I kind of hope not, because that might mean the way I feel about Tanner is not enough.
After I’ve been lying restless for what seems like forever, eventually tiredness sets in. With my eyes beginning to droop, my anger at my parents gives way to happy memories from earlier in the day.
In my mind, I see Tanner and me at the sushi place, picking colorful items off a conveyor. Then we’re walking around town. He knows so many cool things about this place! I hear him explaining how William Clark and Sacagawea visited this beach during the Lewis and Clark Expedition. And how Cannon Beach is named after an old cannon that washed ashore in 1846 from a US Navy schooner that sank while trying to cross the Columbia River bar. Then I see us visiting the site where the cannon remains to this very day. All the while, as we walk from place to place in my mind, I remember how good it feels to not feel sorry for myself. At no time when I was with him did I have the thought that some other kid out there has to die in order for me to live. There was no wondering how old I’ll be when I die. For those few hours with Tanner, I was just a normal girl, and it was magical.
As the memories continue, I feel myself drifting off. With my final thought, I pray that the memories will continue while I sleep, so that I can say without question that Tanner Rich is the man of my dreams…
Without Dad around, Saturday flies by. Mom is in a rotten mood; she spends most of her time reading Grandma’s old journals, which have held her attention for the better part of a week. Since Bree already knows I’m going to win the first week of the Winner’s Game, her overt acts of kindness toward Cade and me have slowed somewhat, leaving her more time to fiddle with her art supplies, but I know that as soon as the next round starts, she’ll be right back at it—she’s really taking this seriously; if I’m not careful, she might just sneak out a win.
Nah…I’m not going to let that happen. If she thinks she can be nice, I can be nicer!
For his part, Cade wants to spend all day on the beach with his metal detector, believing he’s going to find something to make him rich. I keep reminding him that he already found something more valuable than money when he dug up Grandpa’s letter to Grandma, but he’s bound and determined to keep looking. Actually, I don’t mind so much, because while he’s on the beach with his gadget, I get to lie out in the sun daydreaming of Tanner.
On Sunday, just before dinner, Mom calls us to the kitchen table to share the point totals from our notebooks. It takes a few minutes to correctly tally them, but when all is said and done, there is no surprise that I’ve won by a landslide. For my effort, I get the first choice of seats in the car next week, and a big fat “1” next to my name on a Weekly Winner’s chart that Mom hangs on the side of the fridge.
“Now, everyone flip to the next page in your notebook,” Mom tells us, “and we’ll start the scoring all over again for the week ahead. You’ve all got a blank slate—tabula rasa—so it’s anyone’s game.”
“Actually,” remarks Bree, “it’s my game. This week, I won’t lose.”
“We’ll see about that,” says Cade.
I nod and smile. “Yes, we will.”
As soon as Mom gives the official “Go,” the second week of the Winner’s Game starts out just like the first did, with Bree and Cade rattling off as many inauthentic compliments as they can think of—mostly to me, but also to each other—only by now they’ve learned to say “thank you” to the compliments so they can give themselves a point for being polite, which is how I took such a big lead last week.
After five minutes I call a time-out. “Everybody just hold up a second. Bree, what’s your score right now?”
My sister counts up the marks in her notebook and says, “Eighteen.”
“Cade, how about you?”
He does the same and says, quite proudly, “Twenty-two.”
“And I’m at sixteen.”
“So you’re losing,” Bree points out, with no small amount of satisfaction.
“Am I? I’ve hardly even tried, and I’m only down two points.”
She cocks her head to the side. “So what’s your point?”
“That this isn’t really working right now. When we’re all just saying a bunch of stuff we don’t mean so we can give ourselves a point, and then the other person takes a point for saying ‘thank you,’ it’s a wash. Nobody gets ahead. Not really.”
Mom has been listening closely to the conversation. She steps forward and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Ann makes a good point. I know it’s great practice to say nice things to each other, but if your only intent is to do it so you can rack up quick points, isn’t that missing the purpose?”