Bittersweet Summer (7 page)

“If the dog really loved us,” I said, “and we really loved the dog, it would be okay, wouldn’t it?”

He clicked off his turn signal and closed his hands around the steering wheel. He didn’t answer.

I thought about Mom. Would she hold the microphone in her hand like a famous star? Would she sing my favorite songs? Would there be lots of people?

What about after the concert, when Tyler would ask her to come home? Would she say, “Yes, but I thought you didn’t want me anymore”? And then, we would all cry and be happy. I stared at the back of Dad’s head. Would he be glad if Mom said yes? I thought so. His face sometimes looked like Tyler’s when he talked about Mom.

Beside me in the back seat, Tyler pretended to read a picture book to the stuffed animals he had brought. He made his animals act out the stories.

“Are you my mother?” his stuffed duck quacked. The teddy bear answered in a growly voice, “No, my dear one. I am not your mother.” “Then, boo-hoo, I’ll keep looking,” quacked the little duck.

“Tyler can’t take his stuffed animals into the concert,” I said to Dad. “Can he?”

“That’s right,” Dad said. “Stuffed animals stay in the car.”

“Hear that, Tyler?” I asked. Tyler made the duck nod at me, and then he kept on playing.

“Are we going to be late?” I asked. The clock on the dashboard said 7:15. “Doesn’t the concert start at 7:30?”

“We might be late,” Dad said.

“Why are we always late?” I asked. Would Mom wave and say hi to us from up on the stage?

Would she be so excited she’d run down to give us hugs?

“We’re not always late,” Dad said.

A few minutes later, we reached the waterfront park and drove around looking for a place to leave the car. “I always forget how busy things are in Portland,” Dad said.

Portland, I thought. Where I might live. One side of the car windows was filled with tall buildings that leaned against each other. On the other side, there was a huge park and the river. The same river ran through Hartsdale, but here the river bustled with big boats. Bridges criss-crossed over it. Cars zoomed everywhere. I sighed. In Portland, everybody was in a hurry.

“Read to me,” Tyler said. “Read the one about the baby duck looking for its mother.”

“I can’t,” I told him. “We’re almost there.”

Right then, Dad found a parking place. As soon as he stopped the car, we jumped out and ran toward a big white tent. “You’re fine,” the ticket man said. “They’re starting late.”

Dad pointed to a building marked RESTROOMS. “Need to go?” he asked us.

Tyler and I shook our heads.

Inside the tent, people were crowded together, sitting in rows of folding chairs. Ahead of us, the brightly lit stage held a set of drums and microphones and guitars. Close to the stage, Dad found three seats that had been saved just for us.

She didn’t forget we were coming, I thought.

“Excuse us,” Dad said, as we pushed past people’s knees.

The announcer walked out while we got settled in our seats. “Howdy, folks,” he shouted as everyone whistled and cheered and clapped. “Tonight,” he shouted, “we’re lucky to have one of the finest country singers in the world. Please welcome,” he stopped to take a breath, “Roxanne Winter!”

The whistles and cheers started up again. I grabbed Dad’s hand as excitement leaped through my arms and legs. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then Mom came running out—her hair shiny and big. Her white jeans and high white boots glowed in the stage lights. Her red shirt flashed with sequins.

I drew in my breath. Was that really Mom? So beautiful?

Dad grinned down at me and squeezed my hand. “That’s her,” he said.

“Mommy,” Tyler yelled. But she couldn’t hear him; the crowd was too loud. Mom moved to the microphone. “Hi, everybody,” she said, but people kept on cheering. When at last they quieted down, she looked right at us. “I want to say a special hello to my favorite people who are here tonight.”

I grinned back at her, wanting to jump up on that stage and fly into her arms. I clapped my hands to my cheeks so they wouldn’t burst. Mom nodded to the band members who were standing behind her. She strummed a few chords on her guitar, and when she began to sing, everyone sat very still. Mom’s voice filled me up with happiness and pride. Watching her face as she sang each line was a hundred times better than listening to her CDs. She was singing to everyone, but especially to Dad and Tyler and me.

I looked up at Dad, but he was smiling at Mom. I looked closer at his eyes. They were shiny like he might be crying. Just then, Tyler stood up on his chair and started to jump.

“Dad,” I said, but he couldn’t hear me, so I grabbed his hand and pointed at Tyler.

Dad blinked his eyes and reached for Tyler. “Sit here,” he said, and gathered him into his lap.

The first half of the concert flew by like a dream. After every song, the people yelled and clapped until my ears hurt.

“We’ll be back after a short intermission,” Mom said. She waved and blew kisses at the audience. At us. At me! Then she walked off the stage.

M
Y EARS STILL THUMPED
with the sounds of the bass and the guitars as people got up and stretched. We moved along with them to a place where there were tables set up for selling T-shirts and CDs. Claire and Ms. Morgan stood near one of the tables. I showed Dad where I was going and pushed through the crowd.

Claire grabbed me. “Your mother is so pretty,” she said. “She acts really famous.”

I nodded and coughed. My voice wasn’t working very well.

Claire came closer so I could hear her over all the noise. “Do you like my new clothes?” She smoothed her jeans jacket and held up one foot so I could see her blue leather boots. “My favorite thing is this hat,” she said, adjusting it over her blond curls. “It’s so perfect.” She turned in a slow circle in front of me.

“You look like a cowgirl,” I said.

“Ms. Morgan said that, too.” She bent close to whisper in my ear. “But something terrible has happened. Ms. Morgan is having a barbecue for all of us tomorrow.”

“That’s not terrible.”

“Yes, it is. Tell you later.” Claire pressed her lips together as Ms. Morgan finished paying for her CDs and moved with us away from the table.

“It’s a wonderful concert,” Ms. Morgan said to me.

Mr. Plummer came up with plastic bottles of water. “That’s quite a mother you have,” he said. “I’m enjoying this.” He handed Claire and Ms. Morgan their bottles.

“Where are your dad and Tyler?” Ms. Morgan asked. “Oh, there they are.” Ms. Morgan waved at Dad, who was working his way toward us through the crowd while I wondered what the terrible thing could be. I looked at Claire, but she just shook her head.

“I’m so glad you found us among all these people,” Ms. Morgan said to Dad. “I want to invite you all to my barbecue. Tomorrow afternoon. Very short notice, but I have a special person coming to visit. I’d like you all to meet him.”

“See?” Claire pulled me to one side and breathed into my ear. “She . . . has . . . a . . . boyfriend!” She pushed her hands into her jacket pockets and turned away.

I looked at Ms. Morgan. She would never be Claire’s mother. Or mine. She was taken.

“We’d love to come,” Dad said to Ms. Morgan. “We’ll need your address.”

As Dad wrote down her address, she bent close to him. “She is beautiful, Bill,” she said. “Is this hard for you?”

I watched Dad nod at her. His eyes blinked behind his glasses, and then he looked out over the crowd as he tucked the paper into his pocket.

Ms. Morgan touched Dad’s hand. “The three of you are a good family, you know. Your children are lucky they have you for a dad.”

I leaned against Dad, proud of him.

“Tyler and Katie still miss her a lot,” Dad said. “Seeing her tonight is bitter and sweet for all of us.”

“Bittersweet,” Ms. Morgan said. “I understand.”

I moved closer to ask how something could be bitter and sweet all at the same time, but Dad cleared his throat and looked over at Mr. Plummer’s cowboy hat. “Did you and Claire just fly in from Texas?”

Claire and Mr. Plummer smiled. They both reached up to straighten their hats. “You’re all blue,” Tyler said. “You should have a red jacket like mine.”

Dad shook his head at Tyler. “That’s not polite.” He turned to Ms. Morgan. “Thanks, Janna, for telling me about that thrift shop. We went there yesterday.”

“We found a dog,” I said, suddenly remembering.

“She’s maybe going to be our dog!” Tyler said. “She knows how to smile!”

“Wow,” Ms. Morgan said. “A dog that smiles. I can’t wait to see her.”

“Dogs are messy,” Claire said, rolling her eyes. “And they leave you-know-what all over the place. Dog hair, too.”

“She’s pretty sweet,” Dad said. “A yellow lab. The trouble is,” but as he started to tell them we might not be able to get the dog, some bells rang and lights went off and on.

“That means the second half is starting,” Mr. Plummer said. We turned and moved with all the people who were going back to their seats.

Mr. Plummer pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Dad. “I printed out some photos of our picnic. These are for you.”

“Thanks,” Dad said. He hustled us down the aisle, and we sat down, ready to hear Mom sing again.

I looked up at the microphone she would soon hold in her hand and felt excitement bubble again in my stomach. Mom is so wonderful, I thought. Beside me a man began to clap his hands together. “Roxanne,” he yelled.

I moved closer to Dad. I wasn’t sure I liked sharing Mom with all these people I didn’t know. Maybe that was what Dad meant by bitter and sweet.

I
CURLED MY LEGS
under me and settled in, but before Mom had finished the first song, Tyler was pulling on my sleeve. “I have to go,” he said, his face wrinkled with worry. “Right now.”

Dad sighed. “I just took you,” he whispered.

“I have to go, too,” I said. “I forgot to go at intermission. I’ll take him.”

“Are you sure you know where?” Dad looked out at the aisle and all the people we would have to crawl past.

“That building right near the door. It’s easy.” While the audience was clapping for Mom’s song, I led Tyler up the aisle and out the front of the tent. “I’m here, too,” Dad said, coming up behind us. “I’ll wait by the door.”

“Come on,” I told Tyler as I pulled him toward the women’s end.

He stopped and twisted the sleeve of his red jacket out of my hand. “I’m going there,” he said, pointing to the men’s door.

“You can’t. You have to stay with me.” I hustled him into the building and into a stall. I ran into the stall next to his. When I was done, I washed my hands and looked at Tyler’s stall. “I’m going outside so I can hear better. Hurry up.”

He didn’t answer. A moment later, I leaned against Dad by the door of the big tent and listened to Mom. She was singing the song about the train. From out here, she sounded exactly like her CD.

“Is Tyler coming?” Dad asked.

“He’s coming.” I leaned harder against Dad. “What did that mean,” I asked him, “what you said to Ms. Morgan? About bittersweet?”

He bent close to my ear and spoke softly. “Something that’s bittersweet is happy and sad all at the same time. It means it’s great to see your mom again.” He stopped and then went on. “But we can also see that her life is different now.”

“She won’t ever come back.” My voice sounded grown up. And sad. He nodded. “That’s the part that is bitter. She’s done very well, and since we love her, we have to be happy for her. That part is sweet.”

I leaned harder against Dad. “Tyler thinks she’ll come home with us.”

“I wish he didn’t miss her so much.” Dad shifted his feet and looked toward the restroom. He took my hand and rubbed it against his chest. “The three of us make a good family.”

Inside the tent, the crowd clapped and cheered again. The bass player was talking now about some place they had traveled to before Portland.

Dad smiled down at me. “We three are stuck together, you know.” He looked again at the restrooms. “Go check,” he said. “He’s taking too long.”

In the ladies’ room, Tyler’s stall was wide open, and no one was there. How had he gotten past us? I ran back outside.

Dad ran to meet me. “Where is he?”

“Is there a problem?” a voice asked. It was one of the people who sold CDs.

“My son,” Dad said, his voice rough. “He’s wearing a red jacket.”

“I think I saw him go back into the concert,” the man said.

I took a deep breath. That was it, of course. Dad and I rushed down the aisle. Up by the stage, bunches of people were dancing to the music. They all wore cowboy hats and boots.

The people who weren’t dancing were clapping and stomping their feet. We stopped at the end of our row, looking down it for Tyler. Our three seats stood empty. “He’s gone,” I shouted over the music and the clapping. “Tyler is gone.”

I burst into tears as Dad grabbed my hand and rushed back up the aisle. “Excuse me, excuse me,” he said to the people who were dancing in the aisle. The music ended, and people began to cheer and clap.

I panted, trying to keep up with Dad’s long legs.

All at once, the clapping around us grew choppy and finally stopped. Someone laughed. Then another person laughed. “Look at that cute kid,” someone said.

Cute kid?

Dad stopped running, and I bumped into his back. We both turned to look at the stage. Mom was telling the audience about her next song. Behind her was a little boy wearing a red jacket.

D
AD AND I STOOD
without breathing, watching Tyler up there on the big stage. Tyler lifted his hand to shade his eyes from the bright lights and walked toward Mom. Still holding the microphone, she turned around to see what everyone else could see.

“We have a visitor,” the drummer said. He played a drum roll and the crowd laughed.

“Tyler?” Mom’s voice all at once sounded more like Mom than it had all night.

Dad took my hand. “Thank God,” he said. “He’s okay.”

“Should we get him?”