Taking Off Page 7

  “Uh, thanks.”

  Mark gave me a ride home after school. If Dad didn’t show, I was going to call him, but I wasn’t surprised when he walked in the door. I wanted for him to get settled before I asked, but I burst out with the question when he sat down.

  Dad looked startled. “Are you serious, Annie?”

  “Mom said we could go, if you can take me.”

  “Go with my daughter on a trip? You bet!” Dad laughed.

  I didn’t expect him to be so excited about it. I wanted to hug his neck.

  “We’ll make it a road trip,” Dad said, “sleeping in campsites on the way. Hey, man, I haven’t slept on a beach in years. We could stop in Pensacola. Beautiful place. And you sure your mom agreed?”

  “Yes,” I said, clapping my hands.

  “When is the launch?” asked Mark.

  “Just a few weeks,” I said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. I felt guilty that I hadn’t talked to him about it, but I was so excited and didn’t want him to be unhappy and ruin my good mood. He didn’t look pleased. “We’ll only be gone four days, maybe five.”

  He nodded.

  “We’ll take my gear and camp out on beaches along the way,” Dad said.

  “We won’t eat any more food on the road than we would here,” I said, “so that’s not any more money.”

  He nodded. “That’s right. All we need is money for food and gas and a KOA campground. It won’t be much.”

  “I’ve got some money,” I said.

  “It’d be fun to take the Beatmobile,” he said.

  “Dad.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “I’m not driving all the way to Florida in an art car.”

  “I thought you liked the Beatmobile.”

  Dad’s contradictions merged for his art car. His car was a “tribute to the Beat generation,” but he was equally proud of being a Texan. So he’d painted the car a deep black, and on the hood, he got a talented friend to do portraits of the writer Jack Kerouac and the poet Allen Ginsberg. He’d been collecting Beat paraphernalia—poems, buttons, T-shirts, book covers—and he made a collage of these things on the car doors. To top it off, on the roof of the car, he painted a red, white, and blue Texas flag. Patriotism, but with a rebellious, cool streak.

  “The Beatmobile is cool, Dad, but it’s not the most reliable car. Can we take your truck?”

  He looked disappointed. Then he started laughing again. “And you’re sure your mom said yes?”

  “Yes, Dad, she said yes.”

  Dad grinned. “We’re going to have us a time, Annie. We’ll have us an adventure like Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady.”

  “Not really, Dad.”

  “Who are they?” asked Mark, looking grumpy.

  “Kerouac wrote a novel called On the Road—,” I began.

  “Not really a novel,” interrupted Dad. “Very autobiographical.”

  “You didn’t even finish it,” I said.

  “I did. I just skimmed the second part. I didn’t like that part much. But it’s a great book, Mark. The manifesto of the Beats.”

  Poor Mark. Dad was on a roll. I closed my eyes and let him talk. The stars had aligned: Cape Canaveral, here I come.

  CHAPTER 17

  I checked the mailbox. A lone letter. I grabbed it.

  It was my own envelope, with my own name, my own address written on it in my own handwriting. The envelope had creases where I had folded it carefully to put in the envelope I mailed.

  A rejection.

  I sat on the curb, pulling my coat around me.

  CHAPTER 18

  The kitchen was warm and a heaven of baking smells. Mom was baking, and I was eating what she baked, at least some of it. She wouldn’t let me touch the pies, which were for Donald’s office party.

  That was so unfair. Their perfect flaky crusts edged over the sides of red ceramic pie pans, tempting me. When Mom wasn’t looking, I pinched off a piece. I loved crust. I needed to bake a pie crust and just eat that. I should write a poem about a pie crust with no filling. It could be a metaphor; for what I didn’t know.

  It was a nice afternoon, with just the two of us. We talked about baking, about the family, about nothing really. It was nice. The moment felt right for me to ask her what was on my mind. “Mom, why is it so important to you for me to take Donald’s money?”

  Mom rolled her shoulders. “Two reasons, I guess.”

  “Okay. Shoot.”

  She was thinking. I tried to be patient. “First, I want you to do what I never got to do.”

  “Right. Go to college.”

  “Partly. But yes, mainly. And, Annie, money is an issue for us. And for you to get offered this money … honey, do you realize how your life opens up with possibility because of that? College will do that for you.”

  “But what if I don’t want to go, Mom?”

  “But why, why wouldn’t you?” she asked, throwing a hand up in the air. And with that, our peaceful afternoon was ruined. Why did I try?

  “I think you want to go,” I said. “So you’re trying to live through me.”

  “Annie. No. I want you to have a chance to see what’s out there.”

  “Out where?” I asked. “You know, we live just thirty minutes from a city of two million. A very international city.”

  “Isn’t there something you want to see besides Texas?”

  “Sure,” I said. “But I don’t think I have to go to college to do that.”

  She bit into a cookie.

  “Mom, just because you want something doesn’t mean that I want it.”

  “Let me ask you, Annie. Why don’t you want to go to college? Why don’t you want to leave Clear Lake? Is it Mark?”

  I shook my head, then shrugged.

  “So it is Mark?”

  I felt like crying. I was so frustrated. Even if I wanted to go somewhere, where would I go?

  And there was Mark, who loved me, who wanted to be with me. That felt good and certain. I could rely on him. He’d always be there for me, no matter what went wrong.

  I couldn’t say any of this to Mom.

  “Annie?”

  I closed my eyes until I felt calmer. “Mom, I’ll take the money for Florida from Donald. But can we just put off the other decision until later?”

  “You mean about him paying for college?”

  And me actually going to college. “Yes.”

  “Sure,” she said, getting up to answer the ringing phone. It was Donald.

  It was only later that I realized she didn’t tell me the second reason why she wanted me to take the money.

  PART TWO

  “If anything, the overriding emotion is

  gonna just be excitement.”

  —Christa McAuliffe

  CHAPTER 19

  Two things jumped out at me when Dad pulled up. First, he was in the Beatmobile. But before I had time to get mad about that, I noticed the second thing. He wasn’t the one driving the car. Mark realized it too. So did Mom.

  When Dad got out, Mark asked: “Who’s he?”

  The driver’s door swung open. A guy with dark wavy hair stepped out, resting his arms on the car hood. He gave a friendly wave. Then, he smiled. I felt my stomach do sweet, chaotic flips. He was cute. Really cute.

  “Yeah, Jesse. Who’s he?” Mom asked.

  His smile was like magic. It made you want to grin back at him, which I thought I might be doing. His sunglasses covered his eyes. So I couldn’t tell their color, but I didn’t think it mattered.

  I tried to step forward to mutter hi or something intelligible, but felt a motherly grip on my shoulder and a boyfriend’s hand pulling on mine. But I couldn’t stop looking at the guy’s smile. It was so … welcoming. It made me giddy. Mark’s hand tightened.

  “Who is this?” I heard Mom ask again.

  An unexpected scowl turned down Mom’s lips and up her eyebrows, giving her face an odd, fractured look.

  “Huh?” Dad asked, looking up. He’d been throwi
ng old tennis shoes from the backseat to the trunk, and old french fries onto the grass. I realized Mom must be in shock because she said nothing about the limp fries hanging out on her lawn. Her eyes still bore into Dad’s.

  “What, Mags? What?”

  “The boy,” said Mom, waving. “Who’s the boy?”

  But this guy wasn’t a boy. He was out of high school, for sure, probably graduated for a few years. His grin didn’t fade, just kind of slid into an amused smile, while he glanced down. He looked back at Mom, a little shyly. It was adorable.

  “What are you staring at?” asked Mark.

  I looked at Mark, trying to place him. Then I felt the heat flow up into my face. I had been staring. I looked back at the guy. But he was just so incredible. No one, not even Mr. Williams when he defied the principal and wore his jeans to school, looked quite so incredible.

  “This is Tommy,” said Dad, casually throwing a hand his way.

  Mom stepped forward. “And you’re dropping him off?”

  “Yeah,” said Dad, laughing, “in Florida.”

  “He’s not going with you,” said Mom. Not a question.

  “Yeah, he is, Mags. He’s helping me drive.” He shrugged. “And he wants to see the launch of the space shuttle, don’t you, Tommy?”

  Tommy took off his sunglasses. “Nice to meet y’all.”

  His eyes were blue. Not that it mattered.

  “Can I talk to you?” Mom asked, grabbing Dad by the arm. She started pulling him over to the side.

  “What?” Dad asked, brushing her off. But he followed her. Mom began talking frantically. She never talked frantically. I didn’t understand why she felt the need to drag Dad to the side, when she wasn’t lowering her voice.

  “We can hear you, Mom,” I yelled, but she didn’t get any quieter.

  I caught Tommy’s eye, and he gave me a little shrug. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Annie. Sorry about them.”

  “Can I talk to you?” Mark asked.

  “Sure.”

  He led me to the door by the hand he’d not let go since Dad had driven up. He opened the door, like he was heading inside, but I stopped on the front step. “What’s going on?”

  “You’re not getting in that car.”

  “What?” I pulled my hand out of his. “Mark, don’t get crazy.”

  “You think I’m going to let my girlfriend go off with … him?”

  “Let? You’re not going to let me?”

  “Don’t start with that, Annie. You know what I mean. If I was going … surfing with a hot chick, you wouldn’t want me to go.”

  “I don’t think I’d mind. I trust you.”

  Mark’s mouth set into a firm, straight line. He looked down, shaking his head. “Annie, you’re not going.” His voice was tight, angry.

  “I am going.”

  With that, he hit the door with his fist so hard that the bang made Mom and Dad turn toward us. I stepped back from his anger. Tommy came around the side of the Beatmobile, but Mark started walking straight toward his own car. And just then, Donald drove up.

  “Mark!” I yelled. “Come back, Mark!” I saw my neighbor down the street out in her yard. I swore she had binoculars in her hand.

  Mark didn’t say a word, just kept walking. He looked up at Tommy when he passed him by. Mark’s back was to me, so I couldn’t see his face, but I could tell from Tommy’s raised eyebrows Mark had shot him some look.

  Tommy shook his head and said something too low to be heard.

  Donald, who had parked on the street, was getting out of his car. What was everybody doing here? Didn’t anyone work a full day anymore?

  Dad looked like he might say something to Mark, but when he saw Donald, he stopped, then started walking away from Mom to the Beatmobile.

  “Ready to go?” he said to me, grabbing my bag off the driveway.

  Mark’s car tore down the street, tires screeching on the road. Our neighbor scuttled back into her house.

  “Yeah,” I said quietly. “Ready.”

  Donald walked over to me, pulling out his wallet. “I’m so glad you agreed to let me help with this trip, Annie.”

  Oh no.

  “What? She doesn’t need your money,” Dad said.

  “How are you paying for gas and food?” Mom asked.

  “Me and Tommy are paying. And Annie’s pitching in some.”

  “Yeah,” said Mom, taking the bills out of Donald’s hand and giving them to me. “This is the money.”

  “He,” Dad began, “is not paying for my daughter.” He stuffed the bills back in Mom’s hand, ignoring Donald. “Annie said she had money.”

  “Dad. This is the money.”

  “What about your movie-theater money? You’ve been working there for two years, Annie. You never buy anything. I know you have money saved up.”

  “That’s for college, Jesse. It’s just like you—”

  “Mom,” I interrupted.

  “He should be paying for something, Annie.”

  “All I know is that she’s my daughter, and HE isn’t paying for her.”

  I took the money from Mom. “Yeah, he is, Dad,” I said. “Now get in the car.”

  “Annie.”

  “Get in the car, Dad.”

  “Well, dammit. This trip has gotten off to a great start,” he said sarcastically, like a little kid. He slid into the passenger seat, and I slid into the back.

  I rolled down the window. “See you soon, Mom.”

  Mom’s mouth twisted a little. “Annie.”

  “I’ll be back soon, Mom. We’re driving back right after the launch on Saturday. I’ll be home Sunday night or early Monday morning.”

  “I don’t understand why you had to leave this evening,” she said.

  “Because I like to drive at night,” Dad said, but his window wasn’t down so I hoped she hadn’t heard him.

  Mom looked so concerned. “Call me, Annie, when you get to Cocoa Beach so I’ll know you got there safely.” She glanced over at Dad.

  “I will.”

  “Don’t forget.”

  “I won’t, Mom.” I saw Tommy looking at me in the rearview mirror. He hadn’t started the car yet. “We have to go, Mom.”

  “Call.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  “Let’s go,” Dad said.

  Tommy’s hand was on the ignition, but he glanced back at me. I nodded at him. The car started up.

  Mom was gesturing with her eyes toward Donald.

  “Yeah, thanks, Donald,” I said.

  “Sure, Annie. Have a good time. Should be quite a show.”

  I waved my hand out the window as we drove away. Tommy slid in a Van Morrison cassette and cranked up the volume.

  Dad smiled. “Yeah! Thank you, kid.”

  We took the Kemah Bridge. To the east of us, a blue sky stretched out over the bay. Like Van Gogh, I didn’t think I could ever tire of a blue sky.

  CHAPTER 20

  I couldn’t hear what Tommy and Dad were saying. The music was loud, still, and the windows were down, still. That was fine for a while, even wild and fun, but when we got to Beaumont, I hit Dad on the arm. “Hey.”

  “What is it?”

  “Your music—pftt—is loud—pftt,” I said, trying to keep my hair out of my mouth while I talked.

  “What?” he asked, turning down “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?”

  “John Fogerty is singing way too loud. And I’m cold,” I said, pulling at my red gloves. “The sun has almost set, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “Sure,” said Tommy, rolling up his window.

  Dad started cranking up his as well. I combed my hair with my fingers, trying to smooth it back down so it was somewhat flat on my head.

  “Sorry about that,” said Tommy, looking at me in the mirror. “I forget that others don’t like it as cold as I do.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “How’s my hair?”

  He laughed. “A little unkempt.”

  Unkempt. Unkempt. I couldn’t get
the word out of my head. Tommy, my father’s fine friend, had used the word “unkempt.” “But then I’m not one to talk,” he said, pointing to his head.

  “Your hair is puffy.”

  He laughed.

  “Sorry.”

  “Nah,” he said. “So your dad says you go to Clear Creek?”

  I looked over at Dad. He’d leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. “I’m a senior.”

  “That’s what he said,” said Tommy. “What are you doing after you graduate?”

  I was used to this question, but somehow when Tommy asked it, it lost some of its sting. “Thinking it through.”

  “I graduated from Creek.”

  “Yeah?” I asked. “What year?”

  “Eighty-two.”

  “So we weren’t there at the same time.” I paused. So he was four years ahead of me. I wondered if it was strange I started thinking about when I was there relative to when he was there. “I guess not.”

  “Guess not,” said Tommy. “Unless you flunked.”

  I laughed.

  He was driving with one hand, with his other arm draped across the back of the front seat. He wasn’t wearing his coat. His sleeves were rolled up. I noticed he didn’t have much hair on his arms, and I wondered if he had Indian blood in him. That was what Mark had told me about himself. That he was part Cherokee, from way back, which was why he didn’t have much hair on his chest.

  Tommy gestured toward Dad. “He didn’t last long.” Dad was out, but not snoring too loudly yet.

  “Dad does four things well: talking, fishing, and sleeping.”

  “That’s three.”

  “Yep,” I said.

  Tommy laughed. “Well, what’s the fourth thing?”

  “He wouldn’t ever tell me. And he said it wasn’t that.”

  “What?”

  “What you’re thinking,” I said.

  He glanced back at me. “You’re a blusher.”

  My hands went to my face. “Your cheeks are pink too.”

  He looked at himself in the mirror, laughing. “Noooo.”

  I smiled and looked out the window, listening to Dad snore, feeling happier and more relaxed than I had in a long time.