Lori was blinking fast, to ward off tears.
“I remember that night,” Lori said. “But I was only faking. I wasn’t really asleep. I was . . . being mean.”
“Really?” Mom said.
“But it’s okay,” Lori said. “It was okay.”
It’s kind of like I did give her permission, by deciding not to care, Lori thought. How strange—that Mom and I let go at the same time. And neither one of us knew it.
Lori reached out her hand, and Mom clasped it in hers. Both of them were crying. Maybe they hadn’t let go at all. They were linked together again, tight as a chain fence. They looked across the table, and there was Chuck, sitting alone. The outsider again. Mom reached her other hand out to him, but he didn’t see it. After a minute, she pulled it back.
“It’s my turn for a question,” Mom said, still looking at Chuck. “What did you two talk about at the cemetery after your daddy’s funeral?” She turned her gaze on Lori. “When no one but Chuck could convince you it was time to go home?”
Lori looked puzzled.
“I don’t remember that,” she said. “I remember seeing the coffin, at the funeral home, and everybody saying Daddy was inside. I remember Gram feeding me cherry Life Savers during the service, so I’d be quiet. I haven’t eaten them since. I don’t remember the cemetery.”
Chuck looked down, studying the whorls in the table’s wood. They circled back on themselves endlessly. He couldn’t believe Lori had forgotten. Was she just being polite? Was she keeping secrets for him, the way she used to?
It didn’t matter. Chuck had to confess.
“I told Lori—” He made himself say it. “I told her that Daddy wanted her to go home. That he was waiting for us there.”
Familiar guilt swept over him. He could remember exactly how he’d felt, standing beside Lori in the cemetery, a little boy sent to do what grown-ups couldn’t accomplish. He could almost feel the thin cotton of his church pants blowing against his bony legs. He’d wanted to cry, like Lori was doing, but Pop had told him boys weren’t allowed. Then Lori had looked at him with big, trusting eyes, and he’d said the first thing that popped into his mind.
“I lied,” he said now. “I knew it was a lie. But I wanted to believe it, too. I thought if I said that, maybe it would be true.”
Lori gasped.
“I remember now!” she said. “Then we went home, and Daddy wasn’t there, and I was so mad at you. You kept saying, ‘Just wait. Just wait. He’s coming.’ And I kept waiting. I’d sit by the front window every day, watching for him. You promised me! I thought it was all your fault that he didn’t come. And then I forgot I was even waiting for Daddy, but I was still mad at you.”
Chuck nodded, barely hearing her words, except for “mad at you.”
“Yes,” he whispered. “I—I don’t blame you. You should have been mad at me.”
He looked up, and Mom was staring at them both, her face flooded with dismay.
“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—Chuck, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault, either, Lori. I just—someone gave me a book about how kids deal with grief, but I never had time to read it. If only . . .”
Chuck stared back blankly. Lori shrugged.
“What good would that have done?” she asked. “Neither of us told you what was wrong. We were just being stupid. We just didn’t want to believe that Daddy was never coming back.” She looked across the table at Chuck. “I shouldn’t have been mad at you,” she said. “I’m not mad at you anymore. It’s over. It’s all in the past.”
Saying that, Lori realized it was true. The place where all her fury lived was gone. The walls had broken down, and it had all washed away.
Chuck closed his eyes, waiting for some sense of relief. Lori forgave him. She wasn’t mad anymore. Why didn’t he feel good? He opened his eyes, still bothered, still worried. Still guilty.
Mom reached down and gathered up the travel brochures and guidebooks.
“Anybody in the mood for Disneyland now?” she asked. “We really ought to get out of the hotel room.”
Lori grimaced.
“I don’t feel like Disneyland,” she said. “Or Hollywood. But does—does Los Angeles have an art museum?”
“I think so,” Mom said.
She and Lori both turned and looked at Chuck, questioningly. He kept staring down at the table, listening to an argument in his head. Tell! No, no, I can’t. But this might be your only chance.
He opened his mouth.