "Thanks, Marley. I won't be late."

  There is something repulsive about that. Shouldn't I be saying that to him?

  Just Trying to Move On

  Before the door has even closed behind me, I can see that there's something all over the lawn. It takes me a few seconds to understand what it is, and then a few more to realize how it got there. The wind from the storm-that-wasn't must have tipped over one of the trash cartons out at the curb. The contents of the old Monopoly box have been blown everywhere. There are yellow hundred-dollar bills in the rosebush. Title deed cards line the curb, some turned upside down, the way you flip them when you have to mortgage the property. I walk around the yard, looking for the box. Some bills are blown a few houses down the street. Treasure Chest cards are clumped together under a tree near the curb. The Monopoly board and the game's three remaining pieces—the hat, the dog, and the shoe—are still in the bottom of the box, which only blew into the gutter, but almost everything else is all over the place.

  I put the box back on the pile of cartons and go inside to grab a garbage bag from under the kitchen sink. When I head back out to gather up the pieces, I hear Jack right away: "Did you will me out to help you?"

  "How could you be back already? Did you fly home?"

  "My brother wanted to leave early to beat the traffic. It sucked. We were out of the stadium in the bottom of the sixth."

  "Oh, that does suck."

  "When I drive, I will never leave a game early." He looks at me. "So, did you will me out?"

  "I didn't think you were home, so no." Not unless you count this morning. Maybe my message was delayed. "But I could use some help."

  He starts to pick up the game pieces. "What happened here?"

  I bite my lower lip. "Tragic Monopoly accident." I hope for a laugh. I get a smile and a handful of white one-dollar bills. "The wind must have knocked over some of these boxes," I say, tilting my head toward the street, where the stacks of cartons are starting to look a little nasty. "Don't they ever pick up trash around here?"

  He shrugs. "There are some weird rules about bulk trash, I think."

  "Did you have a good time at least?"

  "Pitchers' duel," he says.

  "I know. I was listening."

  We work side by side, gathering and shoving things in the trash bag.

  "You know what we should do?"

  "Put my dad's cartons in bags so this doesn't happen again?"

  "Close. We should go to a Yankees game together. That would be so cool. Dean was saying he wasn't sure he could go to the next game we have tickets for, so why don't you come with me? It's on ... I can't remember the date. The first Sunday of August. Do you think you can go?"

  "I'll ask. Can I let you know?"

  "Definitely."

  Before I can even start to feel excited or maybe nauseous about the very idea of Jack and me at a game together, just the two of us, he says, "So how was today?"

  "All right."

  "Your friend seems cool."

  It's unlikely that he really kicked me in the stomach with a steel-tipped shoe, but it feels like he did. Why? I don't want him hating my friends. Of course, I don't exactly want him loving my friends either. "It's complicated, I guess. The things we used to do together don't seem like much fun anymore."

  "Like what?"

  "Like playing Monopoly."

  "So you just threw out the game? Harsh." He hands me some cards and says, "Park Place, Saint James, Electric Company."

  I think to myself: Park Place/straighten opponents' money piles; Saint James/do ten jumping jacks; Electric Company/cross eyes and squawk.

  "Thanks," I say, taking the cards from his hand and putting them in the trash. "This was just an old one; we threw it out before Leah even came over. I have a new one."

  "I've always liked Monopoly," Jack says as he reaches behind a crepe myrtle bush for a stack of pink five-dollarb ills.

  "Yeah, me too. The three of us—me and Leah and Jane—used to play this weird way, like it was almost a whole different game."

  "Yeah? How'd you play?"

  "Long story," I say. "And ancient history. I think."

  "Who were you?"

  "Marley Baird. Nice to meet you. I still am, by the way. Who might you be?"

  "Funny. No, I mean which piece are you?"

  "Guess."

  "Dog."

  "Right. Always. You too?"

  "Actually, I'm a racecar kind of guy."

  "Leah's always been the hat. Jane was the shoe."

  The weight of how all that is in the past now feels like a superstrong gravity, pulling me down. Jack must feel it too, because neither of us can think of a thing to say. "Can I tell you something?" I say, flailing around inside my head, not yet sure which of the many percolating thoughts is going to come out, just desperate to pull us out of the brutal quicksand of social awkwardness we're sinking in.

  He shrugs.

  "My dad is like going out with the woman whose twins I've been babysitting. That's where he is right now—out to dinner with her. I mean, I know he and my mom aren't together, but they're not exactly divorced either, just separated, and it's just really creeping me out."

  He doesn't respond at first. "So wait a minute," he finally says. "Do you mean you're babysitting for your dad's girlfriend's kids?"

  "Oh, I ... Huh." Why did I assume this was the first time they were going out? Maybe because my father isn't the biggest jerk, the most manipulative parent alive. And he'd have to be to volunteer his daughter to babysit for his new girlfriend's kids. I stand, tie the Monopoly trash bag up, and walk it to the trash can. "I don't know what to do," I say. I sit on the curb, my feet in the street. Jack sits next to me.

  "About what?"

  "Everything," I say. It feels like an understatement.

  Rig walks over to Jack. He sits next to him and wags his tail expectantly. "Ruh," he says.

  "Does he want to walk or something?"

  "I think he willed you to say that," I say.

  "Do you want to?"

  "Leah said she was coming over, but I haven't heard from her, so sure," I say.

  We head to the park. The night is getting dark, but the air feels light. The storm-that-wasn't seems to have taken all the humidity with it. The woods on the path are lit up with fireflies, and Rig looks like a stotal paz, chasing them without any success. Jack and I keep laughing at him, all the way to the park and across the soccer fields. And there, in the playground, are Faith and Grace. How's that possible, if their mother is ... But there's Lynne, and there's my dad, pushing Jenna in a carriage. Okay. Sure.
Yeah, of course.

  Rig runs over before I can turn and run home or hide behind a tree. "Hey! Marley! Jack!" Dad calls, sounding genuinely happy to see us.

  "I thought you were going out to dinner," I say. My voice sounds dead.

  "Actually," Lynne says, "just dinner at my house. We were trying to tire out the girls so they'd sleep." Why do they need the girls to sleep? I wonder if she cleaned the kitchen. I wonder what he'll think of that chaotic house. Or has he been in there many times before?

  My body is struck from two sides.

  "Marley Bear!"

  "Marley Bear!" Grace wraps her arms around my right leg, and Faith has her arms around my waist. They start jumping up and down while still holding me, like a team greeting the game-winning batter at home plate.

  "Hey, you two," I say. "Do you remember my friend Jack?"

  "Hi, Jack," Faith says.

  Grace peers around my leg to look at him and smile.

  "I've been hearing a lot about you," Jack says.

  "Really? What did you hear about us?"

  "Did you two see my dog?" I ask, trying to pull Faith away from Jack. "This is Rig. Come say hi."

  "What did Marley say about us to you?" Faith wants to know.

  I will not be able to walk home. Ever. I'm going to need an airlift. An ambulance. Or a bunch of kindly woodland creatures. My dad and Lynne together is just too weird. And way, way too much.

  "Have you guys caught any fireflies tonight?" I ask as I try to twist my body gently from Grace's grip.

  "I don't like flies," Grace says. "They're gross."

  "All kids like fireflies. They're magic, like ... I don't know. Tinkerbell."

  And Rig's off again, doing his absurd fly-chasing dance, chomping at the air as he tries to catch one.

  "Something's wrong with your dog, Marley," Grace says.

  My dad leans in and says, "He's been trying to catch a fly for six years now. That's what he looks like when he's chasing a fly."

  "Six years?" Faith asks. "How hard could it be?" And then she's off, following the quick yellow lights that pulse in the early night sky.

  "I'll help you," Jack says, following her.

  My dad sits on a bench and rocks Jenna's carriage back and forth. Lynne sits next to him. Ugh. Why did I look?

  "I caught one!" Faith yells.

  "I wanna catch one!" Grace says. "What do I do with it once I catch it?"

  Just then, in front of all of us, Rig opens his mouth and clear as day in the darkening night, a firefly goes right in. Rig sits, closes his mouth. It twitches, looks like it wants to open, but he's keeping it shut. His tail thump, thump, thumps the ground, as though he's saying, I did it!

  "Marley!" Grace screams. "MAR-LEY! Your dog ate Tinkerbell!"

  "Make him stop," Faith says. "Why'd your dog do that, Marley?"

  Then Rig lets out this weird yelp, almost like he's been stung, and when he opens his mouth, the bug flies out. It heads toward the monkey bars, and the girls race behind it.

  "Come here, Rig." I kneel in front of him and open his mouth. Could firefly light be dangerous for dogs? Rig stands up and shakes.

  "We should probably go back and get him some water," I say. "Hey, Grace! Faith! I'll see you Monday, okay?"

  "Bye, Marley Bear!" they yell out together.

  "Bye, Dad. See you, Lynne."

  I reach deep inside my spent energy bank to find the strength to walk very quickly away from all that. Jack lags, waving goodbye to the girls.

  "Ugh," I say when he finally catches up to me. "You were right."

  "About what?"

  "She is his girlfriend."

  "Well, don't laugh, but now I'm thinking maybe I was wrong. I mean, you don't really know—"

  "Huh? Hello? She makes him dinner and he pushes her baby around and ugh, I'm going to be sick. Did you see him pushing that baby? I really think I'm going to throw up."

  "Well, yeah—"

  "So how come you're on his side?"

  "I'm not, Marley. I just think you might be jumping to conclusions."

  I stop walking and face him. He looks ridiculously sure of himself. "It's bad enough he's hooked up with some stupid girlfriend, but getting me to watch her kids?"

  His hands are in his shorts pockets, and he shrugs as if this is no big deal at all. "I get why this is weirding you out, but they really could just be friends. It is possible."

  I get an image of a high-flying ball soaring from Dad's glove, up in the air—way over my head—to Jack's glove, and back again, in an endless arc, far out of my reach.

  We start walking again, dry pine needles crunching underfoot. In a quiet voice Jack says, "Have you ever thought, maybe your father's just trying to move on?"

  "He's still married to my mother, or doesn't that even matter?"

  "So is that it? You think they might get back together?"

  I don't think hoping for something is the same as thinking it. I also don't think it's any of his business right now.

  "I'm just not exactly thrilled that my father left my mom and me, and now I'm babysitting for his stupid girlfriend's kids. Can't you get that?"

  "I think your dad's a good guy," he says. "I guess I'm trying to see it from his point of view."

  "You know what, Jack? You just go ahead and do that."

  "What are you so pissed about?"

  "You."

  He stops walking again. He looks ready to shut down. Shut me out. Good. Who cares? What else do I have to lose?

  "It seems like you want to be mad at him. Or mad at someone."

  "Like you know so much about me!"

  "Maybe I don't."

  "Ya think?" He might be cute, but I think he might also be a total jerk. It's too much. I can't stand it anymore. I feel like I got on the kind of ride I'd never go on, the kind of nightmare I have all the time. It's way too scary and twisty and upside down. All I ever wanted was to stay on the kiddie boats that go in gentle little circles in shallow water. I'm holding on, just trying to believe that I'll be all right, that it will end. That everything will be all right.

  "So, good night," I say, disgusted with Jack and all his opinions.

  I walk home.

  Alone.

  Dandelion Wishes

  I avoid my dad all day Sunday—read, sleep, walk dog, repeat. But there's no more hiding when we're back to Monday, in the truck on the way to Grace and Faith's. I can't quite look at my dad, or even start a normal conversation with him. "I don't want to know one thing about last night, so don't talk to me about Saturday night."

  "Right," he says. "Are you okay?"

  "Sure."

  "Are you ready for a day of twins?"

  "I guess." We may as well be fishing.

  The girls are waiting for me outside. Grace is wearing a sleeveless Tinkerbell shirt with Minnie Mouse shorts and Faith has on an oversize man's shirt with a picture of a can of beer. They're both gripping big bundles of dandelions in their hands. It's a total mix, from bright yellow flowers to giant puffballs.

  "For you, Marley."

  "I missed you," Grace says as she hands me her bouquet.

  "Okay, each of you take one of these." I hand them each a puffball. None of them is a perfect globe anymore, as they've been handled too much by five-year-old hands and some of the seeds have already fallen off. But they're good enough. "This kind of dandelion, this puffball, is a magic ball. When you blow it, its powers are released."

  "I blown 'em before. But I didn't know about powers. What powers?" Grace asks.

  "Special magic powers."

  "Like fairy powers?" Faith wants to know.

  "Kind of. Make a wish," I say.

  "Like a balloon wish?" Grace asks. "Like when you let go of a balloon?"

  "Do I have to tell you my wish?" Faith asks.

  "Yes, Grace. No, Faith."

  "Can I tell you my wish?" Grace asks.

  "I think it's supposed to be secret."

  Grace nods slowly, seriously.

  "So w
hat you do is close your eyes and make your wish, and then you try to blow all the seeds off the dandelion with one breath."

  "I can do that!" Faith starts puffing at the dandelion, and when all the seeds don't fall off at once, she starts shaking as she blows, until the stem is bare. Grace does the same.

  "Excellent job," I say.

  "Marley?"

  "Yes?"

  "Are wishes real?" Grace is gazing at my face, just waiting for the answer she wants. I have a feeling her wish was about her father, and it just kills me to think I may have planted a false hope by telling her there was magic. What if she spends the rest of the day, the rest of the summer, looking at the driveway, waiting for her father to pull up with a pile of packed suitcases and a heart full of past regret and better intentions for the future? I know better than to be promising happy endings to these two.

  But they're five. Just about the only benefit of being five is still believing your wishes can come true. "I think wishes are real," I say. "I don't know if they always come true—I don't think they do. But the wish is definitely still real."

  She looks at me for a while, maybe trying to understand, maybe thinking I'm from Mars. "I think what you should do is put a dandelion in a balloon and float it to the sky. That's like two wishes then. And maybe even pray when you're doing it too, so it's like three."

  I have worked very hard to banish all thoughts of balloons since the Fourth, but there's something about that image that really appeals to me. A dandelion somehow suspended inside a balloon, slowly rising away from the earth.

  "I'm getting more dandelions! I want more wishes!" Faith takes off toward the back of the yard, near the hill where the bunnies race.

  "Wait for me!" Grace screams. "Leave some for me!"

  As I watch them, I try to imagine what it would have been like for me if my dad had moved out eight years ago. How do their little five-year-old hearts hold all that sadness? Would I have been nicer to them all summer if I knew that they were dealing with the same hard stuff as me?

  As they run back toward me, blowing, eyes closed, I try to figure out what they might need, what might help them. My parents, in their different ways, would try to get them to talk about it. Leah and Jane would have done the opposite—tried to change the subject whenever they talked about it. I don't know what's right, so I just promise myself to try to be nicer to them.