I walk through the front door and immediately know something is wrong.
“Becca?” Mom calls. She appears in the doorway. Her honey colored curls are brimming with gray and the crease lines on her face have deepened. Her deep, usually bright blue eyes have clouded over. She stands very still and I inhale sharply, suddenly afraid. Then she lunges towards me and wraps me in her arms so tightly that I feel her heart beating against my own chest. I suddenly realize that I am nearly taller than her, and it makes me feel oddly weak.
“Oh Becca,” Mom murmurs into my soft brown waves, inherited solely from Daddy.
I pull away and gaze at her sharply. “What? What is it, Mom?”
She bites her lip and a single tear slides down her cheek. “It’s your dad,” she manages to get out. “He’s missing.” I find that I cannot breathe.
Hardly a year ago, Daddy had an affair with his co-worker and left Mom. I only met the woman once. She was beautiful. I hated her the instant I saw her. Six months later, the woman, Nancy, I think her name was, came to her senses and left Daddy for her husband, who welcomed her with open arms. Daddy tried to come back to Mom, and I could see the hurt in her eyes as she turned him away–refused to speak to him. She loved him more than anything, but he had hurt her too deeply. She could not look at him without seeing Nancy. I find that sometimes she cannot look at me, the replica of him, without that look of utter pain flashing through her deep blue eyes.
A thousand thoughts rush through my mind all at once. If only I had answered his emails. If only I had gone over to his apartment when he invited me. If only I had forgiven him. If only... After all, I do know what it feels like to be him. Derek, my boyfriend of two years, went to Switzerland to stay with his uncle for five weeks and while he was gone, I got involved with someone else. He was a sophomore and he adored me. Derek found out and he wouldn’t take me back. That was when I realized that Derek was truly the only one I could ever love. And Derek is going to college in California come fall, and I will never see him again.
“The police called,” Mom continues. I can tell she is fighting to keep her voice steady. “They want to know if you know anything.”
“Of course I don’t know anything,” I exclaim, bursting into tears. “I’ve been at school all day. How could I know anything? Oh Mom-” I fall into her arms, no longer able to support my own weight. Suddenly, the things I have been worried about all day, like the fact that Tasha and I are in a fight and I don’t know why, or that I got a C on my biology exam, or that today at lunch I saw Derek with another girl, are hardly the remains of deceased bugs on the windshield of my life.
The phone rings. Mom sucks in her breath to keep from breaking down. “I suppose I should get that,” she says in an oddly false tone. I watch her walk robotically into the kitchen and pick up the phone. “Hello?” On one hand, I expect it to be my father, calling to tell us not to worry, that he is coming home. On the other hand, I expect it to be the police, calling to inform us that my father is dead.
“Oh, hi Marcie,” I hear Mom chirp. Her voice sounds cheerful and sweet and completely the wrong tone for the occasion. “Yes, I think next Wednesday would be fine,” she says. It is Marcie from her book club. How strange it is that Marcie’s life is completely normal. She will get off the phone with Mom and mark the date in her colander. She will drive her son to soccer practice and then cook dinner. Later, she and her husband will watch a romantic-comedy together before falling asleep on the couch. Tomorrow, they will wake up and do it all over again. Meanwhile, my life is in pieces.
Slowly, I trudge down the hall to my bedroom. I push open the door and face the space I call home. It seems different, somehow. The Johnny Depp posters plastered all over my walls suddenly seem stupid and childish. I tear them off the walls angrily and crumple them up, forgetting that I have been obsessed with Johnny Depp ever since I was ten. My computer chimes and an new IM appears from my friend, Marissa. She asks what’s happened between me and Tasha. I throw a pillow at the computer angrily. How can she be so foolish to think I will worry about that at a time like this. My father may be dead. Then it dawns on me that Marissa, simple, innocent Marissa, doesn’t know a thing of the tragedy my life has become.
I gently replace the pillow on my bed and turn off my computer there will be time for all of that later. I flop onto my bed and pick up my phone. Instinctively, I begin to dial Tasha’s number. It is on the second ring when I remember we aren’t speaking to each other. I long to talk to her. My heart is hurting so badly I don’t know if I will ever be able to repair it.
The second person I think to call is Derek, but of course I can’t call him either. I think of calling Marissa, or some other friends like Toni or Jessica or Gina, but they won’t understand. Sure, they can tell me how bad they feel and how sorry they are, but they won’t get it. They don’t know me, really. Not the way Tasha and Derek do.
I unzip my backpack and pull out my geometry homework, what I vowed to do as soon as I was home. But I cannot possibly concentrate on the exact square root of an angle. Not now. Perhaps not ever again.
I hear Mom’s voice, coming closer. She has dropped her false act and is crying freely now. I strain to hear who she is talking with.
“...oh Lisa, if only...” I hear her blubber before bursting into a fresh set of tears. Of course. Lisa. Tasha’s mother and Mom’s best friend. I calculate exactly five seconds before my phone rings. It take three.
“Becca,” Tasha’s voice explodes. “Ohmygod, Bec. Ohmygod. I’m coming over.” She doesn’t stop to ask, doesn’t mention that just hours ago we weren’t speaking. She just comes. I hear the front door open and Tasha’s light footsteps pad down the hall. They stop at my door and she pushes it open. The moment I see her, her dirty blonde locks pulled back into a ponytail and her brown eyes wide with concern, I throw myself into her arms. I can’t stop the tears from coming. They drip down my face and sink into Tasha’s new blouse, which cost her three months worth of babysitting money. But she doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t say a word as I blubber and sniff and cry like the tears will never stop. She just holds me. Because that’s what true friends do.
