Takeoffs and Landings(25)

“Sorry,” Mitch Turland said. “I’m real sorry.”

Another water balloon slapped the ground by Chuck’s feet and burst. Water splashed up in his face. Now he was soaked.

“Oops,” Sam Shettles said. “Me, too.”

Lori willed Chuck to laugh the whole thing off. Grab a water balloon yourself and start throwing. Make a big joke of it, she thought.

But Chuck didn’t move. Another balloon zipped toward him, this one exploding against the fence rail right over his head. Chuck’s face turned red under the dripping water.

No, no, Lori thought. Whatever you do, don’t cry.

Gram had shown up in the pickup truck before anything else could happen. She’d made both of the kids get in the back because they were wet. Lori had sat there, the wind whipping hair into her face, the fireflies starting to rise over the cornfields on either side of the road. And she was just furious with Chuck.

“Don’t you know how to play along?” she yelled at him.

He didn’t answer.

And Lori couldn’t understand him at all.

But now—Lori remembered her panic, just a few moments ago, at being different. Had the Junior Leadership meeting felt that way to Chuck? Was that how he felt all the time, in all those places Lori felt accepted and admired—all the places she belonged?

Slowly, Lori reached into her purse and pulled out the postcard she’d intended to send to Angie. She ripped it in half, then ripped it again. And again. She kept going until it was shredded, like confetti.





Chuck forgot to eat lunch.

He would have forgotten about meeting Mom at four, too, except that at three forty-five polite chimes echoed through the art museum and a classy-sounding voice announced, “We regret to inform the patrons of the High Museum of Art that we will be closing early today, due to our air-conditioning problems.”

Chuck hadn’t even noticed that they were having air-conditioning problems.

But the announcement forced him to look at his watch, then he took off running. Fifteen minutes. Could he get back to the hotel in fifteen minutes?

He got turned around leaving the art museum and went the wrong way for three blocks. Fortunately, the round top of the hotel stuck up high above the buildings around it, so he navigated his way back looking up the whole time.

His watch said 3:57 when he stepped onto the elevator. He was going to make it!

Of course, Lori would probably tattle on him, anyway, for not staying with her. He gulped. He never got in trouble with Mom. But the art museum had been worth it. He closed his eyes briefly, and visions swam before his eyes—colors and strokes, portraits that revealed more than photographs, landscapes that made him long to travel everywhere.

The elevator dinged on his floor and he hurried to the room. The door was just swinging shut.

Mom was already back.

He rushed in behind her, wondering how he could explain. How he could counter whatever Lori had already told Mom.

Mom had her back to Chuck.

“Where’s your brother?” she was asking. “Don’t tell me you two got separated. I thought I very specifically said—”

Lori looked past Mom to Chuck.

“Couldn’t you find the ice machine?” she said. “It’s right down the hall.”

“Um—um—,” Chuck sputtered.

“Oh, you forgot the ice bucket. Stupid!” Lori’s voice was teasing. But she flashed a defiant look at Mom.

Chuck tried to figure out what was going on. Wasn’t Lori going to tell on him?

Mom turned and looked back apologetically at Chuck.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was jumping to conclusions. I never said you had to tie your wrists together just to go get ice.”

She slid out of her high-heeled shoes and collapsed onto the nearest bed.

“I am all talked out,” she moaned. “How was your day? What did you two do?”

“Just looked around some,” Lori said. “Saw the city.”

Chuck squinted at Lori in confusion. She was covering for him. Why? She flashed him a look that very clearly said, Keep your mouth shut. Mom didn’t even notice because her eyes were closed.

“Hmm,” Mom said. “Where did you eat lunch?”

“Wendy’s,” Lori said smoothly.

Chuck had never known Lori was such a good liar. Maybe she wasn’t lying. Maybe she really had eaten at Wendy’s. Only, she was making Mom think Chuck had been there with her.

His stomach growled.

“After lunch, it was so hot, we just came back here and swam in the pool,” Lori said.

Lori looked him straight in the eye, daring him to contradict her.

She knew.





WHAT JOAN LAWSON WANTED TO SAY DURING HER SPEECH IN ATLANTA:

I don’t feel like talking about time and the importance of living each day to its fullest. I want to talk about my kids.